My Coke Habit

My parents' affections were inconsistent, their moods unpredictable, and, in those years, money was scarce. But at Grandma's, there were always hugs and kisses, copious amounts of food, and as much Coke as I wanted. To this day, it's still the thing I crave most when I'm very happy, very sad, or very anxious.

In Praise of the Chicago Hot Dog

A Search for Comfort Food Comes Up Empty

Whipped Cream Is All That Matters

"Daniel, can I put some whipped cream on that slice of pie for you?" a sane, rational person asks me at some gathering. "Yes, please!" I say, unambiguously, enthusiastically, and then ask for a little more, without shame. Deep down, though, I feel the shame of something else. It's the shame of knowing I don't want just "a little more" whipped cream. I want all the whipped cream.

English Muffins, My Saving Grace

Crab Sticks, the Bologna of the Sea

A Stir Fry Like No Other

The tofu and greens had a beautiful, glistening quality, alive with what the Chinese call wok hei, the breath of the wok.

Breaking Bread

There's No Shame in Chipped Beef

It's More Than Just a Turkey Sandwich

My love of turkey sandwiches has remained a constant, well into adulthood. Maybe it's akin to my love of Breyer's vanilla ice cream over boutique brands; of Buicks over BMWs. Or maybe it's the fact that turkey sandwiches embody the same things my town's throwback "general store" was trying to evoke all those years ago—a hokey simplicity; a remembrance of things past; a surprise at how good the ordinary can be.

Cupcakes, Reclaimed

Grilling in Winter

Celery Is My Star

It's rare to meet another person who feels as passionate about celery as I do. Most people see the crunchy, long-ribbed vegetable as nothing more than a supporting ingredient. But it's more than that. Much more.

Love Stinks

Dreaming of a Serbian Staple

Not My Mother's Taco Salad

Mom's taco salad was meatless and crisp. It was topped with a modest quantity of queso fresco and toasted pepitas from Trader Joe's. While my mother's version was perfectly assembled, mine is gloriously messy, best eaten directly from the serving bowl while wearing sweatpants.

Whiskey, Cards, and Shrimp Curry

A Trick of the Tongue

All I Want Are Some Potato Skins

Potato skins have everything you could ever hope for in a bar food—the crunch of the skin, the pull of the cheddar, the stink of the green onion, the chew of the bacon bits. From the first time I try them, at the age of 12, they're all I want. But if I eat them again now, in my middle age, I worry they will remind me of just how uncomfortable I am in my life.

Confessions of a Bed Eater

There's Safety in Sardines

The Mindless Pleasures of the PB&J

I don't really eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to eat them. I eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to erase my mind. But what great pleasure there is in that span of unmindfulness!

Movie Theater Popcorn, A New Hope