08/20/2026
What Really Happened to Ellen's?
(warning ... it's a long read)
-- FOR A LITTLE OVER TWO YEARS, WE'VE WANTED TO WRITE THIS LETTER.
Many of you have wondered what happened. Some of you reached out with encouragement. Others asked questions that we couldn't answer. Many simply waited and hoped. The truth is, you deserved an explanation long ago.
This is that explanation.
For a dozen years, Ellen's was more than a restaurant. It was our life's work. Together with an extraordinary team, we built something that became part of the lives of many people. During that time, we served more than 2 million friends from here and around the world.
Families celebrated milestones here. Friends gathered over shared meals together. Travelers discovered Dallas through our front door.
We were incredibly proud of what we had built together and the friendships we had made.
By 2021, the restaurant was thriving. Encouraged by its success, we made the decision to grow. Our vision was to bring Ellen's to multiple neighborhoods throughout the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex.
We received commitments of private funding for the expansion and began moving forward. Leases were signed, architects were hired, construction contracts were executed, and work began on several new restaurants. It was exciting.
-- THEN ONE DAY, EVERYTHING CHANGED.
Late in 2023, our funding partner encountered unforeseen circumstances beyond their control that forced them to pause their financing of the expansion indefinitely. It was not their choice. They had no choice.
Overnight, a well-funded growth project became an urgent effort to stabilize commitments that were already underway. And it wasn't just us. There were several other businesses in other places that were benefiting from similar funding commitments, and it affected them as well.
Fortunately for us, hope arrived almost immediately. A new source stepped forward to replace the financing. Then it wasn't a question of if the funding would come, but when.
We were told it would take 90 days or so to finalize the deal and get the funding. We were relieved and confident that we had averted the crisis. So confident, in fact, that we used the revenue from our downtown location to pacify contractors and landlords and to maintain status quo on the projects.
It made sense, right? After all, it was supposed to be a short-term situation.
Downtown and at other locations still under construction, we asked our landlords for a deferral of rent: just 90 more days to close the deal with our new investor. That was how long we were told it would take.
Unfortunately, we weren't able to reach an agreement with the downtown landlord that would allow us to continue operating while the new financing was being completed, and our flagship Ellen's restaurant closed. Despite our showing more than a decade of success in their building, the landlord thought they could do better and locked us out.
In an instant, the place we had poured our hearts into was gone, along with the revenue we desperately needed during the next 90 days.
-- THE DOMINO EFFECT COMMENCED.
After all this (and partially because of all this), our new financier ultimately pulled out too, leaving us with no choice but to pause everything and initiate damage control.
As is quite common, each of our locations is a separate business entity with its own profit/loss and balance sheets. We also had a management company called Amicus, which was the employer of all the restaurant managers, company executives, and home office support staff.
Each of our individual restaurants, the principals, and our management company (jointly and severally, as they say) were sued by four different landlords, by two different general contractors, and by several vendors whose invoices we couldn't pay.
Over the past two years, trials were held, judgments were rendered in some cases, and settlements were made in others. Thankfully, we only have one case still pending. As it turns out, defending ourselves in court was much more expensive than the construction projects would have been if we had been able to stay on schedule.
The employees we still owe today were employed by our management company Amicus, and not by the restaurants individually. We owe most of those Amicus employees for 3 or 4 weeks of salary for work performed at the very end, when we still fully expected the funding to land. Some employees are owed for even more time because they graciously agreed to stay on longer to help us in the winding down.
In case you're wondering why we didn't just file for bankruptcy on all the companies, the answer is that we considered it. That would have been much easier in the long run. But it would also mean that the people we owed would get absolutely nothing. That was not acceptable to us.
We knew we just had to work through it, step by step, and try to get back to a place where we could earn enough money to pay everyone what they are owed and deserve.
-- WHY DIDN'T WE SAY ANYTHING PUBLICLY BACK THEN?
The honest answer is that for a long time, we didn't know what to say. When this first began, we felt panic. Then hope. Then optimism that we were only months away from solving the problem. No one had to know anything publicly.
As those months stretched on, that optimism slowly gave way to heartbreak.
We lost far more than existing and future restaurant spaces. We lost our daily purpose. We lost the joy of welcoming familiar faces every morning. We lost the place where so many memories had been made. We lost the team we considered family. We lost the trust of employees who relied upon us and trusted our stewardship.
We lost friends.
During that time, our phones never stopped ringing. Employees wanted answers. Vendors wanted updates. Guests wanted to know when we'd be back. Lawyers wanted depositions.
We wanted to have good news, but we just didn't.
Instead of communicating honestly that we didn't have answers, we withdrew. We were overwhelmed by what had happened, embarrassed by our circumstances, and emotionally exhausted, and, frankly, consumed with putting out new fires that erupted every day.
Employees, contractors, vendors, professional partners, and others who believed in our vision were caught in the middle. Again, many still remain unpaid for work they performed or commitments they made in good faith.
We think about that every day. All day, every day.
Looking back, we know our silence created confusion and disappointment for people who cared deeply about us. For that, we are sincerely sorry.
It wasn't because we didn't care. It was because we we struggled to face the people whom we deeply loved and we knew we had let down.
-- THEN, SOMETHING HAPPENED THAT WE NEVER EXPECTED.
This past April, the downtown building changed ownership. The new landlord believes in Ellen's, believes in what this restaurant has meant to Dallas, and immediately began working with us to bring it back.
Thanks to that partnership, we have a new lease—not only on our space, but in many ways, on life itself. Importantly, we also have the landlord's financial support with the cost of bringing Ellen's back.
As we reopen our doors in a few weeks, our goal isn't simply to serve again. Our goal is to earn back the confidence of every guest, every employee, every vendor, and every partner who believed in us.
So, to those who stood by us, to those who wondered if we'd ever return, to those who never stopped believing ...
Thank you. Your kindness carried us farther than you know.
And our reopening isn't about pretending our obligations don't exist. It's about creating the opportunity to honor them over time.
We cannot change the past, but we can move forward with integrity, rebuilding trust one relationship at a time.
-- THE BEST LESSONS ARE LEARNED THE HARD WAY
We've learned a lot. This is important.
There was a time when we thought success meant opening more restaurants. Today, success means opening one front door every morning.
We used to think growth was the goal. Now we believe sustainability is.
We used to assume tomorrow would always come. Now we understand that every guest who chooses to spend part of their day with us is a privilege we will never again take for granted.
Second chances are rare, and we realize how fortunate we are to be getting one.
Oh, and remember the prior landlord who thought they could do better? They didn't. The restaurant sat unoccupied—almost like an Ellen's time capsule—for two years.
It's almost as if someone was looking out for us by holding our little spot on the corner of Record and Corbin available for our inevitable homecoming.
We're coming home with grateful hearts, renewed purpose, and a deeper appreciation for this community than words can express.
And we can't wait to welcome you back.
With gratitude,
Andrew Chooljian, Joe Groves, Russell Mertz, and the entire Ellen's Southern Kitchen family
