InkogNegro 1.5

Whether you

*swing through the drive-through at McDonald’s for a Royale with Cheese,

*Hit the buffet at Random Quasi-Asian (middle of the strip mall next to the Beauty Supply and the impromptu H&R Block office)Super Buffet

*Hit down for your fix of random pre-fabricated Applebee/Friday’s/Bennigan’s

*Take a stroll down memory land for what USED to be fine dining for common folk, Red Lobster or Olive Garden

*Or if you, like me, get your anti chain restaurant on with any number of singular dining experiences

*Or if you get your white tablecloth sommelier and chef’s table on

We all like to get our eat on and let someone else cook and clean.

In the 21st century, with more and more two income households, the notion of a traditional family dinner is virtually impossible.

With every advance in technology and alteration in personal priorities, dining out is becoming less and less of a luxury.

Add to that the simply jawdropping number of choices and you have a completely different industry from 20 years ago.

The explosion of the restaurant industry has opened up opportunities and challenges in the Black community.  With each passing year, it becomes apparent that while it is clear that the Black dining market is growing, the level of respect that it commands is not growing at the same pace.

Think for a moment about how much you spend every month on food that you don’t have to prepare and you will rapidly understand how much dining Out matters.

with the inadvertent urging of Christina, I will be spending the remainder of my 16 days of the 32 Days of Black History Month addressing the relationship between Black folk and Restaurants.  Consider this Day 17.
I am a waiter.

A DAMN good one.

Good enough to go dollar for dollar with the average American and trump them on most days.

About 85% of the time, I am at peace with how I make my money.  For a man with an ample serving of God-given talent, I am often considered by others what is popularly referred to as under-employed.

My Take:  I am a master craftsman in a Skilled service profession who performs at an elite level and is compensated at the 90th percentile of those in my field.

At the end of the day, the Money is pretty good, and I genuinely love what i do.

I am going on 20 years in an apron.  From random spots no one ever heard of, to 4-star spots under award-winning/book-writing/national tv-show appearing,/reality show winning culinary geniuses, to well established regional and national chains, to strip joints, to music awards after parties, to national campaign fundraisers, to more lobbyist dinners than you can shake a W-2 at.

I have broken up fights over bills and run down folk trying to skate on bills and got robbed for some of my bills.
waited on such Bills as Duke, Cosby, and Bennett

Waited on John Mayer, Kerry,  and Lewis

Never waited on Denzel or Michael, but I waited on BOTH of their wives.

Waited on Tom Hanks AND the guy he portrayed in Apollo 13

I waited on Bill Gates (mind you this was more than a few Billion Dollars ago…Think right after Windows 95) and slipped food out of the restaurant to hit off the homeless dude who lived down by the parking lot where I parked.

I walked up to a table of 4 where the shortest person was 6′10″. (Thompson,Mourning,Ewing,Mutombo)

If I never wait tables again in LIFE…I got enough stories, theories, and experiences for 10 full movies.

But what is MOST important to me is the peculiar relationship between Black People and the restaurant industry.

(caution: there will be generalizations….bear in mind this is not ALLLLL Black people, but a significant number…perhaps a majority, perhaps not, but always a significant portion)

I have almost always worked in places that have a significant Black clientele.  Usually that clientele exists because of the cuisine that is served.

Black folk LOVE to eat, but they love to eat what THEY want, the WAY they want, HOW they want.

The Restaurant industry thrives on the APPEARANCE of “the customer is always right” but LIVES AND DIES on getting as much as they can while giving as little as they can.

Restaurants have service and hospitality as their foundation.

Short of having someone wash your ass, or getting hair or nails done there is no more intimate act than the act of serving someone food.

There is an inherent subordination that takes place when your job revolves around putting on an apron and running to and fro for strangers.

Add in the dynamic of race and privilege and you have an intriguing sociological dynamic.

Toss in on top of that a compensation structure that is 95% VOLUNTARY and hinges almost entirely cultural expectations, the whim of the person who receives the service and their perception of said service, and you REALLY have something to talk about.

As someone who loves Black people with the passion of his own Kin, I am very protective and watchful of how it is that Black People are treated and served where I work.  As the senior server on my staff and the head trainer,  I am in the prime position to affect how my coworkers handle themselves when dealing with customers.  For the rest of the week, I will be addressing the challenges that have affected the restaurant industry and the Black Folk who work in and patronize said establishments.

IF you have particular questions or comments that you would like for me to address in this series Kindly hit me on email @ Inkognegro07 @ gmail.com

So, I was getting my Google Reader on and reading my new addition, Stuffblackpeoplelove.com when I came across a lament that the author was afraid to discuss things that Black people love that would be classified as stereotypical.

Well, Guess what.

I LOVE FRIED CHICKEN.

I wouldn’t marry a woman who was incapable of frying chicken. I believe, history of hypertension in my family notwithstanding, that chicken was MEANT to be fried.

With the skin on.

I remember my mother washing the chicken off, burning the hairs(?) off of the chicken wings using the bare gas burner and then soaking it in Cold Salt Water in a green Tupperware bowl.

Was it complicated? No.

Was it EASY? Hecky Naw.

If the oil is too hot, then the outside will cook too fast and the inside won’t be cooked all the way through (and you KNOW we cannot have that)

Now, am I advocating the wholesale frying of every meal? Certainly not.

I am merely acknowledging that I was born and raised on Fried Chicken.

2-3 days a week, My mother pulled out X pieces of Chicken (usually enough to feed us for two days) . There were days where we had fried chicken everyday for a week with a menagerie of starches and sides.

Occasionally the chicken would get baked or barbecued, but mostly, it got fried.

Just sitting here typing this makes me nostalgic for the smell of Chicken.

And it wasn’t just at home.

Many a gleaming church structure was built on the backs of stout Black Women and their yardbird.

Many a College Education was paid for by scholarship dinners that featured the finest in Fried Chicken.

Many a long road trip South (or North) was made affordable by Tupperware bowls full of fried chicken in a cooler to avoid stops to eat on the way.

Going to the Drive-In? Fried Chicken?

AM Munchies after a long night at the club? Cold Fried Chicken?

Cold Fried Chicken makes Cold Pizza simply unacceptable.

Oh, and DO.NOT.REHEAT.FRIED CHICKEN.IN.THE.MICROWAVE.

It is a vital part of my personal Culture and I am NOT Ashamed.

Oh wait…

I love chicken, but this shit here is uncalled for. Stop that right now.

—————-
Now playing: Who Stole My Last Piece of Chicken (Remix) - Organized Konfusion
via FoxyTunes

While my comrades in the 32 Days of Black History Month are over there posting up all manner of Magnificence, I was apronned up, slinging around food for gratuity. I used to be slightly embarrassed, to have gone from medium range Capitol Hill Peon to full time waiter in just a few years, but my reality is far more complicated than that. My reality is that I am a professional. A highly skilled and reasonably compensated professional at that. I defy any of you who dine out with any regularity to search your memory bank and not have at least ONE subpar dining experience within the last 30 to 45 days. Combine that with the fact that I make slightly less than Mrs. Ink the Pedagogue (a crime in and of itself) and you have what makes for a fairly decent way to make a living.

It was my return to the restaurant plantation that prevented me from being as prolific as I had enjoyed during my time recuperating. Now that I am back in the flow, I will do my best to get caught up.

In that spirit, I would like to honor A. Philip Randolph, civil rights activist and labor organizer, who devoted his life to representing those who serve for a living.

(here is a link to the enire Conversation with Mr.Randolph)

“Justice is never given; it is exacted and the struggle must be continuous for freedom is never a final fact, but a continuing evolving process to higher and higher levels of human, social, economic, political and religious relationship.” (Randolph)

Barack Obama took the day off to celebrate Valentine’s Day with his family.

Let that settle in for a moment, shall we?

if ANYONE could have earned a pass for Valentine’s Day, it would have been Mr. Obama.

But where is he?  At home.

THAT is a man I respect.

In the midst of history in the making, a campaign for the ages,  and the very notion of change in the most powerful nation on the planet bubbling all over the world, Barack Obama is at home with his family.

Not nearly enough attention has been paid to this fact.

Because when the Koolaid is all drunken up, and all y’all have pulled your levers and shook hands with history, All Barack Obama is going to have, win OR lose, is Michelle and the Girls.

That is all any of us have.

It is no accident that many of the Giants of our era, were buttressed by Women who were Giants in their own right.

Coretta Scott King and Betty Shabazz could have been every bit the peers of Martin and Malcolm but they chose to show that strength by playing the most difficult role of all.  I will pause at this point and mention that Mrs. King had a particularly difficult role to play in light of the um….er…extraneous issues that were involved in her life.

I could regale you with tales of the women behind the men, but I had a long night with the woman behind me, so I will leave y’all to connect the dots.

Today was Black Love Day.

Yeah…was.  It’s Damn near Midnight.  Sorry I didn’t push this out when I was thinking about it, but I was off loving someone Black.

The concept behind Black Love Day was established in 1993, by Ms. Ayo Kendi. Feeling the strong need & desire for more expressions of “black love” among those in the community, Ms. Kendi quickly organized the first Black Love Day public observance in Northeast, Washington, DC. Her idea, vision & efforts were widely accepted by the public and the media in its inaugural celebration. With this success, the following year, BLD became an official day of recognition, observance and celebration by Mayoral Proclamation in DC.

Black Love Day is meant to serve as an alternative to Valentine’s Day. BLD is meant to be a celebration of all Black relationships…from self-love first to love for the family to love for the community & the race to finally love for The Creator. Instead of the trademark colors of red & pink for Valentine’s Day, people should wear or display the color purple for spirituality or black which is the blend of all of the colors.

You would think that loving someone Black was a fairly universal state of affairs, especially for Black Folk.

But Alas, such is hardly the case.

Thanks to the ongoing effects of a concentrated attempt to strip us from any semblance of humanity or dignity, enslaving us as mere property and instuments of investments; capital goods, if you will,  our ability to see the true value in ourselves and each other is severely compromised, to this very day.

And SURE, You, oh enlightened bougie Negro, you with the solid uppercrust privileged background grew up around Mr. Graham and ‘nem’s Kind of People, and would never think of yourself as less than, but you damn sure thought of ME as less than, conveniently ignoring that the business end of a Police dog, fire hose, service revolver, or burning cross, isn’t particularly interested in our different pedigree.

Black folk have come an incredibly long way since making the scene on this side of the world.  Considering the circumstances, that we even maintain a significant presence in Western Culture is nothing short of miraculous.

That kind of feat would call for a universal sense of love of self and all that we represent, if we weren’t still living in the denial that a history of brutal oppression can create.

However, in that we STILL can’t just BE Black and love on ourselves and each other based on that simple commonality, days like today were necessary.

Now go on out there and hug on a Black Person.  They probably need it.

On today, Abraham Lincoln’s birthday I figured that I would entertain you all with a lil bit on whether or not Lincoln freed the slaves.

There was a time when every schoolboy learned that Abraham Lincoln was the “Great Emancipator” who freed the slaves. The Emancipation Proclamation, they also learned, was a critically important step in achieving that goal.

Many historians have called this old conventional wisdom into question, arguing that Lincoln was not really motivated by commitment to end slavery. The proof, they claim, is his famous letter to Horace Greeley in which he wrote that “my paramount object in this struggle is to save the Union, and it is not either to save or destroy slavery, If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone I would also do that.”

Many of Lincoln’s critics, especially African-Americans, go so far as to claim that he was no friend of blacks and did not want to risk the political fallout that would surely result from emancipation, but was eventually forced by circumstances to do so. In the words of Julius Lester, “Blacks have no reason to feel grateful to Abraham Lincoln. How come it took him two whole years to free the slaves? His pen was sitting on his desk the entire time.”

First off, The T-shirt doesn’t bother me. The name of the album doesn’t bother me, much.

I wasn’t always a fan of yours. I liked your music, but I never did care much for you back in the Illmatic days. You reminded me of those kids I grew up with who were far more witty and creative than me, the universally acclaimed class nerd, but didn’t see the value in translating that genius to the actual work in school.

Your career is one long collection of shouldacouldawoulda. I could go into details, but I will let your boy, Mr. Carter summarize your career circa 2002

One.

Throughout my lifetime, there has been no bigger advocate for other people’s children than Marian Wright Edelman.

Allow her to drop some knowledge on Black History from Huffington Post

Tonight, in honor of Herbie Hancock winning only the Second Album of the Year honor for River: The Joni Letters, I thought I would post my two favorite songs, One from my childhood and one from my teenage years.

I count among my extreme honors to have shaken the man’s uber-talented hands on two different occasions and am grateful to have even HALF of a clue as to how much of a giant he is in American Music History.

For the uninformed, I give you Wikipedia

And I am on the hunt for the Performance of Rhapsody In Blue with the Chinese cat whose name keeps escaping me from Tonight’s Grammys as well.