PULL UP A CHAIR

Míkoulé family, and happy New Year!

I’m sitting on my “Black lady green couch,” as my friends call it, while I write this. There’s a cup nearby, still warm. What am I drinking? A connection tea, a special blend of herbs and flowers made by my dear friend Tia. I’m taking breaks, watching the clouds roll by. This feels like the right way to say what I’ve been holding.

I’ve been quiet. Not gone, just deep in the work. The last few years moved fast, and a lot happened in that time. I became North Carolina Chef of the Year. I was named a Chopped Champion (which, unsurprisingly, came with everyone asking me when I’m opening a restaurant). I co-directed the award-winning Bite of Bénin. I cooked in France and London. I spent meaningful time in high schools and universities talking about the philosophy of intuitive cooking.

It’s been beautiful. And it’s been a lot.

Somewhere along the way, my body started asking me to listen more closely. Not to slow my curiosity or my ambition but to pay attention to what felt sustainable. To what felt good. To what felt like mine.

I'm sharing this now because something new is taking shape, slowly and with intention.
If you want to stay close to what’s coming, you can join the waitlist now.

What I’m committed to protecting now is simple and deeply personal: my health, my intentionality, time with my daughter, and ways of being in community that feel human rather than transactional. I’ve realized I don’t actually want to disappear into a restaurant.

What I do want is to feed people well.
To stay well myself.
To create spaces where strangers become familiar, where generations sit at the same table, where conversation isn’t rushed and care has room to breathe.

The world feels loud right now. Heavy. I find myself asking what it means to show up as a creative in a moment like this. What my responsibility is as a storyteller. I keep coming back to the same answer.

The table.

Food, for me, is a personal practice of reclamation. It’s a living archive and it carries what cannot be confiscated. And when we sit together with intention, something in us softens. Something remembers.

So this is why now.

Soon, I’ll be hosting monthly communal dining experiences. Small, intimate gatherings rooted in presence, storytelling, and care. My hope is that people leave feeling grounded, connected, and less alone, and that what begins at the table continues beyond it.

If this feels like it’s for you, like something you’d want to sit with
join the waitlist to be the first to know when the table opens.

I’m choosing a next chapter that honors my body and my spirit. I’d love for you to step into it with me.

Be good, Be mindful, Be kind. 

With love,

Adé