Food + Drink
In celebration of all things gustatory.
The Cuisine of the Midwestern United States
Detroit, Michigan specialties include chili dogs called Coney Island hot dogs. Detroit also has its own style of pizza a thick-crusted Sicilian-influenced rectangular type called square pizza.
Rasma RaistersPublished 7 months ago in FeastAnd A Little Love
When my stepdad passed away by suicide, I gained twenty pounds. From grief and stress, and also from the countless dishes dropped at our door. In the aftermath of the funeral, as my mom and I temporarily moved into my grandma's house, food followed. A truth well-known is that people will rally around you in a time of need, and one way they know they can help while still leaving room to grieve is by providing meals.
Raine NealPublished 7 months ago in FeastOh Pie Goodness!
It was my birthday. My 21st birthday, actually. I didn’t want a big celebration – my family took me out for a meal at a restaurant the night before, the Beefeater. It was nice, the food was great, and my boyfriend came too, of course. We’d been together over 2 years at that point, so of course he comes along for family celebrations. For the purposes of this story, I’ll call him Theo (not his real name).
Madi HaywoodPublished 7 months ago in FeastMarrakesh
It was my third visit to Marrakesh, and I was not unfamiliar with the city, despite the quarter century which separated the first from the last of those visits. That’s the thing about ancient cities – they don’t change all that quickly, not in the parts that pull the tourists in, anyway. My first visit was part of a larger backpacking journey through Morocco. This was back when my back was strong of course. My best friend and I, at the dawn of our twenties, travelled the country by bus and train, carrying our worlds on our backs and relishing the soreness of our shoulders and the fatigue in our legs. I ate so much amazing food on that trip. My favourite, still my favourite, was a piping hot vegetable tagine, the oil still bubbling in the clay dish and the vegetables, alive with aromatic spices, as tender as a perfect pear. Or perhaps the fresh mint tea, served from high above the gold trimmed glasses in a steaming gurgle of water, the insane sweetness of the sugar lacing the improbable coolness of the mint. I have recreated this at home with several varieties of mint grown in pots in my garden, but in the same way that Mediterranean light lends everything a clarity more northern latitudes cannot emulate, the tea I brew at home falls flat in comparison.
Hannah MoorePublished 7 months ago in FeastFuneral Potatoes
Red plastic on the tables in a school gym, my baby cousin in a pink tutu and cowgirl boots running around with the other kids. Photos in the hallway in frames sat on lace cloths. Ceramic blue jays. People whispering in corners. Clinking in the kitchen off to the side.
S. C. AlmanzarPublished 7 months ago in FeastSoup For Life
I love soup. I love eating soup and I love making it. I feel like a witch, working at her couldron when I make soups. Ever since I was a kid, I would have at least 5 bowls of soup. I would eat it until it felt like my belly would burst. I still do, but usually 2-3 bowls of soup is enough to get me belly-bursting full.
Samantha JamisonPublished 7 months ago in FeastGarlic Kale Pasta for the Soul
It was a Monday. Much like any other Monday, full of drudgery, but this Monday was slightly different. The air a bit heavier, muscles tense, head and heart heavy; making it difficult to breathe or find comfort in my own skin. I went through the day completing every task on my to-do list. Go here. Call there. Do this. Document that. Mundane musings of a typical work day. Yet still different. Filled with aching thoughts of those mourning and war breaking out on a distant horizon. Swamped with social media reminders of pain and angst. Again and again. Feeling helpless and guilty all the same. Yet somehow in this faraway world, we experience “peace” and safety. Luxuries to say the least. Our days move on from dusk until dawn, existing on repeat. Physically unscathed but emotionally bleeding. I came home from work with a head full of thoughts but a mind quite empty. Unsure of what to say or do that could somehow make things feel right. Just consumed by extreme exhaustion with no true form of rest in sight. Life spins on in a vortex of chaos while we make futile attempts to remain balanced. Steady in the midst of the storm. I am sure my partner felt it too. The heaviness of it all. Expectations of complacency. The world fails to cease and so should we. Despite the entire human existence crumbling beneath our feet, we tried to lighten the evening with ice cream. I allowed my taste buds to focus in on the rich Neptune chocolate that melted onto a delicious Butterfinger cone. He opted for salted caramel. Maybe we’d skip dinner altogether. I mean, we are adults after all and I am sure that ice cream meets the requirements of some food group somewhere. But then "real" supper-time hunger set in. Accompanied by somber feelings once again. So we began to toss around ideas regarding ways to find nourishment despite neither of us really wanting to expend much energy. We laid in bed aimlessly for a moment. Then suddenly the boyfriend drifted into the kitchen, deciding to do what he does best. Bring comfort through food - assuming pasta would do. He entered into the zone of carbohydrates a la mode, in the only fashion that can soothe the soul.
Nourished
Rain speckled the sky and gently tapped and pecked across the brim of my cap. I pulled my coat tight across my shoulders in an effort to seal myself off from the chill of the wind. A basket, carrying a small sack of flower and a full jar of milk, swung recklessly from the crook of my arm as I ran.
Tanner OrelPublished 7 months ago in Feast