Azikiwe Mohammed, Foods, 2015-2016

Carrie Fisher Feeding Meryl Streep Chocolate Cake, 1991

Harley Weir, Lemons in Decomposition, 2015

Damaris Booth, Britain's Dinners, 2012

Bangers and Mash, Chinese, Fish 'n' Chips, Curry, Pizza, Roast Dinner

Sade in the Kitchen

Yuwa Kato, Women Eating, 2008-2012

See Red Women’s Workshop, Capitalism Also Depends on Domestic Labour, 1983

Classics Cookbooks Holiday Gift Guide, 2017

Mary J. Blige in the Kitchen

Poems by Autumn Giles, 2013


You can’t love a ham. Luckily,
you notice the quilted quality
of its leathery skin looks a lot like
a certain iconic handbag. You can
wear a ham as a handbag. 

You can’t love a kohlrabi.
In December, the only thing to eat
is kohlrabi, unless you hop
on its spaceship bulb and whiz
away to kohlrabi space.

You can’t love button mushrooms
while dropping a handful
of their still breathing bodies into
a brown paper bag, but the famous
photographer will take your picture. 

You can’t love apples even though
they are there through the winter.
A poem with apples is a recipe
for big, biblical love. An apple,
even small, is a word for love. 

You can’t love a city, pudgy
with people because empty of one
person it’s all fucking wrong.


Not Here

Instead, I am a person who is very good
at making pancakes. There is always time
for pancakes. I wear the river well
and the people I love wave before they jump
from the bridge. It is easy to be almost alone
most of the time, even with all of the eye contact. 

I wish that I was a country singer or a four year old,
so I could say simply that I hurt and I want
to go home. But here, there’s no blanket fort, no banjo.
In the vegetable light of the corner store, where
watermelons are labeled as red cabbages, I remember
the thing about misery: there’s always a more beautiful way
to say it. A bleeding bag of huckleberries—
a way, with words, to what we love.