Plated Perspectives is a new bimonthly column by Isabella Pedroza, detailing food culture in an institutional space and the histories behind everyday cuisines.
Yale hosted a dinner in its fourteen residential colleges to commemorate Martin Luther King Jr. Day. This was the menu:
Featured Dinner
Herb-Marinated Chicken Stew GF
House-Made Biscuits V
Barbecue-Style Country Pork Ribs AF, GF
Southern Gumbo VG, V
Fried Green Tomatoes
Maple Glazed Sweet Potatoes
Creamy Macaroni and Cheese V
Dinner Desserts
Peach Pie Cobbler V
Pecan Pie V
The main dish was a creamy macaroni and cheese—but not just any mac and cheese. This recipe came from James Hemings, an enslaved chef of Thomas Jefferson who became the first American to train in the culinary arts in France. While French cuisine of the time introduced macaroni and cheese as a pasta mixed in cheese sauce, Hemmings revolutionized the dish by making a layered casserole of pasta, cheese, and butter, baked until golden brown. He transformed American cuisine by introducing dishes like mac and cheese to the American plate and creating a legacy that would influence Black American cooking traditions for generations to come. Hemings’ contribution represents just one of countless innovations by Black chefs who have shaped American cuisine. Only recently have we begun to acknowledge these foundational figures in our food culture.
Thanks to the combined work of Yale Hospitality, the Afro-American Cultural Center, including Director of Culinary Excellence James Benson, Silliman College First Cook Lamar Bowers, and Assistant Dean and Director of the AfAm House Timeica E. Bethel-Macaire, JE ’11, this dinner showed that it’s possible to have culturally and historically meaningful dining experiences at Yale. Yet our understanding of cultural heritage and historical narratives through food is contingent on the labor of these individuals and not Yale as a whole. Rarely will you find explanations of the rich histories behind Yale’s dishes, the cultural significance of their ingredients, or the stories of innovators like Hemmings who shaped American cuisine. Perhaps the most recent YouTube video on Yale Hospitality’s series called “Making the Menu” marks the beginning of an attempt to historicize the food on our plates, explaining how the menu featured dishes from cities where MLK Jr. traveled to deliver his pivotal speeches. From 1965 “Where’s There’s a Will, There’s a Way” speech in Selma, Alabama, to his 1967 “Beyond Vietnam” address in New York City, James Benson and Lamar Bowers explain how each event in Dr. King’s life was paired with a dish. They demonstrate how the menu bridged the past and present, featuring both historical recipes and living culinary traditions—like the fried green tomatoes based on Lamar Bowes’ grandfather’s recipe—all while bringing personal history directly onto Yale’s tables.
Among these carefully chosen dishes was a contribution from another figure in Black culinary history. On the menu was a dish from Edna B. Lewis: a pioneering figure in American cuisine who, despite her inclusion in the menu, deserved more recognition during the dinner celebration. The oldest known written cookbook by an African American woman is attributed to her, and through her four cookbooks, Lewis not only preserved recipes but captured the stories of freed slaves and their descendants. She revolutionized what we consider Southern cooking and was a pioneer to what is now called food studies. In 1948, Lewis opened her restaurant—Cafe Nicholson—when Black female chefs were rare. Her buttermilk biscuits and herb-roasted chicken represented more than just New York on the menu; it represented Black Southern cooking traditions and history. Yet while her dishes were placed on the menu, the full scope of her revolutionary impact on American cuisine—from championing social norms to documenting Black culinary heritage—remained untold on Yale’s dinner tables.
In Davenport College, the dining hall was uniquely transformed into a temporary museum. As you entered the dining hall, a large screen displayed graphics with stories of James Hemings’ introduction of mac and cheese to America and the relationship between each menu dish and Dr. King. It spoke volumes. It was a masterclass in contextual dining—food as education, not just consumption.
But this attention to detail was the exception, not the rule. When talking about this experience to my friend, Richard George, GH ‘27, I learned that not all dining halls showed as much care and attention to detail. I know that not many people care about this, but this is what food culture is, and that’s sad. I am left with conversations among friends about how Yale is doing a disservice to its students, who leave without knowing the cultural roots of the food they consume.
The MLK dinner episode suggested that Yale is aware of food as something more than fuel, as a living, breathing cultural text. Still, with a lack of unified, comprehensive, and clear approaches to history, during special cultural dinners—whether those in celebration of Black History Month or Mexican Independence Day—the underlying message often feels performative. These meals become checkbox diversity initiatives rather than genuine cultural exchanges. The food is presented, but the land it grows on—its soul—is stripped away.
Take Mexican cuisine at Yale. Fajitas arrive on plates disconnected from their origin—a working-class Texan innovation developed by Mexican laborers in the early 20th century. These aren’t just meals; they are statements of resilience, creativity, and cultural adaptation.
Unfortunately, in our dining halls, the project of adapting culinary histories into adequate food items is fundamentally limited. But it is a problem of representation that Yale has yet to seriously address. Meals are often reduced to mere “ethnic” options, and histories are offered as factoids, sprinkled unevenly across the residential colleges. This column is my invitation to dig deeper—to consider what representation could, and should, look like.
How do we transform institutional meals from mere fuel into meaningful cultural conversations? I don’t have all the answers. This is the beginning of a personal journey—an ongoing exploration of how food carries history, struggle, innovation, and identity. Each meal tells a story if we’re willing to listen. Food is never just food. It’s memory. It’s resistance. It’s connection. It’s culture.
