I was born and raised in Spartanburg, South Carolina—“Upcountry” it was called. But because my father’s family migrated from the Charleston, Beaufort, and Sea Island region of the state, our home was considered a “Lowcountry” household: rich in African-American culture and southern traditions. I was told it was because of the food we ate: lots of seafood stews, soups, fish, and chicken that were always spicy, and more rice than any of my friends, as often as twice a day. We sometimes even ate rice for breakfast with eggs. As a child, music, particularly singing, was my first love. A classically trained baritone, I toured the world as an opera singer, winning both a Tony and a Grammy for my recording of Porgy and Bess with the Houston Grand Opera in the mid-’70s and appearing on Broadway, in national and international concert halls, in opera houses, and at several music festivals.
But my love for food and entertaining always brought me back to the kitchen, driven by the memories of the dishes of my youth and the extraordinary people who cooked them. So it was no surprise to me when I opened the doors of my first New York restaurant. Cafe Beulah showcased Southern revival cooking, which was my updated version of Lowcountry cooking done at its highest level. Those years of singing abroad throughout Europe expanded my palate, and I began applying European techniques to many aspects of my heritage cooking. But the global culinary conversation around food was beginning even back then. Coastal South Carolina, particularly Charleston, was one of the biggest slave ports in the New World. That history and culture colored our daily lives. My grandfather, Ed Smalls, the son of African slaves, was a farmer and a great storyteller. It was because of him that I knew that the Lowcountry cooking of my childhood was heavily influenced by the West African slave trade. He taught me that African people were the bedrock of the agricultural revolution in the South, that they had brought with them their seeds, farming expertise, and cooking techniques.
In the process, I learned that the Asian diaspora crisscrossed the African diaspora throughout history and, most powerfully, on the plate. For example, roti—the Indian flatbread also known as chapati—was as beloved in Trinidad, Suriname, and South Africa as it was in Singapore, Sri Lanka, and Malaysia.
The Afro-Asian flavor profile that I wanted to bring to our Harlem restaurants was far from conceptual—and let’s be clear, I hate the word “fusion.” For the last twenty years, I’ve been like Matthew Henson, the great African-American explorer who made seven voyages to the North Pole with Robert Peary and became the first black to be invited to be a member of the Explorers Club. Except that where Henson went north to the Arctic region, I went south and west and east: hot on the trail of the cuisine of the African diaspora. I’ve traveled the world eating and studying, cooking and exploring. My goal has always been to document and share the spirit and the scholarship of Africans from China to Brazil to the Caribbean to Europe to North America and how their traditions gave us the food we eat today. That’s the thrust of all of this for me. It’s bigger than being a chef. It’s bigger than cooking. It’s really about realizing not only myself, but my race and my ancestors. It’s an homage.
I’ve never cared much about being a celebrated chef.
For me, each restaurant I’ve done has been about re-creating the hospitality of my home and celebrating the African-American culinary experience at the highest levels.
In the beginning of my career as a restaurateur, I wanted to join the ranks of great food luminaries that mirrored my journey. Women like Edna Lewis, Leah Chase, and South Carolina’s very own Vertamae Smart-Grosvenor really embody the elegance of our Southern foodways and its cooking. Not just a “soul food kitchen.” Not fried chicken and big pots of greens. After I opened my first three restaurants, Cafe Beulah, Sweet Ophelia, and Shoebox Café, I took a ten-year hiatus and dedicated myself to travel and studying the African diaspora. So by the time it came time to open The Cecil and Minton’s, the conversation for me had gotten bigger. I needed an adventurous partner, a culinary scout to assist me on my quest. Once upon a time, black people dominated the American kitchen, both in restaurants and in homes. But in the twentieth century, that changed, and it took me a long time to find a chef to join me on my journey to create this Afro-Asian food profile. I studied scores of résumés, interviewed scores of talented young people, and spent hours researching gifted young chefs of color online. Then one day, I stumbled on a video of a young chef that caught my eye: Joseph “JJ” Johnson. He was cooking grits with smothered shrimp. This was a stunning coincidence, because that dish was my dad’s signature dish, the one my father made on holidays and for special Sunday mornings. It’s not the kind of dish you see on television every day. JJ was quiet, focused, and determined. I knew, in an instant, that he was the winner. I had found my guy. I remember hitting mute on the television screen and silently nodding at him. “Okay, JJ. Let’s cook.”
When Richard Parsons, Laura Parsons, and I decided we would open a restaurant together in Harlem, our mission was very clear: We’d serve great food, play the best music, and, most importantly, strive to be good citizens in the community. We wanted to celebrate the heritage of storied people and give something back. Why come uptown, if not to be a part of the rebuilding of Harlem? This was our chance to fulfill a dream we all shared while bringing something unique to a special place. Once we found a location, we realized that the restaurant space was a heritage landmark and the hotel housed the famous Minton’s Playhouse as well.
Understanding that all those extraordinary artists, writers, and musicians who once stayed in the rooms of the hotel were a part of the legacy we now served, we were proud. Like every part of opening a restaurant, we needed a great recipe: a plan and a product that represented our intent and conviction. The first thing we did was put together an amazing design and organization team and hire the remaining creative and operations force to make it happen. We had decided to open not one but two restaurants: Minton’s would have the jazz component, and The Cecil menu would feature our Afro-Asian-American flavor profile, a new culinary concept no one had ever heard of. Did I mention that we were going to open both restaurants just a month apart? It was September 2013. Years later, friends and journalists asked how I ever thought that opening two restaurants, at the same time, was a sane proposition. I always told them the same thing: “No one told me I couldn’t.”
We take great pride in all we’ve achieved and imagined. We set the table for the world, and they came: critics, bloggers, dignitaries, and celebrities flocked to taste what everyone was talking about. On any given night the room was the tasting grounds for the world to come meet, greet, and eat with us. Loyal Harlemites claim us as one of their own best inventions. Harlem welcomed us to our new home like we’d always been there. We hosted presidents, ministers, governors, mayors, and senators, movie stars, rock stars, rap and hip-hop gods, and divas. At our tables, you could find men of the cloth and men who’ve created celebrated fashions from cloth.
The cookbook you are holding in your hands is about digging deep into our American heritage and setting the table with simple ingredients and bold flavors, presented in an entirely new way. Whether you’re serving something as simple as a our mac and cheese with rosemary and a side of our okra fries for a Meatless Monday supper, or if you’re feeding a crowd with our Afro-Asian-American gumbo, we know that these are meals that are steeped with the flavors of Harlem, that one-of-a-kind uptown hospitality and grace.
The recipes in this book represent a unique culinary discipline of global taste and cooking styles, born from an extraordinary culture, skilled farming, and kitchen practices of African people who, through forced migration, traveled across five continents. The eclectic flavor profile and recipes here were created by myself and Chef Joseph “JJ” Johnson as an edible culinary conversation that celebrates and pays homage to the legacy of the African diaspora.
