After the majority of my Instagram followers woefully underestimated how many tattoos I have, I thought that it’s time to set the record straight. Each poll response threw a jab at my fragile ego. I winced every time someone guessed that I had under 10 tattoos. I’m only being mildly dramatic.Â
However, I conducted my cheeky poll to see how much of a shocker this essay would be. Zoya, my beloved food studies bestie, sent me this piece in Vittles Magazine, inspiring me to create a written tattoo tour of my own.Â
My tattoo era has humble beginnings. In fact, my first tattoo isn’t food related at all. It’s a stick-and-poke butterfly on my upper thigh that I got while drunk at my first-year roommate’s housewarming party. What a time that was.
Later that fall, I took my tattoos more seriously — as seriously as an unemployed college sophomore could. This meant buying a stick-and-poke kit off of Amazon, having my sister draw a flash sheet for me, and hoping for the best.
I’ve since abandoned my stick-and-poke kit, at the loving request of my parents, who much prefer that I invest in getting professional tattoos done. My DIY tattoo era is long gone, and my parents were right about my tattoos being something worth investing in.
What started as a casual hobby of mine became another way to explore myself. My sketchy stick and pokes are now accompanied with more detailed depictions of the foods and stories that are near and dear to my heart.Â
Leg Stick and Pokes
Left: My root veg leg! (my left calf)
Right: My mushroom and peas (my right calf)
I spent Halloween 2021 contorted on the floor of my ex-girlfriend's apartment, painstakingly perfecting my first stick-and-poke — a radish. I’ve never had a radish before. But somehow, I knew it was meant to be on my body forever. I’m lucky I really like radishes now. Later that fall and winter, a carrot and a leek completed my root vegetable trio.Â
Keeping with the veggie theme, my right leg is adorned with a mushroom, and three peas in a pod nestled right below it. I added the faces after consulting with my closest friends via my Snapchat private story. I think that describes this era of my life quite well.
Collard Greens
Collard greens, my beloved. It only makes sense that this was my first professional tattoo. I remember how nervous I was Christmas 2022, counting my holiday cash and asking my parents if I could book a tattoo appointment with an artist I’ve stalked on Instagram for the entire year. I laid out my vision for my parents, including everything from the design to the significance of collards in African American foodways. My parents could tell that collard greens were worthy of prime tattoo real estate — aka my right bicep, so I completed my booking form and anxiously waited for an email to confirm my appointment.
It’s safe to say that Celeste killed this. It’s still one of her favorite tattoos that she has done (mine too), and I’m quite honored to be adorned with it.
Left: My Tattoo fresh (March 2023, photo credit to Celeste @limbforest)
Right: My Tattoo in November 2024, over 1.5 years healed! (photo credit to Celeste @limbforest)
Watermelon
This one raises the most questions. A slice of watermelon? At this point, most people are aware of how watermelons became a symbol for Palestinian resistance, but not as many people know the true relationship between African Americans and the famed fruit. I’m here to tell the tale.Â
Like collard greens, watermelons symbolized self-sufficiency in African American communities. In fact, it was one of the few crops enslaved Black people could grow both for sustenance and for sale. Black growers often outsold their white Southern counterparts, leading to white people turning the fruit into a racist stereotype. You can read more here. The second I became aware of this history; I knew the watermelon was ripe for reclaiming. It’s only fitting that it’s across from above an inspiring quote from my great grandfather.
Charcuterie-like Spread
It was time to return to my roots — hand poke tattoos on my legs. This spread, by the phenomenal Kelli Kikcio, fits my left thigh perfectly.Â
I was reading a lot of food poetry before I got this tattoo done, and I wanted something romantic to remind me that life and food are meant to be enjoyed. Bread is meant to be bitten into. Honey is meant to be drizzled everywhere. Oranges are meant to be plentiful and sprawling. Wine bottles are meant to be shared. A good meal, like love, is meant to linger.
Shrimp
I’ve been dying for a tattoo from Gossamer for YEARS. I rarely get flash tattoos, but this shrimp really spoke to me. I feel the Blackest when I’m in my kitchen, painstakingly deveining shrimp with a knife way too big for the job. This tattoo is dedicated to the giant bags of Whole Foods frozen shrimp that got me through college — a time where dining hall chicken tenders, eggs, and shrimp formed my protein holy trinity. However, unlike chicken tenders and eggs, shrimp kept this Gullah girl connected to her Southern roots.Â
Now when I look at my left forearm, I’m reminded of how many bowls of shrimp & grits and okra stew fueled my Food Studies degree. Shrimp, my sustenance, will always have a special place in my home and heart.
Pear
Strawberries and pomegranates step aside, because I firmly believe that pears are the most romantic fruit in existence. Anyone who has ever loved me knows this is true.Â
My ex-girlfriend’s final offering was five Bartlett pears she got from work on the day I broke up with them. The pears were so ripe they nearly disintegrated at the touch. My heart felt the same.Â
I remember my first bite vividly — I was hunkering down, sobbing in Washington Mews with the pear in one hand, my phone in the other. The juices blended with the tears running down my face, and my hands were sticky for the rest of the night.Â
Those pears were all I could eat for the following days. Maybe that is the reason I only eat ripe pears. Unripe pears have a lovely crunch, but to me — they lack feeling.
Months later, my most recent ex-girlfriend cooked dinner for me for the first time. The entire meal was spectacular, but the dessert sticks with me the most. They brûléed a pear and served it with vanilla ice cream I had in my fridge. The dish was more complex than I’m choosing to describe, but I think about it often. I want to recreate the dessert but I'm afraid it won’t live up to the memory. I’ve made peace with that.Â
Now, I am a single lesbian with a gorgeous, fun, and flirty pear tattoo on the back of their leg. This is the only back facing tattoo I have, in hopes that one day, like a ripe pear, it’ll be shared with a future lover.
Okra
Having only one Limb Forest piece is not enough, so this winter, I made the trek out to Greenpoint for my okra tattoo. I ran laps around my kitchen when this appointment was confirmed because I was beyond excited, and getting an appointment with Celeste is no easy feat.
This tattoo was on my mind for years, but I think it makes a lot of sense that I got my okra tattoo now. Okra might be my vegetable of the year. I ate so much of it — from okra stew made in my dorm room to ice cold glasses of okra water poured from an old mason jar. I even planted the seeds myself while at Harlem Grown!Â
I wonder how many people enjoyed the okra I planted. I wonder how many people still think about my okra stew. I wonder how many people think of okra more affectionately after reading my words about it.Â
Okra, like me, is very much that girl. She is not afraid to be exactly who she is. She knows who is in her corner, and who she needs to pay no mind to. I hope we can all embrace okra, and ourselves a little more in 2025.
Cheers,
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