RACISM AT WORK
Why New Orleans Restaurants Put Black People in the Back
A personal essay about racism in the hospitality industry
After working for nearly eleven years in New Orleans restaurants, I learned a lot about the hospitality industry, the ins and outs of day-to-day operations, hiring and firing practices, and even race relations. And now that I no longer work in the industry, I feel more willing to speak about those experiences and less beholden to an unspoken code of Southern silence. For instance, while working at Red Fish Grill in the French Quarter, the general manager received a letter from a customer who dined a few weeks before Mardi Gras. She praised the staff for their kindness and the chefs' culinary talents but complained that management "had all the Black people working in the back."
For those unfamiliar with restaurant practices, you should know that servers often make the most in a high-end restaurant. Back-of-the-house positions are hourly workers who typically don't make more than $10 an hour unless you are a head chef, sous chef, or kitchen manager. While nothing is guaranteed for servers, who make $2.13 plus tips, at a busy restaurant, they can typically make enough to support themselves. So, the customer understood that only allowing Black people to work in back-of-house positions would mean capping their earning potential and believed the racial disparity was an injustice management was responsible for. New Orleans is often referred to as a "chocolate city" since Black people comprise the parish's largest racial group. So, it is bizarre that more Black people weren't offered positions in management or front-of-house positions.
Of course, when the manager told the staff about the letter, he pointed out, "we do have Black people in front-of-house positions. We just hired Allison, and we also have two Black servers who work on weekend nights. If the customer came during the night shift, they would have seen Black front-of-house staff." With a laissez-faire attitude, the manager told us Red Fish Grill wasn't racist but never gave employees the space to comment. The manager also refused to make eye contact with me, the only Black person in the room, as he bemoaned the customer's critique.
Had he asked, I would have told him that before they hired me, one of his managers called to ask me if my hair was twisted or in dreadlocks to help them decide if I was a good fit and that I thought that was racially discriminatory. Now that New Orleans passed the Crown Act Ordinance, it would be illegal to discriminate in this way, but back then, Black people with natural hairstyles had fewer opportunities to work in front-of-house positions. My ability to code-switch and speak, as my dad calls it, "the King's English," opened doors for me that my peers didn't have access. My Blackness felt like mise en place in their fine dining atmosphere, something superficial, like a thick foundation on a wounded eye.
Instead of assessing why we had only three Black front-of-house staff members, management ignored the customer's complaint. When festivals like Bayou Classic and Essence came into town, the restaurant would close early and modify their menus in preparation for crowds of Black people visiting the city. Bayou Classic brings nearly $50 million, and Essence festival brings $200 million to the New Orleans economy yearly, so why treat Black clientele like second-class citizens? At Redfish Grill, I also found that closing three hours early and adding fried chicken and watermelon salads to the menu were racist management decisions. The staff spoke amongst one another outside of the formal meeting.
Some White servers protested closing early. "The city will be crowded. Let's stay open to make money. I have bills to pay." But other White servers expressed fear, "we need to make it to our cars safely, and they don't tip anyway. Management is right. Let's close early." Like a fly on the wall, I heard them debate whether or not they wanted to work at Red Fish Grill when Black people would be the chief clientele. Of course, my input was never asked for. And while their racism didn't come as a surprise, it did sting a bit because, as a krewe, we went through the trenches together and dealt with difficult customers and ridiculous expectations from the company in the end; still, some of my colleagues were afraid of Black people, while others hated the idea of serving them. And Red Fish Grill wasn't the only restaurant that closed early for festivals, changed the menu using racist innuendo, or shut down altogether when Black people came into town.
But, the customer hit the nail on the head with the letter she wrote about management putting Black people in back-of-the-house positions. Remember, the hospitality industry provides opportunities for over 70,000 employees in New Orleans, so limiting positions Black people have access to helps dictate where Black people can afford to live, what resources they have, and what schools their children attend. As a result, there's a cycle of poverty just below the surface of the French Quarter that tourists rarely see.
At Oceana, management asked one busboy to cut his dreadlocks, even though he wore them in a neat bun during service. After he complied with their demands, he told me, "it wasn't worth it. I cut my hair and lost a part of me." As he dashed across the room carrying plates, I saw his eyes melt a bit and felt sympathetic for him. At that point, I decided not to cut my hair, even if it meant losing my position. When my friend dragged me over to Oceana last month for crabcakes, I noticed they didn't have any Black people working as front-of-house staff and remembered that letter the customer wrote. White servers with blonde hair and blue eyes scattered the dining room, but through the glass, I could see a nearly all-Black cooking staff— the social order was clear for anyone to visualize. This time, I saw racial injustice from the customers' perspective. Still, I didn't write a letter because I know that excuses and a series of white lies typically prevent French Quarter restaurants from addressing their racist hiring and scheduling practices.
While you will see some Black servers working in French Quarter restaurants these days, they don't proportionally represent the Black population in New Orleans, and that's a problem. Moreover, hiding "the help" has ugly, racist undertones that modern-day businesses should seek to avoid. But, based on my experience, French Quarter restaurants will keep giving preference to White applicants to take front-of-the-house positions; it's a byproduct of the white social order established through the chattel slavery system. How ironic that, even within the service industry, racism persists.
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