Eating family style in California’s San Joaquin Valley when I was growing up meant sitting at a long, noisy table with people you might not know and eating food you hadn’t ordered.
Few people know that the best place to go for a fine Russian meal isn’t Russia, but Helsinki, Finland. I’m Finnish, and my knowledge of Russian cooking came straight from my grandmother, who worked as a chef in a wealthy household in the Åland Islands.
Opening a bottle of wine seems such a simple affair. But, in fact, corkscrews are not at all ordinary. They are marvels of mechanical ingenuity, vulgar representations of erotic delight, and useful pocket tools.
- 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.