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The Ramen Shop was near closing when a young man walked in. Though 20 minutes before the posted time, Grace had never had a problem kicking people out early, or opening late for that matter. If anyone ever asked her about whether she lost customers for her erratic hours, she’dContinue Reading

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While outside it’s raining, and sleeting and freezing,inside my crockpot is bubbling with fragrant stew,offering me generous comfort and companionship,embracing the entire house with its delicious aroma oftasty promise, a guarantee of sorts against thecold and hunger,hunger for food to comfort my body,hunger for food to feed my soul withculinaryContinue Reading

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The stew splashedas the wind stirredthe lightning-warmedbroth…such a sight to seeat the beginning. The new cook in the kitchentook a sip and grinned…This is good. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered Arts, Reader’s Digest, US1, and others. She wasContinue Reading

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At last, more space to spread out and organize,clear shelves and drawers to show what’s inside.Although I’ve resisted this extravagance, I’vegiven in so that I have space to freeze packagedhomemade soups, banana bread, and challah. I’m not questioning this urge to have morecooked food at hand, even if the newContinue Reading

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Roger Camp is the author of three photography books including the award winning Butterflies in Flight, Thames & Hudson, 2002. His documentary photography has been awarded the prestigious Leica Medal of Excellence. His work has appeared in numerous journals including The New England Review, North American Review and the NewContinue Reading

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I pick up the purple turnip and slice off the scraggly-rooted bottom so it is stable when I cut it in half. I haven’t bought a rutabaga since the first heatwave in June. But the autumn chill compels me to buy this hybrid cabbage-turnip that I use only for soup.Continue Reading

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Unborn hole empties churchrailroad ties in a forestcrawdads tadpoles nymphs sold outwho dreamed up Jupiter’s moonscapes Kelp and kale prom dressesthe hunter who bags his palno mention of French parfumstenches of ghetto gutters F-only alphabet soup de jourminesweeper memories of fiscal statisticsbut last place in Ulsyssesfound living moodquick-change artist bornContinue Reading

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Boiled in the small potuntil they disintegrated. Nowa bubbling whirlpool of purple, tiny strings.Pink roses rise to the surface. A dish for a baby girl shower?I dip—sweet, tart.A ladle in Japanspooning it over brown garlicky meat? Such viscous roses! I dip out the pitswith a slotted spoon.The roses break up,Continue Reading

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Now that I’m rich, I buy broccoli rabe by the bunch,no matter what the price. Same for escarole, Swisschard, organic spinach, avocadoes, artichokes. My grandmother pored through the binof discarded vegetables, haggled to get themfree, picked off decomposing leaves, and cooked.Would she celebrate that I still prepare the foods ofContinue Reading

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What is time, and what is it made of?Butter? Water? Sand?No matter. It doesn’t matter really. What was then is also now, and not just in my brain where timelines like to blend together and make my world confusing, but in actuality, too, if you believe in certain theories.There areContinue Reading