The next big thing is coming from the Bronx, again

My name is Jon Gray.

They call me "the Dishwasher."

I cofounded Ghetto Gastro,

a Bronx-based collective

that works at the intersection
of food, design and art.

We create experiences that challenge
people's perceptions of the Bronx,

the place that I call home.

It's a funny thing.

I just touched down in Vancouver
from Paris a few days ago.

We took over the Place Vendôme
with the Bronx Brasserie.

Oui oui, chérie.

(Laughter)

It's wild, because in Paris,
they have this saying,

"le Bronx,"

which means something
is in disarray or a problem.

That's the Place Vendôme.

We shut it down one time.

(Laughter)

This lingo came into play
when the Bronx was burning,

and movies like "The Warriors"
and "Fort Apache"

still make an impression.

Some may disagree,

but I believe the Bronx
was designed to fail.

The power broker was a joker.

Robert Moses, instead of
parting the Red Sea,

he parted the Bronx
with a six-lane highway

and redlined my community.

My great-grandparents
had a home on Featherbed Lane,

and contrary to the name,

they couldn't get a good night's rest

due to the constant blasting
and drilling that was necessary

to build the cross-Bronx expressway

a block away.

I consider these policy decisions

design crimes.

(Applause)

Being the resilient people
that we are uptown,

out of the systematic oppression

hip-hop culture rose from the rubble
and the ashes like a phoenix.

Hip-hop is now a trillion-dollar industry,

but this economic activity
doesn't make it back to the Bronx

or communities like it.

Let's take it back to 1986.

I was born in the heart
of the AIDS crisis,

the crack epidemic

and the War on Drugs.

The only thing that trickled down
from Reaganomics was ghettonomics:

pain, prison and poverty.

I was raised by brilliant, beautiful
and accomplished black women.

Even so, my pops wasn't in the picture,

and I couldn't resist
the allure of the streets.

Like Biggie said,

you're either slinging crack rock
or you got a wicked jump shot.

Don't get it twisted, my jumper was wet.

(Laughter)

My shit was wet.

(Applause)

But when I turned 15,
I started selling weed,

I didn't finish high school,

the New York Board of Education
banned me from all of those,

but I did graduate
to selling cocaine when I turned 18.

I did well.

That was until I got jammed up,
caught a case, when I was 20.

I was facing 10 years.

I posted bail, signed up
at the Fashion Institute,

I applied the skills
that I learned in the streets

to start my own fashion brand.

My lawyer peeked my ambition,

so he suggested that the judge
grant me a suspended sentence.

For once in my life,
a suspension was a good thing.

(Laughter)

Over the course of two years
and many court dates,

my case got dismissed.

Both of my brothers have done jail time,

so escaping the clutches
of the prison industrial system

didn't seem realistic to me.

Right now, one of my brothers
is facing 20 years.

My mother put in great effort
in taking me out to eat,

making sure we visited museums

and traveled abroad,

basically exposing me
to as much culture as she could.

I remembered how as a kid,

I used to take over the dinner table
and order food for everybody.

Breaking bread has always
allowed me to break the mold

and connect with people.

Me and my homie Les,

we grew up on the same block in the Bronx,

two street dudes.

He happened to be a chef.

We always discussed the possibility
of doing something in the food game

for the benefit of our neighborhood.

Les had just won the food show "Chopped."

Our homie Malcolm was gearing up
to run a pastry kitchen at Noma,

yeah, world's best Noma in Copenhagen,
you know the vibes.

My man P had just
finished training in Eat-aly,

Milano to be exact.

We decided the world needed
some Bronx steasoning on it,

so we mobbed up and formed Ghetto Gastro.

(Applause)

While I'm aware our name
makes a lot of people uncomfortable,

for us "ghetto" means home.

Similar to the way
someone in Mumbai or Nairobi

might use the word "slum,"

it's to locate our people

and to indict the systems of neglect
that created these conditions.

(Applause)

So what is Ghetto Gastro?

Ultimately, it's a movement
and a philosophy.

We view the work we do as gastrodiplomacy,

using food and finesse

to open borders and connect culture.

Last year in Tokyo,

we did a Caribbean patty,

we do jerk wagyu beef,

shio kombu.

We remixed the Bronx classic
with the Japanese elements.

And for Kwanzaa,

we had to pay homage to our Puerto Ricans,

and we did a coconut charcoal
cognac coquito. Dímelo!

(Laughter)

This here is our Black Power waffle

with some gold leaf syrup.

Make sure you don't slip on the drip.

(Laughter)

Here we got the 36 Brix
plant-based velato.

Strawberry fields, you know the deal.

Compressed watermelon,

basil seeds,

a little bit of strawberries up there.

Back to the Bronx Brasserie,

you know we had to hit them in the head
with that caviar and cornbread.

(Laughter)

(Applause)

We also practice du-rag diplomacy.

(Laughter)

Because, we don't edit who we are
when we do our thing.

Due to our appearance,

we often get mistaken
for rappers or athletes.

It happened here last year at TED.

This dude ran down on me

and asked me when I was going to perform.

How about now?

(Applause)

So you see,

we've been bringing the Bronx to the world

but now we focus on bringing
the world to the Bronx.

We just opened our spot,

an idea kitchen

where we make and design products,

create content --

(Music)

and host community events.

The intention is
to build financial capital

and creative capital in our hood.

We're also collaborating
with world-renowned chef

Massimo Bottura

on a refettorio in the Bronx.

A refettorio is a design-focused
soup kitchen and community center.

You see the vibes.

(Applause)

The recent outpouring of grief
about the murder

of rapper and entrepreneur Nipsey Hussle

is largely due to the fact that he decided
to stay and evolve in place,

rather than leave his hood.

After his death, some may see
this decision as foolish,

but I'm making that same
decision every day:

to live in the Bronx,

to create in the Bronx,

to invest in the Bronx.

(Applause)

At Ghetto Gastro, we don't run
from the word "ghetto,"

and we don't run from the ghetto.

Because at the end of the day,

Ghetto Gastro is about showing you
what we already know:

the hood

is good.

(Applause)

Thank you.

(Applause)