The Eating Chambers on Culture, Courage, and Tea

I hope you are all well. I’m doing great. The Eating Chambers is growing. Pink’s Barbecue is growing. I’m growing. There are also a few things quietly in development that are stretching and expanding in ways I can’t wait to share with you over the coming months.

Growth feels good.

This week, in recognition of Black History Month, I want to honor a local entrepreneur I’ve recently had the pleasure of getting to know — Sarah Dubale, Founder and Chief Brewer of Culture Tea, a ready-to-drink sweet tea manufacturer based in Atlanta.

But this isn’t just a story about tea.

It’s a story about legacy. About courage. And ultimately, about the love of a daughter for her mother.

To tell this story, we have to go back to 1985.

Almaz Dubale — Sarah’s mother and father— arrived in the United States from Ethiopia as refugees with nothing but what she could carry and Sarah’s then one-year-old brother.

No safety net.
No guarantees.
Just resolve.

They came the way so many have come — propelled by hope and necessity at the same time. The kind of courage that doesn’t announce itself. The quiet kind. The kind that looks ordinary until you realize what it cost.

When Sarah was very young her parents divorced. Almaz rebuilt.

When I spoke with Sarah about her mother, her voice shifted. It softened, but it strengthened too. She recounted watching her mother work — not occasionally, not when it was convenient — but consistently. Doing whatever was necessary to provide and move forward.

There was no space for self-indulgence. No pause to ask, “What about me?”

Almaz was solely motivated by her children.

Sarah spoke often of her mother’s persistence. Her determination. Her work ethic. But what stood out to me wasn’t just how hard Almaz worked — it was how steady she remained. Persistence is loud in hindsight, but in real time it looks like repetition. It looks like early mornings and late nights. It looks like choosing responsibility over comfort again and again.

Children notice that.

Even when they don’t yet have the language for it.

Unfortunately, Almaz passed away prematurely when Sarah was just 23 years old.

The constant. The pillar. The steady presence that had anchored her entire life — gone.

As a father, as a husband, as a son — my heart ached as I tried to imagine what that must have felt like. To lose the only parent you’ve ever known at such a pivotal time in your life. Twenty-three is barely settled. You’re still becoming. Still forming. Still reaching.

And suddenly, the foundation shifts.

Sarah told me that almost immediately she became acutely aware that everything was now on her.

No more parental safety net.
No quiet reassurance in the background.
No one to catch you if you stumbled.

There is something sobering about that realization. It forces a different kind of growth. Not the kind that happens naturally with time — but the kind that happens because it must.

I can speak from experience.

The sudden and unexpected loss of a loved one — and the grief that follows — will push you. It will motivate you. It will sharpen you in ways you didn’t know you were capable of.

But it will also open your eyes.

It forces you to confront how momentary life really is. How fragile the illusion of “later” can be. It drives you to reevaluate what you do, why you do it, and how you spend your time.

Grief rearranges priorities.

Sarah’s journey was no different.

Her path wasn’t linear. Before her mother passed, she had enrolled in law school once before. She hated it and quit during her first year.

But loss has a way of clarifying things.

After Almaz’s passing, something sharpened. There was renewed focus. A deeper understanding of responsibility. A quiet determination that felt less about ambition and more about stewardship.

She went back.

Sarah enrolled at Mercer University School of Law, graduated, passed the bar, and practiced law for ten years.

Ten years.

That’s not whim. That’s discipline. That’s resilience forged in grief.

From the outside, it looked stable. Successful. Secure.

But when you’ve lost the person who anchored your world, success alone doesn’t answer the deeper question: Is this how I want to spend the finite time I’ve been given?

Sarah was feeling unsettled. She knew there was more — more alignment, more expression, more purpose.

After an unfortunate encounter with a swarm of yellow jackets — a moment that quite literally shook her — she made a decision.

She left her career as an accomplished attorney.

And Culture Tea was born.

It wasn’t random. It wasn’t whimsical. It was rooted.

Rooted in her love for tea. Rooted in flavors inspired by the African diaspora and the Caribbean. Rooted in a belief that something was missing in the world of sweet tea and ready-made beverages.

Sweet tea in the South is tradition. It’s nostalgia. It’s comfort.

But what Sarah saw was opportunity — to expand the narrative. To introduce spices and ingredients that felt familiar to her heritage but new to the mainstream.

I drank Sarah’s tea.

I drank both her Classic and Bold flavors.

It was an experience.

From the moment she handed me the bag to the moment it settled in my belly — and even after — it was an experience.

The packaging alone stopped me. The quality of the bag. The size and silhouette of the bottle. The bold, vibrant design of the label. It felt like a product that had been around for decades — familiar and established — yet entirely new.

But the real moment came when I twisted the cap and lifted the bottle to my mouth.

Before the tea even touched my lips, my nose was met with an explosion of warm, fragrant spices.

Think chai.

Clove.
Allspice.
Cinnamon.
Coriander.

There was warmth. There was memory. There was heritage.

Then the flavor unfolded — sweetness, spice, floral notes — moving across my palate in balance and intention. Nothing overpowering. Nothing competing. Just harmony.

Even moments after I swallowed, the taste lingered.

It left me wanting more.

It was the first time a beverage has ever fully engaged all of my senses.

Eaters — this is truly one of the most special products I’ve ever come across.

Sarah’s love for tea. Her love for her culture. Her love for her mother. Coupled with a desire to create something lasting — not just for herself, but for her children and for others — pushed her to build something from scratch with little experience in the beverage industry.

In my opinion, she is quietly revolutionizing the ready-made beverage and sweet tea industries.

But the most special moment of our entire conversation came when Sarah told me one of the primary reasons she founded Culture Tea was because she and her mother used to always drink tea together.

That was their ritual.

Their pause.
Their connection.
Their moment.

Now, through Culture Tea, she feels like she never has to stop.

Every bottle is a continuation.
Every pour is remembrance.
Every sip is time spent together again.

That’s not just business.

That’s love.

I encourage you to place an order today.

If you like sweet tea, warm fall spices, and supporting local craft food and beverage makers — try Culture Tea.

And for all you bourbon drinkers out there… it mixes beautifully.

Thank you, each and every one of you, for being with us this week. I don’t take your time lightly.Until next time, you can find me and my team every Saturday at the Peachtree City Farmers Market — come say hello.