Tastebuds Transatlantic

Chapter 3

I had not slept in a month, tossing and turning with fears about my son, Erin and her family, my restaurant, and my employees, not to mention the future of the world and everyone in it, and now I had a stiff neck. My gray hair was coming in like everyone else’s over forty, with our salons closed, but I was starting to notice gray hairs in my eyebrows and dark circles under my eyes. Just days after submitting our PPP loan application, information came through news channels and social media, from health experts and politicians, like jabs out of nowhere, leaving me dazed and confused.

Restaurants would be slow to open and would have to limit capacity and practice social distancing. My passion was to offer downtown and midtown workers a healthy lunch alternative, as efficient and economical as the fast-food places so many of us are forced to eat at. Profiting from that passion depended almost entirely on volume. ‘How could I be expected to limit capacity?’ I wondered.

As I waited and tried to stay positive, I learned that corporations with millions of dollars in reserve had drained the money from the PPP Loan. It seemed our rescue boat quickly filled up with people who had their own lifeboats, and people like me, who were treading water, were simply left to drown. I felt betrayed by my bank and abandoned by my government.

A task force, headed by elite chefs with fine-dining establishments and restaurant executives of billion-dollar chains, was formed to address the needs of restaurant workers, appointed by Donald Trump, void of women and immigrants, and we, as an industry, lost our unified front. Yet another family divided by a president unwilling or unable to see value in anything other than money and power, and those who have it.

Attending to a personal matter, I called the pastor of my church, Father Mark Riley, to confirm that my son’s baptism, scheduled for April 18th, was indeed canceled due to COVID. He confirmed what I already knew and asked how I was doing. Of course, I told him the truth. It was the first time I could stop pretending I was ok. I didn’t have to be brave for him or strong for him. He wasn’t a business partner, employee, or customer. He listened, and I could feel his heart breaking alongside mine. He had known me for years and had been to Tastebuds several times. He knew my restaurant was my baby, my first baby, anyway! He said he would pray for my sister and me.

Later that day, Father Mark sent a text saying that if we had to liquidate, to please consider St. Michael Archangel parish as a potential buyer. He explained that they were in the process of renovating the church hall and their commercial kitchen to better serve the growing needs of the community. He said that he hoped I wouldn’t take it the wrong way, and that he was sure Tastebuds would bounce back. He texted, “Forgive me. This is like asking a dying man if you can have his stereo!”

The clock was ticking, the end of the month was approaching, and Tastebuds’ bank account was down to $1200. I called my landlord to explain that we couldn't pay our rent. He was willing to work with us; however, he made it very clear that rent was not being forgiven; it was simply being delayed. When I explained that with no income for several months, we would never be able to catch up on the rent, he rather coldly suggested we sell.

Although we had interest from potential buyers, Erin and I agreed that I could not sell Tastebuds in good faith. I felt strongly that I would be selling my dream for pennies on the dollar, and even then, with a deal that good, it was unlikely the new owner would succeed. I reached out to my attorney, uttering words I never in my life would have ever expected to say, like bankruptcy and default, eviction and protection. I spent my life building excellent credit since I was 18, and I convinced Sears to issue me my first credit card with the promise of a large purchase: furniture for my first apartment.

Over the next few days, Erin and I tried to figure out who our customers would be when we reopened, offering take-out or delivery only, to gauge the volume of business we would do. She reached out to many area businesses that made up our core customer base. Several of the bigger companies said they were working from home and would likely continue to do so. We learned that commercial photographers who had supported us from the very start and had become very dear friends had closed permanently, and they were devastated. Our beloved college, high school, and grade school teachers and faculty would not return until the fall. We knew we could count on our first responders and our construction workers, but would that be enough?

Just then, news broke about the closure of the biggest meat manufacturing plant in the US, Smithfield Farms. Hundreds of employees tested positive for Coronavirus, and I was sure this would limit supplies and drive up costs. I was whittling our menu down even further to a vegetarian version when I began to wonder about the safety of all farms and the health of all farmers, food producers, and delivery drivers. Our customers trusted us implicitly. We were a model of perfection when it came to food safety and sanitation, but could I really guarantee my customers wouldn't get ill after collecting their food from Tastebuds or having it delivered by a third party?

I realized that I could have my staff wear hazmat suits, and it still wouldn’t stop the potential spread of COVID, so I decided to remain closed. I exhausted myself, worrying every minute of every day for another week, calling the bank every day, only to hear the same recorded message that our loan status was pending, while major news outlets reported that the PPP funds had dried up. Succumbing to the shocking reality that Tastebuds, a landmark restaurant for nearly two decades, was not going to make it, Erin and I decided to go and see what equipment the church might want to buy.

Meanwhile in Ireland…

Earlier this morning, I sat outside on a recliner with my right leg propped up on a couch cushion, hoping the sun would peek out from behind these stubborn, slow-moving clouds. I was staring at this gaping hole in my inner calf just above my ankle and three tiny holes below it that seem headed for the same awful fate. My dad diagnosed them as Venous ulcers on our recent trip to the States. He's been practicing medicine since the seventies as our self-appointed, non-certified family doctor, and he’s usually spot on, no matter how hard it is to believe him! I was sure it was cancer or some flesh-eating disease. This case presented no challenge for him at all, because he has them too, and they ain’t pretty!

I remember growing up, knowing that I had inherited my strong, masculine-looking legs from my dad. I told my son once that I had been a cheerleader in grade school, and he had to spit out his drink; he was laughing so hard. He didn’t believe me until I told him that some girls make the squad because they need someone to hold up the pyramid! Standing on the sidelines of that football field, jumping and clapping in a miniskirt, I always knew that I would’ve made a better linebacker! While I always wished that I had slender, sexy legs like all the other girls, I know that they would not have supported me as well as these tree trunks have in my line of work!

I only wish I had taken better care of my legs because now, I simply can’t. The life of a chef is the only life for me, and three years into Tastebuds, Cork, I really can’t see myself doing anything else until my book is published. Even then, I plan to travel around promoting my book and cooking for my audience instead of signing books. Seriously, do people really even want their book signed? I think they just want a moment with the author, and how sad that the author has to look down and crank out monotonous signatures during that moment. It is my signature dish my dear readers that I will be giving you during our precious moment together!

I am doing the best I can to help my wounds heal, which includes one day of resting my feet and elevating my legs. Today is Saturday, and I know it would be a busy day for me at Tastebuds, and you’ve gotta make hay while the sun shines here in Ireland, but I just can’t do it. Sunday is a day for writing, shopping, and prepping, so Saturday is my only true day off, and I have to take advantage of it. The pain is excruciating and comes and goes without warning. It wakes me several times during the night, but when that 5:30 alarm wakes me each morning I must prep, cook, and serve no matter how I am feeling. People depend on me, or so I tell myself, and I love what I do. I love my horsebox so so much. The people that come there light up my life. Serving them coffee, feeding them my food, chatting them up brings me unending joy, and having Ari there sometimes to experience it too is just magical!

I’m in a groove since I’ve come back from a two week visit to the States. It's been busier than ever, but it's gotten a bit easier. With this extreme heat (upper 70s!), I sell less food and more drinks. My fresh-squeezed lemonade is finally taking off, and I’m selling lots of flavoured iced coffees. Thankfully, I increased the prices of a few items just a bit before reopening, to keep up with my rising costs, but I am sure I still have the best prices in Midleton.

Eliminating the Blue Walnut, the last remaining salad from my original healthier menu, has been a Godsend. I’ve got more time, more space in my coolers, and more money leftover at the end of the week. There is less waste and way less stress when a queue forms, since I long abandoned making them up ahead of time and began making them to order. I am embarrassed by how long it took to get it through my head that people here just don’t eat the type of salads we do in America. Salads are what I do best and what I enjoy making and eating the most, so it’s a bit of a heartbreak, I guess.

I’ve expanded my breakfast bagel menu to include à la carte items like Nutella, peanut butter, bananas, cream cheese, and jam in addition to bacon, ham, eggs, cheddar cheese, and avocado. It has been slow to catch on, but one little boy was absolutely delighted that he could have a toasted bagel and put the single-serve packet of cream cheese on himself with one of my little spreaders. He said he felt like a chef, and he told his mom he wanted to bring his dad next time and that this was his new favorite restaurant!

I live for moments like that, and clearly, I’m willing to die, or at least suffer greatly for moments like that too! I could do an entire newsletter on the sacrifices, mostly physical, one must make as a chef and restaurateur, but a more fitting way to end this post is to share a poem that I last heard at the eulogy of a dear friend who’s funeral I was able to livestream from here. Cleveland chef, Mike Sokolowski passed away much too soon, at the age of 65, no doubt from health issues that plague the restaurant industry sadly. His brother Bernie read this poem at the end of his very touching eulogy.

More than a lovely light, Mike gave everyone that entered his restaurant, Sokolowski’s University Inn, generous helpings of delicious food, genuine warmth, the funniest jokes and observations, and he’d hip you to the coolest music! He gave all he had to give without much consideration of the personal cost and that is a life well lived, and that is the life of a chef and there is nothing I would rather be!

Thank You for Being Here With Me, My Friend!

Cheers!

Bridget

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Share

Tastebuds Transatlantic

Chapter Two

Mid-April, as we began our second sweep of Tastebuds, mainly emptying and discarding what was left in our coolers, a sense of uncertainty came over me. I was so used to having all the answers, right or wrong. Owning a successful restaurant for nineteen years will make you c…

Read more

Irish rock and blues legend Rory Gallagher famously said that all he wanted to do was travel around and play for those people who were interested! It is a simple statement, but one I needed to hear. In my last newsletter, I shared that I had been struggling with my new Irish desire to write and perform my stories simply for art’s sake and my American-born hope to achieve commercial success and the money and fame that come with it. I came away from the experience of getting to know who Rory was, beyond his music, not wanting to waste any more time on book proposals and query letters. I vowed instead to put all my energy into the audience I have now, in the town where I am from, the town where I currently live, and in my loving community on Substack, all of whom I am so grateful for!

Enough overthinking it. This is my story, and it begins with Tastebuds Cleveland and ends with Tastebuds Cork, thus the title Tastebuds Transatlantic. I played around with other titles, but in the end, all I am trying to do is connect my past with the present through my experience of running a restaurant in the States and a food trailer here in Ireland, while offering testimony that it is indeed better to give than to receive. My life was made extraordinary when I learned to cook well. By feeding others, my soul was nourished, the empty places inside me were filled, and I found everything that I had ever craved. Hopefully, this memoir will be published, and then I will be lucky enough to travel around and share my God-given gifts with those who are interested, much like Rory Gallagher!

So here goes! I’ll just start sending you chapters along with any news of the day that might be interesting or whatever’s on my mind at the time. Thank you all so much for reading and supporting my work! You ROCK!!!

Part I

Tastebuds Transatlantic

Chapter One

It took two days and ten to twelve men to remove every trace of Tastebuds, the restaurant that I built in Cleveland, Ohio, from scratch 19 years prior. I had to remind myself to breathe when grief would take hold of my lungs. With really sick people being denied treatment at hospitals to make room for victims of the Corona Virus, this was no time for a panic attack, or worse. An architect friend of mine, Glen Murray, said the words that became my mantra, “Tastebuds is not the four walls that hold it. Tastebuds is you.”

These words became harder and harder to say as decisions had to be made quickly about the lavish furnishings, original artwork, equipment, and supplies that had accumulated over nearly two decades and covered more than 7,000 square feet. Coolers were being loaded onto moving trucks as I scrambled to peel off pictures of my employees’ children, that I was lucky enough to spot on their way out the back door.

Two weeks before the moving trucks arrived, my sister and business partner Erin, and I were only beginning to grasp our dire situation. We had been hard at work scaling down our menu, offering just a few items for take-out only, that she and I could prepare and package with a skeleton crew. She began researching online ordering and delivery options that made us cringe in the past. We never wanted to be an automated restaurant for anonymous customers, with a counter full of anxious Uber Eats drivers.

Seeing our regulars is what got us out of bed each day, and experiencing that joyful exchange of gratitude and appreciation. I came up with the idea for Tastebuds because being a professional chef was lonely, the long hours made me miserable, and I’d had enough of the abuse that was so prevalent in my restaurant experiences in the 80s and 90s. I set out to prove that you could lead a kitchen with love and still be successful. Happiness was the ultimate goal at Tastebuds, and it drove every decision, including opening just three hours a day, five days a week; serving lunch only; and closing for two weeks every six months.

As a distraction from seeing the soul of what made my restaurant so special, being torn from its body, I started turning a screenplay I’d been writing into a one-woman show. Erin agreed that we could turn our loft, where we catered private events and meetings, into an intimate dinner theater.

We could use my show as a fundraiser, performing it until we had enough money to reopen Tastebuds. We were so excited. We knew that even if I bombed as an actress, my stories were interesting enough to be entertaining. We knew the food would be good and that people would feel great about helping a worthy cause like ours. We figured everyone would be anxious for a night out on the town after being cooped up in their homes for so long.

Even though the $15,000 we had in the bank account in mid-March had dropped to $ 3,000 seemingly overnight, I thought it was important to take this opportunity to strip and wax the floors and give the walls a fresh coat of paint. Seldom do you get the chance to spruce up a restaurant at your leisure, and I was thrilled to give two employees, still waiting for their unemployment checks, a chance to earn some money. After two or three hours of cleaning and clearing away furniture and heavy equipment, and preparing the floors for waxing and the walls for painting, I tried to give them enough money to buy groceries for their families.

Neither of them would take the money I offered. I was touched, but then I broke Covid’s ‘six-foot-apart’ guideline, and wrestled the money into their hands! I had been so fortunate that my employees had stayed with me, some from the very beginning. They were my family, and I’d always taken care of them to the best of my ability. It felt strange that they seemed worried about me.

Meanwhile in Ireland…

Ari graduated from primary school! The changes are coming so fast. I swear to God, my baby was a young boy last Christmas, and now he’s a young man, and he is taller, faster, and stronger than me! Kids in Ireland attend primary school from junior infants (pre-school in America) to sixth class (6th grade). Then it’s on to secondary school, also called college, from first year through sixth year (senior year). Then university! Since I don’t want to cry anymore, I will just share my journal entries with you from Ari’s last day of school, back to his first!

Enjoy!

Ari’s Last Day of Primary School…

Journal Entry

23rd June 2026

Alas, we are no longer the pilot and co-pilot of our adventurous life. Now Ari wants to fly the plane with one of his mates at his side. I picture myself, way back in coach now, with a book I’ve long been waiting to read. Only, I can’t concentrate. I keep wondering if I trained him well for anything that could go wrong as he pursues his dreams and passions. And I am hoping he will check in with me every once in a while, maybe even lean down and give me a kiss as he’s passing by.

I found it incredibly hard to hold back tears at his primary school graduation, thinking about how fast time flew. Midleton Educate Together was the perfect school for Ari, coming from Campus International in Cleveland. The schools shared a similar ethos and were fully inclusive and non-denominational. Mental health was the central focus, and Ari’s happiness mattered most to me, considering that I uprooted him from everyone and everything he’d ever known at six years old and during a global pandemic! I am happy he went there.

Academically, there are many better schools. When I compare Ari’s grammar, penmanship, ability to do quick, simple math, and general knowledge to those of our neighbors of the same age, there is no doubt that the Catholic and Irish schools are superior. But we live in an age, I’m sorry to say, that none of that matters anymore. I’d say having a strong character, a strong work ethic, and an interest in and understanding of how things work matters more. But my beliefs and opinions aren’t going to make secondary school any easier on Ari. I worry about how difficult our lives are about to get. As one of my former bosses, John Minillo, used to say, “Playschool’s over, kids, it’s time to work!”

A Look Back to the First Day of Primary School…

Journal Entry

August 27th 2020

Today is Ari’s first day of school in Ireland! This is nothing short of a triumph!!! It took everything in me not to celebratory dance the whole way home as if I had just scored the winning touchdown of the Super Bowl! Seriously! I wanted to high-five or jump up and bump bellies with every parent I passed along the way!

And my boy was BEYOND BRAVE! He was excited, curious who he was gonna meet, and hopeful he would see some kids he had met at the playground. The rain was no bother. We left our apartment at 8:10 and arrived at the school at 8:33. He was due in at 8:40. We had a leisurely breakfast. I let Ari pick out something special for breakfast, and he picked strawberry Pop-Tarts! He chose what he was going to wear and set it out last night, and then we wrote his name on all of his school supplies. He took a long, hot bath after a very filling dinner, yet we still didn’t fall asleep until 12:30. But we woke joyous and expectant!

I packed him a lunch of Irish ham and cheese on brioche with a side of grapes and a yogurt. I made his new favorite tropical fruit juice, filled his Harry Potter water bottle, and put everything in his Hogwarts lunch box. We had enough time to sit on my bed for five minutes before we left. I told him that if either of us feels sad or misses each other today, we could put our hand over our heart and think about each other. He said, “I’m good, I’ll be Ok!”

I snapped a couple of pictures along the way, and I carried his book bag for him. Ari carried his lunchbox and the umbrella. The rain had stopped, but we didn’t notice for the longest time, which gave us a great laugh!

The teachers at the school looked just as excited as the kids. The traffic jam of cars waiting to get in and out of the school parking lot made me so happy that we could walk to school. The drop off was easy, and Ari was so excited to enter the building that I had to call him back to me for a kiss!

So now I am home, and instead of tackling all my chores, I am gonna allow myself to just sit back and take it all in; the silence, the calm, but more importantly, the achievement. I wanted my boy to have a happy life, a great education, and safety. What a beautiful thing it is to see children entering a school without having to walk through metal detectors. To not have a police officer comb through the contents of children’s backpacks. For me to not have to walk away feeling uneasy or worried.

Ari and I loved Cleveland’s Campus International, but seriously, it was adjacent to a women’s homeless shelter, and mentally unwell men and women were camped out all around Ari’s school, getting high or drunk. The treelawns were always littered with cheap wine bottles and beer cans. People lived in cars on the streets, and there was broken glass and litter everywhere.

The fresh air and the fragrance of flowers, drenched Earth, and freshly cut grass were intoxicating this morning! You do have to watch out for dog poop; it is weird how much you see of it! Oh, the total lack of road rage is unbelievable. Everyone lets everyone go, and with a kind wave and a smile, too! I seriously could not be happier. I am bursting with pride for all that Ari and I have accomplished!

Thank You for Being Here With Me, My Friend!

Cheers!

Bridget

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Share

Well, I’ve done it! I’ve taken a story to the stage, not to read or recite, but simply to tell. Sounds easy enough. Especially for me, someone who has been telling stories her whole life, to anybody who’d listen! But these are the big leagues here in Ireland, where storytelling is much more than an art form or f…

Read more

Welcome to My 63rd Newsletter, My Friends!

My promise to you when you subscribed to my newsletter was to take you along on my journey from Cleveland to Cork and from riches to rags, as I construct my memoir, raw, unfiltered, and in real time, sharing stories, recipes, and techniques. Well, the time has come when my rags have worn thin, and I must turn th…

Read more

Leave a comment

Share

Leave a comment

Share

Happy New Year 2026!

In 2020, I rang in the New Year at a very swanky party thrown by the coolest Cleveland neighbors one could ever hope for! Sometimes, when I look at pictures and videos taken that evening, I wonder if the hosts, Linda and Keith, knew that it would be the last celebration of its kind for a long, l…

Read more

What a Summer! While I have missed you all terribly, I have so many reasons, both good and bad, why you have not heard from me. Tastebuds Cork has been incredibly busy, prompting me to open six days a week with most days beginning for me at 5 a.m. and continuing through 10 p.m. Ari became incredibly passionate abou…

Read more

As everyone posts their pictures of the first day back to school, I thought it would be fun to take a look back at Ari’s first day of school in Ireland 5 years ago.

I began writing this before the horrific school shooting that took place at Annunciation Catholic Church in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and I paused, think…

Read more

As we celebrate the fifth anniversary of our move to Cork, Ireland from Cleveland, Ohio, I thought it would be interesting to crack open those 2020 journals from July and August and share what it was like for us. I hope you enjoy this look back as much as I have. Thank you so much for supporting us throughout our …

Read more

Leave a comment

Share

Five years ago today, on July 20th, 2020, Ari and I boarded a plane for Dublin, after many tearful goodbyes and parting words spoken through disposable face masks. We had packed two suitcases, one carry-on, one backpack, and a shoulder bag containing my computer and every document I could think of that might gain…

Read more

Well, MasterClass has done it again. Grabbed my face by my jaw, pulled it downward toward the blank page, put a pen in my hand, and said, “Write the story goddamnit! Just get the story down and worry about everything else later.”

Enough distractions! I promised that I would be writing my memoir here, “raw and in real…

Read more

Cheers!

Bridget

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Share

With Tastebuds Cork being incredibly busy now that summer is here (for the first time in years!), expect to see a lot more videos than written posts.

Thank You For Being Here With Me My Friend!

Cheers!

Bridget

Leave a comment

Share

It has been a beautiful couple of weeks here in Midleton, Cork, for more reasons than one, so I thought I would make a quick video to share with you all. Somehow, though, my brain doesn’t seem to be working right today. Perhaps it is saving its brilliance for later! What this video lacks in articulation, I hope …

Read more