色色啦

Now, Harlem is back. The turntables are spinning again, and the fried chicken is coming out of the fryer. For founder Carl Cassell, the reopening isn鈥檛 just about filling a space 鈥� it鈥檚 about reviving a spirit for the next generation.

“I鈥檓 proud of this neighbourhood and I was here before the BIA formed in 2008,” said Cassell, 55, who has been in the space since 2001 when it first operated as Irie Food Joint. Reflecting on the area’s changing character, he adds:聽“There鈥檚 a group of guys across the street who have been here for 30 years and I can hear them play beautiful music and it ends right at 11. We get along and there鈥檚 this tendency to see that youthful energy that makes neighbourhoods beautiful as a threat. But without youthful energy, we鈥檙e dead. We need that youthful energy that will regenerate business in the neighbourhood. That鈥檚 my objective. It鈥檚 why my kids are here. Creativity will never get old.”

It’s just before dinner service and Cassell fires up the jerk drum in the back alley. Inside, his son Carsen, 28, and daughter Myles, 22, inspect the mac and cheese and ask their father whether the size of the macaroni is throwing off the pasta-to-cheese sauce ratio. Carsen, an accountant by trade, suggests adding a cornmeal pudding with caramel to the menu and brainstorms ways to draw in a younger crowd that wasn鈥檛 around for Harlem鈥檚 first run.

Cassell closed the restaurant in November 2019 to help his wife, Ana Silva, build , a farm and wellness space on land they bought in Simcoe County. 鈥淚t was a hard decision, but it was my wife鈥檚 dream,鈥� he says. 鈥淲e kept putting her dreams off. I knew I had to go build it, and I couldn鈥檛 do both.鈥�

For the next few years, Harlem sat vacant. Then, at a party聽last fall,聽Cassell heard guests reminiscing 鈥� how they met their partners there, what the place meant to them. He took it as a sign he wasn鈥檛 done. The restaurant reopened in late May, bringing back favourites like fried chicken and buttermilk waffles, jerk chicken with spicy sausage fettuccine, and catfish with collard greens. Cassell鈥檚 jerk recipe now includes miso and biryani spices, adding a buttery finish and sweet heat that balances the scotch bonnet鈥檚 acidity.

The menu is largely the same as before, as Cassell wants to bring back an element of familiarity before testing out new dishes. He does, however, show off a new mural by Canadian artist Regan Morris that spans the entire wall of the restaurant, along with Kente cloth near the DJ booth. The space has a laid-back, underground jazz club vibe 鈥� the kind of place you want to duck into on a sweltering summer night.

Born and raised in Jamaica, Cassell moved to 色色啦 in 1992 after earning a business degree. While working in restaurants around the city, he completed a second business degree at McMaster University. In 2001, he opened Irie Food Joint in the space where Harlem now stands, eventually buying the building and living in the apartment upstairs.

In 2016, Cassell and Silva expanded their living space by stacking shipping containers on the roof 鈥� a common practice in Jamaica, but a novelty in 色色啦 at the time.

Harlem originally opened in 2006 at Church and Richmond, inside a former adults-only club (the kind with mirrored ceilings). In 2009, Cassell converted Irie into a second Harlem location on Queen West. The original closed in 2017, but the Queen West spot quickly became a staple 鈥� one of the city鈥檚 few homes for soul food and a welcoming stage for Black artists. Saxophonist Neil Brathwaite often performed there, his music drifting upstairs and lulling Cassell鈥檚 children to sleep.

The restaurant was also a gathering space. In 2016, when Black Lives Matter staged a 15-day occupation outside 色色啦 Police Headquarters calling for greater accountability, protest signs from the demonstration were later displayed inside Harlem. It was a space that was important to the vibrancy of the neighbourhood, so when Cassell planned on reopening, so did the staff.

鈥淲hen Carl decided to reopen, everyone was rallying for it,鈥� said bar manager Ty Hale, who started as a teen server back when the space was Irie. 鈥淚 dropped everything. Everyone who worked then now works here again. It’s just the memories, the positive energy.鈥�

Hale鈥檚 father, music producer and DJ Carl Allen, who used to manage the live music at Harlem, is also back behind the scenes 鈥� and behind the turntables.

“When Harlem closed, I felt like it was my restaurant, too. I put so much hard work into this,” said chef Sasiban Kulasegaram, who worked in the kitchen when Harlem first opened. “When he called me about the reopening, I quit my other job. I worked at Harlem for 10 years. It’s my home, it’s like I own this place. People appreciate the food and the owners trust me.”

For Cassell, it’s聽essential to keep the legacy of Harlem as an outlet for Black culture.

“In聽these times there鈥檚 an erasure afoot. We as a community need, capital N-E-E-D, to recognize that we鈥檙e a force. We鈥檙e tastemakers in a culture everyone wants,” says Cassell. “My goal at this junction is a spiritual ambition to see my culture thrive.”