Sweedeedee

The first time I went to Sweedeedee, Christie was behind the counter playing “I’ll Come Running” from Brian Eno’s “Another Green World” on the record player. For a tiny place, Sweedeedee had a huge reputation online in the Portland brunch scene. Yelp was full of glowing reviews, along with a few scathing ones from Karens who couldn’t understand why they might have to wait in line to order before they could grab one of the scarce seats. Settling in to “Another Green World”, I felt at home.

I started going to Sweedeedee regularly on weekends — I hadn’t yet gotten the hang of every day being brunch in Portland. I quickly realized that I needed to show up the moment they opened if I didn’t want a long wait. Weekends at Sweedeedee were overflowing, line out the door, of people who were mostly very happy to be there.

I got used to seeing Christie there on weekends. We bonded over the Space Lady, who used to warble Stairway To Heaven in the Harvard Square T stop, and in the process learning that we were both from New England. Christie heard that the Space Lady was making a comeback and was performing at the Hollywood Theater, which sadly we both managed to miss.

After a while, my weekend loyalty faltered… as much as I loved going to Sweedeedee the weekend crowds were overwhelming. I found a new place in my week’s schedule — Wednesday mornings. Wednesday morning became a real thing for me… get up, buy comics online (feeling guilty that I wasn’t supporting local comics shops but relieved that I wouldn’t have long boxes of comic books that I felt obligated to manage responsibly), get to Sweedeedee at 8AM when they opened, order a breakfast plate, snag the corner seat that was most comfortable and settle in to read the morning’s mutants.

Sweedeedee was the first time I noticed the “We welcome all races, all religions, all countries of origin, all sexual orientations, all genders. We stand with you. You are safe here” signs which are have become prevalent in Portland.

Sweedeedee was the first place where I started to feel like I was at home in Portland.

After enough Wednesday mornings I got to know Brandon, who also liked comics, and Luca, Daniel, Adrian, Brie, and other folks there, somehow not meeting Eloise, Sweedeedee’s owner, until recently. I loved the way that Sweedeedee — like many small Portland businesses — didn’t stand alone but was tight with Mississippi Records around the corner, and Cherry Sprout Produce across the street from it, was always Dinah No’s ceramics, or Simington Garden’s produce, or Hilary Horvath’s flowers. It felt like a community more than a business.

Sweedeedee was oh so Portland. People would show up in their robes, with dogs, with children, with Japanese tour groups (apparently Sweedeedee is as beloved in Japan as it is in Portland). Most Wednesdays Brandon would put on that god awful “biscuit song” on the record player that I was never sure if he loved or thought other people loved. It always felt real and honest, not earnest and trying too hard the way a lot of Portland feels.

Sweedeedee was.

The pandemic is ravaging the restaurant industry. Every day there’s an addition to the list of restaurant casualties — even deep-pocketed multi-location juggernauts like Pok Pok and Blue Star Donuts. I spent a lot of the start of the great pause grieving, knowing that we were going to lose a lot and that a lot of people were going to be hurt. The restaurant industry is tough and margins are tiny, even at the best of times.

It caught up with Sweedeedee too.

(read the rest at Instagram)

Sweedeedee’s closing hit me hard. It’s not just the great food… not just the homey setting and friendly people… but the loss of the sense of community. And, personally, the realization that I have to accept that things are not going back to the way they were when we get through the pandemic.

Remember that in the end, more than businesses, institutions, organizations, ideologies — it’s people that matter. People are the reason for everything else. Any time we trade the latter for the former, we all lose. People are not assets or commodities. In a time when many people are losing a lot, let’s hold them close and value them. Remember them. Things won’t ever be the same again. As we rebuild our communities after the pandemic, let’s make them better for everyone this time.