Sometimes a bowl of noodles is big enough to absorb conversation, literature, and the love lives of those nearby.
Eating antipodean means trying cuisine that’s local on the opposite side of the Earth. We asked people around the globe to experience life—through food—from half a world away.
After decades of perfecting a homemade bread recipe, a single experiment transforms a home cook into an artisan.
A darkly pop sensibility turns familiar objects on their heads—so a toothbrush becomes erotic, and popsicles are strangers in a crowd.
Love of food can be love’s most sincere form—especially when avocados are involved—but also bittersweet if paired with departure.
Consider the Delta smelt: an old fish in California, endemic to the upper Sacramento-San Joaquin Estuary, now caught between its home and thousands of drought-stricken acres.
An editor telephones complete strangers outside the US, asking them to describe a typical Thanksgiving.
In the city of Irvine, in the county of Orange, in the state of California during a season of sports, sometimes America reaches maximum volume.
Indian culture is under siege by Westerners enamored with yoga, authenticity, and convenience. The dosa—a beloved, inconvenient tradition—could be next to fall.
Continuing our series where we ask novelists to write restaurant reviews that are absolutely not restaurant reviews, the author of the Southern Reach trilogy meets his match in a Dublin brie.
Nobody stands between one cyclist and her cheese on a vegetable-fueled bike tour through Eastern Europe.
Between love and tacos, sometimes it’s better to choose tacos. Our series continues where we ask novelists to dine out, then write us something that 1) is a restaurant review; 2) is not a restaurant review.