ELEVATED FAST FOOD

BRYCE RADEMAN
Redefining Fast Food with Purpose and People

By Golda Hukic-Markosian | Photography by Dung Hoang

“If money is your primary purpose, you will make the wrong decisions.”

Bryce Rademan doesn’t mince words. After nearly two decades in the restaurant business, he’s seen what works and what crashes. And what works, he says, is simple: care about people more than profits, and the profits will follow.

Rademan is the founder of Spitz, a fast-casual Mediterranean restaurant chain that started in Los Angeles and now includes thirty locations across the US. He’s also the co-founder of Muertos Cantina in Salt Lake City. But don’t call him a franchise mogul or a hospitality “disruptor.” He’s a lifer — someone who started washing dishes at thirteen and never stopped learning.

He grew up in Park City, Utah. His parents insisted he start working at a young age, and he cycled through every hospitality job the resort town had to offer: fast food, dishwashing, lift operator, golf course assistant, bus driver, kitchen staff, and front-of-house service.

“I had a really good opportunity to see hospitality from all sides,” he says. “And that shaped my idea of what it should look like.”

What it shouldn’t look like, in his opinion, is the cold, corporate, mass-produced fast-food model that dominates the American landscape. That’s why, when he opened his first restaurant at twenty-one, he set out to do something different.

“I wanted to marry the convenience and price of fast food with the customer service and quality of fine dining,” Rademan says. “Twenty years ago, that kind of place didn’t really exist in the US.”

Spitz began in a tiny seven-hundred-square-foot space near Occidental College in Los Angeles. Rademan had traveled the world, and in Spain he became obsessed with doner kebabs — a street food that hadn’t yet taken off in the States. He reimagined the format, using wraps instead of giant buns (crusty Turkish pide bread), and focused on making the food healthier and less messy. Customers loved it.

But the second location, in downtown Los Angeles, nearly killed the whole thing.

“We went too big,” Rademan says. “Triple the size, triple the rent, and we opened at the start of the Great Recession.”

It could’ve been the end. Instead, Rademan hustled.

Pop-up tents. DJs. A full cocktail program. New menu items like the now-signature Street Cart Fries. Whatever it took to get people in the door, he tried it. “We threw everything at the wall,” he says. “Some of it stuck. A lot of it stuck.”

The concept grew. But instead of handing his brand over to the highest bidder or opening generic franchises across the country, Rademan built what he calls a “famchise” — a contraction of family and franchise. His stores are owned and operated by people who live within twenty minutes of them. Most started as employees. Some started as friends. All of them care deeply about the business.

“If you’re not an owner-operator, it’s not going to work,” he says. “Restaurants are too hard. You have to live and breathe it.”

That philosophy extends beyond ownership. It’s baked into every part of how he runs his business. Rademan doesn’t look for short-term savings, he looks for long-term relationships.

“We invest in our employees. Happy workers make better food. People can tell when food is made with care.”

He’s especially proud of how many people in the company have worked their way up from hourly positions to full equity partners. One of them, Asa Torres, was the general manager of the Sugar House Spitz. He’s originally from Mexico and had a book of family recipes he’d been perfecting for years.

When the space across from Spitz opened up, Rademan and a few partners sat down with Torres and built a new concept around his authentic Mexican recipes. That became Muertos Cantina, which recently expanded into a full-service restaurant with a forty-foot bar and one hundred thirty seats. Torres is now a twenty percent equity partner.

“That’s what it’s about,” Rademan says. “Creating real opportunities for people who prove themselves.”

That same idea is now guiding the next chapter of his company. The original Spitz locations in Los Angeles are being transitioned to employee ownership. “We’re not there anymore,” he says. “They are. They’ve earned it.”

This isn’t a charitable act. It’s good business. The people who show up every day, who know the customers, who care about the food — they’re the ones best equipped to carry the brand forward.

But Rademan also knows what happens when companies lose their soul. He gets regular offers from private equity firms. He turns them all down.

“There’s no faster way to ruin a restaurant than selling it to private equity,” he says. “Their whole model is to squeeze out profit. That kills culture. That kills quality.”

He doesn’t want an “exit.” He wants a legacy.

“Retire? No. Maybe I’ll stop doing spreadsheets. But I still want to build. I still want to create opportunities for people. I still want to be part of it.”

At 42, Rademan has already spent more years in hospitality than most do in a lifetime. But he’s not slowing down. He just chooses his projects carefully, and always with people in mind.

“If you’re in this just to make money, it’s going to fail. But if you care about hospitality — really care — then it can be one of the most rewarding things you’ll ever do.”

He’s seen it firsthand. One employee who started as a line cook now owns a piece of the company and just bought a house. “That kind of stuff matters,” Rademan says. “That’s what gets me out of bed.”

He’s blunt about what it takes to succeed in food service: hard work, long hours, and zero entitlement. “It’s not glamorous. It’s not easy. But if you love it, if you really believe in it, you’ll figure it out.”

And if you don’t?

“Don’t bother,” he says. “This business will eat you alive.”