I was born in the suburbs of Orange County, California less than a two hour drive away from the Mexican border. Despite being the…
My grandparents, Fred and Josephine, were both one hundred percent Italian. Grandpa Fred said he was born in a house in lower Manhattan that…
Roly-poly, one tooth missing, and all shiny with sweat, pudgy little hands buried in bread dough on Gran’s dining room chair—you’re happy, all of…
Just before I was married, my aunt Melanie gave me a pink three-ring plastic binder filled with the culinary history of my family. It’s…
Joyce Carol Oates wrote, “If food is poetry, is not poetry also food?” I don’t know about that, but most afternoons, you’ll find me…
I was an earthy kid. I had no compunction about draining dregs from beer cans thrown into the ditch near my kindergarten bus stop.…
Steam rose from the pot and I inhaled a buttery whiff. I picked up the wooden spoon resting on the stovetop, its handle warm…
A few hours after my father died, the owner of our local deli called and said he was putting a hold on the orders…
The sartorial is, in civilization, erotic but redeemed in the reframing of dressing as more vinaigrette than concealing : this is consolation for the…