by Tony Robles
If you’re a native San Franciscan, you know the sound. It’s as sweet as the smell of BBQ ribs and cornbread and sweet potato pie when the city had soul food restaurants all over with Black folks cooking in black kitchens on black grills with black pots and pans bubbling music in the background, in the foreground – all over.
Imagine that, Black folks cooking soul food in a soul food restaurant – not like what you see when you walk in the city today. The Black and Brown laughter I grew up with was nourishment; it told me where my mother and father had been, where my ancestors had been; it told me who I was.