A Seat at the Table Journal Entry #5

Food for Thought. Wine for Wonder.

A Seat at the Table

There is a picnic table less than fifty feet from my restaurant.

It’s free.

It sits along the Dakota Rail Trail, waiting for cyclists, walkers, runners, families, and anyone who needs a place to pause for a moment.

And yet every summer, I find myself wrestling with a feeling I don’t particularly enjoy.

Because inside Molly’s, every seat has a story.

Every chair was purchased with money that had to be earned. Every table was chosen carefully. Every flower on the patio gets watered by someone. Every restroom gets cleaned by someone. Every wine glass gets polished by someone. Every square foot of this place costs something to maintain.

When people walk through the door of a restaurant, I think it’s easy to see the finished product and forget what it takes to keep the lights on.

Restaurants occupy a strange space in our communities. We feel familiar. Comfortable. Welcoming.

As we should.

Hospitality is our business.

But hospitality is not the same thing as being a public space.

Lately, I’ve watched people come in from the trail to cool off, wash up, use the restroom, occupy tables, or gather for a while without any intention of dining. And every time it happens, I find myself caught between two instincts.

The first is the person I want to be.

The woman who believes everyone deserves kindness.

The one who loves seeing people discover St. Boni. The one who loves that we’re part of a community connected by trails, parks, neighbors, and gathering places.

The second is the business owner.

The one who knows exactly how hard my team works.

The one who sees a host trying to manage a waitlist while a table sits occupied by someone who never planned to order.

The one who watches a server reset a space that generated no revenue while food costs, payroll, utilities, taxes, insurance, and every other bill continue to arrive right on schedule.

Neither perspective is wrong.

But they live in tension with each other.

I didn’t build Molly’s to become a destination restroom.

I built it because I believe small towns deserve exceptional food.

I believe wine belongs in places beyond big cities.

I believe hospitality matters.

I believe gathering around a table still matters.

And maybe that’s what this journal entry is really about.

Not frustration.

Not rules.

Not trail users.

It’s about remembering the value of a seat at the table.