Category: Inspiration (page 4 of 7)

June 15, 2019

Four-Star Farm Stand

Originally published in the Summer 2019 issue of Stock & Barrel

Have you ever ordered a steak that was so spectacular, you wished you could ask the chef to carve off a couple more and wrap them up for the road?

That probably wasn’t what Joe and Jane Blystone had in mind when their fourth-generation farm started processing their own meat on-site more than a decade ago. But that’s kind of how it worked out. Their butcher shop and bakery soon led to a taproom, which inspired a bona fide farm-to-table restaurant. With a crafted collection of better beers and an enviable selection of elevated fare, Blystone Farm has evolved from a destination into a gathering place that lures more than just the locals.

Despite the burgeoning business, Blystone is still small where it matters most, treating guests and staff more like family, and attracting top talent like Tyler Toles as executive chef.

“We’re not very big on titles around here. Joe is just good at putting the right people in the right position,” admitted Toles, whose experience in better-known kitchens in Columbus didn’t dissuade him from stepping outside his culinary school comfort zone to run a four-star farm stand. “We talked as we walked around the farm, and I admired what Joe was trying to do at Blystone. So he invited me to become part of the family.”

What once was a commercial sheep farm has become a passion project. Joe’s hands-on approach to operations combined with Jane’s coffee shop and bakery background also made the couple perfect business partners.

“He’s so much more than a boss. Joe is everyone’s dad, but he still feeds the cows everyday,” Toles chided. “Jane is a pastry chef and beer connoisseur, but if we’re short-staffed, she’s out in front waiting on customers. It’s just part of the culture here at Blystone.”

Lunch and dinner daily with breakfast on the weekend sounds pretty typical, until you take your first bite. Even something as simple as a sandwich seems entirely original when it’s hand-pressed Wagyu beef smothered in fried onions and gooey Gouda—or a house blend patty topped with four strips of bacon, two slices of cheddar, and a fried egg, rightly called “The Whole Dang Farm.”

“A lot of people love our pasta, especially our mac and cheese. We start with semolina and durum flour and eggs, every shell is hand cut. The sauce is heavy cream and shredded cheddar,” he noted. “I’m from a fine dining background, so coming to Blystone was a bit of a culture shock—somewhere people appreciate real mac and cheese more than I’ve ever had guests appreciate foie gras or beluga caviar.”

Vanilla pancakes, scratch-made biscuits and gravy, and breakfast hash made from bacon ends instead of corned beef are surely standouts. But the star of the menu is still the steak.

“We dry-age our steaks in-house so we’re able to offer them at a price point where a 20-ounce ribeye will cost you $45. If you order that same steak in some locations in Columbus, you’re going to pay at least $170,” explained Toles. “American Wagyu is also hard to find at our prices. We work with farms like ours to meet our demand, so we don’t really have a middleman.”

As tempting as every confection is on the bakery side, the butcher shop offers an equally enticing case for carnivores. From flat irons and filets to short ribs and sliders, all the way up to a whole Wagyu brisket for $158. Those stocking up for a backyard soiree will find plenty of entry-level options as well, from those same hand-pressed patties to buck-a-brat specials.

“We don’t raise chickens here, but we work with four local farms because every chicken tastes different and we only want the best,” he revealed, preferring to feature local purveyors and products that make more sense to source instead. “We can’t supply everything ourselves, so we find folks who do it better than we could. Quality determines our partnerships, not price.”

The livestock and crops aren’t the only offerings from Blystone Farm that are organic. So is the marketing—limited to word of mouth, Facebook posts with preparation suggestions from their butcher shop, and Hank, one of their cattle dogs, whose popular pic wearing a cowboy hat earned him his own Instagram account.

Asked about the exact inspiration of each expansion, Toles explained it was the butcher shop that unexpectedly led to the taproom, then the restaurant, because customers wanted to stay, sit out on the patio, and have a beer and a bite to eat.

“Our taps are more seasonal. Right now, we have a lot of pilsners and goses, but during the cooler months Jane features more porters and stouts,” he noted. “Exclusivity also brings folks in. Kinda Fuzzy by Jackie O’s is kind of hard to get in this market, 3 Floyds is rare to find and we feature them regularly.”

One of the first events Toles undertook was a beer dinner in collaboration with Jackie O’s. The event sold out and everyone raved about it. Joe told Toles, “We should really do more of this. We’re pretty good at it.” Not long after, Toles pulled into work one day and noticed Joe clearing ground, so he walked up and asked what was going on.

“‘I’m building an event center,’ said Joe. It was that simple,” Toles recalled. “Joe built it personally in less than a year. He had some help with the brick and the electrical, but other than that, it was all him. The design, the details, down to the staining of the concrete.”

The Barn, a nearly 4,000 square-foot event space, is key to their expanding scope. A petting zoo is in the works and fundraising for the new Blystone Agricultural Community is underway, a nonprofit with an emphasis on education and experiences for future farmers. “Beards & Brews” and a “Wagyu Cookout” are already scheduled for this summer to get the program started.

“Columbus is urban, and Canal Winchester is definitely growing. But we’re still a farming community,” Toles explained. “Joe wants to encourage the next generation of family farms by giving city kids who may not consider farming the opportunity to raise livestock. We have almost a hundred acres out here. If I know one thing for certain, as long as Joe has land and can keep building, Blystone is going to keep growing.” ▩

For details on all that Blystone Farm has to offer, including menus and special events, visit blystonefarm.com

May 1, 2019

Season of the Witch

Originally published in the May 2019 issue of (614) Magazine

When it comes to weird, Austin may market their offbeat brand, but Columbus quietly holds its own.

Despite a disparaging white bread reputation, we’ve secretly become a Midwest mecca for ideas that often seem at odds with the cows and corn fields that surround us. Which is why WitchLab, the occult emporium for oddities and macabre antiques, found Franklinton was the perfect fit.

“I seriously started to consider a retail space about a year ago. So we looked and spent a lot of time talking to building owners,” recalled Tiffany Boggins, founder of WitchLab. “But as soon as I mentioned what we were doing, suddenly the space wasn’t available, the rent quadrupled, or they just weren’t interested anymore.”

Boggins had been working out of her suburban basement for years with business partner Tona Pearson. Originally intended to become an online store for wholesale supplies, classes and community soon distinguished and defined the brand, providing the personal connection practitioners lacked most.

“I realized I missed being around other people—having coworkers, having people stop by, having a designated place that wasn’t my home started to become imperative,” she noted. “I put it on the back burner and focused on classes and ideas for building our product base. Then in June, we had the opportunity to look at this building, only because we knew the landlord, and it all went very smoothly.”

Finding the right space isn’t uncommon for small businesses, especially those that struggle with stereotypes and prejudice. Their biggest concern should be making sure customers can find them, though many often have a tough time finding a space themselves.

“Witchcraft is a word that can shut many doors, but it can also open a lot of doors,” Boggins revealed. “Once you start using the word publicly and with pride, people start coming out of the woodwork who have been looking for somewhere to go, to talk openly, to be themselves.”

The Westside has evolved into a safe harbor for artists and entrepreneurs across all industries. From 400 West Rich to The Idea Foundry, the initial enclave of innovators and outsiders continues to expand its geographic and creative footprint.

“We’re both involved in the arts community here and everything is so grassroots. That’s why people love it,” explained Pearson. “It’s artists and makers running their own spaces. Not businesses selling things.”

Even areas as live-and-let-live as Franklinton aren’t always welcome. Boggins and Pearson made of point of getting to know their neighbors at the mission down the block during construction, and hosted a winter solstice open house to help dispel any lingering concerns, to shed some light into the shadows that tend to surround their craft.

“We were looking at parts of town that weren’t like the Short North. I used to be part owner of Piercology. Tattoo and piercing places also have a tough time with landlords,” Boggins recalled. “We actually moved from the Short North to Victorian Village to get away from what was going on there and the transformation to trendy. We just weren’t interested in being there anymore.”

Every aspiring chef who eventually escapes their home kitchen or artisan who outgrows a garage knows finding that first space isn’t easy—and finding the perfect space is nearly impossible. But WitchLab found the right fit in an empty storefront they could cast into whatever they wanted: a robust retail space, a dedicated classroom, a library open to the public, private reading rooms, and an enormous basement for production.

“All of the places I looked at before, I was picking and choosing what I’d have to give up. But here, I could do everything I wanted,” Boggins said. “It gave me all of the things I couldn’t find elsewhere. Plenty of space, parking is great, and I don’t have to sugar-coat anything or change the way I talk about what we do.”

Magic isn’t as maligned as it used to be, but is rarely represented faithfully on screen. Even Harry Potter still draws some ire and CBS sent the series Strange Angel straight to their streaming service. Both Boggins and Pearson admitted they’re fans of Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Despite its somewhat inaccurate depictions, it breaks down barriers and starts a conversation.

“Pop culture and the political climate are making witchcraft less obscure. We used to be all of the ‘weird kids’, but now we’re adults who are finding each other,” Pearson explained, revealing an unexpected clientele. “Christian parents bring in their weird kids in because they support their kids, because they want to learn.”

“They’ll come in and say, ‘I don’t know anything about this, but they’re really interested. How do I help them?’,” Boggins added. “We didn’t realize that was going to happen. Since then, we’ve brought in a lot of material for those just starting out, at any age, books for beginners.”

Beyond the obvious intrigue of the two-headed calf and the human skeleton in the corner named Clay, it’s the more mundane supplies that attract fellow practitioners from far and wide. Their annual autumn event, The Dark Market, attracts vendors and patrons from across the country. But after a December opening to find their footing, spring is when WitchLab expects to hit its stride.

“All of the Pagan holidays are based on balance. So we have the extremes, the solstices with the longest and shortest days of the year, and the equinoxes, where the pendulum is in the middle,” noted Boggins. “That’s when, particularly in the spring, people are itching to start something new. It’s a season of awakening and perfect timing for us, to be open for a few months listening to our clientele and ready when they are.” ▩

For details on events and classes, visit witchlab.com

April 1, 2019

Cutting Edge

Originally published in the April 2019 issue of (614) Magazine

Julia Richey has a persuasive presence, even without a sword.

Since immigrating to the U.S. two decades ago, she’s managed to parlay her passion for fencing into an ever-widening community of athletes and enthusiasts well beyond Central Ohio. A member of the Russian National Team since her teens, Richey’s credibility may only be matched by her charm. Point of fact, her continued requests for more stage time at the Arnold Fitness Expo ultimately led to the construction of her own stage. (It probably didn’t hurt that Schwarzenegger himself is a huge fan of both fencing and its unapologetic ambassador.)

“My goal is to make fencing more popular in Columbus than football,” she quipped.

Then again, maybe she wasn’t kidding. Despite the long odds of success for anyone starting a small business from scratch, Royal Arts Fencing Academy has adapted and expanded to encompass a rich range of edged weapons and combat styles — most notably HEMA, the less cumbersome acronym for Historical European Martial Arts.

“The HEMA groups are like we were 20 years ago, practicing in yoga rooms and parks. Fencing clubs are a natural fit because we have our own space,” revealed Tim Mills, fencing coach and Richey’s business and creative counterpart.

From Lord of the Rings to Game of Thrones, medieval fantasy meets real metal with HEMA. Despite the persistent stigma of ‘nerds with swords’, the mix of fight choreography and full-contact combat surely burns more calories than another boring trip to the gym.

“Someone who starts here with a longsword may also decide to pick up a rapier. There’s a lot of crossover and common skills — distance, timing, angle, and leverage,” explained Frank Zamary, head HEMA instructor. “If you have those basic components, you can fight with any sword.”

Not that there’s a shortage of “nerdoms”, Zamary coyly confessed. And Mills was quick to note the social overlap between evenings spent playing Dungeons & Dragons and wielding actual weapons was quite high at Royal Arts.

“It’s a very nerdy place,” Richey confirmed. “This is the only time you’ll hear parents tell their kids to put down that book and go workout.”

Competitive and recreational fencing haven’t been immune to the increasing fears of parents when it comes to sports, as seen by dramatic declines in youth football in particular. Add to that the common perception of swordplay, and you’d think fencing would be an even tougher sell.

Fortunately, Richey and Mills are adept at emphasizing the unique benefits of fencing while allaying such concerns. Much like other martial arts, the precision and discipline required often help students find the focus and attention to detail necessary for academic success as well.

“That’s the hardest part, overcoming the idea that fencing is more dangerous than other sports when it’s actually safer than most,” Mills noted. “We do a lot of public exhibitions, for parents as much as the kids. If I can put a sword in your hand, you’ll get hooked.”

But summer camps and workshops aren’t just for kids. The schedule offers adult classes ranging from lightsabers to bartitsu — a combination of kickboxing, cane fighting, and improvised combat popularized by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle that’s seen a recent revival. Last June, Benedict Cumberbatch famously fought off four muggers single-handedly with skills he acquired during his stint as the BBC’s Sherlock Holmes.

“Someone gave me a Groupon as a gift for the lightsaber class, and I just kept coming,” admitted Shaun Reed, who now teaches the class. “Tim asked me to help work on choreography for the Arnold a few years ago. I’ve been here ever since.”

There is definitely an action hero allure all around, and the Arnold Fitness Expo is inextricably at the center. Folks around Royal Arts actually measure their tenure by “how many Arnolds” they’ve done, going so far as declaring “Arnold Eve” and “Arnold New Year” unofficial holidays marking the culmination of one event and immediately planning for the next.

“Last year we did rapier. We’ve done lightsaber and longsword; we used to just do sport fencing. This year, we’re doing shashka for the first time,” Mills explained. “There’s no guard, so it’s a lot like a lightsaber in the way that it moves.”

Even for those unfamiliar with the proper name of the Russian military saber, the fluid fighting style is surprisingly reminiscent of a galaxy far, far away. The lack of a guard, the typical separation between the blade and the handle, allows the saber to be spun with astounding speed.

“Shashka has been a traditional saber since the Czars. Cossacks used it as their primary weapon,” explained Richey. Both she and Mills will demonstrate the saber’s signature “flankirovka”, or spinning blades, in full Cossack attire. Workshops are forthcoming. “It’s a complete upper body workout, especially the arms and shoulders.”

The wider array of options at Royal Arts doesn’t diminish fencing as its most popular offering. Much like the Arnold Sports Festival, it’s a recognition of the cultural shift away from simply training for athletes to activities to improve fitness and focus for anyone.

“Olympic fencing has more personality than people think. You can’t be too aggressive or too shy,” Richey revealed. “Fencing is a sport that combines the mind and body. It teaches you not to think too far ahead and to recover quickly. It’s all about finding balance.” ▩

For more details on upcoming classes and workshops, visit royalarts.org

April 1, 2019

Suburban She-Hulk

Originally published in the April 2019 issue of (614) Magazine

When Brooke Sousa stepped on stage at the Arnold Classic’s strongwoman competition for the first time in 2016, she’d already beaten the odds. The mother of two from Westerville had dropped 115 pounds and completed her first marathon before pivoting to weightlifting. But she was still an unranked amateur with no expectation of even placing.

Sousa finished dead last in every event. It wasn’t the first time.

“Running was something I’d hated since elementary school. When we’d run the mile, I was always the last kid around the block,” she confessed. “At 10 years old, I was 180 pounds. I was the fat kid who hoped I might someday be famous for my artwork.”

She pursued that passion at the Columbus College of Art and Design, but it was her two young daughters who inspired her unlikely origin story — to get in shape and forge a new path. However, when Sousa joined a local gym, it was her raw strength, not her size, that stood out most among her fitness class.

“The lowest weight I could get down to was 215 pounds. I weighed more than that as a teenager, trying to fit in with what America expects a woman to look like,” Sousa recalled. “But I could lift a 15-pound barbell, so they called me She-Hulk and the name stuck.”

That was six years ago. Last summer, she lifted a little more.

At a competition in Norway this past July, Sousa lifted 285 pounds simultaneously with each hand in the “Hercules Hold,” carried nearly 600 pounds in the “Timber Yoke,” and dragged 17 rolling tons in the “Truck Pull” to win the heavyweight division and the title “World’s Strongest Woman.”

That first Arnold measured a different kind of strength. Sousa’s sacroiliac joint, or SI, had locked up her lower back days before the competition. She knew it was still better for future qualification to compete than withdraw. But she also feared serious injury. It was ultimately the realization that she needed a new coach, and a new approach.

“I spent four months researching coaches to make sure I would be ready for the Arnold 2017. I was undertrained and underprepared,” she lamented. “That’s how I met Matt Wenning. He competed for 25 years and set three world records without ever being injured.”

Wenning’s westside gym in East Franklinton, Ludus Magnus, was the right fit all around. Bearing the same name as ancient Rome’s most prestigious school for gladiators, it offers a modest mix of old school black iron and custom equipment for serious competitors.

“Matt’s created a couple pieces of equipment, like the belt squat machine, that taught me how to use my hips correctly,” noted Sousa. “When I first started here, I could only lift the frame, which is 45 pounds, without knocking my back out. Now I can load it up to almost 800 pounds.”

Bodybuilding and weightlifting are fundamentally different. The former is judged on appearance, the latter on performance. The two are practically as different mechanically as men and women, similar but not the same. And much like women’s hockey and soccer, there are undeniable advantages to a lower center of gravity, where a hip check or swift kick can beat their best male counterparts.

“I’d rather show judges what I can do instead of standing on stage looking pretty,” she laughed. “I actually gained 30 pounds training for my first marathon, and now I run with a 100-pound weighted vest to make myself heavier, to maintain my strength.”

Much like the men’s divisions, women’s weightlifting tends to come with injuries, often career ending. Since bouncing back from that first defeat and going pro in 2017, Sousa is now the only competitor of the original ten from that inaugural year still competing at the Arnold. Though she didn’t rank first this time, she sees her weightlifting career as its own marathon.

“You can change the events and change the competitors and it’s anyone’s game. Our scores were all so close,” she explained. “I lifted a personal best in every event and I didn’t push myself into an injury. I’m still winning.”

That doesn’t mean Sousa isn’t pushing herself. In additional to training firefighters and other folk whose safety and ours rely on proper conditioning, she also makes time for an unexpected weightlifting clientele — children with autism.

“When I used to workout at a commercial gym, I noticed a therapist struggling to work with a young girl who had autism. So, I offered to help,” Sousa recalled. “That’s what eventually led last year to The M Foundation.”

Named for two of her earliest and youngest clients, Maddy and Maggie, the nimble nonprofit couples Sousa’s experience and enthusiasm with a support staff trained in serving children with special needs into a novel combination of fitness and focus.

“When I started working with Maddy and Maggie, they didn’t have the balance the ride a bike, or squat without falling over because of weakness in their core,” she said. “I wanted to create a safe, fun environment for kids who often struggle to fit in, just like I did.”

Sousa’s work is more sophisticated than it outwardly appears. Beyond basic fitness training, the resistance and feedback of lifting weights and exercise of specific muscle groups improves overall mobility and body awareness. The social component of group classes also helps students overcome an equally daunting limitation to acceptance.

“Maggie used to struggle to do a single push up, and now her favorite activity in the gym is the bench press,” Sousa explained. “You have no idea how far she’s come to be able to rep out 85 pounds at 15 years old. She’s now to the point where she can help others use the equipment correctly, and has the social skills and self-confidence to do it.”

Sousa’s feats of strength are already becoming legendary. But she knows The M Foundation is as much a part of her legacy, and the attention her physical achievements bring to her other ambition is a record that will last long after the awe and applause fade.

Though the She-Hulk hook started as an aspirational nickname, it’s accidentally become a metaphor for metamorphosis — motivating others to look past appearance and ability to appreciate the true strength within.

“When I’m up on stage competing in front of fans and judges who’ve seen me before, it just pushes me harder,” Sousa said. “They already know I’m strong. But now I’m stronger.” ▩

For more details on Ludus Magnus and The M Foundation, visit wenningstrength.com and themfoundationkids.org

March 15, 2019

Seasoned Supper Club

Originally published in the Spring 2019 issue of Stock & Barrel

Most dinner parties start in the kitchen, and the better ones tend to end there. But some of the best in Columbus actually start in a dentist office—or what used to be one.

Tricia Wheeler, founder of The Seasoned Farmhouse, describes her passion project simply as a recreational cooking school. She arguably sells herself short. The dated dental office in Clintonville that once sat empty has evolved into a rustic, yet refined, community kitchen for ambitious home chefs or anyone seeking to hone their culinary credibility.

It was more than just a second act for the former home, restored to its original residential charm with raised beds of herbs and produce for a rotating slate of chefs. It was Wheeler’s second act as well. Following a short and unsatisfying stint in corporate security after graduating from Ohio State, she found herself at a fork in the road.

“I called my dad and said I was going to start a new business, either a catering company, or a background screening company,” she revealed. Her father played practical and asked which one would cost less to get going, and how much money she had on hand. “I told him the background screening company, and $400. He said, ‘That’s great, because the hungrier you are, the harder you’re going to work’.”

The fledgling screening company she started a decade earlier grew and was eventually acquired by an investor for a comfortable sum. Wheeler suddenly found herself out of work, but with an enviable second chance. So she relocated to New York to fulfill her long-deferred dream of going to culinary school—with her mother in tow to tend to her two-year-old, while her husband made the long commute back to Columbus.

“I figured out early on that as much as I loved cooking, I really wanted to share what I was learning with my friends,” she recalled. “They didn’t find cooking joyful as much as tedious, so I was the only one throwing dinner parties.”

The idea that would become The Seasoned Farmhouse started small—not even as a school, but as a series of classes Wheeler initially taught at the M/I Homes Design Center kitchen showroom. The concept was solid, but the space proved restrictive. And what started as nine tiny dental offices was reconfigured into an oversized kitchen and intimate dining room dynamic enough to accommodate several classroom formats.

“We have students who are straight out of college and love to cook, retirees who love to cook and are looking for something to do, and couples who love to cook and want to do something together,” she noted. “We don’t repeat a lot. I’ll teach my sauce class every other year, and we might do our knife skills twice a year. My curiosity has always been in trying things that are new.”

The Seasoned Farmhouse offers 42 classes, four times a year—an impressive schedule by even traditional culinary school standards. Yet there remains an unexpected mix of luxury and utility, with fundamentals flanked by classes in niche cuisines as well as options like sheet tray dinners, for those looking for creative ways to get a delicious meal on the table fast without the fuss.

One course that remains a perennial favorite is Wheeler’s kitchen fundamentals class, a two-night course taught over two weeks that teaches everything from sweet and savory crepes to how to make a pasta sauce from scratch with what you probably have in your cupboard.

“I like giving students that foundation, that confidence,” she added. “I teach how to make a Chicken Piccata, it’s the perfect date meal. It’s what I used to make for every date I’ve ever had,” Wheeler confessed. “I started as the main instructor, but our growth has been organic. If someone comes to us, and we like what they do, we’ll give them the opportunity to see how their talents fit.”

This evening’s guest chef for “Thai Date Night” is no exception. Damian Ettish hails originally from South Africa. But his relocation to London, and extended adventures in India and Thailand before immigrating to Columbus, epitomize the unique expertise students have come to expect. He is used to working solo, but tonight he’ll have more than a dozen sous chefs—some seasoned, some as green as the curry—but all eager to learn something new.

“Cooking for a dozen people is obviously different than cooking on the truck, when you never know how many people are going to show up. So when I teach people to cook, it gives me time to share tips,” Ettish explained. “No one is coming here to learn to slice an onion. But I’ll teach them how to cut one the way I learned to on the streets of Thailand.”

His renowned local food truck, “Fetty’s Street Food” and restaurant chops seamlessly pivot between tricks, like how to cut that onion into tiny boat-shaped slices that better hold the sauce, and his intriguing travelogue, peppered with wry humor and hands-on encouragement.

“I really love these intimate settings. It’s more my style, and you can focus more on the food and flavors,” he noted. “It’s a lot like a food truck versus a restaurant. If I can teach people how to do something on a smaller scale, as a couple, then they learn how to do it on a larger scale, like a dinner party.”

Among tonight’s students are Michael and Emily Berlin, who moved here from Chicago five years ago. Emily gave Michael a gift certificate for The Seasoned Farmhouse their first Christmas in Columbus, and they’ve been coming ever since.

“Watching how everything goes together as a home chef is different than just following directions,” Michael observed. “Columbus has an up and coming food scene, so this is what a lot of people are looking for.”

Technique is tough to teach on a recipe card, or even YouTube. Ettish imparts insights more than instructions, like how to cut a bell pepper upside down to leave the seeds behind, slicing a chicken breast for even cooking in a curry, or holding a knife properly to ensure the pungent peanut and cucumber dip for the corn cakes ends up with more pickles than knuckles.

“We’ve done more of the dinners than the classes, but we always pick up a new tip,” noted Emily. “It’s the small things you don’t know unless you’ve been trained in a restaurant or gone to culinary school.”

That first gift came full circle with a birthday party at The Seasoned Farmhouse with family and friends Michael planned as a surprise for his wife. Though Wheeler’s better known sister company, Flowers & Bread, also hosts events, the breadth and depth offered by The Seasoned Farmhouse draws a line between the two as distinct as the difference between a café and a restaurant.

“We’re a gift couples give each other. Then they invite their friends to come with them next time,” Wheeler explained. “It’s why I love being in the experience business. It feels like I’m always throwing a dinner party.” ▩

For more details and a schedule of upcoming classes, visit theseasonedfarmhouse.com

March 15, 2019

Pies Wide Shut

Originally published in the Spring 2019 issue of Stock & Barrel

Competitive eating can be a bit of a cult. Like fans of TED or The Walking Dead, there are rules and rituals of which the uninitiated are blissfully oblivious.

That’s why it seemed disingenuous to write about food challenges for Stock & Barrel without ultimately joining the inner sanctum by taking one on personally — so I did.

Joseppi’s Mega Meat Pizza Challenge was the obvious choice for several reasons. It was the only team contest, so spreading the blame as generously as the sauce would still preserve my street cred. It also had the lowest rate of success, which set the bar right at my level. Finally, the payout was pretty impressive, not that I’d be in the mood for another pie any time soon.

I presumed finding a partner would be equally challenging, but it turned out to be quite easy. One post on Facebook yielded a quick offer from someone who also had the gumption, just not a teammate.

Blase Pinkert and I are in the same neighborhood beer brewing brood. The sometimes powerlifter and Gaelic football player could crush you with a gaze as easily as a clenched fist. It didn’t hurt that he also had a reputation for eating anything at least once and a beard big enough to hide a few slices under it if the contest was close.

“In the Air Force, I was the guy who would take on any challenge, that was my role in the shop. I’ve always been an entertainer, so I fed off of the attention,” Pinkert revealed. “I learned I could get people to throw 10 or 20 on the table and make a few bucks doing this.”

We’d called ahead the week before, so they were expecting us. The crust starts out on a pan the size of a wagon wheel, and by the time they’re done topping it with successive layers of meat and cheese, it’s nearly as thick as one. It’s so big, it has to go through the oven twice and takes two people to carry it.

This is when the head games begin. The kitchen staff tells you cautionary tales about those who have failed — and the “Loser’s Bucket”. They start prepping the table with bowls of ranch dressing and barbecue sauce, explaining that the taste turns on you and most have to change it up to keep going. They warn you about drinking too much, or too little. Passing patrons and dutiful denizens weight in on the long odds of finishing, or even getting close.

When the pie hits the table, it almost eclipses it entirely. If not for the lingering heat, they could just put legs on the pan and scoot chairs under it. It looks like a cinematic sight gag, from the movie Top Secret.

We’d prepared the way professional competitive eaters do, with a stomach stretching meal the evening prior and lots of water to preserve the newfound space until go time. A few quick pics for posterity and the clock started. We went hard charging for the edges and mentally broke up the 60 slices into short-term goals.

Chew too little and you waste space. Chew too much and you waste time. At 20 minutes, we’d already blown past Cameron Fontana and his camera guy’s mark. It was looking good.

Then the meat sweats set in and we hit “the wall”.

The wall is different things for different people. For us, it was the salt of the bacon and ham that did us in. When you can’t quench your thirst and have plenty of room left to drink, but can’t stand the thought of another bite, that’s the wall. We’d each eaten about a large pizza, no small feat considering by the time we got from the edge to the center, it was more than an inch thick. Pinkert’s athletic training came into play, but we still couldn’t overcome the physics.

“It did help from a psychological aspect, the fact that you learn to push your body and ‘turn off’ or ignore the signals it tells you, to push yourself that much further,” he said.

After a few final slices, we took a break hoping for a late rally that never came. We barely knew each other before that evening, but after spending an hour gorging and gossiping, we’d joined the cult — even if we still didn’t know the secret handshake.

We parted ways, went home, and both slipped into a long carb coma, like a python that swallows a gazelle and has to chill for a few days before it finds the will to move again.

By the way, the pizza was delicious and is highly recommended. Otherwise, we never would have gotten as far as we did. Unlike almost all other local food challenges, at Joseppi’s, you get to keep the leftovers. I didn’t have to buy pizza for two weeks. And it was also an irresistible chance to try out that time-lapse app on my phone, shrinking an hour down to three minutes — scored to the theme song from Benny Hill, of course.

But bawdy British sketch comedy is another kind of cult altogether. ▩

For standard size pies, or to try your own luck at the Mega Meat Pizza Challenge, visit joseppispizza.com

(Oh, and here’s the video, for those who think they can do better.)

March 1, 2019

Outside the Box

Originally published in the March 2019 issue of (614) Magazine

Holiday weekends in Hocking Hills offer ample opportunities for outdoor adventure. But Seth and Emily Britt’s first overnight stay at the site of their modern take on a cabin in the woods was more than either anticipated.

The family of four (now five) had recently closed on the lot after an exhaustive search for just the right spot to build what would become known as The Box Hop, a home away from home built from three enormous steel cargo containers assembled in gravity-defying fashion. The sleek aesthetic and amenities break from the more traditional rustic retreats just a short drive from Columbus.

Exceeding expectations was always the plan. Getting rescued from rising flood waters in the middle of the night was not.

“Emily woke me up at around 2AM freaking out. She’s normally the calm one, but she was terrified,” Seth recalled. “The water was creeping up the side of the RV. The fire department had to evacuate us because we couldn’t get back to the other side of the creek.”

When the waters receded, the Britt family found one of the shipping containers had actually floated downstream more than 300 feet into their neighbor’s yard. Rainfall and runoff would continue to plague the construction process. But after a decade of dreaming, years of planning, and months of delays, their unlikely abode was finally ready to share with friends and strangers alike.

“It all started when I was working at FedEx as a third-shift package handler while going to Ohio State,” he revealed. “I grew up in a trailer in Jackson County and realized the shipping container I was loading was larger than the home I grew up in.”

Seth was already pretty handy, having rehabbed a duplex in Olde Towne East. The couple’s first home was a HUD house in West Jefferson that had been vacant so long it was overrun with raccoons. Neither was easily put off by hard work, or a little wildlife. A growing family drew them back to the city, but never dampened their dream.

“We sold that house when the market was up and moved to Westgate. After putting in bids that fell through on several other properties to buy and fix up, we decided maybe it was finally the right time to consider the shipping container house,” he explained. “We spent a year trying to find the right lot with the right size, location, and access. Luckily, Emily knew exactly what she wanted, which helped narrow our options.”

Emily had earned her real estate license along the way, and had a natural knack for design. Her father works in environmental construction, so those insights informed and inspired her striking silhouette for The Box Hop. But the functionality grew entirely out of the family’s personal connection to the perennial destination for hiking, rock climbing, and scenic serenity.

“We’d been going to Hocking Hills for years, so we had this mental list of things we appreciated where we’d stayed, and things that were missing,” she recalled. “We wanted to create a different spin, the kind of place that would be more than just somewhere to stay, that felt like a place we would want to live.”

Much of the meteoric appeal of AirBnB is its authenticity over another ho-hum hotel room. But trying to make a place feel more like a home can easily end up a hodgepodge. The Britts sought the right balance, inside and out, by creating a simple and sophisticated stay unlike anything else in the Midwest. The offset configuration of the two lower containers opened up a surprisingly spacious entertaining and dining area with a private bedroom and well-appointed kitchen at either end. The central spiral staircase leads to the second story patio and rotated third container with wall-sized windows at either end that blur the barrier between the bedrooms and the forest that surrounds them.

“We worried they would look boring side by side, so I played around with the design. When we considered options for the second story, I knew the containers were designed to be stacked and I could turn the top container and still support the weight. Then I just tweaked it here and there to try to line up the plumbing,” she said modestly. “The bedrooms would be a little smaller due to the width of the containers, but I knew we could work with that by bringing the outdoors in. The windows open the bedrooms to all of the seasons we have in Ohio.”

The result is stunning and unmistakable. The steel and glass that should contrast the terrain mysteriously complement it. And at the right time of day, the reflection of the pines in those over-sized windows makes what remains almost disappear into the tree line like postmodern camouflage. If you somehow combined Henry David Thoreau’s reverence for the natural world with Frank Lloyd Wright’s esoteric style, it would surely look a lot like The Box Hop. It’s Walden meets Fallingwater.

“We’ve had a lot of folks ask us if we’d ever sell the place. But for us, it’s personal,” Seth confessed. “We spent countless hours designing every aspect, and it’s still a vacation home for our family and to come with our friends.”

Anticipated additions to The Box Top include suspended seating and an outdoor shower to complete the existing patio area and hot tub, as well as a large-scale mural on the exterior that references and reinforces the emerging brand — all elements that were deferred due to construction delays. The couple coyly hinted that another container getaway isn’t out of the question. With more than 18 acres available, the additional location would offer the same privacy as the original, but with its own unique charm and character.

“For now, we don’t want to disrupt our guests with chainsaws clearing a landing spot for another house,” Emily laughed. “But we also didn’t expect to book up so quickly.” ▩

For details on The Box Hop, visit theboxhop.com

January 4, 2019

Capeless Crusader

Originally published in the January 2019 issue of (614) Magazine

Carter Stewart isn’t your average crimefighter, and he’ll surely shun the description as much as he defies the stereotype.

Following a career watching broken systems contribute to incarceration, the former US Attorney for the Southern District of Ohio left government service to become a full-time mentor for the social enterprise sector. Riding a borrowed desk at the Columbus Foundation, he’s a one-man Midwest outpost for the Draper Richards Kaplan Foundation, recruited and charged with identifying worthy causes and applying Silicon Valley ingenuity to philanthropy-focused businesses — all to the tune of more than $100 million.

Imagine if instead of investing in capes and cowls, Bruce Wayne spent a fortune funding innovative approaches to solving long-standing injustices?

Not exactly cinematic, but far more effective. And it’s also more fundamental than simply fighting crime; it’s addressing the underlying circumstances that foster it. The shortage of services, access, and advocacy are all predictable indicators for both victims and perpetrators. Equipped with the insights and instincts of a prosecutor weary of always being on the receiving end of avoidable tragedies, Stewart shares his experience and expertise with fellow do-gooders, guiding them from shaky startups to scalable success.

We first met a few months back at Roosevelt Coffeehouse, itself an anchor for the local social enterprise movement. Overdue for a follow-up cup, we discussed the future of “purpose beyond profits” and why Columbus is the perfect incubator for ideas that really could change the world.

A career in criminal justice isn’t the typical résumé for a social justice champion. You’ve seen the world through an entirely different lens than most foundations. How has your work as a US Attorney informed your search for solutions through social enterprise?

It’s not uncommon to leave law to go into the nonprofit sphere, but it is uncommon to leave prosecution. The only other US Attorney I know who has done it is in Pittsburgh. I actually surveyed colleagues at the DOJ to see if anyone else had done this, and he was the only one. My desire to help is based on what I’ve seen as a prosecutor as much as my childhood experiences growing up in the South, in Atlanta. So many of the people my office prosecuted came from broken systems — school systems that weren’t adequate, housing situations that were poor. So many people in state and local jails suffer from mental health issues, addiction issues. I felt that if we could fix those broken systems, it would reduce the number of people who end up in the criminal justice system.

Social media and social enterprise seem to have come of age at the same time. There’s not a mutual dependency, but an undeniably growing parallel between purpose and purchase. What trends in digital connectivity distinguish successful social enterprises from those that fizzle out?

I can’t say there’s one pattern, but there is recognition of the importance of social media, especially for start-up organizations that don’t have a big budget and want to spread the word as far and wide as possible. Everyone we fund has to have a website. It sounds obvious, but they have to have something up and running. But we still have some organizations that are spread more by word of mouth. ROX, Ruling Our Experiences, is an excellent example. It’s a program that teaches girls leadership, entrepreneurship, self-defense, self-awareness. The 20-week program is spread, mostly in-person, by the founder, Dr. Lisa Hinkelman, speaking at conferences to school counselors — who then Google it. It’s the second bite at the apple. They hear from her first, then they learn more online and decide it’s something they want to pursue. But our organizations aren’t limited to the US, and some are dependent on social media to work. We have an organization based in Uganda called BarefootLaw. All of the lawyers are in the capital city of Kampala, but most of the people live in rural areas. So when they have legal issues, they use Facebook messaging to connect to BarefootLaw. It wouldn’t exist without that platform. So it’s a mix. Some rely on it, and for others it’s secondary. But where it’s critical for everyone is funders, who are more likely to research an organization before contacting it directly. They don’t want to raise hopes or expectations too early. It’s interwoven and social entrepreneurs recognize that.

There can be friction between traditional nonprofits and social enterprises serving the same cause. Ideally, raising awareness creates a larger pie, and everyone gets a bigger slice. How should social enterprises answer the concern that they’re competing for the same donors and dollars?

There is a perspective among some funders that there are too many nonprofits — to solve education, to solve poverty. Instead of creating new ones, we should improve and, perhaps in some cases, combine the ones that we have. There’s a degree of creation exhaustion. I happen to disagree. You need constant creation and rebirth, new ideas cycling in. Traditional nonprofits that have never considered the social enterprise model might feel threatened by that new entity going after the same funding dollars. In an ideal world, the new entity inspires the older entity to change and to grow. I consider the YMCA one of the oldest social enterprises in the country because they have a revenue stream. You pay for membership. So even though most nonprofits haven’t had that revenue stream, social enterprises have been around. It’s just been a small slice. I haven’t heard traditional nonprofits wishing social enterprises would go away as much as how can they be more like them and less dependent on philanthropic capital. And I think social enterprises can learn from nonprofits, their leadership structures and governance models. It’s a dynamic evolution that will hopefully lift everyone up.

Traditional businesses can also feel threatened by social enterprises. We don’t just vote every four years for president and every two years for Congress. We vote every day with our wallets. How do both kinds of businesses build brands that inspire their customers to become agents of change?

That competition should help businesses recognize the importance of having a second bottom line. Maybe not a social mission, but a mindset of corporate citizenship. That’s what drives people to Roosevelt Coffeehouse. They know when they spend money, the company does good things with it. It’s a brand they feel good supporting. TOMS Shoes is a classic example — you buy one and they give one. Not all tension is bad, and there can be positive creative tension between traditional businesses and social enterprises. Draper Richards Kaplan has someone on staff with whom we connect all of our entrepreneurs, to understand that communications is how you reach people, but branding is more, and an essential part of our process. Some folks come with more savvy than others, but in addition to helping build capacity they’re also building a brand. It’s something you should do in the early stages of your organization, so it becomes ingrained in your DNA.

The Midwest often gets overlooked when it comes to venture capital, despite our academic credibility, technological capacity, and desirable test market demographics. What does the Draper Richards Kaplan Foundation see in Columbus that many still miss?

We’re a particular type of donor. Not all donors look for what we look for, most don’t. Most foundations I know won’t fund an organization unless they’ve been around for four or five years. And they don’t always look for organizations with the potential to scale. They look for organizations that are well-run, already likely to survive, and succeeding in their mission. We look for organizations at an earlier stage, those that have finished a pilot and want to go big. Not just Columbus, but in Cleveland, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Chicago, maybe nationwide. We look for ideas that have the potential to disrupt, to change broken systems, and not many funders share that desire. But in Columbus, there’s a hunger for it. Social enterprise is a buzzword, and they’ve been in Columbus for years before I got here. But 75 percent of funding still goes to the east coast and the west coast, and that’s a huge oversight. People were looking for mechanisms to get national funding to Central Ohio, to build and scale the organizations that are here and those just getting started. There’s a synergy between governments and businesses, nonprofits and social enterprises. It’s an enthusiasm and pride many on the coasts don’t realize is here. I was once one of those people. I lived in New York and California. It was my wife who decided we were moving to Columbus 13 years ago, and I still tell people it’s the best decision I never made. ▩

For more on social enterprises and the Draper Richards Kaplan Foundation, visit drkfoundation.org

December 17, 2018

Secret Ingredient

Originally published in the Winter 2018 issue of Stock & Barrel

Amid the monotony of formulaic fast casuals, Sweet Carrot exceeds expectations with every bite. Refined, yet whimsical, their fascination with corn cakes and smoked meat despite an industry of imitation obsessed with buns and bowls isn’t just daring. It reinvented Southern cuisine with a downhome flare that’s downright defiant.

Perhaps that’s because founder Angela Petro is cast against type, as both a restaurateur and an entrepreneur. She’s not Gordon Ramsey barking orders and berating the staff, nor some smug, Silicon Valley visionary constantly pitching the next big thing. Petro actually stumbled into Sweet Carrot neither by design nor necessity. The impulsive purchase of a food truck as a mobile R&D platform for her decades-old catering company proved so unexpectedly popular when it launched at the Columbus Arts Festival, a permanent location became all but inevitable.

The original in Grandview was an instant hit at the old Rife’s Market, but the second at Polaris was slow to take off. So the third in Dublin has focused on what restaurant patrons increasingly expect, a conscientious kitchen with menu options for everyone, regardless of dietary restrictions or preferences. It’s still fast casual, but with a thoughtful, artistic take on comfort food destined to grow beyond Central Ohio.

“It all came together as a curated experience. I would say it was fortuitous, at a time when I was starting to explore this kernel of an idea,” recalled Petro, whose established enterprise Two Caterers had reached a pivotal point. “When we started, we were doing simple drop-off lunches. But as we pushed ourselves, we became thought of as a high-end catering company, with creative presentation at a competitive price.”

In those early days, Petro wasn’t just wearing a proverbial chef’s hat. She was taking orders, working the kitchen, making deliveries, often serving her creations on-site, and washing the dishes at the end of the day. Eventually, the boutique catering business that landed a few big gigs had become something rewarding, but still unintended.

“My background is blue-collar. I grew up never having catering, and that’s where most of us live. But people still have parties, they still have a need. Every now and then, you need help with food, but you aren’t throwing a $30k graduation party or a $60k wedding. I still had that feeling we weren’t really serving the market that we set out to service.”

Unable to shake the perception as a prohibitively-priced caterer for many, and uncertain any amount of marketing would change popular opinion, Petro envisioned a sister brand that would capture that long lost clientele.

“Everyone contributed ideas to what we could roll out on our food truck — our sales team, kitchen staff, and our chefs. It bolstered this thought that we could go after this market of folks in Central Ohio who wanted wholesome food at a price they could afford, without someone in a bowtie wearing white gloves holding a silver tray,” she recalled. “That’s how Sweet Carrot started.”

The commitment to creative comfort food has always been a true community project. One of her chefs pitched the idea of savory corn cakes as a base, and brisket and pulled pork from the commercial smoker Petro picked up at auction were the perfectly decadent, working class complement. Their signature corn salsa, adapted from the recipe repertoire of staff member’s family potlucks, has become a ubiquitous condiment. Even the name came by way of a friend whose knack for word play was among many happy accidents.

“He sent me an email that said, ‘Did you know Sweet Carrot is an anagram of Two Caterers?’,” she chided. “So that became the name of our food truck, even before we knew what we planned to serve.”

The result is a menu that is neither seasonal, nor static, and adapting to customer expectations. Their corn cakes are gluten-free, their slaw is dairy-free, and vegetarians aren’t the only ones swooning over their fried artichokes — a callback to that first Columbus Arts Festival where they were cleverly sold as “fried arts”. And much like any credible country kitchen, little goes to waste, with yesterday’s brisket and pork becoming today’s Brunswick stew, chicken meatballs joining kale and black-eyed eyes in tomorrow’s soup. Even the leftover mac and cheese is coated in breadcrumbs from leftover rolls and flash fried to preserve their gooey goodness.

Petro admits she’s been the beneficiary of both luck and good fortune along the way, from a tiny little lunch company to a beloved local food truck that prompted patrons visiting Columbus for the Country Living Fair to personally plead her to open an outpost in their hometowns too. Even the name Sweet Carrot and its origin are metaphors for what great restaurants do best, turning existing ingredients into something completely new and unexpected.

“I believe in this brand, and never conceived of it as a one-off. When we opened the first Sweet Carrot, I struggled creatively to try to find the guardrails, to keep it as something that could be a multi-unit restaurant,” she recalled. “I wanted everything and the kitchen sink. When we first opened, I had a wine section and wanted to have a small market with products packaged to take home. If I’d opened it as a single location, it would have been a very different concept.”

The character of Rife’s Market was both a blessing and a curse. Petro and a team of staff and friends were sanding tables and painting the walls themselves. But the design and layout were more intuitive than intentional, setting a high bar for replicating the aesthetic at additional locations with less inherent character. Though Polaris was ambitious and demographically desirable, the new Dublin spot reveals the maturity of a brand ready to break out of Columbus.

“This third iteration is not the end, because there’s so much we’re going to learn. So though it is tempting, and exciting, and flattering to think about opening another location, it’s also the right time to pause,” she noted. “We’ve opened two restaurants this year, as a very tiny company, and we are definitely looking to keep expanding and evolving. We’re small, but mighty.” ▩

To find the nearest Sweet Carrot, or check out their catering or special diets menus, visit sweetcarrot.com

October 3, 2018

Candid Cameron

Originally published in the October 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

Let’s be honest. You’re probably better off not knowing what happens behind the scenes in most restaurants. But sometimes you should. And that’s the case with Cameron Mitchell Restaurants, whose bona fide empire of Columbus-based brands has arguably enhanced our culinary scene’s national credibility.

From Cap City to The Pearl, Marcella’s to Molly Woo’s—on the surface, their concepts couldn’t be more different. The thread that binds them together is their training, and not just the kind you get in the kitchen or on the house floor.

Between colossal chains and dinky diners, the American restaurant industry is absolutely inordinate, racking up more in annual sales than airlines, agriculture, and the movie industry combined. Nearly half of us have worked in food service at some point. Often it’s our first job, something on the side when times are tight, or just enough hours in retirement to stay active and connected to our community.

But for others, it’s a first calling, or a passion stumbled into on the way to something else. And if that’s you, Cameron Mitchell might be the best mentor in Columbus—maybe anywhere—because he’s been there.

There’s a fine line between corporate culture and a corporate cult, and I have to confess as an outsider slipping into the second story ballroom at The Joseph among the new staff of the then pending Harvey & Ed’s, I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect. I’d paid my dues decades ago on both sides of the grill, but never in posh digs like these. I presumed it would be all about teambuilding and imbuing everyone with a shared purpose. But it was much more intimate and illuminating than I ever anticipated.

Cameron Mitchell Restaurants fosters legendary loyalty, with most leadership promoted from within. But how they build that fierce following has always been behind a curtain. Would it go too far and get weird? Should I be ready for some trust falls or prepare for a trunk full of kitsch and delusional enthusiasm like those leaving an Amway seminar?

Fortunately, this wasn’t either of those scenarios, far from it. And it was surely no canned college orientation either, though the sense of camaraderie was pretty close. No, that loyalty starts with the guy whose name is on every paycheck—Cameron Mitchell, the headliner and head honcho all rolled into one.

With a brand that has become locally synonymous with fine dining, Cameron Mitchell wasn’t supposed to succeed by every empirical predictor. He didn’t have the grades, the money, or the work ethic to keep a job, much less create them. (His restaurant ranks now top 4,000 employees and counting.)

It’s an unlikely story, but one he shares with a surprising honesty and humility with those just starting out in the industry he’s helped to innovate, despite his early struggles and shortcomings, personal and professional.

“I remember coming home from school when I was nine and asking my mom when my dad was coming home, and she said, ‘He’s not’,” Mitchell recalled. “That’s how I learned my parents were splitting up.”

He saw less and less of his father over time before fading from the picture entirely, and the stress of the situation often put him at odds with his mother. School wasn’t a priority and by junior high he’d already fallen in with the wrong crowd—smoking, drinking, and worse.

“I was spiraling downward. My mom and I were fighting constantly. I came home one day and she said, ‘Tomorrow we have a meeting with Franklin County Childrens Services; we’re going to straighten you out,’” he revealed. “I wasn’t really sure what that meant, but I didn’t like it. So when she left for work the next morning, I took everything I could and moved out.”

Mitchell settled in a tiny apartment near campus that was a flophouse for runaways, over-occupied to keep everyone’s share of the rent low. He was only 15-years-old, and on his own.

“I’d work odd jobs, mow lawns. I stole and sold drugs,” he confessed. “At one point, I hadn’t eaten for a few days, so bought a 27-cent box of macaroni and cheese and made it without any milk or butter, just water. I was a troubled kid, on the run.”

Out of money and options, Mitchell eventually returned and reconciled with his mother. He went back to school the following day, wearing a dress shirt and slacks, the only clothes he’d left behind, having come home with only jeans and the t-shirt on his back.

“My mom was an administrative assistant, and my dad had quit sending any child support, so she literally couldn’t afford to send me lunch money,” he admitted. “For a while, I worked in the school cafeteria just to earn enough to eat there.”

He picked up a part-time job after school washing dishes at a local steakhouse, but his grades still suffered. He failed the same English composition course three times and wasn’t able to walk for graduation, only barely earning a diploma after summer school.

“I graduated 592nd out of 597 in my class with a GPA of 1.05; only because I got one C—in public speaking,” he chided. “That’s when I went to work at Max & Erma’s as a fry cook.”

Back in 1981, Max & Erma’s wasn’t the struggling shadow of its former self that it is today. Some nights they’d serve upwards of 1,000 guests on a weekend. It was bustling and brisk, with an energy Mitchell ultimately embraced after his friends mostly left for college or better jobs elsewhere.

“I was working a double shift, an AM cook and a PM host, on a Friday afternoon. The place was about half full at 4 p.m. during the shift change, and the bar was already packed. There was pandemonium in the kitchen. The managers were barking orders, and I looked out across the line and time froze,” he recalled. “I decided this was what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I wanted to be in the restaurant business.”

The “laziest guy in the kitchen,” by his own admission, had finally found his calling and wasted no time. At the end of his shift, he went home and mapped out the next decade of his life on paper, as well as the goals it would take to get there, from executive chef to president of a restaurant company.

After picking up a couple of classes at Columbus State, he was accepted at the Culinary Institute of America in New York after an initial rejection due to his lackluster high school performance. Returning to Columbus, he landed a new job at 55 at Crosswoods, the restaurant group’s second location, which at the time was among the premiere white tablecloth restaurants in the city. From sous chef to executive chef by age 23, general manager a year later, and an operations executive by 28, his unlikely rise reached a hard and sudden stop.

“I started hitting my head on the ceiling. I knew my boss wasn’t going anywhere, and it was a hip-pocket business for a group of investors who really didn’t care about the restaurants,” he explained. “I was waiting on a friend for drinks watching patrons and employees pass by when I had another epiphany. If I wanted to become president of a restaurant group, I should start my own.”

Mitchell tapped into the insight of his younger self, this time mapping out the future of the company that would ultimately bear his name. Though most won’t believe it, Cameron Mitchell Restaurants was started out of an apartment at The Continent with a few thousands dollars in savings and a yellow legal pad.

Now with industry connections and a proven track record, he pulled together a business plan and the financing needed to make his destiny a reality. But it nearly fell apart, twice.

“It was never my goal to open just one restaurant. This was the start of something bigger. I found a space near the North Market and put a deal together,” he revealed. “I’d raised $600k for the project, and we were ready to sign the lease. Then the landlord went silent on me.”

Mitchell was bootstrapping the project with every dime he could scrape together just as his fears were confirmed. The building’s owner was filing for bankruptcy. The bank was taking it over and had no interest in assuming any further risk with a first-time restaurateur still shy of 30.

The setback was crushing, worse by having come so close. Mitchell started sending investors back their checks. He’d put everything into the project, even moving back into his mother’s condo, but practically living at Kinko’s. There was another space in Worthington he’d initially discounted when he couldn’t pull the financing together fast enough. But because of the legalities of creating a company, he essentially had to start over from scratch.

“I’d already dismissed it, but then their tenant fell through. I met with the landlord, who took a liking to me and decided to take a chance,” he admitted. “I was rolling change on my mother’s dining room table to have enough money for groceries. It was do or die.”

Enough investors still had faith in the restaurant concept to get close to the necessary funding to move forward. But the change in location and way the previous deal collapsed forced some to sit this one out. Mitchell was still short and scrambled to schedule one final meeting with a prospective investor to close the gap the day before the financing was due.

“He asked me how much. I told him I only needed $30k, hoping I might get half of it and have enough to buy some more time to raise the rest,” he confessed. “He wrote me a personal check for $30k and told me to buy more stock in the company for myself. That’s when I knew I’d get my start.”

Cameron Mitchell Restaurants was born, and that first project that nearly never happened, is Cameron’s American Bistro, celebrating its 25th anniversary this October.

Since then, new concepts have become part of the family, as well as a catering company and their own restaurant construction business. Rusty Bucket Restaurant and Tavern and Ocean Prime have expanded the brand nationwide.

“I think it’s important to know the history of the company, one based on people. Associates come first. Associates take care of the guests, guests take care of the company,” he explained. “That’s the key, a company built on culture and values—not on me—one that I hope will survive long after I’m gone.” ▩