Food

I’m giving myself a pass to eat what I want—my husband has cancer, after all. I find that it helps to keep a taste in my mouth.

Starvation became a stand-in for the pain of loneliness; a way to account for it, and also to punish myself for being unlovable.

A man's appetite can be hearty, but a woman with an appetite—for food, for sex, for simple attention—is always voracious: she always overreaches, because it is not supposed to exist.

When New York’s Per Se was devastated by a recent Times review, why weren't restaurateur Thomas Keller’s peers anywhere to be seen?

Contempt for reality television is less a specific response than a herd sentiment. And yet, after so many hours under its spell, I feel like I’ve turned a corner: Gordon Ramsay is a genius.

Butter tarts are strangely modest in their excess, a two-dollar decadence. But like that Canadian myth of innocent blandness, a butter tart’s surface hides something much more complex.

Now that I was once again omnivorous, I wanted to watch a deer get turned into meat.

When you grow up eating alone, sometimes a terrible dinner is all you can ask for.

We may want to have a drink with our idols, but what's the cost of toasting power?