With 40 or so mouths to feed, Michelle Wade, 21, was determined to provide a heartier dinner than the previous night’s improvised concoction — soupy rice seasoned with lemon pepper, sugar and All Spice, cooked over a less-than-functioning stove at a friend’s apartment.

Around the fledgling tent encampment known as Occupy Miami, Wade is referred to as “head chef,” a position she takes to heart since joining the camp dwarfed by the 31-story Miami-Dade Government Center. The group has been stationed at the center since Oct. 15, an offspring of the national Occupy Wall Street movement that is rallying against everything from big business to high unemployment rates.

Looking to gather everyone’s attention, Wade shouted one of the group’s key phrases: “Mike check!”

“Mike check!” campers yelled back, to signal they were listening.

Wade asked if anyone had a place nearby where she and the food committee could heat up cans of corn and beans for dinner — county rules prevents them from using any sort of electronic or gas-fueled cooking device on the plaza. Her question to the crowd underlined the economic disparities many in the group are railing against. “Nearby” meant either the luxury high-rise condos towering over downtown Miami or the cramped older walk-up apartments of Overtown.

Within minutes there was no longer a need to find a kitchen — an anonymous donor had six boxes of cheese and pepperoni pizzas delivered to the site. The flow of food remained steady that night — another batch of pizzas and cheese calzones were delivered, a large pot of chicken noodle soup was dropped off, and salad and fruit were laid out for the vegans in the group.

Homeless drifters with scruffy beards and dirt-caked clothes often got in line with the college students and thirty-somethings now calling the tent city their home. Wade didn’t mind sharing the group’s food, but she often asked those not a part of the tent city to wait until the rest of her cohorts had been fed.

“People think I’m trying to be rude,” she said after one homeless woman cursed her out. “I’m really not, I’m just trying to make sure family eats first.”

Family to Wade — who grew up bouncing around from one foster home to another starting at age 8 — now includes the diverse mix of people involved in the movement, a melting pot of ages, races and religions.

It’s a sense of belonging to a larger family that Wade said has motivated her to sleep overnight at the encampment of about 20 tents, staying put despite the dreary rain of the first few days, the threat of flooding and news of a tornado watch on Wednesday night.

For Wade, a young mother of two daughters ages 1 and 4, the movement signifies an opportunity to discuss with others some of her own struggles with poverty. After being laid off from her job as a receptionist last year, she has struggled to find a permanent job, one that pays well enough to support her daughters without some sort of government assistance.

For now, her daughters are staying with a relative each night, while Wade remains at the camp.

“This is our family,” Wade said. “Around here we all matter. We all come from different walks of life, and different situations, but we’re here to make something special.”