I’ll never forget when I was a senior in high school. It was a joyous time: graduation, preparing to go off to college, moving out of the house. That spring, I decided to throw a graduation party, and invited my close friends and family. Money was tight, so we decided to throw the party in the small banquet hall of the senior citizen home my grandmom lived in. I made an invite list and cheerfully typed up and sent out directions. When my classmates that I invited received them (spoiler alert: they’re all white) they laughed and laughed. I simply couldn’t figure out what was so funny. They pointed out that my directions read something like this:…
Turn right at the light
Go down three blocks
The building is right down the street from the Popeye's
Pull into the parking lot on your right.
Now I didn’t see anything wrong there; it’s standard practice to include landmarks in driving directions! However, the use of a national fried chicken joint as said landmark only served as a never-ending source of laughter. We’re all familiar with the stereotype, but I still get asked the question:
Why do Black people love fried chicken?
The answer is actually quite simple: it’s delicious, stupid! Everyone loves fried chicken (image 1). Most people also love grape soda and cornbread. Who could resist a nice juicy piece of watermelon on a hot summer day (images 2 and 3)? No one!
Now, to be fair, there definitely are some foods that are relegated mainly to Black folks: okra and collard greens come to mind (anyone hungry yet?). The real answer is that Black people simply love bold, flavorful food. I’m convinced that Lowry’s (image 4) is the single biggest contributor to high blood pressure among Black people. One day I’m going to do a study to prove it. Additionally, diabetes-in-a-can, a.k.a. Kool-Aid, has surely caused a spike in Type II Diabetes since its creation. We are simply suckers for sugar. But again, who isn’t?
I was riding through the suburbs one day, playing loud rap music and making the old white folks I passed by feel uncomfortable, when I approached a lemonade stand on the corner. Three adorable little girls were out on a hot day, selling homemade lemonade. I wanted to be nice and support their stand, so I bought a cup. The lemonade was horrible! I’m pretty sure there was no sugar in it at all. I advised them to add much more sugar to their lemonade.
Three hours later I drove back past the lemonade stand. In that span of time, somehow a block party got started, a bunch of Black kids were playing by an opened fire plug, and people were dancing to “Cupid Shuffle” in the middle of the street. The little girls said their sales had tripled since I left. That day I taught those girls a valuable business lesson: the power of the Black dollar.
