Eat, Darling, Eat 

(by Charlotte Adamis) The very first dinner my 25-year-old mother made for the man who would become her second husband, a widower nearly...

(by Crystal Bennett) A one-woman show making everything happen—that’s my mom. When my brother and I were growing up in Westchester...

(by Barbara Sapienza) She squeezed the meat through her fingers. They glistened. The yellow of the yolk slid through—knew just where the...

(by Debbie Weiss) My mother, Thalia, was tall and curvy with auburn hair, green eyes, and an innate sense of style. I can still remember...

(by Karin Clark and Patti Clark) The fragrant scent of rosemary and simmered short ribs wafted from the kitchen, assuring us that we...

(by Dorette E. Snover) Although I wasn’t actually born in the Reading, Pennsylvania, kitchen of my Pennsylvania Dutch family, I did grow...

(by Susan McNabb) “Where did those come from?” my mother asked, seemingly astonished that someone had sent a dozen glorious Sonia roses...

(by Stephanie Chambers) My mother did not like to cook. Which was unfortunate because she was actually very good at it—particularly the...

(by Elizabeth Anderson) It is October of 1980, and my two college roommates and I are hosting a party in our new apartment on West 13th...

(by Rachel Cline) One day, when I was 11 or so, I encountered a crafts fair in Greenwich Village. I guess I was out with Patti, the...

(by Ilene S. Goldman) I stopped the spoon halfway to my mouth and stared. “What’s wrong?” Philippe asked. After the good news we’d...

(by Leslie Dannin Rosenthal) “In the dishwasher?” “Yes, in the top rack.” “I don’t get it. Even if you wrap it really well, won’t the...

(by Lisa Cohen) I grew up on a chicken farm in New Jersey, with parents who were a part of the Jewish migration from the city back to the...

(by Laurel DiGangi) Whenever I ate dinner at my paternal grandmother’s home, I secretly wished I was eating my mother’s Polish food...

(by Celeste Miller) In the early 1920s, my maternal grandmother, who had married my grandfather at 17, began traveling from their home in...

(by Lally Pia) I think the sky would fall down if my mother stopped cooking. Let me back up. My parents are Tamils and in the minority...

(by Terri Sutton) My parents’ origin story could have been a Hallmark movie. They met in a textile factory in 1945; World War II loomed...

(by Brigit Binns) Once, I was saved by the sight of some diced carrots. The phone rang on a Tuesday after a three-day weekend: “Your...

(by Lisa S. Greene) “Where’s my knife?” she asks. Mom sits in her wheelchair at the head of the white butcher block table, wearing a...

(by Francesca Costanzo) I was that sensory-sensitive kid, easily awakened just by the sound of my mother opening her tin recipe box. At...