Stories in Feast that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Today, Pilchard Pie Made My World A Better Place
Alongside my love of writing sits a love of cooking. I find both creative endeavours deliciously therapeutic and rewarding. Today epitomises why.
If necessity is the mother of invention, my grandmother held a patent in survival. Raising ten children in the height of the Great Depression, Granny learned some lessons the hard way. All those kids, all those mouths to feed, which were staircase born, or stigger-staggered in age. One born every year to help their Papa work the fields and bring in the harvest, had to find something to eat themselves. They were sharecroppers, a common trade in the Old South. Ranch hands were nonexistent, as no one could afford the luxury of hired help. The burden of existing was on the family, and the luck of making a meal depended not just if it rained, but if it rained at the right moment, a precise time in the harvest.
The Legendary Potato Soup
Like many great legends, our soup starts with the humblest of beginnings: A scrappy bag of potatoes (already seeding) and a long-forgotten onion. The year was 1993, the location was Mad Manchester and little did we four house-sharing students realise that these past-their-best ingredients were set to become the foodstuffs of alchemic legend.
Milk-Poached Smoked Haddock
‘You put garlic in it? Garlic!’ I took an audibly deep breath. My livid, hopeless look caught the eye of a young women sitting opposite me on the bus; an innocent stranger unable to ignore what promised to turn into a full-scale row about some garlic, she quickly averted her eyes, concentrating upon her mobile phone.
Carrot ginger soup
The unfamiliarity of the surrounding walls has me trapped in a turmoil. The air is soaked with a scent that has yet to be mine, I am breathing in my new reality and it is nearly suffocating. My existence has been altered and I can only adapt to my current environment.
- Runner-Up in Nourished Challenge
I Want to Give the World Nachos
The Story: I have been incarcerated for nearly 22 years. Throughout this time, food has held a special kind of significance: food served by the prison is rarely filling, cooked by inmates who are more concerned with stealing anything good and filling their own bellies than they are with seeing that their fellow inmates are able to eat as well as they. On the rare occasions we are fed something decent, there is a rush of people trying to buy or barter for the "good tray." Thanksgiving and Christmas trays, with their extra portion of real turkey meat, rolls, and extra cake with white icing can be sold for as much as $10.
A Spoonful of Bitterness, Warmth and Comfort
If Rosie finally committed to her promise to leave work on time, she wouldn't be rushing to the nearest station to catch her train back home. She wouldn't be stuck standing with her face inches away from the automated doors. She wouldn't end up drenched when rain suddenly started pouring down hard.
Who's Going To Make The Cookies Now?
Today, I’m thinking of marshmallow squares. Delicious little plain-based, sweet topping cookies that Mom made every Christmas. For as long as I can remember, and most certainly before I was even a twinkle in my dad’s eyes, my mom had baked those same treats every holiday season. Along with her shortbread, her dark and light fruit cakes and her Christmas logs, she was nothing if not a woman of routine.
Single Mom. Georgia Heat. Icebox Cake
Growing up with a single mom in Marietta, GA was tough. My twin brother and I would see our dad every other weekend and then spend two weeks in the summer with him. Unfortunately, mom was bitter and this caused her to lash out at us, berating him and whoever he was with. After a while, we would just stop saying anything about our time with him but this made the atmosphere at home so dark and depressing. This summer was hot and we had just returned from our two weeks with Dad in Florida and our air conditioning was not keeping up with the sweaty Georgia heat. We were not looking forward to the onslaught of mom’s ranting about dad when mom came out of the kitchen with a smile on her face. “I made your favorite,” she said. “Favorite what?” was all I could think. She went back into the kitchen and brought out a plate my grandmother handed down to her and perched on top was a big mound of Icebox cake. “Your grandmother used to make this for us in the summers – they call it Icebox cake because we would put it in the icebox to keep cold back before refrigerators,” she said proudly. She sliced off two large pieces for us both – careful to cut across the cake so the result was a zebra stripe effect that made it look even better. “Some people just keep it in the fridge,” she continued, “…but I like it better in the freezer. Plus, it lasts longer!” It didn’t last longer with us. Next thing I know we are going back for seconds, and mom had the sense to put it back before we could devour it. Simple. Cold. Refreshing. Fun. I forgot about how hot it was, and mom focused on putting a smile on our faces instead of interrogating us. What a wonderful, simple treat that was.
It's the simple things.
Thinking back on all the beautiful dishes I’ve had throughout my life, I could write about chicken and dressing, tamales, pumpkin pie, or many other entrees I have had. Fancy dishes that would have your mouth watering like crazy. Instead, I will write about a simple, plain chocolate cake made for me with so much love.
Zucchini and Red Onion Pasta
Hi friends! Did you know that I have a recipe blog? JK! I don't... I don't even have a lot of recipes hanging out in my brain. I am always embarrassed to admit and slightly infamous for never actually having a recipe to give anyone who asks!
Being Called "Hummus Queen" and Eight Other Things That Have Happened Since I Went Vegan
I decided to go vegan when I got home from a summer abroad and realized I had gained 10 pounds. I have been vegetarian since I was in 10th grade, and before traveling I had been off dairy for six months to see if it would help clear my skin. (Hint: it did.) But I was going to the land of pizza and cappuccinos... so I went from zero to 1,000 in dairyland as soon as I got off the plane. It was six weeks of creamy, sugary bliss. Then I got home, returned to reality, stepped on a scale, and took a long look in the mirror at the bumps all over my face. It was time to change. And since then, I have never looked back.