Dreher, who grew up in a heavily black town in the Deep South, contributes to the conversation:
Living for five years in New York City made me understand deep down how Southern I am, and that means to an unmeasurable but undeniable extent, black. Every now and then, I'd meet a black person from down South, and … I'm not quite sure how to put this, but let's just say there was an ease of discourse between us that I didn't have when talking to white (or, obviously, black) Northerners I just met. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was a food thing.
I've told the story here before about a black co-worker a couple of years ago coming upon me microwaving a bowl of turnip greens and roots for my lunch in the break room. She was genuinely shocked, and stammered that she thought only black people ate that stuff. I couldn't believe that, but it turns out she's from Indiana, and never knew white people who like what used to be called "soul food." I told her how most white folks where I grew up ate greens, cornbread, grits and the same stuff black folks ate. It's the legacy of rural Southern poverty culture. I can still see her kind face now, struggling to comprehend that she was talking to an actual white person who ate greens.
The Dish 