Beyond Black History Month: Celebrating Black-owned Businesses Along My Travels. Part 1: SF to Pacifica

At Red Bay Coffee in the Ferry Building. Picture of George Washington Carver

The idea for this post came about while researching places to stop for a recent trip to Paso Robles. I encountered many interesting Black-owned businesses while planning my route: a vegan West African-inspired restaurant, a tea and scones shop, a tasting room. These places inspired my curiosity to search for more Black-owned businesses along my trip, and what I found was eye-opening: for one of the most diverse regions of the United States, the Bay Area south of San Francisco does not contain the multitude of Black-owned businesses I thought it would. The ones I found, however, were places my Victorian tea-loving, gluten-free, Chardonnay-sipping self definitely wanted to visit. I knew if I was going to connect with them, I was going to write about them.

The only thing that held me back from writing about them was the obvious fact that I’m not Black. My family hails from various parts of the Middle East, the Mediterranean, and Egypt, and I struggled with the idea of “not having the right” to approach this topic. I feared the nuance of speaking about other communities would be confused with the nuance of speaking for others. And so, I took a long walk one afternoon, lost in my thoughts and hesitation, and ended up across town in a small bookstore. The girl behind the counter, a sweet 20-something-year-old woman of color made the mistake of asking how I was doing. I exhaled my dilemma without reservation, waiting for her validation to take away the stress. She listened intently, tilting her head in the sincere way, her eyes trying to calm mine. When I finished, I paused for her reaction.
”Being an ally isn’t offensive. Speaking on behalf of another community, is.” We talked about boundaries as allies, and intentions when writing. We agreed drawing comparisons to the pain different groups experience is a major transgression. Pain is universal, but communities experience different circumstances which serve to shape pain in uniquely heartbreaking ways. A critical point. I took comfort in the fact that she supported my travel blog plans. My walk home was euphoric. I felt validated.

I then messaged my friend of twenty years to share the euphoria. Perhaps this friend’s opinion as a Black man would further validate me. Or, perhaps I wanted him to revel in the beauty of the idea with me. Instead, he dismissed that experience in the bookstore as being “just one person's opinion.”

The gut punch hit so deep that it put me in a state of shock…then stress…then brain fog. I kept all those places on my itinerary, but told myself I wasn’t going to write about any of them no matter how near and dear to me they could be.

It was then that I remembered a random stranger’s words on the Muni platform years ago. An older gentleman paced back and forth mumbling to himself. He paused right in front of me, looked me in the eyes and said, “If you don’t speak up, you might as well be dead.” “Yes, Sir,” I responded. His words validated me at that moment, along with the reminder that travel writing is not about the traveler, but about the experience of connecting…to places, to people. I couldn’t help but think of the late Anthony Bourdain and his love affair with Lebanon. I remember being both enthralled and jealous at witnessing this love affair as he documented his experiences with the country I felt was mine to document. Yet, he never spoke for them; he spoke about his love for them. Bourdain couldn’t speak for Lebanon because Lebanon spoke for him, worked its magic on him. He wasn’t the experience; he received the experience.

The answer was clear.

So, in order of appearance down highway 1, we have:

Red Bay Coffee Company, Ferry Building Marketplace https://www.redbaycoffee.com/: This iconic and legendary coffee shop needs no mention from anyone to put it on the map. In the seven years since its founding from its roots in Oakland, CA, Red Bay now has a coveted spot in San Francisco’s Ferry Building Marketplace.

I wanted to find out two things with this visit: 1) could I find a local coffee roaster who could knock me off my feet with smooth, rich coffee? and 2) could the SF location carry with it the same down-to-earth and intimate vibe that their Oakland flagship store is known for? I got my answer as I sipped a delicious and full-bodied drip coffee and chatted with Jessie, Red Bay’s Coffee Educator and Trainer. I can add “Superhero” to her title, too. I saw in Jessie a kindred spirit who is not searching for “home,” but rather is thriving in it. As we chatted about community, her role in this community, and her roots with Red Bay, I found myself transported to a balcony in Beirut.

Jessie has stories, and has emerged from tough experiences to pave a powerful path for herself and the community around her. From starting with Keba Konte, Red Bay’s founder, in his basement, to traveling to Guatemala in order to work directly with coffee farmers there, Jessie has continued to work with her heart and soul in everything she does. Her passion for the industry is evident in her demeanor and animated storytelling, and in the awareness of the team around her.

When asked what makes Red Bay Coffee feel like home, without hesitation Jessie answered, “community, connection, and communication.” Everyone respects each other here, and there is no pretense and no hierarchy that gives way to division. It was one of those moments where two strangers realize there’s something beautiful in the connections we make, and a few times Jessie would say “see, you just gave me chills talking about this.” It was her final words before our conversation ended that gave me chills:

“The people working here represent the community.” I looked around and saw staff of all backgrounds interacting with customers of all backgrounds: tourists, locals, business people, kindred spirits.

Although the signage reads “Beautiful Coffee to the People,” (and the coffee is quite beautiful), in my heart I see “Coffee to the Beautiful People.”

Red Bay Coffee, Ferry Building Marketplace

Now that my spirit was nourished at Red Bay (and slightly caffeinated), it was time to feed the belly at my next stop, Tastebuds https://www.sftastebuds.com/. Truth be told, I was starving and only wanted to connect with that shrimp omelette on the menu and the guava mimosa. What awaited was a connection and lesson in serendipity I could never have imagined.

The only consolation for arriving too late and missing the breakfast menu was the comfort of the potato salad. Best. potato. salad. ever. I actually felt sorry for myself after eating it because I knew I couldn’t recreate it. I got the Shrimp Lincoln sandwich and the first bite of breaded shrimp reminded me of a breaded shrimp my dad once made for me when I was eight-years-old, and has never left my memory. That food was home, with a twist of gouda, sausage, heaven, etc.

Shrimp Lincoln sandwich (with a guava mimosa) at Tastebuds in San Francisco.

As I sipped my mimosa in the sun, the two gentlemen next to me talked about fear and regrets in life. I struggled with that very theme on my travels, and wanted so badly to say something.

Lisa, shut up. Don’t talk to them. Let them eat.

I reminded myself that just because I love to talk to people, it doesn’t mean they want to talk to me. One of the gentlemen went inside for a moment, and I couldn’t help it.

“Excuse me,” I said, uncomfortably pressing my outstretched palms into the table. “I didn’t mean to overhear, but you mentioned fear and regret, and I struggled with those very same sentiments. Whatever it is that’s bothering him, he should do it.”

I turned back to my dish with a soul-satisfied smile and took a long gulp of my mimosa. The conversation flowed with two new friends, Tim and Alex, during that meal. I enjoyed the food more and more, taking in the words around us as every bite burst with flavor, and every sip was sweeter than the last. Alex was struggling with whether to pursue his passion for acting and move to LA or not. I recounted my own fears of being a writer, of taking a particular road that haunted me, of failing, everything. That afternoon I learned what connecting through a meal really means. Comfort food and soul food isn’t just rich and hearty, it’s a means of bringing people closer together. It feeds the body, mind, and spirit.

“Alex, the most important thing to remember is that you enjoy the process, regardless of the result.”

He then looked at me with the most beautiful expression of hope in his eyes. If Alex was capable of showing his emotion on-screen like he did in that moment, then that boy is going to shine someday. He’s going to be all things.

I was filled with good food and with hope, and continued on my journey to find a bold outfit to match my attitude. I’d wanted to visit ReLove https://shoprelove.com/, a stylish boutique store on colorful Polk Street that focused on the re-sale of vintage pieces, as well as designer and independent labels.

Charming boutique on Polk Street, San Francisco

I trusted the style advice of both Delilah, the owner, and Michael, the Sales Associate (and stylist extraordinaire) as soon as I saw their own style. I spotted my challenge nestled in between all the darker blazers and flared vintage-style pants: a white, off-the-shoulder dress with floral print, à la Frida Kahlo. It was subtle and pretty and reminded me of colorful tatreez patterns, so I tried it on. When I stepped out of the dressing room and saw myself in the mirror, I bent over in shock and covered myself. “Michael!” I whispered, “It’s see-through!!”

As if he wouldn’t understand what see-through meant, I felt the need to add, “you can see my underwear!!”

Michael shrugged nonchalantly and said “it’s nothing a little slip dress or camisole won’t fix.”

“Really?!” I asked, gaining confidence and suddenly not caring that he could see my bold, turquoise bottoms. “All I need are sexy shoes.”
“No,” he responded quickly. “Brown flats.”

There is such beauty in unabashedly trusting a stranger’s advice. We don’t normally do that in our lives. I haven’t worn the dress yet, and often stare at it, wondering if I have the right to wear another culture’s flower pattern. Should I just throw a big tatreez scarf around it and live in all our beauty? I don’t know yet. The most important thing was breaking out of my comfort zone and buying a see-through white dress. I’ll figure out the rest later. For now, it’s just beautiful knowing it’s there.

Beautiful dress from ReLove, San Francisco

The beauty of my next entry is that this business can be enjoyed both in San Francisco farmers markets and along the serene and scenic highway 1 in Pacifica. If you are in San Francisco on a Sunday, you absolutely MUST visit Shampa’s Pies http://www.shampaspies.com/ at the Sunset Mercantile market https://sunsetmercantilesf.com/. These pies are AMAZING. I highly recommend trying the lemon pie, and this is how good it is: I justify eating it (although gluten isn’t my best friend) by telling myself that it has less gluten than other pies because there’s no top layer. I’m the worst, but that pie is the best.

Their actual store is located in Pacifica, CA, a coastal town known for surfing, where Shampa’s owner and founder, Haruwn Wesley frequented as a surfer himself. Sadly, Mr. Wesley is no longer with us. His family keeps his memory and legacy alive as they continue baking the pies the community has grown to love over the years.

I made it a point to stop at his memorial near the coast, and it’s evident by the love there that Mr. Wesley was deeply in touch with the surfing community. I wish I had met him. I wonder if his connection to the ocean and its truth influenced his commitment to the pie shop and to baking with a genuine sense of home. Back in the store, I found another heartwarming tribute: “Thank you for being a success.”

There’s an authenticity to this business that’s both unique and reminiscent. In the Middle East, home-made fruit syrup called “toot” is offered as a drink in ice water to guests. It’s special. Making toot is not easy, and requires a lot of perfect berries. A woman I know in Lebanon makes bottles of delicious raspberry toot from berries near the mountains. When I had that syrup, I tasted her family’s legacy, recipes and methods passed down from generation to generation. It is the same feeling with Shampa’s Pies. Somewhere in that lemon pie are the memories of Mr. Wesley’s past, of a relative who baked memories and pie into his childhood experiences, memories that continue to bless those who share in them.

Shampa’s lemon pie. Picture from Shampa’s Instagram page.

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Friends, we’ve traveled so much on this journey from San Francisco to Pacifica. There’s still a long way to go until I reach Paso Robles. Please join me in Part 2 of exploring Black-owned businesses along my travels (coming soon!)