Tribute Work. With Much Grief and Gratitude. Yet another tribute. On September 16th La Taza closes its doors. They’ll be having a huge party to celebrate and I encourage you to get there as soon as your little feet can carry you. Because La Taza rocks. La Taza is badass. La Taza is a motherfucking motherlode of brunch and camaraderie goodness and I’m sad as hell that it’s closing. Because La Taza has been my go-to for coffee, breakfast, and deep soulful insights on a patio that is people-watching heaven for a decade. On a recent Saturday morning, the city market was a zoo. Panic attack inducing crowds of folks looking to stuff their maws with artisanal delights and stuff their tote bags with Sunday supper produce. But La Taza was quiet. Just the regulars. Eating, reading the paper, sipping coffee, discussing life’s big questions. Just how I like it. Just like this.

It’s becoming so I’m writing so many obituaries for beloved restaurants I’m starting to feel like the Dave Attell of restaurants. Check out his Facebook page. You’ll see what I mean. Funny man, maybe the funniest comedian alive, but Lord, he’s worse than my grandmother with the death announcements!

There I go. Digressing again. Trying to distract myself from the very real white privilege pain of losing another place where I’m a regular. I realize in the grand scheme of things, especially with a hurricane possibly barreling down on us, this doesn’t mean much.

Or does it? When community spaces like La Taza close in favor of multi-unit condo high rises and newfangled restaurants with clever concepts from big corporate companies, what are we left with? Will these new places allow us to sit and stare at the street on a hot summer day? Contemplate our next steps? Or will they give us the side-eye and tell us to move along please, pay your check, because we have to turn this table now. Like now. Right now.

How can community spaces, restaurants like La Taza, be a source of comfort and steadfast solace during difficult times? Places where you know the name of the waitress, you always order the same thing, and they don’t mind if you sit over your coffee afterward for three-plus hours? What are those places to you? Sure in coffee shops they don’t mind if you nurse a cortado all afternoon (ick, not sure why you do that, oh stop it monkey mind), but in restaurants? It’s rare. And becoming rarer.

To me, during a time this summer when my whole world blew up in an instant, places like La Taza offered an oasis in the storm. A place where you know what to expect, you know what will happen, and you know you will be back. Often. Because it’s that sense of comfort that makes you a regular.

In places like La Taza, I have business meetings, spend hours brainstorming in a notebook over a cheap cup of coffee, or just meet a friend to vent about the difficulties ahead. In places like La Taza, I come to life realizations, I share laughter with friends, pour over a challenging year ahead with someone very close to my heart, or just stare into space and watch the people walk by. Usually with dogs. It’s very Parisian actually. And Italian. In places like La Taza, with its Guatemalan cuisine diner service, I am allowed to celebrate the concept of dolce far niente. The sweetness of doing nothing. In places like La Taza I’m allowed to just be.

I get that Melissa Easter is allowed to sell and close and move on with her life. BELIEVE me, today, on the cusp of making a huge life decision myself, I get this. People change. People move on. But I’m allowed to grieve a little bit. Yes, change is the only constant. All you can change is your attitude towards it. Your perception of it. I just hope the new owners will get to know the community first. Take a minute. Don’t shoehorn some glamorous concept into a space that has been a source of comfort and steady presence for so many. For twelve years. Get to know your guests, the folks who loved La Taza. I’m already worried upon hearing they’ll be expanding to the space next door. Which means they’ll have to fill more tables, which means they might have to turn them over quicker. And on and on and on.

But I’m catastrophizing. Something else you do in grief. Perhaps this restaurant death hits me closer to home, hits me a little harder because I did find out about it so suddenly. While buying a soda in Belmont market with a friend the proprietor said, “Isn’t it a shame about La Taza?” And just like that, my steady anchor in my Summer Storm of Sudden Changes went poof. That’s gone too, Jenée. Surf the wave. Surf the wave of your life. Here’s the Hurricane Florence that will finally upend everything so you finally surrender. Ride it. And I promise things will settle down soon. You’ll find another La Taza. And when that one closes, you’ll find another. Because while this kind of restaurant isn’t always the most glamorous or the most desired when it comes to investors, there’s always a need for it. A place to gather for as long as you like. A place where folks ask after you.

Like Castiglia’s in Front Royal, where the food is Italian, the chef is Mexican, and the Russian waitress Natasha always asks after me, my dad, and my sister, to Twisted Branch Tea Bazaar, where I know I can always get the best chai milkshake on the planet and hide with my thoughts on their back patio, to Blue Ridge Country Store where they don’t mind if my salad is mostly giant hunks of fresh-roasted chicken chased down with a $2 cookie to Blue Moon Diner where they understand that I want extra extra extra powdered sugar on my brunch beignets please at no charge of course to Bodo’s where my order has become a holy catechism I recite by heart. Pastrami swiss on an everything with lettuce tomato mustard cut in half to go, please. The order may change a few cents here or there depending on the quality of the tomatoes but the order? I’m like a monk with a holy scroll. This order is in INK baby. Places like Dr. Ho’s Humble Pie where a to-go Bellissima cures all ills. Those of you who’ve eaten there know what the fuck I mean.

These are the places I run to when I need a food hug. Not the places with $32 entrées and silly drinks and leather banquettes and the attitude that comes with them. Places I can no longer afford anyway. Yes, when I need help, I find comfort in the form of places I can metaphorically throw my shoes off in and toss all my cares in the corner to be picked up on my way out. Places like La Taza. They are important to communities. And it’s so important that we keep them.

Thank you Melissa Easter and your entire staff. For feeding me. For the caffeination. For the hours spent staring into space deciding what the fuck it is I want to do with the rest of my life. For having enough coffee and avocado toast in me to realize I was staring into space and maybe I should just fake it til I make it, pretend like I knew what I was doing until I actually did. Not sure if it was the ambiance, or the food, or the great coffee that helped. I just know it did and for that, I’m forever grateful. May your future journeys be as comforting as La Taza was to me. Thank you.

SHOW NOTES – Links to resources talked about during the podcast:

• La Taza is having a party this weekend. You should totally go. It's the Last Dance people!
• Appalachian Food Summit. Also this weekend. Also in West Virginia. During a hurricane. Pray for them. Good food, good folks, great cause. Big Love for AFS!
• Oxford American's Profile of Robert Gipe. By Beth Macy, author of "Dopesick." You'd be hard-pressed to find a better author, a better conversation, a more serious epidemic than this one. What are you waiting for? Go read it!
• Subscribe to This Podcast. Stay Edacious! - Come on, after this episode? You know you want to. Subscribers get new episodes instantly, while non-subscribers have to wait a few hours or days depending on the Apple Podcast Gods. Never miss a chance to be edacious!
• Subscribe to the 3dacious newsletter! - The Top 3 listings for food writing, events, and food I forked delivered weekly to your inbox with minimal fuss in a nice and neat to-go package.
• Leave a review about Edacious! - Click the link, then "View in iTunes" then "Ratings and Reviews". Whether you think it's great, or not so great, I want to hear from you. I might just read your review on the air! Whoa! #famousforahotminute

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