Chef Ophus

A little over 6 months into living in LA and truthfully… kinda crazy seeing Lucia @lucialosangeles in the LA Times @latimesfood by @jenn_harris_ today. Especially because them first few months out here? Man listen… I was convinced LA was packing my bags for me and politely asking me to leave 😂 So to feel seen and understood a bit through the food honestly means a lot. Big thank you to the whole team because none of this happens alone. BOH (@chefslatte_ @geovanirey @chefbobbyballard @1de_cuisine ), FOH & especially Lucia’s GM @tonipuritty , dish, prep, management(@kennedyc.hall @mel.mixalot )… everybody been putting in work day after day to help shape this place into what it’s becoming. And thank you to Sam Jordan @sammybj @dominicjwest and @mister_wayne the ownership team for trusting me and giving me the space to cook from a real place and tell these stories through Afro diasporic and Caribbean foodways. Now back to regular scheduled programming because somebody still ain’t label the sauce and the tickets still print the same 😂🇹🇹

@ktlaunscripted came through to @lucialosangeles during Black History Month… and somehow I ended up on camera again like I ain’t been trying to avoid that my whole career. Every time I see that red light, I’m like… yeah they about to realize I’m not supposed to be here 😅 imposter syndrome loud as hell. But I just let the food talk so I don’t have to.

Black joy tastes like Cou-Cou… straight outta #Barbados 🇧🇧 but this one decided to dress up and step outside. Cornmeal and coconut milk holding it down like they always have. A dish born from African roots, stirred slow, steady, built to feed and last. Bajan to the core. Then here come the extras… carrot jam getting a little sweet, pepitas for crunch, parmesan acting like it just got back from Europe, dehydrated okra like “easy now, remember who started this,” and green seasoning pulling everything right back home. And the spiced popcorn? Yeah… that’s just being fast for no reason. This is homage, not imitation. Tradition with a little attitude. Barbados in the foundation, diaspora on top… and it still tastes like it got sense. #bajan #losangeles #caribbeanfood

Plantain Expressions Black joy is that first piece out the pan… and pretending you made it for everybody. Came across oceans, picked up new names, never switched up. Maduros. Plátanos. Dodo. Sweet plantain Same fruit… just different aunties arguing and nobody conceding. Fried sweet plantains, edges caramelized like they got sense. First batch never makes it to the table that’s just between you and the stove. Plantain mole getting deep, a little extra, asking for attention.nChips disappearing like “who ate the last one?” and everybody suddenly quiet. Still frying, still sweet, still got everybody acting different around the pan. @lucialosangeles

Black joy tastes like pastélon… sweet plantains laid down like silk, meat tucked in the middle, edges catching just enough to let you know somebody was paying attention. Puerto Rican 🇵🇷. Dominican 🇩🇴. Same story, different aunties, and both of them swear theirs is the one. Nobody’s arguing too hard though… because everybody still eating. It’s sweetness meeting salt like it’s been knowing each other for years. Soft, rich, a little extra in the best way. Black joy is that first bite when you close your eyes for a second… then immediately go back for another before anybody asks if you’re full.

Black joy tastes like a pot of Cuban black beans that been simmering low like good gossip. At @lucialosangeles we call’em “Havana Nights Beans”. African knowledge of legumes and slow fire. Spanish bay leaf and olive oil. Caribbean rhythm in the sofrito. Built from survival, stretched through scarcity, perfected in kitchens where the pot stayed on all day because somebody was always coming by. These aren’t refried. We not smashing nothing into a paste and calling it a day. Mexican frijoles refritos got their own legacy lard, crema, queso, rich and spreadable, holding down a tortilla like a loyal friend. Respect. But Cuban black beans? They swim. They got broth. They carry oregano, cumin, maybe a splash of vinegar. They’re meant to spoon over rice, soak in, and mind their business while still being the star. Avocado cool on top. Sherry tomatoes popping. Cilantro fresh like you just opened a window in Havana. Black joy is a humble pot that traveled continents and still tastes like home. And somewhere, somebody’s abuela tasting it like, “It’s good… but you ain’t let it simmer long enough.”

Thank you @ajcdining @ajcnews for this beautiful article featuring these talented chefs who are honoring the life and culinary legacy of Edna Lewis Join us Sunday, February 22, 2026 at Bread + Butterfly in Atlanta, Georgia for a collaborative dinner featuring chefs: Max Hines • Demetrius Brown • Cleophus Hethington • Justin Dixon 🪑Seatings: 5:30 PM & 8:00 PM 🎟️Tickets: Click the link in bio 📍Location: Bread + Butterfly | Atlanta, GA Come break bread, share stories, and honor a woman whose work continues to shape how we cook, eat, and gather.

Black joy tastes like Guyanese chow mein sweet, smoky, a little loud, and minding absolutely no one’s business. Chinese noodles hit Caribbean fire. Africans seasoned it. Indigenous cassareep stepped in like, “Move. I got it.” Dark, glossy, lowkey running the whole operation. It’s migration in a wok. Brown sugar caramelizing like it got something to prove. Scotch bonnet cutting through like that one cousin who tells the truth at dinner. And after all that history and flavor? Somebody auntie still tasting it like, “Hmm. It nice… but mine got more depth.” @lucialosangeles

Edna Lewis wasn’t just a chef — she was a storyteller of the South, a guardian of memory, and a quiet revolutionary who reminded America that Black culinary traditions are the foundation of its table. Born in the small farming community of Freetown, Virginia, she carried the rhythms of the seasons, the dignity of rural life, and the elegance of simple ingredients into every kitchen she touched. At a time when Southern food was often misunderstood or overlooked, she elevated it with grace, insisting that food rooted in heritage could also be refined, seasonal, and sacred. Through her cooking and writing, she preserved more than recipes, she preserved history, pride, and the soulful beauty of a culture that deserved to be honored. As a collective of chefs, we gather in her honor, each dish becomes a love letter, a shared promise that her spirit, her story, and the sacred traditions she protected will continue to nourish generations to come. Join us Sunday, February 22, 2026 at Bread + Butterfly in Atlanta, Georgia for a collaborative dinner featuring chefs: Max Hines • Demetrius Brown • Cleophus Hethington • Justin Dixon 🪑Seatings: 5:30 PM & 8:00 PM 🎟️Tickets: Click the link in bio 📍Location: Bread + Butterfly | Atlanta, GA Come break bread, share stories, and honor a woman whose work continues to shape how we cook, eat, and gather.

Black joy tastes like the first mango of summer. Sun hot, sticky sweet, juice running down your chin with no napkin in sight. You say you’re going to eat it neatly this year. You’re grown now. You’ve evolved. Five seconds later you’re over the sink, shirt sacrificed, hands dripping, and somebody in the background talking about “you making a mess.” Mind your business. That’s Black joy. Sweet. Loud. A little petty. Absolutely unbothered.

@lucialosangeles Afro Latino Week menu for Black History Month. Moqueca in the pot. Dendê glowing like it knows it’s the main character. Coconut milk playing peacemaker but still letting the heat talk. Garlic and peppers doing what they always do showing up loud. West Africa in the palm oil. Brazil in the clay. The ocean minding its business in the background. Rice soaking up the broth like it pays bills here. Silence after the first bite. Respect. Black joy. Sweet. Fire. Depth. And yes, scrape the bowl. We’re not leaving blessings behind.

Week two at Lucia continues our Black History Month series by tracing African culinary traditions as they evolved across Latin America and the Caribbean. As these traditions moved, flavors shifted and ingredients adapted—but the spirit of the cooking stayed strong. This chapter is about resilience, reinvention, and memory on the plate. From Anticucho beef skewers, rooted in Afro-Peruvian street culture and meant to be eaten with your hands, to charred cabbage layered with sofrito negro and garlic crumb—simple ingredients treated with intention. A coastal moqueca, rich with coconut milk and palm oil, speaks to African influence in Brazilian cuisine, while guava & cheese pastelitos with café colada close the experience with sweetness, nostalgia, and joy. Dine with us Friday–Sunday and experience the story as it unfolds.