Neighbor to neighbor: Alma Mater stays busy cooking for homeless young adults

As the pandemic descended upon northwest Washington in March, homeless shelters scrambled to secure temporary residences for dozens of people, but perhaps none more so than the Beacon Youth Shelter in downtown Tacoma.

The organization was awaiting a renovation of the senior center at 315 S. 13th St., a plan finalized by the city last October that would welcome young adults overnight. As it were, those ages 18 to 24 only had access to the building in the evenings, until 9 p.m.

Suddenly, Beacon sought to house more than 50 of these young adults under one roof — yet that was but one knot in a tangle of enhanced sanitation procedures, more stringent in-and-out privileges, a drop in staff and a jump in the number of participants. Several were recently homeless, their jobs rendered non-essential in the eyes of COVID-19 regulations. As they were asked to stay inside — as were millions across America to contain the spread of this new disease — where they found their meals became a new kind of daily quandary.

And they needed that consistency now more than ever.

In those chaotic few weeks of March, the staff of Comprehensive Life Services, which operates Beacon on behalf of the city and covers remaining costs, was driving the 1.5 miles south to the Tacoma Rescue Mission to retrieve food and supplies. Sometimes the pickup was late, or products promised were missing.

More pointedly, the additional duty of meal prep detracted from the work the case managers were trained to do: to connect directly with homeless young adults, to help them navigate job applications and housing searches, to build trust and to help them find their footing in society.

As daytime supervisor Daniel Cross put it, “Ultimately, you signed up to make a difference.”

“You’ve gotta take that time when you can get it,” he said. If it’s at lunchtime, so be it. The case work trumps all else. Still, he continued, “If they’re sitting in front of you hungry, they’re not able to focus.”

Dre Taylor, a nighttime supervisor, chimed in: “When I eat, I’m more willing to work. It just helps everybody out.”

Like a good neighbor

On the other side of 13th Street, 22,000 square feet of venue, gallery, office and restaurant space sat vacant. Concerts and events at the barely two-year-old Alma Mater had been canceled, and as of March 17, Honey Kitchen and Matriarch Lounge had closed, unsure of how sustainable takeout would be for an unknown period of time.

Jason Heminger, one of Alma Mater’s three founders, had already connected to his Beacon neighbors. He has served on the board for a year and has welcomed many of these young adults into the building at night to use the bathroom or have a bite to eat. His staff cooked meals for them at least once a month.

“It’s such an important part of all of the operations,” said Heminger, sitting outside the gallery entrance to Honey, which has been quiet for more than 12 weeks. “A lot of it has been being a friend and a neighbor.”

Alma Mater is a for-profit business, but it strives to be more than a bottom-line rider; they call it a “slim-profit” business. Community is integral to its mission.

With no timetable for reopening — then or now — Heminger and chef Roger Weatherhead, who has led Matriarch since last spring, knew their kitchen was valuable. It would operate at minimal capacity without guests enjoying a sherry cocktail and roasted bone marrow at the bar, a cup of coffee and a vegan sandwich. Why bother?

By late March, they committed to use that resource in full, but not for takeout: They would cook three meals a day, seven days a week, for the homeless young adults now staying day and night 400 feet down the block.

Weatherhead called seven of his cooks, who had been laid off just three weeks earlier.

“Every single one of them jumped at the chance,” he said. “We’re all very passionate, so we’d rather be here.”

Cooking for a cause & on a budget

By April, this gang of eight were starting their days at 6 a.m., preparing breakfasts of oatmeal with fresh berries, pancakes and sausage, biscuits and gravy on the weekends. Macrina Bakery also donates boxes of day-old bread and pastries every Monday.

For lunch, it’s chicken Caesar wraps, chicken parmesan, soup and salad with homemade rolls. For dinner, there are tacos on Tuesday and barbecue on Sunday, and fried rice made with vegetable scraps collected throughout the week.

“It’s a great way to use leftovers,” Weatherhead said. “The better we do at that, the more we can do something nice.”

Occasionally, he has snagged a fair price for salmon or flank steak, bringing variety to the menu and perhaps exposing the young adults to foods they wouldn’t otherwise try.

“Being creative with a budget in mind has certain benefits for us and them,” Weatherhead said. “Not only do I want there to be some balance, but it needs to taste good, too.”

He buys whole chickens and breaks them down to use all parts, making stock with the bones and saving the wings to add protein to a lighter lunch.

“It’s amazing when you cook things from scratch how cheap it gets,” he said.

Alma Mater has been providing this sense of normalcy to Beacon’s young adults for no tangible financial gain.

Heminger and interim executive director Lisa Fruichantie turned down Beacon’s initial payment offer. This partnership has provided the boost they needed to pursue another part of Alma Mater’s long-term vision: They plan to incorporate other restaurants and build a cooperative similar to FareStart’s Catalyst Kitchens, which supports culinary training for people who struggle to find, and keep, a job due to homelessness and poverty.

Nonetheless, CLR received a Pierce County grant earmarked for food purchasing, so they pay Alma Mater $500 a day, but that amount falls far below the food and labor costs involved with this daily operation.

No one seems to mind, though.

“It’s worked out really well,” Weatherhead said. “We’re working enough to stay busy and not be overworked.”

Consistency as resolution

Beacon has never provided meals at this frequency, and when they were offered, they were what James Pogue, the executive director of CLR’s homeless services, calls “oven-free” lunches — granola bars, cereal, sandwiches.

Through the Tacoma Rescue Mission, CLR would feed about 40 young adults once a day, compared to three meals a day for an average of 55 people.

“This is just one more element of normalcy,” he said. “Food is so important on weekends, too. Missing lunch is not devastating because there will be dinner.”

Guaranteed meals distance them from food banks, leaving those resources — demand for which has skyrocketed during the pandemic — for families with few alternatives.

It also shows they are valued.

“These are Tacoma’s kids,” Cross said in a group interview with The News Tribune.

Perhaps more so than teenagers, middle-aged or elderly homeless adults, this age group is often overlooked — by the community, by philanthropy, by society.

The years while they are still young can be make or break.

“You still have a chance here to help them gain those skills and make them functional members of society,” said Steph Powell, who leads weekend services at the shelter.

Despite claims they aren’t from here, said the Beacon staff, nearly 9 in 10 of Beacon’s young adults grew up in Pierce County. Many came of age in the foster system, and many experienced homelessness with their families. Many also work but still struggle to secure affordable housing.

“It’s a deep-rooted societal problem,” Powell said. Added housing specialist Tiffany Orth, “This is absolutely a Tacoma problem.”

Taking ownership, they said, can be a real step to solving this other ongoing crisis.

Alma Mater’s embrace of their neighbors is “humanely refreshing,” said Cross, a sensibility that seems “almost like a fairy tale.” Instead of turning a blind eye, Alma Mater’s Heminger and his team asked, “While you’re here, what can I do for you?”

The neighborhood response to the city’s 2019 decision to combine the youth and senior center at 315 South 13th St. was, Heminger paused, “mixed,” but “part of the relationship and advocacy is the belief that they belong in this neighborhood — they’re our neighbors.” They should be regarded with the same value and have the same access as everyone else.

For the Beacon staff, the meal partnership provided the foundation for them — as case managers, as friends, as role models, said Orth — “to be there for the people who rely on us for structure and consistency.”

“Every minute that is saved thanks to Alma Mater is a minute for us to change with them,” added counselor Carlos Castanon.

If Alma Mater welcomes the young adults, who were not interviewed out of privacy the Beacon staff wanted to respect, perhaps the community will follow.

“The community loves Alma Mater,” said Taylor, the nighttime supervisor, with sincere oomph behind that verb. “And if people love them, they’ll love us.”

This story was originally published July 1, 2020 at 7:00 AM with the headline "Neighbor to neighbor: Alma Mater stays busy cooking for homeless young adults."