SUPPORT SMALL BLACK OWNED BUSINESSES : REDS HOUSE
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Your donation supports original content that promotes Black owned small businesses and diverse voices. Any amount is helpful and greatly appreciated!
My name is Christopher Russell, and I’m one of the last remaining Black chefs in San Francisco.
Red’s House is a successful failure in my eyes, an orphan with no permanent place to call home. A Caribbean restaurant serving up jerk chicken, Jamaican beef patties and more, it was inspired by my family’s notorious backyard gatherings in Crown Heights, where time didn’t exist as we laughed, danced, sang, shared dishes and told stories. It has taken years to get to the point of having my own restaurant and to be able to bring my mother Sharon on board, a dazzling chef in her own right. With her sagaciousness and my business savvy, I knew that Red’s House could become an institution within a city that suffers from a lack of diversity and authenticity.
Earlier this year, I was riding high with a successful pop-up, one that was finally starting to break even. There were new restaurant plans in the works, one-of-a-kind events, billboards, and endorsement deals — but then COVID-19 struck our delicate infrastructure and penetrated our way of life.
Here we are today located in what looks like an abandoned building from the outside; I guess maybe it adds to the mystery of our tightly run operation. Inside the walls of this commercial kitchen space in Daly City, quite literally a five-minute drive from the San Francisco border, is an entirely different story as many minority-owned businesses, ourselves included, are struggling to make the numbers work and keep businesses alive. So while customers enjoy our succulent jerk chicken, oxtail stew, and escovitch fish via takeout, I am currently drowning in debt, struggling to sleep at night, and fighting off the depression monster that I’ve carried on my back my entire life. I haven’t been paid in months and my team has significantly reduced in size.
I’m originally from Brooklyn, where I grew up within a very religious Caribbean community. My mother taught me how to cook — well, she more like graduated me to kitchen duties as her sous chef. I refer to her as Chef Sharon in and out of the kitchen because of her willingness to instill the generational skills she learned at a young age in me. It was then, in our tiny kitchen in Crown Heights, that I would aspire to become something great.
My mother had a way about her, easing the most anxious person with only subtle gestures of reassurance. My mother’s grandmother taught her at age 10 to not only cook, but to also carry out the killing of the animal for the family meal. Close your eyes for a second and imagine a childhood filled with laughter, music, and the most amazing food aromas taking on a life of their own, as they dance to you from the kitchen. That’s what mine was like.
Your donation supports original content that promotes Black owned small businesses and diverse voices. Any amount is helpful and greatly appreciated!
My name is Christopher Russell, and I’m one of the last remaining Black chefs in San Francisco.
Red’s House is a successful failure in my eyes, an orphan with no permanent place to call home. A Caribbean restaurant serving up jerk chicken, Jamaican beef patties and more, it was inspired by my family’s notorious backyard gatherings in Crown Heights, where time didn’t exist as we laughed, danced, sang, shared dishes and told stories. It has taken years to get to the point of having my own restaurant and to be able to bring my mother Sharon on board, a dazzling chef in her own right. With her sagaciousness and my business savvy, I knew that Red’s House could become an institution within a city that suffers from a lack of diversity and authenticity.
Earlier this year, I was riding high with a successful pop-up, one that was finally starting to break even. There were new restaurant plans in the works, one-of-a-kind events, billboards, and endorsement deals — but then COVID-19 struck our delicate infrastructure and penetrated our way of life.
Here we are today located in what looks like an abandoned building from the outside; I guess maybe it adds to the mystery of our tightly run operation. Inside the walls of this commercial kitchen space in Daly City, quite literally a five-minute drive from the San Francisco border, is an entirely different story as many minority-owned businesses, ourselves included, are struggling to make the numbers work and keep businesses alive. So while customers enjoy our succulent jerk chicken, oxtail stew, and escovitch fish via takeout, I am currently drowning in debt, struggling to sleep at night, and fighting off the depression monster that I’ve carried on my back my entire life. I haven’t been paid in months and my team has significantly reduced in size.
I’m originally from Brooklyn, where I grew up within a very religious Caribbean community. My mother taught me how to cook — well, she more like graduated me to kitchen duties as her sous chef. I refer to her as Chef Sharon in and out of the kitchen because of her willingness to instill the generational skills she learned at a young age in me. It was then, in our tiny kitchen in Crown Heights, that I would aspire to become something great.
My mother had a way about her, easing the most anxious person with only subtle gestures of reassurance. My mother’s grandmother taught her at age 10 to not only cook, but to also carry out the killing of the animal for the family meal. Close your eyes for a second and imagine a childhood filled with laughter, music, and the most amazing food aromas taking on a life of their own, as they dance to you from the kitchen. That’s what mine was like.
Your donation supports original content that promotes Black owned small businesses and diverse voices. Any amount is helpful and greatly appreciated!
Organizer
Christopher Russell
Organizer
Daly City, CA
