black food doesn't need elevating

i’ve always been fascinated by how language shapes the way we see and understand the world, ourselves and each other. back in 2014 i even started a linguistics degree, but i lasted exactly one year before switching to politics and sociology... phonetics just wasn’t for me, and i was drawn instead to the bigger picture of power, society, and culture - philosophy with people in it. a decade later though, that curiosity still remains, especially when it comes to how we talk about food and how those words shape our relationship with nourishment.

one word i’ve recently come to really resent and resist is “elevated.” 

elevated comfort food, elevated caribbean dining — at first glance, it might seem like a compliment, a nod to creativity or refinement. but what does elevated really even mean? and more importantly, what does it imply?

“elevated” is a word that has followed my work, and while i have no doubt it’s meant kindly, it often strikes me as a quiet way of saying: the original was lacking until it was reframed through someone else’s standards. london is painfully lacking in authentic soul food restaurants, and it is seldom recognised or appreciated as a legitimate ethnic cuisine that holds the stories and the spirit of black americans in the same way that italian food does for italians, for example. many food businesses misappropriate the term, with zero reference to its history or acknowledgment of the people who developed it. the belief by many that soul food is unhealthy, uninspiring and low quality is an egregious misrepresentation of the history, range and possibility of both the cuisine and the people. what is it about the food industry that dictates black foodways must be "elevated" to be worthy of recognition or a certain price point? 

too often, elevated is shorthand for making something more expensive, more eurocentric, more palatable to those unfamiliar with its roots. it suggests that the original form, whether it’s a pot of stew or a bowl of mac and cheese, was somehow less than, until someone came along with a pair of tweezers and dressed it up with microgreens or miso, shaved truffle or sous vide. 

more often than not, elevated is a word that pretends to honour tradition while quietly looking down on it. 

“elevated” is not just lazy and vague, it’s a dog whistle.

a linguistic shortcut that performs refinement while erasing history. food media and the industry too often treat black food as raw material: something to mine, “modernise”, monetise. the flavours are kept, but the people are pushed to the margins, again.

and then with one word, the theft is framed as innovation.

“elevated” tells us that our ancestors’ kitchen magic wasn’t quite right until it was filtered through french technique or haute presentation.  it implies that cultural knowledge, passed down through generations, needs validation through a eurocentric lens to be worthy of celebration. 

the idea of “elevating” these foods isn’t just offensive, it’s dishonest. it reinforces a hierarchy where european and eurocentric aesthetics sit at the top, and black foodways must climb to meet them. this is culinary gentrification. and elevated is its slogan. 

black food is already elevated. 

take jerk for example: 

elevated in flavour: thyme, pimento, scotch bonnet - layered, precise, and bold.

elevated in method: marination, fire control, smoking. techniques passed down through generations, innovated out of necessity and ingenuity.

elevated in meaning: a practice born from maroon survival, from fugitivity and refusal. cooking underground to avoid detection, seasoning meat not just for flavour but for preservation, for resilience. nourishing while resisting.

i don’t believe we need to “elevate” these dishes further.

what we need is a different framework entirely. 

instead, i’d like to propose a better word: considered. 

“considered” doesn’t imply that the original dish was somehow beneath us. it means someone took the time to think about each component - its flavour, its sourcing, its presentation, its cultural weight. a considered dish respects its roots and reflects care in its reinterpretation.

it’s not about elevating our cultural foods, it’s about considering what they meant, where they came from, and how they make you feel. then evolving them thoughtfully and honestly, offering a new expression. telling your story with full awareness of, and respect for, the story you’re joining.

when we talk about elevated cuisine, we need to be asking:

elevated from what?

from whom?

and to where?

saf x