“I was raised in the Midwest, so I grew up with veggie trays, summer sausage, mashed potatoes… pork chops,” says Sam Sandrin of Midwest Sad.

“On my mother’s side, she cooked for the family every day; she didn’t have much money, so she cooked with what she could afford. My father was a vegetarian. And he didn’t cook much, but he baked family recipes for the holidays. And when I stayed with him, we ate a lot of Kopp’s and Gilles. And I have really fond memories of eating at the Chancery.”

Her parents were divorced, so she spent four days with her dad and three days with her mom every week. The days she spent with her father were the highlights.

“My mother had a long history of alcoholism, which complicated our relationship,” Sandrin says. “As a result, my dad was my person growing up. He gave me space and room to grow. He accepted me in all the ways he possibly could. When I came out and told him that I was queer, he looked at me and said: ‘OK, what do we do with that?’ And when I started working in restaurants, he said to me: ‘It’s going to be hard, but you can do it.’ He always stood behind me, whatever I wanted to do.”

That’s hospitality?

Her first two jobs didn’t exactly set a positive tone for the industry.

“For my first job, I was host, busser and dishwasher at the Open Hearth. It was horrible. The owner yelled at me and made me cry. But I stuck it out for a year or a year and a half and then moved on to a temporary job at Oktoberfest, which really wasn’t any better. I had to clean the cutting room and it made me a vegetarian for a couple of years.”

From there, she took a position at Innovation, the restaurant at The Crown Plaza, where she acquired foundational training in hospitality.

“I worked there from the time I was 17 until I was 23. I started as a host and then worked my way through every front-of-house position. Hospitality came naturally to me. Making people happy was a natural part of who I was. As a result, by the time I was 21, I had become the face of their international training program.” 

But, the experience wasn’t all wine and roses. 

“On the one hand, I saw this as the first job where I could really be myself,” Sandrin recalls. “On the other hand, I was a young girl and I experienced a lot of objectification on the job. I was frequently called ‘jail bait’ and I remember being forced to hug my manager before I could leave at night… The morning after I was violently raped by someone I went out with, I told my manager.  All she could say to me was that I wasn’t allowed to bring my negativity into work with me.”

She left the hotel and picked up a job at Cafe Hollander.  

“It was a job. There was no room for me to be creative or passionate. But, it gave me insights into the industry that I hadn’t noticed before. I began to see that the front of the house at most restaurants was made up of women and the back of house was men. And there was a stark difference between how the men treated one another and how they treated the women. 

“Fortunately, there were also exceptions. One of the chefs in the kitchen, Gil, he was great. He saw how things operated and he always had my back. I learned a lot from him and he really helped me to get through what was otherwise a pretty terrible experience.”  

The cracks in the foundation

For Sandrin, it seemed that the longer she worked in the industry, the more she noticed the systemic inequities and toxicity that seemed to run rampant in the hospitality industry.

“As I met more people in the industry, I started to see all the toxic behaviors that accompanied the job...the drinking, the drugs. I’ve been on antidepressants since I was 19, so those things really didn’t mix. I was more depressed than ever and I began to see everything that I didn’t want to be. It made me realize that I needed to quit.”

Instead, she sought out a position that she felt should be inherently different.

“I want to work for Greige Patisserie. It was a small woman-owned business. I was living upstairs. And it all seemed to make sense. I was there for about two years and during my time there I learned a great deal, particularly about baking and making desserts. But it only took me four to six months to realize that my politics truly did not align with the owner’s. Ultimately, I decided that I couldn’t continue to work there and represent things that I didn’t believe in.”

And then the pandemic hit. It was an emotional time for many in the hospitality industry. But it was particularly dark for Sandrin. Her father, who had been diagnosed with brain atrophy when she was 20, passed away in March of 2020. Without his support, she found herself in emotional turmoil. 

“During the pandemic, I took a front-of-house role at Eldr+Rime. In many ways, it was just a job. It was available and I took it. While I was there, I was told I had to look a certain way and act a certain way… and then I was objectified for looking that way. It was the same old thing at a different restaurant.” 

Interestingly, a bout of long COVID brought her around and gave her a new lease on life.

“I was working at Tavolino,” she recalls. “And after I got COVID, I couldn’t taste or smell anything for eight months. Interestingly, cooking by muscle memory gave me more confidence. And I found a new passion for the work that I hadn’t had before.” 

A turning point

It was a turning point of sorts for Sandrin, who subsequently partnered with Katie Gabert to launch Strega, a women-owned pasta concept that debuted in the newly minted 3rd Street Market Hall. 

“It gave me passion. It got me excited about making things. And it gave me a structure that I worked within and that worked for me,” Sandrin says. “But then things fell apart. The food hall wasn’t a good fit… it was actually a pretty terrible experience… and it didn't last.”

The concept turned out to be short-lived, but Sandrin says that she can now look back and realize that the time she spent at the food hall was pivotal.  

“I don’t do regret,” she says. “And it’s very easy to see now that the most important people in my life came to me from the food hall. I met Nate [Heck] and Laura [Maigatter] and Jen Recka. I met Gregory León while I was working there. The awful experience we had at the food hall also fundamentally changed the way I operate. It showed me precisely what not to do… and that was huge.” 

After leaving the Downtown food hall, she assisted Gabert and her family in opening Pomona Cider on the East Side. But it would be her last position working for someone else before officially launching Midwest Sad in May of 2024. 

A new beginning

“I always thought there was something wrong with me,” reflects Sandrin. “I’ve always been told that I’m odd… or weird. But I’ve realized that it’s a strength to love unconditionally. It’s a strength to give a shit. Being different isn’t bad. And – even if you’re a woman – you’re allowed to be proud of yourself. You’re allowed to have an ego… The first two or three months of operating Midwest Sad were kind of scary. But then, all of a sudden, demand just found me. I can’t really pinpoint what happened, but I hit a critical point and, ever since, things have just grown organically.” 

Today, Midwest Sad provides wholesale items for local businesses, including Crafty Cow, Uncle Wolfie’s, Kinship Cafe and Bug & Goose Play Cafe. Their desserts are in a vending machine at The Washroom laundromat. Midwest Sad also serves sandwiches, sides and bakery at Gathering Place Brewing Company.

“This business is bigger than me,” says Sandrin. “And I couldn’t do it without all of the people I work with. One of the biggest things I want for my staff is for them to be able to be who they are. So many people have to mask themselves to go out into the world. I want them to be able to be themselves. I want them to be seen, to be respected. I want them to make a living wage."

Sandrin says she know that – in many ways – she’s privileged. She has a home and some income to fall back on, so she can pay her employees. And, instead of working for the sole purpose of making money, she can focus on helping others and opening her first welcoming, community-focused brick and mortar cafe this summer.

“For me, the whole point of hospitality is fulfilment. It’s about taking care of people in a way that they may not ever have been taken care of before. And it’s about giving other people the strength and opportunity to succeed. I want to help others to make a living wage. And – maybe most of all – I want to give people a place where they can smile, feel safe and be happy.”