How a Watts gang member escaped doom and ascended to the helm of a nationally acclaimed restaurant.
"The book you’re about to read,” writes Corbin in the prologue, “isn’t a gangland morality tale or a prisoner-makes-good drama or a chef memoir that paints my life as a ‘uniquely American’ success story.” However, it offers all of those elements and more. The author also presents a loving history of the Watts neighborhood; a tribute to a beloved grandmother who fed a whole community; a mouthwatering account of the evolution of Corbin's style of soul-food cooking, now featured at Alta in West Adams, Los Angeles; and a candid story about long-term drug dependency. Among the many interesting points made by this modern version of a Horatio Alger story is that for Black youth in America's poor communities, the story is not necessarily rags to riches. If you're in the drug game in your early teens (Corbin started cooking crack at 13), access to piles of cash is never a problem. Ultimately, it’s not about money; it's about social mobility. Too often, many doors lead to prison, which is where Corbin spent most of his 20s. Some of the most intriguing parts of the book are the details on the operation, genealogy, and grammar of gangs. For example, Crips will spell the word back as bacc: “No Crip sets use the letters c and k together,” writes Corbin, because that formulation, in that context, means “Crip killer.” There are two primary heroes of this story, capably preserved and shaped by James Beard Award–winning journalist Alexander: Corbin himself and his mentor, the restaurateur Daniel Patterson, whose commitment to actually doing something for Corbin—and many others coming out of incarceration and looking for direction—is rare indeed.
A personable account of hard-won success, heartening in some ways, sobering in others, and served with tasty sides.