When the stove in my Brooklyn apartment started to leak gas last year, the gas company sent a technician, a burly man with a sunburned scalp, who told me that…
cooking
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I never knew my lola. Every few months, I would hear her voice crackle through the phone from the other side of the Earth. On the mantel, I would see…
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My mother turned up at my door with a huge hunk of fish wrapped in newspaper. She rarely stopped by the house even though she lived right down the street. …
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Stevie Edwards is the author of two poetry collections, Good Grief (Write Bloody) and Humanly (Small Doggies), as well as a recent chapbook Sadness Workshop (Button Poetry). She holds a…
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Tommy “Teebs” Pico is author of the books IRL, Nature Poem, Junk, Feed, and myriad keen tweets including “sittin on the cock of gay.” Originally from the Viejas Indian reservation…
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Food
Stuffed Artichokes for Millennials Harmed by Structural Failure
by Guest Contributor January 21, 2019This is cooking for abandoned hopes. For the path that fails or, rather, fails you. I am not sure what generational identity or identifying can do for us at this…
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Food
Cooking Origin Stories: In the Kitchen, My Mother’s Daughter
by Guest Contributor January 7, 2019I think I was turning 14, when I decided that I would never learn how to cook. Not deliberately at least. As a young girl stubborn in her intentions to…
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I was a child of the 1990’s, but you wouldn’t know it by the way my family ate. While most of my friends were having canned ravioli and tie-dye yogurts,…
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“Where’re you going?” Mom called sharply from the kitchen. “Aren’t you going to help me?” I stopped, one foot on the stairs. My eyes were bleary, my temper suddenly short.…
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By the time we got to the dusty park in Durham, California, with its canopy of towering valley oaks, the men—my dad, my granddad, dozens of others—had always been there…
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I grew up in Iowa, in the seventies, but not until I left Iowa, and the 2000s, did I understand why people ate pork chops: my mother was an uninterested…
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When you’re sad or you had a bad day, try this: make bird’s milk. When it’s ready, it looks like immaculate clouds floating on a sky made out of sweet…
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I was born in Provo, Utah. This is not an easy thing for me to admit. It is a shame that dogs me always despite the fact that I’ve lived…
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Are you near your cookbooks right now? Sorry, I forgot we’re on the internet—a better question might be: do you even own cookbooks? If you do, chances are good that…