Netflix limited series High on the Hog reintroduces Black people's food as crucial to American culinary history

The nature of being Black American is to always be reintroducing yourself to your history. I suppose that’s true of many cultures, if you’re willing to stipulate that the past isn’t static, that what we unearth over time reveals new truths about ourselves. But this constant looking backwards to inform and expand how we see ourselves in the present feels particularly African American. This is because, as in many historical tales, the full truth has never been the dominant narrative and has, at times, been ruthlessly obscured. Such biases and blind spots are especially apparent in food-travelogue television, where only in recent years — and mostly because of the expanded offerings on streaming platforms — has the format begun to embrace the notion that you don’t have to be white and male to host a food show. The new Netflix limited series High on the Hog: How African American Cuisine Transformed America, which starts streaming 26 May, is an incredible reframing of history that reintroduces the United States to viewers through the lens of Black people’s food — which is to say, American food. The canon of recipes and foodways emerging from Southern culture, shaped by centuries of agricultural and culinary labour by African people and their descendants, is the foundation of American cooking. The four-episode show was made by an intentionally Black creative team — itself a rarity in television. Fabienne Toback and Karis Jagger are executive producers. Roger Ross Williams is the primary director of the series, with Yoruba Richen and Jonathan Clasberry. It is based on High on the Hog: A Culinary Journey from Africa to America, a 2011 book by historian and prolific cookbook author Jessica Harris, and is hosted by Stephen Satterfield, a food writer, former sommelier and trained chef who founded Whetstone Media. At the centre of the series is the holistic experience of Black foodways, told for us, by us: our unique and complex migration, diverse customs, creativity and expertise on full display. Blending a cross-section of stories that address land and ownership, preservation and innovation, from fine dining to the outdoor pit, High on the Hog is an energetic, emotional and deeply nuanced celebration of Black people and their food. It is also sorely overdue. To understand Black food in the United States, you first must look to where Black people in the Americas descended from: West and Central Africa. Appropriately, the series begins in Benin. “It was strange to come home to a place I’d never been,” Satterfield says in the first episode, “Our Roots.” His sentiment echoes the experiences of many Black Americans who have traversed the Atlantic in search of connection and insight on the African continent, putting back ancestral pieces that were displaced centuries ago. [caption id=“attachment_9635691” align=“alignnone” width=“640”] Still from High on the Hog. Image from Twitter[/caption] Satterfield’s role is twofold: He is the viewer’s guide, responsible for asking questions we don’t yet know we have. He is also an urgent seeker, with something at stake in the journey — a level of palpable, emotional vibration that most network executives overlook in an industry-wide tendency to get in the way of Black people telling their own stories. “High on the Hog” comes at a pivotal moment in African American history. We are losing the last generation of Black folks — who are now in or around their 90s — who can remember the voices of grandparents who may have been enslaved as children. The proximity of this history is stunning. Personally, I am grateful for the opportunity and milestone that is the release of the series High on the Hog. It hits the eye, mind and soul differently than any other food television program because it simply does what so few have been willing to do: give Black people space to explore and express our own joy. Black joy has always been politicized in the United States, because Blackness was codified to justify social oppression and extreme, race-based wealth. Our rest, happiness and desire for leisure are interrogated and policed across all aspects of American culture. As the imprint of our overwhelming past remains in every aspect of our society today — as with the uprisings we’ve observed in response to the killings of Black people by police — claiming joy at every step is not just our right. It is our salvation. I’m moved by a show that features a dark-skinned Black man speaking to his community the way he does in his real life. I’m moved by a show that honours the legacy of those who celebrated the wide range of regional practices and specialities that comprise Black food culture, and did so before it was trendy to be interested in Black folks’ food. I’m thankful that the structural white gaze in the entertainment industry didn’t disrupt the vision of this project, which is soulfully linked to Black people but is expansive enough to invite all viewers to take part. But High on the Hog is ultimately a show about unbridled joy. “I want people to perceive it as celebratory,” Satterfield said. “Oftentimes when our shows get made, when our stories get told, when our food gets talked about, it’s the ‘hardship’ story. I don’t even mean celebrating resilience. I mean look at all these beautiful Black people moving uninhibited, unencumbered, in a centuries-long tradition of how we convene, shape culture, celebrate, make a living. This has always been part of our tradition as a diasporic people descending from the continent of Africa.” Harris agrees: “Our joy is enduring. It is bedrock. It is part and parcel of what has allowed us to in many ways, to survive the unspeakable. That ability, that fortitude, that kernel of a thing deep down inside is — not to be simplistic about it — but it is a real part of who we are. It has kept folks keeping on. It is that thing that most defines us.” Osayi Endolyn c.2021 The New York Times Company