TWELVE YEARS STRONG!
If time flies when you're having fun, what does it do when you're working your ass off?
Twelve years ago, on June 8, 2014, we opened the doors to Vagabond Kitchen in the McLure Hotel. Depending on the day, it feels like yesterday or two lifetimes ago.
At the time, I was only six months removed from a six-year stint living out West. The year before, I had launched the Vagabond Chef project riding my motorcycle around the country, chasing stories, meeting cooks, and various sundry culinarians. I wanted to learn and to better understand the food culture of America.
I planted seeds on that trip, even if I didn't know what would grow.
Over 13,000 miles, I visited kitchens, farms, fisheries, breweries, bakeries, and small businesses. I talked to people who had built something from nothing. It felt like we were in the middle of a renaissance of local food. Farmers knew their customers. Chefs knew their producers. Communities were rediscovering what made them unique.
I came home energized.
I also came home with the confidence of a young man who had absolutely no idea what he was getting himself into. I’ve a habit of leaping before I look.
Not long after, Vagabond Kitchen opened its doors.
What grew from those seeds wasn't exactly what I expected.
Back then, I thought the dream was opening a restaurant. Building a menu. Creating a gathering place. Cooking food that celebrated Appalachia while borrowing inspiration from everywhere else I'd been.
And those things are certainly part of it. But twelve years later, I've learned that dreams aren't built on inspiration. They're built on commitment.
The dream gets you started. Commitment keeps you going when the novelty wears off.
Commitment is showing up when the fryer is broken, the walk-in goes down, three people call off, and you still have a full dining room coming through the door in two hours.
Commitment is making payroll when the numbers don't look as pretty as you'd like them to.
Commitment is finding a way through economic downturns, labor shortages, rising costs, a pandemic, a $37 million street resurfacing project that creates a literal moat around your entrance, and every other curveball the universe decides to throw your way.
There's an old saying: be like a duck. Calm on the surface, paddling like hell underneath.
That's restaurant life in a nutshell.
Guests see the plate that lands on the table. They see the cocktail, the atmosphere, the laughter of friends gathered around dinner. What they don't always see is the thousand small decisions and acts of effort that make those moments possible.
And that's okay.
Because the truth is, I'm not most proud of any one dish we've served or any recognition we've received. I'm proud of the accumulation of ordinary days. Thousands of services. Countless meals. The team members who showed up early, stayed late, and cared deeply about what we were building. The guests who trusted us with first dates, anniversaries, proposals, birthdays, celebrations, and regular old nights when nobody felt like cooking.
Those are the things that matter.
Looking back, I realize this journey has never really been about a restaurant. It's been about putting down roots.
After twenty years on the road, I chose to come home. I chose Wheeling.
Over the last twelve years, I've watched this city struggle, adapt, reinvent itself, and keep moving forward. In a lot of ways, the story of Vagabond Kitchen and the story of Wheeling share the same trait: grit.
Neither has always had an easy road.
Neither is finished growing.
And both have a strong future ahead.
Twelve years ago, I planted some seeds. Some flourished. Some failed. Some grew into things I never could have imagined.
The lesson I've learned is simple: dreams matter, but commitment matters more.
The dream got us here.
The commitment will carry us forward.
Tomorrow morning, we'll unlock the doors, fire up the equipment, and do it all again.
And honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Thank you for being part of the journey. Here's to the next chapter. Chef Matt Welsch - AKA The Vagabond Chef
Six years on the road chasing cooks and their stories, then planting roots in the McLure—that’s the kind of full-circle arc that makes a place feel lived-in from day one. I’ve been using that same wander-then-settle approach for my own kitchen research, and it’s amazing what a motorcycle saddle teaches you about flavor. Check out the full breakdown https://fruit-love-island.com
I found Connect Master while searching for something to kill time during lunch. Big mistake. Now I'm that person eating cold food because I was too busy figuring out which four cards share a secret trait. The puzzles are short, but they chain together.
Six years on the road chasing cooks and their stories, then planting roots in a McLure Hotel — that’s a hell of a pivot, and it clearly paid off. I’ve been following along since the Vagabond Chef days, and the way you weave those roadside lessons into the kitchen still shows. I’ve been using https://yeggi.pro
Six years on the road and you end up in a McLure Hotel kitchen—that’s the kind of full-circle story that makes me want to saddle up and chase my own food trails. I’ve been digging into the same kind of roadside culinary rabbit holes lately, and this piece hits right where I live. https://cults3d.pro
Six years on the road chasing cooks and then planting roots in the McLure—that’s a hell of a pivot, but it clearly worked. I’ve been using that same “seed planting” approach for my own pop-ups, and it’s wild how those early conversations shape the menu years later. Check out https://fruit-love-island.com