Goodbye, Hello

What's Next for Electric City Butcher's Steve Sabicer

“If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello.” Paulo Cuelo.

That’s how we ended the Instagram post announcing that Electric City Butcher was closing. The award-winning, responsibly sourced Southern California butcher shop sold its last steak on February 25, 2023. Suddenly, I was no longer a brick-and-mortar small business owner. Just like that, a major chapter of my life was wrapped up. Bookended. Done.

The funny thing was, closing the shop, wasn’t the hard part. In fact, it was quite the opposite. A warm wave of relief washed over me the day I decided with my business partner Michael Puglisi to shut things down. We’d had an adventurous seven years. The first three were some of the best moments of my entire life. But the next three became a slog. And the last year was downright miserable. COVID had left deep scars—some we’re still processing. In the end, neither of us got enough time to do the parts of our jobs that we truly loved. The mission, to change the way people bought and enjoyed responsibly sourced meats, was being sidelined for the sake of survival.

It was time to walk away. The harder part was telling others the news. Ironically, that was the part I should have been best prepared for.

Before I was a butcher, I had a 15-year career in PR and Marketing. I helped Fortune 500 companies announce some of the most challenging news out there: CEOs replaced, millions of dollars lost, layoffs, tragic accidents. I’d word-wrestled with billionaires, given talking points to celebrities, stared down wily reporters trying to get the scoop. But somehow none of that prepared me for speaking publicly about the end of this little butcher shop on the corner of Santa Ana’s 4^th and Bush.

When friends, family, store guests, and complete strangers asked me the obvious question, “what happened,” I was wracked with dread. I forgot the communications plan I’d personally compiled, and instead, stumbled through vague ramblings and pathetic apologies. The media trainer in my head was coaching me to accentuate the positive, take a victory lap. My heart was telling me I had failed. I’d wasted my time. I’d spun my wheels.

I was drowning in shame. Maybe I’ll share more on that later….

But like every good story, there were lessons learned. And after many weeks, my lessons began to materialize. And boy did I have to write them down.

Writing has always been a way to express my thoughts. Some of you may recall I had a blog for the butcher shop called Top Carnivore. I had quite the meat cleaver to grind after reading Nicolette Hahn Niman’s Defending Beef. I was convinced that my writings would change the hearts and minds of grocery store goers, and maybe even shock treat a few vegans into meat eating again. I spoke with some of the leaders—and up-and-comers—in regenerative agriculture. I read and reviewed so many books, and I explored the biggest questions our store guests had about “grass-finished,” “nitrate-free,” and even the “best lamb steak.” I got an adrenal boost every Tuesday morning when I cranked out my weekly contribution just before noon, and so many of you provided helpful feedback and commentary for the next relevant post.

But it turns out, now that I read those posts in more detail, I was really obsessed with meat. Maybe that isn’t surprising coming from a butcher, but Top Carnivore was hiding a dirty little secret. I was actually—like most human beings—an omnivore, not a carnivore. I was artificially excluding an entire universe of my culinary identity. I was ignoring my life mantra: everything in moderation.

Like every good zealot, I also assumed a lot of knowledge from my readers, probably alienating a few who just didn’t want to raise their hand and ask a clarifying question. Not everyone thinks they’re a Michelin Star chef. We don’t all sous vide or start our spaghetti sauce with the perfect sofrito. What’s a sofrito anyway?

Another lesson I’ve learned in my brief culinary writing career is that most people don’t even like to cook, and those who do seldom have the time necessary. But we all need to eat. And so, there is this constant conflict between convenience and quality. We’re smart people, but wouldn’t it be nice if we had a few tips on how to navigate the world of food for a healthier body, mind, and planet? Advice that was aspirational, yet practical at the same time?  

So, I’m writing you today to announce that I’m launching a newsletter!

It only seemed fitting that a change in writing focus should correspond with a new name. Meet, Enlightened Omnivore, a periodic email newsletter that will explore the worlds of food and sustainability, seasoned with a few of my favorite spices: history and travel, and maybe a garnish of desert living, since I often do my writing at my cabin outside of Joshua Tree.

This newsletter will come to you free via email, or on SubStack (a new platform for me), but for those of you interested in learning more about shopping for, cooking, and enjoying sustainable foods—or if you’re just feeling generous—I’ll be sharing more in-depth writings, recipes, recommendations, and other butcher/life hacks for a monthly subscription. Who knows, maybe I’ll start other media, videos, podcasts, etc. It’s really up to you and how you support this journey of mine.

Ideally, Enlightened Omnivore will begin to look more like my favorite place to be, the dinner table, surrounded by lots of smart and curious friends who want to have a conversation about the joys and challenges of food. This is more a journey than a destination, so I’m eager to hear from folks new and old about shared interests and concerns. But most importantly, it’s about eating good food—with a couple of good bottles of wine—that will continue to build a more abundant planet, while having a lot of fun along the way.

Here’s to a new hello,

Steve