We’d smashed the crowd funder! We were in talks with a landlord. We were a bit high on it all and then one night someone said to me “Don’t lose your authenticity, Jo!” At the time I wasn’t sure how to react. You see change has never been something we’ve been frightened of. In fact at times we’ve embraced it. Leave our jobs to run a sandwich shop. Exciting. Change the sandwich shop into a brunch place. The next step. Do small plates in the evening, some pies on a Sunday. Evolution. Add another brand, do takeaways, bake bread. Water off a ducks back.
So when someone says “you wont change will you Jo?”, I don’t know how to respond. Because I look around this tiny little room on North Street and I think “we’ve done nothing but change”. Of course not every change has been successful. Our attempt at an alternative Sunday lunch didn’t take off. Brunch was a dud. And quite frankly Nose To Tail Street food was not the money spinner we thought it would be. It turns out not every trend to arrive from London translates in to ringing cash tills in Yorkshire.
So now as we’re about to make our biggest change yet am I scared?? Oh my god! So scared!
I’m scared in a way I’ve never been before. Because this time we are moving out of the security of this little shop on North Street. A place that I’ve come to love and hate in equal measures. It’s been a constant through all the twists, turns and pivots. I’ve proudly defended it when it’s been attacked by those wanting something more slick and high end. I’ve beamed in pride when it’s amazed those who doubted it. And now I’m abandoning it.
What if the Swine is a thing that can only happen here. In this place?
The fear at times has been almost paralysing. And then I went to The Sunday Sessions at The Attic on Sheaf Street.
So a bit of background for all of my dear readers not Leeds based. Once there was a small pub. And it grew both in size and stature. As the years passed people came for first dates, then second dates and some even came for weddings. There were birthdays and anniversaries celebrated. Friends were met and made. On Sundays whole families sat down to lunch. Doting grandparents sat at big tables exclaiming over babies’ new words. Board games were played on Wednesday. Local beers were drank after work on Tuesdays. It was The Reli and it was loved.
It was a place where you felt safe enough to drink a glass of wine alone, tired after a day where nothing had gone right and all you wanted to do was be quiet on the rickety bench outside, in the early evening sun, and reflect on how you were going to do things better the next day. And maybe you’d be joined for a quick chat by one of the chefs just finishing shift, before he got off home.
It was a lot of things to a lot of people, and I thought it was gone
image Betty Longhorn
But then I walked into The Attic and it was all just there. In the warmth of the hug from Becs as she came from behind the bar to greet me. In the cries of happy surprise as I met people I hadn’t seen since the old days. I sat at a table with friends. They introduced me to new friends. For a couple of hours on a blustery grey Sunday I laughed and forgot my fears. Comfortable enough to start up a conversation with a young couple sat behind us. Shouting over to a Facebook friend, known but not an intimate. It was a place of warmth and safety in an uncertain world. It was The Reli.
But of course it’s not. Times have changed and we can’t go back. But It’s made me realise that The Swine isn’t just bricks and mortar. It’s Jo and Stu. It’s Paul. It’s the couple who come in early doors so they can be home for a TV binge. The couple who have us on their restaurant rotation. The woman who will only ever comes with her friend when she visits from London. For those catch ups without anyone else to disturb them. The Swine is their place. There’s guy who comes for lunch after donating blood. And yes, the guy who said “don’t lose your authenticity Jo.”
Am I still scared? Yes. Of course. But do I have a little more belief we can do this. Absolutely. Because I know now that a restaurant is more than tables and chairs. It’s the welcome as you walk through the door. The waive as you leave. The walking away down the street with a big smile on your face because that was just what you needed at that moment in time.
Long Live The Reli.
