To produce food in the form of meat, an animal will be killed. Obvious but significant: You will realize you are about to end a life.
Sometimes a bowl of noodles is big enough to absorb conversation, literature, and the love lives of those nearby.
We asked people around the globe—in Uganda, Ecuador, Fiji, and more—to make food from the opposite side of Earth.
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.