I can still see her today. Tall, blond, and statuesque, a platinum-haired goddess with perfect teeth and a year-round tan. She was standing in the middle of the dance floor at my parents’ annual Christmas party – except it wasn’t really a dance floor. It was the dining room of our house, but with all…
Tea for a Pandemic – Terry Kirts
1. My grandmother was a kitchen singer, an apron wearer who trilled the rs and drew out the tra-la-las in all the old songs while she kneaded bread dough or blanched tomatoes. Some days growing up, I spent more time in her windswept farmhouse outside of town than I did in my own home, my…
My One of The Kind Relationship to Chinese Food – Chris Liberato
Before I became a more adventurous eater in my late twenties, my appreciation for traditional Asian food consisted of the bowls of phở that my friends would seek out when we visited Boston. I was fascinated in particular with how my chef friend Charlie approached his noodles: requesting his steak served raw on a side…
Oysters – Lynne Golodner
The oysters arrived on a paper plate, craggy half-shells pooling ocean brine. A server slung a basket of napkins, vinegar and cocktail sauce on the table. Dan lifted a shell and slurped. I forked one and bit into the softness, closing my eyes. I breathed in through my nose to taste more fully. These were…
Lemons – Victory Witherkeigh
“You made it, Grandma!” I said as I gave her a hug. The gold tassel swished in my face from the graduation cap I hadn’t removed yet. “I’ve been to all your graduations, Iha,” she replied in a huff, “And, I’ll be at the next one.” I gripped her hand as she steadied herself with…
THREE POEMS – Susan Moon
My mother packed eggs sunny side up,
Spam slices golden-browned to perfection
tucked into my lunchbox.
My Unsung Sheroes – Susan Moon
Just a spoonful satisfyingly sears on the way down, tickling all the microvilli on its magic school bus trip through the body. A taste so tangy, a flavor so fearless. Anything but diluted, the way I’d always told myself to be.
ONE POEM – Bradley David
Then to discover we both go
first for that old chipped blue soup bowl
Is that love?
In Time I Find Strength, in Time I Get Caught in the Memories of Food – Hamnah Khan
In Time I Find Strength, in Time I Get Caught in the Memories of Food There had been a time when I had been told that if I had to go through the most important events in my life I would remember only a mere hour of them, all of them painfully squished against each…
Failing to Eat a Local Delicacy – Michael O’Mahony
Lorighittas are a type of pasta made in one small village, Morgongiori, on a side of a mountain on the east of Sardinia. Only the women of this village, and only some of them, know how to make lorighittas. A lorighitta is effectively a woven pasta made from a dough of semolina and water. Each…
ONE POEM – Louise McStravick
Make the water rearrange its insides,
shift shape as it is told,
drip drip vinegar,
sour the water to not let things stick.
ONE POEM – Elizabeth Wilson Davies
The unconsidered diaries of family life fall open at once favourite recipes,
bittersweet imprints on the page of stained, smeared, sticky memories.