525,600 minutes

How do you measure a year?

"In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles
In laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?

How about love?"

This year, I keep coming back to love.

Sitting at New Village Arts watching Rent, the question landed differently than it ever has before. I’ve heard that song so many times. I’ve loved it for years. But this time, it felt less like a refrain and more like an inventory. Seasons of love. The kind you don’t always notice while you’re living them, and then suddenly you can’t stop seeing them everywhere.

When I look back now, I don’t see a calendar. I see a series of loves. Some loud. Some gentle. Some that took me by surprise.

I measured this year in my love for allmine, and for what it revealed: a restaurant is rarely just a restaurant. It becomes an ecosystem, a living room for the neighborhood, a home for ideas and conversation, a place where food, people, and purpose keep shaping each other. That’s what I set to build when I opened the doors, even before I had the language for it.

I measured this year in my love for our team, the people who make the room feel held. Chef Sid grounding my ideas and giving them form, refining our dough like someone tuning a beloved instrument, building systems that carry the soul forward, and leading without ego. Eva, Evan, Elizabeth, German, Pedro, Carlos, Francisco and Roberto moving with calm and pride and laughter, in full view of the dining room, lightness woven into discipline. In the front of the house, Lila, Carson, Nik, Brooks, Emilie, Dani, Luis, Savannah and Courtney reading tables, remembering stories, knowing when to lean in and when to give you space. Dish, prep, everyone who keeps the whole machine moving without needing applause. This year reminded me again that what you feel when you walk in is not an accident. It’s people, paying attention.

Their voices don’t just echo, they shimmer. They carry our story into corners of the city we haven’t yet touched, into feeds and conversations that turn curiosity into connection. They make our work feel alive beyond the dining room, a living, breathing thing that travels on word of mouth and digital whispers alike. It’s a reminder that community isn’t confined to four walls; it’s a constellation of believers, each one adding their own light to the glow and that includes all the journalists, the influencers and the bloggers who blessed us with their presence and their tasting buds. It is the team at Visit Oceanside who gave us the Partner of the Year Award, it is the team at the Chamber of Commerce, city council and Mayor Esther Sancez who recognized us for the work that we do with an award as well. 

I measured this year in my love for gatherings, and especially in the joy I find watching people learn without feeling intimidated. Thursday Wine Social became a space of discovery, where wine lovers realized there was always more to learn, that learning could be joyful, and that the most extraordinary wines are crafted by people, not machines. They found new favorites to share at their next gatherings and picked up simple, thoughtful ways to pair wine and food, turning curiosity into connection. Book Club unfolded like a long conversation that never really ends, a table where ideas and vulnerability sit side by side, reminding me that listening is its own form of hospitality. And Board Hour, that gentle rebellion against busy, taught us that connection doesn’t always need a reason, just time and a shared table. These moments, small and unassuming, are how we practice love for our community: by showing up, by making space, by choosing to belong to one another.

I measured this year in my love for being of service in big moments. Private parties, wedding receptions, milestone dinners, the work behind them, the emails, the pacing, the menus, the lighting, the music, with each intentional choice we try to make it feel effortless. We love that people trust us with their memories. We don’t take that lightly.

I measured this year in my love for collaboration. A brunch collaboration with Hearth and Harvest that reminded me how much energy comes from building with people who care. Catering collaborations that carried allmine beyond our walls, including events with the San Diego Botanic Garden and Titleist, proving that hospitality is portable when your standards are real. You can’t fake “held” in a new space. You have to make it.

I measured this year in my love for honest sourcing and the people behind it. We deepened our commitment to sustainability through Thompson Heritage Ranch, led by Ty Thompson, whose quiet integrity feels like the kind of north star I want in our supply chain. That relationship changed us. His eggs folded into our pasta dough, his pork becoming sausage and porchetta, the idea that when you start with ingredients raised with care, your job becomes respect, not transformation. It made our food feel even more aligned with what we believe: honest, traceable, rooted in relationships you can trust. We also continued to grow alongside Joseph from D’acquisto Farms, who nurtures all of our vegetables with the same care and attention we try to bring to every plate, and Dana and Alex from Seas Greens, who have been our microgreen partners for years and whose dedication and consistency remind me how collaboration can taste like trust.And of course, all our wine and beer friends, as well as our other distributors who always keep our shelves stocked: Erin, Tyler, Sean, Brandon, Darren, Josh, Lindsay, Josh and Gigi.

I measured this year in my love for what’s hard to talk about. The landscape shifting. The quiet closings of other restaurants that don’t make headlines but leave a mark. The reminder that restaurants don’t survive on hype. They survive on return visits, loyalty, consistency and a community choosing to keep a place alive. I’ve felt deeply grateful this year for the people who keep showing up, and I’ve felt how delicate all of it can be at the same time. This industry is not easy, it is complex, it is fragile and it relies on humans and their love.

I measured this year in my love for experiences, and not always food. I traveled when I could, from the desert to big cities, chasing moments. Meals that stopped conversations, yes, but also rooms, pacing, gestures, the way hospitality feels when it’s done with warmth and care. Those are the kinds of experiences worth traveling for. I am committing to having more of them because that’s when I feel alive, when I can tell that the way a place makes me breath is changing me. 

I measured this year in my love for strength. When I walked into Omode Training House, it was the first time in my life going to a real gym, and now I’m the person talking about PRs and encouraging everyone to lift weights. I didn’t expect that version of myself, but I also didn't expect to find a community that supports each other, who shows up to do hard things. I didn’t know how much confidence lives inside showing up consistently until I felt it change how I move through everything else. It gave me stability, mental and emotional, and a huge sense of pride. Big shoutout to my coaches: Vera, Bonnie and Omar. (My deadlift PR is #245, thanks for asking).

I measured this year in my love for slowing down. Fostering dogs through SPOT, taught me, in the middle of a very full life, how to pause and love. Long walks, fun mornings, training and chasing teats, holding dogs that have been through trauma, became one of the most grounding experiences this year. It showed me what it meant to be of service, how much love we all have to give, and how care can change someone’s life, even "just a dog."

And woven through all of it was that question from Rent (a remarkable rendition put together by New Village Arts Theater in Carlsbad) repeating softly in the background: How do you measure a year when life doesn’t move neatly? When love shows up in craft and care, in people and partnerships, in work that asks a lot, in rooms full of strangers who leave feeling like they're part of the family?

For me, it’s this.

In love given.
In love returned.
In all the ways it keeps asking to be counted.

With love,
Roxana