Cornbread, Collard Greens, and Competition — The Gentrification of Soul Food

In 2016, Neiman Marcus infamously sold collard greens for $66 with a $15 shipping fee. Coincidentally, that same year, I sat in my grandmother’s kitchen and learned how to cook collard greens. Before Mr. Marcus started selling collard greens online, I didn’t even know you could do that. The only way I knew to buy collard greens was to drive down a pothole-ridden road in a 2000 burgundy Mazda with no air conditioning in the middle of an Alabama summer. My grandmother would sing along to whatever was playing on Magic 101.3’s Grown Folks radio. She would only stop when she saw the produce man on the side of the road.“Come on, Elizabeth — let’s go get these greens for tomorrow,” she’d say. I would nod and follow her out to the back of a pickup truck. The greens would come home, get cleaned, prepped and then stored for Sunday dinner after church.


Years later, I would go to school in an affluent area and experience the same shock when a group of girls showed off their “new vegetable” that they were  “obsessed with”. This time, the collard greens looked different. One of the girls, the group leader, explained to the rest of the table what her “veggie wrap” consisted of. The only problem was that she forgot the main ingredient. Finally, after looking it up on her phone she beamed and exclaimed, “It’s wrapped in something called a collard green. They sell them at Whole Foods!” I sat there bewildered, not because of the wrap itself, but because of how they were treating a vegetable that showed up regularly on my dinner table. I had just seen a part of soul food become gentrified in real time.


Originally, gentrification was first used to describe severe changes to neighborhoods, often to change the socioeconomic status of an area to a higher status. The story goes like this — developers buy buildings or land that provide housing for community residents, tear them down, kick the old residents out, increase the rent of the new property and people of higher socioeconomic status move in. As a result of the influx of wealth, many business owners who served the former residents were pushed out due to increased rent or a lack of clientele. Neighborhoods that historically had a high minority population suddenly found themselves unable to continue their legacies. In short, barber shops are replaced by pilates studios and neighborhood parks are now high-rise luxury apartments.


In terms of food, a slightly different style of gentrification occurs. In some cases, those who move into gentrified neighborhoods would like to partake in some aspects of the culture that previously dominated. Food is a low-stakes way to do just that. The issue then becomes the lack of authenticity in their culinary experiences. The quaint soul food joint that once served fish on Friday to the original population of the community is no longer there. Instead, it is replaced with a trendy “southern-inspired” bistro. The cornbread has tri-colored corn and jalapenos in it. The collard greens are served in mini Staub Cocotte dishes. The prices now represent a new socioeconomic class. 


Like other instances of gentrification, things that were once readily accessible for all, are now enjoyed by few. Due to this process of gentrification, many families have suffered. Foods and ingredients that were staples in their communities are now being overpriced to keep up with demand and a clientele with higher incomes. Oxtails, catfish nuggets, and turkey legs are just a few of the southern staples that have seen a drastic price increase over the years. The saddest part of it all? Many owners of these “trendy”, “fusion” restaurants don’t even know how to properly prepare them. Instead of choosing to learn about the cultural significance behind classic soul food dishes, they create something eerily similar. If the restaurant gets positive publicity, there is an attempt to pass off the classic dish as something unique to the restaurant. This happens more often than many people would care to admit. There was the Nashville Hot Chicken Craze of 2017, and most recently the Tinned Fish Craze of 2023. Both of these trends resulted in an influx of prices for these items. I personally remember my mother and I scouring the grocery store for hot sauce, cayenne pepper, and mustard seed wondering why we couldn't find anything.


Soul food is beautiful. It is multifaceted and intersects with many cultures. More importantly, soul food originated out of necessity. Enslaved Africans brought to this country against their will had to learn how to endure and survive the harsh conditions of the New World. Despite being given the less desirable parts of foods, they were creative and resilient. Oxtails, Hoppin’ John, and candied yams were all born out of necessity.  Soul food is not only just good comfort food but is a symbol of resilience and hope. To recognize and honor soul food is to recognize that there is beauty in the struggle. Soul food did not originate from ingredients in overpriced grocery stores but from the local produce man selling his greens on the side of the road. Soul food does not shut others out based on socioeconomic status, it helps to create a space of inclusivity. 


As our world continues to expand and cuisines reach new tables, it is important to remember where these dishes came from. Sharing recipes, ingredients, and food is inevitable, but it does not have to be harmful. By recognizing the original histories and legacies of the food that we eat, we protect marginalized communities and acknowledge their culture. To make soul food is to create community and ensure that everyone gets a seat at the table.

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