Robinson Sauces & The Cookout: Safe Spaces for Black Communities

Robert Robinson is getting ready for another gruelling week as an entrepreneur. He's running a business and working full time while finding the energy to spend quality time with his nine-year-old son Cole. He knows the routine leaves him with little time for himself, but the grind fuels his passion even more. As anyone in the food industry will tell you, there are easier ways to make a living, but there is something more than wealth driving Robinson forward. He has stepped up to the plate to give his son something special passed down to him by his mother, a sense of Black pride and community distilled in food.

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Growing up, Robinson observed his mother cooking in the kitchen. She was in her element— infusing her love into every dish, patiently nurturing ingredients like you would a child, one by one, giving them the spotlight to shine in a symphony of flavours. Cooking was Joyce's love language, which she effortlessly passed down to her sons. Years after her passing and inspired by her passion, Robinson would dedicate his first flavour, a Pineapple BBQ sauce aptly named Sweet Joyce, to his mother.

Feeling deep nostalgia in its naming conversion, Robinson matter-of-factly named his brand Robinson Sauces. Much like traditions passed on from generation to generation, Robinson sees in this name the kind of pride and legacy that can be passed down to his son one day. He cooks and BBQs with his son often to teach him independence and the invaluable life skills that come with entrepreneurship.

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Historically speaking, cooking outdoors is commonplace for many in the Black diaspora, with culinary traditions relying on direct fire as a heat source. To this day, African, Latin and Caribbean communities without regular access to electricity will create outdoor spaces in alleyways and parks to cook for their families.?

In the American South, access to kitchens was scarce for enslaved Africans, whose living quarters only included one to two rooms. In some cases, neighbours would rent community kitchens together and share food. After the 1950s, when homeownership rates increased amongst Black families, this tradition of bringing families from the community together continued in backyards. Those unable to secure private spaces for these cookouts continue to rely on public land. However, they were often harassed and subjected to racist surveillance.?

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To the untrained eye, a cookout is no more than a BBQ. But beneath the smokey wood chips and communal salads, this intergenerational gathering is fashioned like a modern public sphere for communities of colour. It is a picnic in the 'Museum of Blackness', where ideas, traditions, culture and food are exchanged freely and without fear or persecution.

Summer weekends in the Robinson household were always significant food events with important community ties. The BBQ would get fired up, and a parade of ribs, chicken, salads, bread, music, laughter and family would flood the backyard. Away from the more complicated position, Black families endured outside their community; this was a time for eating and celebration, a safe space to enjoy each other's company— this was a cookout.

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