COMMUNITY PROFILE CREDIT: GILES CLASEN CREDIT: GILES CLASEN MY MOTHER’S KITCHEN BY GILES CLASEN HELPING OTHERS IS SECOND NATURE to Arthur Infante. He can’t imagine sitting by and doing nothing while others struggle. For years, Infante would take his children to help the unhoused community. “I never saw it as a handout,” Infante said. “We would ask people what they needed, give what we had, and ask for a story in return. It was a fair exchange. The individuals may receive clothes or food, or whatever, and me and my kids would get a story.” To Infante this trade was empowering to individuals who had little to give but a lot to offer. When the most recent wave of immigrants began arriving in Denver, Infante wanted to help. He wanted to create something that served the community. First, he volunteered to bring meals to individuals and families living in hotels. The meal trains were important to help people get by. But Infante also heard people asking for self-reliance. “Do you know what these people have been through to get here? They didn’t risk their lives for handouts. They want to work and build a life here. I don’t have a lot of people asking for money. I have people asking me, ‘Do you have a job?’” Infante said. He decided the best thing he could do to help Denver’s new guests was to give them a way to feed themselves. He began volunteering at an encampment under an overpass near N. Pecos Street and I-70. Infante could see that the new immigrants, most of who are in the United States legally and seeking asylum, wanted to take care of themselves. It occurred to him that one of the best things he could do was to build a portable, tent kitchen, so they could cook for themselves. An artist by training, Infante restores antiques. He specializes in rebuilding anything old and destroyed, including a crumbled sculpture of the goddess Nike, which he resurrected. He also has brought back to life many stainedglass windows and other pieces that withered with age. There isn’t a medium that Infante hasn’t dabbled in. To build a stove, Infante turned to scrap metal left over after building his son a go-cart. He cut three holes, attached propane burners, bought some cheap pans and a canopy, and delivered his creation to the camp. It was an immediate hit. The new immigrants, who are mostly from Venezuela, Columbia, and Peru, have their own culinary history. Food is a reminder of the home they love but were forced to leave. Some volunteers brought them Mexican food, but the Venezuelans found it too spicy and not to their liking. With Infante’s kitchen, they could prepare their own food, something that tasted like home. The kitchen was being used, but it wasn’t receiving he loving care he felt it deserved. Infante found it unclean at times, and that frustrated him. He needed to take one more step to get it just right. In an attempt to hold the individuals accountable, he put a picture of his mom on the prep table. “I called it ‘My Mother’s Kitchen’ and told them she was watching over them,” Infante said. When I [displayed] a picture, that meant so much, I saw some people make the sign of the cross... and held the picture and reverence for the space. You know the idea of a place to get together and talk and eat. My mom would be happy with that and think it was beautiful.” Some of the families who use the kitchen live in camps. Others walk miles to use the kitchen and make food before returning to the hotels rented by the City of Denver as temporary housing. Infante has moved the kitchen five times, when the police or park rangers forced a camp to relocate. He understands the draw is more than food. My Mother’s Kitchen is also a place for community. “Growing up, everyone gravitated to our kitchen. Friends, family, and anyone who came to our house would often leave the living room empty and crowd into the kitchen,” Infante said. “My mom made it a place to eat and drink and feel safe with others.” ■ CREDIT: GILES CLASEN CREDIT: GILES CLASEN 4 DENVER VOICE April 2024
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