Dear DMV
Chef Kevin Tien’s letter to the DMV’s hospitality communities
Illustration: Rachel Krohn
Dear D.C., Maryland, and Virginia,
To the cooks, servers, managers, owners, and creatives who make up the D.C., Maryland, and Virginia (DMV) restaurant community,
When I think about what makes this region special, I don’t immediately think about awards or headlines—I think about the people. The early mornings and late nights. The quiet acts of generosity behind the scenes. The pride we take in feeding others, even when the work is hard and the margins are thin. This community has always been built on showing up, and that’s something worth celebrating.
The DMV has grown into a truly remarkable food region, not because we try to be like anywhere else, but because we embrace who we are. Our food reflects our cultures, our families, and our lived experiences. It tells stories—sometimes loud, sometimes subtle, but always personal. That honesty is what gives our restaurants soul, and it’s why diners here feel a real connection to the food and the people who make it.
At the same time, we’re navigating one of the most challenging periods the hospitality industry has faced in recent memory. Rising costs, staffing shortages, burnout, and constant uncertainty have forced many of us to rethink how we operate, lead, and define success. For some, survival itself has become an achievement. These realities are felt daily in kitchens, dining rooms, and offices across the region. In D.C., shifts in federal work patterns, tighter budgets, and fewer conferences or group events change the rhythm of dining while guests are understandably more cautious about spending. Restaurants aren’t just fighting to be great—they’re fighting to stay open.
And we have to name something else that’s weighing heavily on our community right now: the fear and instability caused by immigration enforcement. The restaurant industry has always been powered by immigrants who came here to build a life, support their families, and contribute to the culture and economy of this city. They are the backbone of our kitchens, our dining rooms, our prep lists, our late-night breakdowns, and our early-morning deliveries. They are mentors, leaders, caretakers, and craftsmen. When ICE activity increases, it doesn’t just create anxiety—it disrupts livelihoods, destabilizes teams, and puts entire families in survival mode. People miss work because they’re scared to travel. Neighborhoods get quieter. Businesses lose their rhythm. The damage spreads far beyond one restaurant.
This isn’t what hospitality is supposed to look like. We need to be clear: immigrant communities are not a “part” of the restaurant industry—they are the restaurant industry. The DMV’s food scene is great because of them, and we should be fighting for a city where they are protected, respected, and able to live and work with dignity.
What continues to inspire me is how this community has responded. Rather than retreat, I’ve seen our industry lean into care and accountability. We’re having more honest conversations about wages, schedules, mental health, and sustainability. We’re questioning old systems that no longer serve us and building new ones rooted in respect and longevity.
Looking ahead, I feel a deep sense of gratitude and cautious optimism. The next generation of leaders in the DMV are thoughtful, collaborative, and unafraid to redefine what success looks like. They’re building places rooted in purpose, care, and craft—places that understand hospitality is not just about what’s on the plate, but how people are treated along the way.
To everyone who has chosen hospitality as their path: Thank you. Thank you for your creativity, your patience, your generosity, and your commitment to this work. It’s an honor to be part of a community that continues to cook with intention and lead with heart—even in uncertain times.
With appreciation and respect,
Kevin Tien, Chef/Owner of Moon Rabbit
