Before I knew the word hospitality, before I knew there was a career built around making people feel welcome, before I understood that gathering could be an art form…
I knew the kitchen table. The kitchen table was my first classroom. Not the kind with chalkboards and textbooks. Not the kind where someone stood in front of the room teaching you a lesson. This classroom had mismatched chairs, old dishes, laughter that filled the room, and conversations that somehow always seemed important enough that children were told to go somewhere else.
And I hated that.
I remember being around seven years old, sitting close enough to hear everything and somehow hearing nothing at all. My mom and her sisters would sit around that big kitchen table, and they would talk. And baby, they would talk. They talked loud enough that you knew something important was happening, but somehow quiet enough that us kids never caught a single detail.
I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know why they were laughing. I wanted to know whose dress they were talking about sewing. I wanted to know how to write that letter. I wanted to read the Terry McMillan book they mentioned. I wanted to hear the song that reminded them of somebody. I wanted access to the stories. Because even as a child, I knew something special was happening around that table. The kitchen table held a language I didn’t know how to speak yet. A language made of laughter, wisdom, storytelling, forgiveness, and love. Women were passing down lessons without realizing they were teaching. They were creating memories without realizing they were making history.
Years later, I realized I had been studying hospitality long before I ever entered a restaurant. I wasn’t learning recipes. I was learning people. When I got to college, that longing I had as a child; that desire to be close to the table; grew into something bigger. I wanted to recreate that feeling. I wanted the tables I served at in restaurants to feel different. I wanted people to walk in as strangers and leave feeling like family. I wanted them to feel like they were part of a secret only we were allowed to hear. I wanted them to feel welcomed.
Seen.
Safe.
I Am Not a Hostess. I Am a Gatherer.
For years, I called myself a hostess.
I thought that was the word. I thought maybe I wanted to be an event planner because I loved making things beautiful. And listen, I absolutely love making things beautiful. Give me flowers, candles, beautiful linens, a room that needs a little love, and I am in my happy place. But eventually, I realized what I loved was much bigger than the details. I couldn’t quite explain it. I just knew I loved people. I loved creating moments where people slowed down. Where they stopped rushing. Where they remembered they were human. You know that person everyone tells their problems to? The person strangers somehow trust? The person who can meet someone once and somehow leave knowing their entire story?
That has always been me.
I watched my mom do it.
But my stepdad?
That gift came naturally to him. Even now, I watch how he makes every person who comes into his presence feel comfortable. He makes people feel like they matter. Like they belong. And I grew up watching that. I grew up watching people feel safe around the people I loved.
So naturally, I became one too. For years, I ran from it. My friends would joke about how people always wanted to stop and talk to me. Why strangers would tell me their whole life story. Why people felt comfortable around me.
And honestly?
I didn’t understand it. But now I do. It is a light. And I can’t turn it off.
I am a gatherer.
A hostess prepares a meal.
A gatherer prepares a feeling.
A hostess thinks about the flowers, the food, the music, and the details.
A gatherer thinks about something deeper.
Did you feel seen? Did you feel celebrated? Did you feel safe enough to be yourself?
A hostess creates an experience.
A gatherer creates belonging.
A hostess brings people to the table.
A gatherer makes people feel like they were always meant to be there.
I don’t gather people around food.
I gather people around belonging.
Gathering Is an Art Form
When I entered hospitality, I didn’t realize I was stepping into a lifelong study of people.
But here I am.
Still a student. Studying hospitality. Restaurants. Hotels. Experience design. Community. Storytelling. Emotional connection. Because creating an experience is the foundation. The flowers matter. The food matters. The playlist matters. The table matters. But none of it matters if people don’t feel something.
My favorite quote by Maya Angelou has always stayed with me:
“People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
Hospitality allows you to study people. And if there is one thing I have a doctorate in, it is studying people. Understanding what makes people feel valued. Understanding what makes them open up. Understanding what makes them feel acknowledged. Because at the core of humanity, we all want the same thing. To be seen. Sometimes it is not the grand gesture. Sometimes it is simply someone saying:
“I’m proud of you.”
“I see you.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
A gatherer knows how to change the atmosphere of a room. They can make you feel like there are millions of people around, but somehow they see you.
That is a gift.
The Supper Club That Changed My Perspective
The day before my birthday, I gathered a few friends in my home.
I wanted cocktails. I wanted light bites. I wanted laughter. I wanted to celebrate life. But something bigger happened. It was the table linens. It was the conversations. It was the week before when I painted my living room wall hot pink and thought, “This might be crazy.” It was people playing spades. It was unexpected karaoke. It was laughter filling the room.
That was the moment Floral & Spice was born.
For years, I dreamed about creating my own supper club. I had designed flowers for dinner parties. I had created beautiful moments for other people. But this time, I wanted my own table. Fear always stopped me. I wanted the perfect linen. The perfect menu. The perfect guest list.
But this time?
I decided I was doing it scared. And that changed everything.
Where Is Our Table?
I attended a beautiful supper club experience.
The hospitality was genuine. The gathering was thoughtful. The evening was special. But as I looked around the room, I noticed something. Every guest was white. And I want to be clear. This was not criticism. This was not about taking away from the beauty of that experience. It was a beautiful table.
But it left me with a question:
Where is our table?
Where is the table where Black women are centered?
Where our stories are the conversation?
Where our traditions shape the experience?
Where we don’t have to explain ourselves?
That dinner didn’t make me want to compete.
It made me want to contribute.
The Black Woman Has Always Been a Gatherer
The more I thought about it, the more I realized something. Black women have always been gatherers. Before gathering became a trend. Before beautiful tables filled social media. Before supper clubs became popular. Our women were creating tables.
The aunties.
The church mothers.
The grandmothers.
The neighbors.
The friends’ mothers.
They always had room for one more. Pull up another chair. Make another plate. Take some home. Hospitality wasn’t trendy. It was survival. It was love. It was culture.
The Kitchen Table Philosophy
The kitchen table was never perfect.
Sometimes the chairs didn’t match. Sometimes the cups were plastic. Sometimes the dishes were old. There was the kids’ table. The adults’ table. But everybody belonged somewhere.
That table taught me:
Hospitality. Listening. Storytelling. Forgiveness. Celebration. Grief. Family.
The kitchen table was never just furniture.
It was a witness.
The Birth of Floral & Spice
Floral & Spice is not just a dinner party.
It is not entertaining. It is not event planning.
It is my answer to a question:
What would happen if Black women had a table intentionally created with them in mind?
Not exclusive. Intentional.
A table filled with flowers.
Tea. Food. Music. Conversation. Stories.
A table that says:
You belong here.
Pull Up a Chair: The Inaugural Floral & Spice Supper Club
And now, the table I have dreamed about is finally being set.
After years of creating beautiful spaces for others, after years of wondering what it would feel like to create my own table…
Floral & Spice is opening its doors.
Not just for a meal.
For a moment.
For connection.
For community.
For the women who are searching for a place where they can come exactly as they are.
The inaugural Floral & Spice Supper Club will be held:
Sunday, August 16, 2026
Doors Open: 7:00 PM
An intimate evening centered around:
Food
Flowers
Fellowship
Storytelling
Guests will enjoy a five-course family-style dinner, where plates are passed, conversations flow, and strangers have the opportunity to leave as community.
There are only 6 seats available.
Seats are first come, first served.
BYOB.
Come ready to slow down.
Come ready to connect.
Come ready to pull up a chair.
Because this table was created for those who believe gathering is more than being in the same room.
It is about feeling like you belong.
Reserve your seat at the table.
I cannot wait to gather with you.
A Reflection For You
Who taught you the art of gathering?
For me, it was my mom, my stepdad, and my grandmother.
My grandmother taught me something I will carry forever. She didn’t know me by blood. But you would have never known the difference. She loved me like I was her own. I remember the last time I saw her. I was leaving town, and my dad told me to go see her because she wasn’t doing well. My aunt Trudy was there. My grandmother looked at me and said:
“I love you, baby.”
And in that moment, I didn’t feel like the step-anything. I felt like her granddaughter. She saw me. And I think that is why I gather. Because I know what it feels like to be chosen. To be welcomed. To belong.
So I ask you:
Who taught you the art of gathering?
What table do you still remember from your childhood?
What made that table unforgettable?
When was the last time you truly felt seen around a table?
What does belonging feel like to you?
Because belonging is a feeling.
A breath. A moment of peace. A gentle hug. The feeling of walking into a room and knowing you don’t have to become someone else to be loved. Belonging is a feeling. And that is the feeling I hope to create. One table at a time.