(* During the first year of the pandemic, Julia Turshen (@turshen) hosted daily food writing classes on her Instagram with writing prompts and special guests. These are my responses to her prompts.) * I posted a modified Turon recipe using Caramelized Apples for a more… Read More
It’s hard to imagine profanity out of your own parents, much less them picking at fish heads in the middle of class. Then again, food, like family, often skews bizarre rather than romantic.
“Everyday’s Your Birthday”. With my 30th birthday coming up and as I sit here in self-quarantine, those words have come back in an unexpected way. I do imagine that if today were my birthday, I’d want to share trays of oysters, foie gras on toast, butter on everything, and bottles of champagne with friends and anyone who’d come. But the fact that I still have a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food on the table is cause enough for celebration. I suppose a simple blueberry cheesecake and the knowledge that my family makes it through this would be enough.
My mother returned the phone to her ear and continued, “911? Yes that’s right. My son refuses to eat his oatmeal. Can you please bring extra IV bags and your largest set of needles?…”
We walked the noisy streets of Iloilo, eating cheap hamburgers, Banana-cues, and Mangos, knowing a plane was waiting to take us back. But had we not had those miles between us, had their lives not been so different and mysterious to me, had our paths not continue to diverge further and further over the years, had there been less pain in our parting, perhaps we would have enjoyed those humid months a lot less. It was in these moments of realization that I had the best mangos.
The Errant Diner 