Kitchen Griot: A Bite of Black History
It’s amazing how the smell or even the thought of food can draw us back to a specific memory. What a powerful form of art culinary arts is, that it can evoke memory and emotion. Every time I smell or see a peach cobbler, I always think about Christmas dinner when I was 8 years old. My grandmother, who traditionally made most of the meal and all the desserts, made a peach cobbler as she does every year. What we didn’t know was that she added some sliced pears into the cobbler this year and told no one. Blasphemy! Needless to say, tables were almost flipped, and 27 years later, no one has forgotten, and we speak about it often. When we share food stories, we are not just preserving recipes, but the memories of our families and culture.
When I think of a griot, words like folklore, music, and poetry come to mind. Why can’t food be included in the conversation? The performance of orally sharing culinary traditions is a form of storytelling. When we go to the grocery store or farmers market to choose the ingredients for a meal, we typically rely on what sociologist Pierre Bourdieu calls habitus, that is, our habits formed by our upbringing and the environment around us. The brands we choose to buy as adults are often the ones we saw our families purchase when we were growing up. That choice of brand says a lot about the economic status and time availability of the family. How you clean and prepare your ingredients is also influenced by familial traditions, the equipment available to the family, and the origins of the family. In Chicago, I grew up with the stems of the collard greens attached. It wasn’t until I was in grad school in Alabama that I was distinctly told that stems were “gross” and people cut them out before going into the pot. Even what we consider a meal tells a story about our families. Apparently, some people don’t consider fried fish and spaghetti to be a full meal. Crazy!
The choices we make in and for our kitchens often hold deep cultural significance. It is so important that we don’t let the memories fade. I’ve heard of folks losing family members and wishing they could taste their signature dish again. No matter how many times they try to replicate it, it’s just not the same. They’re not just in search of flavor; I’d argue that they’re in search of that familiar feeling of love, comfort, and home. A centering. As a Black American, descendant of chattel slavery, the foods of my family tell the story of the Great Migration. They tell stories of Nashville and New Orleans. They tell stories of perseverance, courage, and our roots.
Even when recipes are written, they lack the impact of oral recollection that occurs when spending time with a family member and asking them to teach you how to make a dish. Outside of the food itself, it’s almost guaranteed that you’ll learn a new story or 2 about your family. Or at the very least a little gossip. This is why family gatherings like family reunions, Sunday dinners, and holidays are so important. Talk to your family! Even if you’re not that close anymore, make it a point to tell the younger generation about the things you used to do. Create a YouTube channel or start a video series on a social media page to record your family stories.
The staple foods of our cultures are deeply intertwined with our sense of identity. It’s a taste of pride, dignity, and home. No one is going to be able to provide depth in storytelling about the taste of your kitchen, the way you are. Whether it is through conversation, vlogging, poetry, or song, the tales of your dining tables must continue on.
