“There is a communion of more than our bodies when bread is broken and wine is drunk.” -MFK Fisher
A Movable Feast from Asheville, NC to New York City
Here’s a brand new plotline: Small town Southern(ish) gal moves to the Big City in search of. . .
Just like I spent my paradoxical decade in Southern Appalachia searching for hints of cosmopolitan worldliness and cultural diversity, in the Big Apple I plan to seek out authentic community, quaintness, and nature trails. But mostly, food.
Crazy food. Woman vs. food. Food that was created in a science lab, shipped from Mongolia, or grown on a rooftop. My list is long, and the first couple of years will be spent in a mad dash of food tourism, dragging my Partner- in-Dine from borough to borough, from night market to food truck, indulging all gastronomical fantasies that were born in far away lands. I can’t wait to find my favorite dim sum, my neighborhood West African takeout, and my personal go-to for a slice. Doughnut tourism will abound. I plan to become the both the Louis and the Clark of urban food exploration, and I’d like to take you with me.
Don’t worry, for you chefs there will be plenty of tiny kitchen cooking hi-jinks, terrifying trips to bodegas and greengrocers, attempts at fancy dinner parties, and late night takeout emergencies.
Also, let us together seek answers to the burning question: Do New Yorkers do potluck, and if so, how?