102 MARCH 2020
IT’S ABOUT PARENTS who wanted a better life for their chil-
dren and families who moved across the world in search of
opportunity. In America, these families made a living by cooking
for others. For the Russes from Poland, that meant bagels and
pickled lox. For the Lopezes from Mexico, it was tlayudas and
tamales. For the Nolinthas from Laos, papaya salad and congee.
As much as their businesses—Russ & Daughters in New York City,
Guelaguetza in Los Angeles, and Bida Manda in Raleigh, North
Carolina—were tied to financial necessity, they were necessary
in another way, too: as a means for each family to bring a taste
of home to their adopted homeland.
As the families earned acclaim for their food and grew their
businesses, the demands on their time increased. The realities
of running a restaurant blurred the line between job and life-
outside-of-a-job. Today, each family approaches the negotiation
between work and home in a different way, yet they all make
sure to spend time together away from the business, cooking
and eating the foods they love most.
For the current owners of Russ & Daughters, cousins Niki Russ
Federman and Josh Russ Tupper, holidays and family gatherings
are an opportunity to step back from work. Niki and Josh are the
fourth generation to own Russ & Daughters. In 1907, Joel Russ
immigrated to the U.S. and sold schmaltz herring out of a barrel
to Jews on the Lower East Side. He made enough money to buy
a pushcart, then a horse and wagon, then a storefront. In 1920,
Joel moved his shop to Houston Street and later renamed the
business for his daughters, Hattie, Ida, and Anne. The daughters
ran the shop until Anne’s son, Mark, took over. Niki, Mark’s
daughter, and Josh, Mark’s nephew, succeeded him in 2009.
The cousins have expanded their family’s business to three
other locations throughout New York City, and they’ve learned
that the key to success is respecting each other’s time away. “If
it’s Josh’s day off, it’s all on me,” Niki says. “And vice versa.”
For the Lopez siblings of Guelaguetza in Los Angeles, the
willingness to separate work and home has grown as they’ve
become more comfortable running the restaurant. Their father,
Fernando, came to L.A. on a tourist visa in 1993. He
went door to door selling Oaxacan ingredients that
weren’t available in the U.S., like mole paste. A year
later, Fernando opened Guelaguetza in Koreatown,
and the rest of the family immigrated to the U.S.
Business was stable until the financial crisis in 2008,
when Fernando and his wife, Maria, lost their home,
their cars, and their other restaurants. They had
decided to sell Guelaguetza when their three old-
est children, Bricia, Fernando Jr., and Paulina, asked
to buy it. Because the siblings didn’t immediately
have the money, they paid for the restaurant via a
five-year promissory note.
“I remember when we first took over there were
entire days when we’d have no customers walk in
the door,” Fernando Jr. says. That changed over time,
partly because of a 2010 Jonathan Gold review call-
ing Guelaguetza one of the best Oaxacan restau-
rants in the country. A steady customer base brought
opportunities for growth, like publishing a cookbook
and starting a direct-to-consumer business selling
Guelaguetza-branded mole and michelada mix.
And with growth came an even more urgent wish
to spend time together, not as business partners, but as a family.
“We could have a disagreement at work but then go have
dinner together,” Paulina says. “We try to get away from work
so that we can connect and just be us.” Whether this means
sharing a meal at one of their homes or traveling abroad as a
group, food is always involved. “Being together around food is
natural for us,” Fernando Jr. says. “Food is our love language.”
Siblings Van and Vanvisa Nolintha, who own Bida Manda in
Raleigh, don’t only work together, they live together. The house
they share is the first place they’ve called home since moving
away from Laos as kids. Van’s parents sent him to Greensboro,
North Carolina, in 1998, when he was 12. Vanvisa, who’s two
years younger, came in 1999. The siblings were sponsored by
the same host family. They shared a bedroom and stocked their
mini fridge with ingredients they missed from home, like fish
sauce and Thai chiles.
After nearly two decades living apart from their family, the sib-
lings traveled back to Laos as adults. It was then that they decided
to open a restaurant honoring their parents. They called it Bida
Manda, which means “father mother” in ceremonial Sanskrit.
Since their restaurant schedules are opposite, Van and Vanvisa
rarely sit down to eat dinner together. Instead, one will cook and
leave leftovers on the stove—a way of caring for the other. “Van
took care of me since day one here,” Vanvisa says. “Now, I feel
like I’m able to return the favor by cooking for him.”
Here, the three families share recipes that speak to their cul-
tures and their cuisine, each dish a representation of what the
family loves to eat when they spend time together away from
the restaurant—a celebration of home.
THIS STORY BEGINS
IN THE SHTETLS OF
STRZYZOW, THE SMALL
TOWNS OF OAXACA, AND
THE NOODLE SHOPS OF
LUANG PRABANG.
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