There was a small deli in my hometown called The Happy Horse.
Long before I owned it, I worked there as a high school student.
At the time it was just a job: a place where I learned how to work hard, move quickly, care for customers, and feel the rhythm of a kitchen during a busy lunch rush.
Looking back, I see it became much more than a job. At the time I didn’t realize how many of those lessons would follow me into classrooms, cookbooks, my work at Practically Homemade, and the way I think about food now.
Years later, as a single mom rebuilding my life and wondering what came next, an opportunity arrived that was both thrilling and terrifying: the chance to buy The Happy Horse.
I remember the feeling clearly—equal parts hope and fear. It felt impossible in many ways. I didn’t have a fortune or a perfect business plan. I was simply a woman trying to build a life for herself and her children while holding onto a dream I wasn’t sure I deserved.
Still, something inside me said I had to try. I was lucky—my parents helped make the purchase possible. Looking back, I don’t think I fully understood what a gift that support was: not just practical help, but people who believed I could do something I didn’t yet believe I could do myself.
So I took the chance. Buying The Happy Horse felt like the start of the life I live now—not because it made me rich or because it was glamorous, but because it taught me what it means to build something with heart (and a lot of cookie dough brownies).
The beautiful thing was that The Happy Horse was already beloved before it was mine. The previous owners—my former employers—had created something special. The food was good and people knew what they loved, returning again and again. The deli already mattered to the community, and one of the smartest choices I made was to recognize and honor that.
When it became mine, I changed the look of the place to reflect a little more of who I was. I hand-lettered the big chalkboard menu, swapped the butcher paper every day with the day’s special, and paid attention to the small details that change the feeling of a room. But I changed very little of the menu itself—because it didn’t need fixing.
That taught me an important lesson I carry into everything I do now: you don’t have to reinvent what already works. Sometimes the magic is already there. Your job can be to notice what’s working, care for it, and gently make it your own.
Slowly, I realized people weren’t just coming in for sandwiches or soup. They were coming for a feeling—comfort, consistency, and connection. They wanted a familiar place in the middle of their day. I learned to anticipate a regular’s order before they said it, loved watching someone settle into their usual seat, and came to know how meaningful it is to be part of someone’s ordinary routine.
That’s where I first began to understand something that has influenced nearly everything I’ve done since: food is never just food. It creates belonging.
I didn’t know then where my life would lead. I was simply running a little deli, raising my kids, paying the bills, and trying to figure out the next step. But The Happy Horse was teaching me the whole time.
It taught me confidence, creativity, leadership, hospitality, and resilience. It taught me that feeding people can be a career, yes—but more importantly, that creating a place where people feel welcomed and cared for is meaningful work.
Maybe that’s why I still think about the deli so often. Long before Practically Homemade, cookbooks, or a wider audience, there was a small-town deli where I first learned how food can connect people—and how building a warm, steady place for others can shape who you become.
Between soup kettles, lunch rushes, handwritten chalkboard menus, and butcher-paper specials, I slowly became the woman I am today.
Sweet wishes,
June
Come Gather With Me
If this story resonated with you, I’d love for you to join me. Gathered is my Sunday note about food, family, memories, and finding meaning in everyday life.
Pull up a chair—there’s a place for you here. 🤍