I may be a little late to do the wrap up of 2025, but I do think that I am right on time. After all, this week marks the first year of Nitty Gritty's (public) existence. 

Honestly, the year was rough. Right off the start, my father was diagnosed with lymphoma (he's out of the woods now!); and then we were confronted with how far we are from the Detroit family when Matt's sister had a health scare. All the frights in our personal lives were amplified, while running the day-to-day of a restaurant. It had been a lot. 

But the one thing that has been constant and unwavering that brought us through all these, was and is grace.

Prior to the past year, I had absolutely no idea that most of our days, we would be battling with:

1. incessant manpower woes;
2. supply of our main grain—grits;
3. supply and rhythm of ice and iced water.

The Sound of Grace

There was a time in our first few months of operations when we had no ice in the restaurant. By no ice, I mean that midway during the dinner service, we had not a single ice cube left in the freezer and the (pretty new but crappy) ice machine.

In April of 2025, while closing one night, we were greeted by an absolute star of a human, Eric. He's not an unknown figure in the industry and on the world stage, being the founder and owner of a beautiful restaurant and bakery, Mad About Sucre. He told us that he was going to close his shop, and that we should go have a look at his equipment. 

At that point in time, many things were breaking down. Our ice machine, our vacuum seal machine, our smaller sized oven which we couldn't fire multiple pans at once...my mental state—the list was too long for a 3 month old. We might laugh it off in a few years' time, and think of that as a part of the learning curve, or that we were inexperienced and failed to procure reliable equipment at the start. But I know good and well the reason, and that's why I'm intentionally writing this down now lest my memory decides to falsify itself as it often does: we simply had no loose funds for superior equipment. We had to work with what we had. 

A few weeks after meeting Eric, we popped by to his shop three doors down, and saw that all that we needed then was already there, waiting for us to takeover. He told us that he would be happy to support us and sell them to us at a good price. Really, it was more of gifting at those prices because those equipment could go for thousands, even at second-hand. 

Our ice machine woes continued, even though we knew that something better was coming. Every morning, I had to purchase at least $40 worth of ice to get through the day, to serve guests, as well as for prep work in the kitchen.

Fast forward to June, we shifted over the new-old equipment. From then on, every 40 minutes, like clockwork, the ice machine drops a load of ice into the compartment. It is absolute music to my ears. Matthew and I would pause whatever that we were doing and thank God.

This is what grace sounds like, I thought. 

The Lesson on Receiving and Giving

I've contemplated long and hard about the documentation of this journey. I want a cool story in which we are thriving, joyous, where all the hardships are conquered and we live happily ever after, but alas! A year on, we are still in the middle. We saw rapid closures of restaurants; felt the rising costs, the physical exhaustion, the drainage mentally, and the heartaches. Oh, the heartaches. 

This middle part of struggling to be firmly planted in God's will and walk in His ways is largely, mostly always undocumented. I love stories of successful entrepreneurs who prospered because of how obedient they are. It gives me courage and hope, that all these challenges are not going to be forever, that there is a light right at the end of the tunnel. 

I've got it wrong though. 

The light isn't at the end of any metaphorical tunnel, The Light has been at my feet all these time, guiding and establishing my steps. Even while I was spiralling, even when the darkest days felt like they will never end. 

Our heart and intention behind this place have always been the same. This is God's project, and we exist to love people. The act of loving, of giving grace, it should never an exchange.

But therein lies the struggle as flesh and bones, right?

The crux of my sadness and struggle could be distilled and crystallised to one single pain point: I received grace and love in infinite excess, but I treated it as a currency.  

It is so, so easy to say that we love people when times are good, when they are kind, when they do what they've promised to do. It's also easy to receive the love when things are running smoothly, when I feel worthy.

But that is also where I was wrong.

Pride is a rough edge that needed to be buffed away. Humility isn't just saying sorry when I should, or about lowering ourselves to do the undesirable things like washing the bathroom, or sticking our arm into an overflowing, smelly grease trap. It is very much about knowing that I can't do this without help, from God, from people. That I need fresh grace every single day.

The grace that we are to gift isn't drawn from our benevolent sides. It has to come from a source bigger than us, purer than our selves. The struggle to admit that, to receive that, and then to give that as purely as it comes, that's where the battle is at. 

Over the year, we've had many guests, media, neighbours and suppliers that became friends. And our friends showed up in so many tangible, loving ways: coming by so very often to give us hugs, prayers and words of encouragement. The daily check-ins, virtually or physically. At a moment's notice, they turned up to help us with service, with dishwashing. They held their events here, they invested in us, and some even gave and loaned us funds to tide us over. The list goes on.

Mommy spent all her free time on us, juggling between taking care of dad as he went for chemo and radiotherapy; while working on crochet work for our seating area and for our merchandise. When we had last minute manpower shortages for the day, she would come by to help in the kitchen within the hour. Daddy was fighting his good fight, all while worrying for us and offering us nuggets of wisdom.

Multiple people came and left the team. So much of the foundation had been laid and refined because of their hearts and their skills. How wonderful it is, that they saw what we are trying to build and they said, ok, let me try to lay a few bricks with you! Some of them are no longer with us, but we are thankful. What an honour and blessing to have been able to receive their grace over the past year.  

Which then brought me to the questions: How can I remain so sad, when I am so very much loved? How can I look at my hands that are overflowing with all that God had given me, and say, no, these aren't enough? 

It is simply not possible.

Happy birthday, Nitty Gritty. 

I know not what we will become, but I know the Who and the Why. And I know that we're going to be just fine.

Thank you for being with us.