Allow Us to Reintroduce Ourselves

For generations, Black cooks have had a way of taking ingredients that others overlooked and turning them into dishes people couldn't wait to eat. That history wasn't always born from choice. During slavery and in the generations that followed, Black families often had limited access to the most desirable cuts of meat. What was available might include tougher, less popular cuts or parts of the animal that wealthier households didn't want. Instead of letting those ingredients define the meal, our ancestors used seasoning, patience, and techniques passed down through generations to make them their own. Oxtail is a perfect example. For years, oxtail was considered an inexpensive, undesirable cut. Black families throughout the African diaspora—including Caribbean, African, and Black American communities—turned it into deeply flavorful dishes that became part of their food traditions. Now, oxtail is everywhere. You'll find oxtail pasta, tacos, egg rolls, pizza, grilled cheese, and even upscale restaurant interpretations. What was once considered a "poor man's" cut has become so popular that buying oxtail today can feel like buying a premium steak. And there's a certain irony in that. The food didn't suddenly become worthy of attention. The people who had been cooking it all along already knew its value. Oxtail isn't the only example. Ham hocks, neck bones, pig's feet, chitterlings, pork belly, and other cuts that were once dismissed have long had a place in Black kitchens. They seasoned pots of greens, stretched meals to feed families, and eventually became dishes and flavors associated with Southern and soul food traditions. That tradition of making use of the whole animal is still being explored and documented today. Lowcountry native Amethyst Ganaway—chef, author, and culinary historian—is currently working on a cookbook titled Black South: Recipes From the Roota to the Toota in April of 2027. The title itself reflects a philosophy generations of Black cooks understood well: very little needed to go to waste. Cuts and ingredients that others overlooked could still have a place at the table, and the knowledge of what to do with them became part of our culinary traditions. Today, chefs call it nose-to-tail cooking. Restaurants describe these ingredients as elevated or gourmet . Foods that were once associated with poverty are being reintroduced to diners as something special—and often at a much higher price. There's nothing wrong with food evolving. In fact, it's exciting to see ingredients from Black food traditions receiving greater recognition and inspiring new dishes. But it's worth remembering where some of that creativity began. Black cooks didn't wait for these ingredients to become trendy to recognize their potential. They took what was available, added knowledge, technique, and flavor, and created food worthy of being passed from one generation to the next. So when you see an $18 oxtail egg roll or a gourmet oxtail pasta on a menu, remember: the presentation may be new, but the appreciation for that cut certainly isn't. We've been knowing what oxtail could do.

Back-to-school season means new teachers, new routines, and, for parents, figuring out what these children are going to eat every day. But as another school year begins, it's also a reminder of how much the school experience has changed for Black children—including what's on their plates. For generations of Black Americans, education represented opportunity and freedom. During slavery, learning to read and write was often restricted or prohibited, yet Black people still found ways to learn and teach one another. After emancipation, newly freed Black communities made education a priority, establishing schools and fighting for opportunities that had long been denied to them. Even after schools were established, segregation meant Black children often attended schools with fewer resources. Families, teachers, churches, and communities stepped in to fill the gaps. Over generations, the fight moved from simply gaining access to education to demanding equal opportunities for Black students. And while the classroom was changing, school lunch was changing too. Remember When Lunch Looked Different? For some of our grandparents and great-grandparents, lunch might have been whatever could be prepared at home with what the family had available—a biscuit, leftover meat, fruit, cornbread, or another simple meal. As school meal programs expanded, hot cafeteria lunches became part of the school experience. Generations grew up eating everything from meatloaf and vegetables to those unforgettable rectangular slices of school pizza. Then came the lunchboxes many of us remember: sandwiches, chips, juice boxes, fruit cups, cookies, and maybe a handwritten note from Mama. And now? School lunch looks completely different. Open a child's lunchbox today and you might find wraps, yogurt, fresh berries, hummus, pasta, chicken nuggets in a thermos, or a little charcuterie-style lunch with everything divided into its own compartment. Kids have more options—and many of them have much stronger opinions about what they're willing to eat! Children are also exposed to foods from around the world much earlier. A child's favorite meal today might be tacos, sushi, pasta, or another dish that previous generations rarely, if ever, encountered in a school cafeteria. Our lives have changed too. Families are busier, convenience plays a bigger role, and the way we shop, cook, and prepare meals has evolved. But one thing hasn't changed: food is still a connection to home. Whether it was cornbread wrapped up for lunch generations ago or today's perfectly organized lunchbox, feeding our children is one of the simplest ways we care for them. As another school year begins, we're reminded of both how far we've come and how much has changed—from who had access to the classroom to what's packed inside the lunchbox.  Here's to a great school year—and to all the parents already wondering what they're packing for lunch tomorrow.

Every time we spend money, we make a choice about what businesses, families, and communities we help sustain. As we recognize Black Business Month this August, we've been thinking about what it really means to support a Black-owned business. Of course, making a purchase matters. But support can also look like sharing a business with a friend, leaving a review, booking a service, attending an event, engaging with a social media post, or simply telling someone, "You need to check them out." There is a long history behind Black entrepreneurship in America, and one of the most powerful examples can be found in Tulsa, Oklahoma. In the early 1900s, Tulsa's Greenwood District became home to a thriving Black community filled with entrepreneurs, professionals, and families building lives for themselves despite segregation. Greenwood had Black-owned restaurants, hotels, grocery stores, theaters, salons, medical offices, and other businesses. The concentration of Black wealth and entrepreneurship became so notable that the area came to be known as Black Wall Street . What made Greenwood so powerful wasn't simply the number of Black-owned businesses. It was the community surrounding them. People supported their neighbors. Business owners employed people from the community. Money spent at one business could become income that was spent at another. In a country where segregation often prevented Black Americans from freely participating in the broader economy, communities like Greenwood created their own opportunities. That success was devastatingly interrupted during the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921 , when a white mob attacked Greenwood, killing residents and destroying homes and businesses across the district. Generations of property, businesses, and wealth were lost. Yet the story of Black Wall Street isn't only a story of destruction. It's also a story about what Black entrepreneurship had already accomplished—and what the community worked to rebuild afterward. More than a century later, that part of the story still resonates with us. Owning a business can mean creating something that extends far beyond the person whose name is on the paperwork. A small business hires employees, pays other vendors, works with local professionals, supports community organizations, creates opportunities, and often opens doors for another entrepreneur coming behind them. We see that firsthand at Carolima's. When someone chooses us to cater an event, purchases one of our made-from-scratch desserts, books Sweetgrass Hall, recommends us to a friend, or simply shares our name with someone looking for a caterer, that support reaches further than one transaction. It helps us continue doing what we love while creating opportunities to work with other businesses and people throughout our community. And we're business owners, but we're customers too. Supporting Black businesses means intentionally looking around our own community and discovering the baker, photographer, restaurant owner, event planner, designer, farmer, contractor, boutique owner, or other entrepreneur who may be able to provide exactly what we're looking for. It doesn't mean that every purchase has to come from a Black-owned business. It simply means remembering that where we spend our money matters. Black Wall Street showed us what is possible when entrepreneurship, opportunity, and community come together. Black Business Month gives us an opportunity to celebrate that legacy while also recognizing the Black entrepreneurs who are building businesses right now. So this month, discover a Black-owned business you haven't tried before. Revisit one you already love. Tell somebody about them. Leave the review. Share the post. Buy the product. Book the service. Because sometimes supporting a small business feels like one simple purchase.  To the business owner, it can mean so much more.

Travel has a way of reminding you that no two places are exactly alike. Our Carolima's family recently returned from celebrating birthdays in Italy, and one of the biggest takeaways was how different each city felt. We explored six cities, and every destination had its own personality. Some places made it easy to hop in a taxi, while others required a little more patience and planning. We found ourselves riding ferries from one coastal town to the next, taking in breathtaking views and realizing that sometimes the journey is just as memorable as the destination. Of course, no trip is complete without discovering the local food. One thing we learned quickly? Naples is all about pizza—not pasta! Every region seemed to have its own specialties and traditions, which made each meal feel like a new experience. One of the highlights of our trip was taking a hands-on cooking class where we learned to make gnocchi from scratch, eggplant Parmigiano, tiramisu, and limoncello. There was something special about preparing recipes that have been passed down for generations and seeing firsthand the pride that goes into every dish. Perhaps the biggest culture shock came at the dinner table. One evening, we were ready to head to our next stop, so we asked for the check before we had finished eating. Back home, that's pretty normal. In Italy? Not so much. Our server waited until we had finished our meal before bringing the bill. It wasn't that they couldn't bring it sooner—it was simply a reminder that meals are meant to be enjoyed, not rushed. Conversation is part of the experience. The food deserves your attention. Time slows down around the table. As chefs, that lesson stayed with us. Food isn't just about what's on the plate. It's about the people you're sharing it with, the stories behind the recipes, and the traditions that have been carried from one generation to the next. Those are values we hold close at Carolima's, and it was inspiring to see them celebrated in another part of the world. Standing in another country also gave us a chance to reflect on something much bigger. Today, we're able to book a flight, explore new places, and immerse ourselves in cultures around the world. But for many African Americans, travel wasn't always that simple. Families once relied on The Negro Motorist Green Book to find safe places to eat, sleep, and refuel while traveling across the United States. What we often see as an ordinary vacation today represents opportunities that previous generations fought to make possible. That perspective made this trip even more meaningful. We returned home with full camera rolls and unforgettable memories, but we also came back with a renewed appreciation for slowing down, embracing different cultures, and never taking the freedom to explore for granted. Every destination has a story to tell, and every meal offers a glimpse into the people and traditions that make a place unique.  As we unpack our suitcases, we're reminded that the best souvenirs aren't always something you can hold in your hand. Sometimes they're the lessons you learn, the people you meet, and the memories you create along the way.

When people think about the Great Migration, they often think about families leaving the South in search of better jobs and new opportunities. Between 1916 and 1970, more than six million African Americans relocated from the rural South to cities like Chicago, Detroit, New York, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles. But they didn't leave everything behind. They packed more than suitcases—they carried recipes, traditions, and memories. Food became a way to stay connected to home. A pot of collard greens, a skillet of cornbread, red rice, fried chicken, or a slow-cooked pot of beans could instantly bring back memories of Sunday dinners, family reunions, and kitchens where recipes were shared from one generation to the next. These dishes offered comfort in unfamiliar places and helped build a sense of community wherever people settled. As Black families established new lives across the country, Southern cooking began influencing American cuisine in remarkable ways. Neighborhood restaurants, church dinners, family-owned cafés, and barbecue joints introduced communities to flavors rooted in the South. Over time, recipes evolved as cooks blended local ingredients with traditions they had brought from home, creating new regional favorites while honoring the dishes they grew up eating. One of the best examples of this evolution is shrimp and grits. Long before it appeared on upscale restaurant menus, it was a simple, hearty breakfast enjoyed by Gullah Geechee fishermen along the South Carolina and Georgia coast. Fresh shrimp from nearby waters were served over stone-ground grits and often finished with a rich brown gravy made from the pan drippings—a humble, comforting meal that reflected the ingredients people had on hand. As the dish traveled beyond the Lowcountry, it began to change. Today, you'll find shrimp and grits topped with lobster, smoked gouda, truffle oil, Cajun cream sauce, tomatoes, bacon, and countless chef-inspired variations. While these interpretations have introduced the dish to new audiences, they're a far cry from the original. The traditional Lowcountry version wasn't meant to be extravagant—it celebrated fresh local shrimp, creamy grits, and a savory brown gravy that brought everything together. Sometimes, the simplest recipes tell the richest stories. The Great Migration didn't just reshape where people lived—it reshaped America's table. It introduced Southern traditions to new communities while allowing recipes to evolve with each generation. Yet no matter how far these dishes traveled or how many new ingredients were added, their roots remain firmly planted in the kitchens of the South. Here in the Lowcountry, Gullah Geechee cuisine continues to preserve those traditions. Every bowl of okra soup, plate of Charleston red rice, serving of shrimp and grits, or slice of cornbread is more than a meal—it's a connection to the people who came before us and a reminder that our stories are often told one recipe at a time. The next time you enjoy a family recipe, remember that it may have traveled hundreds of miles before arriving on your plate. Behind every bite is a story of resilience, hope, and the determination to preserve culture through food.  Sometimes, the most meaningful journeys aren't found on a map—they're served around the table.

Golden, crispy, and deeply rooted in Southern history, fried chicken is much more than a comfort food. Behind every perfectly seasoned piece is a story of resilience, resourcefulness, entrepreneurship, and family traditions that have been passed down for generations. This week, as we celebrate National Fried Chicken Day and prepare for tomorrow's (Wednesday, July 8th) Green Plate Special, we thought it was the perfect opportunity to share the history behind one of the South's most recognizable dishes. Historians believe the fried chicken we know today emerged from the blending of Scottish frying techniques with the seasoning traditions and culinary expertise of West Africans. Together, those influences created a dish that would become a cornerstone of Southern cuisine. After emancipation, fried chicken became much more than comfort food. For many Black families, chickens were one of the few animals they could own and raise. They provided both food and income, making fried chicken an affordable meal and, for some, the centerpiece of small businesses. Black women sold fried chicken at churches, train stations, community gatherings, and roadside stands, using their cooking skills to support their families and build financial independence. Unfortunately, as Black entrepreneurs found success, fried chicken also became the subject of harmful racial stereotypes. Images and advertisements were created to mock African Americans and diminish the significance of a food that had become associated with Black resilience and self-sufficiency. Those stereotypes lingered for generations, overshadowing the true history of the dish. Today, we choose to remember a different story. We remember grandparents standing over cast-iron skillets, carefully turning each piece until it reached the perfect golden brown. We remember recipes that weren't written down but were learned by watching, tasting, and cooking alongside the people who came before us. We remember Sunday dinners where the platter of fried chicken always seemed to disappear first and celebrations where everyone hoped to snag the last piece. At Carolima's, fried chicken isn't just one of our most requested dishes—it's a reflection of the traditions that continue to bring people together. Every plate represents generations of knowledge, hospitality, and love passed from one kitchen to the next. It's a reminder that some of the best recipes aren't just made with flour and spices—they're seasoned with history. So, if you're joining us for tomorrow's (Wednesday, July 8th) Green Plate Special, know that you're enjoying more than a delicious meal. You're sharing in a tradition that has been passed down through generations and remains an important part of Southern and Gullah Geechee food culture. We'll see you tomorrow—come hungry!

When you think of the Fourth of July, chances are a few things come to mind: the smell of barbecue on the grill, a pitcher of sweet tea, fresh corn on the cob, and a big slice of cold watermelon. For many families across the South, watermelon has become as much a part of summer celebrations as fireworks and family cookouts. But behind this refreshing fruit is a history that is deeply connected to African agriculture, Black entrepreneurship, and resilience. Watermelon didn't originate in America. It traces its roots to Africa, where it was cultivated thousands of years ago. Enslaved Africans brought with them generations of agricultural knowledge, including experience growing crops that could thrive in hot climates. As they worked the fields throughout the South, they continued to cultivate fruits and vegetables that reminded them of home, including watermelon, okra, rice, peas, and other staples that would become part of Southern cuisine. Following emancipation, watermelon took on an even greater significance. Many newly freed Black families grew and sold watermelon as a way to earn income, purchase land, and build independent businesses. Roadside stands, neighborhood markets, and family farms became symbols of economic freedom and self-sufficiency. Unfortunately, that success was met with resistance. During the late 1800s and early 1900s, racist cartoons, advertisements, and postcards began using watermelon as a way to mock African Americans. A fruit that had represented opportunity and independence was twisted into a harmful stereotype designed to diminish the achievements of newly freed Black Americans. Despite those efforts, watermelon never lost its place on the table. Today, it remains a staple at family reunions, church picnics, fish frys, Juneteenth celebrations, and Fourth of July cookouts throughout the South. In the Lowcountry, it's often one of the last things served before everyone settles in to watch the fireworks—a sweet ending to a day spent with family and friends. Here in Charleston, food has always told the story of the people who prepared it. Just like Carolina Gold rice, okra, collard greens, and red rice, watermelon reflects the lasting influence of Gullah Geechee culture and the agricultural knowledge passed down through generations. It reminds us that many of the foods we enjoy today are rooted in traditions that crossed the Atlantic and flourished here in the Lowcountry. So, as you gather around the table this Fourth of July, don't think of watermelon as just another side dish. Think of the generations of farmers, families, and communities who helped shape its story. Every slice carries a little piece of history—and every shared meal is another opportunity to honor it. From all of us at Carolima's, we wish you a safe, joyful, and delicious Fourth of July. May your grill stay hot, your tea stay cold, and your watermelon always be sweet.

For nearly two centuries, long before refrigerated trucks and commercial seafood distributors, Charleston depended on a remarkable group of fishermen known as the Mosquito Fleet. These men supplied much of the fresh fish, shrimp, crabs, and oysters that found their way onto Lowcountry tables and helped shape Charleston's seafood culture. The Mosquito Fleet was made up primarily of African American and Gullah Geechee fishermen who worked the waters surrounding Charleston Harbor. Before emancipation, many of these fishermen were enslaved men who used handmade boats, homemade sails, hand-tied nets, and their extensive knowledge of the tides and waterways to harvest seafood. Some traveled as far as twenty miles offshore without navigational equipment. The fleet's unusual name comes from a local legend. It is said that the daughter of General Charles Cotesworth Pinckney looked out across the harbor and saw dozens of small sailboats returning from the sea. From a distance, their sails appeared like a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing across the horizon, and the name "Mosquito Fleet" stuck. After the Civil War, many formerly enslaved fishermen continued their trade as free men. Fishing became one of the few paths to economic independence available to Black Charlestonians. Fathers taught sons how to read the tides, mend nets, harvest oysters, and navigate the coastal waters. Their catches supplied local markets, restaurants, street vendors, and families throughout Charleston. The fleet became a familiar sight along the Charleston waterfront. Each day, residents gathered to watch the boats return and purchase fresh seafood directly from the fishermen. The shrimp for shrimp and grits, the oysters for oyster roasts, and the fish that appeared on dinner tables across the city often came from these hardworking watermen. As the twentieth century progressed, however, the industry began to change. Larger commercial fishing operations, motorized vessels, refrigeration, waterfront development, and changing economic opportunities reduced the need for the small wooden boats that had once dominated the harbor. By the 1970s, only a handful of Mosquito Fleet fishermen remained. Hurricane Hugo dealt another devastating blow in 1989 when it destroyed the historic dock used by the fleet. Today, the Mosquito Fleet no longer sails into Charleston Harbor each morning. The boats are gone, and many of the fishermen's stories have faded with time. Yet their legacy lives on through the Gullah Geechee communities that continue to preserve the traditions of the Lowcountry and through the seafood dishes that remain at the heart of Charleston's culinary identity. Every time we enjoy a bowl of shrimp and grits, a seafood boil, fried fish, or an oyster roast, we are experiencing a tradition that was shaped in part by the men of the Mosquito Fleet. Their knowledge of the water, their perseverance, and their contributions to Charleston's food culture deserve to be remembered. The next time you enjoy fresh local seafood, take a moment to think about the generations of Gullah Geechee fishermen who helped feed a city—one small boat at a time.

Juneteenth is a celebration of freedom, resilience, and the enduring strength of Black communities. While many people associate the holiday with parades, festivals, and family gatherings, for many of us, some of the most meaningful celebrations happen around the table. Food has always been more than nourishment. It is memory. It is tradition. It is a way of passing stories from one generation to the next. Growing up in the Lowcountry, dishes like red rice, okra soup, and collard greens weren't considered special occasion foods—they were simply part of life. They were the dishes prepared by mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and neighbors who understood that feeding people was an act of love. Red rice, one of the most recognizable dishes in Gullah Geechee cuisine, tells a story of African influence, resourcefulness, and tradition. Made with rice, tomatoes, and seasonings, it has been a staple of Lowcountry tables for generations. While Juneteenth celebrations often feature red foods and beverages as symbols of resilience and sacrifice, red rice has long held a special place in our community as a dish that connects us to our heritage. Okra soup is another dish deeply rooted in African traditions. Okra itself traveled across the Atlantic with enslaved Africans and became a cornerstone of Southern and Gullah Geechee cooking. Whether prepared with seafood, smoked meats, or vegetables, a pot of okra soup represents generations of cooks preserving culture through food. Then there are collard greens. Slow-simmered and seasoned with care, collards have become a symbol of prosperity, perseverance, and family. Few dishes bring back memories quite like a pot of collard greens cooking on the stove, filling the house with a familiar aroma that signals a meal is on the way. These dishes are more than recipes. They are reminders of where we came from and the people who came before us. They tell stories of hardship and triumph, creativity and survival, community and celebration. As we observe Juneteenth, we encourage you to take a moment to reflect on the recipes that have been passed down in your own family. Ask questions. Write them down. Cook them with your children and grandchildren. Share the stories behind them. Because when we preserve our food traditions, we preserve our history. And that is something worth celebrating.