When I Left the Restaurant Industry, My Ancestors Began to Speak

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Omar Tate, the chef behind the Honeysuckle pop-up dinner series, on how the voices of his ancestors brought him back to cooking

, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it toI walk among Giants.

We were cutting hours to save labor. Staff would call out of work and I’d pick up the slack. There was a bit of revolving-door syndrome: We were always behind on something, and it was difficult to be completely set up from day to day because of the structural problems we faced. Getting the restaurant into good shape for service often felt impossible. Looking back on my experience there, I see why this was my final stop.

So I left the restaurant industry — and the belief that others held absolute power over me in my career — and my ancestors began to speak to me loudly. The Giants saw me and wanted to help me walk. I listened. I dutifully began reading more and more. Not just cookbooks, but all sorts of things. Old magazines, art portfolios, novels, books on science and philosophy.

I also began forming ideas around food that leaned toward the unconventional. Black history through the lens of Black folks is not well documented. It became imperative to not only learn as much as I could about our foodways and food culture, but also to synthesize a shared experience in uniquely visceral ways. Telling stories about our nuance became paramount.

Or maybe I feel so strongly about it because I came from the mud, from the nothing. I am the little ghetto boy from the ghetto streets that Curtis Mayfield sang about. And all I ever wanted was for someone to water my seed, to bloom for you. For my thoughts to snap crisply in your mind like the bite of an apple, to waft into your nostrils like the smell of good fried chicken.

 

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