By Elise Vider
Right now, it's just an ugly, long-vacant supermarket in
The Center for Culinary Enterprises is expected to open its doors next summer, billed "as the nation's most comprehensive food business incubator - a powerful engine for creating jobs and new community-based food businesses, engaging youth, overcoming critical food access obstacles and serving as a hub of community health and nutrition services."
The $5.5-million, 13,000-plus-square-foot complex will house three shared-use commercial kitchens; Little Louie's BBQ, a full-service restaurant for training community youth in restaurant operations; two retail spaces for local businesses and a multi-media learning center with a demonstration kitchen. The project is funded in part with $1.5 million from the US Economic Development Administration, along with other grants, donations and loans.
The developer, the Enterprise Center Community Development Corporation, sees the culinary center as a way to tackle twin problems: the need to encourage business and job growth in an impoverished area and, at the same time, increase access to fresh, high-quality food.
As in many jurisdictions, it is illegal in
In planning its culinary center, the
Some jurisdictions are loosening up requirements for small producers. In
There are no such allowances in
Noelle Dames, who managed the Greensgrow kitchen, says she gets a steady stream of inquiries. But even these cannot be accommodated right now: the project is "on indefinite hiatus, not accepting new tenants, due to the complexity and costs of operating," she reports.
And the hurdles for small entrepreneurs to even get to the point where they can boil water at a shared kitchen are daunting. Dames and many others familiar with Philadelphia's license and permit requirements for small food producers use words like "archaic" and "antiquated" to describe the multiple licenses, certifications, paperwork, inspections, red tape and costs.
The barriers may be costing the city its chance to be a regional center for small, job-creating businesses in the artisanal/locavore sector.
"There definitely has to be oversight. We all understand that," Dames says. "But [the city] has to be able to recognize new uses. They take a very outdated approach." She estimates that it can cost $1,500 or more to get started as a small food maker, even before buying a single ingredient.
Stephen Horton of the
Alan Greenberger, deputy mayor for economic development, acknowledges the value of encouraging such small businesses, especially as a desperately needed generator of entry-level jobs. But he also notes "food businesses come with regulatory issues involving [their] impact on neighbors and on public health. For example, we had an instance where we were criticized for not supporting a zoning variance for a small business that wholesaled/retailed frozen fish out of a rowhouse in a mixed residential/industrial neighborhood. Well, if I lived next door to a fish distributor operating out of a rowhouse, I think I'd have some legitimate concerns."
Still, he adds, "we have an obligation to help organize the myriad of regulations and approvals they are subject to and make the path through the system predictable and consistent. We are working on this very thing by trying to organize a coordinated inspection system between the Department of Licenses and Inspections and Health for food establishments."
Even as it counsels would-be food producers on the labyrinthine licensure process, the Enterprise Center is promoting such policy change to reduce the barriers of entry for small food entrepreneurs and to encourage a more proactive approach here.
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