cooking – Michigan Quarterly Review

cooking

“You Must Give of Yourself,” by Barrett Bowlin

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It’s now or never if you’re going to keep their pretty insides rare like the recipe calls for, and you’ve got the choice here between saving their souls or patching up a slice to the cleft of your left hand. Bisteccas alla fiorentina or Band-Aids, chef. You choose.

“You Must Give of Yourself,” by Barrett Bowlin Read More »

It’s now or never if you’re going to keep their pretty insides rare like the recipe calls for, and you’ve got the choice here between saving their souls or patching up a slice to the cleft of your left hand. Bisteccas alla fiorentina or Band-Aids, chef. You choose.

How to Sell a Book to Your Mother

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Needless to say, her signature dishes were delicious. Yet it became strange and almost uncomfortable to see her bent over the stove, night after night, in a way that it never was in the past when I’d seen her, bent over the stove, night after night. One dinner, she stood in the kitchen for what seemed like hours, searing small batches of sweet and salty bulgogi beef. I wanted to tell her to sit down, to relax, but instead, I just ate everything she put in front of me.

How to Sell a Book to Your Mother Read More »

Needless to say, her signature dishes were delicious. Yet it became strange and almost uncomfortable to see her bent over the stove, night after night, in a way that it never was in the past when I’d seen her, bent over the stove, night after night. One dinner, she stood in the kitchen for what seemed like hours, searing small batches of sweet and salty bulgogi beef. I wanted to tell her to sit down, to relax, but instead, I just ate everything she put in front of me.

Sentimental Value, Pt. 2

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As I’ve written before, my grandmother’s apartment holds a particular place in my head. I keep revisiting the floor plan, and the room that glows brightest in my memory is the kitchen. The kitchen, I think, is the quintessential center for grandmothers, mothers, and female authority in general. And while my grandmother was not maternal, not soft, rarely kind, she haunts the kitchen, vapors of past dinners clinging to her permed hair and her stained apron.

Sentimental Value, Pt. 2 Read More »

As I’ve written before, my grandmother’s apartment holds a particular place in my head. I keep revisiting the floor plan, and the room that glows brightest in my memory is the kitchen. The kitchen, I think, is the quintessential center for grandmothers, mothers, and female authority in general. And while my grandmother was not maternal, not soft, rarely kind, she haunts the kitchen, vapors of past dinners clinging to her permed hair and her stained apron.

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