Pot luck

New York Times Magazine

For a refugee from a small town, Manhattan always feels like the luckiest place to be on New Year’s Eve. It’s the one night when my consort and I can walk out our front door and into the park at midnight to toast city life in an effervescence of fireworks and Champagne.

The next day, though, my pessimistic roots resurface. I have to have black-eyed peas. Continue reading

Some fry it hot

Esquire/The Seasoned Cook/

Two nonswimmers who burn under a reading lamp find themselves in midwinter baking on the beaches of Barbados. To escape the locals solicitiously hawking milky aloe vera in rum bottles, they drag their reddened bodies into a rented Mini Moke and jolt up the Platinum Coast. Already they’ve eaten their way through the tame flying fish and stuffed crab and callaloo at the places the guidebooks tout as showcases for Bajan fare. Now they’re in search of real food. Continue reading