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…
I I hate going to restaurants, especially ones with dim lighting. I like food that tastes like cardboard, preferably just rice. I know it’s…
When I was a kid, I loved Thanksgiving. It was an opportunity to eat all day—pastries and fresh fruit in the morning, olives and…
Hello and welcome to The New School for Social Research. Congratulations. If you’ve taken a look at the “About Us” webpage, then you already…
“What are you writing these days?” my old friend asks, not looking up from her 12 dollar taco. We have not seen each other…