Caribbean Kitchens Feed our Souls but Starve Alone

We received an email from Karen Parker about an issue that unless you are dealing with it, you would not even notice. As a storyteller, my role is often a heavy one; it requires me to process the raw anxiety of a father wondering if he can keep his doors open when the holiday rush has faded. There is talk about the years of sacrifice made to build stability in a place far from home.

In my editorial process, I have had to make a conscious choice: do I write another light-hearted review about the best jerk chicken, or do I expose the pressure many of our community’s business owners quietly carry? I chose the latter because my work is rooted in a community-first lens that prioritizes truth over comfort. This is the emotional labour of community journalism, sitting with the vulnerability of others and deciding that their struggle is worth the public’s attention. 

Across the Caribbean diaspora, whether: Trini, Jamaican, Guyanese, or Bajan, these establishments are family livelihoods, and community meeting places that preserve our collective culture. Yet, as we move into January, the cushion is gone. What we don’t see are the missed phone calls, the overworked staff, and the operational gaps that occur when owners are stretched to their breaking points.

We must acknowledge the power imbalance here. As consumers and critics, we have the power to sustain, or neglect these hubs. While the city retreats into a post-holiday slumber, our restaurants are navigating “financial strain” and “rising costs” with very little support. I am here to offer a polite suggestion, as well as to assert that if we value the memory and identity found in our food, we cannot remain idle during the slowest month of the year.

These owners have spoken openly with me because they trust that their stories will move people to act. Our community hubs are fighting to stay alive; it is time we show up for them with the same consistency they use to feed our souls.