Wake Up and Smell the Kimchi

~By Kate Sitarz Learning to yield chopsticks with (some) refinement took around 2 months 5 days, or about 7 meals’ worth of dropped bulgolgi with a side of soy-stained ego. Developing a keenness for kimchi involved innumerable obnoxious grimaces and a forced taste bud evolution. Getting over kimchi breath required 3 packs of gum, a…

The Measure of a Meal

~By Heather Ray My daddy is a good cook, the kind who remembers all the ingredients and measures by instinct: another touch of brown sugar or yellow mustard or chili powder to perfect his irresistible caramelized sloppy joe, prepared for a family of four with “oh, about a pound and a half? of ground beef.”…

The Healing Powers of Soup

~By Kate H. Knapp If I could go back in time and impart one piece of wisdom to my younger self, it would be to appreciate the soup. Granted, I’ve learned plenty that could benefit the immature me, plus things that would redefine many of the mistakes I have made since those days of youth….

A Not So Rockin’ New Year

~By Katie Blais OK, this might not be the nicest thing to say, but my mom isn’t the best cook. Many a debacle has taken place in our kitchen. One time she set pork chops on fire on the grill-my dad came home from work to charred pork chops floating in a pail next to…

Time in a Pickled Jar

~By Kate H. Knapp The old saying, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure,” can be aptly applied to my addiction to pickled eggs. Most turn their noses up in disgust at the “rubbery” snack, but I take pure delight in the crumbly yellow yolk wrapped in an elastic vinegar shell. If you’re not familiar…

Lessons from my Grandmother

~By Katie Blais So many memories of my grandmother involve some sort of food and eating.  Picnics at the lake on Sundays in the summer with her green canteen full of lemonade. Coming up from the beach at noon, covered in salt and sun screen and having her make me an egg salad sandwich ……

Don’t Mess With Perf-Egg-tion

~By Emily Workman My Mother’s family, the Jorgensen’s, had very structured guidelines about holiday traditions.  For instance, they always went on a picnic and rolled hardboiled eggs down the steep hills of Logan Canyon on Easter.  In observation of this particular tradition, my Alaskan family and I have ended up shivering inside a car, looking…