Can gumbo and fried chicken be something more just hearty gratification? Can they be a way to express support and solidarity?
It sure seemed that way at Dooky Chase’s Restaurant in Treme this week, where people were packing into the dining room for something more than a meal.
The landmark Creole restaurant had been the scene of a brazen shooting a few nights before, when a man fleeing an assailant on the streets dashed into Dooky Chase’s. Bloodshed ensued.
The restaurant family was determined to reopen and get back to business as soon as staff were ready to return.
Even before they opened, people had gathered outside the door Tuesday morning. Many more would arrive as lunch service progressed, a mix of regulars, civic leaders and even some tourists, sending a message, filling the dining rooms with their presence and support.
You may have heard about the civil rights history that transpired under Dooky Chase's roof, the African-American art collection on its walls, the legend of the late matriarch Leah Chase, and you’ve probably heard good things about the fried chicken here too.
But the full picture of this restaurant arrives only when you take a table and watch New Orleans convene in one of its most hospitable dining rooms, and that happened again with a purpose.
As is common at restaurants with deep history, people build their own traditions here and might even customize their meals. It was another Dooky Chase’s regular who earlier taught me about “table chicken,” which means simply ordering a communal plate of fried chicken to share. And people have the Dooky Chase gumbo z’herbes special on Holy Thursday circled on their calendars like a rite of devotion.
But Dooky Chase’s is more than a place to eat. It's home to a shared New Orleans culture of connection. It’s the history of the restaurant, and the way its next generation make an expanded notion of family feel possible through hospitality.
Upon its return, it was clear hospitality was a two-way street as it flowed back to the restaurant — from people who value it, and who needed to express their care. They showed up, like New Orleans does.
