Last Updated on September 1, 2026 by Daily News Staff

For generations of Southern Californians, Roscoe’s was more than a famous combination of fried chicken and waffles. After 50 years, the restaurant’s cultural importance remains—but lawsuits, bankruptcy, closures and questions about its leadership have complicated the story.

What Happened to Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles?

For many visitors to Los Angeles, Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles is a destination—one of those famous places they have seen in movies, heard about in songs or watched celebrities visit.

For many of us who grew up in Los Angeles County, however, Roscoe’s occupies a different place in our memories. It was not necessarily our introduction to soul food, nor was chicken and waffles an exotic discovery. Roscoe’s was one among many soul-food restaurants where families ate in South Los Angeles, Inglewood, Compton, Watts and Long Beach.

I ate food from the South L.A. and Inglewood restaurants when I was young, although I was too young to compare the locations. When I returned to Roscoe’s as an adult and ate at the Long Beach location in 2021, I thought the food was good. That experience connected a familiar name from my Southern California childhood with the restaurant Roscoe’s had become decades later.

But the Roscoe’s story today is no longer only about food and nostalgia. It is also about how a Black cultural institution manages its legacy after lawsuits, bankruptcy proceedings, restaurant closures and a public controversy that caused some longtime customers to question who now controls the business—and whether its leadership still understands the community that helped make Roscoe’s famous.

From Harlem inspiration to a West Coast phenomenon

Herbert “Herb” Hudson, a Harlem native and former General Motors foreman, founded Roscoe’s in 1975. Accounts differ on whether the first restaurant was in Hollywood or Long Beach: Roscoe’s official history identifies the company as Hollywood-based, while culinary historian Adrian Miller and several contemporary reports place Hudson’s first location in Long Beach. What is undisputed is that Hudson brought a Harlem-influenced restaurant concept to Southern California and turned it into something distinctly Angeleno.

Hudson drew inspiration from the chicken-and-waffle restaurants and late-night music culture associated with Harlem, particularly Wells Supper Club. Chicken and waffles existed long before either Wells or Roscoe’s, with roots stretching through Pennsylvania Dutch cooking, Southern foodways and the work of Black cooks. Roscoe’s achievement was not inventing the pairing. It was making fried chicken and waffles a recognizable part of Los Angeles dining and eventually a national phenomenon.

In a 1978 advertisement in the Los Angeles Sentinel, Roscoe’s described the dish as “an East Coast specialty with a West Coast atmosphere.” It was an effective summary of Hudson’s idea.

His entertainment connections helped carry the restaurant beyond its neighborhood base. Stevie Wonder, Natalie Cole and comedian Redd Foxx were associated with its early rise, while athletes, actors, musicians and political figures followed. Roscoe’s became a place where local customers, tourists and celebrities could occupy the same dining room.

The restaurant also offered far more than its headline combination. Grits, eggs, greens, macaroni and cheese, red beans and rice, hot-water cornbread and chicken livers helped place Roscoe’s within the larger soul-food tradition. James Beard Award-winning author Adrian Miller’s history of Roscoe’s describes how Hudson used Black media, music connections and neighborhood locations to build the company.

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Becoming part of Black Los Angeles

Roscoe’s did not become an institution merely because famous people ate there. Black Los Angeles made it an institution.

Families celebrated there. Musicians stopped in after performances. Local residents brought visiting relatives. Young people grew up knowing the name before national food television began treating chicken and waffles as a culinary discovery.

Roscoe’s also entered popular culture. It was referenced in movies including Jackie Brown, Rush Hour and Soul Plane, appeared in television productions and was mentioned in music. Its yellow-and-red signs became visual shorthand for a particular side of Los Angeles—one connected to Black culture, nightlife and neighborhood life rather than beaches and Hollywood premieres.

President Barack Obama’s 2011 visit to the Pico Boulevard restaurant represented a high point in that cultural journey. Obama ordered three wings and a waffle, and the meal became known as the “Obama’s Special.” A restaurant created by a Black entrepreneur and sustained heavily by Black customers had served the nation’s first Black president.

Roscoe’s fame, however, could sometimes obscure the larger community around it. Los Angeles has long supported many soul-food kitchens, family restaurants and neighborhood establishments. Roscoe’s became the name outsiders recognized, but it was never the whole story of soul food in Southern California.

The discrimination case and bankruptcy

The most consequential legal chapter began with former employee Daniel Beasley, a Black man who sued East Coast Foods, the company managing several Roscoe’s restaurants.

Beasley alleged that Latino managers gave Latino employees preferential schedules and working conditions while treating Black workers unfairly. He also alleged that he was terminated after complaining about discrimination. A jury found in his favor, and the resulting judgment was ultimately reported at approximately $3.2 million.

This was a particularly damaging case for Roscoe’s reputation. The allegations did not come from an outside critic attacking a Black-owned institution. They came from a Black employee accusing the company behind that institution of failing Black workers.

East Coast Foods filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection in 2016. The discrimination judgment was a major factor, but it was not the company’s only financial obligation. Court proceedings described millions of dollars in additional debt.

The restructuring grew complicated. An examiner concluded that East Coast Foods could not meet its fiduciary responsibilities, and a court-appointed trustee effectively led the company for two years. A bankruptcy judge also ordered Hudson to reverse a transfer of the Roscoe’s name and trademark to an affiliated company he controlled, finding the transfer improper under bankruptcy law.

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A restructuring plan took effect in September 2018. It promised creditors full payment with interest, secured by company assets and as much as $10 million from Hudson. The restaurants remained open. The U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit later summarized the proceedings and Hudson’s guarantee.

The bankruptcy is important when discussing claims that Roscoe’s “changed hands.” Court supervision, the temporary appointment of a trustee and the emergence of new executives clearly changed how parts of the company were controlled. However, available reporting does not establish a straightforward sale of the entire chain to a new owner.

That distinction matters. Social-media posts frequently describe Roscoe’s as no longer Black-owned, but the company has not publicly provided a clear, current breakdown of its ownership. The most accurate conclusion is that Roscoe’s corporate structure and leadership became more complicated and less transparent—not that a complete sale has been conclusively documented.

A second employee lawsuit

Roscoe’s faced another labor case in January 2024 when former employee Jaime Alejandro Carbajal-Torres filed a proposed class-action lawsuit in Los Angeles Superior Court.

Carbajal-Torres, who said he worked for the company for more than 20 years, alleged unpaid overtime, interrupted or missed meal and rest periods, unpaid vacation wages and unreimbursed work expenses. The complaint sought class-action status, unspecified damages and an injunction against further violations of California labor law.

These are allegations in a civil complaint, not proven findings, and Roscoe’s did not immediately respond to the original request for comment, according to L.A. Taco’s report.

Nevertheless, the filing revived uncomfortable questions about the treatment of the people whose labor sustains a celebrated restaurant brand. For a company whose identity is tied so strongly to community, repeated employee complaints cannot simply be dismissed as a public-relations inconvenience.

Closures, tragedy and public controversy

The last several years have brought additional challenges.

Roscoe’s closed its celebrated Pico Boulevard restaurant in January 2023 after approximately 32 years. The company directed customers to its newer La Brea flagship, which opened in 2021. In June 2024, the Pasadena restaurant closed after 30 years, although the company said it hoped to find an upgraded location in the city. The Los Angeles Times reported that some customers had begun questioning whether rising prices still matched the food’s quality.

The chain was also touched by tragedy in September 2022 when rapper PnB Rock was shot and killed during a robbery at the Manchester Avenue restaurant. That killing was not a business controversy created by Roscoe’s, but it attached another painful chapter to the restaurant’s recent history.

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Then, in November 2024, a large inflatable figure of Donald Trump appeared near the Long Beach restaurant. Images spread online, leading some customers to believe Roscoe’s was endorsing Trump and prompting calls for a boycott.

Roscoe’s COO and creative director Diane Vara said the inflatable was connected to a political watch party at an adjacent jazz lounge, not the restaurant itself. According to Eater Los Angeles, the event was hosted by the Los Angeles County Republican Party and URBT News at the neighboring venue.

That explanation did not fully settle the controversy. Vara, who described herself publicly as a partner in Roscoe’s, had also exchanged contentious social-media comments with a food creator who criticized the restaurant and shared a homemade chicken-and-waffle recipe. The tone of the response intensified existing doubts about the company’s ownership, values and relationship with its traditional customers.

For many longtime patrons, the reaction was about more than partisan politics. Roscoe’s had spent decades benefiting from its status as a symbol of Black Los Angeles. Customers therefore expected its leadership to recognize how its actions—or events appearing to be associated with its property—would be understood by that community.

The state of Roscoe’s today

Roscoe’s reached its 50th anniversary in 2025. Its official website currently lists Hollywood, South L.A., Long Beach, Inglewood-LAX, Anaheim, La Brea and Pasadena, although the old Pasadena restaurant closed in 2024 and the company has discussed seeking a replacement site.

There are also signs of continued ambition. Roscoe’s has signed a lease for a space of more than 3,000 square feet at Los Angeles Union Station, according to 2026 reporting, though no firm public opening date had been announced. A Union Station restaurant would place Roscoe’s inside one of Southern California’s most important transportation landmarks as Los Angeles prepares for the 2028 Olympic and Paralympic Games.

This means Roscoe’s is not simply disappearing. It is contracting in some places, repositioning itself in others and attempting to carry a famous name into a new era.

But survival is not the same as renewal.

Roscoe’s still possesses something most restaurants could never purchase: a half-century of cultural memory. It helped popularize chicken and waffles across the country. It provided a gathering place for generations of Angelenos. It became one of the most recognizable Black-founded restaurant brands in America.

That history deserves recognition—but it should not shield the company from scrutiny.

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To retain the loyalty of the community that built it, Roscoe’s needs greater clarity about its ownership and leadership, fair treatment of its workers, consistent food and service, and a more thoughtful relationship with longtime customers. Nostalgia can bring people back once. Trust is what keeps them returning.

Roscoe’s remains an L.A. institution. The question now is whether the company managing that institution understands the responsibility that comes with the name.

Editor’s note: This article distinguishes court findings from allegations. Claims in the 2024 labor complaint remain allegations unless proven in court or resolved through an acknowledged settlement. Publicly available reporting does not conclusively establish that the entire Roscoe’s chain was sold or ceased to be Black-owned.

Sources and related reading

• Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles — official history
• The layered legacy of Roscoe’s — Adrian Miller, Resy
• In re East Coast Foods — Ninth Circuit opinion
• Roscoe’s sued by former employee over alleged labor violations — L.A. Taco
• Roscoe’s closes its Pasadena restaurant after three decades — Los Angeles Times
• The controversy surrounding the Trump inflatable near Roscoe’s — Eater Los Angeles

See What’s Happening Now!

Laura Yares, Michigan State University and Sharon Avni, Borough of Manhattan Community College, CUNY

“Emma,” a young Jewish woman who we met in 2019, didn’t belong to a synagogue. She didn’t have a Jewish partner. She didn’t observe Jewish rituals regularly. On most surveys about religion, she would not seem very engaged with Judaism.

But as Emma talked about what she did in her free time, a very different picture began to emerge. She visited Jewish websites and enjoyed listening to Jewish music. She read books about Jewish topics and had recently attended a retreat for young Jewish adults to learn Torah while also doing yoga.

She was highly invested in learning about Judaism, but she explored her identity without joining traditional institutions.

Most major surveys about religion ask whether someone belongs to a congregation, how often they attend services, whether they pray regularly and whether belief is important in their lives. Those measures help identify broad shifts, like the growing percentage of Americans who are religiously unaffiliated: the “nones.”

But many Americans’ religious lives, like Emma’s, are not disappearing; they are moving away from membership of traditional institutions. To understand what religion looks like in 21st-century America, researchers may need to ask different questions.

Learning through art

As scholars of Judaism and education, we have been exploring how people learn about religion beyond traditional places like synagogues, Jewish schools and summer camps. Between 2019 and early 2023, we spoke with hundreds of people and explored different leisure time activities to discover what people learn about Judaism and Jewishness through cultural arts.

We interviewed dozens of audience members at Jewish-themed shows on Broadway, such as “Leopoldstadt” and “Parade.” We attended Jewish concerts and asked attendees what they learned. We explored how social media communities offer spaces to talk about different Jewish topics, like what fans learned about ultra-Orthodox Judaism from watching the television show “Shtisel.”

Our research revealed that there is a vibrant ecosystem of people learning about religion in their leisure time. Through the arts, both Jews and non-Jews encounter Jewish history, Jewish religious practices and representations of Jewish communities.

Screen and stage

Most people we spoke with told us that they felt meaningful connections to Judaism during activities that would rarely appear on a standard religion survey.

“Joan,” an unmarried woman in her 50s from Connecticut, told us that she was deeply invested in Judaism, but felt that synagogues and Jewish community centers were not welcoming to single people without families. Instead of joining a Jewish institution, she watched Jewish-themed TV shows and movies on Netflix, and joined social media communities to chat with other fans.

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“Luis,” who lived in Boston but was born in Argentina, was a Sephardic Jew, a group that traces their ancestry and traditions to Jewish communities who once lived in Spain and Portugal. His wife was Ashkenazi, meaning her ancestors came from Central and Eastern Europe. She considered herself secular, and so the couple joined the Worker’s Circle, a nonreligious Ashkenazi institution rather than a synagogue.

Yet Luis loved deepening his knowledge of Sephardic culture, and he often attended concerts of music in Ladino, a Sephardic language related to Spanish, with other Sephardic immigrants.

For Joan and Luis, these activities were not peripheral to their Jewish lives. Rather, they were central avenues for learning and community. We interviewed hundreds of Jews who told us that cultural experiences were opportunities to reflect on Jewish practices, explore questions of belonging, connect with family histories and find friends with common interests.

New questions

Some aspects of these patterns were distinctive to Judaism. Historically, many Jews have understood Judaism to be a cultural world, and not only a theological tradition. Learning about cultural dimensions of Judaism has long been part of Jewish education.

The broader phenomenon of informal learning, though, extended far beyond a single tradition. Across America, increasing numbers of people learn about religion through media, cultural productions and digital networks. Christians may study biblical themes through podcasts, online discussion groups or religious influencers. Muslims may participate in online learning communities that connect believers across the world.

The challenge for religion researchers, then, is not simply to determine whether engagement with religion is rising or falling. Rather, it is to develop more nuanced ways of understanding how people explore religious themes and practices, beyond traditional institutions. Only then can we more fully understand how contemporary Americans actually live their religious lives.

Laura Yares, Assistant Professor of Religious Studies, Michigan State University and Sharon Avni, Professor of Academic Literacy and Linguistics, Borough of Manhattan Community College, CUNY

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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Sarah Dees, Iowa State University

As soon as news broke about the death of beloved songwriter Dolly Parton, I began receiving condolence messages from across the country, and around the world.

They came from friends, family and colleagues who knew I’d been working on a biography of the country legend – everyone from a conservative Catholic monk to advocates for queer and trans rights. The list reflects the even more diverse array of fans, people from countless backgrounds, who are mourning her loss.

The main focus of my project is Parton’s own spirituality, starting with her Appalachian upbringing. But it also examines her fandoms, including some people who elevate the singer to an almost sacred status. This was the case before her death – and even more so now.

As a scholar of American religions, I teach my students about practices, texts and beliefs that many of them immediately consider “religious” – for example, a worship service led by a pastor. However, religion is also found far beyond these official times and spaces, including in popular culture. According to scholar America Wolff, fandoms resemble religious groups in the way they focus on a single popular figure who inspires systems of belief, ritual and law.

Singer’s journey

Looking at Parton’s life reveals how a celebrity can incorporate religion into their public persona, without ostracizing admirers from other traditions. She discussed religion in interviews throughout her career, as well as in her 1994 memoir, where she recounted her maternal grandfather, a fundamentalist pastor, preaching hellfire and brimstone.

In 1971, for example, she told journalist Gene Guerrero how religion inspired some of her songs: “My mama used to read us all the Bible stories. I know the Bible pretty well, and I especially loved the stories.” That same year, she released “The Golden Streets of Glory,” the first of her several gospel albums.

Six years later, talking with Rolling Stone interviewer Chet Flippo, Parton claimed that she wasn’t a Christian. But “I do believe, I know there is a God and He is still the best friend I got in the world,” she explained. “I talk to Him often, but I’m one of the world’s sinners.”

Later in her life, though, Parton embraced the label “Christian” – albeit in a way that was very much her own. In the memoir “My Life and Other Unfinished Business,” she explained that “Christianity and its symbols are powerful parts of my life.” However, she diverged from socially conservative elements of her grandfather’s faith by embracing makeup and flashy fashion, celebrating her own sexuality, and speaking up for LGBTQ+ rights.

She was never interested in proselytizing. People do not have to embrace Christianity “to be a decent and worthwhile human being,” she wrote. “Spirituality is the most intimate part of a person’s makeup, and it’s strictly up to the individual to choose how to express it.”

‘Gospel of Dolly’

This openness explains part of Parton’s widespread appeal. The popular podcast “Dolly Parton’s America,” produced by journalists Jad Abumrad and Shima Oliaee, was based on the premise that Parton is one of the few public figures to have fans across the political spectrum.

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After her death, President Donald Trump posted a tribute on his social media site, TruthSocial, and ordered that flags be flown at half-staff for a week. At the same time, in the Castro neighborhood of San Francisco – a haven for the queer community – a Pride flag was also flying at half-staff in her honor.

Mourners include Jesuit priest and author James J. Martin, who thanked Parton for “teaching me about the Christian life,” and numerous Christian musicians who looked up to her. “She was the epitome of faith, grace, talent, beauty and humour,” country artist Carrie Underwood wrote. “She had a humble heart for Jesus and made everyone around her feel special.”

But even non-Christians discussed Parton in sacred terms: a “secular American saint,” as Vox writer Constance Grady designated her in 2021.

Beyond her music, these fans admired her philanthropy, from the Imagination Library program that distributes books to children around the world to her US$1 million donation that helped fund COVID-19 vaccine research. They also highlighted her support for the Black Lives Matter movement and LGBTQ+ rights. “Dolly Parton is beloved because she has devoted her career to standing for love,” Grady wrote.

Even before her death, though, some people idolized her in a saint-like way. In 2011, for example, photographer Alice Hawkins produced a project titled “Dolly Parton is my religon.” Rev. Lindy Vogado, a Presbyterian pastor,likened her to a prophet. “Dolly Parton, through her life and work, inspires us to be better versions of ourselves,” Vogado wrote in 2025. “Just like any good prophet would do.”

In recent years, churches in Illinois, Oklahoma and New York have held services based on “the gospel of Dolly.” I attended the service in New York, which interspersed Parton’s songs with readings from scripture and homilies. Like the other services, the one I attended emphasized Parton’s “teachings”: love, care and acceptance.

Angels and atheists

Since her death, the religious language has only intensified. Musician Roseanne Cash referred to the singer as a “goddess” on Instagram, and cartoonist Marshall Ramsey portrayed her as an angel. “Listen, I’m fairly well atheist and have been for decades,” Threads user @cartergoesplaces proclaimed, “but Dolly Parton is in heaven with Jesus now. That’s simply a fact, and I’ll hear no arguments, no matter how vast the cosmos…”

Parton had her own personal brand of Christian religiosity, but she encouraged others to find and follow their own paths. I believe this helps to explain the huge outpouring of admiration – from followers of many religious traditions, followers of none, and followers of Dolly herself.

Sarah Dees, Associate Professor of American Religions, Iowa State University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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