Recipe for Reform: The Empathy of Food Kitchens

A cacophony of sounds rang out in contrast to the measured calmness of Danielle scrawling destinations on the side of the packages. The high-pitched sound of skidding sneakers on the linoleum floor and the WHOOSH! of papers fluttering onto the tile better matched Sydney’s frantic, messy search for Baby Bella Mushrooms. Across the room, Myeil’s light banter while he effortlessly taped tens of cardboard boxes provided a startling contrast to Rob’s valiant struggle as he juggled a market’s order of Crispy Leaf Lettuce in one hand and Baking Idaho Potatoes in the other.

The kitchen was a rainbow of color. Firm Golden Delicious Apples glinting off the fluorescent bulbs created the illusion of sunlight. Damp bunched Kale sat next to glistening lemons, flanked by forest-colored Jalapeno peppers and sunset baby carrots. The ensemble of fruits and vegetables was extensive as sleeves of garlic, Hass avocados, and Romaine lettuce all filled the boxes, providing a variety of colors, textures, and flavors.

The scene inside DC’s Central Kitchen, a nationally recognized community kitchen which delivers “fresh, affordable produce to corner stores in neighborhoods without supermarkets,” was chaotic (“Mission and History”). The next day, hundreds of boxes of fresh crops were to be transported across the city, fueling grocery stores and local markets with healthy options at cheap prices. Thus, my task of assembling ingredients according to their wish lists was crucial to their operations. The public service of Elmira Grocery, a staple of South Capitol Street, a neighborhood defined by its proximity to the Anacostia River and its plethora of affordable housing developments, of Union Market, an acclaimed market with a diverse repertoire of foods to match the rapidly heterogenizing NoMa population, and of Yang Market, located on U Street, a historically significant landmark for Black Washingtonians, depended on our volunteer assembly line.

Yet, despite the urgency, the Central Kitchen staff treated us with compassion and warmth. The moment we stepped into our aprons, we became members of their family. They eased us in, articulating each step of the process, answering every one of our incessant and repetitive questions, and generating conversations as we worked. I was the only college student there; every other volunteer worked for Bloomberg Industry Group, a tech company that requires community service hours. Despite being the clear outlier, I was included in every conversation and every joke. My colleagues and Chef Myeil questioned me about my college experience and my future plans. They teased me when I dropped a green pepper, cackling as I chased the rolling fruit under the table. Soon, I began to understand my counterparts not as cogs, but as individuals. There was Rob, the salesman who took one hour to compile one order and laughed good-naturedly at each of our jabs. There was Jeremy, who defied every stereotype I assumed about HR, with his gregarious personality and constant stream of energy. And how could I forget about Stacy, Jeremy’s deskmate who had the unfortunate tendency of stealing every supply Jeremy needed.

As a microcosm for the world’s service organizations, DC Central Kitchen demonstrates the universal power of community kitchens; how their uniquely intimate process promotes conversation; how food acts as an engaging pathway to begin the discussion surrounding other community needs. Locally-sustained service kitchens forge genuine trust between disparate individuals by providing a space for protected, non-judgmental interactions, shattering social biases, and creating community among strangers, while simultaneously feeding hundreds and supporting their attempts at achieving economic mobility. As both historical studies and personal anecdotes suggest, neighbors with direct ties to a geographic and cultural space are inextricably more qualified to sustainably address the needs of the larger community.

Soup kitchens attract a diverse range of individuals. While it’s assumed that their clientele consists mostly of homeless Americans, more specifically, those that are mentally unstable, they actively appeal to people across race and socioeconomic lines. A study conducted by the American Journal of Public Health on the dependency of New York State residents on local kitchens uncovers fascinating results about who and why people seek the services of community kitchens. The journal claims that “Sixty-two percent of the meal recipients lived in apartments or houses- only 17 percent were homeless” (Rauschenbach et.al). Instantly dispelling myths about the average customer, the investigation asserted that it was the working poor who largely filled the Rochester, Buffalo, and Syracuse kitchens, those that lacked the time (they often worked extensive shifts or two jobs to earn livable wages) and/or the finances to pay for housing and food. While the Journal’s study was limited in its scope, its revelation of food banks as a resource for not just the homeless, but the working class legitimizes these establishments as inclusive, accessible spaces for all Americans. Despite constant challenges to social safety nets, including the (mostly) Republican talking-point that such initiatives promote laziness and dependence, it’s evident that political strife and (often) derogatory discourse stops at the doors of community kitchens. Instead, these welfare programs utilize their customer diversity, their social differences as their power, as their proof of concept. As calculated by the same study from the American Journal of Public Health about why New Yorkers utilize food kitchens, “41 percent of the meal recipients also gave social reasons such as the need to be among people and the support of the soup kitchen staff’ (Rauschenbach et.al). To infer, consumers find significant merit in entering the kitchen’s orbit; it’s a haven for similarly struggling individuals and surrounds patrons with service-oriented workers who are genuinely interested in supporting their economic mobility. Furthermore, the establishment provides a reprieve from the elements and from the eyes of pedestrians which hold pity and disgust in their stares. “A lot of these guys feel that the world owes them a bowl of oatmeal… They’re right. The world does owe them a bowl of oatmeal” (Hutchins in. Richman).

When monthly food stamps run out, stranding millions of Americans without the capacity to purchase fresh supplies, it’s community kitchens which step in, giving nourishment to anyone who walks through their doors. As a Washington Post article about the social and culinary abyss that soup kitchens fill declares, “Twenty million Americans now rely on a soup kitchen or food pantry each month” (Richman). To contextualize this statistic, it’s estimated that around thirty seven million Americans live at or below the poverty line, meaning that food banks/kitchens provide sustenance for over half of the impoverished population in the US. In DC alone, despite accruing enormous culinary expenses and lacking sufficient volunteer support, tens of kitchens selflessly keep their lights on. Take Larry Everett, a systems analyst, who devotes his early mornings towards “preparing breakfast for 500 people at Llewellyn Scott House” (Richman). His commitment, his vision is admirable and ambitious. According to Everett, “We try to put on a show” (Richman).

Yet, even with daily dedication from community members like Larry Everett and hundreds of others, the soup kitchen business is strenuous and unpredictable. Often, such institutions are defined by what they can’t provide rather than what they do. Zaccheaus Kitchen, more affectionately known as the 9:30 Club, “serves 13,000 breakfasts a month on a food budget of less than $100” (Richman). While the feat is impressive, the clientele admonishes the rations, citing the offerings as “bottom of the barrel” (Richman). Their analysis of the droopy, bland, and expired food (an odd mix of turkey sandwiches, murky broth, and stringent dinner rolls) they receive for lunch is valid; the servings lack both the nutritional value and calories to satiate the appetite of the average consumer. Yet, for organizations whose processes rely on private donations and receive little to no government funding, how can they improve their setup? How can they advocate for higher culinary standards without spiraling into significant debt? There’s not enough money, there’s not enough time, there’s not enough volunteers for community kitchens to satisfy nutritional needs while also providing access to other social services and remaining afloat.

There’s another, more pressing, more notable problem surrounding the utilization of food banks as a shield against food insecurity, malnutrition, and the breakdown of social order. Such institutions exist solely as a response to rampant poverty, to the unhoused lounging on stoops, their haggard appearance marking a visceral eyesore for pedestrians and cars alike. Stanford professor, Rob Reich, a passionate researcher of the ethics of philanthropy, states it best: “While a soup kitchen can feed the hungry, a church can shelter the homeless and a nonprofit can teach children to read, without changes in public policy, problems like hunger, homelessness and illiteracy will continue to exist” ( Reich in. De Witte). Community kitchens, and on a larger scale, community outreach programs, are reactionary. They’re created to resolve local conflicts which hinder some aspect of the neighborhood. Without an active problem, there’s no incentive to craft a solution. Concisely, food banks combat societal issues without addressing any of their root causes. Their goal is to advance the community in such a way as to render their existence useless, yet their processes safeguard the present, not the future.

However, as the number of individuals seeking assistance through meal centers has exponentially increased, these service-oriented institutions have broadened their aims to include drug and mental rehabilitation programs and other societal reimmersion efforts such as housing services and experiential job training. DC Central Kitchen, an organization which mainly curbs food injustices by directly transporting fresh produce to grocery stores in underrepresented wards, offers a separate culinary job training program which prepares individuals “who have experienced barriers to employment” for a stable career specifically in the culinary industry (“Culinary Job Training”). This initiative directly reduces the generational inequality in knowledge between Black and White Americans, between the wealthy and the impoverished, equalizing access across the global workforce. To provide a more extensive example, Miriam’s Kitchen, whose honorable goal is to “end chronic homelessness,” utilizes a separate Social Service division which offers “one-on-one services to about 2,200 adults each year to help them with goals related to housing, health, mental health, and income” (“Social Services”). The Kitchen and its organizers employ food as a mechanism to reduce social anxiety and traverse barriers seen and unseen to ultimately offer long-term assistance to those who wouldn’t otherwise seek care. Through this pathway, case managers and social service workers constantly erode their client base by sharing the tools and resources to achieve financial independence and social mobility, ultimately crafting an environment in which their presence isn’t necessary. Rather than just temporarily feeding residents, they provide Washingtonians with the resources to feed themselves, thus delineating lifetime stability by eradicating a gap in knowledge.

If areas lack the requisite grocery stores or shopping centers for local kitchens to deliver fresh produce and healthy alternatives to, how can residents knife through their differences and craft an united community? How can neighborhoods combat the food deserts they reside in, a direct result of government-authorized displacement? Without kitchens, without grocery stores, how do individuals challenge food insecurity? If personal accounts are telling, then the current solution, at least in DC, is ineffective, arduous, and ultimately, futile against the flow of gentrification. According to Toni Lawson, an aging resident of Southeast DC, “getting groceries requires traveling two miles with the help of two buses. It takes 40 minutes each way” (Simons 1:06–1:12). While food stamps serve over 4 million Americans every month, they don’t guard against the lack of grocery stores and culinary establishments presented in Ward 8. “I run all over the city. Even though the Giant is here, I don’t patronize the Giant because it’s expensive” (Lawson in. Simons 2:33–2:40). The constant struggle for groceries, but more specifically, the quest for fresh produce, in particular, to contrast the many fast food chains which populate underrepresented communities. reveals an important truth about the power of neighbors. If residents are united under the mission of cheaply obtaining fresh crops, establishing a community garden is an effective way to claim healthy options, while also improving the collective efficacy of the neighborhood. Historical reports from the Waterloo Estate, an expansive public housing program which constructed a public garden ran by its residents, support the claim that working for shared sustenance forges bonds between disparate groups. A tenant who worked in the Cook Garden explained that “after we start to [garden, we start to] talk together, anywhere in the garden or anywhere after [we] say hello … and know each other. Inviting to house, OK. ‘Come on have a tea’ because they know you and they want continue conversation” (Thompson et.al 7). The shared mission that a community garden follows instantly encourages interaction between residents by tying their future prospects together, which fosters an air of mutual support. Even among individuals with cross-cultural backgrounds, the garden serves as a safe space to share pieces of culture and explore different realms of understanding. As another anonymous reporter, this time from the Marton Garden, asserts, “I know in our particular case we’ve learned a lot about fruit and vegetables from other cultures that we didn’t know anything about … you find out how to use their produce in making other dishes and you only do this because they lower their guard in the garden and will talk to you…” (Thompson et.al 9).

What’s particularly evident is that regardless of if communities utilize soup kitchens or local gardens to improve the social, economic, and culinary status of their environments, the most significant, long-lasting advancements are achieved by residents. Unlike state or federal governments, residents aren’t constrained by conflicting interests or a lackluster understanding of local politics, thus their work is targeted and efficient. To discover solutions to global problems such as food insecurity and poverty, the work, the change starts with neighbors, with the individuals who experience and view such atrocities on the ground floor, and thus can provide extensive insight on the root causes of our world’s most pressing obstacles. Power to the people, power for the people; it’s the average American who pays the consequences. It’s time we lift up their voices and let them lead!