A Le Creuset Dutch oven telegraphs contentment and cheer—but for me, mine is a token of complicated bitterness and longing.
What a gift it is to be asked to feed a person, but what a further gift for that person to ask if they might be taught to make what you make.
I find joy in being let into the idiosyncrasies of someone’s taste.
This is an essay about soup, but it is also about friendship. Or rather, this is an essay about soup and how a friendship ends.
In adolescence, weekend lunches meant fending for ourselves. On certain Saturdays, my sister and I ate wafu spaghetti together.
The trick to a good nostalgic curry rice is to finish it with honey. Just a drizzle at first.