Food for the Soul
Eating my way through Minden, a place of new beginnings
“We’re the weird church in this town,” Serena Gray told me, pushing through the front doors of what was once the Northwest Louisiana Technical College. The campus, abandoned in 2013 when the college relocated, now houses the Christian Church at Minden (CCAM), a “nontraditional, multi-cultural, and multi-denominational church.” Gray’s mother-in-law Ginger, one of the senior pastors, explained: “Whatever the other churches in town were doing, we wanted to do the opposite—to be a place for the people who fell through the cracks, who weren’t being served in some way.”
In Minden, there are churches on just about every corner—some almost two hundred years old—and, as Gray, who is the Executive Director at the Webster Parish Convention and Visitors’ Commission, put it: “Saturday afternoons, there’s almost no foot traffic downtown. But on Sundays! Everybody’s just gotten out of church, and [before COVID-19] every single sit-down restaurant was full of people, all in their Sunday best.” Christianity is big here.
Still, church isn’t exactly where I imagined I’d end up on my two-day tour of Minden. Neither was it, I think, part of Gray’s plan to show me her city.
But earlier that afternoon, sitting in her passenger seat and eating Sonic-style sushi (more on that later), I noted that during my time in Minden I’d observed a remarkable spirit of service virtually everywhere I looked, and how often the term “our church” had casually come up in conversations regarding the town’s activities. She nodded, finished chewing on her egg roll, then asked: “You want to see it?”
Lunch at Geaux Fresh
I had come here, actually, for the food. Now—as Gray will tell you—Minden isn’t exactly an epicurean’s paradise. In the words of Chef Jodie Martin: “In Minden, we’ve got fried chicken, some good barbecue, and Mexican.” But Martin, who opened Geaux Fresh in 2017, fills in the gaps, providing high-quality, health-focused meals with a radical commitment to fresh ingredients. I’d heard it was worth the drive.
Poring over a menu of burger bowls (“Amazing—it’s just a burger patty on a salad, but call it a burger bowl and everyone thinks it’s just the greatest thing!”), wraps, colorful salads and sandwiches, and a “Cheaters Anonymous” burger menu with tempting add-ons like caramelized onions, turkey bacon, gouda cheese, pesto, and even an Italian sausage link—I found myself enamored with the words: house-made blackberry jalapeño jam. The Black Bayou it was, featuring pepperjack and mozzarella cheese with—upon Martin’s recommendation—pig and avocado added. Between two slices of pressed sourdough, buttery avocado slices pushed against the tangy sweet jam, finishing with the satisfying crunch and just-enough greasiness of thick slab bacon.
“I like to say we’re fresh fast food,” said Martin of her approach. “We give you a better version of what you were going to eat anyway. Want a burger and fries? Sure. I won’t claim that they’re low calorie, but it will be real, high-grade meat, fresh formed, grilled to order. And those French fries are baked, with nothing on them but a little kosher salt.”
She doesn’t own a fryer, saying that’s better left to the fried chicken pros. Her talent for taking a traditional meal and manipulating it into something better for you came from working in—you guessed it—a church. “The pastors I worked for, they were really health conscious, and I’d have to create menus for them. So: chicken alfredo, I’d make it dairy free, using a vegan cheese. If it was a bakery dish, I’d flip from white refined sugar and flour, blend my own oats to make oat flour, and toss in coconut sugar instead.”
The story of Geaux Fresh begins when Martin was twenty-five years old, sitting in a church service on a Sunday night. A guest minister was there, and he asked the congregation to think of the message taught in 1 Kings:17 and 2 Kings:4, two stories in which a widow is told to use everything she has to serve someone else, and is rewarded with more than she could possibly need. “’What do you have in your house?’ he asked. And I said, ‘Lord, I don’t even have a house,” remembered Martin, who, at the time, had just finished recovering from addiction and was living in her parents’ home, trying to start anew.
“I had a cookbook of my parents’, and I liked the pictures of cheesecakes in it,” she said. “So I started making cheesecakes.” The endeavor eventually turned into a solid twenty-year side gig, which also edged her into the world of hospitality, particularly with her church. “I was just cooking constantly—cooking, preparing, studying,” and gently dreaming of one day opening a bakery in that building on Main Street, which she’d been eyeing since she was a child.
“In 2014, I had sold my Merle Norman franchise, had been out of work for two years, and had just been kind of down,” she said. “I felt like the Lord was saying, ‘It’s time for you to go back to work.’” She revisited that meditation—“What have you got in your house?” “I said, Lord, I’ve got two things now. I’ve got my voice—but no one is paying me to preach. And I can cook.”
Six weeks later, she launched a family-style meal prep business, which quickly grew too large to maintain in the home. Still keeping her eye on the building on Main, she started to make plans to transform her dad’s warehouse into a kitchen. “I told my husband, if the Lord doesn’t show me that this place is for me by July 1, we’ll move forward with Dad’s place,” she said. “On July 1, I had forgotten that I had said that, and we drove by after service. The people who owned it were moving out.”
"I've got two things now. I've got my voice, but no one is paying me to preach. and I can cook."
—Jodie Martin
By December 2016, she had renovated the space—which in its own history had served as a café, a diner, a pie shop, a children’s center, a convenience store, and a church. She had pulled up the carpet, painted the walls green and white, and covered the stairs in a leopard-print carpet—Martin’s “favorite color”. Since then, Geaux Fresh has become a hot spot in town, providing to-go orders, in-house dining, catering, and meal prep—which I heard at least three of the Mindenites I met mention “needing to go pick up.”
As I finished the last kernels of my avocado corn side salad, my server, a dark haired young woman about my age, called to me across the room, “You’re still doing okay Jordan?” I smiled at her, nodded, and she laughed. “My name’s Jordan, too. Easy to remember. Isn’t the food just the best?”
Jordan, I learned later, is the director of Generation House, a transitional living facility in Minden for women coming out of faith-based addiction recovery programs all over the country. Over the years, Martin has partnered with the organization, offering jobs to the women who come here to start over.
Gray, who is on the Generation House board, explained: “The program not only provides shelter and basic necessities for these women, but also introduces them to being an adult, finding a job, saving their money, taking care of themselves, learning to prioritize their goals and pursue them intentionally,” she said. “There is a lot of shame around not knowing things like how to open a checking account or get a drivers’ license. We eliminate that shame and fear of starting your life by pairing them with couples in the community, who are assigned to host them on Sundays after church for a meal, spend time with them, take them to appointments, and just be there.”
Martin, who said that she has always had it in her heart to work with women coming out of bad situations, has partnered with Generation House since its opening in 2019, hiring the women it serves to come work in the restaurant while they get back on their feet. “When Generation House opened up, I said, ‘Those are the girls I want. I want those girls,’” said Martin. “I wanted to give them a safe place to work. The restaurant industry is not really a healthy atmosphere—there’s so much substance abuse happening behind the kitchen. These women are endeavoring to restart life, and they need a safe place to do that.”
When asked about the future for her business, Martin emphasized that she just wants to be able to hire more recovering women, to foster more new beginnings. “I always say, ‘Good food is what we do, but people are the reason why we do it.’” She paused, eyes welling with tears. “I love my staff. Love them. I love them. They’re wonderful girls. They just need to see who they were made to be. It’s an honor.
“And we do do good food.”
Afternoon Coffee at The Broken Bean
Later that afternoon, I took a stroll down to the local coffee shop, a charming red clapboard cottage in the historic district called The Broken Bean. An unofficial sister in ambition to Martin’s Geaux Fresh, The Broken Bean is staffed entirely by students and staff from Minden’s Adult and Teen Challenge Family Center, a faith-based residential program for pregnant women and mothers struggling with addiction. The precursor to a program like Generation House, which serves women who have already completed their recovery program, the Adult and Teen Challenge provides—over the course of eighteen months—guidance, support, and healing throughout the recovery process. During their time in the program, and then also after graduation, these women have the option to work at The Broken Bean as a means of earning income and developing work experience.
Inside, bistro tables cluster on the front porch, which leads into a cozy living room complete with a welcome sign and a fireplace. On the walls are dozens of crosses and signs proclaiming quasi-sentimental, but heartwarming nonetheless, messages like “Do what you love,” and “You are His masterpiece.”
It all leads to the massive coffee bar in the back, clustered with jars full of tea bags, a pedestal offering pastries, and a tip jar—all outlined by a chalkboard menu offering frappes, lattes, iced teas, soups, and sandwiches.
Iced vanilla latté in hand, I settled in what I later learned is called the “miracle room,” where the walls are covered by women’s faces, arranged in dual frames—befores and afters, accompanied by a testimonial. “My name is Alyssa.” “My name is Marie.” “My name is Andy.” Each paragraph holds stories of abuse, abandonment, shattering loss, and addiction. And by the end—just a handful of sentences later—each ended in a new beginning—new jobs, reunions with families, new faith.
From the “living room,” I could hear two women talking. It was the end of the day—I had arrived just before closing. From what I could tell, one of them had just started working there. There were giggles, there were whispers, Bible verses quoted. Then I heard the younger woman tell the older woman, “You’ll get there, to where you’re trying to be. None of us came in here as good as you see us now. And we’ll be with you every step of the way.”
Barbecue Brisket at the Simply Southern Cottage
With Gray’s help, I found myself comfortably accommodated for the night by Sara McDaniel, who I had been told was a remarkably successful blogger featured in lifestyle publications across the South, including Better Homes & Gardens, Cottage Style, Lola Magazine, Southern Lady, and more.
Having been graciously welcomed into her home earlier that day, I had briefly gotten the chance to explore some of her greatly celebrated “Simply Southern Cottage,” a 1926 home in Minden’s Historic District that she had restored and renovated into a modern epitome of Southern charm and style, attracting a massive Instagram following along the way. Awash in natural light and Sherwin Williams’ “Snowbound,” tasteful and fascinating details stand out: elegant light fixtures, old shutters used as wall decor, an antique hutch—all of it accented in the breathing character of salvaged wood and centered by a fireplace-library-chandelier tableau at the end of her sitting room.
Upon my return that evening—barbecue brisket plate and Abita Strawberry at the ready (had to try some of that quintessential Minden barbecue—Smokin’ J’s, highly recommended), I curled onto the plush white couch in my little guest apartment upstairs and opened my laptop.
So, what’s her story?
Pulling up McDaniel’s blog, I learned that this house was more than a fun project, more than a claim to fame. In a post she wrote in October, I discovered yet another story of a woman restored, her life reclaimed, in Minden.
McDaniel had discovered her cottage at a time when she was resisting an inner (divine?) urge to move away from her life in Texas and closer to her family. She was just coming out of a divorce, mourning the loss of the life she had always envisioned for herself. Then one day, she was home for Christmas, driving through the historic district, and she saw it—at the time, obscured by red tip photinias and crumbling. She wrote, “Yet I knew in that twinkling in time, this was supposed to be my house and Minden was supposed to be my home.”
Drawn to the biblical story of Joshua and the battle of Jericho, McDaniel spent the next several months praying that the owners—who no longer lived there—would agree to sell it to her, literally marching (with permission) around it, “bathing it in prayer.”
When she finally got the go-ahead, “I closed on the broken-down cottage, left in shambles and ruins, much like my life,” and “somewhere along the way, I began to realize … the restoration of my house paralleled the restoration and reclamation of my life. My walls of resentment, anger, and bitterness were torn down. A new me and a new life were being carefully crafted and fashioned. While remnants of the old life remained, they were altered and polished, yet the flaws remained, adding in character and wisdom.”
Pre-Paddling Fuel at Hamburger Happiness
Some of Minden’s lesser known crown jewels are its plentiful waterways—centuries-old lakes and bayous lacing old cypress forests and the wild water kingdoms they foster.
One of Gray’s biggest goals for tourism in Webster Parish—especially in the festival-less, crowd-less era of COVID-19—is to get people on the water. In partnership with the local Bayou Chapter of the Ozark Society paddle group (BCOS), she recently completed the parish’s first official paddle trail at Lake Bistineau State Park, and is working on a second along Bayou Dorcheat.
Though the state park was closed during my visit, Gray wanted to be sure to give me the “full Minden experience,” and organized a short morning paddle for us on Lake Bistineau, accompanied by McDaniel and Tammy Lee Jernigan, a representative from BCOS.
Before we got on the water, though, we fueled up with a home-style breakfast at the perfectly gritty, small-town diner: Hamburger Happiness. A plate of eggs, sausage, and biscuits ain’t nothing complicated, but it can be—and is—so easily done wrong. This plate, though, had all of the savory sincerity of well-used frying pans and hand-cracked eggs that any such establishment ought to aspire to.
In between conversations about the virtues of Southern Maid Donuts, the three women shared stories of past paddling antics, and discussed future plans for the CVB and BCOS to collaborate.
“People in Minden don’t realize that this is all here,” said Gray. “I post pictures of the cypress trees, and people will ask me where I am—assuming I’m somewhere down south. They don’t know that this is in their actual backyard.”
Later, on the water, Gray pointed out several lakefront properties—jokingly saying that that one is her dream home for Webster Parish’s future welcome center. One day she hopes to center the office’s activities on the water, and to attract a kayak and canoe rental service to do business in the area for locals and visitors alike.
[Read this: Paddle the Atchafalaya—A guide to the best of the Basin]
In the meantime, though, her collaboration with Jernigan and BCOS has been essential to these early efforts of promoting water recreation. “Whenever we need boats for people visiting or for locals who want to go out, Tammy or other members of the group will loan out their private boats free of charge, and usually deliver them too,” said Gray.
The group has also organized several community paddle events, including a recent one on Bayou Dorcheat at night. McDaniel had attended and described the remarkable way a bunch of strangers had gathered together on a weekend with the sole purpose of getting out on the water. “By the end, having paddled together in the pitch black as a group, we had all gotten to know each other so well,” she said. “It was really cool.”
Passenger Seat Reflections at Yummy Sushi
A surprising spot that Gray assured me was not to be missed was Yummy Sushi, an abandoned Sonic which had been taken over by a sushi chef. Gray admitted that she had been skeptical when they first opened up, but that it had quickly become one of her favorite places to eat in Minden—and a concept that, these days, seems a bit ahead of the curve.
So with each a “Spicy Green Roll” balanced on our laps, we chatted—discussing in deeper depth her experience moving from Lafayette to North Louisiana and her goals for encouraging more people to visit. We talked about the challenges of promoting tourism in a small town, especially these days, and how important creativity and community collaboration are to the efforts. At some point, our conversation rolled back around to Generation House. I asked Gray how she had gotten involved with the program.
“Well,” she said. “My father-in-law started it.” The senior pastor (and founder) of the Christian Church of Minden, Paul Gray discovered a need to support women, even after they come out of recovery programs, when a close family member underwent her own journey to recovery. “She came back from her program, and had a functioning family there to support her and get her started again,” said Gray. “But she had a friend who had gone through it all with her. We found out later that the friend—lacking other resources—had simply returned to the same environment that had put her on this destructive path in the first place, just down the hall from her longtime abuser.”
This deeply impacted Pastor Paul, who immediately felt compelled to do something. “We told him,” said Gray, “no, no, no. This is a big job. A big responsibility. We don’t need to start anything on this scale. But of course he persisted, and our entire church came behind him. And we—well, God—made it happen.”
Just then, our server, a heavily earringed young man, masked, jogging around from car to car, came by to check on us, and he asked Gray why she hadn’t gotten her usual (the Mexican Roll).
I asked how she knew him, and she said, “From church.”
The Christian Church of Minden
Led by the pastors—Gray’s in-laws—of the CCAM, I peeked into the half-dozen classrooms-turned-gathering spaces. Furnished with charming mismatched couches, tables, and even a fake fireplace (much of which, Gray noted, came from the local antique trail), and emblazoned with wall art boasting affirmations of “You Belong Here,” and “Friends Gather Here,” the rooms felt like tiny living rooms—each designed for various age groups. In the teen activity room, for example, there were black lights, pool tables, and a station for video games—a set up nicer than most arcades these days. At the end of the long hallway was the auditorium, which is where the church held their Sunday services.
In the back, though, in the college’s old machine shop is a massive space filled almost to the ceiling with pallets of Gatorade, chips, crackers, bread, hairspray—“whatever they [the Food Bank of Northwest Louisiana] brings us, and whatever people donate.” On the back wall, a row of freezers keeps the meat cold, and a giant walk-in cooler holds all of the other perishables, including fresh vegetables picked from the community garden just outside. Called the Joe Leblanc Food Pantry, this ministry of CCAM’s feeds Minden’s hungry on a massive scale, distributing an average of 89,000 pounds of food per month. Since the rise of COVID-19 in March, the number of families served by the food pantry has risen from six hundred to almost eight hundred.
I commented on the sheer scale of CCAM’s ministries, struck by the remarkable amount of good seeming to be coming from this place. Pastor Paul nodded, but stopped me, saying—“It’s the whole community, though. We never anticipated for all this to grow like it did, but when one person starts something, so many more people show up.” And the good multiplies and multiplies, spreading throughout their little city.
On our way out, Gray pulled me through a door and pointed at one chair of many, situated in a circle. “Every Sunday,” she said, “at 9:30 am, first thing in the morning, Jodie Martin is sitting right there, leading a study group on the power, and the practice, of prayer.”
Coming full circle, this city of generous, faith-filled, action-oriented hearts had impressed me, one of rather faltering faith of late. Using what’s in the house—food, community, creativity, nature—Minden’s best (so many of them women!) have crafted a place where the vulnerable can feel supported, can be lifted up, and can start again. It’s a place of hope and promise, this little North Louisiana town, and one I hope to visit again soon.