I’m here to tell you that naming a business is hard, y’all! Unless you’ve been sitting on a meaningful name for years, like people do with baby names (guilty!), it’s not as easy as it sounds. For founders or owners, naming your business can feel simultaneously like the most important decision you make and also the least. We knew we wanted the name to be meaningful; it needed to be the perfect representation of us, which is why, for us, it felt like one of the most important choices we had to make. But at the same time, I knew, in the back of my mind, it would only really matter to us. I’ve never even thought twice about what Google or Samsung means.
When Louis and I decided we wanted to open a restaurant, one of the first things we asked ourselves was, what do we call it?
In today’s issue, I’m sharing the story behind the name, how we got to it in the first place, and an anecdote from Louis too!
Back in issue 5, I shared the restaurant deck that Louis and I made to essentially show our concept work. Before we even attempted to build that deck, we needed a name to put on the very first page! We were living in a constant brainstorm session, where we just threw random words at each other, hoping one of them would ping something in the other person’s brain, getting us closer to the name of our future restaurant. That random shouting of names/words was a theme in our house during that time: one of us would be in the shower while the other was brushing their teeth or I’d be midway through a book in bed while he was about to fall asleep when one of us would ask what you do think of _____ or how about ______?!
We’ve always liked the names of old school American diners named after someone, like Luke’s (from Gilmore Girls) or Canter’s (in LA). So we thought about Lou’s or even using the name we’ve always wanted to give our first-born kid, but Louis never wanted his restaurant to revolve around him, so Lou’s was out, and we thought it might be weird to name the restaurant after a kid we didn’t have (lol). It’s much cuter when you name it after someone that actually exists like Jeremy Fox naming Birdie G’s after his daughter or Aaron Silverman naming Rose’s Luxury after his grandma. Way more personal and way less weird.
I needed more inspiration, so I went back and re-listened to the episode titled, How To Name Your Company, from The Start-Up podcast. In it, the hosts/co-founder of, now, Gimlet Media, documented the whole process, starting from their attempts at naming the new podcast company on their own to finally working with a naming service to help get them their name. It’s SO interesting to hear their process and it’s funny how weird and ugly sounding the potential names were. Some borderline cringe!
Louis is good at asking questions. He’s pretty introspective and theoretical, so most of the time those questions would just take us down a spiral of word-dumping. From reading my journal, I can tell that, at some point, he’d asked me, what’s another word for gathering or a place to gather? On a page titled Word Dump, I have randomly jotted down words: great room, common room, parlor, gang, drawing room, war room (lol, what?), meeting point, lobby. But there was one specific question that took us down a pretty profound path that led us to our actual restaurant name!
One evening, while I was sitting in bed, probably reading a book, Louis walked in and asked me, what’s the most transcendent dining experience you’ve ever had? I remember sitting there, thinking and repeating the question out loud. I didn’t fully understand what the word transcendent really meant, but I guessed it must have meant some sort of a life-altering meal. I thought back to my long awaited dinner at The French Laundry and thought, it was good,but was that transcendent? If I had to ask, then probably not. Then I thought about the most fancy hospitality experience I’d ever had, at Singlethread (which I LOVED from beginning to end), and still thought, but was that transcendent? Then I got a little self-conscious because I realized, maybe I’d never had a transcendent dining experience, at least not in the way I knew Louis has had a few times in his life. Seeing that I was struggling with that answer, he left me to shower, so I could think on it some more.
Louis: To me, a transcendent meal is one that makes you wonder, for hours or weeks or years, how did they do it? It can’t just be good food, there are plenty of places that do that. It’s got to be special, unexplainably so. The meal that defied logic, to me, the most transcendent meal I’ve ever had was at an unassuming meat & three in Nashville called Arnold’s Country Kitchen. I’ve had some good food in my life, Michelin stars and famous street vendors, but I’ll always remember how it felt to dine at Arnold’s.
There was a line, slowly moving, everyone there respectful and patient, waiting for their turn to choose their protein and their sides. The hush of the dining room was just loud enough to not be weird. Most of the diners were hunched over their trays, eating intentionally, savoring and enjoying. The owner walked around, saying hi to his friends, his regulars, as if he saw them every week. It was a total mix of folks, people on their lunch breaks and out of towners alike; I still remember the roast beef, perfectly seasoned and tender as all heck, probably the best I’ve ever had. And I can picture the fried pork chops, one of the three “meats” of the day, sizzling on the griddle, the chef methodically ladling its own drippings back on to each one. The food was undoubtedly perfect, but it wasn’t just that.
Something about eating there felt special, like they were cooking just for you or like you went to your grandparent’s house for lunch. It’s almost like, if you were still hungry, they’d give you seconds, or if the lunch-goers could’ve, they’d hop back and load the dishwasher themselves. It sounds crazy, but it never felt like a restaurant; everyone there was family, and Arnold’s was their home. Everyone knew how sacred that was, and for one afternoon, I was in on the secret.
When Louis got back from his shower and was fixing his pillow for bed, I turned to him and said:
It’s not the most transcendent dining experience, but it’s the most meaningful one for me: it’s the late night meals I used to have with my dad before he passed. When I used to serve at The Cheesecake Factory, I would come home around midnight, but before clocking out I always ordered a pasta and a cheesecake to-go, because I knew my dad would be waiting up for me to make sure I got home OK. I also knew he’d never say no to food. I’d come home and unbox the very unhealthy, but super comforting late-night spread, while my dad makes his instant Folgers coffee (because, cheesecake!) and we’d sit and chit-chat for the next hour or so. We’d talk about our day and even get into our fears and struggles. He’d ask about my dating life and I’d ask about life before us. It was such a sacred time; the world, my mom included, was asleep. It felt very much like two kids, with our guards down, secretly eating cheesecake together, late at night, when we’re not supposed to. Sometimes my mom would wake up and groggily ask, what are you two doing? and my dad would look up with a cheeky smile and say, eating xiao ye, you want some?
Love you loving him together with people who will love your food. Onward!!! 🥹😍♥️
This is perfect.