“This Mom of 6 Turned Her Porch Into a Fast-Food Joint — But She Doesn’t Charge a Dime!”
You Won’t Believe What’s Happening Every Afternoon on This Quiet Street in North St. Louis…
While most people are scrolling on their phones or unwinding after work, one woman in North St. Louis is turning her humble home into the most beloved spot in the neighborhood. And no — it’s not a taco truck or a trendy pop-up café. It’s a front porch. But what happens there daily is nothing short of extraordinary.
Meet Champale Anderson, a mother of six and a full-time healthcare worker, who is secretly becoming a local legend — all because of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“I just couldn’t watch the kids come home from school hungry anymore,” she says.
“So I did something about it.”
What started with a few extra sandwiches in ziplock bags has exploded into a full-scale operation — one that feeds over 100 children every single day, completely free of charge.
The Secret “Porch Project” Feeding an Entire Neighborhood
Every weekday at around 3 PM, children begin lining up outside Champale’s modest home. Some carry backpacks that look heavier than they are. Others come barefoot. All of them come hungry.
Inside, the scene is controlled chaos. Champale, with the precision of a chef and the love of a mother, prepares lunch bags filled with:
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Fresh sandwiches (PB&J or turkey and cheese)
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Juice boxes
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Granola bars
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Fruit cups
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Crackers and snacks
She calls it her “Power Pack Lunch Program.”
“I just want them to feel seen, safe, and full,” Champale explains.
The meals might be simple, but to the kids, they’re a lifeline. Many of them come from homes where food is scarce. For some, this bag is their only full meal of the day.
From Out-of-Pocket to Outpouring of Support
In the beginning, Champale paid for everything herself — sacrificing her own grocery money to make sure the neighborhood kids wouldn’t go hungry.
“I was spending almost $300 a week just on food,” she admits. “But I didn’t care. I knew God would provide.”
And provide He did.
Word of her kindness spread like wildfire. Local churches, neighbors, and even strangers online began donating. Some sent money through Cash App. Others dropped off crates of juice boxes or loaves of bread. One retired teacher even volunteered to help pack the bags.
Why This Story Is Blowing Up the Internet
People are calling Champale the “Saint of St. Louis.” Others say she’s the modern-day Mother Teresa of the Midwest.
But she doesn’t do it for fame.
“I’m not looking for attention,” she says. “I just want to make a difference.”
Still, the story has gone viral. A single video of kids running to her porch like it’s an ice cream truck has racked up over 7 million views on TikTok. Celebrities have reposted it. News outlets are lining up for interviews.
And yet, through all the attention, Champale remains focused.
“My porch isn’t just a place to eat,” she says. “It’s a place to belong.”
Her Dream: A Real Community Center
Champale’s next goal is to turn her one-woman effort into a full nonprofit — a safe haven with a kitchen, study area, and even after-school programs.
“I dream of a place where no child ever has to feel forgotten,” she says.
And she’s getting closer. Thanks to the exposure, donations have surged, and local officials are even talking about helping her secure a permanent location.
How You Can Help
Feeling inspired? Here’s how you can support Champale’s mission:
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Donate food items or school supplies
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Contribute to her GoFundMe
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Share her story online
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Volunteer if you’re nearby
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Or just start something similar in your own neighborhood
One Woman. Six Kids. 100 Sandwiches. Endless Love.
In a world that often feels chaotic and cold, one woman with a big heart and a loaf of bread is changing everything — one lunch bag at a time.
So the next time you pass a porch, don’t just see it as a step before the door. Remember: it could be someone’s shelter, someone’s sanctuary… or, in Champale’s case, someone’s salvation.
This story may not be front-page news, but it’s the kind of story that reminds us: Heroes don’t wear capes. Sometimes, they wear aprons — and make sandwiches.