In a food truck in Southwest Atlanta, identical twins Jada Grèmillion and Branden Louis, 31, are serving up crawfish beignets, cornbread waffles, chicken, and candied yams at What Cha Cooking Baby, a thriving to-go-order restaurant on wheels that infuses the culture of their native New Orleans with authentic creole recipes passed down from their late grandmother Betsy Ann Anderson. The business is the manifestation of a lifelong dream for the owners and chefs who first opened their food truck to the public in March 2021, after a series of personal and professional setbacks that threatened to derail their future.

“We’re the same person, we just live in different bodies,” said the openly gay Louis in a 2018 documentary where he describes life with his twin sister Grèmillion, a trans woman.

“When we were younger, people would always say, 'Oh, Branden is the boy twin and Jada is the girl twin,' Louis said. “And then, I would always think in my head, what do they see that I don't see?”

“I just knew something about me was always different,” Grèmillion said. “And I knew that I didn't wanna grow up to be an old man. I knew that was not my story.”

Grèmillion tells The Reckoning that she knew she was going to transition as early as age 14.

When he was 16 years old, Jahnesta Watson found himself in the middle of a familial drama that unexpectedly shifted the trajectory of his life.

Prior to this moment, Watson, now 28, had been the golden child. Beloved by most within the family, he was incapable of doing any wrong in their eyes. But he admits he made a terrible mistake by confiding in a family member.

“I had this uncle, the cool uncle; the kind of uncle who would slip you a beer on the side when no one was looking,” Watson told The Reckoning. “We were close; really close.”

So close that Watson decided this uncle would be the sole person he would confide in about his sexuality.

“Big mistake,” he said.

After an ugly altercation with the family matriarch, Watson’s grandmother, the uncle, shared Watson’s secret.

Often already experienced with outright discrimination or bigoted slights because of their skin color, for a number of Black gay men, the biggest concern when coming out of the closet is not whether they’ll be able to withstand homophobia in the workplace or on the streets. Instead, many worry about the family cookout: Will they be invited? Will they be treated differently? Will their spirits be fed?

Season—it’s a simple yet versatile word that can encompass everything from the month on the calendar to how many gray hairs are on your head. Yet for most ethnic foodies, one definition reigns supreme: It’s that mysterious yet irresistible touch of flavor that makes a dish mouthwatering.

Generations of Black cooks have perfected an almost preternatural talent for using a pinch of this and a dash of that to transform the simple into the sublime, earning a cultural badge of honor if you know how to make a roast sing, or a scarlet letter if your dish evokes the dubious cookout question, “Who made this potato salad?”

Award-winning chef Deborah VanTrece is laying it all on the line. The highly-respected chef and owner of “Twisted Soul Cookhouse and Pours” in West Midtown has had to reinvent the model for her successful soul food restaurant more times than she could have ever imagined in 2020. But during times of uncertainty and stress, clarity is not often far behind–or in VanTrece’s case—the desire to no longer publicly sugarcoat the challenges brought on by the pandemic, and the racism that she and other Black colleagues have endured in professional kitchens long before the pandemic upended the restaurant industry.