A Note on This Week

I officially stepped away from the kitchen this week to begin maternity leave.

It’s a strange and tender moment to pause—to step back from the physical rhythms of work that have shaped my days for so long—while the world, and our industry, feels anything but still.

Yesterday’s strike felt significant, and it didn’t feel right to move through the week without acknowledging it.

I’m not usually one to be outwardly political in this space. I tend to believe that the work itself—how we show up for people, how we treat one another, how we build our teams—often speaks louder than statements. But this is something I can’t be entirely quiet about.

Immigrant workers are deeply woven into the fabric of the restaurant and hospitality industry. They always have been. The food we cook, serve, and gather around does not exist without their labor, skill, and care.

At the same time, I made the decision to keep our businesses open this week.

That choice didn’t come easily, and it wasn’t made from a place of disregard for the strike. It came from another responsibility I hold closely: providing consistent work and stability for the people who rely on these jobs. Closing is a privilege I don’t currently have, and showing up for my team in a tangible, economic way is part of what leadership looks like for me right now.

Both of these things can be true at once.

We can acknowledge that something is wrong and still keep the lights on.
We can care deeply about people while navigating systems that are far from perfect.
We can hold compassion, discomfort, and responsibility all in the same breath.

Action matters, even when it’s imperfect.

We’ll be donating a portion of our sales from this Friday Window sales to LUCE, a local organization doing important work in support of immigrant communities here in Western Massachusetts. It’s a small step, but it’s one we’re offering with intention and care.

As I step into this next season, both personally and professionally, I’m reminding myself that leadership doesn’t always look like loud declarations or clear answers. Sometimes it looks like staying present, staying honest, and continuing to invest in people, even when the path forward feels complicated.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. And thank you, always, for supporting work that is rooted in care and community.

With care,

Laura