Don't Let the Bastards Win

I have a love-hate relationship with any movie that can make me cry. I love the ‘catharsis’ of recognition, when something resonates so deeply that you feel 'not alone in this experience of life'.

I hate it because I cry ugly. Like, red-nosed, blotchy-faced, glassy-eyed, 'don’t look at me’ levels of hideous.

When I sat down with the Balkan Storm to watch "Nonnas" on Netflix, I figured I was in for a sweet little documentary with comfort food vibes, maybe even a few cooking tips.

I did not expect to ugly-cry over a movie about gravy.

The film follows Joe Scaravella, a Staten Island guy who loses his mother and grandmother and responds by opening a restaurant staffed entirely by grandmothers from around the world, each one cooking the recipes they grew up with.

It’s a wild idea, and it nearly doesn’t work.

Joe has no business plan or even a backup plan; all he has is a gut feeling he can't shake and borderline insane stubbornness.

Which, you know. Relatable.

Because I’m smack-dab in the middle of creating something too, something that matters more to me than anything I've done before.

I’ve got no investors or a ‘how-to’ guide, just a voice in my head that won’t shut up, a vision I can’t shake, and a Type-A husband who has gently started asking questions.

It’s fine, though, really.
Probably.

The hardest part of the film isn't the money running out or the neighbor who's actively telling people not to come. It's the "what if I'm wrong about all of this" thoughts that creep in, and you're too tired to push back on them.

But there’s always someone like that in your life, isn't there? Someone who’d rather watch you fail than admit you’re doing something they don't have the guts to try. Or worse, a "friend" who pokes holes in your dreams under the guise of concern.

Worst of all, sometimes, it’s you.

And that’s the real battle, isn’t it? Not letting anyone's doubt, including your own, decide whether you keep going or not.

So Joe keeps going.

He shows up at the New York Times office with a bag of food, no appointment, and no reason to think anyone is going to care.

He hears nothing back and figures it’s over. He throws one last party just to use up the inventory before he closes for good; one last hurrah before he has to admit it failed

But behind the scenes, something was already happening.

A review ran, and the next morning, there was a line out the door.

That was fifteen years ago.

Enoteca Maria is still open and run by grandmothers from every corner of the world. Still going strong and feeding people like family, all because someone refused to quit on something he couldn't yet see was already in motion.

And God knows I needed that reminder.

I have no idea how this story ends for us. I can’t even talk publicly about half of what we’re negotiating right now. Not yet, anyway.

What I can say is that I’ve never fought harder or believed in something this deeply without knowing if it would ever really take off.

This platform has a pulse, which means everything to me. I never expected it to get this far already. So I keep working, keep betting on what this could be, even when it hurts like hell.

As the Balkan Storm reminds me all the time: don’t let the bastards win.

So I don't.

Heather Papovich is the voice behind Unfinished Business. She's seen some things. She'll tell you about them.