This is the first in what will be an ongoing series called Food is Political. I thought it was appropriate that this first post come during Black History Month and gives me a chance to talk about attribution, appropriation, and giving credit where it’s due
It’s Black History Month. And on this blog, that’s going to show up in more than one place this month. In recipes. In reading lists. In roundups. Because the history of Black Americans isn’t separate from the history of food – especially not here in the South. They’re the same history.
I’m a white Southern woman. I grew up eating this food. Collard greens and black-eyed peas and fried chicken and cornbread and all the dishes that show up at every cookout, every holiday, every family table across the South.
For most of my life, I called it Southern food. Because that’s what everyone called it.
It is Southern food. But it is, first and fundamentally, Black Southern food. And for a long time, that distinction wasn’t made. Not in most cookbooks. Not at most family tables. Not in most conversations about where this food came from and who created it.
That’s changing now. And it should have changed a long time ago.
The Food That Built Southern Cuisine
The dishes that define Southern cooking – the ones that feel like home to millions of people across this region – didn’t come from nowhere. They have origins. They have creators. And those creators were, overwhelmingly, Black and African-American people.
Enslaved people developed much of what we now call Southern cuisine. This is not a controversial statement. It’s a fact. The techniques, the flavors, the dishes themselves – they were created by Black cooks, in Southern kitchens, over generations.
Okra came from West Africa. So did black-eyed peas. Rice cultivation in the Lowcountry of South Carolina and Georgia was built on the expertise of enslaved people from rice-growing regions of West Africa – knowledge that was essential to the colony’s survival and prosperity. The way we cook greens, the way we season cast iron, the way we fry chicken – these are techniques with African roots that were refined and perfected by Black cooks over centuries.
And for most of American history, those cooks were not credited. Their names weren’t in the cookbooks. Their contributions weren’t acknowledged. The food was simply “Southern.”
What White Southerners Don’t Always Know
I’ll be honest. Growing up in Texas, eating at Meemaw’s table, eating at family cookouts and holidays – I didn’t know any of this. I knew the food. I loved the food. Meemaw’s collard greens. Black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day. Fried chicken at every gathering.
But I didn’t know where it came from. Not really. Not the full story.
It wasn’t until I read Michael Twitty’s The Cooking Gene – about nine years ago now – that the history of this food clicked into place for me. Twitty traces the journey of Southern food from its African origins through slavery and beyond, weaving together food history, family history, and American history into something that changed the way I think about what I eat.
The Cooking Gene was my eye-opener. There’s a lot more to say about Twitty and his work – that’s coming in a future post. But for now, know that his book is where I’d start if you want to understand where Southern food actually comes from.
And I’m not alone in not knowing. Many white Southerners grew up the same way I did. Eating this food. Loving this food. Not knowing its full history. Not because we’re bad people, but because that history wasn’t told to us. It was erased, or ignored, or simply never mentioned.
The Dishes and Their Origins
Let’s talk about some of the foods that show up on every Southern table and where they actually came from.
- Collard greens. One of the most iconic Southern vegetables. Collards have been eaten in Africa for centuries. Enslaved people in the American South cooked them – often with whatever scraps of meat were available – and turned them into something extraordinary. The long, slow cooking method that makes collard greens tender and flavorful? That technique was developed by Black cooks working with limited resources and making something beautiful out of it.
- Black-eyed peas. A staple of Southern cooking, especially on New Year’s Day. Black-eyed peas originated in West Africa and were brought to the American South. They’re deeply connected to African American food culture and tradition. The practice of eating them on New Year’s Day for good luck is rooted in African American tradition.
- Fried chicken. This is where it gets complicated, because everyone wants to claim fried chicken. But the technique of battering and deep-frying chicken has strong roots in both West African and Scottish cooking traditions. What made it the dish we know – the seasoning, the way it’s prepared, the cultural significance – that’s African American. Black cooks perfected this dish. It became a symbol of Southern hospitality and celebration.
- Okra. Okra is not native to the Americas. It came from West Africa, brought by enslaved people. It became a staple of Southern cooking, particularly in gumbo and other dishes. Without okra, there is no gumbo as we know it.
- Rice dishes. In the Lowcountry – coastal South Carolina and Georgia – rice was king. And the reason rice grew so well there, the reason it became the foundation of the region’s economy, is because enslaved people from rice-growing regions of West Africa brought their knowledge and expertise. They knew how to cultivate it, how to process it, how to cook it. That knowledge built an industry. And it was never credited.
- Cornbread. Corn itself is a crop native to the Americas, and Native American peoples developed the techniques for cultivating and cooking it long before Europeans arrived. The way we make cornbread in the South – cast iron skillet, buttermilk, rendered fat – evolved through centuries of cooking by both Native American and African American cooks.
The Erasure, and What’s Changing
For generations, the contributions of Black cooks to American – and especially Southern – food were invisible in the historical record. Cookbooks published by white authors featured recipes that had been created or refined by Black cooks, with no acknowledgment. The labor, the creativity, the cultural knowledge – all of it disappeared into the mythology of “Southern cooking” as if it had always been a white tradition.
We’re starting to see that change now. Black cooks, chefs, food historians, and authors are reclaiming this history. They’re telling the stories that were left out. They’re giving credit where credit has been due for a very long time.
Writers like Michael Twitty are leading the way. And there are others – other Black cooks, chefs, and authors doing this work, in food writing and beyond. This month on the blog, I’ll be sharing some of those names and their work.
Because understanding where this food comes from isn’t just about food. It’s about understanding American history. About acknowledging the people whose labor, creativity, and cultural knowledge built so much of what we take for granted.
What This Means for Me
I’m still learning.
When I make collard greens now, I think about where they came from. When I eat black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day, I think about the tradition they carry. When I fry chicken, I think about the generations of Black cooks who perfected that dish.
It doesn’t make the food less delicious. If anything, it makes it more. Because now I understand what I’m eating. Not just the flavors and the techniques, but the history. The people. The story.
Southern food is Black food. It always has been. And the least we can do – as white Southerners, as Americans, as people who love this food – is know that. And say it. And give credit where it’s due.
This isn’t about guilt. It’s about facts. And about appreciation – real appreciation, the kind that comes from actually understanding the history of what you’re eating and who made it possible.
Reading More
If you want to start learning about the history of Black foodways in America, The Cooking Gene by Michael Twitty is where I’d begin. More recommendations are coming later this month.
And if you’re interested in learning about Black history more broadly – not just through the lens of food – there are incredible authors doing that work too. This month, I’ll be reading and sharing some of those voices as well.
Because Black History Month isn’t just about food on this blog. But food is where I live. So it’s where I start.
What are you reading or learning this Black History Month? What resources have helped you understand this history? Let me know in the comments.
P.S. This is the first of several posts this month that will honor Black History Month and Black foodways. More coming.
P.P.S. If I’ve gotten anything wrong here, please tell me. I’m not an expert. I’m a white Southern woman who is still learning. But I’m trying to get it right.
P.P.P.S. The Cooking Gene changed my life. Read it.