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Poetry

Updated Portrait In A Grocery Store

Most days I stick to the periphery — / produce and eggs and chicken and cheese — / but tonight I am buying peanut butter, / which here is inexplicably placed / with the popcorn and chips.

By Caleb Nolen July 2022
Poetry

In Texas, Thinking Of Georgia

It must have been forty years ago, / my brother and sisters, our mom and dad, / gathered around the fat television / before our Saturday supper / to watch my skinny father / make the evening news.

By John Poch June 2022
The Sun Interview

The Carnivore’s Dilemma

Wyatt Williams On The Moral Conundrum Of Killing And Eating Animals

We shouldn’t fool ourselves into thinking that because we went to Whole Foods and bought the organic product, we’re not participating in suffering and death.

By Finn Cohen April 2022
The Dog-Eared Page

Love And Death Among The Molluscs

An oyster leads a dreadful but exciting life. Indeed, his chance to live at all is slim, and if he should survive the arrows of his own outrageous fortune and in the two weeks of his carefree youth find a clean smooth place to fix on, the years afterwards are full of stress, passion, and danger.

By M.F.K. Fisher April 2022
Readers Write

Cooking

With a broken-down oven, in a hotel kitchen, on an uninhabited island

By Our Readers April 2022
Quotations

Sunbeams

Eating puts us in touch with all that we share with the other animals, and all that sets us apart.

Michael Pollan

April 2022
Poetry

My Mother Says She Does Not Know How To Cook

“How did you make this?” she always asks. “A recipe,” I tell her. No magic trick. No skill. Just buying ingredients, following directions, not varying from what I’m supposed to do.

By Shuly Xóchitl Cawood November 2021
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

A Thousand Cups Of Coffee

It’s like arriving at your destination after a long drive, only to realize your mind has been elsewhere the entire time and you have no memory of the lights you stopped at, the turns you made, the glide in and out of traffic. Morning arrives again, and I stand in the kitchen, startled to exist.

By Steve Edwards August 2021
Readers Write

Bread

A family recipe, a childhood memory, a Depression-era handout

By Our Readers August 2021
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

May You Bury Me

In three years, I thought, Lia’s chin would reach my crown. Or my crown would touch her chin? At some point the height order reverses itself, and then they leave you. Or you are overtaken by someone’s respiratory droplets in the produce section and you leave first.

By Kate Vieira July 2021