There is a specific vibration in the kitchen of Brian Lumley. It isn’t just the clink of stainless steel or the hiss of a reduction; it is the sound of a man attempting to translate the soul of a nation into a language the world can finally understand. To meet Brian is to meet a revolutionist, a man who refuses to dance for algorithms or bow to the fleeting whims of culinary trends. Though in the eyes of his elders, he remains the child prodigy who shattered expectations before he could legally toast to his own success.
Brian Lumley’s narrative begins in the quiet, unsupervised freedom of a childhood home. With a Lauryn Hill soundtrack playing on loop, a nine-year-old Brian found his first laboratory. “My childhood cooking was free,” he recalls. “I had the chance to come home from school and cook for my sister and for myself, and it was happy. It was happy and free.”
“Food is a very powerful thing.”
It was here that he discovered the power of the plate through an improvised pizza. Using French bread, minced franks, tin cheese (the one that melted), and a sprinkle of oregano—the spice he realized made pizza, pizza—he created something that drew a grown neighbour to his back door. When that neighbour began cussing him for more, the realization hit home: “Food is a very powerful thing. They (people) are dependent on you. This is the only place they can get this.”
There is a vulnerability in how Lumley discusses his craft, particularly when nostalgia hits the hard wall of corporate efficiency. He speaks with a resolute, almost painful frustration about the changing formulation of Tastee Cheese, a staple of his youth that no longer melts the way it did when he was ten.
“It’s annoying,” he says, his voice capturing the raw edge of a chef who sees the erosion of quality as an erosion of memory. “What I suspect is whatever made that cheese soft and malleable and meltable was more fat or more cream. They probably cut it out and think, ‘Oh, Jamaicans don’t melt it anyway.’ Somebody made that decision, and I was very disappointed by that.” For Lumley, this is about a world that prioritizes profit over the tasty tastee of heritage.
By 21, Lumley was the youngest-ever Chef of the Year in Jamaica, a title he reclaimed at 25. He was groomed by the likes of Novia McDonald-Whyte, who saw what this young man could become before he fully saw it himself. Yet, despite the trophies—Caribbean Chef of the Year, the Hans Schenk Prize, and the founding of his own restaurant, 689 By Brian Lumley, at age 26—he remains a man seeking something deeper than accolades.
Lumley is on a mission to dismantle the world’s narrow view of Jamaican cuisine. If you ask him what to serve a foreigner to introduce them to the island, he won’t reach for jerk chicken. He reaches for mackerel rundown. “That is a dish that shows the complexity and uniqueness of Jamaican food,” he explains, describing the coconut milk reduction, boiled dumplings, and the intense umami, sweet-savoury profile. To him, Jamaican food is like its people: “Even though we look dressed up and sophisticated, underneath is such a deep layer of flavours and complexity—just like our people.”
His leadership in the kitchen reflects this philosophy: militant but fair, disciplined and dedicated. He draws a sharp line between a “cook” and a “chef.” A chef, he argues, has the discipline to hit the flavours every single day, regardless of whether their personal life is in shambles. “It doesn’t matter if your girl broke up with you last night—you need to hit those flavours every day,” he says. “Discipline is what separates us.”
Currently, Lumley’s heart is navigating the African continent. He describes himself as a son of the soil on a mission to rediscover his lost tribe. This journey is both personal and professional; he is searching for the habitual behaviours and flavours that survived the Middle Passage.
This search for connection culminated in his humanitarian work and the founding of Ubuntu Outreach. Inspired by a visit to the South African township of Langa, he became obsessed with the concept of Ubuntu—I am because you are. He saw communities where no one was left behind, where accountability was a town-hall affair, and where people chose to stay in the “ghetto” because the community was too rich to leave.
“Imagine if we were to take this model and bring it to Tivoli Gardens,”
“Imagine if we were to take this model and bring it to Tivoli Gardens,” he muses, envisioning a Jamaica where history is honoured and the community propels itself forward. His work with World Central Kitchen and his own outreach programmes are the physical manifestations of this spiritual conviction.
Chef Brian Lumley is conducting culinary diplomacy. He is an American Culinary Federation–certified Executive Chef who believes that every plate is a deliberate act of cultural identity. Whether he is in Uganda, South Africa, or Kingston, his goal remains the same: to ensure the world doesn’t just taste Jamaica, but understands its brilliance.
He remains a man who prefers the citrusy oils of a cracked Scotch bonnet pepper over any modern trend—a man who will choose a mackerel rundown conversation over a liked Instagram post every time. Brian Lumley is a chef who has found his voice by listening to the ghosts in the pots of his ancestors and the needs of the people standing right in front of him.
Stay in the loop with exclusive news, stories, and insights—delivered straight to your inbox. No fluff, just real content that matters. Sign up today!
