The only way to learn is by playing, the only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning. So without further ado, let’s begin.

– Sam Reich, “Game Changer”

Cure became a real life business one year ago today. It was January 6th and I needed to avoid the news. I spent $61 on a business registration, took the 35 to Glen Park Station, and read a book. The fancy piece of paper came in the mail three days later. There were a lot of steps to go, but you can’t do the second thing unless you do the first. Cure was a legal business in the city of San Francisco.

We decided we’d give it a year. And according to receipts, in that year we had the opportunity to feed literal thousands of you – or maybe hundreds, technically, because we know exactly how many of you showed up again and again to show us support.

That’s hundreds of brisket plates, whether it was on a bun or on smoked gouda mac and cheese or those absolutely filthy tots we were slingin’ on the sidewalk outside The Fishbowl. That’s the feeling of walking around the night market and having someone jump over to say “oh my god that was so good”. (If you love something a small business sells you, tell them. They’ll remember.)

This is where we share that this iteration of Cure has come to a close. We worked hard, learned a lot, but our best intentions weren’t enough to overcome the rising costs of running a small business. But before we go, a couple notes and thank yous:

Cure’s “voice”, even in this very post, has always switched between “we” and “I”, and that’s not really an oversight or mistake. The “I” is Jen Watson, owner, cook, and sole proprietor of Cure. It’s been me in the kitchen at 5 in the morning, me pulling brisket off the smoker at all hours of the day, me tetris-ing a stack of folding tables into the back of a Subaru Impreza. But Cure would not be possible without my husband Nathan, whose constant rock-steady support is the only reason this business didn’t fold before it started. Cure never felt like “mine” and was always “ours” regardless of whose feet were getting drenched opening the dishwasher too early. Cure was always a family.

To my very real family, thank you for answering the phone when I called you after a fifteen hour day and listening to my half-drunk, extremely tired stories about how our sales went that night.

If you ever carried a chafing dish, ever helped me with that giant catering box, texted to ask how the event went, brought your friends, took foil-wrapped plates home to your families: not one single piece of lifting you did for us, physical or emotional, went unnoticed, and I will always remember it.

Cure could not have existed without our many, many friends in the hospitality industry, who connected us with event organizers, provided us space to play restaurant for a night, and offered support in the most unlikely of ways. The San Francisco small business community is something really special, and it has been an honor to share one little corner of it.

Licking my wounds and crying into a Jameson after a market gone wrong, knowing the end of Cure was near, Nathan texted me “Cure may not have done well, but it did good.” And that’s all that was ever supposed to be true. From the simple acts of you coming out to buy a plate of food from us, we had the opportunity to support organizations like Swords to Plowshares on their mission to provide advocacy for our veterans and end homelessness in the community. We supported community-driven radio with our friends at Radio Valencia. We provided financial as well as on-the-ground support for the SF-Marin Food Bank. Donations from the Celtic Festival went to La Raza Community Resource Center, which offers legal aid to families facing complexities in the immigration process. We raised money for people’s medical bills, provided lunches for cancer treatment teams, catered dinners for older adults seeking support from their community.

I’ve written and deleted enough paragraphs by now that it’s time to wrap it up. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Cure didn’t do well, but it sure did good, and that’s because of every single one of you reading this right now.

Mark space on your calendars for Saturday, January 31st, as we throw one final party. Details to come. There’ll be brisket.