Domaine 16, the little French gem nestled in Regent Street in Cheltenham, will be closing its doors for the last time. Not for lack of love, nor for lack of customers, but because the brutal arithmetic of the economy has decided that passion alone no longer pays.
Photo in the article by Domaine 16
The news
In the warm silence of an ordinary evening, when the low lights caress the glasses still damp with wine and the background music gives way to the buzz of the last conversations, something ends. Not with a cry, but with the bitter caress of awareness: even places that have been able to speak to the soul—of French cheeses, full-bodied reds, slow and sincere dinners—can close their doors. Not for lack of love, but because love alone does not pay the bills. Domaine 16, the little French gem nestled in Regent Street in Cheltenham, will turn off its lights for the last time. Not because of a lack of customers, but because the brutal arithmetic of the economy has decided that passion alone no longer pays.
Stephanie Ronssin, founder and soul of the restaurant, has the firm tone and clear gaze of someone who has fought until the last bottle was uncorked. “Sometimes you have to say it's time to go, you've done everything you can, but then the game is over,” she confesses to the BBC with a raw sincerity that smacks of dignified surrender, but never defeat. She invested every resource—financial, emotional, human—in her restaurant. “The reason I closed is that I have no more money to invest,” she adds bluntly. Because even dreams, at some point, have to face the bills. Opened in 2019, Domaine 16 had managed to weather the pandemic earthquake, remaining as steady as a root in the cracks of fragile ground. Its name immediately evoked a promise: a domain of wine and cheese, a kingdom of conviviality where you could taste the most authentic France without crossing the Channel. Instead, after six years of silent battles and “incredible” reviews, the circle has closed. “Over the last two years, margins have shrunk more and more. Utility costs have skyrocketed, as have food costs, so we basically earn enough to break even.”
The equation described by Ronssin is a hellish one, where every incoming item is wiped out by out-of-control costs and an ethical choice: not to pass the increase on to the customer. Because yes, prices could be raised. But that would mean losing the audience that believed in the project. And so, you enter that vicious circle that devours energy and hope. Unfortunately, his story is not an isolated case. A few meters away, on the same Regent Street, The Find café has also closed. And as the shutters come down, the chorus of those calling for support for independent businesses grows ever more heartfelt. Like that of Pak-Wai Hung, manager of 288 Bar and Wok, who speaks candidly about the “worst three months in the last twenty years.”. He too finds himself wondering every day about the point of staying, adding to the testimonies gathered by the BBC: “You pay the landlord, you pay VAT, you pay the staff, and whatever's left, you pay yourself. We're getting to the point where I earn less than a dishwasher.”
It's not just about money. It's emotional exhaustion, a weariness that comes from disillusionment. "We choose it because we have a passion, but after a while the passion fades and it becomes a burden,“ says Hung, laying bare the fragility of a profession that seems tailor-made for heroes: long hours, constant pressure, and the knowledge that, at the end of the day, the pay isn't always enough to even cover the rent. But, as in any great human novel, there is a spark of resistance: ”We'll try. We have to do new things, we have to innovate. We are part of the community." And if the community seems increasingly distant or distracted, the words of independent restaurateurs are a silent but powerful cry. It's about much more than food and wine: it's about culture, identity, and a social network that is built around a table. This has also been emphasized by the British government, which has declared its intention to support hospitality through tax cuts and licensing simplification. But for those who work closely with stoves, hopes go hand in hand with deadlines, and political promises don't always come in time to save what really matters.
In the meantime, Domaine 16 will remain in Cheltenham's gastronomic memory as a place that dared to bring a piece of France to English soil, that served wine and cheese as gestures of love, that spoke the language of quality even when the world was crying out for savings. It will close its doors with the pride of those who know that every dish prepared was an act of beauty. And with a bitter taste in the mouth that comes not from the wine, but from the incomprehension of a system that no longer knows how to reward talent.
