Essential Business
Lynley Jones
“‘But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,’ faltered Scrooge.
‘Business!’ cried the Ghost, wringing his hands again. ‘Mankind was my business..!’”
Dawn, one of our readers, shared the observation that SILENT and LISTEN contain the same letters. This has gotten me thinking about this time of quiet pauses that we’re all living through. What should we be listening for in the silence?
I think the universe may be whispering a question:
What is our essential business?
Whether we’re aware of it or not, we’re all making this calculation every day. In a very literal sense, our leaders are deciding which actual businesses are essential enough to our common welfare to stay open in a pandemic. And likewise, each of us, in our homes and with our families, is deciding what is essential in our own lives. We’ve had to cast aside every extra thing, throw over all the ballast, whether we wanted to or not. We’re left with only the bare necessities. How much do we really need another bag of chips? A walk in the park? Conversation with a friend? School? Toilet paper? A paycheck?
For me, all the literal and larger meanings of essential have come together in a complicated moral, financial and emotional soup of options I’ve had to wade through.
The question of whether to keep my business open was the first test for me. In a literal sense, my business is deemed essential by the State of New Jersey. I sell spices, which people need to cook. Groceries. Essential.
But in another sense, if we’re being honest, my products are actually quite non-essential. Great cooking doesn’t need to rely on exotic spices to coax deliciousness from simple ingredients. After all, the most transcendent pie crust is nothing but flour, butter and salt, with a little cold water and a lot of skill and care. So, if we’re all perfectly honest about it, what I sell is a luxury. Sure, my products contribute some nutrients, they’re carefully sourced and they’re fresh and fragrant. They’ll take your cooking to another level. They’re a great value. But essential? No.
Our first weekend back at the farmers market this year, we had just closed our downtown pop-up shop 6 weeks ahead of schedule because of the pandemic. On the previous Monday, I had been putting the finishing touches on a 2020 revenue plan with a 500% growth curve. Then one week later, I was closing our doors.
Business had been growing steadily, with opportunities everywhere. But as I adjusted to the developing new situation, I had to acknowledge that at this stage we were still a teeny, tiny business, and the world would not come to a screeching halt if we just shut down completely. I am my only investor. We had no creditors to repay, no other investors to please. And I wasn’t dependent on the business for a paycheck, because we hadn’t even gotten to that point yet. Our spice business is barely 2 years old, and our prepared foods (including Spice Pops and spiced cider) had just finished their first full year. I certainly expect and need a return on my investment at some point, but if it took a bit longer because we had to shut down for awhile, to keep everyone safe, and to keep me safe, I could honestly live with that.
We had a few part-time contractors, and I knew that if we had to close, although it would add another challenge to a difficult time for them, they could survive. But we also had a full-time employee who had made much of our growth in the previous year possible, and who was definitely relying on us for a paycheck. So, still absorbing our new reality and unable to see more than a couple steps ahead, I decided we would sell what we could at the farmers market that weekend, and then decide our next steps from there.
I wondered if anyone would even venture out. And if they did, would they even glance our way, or just head to the vendors with the real necessities of produce, meats and eggs? How many people really needed or wanted what we have to offer?
I was surprised to discover that lots of people wanted what we had, and they were grateful beyond measure that we were there in the March chill to make it available to them. So we showed up again the next week. And the next.
I’ve had to make countless judgment calls about the essential-ness of nearly everything since that day. Is it essential to keep staffing our booth at the farmers market, exposing us week after week in a pandemic hot spot? Is it essential to ask our staff to take on that risk, or should it be me? Is all the sampling and tasting and demonstrating that we’ve always done essential? What about our hot cider and Spice Pops? Is our website content essential? Our social media? Our staff?
Some of these answers are a resounding YES or NO. Others are more complicated. And sometimes the answer is no, but it breaks our hearts to say so.
As we continue to find our way, a single, essential thread runs through every detailed question: connection.
Across 6 feet of space, through our masks and gloves, through this screen, through our spices and ingredients that make their way into the bellies and blood of your family, we are connected. And the most important thing we can offer is a way for us all to nourish each other through hard times, and stay connected with the people we love.
That is our essential business. And we’ll keep doing it for as long as we can.
What is your essential business?
Parmesan Pasta with Black Truffles (!)
And now for something delightfully non-essential:
My truffle-parmesan pasta. All the black flecks you see are shaved truffle - I didn’t use any black pepper on this.
A generous friend reached out last weekend to say that she had an extra truffle, and did I want it?
I never knew that sort of thing actually happened to people. Of course I said YES instantly, and realized I’d be making dinner that night.
While the pound of spaghetti cooked in salted water, I melted a stick of butter in a large saucepan, then grated the truffle into it and let it give its aroma over in a gentle simmer. When the pasta was ready, I tossed it with the truffle-butter, plus several large handfuls of shredded Parmesan and about a cup of the pasta water.
I served it with chicken thighs I had roasted simply with olive oil, salt, pepper and a few fresh herbs. When the chicken was done, I set it aside to rest while I deglazed the pan with a little white wine and tossed in some ramps I’d gotten from The Foraged Feast at the Montclair Farmers Market. I poured it all over the chicken to serve.
I forgot to serve vegetables, but other than that, it was a pretty amazing dinner.
Thank you, Jeanette!
(PS - If you’re new around here, welcome! Adventure Kitchen is a local, small-batch maker of original spice blends and prepared foods, and I’m the founder and chief creator. Separately, I send a weekly email with recipes and cooking suggestions. If you’d like to follow along with that, you can sign up on this page. And if you’d like to support my small business, you can buy our spices online. We ship everywhere of course, and we deliver locally for free!)