Chef Chris Williams has built a career based on the belief that food should do more than just fill a plate.
In Houston’s culinary world, he is known as the owner of Lucille’s Houston, the acclaimed restaurant that balances Southern tradition with modern technique. However, in the communities he serves, Williams is recognized for his efforts to combat food insecurity in underserved areas.
The shift from chef to community architect took root when Williams founded Lucille’s 1913, a nonprofit created during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. At the time, hospitals were overwhelmed, and families across the city were out of work.
“Cooking is a skill,” he said. “But this work, this community work, is the actual purpose.”
Chris Williams
He calls Lucille’s 1913, his nonprofit, a “vertically integrated ecosystem” built to break food insecurity at its roots. In his view, that starts with land, education, and access.
In the aftermath of Harris County’s decision to close restaurant dining rooms in mid-March 2020, the concept for Lucille’s 1913 emerged. Williams was motivated by the need to maintain his staff’s employment amid the uncertain shutdown, so he sought out solutions that would allow them to continue working while adapting to the new circumstances.
Williams stepped in with what he had, turning his expertise into action. During the first couple of weeks of the pandemic, his team prepared and delivered meals to thousands of frontline workers, senior citizens, families in crisis, and students.
Today, Lucille’s 1913 cooks hundreds of meals a day and has donated more than 1 million meals across Houston neighborhoods, including Sunnyside, Fifth Ward, and Acres Homes. He calls it “active service.” Not charity. Not handouts. Service that restores dignity and builds stability.
That mindset pushed him toward Kendleton, a rural community southwest of Houston. Once a thriving agricultural town established by formerly enslaved families after the Civil War, Kendleton is now a food desert with more land than resources.
Through partnerships with the county, he built a farming initiative on 54 acres that pays residents to grow culturally rooted produce at drastically reduced prices. Okra, collards, herbs, and other staples now reach families for about 60 percent less than typical store costs.
“It made no sense that a town founded by farmers had so little access to food,” he says. “We’re helping restore what was already here.”
His work is shaped by the legacy of his great-grandmother, Lucille Elizabeth Bishop Smith, a Texas culinary pioneer born in 1892. She founded a catering business in 1913, led the commercial foods department at Prairie View A&M, authored cookbooks, developed food products, and trained generations of chefs. Williams still protects her original handwritten recipes. Her core belief was that good food builds opportunity.
In Kendleton, that impact is felt by residents like Kim Darensbourg. She arrived three years ago from New Orleans, fleeing domestic violence with her three children. Soon after the move, her only car died. She found herself isolated in a rural town she didn’t know, homeschooling her kids and sinking deeper into depression.
“I cried in my closet for six months,” she says. “I felt trapped. I really thought this was where I would die.”
One day, desperate to feel something other than fear, she forced herself to walk outside. That walk led her to the Kendleton garden, supported by Lucille’s 1913. She asked if she could volunteer. Nobody questioned her. Nobody made her prove anything. They just let her help.
“That garden put life back into me,” she says. “It made me feel like I was able to pull myself out on my own.”
She didn’t know it was connected to Williams until later. By then, it had already changed her path. She now volunteers with local organizations, supports heritage programs, and works at community events. She calls the garden her turning point.
“Even when Chris isn’t here because he is a busy man, there’s a piece of him in that garden,” she says. “People feel it.”
Kendleton was built by families who fed themselves from the land. His mission is to honor that history and give it a future.
“I grew up watching my great-grandmother use food to lift people,” he says. “This is the same work. Just bigger.”
