Not Everything Needs to Scale
What we lose when businesses trade magic for mass appeal
When i was younger, there was a Mexican restaurant i loved more than any other. It didn’t look like much from the outside. It was wedged in the parking lot of a tire shop, hidden behind tall, barbed-wire-topped fences. The kind of place you’d never discover unless someone swore it existed. And even then, you’d question their sanity.
But inside?
Inside was a kind of magic i still struggle to explain. The air held stories. You could taste history in the food, recipes that had moved across generations, from abuelas to mothers to children, passed not in cookbooks but in instinct, in memory, in soul.
My favorite dish was the chili verde. Meat so tender it surrendered to the fork. A sauce so rich, so comforting, it felt like home in every bite. Wrapped in house-made tortillas, soft and warm like they’d just been pressed by hand seconds before, because they had.
There was no menu designed for outsiders. No kitschy decor to sell an aesthetic. Just food. Authentic, unapologetic, beautiful food. Made by people who had given their lives to the craft.
And then, it was discovered.
The secret became a headline. Hidden gave way to visible. The restaurant moved to a prime spot on a polished restaurant row with bright lights, clean lines, a proud sign announcing its arrival. Everything was easier. More convenient. More “approachable.”
But it wasn’t the same.
What had once been soulful and grounding became sanitized. The menu adjusted. The flavors dulled. The place that once whispered stories through each plate now felt like it was shouting a sales pitch. And even though the crowds grew larger, i felt like something sacred had been lost.
Years later, in a different town, i stumbled upon another gem. Tucked in the far corner of a tired strip mall, wedged between a discount bakery and a forgotten furniture store, was another Mexican restaurant. The sign was small. The building forgettable. But inside, it was like stepping into a memory.
The people eating there were laborers, pants dusted with drywall, boots caked in grass and sweat. No one spoke much English. i fumbled my way through a mix of broken Spanish and gestures, pointing at a menu printed in a language that felt like it belonged to the food itself.
And again, the food. Oh, the food.
It was all there. The soul, the fire, the care. A sense that what you were eating had traveled long distances and generations to reach your plate. i returned again and again, for five years, nourished not just by the meals but by the meaning.
Then, like before, the discovery.
They moved out. Out of the forgotten corner and into a gleaming new development surrounded now by McDonald’s, Starbucks, Jimmy John’s. A big sign marked their arrival. The parking lot, once filled with work trucks, now teemed with massive SUVs. Inside, the menu had been Americanized. The staff had changed. The customers were different. The soul was gone.
It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t what it had been. It had traded something priceless for something measurable.
i don’t begrudge the owners. i hope they’re thriving. i hope their families are better off. But something in me mourns, not just for the food, but for what it means when beauty gets streamlined. When grit and imperfection and generational artistry get packaged into something neat and safe and scalable.
And i wonder, how many hidden gems are left?
How many more places exist behind tire shops, in forgotten corners of cities, making magic just for the sake of making it, not because it’s got amazing profit margins, but because it’s right?
And how many of us are building things that lose their soul once success knocks?
To those who are creating, growing, expanding. The entrepreneurs, the makers, the dreamers.
What are you choosing?
Are you chasing the spotlight, the strip mall, the signage…or are you willing to stay tucked away behind the fences, doing work that matters, even if only a few ever find it?
Not everything needs to scale.
Some things are meant to be sacred.
Because i believe the world still needs sacred.
Much Love 💛
– jason
Depending on where you live or where you grew up, those are priceless experiences that will always stay with you. Where I lived in NY, there was a place called Bubba's Burrito Bar; for years, everyone told me about it. It was a good location, and the food was excellent. There was a slight problem: the place was small, and the owner fought with the town for a number of years because he wanted to take over the location across the street. Then, the store next door became vacant. It took him about two years, and he finally expanded. He expanded to scale. A bigger kitchen, larger seating area, and more technology to take orders. Nothing ever changed about the food. You ask an interesting question because I am not chasing anything. The intention is scaling to offer more solutions and expertise. It comes down to creating experiences that clients will remember.
I feel this way about podcasts, too. In the early days, there were a lot of unique voices, the production value was more raw, and I loved it. Now, a high percentage of them sound heavily produced, and copy all the same beats of “This American Life,” etc.