Owning the Floor
There was a stretch of time last year when I stopped being the first to show up — not physically, but in spirit. The team would be prepping, orders flying, service humming, and I’d arrive just in time to plug into something already in motion. On paper, that’s what leadership looks like: trust your people, let them run the floor, let the system breathe. Yet it started to feel like I’d traded pulse for position.
Amparo means shelter. Safety. Warmth. Refuge. And most days, it feels like that. But on others, it feels like the world is testing me. The walls rumble with energy, adversity and exhaustion, and I’m there in the middle — chef, owner, mentor, therapist, firefighter, janitor, human barely holding the line.
I’ve learned that leadership is not about control. It’s about surrender. About letting go. You think you’re running the fire, but the fire’s running you. Every night, it takes something — patience, sleep, relationships, time you’ll never get back — and you keep showing up anyway. Because in between all that chaos, there’s magic. Someone smiles after a bite, the line nails a perfect plate, the floor handles a situation flawlessly and for one second, everything clicks.
However, some days the magic doesn't last long. It flares up, fades, and leaves behind this quiet question: how much of myself am I willing to give up in order to keep feeding the flame?
Now, I’m not the first one through the door — but I’m always the first one in their inbox. The first text in the morning, the first message before the day spins up. I’m the one checking in, syncing schedules, untangling invoices, chasing vendors, making sure the chaos has at least one sane corner.
It’s not the same kind of work, but it’s the same hunger. I used to manage tickets and plates; now I manage margins and people. The burns just moved from my hands to my head – and some days I would trade the pain levels in a heartbeat.
Some mornings I send a group text — “Let’s kill today,” “Make sure you're fully set up,” or “We’re going to be slammed, drink your coffee.” It’s small, maybe dumb, but I know what silence feels like from the top. Leadership isn’t standing over the line anymore — it’s building one that stretches across text threads, spreadsheets, and moods. It’s a different kind of fire: numbers, negotiations, staffing, bank accounts, guest expectations, media — all of it hot enough to blister if you stop paying attention.
And still, with all these clear signs in front of me, I can’t stop. There’s something addictive about the struggle. About the way the team answers back — a “Got you, chef,” or a photo of prep trays stacked tight, a private victory before the doors open. Those small signals remind me I’m still in it, even if I’m not holding a pan.
Owning the floor doesn’t mean standing in front of the flame. It means staying close enough to feel the heat, even when your hands are full of everything else.
La Ofrenda: Wisdom and Breakfast
Leadership isn’t about showing up first — it’s about being felt first. Reach out before you’re needed. That’s how you keep the fire lit without standing in it.
These mornings when I'm feeling like I'm going to need the extra energy, but don't quite have it in me for self-nourishment Im make something simple that feels like home.
Huevos con Nopal
3 tbsp olive oil
1 cup fresh nopales, medium diced
1/3 cup white onion, small diced
1 each serrano pepper, thin sliced rounds (more or less depending how badly you want to wake up)
1 each plum tomato, seeded, small diced
4 each organic brown eggs
tortillas (as many as it takes)
1 each lime, in wedges
kosher salt
- Whisk your eggs evenly, but not too much
- Heat oil in a large cooking pan, add onions and cook until translucent
- Add nopales to sweat out and get a little color
- Add tomato to sweat out a bit
- Add eggs to pan, season with salt and cook to your desired consistency. I like mine creamy, not runny, and definitely not hard.
- Serve with a few wedges of lime, salsa or hot sauce, and all of the corn tortillas you think you'll need before hitting the gym.
