By Starex Smith | Detroit isn’t just a place; it’s a feeling. It’s the heartbeat of a people who refuse to be erased, a city where history simmers in cast-iron skillets and resilience is plated alongside every meal. I’ve spent years traveling, tasting, and telling stories of Black food and culture across this country, but nowhere has drawn me in quite like Detroit. The love I have for this city is as deep as the char on a perfectly grilled ribeye, as rich as a slow-simmered pot of greens. I have poured more than $200,000 over 10 years in the hands of the city’s Black restaurant owners, charitable causes, and even direct grants to entrepreneurs. I have committed myself to the mobility of the city’s Black population, because when the city wins, Black America wins. I hope after reading my love letter to the city, you will see why and join me in making this beautiful city your second home.
I am Starex Smith, founder of The Hungry Black Man platform and a proud Miamian, but Detroit has my heart. I fell in love with this city over a decade ago—long before it was trendy, long before Instagram influencers used it as a backdrop, and long before the bandwagoners of the Detroit Lions’ newfound success.
I came here to write about Black people and food, but what I discovered was a story far bigger than what was on the plate. I arrived when national publications were misrepresenting and criticizing the city for its perceived crime issues, political turmoil, and poverty. Instead, I found a place where Black ownership isn’t just a buzzword—it’s a way of life. Here, the cultural and economic DNA of Black America is preserved in a way that Atlanta, often touted as the Black Mecca, has struggled to maintain.
Atlanta is a spectacle, a carefully curated dream of Black excellence projected onto towering glass buildings and piped through speakers on every corner. It’s where Black culture is marketed and exported, but Detroit? Detroit is where it’s protected, where it’s owned, where it’s real. The people who live and breathe this city aren’t just renting space in history—they’re writing it, owning it, defending it. They are the landlords of their own legacy.
This truth is most evident in Detroit’s culinary scene, where every dish tells a story, where the walls of restaurants hold the laughter, the arguments, the celebrations of a people who have been here and are here to stay. Baobab Fare isn’t just an East African restaurant; it’s a love letter to Burundi, a home away from home built with the kind of care that you can taste in every bite. Ima is more than a noodle shop; it’s a shrine to umami, an exploration of flavor that defies boundaries. The city’s soul food staples—Flood’s, Moore Soul Food, The Smackin’ Soul—are not relics of the past but living institutions, places where the recipes have been passed down with the same reverence as family heirlooms.
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