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When the Foods That White People Used to Shun Become Trendy
The last time I went grocery shopping, I noticed a package of kale chips on a shelf. The price listed directly underneath the chips read $5.19.
I didn’t pick up those chips because I didn’t want to contribute to the gentrification of food. Interestingly, a snack that didn’t exist forty years ago has now caught on with hipsters who live in my neighborhood. And I don’t mean interesting in a good way. Interesting in a problematic way.
Food does more than just fuel our bodies. It’s part of the social fabric of a community and defines a culture. However, oppressors, in this case, white people, cause harm when they take a food traditionally eaten by BIPOC, drive up demand for it by proclaiming it trendy, and jack up the price of the food in question to the point where the people who traditionally ate it can’t afford it, exacerbating the problems of food as well as health inequality.
These greens traditionally were prepared by slicing them into delicate stalks or rolling them into tight little bundles. Cuts of smoked meat were added to the greens and then the food was seasoned, covered in water, and left to simmer on a stove for a couple of hours until the meat and the greens became tender. Because of the long preparation time, these greens aren’t often consumed as everyday fare but relegated to special occasions or Sunday dinner. They have long been considered the staples of soul food.
I grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood. During my childhood in the 1970s and 1980s, I never knew any white person who ate kale or collard greens. The nearest supermarket to our house often didn’t stock them fresh. My mother often had to travel to predominantly Black neighborhoods if she wanted these greens fresh. It’s so ironic that these same foods that my white neighbors and classmates ignored or regarded as unpalatable throughout my children are now deemed trendy by their children or grandchildren.
Food gentrification reframes an affordable, comforting form of sustenance for members of a racialized group into an unrecognizable form that is elevated and reinvented for the sensibilities of the dominant group, which connotes that the food from the original group is cheap, unhealthy, or nasty. Gentrified food appeals to the bland and unadventurous palate of its consumers. As such, I likely will never spend a penny on kale chips. They will likely never satisfy me in the same way as kale cooked in ham hocks does.
Gentrified neighborhoods often weathered redlining and economic disinvestment, only to be “reinvented” and “revitalized” by affluent, white people who transform these communities into unrecognizable and unaffordable spaces for longtime Black and brown residents. I know whereof I speak because I live in such an area.
The most common solutions offered to mitigate food deserts (neighborhoods that lack access to supermarkets that stock fresh produce) and food inequality end up exacerbating these problems. For instance, supermarket “greenling” is the practice of bringing supermarkets into gentrifying neighborhoods where they stock organic and locally produced food items at a higher price point.
They appeal to younger, white, higher-income shoppers as they market themselves as ethical businesses that value the neighborhoods where they are located. Meanwhile, poor residents are without affordable places to buy groceries. They can’t afford to pay $8 for a pint of strawberries. These residents can be forced to shop at bodegas or dollar stores that sell packaged food and don’t sell fresh produce.
Another example is when assets like community gardens, established by food advocates to increase food justice and sovereignty for low-income BIPOC residents, become selling points for real estate agents working in “up and coming” neighborhoods. Despite community gardens’ missions to serve long-term residents, they signal to developers that a neighborhood is ready for redevelopment. These green spaces wind up appealing to the sensibilities of white, affluent potential residents which only perpetuates gentrification.
Additionally, food organizations that operate at a profit are more likely to contribute to green gentrification, as they must answer to the needs of the more affluent residents whose support pays their bills.
How do we combat food gentrification? CUNY’s Urban Food Policy Institute centers on hyper-local strategies such as paying attention to local food policy and zoning regulations, participating in neighborhood planning meetings, supporting organizations fighting for affordable housing, and lobbying city agencies involved in economic development.
These strategies take a lot of time and effort which I as well as many other people who need to work two jobs to make ends meet don’t have. While leaving a package of kale chips on the shelf seems an inadequate solution to the problem, it’s the easiest thing at my disposal that I can do. Grocers won’t stock items that don’t sell. Perhaps if more people stopped buying gentrified versions of food that oppressors co-opted from BIPOC, marginalized communities would experience true food justice.
When the Foods That White People Used to Shun Become Trendy
The last time I went grocery shopping, I noticed a package of kale chips on a shelf. The price listed directly underneath the chips read $5.19.
Real life example of food gentrification
I’d seen kale chips before but never tried them. I didn’t pick up those chips on my last grocery run either. It wasn’t because of the cost. Those chips cost roughly the same as Doritos or Lay’s, give or take fifty cents. It wasn’t because I didn’t think I’d like the taste of them. I’d grown up eating kale and still eat it as part of my diet.I didn’t pick up those chips because I didn’t want to contribute to the gentrification of food. Interestingly, a snack that didn’t exist forty years ago has now caught on with hipsters who live in my neighborhood. And I don’t mean interesting in a good way. Interesting in a problematic way.
Food does more than just fuel our bodies. It’s part of the social fabric of a community and defines a culture. However, oppressors, in this case, white people, cause harm when they take a food traditionally eaten by BIPOC, drive up demand for it by proclaiming it trendy, and jack up the price of the food in question to the point where the people who traditionally ate it can’t afford it, exacerbating the problems of food as well as health inequality.
How a food gets gentrified
Kale is just one example. As I stated earlier, I grew up eating the vegetable, along with collard greens. While these vegetables originated in the Mediterranean and date to prehistoric times, during slavery, they were two of the few that the enslaved were allowed to grow.These greens traditionally were prepared by slicing them into delicate stalks or rolling them into tight little bundles. Cuts of smoked meat were added to the greens and then the food was seasoned, covered in water, and left to simmer on a stove for a couple of hours until the meat and the greens became tender. Because of the long preparation time, these greens aren’t often consumed as everyday fare but relegated to special occasions or Sunday dinner. They have long been considered the staples of soul food.
I grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood. During my childhood in the 1970s and 1980s, I never knew any white person who ate kale or collard greens. The nearest supermarket to our house often didn’t stock them fresh. My mother often had to travel to predominantly Black neighborhoods if she wanted these greens fresh. It’s so ironic that these same foods that my white neighbors and classmates ignored or regarded as unpalatable throughout my children are now deemed trendy by their children or grandchildren.
Food gentrification reframes an affordable, comforting form of sustenance for members of a racialized group into an unrecognizable form that is elevated and reinvented for the sensibilities of the dominant group, which connotes that the food from the original group is cheap, unhealthy, or nasty. Gentrified food appeals to the bland and unadventurous palate of its consumers. As such, I likely will never spend a penny on kale chips. They will likely never satisfy me in the same way as kale cooked in ham hocks does.
Food gentrification goes along with gentrification of urban neighborhoods
Food gentrification works hand in hand with the gentrification of American cities, where the character of a poor urban area is changed by white and affluent people moving in, improving housing, and attracting new businesses, which typically displace poorer, Black and brown residents in the process.Gentrified neighborhoods often weathered redlining and economic disinvestment, only to be “reinvented” and “revitalized” by affluent, white people who transform these communities into unrecognizable and unaffordable spaces for longtime Black and brown residents. I know whereof I speak because I live in such an area.
The most common solutions offered to mitigate food deserts (neighborhoods that lack access to supermarkets that stock fresh produce) and food inequality end up exacerbating these problems. For instance, supermarket “greenling” is the practice of bringing supermarkets into gentrifying neighborhoods where they stock organic and locally produced food items at a higher price point.
They appeal to younger, white, higher-income shoppers as they market themselves as ethical businesses that value the neighborhoods where they are located. Meanwhile, poor residents are without affordable places to buy groceries. They can’t afford to pay $8 for a pint of strawberries. These residents can be forced to shop at bodegas or dollar stores that sell packaged food and don’t sell fresh produce.
Another example is when assets like community gardens, established by food advocates to increase food justice and sovereignty for low-income BIPOC residents, become selling points for real estate agents working in “up and coming” neighborhoods. Despite community gardens’ missions to serve long-term residents, they signal to developers that a neighborhood is ready for redevelopment. These green spaces wind up appealing to the sensibilities of white, affluent potential residents which only perpetuates gentrification.
Additionally, food organizations that operate at a profit are more likely to contribute to green gentrification, as they must answer to the needs of the more affluent residents whose support pays their bills.
How do we combat food gentrification? CUNY’s Urban Food Policy Institute centers on hyper-local strategies such as paying attention to local food policy and zoning regulations, participating in neighborhood planning meetings, supporting organizations fighting for affordable housing, and lobbying city agencies involved in economic development.
These strategies take a lot of time and effort which I as well as many other people who need to work two jobs to make ends meet don’t have. While leaving a package of kale chips on the shelf seems an inadequate solution to the problem, it’s the easiest thing at my disposal that I can do. Grocers won’t stock items that don’t sell. Perhaps if more people stopped buying gentrified versions of food that oppressors co-opted from BIPOC, marginalized communities would experience true food justice.
