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There’s sweet potato pie—and then there’s Black Folks Sweet Potato Pie. Don’t confuse the two. This isn’t some bland, over-sugared grocery store version hiding behind a flaky crust. This pie tells stories. It carries generations. It’s made from memory, soul, and a whole lot of butter.
My first slice came from Miss Gloria’s kitchen down in Mobile, Alabama. It was Thanksgiving, and the air smelled like brown sugar and nutmeg. She served it with no pomp, no apology—just a look that said, “You better come correct when you eat this.” And she was right. One bite, and I understood. This Black Folks Sweet Potato Pie wasn’t just dessert—it was gospel.
Black Folks Sweet Potato Pie is a legacy. It’s the culmination of African-American culinary tradition passed down through fire and family. It’s got soul—real soul. The kind that sings through cinnamon and clove, that melts on your tongue and lingers like a Sunday hymn. The sweet potatoes are roasted, not boiled. The spices are bold, not timid. The texture? Silky, rich, unapologetically luscious.
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