Sunday Dinner: the recipe calls for a little bit of love, grief, and soul.
A Blackstack Original, Sunday Dinner: Soul Food, served every first Sunday of the month. Be careful when you grab your plate it's hot on the bottom.
Soul food was our culture’s first resource for preserving our story, our history, our experience. You feel the ancestors using your hands as a vessel as you are preparing the same dishes they created. It’s a true connection that Black folk feel when you are cooking soul food dishes, and it proves that it’s not about the food but about the communion with each other.
Communal eating is a West African traditional practice passed down to Black Americans that remains an essential part of defining Black culture. Certain dish classics bring a feeling of comfort because the foods are rooted in the longing for home and rejoicing over the better days. As the children of those relatives grew older they reclaimed the foods they loved, thanks to the Civil Rights era, the true meat and potatoes of Black American history. The word soul became the base flavor for Black American culture. Jazz musicians called their unique sound soul to differentiate from white jazz players stemmed from the roots of Black gospel.
Those children that grew up to reclaim the comfort foods they loved opened restaurants in their apartments and those jazz musicians would bring that soul sound as Black folk enjoyed foods that reminded them of home. The South, or Mama’s cooking, unfortunately this was the first generation of free children. Meaning the original home their parents grief of is now a different experience. Community reminiscing over the Sunday dinners the family would gather at the table is how the term soul food was born.
Community takes place when you show up in a way that honors your authenticity while simultaneously allowing others to show up in theirs. Soul food originates from this model of co-existing together defining the base for the mixing pot.
The alchemy in making sides helps us digest what we don’t understand.
Capricorn season taught us the importance of learning to govern our emotions.
“You cannot bypass your temple. Connect to your breath to integrate mind, body, and spirit. Be sure to bask in your full creative power as you continue to come into alignment.
Unfortunately, you cannot overwork your way out of this period of life. Follow your inner wonder to attract new possibilities. They don’t call it gut intuition for no reason; take your time, be intentional, and have some damn fun.”
I’m making some collards today for Sunday dinner but I can’t make black eyed peas with the greens because I don’t have enough turkey necks to build flavor for both sides. Honestly, the dry beans should have been soaking last night if it was going to be on the menu today. The sides are usually the dishes that require the most work and the most attention to detail during the cooking process. Fried okra for example, from its natural form to a Southern classic is alchemy in true form. No seasoning needs to be added, just coat the slimily yet cotton-like textured vegetable and drop them in the hot grease until browned.
The glue that holds together the feelings of home because our enslaved ancestors hid okra seeds in their braided hair to have a piece of home where ever they ended up. Divine guidance, following that gut intuition is what allowed our enslaved ancestors to preserve our starting roots in America. Proof that Black culture in America is the definition of the melting pot. Classic dishes like gumbo with sides cooked together in one pot, alchemy.
Remember when we first started this newsletter and we were talking about how to use the dopamine menu but soul food edition? One thing that has helped me these past few months alchemizing the grief of my dad is through cooking some of these soul food side dishes. Allowing the pain to flow through me in those moments I hear his voice telling me to add more seasoning. I went through a phase when I didn’t cook because I kept hearing his voice, and my daughter has expressed she wants home cooked meals everyday. So I’m getting back in my kitchen, taking stock of what’s in my cabinets and the freezer. Looking at what we need to prepare the meals we love, but adding a little bit of me to them.
I’m accepting the act of cooking soul food is a top priority on my dopamine menu to heal through this grief. The power of cooking connects me not just with my dad and loved ones, but unknown ancestors that fought to make sure we know how to heal through the pain the way they preserved that healing in soul food.
Our ancestors are screaming for us to start working together again in community, no matter the region of the world, our Blackness is enough. One of the Black women that played a major part in preserving soul food was Princess Pamela originally from SC and moved to NYC opening up Little Kitchen in her one bedroom apartment. She sold fried chicken, sides, with cornbread for less than $2 a plate, and if the jazz was good she would sing with the jazz players throughout the night with the existing customers.
No family, no one to carry her legacy she wrote a cookbook titled Princess Pamela’s Soul Food Cookbook. A poet, a singer, a soul food pioneer, she was a true alchemist. I found a poem written by her that inspired my writing for this piece today.
Practically every kind of people
eat something that somebody else
make a godawful face at.
If that ain't tellya what this
race-hatin' is all about,
nuthin' will.
In this life, we gotta give
ourselves a chance to
digest a lotta things we
don' understand right off.
- Princess PamelaBaked or fried just like cornbread we all have a thicken plot twist story to share.
Aquarius season taught us the importance of why we have to share our story.
Writing feeds our soul and allows us to expel both illusions and forgotten truths. However, if our writing is kept hidden we find ourselves bound to whatever the world has concocted as truth. I am contemplative. I love my alone time. I enjoy writing for the pleasure of each discovery. Aquarius is the innovator of the zodiac and its season came with the intention of expansion. Opportunity after opportunity to exchange in stories with people that helped me to know both them and myself better. Like cooking, our storytelling is a form of love. We tell our stories, not out of arrogance, but with a deep desire to nourish one another. To write, to speak, to exchange is an act of love.
I have a box of letters from my mother. Some just one sentence. It is a box of love. The battery in my back when I feel against the wall. Her practice and love of writing moves through me every word that I write. And when I remember the power of her words I am strengthened when I want to run and hide. Writing is a source of nourishment, both for ourselves, and whoever stumbles upon our work.
“You can write all day but until you accept the values of your words, what are you truly writing for?”
Sankofa means to go back and get it. In our personal, ancestral, and collective histories we find the answers that we seek and it’s up to us to apply them to the present moment. Aquarius season pushed my minds limitations. I allowed circumstances to limit my scope and vision. I needed to see the bigger picture. Kind of like the first time you tasted the sweet buttery homemade cornbread and you began to unravel why your elder spends all day in the kitchen. There is a knowing that to prepare something from scratch makes it better, like tasting generations of love and wisdom.
Our writing emerges in much of the same way. The touch of our ancestors wisdom and work courses through our DNA. If we are quiet and willing to learn we find ourselves in the thick of the experience cheffing in the kitchen. So, when we share ourselves, we are sharing all of those who carried us on their backs until we could walk on our own.
“Aquarius, you can’t hide from yourself on the journey home to the real you. The self-acceptance you desire comes with unavoidable upheaval, embrace the good and the bad.
Define what stability means to you. When you reflect on your life ask yourself, are you happy? If not, visualize what would bring you a sense of safety and security.”
Gumbo is the core identity of Black culture because of the history of this dish.
Pisces season signals both the end of winter and the beginning of spring, the liminal space.
I want to connect to the souls carrying the pain and grief our culture has mastered through the alchemy of cooking soul food. The connection our ancestors had with each other to create the code in the moment to survive over and over again. And here we are in the liminal space preserving the tools we’ve learned to have balance in our movement towards freedom.
Gumbo is the core identity of Black culture because of the history of the dish. It’s the main entree when you talk about the connection to Africans and Black Americans. The okra base holds a significant preservation to the history our ancestors were documenting during a time Black folks were killed for reading and writing. Okra is the cousin to cotton. Our enslaved ancestors hid okra seeds in their braids to preserve home, the base of a Black American soul food classic that reminds us of how we came together as a people no matter where we were from, but because our skin was the same color we were family. The coded language is in the gumbo, the stories of how our culture was treated compared to what we brought and built.
The rumor is we love fried chicken rarely mentioning gumbo as a soul food staple, and never telling the full story of Black folk and the connection to chickens in the first place. Birdman was the name given to the Black person enslaved who oversaw the full cycle of the chickens from birth to slaughter. After slavery, that skill was how our culture was able to establish a sense of economic wealth because chickens were the only livestock available for Black folks to raise. The tradition of it being fried is because that was the only means to cook. That uncomfortable feeling we get when we hear people associating Black culture with fried chicken is our ancestors rising up from our core reminding us to never let it slide.
In moments of grief I find myself in the kitchen cooking a soul food meal with a twist to it. Something to make it feel like a reclaim to soul food because it originated from scarcity made into a plate full of deliciousness. Adding a little bit of me to the dish is the alchemy of my father and I connecting through the power of food. I hear his voice saying add a little of this and when that’s enough.
“You crave community while stubbornly remaining front and center in the spotlight. It’s time to take off the superhero cape, and remember what it means to be human. This is a call to rest and rest.
Tap into your natural gifts for divine guidance as true power already exists within you, trust yourself. There are no shortcuts.”
“Your call to reset and rest.” In the times of rest is when the grief of my father’s passing comes up the most. I used to struggle with resting before but now I don’t want to rest because I don’t want to feel the grief.
Black Americans right now are experiencing the liminal space of history repeating itself and the exhaustion of this same fight continuing. Our ancestors were smart, strategic, organized, and structured. We have the recipes it’s time to get back to communal Sunday dinners.
Crumbled up from the start while intentionally settling into the sweetness of life.
Aries season is ripping the mask off and having us stepping into our full authentic truth.
My mom used to make what she called “chocolate lasagna” which is layers of chocolate pudding, whipped cream, Oreos, and chocolate chips. I would eat it straight out of the pan with a spatula cause the spoons just were not big enough to capture the essence.
Since I started being health conscious, my relationship with dessert has been as layered as the chocolate “lasagna,” but twice as complicated to digest. There are a million dieticians that will tell you that balance is necessary, a million more that will encourage restriction. And gurus who warn you not to deny yourself, but to practice discipline and self restraint. I have a hard head which, in case you were wondering, does in fact make for a soft ass. I am stubborn and experimental. So I’ve been teetering between denying myself of anything sweet to binging. On one hand, I respect the value I place on my health. When I notice these extremes, I wonder if it’s sustainable. Then I remember that these extremes are part of the process.
Like when you put down the first layer of the chocolate pudding. Of course there’s more chocolate at first because you have to let the chocolate set before placing the layer of whipped cream. The month of March brings with it both Venus and Mercury retrograde prompting questions about how we show up in relationships and what we value. Having a healthy relationship to desert falls in line with having a healthy relationship to pleasure and joy. If you are teetering from one extreme to the other good. These extremes are offering you the opportunity to create balance and harmony. Take it one layer at a time and allow yourself to build momentum so during Aries season, you can have your dessert and eat it on your terms.
“For one reason or another, you’ve been feeling disconnected from your ancestral lineage lately. Even though you tend to be easily distracted by outside noise, it’s your destine to surrender to endings in order to heal ancient hurts.
When you surrender to the call to soften, you will resume a passion project once abruptly abandoned. Keep steady with your healing and internal work to revisit this project with renewed energy.”
Editor’s Note: See you at Writers Circle today at 12pm PST
This piece was so moving. I shared it in a group I'm in for Black and Brown people to connect in Mexico. There is SO MUCH DANCING in Mexico and an appreciation for Black Soul Food, music and culture.
This was so powerful. Soul food is truly what it sounds like, and we all know the chosen ones with SOUL ✅🙏🏾