The warmth of Black traditions around the Thanksgiving table
Golden sunlight that cascades through open windows. A hot oven and the friction of bodies moving in the kitchen. The earthy-sweet aroma of curry, cinnamon and cloves in the air. When I think of Black holiday gatherings, I recall warmth in all its iterations.
With a diaspora that touches every corner of the globe, there is both overlap and incredible diversity among pan-African cuisines. Some culinary traditions have been painstakingly passed down from generation to generation, while others have been absorbed through migration, marriage and countless other means and life circumstances. Yet no matter where you are or what you’re eating, a sense of apricity — the warmth of the sun in the winter — is present.
It settles over the table as Rashida Holmes, the founder of Caribbean restaurant Bridgetown Roti, and her family pass plates of dirty rice, macaroni pie and callaloo back and forth. I feel it too, in Nigerian and Kenyan American cookbook author Kiano Moju’s West Hollywood condo as she, her mother and her aunt chop fine spirals of collard greens to the rhythm of Afrobeats music. It reverberates in the laughter of John and Roni Cleveland, owners of Post & Beam, as they watch their son eagerly pull from a tower of cookies. It beams from culinary artist Nia Lee’s face as they drop a fistful of flower petals onto a frosted cake.
These L.A.-based cooks opened their homes and one restaurant to us, introducing us to family and friends and sharing the dishes that define their Thanksgiving celebrations year after year. Some of these recipes may feel familiar, but each features its own sprawling influences.
Saucy lamb biriyani is heaped over saffron-perfumed basmati rice, telling the culinary history of Arab traders who settled in Kenya and along the Swahili coast. From the same region, sukuma wiki adds depth to simple sauteed collard greens with ginger and garlic. A curry-bright macaroni and cheese pie proudly points to Barbados as its inspiration. For dessert, a family holiday cookie gets the California treatment with farmers market produce, and a carrot cake recipe is adapted from the Godmother of Soul’s cookbook to honor a pioneering queer activist.
Rashida Holmes, chef and owner of Bridgetown Roti
Thanksgiving is the one day when chef Rashida Holmes gladly bows out from cooking.
“Growing up, both of my parents were great cooks, so I’ve always enjoyed eating,” Holmes said. “To this day, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because I don’t have to cook and I get to eat.”
Gilbert Holmes and Joy Clarke-Holmes, who both have Bajan roots and met in New York, left the Big Apple when Holmes was still young, settling in New Jersey, Texas and then Maryland before moving to Southern California 11 years ago. Even as the location changed, the pair became known in their circles for hosting exceptional holiday parties, with Thanksgiving always kicking off the season.
Included in the annual spread is the macaroni and cheese pie that is one of the most popular dishes at Bridgetown Roti, the colorful East Hollywood restaurant that Holmes opened alongside her mother and business partner Malique Smith in July. It stands apart from competing versions thanks to a zing of curry and a crispy baked crust. On Thanksgiving, Holmes likes to pour her father's homemade gravy on top.
Another distinguishing factor in Holmes’ macaroni and cheese? The use of fusilli instead of macaroni noodles.
“The thing that’s great about this noodle is that you can get all your cheesiness into its crevices, where a macaroni noodle is sort of one-note, smooth on the outside,” Holmes said. “Now some people would say that the sauce would go inside, but we’re not making a saucy mac and cheese, we’re making mac and cheese pie.”
A key difference between Southern-style mac and cheese and macaroni pie is the addition of eggs to the recipe, said Holmes. She also uses evaporated milk in place of regular milk, a common substitute in Barbados where there’s limited access to fresh cow’s milk. She suspects it lends the finished pie a slightly richer finish.
Read more: Rashida Holmes' Macaroni And Cheese Pie
Holmes’ macaroni pie contains five cheeses: the usual cheddar and Jack mix, with pepper jack cheese for heat, Gouda for creaminess and Parmesan for saltiness. The noodles are seasoned in a butter mixture with cumin, fresh garlic, and onion and curry powders, but Holmes highlights fresh thyme as the most important herb.
“It makes the whole dish,” she said. “It adds freshness and it’s almost on the minty side, but thyme is completely unique versus other herbs. I think it brings out the flavor of the cheese.”
There were nine of us seated around the table in Gilbert and Joy's Pasadena bungalow that afternoon — 10 if you count Holmes’ toddler, Theo, who began the meal in a high chair angled toward his grandparents but shortly afterward went down for a nap.
After we had half-finished our plates of roast chicken, rice and peas, callaloo and macaroni and cheese pie, each person took a turn naming something they were grateful for, a somewhat recent family tradition.
“Wife and child,” Holmes was quick to say when it was her turn, then added, “All of the grandparents who are keeping us from falling apart. This guy … .” At that, she gestured to Malique. “And the restaurant and the crew. They’ve come together, and it’s working. … We’re humming at a nice little clip right now, and it feels really good.”
Kiano Moju, author of 'AfriCali' cookbook
There is little routine for Kiano Moju and her family when it comes to Thanksgiving. Usually, Moju or her aunt Juliet Solitei will make a big breakfast, unconcerned about spoiling appetites for later. Then they’ll leave the kitchen as is — saving cleanup for later — to lounge, hang out and relax. Dinner happens in the evening, depending on when they get hungry, sometimes as late as 8 p.m.
For Moju’s mother, Katano Kasaine, who was born to a traditional Maasai family in Kenya and moved to the U.S. in the early 1980s, it has always been important that Thanksgiving dinner be free from stress and tension.
“By the time a lot of families sit down, everybody is tired or the conversation at the table can be stressful sometimes,” Kasaine said. “Back home, you don’t have structured holidays. You invite the village and you’re all hanging out, no structure, no nothing. So the minute I had my family I said, ‘We're never going to be formal.’ The bottom line for us is enjoyment.”
She snuck a glance at her daughter and added, “Kiano likes formality, so the compromise is we set the table really pretty.”
Kasaine doesn’t like turkey, but as a child, Moju requested Thanksgiving spreads that looked similar to her friends’ and what she saw on TV, and for many years the family acquiesced. As Moju’s interest in cooking grew and she gained more responsibility in the family kitchen, the annual platter of turkey breast shrank, until one year it was gone altogether.
Now, there is rarely a standard menu for Thanksgiving dinner. This year Moju is making biriyani, with lamb for special-occasion flair. To pair with the saucy rice dish, Solitei made sukuma wiki, an easy dish you’ll find served as a side or main in Kenya, with tendrils of collard greens sauteed with garlic, tomato and fresh ginger.
Kasaine, who stepped back from cooking as Moju sharpened her skills, dropped lentil samosas into a small pot of oil, with Moju occasionally prodding her to pay attention (“Your oil is ready,” she told her mother with a side glance, and, “Time to turn that one over.”).
All three are recipes from Moju’s recently released “AfriCali” cookbook, which charts the Kenyan and Nigerian dishes she grew up with, the diverse flavors of her California upbringing and inspiration from her international travels.
Read more: Kiano Moju's Swahili Lamb Biriyani
After we sat down to eat, Times photographer Jason Armond remarked on the velvety texture of Moju’s lamb. “I’ve cooked lamb before and it’s never this tender,” he said.
“Time,” Moju replied. “It’s always time. Any meat will eventually soften, you just need time. It’s also marinated in yogurt, which helps break it down.”
A distinguishing factor between Indian biriyani and what Moju calls Swahili-style biriyani, common in both Kenya and Tanzania, is the layering effect. The lamb simmers in a rich tomato sauce that’s scented with garlic, ginger and coriander, while the rice cooks in saffron water in a separate pot. When the dish is ready to serve, the rice is layered at the bottom of the platter and the lamb is spooned into the center with fried shallots and sliced chiles scattered on top.
“See,” Moju said, gesturing across the spread with satisfaction. “This is how it is.”
Read more: Kiano Moju's Sukuma Wiki
John Cleveland, chef and owner of Post & Beam
John Cleveland isn’t sure when his family first started making mincemeat cookies. He knows that his grandmother made them when she was growing up and that he’s eaten them every holiday since he can remember.
The chef, who co-owns the California soul restaurant Post & Beam with his wife, Roni Cleveland, started making his own mincemeat cookies after he moved to Los Angeles from Chapel Hill, N.C., in 2012. He isn’t always able to fly home for the holidays, and some years making the cookies himself is the only way he can enjoy them.
Read more: John Cleveland's Holiday Cookies
Growing up, Cleveland’s family used jarred mincemeat in their holiday cookies, but after learning that Malinda Russell, the first known African American woman to publish a cookbook, used mincemeat in her pie recipes, he began obsessively developing his own version, tweaking the family cookie recipe along the way.
Lard was swapped for duck fat and all-purpose flour was traded for Sonoran wheat. The laborious mincemeat calls for rib-eye, suet, brown sugar, Uncle Nearest whiskey, an apple juice syrup that Cleveland reduces himself, and a mix of dried and fresh fruits that rotate based on what Cleveland is able to source at the farmers market (recently, it was Granny Smith apples, dates, currants and persimmons), with much of it candied and dried in-house.
Biting into the cookie presents a delicious puzzle to unpack. It’s soft, slightly crumbly, rich and comforting yet surprisingly light, with warm bursts of cinnamon and clove cutting through.
“It gives you chocolate chip cookie vibes because of how the mincemeat folds into the cookie,” Cleveland said. “But the cookie itself is like a super soft sugar cookie. It’s unassuming — you just wouldn’t think you’d get that much flavor from a cookie.”
Even Miles, the Clevelands’ 7-year-old son, looked up from his Nintendo Switch when he heard the tell-tale scrape of the cookie sheet being pulled from the restaurant’s brick oven.
“Cookies!” he exclaimed.
Nia Lee, food futurist
Holidays were a big deal in Nia Lee’s home growing up. “My mom was the hostess with the mostest. She’s the kind of person where, if you come over, you will wake up to one of those big movie breakfasts.”
When Lee moved to L.A. alone in 2017, they missed that festive spirit. But as their local community blossomed, they found themselves filling a similar role.
“A lot of folks who live here aren't able to find reprieve in their family's homes,” Lee said. “My home has kind of become the place to commune and to fellowship.”
Lee even uses a carrot cake recipe first introduced to them by their mother, adopted from Patti LaBelle’s cookbook “LaBelle Cuisine: Recipes to Sing About.” Over the years, Lee has molded the recipe into their own, one that specifically honors early LGBTQ+ activist Marsha P. Johnson.
“I’m really inspired by Marsha’s life and legacy because there was such a levity and lightness to how she moved through this world, and how, despite every hurdle of socioeconomics, racism, homophobia, et cetera, she was able to live and move audaciously. When I think of warmth and creativity and softness, I think of Marsha, and that’s also the energy I want to infuse into this cake,” Lee said.
Read more: Nia Lee's 'Pay It No Mind' Carrot Cake
“The original recipe has nuts, raisins and chunks of pineapple, which mine does not,” they said. “I’m really big on the metaphor of this cake feeling like a big warm hug and I’ve never wanted to hug a walnut.”
A self-described food futurist, Lee uses food as a conduit for building community and creating delicious futures. “I think food has always been doing that, especially for Black and brown people, especially for queer people,” they said.
That means setting the table for Thanksgiving begins long before Lee enters the kitchen. In our case, it began the day before the gathering in downtown L.A., where Lee visited their favorite wholesale father-and-son flower vendor and Suay, a sewing and production shop that pays workers livable wages and recycles postconsumer waste and dead-stock fabric.
In the same spirit, Lee shopped for recipe ingredients at Süpermarkt, a low-cost grocer in South L.A. that was opened by Olympia Auset earlier this year with the goal of combating food deserts.
“I’m just trying to be purposeful at every level,” Lee said.
On the day of the party, that purposefulness turned into a keen eye for detail. Flowers were artfully arranged in vases, with petals strewn across place settings. Silver platters of halved gooseberries and cubes of cheese drizzled with olive oil were set out for grazing while Lee finished an ambitious spread of roasted sweet potatoes with salsa verde, smoked cabbage with harissa, baked beans, dirty rice, smothered kale and vegan gumbo. That was not counting the two carrot cakes displayed on turntables waiting to be frosted.
Aligned with Lee’s intention, everyone took their time when they sat down to eat. They filled one another's plates generously, laughing and chatting between bites, and releasing deep purrs of satisfaction as each morsel hit their taste buds.
There were no false protests when Lee brought out the frosted carrot cakes, which they sprinkled with flower petals before serving. Only approving oohs and aahs, and then, silence as everyone allowed themselves to be enveloped by the soft sweetness of the dessert.
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This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
