Vision

We fill our work days washing pots, peeling onions, sticking labels,  organizing receipts, filling propane tanks, stocking coolers, tinkering with equipment.

Our kitchen remodel project has upended our routines and given us a chance to revisit the bigger picture. We're giving some thought to who we are as a business, and who we want to be over the long term.

We enjoy vending at farmers' markets. Our fellow vendors are free-thinking, creative and consistently unusual. Together we commiserate and collaborate. We also eat very well, especially during the summer. But Patty Pan already vends at most of the markets in the area so it's just a matter of time before we can no longer grow as a mainly farmers' market business.

We care about good food, fresh ingredients, and cooking from scratch. But we're not fanatical purists. We're fascinated by the challenge of making wholesome food widely available, but we run a for-profit business so we're geared towards building these concerns into our business model.

Our new kitchen will be a cooking and dining space where we'll host community dinners and group cooking events. We're planning a kitchen utensil lending library and a free herb garden so neighbors can pick what they need for their dinners.

We already earn enough from the farmers' markets to pay our rent, so we should have some leeway figuring out how to make our new gigs pay because we are, after all, a for-profit business. The neighbors seem stoked, and we're excited that they're excited.

The Elusive Farmers' Market Parking Space

I've heard that parking rivals price as the top deterrent keeping consumers from shopping at farmers' markets. Once you've gotten used to the convenience of grocery store parking lots, a four-block trek to buy vegetables from your favorite local farmers can be a deal breaker, especially in lousy weather.

But parking issues don't affect all markets equally, even markets of comparable size with comparable parking constraints. Take the Ballard and University District markets.

I've often heard people talk about how difficult it is to park at the University District market, but I usually have to park just as far away when I go to the Ballard market in the middle of the day. Yet I rarely hear people complain about Ballard market parking. I think that's because Ballard is more of a party while University District is a serious shopping venue. You can do plenty of serious shopping at Ballard as well, but folks are more likely to head there than to the University District for a leisurely weekend outing. Leisurely weekend outings often involve parking and walking a few blocks while trips to the grocery store usually do not.

On Fridays during the summer we vend at the Madrona and Phinney markets. On sunny and cloudy days Phinney almost always outsells Madrona. But Madrona has on site customer parking, and on days with dumping rain it consistently outsells Phinney. Customers aren't as deterred by the weather because they can easily get back to their cars.

This past fall the University District market moved from its long-time home in the community center parking lot to the main street outside the center. We were excited about the move. Markets held on streets are almost always busier than markets held in parking lots. Our optimism was well-founded: we've had a wonderful winter there despite some beastly weather lately.

But the move has had another, unanticipated consequence. Like the Madrona market, sales at the University District market have been reasonably consistent in all types of weather, even though our numbers used to tank in the rain and the chill back when the market was held in the parking lot.

The market administration and the community center now offer parking in the lot where the market used to operate, fifty feet from the new site. They charge for the convenience, but the lot always seems to be reasonably full.

Speaking of parking, I used to find that I could improve my parking karma by dropping coins in other people's meters when they were about to expire. But you can't do that anymore with the printed stickers that have to go on the inside car window.

Building a Kitchen

We've been hard at work outfitting a new space for Patty Pan. Some of the work involves hands-on building, sanding, texturizing, painting, and installing. Other phases involve standing around and scratching our heads, ruminating, brainstorming and problem solving.

I've built kitchens before, and it's always been a lonely and stressful endeavor. I'm not especially handy and I don't know much about building materials so the process has always required making decisions involving large sums of money that I didn't really have, basing those decisions on scant information and insufficient experience.

It's so different building this kitchen as a coop. Between us we have construction experience, artistic sensibilities, networks to scavenge building materials, and plenty of camaraderie. We're sharing the burden and excitement of making decisions, the frustration of snags and the glory of breakthroughs.

When I built my first tiny kitchen in Fremont, I hired a friend of a friend to build a custom walk-in cooler in an odd-size space off the main kitchen. We submitted a drawing to the building department and they took six weeks to look it over before sending it back with the concerns about the format of the drawing, but no real issue with our actual proposal for the walk-in. We redrew the plans and resubmitted them, paying additional fees and delaying the project several weeks.

When I built the Lucky Palate kitchen on Queen Anne, I paid a professional $1000 to draft a layout drawing and help with contracting logistics. He presented the price tag as a good deal and he may have been telling the truth: compared to the revenue from drafting a floor plan for a full service restaurant, my project must have been barely worth his while. Still, $1000 was a lot of money to me.

This time around we bought cad software and drew up the plan ourselves. There was a steep learning curve but we learned new skills and the health department accepted the drawing the first time around. We've had similar experiences with everything from relocating light switches to moving heavy equipment.

It feels strange to say, but this time around we may actually be having fun.

Hiatus

Haven't been posting for a bit, but I just wanted to let you guys know that we're enjoying our cooperative business model, and we have some exciting things brewing.

Back soon.

Economy of Scale

 I've been working with folks at the University of Washington to create a Humble Feast event on campus. We've got a group of about 25 students planning to prepare a tasty, affordable meal and serve it to a community of students interested in sensible food choices and local food economies. We'll be using the kitchen and dining room at the Husky Den, the eating establishment in the student union building.

The meal is supposed to be an educational event, showing some strategies for keeping costs low while using good ingredients. This poses an interesting challenge for me: I use creative purchasing arrangements to buy food in bulk for Patty Pan and I'll use many of these same ideas to buy ingredients for the dinner, but it's not always simple to translate these strategies so they're useful for students.

Patty Pan's purchasing model is based on buying leftovers directly from farmers at the end of each market day. This works for us as a business: we're insiders and we do everything we can to give back to the farmers whose surplus we're buying, from feeding them quickly when they're hungry to bringing back their waxed boxes. But many farmers I know become downright surly when customers try to buy produce cheaply at the end of a market day. (One farmer even answers affirmatively when customers ask for end-of-day deals, and then inflates the price as he calculates: a cluelessness surcharge, if you will.)

Why are farmers offended when customers ask for discounts late in the day? It's no secret that the food is perishable and may end up as compost or food bank donations. They're surly partly because they feel that the practice is unfair to the loyal customers who pay full price throughout the day. In addition, the act of asking for any discount--at least in this culture--implies that you don't feel the product is worth its original price, and folks who spend all of their summer daylight hours trying to keep their farms healthy and solvent resent the insinuation that their produce isn't worth the amount they typically charge.

Most farmers I know say they can grow a lot more than they can sell, but unless they stretched themselves too thin vending at too many markets or increased sales by lowering their prices, they wouldn't be able to sell the additional produce. Lowering prices would be counterproductive because it would involve investing even more time and labor to earn the same amount of money.

Some of this surplus is a necessary, built in part of the food and agricultural systems as we know them, both on small and a large scales. Most customers want food that's cosmetically appealing, rather than wilted or full of bug holes. Farmers never knows exactly what's going to sell--or even exactly what's going to grow abundantly--so they hedge their bets and grow a range of options, leaving the less successful beds unpicked.

There must be a way to bridge the gap and use some of this wasted food to help folks who want to eat well but can't afford it, while also offering farmers a financially viable business proposition. I think the answer lies in finding the sweet spot where it's worth it for a farmer to part with these leftovers for a lower price, bringing in some extra income without cutting into regular farm revenue. It also helps to approach the issue with sensitivity and respect.

For the UW Humble Feast dinner, we're organizing a gleaning outing to the university farm. We'll be paying the farm to let us come pick. There's a bed of chard slated to be plowed under: the don't have the labor to pick it or a customer who would buy it but it's lovely chard, and we're going to use it all.

I love the idea of paying to glean, and I wonder what other kinds of applications it could have.

By the way, if you want a good deal at the end of a market day, show that you're a loyal customer by buying regularly, don't ask outright, and don't expect it. You may not get that price break every time, but I bet it'll happen sometimes.

Nettle Soup Allergy Relief

I'm not usually prone to allergies, but I hear they can hit you at any time, and apparently yesterday was the day.

I've been buying stinging nettles from Foraged and Found Edibles at the Ballard and U District markets: they're an early glimpse of spring and while I wouldn't quite say I like the way the taste, my body feels like it needs them. Typically I make nettle pesto by steaming the greens until they're soft and the heat neutralizes their sting, and then I whiz them in the food processor with some goat cheese. That's it. I spread the pesto on crackers or toss it with pasta. Then I add honey to the steaming liquid and enjoy some nettle tea.

When the allergies struck yesterday I wanted something more heavy duty, something that would allow me to eat the entire half-pound bag in a single sitting and set my system back on track. I decided to make a soup, but the larder was mostly bare and the only ingredient that seemed suitable for a nettle soup was a half cup of miso.

I steamed the greens in a big pot, in about a quart of water, and then I removed the nettles, pureed them until they were silky, and whisked the miso into the steaming liquid remaining in the pot. Then I mixed the pureed nettles back into the miso broth. That's it. Two ingredients.

The soup was tasty and rich, and I ate it all. I found myself trying to think of other ingredients that would have enhanced this flavor, but it just didn't need anything else.

I'm also happy to report that this morning I woke up feeling considerably better.

Becoming an Owner

Last Spring when Dev hired me, I became the newest member of the Patty Pan team. I felt lucky to find a group of people who shared my values about food and work and who were so much fun to be around. In late Fall, when Dev proposed turning the business into an employee-owned cooperative, I felt honored that I was asked to be a part of it. I would be able to dedicate a percentage of my working hours each week toward owning shares in the business. No monetary investment up front. All sweat equity. It seemed too good to be true.

On January 1, 2013, when Patty Pan Grill officially became Patty Pan Grill Cooperative, it didn't seem right that there was no fanfare. No unveiling ceremony. No document in the mail. No ribbon cutting. It is a strange feeling to change from being the employee of a business to becoming a partial owner. Gradually, along with the excitement and starry-eyed dreams, I started to feel the weight of responsibility. Having spent most of my working life as an employee, I realized how different it was going to feel to be a part of owning and directing my place of employment - exciting, empowering, but scary.

The transition from sole proprietorship to a cooperative is bound to be interesting and challenging at times. We have all depended on Dev as our fearless leader and she has been incredibly fair, open and accessible. However, now we will have the opportunity and responsibility of weighing in on decisions. Voicing our opinions must not only reflect our own self-interest, but the health of the Cooperative as a whole. Thinking of the all the aspects of our business, from relationships with vendors to annual reports to rolling tamales is overwhelming. Fears creep in about my own inadequacies and what my new role will demand.

It is a big experiment. The only way I'm going to have enough courage to take the necessary steps is to make the transition real by celebrating it. If fanfare feels needed, I’m going to have to make it happen! Accordingly, later this month we will have a party for ourselves. Probably won’t be spending a lot of company funds on booze, though. When you start to be personally responsible for the bottom line, your perspective shifts a bit.

"i must become the action of my fate"  must become the action of my fate" --June Jordan