Q. The life you described in Cooked is like something out of a Tupac Shakur song or rapper 50 Cent’s biopic Get Rich or Die Tryin’. What were the best and worst of it?

A. The best was, I was finally somebody. I would get all the latest gear, all the bells and whistles of a hustler: Starter jackets and Air Jordans. Rolexes and Cadillacs and Mercedes.

The worst was, the first generation of crack babies was born in that era. So many people I knew were like zombies walking the street at night. The effect my lifestyle was having didn’t hit me. Was it worth the Mercedes Benzes, the big house on Dictionary Hill? Absolutely not.

Q. Why did you say that being arrested changed your life?

A. I tell people that I got rescued from the street. In prison I was able to evolve. At the end of the day, I was contributing to the genocide of African Americans. All the gang killings in San Diego now are a reflection of my generation of drug dealers and gangs.

I blamed the white man, the government, my mother, father, and ancestors. It wasn’t until I was exposed to intellectual men in prison who gave me knowledge of self that I started to change.

I read my first book, my first newspaper and I saw CNN, “Good Morning America,” “The Today Show,” and “MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour.” These programs allowed me to take flight out of prison and expose myself to culture and politics. I knew nothing of my history, I wasn’t taught anything in school; I knew nothing about Black culture.

Q. What led you to the prison kitchen?

A. I’m not one of those people who has been cooking since I was 12. The only thing I knew how to cook was cocaine and bologna sandwiches.

In prison you live for your next meal. Meals are the most important moment in prison. You want to savor that moment. Passion is involved when you’re hungry and when you’re preparing the food. It gives life, it nourishes life and it’s a relationship.