Chef Jennifer Caraway is busy. She has a million things on her plate at any given moment. The "Chopped" star and cookbook author runs the city’s only nonprofit restaurant, which uses all proceeds to deliver fresh food to cancer patients across the Valley.
The Joy Bus Organization launched in 2011 with its flagship restaurant, The Joy Bus Diner, opening in 2016. In March, the organization expanded services and moved to a new, larger space on 32nd Street, complete with a significantly larger commercial kitchen. With the new space, the team aims to increase its delivery services from 250 meals a week to 2,500 in the coming year.
This push to extend the organization’s reach comes at a cost. Caraway and her team are looking to recoup almost $2.3 million. She has secured grants with Mercy Care and Dignity Healthcare that will, with the help of Foothills Food Bank, allow the organization to begin focusing on delivery to reservations and food deserts in the region. On top of this, she runs the day-to-day operations of a busy restaurant that serves her signature mix of creative, fresh dishes with a twist of Southwestern spice.
On a recent morning, she pops behind the counter of the Joy Bus Diner to check on a young patron — my four-year-old son — who had ordered the Princess Poppy Pancakes and is intent on scooping up every sugary bit of decadent lemon cream.
“How’re those pancakes? I told you they were the best you were going to have in your life,” she says with a smile, to which he nods and chomps voraciously. These are the best pancakes of his life, and when I sneak a bite, they become high on the list of best pancakes of my forty-two years as well.
She then makes the rounds to her regulars, all of whom she seems to know by name, checking in and making sure their meals are up to their exact specifications. Everyone smiles, my son included, happily transported by signature dishes like the house chilaquiles or the Joy Bus Burger.
In a flash, she's gone, back behind the kitchen door. Above it hangs a picture of Joy Seitz-Butt, the namesake of the restaurant and Jennifer’s friend, who died in 2011 from ovarian cancer. The nonprofit began as a way to honor her life and was inspired by the meals that Caraway delivered as she battled her illness. The photo is a reminder, and perhaps a metaphor, for the other thing that Caraway serves in hearty portions – empathy.
More than a meal
Talk to anyone at Joy Bus and the conversation wanders beyond the amazing food, coming back to the elephant in the room: Everyone seems to have a Joy of their own, someone they have loved, and perhaps, lost, to cancer.“I came here for the food, and, you know, to support,” the man to my left says as an introduction, and then suggests the chorizo, which, he points out, is made in-house.
“My wife, she had read about this place, recommended it, I came up here, and now I’m hooked. The food was great, but the story of Jennifer is what got me, what she does. I’ve met a lot of great people in my life, but she’s one of a kind," he says, introducing himself as Dan Vuivich, a regular volunteer and patron.
Vuivich was so inspired that he began volunteering, a practice he's been doing for over seven years, every Wednesday and Thursday. He is a cancer survivor. He also takes his first delivery patient, who survived cancer of the spine, out to golf on occasion.
“You get close to these folks," he says. "It’s not just bringing food."
Vuivich heads out with bags of food with inspirational notes and flowers tucked inside, ready for his deliveries. He nods to a group of volunteers congregating in the corner of the entrance.
Another volunteer, Michael Rosenthal, bellies up to the bar.
“I came here to eat, to you know, be supportive. But I fell in love, the mission, the family, the food. I felt compelled. There are a million restaurants to eat at, but why are people actually here? They’re here because they want to help," Rosenthal says. "I love cooking, and I thought, maybe I could help out."
Rosenthal now volunteers on the weekends, making dressings and sauces and "being a part of it," he says.
“If anyone is wondering how one person can be a part of a solution, it’s here. These meals are reaching people you would never know need help, and your singular effort can help get them there,” Rosenthal explains.
Miles to go to cover expansion expenses
Caraway is more grounded in her estimation of her organization.“We need money, brass tacks,” she explains.
“We have so much going on, and so much we want to accomplish. The purpose of the new space and the new kitchen is to radically expand our service, essentially ten times what we are doing now, but we are short of the funding we anticipated. Any donation or employee match right now is incredibly appreciated,” she notes.
While the larger fundraising drive for The Joy Bus Organization is scheduled for November, Caraway explains that there are ways for people to help with the immediate need, most notably by donating through the organization's website. Monthly contributions, known as Chef's Table contributions, start at $30 and include a variety of tiers that explain what the money will provide to their patients. Companies can also contribute, and the Joy Bus offers potential employer donation matching incentives.
Caraway, like many chefs, barely stops moving. She's in a perpetual state of forward momentum and there is always something to be done. As the saying goes, “If you got time to lean, you got time to clean.” Or, in her case, develop grants and initiatives to lobby Arizona lawmakers.
Her current project is intended to amend Senate Bill 1092, Section 1115's Demonstration Waiver, which would modify the Arizona Health Care Cost Containment System (AHCCCS) so that her newly developed Food Is Medicine Coalition can deliver to cancer patients around the state. She created the coalition in partnership with several doctors and medical professionals across Arizona. If permitted, it will allow her to expand the Joy Bus mission beyond the Valley.
"There is no one doing what we are doing, and this kitchen will allow us to serve a population that needs our support,” she says.
Then she's off, receiving a new batch of volunteers, checking up on folks and checking in on plates headed to tables in the diner.
Meals that heal
The Joy Bus staff are just as busy, whizzing by and delivering lunch specials and topping up hot coffee. The general manager, Joanna McCarthy, met Caraway before the pandemic, when her mother used to donate jams to the diner. Then, suddenly, McCarthy’s husband died of cancer. Shortly thereafter, the Joy Bus began searching for a manager. McCarthy, who had a background in restaurants with her late husband, took it as a sign.“This is where I was meant to be, to find myself and then, later, to help others the way people helped me,” she explains.
One of those people, it turns out, is her employee, Morgan Raymond, Joy Bus’s operational support specialist. Raymond found Joy Bus through an online job search, but it turned out to be much more than just a job.
“I had lost my sister to cancer, and working with this team, and with my connection with Joanna, it’s been an incredible experience. This work is going far beyond delivering meals. It’s offering support, companionship and a listening ear to those who might feel isolated or alone,” Raymond says.
McCarthy recalls a similar feeling, and a day that made a lasting impression.
“One day, there was a woman who came in with her grown children. They flew her here because she just lost her husband to cancer. They didn't want their mom to be alone. They had read about our mission, and she came in and broke down in tears. I held her for a good five minutes, just crying with her and empathizing over her loss. It sounds sad, but it was lovely," McCarthy says. "I felt blessed to have that moment."
Such emotionally raw work can be rewarding but also taxing for staff. Caraway recalls that in the organization's formative years, she called in hospice managers to help train the staff on intentional grace and navigating moments of grief. Caraway calls this the coolest part of the journey and the key to the Joy Bus experience.
“When it was just my kids and I running the joint, we became aware, quickly, that people were coming to the diner to eat and volunteer because they had a relationship with cancer at some level. We became invested in their stories full of tears, laughter and hugs. I think the secret to our success is allowing all of the people that believe in our mission to take ownership of it. We have inadvertently created a home, a safe space for those who need a community, specifically one built around loss and healing,” Caraway says.
The right fit
“There is so much going on besides the food,” volunteer Bruce Wawro reiterates.Wawro is a well-known fixture in the organization, somewhat of a volunteer’s volunteer. According to the staff, he’s the guy to call when things are dire, when no one else will answer. Whether it be packing deliveries, driving over an hour to make a visit or just showing up and talking to patrons about the organization, Wawro is a ubiquitous presence in the building. He's up for any task, with a smile. Like most volunteers at Joy Bus, he was motivated by a personal connection to the cause.
“What actually happened is that my wife passed away five years ago. She was always the one to do donations and volunteer work. Children’s hospital, cancer research, veteran’s organizations, those were all very important to her,” Wawro says.
After his wife’s death, Wawro tried to keep her volunteerism active in his own life, but he was having trouble finding the right cause to connect with. His youngest daughter researched the Joy Bus Organization and thought it would be a perfect fit. Instead of pushing him, she simply suggested the diner as a good breakfast spot.
“She wanted me to make my own decisions, make up my own mind about it. So I stopped in one morning and had breakfast. They hooked me. The next day I went in and made a small donation and said, ‘sign me up, whatever you need,’” Wawro says.
Wawro had found the cause he was looking for, pitching in on packaging duties and taking deliveries when needed.
“It was so exciting, I got to meet so many people. And it really helped me. My mom taught me something when I was a young man and first looking to find ways to help. She would say, ‘Bruce, every organization needs money to keep going. But, in addition, if you give your time, it brings it back to you, to your heart, and it makes you feel so much better,'" he says.
This philanthropy, while personally rewarding, comes with emotional consequences. Wawro recalls a particularly hard delivery, where, on a routine visit with a family whose mother was ill with cancer, the son confided that she had died that morning. Seeing the young man in shock and struggling to process the loss, Wawro gently put down the meals on the porch.
“I could tell he was, you know, just stuck in that moment. So, I asked if I could give him a hug, and he said, ‘Yes, that would be great,’ and we just stood there and cried. That was a tough one. These people become a part of you somehow, and when they suffer a loss, you feel that, too,” Wawro confesses.
In spite of the heartache, Wawro is grateful for the opportunity.
“I make sure I thank my daughter regularly for putting the Joy Bus Diner in my life. She jokes that I spend too much time here now, but what else can I do?” Wawro says.
He notes that as he gets older, he doesn’t know how many more years he will be able to volunteer at his current rate, but he's determined to try.
“I told them that if it comes down to it, I’ll hire an Uber to help me deliver,” Wawro jokes.
Helping the helpers
As the kitchen door swings to and fro with servers delivering delicious food, volunteers shuffling in and out with bags for those in need, the portrait of Joy looks over the entryway.When asked to describe their relationship, and what Joy might think of all of this, Caraway deflects any attention away from herself.
“Joy was the life of the party. She was bubbly, wild, considerate and kind. Throughout her entire journey, she was more concerned with the feelings of those around her than her own battle, or at least that's what she allowed to be shown. I have never seen someone battle so hard with quiet elegance,” Caraway recalls.
It seems that, despite the pain, Joy was focused on helping others. This has become the everlasting sentiment that runs through the Joy Bus. Through the diner, and through the delivery of food, people who have lost so much get to serve others, and that brings, in a very literal sense, life to those clinging to it.
“I think about what my wife would think about all of this,” Wawro reflects.
“I feel that I am still so connected to her, and to my mom too, everyone we lose, really. I think she would just be thrilled with what I have been doing. I get the sense, deep down inside, that she knows what we are doing, that it’s like my mom said, it comes back to our hearts. I feel them in that,” Wawro says.
Still, the financial hurdles that the organization is undertaking to expand require a different kind of faith in humanity. The Joy Bus exists only through donations, and with all proceeds from the diner going into the delivery efforts, the Joy Bus organization needs financial contributions now more than ever.
While there are big days ahead – including an official opening celebration for the new space on Sept. 28 with Phoenix Mayor Kate Gallego cutting the ribbon – the day-to-day operations are dependent on volunteers and donations.
Caraway and her staff are confident the Valley will see the value in their work, and in this "all-hands-on-deck" moment, people will head to their website and give what they can. If nothing else, they can come in, grab a bite, and know that they have helped.
Lunch service continues, and another wave of volunteers enters the kitchen. In the lobby, an actual 1970s VW Bus sits, decorated with the groovy font of the organization, filled to the brim with flowers and information about Joy Bus initiatives. While this bus can no longer travel, the mission of the Joy Bus rolls on through the highs and lows, the ups and downs of a restaurant that is so much more than just food.
The Joy Bus
10401 N. 32nd St. (Closed for summer break July 1-16)
