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There is a kind of wellness—call it deep wellness—that pushes beyond the balance of protein and carbohydrates and calories we ingest and wraps its arms around our feelings about eating and the ripple of consequences it leaves behind. Wendell Berry considered true pleasure, in eating, to come from the “accurate consciousness of the lives and the world from which food comes.”

As we move into a new age of world-environmental awareness, we want our guests to feel well from this broader consciousness by providing services and experiences that honor the earth and its water and lands, which as Joanna Macy says, are “part of our larger body.”

Many of us are eating and living in a cloud of ambivalence about our choices and their consequences. This takes a toll on our bodies and spirits, our ability to be, truly, well. Which is why Vinaigrette is dedicated to a higher level of awareness and sustainability, forms of convenience that don’t come at a painful hidden cost to nature, carbon-breathing and air-filtering trees and gardens in all of our spaces, innovated waste and production models for the food business, and a new Farm Fund that reallocates dollars to soil health and sustainable agriculture.

Something about eating lovingly? Deep wellness.

To Go

Something about eating lovingly? Deep wellness.

To Go

Something about eating lovingly? Deep wellness.

Santa Fe

We planted 12 trees here and a whole bunch of grasses and perennials!

Santa Fe

We planted 12 trees here and a whole bunch of grasses and perennials!

Santa Fe

We planted 12 trees here and a whole bunch of grasses and perennials!

Why Replenishing the Restaurant Revitalization Fund Protects Democracy

erinedubby
Mar 7, 2022
1 min read

Actually 'being together' is no longer the default, but the niche

When I opened my first restaurant, I spent so much time there my mom sent me a twin bed for Christmas. The mattress company delivered it right to the back dock of the restaurant like a produce order. We tucked it in a corner of dry storage so I’d have a place to crash on the late and sometimes tipsy nights restaurant openings require.

For a long time that restaurant — at the end of a dusty alley in Santa Fe, New Mexico — felt more like home than my real home did. I knew its quirks, dimmer switches, fuzzy speakers, funky smells. I knew how to make it glow with music and flowers and candles so that when it filled up with people it seemed to lift off into another dimension.