czsz
Senior Member
- Joined
- Jan 12, 2007
- Messages
- 6,043
- Reaction score
- 6
I thought this column might be a good way to kick off ongoing discussion of this topic:
Nurturing a dream city
By Yvonne Abraham, Globe Columnist | July 25, 2007
If you want to see what this state could be, head down to the former Haffenreffer Brewery complex in Jamaica Plain and knock on the door at Nuestra Culinary Ventures.
Depending on when you stop by, you might come upon Carlene O'Garro mixing muffins for her baked goods business. Or Kenny Perry chopping collard greens for his catering clients. Or you might find Mohamud Abdirahman, a stately chemist from Mogadishu, overseeing workers frying up sambusas, pastries filled with meat and spices, and laying the golden brown triangles neatly in trays. His food ends up at Logan Airport, as hot meals at $7 apiece for cabdrivers. He sells out within 90 minutes every night.
With him, you'd find Saida Joseph, a Moroccan immigrant who is his right-hand woman. And Dorchester's own Lemmie Horton, an African-American man in a hairnet and a hurry, who helps to keep the operation moving.
Abdirahman, O'Garro, and Perry pay $35 an hour to use the huge, airy, stainless steel kitchens, space they share with about 30 other entrepreneurs. Without the site, they'd be cooking in church basements or in their homes. Or nowhere.
What happens inside this place isn't important just to them. It's a model for our future, too.
The people who sign up for kitchen time here are immigrants and locals. They are Latino, African-American, and white. They are men and women. They are middle class and low income.
Outside this red brick building, Boston -- in fact, the whole state -- remains remarkably balkanized. Even in this majority-minority city, there are few places that bring a true cross-section of the population together: Wally's Cafe in the South End, maybe two or three others.
The fact that we're not around each other more often isn't just unhealthy. It's dead boring.
Which is why the sight of all of these people working side by side at Culinary Ventures is such a beautiful thing.
"This is a unique situation right here," Horton says, with some pride.
But late last year, the kitchen facility -- begun by Nuestra Comunidad Development Corp. in 2002 -- almost closed. Rental fees weren't meeting the considerable operating costs. One fan of the place, Mayor Thomas M. Menino, bailed out the group with a $75,000 Boston Redevelopment Authority grant. Local companies gave $50,000 more.
That paid debts, but Evelyn Friedman, executive director of the development corporation, says it will be two years before the kitchen breaks even. And that's only if it starts doing better now.
The kitchen is now charging its tenants $50 monthly membership fees. It's seeking corporate sponsorships. And Friedman's troops are increasingly focused on teaching those who rent space here how to grow their businesses.
J. D. Walker, a gregarious veteran of umpteen restaurants in North Carolina, is Nuestra Culinary Ventures' new director. On the job only a few weeks, he has already steered catering contracts to his clients. He dreams of jobs that would require cooks here to band together and feed thousands at a time.
The only problem Walker wants to have in a couple of years is overcrowding, his tenants so busy that the kitchen is bursting with activity day and night.
"We're ready to take off," Walker says. "A lot of our entrepreneurs are really hungry. We have to get them to the next level."
His success would help take all of us to the next level. Keeping Nuestra Culinary Ventures alive isn't just about a Somali immigrant's sambusas. It's about helping to create a city, and a state, where everybody can feel comfortable, neighborhoods are more mixed, and residents are less suspicious of one another.
There are plenty of corporate titans in Boston and beyond who care deeply about making this whole place look more like Walker's kitchens. Any of them with employees to feed should call Nuestra Culinary Ventures.