Originally published on October 17, 2024.
In celebration of Gullah Heritage Month, I Love Us had the privilege of speaking with Chef Benjamin “BJ” Dennis. Chef BJ is a leading voice in preserving Gullah foodways and ensuring the legacy of the Gullah Geechee people thrives. As a fellow with the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, partnered with the Ray Charles Program in African-American Material Culture at Dillard University, Chef BJ took time from his work in New Orleans to share insights into his mission. Our conversation became a journey through history, culture, and the deep personal responsibility BJ feels toward his ancestors.
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Speaking with Chef BJ is like connecting with family. Each word he shares is infused with warmth and familiarity. It feels Grandma just handed you her phone to speak with a Carolina cousin. You don’t know them, but it feels like family. Chef BJ’s work preserves the history, culture, and spirit of the Gullah people, an African-American community with roots that stretch back to the transatlantic slave trade in the southeastern United States.
A Homecoming to Charleston
Chef BJ’s journey as a torchbearer for Gullah cuisine began when he returned to Charleston, South Carolina, in 2008 after spending five years in the Virgin Islands. Upon his return, he discovered that Charleston’s food scene had exploded onto the national stage. However, BJ sensed something was missing. “Charleston always had a food culture,” he explained, “but you wouldn’t be talking about this food culture if it wasn’t for the Gullah Geechee and our culture.”
This realization became the cornerstone of BJ’s work. While Charleston has earned a reputation as a food haven, the culinary traditions of the Gullah Geechee—the descendants of enslaved Africans who shaped much of the Lowcountry’s agriculture and cuisine—were often overlooked. The foundation of Charleston’s foodways is built on the labor and expertise of these African ancestors, yet the spotlight frequently shines on European culinary techniques. “Charleston has become this darling place, but you can’t forget about why the city was built. That goes to a whole other story about how we were never really given our just due because of enslavement,” BJ explained.
While Charleston’s rise as a “foodie” destination is celebrated, it often glosses over the contributions of Gullah people whose knowledge of rice cultivation, fishing, and farming has sustained the region for centuries. “You can’t talk about shrimp and grits and bringing back all kinds of gold rice [without noting] it was my ancestors who tore those fields,” BJ emphasized, highlighting the necessity of recognizing Gullah contributions to the cuisine that is now celebrated globally.
In 2010, as pop-up restaurants gained popularity in Charleston, BJ seized the opportunity to share the full depth of Gullah foodways with a broader audience. “I wanted to show my culture… because you really had to know people and had to be in people’s homes to understand our food,” he explained. While Black-owned restaurants exist in Charleston, BJ believed that the true essence of Gullah food—rooted in agricultural knowledge, seasonality, and a profound connection to the land—was often missing. He aimed to convey that Gullah cuisine is not just about the ingredients; it embodies cultural wisdom passed down through generations.
A Personal and Cultural Mission
For BJ, Gullah foodways are a window to the ingenuity, resilience, and resourcefulness of his ancestors. Growing up in a Gullah family, BJ was immersed in a world of seafood, rice, okra, greens, and peas—all staples of Gullah cuisine. Yet as he matured, he noticed that much of the knowledge surrounding these foods was fading. “Every generation lost something,” BJ reflected. “My grandparent’s generation lost certain foodways of preservation.”
The preservation methods passed down to BJ included techniques like drying shrimp, salting fish, and storing food for winter. These methods were essential for survival before modern refrigeration and demonstrate the resourcefulness of Gullah people in utilizing their natural surroundings.
“My grandfather, who passed away at 89 years old about 10 years ago now, eight years, nine years ago, he told me stories about the land, and I would ask him every now and then, ‘Do you remember a favorite dish that you ate coming up that you don’t see anymore?’” BJ recalled, adding, “And you know, I remember he told me slippery okra. He said mama used to make this dish where the okra, you put it on your spoon, it would slide off the spoon with like a slip down, like slippery.” This recollection not only showcases the nostalgic value of Gullah cuisine, but also our ties back to Africa. “When you look at parts of West Africa and Central Africa where they eat okra, you see this okra that looks almost like a slime.”
Beloved Gullah dishes like Hoppin’ John (rice and peas) and Limpin’ Susan (okra and rice) also carry complex histories. BJ explained that Hoppin’ John, now celebrated as a Southern staple, has a darker origin: “Hoppin’ John in its truest form is a disrespectful colloquial name describing our ancestors, the old feeble man hopping around with raggedy clothes on, begging for some of the peas and rice.” Similarly, Limpin’ Susan was named after an imagined Black woman hobbling for her share of food. While these dishes are now revered, they were once symbols of exploitation and hardship, yet Gullah people transformed them into something nourishing, both physically and culturally.
Mentors in Preserving Food History
Chef BJ’s journey is not one he undertakes alone. He draws significant inspiration from Michael W. Twitty, a culinary historian and author of The Cooking Gene, which explores the African roots of Southern cuisine. BJ and Twitty regularly share ideas and insights, united in their goal to preserve African American culinary traditions. “I was just on the phone with the great Michael Twitty,” BJ said. “To me, he wrote one of the greatest books in our culture.”
Twitty’s work represents a crucial turning point in understanding Gullah foodways and the broader contributions of African Americans to American cuisine. “People look at Gullah Geechee culture like we’re leprechauns, like it’s this mystical thing,” BJ noted. Both he and Twitty aim to dispel such myths, illustrating that Gullah foodways are not isolated relics; they are part of a rich, living history that has profoundly influenced American culinary practices.
BJ commended Twitty’s The Cooking Gene for revealing the connections between West African culinary traditions and Southern foodways, particularly through the lens of enslavement and resilience. Twitty’s work, like BJ’s, seeks to highlight how African American food has shaped the nation.
Connections to Africa
Among the many ingredients linking Gullah cuisine to West Africa, benne seed (sesame) holds special significance. Benne, brought over by enslaved Africans, became a staple in Gullah cooking. “Benne is the Mende word for sesame,” BJ explained. Thomas Jefferson documented its use by enslaved people in South Carolina. Jefferson noted that Gullah individuals used benne in various ways, from soups and stews to breads and oils.
Despite its historical importance, much of the culinary knowledge surrounding benne seed has diminished. “Most of us from the culture don’t even really know what benne is unless you’re familiar with the candy, the benne wafers, and the benne crackers,” BJ lamented. He is on a personal mission to rediscover and revive the savory uses of benne seed, working to bring back traditional recipes like benne brown oyster stew and benne soup, which use the seed as a thickening agent—similar to how peanuts are used in West African cooking.
Benne seed represents a direct connection to Africa, reminding us that the culinary traditions of the Gullah Geechee people are not merely regional—they are global, with roots stretching across the Atlantic.
Cultural Cornerstones
Chef BJ experienced surprising reactions to his work through the Netflix docuseries High on the Hog. As the show introduced Gullah foodways to a national audience, many viewers expressed disbelief that oysters, a staple in Gullah cuisine, were consumed by Black people. “I didn’t even know that people didn’t know that Black people eat oysters,” BJ remarked with a laugh.
For BJ and countless Gullah families, oysters are integral to their diet, deeply intertwined with the coastal environment that has sustained their community for generations. “It’s oyster season now, and I can’t wait to get me a bushel of oysters and go to town on them,” he shared enthusiastically.
The Gullah connection to the sea is profound, with seafood serving a vital role in their diet and culture. From shrimp and crabs to fish and oysters, the coastal waters of South Carolina and Georgia have provided sustenance for centuries. For BJ, the ocean is more than a food source, but a connection to the past, a reminder of ancestors who lived and worked by the sea, harvesting its riches while contributing to the region’s economy.
The Urgency of Cultural Preservation
As Chef BJ diligently works to rediscover and revive Gullah foodways, he feels the urgency of his mission. “We’re losing a generation,” he warned, referencing elders who still hold traditional food knowledge. His parents, now in their seventies, represent a generation that moved away from the land in search of opportunities in urban settings, creating a distance from the agricultural roots that once sustained their ancestors. “That generation was saying, ‘Get away from the land,’” BJ explained, highlighting the cultural loss that accompanied this migration.
“The late Ms. Emily Meggett…would talk about preservation methods, and how they would salt beef, like ham, or salt pork, and keep it in barrels. I remember asking about Benne one time, and she told me about one of the ladies who trained her on cooking used to make this kind of pastry with benne. They’d roll it out, make like a strawberry jam in it, and they would roll it up and bake it. These are things that, well, as soon as that generation leaves, that’s gone.”
Living With the Land
For Gen-Xer BJ–unlike the previous generations–the land represents not just trauma but healing, both physically and spiritually. “The land was traumatic,” he acknowledged, “but that was how we healed.” By reconnecting with the land and revitalizing traditional foodways, BJ believes that Gullah people can reclaim their heritage and find healing in the soil that once enslaved them. The land embodies continuity, resilience, and the potential to reclaim a legacy that has faced erasure and exploitation.
BJ also addressed the concept of “working the root,” clarifying that it is often misinterpreted as a form of magic intended to harm others. “White people observed what the people were doing on the islands, and they equated it to Hoodoo–and it was. He emphasizes that “Hoodoo in its purest form is not putting root on somebody; it’s working the root to the land, the herbs, those are medicines.” For BJ, this distinction is important; he shares that Hoodoo is about cultivating a deep relationship with the land and utilizing its natural resources for healing, rather than being associated with harmful intentions. “When we talk about working the roots,” he explains, “you have an average person that says, ‘Oh, you’re working root?’ No, working the root means working the herbs, working the plants, working the animals.”
“You’re not really going to know Gullah until you come to the land,” BJ stated, echoing Twitty’s belief that understanding African American culinary traditions requires a deep connection to the land.
Honoring the Ancestors
For BJ, preserving Gullah foodways is a powerful act of resistance. It counters the erasure of African American contributions to American culture and resists the commodification of Black foodways. “When you really do the work, you start to get the real truth,” BJ said. This truth often reveals the remarkable creativity and resourcefulness of Gullah people, transforming hardship into culinary tradition.
BJ spends countless hours researching old documents, historical archives, and oral histories to unearth the agricultural knowledge of his ancestors. “I stay up at night reading old Georgia historical newspapers about the coast,” he shared. In these archives, he discovers how enslaved individuals cultivated crops, preserved food, and survived in an often-hostile environment. For example, he learned that enslaved farmers used ash to help peach trees bloom—an early form of natural fertilization that predates modern agricultural techniques.
Through his research, BJ has come to see Gullah foodways as evolving traditions reflecting the ingenuity of a people who made the most of their circumstances. “These are the nuances… we got to dig deeper,” he emphasized.
Building a Legacy for Future Generations
Despite his national and international recognition, BJ remains focused on his local community. For him, true success is not measured by fame or accolades but by how his work resonates with those who share his cultural heritage. “When I walk out my door, how does my immediate community feel about me? That’s the most important thing,” he said.
BJ recounted a heartwarming encounter with a high school classmate who hadn’t seen him in years. “He said, ‘Man, we are proud of you… I show my kids your videos. I tell them how [you were] back then.’” For BJ, these moments of recognition from his community hold more value than any national spotlight. “All I ever wanted was to represent my people to the fullest,” he asserted.
BJ’s work is about creating a legacy that will endure well beyond his lifetime. “If I can inspire one person, that one person can end up inspiring 20 people… and now we got a movement,” he stated. His goal is to preserve Gullah foodways and share them widely, inspiring others to do the same, ensuring the rich culinary traditions of the Gullah Geechee people thrive for generations to come.
Growing Toward the Future
Reflecting on the legacy of Gullah foodways, Chef Benjamin “BJ” Dennis remains a key figure in ensuring that the traditions of the past carry into the future. His work is creating a lasting legacy that honors the resilience and ingenuity of the Gullah Geechee people.
“A tree without roots won’t grow,” BJ reminded us. Through his tireless efforts, he ensures that the roots of Gullah foodways remain strong and vibrant, ready to nurture new growth for generations to come. As we honor Gullah Heritage Month, we laud the work of Chef BJ and all those dedicated to preserving the cultural legacy of the Gullah Geechee people.
Cover photo: Gullah Foodways: A Journey Through History and Culture with Chef BJ Dennis / Photo by Clay Williams, courtesy of Chef BJ Dennis
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