The Food Desert

Amy was having trouble with math, and I had always been good at it, so I helped her for an hour or so, showing her how to simplify every problem, breaking it down into small parts and then tying them together to get the right solution. She laughed like a kid at Christmas when she finally understood. I walked her over to the ice cream cooler, pulled out a box of what I knew were her favorites and gave her one.

I made her a promise. For every improved grade she got on her report card, she got an ice cream. Get an A in any subject, and it was a whole box. Apparently she talked about it, because a week later her best friends were waiting for me. "Can we get the same deal?" There were only five of them, so I agreed without thinking. Now there were four elementary schools, two middle schools, and even a high school involved. I put Alice in charge of it, making Amy help her, and every Friday afternoon there would be close to two hundred kids lined up. If you got an A in anything, we made a copy of it and posted it in our store window, the A highlighted with yellow marker. If you got straight A's, you got a pizza party. Good thing I got ice cream and pizza wholesale.

I surprised everyone by stepping up to the microphone. "I'd like to say a few things, if I may. I'd like to start out by admitting to consorting with criminals. Two-thirds of my work-force in all my businesses have criminal records. Doesn't stop them from being honest trustworthy workers who want to put the past behind them and make a good life for themselves and their families. My store is open to the public, any member of the community is welcome, regardless of who they are or what their past and present happens to be.

A big city is made up of small communities, just like a small village. And just like a village, everybody tends to know everybody. So yes, I do consort with criminals, I even have a few ex-gang members working for me. They do a good job, and as long as they perform to the standards I've set, I don't have a problem with them. If their friends happen to stop by and behave themselves, I say nothing. I'll never attempt to be their judge or jury, others in the community will handle that, and ultimately they'll face the highest Judge of all, to atone for any sin they may have committed. Anything I might do would be so insignificant compared to that it just seems pointless. So I welcome all to my businesses if they behave. There's a lot of good in this community, good that gets ignored, mostly. I finish with this. I never in a million years thought I would end up here, but God pushed me this way, gave me to Grandma Greely, and the rest is history. This is my neighborhood now, and I'm proud to be here."

The crowd clapped and called out in approval. The politicians, seeing the writing on the wall, backed down. I even got the Businessman Of The Year Award from the city, a nice write-up in the papers and did guest-shots on the local television stations. It seemed someone noticed.

Chapter 13

Two weeks later the Councilman for our district approached me, asking for an hour of my time. There was another man with him when he showed up, and I met them at the pastry shop.

Over coffee and pastry the man made his pitch. "I'm also a Councilman, representing a district much like yours in another city. High crime rate, section 8 apartment complexes, high unemployment, the whole gamut of the ills of the poor and disadvantaged. BIll and I met at a conference last week, and he told me about you. If you could spare the time, I'd like for you to come to our city, meet with the Council, and explain what you've accomplished. Maybe you could offer some advice that will help us get something like you've created off the ground. Maybe you could expand, ever thought about that?"

No, I hadn't. I was making really good money off the bakeries, the store and the pastry shop. Still, I was proud of what I'd accomplished, proud of the difference I was making in the community. I agreed to meet them in three-week's time.

The first thing I did was talk it over with my advisors. Both Grandmas, Dan and Jose, Ms. Chen, Michael and Miguel. The consensus was that I should help them if I could.

I rented a big van and they all traveled with me. They dropped me off, saying they wanted to see the area while I talked to the Council.

It was a three-hour meeting. Most were all for a program like the one I'd stumbled onto. Two were totally opposed to it for some reason.

My people were waiting for me when I got through, and they took me to a soul food kitchen they'd found. I noted I was the only white face in the crowded dining room, and there was a lull in conversation when we entered. They must have decided I was harmless and the talking went back to a dull roar.

Dan started the conversation. "There's a medium-sized grocery store two blocks over. It's been abandoned for four years so it will need a lot of work."

Grandma Vasquez continued when he stopped. "It's in a strip mall, and there's a storefront next to it perfect for a pastry shop. You could recruit locals and do the same thing you did with us. We'll even help train them and share recipes."

Ms. Chin went next. "I bet if we worked the programs you could get the whole thing, all the empty shops, for practically nothing. Do a little renovating, establish it as a safe place, and you could fill every shop. It's a golden opportunity, son."

Michael and Miguel chimed in, saying there was gang activity, but it was mostly locals, no presence of the national organizations. "Not enough money flowing," Miguel said, "so it's not worth their time."

I looked at the table and they grinned at me. Grandma Greely said it best. "You got everything squared away at home, son. And to be honest, you've seemed a little bored lately. Work your magic, one more time."

I thought about it for a few days, then Ms. Chen and I made appointments. She got me the programs I needed, and I bought the strip mall. It took four months for the construction crews to finish the grocery store and I used the time to hire the people I would need.

I found another store manager, a fifty-eight year old Hispanic woman who'd been passed over for promotion a dozen times at the chain where she'd been working. She was a gold mine, helping me recruit talented people like her, mostly minorities and women who knew their options were limited at other places.

Chapter 14

There was a big media event the day before we opened, covered by the local papers and every television station in the city. I introduced the team that would be running the store, from Mrs. Hernandez down to every part-time worker. We toured the store, the wide aisles, the well-stocked shelves, the shining produce department, the state of the art butcher shop.

The media was suitably impressed and the clips looked good on television. There was a crowd standing at the door an hour before we were scheduled to open. Mrs. Hernandez and I stood at the entrance and welcomed as many as we could, personally, giving them coupons good for opening day only. We'd had a thousand printed up and were out by noon. It slowed down a bit after the first month, but still did a booming business.

Two months later the pastry shop opened, again to good press. The Grandmas made a personal appearance, stunned to find they were celebrities in their own right. Oprah had heard about them, invited them on to her show. She seemed amazed at the story, especially about my involvement. Grandma Greely grinned. "Who knew a flat tire, collard greens and an extraordinarily nice white boy would put us on the path we are now. Steve Moore was gift from God and one of the nicest men I've ever met. And ladies, he's single."

Oprah grinned and said I sounded like a catch, and the crowd made appreciative noises when my picture popped up on the screen.

A month later, a fast food type Chinese restaurant opened to immediate success.

Then a lady walked into the store and asked me for a moment of my time to present me with an opportunity. She was tall, well developed, her hair cut extremely short with a small part on the side. Her large dark eyes were expressive over a cute little nose and small mouth full of gleaning white teeth. She seemed amused when it took me a minute to speak coherently.

I invited her over to the pastry shop, and over a cup of coffee and a pastry she made her pitch.

"I want to open a restaurant. Not just a restaurant, a soul food restaurant. My grandmother was from one of the bayous of Louisiana and she taught me Cajun and Creole. My other grandmother was from the Low Country of South Carolina and taught me all her recipes, even from the Gullah. My grandfathers were from France and Mexico, and I learned from them as well. I've worked in LA. New Orleans, Charlotte and Atlanta in different restaurants and learned from all of them. My food will be different, soul food with an international twist."

Well, that explained her coloring, a light caramel. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want to open it in this area, specifically, right here. I could take over both empty storefronts left and turn it into a cozy place that still has a good bit of room."

"If you want my blessing you have it. Contact the management firm I use and start the paperwork."

For the first time she looked less confident. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't have nearly enough money. I've saved some, but it is still less than half of what I need to do it right and I don't want to scrimp."

I could see where this was going. "I'm guessing you want me to invest in you, be one of your partners?"

She shook her head. "No. I want you to be my only partner. Too many cooks and so on. If I have to argue, I want it be with just one person." Sandra handed me a portfolio.

"Here, my credentials, my financial report, the estimates of the cost of getting it up and running, everything I could think of you might need. If there's anything else you need I'll get it for you."

I took the papers. "Well, it looks like you've thought of everything."

"I hope so. One more thing. You'll own 51% so any final decision will be yours alone. I will insist in turn that I have complete control of the kitchen and staff. Think about it. It's a good investment, my dream and I'll make you a lot of money."

I grinned. "I'm at the point in my life now that money is no longer an issue for me. My grandmothers will tell you, though, that I get bored easily without new projects to keep my interest. I'll consider it carefully. If I decide not to join you, I'll turn you over to some people I've become comfortable with. One or more may be interested."

"I don't want anyone else. Call me if you want to meet again or have questions. Thank you for your time." A firm handshake and she was out the door. I watched in admiration at the way her business skirt swished as she walked away.

I turned to see the staff grinning at me. Mrs. Wilmington, the woman handpicked by the grandmothers to manage the shop, hugged me. "So, coffee and a treat, a nice way to get to know someone. She seems lovely."

"I'm sure she is, Mrs. W. Sadly it was just a business meeting."

Her smile got wider. "Well then. Maybe it could turn into frisky business. She seemed to like you."

"Mrs. W, stop! I have enough trouble with the grandmothers, I don't need any more pressure. I've had two bad experiences with marriage and I'm a little shy about new relationships."

She patted my arm. "That was most likely because we weren't around to guide you. Now go, look over those papers. I'd like to see a partnership develop on a whole bunch of levels."

I took her advice. The business plan was sound, her credentials top notch. I was still a bit leery because a restaurant was a terrible investment. Eight out of ten failed the first year, and one of the two that survived usually folded in the second. Then again, most were because of poor judgement, underfunding and mismanagement. If you had a good plan, a sound financial base, good management and a bit of luck, you could be wildly successful. My lawyers read over the prospectus and gave their blessing. Ms. Chen summed it up. "Even if it flops, you can still make money by writing it off on your taxes. But, son, you seem to have a Midas touch and I predict this will make you a lot of money."

I drove home every Sunday for dinners with my family. I'd bought a house close to my original store, on the fringes of the projects. I was between Grandma Greely and Grandma Vasquez, so the place was well-watched while I was gone. Besides, Connie and her new husband were housesitting for me. It kept the house in shape and gave them time to build a nest-egg for their own home. Sunday lunch was a big family affair, Michael, Miguel, Alice, Amy, Connie, their significant others and children, Jose, Dan, their families and children, as well as assorted friends and family made the tables quite crowded at times.

I always made it a point to discuss business with them, grateful for their input. They may not have business degrees (well, a couple did) but they had something much more valuable: an abundance of common sense. The papers included a picture of Sandra in a chef's outfit and to a woman they grinned. So did the men, for a different reason.

We talked it over, and it was Alice and Connie who came up with the idea. "Have her cook for you. That will be the most important part of the business. If she can't cook, it's a deal ender."

"You girls are geniuses! But cooking for one doesn't give you much of a focus group. I'm going to invite her to cook for all of us, using her best recipes. Then I'll get honest opinions from people I trust."

That got them excited and it was scheduled to happen in two weeks, if she was available.

Chapter 15

It turns out she was. Available, I mean.

"How many?"

"Count on thirty. Most are employees, business partners, with a few old friends thrown in. Not to put pressure on you, but my three grandmothers and my mother will be there, and their opinions carry a lot of weight."

"I'd ask how it's possible for you to have three grandmothers, but I think I'll wait until you can tell me in person. There's a problem. No way can I fit that many people in my apartment."

I had an answer. "Not a problem. If you can do it on a Sunday, the pastry shop is available. It may not be set up the way you're used to, but it's still a commercial kitchen."

"I'll need help for that much cooking."

"You sound like you don't want to do this. If you're going to run your own place you'll have to learn to deal with things that come up unexpectedly."

I think I offended her. She was a little short in her answer. "Two weeks. I'll handle everything. I'll serve at one. If anyone is late you will start without them. I want to have the food served promptly for maximum effect and flavor. I'll talk to Mrs. Wilmington so I can have access to the kitchen on Saturday night for the prep work. Goodbye."

I looked at the phone after she disconnected. Bit of a temper on that one. Then again, all chefs seemed a little flighty, to me.

I got one more call the next week. "Any of your group Jewish? Or Muslim? If they are I'll have to adjust the menu."

"Ms. Chen and her husband are Jewish, and Michael's girlfriend follows Islam. With the exception of those two the rest of us will eat most anything in front of us."

"Thank you. See you next Sunday." The phone went dead.

Wow, she must still be pissed.

My family showed up on time, renting three vans to hold everyone. Sandra unlocked the door at 12:30 and I introduced everyone as they came in. I saved the grandmothers for last.

"This is my Grandmother Tina Vasquez, my Grandmother Celia Greely, my mother Veronica Chen, and my Grandmother Sarah Moore."

She was a bit surprised when they all hugged her, telling her how delicious everything smelled.

She'd hired two young girls, pastry shop employees who could use the extra money, and had the meal set up buffet style, making sure there were placards designating the foods that were kosher and acceptable to Muslims. The beverages were sweetened tea, lemonade, coffee, and water, no sodas.

There was shrimp and grits, blackened chicken, paella festooned with mussels and clams, Southern fried chicken, a dish with chickpeas and ham I never caught the name of, flank steak in a mushroom and brandy sauce, deep-fried catfish, and pulled pork.

She had pinto beans cooked with a ham hock, collards, corn on the cob roasted on a grill, green beans, tiny potatoes that were microwaved and then deep-fried, potato salad, coleslaw, some kind of layered salad, heirloom tomatoes she had chopped into rough chunks in a vinegar oil dressing with fresh basil served in parfait glasses, fried cornbread pancakes, a big chunk of baked cornbread, and yeast rolls made from scratch.

For dessert there were fried apple and peach pies, four layer chocolate cake, banana pudding, and fresh churned ice cream, banana and vanilla. Basic, simple, home style and as common as dirt, but in my opinion just as necessary to the survival of the world.

Everyone ate until they couldn't hold another bite. The meal took hours because no one was in a hurry and wanted to sample everything. I liked everything but the blackened chicken, which was way too spicy for my stomach. I particularly liked her fried chicken and the tiny potatoes. The fried pies were great but not as good as Grandma Greely's, but that might be personal bias. The banana pudding, though, was so good I was almost in tears. It was a huge bowl that disappeared in minutes.

There was still a lot left, and Alice slipped down to the store and bought every plastic bowl and a bunch of baggies. For some reason Sandra kept me tied up and by the time I got loose there was nothing left. I think she was smirking when she thought I wasn't looking, as well as the Grandmas. She pretty much shoved us out at four, saying she had to clean up so the shop would be ready by morning.

I deliberately didn't call her. She made it to the next Thursday before she came blasting through the door of the market, coming straight to my office. I was reviewing tapes from the night before of the first robbery attempt since we opened. The cashiers had done as we'd drilled into them, opening the cash registers and stepping back. Our new registers were state of the art with a built in panic button. You hit it when you opened up the till and the police were notified immediately.

I felt bad for the boys. One was seventeen, the other nineteen. Armed robbery in that state carried a mandatory seven-year sentence, but they had robbed me and threatened the lives of my employees. The cops were waiting when they rushed out the door and ran to their getaway car. They looked wildly around for the driver as four policemen stepped from the shadows. "POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND BACK AWAY FROM THE VEHICLE! IF YOU TURN AROUND WE WILL FIRE!"

One dropped his weapon instantly and his hands went into the air. The other hesitated until he looked over his shoulder. Every cop was holding a shotgun. He dropped his weapon.

The cashiers were given three days off with pay to recover from the fright, and counseling was available to them. Two would come back. The other, badly frightened, resigned. I gave her a month's pay and wished her well.

Sandra blasted into the office and stood with her arms folded over her chest, a defiant stare on her face. "Well?"

"Well, hello Ms. Sandra, nice to see you. Enjoying this fine weather? I am. I was just thinking about taking a few days off, maybe go to the coast and do some pier fishing."

I looked at her face and decided I needed to be more careful. "Please, since you're here, have a seat. I was just about to call you. The food, by the way, was exceptional. My family is still talking about it."