Wadson Joseph stands sweating behind the grayish counter of the Banboche Takeout Restaurant, a ceiling fan and wall-mounted air conditioner futilely fighting heat from the kitchen.
“It’s unusually hot today,” he apologized to a customer ordering griot (deep fried pork) with rice and beans.
Joseph’s 900-square-foot restaurant, housed in a business plaza on the southeast corner of Miramar Parkway and 63rd Avenue, caters to a growing Haitian community in the city, one that often ended up having to go to Miami or Fort Lauderdale for Haitian cooking.
“That’s not fair. Even me, I had to go to Miami to buy food,” said Joseph, 36, a Haitian-American who decided to go into business for himself after being laid off twice. “People don’t really know about this community, but there is a majority of Haitians down here who need good restaurants. They’re very supportive.”
In the small kitchen of Banboche, which means fun and pleasure in Creole, Joseph and Mireille, his wife and business partner, are surrounded by tall rice bags and giant Haitian-made aluminum pots.
Every morning, they chop cabbage, carrots and hot pepper as they prepare pikliz, a cole slaw they put in small plastic cups to serve with griot, stewed goat and “ta-so,” deep fried beef served with ban-nan peze or fried, sliced green plantains.
On any given day, they cook and serve about 70 pounds of deep-fried pork, 30 to 50 pounds of chicken, a pot full of goat meat, two pots full of lM-igumes (vegetables), plus such side orders as rice and beans.
“Business is very good,” Joseph said. “We could cook more, but sometimes we have problems with the stove.”
While Broward County has about 65,100 Haitians, according to Census 2000, the number of Haitians living in Miramar is still unknown. Even the county figure has been blasted by community activists and public planners as much too low.
Whatever their exact numbers, the Haitian presence is making itself known through small businesses opening in the Miramar Parkway area between State Road 7 and Southwest 63rd Avenue.
Among them are a barbershop, a computer store that also wires money to Haiti, a bakery selling French bread and another Haitian restaurant, Chez Vous, in a plaza across from Joseph’s business.
In addition, several Haitians serve on city advisory boards in Miramar, while others work for the city as police officers, code enforcement officers, public works technicians and community development professionals.
In contrast with North Miami, where several Haitian-Americans have been elected to the City Council, Haitians in Miramar have yet to show any interest in running for public office. That may eventually change, said Vice Mayor Fitzroy Salesman, a Jamaican-American, because “the Haitian population [in Miramar] has grown over the past eight years, and it’s growing.”
Since Joseph opened on May 15, he has been busy cooking for hungry compatriots, who learn about the business through word of mouth or Creole radio shows.
In addition to Miramar, customers come from Pembroke Pines, Hollywood, Hallandale Beach, Cooper City and Davie. Joseph said three Haitians who live in Palm Beach County travel once a week to buy food in his restaurant.
“If they keep coming, I must be doing something right,” said Joseph, whose restaurant has only four tables and a few chairs.
Max Pierre, who lives by the Miami-Dade County line near Miramar, visits the restaurant every day.
Pierre works the night shift and monitors the volatile stock market, hoping to make a quick profit as a day trader. His mother taught him how to cook, but the restaurant food tastes better than his cooking, he says, and it’s more convenient than driving to Little Haiti for food.
“Haitian food is all I eat,” Pierre said. “They have the best rice here. I can’t go to a Chinese restaurant and think I’m eating Haitian food.”
Myrtho Abraham, of Sunrise, was visiting a friend in Miramar when she learned about Banboche.
“This is my third time. The food is not bad,” Abraham said.
Jean Harry Pierre, of Pembroke Pines, a deputy with the Broward Sheriff’s Office in Pompano Beach, occasionally visits the restaurant because he used to play soccer with Joseph in Miami.
“I bought the food once, and it was good. So I keep coming,” said Pierre, who isn’t related to Max Pierre. “The food is typically Haitian. It reminds me of home.”
While Joseph is striving to build a good reputation in his community, he admits it was not love but necessity that lured him into the kitchen. After all, Haitians back home ridicule men who work in the kitchen, which is traditionally reserved for women.
As a student, Joseph played soccer at Miami Edison Senior and Pompano Beach high schools and dreamed of playing professionally. But his adopted mother, Marie Claire Papin, who brought him to Miami 19 years ago, didn’t want him to play soccer.
After he left his mother’s house, he took a bus boy job in a Pompano Beach hotel to get free meals.
“Life was tough,” said Joseph, who eventually worked his way up to chef. “But I’m thankful because that’s where I learned the trade.”
Still dreaming of playing soccer, Joseph attended Miami-Dade Community College on a sports scholarship. That is where he met Mireille.
They wed in 1993. Mireille became pregnant, took a break and then resumed school to earn a degree in respiratory therapy in 1995. But Joseph had to drop out to work two chef jobs, one at Williams Island in Aventura and the other at a Federal Reserve Bank restaurant in Miami.
He worked 80 to 120 hours to support his family, which now includes Miona, 5, and Woodson, 2. He also sends money to relatives in Haiti.
“I’ve always worked since I’ve been in this country,” Joseph said. “My wife was going to school, and she was pregnant. I had all the bills on my back.”
Six years ago, the couple bought a three-bedroom home in central Miramar in the Knolls subdivision, a neighborhood shared by Haitians, African-Americans, Hispanics, Jamaicans and other Caribbean nationals.
Joseph lost the Miami job shortly after Sept. 11, when business slowed at the bank’s restaurant. He and his wife opened the restaurant in May, shortly after Joseph knew he would be laid off at Williams Island.
“I said to my wife, let’s open a small a restaurant,” Joseph said, “and she agreed.”
In all, he’s invested almost $35,000.
“I had to save a lot of money to open this business,” said Joseph, slowly rubbing his head with his right hand as if he is in shock.
As a chef and business owner, he cooks, cleans, checks the inventory and balances the budget. He gets up early to go to supermarkets for fresh foods and begins preparing to start serving as early as 10 a.m. each day, seven days a week. The restaurant closes at 10 p.m., but the couple usually leave after 11 p.m. because they have to clean the place.
The heavy workload leaves Joseph and his wife little time to play with their children, who miss going to the park.
Joseph hopes life will become normal when he hires a cook to help carry the load.
“It’s painful,” Joseph said. “The kids don’t get to enjoy themselves. Things we used to do, we can’t do them anymore.”
Thomas Monnay can be reached at or 954-385-7924.
