The Hungry Black Man, 937 NW 3rd Avenue, Miami, FL (2025)

11/13/2025

COLUMBUS, OH - There is a point, somewhere between your third loop around a city and your fifteenth carefully plotted detour, when you realize that the thing you are searching for is not a singular arrival, but an accumulation of exciting mini destinations. Columbus, I suspect, will be that kind of journey for me, a long courtship with a city determined to keep its best work tucked behind unassuming storefronts and half-lit plazas. The tours have been… earnest so far, a little bruising, occasionally mid. But faith is an odd companion, and it tends to reward those who keep showing up hungry.

One of the true rewards was Donna’s Delicious Dozen, a small donut outpost at 5322 N Hamilton Rd, where the air smells like warm sugar and the gentle hiss of frying batter is practically a welcome mat. I love desserts with the kind of fervor that borders on addiction, especially the ones that involve cake textures and chocolate. But perhaps because of that devotion, I am an unforgiving critic. Dessert should not merely be sweet; it should be intentional. If I am going to risk my lifespan on something fried, glazed, or swirled, it should be worth the sacrifice.

Donna’s understood this.

I ordered a half dozen, a modest number that felt, in the moment, almost polite. But politeness evaporates when I’m watching these mini donuts being piped, fried, flipped, and ornamented just feet from where I was standing. Each one emerged warm, buttery, and carrying an aroma that makes you briefly forget your troubles for that one second. That first bite was all that mattered, revealing pronounced notes of butter, vanilla, and an undertow of nuttiness braided into a texture that was tender yet structured, dense in a way that feels intentional rather than heavy. The crumb is moist, but the donut is shockingly un-oily, a rarity in the world of made-to-order cake donuts that will leave your hands glistening.

The toppings did not fight the donut. They amplify it. Choose the flavors you love, truly, any of them, and you’ll find that the base donut is so well-executed it makes every topping taste like it was designed in collaboration.

But the real surprise came the next morning.

Most cake donuts collapse within 24 hours into small edible bricks that are stiff, stale, and occasionally better suited for self-defense than breakfast. Thus far, we are experts in that area in the city. Donna’s donuts did not. Day two, they were still tender, still aromatic, still worthy of contemplation. No greasiness. No rubbery resistance. Just a soft, slightly crumbly interior that suggested a baker who understands both chemistry and care.

If you’re anywhere near Columbus, and honestly, even if you’re not, this is worth a short trip. Call them at (614) 245-4859 and treat yourself to something that feels like the city shouting, “See? I told you there were gems here.”

11/13/2025

Black American culture is just… beautiful. There’s really no other word that fits. As a proud member of Phi Beta Sigma (Undergrad Spring 02’ Lambda Tau), moments like this take me right back to the yard, watching the reveals, feeling that rush of excitement, the chants, the energy, the pride that only the Divine 9 can generate. Those memories are stamped on me.

Out of every group, out of all the folks who showed support across my businesses, ventures, and restaurants, nobody, and I mean nobody, showed love like the AKAs. Those sistas picked us every time. Not just when it was trendy. Not just during the hype. They showed up when we opened, they showed up when we struggled, they showed up when we succeeded, and they were still showing up when we sold.

Whole squads of pink and green filling up tables, laughing, celebrating, even bringing their national president through to dine with us. That meant something. That meant everything.
And looking at these beautiful young ladies of the University of Houston, their skin tones reflecting every shade our people is blessed with, it’s like watching the earth itself clap back with color. Just adorable.

Congrats, young ladies. Y’all look amazing. And thank you, truly, for the love your sisters have always shown.

P.S. Happy Founders Day to the Ladies of Sigma Gamma Rho! I didn’t know today was your founders Day. My apologies.

11/12/2025

Senator Chuck Schumer is a disaster and a complete waste. You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You make us ashamed of being Democrats. If people die, it’s on your fu***ng hands.

11/12/2025

COLUMBUS, OH - Continuing our excavation of Columbus’ endlessly confounding food scene, we found ourselves at Hounddog’s Pizza, 2657 N High Street. The city spoke of this place in the kind of reverent tones reserved for captain planet or batman. When we arrived, the sheer size of the crowd inside suggested we had arrived at the promised land: packed dining, laughter, the heat of ovens working overtime.

The scent of baked cheese and garlic butter rolled through the room like the way Anita Baker rolls through my house on a Saturday morning cleaning session. It had the soft neon grime of a late-1980s Pizza Hut, a nostalgia so thick you could almost hear the whir of those iconic ceiling fans and the clatter of those red pitchers being filled with Pepsi.

I ordered like a man trying to believe the hype. A large Breakfast Pizza: scrambled eggs, bacon, ham, spicy sausage, onion, green pepper, mozzarella, cheddar, topped with fries, and a Supreme Dog: with pepperoni, sausage, mushroom, onion, green pepper. The cashier was friendly and my optimism was still intact from the pleasant smells and the packed to go ordering line. I even went with her suggestion: garlic-butter crust on one of the pies, regular on the other.

When they emerged from the kitchen, both pizzas looked magnificent, browned edges, molten cheese, a scent of butter and smoke that could lure a fasting monk off his vows. We rushed to the hotel, pizza boxes radiating heat and hope. But when we opened them, that hope began to cool.

The Supreme was an act of strength training costumed as my dinner. The hand-tossed dough felt as though it had been kneaded by Thanos himself: dense, thick, unyielding. Between Wario’s brick-like sandwich bread earlier in the trip and this impenetrable crust, Columbus might have a second economy in blunt weapons. The sauce was cafeteria-tart, the toppings honest but completely forgettable. The garlic butter crust, while flavorful, overpowered the rest, as if someone mistook excess for excellence. I chewed dutifully, prayed I wouldn’t need the Heimlich, and thought: maybe the restaurant’s name is literal. You need a hound’s jaw to get through this damn crust.

Then came the Breakfast Pizza, accompanied by a packet of syrup, a warning disguised as a condiment. The first bite was a salt bomb of Old Testament proportions, as if this pizza had been baked by Lot’s wife herself, mid-transformation after looking back. God’s wrath was at hand with this pizza. The processed meats, the frozen potato wedges, the rubbery eggs, together they formed a kind of sodium cathedral. One slice in, we gave up. The rest sat solemnly on the hotel table, untouched, an edible tombstone marking the end of hope for the night.

Still, I understand the affection. There’s a certain joy in a place like Hounddog’s: loud, democratic, filled with late-night stories and cheap beer. But for me, it never transcended the genre. A great hand-tossed pizza should walk that tightrope between interior chew and a slightly crisp exterior, with dough that breathes and a crust that sings while being chewed. Here, it shouted. The garlic butter crust would make an excellent roll, but as a base, it drowned out the sauce and the toppings, muting any chance for balance or crescendo.

If you love nostalgia, salt, and the kind of pizza that could double as a dumbbell, Columbus has your spot. As for me, I’ll keep wandering, still chasing the city’s elusive slice of transcendence.

11/12/2025

Celebrate 2026 Black History Month on Miami Beach!

We’ve been exploring Miami’s vibrant Black Street Food and Ethnic Food Scenes across South Florida, and the talent is incredible. As we mark a decade of celebrating flavor and culture, the 10th Annual Soul Beach Food Festival is back and bigger than ever!

Presented by The Hungry Black Man Media, in partnership with The Center for Black Innovation and The City of Miami Beach, this milestone festival unites the best of South Florida and the nation’s soulful culinary scene, from traditional Soul Food and smoky barbecue to Caribbean favorites, vegan innovations, and bold Hispanic flavors.

Bring your family, your friends, and your appetite for a day filled with:
🍗 Soul Food, BBQ, Caribbean, Vegan & Hispanic Cuisine
🎶 Live Music & Miami-Dade vs. Broward Dance Battles
👩🏽‍🍳 Artisan Market Featuring Local Creators
🎡 Children’s Zone & Family Fun
💃🏾 Community Vibes by the Ocean

Whether you come for the food, the music, or the sunshine, Soul Beach is where South Florida’s culture comes alive! Get your free tickets here: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/10th-annual-soul-beach-food-festival-tickets-1849321563579?aff=oddtdtcreator

If you are interested in vending, please fill out the registration here and someone from our team will get back with you: https://forms.gle/envyEGb6uDDtB71n6

11/12/2025

Thank you, Somalia, for standing up to the United Arab Emirates’ support of the genocide taking place in Sudan. To the other African nations, please stand up to protect our Black brothers and sisters from being violently removed from the planet.

11/12/2025

This video is painful to watch.

As someone raised in the church, what I see American Christianity becoming is nothing short of heartbreaking. The faith of my childhood, the one that told me to love my neighbor, feed the hungry, and clothe the naked, is being slowly disfigured by ego and greed, dressed up in designer suits and prosperity sermons. Absolutely disgusting.

We watched Marvin Winans publicly humiliate one of his own members for the world to see. We watched pastors take “gifts” from their congregations that look a lot more like bribes from the faithful, Bentleys, mansions, and in Joel Osteen’s case, a compound that could house an entire neighborhood. Yet when his fellow Houstonians were drowning in the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey, his church’s 16,000 seats stayed empty, doors locked to the very souls Christ commanded us to shelter.

It’s no longer the storefront or small community churches that trouble me. Those still seem to have the heart of Christ beating within them. It’s the mid-size and mega churches, the corporate sanctuaries with branding departments and private security that have become temples not of God, but of man, and honestly, Satan himself.

What we witnessed in that video wasn’t an isolated act. It was the inevitable fruit of a faith industry that’s purposefully abandoned its purpose. A woman asked for help, not for a handout, but for baby formula. Her body could not produce milk. The economy had failed her. She reached out to the one place that, in theory, would never turn her away. But the church did. Because she didn’t fit their definition of the “deserving poor.” The fact that the majority of people on the other side of the phone were women, was even more saddening.

And that’s the rot at the root of it all.

They heard her plea not as a cry for compassion but as a threat, a disruption to their theology of worthiness. To help her would mean crossing the invisible line they’ve drawn between grace and control. Jesus would’ve done exactly what they refused to do: helped, without question, without paperwork, without needing proof of worth.

But large and mega churches have become gatekeepers of compassion. Their charity is conditional. To receive it, you must belong, tithe, and perform gratitude properly. You must prove yourself before you are deemed worthy of mercy or be easy enough to exploit and tout to make them feel good, like helping the mentally ill unsheltered or children with no voice. The church no longer serves God’s people, it manages them as well as no longer saving souls, but rather screening each of them.

A woman asking for formula is dangerous to that system because she exposes its hypocrisy. Her need doesn’t fit into the tidy boxes of budget committees and benevolence policies. Her hunger for her child threatens their illusion that poverty is a moral failure, that misfortune is proof of spiritual weakness. She is asking them to affirm that her body’s reality matters more than their doctrine, that need itself should be enough.

But to say yes to her would mean surrendering institutional power. And that, too many churches cannot do.

Christ didn’t demand credentials. He didn’t require proof of attendance. He said plainly, “For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited me in.”(Matthew 25:35).

That was HIS theology. Radical empathy, not respectability politics. In the end, it was the smaller churches that said yes, and of course, houses of worship that weren’t Christian at all from our Muslim and Buddhist family who told her to come in and get help.

What we see now is something else entirely. It’s capitalism wearing a cross with the type of faith that sells hope but withholds help. It’s Christianity drained of Christ. I am so saddened at this reality and hope that we as Christians can begin to speak out and change things back to what they used to be.

11/11/2025

😭 I hated 2025 😭
Yes, thankful and grateful, but I hated this year.

11/11/2025

COLUMBUS, OH - Happy Veterans Day to all who served. We appreciate you, we honor you.

Continuing our coverage of the Columbus food scene, a whole bunch of folks told us to check out a soulful concept called StuffedEnuff, located at 1282 Essex Ave, Columbus, OH 43201. So of course, we pulled up.

It’s a shared kitchen type of setup, kind of like a food hall. You place your order on a touchscreen and wait for your food to be brought out. No complaints there, I don’t mind that system at all. While waiting outside, I somehow ended up front row to a fender bender. Thankfully, everyone was okay, and once that excitement died down, my food came out.

We took it to the car and ate on the hood as usual, with a bee who was not in a good mood. I had to kill it before it stung me. I’m sorry, I’ve been stung before, and you have to get them before they get you. Those Michigan and Ohio bees are different from Miami bees.

First up: the chicken wings. One bite and I knew this chicken had a relationship with the Lord. Golden brown, crispy shell, tender inside, seasoned like the cook still has an auntie somewhere praying over the grease. The crust and the meat worked together like Sunday service and choir rehearsal, a perfect harmony. I ate those wings so fast I got mad at myself for not ordering more.

The mac and cheese? Delicious. Perfectly al dente elbows, buttery, cheddar-forward, baked to that beautiful casserole finish that instantly reminded me of all the good decisions I’ve made in life that led me to this very moment.

Now the sweet potatoes, I don’t know what happened there. Something went rebellious in the spice department. Somebody in that kitchen definitely spilled too much of something and said, “They’ll be alright.” Have you ever watched a zombie movie where one person gets bitten and doesn’t tell the group? Yeah, that’s what happened with those yams. The prepr cook tried to play it cool, but the infection was spreading. I believe that in the words of Dr. Marvin Winans, there needs to be a correction at hand, but I digress.

Next up was the fried whiting with mashed potatoes and collard greens. That fish was damn near perfect. Crispy, light, not a hint of fishiness, and seasoned just right. Whiting is one of those humble fish that doesn’t try too hard, and they treated it with respect.

The collard greens were tender with that poultry-based broth flavor, not too earthy, just right, with a hint of smoke that brought back memories of some of my most memorable cookout experiences.

The mashed potatoes were flavorful but had a little too much water trapped in the potatoes, which threw off the texture just a bit. Still tasty, just not the creamy perfection zone.

Overall? This place hit. Real flavor, real soul, and real care in the food. I’m giving StuffedEnuff a solid 4.3 out of 5. If you love authentic soul food, it’s worth the trip.

Word is they’ve now opened a standalone brick-and-mortar, so definitely give them a call at (614) 408-3776 before you go.

11/11/2025

🚨SURVEY🚨Ok, I’m an ’80s baby and an old millennial, so I grew up with Baby Boomer parents. I’m taking a survey because I have a strong suspicion that this syrup was in every Black American household thanks to our parents or grandparents.

This stuff is terrible for you, and they used to drink it like water. My dad put it on everything. Who else remembers this? Did your parents or grandparents used this syrup?

11/11/2025

Toledo — Smith & Williams is opening soon with two sides: a Bistro launching December 5th, and a full Restaurant & Bar debuting with our New Year’s Eve Dinner Concert and New Year’s Day Brunch. Welcome to your new culinary home.

11/10/2025

COLUMBUS, OH - On January 25, 2024, I became what I never thought I’d be in all my years of eating professionally, a victim.

Food poisoning.

From a restaurant in Columbus, Ohio. It was my first confirmed case ever. Not a stomachache, not a bad night, but full-on text-your-lawyer-and-update-your-will-level food poisoning. It was traumatic. But time dulls pain, and a year later, I decided to forgive the city that tried to assassinate me through its lunch specials.

Columbus, to its credit, is charming and friendly. The people smile like they mean it. The food scene? Vast. Excited. Mid. Still, when we asked followers where to eat, our inbox turned into a suggestion avalanche. High hopes, low expectations.

Our first stop back: Wario’s Beef & Pork, a place the internet swore was legendary. The DMs were biblical: “You have to go.” “Best sandwich in Ohio.” “It’ll change your life.”

They weren’t lying, it changed my life. I now fear bread.

The signature: a semolina-seeded roll stuffed with various proteins: beef, pork, or, as the locals insisted, the chicken Caesar sandwich. Fried or grilled chicken, house Caesar, Parmesan, ginger-soy glaze, tomato butter, and romaine. It sounded like a marriage of culinary fusion and Midwestern optimism. The line was long, the crowd eager, and my hunger patient.

But then came the sandwich.

Unwrapping it, I felt like I’d been handed a small anvil disguised as lunch. The bread was a roll forged from semolina and rage, displaying the density of a neutron star. My arm sank under its weight, an almost supernatural pull downward, as if gravity itself was curious what would happen if I dropped it. It was like holding a bowling ball wrapped in sesame seeds. I bit down, and I swear my tooth whispered, “We’ve had a good run.”

I swear to you, you could build a ziggurat with this bread. It could easily double as construction material if society collapses and we need something for shelter. That is what we are talking about here.

When I complained, a woman on my page had the nerve to say, “I know you lying, they bake their bread fresh daily!”Ma’am, “fresh daily” doesn’t mean edible. It means you baked it at 8 a.m., left it under a heat lamp, and it’s now doing cosplay as Mount Rushmore.

If someone hurled one at your head, they would be facing serious time.

See, semolina is made from durum wheat, which is high in gluten and dense in structure. If it’s even slightly overbaked or under-proofed, it goes from “beautiful Italian crust” to “ancient Roman ruin.” And mine had clearly been sitting there longer than a Lauryn Hill fan waiting for the show to start.

Inside? The fried chicken was sliding off like a diamond thief trying to escape the scene. The Caesar dressing was so bland I thought maybe my taste buds had quit mid-shift, thick, gluey, flavorless, like somebody mixed mayo from Grocery Outlet Bargain Market. The romaine wasn’t crisp either; it was drooping over the sides like a depressed houseplant.

Halfway through, my car looked like a chicken Caesar gr***de went off. Lettuce on the floor, breadcrumbs from the bland chicken in the cup holder, dressing on my shirt. The sandwich disintegrated faster than my hope.

Columbus may be vast, and yes, the people are warm, but my reintroduction was room-temperature at best. If Wario’s is the city’s sandwich darling, then I fear for its bread skeptics.

Check out Wario’s Beef & Pork if you’re brave. Just remember to stretch your jaw, update your dental plan, and maybe bring a helmet.

The Hungry Black Man

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