Signals

We’ve recently begun the real adventure: physically looking at properties. It’s thrilling and terrifying, hopeful and heartbreaking all at once. Each place we see becomes a question about what it might become:

« Is this space laid out in a way that aligns with our vision? »

« Does it flow naturally toward the areas we plan to activate, or does it feel awkward, like we’ve stumbled into a stranger’s home? »

« If I were arriving here for the first time, would I feel excitement about what lies ahead—or would I instantly want to turn around and leave? »

This elusive quality—the intangible thing about a place that pulls us in, makes us feel welcome, comfortable, excited—is central to everything we're trying to build.

I’ve visited some genuinely memorable places: a restaurant inside a giant greenhouse tucked into a plant nursery, a café nestled within a sprawling outdoor pottery market, a Milanese bar floating serenely on the city’s canals. Each felt intuitively right—fitting perfectly into its space, leaving guests inspired rather than intimidated.

But what makes these places feel inviting rather than daunting? How does one strike the balance between a space that feels comfortably residential and yet unmistakably commercial?

Our concept is particularly challenging because it blends these two worlds. It needs to warmly invite guests while preserving a private home environment. When visitors arrive, I want them bursting with anticipation, not regret.

Is it about scale? Does a larger space naturally communicate commercial intent? Perhaps a pristine exterior hints that something equally polished awaits inside. Or maybe it’s the arrival itself: a long, welcoming drive lined with trees, gently guiding visitors into the experience.

Clear signage, thoughtfully named spaces—these might also help, providing comfort and reducing uncertainty right from the beginning.

The line between residential coziness and commercial clarity fascinates me. Many people attempt to replicate the warmth of a restaurant or the intrigue of a cinema at home, yet it rarely translates perfectly. The same elements, slightly misplaced, feel contrived rather than charming.

What’s the perfect initial image—something between a desolate parking lot and your eccentric neighbor’s front yard? While exploring potential locations, it can be challenging to see past the immediate imperfections to the potential beneath.

We deeply value heritage, authenticity, and lived-in charm. But we want history without clutter, warmth without cobwebs. We seek character, not chaos.

Two recent property visits left us deflated, yet our excitement hasn't waned. Each weekend brings new possibilities. Each new road leads us closer to understanding exactly what makes a place not just suitable, but special.

For now, we’ll keep looking, imagining, and refining our vision, trusting that the right place will speak to us clearly, welcoming us home.