A Note from Alexandra
Lately, I’ve seen whispers grow louder—some mean-spirited, others simply misinformed. Accusations that I am “not really Haitian,” that I’m “profiting by appropriation,” or—perhaps most absurd—that I’ve somehow colonized my own culture.
So allow me to speak, not in anger, but in clarity. And with all the grace I was raised to embody.
I am the daughter of Haitian-born parents, each deeply rooted in the rich history of Haiti. My father, Daniel, was born in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, the son of a Brigadier General. In 1958, at 18, he immigrated to the United States, earned his degree in chemistry and management from the University of Illinois, served with honor as a medic in the U.S. Air Force, and later worked with major American companies, including U.S. Steel and Deluxol, a Revlon subsidiary focused on Black hair care in the 1970s. His was a life of discipline, excellence, and cultural pride for both Haiti and the United States.
My mother, Simone, was born in Les Cayes, Haiti, the daughter of an accomplished Lawyer. She came to the US in 1962 and trained at the renowned Cook County Hospital in Chicago and served as a medical technologist, then raised her children, and later resumed her profession for over 30 years. Hers was a quiet strength—nurturing, exacting, and unwavering.
Though I was born in the United States, my upbringing was steeped in Haitian tradition. My first language was French. I didn’t speak English until the age of six. I don’t speak Kreyol fluently—but I understand both French and Kreyol as naturally as English. They were the languages of our home, our stories, and our daily lives.
I was raised in what my father proudly called a “Haitian subculture.” Yes, we assimilated. That was his required of us. But our Haitian identity was never erased—it was refined.
Let me also be clear: I was born and raised in the United States, and I am proudly, unabashedly All-American. In our home, my parents instilled in us not only reverence for our Haitian heritage, but also a deep, abiding love for the United States of America—the land that gave them safety, opportunity, and a place to raise a family.
We were taught to speak well, work hard, dream big, and honor this country that opened its doors to them when Haiti’s political climate became untenable. My father in particular—having served in the U.S. Air Force—adored this country.
So yes, I am Haitian. I am American. And I cherish both—deeply, equally, and without apology.
My childhood wasn’t filled with every traditional Haitian element—we did not listen to Kompa music echoing through our speakers, and goat wasn’t on our table—but this doesn’t diminish my connection to the culture. I did grow up with the aroma of epis (spices and herbs) simmering in the kitchen, skillet chicken simmering in mom’s special Haitian sauce with white rice . Sometimes we had griot (pork), bannann peze (pressed plantains) and my mom’s beignets (flat, banana-based pastries). I remember hearing Édith Piaf sing Padam Padam just as often as I heard Barry White, Karen Carpenter, and ABBA. It was a blended life—one where you could love both djon djon (Haitian black mushroom rice) with Kentucky Fried Chicken! I love that!
In all my travels, I have not yet set foot on Haitian soil—but let me say this with all conviction:
Being Haitian is not about how many times you’ve visited the island. It’s about how deeply the culture lives within you.
And trust me—Haiti lives in me.
As a woman, as a wife, as a mother, as a founder.
I am quintessentially Haitian strong, industrious, creative, resilient, and resourceful.
I am Haitian-American, and proud of the legacy and the balance that identity affords me.
As for Alexandra’s Pikliz—it was never about trend-chasing or exploiting a niche. This brand is not appropriation; it is devotion. A way to honor my parents, grandparents and, contributing to my Haitian legacy.
I began making homemade Pikliz (my version of pikliz, my own recipe based on the classic) for friends and colleagues during my 11 years on-air at HSN. I’d gift jars to my crew, my co-hosts, vendor, buyers, etc. The feedback was overwhelming. People fell in love with the flavorful heat. They began asking where to buy it. And to my surprise… they couldn’t. Not at Whole Foods, not at Publix, not at The Fresh Market—the kinds of retailers where I shopped.
So I asked myself: This is south Florida. Why isn’t Pikliz on every shelf, everywhere? Why hasn’t anyone introduced this flavor to the masses the way Sriracha was brought to American kitchens?
Think about it: Sriraja Panich, the original Thai version of what we now know as Sriracha, isn’t widely available in the U.S. But Huy Fong Foods -the squeeze bottle with the rooster on it – had the vision to package it, popularize it, and introduce it to a new generation. Today, everyone knows Sriracha.
That’s what I want for Pikliz. I didn’t invent it. I didn’t claim to. But I am bringing it forward—with reverence, responsibility, and refinement.
To mainstream it,
To elevate it,
To honor it.
I am not exploiting. I am uplifting.
I am not altering. I am amplifying.
I am not mimicking. I am representing—truthfully, beautifully, and proudly.
To those who misunderstand, I offer education.
To those who condemn, I offer my boundaries.
To those who support this journey—thank you.
And to those few family members or critics who suggest I’m on the wrong path, I say this:
I walk this path with clear eyes, clean hands, and a heart full of love for where I come from.
I was raised to rise, and I intend to bring this heritage to the table—with every bottle and jar.
With pride, purpose, and a little spicy heat,
Alexandra
Founder, Alexandra’s Pikliz
