From Okinawa to Overtown

I never set out to be a chef. Growing up, I spent countless hours in my grandmother’s kitchen, absorbing the aromas of curry and oxtail simmering on the stove. It was there, surrounded by food, that the seed for my culinary journey was unknowingly planted.. 

It all began in the most unexpected place: Okinawa, Japan. At the time, I was serving in the military on an island where Jamaican culture was surprisingly embraced. Reggae music filled the air, and the locals were eager to explore Caribbean flavors. I had been hosting parties at home, cooking dishes that reminded me of my Jamaican roots, when I decided to take a chance.

I started doing pop-ups at a small restaurant owned by a Japanese friend, and they loved it so much that they sponsored the entire venture. This led to the opening of my first restaurant in Japan, a Caribbean spot where we offered authentic Jamaican dishes like curry, oxtail, and plantains. It was surreal to see my culinary passion come to life  in a country half a world away from Jamaica.

 

Breaking Boundaries Without Knowing It

 

I had no culinary school training. I was just a young woman in the military who loved to cook. But the universe placed me in rooms with legends — Roy Yamaguchi, Chef Morimoto — giants in the culinary world. I didn’t even know who they were. To me, they were just people who loved food as much as I did. We were equals, connected by the art of cooking.

Looking back, my ignorance was a blessing. It kept me humble, kept me hungry to learn. Yoshitake, my Japanese mentor, guided me through the chaotic world of restaurant ownership, teaching me the discipline and respect that Japanese chefs are known for. I was balancing 24-hour military shifts with running a bustling restaurant, learning on the go. It was madness, but it was magic.

 

From Japan to Hawaii: Reinventing Dreams

 

After Japan, I moved to Hawaii. It felt like coming full circle — another island, another chapter. I enrolled at the Culinary Institute of the Pacific, finally formalizing what I had been doing by instinct. I opened a food truck, thinking I’d bring a piece of the Caribbean to the Pacific. It was my dream on wheels, my heart in a 1987 step wagon that I had gutted and rebuilt with my own hands.

Then COVID hit. Hawaii shut down, and my food truck, my dream, collapsed. But I wasn’t ready to let go. I packed it up, paid $18,000 to ship it to Las Vegas, determined to keep going. But Vegas was cold — literally and metaphorically. My food truck couldn’t survive the winter. I couldn’t survive the winter.

I moved to Miami, bringing my food and my vision with me.

 

Rooted in Soil and Community

 

While working at Rosie’s alongside Chef Akino, I had a vision of linking the restaurant to an organic garden. Despite the idea being embraced, it never fully took root, leaving me unfulfilled. Realizing I needed to pursue this dream on my own, I decided to take a leap of faith.

That’s when a friend of mine introduced me to Dr. Marvin Dunn, a dedicated advocate for building community gardens throughout Miami. It felt like fate; everything clicked. I was ready to turn that vision into something real and meaningful.

 

The People’s Garden

 

We don’t have gates here. No fences. This land belongs to no one. It belongs to everyone. I don’t get mad when people take food, even when they pick it green. That’s what it’s here for. We grow culturally relevant crops — breadfruit, plantains, Kunti — food that reflects the community.

We host farmer’s markets, pop-up dinners, and communal meals, because food is meant to be shared. It’s meant to bring people together. And it does, every day.