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Food

Poetry

I Eat My Words

Yes, it’s cruel. An unseemly gluttony. / Trapping the ortolan buntings, forcing / them to gorge in the dark, mouthfeel of seeds / their only comfort in that closed, blank space.

By Leona Sevick September 2023
Readers Write

Coffee

A family business, a workplace lifeline, a reminder of home

By Our Readers June 2023
Poetry

Curve-Billed Thrasher

The curve-billed thrasher digs the small purple potatoes / from the raised garden beds and ruins them. / He sets them back into the hollows in which they grew, / each speared neatly once through the heart.

By Chera Hammons May 2023
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