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What if I told you that some of the most powerful moments of the civil rights era weren’t only fought on the streets, but also preserved at the dinner table? The marches, the sit-ins, the boycotts, these acts of courage were fueled by humble plates of food that carried history, resilience, and love. And yet, many of those soul food dishes that once fed the movement have quietly disappeared from our kitchens today. Back then, food was more than just survival. It was culture, it was comfort, and it was community. After long days of protest and planning, families and neighbors gathered around meals that stretched ingredients to their limit but overflowed with meaning. Dishes made from neck bones, hog mores, black-eyed peas, and collard greens weren’t just about taste. they were a statement of endurance in a world that often gave them scraps and expected them to settle. Instead, they transformed those scraps into meals that nourished the body and strengthened the spirit. Today, we rarely see those same recipes on the table. Fast food, changing tastes, and forgotten traditions have pushed many of them aside. But hidden in those lost dishes is a story of how ordinary people stood tall during extraordinary times, and how food stitched families and movements together when everything else tried to tear them apart. So, in this video, we’re going to uncover 15 lost soul food dishes that once fed the civil rights era. Each one tells a tale of struggle, creativity, and unshakable hope. And if you want to keep this journey alive, make sure you hit that subscribe button, because together we’re bringing back not just recipes, but the memories and history that shaped them. Part 1 Neck Bone Stew When people think of comfort food, they might picture fried chicken or mac and cheese, but during the civil rights era, comfort often came in a steaming pot of neck bone stew. It was the kind of dish that turned a tough, overlooked cut of meat into something rich, filling, and deeply soulful. Neck bones were cheap, sometimes even given away by butchers who didn’t see much value in them. But in black households across the South and in northern cities where families had migrated, those bones became the base of a meal that stretched far beyond its humble beginnings. Simmered low and slow with onions, garlic, and whatever vegetables or beans were on hand, the meat would tenderize until it fell right off the bone, releasing a broth that was hearty enough to fill empty stomachs after long, exhausting days. For many families, neck bone stew wasn’t just about taste, it was survival. During the Civil Rights Movement, activists and everyday people needed food that was affordable, nourishing, and could feed a crowd. This stew did exactly that. It carried the memory of earlier generations who had learned to transform, discarded, cuts into dishes worth savouring, keeping alive traditions rooted in resilience. And there was something about gathering around a pot of stew that made it more than just dinner. It was a reminder that even in hard times, there could be warmth, togetherness, and hope simmering in the kitchen. Today, neck bone stew is rarely seen on dinner tables, but for those who grew up with it, the memory is unforgettable. It’s proof that food doesn’t need to be fancy to be powerful, it just needs to tell a story. Pig’s Feet with Collards In the kitchens of the civil rights era, nothing went to waste, and pig’s feet proved exactly that. What some saw as scraps, black families transformed into flavorful, comforting meals that carried both history and heart. Paired with collard greens, pig’s feet became a dish that not only filled plates but also symbolized endurance in a time of struggle. Pig’s feet were cheap, sometimes even the only cutter family could afford. Slowly simmered for hours, they released a gelatin-rich broth that was silky, savory, and deeply satisfying. Collard greens, cooked right alongside, soaked up that flavor until every bite tasted of patience and love. With cornbread on the side, this was a complete meal, simple, affordable, and nourishing enough to keep families strong. But beyond the taste, this dish carried memory. Pig’s feet and collards were rooted in traditions passed down from enslaved ancestors who made the best of what little they had. During the 1950s and 60s, when activists returned from marches or meetings,Meals like this were waiting, reminders that no matter how hard the world pressed down, there was still joy and comfort to be found around the dinner table. For many, the smell of collards simmering with pork meant safety, family, and belonging. It was food that hugged the soul, even when times outside the kitchen were turbulent. Today, pig’s feet with collards is rarely served in mainstream kitchens. but its story lingers. It’s a dish that reminds us of a people’s unshakable creativity, the ability to turn overlooked ingredients into something unforgettable. Chitlings, Chitlins Few dishes spark as much memory and debate as chitlings, or chitlins. Made from the small intestines of pigs, chitlins were once considered the very definition of making something out of nothing. And during the civil rights era, this dish was more than food, it was history simmering in a pot. Chitlins were not glamorous. They took hours of careful cleaning and long, slow cooking just to be edible. But for families with limited means, they represented resourcefulness. When seasoned with vinegar, onions, garlic, and spices, the tough cuts transformed into a meal rich in flavour and tradition. Often served with hot sauce and cornbread, Chitlins brought people together around the table, especially during holidays and special gatherings. Their roots stretched back to slavery, when enslaved people were given only the unwanted parts of animals. Turning those discards into a dish worth eating became both a necessity and an act of resilience. By the 1960s, chitlins had become deeply tied to African-American food culture, even giving birth to the so-called Chitlin-er Circuit, a network of black-owned clubs and theatres where legendary performers entertained audiences during segregation. For many in the Civil Rights Movement, chitlins symbolized survival and identity. Eating them was a way of honouring the past, embracing heritage, and finding comfort in the familiar when the outside world felt hostile. Today, Chitlins have faded from many kitchens, remembered more in stories than in recipes. But for those who grew up with their unmistakable aroma filling the house, they remain a dish tied to family, community, and the strength of turning hardship into tradition. Part for Ham Hock and Beans When money was tight and the days were long, few meals worked harder than ham hock and beans. This dish was a staple during the civil rights era, filling kitchens with the slow, savoury aroma of smoked pork simmering alongside hearty beans. It wasn’t fancy, but it was filling, affordable, and packed with flavour that lingered long after the pot was empty. Ham hocks were one of the least expensive cuts at the butcher, often smoked to preserve them and sold cheaply. When paired with dry beans, whether pinto, navy, or black-eyed peas, they created a stew that could feed an entire family. As the hock cooked down, it released smoky richness into the broth, tenderizing the beans and turning simple ingredients into a soulful masterpiece. A side of cornbread often completed the meal, soaking up every last drop. For civil rights activists, students, and working families, ham hock and beans carried more than nutrition. It represented community. A single pot could be stretched to feed neighbors, friends, or fellow organizers gathering after long days of protest or planning meetings. Shared from one bowl to another, it nourished not just the body but also the spirit of togetherness. The dish also echoed deep historical roots. Enslaved people had once relied on discarded pork cuts like hocks to survive, and by the 20th century, that tradition evolved into meals that carried memory and resilience. Eating ham hock and beans was a quiet continuation of making the most out of what was available and making it delicious. Today, this dish is rare outside of soul food kitchens, but its story endures. It reminds us that strength isn’t found in luxury, it’s found in the meals that kept families and movements going when times were hardest. Smothered Turkey Necks In the kitchens of the civil rights era, nothing went to waste, and turkey necks were proof of that. What many butchers and shoppers overlooked, black families turned into a dish so rich and comforting it could rival any Sunday roast. Smothered turkey necks weren’t just a meal, they were a symbol of making something special out of almost nothing. Turkey necks were cheap, meaty enough to fill a pot, and tough until cooked low and slow. Families would brown them, then simmer them in a gravy of onions, garlic, peppers, and spices until the meat fell tender from the bone. Poured over rice or mashed potatoes, the dish became hearty, soulful, and deeply satisfying. The gravy itself was a treasure, thick, savoury, and stretching the meal to feed as many mouths as needed. For civil rights activists and working families, smothered turkey necks offered strength and comfort after long, exhausting days. Around the table, people shared not only food but also hope, encouragement, and resolve to keep moving forward. The dish spoke of resilience, taking what society overlooked and proving it could be turned into something powerful and sustaining. The tradition of cooking turkey next reached back generations, rooted in the resourcefulness of enslaved and working-class families who knew how to transform the simplest cuts into meals worth remembering. During the 1950s and 60s, this resourcefulness carried forward, reminding communities that joy and flavor could still be found even in difficult times. Today, smothered turkey necks are rarely seen outside of southern kitchens, but their legacy remains strong. They tell a story of creativity, pride, and the strength found in every pot of soul food that carried a movement through struggle and into history. Part 6 Cow Tongue Stew Cow tongue might sound unusual today, but during the civil rights era, it was a dish that spoke to resourcefulness and tradition. Known for its tender, flavourful meat, cow tongue stew was a way to turn an often overlooked cut into a hearty meal that filled both bellies and hearts. Butchers sold cow tongue cheaply, making it accessible for families who needed to stretch every dollar. After careful cleaning and slow cooking, the tongue transformed into melt-in-your-mouth meat that was shredded or sliced into a rich stew. Simmered with onions, carrots, potatoes, and spices, it created a dish as comforting as any beef roast, but at a fraction of the cost. Served with rice,Cornbread or greens, cow tongue stew was both economical and deeply satisfying. For many black families, this dish wasn’t strange at all. It was a continuation of food traditions passed down through generations. Cooking cow tongue echoed the same creativity that had long defined soul food, taking what others cast aside and making it memorable. In the 1950s and 60s, when times were tough and money was scarce, meals like this carried families through. Beyond its flavour, cow tongue stew represented unity. Pots of it were often large enough to share, bringing together neighbors, relatives and friends after long days of labour or activism. Around the table, this dish reminded people that strength was found in communityAnd in never letting anything go to waste. Today, cow tongue stew is rarely found in mainstream kitchens, often forgotten as a relic of old-fashioned cooking. But for those who grew up with it, the memory lingers a rich, soulful dish that turned hardship into heritage. Hogmore with Potatoes Hogmore, better known as the pig’s stomach, was one of those cuts few people outside of soul food kitchens dared to touch. But during the civil rights era, it was transformed into a dish so hearty and flavorful that it became a staple in many homes: Hogmore with Potatoes. Cleaning the Hogmore took time and care, but once prepared, it was usually stuffed or simmered with diced potatoes, onions, and seasoning until everything blended into a rich, savory stew. The potatoes absorbed the flavor of the pork, creating a dish that was both filling and affordable, perfect for feeding large families or unexpected guests. With cornbread on the side, this was comfort food at its finest, simple, nourishing, and deeply satisfying. Like many soul food dishes, Hogmore had roots stretching back to slavery, when the least desirable cuts were often all that was available. Families carried those traditions forward, proving again and again that even the humblest ingredients could be turned into something worth gathering around. By the 1950s and 60s, Hogmore with potatoes was still feeding households across the South and beyond, often appearing on the table after church or during family get-togethers. But it wasn’t just about eating, it was about pride. Serving Hogmore showed the strength of a community that refused to waste, creating culture and flavour out of what others dismissed. For many who marched, organized, and pushed forward in the civil rights movement, meals like this provided both fuel and comfort after long, demanding days. Today, Hogmore with potatoes has nearly vanished from mainstream cooking, remembered mainly by older generations. Yet its story remains a dish born of survival, carried by tradition, and filled with the kind of soul that defines true comfort food. Oxtail Soup In today’s world, oxtail is considered a delicacy, but during the Civil Rights era it was one of the most affordable cuts of meat. What others dismissed as scraps, black families turned into one of the richest, most comforting meals imaginable: oxtail soup. Oxtails were tough and bony, but with patience they became tender and flavourful. Slowly simmered for hours with onions, celery, carrots, beans, or potatoes, the tails released a deep, beefy flavor that thickened the broth into something closer to a stew. The marrow inside the bones added richness, making the soup hearty enough to carry a family through the hungriest of nights. With cornbread or rice on the side, it wasn’t just a meal, it was an experience. For civil rights activists, students, and working parents, this dish was fuel. It was affordable, it could stretch to feed a crowd, and it carried warmth that nourished the spirit as much as the body. Around kitchen tables, oxtail soup brought people together after long days of marching, organising, or working. It reminded them that even in hard times, good food could restore strength and hope. The story of oxtail soup also stretches back to earlier generations. Enslaved people were often given only leftover cuts like tails and feet. Transforming those cuts into something deeply satisfying became both necessity and art, passed down through families until it became tradition. By the 1950s and 60s, it was a dish rooted in both memory and survival. Today, oxtail is expensive, and the slow, careful preparation means many no longer cook it at home. But its legacy remains proof that with time, patience, and care, the humblest ingredients can create meals powerful enough to carry history forward. Part 10 Chicken Feet Stew Chicken feet may seem unusual today, but during the Civil Rights era, they were a common and beloved dish in many black households. When nothing could be wasted, chicken feet stew was a way to take what others ignored and transform it into a flavorful, nourishing meal that fed both body and soul. Chicken feet were almost free at the butcher, often tossed aside as useless. But with patience, cooks knew how to unlock their hidden richness. Simmered for hours with onions, celery, garlic, and spices, the feet released collagen that thickened the broth into a silky stew. Potatoes, beans, or rice were often added to make it filling,and the result was a dish that could stretch to feed an entire family. For working families and civil rights activists, chicken feet stew represented more than just resourcefulness, it was resilience in action. It showed that even the parts of the chicken considered worthless could be turned into something deeply comforting. Around crowded tables, this dish became a reminder that strength was not measured by wealth, but by the creativity to thrive with whatever was available. The tradition of cooking chicken feet reached back through generations. Enslaved people had long relied on discarded cuts, and the skill to transform them into memorable meals became an inheritance passed down through the years. By the 1950s and 60s,that inheritance still fed households, carrying forward the spirit of making do without giving up joy. Today, chicken feet stew has nearly disappeared from mainstream American kitchens, though it survives in some Southern and international food traditions. For those who remember it, the dish is more than nostalgia. It’s a story of survival, pride, and the beauty of finding flavor where others saw none. Part 11 Potted Meat and Crackers Not every meal of the civil rights era came from a long simmering pot. Sometimes, survival and comfort were found in the simplest pantry staples, and few were as common as potted meat and crackers. Cheap, portable, and filling, this humble pairing sustained countless families, workers, and activists when money and time were scarce. Potted meat, usually canned, heavily seasoned, and made from inexpensive cuts, was an easy way to get protein without refrigeration. Spread on saltine crackers or bread, it became a quick meal that could travel anywhere, in lunch boxes, picnic baskets, or even tucked into a bag during long bus rides to protests and marches. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was dependable, and in hard times, dependability mattered most. For many black families in the 1950s and ’60s, potted meat and crackers symbolized resilience. Parents stretched a few cans to feed hungry children, and community gatherings often saw plates of crackers topped with potted meat served alongside sweet tea or pickles. It carried echoes of earlier traditions, when survival meant finding nourishment in the most overlooked foods. This dish also had an emotional side. For children, it was often a first taste of independence, something they could prepare themselves. For adults, it was a reminder that even the simplest meals could provide strength when the fight for justice demanded every ounce of energy. Today, potted meat has largely fallen out of favour, remembered mostly as a relic of leaner times. Yet its role during the civil rights era shouldn’t be forgotten. It fed bodies on the move, kept bellies full when money was thin, and reminded families that no matter how little they had, they could still make it stretch. Part 12 Cracklin Cornbread Cornbread has always been a cornerstone of soul food, but during the Civil Rights era, one variation stood out in particular: Cracklin cornbread. Simple, rustic and unforgettable, this dish carried the taste of tradition and the story of making the most of what was on hand. Cracklins Crispy bits of rendered pork fat or skin were often the by-product of butchering hogs. Instead of being discarded, they were folded into cornbread batter, giving each bite a smoky crunch. The result was a cornbread that was heartier, richer, and far more filling than the plain version. Served alongside beans, greens, or stew, it became the kind of side dish that could stretch a meal and make even the simplest dinner feel complete. For families in the 1950s and 60s, cracklin cornbread wasn’t just about taste. It was about tradition. Generations of African-American cooks had relied on cornbread as a staple, and adding cracklins was a way to honor both resourcefulness and flavor. During long days of marches, meetings, or organizing, a piece of cracklin, cornbread with beans might be all someone needed to regain strength and keep moving forward. It also carried a sense of community. Baking cornbread in cast iron skillets was a ritual, one that filled kitchens with warmth and a smell that brought families together. Even when money was scarce, crackling cornbread felt like a treat, a reminder that creativity could turn scraps into comfort. Today, crackling cornbread has largely disappeared from mainstream tables, replaced by sweeter, cake-like versions. But in its time, it was the bread of resilience, humble, savoury, and tied to the strength of a people who knew how to make every bike count.
Dining and Cooking