Playing spades under the smooth, lifting flow of old-school R&B, the air thick with the warm embrace of soul food’s aroma, feels like the perfect low-key New Year’s Eve. Yet it’s more than just a ritual — it’s actually at the heart of Black tradition, pulsing across cultures and generations.
Whether it’s the southern U.S., the coasts of Los Angeles, or West Africa and the Caribbean, gathering in celebration signals a time for us to remember, reflect and dream of a better tomorrow.
And often, it begins with the quiet magic of food — a meal prepared with care, seasoned with the promise of luck, hope, and renewal.
It’s no surprise that the recipe for Hoppin’ John is trending lately. It’s a simple but storied combination of field peas — a variety of cowpea that’s largely available only in the Carolinas – rice, and pork, simmered until the flavors meld into something greater than the sum of its parts. During slavery, some plantation owners and farmers gave the enslaved pork, historians say, which contributes to this tradition’s beginnings. Served with a side of greens and cornbread, it is both a meal and a message: a symbol of luck and prosperity and an ode to memory.
Many families still gather in an observance that mirrors this gathering, the Watch Night services held in churches across the country. This is a sacred hour, born from a ritual that began on Dec. 31, 1862 — the night before the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect. Then, enslaved Black people across the South waited together, holding their breath for freedom that felt both near and impossible. It was a vigil for liberation. Today, Watch Night remains, transformed yet anchored to its origin. In pews and living rooms, many Black families pray, sing, and reflect, their gathering a bridge between history and future.
As we prepare to ring in 2025, if you’re still curious why we make sure our homes are spotless or and why your college-age daughter’s quest for “good energy” and her great grandma’s obsession to get rid of spirits are more alike than you think, read on:
Why are we still talking about food?
Through centuries of struggle and migration, Black Americans carried traditions. Collard greens, peas, and cornbread traveled north on trains and west on highways during the Great Migration. They brought the flavors of home with them, folding the past into every kitchen they entered. And on New Year’s Day, these foods still offer nourishment in more ways than one.
Hoppin’ John, with its blend of rice and peas, evokes resourcefulness and community, a reminder of how Black people have always made much out of little. The greens, like folded dollar bills, signify wealth on the horizon, while cornbread represents gold. The black-eyed peas, small and humble, represent abundance and resilience. Some say you’ll have the best chance at luck if you eat exactly 365 black-eyed peas, one for each day of the year. Others swear by the fact that you must add a coin to the pot of black-eyed peas; the person who gets the bowl with the coin is said to have the best luck.
Charlotte Jenkins, a celebrated Gullah chef in South Carolina, recalls how her family would transform these humble ingredients into dishes that fed both the body and the spirit, a memory that stretches back to the holiday while growing up in rural Awendaw, where her family raised pigs, grew vegetables, and bought fish fresh from local fishermen.
“It’s about using what you have and making it stretch,” she said, a lesson that showed her how Black families celebrate and persevere.
In some households, it’s also just as much about what you don’t eat on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. For example, there is a belief that you want to stay away from eating anything that moves backwards faster than it moves forward, like lobsters, crabs, shrimp, and crawfish. The focus is on moving forward.
The continued practice of these traditions, especially the culinary ones, are about remembering that Black people and Black history is still here, said Amethyst Ganaway, a Gullah chef and writer. “It’s important to remember that it starts here for a reason, so our identity, our foodways, aren’t being erased and turned into this mainstream thing.”
Frederick Opie, a professor of history and foodways at Babson College in Massachusetts, has written extensively about the origins and meanings of these practices. The correlation between American society oppressing Black life and so many of these practices being meant to instill hope for the next year is clear, he has written.
To continue celebrating the New Year in this way is to resist forgetting. With each bite and each gathering, historians say, it shows that Black people have always dreamed of a tomorrow — and that they have always made a way. And it stretches far beyond the Americas, from the churches filled with people dressed in their best whites across Ghana to the pots stuffed with soup joumou in Haiti.
What about scaring away those spirits?
Among the many sounds that fill the air as the clock strikes midnight, including fireworks or gunshots depending on where you call home, the clanging of pots and pans holds a special place in New Year’s traditions. This practice is thought to have originated in the 16th and 17th centuries, influenced by African slaves in Cuba and the Caribbean who used one of their few belongings, cooking pots and pans, to create noise in celebration. The act was believed to ward off evil spirits, ensuring that the New Year would begin free of negative influences. Over time, this tradition spread and became deeply rooted in Black communities across the Americas.
Why “cleanliness is next to godliness”?
As the year draws to a close, many Black families engage in a thorough cleaning of their living spaces. This practice, often accompanied by your Sunday favorites, is obviously about a lot more than just tidying up. It’s an act of releasing negativity and unresolved issues from the past year. From scrubbing floors to ensuring all laundry is done, the goal is to step into the New Year with a fresh and open slate.
But with many long-standing traditions, there are geographical differences. Some Black households implement the opposite tactic by enforcing that no one washes their clothes going into the new year. The idea is that if you do, you’ll wash someone or something important out of your life.
Now, why can’t just anyone be the first at the gathering?
Who crosses the threshold matters for some folks. The first person to enter the home in the New Year carries special significance. Traditionally, this person is expected to have money in their pocket to reinforce a collective hope for abundance and well-being in the household. Another tradition says a man must be the first person to cross a home’s threshold for the same reasons — but this tradition is rooted in patriarchal beliefs that associate masculinity with strength and good fortune, making it a sexist and outdated practice that reinforces harmful gender stereotypes.
What about Kwanzaa?
Kwanzaa, the cultural celebration rooted in African heritage that was started after the Watts Rebellion of 1965, concludes on Jan. 1 with the seventh day known as Imani, or faith. It was a deliberate act of cultural reclamation, providing Black Americans with a space to honor their roots while forging a sense of collective identity amid the struggle for civil rights. For many Black families, the last day of Kwanzaa becomes an opportunity to reflect on the year’s achievements and renew their dedication to community and shared values.
Today, its legacy endures, particularly on the West Coast, where the movement first took hold. In Los Angeles, where Maulana Karenga initially founded Kwanzaa, school children in elementary classrooms learn about the seven principles, or Nguzo Saba, through art projects, storytelling, and music. Community centers in Leimert Park and Watts host jubilant celebrations featuring drum circles, poetry readings, and the rhythmic steps of traditional African dances. However, Kwanzaa has faced criticism over the years, with some questioning its authenticity as a modern creation rather than an ancient tradition, and others expressing discomfort with its origins in Black nationalist ideology.