How the Kitchen Raised Me
I ain’t grow up with no apron lessons from my mama. She was doin’ her best—balancin’ bills, us, life and burnout.
But over in Weyanoke, my godmother had a whole different sermon. I went there on the weekends, during school breaks and over the summer. She’d say, “I’m gon’ show you how to be a man who don’t need no woman to cook or clean for him.” And she meant that.
She taught me how to sweep (using carpet), fold sheets and towels, take out the trash, clean a dish, cook and scrub a tub like it owed me rent. Her kitchen was a classroom—no whiteboard, just pots, pans, and pride.
That was my intro. But the real bootcamp came when I clocked in at my first job.
Restaurant work’ll teach you fast. Ain’t no “I’ll do it later.” You learn the difference between clean and sanitized.
You learn about rotating product—FIFO, baby: first in, first out. You learn that food safety ain’t just a rule, it’s a lifestyle.
Gloves, hairnets, temp checks, cross-contamination—real talk, I could teach a ServSafe class off memory. Wish I would’ve taken the class and got that certification (would be in handy now).
And the cookin’?
Learned how to dice an onion without cryin’ (most days)—shoutout to the manager at Kolache.
Learned the difference between a rough chop and a fine mince.
Learned that seasoning ain’t just salt—it’s onion powder, paprika, garlic powder, cayenne, soul. Learned how to eyeball an egg and know when it’s ready, how to flip a burger without losin’ the juice, how to keep a station tight even when the rush hit.
I know how to use a slicer. I know how to break down a box of produce and rotate it right. I know how to clean a grill, degrease a fryer, and mop a floor so clean it squeak when you walk on it.
And now? I use that every day. My home stay clean when I do it lol. My meals hit when I do cook—even if it was an experiment. I cook with intention, clean with pride, and organize like I’m runnin’ a shift—even when it’s just me.
But when I have a family? Oh, it’s gon’ be different.
My kids gon’ know what a cutting board is. They gon’ learn how to clean a bathroom and cook a meal before they learn algebra. I’m gon’ pass down everything my godmother taught me, everything the job showed me, and everything I learned in trial and error.
So yeah—shoutout to my godmother for plantin’ the seed.
Shoutout to every restaurant that halfway raised me. Sometimes, the kitchen teaches you more than school ever could.




































































































