Published: 15 October 2025
Written by Liz Pemberton, the award-winning director of The Black Nursery Manager Ltd. Her mission is to transform early childhood education by embedding inclusive, anti-racist principles into practice, policy, and pedagogy.
The theme of this year’s Black History Month is Standing Firm in Power and Pride and over the past few weeks, I have explored this in relation to the power of storytelling and music. Now, I want to focus on pride and where better to start than with food.
If you know anything about African or Caribbean cuisine, you’ll know that it’s an immersive, full-body experience, one that engages all the senses. My whole being reacts when I know I’m about to tuck into a plate of curry mutton with white rice, a fried dumpling and sweet plantain, washed down with a glass of Guinness punch (if I could eat this every day, I truly would).
But, this food is more than just a delight for the taste buds; it carries the weight of tradition, the stories of migration, and the essence of heritage. Each dish connects us across the Black diaspora, reminding us that food is history, memory, and love served on a plate.
For our ancestors, being able to cook with the ingredients they had often limited, unfamiliar, or imposed was an act of survival and creativity. That same power of adaptation lives on every time we season a pot, experiment with what’s available, or share a meal that tells our story. Food, in this sense, is a reminder that we can nourish ourselves and our communities on our own terms.
Growing up it was commonplace for us to share our meal as a family and customary for us to eat Sunday dinner around the table with an array of foods which included recipes passed through generations, food items that were heavily associated with Jamaica and other items that signified our British identities too. For example, it wasn’t unusual to have a roast chicken dinner complete with Yorkshire puddings, rice and peas, a pot of oxtail and some sweet potato or yellow yam.
This blending of traditions filled me with pride, a literal and cultural nourishment that reminded me that being Black British is layered, complex, and joyful. Cooking and eating these foods are an act of celebration, one that says unapologetically:
This is who we are, and our flavours tell our stories.
This amalgamation of food not only kept me in touch with my Jamaican identity but also expanded my palette and my cultural knowledge.
Sharing meals in this way has influenced how I eat with my family today and how both me and my husband prepare our meals knowing that our toddler is watching, tasting and experiencing everything that we are offering. We make a point of teaching him the names of foods that are linked to our Caribbean heritages rooted in Antigua, St Kitts and Jamaica. We also use a brilliant book that he loves by Rochelle Watson-Senyah called The ABC of African and Caribbean Food as a resource to really cement this learning.
Every time my son points to a yam or plantain and names it, I see progress, the passing forward of pride and heritage to a new generation. These everyday interactions between taste and talk are how children begin to understand who they are and where they come from. Doing this builds bridges for him and helps him to make those important connections and that is an important part of how children make sense of their world around them.
We are our children’s first teachers and establishing a strong sense of their cultural identity can be done easily through food. Our food carries stories of resilience across generations, from the hands of those who made nourishing meals out of very little to the Windrush generation who brought their recipes to Britain’s grey post-war kitchens, every meal has been a quiet act of resistance and creativity. These dishes have survived migration, adaptation, and reinvention proof that Black communities have always known how to turn survival into flavour.
In nursery and at home, food can unite children, families, and team. When we share recipes, taste new flavours together, or invite families to contribute a dish that means something to them, we build a culture of belonging. Everyone can take part from the child who kneads dough with fascination, to the parent who sends in a photo of their favourite comfort food.
When we share food with children whether it’s a spoon of jollof rice, a bite of some coconut drops, or a piece of mango we’re doing more than feeding them. We’re teaching them to stand firm in pride, to recognise that culture is something to savour and share. Every meal tells a story of power, progress, and unity.
-The ABC of African and Caribbean Food by Rochelle Watson-Senyah
-Baby Goes to Market by Atinuke
-Nena: The Green Juice by Selina Brown
-The Best Jollof Rice Ever by Onyinye Iwu
-Motherland: A Jamaican Cookbook by Melissa Thompson
-Natural Flava: Quick & Easy Plant-Based Caribbean Recipes by Craig & Shaun McAnuff
-Afro Vegan: Family Recipes from a British-Nigerian Kitchen
-Zoe’s Ghana Kitchen by Zoe Adjonyoh
-East Winds by Riaz Phillips
More articles from the Black History Month series by Liz:
Many families know the scene well: cucumber is loved on Monday, rejected by Wednesday, and anything green is suddenly treated with deep suspicion. Fo...
