In 1938, a young Black widow arrived by bus in Saratoga Springs, New York. Her name was Hattie Moseley Austin.
She had no family with her—just $33, a well-worn cast iron skillet, and a heart full of flavors from her Louisiana childhood, flavors she had only tasted but never been taught to cook.
Hattie had grown up strong. Orphaned at a young age, she worked cleaning homes and cooking for others. The Great Depression had taken nearly everything from her—but never her fire.
With that single skillet and a fierce determination, she opened a small 24-hour food stand and named it Hattie’s.
She served fried chicken, cornbread, and biscuits that felt like a warm hug from home.
And people took notice.
Jockeys from the racetrack came.
Jazz musicians, locals, tourists—even Jackie Robinson, Cab Calloway, and Mikhail Baryshnikov found their way to her table.
Within a year, her stand had grown into a full restaurant.
But the real secret wasn’t just the food.
It was Hattie herself—her warmth, her welcoming spirit, and her refusal to let anyone leave hungry, either in spirit or in stomach.
She worked until she was 92.
And long after she retired, Hattie’s Restaurant still stands.
Food & Wine would one day name her fried chicken the best in America.
But ask anyone who knew her, and they’ll tell you the true recipe wasn’t just in the seasoning.
It was in her soul.
She didn’t just feed people.
She gave them something that lasted—love, dignity, and a place where they truly felt seen.