Tradition on the Table, Balance on the Plate
As Thanksgiving approaches, food’s significance in African American culture feels more potent than ever. In Black households, food is a language, an unspoken expression of love, heritage, and resilience, and nowhere is this clearer than at the table during family gatherings. Sunday dinners are sacred, a time when dishes bring family together, offering solace and belonging. Fried chicken, candied yams, greens, and cornbread are more than sustenance—they are anchors, binding us to our past and grounding us in the present.
Growing up, I was raised in this rhythm. Food wasn’t just eaten; it was celebrated. But over the years, as I’ve grown more intentional about my health, I’ve begun to rethink how I engage with food. Health issues like high blood pressure and diabetes disproportionately affect Black communities, partially due to our diet’s rich, savory traditions. In my own journey, I’ve started to question the need for meat with every meal, something that can feel almost radical given how meat is typically revered as a staple in our cuisine.
This shift wasn’t immediate. My relationship with food is nuanced, deeply tied to cultural expectations, my body’s needs, and even the seasons. For instance, in winter’s colder months, the body seems to crave denser, heartier meals—soups, stews, and yes, meat—that warm and sustain us against the chill. But during spring and summer, as days grow longer and lighter, the desire for heavy meals wanes. Fresh, plant-based foods feel more appropriate, allowing the body to feel refreshed, energized. I’ve come to accept that eating seasonally and mindfully doesn’t diminish my love for soul food; it simply evolves how I experience it.
Incorporating intermittent fasting has been another significant change. I first encountered fasting as part of wellness trends online, and though its concept is ancient, it felt like an innovation within my own experience. Initially, my family was baffled. Fasting, or any form of dieting, tends to be frowned upon in Black culture, often seen as unnecessary, even a little foreign. Reactions have ranged from amused disbelief to outright disdain. The very idea of not eating from dawn until noon was shocking to family members who believe wholeheartedly in “three meals a day.”
But my focus wasn’t on deprivation. Instead, it was about redefining how I nourish my body. Fasting has offered me clarity, both mentally and physically, in ways I never expected. It’s created space for me to slow down, to appreciate food not just as fuel but as ritual. And although this way of eating is nontraditional in my family, I’ve come to see it as an expression of love for myself—one that respects my heritage while honoring my personal health.
Food remains an affair of the heart, a celebration of culture and connection. And if that connection grows a little lighter, a little more mindful with each passing season, it’s simply a reminder that even the deepest love affairs can evolve.
