Troop in Olneyville
A Restaurant Co-Owner Reflects on Life in the Time of Covid Contagion and Civil Unrest
I never intended to own a restaurant. It kind of just happened, by way of a roller coaster that never slowed down enough for me to jump off. The details of that story are another essay entirely, quite possibly a book, but, as 2020 tumbled into existence, I found myself four years deep into owning a business with four partners, 35+ employees, a loan that was closer and closer to being paid off and a to-do list that did not let up.
The restaurant—Troop in the Olneyville neighborhood of Providence—was busy as we finally found our groove; a young restaurant that sometimes held dance parties after dinner. Leaning into the month of March, historically our busiest month of the year for reasons we can’t explain, our collective feet were very much on the gas pedal.
The coronavirus hovered in January and February as a distant threat that wasn’t ours yet, but on March 12, the virus officially landed in Rhode Island. By March 15, Troop’s doors were closed after an early last call. The days in between were loaded down with heavy news consumption, slowing sales and a lot of group texting between the five owners, trying to figure out what the hell we should do.
And then, just like that, it became clear. The governor’s mandate came but we had already decided, together, to shut down. A message went out to staff that they should apply for unemployment immediately. They were among the 5.5 million restaurant industry workers across America who lost their jobs in March and April.
March 15 was a Sunday. Monday afternoon, owners and managers met in the middle of an empty dining room. First order of business: taking care of our own. Is everyone healthy? Did everyone get through to unemployment? What about health insurance? Troop had just started offering our full-time employees health insurance earlier that month, something for which we were very proud. We would continue to pay.
Food and beverage ordering would stop immediately and perishables had to go. Our executive chef, Chad Hart, and culinary director/coowner Jason “JT” Timothy would work together to bleed the walk-ins, preparing to-go meals for staff until we figured out the next steps. Our one to-go customer of the day stumbled into the restaurant during the meeting. We all looked up at him just as confused as he was. His food was ready.
Troop got quiet. Real quiet. The bass thump from the sound system, the clang of the kitchen, the swirl of the dining room floor—it all stopped.
Our team quickly learned who at the Department of Labor and Training would actually respond to emails; how to use this app called Zoom; which of our friends knew how to make face masks; how to launch an online store; which bills we could stop paying; which services to shut down; and what exactly we needed to do to start selling takeout.
Our day jobs and a distressing news stream were punctuated with periodic texts to each other that just said, “WTF?”
Let’s be clear: Troop is the furthest thing from a takeout joint. We’re about the music, the art, the nostalgia, the community, neighborhood, our staff and customers. It’s the whole vibe, and it hits you as soon as you walk in the door. This is why people come to Troop and keep coming back. This is what we needed to infuse into whatever was next; it was the secret sauce to keeping us alive.
Enter the creative vision of my partner Chris Simonelli. Chris danced his way through working with the staff to add cool new merch, stickers, stamps, thank-you cards, playlists, small business collaborations and menu designs to the mix, while providing top-notch customer service and front-of-house leadership. He made it look easy.
“It starts with our crew,” Chris said of the process. “We made sure we did our best to take care of our staff, ensure they were good, heard, and that we were all on the same page before moving forward. Decisions were collaborative. Then it was time to create … we ensured that we put our own spin on everything we did and that it was done in true Troop fashion, no matter how limited we were.”
In the kitchen, Chad and JT worked to pare down the menu to a small selection of Troop’s greatest hits. The bare-bones team gelled quickly and a touchless takeout system started to flow. One by one, our customers landed on our patio for pre-ordered merch, gift cards, noodz and nugs with a smile under their mask.
“There were a lot of unknowns during those early weeks,” said Chad. “I’m not going to lie: It was scary. Trying to acquire any kind of goods, food, takeout products, sanitizer, gloves became an everyday battle. I am still fighting that battle weekly.”
Those first six weeks or so, Troop was distilled down to our core. Creativity was high, collaboration was strong and the regular drama of a busy restaurant was low. We had this very rare and beautiful chance to build new systems organically by testing things out without the pressure of one crushing dinner and late-night service after another. We closed fully on Mondays and Tuesdays and everyone quickly learned the positive impact this had on our well-being and capacity to work with more focus.
“Great ideas came out of the kitchen during that time and are still being generated as we figure out how to adapt to each phase. We are learning as a community right now in this industry,” said JT.
By early May, the weather warmed and we knew that, although not allowed yet, patio dining was next up. Our team got to work designing our outdoor space to simultaneously meet the governor’s guidelines and match Troop’s vibrant aesthetic. PPP loan money was bringing folks back to work, so we broke our isolation seals and grew our Covid pods to include more of each other. With just a couple of days of work spray-painting chairs and rolling out rugs under the spring sun in Olneyville, our patio was transformed and ready for customers. This was just another example of how this group of individuals continue to floor me every day with their dedication, and willingness to try just about anything to keep the whole thing going.
Just before week two of patio dining, George Floyd was killed in Minneapolis. The large Providence protest was where I saw many of our staff for the first time since March. The last person I had hugged was one of our server/bartenders, Alex “Al” Savonnara, at his other job where I sometimes grab breakfast. The first person I hugged after that incredibly long dry spell without human touch was Victoria Nounpa, another one of our servers/bartenders, crossing I-95 on Washington Street heading towards the State House.
Since then, there have been many conversations in many industries about how we can and need to do better to dismantle racism at its core. The restaurant industry is no different. Troop’s name has been thrown around the Internet as a Black-owned business to support. Some people applauded that identification; others have questioned it, because we are not majority Black-owned. Troop is a partnership of five individuals—White, Indian and Black. Our individual roads to where we landed today have surely not looked the same.
“As a person of color, my path to where I am was a hard-fought one,” said JT. “George Floyd magnified the pandemic. We were fighting against one unknown thing and then another, which is a very old and tiresome fight. We have to do better.”
The pace of Troop has ramped up since those early weeks of the reopening. We’ve expanded the patio twice over and have seating indoors. We are figuring out how to manage payroll now that the PPP money is gone, what services we need to add and what budgets we need to keep to make the numbers actually work. And how to do it all safely.
Our break-even is a moving target with many puzzle pieces that we are still trying to fit with consistency. We are taking it slow and doing it purely in Troop style. The future is unknown, but the bass thump is back.
Troop
60 Valley St., Providence • 401.473.2900
Visit TroopPVD.com for takeout menus, patio/indoor dining and merch.
