A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.
I’ve never thought of myself as a gambling man, and probably never will.
The next dollar I lose at a casino will be my first, and I may have bought as many as a dozen lottery tickets in the past two decades. Poker puts me to sleep, and I’ve been to Churchill Downs on an actual day of racing precisely once in 53 years of habitation hereabouts.
However, as an aficionado of food and drink, who in the past has enjoyed pursuing these activities in faraway places, trust me: There are plenty of ways to spend money apart from spinning a roulette wheel or playing the ponies. Verily, you can’t take it with you.
In the wake of NABC’s announcement earlier this week that we’re suspending food service at Bank Street Brewhouse, some have asked me whether walking away from a big chunk of food sales revenue represents a gamble for my company. I understand how it might appear that way, and of course, only time will tell.
But to me, what we’re doing speaks far more to a liberating opportunity than any undue risk. After all, the previous five years haven’t always provided sufficient tulips for tiptoeing.
Lately, this particular socialist has had a lot to learn, grudgingly, about the game of chance called capitalism, up close and personal, and to make a painfully long (and dreadfully boring) story as short as humanly possible, undoubted culinary achievements and stubborn force of will alone are not sufficient to suggest good odds for continuing what, in effect, has been a variable coin toss since BSB first opened in 2009.
Eternal thanks to those of you who supported the food concept at BSB. When our menu was on, it was great, and even when it wasn’t, it was good, and yet even the Beatles broke up – and they were better still. Call it cold turkey, or term it shock therapy; either way, costs had to be eliminated, because betting on next week’s roll of the dice was not always the best return, and by doing so, we’ve been starving ourselves of necessary reinvestment. Stripping one business plan down and building a second one back seems a far better course for us than persisting with unpredictability.
Instead, it’s about recommitting to what we do best. We’ll still have revenue, off-site from the damned fine brewery in back as well as from yet-to-be-determined beer sales in front. While revenue from beer sales in front will be less in the beginning, at least selling the beer we brew in back is sustainable and expandable in a way that the kitchen simply could not be.
That’s where a bit of community-oriented placemaking comes into play. The taproom model without a kitchen allows the indoor and outdoor areas to become a venue for creativity and activities, and places where things happen. The beer being consumed while these things happen is profitable. If we succeed in attracting customers in this fashion, there’ll be an opportunity to encourage other food-focused entrepreneurs to deliver food, or park a food truck, or set up a weenie cart.
And then … yes, then there’ll be food once again at BSB, but this time on terms more financially favorable to my company, even more diverse and eclectic – and fun – and potentially enabling the wetting of affiliated beaks all around, which is my more personally favored mode of capitalism, anyway.
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There have been two supremely difficult aspects to these changes.
The first is knowing that however great the effort getting out the word, there’ll be customers who’ll drive out of their way to find us, expecting a meal we’re no longer capable of offering. In advance, permit me to apologize to them for their trouble. Our job now is to point them toward the many other eateries downtown.
The second is knowing that we had to let people go in order to reformat the business. Jobs are people, and that’s real life. This part of it isn’t easy, isn’t fun, and can’t be explained in any other way than “it’s the rules of the business game as we all play it.” This doesn’t mean I have to like it. I hope they all land on their feet, and that we can have a beer together some day in the future, and think about the good times.
Of which there were many, thankfully.
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Looking back on my pronouncements in 2009 as we prepared to debut Bank Street Brewhouse, and comparing them with the record of BSB’s evolution since then, produces a sensation not unlike the one we feel while viewing leisure suits and hair styles in the late 1970s, as depicted in Throw Back Thursday photos.
Here’s a groaner.
NABC annually ranks highly in “best of” lists published by web sites such as www.ratebeer.com and www.beeradvocate.com, and furthermore, co-owner/beer writer Roger A. Baylor is regarded as one of the region’s foremost champions of the better beer movement.
These days, I detest Rate Advocate. Here’s another head-scratcher:
At the Bank Street location, there will be a limited Belgian-style café menu of food prepared by a Josh Lehman, a professional chef. A small on-premise shop will sell t-shirts, other advertising wearables, glassware and souvenirs.
Ah, the limits. Josh did great work and was far ahead of his time, but the “limited” descriptor is decidedly archaic given the levels of cost and inventory we eventually managed to reach by the year 2013, in a futile effort to “grow” a concept that lacked money and space.
As for the souvenir shop, it’s déjà vu all over again in 2014, and we’re hoping that finally, we’ll accomplish the goal. Arguably, these three broader planks from the 2009 mission statement come closer to the mark. Our aims were …
To be leaders in the craft beer segment and in the community, not followers.
To be progressive, not regressive.
To challenge and to educate, not to pander.
As far as I’m concerned, NABC surely achieved these objectives with BSB, and in 2014, we can move forward with the same points in mind. As Al Gore once noted, “You win some, you lose some – and then there’s that little known third category.”
In our case, it means we keep on going: Reinvent BSB as we go, brew beer, drink beer, and sell what’s left. The food will come.
Thanks again for your support.
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