Last October, just four months after the restaurant Beholder opened in Indianapolis, it further introduced itself to its neighbors by having a giant mural painted on the side of its building. That artwork lasted less than 48 hours, mostly because it was an oversized rendering of two rabbits boning. The building’s owner swiftly took care of the post-coital cleanup and—before this MUNCHIES writer could finish a piece about it—the bunnies had been covered by several coats of gray paint.

Jonathan Brooks, Beholder’s founding chef, took the news reasonably, and then he took it poorly. He posted about the “fake outrage” on Instagram, and then on Facebook, he suggested that the mural’s critics could “hold and suck.” In response to a woman who commented that the mural wasn’t her favorite, he wrote, “WHO FUCKING ASKED,” adding, “Go do your own thing...and you’re welcome for the rising property values. Bye.”

He later blamed tequila for his comments, and issued a shrugging non-apology on social media. But the rising property values can’t be blamed on drinking, as much as they can be attributed to Brooks’ own abilities as a chef. He opened his brunch restaurant, Milktooth, four years ago, and in that time, he’s been named one of Food & Wine’s 10 Best New Chefs; the restaurant made Eater’s list of the 38 Essential Restaurants in America; and despite its brief lifespan, Beholder is already one of Wine Enthusiast’s Top 100 Wine Restaurants. (He’s also been described with the phrases “messy genius” and “pissed” by the local media).

So yeah, with Beholder, Brooks is changing the neighborhood—and Elysia Smith and Sierra Nuckols are OK with reminding him of the folks who maybe didn’t ask for it to change, the ones who share the same ZIP code but piece their own meals together at the Family Dollar across the street.

“It was [Brooks’ social media response], but also the fact that he said, ‘Hold and suck,’ in response to a woman's complaint about the mural he'd had installed on the side of his building,” Smith told MUNCHIES. “I hate when men use sexual language to denote their feeling of power. It's trite. Also, the fact that he was aware of the negative impact of his restaurant on the community, and largely deflected the conversation about gentrification around his business by making it about censorship. Cry baby, cry.” (MUNCHIES has reached out to Brooks for comment, but has not yet received a response).

Smith said that she “wanted to do something other than steam” in response to the comments, and a friend put her in touch with Sierra Nuckols. The 23-year-old is the founder of the Community Food Box Project, which helps provide temporary but readily available food options in low-income areas, in food deserts and in the places where the two overlap. “A friend connected Sierra and I when I suggested creating a juxtaposition by doing a food pantry outside his business,” she said. “Meeting Sierra was ideal because I knew very little about doing something like this, while she'd been doing it for a long time. I have learned a lot of about the fight for food equity in Indianapolis thanks to Sierra.”

In a little more than two years, Nuckols and her Community Food Box Project have placed 49 food boxes in Indiana (and one in Texas), and Smith decided that the perfect spot for the 50th box would be a skip away from Beholder’s front door. Why not put a box stacked with free canned goods right outside a place that recently had a $1,000 fried chicken wing dinner?

Nuckols agreed, because she wasn’t a fan of the “nasty comments about gentrification” that Brooks made after the whole rabbit thing either. “East 10th Street is a historically low-income area,” she said. “There is a small portion of the neighborhood that is middle-class, but that only consists of three blocks out of the entire neighborhood. East 10th Street is experiencing growth and is being gentrified because it’s close to downtown Indianapolis [...] but that causes displacement, and it’s unfair that local residents feel unwelcome in these new businesses [that are] popping up.”

Smith’s store, Irvington Vinyl & Books, is the official sponsor of the food box, and she also has a second box inside the retail space.

“I am highly aware myself of the privilege of Irvington, the community my shop inhabits,” she said. “That’s why I don't just sell books and records. I teach classes on writing, host book clubs, serve underserved communities, and create as much access as I can through the tools I've been fortunate enough to receive [...] If I can help my neighbors and community elevate themselves and their careers, help them make more money by sharing my resources, I'll benefit in the long run, when they choose to give their business to me. I want to make it possible for my community to pursue happiness, not hunger—a basic right many take for granted.”

Each of Nuckols’ food boxes are made from upcycled newspaper boxes, and they’re all uniquely painted with to-the-point statements like “Free Food” or “Remember the Next Person.” The one outside Beholder features artwork by local artist Michelle Johnson, and it’s inked with some pretty pointed quotes about gentrification. (The side panel of the box has this, from activist and artist LaShawnda Crowe Storm: “In some ways there are two parts to gentrification. There's the part that leads to displacement, because housing prices rise. But there is also displacement because the neighborhood changes so much over time in such a rapid form. The individuals no longer feel comfortable in neighborhoods that they have historically inhabited, so they move.")

Nuckols echos Smith’s sentiments about business’s obligations to the communities they serve, and would like to see Brooks and Beholder reach out beyond their social media pages, by offering cooking demonstrations so that locals “feel welcome,” or by hosting community dinners.