I spent my first 9 months marinating in the spicy, Korean blood that circulated through my mother’s womb. She ate a lot of kimchee…
Last year I ate a ghost pepper. It was hot. I can’t really complain, because I knew it was a mistake at the…
Early summer before I turned nine, my father took me to the edge of our property in rural Washington State and positioned a…
I’ll be the first to admit it: I love foods that are ethically indefensible. I love fois gras. I will eat a full plate…
A collection of photos for National Hot Dog Day, of well, what do you think? Hot dogs. As a photo editor, I figured the…
When I was a child, I watched my grandmother gently press black dough between her fingers, forming miniature dogs, pandas, and bunnies. Swiftly,…
I was four-years-old when I killed a turtle. Paw Paw wanted to make soup. “It will make Hing Hing strong,” my maternal grandmother said…
The Moosewood Generation It was hard to be a progressive lefty in the mid-eighties. We wanted to live simply so others could simply live.…
My grandmother made a special stuffing on Thanksgiving: gizzards, stale bread and pearl onions baked to the consistency of pudding. She made it annually…