This morning I took a trip down memory lane, landing in my hometown of Atlanta and my son’s hometown of Chicago. If you’re interested, the latest article is here. In the meantime, please share in the comments a food that brings the memories flooding back.
On the final day of last year, I shared the first part of a series of writings on the glorious Paul Robeson tomato. If you’re interested, you can take a look here. The meat of it was to talk history through the medium of food. …
My grandmama was named Lillian and every time I see lilies, I am wrapped up in her warm embrace. With the exception of my mom, no one has taught me more about the pleasure of food and sharing it with others.
One of my most vivid memories is making peach pies together, touching and pressing pastry dough between my tiny fingers, as I learned what to do to make the flakiest and most delicious pie. But making food with love was just the first step. The heart of it was the sharing. Doesn’t food taste even better while eating with others?
Being from Atlanta, there was never a shortage of peaches. Whether famously marking our city’s streets or filling Varsity pies, peaches are everywhere. Thank goodness.
Today I headed to the Urban Growers Collective South Chicago farm where I saw old friends and met new ones. Along the way, sweet Malcolm, the farm manager, took me on a tour and shared what had grown since my last visit in early June.
What abundance!
Is summer filled with hazy, lazy days of alfresco lunches, pitchers of lemonade, firefly dinners, and rosé?
One of my dad’s favorite stories to share is of me, aged 4 or 5, picking strawberries at one of those pick-your-own berries farms. There I was, squatting in the midst of rows of berry-laden plants with a white bucket in hand. He happened to …
