Personal Essay

We're still talking about the food we ate on our honeymoon on the Amalfi Coast, all these years later.

The vanilla cake I made was real. The boyfriend? Not so much.

Many Americans believe that Cinco de Mayo, the fifth of May, is Mexican Independence Day. It’s not.

This experience truly was the icing on the cake for this project.

COVID created an opportunity to take a step back and focus on what Ramadan really stands for: practicing how to become a better version of yourself; engaging in meditation, prayer, and reflection; and making your home a sanctuary.

Plant-based eating is an important part of our diasporic culinary heritage — ingredients, preparations, flavors, and techniques bond and distinguish us through time and place.

It’s Tết, Vietnamese New Year, and we’ve found our way to each other. To comfort, community, and the things that tie it all together: Storytelling and food. 

It’s Native American Heritage Month in the United States. However, for us Native peoples, November (and Native Heritage Month) on its own cannot contain the pride and joy we feel for our histories, our peoples, and our relationships to the lands and the places of our ancestors.

We sit down with the journalist behind Toasted Sister, the wildly popular and award-winning podcast.

Indigenous activist and urban farmer Kirsten Kirby-Shoote on growing food and medicine for her community.

"Reclaiming Indigenous cuisine can be an important first step in retrieving our lost identity," writes guest editor Jennifer Brandt.

In my wildest dreams, my father and I share a meal. We sit next to a river at one of those outdoor cafes in Vietnam, watching boats angle through the water as we slap mosquitoes. In front of us, plates are stacked high with bar food like chao tom (shrimp patties wrapped around sugar cane), quẩy (deep-fried breadsticks), banh xeo (crispy coconut milk crepe), and a bowl of salted plums that make our lips pucker, their chalky residue tingling the edges of our mouths.

For many Latinx folks living in the United States, having a dual identity — one foot in and one foot out of the culture — is a way of life. Navigating that can be difficult, but I find that the simplest way to stay true to my Puerto Rican and Afro-Caribbean roots is through food. I love making dishes that I grew up eating that remind me of loved ones.

After close to 20 years trying on different labels, I’ve decided to call off the search. Here's why.

Sloooooooow down.

It’s true: a donut made things better.

This popular savory Japanese breakfast, which translates as "egg over rice," is exceptionally simple: Crack a raw egg into a bowl of hot cooked rice and sprinkle in some select seasonings.

"We had no handbook for our new blended family, but Mom had a plan. She modeled us after the kind of nuclear unit we watched on evening sitcoms."

For Tina Vasquez, cooking basic Mexican dishes is a creative outlet for her bicultural identity. But what does it say about her if she can't make traditional red rice, a pillar of Mexican food in the United States?

Inside a diner with an egg cream, I was a normal kid happily sipping on a straw. Outside the diner, I was a little girl stuck in the middle of a custody battle that dragged me across the country.

For cookbook author Durkhanai Ayubi, celebrating Eid means making sweets with her mom and sisters. Even after a hard year, food remains a powerful constant for her and her family.

Trying to crack Kripalu’s perfect confection felt like a hopeful distraction in a dark and uncertain time.

There’s no substitute for the joy of eating in community, but baking deliberately beautiful things holds space for the possibility of that joy’s return.

Even though I wasn’t able to physically trek through Peru, Brazil, and Argentina, I could still journey through these countries with my tastebuds.

There's only one snack that can break the 3 p.m. slump.

Cooking the food of my past reminded me that cooking is more than a means to an end. It can be a way to connect with a part of yourself that you've forgotten.

I made a multi-tiered celebration cake because I could.

In the midst of a pandemic, predictability can be a blessing when so many life circumstances feel out of your control.

Pizza, pasta, and the power of my quarantine pod.

It's just too good to be considered "outdated."

When one writer found p:ear, the art program in Portland that provides hundreds of homeless teens with a supportive community and nutritious food, she learned that cooking was a source of connection — something she had been gravely missing.

I couldn’t control the world I was living in or my changing hormones, but I could show up weary-eyed and baby-laden and organize my ingredients on the counter.

"In a year when virtually nothing was traditional, a bit more tradition-breaking, on our own terms, has been both practical and necessary."

Cooking, to the shame of my birth city, was my cultural Achilles heel.

My theme for our virtual gathering is “Recognizing Culture Through Foodways.” Attendees are encouraged to select one of these five ingredients, research its origins, and cook a dish that includes the main ingredient.

Watching the cooks on Guy’s Grocery Games running through the aisles and having a blast putting together delicious food makes me feel like I’m back in that place I know and love.

We usually celebrate Diwali with friends and family, welcoming visitors with tea and sweets or reveling in others’ homes. This year we can't do that, but this dish will signify that closeness and bounty.

The pandemic has forced all of us to take a break from the traditional dinner we’ve prized for so long. And maybe, rethink our focus on the food.

I am considered a long-hauler, someone who no longer has COVID-19 but still experiencing lingering symptoms. After 126 days I still have unpredictable fatigue, pain and numbness in my feet and legs, shaky hands, blurred vision, insomnia, brain fog, and lack a sense of taste and smell.

I wouldn’t change my greasy childhood for anything — not even a vacation to Disney World every year.

I had only heard the word “coronavirus” mentioned a few times when I started to observe small changes in my routine.

This year, the 25-hour fast when food and drink are forbidden seems even more daunting. What will we talk about, if we can’t talk about food?

"I took a sip and melted into the couch. Never had I felt so held by a beverage."