Fresh Fruit, Broken Bodies describes the physical pain and emotional suffering that Triqui migrant workers routinely face during their work in the West Coast berry fields
The driver knew it was hard to hear with the windows down so he leaned sideways to make his point and spoke slowly in Italian. “It is my older daughter who is the real cook. She even makes dinner with l’avocado.”
Stepping from the stuffy Soviet-era train to the snow-dusted platform below, I fill my chest with a welcome breath of mountain air laced with frost and cigarette smoke.
- Waiting for a Cappuccino: A Brief Layover along the Spice Trail
As I wait for my cappuccino, I subconsciously but quite mechanically begin to play with the salt and pepper shakers on the vinyl tablecloth—pairing them off as ballroom dancers across the checkerboard design, then transforming them into charging bull and lithesome matador.
- Home Run: My Journey Back to Korean Food
I was harboring all sorts of yuppie anxieties about first-time fatherhood—the unit cost of diapers and 529 College Savings Plans chief among them. But as a Korean-American, I was also worrying about our son's cultural identity. I especially looked forward to introducing him to my culinary heritage.