The Mexican chef Eduardo “Lalo” García Guzmán migrated to the US with his family from rural Guanajuato, Mexico, when he was a small child. Instead of attending school, he spent most days working with his family picking fruits and vegetables from Florida to Michigan.
It was dangerous work, but García looks back fondly at his early experiences as a child farm worker.
“You have to understand that we knew nothing else; we only knew working, and working in the fields was expected by our parents,” García said. “I always tell people working in the fields in the US was normal, and that it was sort of like my playground. I loved it. I loved getting paid as a kid. It made me feel like I made it when I was 10 or 12 and got the exact same amount of money or sometimes even more than my father.” And this child labor was legal in some places; many states have laws that allow minors to work in the fields.
García rejects tidy narratives about immigration and the respectability Americans quietly demand of migrants. His story, told in the book The Migrant Chef: The Life and Times of Lalo García by author Laura Tillman, bursts with unrepentant and often controversial opinions. Perhaps that’s to be expected from the 45-year-old chef who spent his young adulthood working in Atlanta restaurants while slinging cocaine, getting convicted of a felony and serving time in prison before his first deportation – all this before he became one of Mexico’s most decorated food figures with his acclaimed Mexico City restaurant Máximo Bistrot.
Take a recent conversation he recounted with a lawyer trying to determine if García can someday obtain a visa and return to the US legally.
“She asked me, ‘So you were deported once and you were told not to come back to the US for 10 years. And then you went back again, got caught, got deported again, and you were barred for life?’
His answer, like that of many undocumented people seeking jobs, security and family: “‘I would do it again.’ I ran back to the people that knew me and loved me; I went back to the people that I knew needed me.”
García’s narrative is unconventional, as it documents his remarkable trajectory from child migrant worker to superstar chef. But it’s a rare extended look at how migrant workers form the backbone of American food systems.
Tillman worked with García over five years to write the book. She said that much immigration coverage introduces migrants when “they’re in this turmoil because they don’t know what’s going to happen with their asylum claim. Or they’re waiting at a shelter and hoping to cross. You’re getting this moment in time,” but not the view of “the whole person” or the forces that affect their lives.
García is now perhaps best known for his sourcing of local, fresh ingredients and his application of classic French technique to traditional Mexican ingredients to great critical acclaim. But along his journey to becoming a well-known chef, he amassed a series of labels that serve as flashpoints for his life: undocumented, hardly able to read, child laborer, formerly incarcerated person, deportee.
When Americans have rags-to-riches stories, they’re celebrated. But when the person in question is undocumented, there’s little chance of a redemption arc because they’re funneled through the criminal legal and deportation systems at lightning speed. During the rise of Donald Trump, García felt compelled to tell his complicated story. As the US moves toward another election and anti-immigrant talking points are a standard part of Republican candidates’ platforms, García’s motivations for speaking out have shifted.
“As I get older, I think less about the problems I cannot fix,” he said. “I love the US as much as I love Mexico, but I’ve come to the conclusion that we as humans sabotage ourselves on purpose. We are literally in the world of the future, but we are talking about a person’s immigration status or abortion. It’s like we’re going back in time.”
Stating his case to US citizens is no longer a primary motivation. Rather, he wants to show other migrants that they too can overcome tremendous barriers and build the life they want post-deportation. And this isn’t pie-in-the-sky positivity. This is coming from a man who grew up hard and fast, owning very little beyond his own ambition. He spent years in prison after he drove a cousin and friend to a liquor store they robbed.
García’s circumstances and years of ground-breaking labor never gave him the time or space to dream … about anything, really. This changed after his second deportation, when he was permanently barred from being able to re-enter the US.
“Most of the people that are deported from the US to Mexico, what they’re thinking about next is going back because they see no future in Mexico,” García said. “And when I realized that going back wasn’t a possibility for me, I worked on making a restaurant dream come true. Once that happened, I realized there is no ‘American dream’. It’s a dream you have for your life, and it doesn’t matter where you’re at. It’s figuring out what you want to do with your life.”
US media tend to talk about deported migrants in past tense, as if they’re dead: “He was a great chef” or “He was really innovative in the kitchen.” Those who have been deported cease to exist outside of the confines of the United States. Reporting rarely covers migrants’ lives post-deportation or highlights stories in which deportees not only find their footing in their home countries but perhaps even thrive.
García’s story of finding success in Mexico post-deportation is extraordinary. How many people are barred from re-entering the United States due to multiple deportations and a criminal conviction yet go on to win a “Best International Restaurant” award or have industry titans like the late Anthony Bourdain praise their food?
But trumpeting his achievements isn’t really the point, according to García.
“The whole point of sharing my story is for [migrants] like me in the US or across the world to know that deportation isn’t the end,” García said. “You can still be happy or successful, whatever that means to you, in another country. Life isn’t over because you went to prison or because you’re illiterate or because you’re ‘illegal’ or you were deported.”
Charred eggplant dip
At Máximo Bistrot, this dip is served with bread in place of butter. It requires a gas burner and a blender or food processor.
5 large eggplants
1 large garlic clove, peeled
25g goat cheese
250ml olive oil
Sea salt
1/2 tsp black pepper, freshly ground
Grilled the eggplant directly over a gas burner, on high heat or until the peel scorches completely. This should take about three minutes for each of the four sides. Remove the stem end and mix in a blender or food processor, add garlic and goat cheese. Continue to blend for two to three minutes; drizzle in olive oil until fully emulsified. Season with sea salt and freshly ground pepper.
