The aromas of simmering epis and curry fill the corridors of Mango House in Aurora, Colorado, creating an inviting atmosphere for those who enter.
Mango House operates as a shared space for refugees, asylees, and the undocumented, but it remains a welcoming hub for all in the community.
In a world marked by displacement and forced migration, Mango House not only offers essential support — it fosters a sense of belonging among its patrons.
Upon entering Mango House, visitors encounter a range of services, including dental clinics, refugee aid offices, and medical exam rooms.
As I navigate through the space towards the International Food Hall, memories of my first visit, predating the pandemic, come flooding back, especially the flavors introduced by 509 Cuisine, which has since made its mark at Mango House.
Mango House is more than just a support center; it symbolizes the essence of what it means to welcome newcomers truly.
At the heart of this mission are culinary spaces that allow immigrants and refugees to share their food, cultures, and personal stories.
In the vibrant kitchen, Chef Chantale Celeste can be found peeling sweet potatoes while flavorful dishes like diri djondjon, poule fri, and griot simmer on the stove.
To many, 509 Cuisine serves as a place to enjoy a meal. However, for those who understand its deeper significance, it offers a taste of home for individuals starting anew in a foreign land.
At 509 Cuisine, the food transcends basic nourishment — it embodies resistance, remembrance, and compassion, served hot and full of flavor.
Surrounded by the offerings of Sudanese, Syrian, and North African cuisines, 509 Cuisine creates a vibrant tapestry of culture and flavor within Mango House.
Upon my return, I noticed the previously empty playground filled with children joyfully scampering about, while the hallways echoed with different languages.
Sitting down on a warm Wednesday afternoon in Colorado, I find myself presented with a platter overflowing with traditional Haitian dishes: diri djondjon, banann fri, griot, and pikliz, along with a side of Haitian macaroni and salad, accompanied by a refreshing bottle of passion fruit juice, affectionately known as “jus grenadia” in Haitian Creole.
When dining at 509 Cuisine, patrons aren’t merely consuming a vendor’s offerings; they are partaking in a heartfelt tribute to Haitian culture, memory, and resilience.
Joanne Valcine, the head chef and co-owner of 509 Cuisine, reflects on her culinary journey that began at the tender age of five.
After the loss of her mother at nine, cooking became essential for both her survival and healing.
“Since then, cooking has felt therapeutic for me,” she shares. “It was also a way for me to survive. I wasn’t working when I lived in Florida, so I cooked to make money and to share a part of Haiti with people.”
Initially a personal refuge, her cooking evolved into a public vocation as friends encouraged her to take her culinary skills beyond her home.
“People would say, ‘You should sell this.’ That’s how it started,” Valcine recalls, smiling at the memories of encouragement.
Laurent, who is also a co-owner and a nurse, shares how the vision of 509 Cuisine came to life, largely inspired by Valcine’s zest for cooking.
“Cooking isn’t my passion, but I saw how it lights her up,” Laurent says, emphasizing her cousin’s dedication.
“She’ll get up at 6 a.m. and cook until midnight without complaining. Watching her made me realize: why not build something around this love?”
When a space opened up at Mango House, both chefs seized the opportunity, despite a challenging year-and-a-half waitlist for securing a location.
“What drew us in wasn’t just the kitchen,” Valcine states. “It was the community. The place felt safe, welcoming, and multicultural. It felt like the kind of place where we could share our culture honestly.”
The name “509 Cuisine” carries personal significance for the chefs.
“509 is Haiti’s area code,” Laurent explains. “It’s home. If you’ve ever received a call from a loved one back home, you know what that number means. It’s a connection. It’s family.”
The menu is steeped in tradition, featuring iconic dishes such as l.gume, tasso, and lalo, which is cherished for its use of jute leaves that hail from Haiti’s Artibonite region.
Valcine expresses the surprise at the restaurant’s popularity, noting, “If we don’t make lalo, people ask why we’re even open.”
Their approach to cuisine is deeply rooted in authenticity, with a strict adherence to Haitian flavors and traditions.
Laurent affirms, “We’re not watering it down. One bite should take you back.”
The emotional impact of their dishes is apparent, with customers recounting memories as they dine.
Valcine shares, “One woman told us she missed her mom the second she tasted the food. That kind of connection makes this more than a restaurant. It’s soul food in the truest sense.”
image source from：denvervoice
