What do you actually eat when you want something that feels like somebody’s grandmother made it, and you’re nowhere near your grandmother? That question led me to Lucille’s Kitchen on SW Bayshore Boulevard, and I’ve been going back ever since.
I found the place through a coworker who kept bringing in lunches that smelled better than anything I was eating. Turned out she was picking up food from Lucille Moreau, who opened this small Southern-style soul food spot after retiring from hospital dietary work and deciding she wasn’t done cooking for people yet. That origin story comes through in the food — it’s calibrated, careful, nothing thrown together.
The first time I walked in, Lucille herself was behind the counter, which is still usually the case. She’s maybe sixty-five, moves with the efficiency of someone who has been feeding large groups of people for decades, and will tell you, without being asked, which dishes came out especially well that day. That’s how I ended up with the oxtail instead of the smothered chicken on my second visit. She was right to steer me.
The menu rotates, but there are anchors. The oxtail, braised low and slow until it’s falling off the bone, comes with rice and peas and a side of whatever vegetable she’s running — collard greens, candied yams, cabbage seasoned with smoked turkey. The catfish is cornmeal-crusted and fried to order, not sitting under a heat lamp. The mac and cheese has that baked-in crust on top that tells you it spent time in an oven, not a steam tray. I’ve had all of it at various points, and nothing has disappointed me.
The space is small — maybe eight or nine tables, a counter along one wall, a chalkboard with the day’s specials. It’s Port St. Lucie through and through: strip mall exterior, zero pretense, fluorescent lighting that nobody’s bothered to swap out for something warmer. None of that matters once the food arrives. Portions are generous in the way that makes you reconsider whether you need dinner later.
Lunch runs between ten and sixteen dollars for a plate depending on what you get. The iced tea is sweet and comes in a cup large enough to hydrate you through the afternoon. They do takeout, and that’s how a lot of people use it — in and out in under ten minutes if you call ahead. Friday and Saturday are the busiest, and by early afternoon on those days, certain items are gone. If you want the oxtail on a Saturday, go before noon.
What makes Lucille’s stand out in a city with no shortage of casual dining options is the specificity of her cooking. This isn’t generic Southern food off a chain playbook. It reflects her — her Creole roots, her years feeding hospital patients who needed actual nourishment, her particular opinions about how much seasoning is the right amount. You get the sense that if something doesn’t meet her standard on a given day, it doesn’t go out. That’s not something you can manufacture.
I’ve brought three different people here now. Every single one of them asked when they were going next.
