Tuesday, April 13, 2021

Eater - All

Eater - All

How the Growth of Oakland’s Red Bay Cafe Is Changing the Face of Specialty Coffee

Posted: 12 Apr 2021 01:52 PM PDT

Keba Konte started Red Bay Coffee in his garage. Seven years later, it's hard to imagine Oakland without Red Bay.

https://sf.eater.com/2021/4/12/22378537/red-bay-coffee-keba-konte-oakland-new-open

Minnesota Cities Under 7 p.m. Curfew as Tensions Rise Following the Police Killing of Daunte Wright

Posted: 12 Apr 2021 01:30 PM PDT

Restaurants and other nonessential businesses will close early tonight in Ramsey, Hennepin, and Anoka counties

https://twincities.eater.com/22380462/minneapolis-st-paul-anoka-brooklyn-park-curfew-daunte-wright-police-shooting

After Four Months of Lockdown, London’s Restaurants Reopen for Outdoor Dining

Posted: 12 Apr 2021 01:28 PM PDT

Vivian Howard’s Newest Restaurant, Lenoir, Celebrates Her Hometown

Posted: 12 Apr 2021 01:23 PM PDT

The chef's second Charleston restaurant draws from her home of Lenoir County, North Carolina, as well as the mind of executive chef Tyson Detzler 

https://carolinas.eater.com/2021/4/12/22379758/vivian-howards-charleston-restaurant-lenoir

The Pastry Revolution Will Be Instagrammed

Posted: 12 Apr 2021 09:21 AM PDT

Woman wearing while overalls cuts into a pie standing near a garage door that leads to the outside.
Karla Subero Pittol cuts into a pie at her Chainsaw pop-up bakery | Wonho Frank Lee/Eater

Instagram pop-up bakeries are a surprisingly exciting product of the pandemic. Nowhere are they more thrilling than in Los Angeles.

"I used to say I hate making cakes," Hannah Ziskin says. Now, slices of her slab cakes sell out in minutes, and people drive across Los Angeles for whole cakes in blood orange and carrot, crowned with minimalist flourishes of buttercream and delicate edible flower petals. She wasn't supposed to be baking for a living anymore. But, as with so much, the pandemic upended everything.

When Ziskin, a pastry chef with a long resume in San Francisco, moved to Los Angeles in the fall of 2018, she thought she was done with the restaurant industry and its long hours, low pay, and casual harassment. She even learned to code. But when a chef she admired, Melissa Perello, called to talk about a gig at her new Los Angeles restaurant — the Michelin-starred chef's first in the city — Ziskin decided to take on one last pastry chef job. Several months later, COVID hit, and M.Georgina shut down.

Stuck at home with lots of leftover flour and nothing to do, Ziskin started making sourdough and delivering it all over the city, flying down the eerily empty freeways, for a business she dubbed House of Gluten. She made one cake, just for a friend. And then another, and another. Ziskin grew smitten with making cakes the way she liked them: fluffy, with thin layers and rich seams of frosting, creating contrasts of taste and texture. The requests kept coming, and soon, House of Gluten was a cake business. Ziskin says that after years spent in windowless pastry kitchens, for the first time she feels a connection to the people who eat her food, and their willingness to try whatever she makes has transformed her. "I feel really empowered by being able to say no and do what I feel is right, and having people like it and trust me. That has been more freeing than I ever thought."

There's nothing new about people selling food out of their homes, especially in Los Angeles, where many of the city's most innovative food businesses develop out of backyard restaurants, sidewalk pop-ups, and Instagram or Facebook Marketplace. Now people who once held professional restaurant jobs are using these tools as a means of survival: making rent when unemployment runs out, working from home instead of in kitchen jobs that felt unsafe, or supporting their families.

Woman wearing jumpsuit applies white icing to the outside of a cake sitting on a cake stand. Wonho Frank Lee/Eater
Hannah Ziskin ices a cake
Iced cake on a striped plate with multicolored flower petals around the top and sides. Wonho Frank Lee/Eater
A completed Ziskin cake for House of Gluten

Over the past year of Instagram posts and curbside pickups, the cottage bakery boom has revealed just how much creativity had been exiled to windowless pastry rooms, hoping you still have room for dessert. Los Angeles is studded with doughnut and ice cream shops, panaderias and bakeries, but pastry chefs trained in classic French technique, who usually make their living in high-end kitchens, rarely have the opportunity to own their own shops, or even have much of a profile at the restaurants they work at. They design the dessert menu, often with a great deal of creative freedom, but the restaurant's chef has the spotlight — and the final say. There are happy exceptions (Atwater Village's beloved Proof Bakery, Margarita Manzke's fame at République), but until the pandemic, no one would have imagined that, say, a dozen new bakeries run by pastry chefs could sprout up in the city, more or less overnight, and all sell out every week. And yet, during COVID, that's exactly what's happened.

Bake sales with an activist bent have also become major events. A few weeks ago, at a bake sale hosted by the restaurant Woon Kitchen to support the city's AAPI community in the face of rising hate crimes, lines wrapped around the block and then around another block. Patrons waited almost two and a half hours for pandan canneles, candied kumquat blondies, and slices of matcha-mascarpone cake. Another recent bake sale for the same cause at Steep LA raised over $8000.

It's even more surprising this is happening at a moment of crisis in the industry, which typically hits the pastry department harder than others. Pastry chef jobs are the first to be cut during economic downturns. They're also the back-of-house positions most likely to be held by women, whose work is often devalued by male chefs. Over the past year, as restaurants hired back for takeout and outdoor dining, the pastry chef wasn't necessarily included. (Some high-end Los Angeles restaurants, while serving takeout as well-executed as anything that might be served their dining room, are offering only minimal, simple desserts like a pots de creme or a warm chocolate chip cookie.)

With their old restaurant jobs gone, and the future of them uncertain, chefs who founded cottage bakeries are rethinking everything. Like Ziskin, Laura Hoang found herself at a crossroads with the restaurant industry right before the pandemic started. After years spent in pastry kitchens, she began cooking from her home in May to raise money for PPE and other supplies her friends needed to protest safely, and later transitioned to baking to support herself. Hoang sees this moment of independence and community-building among pastry chefs as a means of upending their secondhand status in the industry. "A lot of pastries get watered down because it's finalized by a chef, not a pastry chef," she says. "There's this crazy stigma that pastry chefs don't have knife skills or savory experience, [but] how interesting is it that a savory chef can't make a cake but a pastry chef can make a steak? Pastry chefs have taken a lot of shit for a long time, and most of them are women. I've accepted a $48,000 a year job for 80 hours a week just to be told by a man this wasn't what he wanted."

Moving forward, Hoang says that she only wants to cook on her own terms, and to do community work in addition to supporting herself. "Bake sales are protests inherently, they're punk rock," she says. "I've been punk since middle school. People focus on the cute cakes and cupcakes, but they don't think about the crazy person behind every single detail."

The pandemic has also inadvertently pushed pastry cooks, who normally execute the pastry chef's menu, into more creative roles. Cathy Asapahu is a pastry cook at Providence, one of the city's most renowned fine dining restaurants, and had planned to spend 2020 in France studying pastry. Instead, when Providence closed down except for holidays, she returned to the restaurant founded by her parents, Ayara Thai. To help Ayara — which her family has poured their lives into — survive, Asapahu used the high-end pastry techniques she learned in fine dining to create desserts that will appeal to both new customers and longtime regulars of a mom-and-pop, whether that's pandan Twinkies or a tart with coconut milk-based pastry cream or a box of Valentine's chocolates with fillings like Thai tea and makrut lime. While she mourns that lost possibility of studying abroad and worries for the restaurant community here, she says, "I found a way back into my parents' restaurant, and it's given me a better sense of myself and what I'm capable of doing."

The shattering of the traditional pastry chef role has created surprising new connections, too. During normal times, most chefs and cooks rarely connect with people outside of the kitchens they work in; this is true even of chefs at the head of restaurants, who often meet each other for the first time at food festivals. But because they are posting so much of their own work on Instagram, all of these bakers have come to know and admire each other. Asapahu told me I had to speak to Hoang; Hoang praised Ziskin's cakes; Ziskin praised the work of former Sqirl pastry chef Sasha Piligian, who, coincidentally, was her Glendale neighbor and had recently come by to borrow a blowtorch.

Even newcomers to the Los Angeles pastry scene have been folded into this network. This fall, Jacob Fraijo and Christina Hanks moved back to Los Angeles after years in San Francisco, including two years with Dominique Crenn's group, where they were slated to open her new bakery, Boutique Crenn. When the pandemic hit, they were laid off, and decided to move back to their shared hometown. Just before Thanksgiving, they launched Pavé Bakery, which featured Fraijo's breads and Hanks's pastries, both heavily influenced by French techniques and California tastes. Their apple kouign amann and sesame country bread caught the eyes of pastry chefs they'd never met before, and they started trading Instagram messages and baked goods. "This whole thing is mind-blowing, and it's also hilarious," Fraijo says. "I don't think any of us who are doing this thought that this is the way we would start our businesses or meet other professionals."

But working at the absolute capacity of their home kitchens, for a year straight, means burnout is very real. Multiple chefs I spoke to said their houses were full of pastry boxes and their fridges full of butter and freezers full of ice cream; they cooled cakes in stages on tiny counters and used stimulus money to buy equipment; their plants are long dead and their kitchens reek of fryer oil; their phone won't stop binging, and when their oven died, they switched to steamed and boiled desserts. For all of them, home is no longer merely home: It's the world's worst commercial kitchen, with a bedroom attached. They welcome press, but they hope their landlord doesn't see the photos.

Smiling woman wearing overalls sprinkles spice on top of a cream pie. Wonho Frank Lee/Eater
Karla Subero Pittol puts the finishing touches on a pie
A slice of a two-layer cream pie on a plate. Wonho Frank Lee/Eater

Burnout has been especially challenging for chefs who were in the pop-up game before the pandemic even started. Karla Subero Pittol founded Chainsaw with a business partner in 2019; they hosted dinners in her garage, where Subero Pittol was a warm and charismatic presence, doling out hugs. In March 2020, they were looking for restaurant space. Since then, the partnership has ended, and Subero Pittol reimagined Chainsaw as a pastry project, lowering down icebox cakes, pies, and ice cream in a whimsical reed basket from the second floor of her house. She makes a tight menu because it's all her home can accommodate, and she longs to be back in a commercial space. "I need to move this operation out of this house, but right now my stress is just making enough money to make ends meet," she says. "It's taking away from the bigger picture and the time I need to grow and scale business. The pressure is really daunting and puts a black cloud over my head every single day." Subero Pittol has seen no drop-off in her business since restaurants began reopening in Los Angeles, making the difficulty in securing capital to pause production and find a space even more frustrating. "The silver lining is we are busy, and it's incredible people are still supporting me, but I would love to be able to support them more by being able to produce enough to meet the demand."

As the vaccine rollout begins to allow the restaurant industry in Los Angeles to open back up again, many of these chefs are thinking about the next phase of their business. "I wonder if anyone else expressed this concern that pandemic businesses are just that and folks will forget us when they can go to, like, Bestia again," Ziskin says. But even with those worries, she's determined to open a restaurant with her partner, who runs a successful pizza pop-up, where her cakes will be as much a draw as the savory side of the menu, and where she will have the ability to provide security in terms of wages and health care to her employees that she was not always able to find during her time working up the ranks. "Literally everyone we talk to, they say, don't open a restaurant, but we're still going to try. This has reinvigorated my relationship with cooking."

Most of the chefs behind cottage bakeries don't see returning to restaurants. They envision running their own bakeries out of commercial kitchens, storefronts selling viennoiserie and bread, a teaching space that also sells pickles, or, if it were possible, hosting customers in their homes like the system recently legalized in Riverside County. All they need is support from the city, and money. One of the few silver linings of this brutal pandemic in Los Angeles is the launch of a new baking revolution. Now, we'll see if we can keep it.

How Mushrooms Took Over Food and Wellness

Posted: 12 Apr 2021 09:13 AM PDT

How a British Retiree Became the Twitter King of ‘Big Veg’ Gardening

Posted: 12 Apr 2021 09:05 AM PDT

Diptych of a smiling older man holding large handfuls of fresh vegetables and fruits in his garden.
Gerald Stratford, big veg king. | Photos: Gerald Stratford

72-year-old Gerald Stratford started a Twitter account to share his vegetables. Hundreds of thousands of followers later, he has a book deal and appears in a Gucci campaign

If you've spent enough of your waking hours in the gaping abyss of Twitter, there's a chance you've come across at least one photo from Gerald Stratford, a 72-year-old British retiree who spends his days growing "big veg" (that's "big vegetables," for the uninformed). Always with a twinkle in his eye and hands full of his freshly harvested bounty, Stratford shares his gardening adventures on Twitter in rarely punctuated tweets, and is constantly going massively viral for everything just mentioned.

Stratford, who previously worked as a butcher and a barge controller on the River Thames, has gardened for all his life, but it wasn't until last year that he became internet famous for it. He joined Twitter in early 2019, with the encouragement of some gardening friends and the help of his partner Elizabeth and nephew Stephen. In May 2020, two months after the COVID-19 crisis was declared a pandemic and the United Kingdom first entered lockdown mode, Stratford had his first big hit: photos of himself wearing a jaunty all-pink outfit in his garden, showing off some veg, with the caption, "My first early rocket very pleased." ("Rocket" is what they call arugula in the U.K.)

The tweet was an instant hit; as Stratford recalls, his phone was inundated with notifications, to the point where he had to call up his nephew to ask what was going on. In the weeks and months that followed, the likes, retweets, and followers racked up (as did the number of people who kept referring to Stratford as "king"), and they haven't really stopped since. Now, with more than 293,000 followers — at least 35,000 of whom were accumulated in the weeks since I spoke to him for this piece — Stratford finds himself enjoying a newfound platform that few other septuagenarian gardeners can claim. Recently, he announced that he will be publishing a book, and he even appeared in a Highsnobiety advertisement for a new Gucci collection.

I caught up with the big veg king over Zoom in late March, when spring had finally begun to, well, spring. From his house in the Cotswolds in south central England, wearing a vegetable-print hoodie — a Christmas gift, he said — Stratford shared some gardening tips, his cheery outlook on life, and how utterly unfathomable he finds everything that has happened to him.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Eater: Hello, Gerald. How are you doing?

Gerald Stratford: I'm fine. We're just breaking into spring now. Getting into spring is a nice time. Getting very busy. The greenhouses are getting filled up with all sorts of lovely things.

Did you have a busy winter?

I've made myself busy. I'm not a person who just turns off; there's always something to make, always something to repair, something to keep going. I like it. I don't want it any other way.

What are you planting this spring?

I've been sowing with Elizabeth, my partner, since last December, in a heated greenhouse. We've got onions, leeks, cauliflowers, cabbage, peppers, chilies, tomatoes, and anytime now I will start putting zucchinis in, and a lot of the fast-growing summer vegetables. Up on my allotment — are you familiar with the word allotment? It's a community garden, a piece of land which is set into sections, and you rent a small section and grow vegetables on it — I've been getting everything ready, checking out the fruit. Anytime now, I will be planting my onions, parsnips, carrots, kohlrabi, all sorts of nice stuff. You asked me what I grow; it's easier for me to say what I don't grow.

Is there anything you don't grow, either because it's too difficult, or you just don't like it?

No. If something is hard to grow, that's a challenge for me to make it grow. I try and grow a different vegetable each year. This year I'm growing a gourd called a snake gourd. It's like a small zucchini, but it hangs. You grow it up the frame, and it hangs down like a snake. Last year I grew a tromboncino.

What do you like best about gardening?

I'm 72, I've got aches and pains, I've got arthritis, I've got two metal knees. But the physical activity keeps me fit. I don't need to go to the gym. And just the pleasure — it's very therapeutic when I'm tending my vegetables. It's just nice. All your worries go away.

Do you have any gardening tips for beginners?

Never, ever get frustrated. If things aren't going as you planned, stop. Go and do something totally different and then come back to it with renewed vigor. So if I dig in the garden, don't spend two hours doing the same thing — just 20 minutes, and then go and do something else in the garden for another 20 minutes, and then something else for 20 minutes, because you will be using different parts of your body for different jobs. Don't get frustrated, because that's when you make mistakes. Treat life in general like that, I think.

What sparked your interest in big veg in particular?

It was a natural progression because, first and foremost, I like gardening. I spent a lifetime as a serious fisherman, and I'd had enough fishing, I'd caught enough fish. At times, fishing can be selfish: it's just you, and everybody else is forgotten about. So I decided I was going to cut back and just do the gardening. That's when I started to get really interested in growing big veg. If you know anybody who goes fishing, they catch a fish that big, and the next one, they want to be a little bit bigger. I sort of brought that into my garden. When I was planting a carrot, I thought, I wonder how big I could grow that carrot, or, I wonder how many potatoes I could grow in that bucket?

What's the biggest thing you've grown so far?

On a national scale, they're not huge, but I've grown a 150-pound pumpkin. I've had an 80-pound zucchini. I've had tromboncinos over 40 feet long. Three-pound tomatoes, 9-pound cucumbers, carrots over three feet long, parsnips over four feet long. Each year, I keep a diary. If I can grow something that much bigger than last year, it's a success. If records come along, that's just a bonus.

Do you have a favorite fruit or veg to grow?

I like growing potatoes and onions, but not at the expense of the other vegetables. I give all my veg 100 percent. But I do like things which grow underground. There's always an element of doubt. You could have a potato coming out of the ground with lovely foliage, and you think it's going to be good, and you dig them up, and it's one or two little potatoes. You go to the next one, and it's a little spindly plant, and you think, "Well, this is going to be a waste of time." And it could be filled with potatoes. You never know what's below the ground. I forget the famous American actor who said, "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get." [Elizabeth murmurs a name in the background.] Forrest Gump! Sometimes gardening is like that.

Do you do much cooking with your veg?

Yes. We're almost self-sufficient in veg. I grow lots of everything, and I give my children and friends and neighbors vegetables. We also make lots of jams, chutneys, pickles, and preserves. Last year, for the first time, we bought a small dehydrator. That just changed everything. We now do our own sun-dried tomatoes; they're equal to anything you can buy. We've done tomatoes, sweet peppers, chilis, apples, pears, grapes, tromboncino, there's so much.

Elizabeth and me, we both like the kitchen, but Elizabeth takes charge. Occasionally I'll cook a meal, more in the winter — I do fabulous slow-cooked meals with lots of veg. We're not vegetarians, but we do like our veg. Three, sometimes five times a week, we eat salad.

What's your favorite dish to eat?

I like all veg, but I think the finest vegetable in the world — it's a fruit, really — is a tomato. A fresh, room-temperature tomato, with Himalayan pink salt sprinkled on it, is a beautiful taste. Also, new potatoes steamed with a little bit of mint when you're cooking them, and just before you eat them, a knob of butter. Oh, you try it, it's lovely.

What do you do with all the produce you can't eat?

A few hundred meters from me is an old people's home. I donate vegetables to those people, so the chef can cook for the less well off. We're not well off, but there are some people worse. If I can give people some of my local produce, why not?

On our allotment, there are over 40 people growing vegetables. If each person donated one carrot, one potato, one parsnip, one turnip, and one tomato once a month, there would be more than enough vegetables to give to, say, a soup kitchen. That could be a good thing to do. I've been trying to work it out. When I'm up the allotment, I'm gonna start talking to people.

How much of your time does gardening take up?

Oh, all day, every day. I help Elizabeth when she asks for my assistance, whether it's in our flower garden or in our home. The rest of the time, I'm in my garden. If it's raining, I've got a large shed at the bottom of the garden — I call it my "cave" — where I spend a lot of time making or repairing things.

How about Twitter? How much time do you spend there nowadays?

I think it's averaging just under five hours a day at the moment. I'm mainly answering questions, trying to help people with their gardening. If I can help somebody grow something better than they have, I carry on. I like it.

How does it feel having more than 250,000 followers now?

I can't explain, because I've never been in this situation before. Though I'm an extroverted person, I'm not one who's been in the limelight before. I'm treading on fresh soil every day.

I've made so many friends. And I've set a precedent to do something each week; I think my followers now are expecting it. I work really hard to try and keep the content good and exciting if I can and to try new things. A few weeks ago, I had a tweet from a deaf lady who couldn't hear what I was talking about in my short videos. As Elizabeth and I were discussing it, an American gentleman came through on Twitter and said, "There's an app that can help you do this." So we now tweet our videos with captions to help deaf people. They've got a right to enjoy themselves the same as we have.

With this big audience expecting good content, as you said, do you feel any kind of pressure weighing on you?

Yes, there is a little bit of pressure, but it's nice pressure. It's pressure which, almost by accident, I've created myself. Pressure is a manifested word, isn't it? The pressure I'm under is nothing. I felt incredible pressure when I was diagnosed with prostate cancer five years ago. That taught me a lot about overcoming pressure. I had hormone therapy and radiotherapy. Last summer, the oncologist gave me the all clear. He said, "Gerald, we don't need to see you again." That was so nice to hear. I'm sure my garden helped me.

Are you keen to get on any of the other social platforms?

My youngest daughter mentioned Instagram, so I went on Instagram, and that has just taken off for some reason.

I have thought of TikTok; it might happen, but at this moment, I've got one or two other things happening. What I mustn't do is spend all day on social media and not do my gardening. Because without my garden, I have nothing. It's my garden which created me, if you like.

Clearly you bring a lot of joy and warmth to people, both in your life and on Twitter. Why do you think so many people around the world love following you and seeing what you're up to in your garden?

I can't really explain it, I really can't. I've got one or two theories, like with lockdown and the pandemic, people have done a lot of soul searching over the last year. Whatever people say, it's going to change our lives. I like to think I've been quite lucky. I stay in my house, my garden; I go to the allotment; we have our shopping delivered. The only time I go out is to the health center to pick our pills up once a month. Some people have had it really hard, and I feel for them. But just hang in, it will get better.

I read that you're interested in writing a children's book and maybe even hosting a program about veg and fruit gardening. Can you tell me more about that?

We have gardening programs, but I really think there's room for a vegetable program on its own. In this country, there's enough skill to create, say, a 12-part series once a year. I'm not saying I'll do it, because I think I'm too old. But there's somebody in this country — somebody younger, with lots of enthusiasm — who could go from garden to garden, so you cover the whole country. And on that garden program, you could show how to cook your vegetables.

And how to dehydrate, how to preserve?

Yes, yes! In my parents' time it was just a natural thing, everybody knew how to preserve. Now an awful lot of people have lost that. We're so lucky to know how to do it.

But you wouldn't necessarily want to be the one to host this program?

Well, I'm 72. I'd like to get involved, but I think there's an awful lot of work, and my energy levels are taken up just with my garden. It wouldn't be fair on me or the audience. I like to do things 200 percent. I wouldn't want to be involved in something which wasn't very good. I want to be very good.

Is there anything else you dream of doing in this lifetime, whether related to gardening or not?

No. I've always had a dream of catching a king salmon in Canada. That is still a dream. But if it doesn't happen, I'm more than happy tending my carrots.

Six Restaurant Openings to Watch as America Reopens

Posted: 12 Apr 2021 08:36 AM PDT

A table set against a thick pane of glass above a twinkling city.
Vista in Los Angeles | Wonho Frank Lee

From the Editor: Everything you missed in food news last week

This post originally appeared on April 10, 2020 in Amanda Kludt's newsletter "From the Editor," a roundup of the most vital news and stories in the food world each week. Read the archives and subscribe now.

Let's hop right into the stories of the week:

— The Chicago suburbs may enact another indoor dining ban, San Francisco is not graduating to the next, more open color tier; and Portland has decreased capacity limits, following troubling numbers.

— I've seen a lot about the efforts to vaccinate restaurant workers across the country. I love that Los Angeles is teaming up with nonprofits to focus specifically on the especially vulnerable population of street vendors.

— Some pretty fun openings this week, including Gatsby, an epic, Art Deco-inspired diner with desserts from my personal fave Umber Ahmad, and Donahue Lounge, an upscale cocktail bar, in D.C.; Vista, a wine bar and mezze spot on the 69th floor of a downtown skyscraper, in Los Angeles; Hinoki Sushiko, a two-floor omakase destination and Izakaya, in Chicago; and Dallas's first Fuku. Meanwhile, here's a look at the new Vegas outpost of Thai hit Night + Market.

— And now in the works: A whole slew of restaurants from José Andrés in Chicago and New York, a second location of A.O.C. from chef Suzanne Goin in Los Angeles, and a restaurant with a podcast studio and a book shop in Durham called Queeny's.

A gorgeous mixed berry pie with a dollop of whipped cream Rey Lopez/Gatsby
Umber Ahmad's mixed berry pie with cornflake streusel and whipped cream at Gatsby in D.C.

— A 16,000-person Facebook group has grown into a powerful force in the suburban Santa Clarita dining scene.

— I might need to invest in a mangal for my summer cookouts.

— Pair your wine to the vibe, not the food.

— How nonprofits focused on training people how to work in food evolved and expanded their mission during the pandemic.

— A look at halal restaurants in Philly as they prepare for a second pandemic Ramadan.

— In Houston, restaurants devoted to pricey, time-consuming tasting menus are making a comeback.

— Meanwhile New York has seen a boom in spinoff pizzerias from established restaurants and chefs.

— In Seattle, the pandemic may have finally killed off the post-office happy hour.

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