I felt I had something to prove. But the Manhattan, unchanged since its nineteenth-century origins, has nothing to prove.
Lunch-packing videos have shown me that, regardless of your age or your body size or how big of a breakfast you had, we all deserve to eat.
For me, longing for filter coffee and missing my father are one and the same.
A year in fruitcake means a year soaking in hope and optimism. Committing to the cakes meant believing that we would all see some semblance of survival.
Before I knew it, I finished my re gan mian, and I was filled to the brim with Wuhan, now a place no longer foreign to me.
Like rojak, our fluid and hybrid identities, I believe, make us more accepting as a community. Mixture is celebrated instead of shunned.
My first unkosher months weren’t especially guilt-ridden; if anything, it was the closest I had felt to coming of age.
I could almost sense them beside me, as if the spattered index cards they’d left behind had come to life.
Both the sandwich and I were ‘made in China’ but with an undeniable Americanness.
To these writers, saunf occurred in the world as a curiosity, but not as an inevitability.
I pray my baby will love their body, or at least accept it, and carry it around the world, just as I have carried them too, with pride and joy.
“The food scene in the Bay Area is dying because everything is so expensive; rent is expensive.”