When I first spotted Aalyah Richards setting up her portable table at Lansdowne subway station last Tuesday evening, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. Amid the rush-hour crowd, the 27-year-old Toronto resident carefully arranged containers of homemade jerk chicken, rice and peas, and fresh salad – creating what she calls a “community buffet” for hungry commuters.
“Everyone deserves a good meal, especially when they’re having a rough day,” Richards told me as she handed a biodegradable plate to an elderly gentleman who had approached with curiosity. “I’m not solving poverty, but I’m doing what I can with what I have.”
What began as a one-woman initiative has sparked conversations across Toronto about community care and the growing gaps in our social safety nets. Richards, who works as a personal support worker by day, prepares these meals from her apartment kitchen every Tuesday and Thursday, funding most of the operation from her own pocket.
“The first time I did this back in February, I thought maybe a few people would stop. Now I recognize familiar faces each week,” Richards explained, greeting a middle-aged woman by name. The woman, Maria Constanza, works two cleaning jobs and often catches dinner at Richards’ buffet between shifts.
According to recent Statistics Canada data, food insecurity affects nearly one in seven Toronto households, with rates climbing following pandemic-related economic pressures and housing costs that outpace wage growth. The Toronto Foundation’s 2023 Vital Signs report indicated food bank usage has increased by 61% since 2019.
TTC spokesperson Stuart Green confirmed to Mediawall.news that Richards’ initiative operates in a gray area of transit regulations. “While we don’t officially permit food distribution on TTC property, we recognize the community benefit and have not intervened,” Green said. “Station managers report no disruptions to service or cleanliness issues.”
What’s particularly striking about Richards’ approach is how she serves everyone equally – suited professionals stand in line alongside individuals clearly experiencing homelessness. No questions asked, no judgment offered.
“People assume it’s just for homeless people, but hunger doesn’t check your bank account,” Richards said. “I’ve had Bay Street types tell me they forgot lunch and were dreading another expensive takeout meal.”
City Councillor Alejandra Bravo visited the buffet last month and praised the initiative while acknowledging its limitations. “It’s beautiful to see this kind of community care, but we can’t rely on individual goodwill to address systemic problems,” Bravo told me in a follow-up phone interview. “This should inspire policy makers, not replace them.”
Richards maintains meticulous food safety standards, showing me her Food Handler Certification and explaining how she manages temperature control during transport. She arrives with her partner Kevin, who helps with setup and security, ensuring the area remains clean and orderly.
“The TTC officers know us now. They sometimes grab a plate too,” Richards laughed. “One of them even brought his mother’s samosas last week to add to the table.”
The initiative has inspired others. Three additional “community buffets” have appeared at Warden, Kipling, and Finch West stations, operated by different community members who connected with Richards through social media. They share resources, cooking tips, and strategies for stretching ingredients.
Local restaurant owners have begun to notice. Patty King, a Jamaican restaurant near Lansdowne, now donates end-of-day items to Richards on Thursdays. Owner Devon Williams sees it as good business and good citizenship. “We’d be throwing it out otherwise. This way, nothing goes to waste and people get fed.”
The community response hasn’t been universally positive. Some online critics have questioned the sustainability and health regulations of the operation, while others worry it enables dependency. Richards dismisses these concerns with a pragmatic shrug.
“I’m not forcing anyone to eat here. I’m just making the option available,” she said. “And honestly, if someone’s hungry enough to stand in line at a subway station for food, who am I to question their need?”
During the two hours I observed, Richards served approximately 65 people. Conversations flowed naturally between strangers in line, creating brief but meaningful connections in a city often criticized for its coldness. A Spanish-speaking woman shared translation help with a newcomer family. A teenager offered his place in line to an elderly man using a cane.
Dr. Emily Paradis, housing and homelessness researcher at the University of Toronto, sees initiatives like Richards’ as symptomatic of larger systemic failures. “When basic needs aren’t met through policy, community members step in. It’s inspiring but also an indictment of our social welfare systems,” Paradis explained.
Richards has no grand plans to expand or formalize her operation. She prefers keeping it simple, personal, and direct. “Organizations have overhead, boards, and paperwork. I just have food and time twice a week.”
As the containers emptied and the evening grew late, Richards packed up her table with the same care she had used to set it up. She collected no donations, handed out no pamphlets, and left no sign she had been there except for fuller stomachs and a few new connections between Torontonians.
“Same time Thursday,” she called to a regular as she hefted her cooler toward the station exit. “I’m making curry next time!”
In a city grappling with affordability challenges and strained social services, Richards’ subway buffet serves up more than just free meals. It offers a moment of dignity, a taste of community, and a reminder that sometimes the most meaningful urban policies happen without any policy at all – just one person with a table, some home-cooked food, and the radical notion that everyone deserves to eat well.
