#chives chen

[vaultsexteen]

selfie with the boss

[fatalfangirl]

Thank you for the tags @captain-aralias and @artsyunderstudy 💕 I'm working away on ch 5 of More Than Friends. If I can finish the scene I'm on today, then it's looking good for posting later in the week.

I'm really trying to just get words on the page and not care that they're messy, so have six messy sentences:

SIMON

After that, it’s music and cooking and moving around each other to a familiar song and dance as we cut and cook leeks in garlic, cream, capers, and chives. It’s easy. It’s a fucking relief. And a comfort settles into my gut, living alongside the heat of being next to Baz. Of the contact that comes with working in a small space. Of the shared effort in making something together.

Hope you're having a successful Sunday!

Tags and hellos for @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @whatevertheweather, @facewithoutheart, @cutestkilla, @moodandmist, @palimpsessed, @aristocratic-otter, @shrekgogurt, @whogaveyoupermission, @blackberrysummerblog, @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, and @theearlgreymage.

[loxare]

A game I've been playing in early access for the past half year, Immortal Life, came out fully wednesday, and I love it so much and think that everyone should play it. Anyways I wrote a thing

Mu Xia hummed as she carefully placed the plate of dumplings in her basket. They were a new recipe, pork and chive, and she really hoped her shijie liked them.

Carefully balancing her basket on her arm, pushing aside the kitchen curtain with the ease of long practice, she nearly dropped everything when Ji Yaohua’s voice called out, “Mu-shimei! I was just speaking to your mother about importing things for the inn. She told me to ask you about anything you needed for the kitchen.”

Basket balanced once again, Mu Xia smiled. “Oh course, Ji-shijie, thank you. It will be our usual list, but could you see if you can get more of the chives? If these turn out, I think they’ll be a hit with the customers.”

Yaohua leaned in, curious. “What are they? They smell good.”

“Pork and chive dumplings! I have some extra in the back if you want, but these are for Shijie!” In this context, there could only be one Shijie. The farmer of the Misty Valley was the reason she was even a part of Guiyun Sect after all.

Li Mengqing appeared from around the corner, summoned by the call of a new food to try. “I’ll get them! Just on the serving table?” Not waiting for an answer, she slipped into the kitchen.

“What’s the occasion?” Yaohua’s eyes narrowed slightly. “If it’s her birthday you have to tell me. She refuses to say.”

That sounded like Shijie. “No, not at all. I just haven’t seen her in a few days, so I wanted to check on her and make sure she was eating well.”

A strange look crossed Yaohua’s face. It looked pained, but also glum and mischievous for some reason. “I see. I think she’ll enjoy those a lot. Say hi for me.”

“I will!” Ji Yaohua’s strange moods wouldn’t deter Mu Xia. “See you later Ji-shijie, Li-shimei!”

After Mu Xia was gone, Mengqing came out and passed Yaohua a dumpling. “Ji-shijie. If Shijie hasn’t been seen in a few days...”

“Yes.” Yaohua took a bite of the dumpling. It was very good indeed. She’d have to research where to obtain chive seeds. The Misty Valley could support nearly any kind of plant in its soil, so it was just a matter of sourcing. And having Shijie grow them would be much cheaper in the long run than importing chives. As for Mu Xia... “She’d have to find out sometime. Besides, if it’s been a few days, Shijie could probably use the food.”

“Hm. True.” Mengqing ate another dumpling. “Hey, do you think it’s possible to make a red bean dumpling?”

She’d never had a sweet dumpling before. “I’m sure you can convince Mu-shimei to try.”

The walk to the Misty Valley was pleasant. The weather was warm, and a bit breezy. There was rain on the horizon, but it wouldn’t hit until tonight. She spoke briefly to Zhou Qian’er about the day’s catch, and to Chen Yuanzhou about fishing her up a few puffer fish for an upcoming banquet.

The Misty Valley hummed with power as it always did. She could almost see the crops growing as they absorbed the spiritual energy, cycling it and sending it back into the earth, stronger. That was one of the things that had surprised her, after she’d started cultivating. Mu Xia had been to the Misty Valley before, usually on her way to the Sunset Forest to pick scarlet sage, but never before had she been able to see the energy she had always felt in the place. It had always felt alive to her, vibrant in ways that she hadn’t been able to comprehend. It was no wonder that Shijie was so strong, if this was where she lived, worked, cultivated.

Speaking of. “Shijie? Are you here?” She checked both fields, poked her head into the Blessed Land, knocked on the door of the freshly renovated house. But she was nowhere to be seen.

Then, suddenly, a flash of light. The same as the others when they teleported somewhere else. Mu Xia couldn’t wait to learn that technique. “Shijie, you’re home! I brought- ” She stopped short.

It... was Shijie. She could tell. But the usual flowing robes and perfectly styled hair were in horrible disarray, and covered in... substances. Mud was the least egregious of the substances, but Mu Xia could also see some sort of green-grey plant sap that smelled horrible, more green goop, and blood (?!) in various shades and consistencies. “Shijie?!”

Instead of asking for help or something, Shijie wobbled and mumbled, “whatimezit?”

“I...” Mu Xia checked the position of the sun. “Almost dusk.”

“Mmm,” Shijie nodded. “Worms.”

And she teetered off, in the direction of her silkworm hut. Mu Xia followed helplessly. As Shijie pulled a large bundle of mulberry leaves from her storage ring, Mu Xia asked, “Shijie, are you alright?”

Shijie nodded again. “Jss tired. Still got,” she paused, trying to visibly count up her remaining tasks.

That wouldn’t do at all! “No, you’ve got nothing to do until you’re cleaned up and rested!” Mu Xia spread the rest of the leaves over the worms, grabbing Shijie’s arm and pulling her towards the house.

Shijie pulled away before they could enter, detouring to the waterfall. To Mu Xia’s shock, she stood under it for a few minutes, allowing the water to wash away the substances. Then she stripped her clothes off, replacing them with a clean, dry set from her ring, while Mu Xia went “Eep!” and turned around.

Finally, Shijie sat down at her table, Mu Xia across from her. The waterfall had woken her up enough to speak in full sentences, so when Mu Xia set down the basket and opened the lid, her eyes lit up and she said, “Dumplings! Thank you Mu-shimei, I was starting to get hungry.”

“Aren’t you capable of inedia?” It wasn’t healthy, to survive on inedia for too long, but at the very least it prevented the feeling of hunger. Shijie didn't usually rely on it, but it was useful when she went to the secret realms and didn't want to fill up her storage rings with food.

Shijie made a noise of affirmation and swallowed her dumpling. “Yeah, but not for more than a few days. Maybe once I hit Core, but not yet.”

Mu Xia subtly pushed the plate closer. “What were you doing anyways?”

“I needed more golden disks. I used them all up learning spells, which means I don’t have enough for research and development, or to upgrade my axe.” Shijie ate another dumpling. Jin Li crept off of his nest and sniffed at one, then wrinkled his nose. “If I can do that, I can get past those ironwood tree roots that are blocking the path to the eastern forest, see if I can find out what’s in there. Maybe there’s a great treasure that we can use to rebuild the sect.” She looked critically at the half of a dumpling she was holding. “Do you think I can get seeds for chives? I’d like some more aromatics to work with, and these are good. Do you have the recipe?”

Mu Xia nodded. “I finished developing it today. If you liked them, I was going to introduce them to the inn menu.” Shijie had very good taste. If she liked something, odds were it would do well with many customers.

“The usual arrangement then.” Ingredients, to repay the time Mu Xia spent developing her recipe, and to thank her for her generosity. “Assuming I can get chive seeds in.”

“If you can, I’ll see about getting more recipes with them in.” Mu Xia fidgeted with her sleeve. “Shijie, is that. Is that how you usually look when you leave town for a few days?”

Shijie huffed, offended. “I wasn’t gone for a few days, I have to be back every day to feed the worms. They’re very important Mu-shimei.”

“Of course,” she said, conciliatory. “But why didn’t I see you yesterday then?”

A long moment of silence. Shijie was more awake, but still not to her usual calibre, it seemed, as it was taking her a minute to think that through. “Oh, I guess I did feed them at 3 in the morning yesterday. And the day before. And then it was straight back to the desert.”

“Shijie! How long has it been since you slept?” Another long pause, that Mu Xia didn’t let her finish. “Go to bed! Right now!”

“But I have to sweep the forest for flowers, and then I have to schedule some classes for tomorrow, and I need more krill so I have to fish some of those up tonight, and having more pearl dust is always useful and -”

“Go to bed!”

It took another few minutes of corralling her, but eventually Shijie was laying in her bed, Jin Li curled smugly on her chest, preventing her form moving. In just a few seconds, she was asleep.

Mu Xia breathed a sigh of relief. Then she got out her paper crane talisman. Shijie did so much for them. They could do a few things for her, at least for tonight.

[aeide-thea]

In the City

                        for Monica Sok

These bridges are a feat of engineering. These pork & chive dumplings        we bought together, before hopping on a train & crossing bridges, are a feat of engineering. Talking to you, crossing bridges        in trains, eating pork & chive dumplings in your bright boxcar of a kitchen in Brooklyn, is an engineer’s dream-feat        of astonishment. Tonight I cannot believe the skyline because the skyline believes in me, forgives me my drooling        astonishment over it & over the fact that this happens, this night, every night, its belief, glittering mad & megawatt like the dreams        of parents. By the way, is this soy sauce reduced sodium? Do you know? Do we care? High, unabashed sodium intake!        Unabashed exclamation points! New York is an exclamation I take, making my escape, away from the quiet snowy commas of Upstate        & the mess of questions marking my Bostonian past. In New York we read Darwish, we write broken sonnets finally forgiving        the Broken English of Our Mothers, we eat pork & chive dumplings, & I know, it’s such a 90s fantasy        of multiculturalism that I am rehashing, but still, in New York I feel I can tell you how my mother & I        used to make dumplings together, like a scene out of The Joy Luck Club. The small kitchen, the small bowl of water        between us. How we dipped index finger, thumb. Sealed each dumpling like tucking in a secret, goodnight.        The meat of a memory. A feat of engineering. A dream of mother & son. Interrupted by the father, my father        who made my mother get on a plane, a theory, years of nowhere across American No’s, a degree that proved useless.        Proved he was the father. I try to build a bridge to my parents but only reach my mother & it’s a bridge she’s about to        jump off of. I run to her, she jumps, she’s swimming, saying, Finally I’ve learned—all this time, trying to get from one useless        chunk of land to another, when I should’ve stayed in the water. & we’re drinking tap water in your bright Brooklyn kitchen.        I don’t know what to tell you. I thought I could tell this story, give it a way out of itself. Even here, in my fabulous        Tony-winning monologue of a New York, I’m struggling to get to the Joy, the Luck. I tell you my mother still        boils the water, though she knows she doesn’t have to anymore. Her special kettle boils in no time, is a feat of engineering.        She could boil my father in it & he’d come out a better person, in beautiful shoes.        She could boil the Atlantic, the Pacific, every idyllic American pond with its swans. She would.

       —Chen Chen (2016)

[downhaul]

[fcktaken]

I have no plans at all until tomorrow night. So here's what I could do:

Clean and put away winter shoes

Go swim, will make the body feel good

Buy strawberries and cook jam tonight

Read (maybe that article about psychotherapy in climate crisis, probably continue Ace by Chen, certainly snowbaz fic, definitely not the book I started this morning about adults in Berlin and their problems. Yes, it is a valid take on how we tend to gloss over classism, but the style (jumping around) grates on my nerves as well as the fact that this is a topic I discuss with my friends and in a different way with my clients and I don't want an unknown person's opinion whose life is different from mine in important matters: straight, married, kids, moved here from the southwest). I want to escape and be entertained or learn something from someone I like when I read.

Sort out the chives on my windowsill

Water the garden

Stop avoiding my friend who mentioned me being misgendered by mutual friends because I don't want to deal with it

Go to the movies

[40sandfabulousaf]

大家好! Back to using an old photo to start off this post because I'm still too tired to take new ones. First up, a delicious and nutritious lunch with Pa at a Japanese restaurant. We shared an avocado wrapped unagi roll. For mains, Pa had bento and I chose kaisen (seafood) donburi.

As mentioned in the last post, Pa shared that he had fun taking the bus for 3 months whilst his car underwent repairs. I was curious, thus, for the first time in over 20 years, I took the bus to catch up with Grace and Douglas. The bus stop was only a 2-minute walk from my home and in 5 minutes, my ride arrived. I was surprised by how clean it was; standing passengers enjoy back cushioning too. To pay, commuters tap their credit card against card readers located at the entrance and exit - how convenient!

Travelling by car means I get from point A to B and miss out on all the wonderful sights in the less glamorous parts of our country. By taking the bus, I saw older public flats juxtaposed with newer modern facilities, the latter being part of our government's efforts to improve amenities and facilities for residents. I also lost my way and as I was wandering around trying to get to Grace's and Douglas' home, I ended up buying shampoo at 1 of the shops that dot the estate. It was random, and it was just as Pa said - fun! The couple was tickled as I recounted my bus adventure when I finally reached their home.

Overall, I'm impressed by the improvements in our public transport system, especially after witnessing the bus driver's mindfulness about elderly commuters' safety. Instead of speeding up immediately after pulling out of a bus stop, he was very gentle when he switched lanes and applied brakes until the older folks were seated. After this positive experience, I'm more open to hopping onto a bus again when there's time to spare. Meanwhile, Douglas' mum made jiao zi (steamed pork and chive dumplings) and I had some as a snack with vinegar and sliced ginger. They were so delicious!

Since this post is about fun, why not add more of it by sharing Mike Chen's gastro adventures? Also going by the moniker, Strictly Dumpling, the likeable dude is back to doing what he does best - making us hungry by slurping down the yummiest everything. He made me smile when he slurped down pasta as well! So glad he loves being here and we love him right back. 下次见!

[justtotally]

Chef chen los angeles

Regional specialties extend to Steamed Silver Pomfret, Sauteed Hemp Leaves with Pu Ning Fermented Yellow Bean Sauce, Fried Rice with Preserved Leaf Mustard and Fried Chao Zhou Noodles with Pork, Bean Sprouts and Chives  and dessert of Traditional Handmade Sweety Pancake.Ĭhaozhou is known as the “Capital of Giant Conch”, and Master Chef Chen is presenting two classic recipes on his a la carte menu including Grilled Whole Giant Conch with Superior Soup(Market Price) and Poached Sliced Conch in Superior Soup (Market Price). Headlining the showcase is an impeccable 12-course set dinner for 12 persons, reservations are limited and require advanced booking of at least two days, priced according to main course choices such as Double-boiled Sea Whelk Soup with Green Olives(HK$10,888 per table) and Double-boiled Vegetarian Shark’s Fin Soup in Pork Knuckle Soup (HK$14,888 per table).Ī selection of traditional appetisers includes Chao Zhou-style Marinated Goose, Deep-fried Pork and Water Chestnuts Dumplings and Deep-fried mashed Shrimps Dumplings  famous soups such as Double-boiled Sea Whelk Soup with Green Olives or Double-boiled Vegetarian Shark’s Fin in Pork Knuckle Soup. Master Chef Chen is presenting a wide range of exquisite Chaozhou specialties showcasing his exceptional skills at Lai Chi Kok’s epicurean ‘social salon’ for dining, art and music lovers during the culinary promotion. The guest chef is ranked among China’s leading masters of the delicate coastal culinary style of Chaoshan in eastern Guangdong. As a director of the Chaozhou Cuisine Research Centre and representative of the Guangdong Cuisine Association at numerous food festivals, his nationwide renown has extended to Beijing’s Diaoyutai State Guesthouse – invited to present his native traditional cuisine to Chinese leaders including former Premier Li Peng and other celebrity elites like Deng Xiaoping, Li Ruihuan and Tian Jiyun. Master Chef Chen Zejia is bringing a flavour of southern China’s traditional Chaozhou cuisine to Greater China Club’s signature Chinese dining room Man Hing from 4 – 23 September 2018.

[vaultsexteen]

mailguys of the year

[kourumi]

Huevember Day 2- #87f82a

@lokalelyen‘s Chives Chen

“Nothing personal against you, it’s just business, baby.”

[turianosauruswrex]

OC FACT SWAP: after graduating from studying corporate law, Chives went on to become a Vault-Tec legal representative - she was good at her job. terrifyingly so, when you remember the kind of shit Vault-Tec went on to do

Ooh!! Chives sounds like the best kind of horrible; have I mentioned I love her omg

Miri isn’t the type for college, but if she had gone she would’ve probably studied history and gone on the be a professor herself; she’s smart enough and charming and persuasive enough and strong enough in her convictions to have made a pretty good prosecutor or politician but she’s altogether too friendly and too nice to have really cut it.

[xiangqiankua]

玻璃心 by Namewee + Kimberley Chen. I saw this around the time of release largely by coincidence, and didn’t think too much of it, but apparently it’s now gone a bit viral and even has news networks doing detailed analyses of the lyrics and imagery. Some things I still looked up:

割韭菜 : Literally “cutting chives”, referencing how chives grow back quickly if you cut them. If you look at a Chinese source, this refers to big companies taking advantage of small investors in the stock market. If you look at a Taiwanese source it refers to the exploitation of the lower class in China:  「 此外，依照「維基百科」說法，在中華人民共和國文化中，「韭菜」是對於「被壓榨者」的比喻，亦因此被引申為被壓榨的底層民眾。 」 壓榨 yāzhà / press, squeeze, to extract something by squeezing 

NMSL: 你媽死了

森七七 ：also written 森77, a cute way of saying 生氣 (originating from PTT)

A couple words I thought were interesting from watching an analysis:

敢言 gǎn yán /  to bravely speak one’s mind without fear of offending others 「 那邊有黃明志，他的確是一直都非常的敢言 」

封殺 fēngshā / to be banned, blocked 「 這個一上傳網路馬上爆紅了， 但是同時也震碎了中共網信辦的小心臟， 兩個人遭到了封殺。那個陳芳語是笑著唱了一首歌回應說微博封了沒關係，我還有IG和FB.  」 網信辦 wǎng xìn bàn / Cyberspace Administration of China

[thebookofus-depravity]

Skinny Bone Jones

Skinny Bone Jones

Chapter 1 

Chapter 2 coming soon!

9k words

This is my baby Park Jaehyung and an AU in which y’all are dealing with the coronavirus together in LA. Jae grew up with Y/N and you were childhood friends. You stayed close but haven’t seen each other in ages. Now you’re both back.

 Teeth rotting fluff, possible smut in future chapters (lets see if I have the balls to post it), Y/N has a strong proclivity for a certain guitarists hands. And honestly, who can blame her? TW: Confrontation with a nasty old ex, Coronavirus,  Quarantine, overbearing parents.

...

This fucking sucks.

Closing your laptop, and shoving it off of your lap to the side of your bed, you are struck by exactly how warm the underside of your Netflix Machine was in contrast to the chilly room. Well, 3 hours of To Catch a Predator in, and sure, your old 2011 Dell dinosaur is going to be a little mad at you. I've got to do something today. Anything. 

Week 3 of your quarantine is coming to a close and on this breezy LA Thurs-Fri-Turday (who the hell knows anymore) you can feel the last tendrils of your sanity escaping with the setting sun. It just doesn't stop setting. And rising. And setting. And rising. Tortuously slow some days and before you can even get out of bed the next. Not that you get out of bed much.

Alright. That's it. I'm gonna do something. I have to. It's time to make some art, bake some cookies, go for a run, tell someone around me how much I value them, topple the patriarchy. I am going to get up and do something with my life and damned if I get in my own way again. I am unstoppable. I am formidable. I am inevitable. 

Rising from your rumpled bed clothes with the steadfastness of a slightly anemic Viking (whoa I’m woozy, I shouldn't have stood up so fast. Shit, when's the last time I ate?) you cross to the large bay window that faces the street. You throw your curtains open, ready to face the day, only to be faced with… stars starting to twinkle at you out of the inky blackness. Dammit. I'm gonna have to defeat systemic oppression tomorrow. 

Squinting from behind your glasses, you see that the stars are not stars at all but helicopters blinking down at you. You haven't seen real stars since your trip to Big Sur last summer. Although you moved to LA when you were 7, you have vague recollections of the Korea that you loved as a young child. Your parents had picked up and moved to the States after years of struggling through VISA's and citizenship red tape. Your mom and dad had originally meant to get married and have you in the US. The land of opportunity. 

You now chafed slightly under that blanket of opportunity as you are far too aware of the responsibility you have been given to make the absolute most of it. From the ripe old age of 8 you had been conditioned to follow your dreams to their fullest. As long as those dreams were to become a doctor, lawyer, or marry a CEO. Your parents cared about you greatly and you knew that. They only want security for you, happiness comes from security. Now 25, you can't quite remember the last time their overbearing nature had been quite this...potent. You were in your final year of medical school at USC and there was nowhere to run.  It was time for you to begin your foray into the 'real world' of residency. The same post-undergrad 'real world' that you had watched all of your non-premed friends crash land into. They had all distanced themselves from you, both figuratively and literally; intentionally and inadvertently. Divorced, Beheaded, Died: Divorced, Beheaded, Survived. You had watched you friends get married, have kids, sabotage marriages, buy houses, do well, do poorly. And here you were in some kind of bubble both safe and isolated from all of the uncertainty beyond the classroom. 

Jokes on you, Jessica, now we're all screwed, you find yourself thinking for the upteenth time over the past month. You had been watching the Coronavirus since December and knew exactly what was to come. You did all that you were capable of as a not-quite certified medical professional and tried to convince people of the reality of the threat, convince them not to panic, and to exercise a reasonable level of preparedness. Well, that didn't work. You found yourself sunk into a deep well of frustration and futility at the action and inaction that was being exhibited throughout the States. For the first weeks of quarantine you found yourself glued to your phone, helplessly watching the tragedy unfold and the stupidity that was ensuing. By week 2 your empathy had burnt out and you knew you couldn't watch that world anymore. K-drama's it is. After completely obliterating Crash Landing on You, Itaewon Class, and rewatching Descendants of the Sun for the eighth time just because it's so. damn. cute!, your parents started to get a little concerned. 

Your stomach growled and you realize you, in fact, haven't eaten since early this morning. As you consider what the consequences of emerging from your cave of a bedroom might have, you resign yourself. Five minutes later you are hovering in the kitchen with a bowl of leftover whateverthefuck in hand, you turn to see both of your parents at the bar stools staring at you with a look of concern that you haven't seen in years. Shit, I keep forgetting, they think I'm functional.  Your parents had shipped you off to Health Careers College Prep school, a boarding school in Sacramento, when you were 16. Upon graduation there with your high school diploma, nurses aid, and dental hygienist's certificates, you immediately started at USC premed. You hadn't lived at home since your Jonas Brother's phase. As much as your parents loved you, they didn't really know you. This had been overwhelmingly obvious when the USC campus closed and you returned home to open arms and your bedroom frozen in the clutches of 2009. Your parents had welcomed you home with tearful hugs and a new gift for your room. I know how much you love that Kevin- boy. And your room is so old. Come. Come. Already wary and wondering who the hell is Kevin? you allowed yourself to be led to your old room and set your bags down with a deadened thump. You tried so hard not to laugh, You really did.  They're trying so hard. But like, Where did they even find this monstrosity? You had been staring up at the largest poster of Kevin Jonas that you had ever seen every night for 3 weeks and it was starting to get to you. 

Regardless of the decor (purple fuzzy lamp shade included), there were so many parts of living at home that were so foreign to you.  Although everything was completely the same, you were worlds different and it was disorienting. Your bed seemed smaller, the walls shorter, the colors dimmer. Everything that made that house your home was still there, only you had changed. It was like you were in a coma and had just woken up, the rest of the world unchanged but with 10 more years under your belt. Your therapist would tell you that you were reverting into a childlike state because of trauma and surroundings. Hush, Mollie, I don't need that right now. I need food. 

Food was honestly what was keeping you sane and civil. Your parents own a pho shop just down the street that was still taking carry out and delivery orders for pho, crawfish, whatever they had lying around. You had been helping out in the kitchen and with deliveries since you had been home. As freeing as the drives have been, you really come alive in the kitchen. You had been watching your mom make pho and dumplings for years and although she sent kimchi to your apartment every month or so, you missed your moms cooking. And her kitchen. You immediately took to cooking just like you had when you moved off of USC campus and into an apartment with some friends. You had 12 burners! That all worked! A convection oven! Two of them! Kitchen Aid's! You had no problem opening up shop at 8am every morning to prep the dough and get the stock boiling and all of the other things that her mother and father had been doing for the past 20 years. 

Returning to your room after rinsing out your bowl and chopsticks, and exchanging goodnight's with your parents you sit on your bed and tell yourself to go to bed. You have to be up at 7am for the kitchen. You need to chop scallions for the pork and chive dumplings so it has time to coagulate. Come on, Go to bed. No phone. It was a pitiful attempt, really. You had been pulling med-school grade all-nighters since your junior year of high school and nothing was stopping you now. Turning on your side for easy access to your charger, you plug your phone and coast through Instagram, Youtube, Twitter, Tinder for an indeterminate amount of time before your eyes start to get heavy. Instagram was just filled with all of your peers from USC recklessly meeting up with friends for picnics and drives and all of the other things they thought they were free to do because they were young and healthy and beautiful. Fuck off. Youtube provided a lovely escape from the actual outside. Mikey Chen showed you around TaiPei's street food scene, Binging with Babish gave you a new hand pulled noodle recipe to try, Bon Appetit made you glad you weren't Claire Saffitz. Tinder was a joke but an adequately funny one. Instead of your bog standard USC fuckboi's you were able to talk to fuckboi's from Korea, Dubai, Indonesia, Guatemala, Brazil. How fun. You had downloaded it 6 months prior after yet another guy in your department was just 'too busy, i'm sorry' to make the date that you had planned. You generally tried to avoid Twitter as it was just an echo chamber of panic and 24 hour news cycles and didn't do much for your anxiety. See, Mollie? I'm being smart. 

You flick open the little bird app and scroll for just a minute. A particular notification picques your attention. Jae tweeted. Well, Day6 tweeted, but we all know who runs their twitter. Your throat tightens with nerves as the post loads. You worry about him more than you'd like to admit but with tours cancelled and travel suspended, you know how hard it can be for people whose livelihoods revolve around entertainment and travel. The post loads and you let out a sigh of relief to see Jae surrounded by his band mates and smiling. Brian starts speaking Korean and delivers his message about their newly acquired tiktok. Brian gestures for Jae to speak and Jae delivers the same message in English. Ah, he went back to blonde. It looks good on him. Wait is he- oh god, he's wearing a crossbody fanny pack. Jae, you're old. Stop. Shifting to get more comfortable, you let the video loop a few times before closing the app. Jae's okay. You roll over onto your side and set your phone to the side. Jae's voice echoes through your ears for the next few minutes but you resolve yourself against it. I'm not getting fucking tiktok. I'm a grown ass woman. That app is for 12 year olds. And Jae. Resolved, you burrow into your Jonas brothers duvet cover for the night. 

Sweating and on the verge of tears, you wake with a start. The dream was already slipping from your consciousness with a blessed haste but the uneasy feeling that the nightmare gave you seemed to coat the inside of your skull and taint it's entire contents. A thin light filters through your still open window and your eyes creak open. Morning? Sure, why not? Rolling over, you flick open your phone and are greeted by an all too unfamiliar, 5:17am. It's too damn early. Even for you. You still have an hour or so to kill before you have to get up but you didn't fancy the idea of trying to go back to sleep after that dream. Propping yourself up on a few of the approximately 67 pillows that litter your twin sized bed, you open your phone. 3 new emails from USC congratulating you on your graduation and asking for some documentation of something or another or evaluation of some class you hadn't thought of in weeks. Skip. 2 emails from residencies that you had applied to before the coronavirus urging you to reapply in the fall. Great. You couldn't even bring yourself to feign concern over the missed opportunity. 1 email from Twitter informing you that Jae had tweeted. Again. You follow the link to another video of his side project EaJ. You had been following his new releases and you were surprised by the tenderness and vulnerability that they showed. He was always such a funny guy, it was the only side that he really showed much to the media. Sure, fans got glimpses at concerts, but not many knew just how deep the well ran in that man. 

Today's Tuesday, apparently. The next episode of How Did I Get Here? comes out today. I'll have something to listen to while I food prep. You never admitted to yourself how pleased you were when he started the podcast. You missed hearing his voice on a regular basis. Hollered up into your window, whispered between giggles in the back-most church pew, hurled across crowded hallways. Of course, the voice was different than it is now. Pocked by pubescence and the LA accent, you remember a far squeakier Jae. He was the first person you met when you moved into the neighborhood at 7 years old. He was 9 so of course, he took it upon himself to show you exactly where you could and couldn't go and what taco trucks would give out fare for free to little kids on weekends.  You remember those years fondly as finally having the big brother you never had. Skinny Bone Jones, you called him. He stood up for you when the kids in middle school called you smelly for bringing kimchi in your lunch. He called you smelly just for being you. He was well liked in school and by extension so were you. You had the cool big brother. You were more than happy to play second fiddle and be his backup. Tagging along to parties, helping him record his yellow post-it note covers on Youtube, letting him know when his hair looked stupid.

 And so it stayed until Jae actually made it on KPop Star. As much as you loved him, you didn't think he would ACTUALLY make it. Sure, he could sing. He had a beautiful voice but that wasn't enough. The boy danced like a drunk chicken and was 6ft tall and 120lbs soaking wet. He didn't even know Korean. What was he thinking? He was thinking he was going to prove you wrong. And he did. You watched as Skinny Bone Jones transformed into Park Jaehyung with a perfect balance of immense pride and terror. You knew you wouldn't lose your friend entirely but during his trainee days he had very limited access to the outside world, and you just weren't a priority. Honestly,  you would've been offended if you had been. He has a mom, dad, an older sister, bandmates, college. It only makes sense that the steady stream of communication turned into a trickle. It wasn't until Every Day6 that you were more of an insistent presence in his life. You burrowed your way back into his inbox with the tenacity of the annoying little sister that you were. You were worried. You watched him on After School Club and in the deluge of content that Day6 was serving their slowly growing fanbase. He looked tired. You once again rekindled your relationship but it was different now. Instead of you leaning on him for social support, you became his confidant. He was struggling. Burnt out, and questioning so many things, he didn't want to go to his bandmates because he didn't want them to worry. His parents would pull him immediately if they knew exactly how rough his condition was, his 'friends' from college had proved fake. He now had Alpha Phi Omega blocked because they wouldn't stop asking for favors: Day6 tickets, Twice merch, Got7 tickets. He felt alone but you reached out and he was able to lean on you. The trials passed and he was happier than ever and Day6's growing popularity meant good things for his lobster funds. 

You stayed in contact over the years and shared with each other the going on's of your lives. You had even managed to go to the Gravity World Tour date in LA. Jae got you backstage and you were able to meet the rest of his bandmates that you had heard so much about. It was an act of God that you managed to keep your composure. I mean sure, he's just Jae but you're still backstage at a concert for the first time! Your cheeks still redden when you remember how Jae caught you ogling at YoungK. Heart in your throat, and voice barely above a whisper YoungK had walked directly over to you and asked what you were doing backstage. After a solid 15 seconds of pointing listlessly at your Press badge and making just the strangest of noises that were meant to approximate speech, Jae finally caught wind and rushed over, knocking your sense back into you and introducing you to the members. 

Oh! Y/N! It's so nice to finally meet you! Jae talks about you all the time, I'm so glad you were able to make it! Your cheeks inexplicably reddened further to a violent shade of pink but the boys slowly defanged themselves in your mind. They're truly lovely people and you're glad Jae has them. That being said, you still can't quiiiite look Brian in the eyes and Jae thinks it's hilarious. 

The Gravity tour feels like ages ago as you shrug on some jeans and a tee shirt for your walk to the shop. August 2019 at the Novo may have only been 8 months ago but it seems like a different reality. The Novo will be closed for the forseeable future and concerts are cancelled. That stings but not as much as the radio silence from Jae. First it was his tour schedule that rendered communication difficult and now the virus. You know he's busy and it's been a weird few months for the entertainment industry, but a 'Hey I'm alive.' would be nice. From his podcasts and twitter you've been able to keep some thread attached but you feel it stretching thin as the months stretch on. You really don't want to be annoying. You're sick of feeling like a fan. Yeah, you support Jae and Day6 and would call yourself a MyDay, but that's not all you are. You know him. You dragged him through the mud when he convinced you to try sledding down a muddy hill on a trash can lid. You set up his camcorder for his covers when he still had that stupid swoopy hair. You posed as his angry girlfriend when a crazy fan wouldn't leave him alone.  You're starting to feel like just a fan and not a friend and it's only exacerbated by the glee that you feel when you get the notification from dive studios that How Did I Get Here? has updated. I miss my friend. 

Not bothering to flip the sign on the front door from closed to open, you shoulder open the front door of the shop after fumbling with the keys. Tying an apron securely around your waist, and flicking on your noise cancelling headphones to a comforting thrum, you wash your hands and begin to chop the largest pile of scallions you've ever seen. Crunching through the pile, you start Jae's podcast and everything is gone but him. You can almost imagine him in the room with you, perched on the counter talking your ear off about the Mandela effect or how weird elbows are or something equally as ridiculous. Today he's talking about soul mates. As you listen to him joke and banter and pontificate, your eyes well up. It's just the scallions. You know damn well it's only partially the scallions. You miss Jae. And you're in the middle of a pandemic. And your family barely knows you. And you're not sure if you even want to be a pediatric oncologist. Fuck. Jae's words turn into white noise in your ears as you toss your headphones to the side and place the knife on the butchers block, perhaps more aggressively than necessary. You pause the podcast and let yourself sit in the feeling. You're lonely and sad. See Mollie? I'm letting myself feel things. Making room for every emotion. You cast your mind around and recall all of the little wounds that prick a little too deep today. You feel a squeeze in your abdomen and your eyes shoot open wide. Shit, my period. I've got to be PMSing. Even Jae recognized the trend in your emotions before you did. The week before your period, you were notoriously mushy and weepy and indulgent. Well, that's one mystery solved. I'll be okay. Mollie's voice echoed through your brain with her familiar argument that hormones only heighten the emotional distress, not fabricate it. These feelings are valid and aren't fake just because you're hormonal. You steadfastly ignore that point, wipe your eyes, and pull your headphones back on. You finish up the pile of scallions and a few other morning chores before the podcast ends. It's Jae's sign off that sends the bowl of mandu filling that you were holding clattering to the floor. "I'm coming to you from my childhood home, so if the audio is a little finnicky… blame Byron." Jae's home.

…

After sweeping up a pound of pork, beef, mirin, soy sauce, and chives and disposing of it, you stare at your phone- hands shaking slightly. Jae. What the fuck. You rip off your apron and your mind races. Should I call him? Should I go see him? I can’t believe he’s right here. 2 houses down. Fuck. Your rational brain knows that it’s okay to feel excited about Jae being home. But the sneaky little bitch that lives in the back of your brain is telling you that if he wanted to hear from you, he would’ve called. You feel a little bit of yourself fragment at that, but you push it to the side. You open up your phone and slide over to his contact in your phone. What greets you is your last text conversation.

Jae: I’m so glad you had fun, Y/N! But if you ever look at Brian like that again, I might have to put a ban on you at our concerts. His head was way too big.

Y/N: Look at him like what?! I didn’t do anything and you know it! 

Jae: Of course you’re didn‘t. You totally weren’t drooling over my bassist. 

Y/N: Fuck off.

Jae: Gladly, love. ;)

8 months ago. Sure you’d DM’d quite a bit since then and called a few times. But it just seemed so sparse. You don’t want him to just humor you. You’re an adult and perfectly capable of being alone. You’re not going to text him just yet. 

You finish up your morning chores and head back to your house, pausing for perhaps just a little too long in front of the sandstone house with the tan shutters and shoes out front. You knew that house so well. You knew how much weight the tree outside the upstairs bedroom window could hold. You knew where the kimchi refrigerator was tucked away in a back corner of the garage. You knew there was a blonde boy in there that you wanted nothing more than to run inside and get a hug from. 

You shower and let the hot water run over you, hoping it will relax the knotted up muscles in your back. It’s not like I can go see him anyway. We’re in quarantine. He probably just got back to LA and just hasn’t gotten the chance to-. You run the same conversation over and over in your head until you can’t take it anymore. You need someone else’s voice in your head. Curling into your covers, you sigh and go to the App Store. A few short minutes later and you hate yourself more than you ever have. Tiktok. Here we go. You watch the video of Day6 introducing themselves to the social networking platform once, twice, three times until your eyes start to ache. All of a sudden you’re met with a new post that pings up. Your breath catches in your throat as you see Jae standing in his living room, attempting to keep up with Amber Liu’s dance challenge. You can’t help but giggle as he flails to the left, to the right, oversized black hoodie always falling into his face. BM would be proud. Express not impress. You find yourself shocked at the weight that he’s gained. He looks healthy and happy. You remember the conversations in middle school about how much he hated being skinny. The evenings in the weight room in high school. Failed doctors appointments. He looked good before but you see that in recent months his chest has been swelling and not just with pride. His shoulders sit a little bit broader than you ever remember in the past and you’re happy for him. Good for you, Jae. 

You like the tiktok and let it loop a few more times before sighing heavily and opening your messaging app.

Y/N: I got TikTok for you, ya little shit. 

You chuckle but leave the text unsent. You’ll think of something better later. You toss your phone to the side in the face of the mountain of laundry on your bed that needs to be taken care of. As you hang the last of your shirts, your phone pings. You pick it up to a notification from Jae.

Skinny Bone Jones: Language! 

Skinny Bone Jones: Do you think Amber approves? 

You feel a flare of indignation wash through your limbs at the mention. Apparently it had sent. Oh well. As the thrill of a reply ebbs out of you, it is replaced by a rising indignation. How dare you?! Not tell me you’re in town and pretend like you didn’t?! Really?! 

Y/N: I don’t really care what Amber thinks.

Maybe that was a little snippy. You love Amber, truly. But how can he have time for TikTok but not me?

Skinny Bone Jones: Yeah? Do you still care what I think? 

Your heart catches in your throat. So he’s caught on that you’re pissed. 

Skinny Bone Jones: Y/N, can I call you? 

You swipe up to the phone icon and call him on auto pilot. Talk to me, Jae.

“Y/N?” you hear Jae’s voice.

“Jae.” Your voice comes out whispier than you meant it to. You try again.

“Jae! How are you?”

“Oh, y’know, just got off a plane that smelled like bleach and got to my house that isn’t really my house anymore, left my guitar to be sanitized, was “strongly encouraged” to make a TikTok by my company, and then got my head bit off by my best friend. Just quarantine things.” There is a touch of acid in his voice but Jae mostly sounds tired. Your empathy comes surging back and you sigh.

“I’m sorry Jae. I just- I didn’t know you were in town until I listened to your podcast this morning. I was a little hurt that you didn’t call or anything.” 

“Look, kid. I just got home. I’m a diva. You know I require at least an 18 hour period of naps and boba to function properly. I’m a KPop Star now.” You laugh at the callback to your irate spiel a few years ago about how fame had changed him and he was a diva and  just ‘wasn’t the Jae you knew’ anymore. It wasn’t his fault he was allergic to everything and turned down all of your food suggestions.

“Jae, you’ve been a diva since day one.” You quip back, tension resolving as you fall back into a familiar playful banter. 

“And don’t you forget it, Y/N.” There's a slight pause before Jae continues, 

“This diva is really sorry he didn’t call you. It’s just been a lot the last few days. The tour just got cancelled. And our album comes out in a few days. Our team has been going crazy trying to figure out how we’re supposed to publicize in this climate and I just-“ 

“Jae. Chill. When I preordered mine last week, it was the most popular album on the site. It’s gonna sell. Don’t worry too much.” There’s a beat of silence in which you can hear the air whoosh out of Jae’s lungs.

“You-You preordered Demon?” Jae sounds shocked but endeared at your admission and you laugh. 

“Of course? I’m really pumped to hear that sexy, soothing voice of Wonpil’s. Maybe I’ll even get a Dowoon photo card this time! I keep getting Jae ones in my other albums and I give them to my little cousin.” This isn’t entirely true. You have 3 of Young K, 2 of Dowoon, and 1 each of Wonpil and Sungjin. You’ve been waiting for a Jae photocard for ages. You would die before you told him that, though.

“You little shit. If you don’t want to see my face, why are you following Day6 on TikTok?” Jae ribs back.

“Brian. Duh. He’s fine as hell.”

“Yah! Haven’t you found a boring ass Orthopedic surgeon or some shit, yet? Why do you have to terrorize me like this?” 

“Why? Haven’t you found a Twice member that’ll marry you yet, Skinny Bone Jones?”

“I’ll have you know, I gained 10 pounds the past 8 weeks! I’ll be big as BM soon!” You can picture the expression of childlike pride in his face even if you can’t see it. 

“You look really good, Jae. I’m proud of you. You’ve been working really hard.” The sudden sincerity catches the both of you off guard and you clear your throat.

“Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot.” A comfortable silence is followed by a lengthy conversation recounting the previous weeks, the various states of the other members, your own eviction from college, and the status of the shop. 

“You know, Y/N, if you or your family need anything I’m more than happy to help. I mean I know how hard it can-“ You cut him off before he can go any further.

“We’re okay Jae, honest. I know you’d be good for it but we don’t need anything right now. Business is good at the pho shop and we’re okay.” 

“Okay, okay. Just know I’m here.”

“I mean NOW I do, no thanks to youuu,” you wheedle, whining about his failure to let you know he was in town. 

“Come on, Y/N, I said I was sorry!” He laughs but you can hear the desperation of sincerity in his voice.

“I know, Jae. I’m just kidding. I just really missed you.” 

“I missed you too Y/N.”

You get off the phone upon the realization that you needed to go to the shop and prep for the dinner deliveries. Sometimes you abhorred that you were “essential”. You run downstairs and tell your parents the good news about Jae and inform them you’ll be back soon. 

“I know you’re excited, Y/N, but remember we can’t be going and visiting people like that. Only essential work.” You roll your eyes slightly but assure them that you know. As if you hadn’t been telling them the same thing for weeks. I had to convince you not to go play mahjong in the park, eomma. You might be excited, but you’re not stupid. 

You had just started filling the mandu when you hear the bell over the door chime. Pardon me, are you stupid? We've been closed for weeks, why do you think it would be okay to just walk in? You wipe your hands on your apron and start to walk to the counter.

"Hello? I'm sorry, we're only open for call-in deliveries." You round the corner and lift your head from your hands to see the form of the gangliest, tallest, loveliest man you've ever seen in your life.

"Special delivery." Jae remarks smoothly, arms open wide in invitation and head cocked to the side as if he was bracing himself for the crash landing that was to come.

"Jae!" you yell, and launch yourself from behind the counter and into his arms. His arms fold around you and everything else melts away. Your face burrows against his chest and you inhale. He smells like home and cinnamon. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes with the tide of emotions that wash over you. Jae's hand cups the back of your head into him and he hugs you just as tightly as you hug him. You press yourself into him with everything you have and in the deafening silence and warmth all that you can think is I love you.

"Y/N" He whispers, not loosening his grip on you.

"Mmph." you respond weakly.

"My shirt's wet." You jump back from him a bit and see that he's correct. Your eyes are leaking. All over his white shirt. Oops.

"Oh! I'm-I'm sorry." You laugh a bit and swipe at your eyes before patting at his shirt in futility.

"It's okay, love. Come here." He welcomes you back into his arms and you wrap your arms over his neck this time. 

"I missed you." You whisper, voice cracking a bit. 

"I know you did." You jump back from him. Bitch.

"Hush. I missed you too, you idiot. Why else would I be standing here right now?"

You cast your eyes around in a panic. He's here. He's right here. In the store. Here. He shouldn't be here. He should be in quarantine with his family. You're unessential to him. 

Sensing the realization in your eyes,  he pushes past you, walking to the back and puts on the latex gloves hidden behind the counter. 

"I figured it was about time to get a 'real job' like everyone keeps telling me to." He smiles smugly and picks up the knife to start chopping the bok choy. You stand there in shock for one second, two seconds, three seconds until you realize he’s about to cut his fingers off. 

“Jae! Stop!”

“Look, Y/N, I don’t care what you say, I’m going to do this. I want to help. And I’ll be damned if I’m not allowed to see you in the time I’m finally here-“ 

“No, Jae. Stop. I know I can’t argue with you. I’d be thrilled if you’d work with me. But Brian is gonna kill me if I let you cut your damn hands off.” 

“I… what?” 

“You’re a guitarist Jae. We can’t have you cutting off your pretty little fingers. And if you keep chopping it like that, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.” 

Jae looks down at his hands and stretches his fingers wide as if considering them for the first time. 

“Pretty?” 

You roll your eyes, but unbidden, your eyes are still trained on his hands. They really are pretty. 

“Just. Let me show you.” You show him how to tuck his knuckles up against the blade and chop in smooth rocking motions so as not to take off his fingertips. 

You work in relative silence for the next hour, packaging meals and portioning combos as your mom and dad peek in and out to pick up the orders. You can feel a warmth flowing through you as you take in your surroundings. The loneliness of the past weeks leeches out of you and dissipates into the warm atmosphere, homey smells, and murmur of conversation. It’s almost as if your limbs wake up bit by bit, like a tree waking up after a long frigid winter. You feel yourself stretch and shine and the bubbles of contentment flow through you. By the time the last combo is out the door, you find it really difficult to take the smile of your face. 

Jae seemed to be in the same boat. On more than one occasion you caught him staring at you. Every time you caught him he just shook his head and laughed in that infuriating way of his. But you really couldn’t be irritated at him. It was impossible. He was your happy fairy, even if you wanted to kick him in the shins every two minutes for saying something dumb. Mom and dad said goodnight to Jae in the same way they have been since he was 10. “Tell Mrs.Park I say hello and don’t be a stranger.” Right after they leave and you’re washing the last dish, while Jae sits on the counter telling you about production for Day6’s new album, the phone rings. Before you can tell Jae not to answer it, he’s already taking the man's order. Fine. One more can't hurt. You weren’t anxious to end this day and return to bed alone, so you welcome the post-closing distraction. Cobbling together a plate from the leftovers you were about to bring home, you grab your keys and beckon Jae to follow you. 

“No need to bug mom and dad, we can take this one.” 

As you walk outside toward where your little yellow bug is parked, you feel Jae move behind you. You can feel his body close to yours and you stiffen instinctually. You’re not used to skinship anymore and you can feel the blood in your veins carbonate as Jae’s breath ghosts across the back of your neck. You stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide, flush creeping up your neck as you feel his hands- those damn hands- ghost along the side of your left arm. You squeak when his fingers brush against the back of your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your world spins. Fuck is he holding my hand? Do I want this to happen? He’s so close to me. Can he hear my heartbeat? 

“Jae-“ you begin to say, with absolutely no idea as to where the statement would go after. 

Luckily you don’t have to think of any sort of decisive move because Jae immediately snatches the keys from your now limp left hand with a cackle, running ahead to the car. 

“I’m driving!” You little fucking- oooh! 

You’re thankful for the cool evening breeze and dim street lights or you were sure to get a ribbing for the blazing red cheeks that you were sporting. You climb into the passenger's seat with the food on your lap and do your best to sink into invisibility. It doesn’t work. You’re convinced that he can hear your brain jackhammering away at the night's events. 

Did I want that to happen? Did that happen? He was so close to me. He felt so warm and the way he touched me. Running your hands over your arm, you could feel his touch like it had raced a burning path down your whole left side. Do I… like Jae? 

You glance over at him now and again as he puts the car in drive and begins the route to the destination. Jae, of course, is jabbering away about how everything has changed since he’s been gone and, “Omigod, is that ANOTHER pinkberry?” You find yourself nodding along passively while actively trying to figure out what the hell was going on in your brain. Much like his podcast, his voice became white noise by which you asked yourself questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. Of course I love him. But do I like, like him? Never in your life have you felt more like a horny, confused teenager but as you glance over and watch Jae with one hand on the steering wheel, wind blowing through his hair, you know one thing for sure- Jae isn’t a kid anymore. And he isn’t your brother. 

It isn’t until you pull into a neighborhood about 10 minutes later that you remember that you’re here on a delivery. Yanking yourself from your reverie, but with unease still firmly lodged in your thoughts, you address the task at hand. 

“Jae, where are we?” 

“Uhhhh, 3051 Driver Rd.” 

Driver Road. You know this neighborhood but you can’t quite place where. If your previous safari into your possible romantic interest in Jae wasn’t jarring enough, you feel panic rising through your system like so much bile. Why do I know this neighborhood? Jae, unaware of any turmoil on your part, pulls up to the house in question and when your headlights wash over the yard your heart sinks into your throat. You’re going to be sick. 3051 Driver Rd. This is where Sean lives. 

You had met Sean Avery in your sophomore year of premed and had fallen head over heels in love with him. He was tall, attractive, ambitious, and he wanted you. You were star struck. It wasn’t until a year of ‘dating’ later that you unearthed the whole messy truth of his long string of side pieces and general douchebaggery. If that wasn’t enough, in the past year you heard the report of him almost catching a case with a high school senior in the area. You knew now that he was nothing but a predator and a coward. You had managed to avoid him since your explosive breakup but now it seemed you had very little choice.

“Sean fucking Avery” you seethe in the seat next to Jae. 

“What did he do to you?” Jae asked, taken aback by your sudden vitriol. 

“Shit, that wasn’t in my head was it?” Jae laughs a bit but sobers up quickly at your expression.

“Y/N you look really pale, are you okay? I don’t know your history with this guy but hey, you don’t have to deliver this. I’ll do it. Don’t you worry, love.” Jae places his hand on the top of your head and ruffles your hair a bit in an attempt to be comforting. The attempt helped. Your heart pricks up a bit at Jae’s term of endearment but it feels more deadened than it should. You’re sick of feeling like this. Of letting Sean steal your joy from you. It’s been too long for that shit. Pulling yourself together a bit, you shake yourself out of your head and steel yourself. 

“No, Jae, I’ve got this.” Jae looks at you with slight concern but shrugs nonetheless.

“Alright, well, I’m going with you okay? This dude really must’ve done a number on you if this is your response. And I’d like to see the bastard.” Jae’s eyes glinted with something dangerous that you’ve never seen in him before and it causes the same fire in you to spark. Let’s do this. 

With Jae by your side, you march up to the door with the delivery order and set it on the front steps. The doorbell is deafening in the still night and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You jump as the door swings wide and a pathetic looking man sporting a robe and a beer belly peeks from the inside. All of the breath that had been waiting in your lungs released and you feel your head go a little bit light with the realization that this was the man that you were in love with. 7 years later, gone was the debonair gentleman who could sweep you off your feet. In his stead stood a balding, fat, stiff man in boxers and a moth eaten robe. He grunts in acknowledgment of  the presence of other humans but it’s obvious that the Neanderthal hasn’t recognized you. He retrieves his food and goes fumbling in his robe pocket for his wallet. He fishes out a card and hands it to you. You take it from him and process the payment. 

Declined.

“Sorry, Sean, your card- it declined.” 

He huffs and makes a sound in the back of his throat that you can only describe as gross as you hand it back to him.

“It what!? What do you mean declined?” He stumbles forward a few steps and you automatically flinch backward into Jae. Jae’s hand comes up to your shoulder to ground you, a reminder that he’s still there. Sean’s movement wafts a smell of body odor and brown liquor. He always was a mean drunk. You decide to cut your losses while you can and keep the transaction as minimal as possible. No games.

“Your card, Sean, it declined. Do you have an alternate form of payment?” Sean whips open his wallet and roots around for a minute before retrieving a few crumpled up bills. He extends the cash but before you can swap his card for cash, his arm whips back. Looking at you sideways, suspicion drips from his slurred speech,

“How do you know my name?” 

Shit. Fuck. Dammit. 

You watch helplessly as the cogs turn in his inebriated brain and recognition washes over his face.

“Y/N! It’s you! What do you want from me now, bitch? Trying to take my money now too? Get out of here!” His voice steadily rises in volume and you can feel the walls of your panic closing in on you. Suddenly Jae steps in front of you, arm outstretched to the belligerent man. 

“You’re talking to me now. You’re done with her.” Jae holds himself with a confidence that you had only seen from him onstage. 

“Just pay for the food and we’ll be going.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Sean spits back, as if Jae were something distasteful that he had found on the bottom of his shoe.

“I’m Jae. Y/N’s boyfriend. Now I’d really love to take Y/N home tonight before it gets too much later. So if you can just pay for your meal, we’ll get going.”

Sean crumples up the bills and throws it into Jae’s chest. 

“Good luck with that bitch, kid. You’re gonna need it.” And with that he retreats inside and slams the door shut behind him. 

Jae immediately rushes to your side and wraps you in a big hug. Although similar in mechanics to the hug earlier that day, this one was far different in intent. You could feel it in his soul, that hug was meant to squeeze all of the fragmented pieces of you back together again and hold them until they stuck. You can feel your heartbeat slowing to match his and your breathing slowly regulates. 

Mollie is gonna have a lot of fun with this one.

Jae escorts you back to the car and there’s a thick silence that you can’t quite bring yourself to cut as he puts the car into drive. You know he is forming his own story of what happened between you and Sean in his head and you can’t tell if that’s better or worse than just reliving it and telling him the whole story- cops and testifying and court and all.

Once out of the neighborhood, Jae heaves a sigh and chuckles a bit. 

“Well he seemed lovely.” 

“Uh huh. He’s a real peach.” 

Jae looks over at you with an expression of dual concern and amused what-the-fucker-y. Did that really just happen? 

There is a beat of silence and solid eye contact before you both start cracking up. Unable to restrain yourself any further, you both dissolve into a kind of healing, deep belly laughter that shakes the entire car. Pulling up to your house, Jae throws the car into park and then turns to face you. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything, you know? It’s not my business. You’re my business. But asshats like him aren't. Just that I’m around to keep them away from you.” 

You sigh deeply, still recovering from the laugh attack, before giving him a brief bulleted list of the sheer shenanigans that Sean had pulled on you all those years ago. You watched as Jae’s face contorted over the course of the story, hardening into yet another study in fierceness that you were yet to see from him. 

“I really am okay, though Jae. He had me pretty fucked up for a little bit but honest, I’m okay. I did the therapy, I fought my battles. I just hadn’t done the last closure step of actually looking him in the eye and saying goodbye and good riddance. And I probably never would’ve if it weren’t for tonight.” You reach out and grab his hand instinctively. 

“Thank you, Jae. I really appreciate you doing that with me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“You would’ve gotten your ass handed to you is what you would’ve done.” Jae states, deadpan.

“Jaeee!” You laugh, hitting him on the arm. 

“Oh, so now you can throw a punch? Okaaay, nice.” This little shit. 

Banter aside, Jae takes the key out of the ignition and gathers his things to get out of the car. As he closes the door, you hear him mutter “You need to pick better guys. You’re too great to end up with someone like that.” 

You don’t have any kind of answer to that, but you feel a lightness in your chest as his eyes burn into you. Jae walks you to your front door and all you can hear in your head is an echo of Jae’s declaration of “I’m Jae, Y/N’s boyfriend.” Is that what I want? 

You end up at your front door far too soon and the twinkling of the helicopters in the sky signals to you that it’s more than time for Jae to go home. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought of him leaving and you inwardly groan. 

Jae gives you one last hug goodnight and you know before he even releases you that this isn’t enough. Not even nearly. Your feelings, whatever they may be: love, like, general affection, haven’t been correctly quantified and expressed. This has been the best day you’ve had in months, and he was the deciding factor. You were grateful to have him there on your front door step, in his arms. But maybe, just maybe, if you’re able to express to him exactly how you feel about him in this moment, he’ll be able to help you out and translate exactly what this feeling means for your future together. Without thinking about it too much, you retreat from the hug and angle your face up to his so that your noses are almost touching. You sit like this for just a second. That sickening second that would allow him to retreat and tell you you’re an idiot for even thinking it. But he doesn’t retreat. Instead, your lips are brushing against one another in just the barest of whispers of a kiss. His lips are so soft. It’s over in an instant and as the chilly night air cuts between the two of you, you are all too aware of how disproportionately warm your face and neck have become. You smile up at Jae and he carries a similar, if not slightly more shocked, half smile. 

As if reading one another’s minds, you both understand that it’s wise to let one another think about the night's proceedings before any further rash decisions are made. In an attempt to preserve the spell of the night sky and the kiss and the chirping cicadas, neither of you say another word to one another but instead exchange content smiles that convey more than a goodnight ever could. With a slight bow of his head and a glide of his hand down the length of your arm, Jae walks backwards down your front steps and slips into the night, shaking his head slightly, trying and failing to conceal his smile. You watch him from the porch as he skips up to his house, before slipping into the warmth of your own home.

...

GIVE IT A LIKE IF YA LIKE

FEEDBACK IS MY LOVE LANGUAGE

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 27

In the City for Monica Sok These bridges are a feat of engineering. These pork & chive dumplings            we bought together, before hopping on a train & crossing bridges, are a feat of engineering. Talking to you, crossing bridges            in trains, eating pork & chive dumplings in your bright boxcar of a kitchen in Brooklyn, is an engineer’s dream-feat            of astonishment. Tonight I cannot believe the skyline because the skyline believes in me, forgives me my drooling            astonishment over it & over the fact that this happens, this night, every night, its belief, glittering mad & megawatt like the dreams            of parents. By the way, is this soy sauce reduced sodium? Do you know? Do we care? High, unabashed sodium intake!            Unabashed exclamation points! New York is an exclamation I take, making my escape, away from the quiet snowy commas of Upstate            & the mess of questions marking my Bostonian past. In New York we read Darwish, we write broken sonnets finally forgiving            the Broken English of Our Mothers, we eat pork & chive dumplings, & I know, it’s such a 90s fantasy            of multiculturalism that I am rehashing, bust still, in New York I feel I can tell you how my mother & I            used to make dumplings together, like a scene out of The Joy Luck Club. The small kitchen, the small bowl of water            between us. How we dipped index finger, thumb. Sealed each dumpling like tucking in a secret, goodnight.            The meat of a memory. A feat of engineering. A dream of mother & son. Interrupted by the father, my father            who made my mother get on a plane, a theory. years of nowhere across American No’s, a degree that proved useless.            Proved he was the father. I try to build a bridge to my parents but only reach my mother & it’s a bridge she’s about to            jump off of. I run to her, she jumps, she’s swimming, saying, Finally I’ve learned—all this time, trying to get from one useless            chunk of land to another, when I should’ve stayed in the water. & we’re drinking tap water in your bright Brooklyn kitchen.            I don’t know what to tell you. I thought I could tell this story, give it a way out of itself. Even here, in my fabulous            Tony-winning monologue of a New York, I’m struggling to get to the Joy, the Luck. I tell you my mother still            boils the water, though she knows she doesn’t have to anymore. Her special kettle boils in no time, is a feat of engineering.             She could boil my father in it & he’d come out a better person, in beautiful shoes.            She could boil the Atlantic, the Pacific, every idyllic American pond with its swans. She would. —Chen Chen

[40sandfabulousaf]

大家好! Over the weekend, I met Mrs T to settle the paperwork for my annuity plan. After it was done, we celebrated with a delicious dim sum lunch. Mrs T introduced me to a restaurant that packs in the crowds on weekends. I could see why: incredibly fresh ingredients, amazing taste and reasonable prices are a perfect combo!

[虾仁肠粉 xia ren chang fen - shrimp wrapped in silky flour wrapping]

[陈醋泡饺子 chen cu pao jiao zi - steamed chive dumplings in vinegar]

Chi shi fu (to eat is to be blessed), as the saying goes. The chen cu pao jiao zi was so delicious that we ordered another portion and ate to our hearts' content. Whilst devouring our food, we chatted about retirement, investment, the global and local economy, current affairs and Mrs T shared about how convenient, modern and wonderful our MRT (mass rapid transit, our train system) is. I haven't ridden on the MRT for many years, so guess what, after we finished our lunch, we took a ride! I'll share about the experience in my next post.

[烧卖 shao mai - pork and shrimp dumplings topped with roe]

[腐皮虾卷 fu pi xia juan - prawn wrapped in crispy beancurd skin]

Our public transport is so well designed that it's possible to not own a car. Buses and the MRT run like clockwork and link up almost the entire country. Passengers tap credit cards or smart watches at the gantry and voila, the gate opens! I should've taken more photos before and after the ride; it was quite an adventure. I only took 1 shot but never mind, there's always next time!

[炸春卷 zha chun juan - crispy spring rolls]

[香煎萝卜糕 xiang jian luo bo gao - fried radish cake]

With the global economy still unstable and GST set to increase 1% p.a. in 2023 and 2024, travel isn't on the cards at the mo. After rediscovering our modernised MRT, Imma spend part of my block leave playing local tourist. Hopping on the train, appreciating the views of our lovely landscape and uncovering hidden dining gems sounds pretty great! I'll rest and recharge these tired batteries as much as possible, but having some fun activities lined up is something extra to look forward to. Can't wait for December!

[糯米鸡 lor mai gai - glutinous rice filled with chicken wrapped in lotus leaf]

We're officially into 4Q2022 and although news about the global economy are grim, there's still stuff to be grateful for. Electricity tariffs have dropped a smidgen for this quarter, contrary to expectations of an increase, which is a relief. Some local food stalls have adopted an ethical pricing model by serving a base meal at an affordable price and providing the option to add meat, vegetables and eggs at an additional cost. That's preferable to meat shrinkflation cum price hikes! 下次见!

[easyfoodnetwork]

The Best Cookbooks of Spring 2020

Dive into recipes from Melissa Clark, Nancy Silverton, Dominique Ansel, and more

When I first saw Lummi: Island Cooking, the new cookbook from Willows Inn chef Blaine Wetzel, I couldn’t help but pick it up. The book itself is wrapped in a rough but texturally pleasing yellow fabric, and the cover — a single deep-blue photograph affixed to the canvas — captivates. Inside, top-down photos of meticulously plated dishes fill entire pages and beg the question: What is that? And while I may never make the recipes for things like mushroom stews and marinated shellfish, they’re a window into a remote restaurant that I may never get to visit. Sure, I could find a few photos online, but a book that you hold in your hands carries weight — not just literally, but also in the way each page memorializes a recipe, dish, or moment in time.

The 15 titles here represent only a portion of the cookbooks on offer this spring, but they embody all of the qualities that make cookbooks worthy vehicles for imagination. There are debuts from chefs at the top of their game, and first-time restaurant cookbooks that may inspire you to host a clambake or make your own bubble tea. But there are plenty of cookbook veterans on this list, too, with contributions from Sami Tamimi (the non-Ottolenghi half of the duo behind Ottolenghi); pastry chef Dominique Ansel; and New York Times recipe maven Melissa Clark, whose recipes may dominate Google searches, but gain new dimension when they’re printed on a glossy page. — Monica Burton

The Phoenicia Diner Cookbook: Dishes and Dispatches from the Catskill Mountains

Mike Cioffi, Chris Bradley, Sara B. Franklin Clarkson Potter, out now

In 2011, Mike Ciofi did what many office workers spend their days dreaming about: He bid farewell to city life in favor of renovating and reinvigorating a roadside diner in the woodsy New York hamlet of Phoenicia. Today, Ciofi’s Phoenicia Diner is a hit among locals and tourists, as well as the Instagram glitterati that flocks in droves to sample the restaurant’s elevated diner fare and pose in the green vinyl booths. Though it might be a while before the rest of us achieve our own version of the Phoenicia Diner, it’s at least become easier for us to pretend with The Phoenicia Diner Cookbook, a collection of comfort-food recipes that make up the Ulster County hot spot’s celebrated menu. Try to make the renowned buttermilk pancakes on lazy Sunday morning, or enjoy a cozy night in with the chicken and chive dumplings. For lighter meals, the cookbook also includes a variety of fancy salads and some delicious-sounding vegetable preparations.

We live in uncomfortable times, but we still have comfort food — and our upstate escapist fantasies — to help us cope. So serve up some Phoenicia Diner recipes on enamel camping cookware, then curl up under a Pendleton (or Pendleton knock-off) blanket. It’s almost as good as the real thing. — Madeleine Davies

Eat Something: A Wise Sons Cookbook

Evan Bloom and Rachel Levin Chronicle Books, out now

Chef Evan Bloom of San Francisco’s Wise Sons Deli and former Eater SF restaurant critic Rachel Levin teamed up to write an unconventional book about Jews and Jewish food. From the first chapter, “On Pastrami & Penises,” which jokingly weighs the morals of circumcision, it’s clear they succeeded. There are a trio of pastrami dishes (breakfast tacos, carbonara, a reuben) to celebrate “the cut,” before the authors move on to recipes for other life events, from J Dating in “The Young-Adulting Years” section to Shivah’s Silver Lining in “The Snowbird Years.”

This isn’t the first book to combine Jewish food and Jewish humor (the two are practically inseparable), but it has the added benefit of being actually funny. Eat Something sounds less like a commandment from bubbe and more like a comedian egging on readers to whip up a babka milkshake at 3 a.m. or serve chopped liver to unknowing goyim in-laws.

The authors gladly admit the book won’t satisfy conservative tastes. Wise Sons serves updated takes on deli fare, like pastrami fries, pastrami and eggs, and a roasted mushroom reuben, and “The Kvetching Department” chapter reprints customer complaints about Wise Sons’ sins against real deli. Those readers can find rote recipes for matzo balls and kugel elsewhere. Eat Something is for readers, Jewish or not, who prefer matzoquiles to matzo brei and a bloody moishe (a michelada spiked with horseradish and brine) to a bloody mary. — Nicholas Mancall-Bitel

Dinner in French: My Recipes by Way of France

Melissa Clark Clarkson Potter, out now

Melissa Clark is an important figure in my home eating life. Her cookbook Dinner lives on my kitchen counter, while her pressure-cooker bible Dinner in an Instant has helped me get over my anxiety around using the intimidating Instant Pot I received as a wedding present a few years ago. Her recipes in those books and over at the New York Times are energetic and reliable. I’ve been eagerly awaiting this book since she announced it.

While I expected it to be a book of Clark’s favorite, tried-and-true French recipes, Dinner in French actually provides a guide to layering some French je ne sais quoi into the kinds of things you may well already love to eat. Instead of just mashing a microwaved sweet potato like I do a few times a week, Clark’s tempting me to make stretchy sweet potato pommes aligot with fried sage for a change. The translation flows in both directions. To a classic French omelet, Clark adds garlic and tahini and tops it with an herby yogurt sauce; she transforms ratatouille into a sheet-pan chicken dinner.

Dinner in French veers more into lifestyle territory than her reliable workhorse books. Shots of Clark living the good life in France — laughing at beautiful outdoor garden dining tables, shopping at the market, walking barefoot in a gorgeous farmhouse — are peppered throughout. Even if that’s not what I need from a Melissa Clark book, for all the work home cooks like me rely on her to do, she deserves a glam moment. — Hillary Dixler Canavan

The Boba Book: Bubble Tea and Beyond

Andrew Chau and Bin Chen Clarkson Potter, out now

What Blue Bottle did for coffee, Boba Guys did for boba. Since Andrew Chau and Bin Chen opened their first shop in San Francisco in 2013, the brand has grown to include 16 locations across the country. Along the way, the guys behind Boba Guys have redefined what it means to drink the popular Taiwanese tea with modern drinks that go beyond the traditional milk tea plus chewy tapioca balls to include items like strawberry matcha lattes and coffee-laced dirty horchatas.

The Boba Book includes step-by-step instructions for these specialties along with recommended toppings for each tea base. There’s also a separate chapter all about how to make toppings and add-ons from scratch, including grass jelly, mango pudding, and, of course, boba. While it’s likely many boba lovers have never even considered making their favorite drink at home, Chau and Chen’s simple directions prove all it takes is a little bit of dedication.

The Boba Book doesn’t offer a comprehensive history of boba; instead, it provides an impassioned argument for drinking boba now from Chau and Chin, who keep the tone friendly and conversational throughout. Colorful photos of drinks alongside pictures of Boba Guys’ fans, employees, friends, and family make the book feel like the brand’s yearbook. And even if there’s no interest in recreating the drinks at home, The Boba Book gives readers the best advice on getting the most enjoyment out of boba, including tips on how to achieve that perfect Instagram shot. — James Park

Ana Roš: Sun and Rain

Ana Roš Phaidon, March 25

Ana Roš is a chef on the rise. While not quite a household name in America, the Slovenia-based chef of Hiša Franko got the Chef’s Table treatment as well as plenty of attention from the World’s 50 Best List. She’s known for being an iconoclastic and self-taught chef.

As with so many fine dining restaurant books, this volume isn’t really meant to be cooked from at home. Roš seems to have gone into the process knowing that, so she avoids the standard headnote-recipe format. Instead, lyrical prose is frontloaded, taking up most of the book, with recipes for things like “deer black pudding with chestnuts and tangerines” or “duck liver, bergamot and riesling” stacked together with only the shortest of introductions at the end. Gorgeous, sweeping landscape photos of Slovenia coupled with gorgeous food photography, both by Suzan Gabrijan, provide a lush counterpoint to the text.

Rather than a guide to cooking like Roš, this is a testament to one chef’s life. There’s quite a bit of personal narrative, from Roš’s experiences with anorexia as an aspiring dancer to a meditation on killing deer inspired by her father’s hunting. And for fans of Chef’s Table, culinary trophy hunters, and/or lovers of travel photography, it’s worth a look. — HDC

Lummi: Island Cooking

Blaine Wetzel Prestel, April 7

The Willows Inn on Lummi Island is that specific kind of bucket-list restaurant that’s fetishized by fine dining lovers: isolated (the island sits two and a half hours and one ferry ride north of Seattle) and pricey ($225 for the tasting menu, not including the stay at the inn, a near prerequisite for snagging a reservation). I should find it irritating.

But the Willows Inn is also inherently of a place I have great affection for — the Pacific Northwest — and that’s captured beautifully in chef Blaine Wetzel’s Lummi: Island Cooking, a restaurant capsule of a cookbook that doesn’t feature the restaurant’s name in the title. Instead, the book is a survey of the ingredients farmed, foraged, and fished from the Puget Sound, a stunning taxonomy of salmonberries and spotted prawns, wild beach pea tips and razor clams. Several recipes quietly flaunt the inn’s reverence for the local bounty. Each in a quartet of mushroom stews involves just three ingredients: two kinds of mushrooms and butter; a recipe for smoked mussels simply calls for mussels, white wine, and a smoker.

The book, though, is really all about the visuals. Photographer Charity Burggraaf captures each striking dish from above on a flat-color background, and the bright pops of color and organic forms evoke brilliant museum specimens. Lummi: Island Cooking shows off the ingredients of the Pacific Northwest — and how in the hands of Wetzel and his team, they become worthy of this exacting kind of archive. — Erin DeJesus

My Korea: Traditional Flavors, Modern Recipes

Hooni Kim WW Norton, April 7

Hooni Kim’s debut cookbook, My Korea: Traditional Flavors, Modern Recipes, is part cookbook, part autobiography. Before he opened Korean-American restaurants Danji and Hanjan in New York City, Kim worked at prestigious fine dining institutions like Daniel and Masa, and as a result, he interprets Korean cuisine with French and Japanese techniques.

Over 13 chapters, Kim breaks down the fundamentals of creating Korean flavors, from where to buy essential pantry items to how to recognize the different stages of kimchi fermentation. The recipes themselves cover a wide range, from classic banchan and soups to technique-driven entrees, such as bacon chorizo kimchi paella with French scrambled eggs, and a recipe for braised short ribs (galbi-jjim) that uses a classic French red wine braise method Kim mastered while working at Daniel.

The focus of the book is less about cooking easy, weeknight dinner recipes, and more about understanding and applying Korean cooking philosophy. Throughout, Kim talks about the importance of jung sung, a Korean word for care, which also translates into cooking with heart and devotion. The chef’s jung sung in making this book is apparent as Kim provides foundational knowledge to make readers aware of Korean culture, beyond just knowing how to cook Korean food. — JP

Everyone Can Bake: Simple Recipes to Master and Mix

Dominique Ansel Simon & Schuster, April 14

I’ll get this out of the way from the get go: Dominique Ansel’s newest cookbook has nothing at all to do with the Cronut. In fact, rather than simply a book of recipes for the things you’ll find at the Dominique Ansel bakeries and dessert shops stationed around the world, it’s a manual for how to make just about any dessert the reader’s heart desires, whatever their skill level. With Everyone Can Bake, Ansel asserts that armed with the “building blocks of baking” he provides, baking is achievable for even the most intimidated novice.

This idea guides the book’s structure. It’s split into three sections of Ansel’s “go-to” recipes: bases (which includes cakes, cookies, brownies, meringue, and other batters and doughs); fillings (pastry cream, ganache, mousse, etc.); and finishings (buttercreams, glazes, and other toppings). A fourth section covers assembly and techniques, such as how to construct a tart or glaze a cake. Charts at the front of the book show how these four sections combine to make complete desserts. For example, almond cake + matcha mousse + white chocolate glaze + how to assemble a mousse cake = matcha passion fruit mousse cake; vanilla sablé tart shell + pastry cream = flan.

Although the book’s primary aim is to simplify baking for newcomers, the notion that creativity can arise from working within the boundaries of fundamental building blocks is a helpful lesson for any home baker. And whether they’re after just those fundamentals or the “showstoppers” that come later, they’re in good hands with Ansel’s Everyone Can Bake. — MB

Mosquito Supper Club: Cajun Recipes from a Disappearing Bayou

Melissa M. Martin Artisan, April 14

At Mosquito Supper Club, a tiny, 24-diners-per-night New Orleans restaurant that’s more like a big dinner party, chef and owner Melissa Martin keeps a shelf of spiral-bound Cajun cookbooks with recipes assembled by women’s church groups. “The cookbooks are timeless poetry and ambassadors for Cajun food,” Martin writes, “a place for women to record a piece of themselves.” Martin’s first cookbook, Mosquito Supper Club: Cajun Recipes from a Disappearing Bayou, belongs alongside them. It’s a well-written personal and regional history of a world literally disappearing before our eyes due to climate change: Every hour, the Gulf of Mexico swallows a football field’s worth of land in Louisiana.

But Mosquito Supper Club isn’t an elegy. It’s a celebration of contemporary New Orleans, a timeless glossary of Cajun cookery, and a careful, practical guide to gathering seasonal ingredients and preparing dishes from duck gumbo to classic pecan pie. Martin’s recipes are occasionally difficult and time-consuming — stuffed crawfish heads are a “group project” — but written with gentle encouragement (“Keep stirring!”) and an expert’s precision. And since Martin’s restaurant is essentially a home kitchen, her recipes are easily adapted to the home cook (though not all of us will have the same access to ingredients, like shrimp from her cousin’s boat in her small hometown of Chauvin, Louisiana). Still, Mosquito Supper Club is a cookbook you’re likely to use, and as a powerful reminder of what we’re losing to climate change, it’s a book we could all use, too. — Caleb Pershan

Trejo’s Tacos: Recipes & Stories From L.A.

Danny Trejo Clarkson Potter, April 21

Anyone not living in Los Angeles will likely still recognize Danny Trejo. Muscular and tattooed, with a mustache dipping down below the corners of his lips and dark hair tied back in a ponytail, he makes an impression in just about every role he’s played in his 300-plus film career, whether it’s as a boxer in Runaway Train, the gadget-loving estranged uncle in Spy Kids, or a machete-wielding vigilante for hire in Machete. But since 2016, Trejo has taken on a role outside of Hollywood: co-owner of a growing fleet of LA taquerias.

Trejo’s Tacos, the 75-year-old’s first cookbook, written with Hugh Garvey, is as much a tribute to his restaurant legacy as it is to Los Angeles, his lifelong home. The actor spent his childhood dreaming of opening a restaurant with his mother in their Echo Park kitchen. Years later, film producer Ash Shah would plant the seeds and vision for Trejo’s future taquerias, opened with a culinary team led by consulting chef Daniel Mattern. The cookbook is a reflection of what the actor calls “LA-Mexican food.” Readers will find all the Trejo’s Tacos greatest hits in the collection, including recipes for pepita pesto, mushroom asada burritos, and fried chicken tacos. The recipes are relatively simple and malleable — designed for home cooks who might want chicken tikka bowls one night and chicken tikka tacos the next. There’s even a recipe for nacho donuts.

Throughout, Trejo interjects with stories from his life in LA, like the time a security guard on the set of Heat recognized him from the time he used to rob customers at Bob’s Big Boy in Burbank. “I used to rob restaurants,” he writes in his new cookbook. “Today I own eight of them.” — Brenna Houck

Falastin: A Cookbook

Sami Tamimi and Tara Wigley Ten Speed, April 28

Sami Tamimi and co-author Tara Wigley are probably best known for their proximity to Israeli chef and columnist Yotam Ottolenghi. Tamimi is Ottolenghi’s longtime business partner and co-author of Ottolenghi and Jerusalem: A Cookbook. Wigley has collaborated with Ottolenghi on recipe writing since 2011. With Falastin, the pair are stepping out on their own for the first time as part of a rising chorus of voices celebrating Palestinian cuisine.

Falastin is the culmination of Tamimi’s lifelong “obsession” with Palestinian food. The Palestinian chef pays tribute to his mother and the home in East Jerusalem that he left to live in Tel Aviv and London, returning after 17 years. For Wigley, who grew up in Ireland, the book is about falling in love with the region and, particularly, shatta sauce (she’s sometimes referred to by her friends as “shattara”). However, the book isn’t about tradition. Tamimi and Wigley approach Falastin’s 110 recipes as reinterpretations of old favorites — something they acknowledge is an extremely thorny approach everywhere, and particularly given the highly politicized history of Palestine. Food, after all, isn’t just about ingredients and method; it’s also about who’s making it and telling its story.

To do this, Wigley and Taminmi instead take readers into Palestine, exploring the regional nuances of everything from the distinctive battiri eggplants, suited to being preserved and filled with walnuts and peppers for makdous, or the green chiles, garlic, and dill seeds used to prepare Gazan stuffed sardines. Along the way, they pause to amplify the voices of Palestinians, such as Vivien Sansour, founder of the Palestinian Seed Library. Keep plenty of olive oil, lemon, and za’atar on hand. It’s a colorful, thoughtful, and delicious journey. — BH

Bitter Honey: Recipes and Stories from Sardinia

Letitia Clark Hardie Grant, April 28

At first glance, Bitter Honey seems like an outsider’s fantasy of Sardinia. British author Letitia Clark moved to the island with her Sardinian (now ex-) boyfriend, looking to escape Brexit and embrace a slower, more beautiful way of life. The book’s warm photography and indulgent descriptions of olive oil seem the stuff of an Under the Sardinian Sun romp. But then, it suddenly becomes real. In the introduction, she speaks of plastic Tupperware and paper plates and blaring TVs, and in stories throughout the book, she gives a more honest depiction of modern, everyday life in Sardinia.

Clark’s recipes are all about achievable fantasy, with some coming directly from her boyfriend’s family and some that are admitted riffs on Nigella Lawson recipes. But all include the island’s staple flavors and ingredients, like pork in anchovy sauce, fried sage leaves, saffron risotto, and culurgionis (essentially Sardinian ravioli) stuffed with potato, mint, cheese, and garlic. Clark describes Sardinian food as a “wilder” version of Italian cooking, something less refined and more visceral. The book is a great way to expand your regional palate, though you’ll have to source your own bottarga and pane carasau. — Jaya Saxena

The Vegetarian Silver Spoon: Classic & Contemporary Italian Recipes

Phaidon, April 29

The essential, 70-year-old Italian cookbook Il cucchiaio d’argento, known as The Silver Spoon in English, gets a plant-based update in The Vegetarian Silver Spoon, forthcoming from Phaidon. Boasting more than 200 vegetarian and vegan recipes, it’s a welcome addition to the library of Silver Spoon spinoffs in a time when diners are cutting back on meat consumption, whether for health, environmental, or animal welfare reasons. While some patrons of red-sauce Italian-American restaurants may exclusively associate the cuisine with weighty meatballs and rich, meaty sauces, as written in the book’s introduction, “the Italian diet has never centered on meat”; rather, home-style cooking “more often revolves around substantial vegetarian dishes like grains or stews.”

Across eight chapters — which are organized by dish, moving from lighter to heavier flavors — classic recipes like pizza bianca mingle with more regional specialties like Genovese minestrone, as well as less traditional fare like vegetable fried rice, demarcated with an icon of “CT” for “contemporary tastes” (other icons distinguish dairy-free, gluten-free, vegan, “30 minutes or less,” and “5 ingredients or fewer”). In this book, the writing is clear, the photos inviting, and above all, the sheer breadth of tasty-sounding dishes encyclopedic enough that any level of cook can find something to make. For fans of Italian cuisine, it’s impossible to flip through the pages without salivating, vegetarian or not. — Jenny G. Zhang

Chi Spacca: A New Approach to American Cooking

Nancy Silverton Knopf, April 30

For home cooks, restaurant cookbooks usually serve as half archive, half inspiration, but Los Angeles chef Nancy Silverton writes ambitious recipes a home cook looking to grow (or flex) actually wants to try. The Chi Spacca cookbook, written by Silverton, Ryan DeNicola, and Carolyn Carreño, will fuel fantasies of massive slabs of meat seasoned with fennel pollen on the grill, served with salads of thinly shaved vegetables and a butterscotch budino for dessert.

Chi Spacca is the newest of Silverton’s three California-Italian restaurants clustered together in what locals call the Mozzaplex, and it’s decidedly meat focused (Chi Spacca means “he or she who cleaves” and is another word for butcher in Italian). One of the restaurant’s most famous dishes is a beef pie with a marrow bone sticking out of the middle, like the tentpole of a carnivorous circus. That recipe is in the book. So is one for the restaurant’s distinctive focaccia di Recco, a round, flaky, cheese-filled focaccia, which, according to a step-by-step photo tutorial, involves stretching the dough from the counter all the way down to the floor before folding it over into a copper pan. There’s a recipe for homemade ’nduja, a section of thorough grilling advice, and more precisely composed salads than 10 trips to the farmers market could possibly support.

What’s really wonderful about the book, however, is the way it mixes serious ambition with practical advice and tons of context. Silverton explains the inspiration and authorship of every dish, and in those headnotes reveals the extent to which Chi Spacca, for all its Tuscan butchery pedigree, is a deeply Californian restaurant. Reference points range from Park’s BBQ in Koreatown to trapped-in-amber steakhouse Dal Rae to the traditions of Santa Maria barbecue. And the recipes always consider the cook. My favorite headnote, for a persimmon salad, says, “The recipe for candied pecans makes twice what you need for this salad. My thought is that if you’re going to go to the effort to make them, there should be some for the cook to snack on.” Entirely correct. — Meghan McCarron

Eventide: Recipes for Clambakes, Oysters, Lobster Rolls, and More From a Modern Maine Seafood Shack

Arlin Smith, Andrew Taylor, Mike Wiley, and Sam Hiersteiner Ten Speed, June 2

Eventide Oyster Co., named one of the best restaurants in New England by restaurant critic Bill Addison, embodies everything a Maine seafood shack should be — a casual place to sit down to slurp shellfish and eat fried seafood with friends and family. Since opening in Portland, Maine, in 2012, and despite accolades and expansion, it’s managed to retain that convivial feel. Now co-owners Arlin Smith, Andrew Taylor, and Mike Wiley, along with writer Sam Hiersteiner, have created a breezy cookbook for easy entertaining and coastal-inspired cooking.

With 120 recipes, accompanied by visual how-tos and guides on how to properly prepare seafood and shellfish, Eventide offers enough insight to make any home cook feel comfortable assembling an amazing raw bar or hosting a full New England clambake. The book even gets into less-traditional ways to use seafood as the basis for celebratory meals, with recipes for oysters with kimchi rice, halibut tail bo ssam, and the restaurant’s famed brown butter lobster rolls. And although seafood dominates, the authors of Eventide include alternatives to satisfy anyone, like the restaurant’s burger, a smoked tofu sandwich, potato chips and puffed snacks, plus a blueberry lattice pie for dessert. Whether or not you live by the coast, Eventide is the perfect spring cookbook to help you prepare to turn your kitchen into a New England oyster bar this summer. — Esra Erol

Vox Media has affiliate partnerships. These do not influence editorial content, though Vox Media may earn commissions for products purchased via affiliate links. For more information, see our ethics policy.

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Dive into recipes from Melissa Clark, Nancy Silverton, Dominique Ansel, and more

When I first saw Lummi: Island Cooking, the new cookbook from Willows Inn chef Blaine Wetzel, I couldn’t help but pick it up. The book itself is wrapped in a rough but texturally pleasing yellow fabric, and the cover — a single deep-blue photograph affixed to the canvas — captivates. Inside, top-down photos of meticulously plated dishes fill entire pages and beg the question: What is that? And while I may never make the recipes for things like mushroom stews and marinated shellfish, they’re a window into a remote restaurant that I may never get to visit. Sure, I could find a few photos online, but a book that you hold in your hands carries weight — not just literally, but also in the way each page memorializes a recipe, dish, or moment in time.

The 15 titles here represent only a portion of the cookbooks on offer this spring, but they embody all of the qualities that make cookbooks worthy vehicles for imagination. There are debuts from chefs at the top of their game, and first-time restaurant cookbooks that may inspire you to host a clambake or make your own bubble tea. But there are plenty of cookbook veterans on this list, too, with contributions from Sami Tamimi (the non-Ottolenghi half of the duo behind Ottolenghi); pastry chef Dominique Ansel; and New York Times recipe maven Melissa Clark, whose recipes may dominate Google searches, but gain new dimension when they’re printed on a glossy page. — Monica Burton

The Phoenicia Diner Cookbook: Dishes and Dispatches from the Catskill Mountains

Mike Cioffi, Chris Bradley, Sara B. Franklin Clarkson Potter, out now

In 2011, Mike Ciofi did what many office workers spend their days dreaming about: He bid farewell to city life in favor of renovating and reinvigorating a roadside diner in the woodsy New York hamlet of Phoenicia. Today, Ciofi’s Phoenicia Diner is a hit among locals and tourists, as well as the Instagram glitterati that flocks in droves to sample the restaurant’s elevated diner fare and pose in the green vinyl booths. Though it might be a while before the rest of us achieve our own version of the Phoenicia Diner, it’s at least become easier for us to pretend with The Phoenicia Diner Cookbook, a collection of comfort-food recipes that make up the Ulster County hot spot’s celebrated menu. Try to make the renowned buttermilk pancakes on lazy Sunday morning, or enjoy a cozy night in with the chicken and chive dumplings. For lighter meals, the cookbook also includes a variety of fancy salads and some delicious-sounding vegetable preparations.

We live in uncomfortable times, but we still have comfort food — and our upstate escapist fantasies — to help us cope. So serve up some Phoenicia Diner recipes on enamel camping cookware, then curl up under a Pendleton (or Pendleton knock-off) blanket. It’s almost as good as the real thing. — Madeleine Davies

Eat Something: A Wise Sons Cookbook

Evan Bloom and Rachel Levin Chronicle Books, out now

Chef Evan Bloom of San Francisco’s Wise Sons Deli and former Eater SF restaurant critic Rachel Levin teamed up to write an unconventional book about Jews and Jewish food. From the first chapter, “On Pastrami & Penises,” which jokingly weighs the morals of circumcision, it’s clear they succeeded. There are a trio of pastrami dishes (breakfast tacos, carbonara, a reuben) to celebrate “the cut,” before the authors move on to recipes for other life events, from J Dating in “The Young-Adulting Years” section to Shivah’s Silver Lining in “The Snowbird Years.”

This isn’t the first book to combine Jewish food and Jewish humor (the two are practically inseparable), but it has the added benefit of being actually funny. Eat Something sounds less like a commandment from bubbe and more like a comedian egging on readers to whip up a babka milkshake at 3 a.m. or serve chopped liver to unknowing goyim in-laws.

The authors gladly admit the book won’t satisfy conservative tastes. Wise Sons serves updated takes on deli fare, like pastrami fries, pastrami and eggs, and a roasted mushroom reuben, and “The Kvetching Department” chapter reprints customer complaints about Wise Sons’ sins against real deli. Those readers can find rote recipes for matzo balls and kugel elsewhere. Eat Something is for readers, Jewish or not, who prefer matzoquiles to matzo brei and a bloody moishe (a michelada spiked with horseradish and brine) to a bloody mary. — Nicholas Mancall-Bitel

Dinner in French: My Recipes by Way of France

Melissa Clark Clarkson Potter, out now

Melissa Clark is an important figure in my home eating life. Her cookbook Dinner lives on my kitchen counter, while her pressure-cooker bible Dinner in an Instant has helped me get over my anxiety around using the intimidating Instant Pot I received as a wedding present a few years ago. Her recipes in those books and over at the New York Times are energetic and reliable. I’ve been eagerly awaiting this book since she announced it.

While I expected it to be a book of Clark’s favorite, tried-and-true French recipes, Dinner in French actually provides a guide to layering some French je ne sais quoi into the kinds of things you may well already love to eat. Instead of just mashing a microwaved sweet potato like I do a few times a week, Clark’s tempting me to make stretchy sweet potato pommes aligot with fried sage for a change. The translation flows in both directions. To a classic French omelet, Clark adds garlic and tahini and tops it with an herby yogurt sauce; she transforms ratatouille into a sheet-pan chicken dinner.

Dinner in French veers more into lifestyle territory than her reliable workhorse books. Shots of Clark living the good life in France — laughing at beautiful outdoor garden dining tables, shopping at the market, walking barefoot in a gorgeous farmhouse — are peppered throughout. Even if that’s not what I need from a Melissa Clark book, for all the work home cooks like me rely on her to do, she deserves a glam moment. — Hillary Dixler Canavan

The Boba Book: Bubble Tea and Beyond

Andrew Chau and Bin Chen Clarkson Potter, out now

What Blue Bottle did for coffee, Boba Guys did for boba. Since Andrew Chau and Bin Chen opened their first shop in San Francisco in 2013, the brand has grown to include 16 locations across the country. Along the way, the guys behind Boba Guys have redefined what it means to drink the popular Taiwanese tea with modern drinks that go beyond the traditional milk tea plus chewy tapioca balls to include items like strawberry matcha lattes and coffee-laced dirty horchatas.

The Boba Book includes step-by-step instructions for these specialties along with recommended toppings for each tea base. There’s also a separate chapter all about how to make toppings and add-ons from scratch, including grass jelly, mango pudding, and, of course, boba. While it’s likely many boba lovers have never even considered making their favorite drink at home, Chau and Chen’s simple directions prove all it takes is a little bit of dedication.

The Boba Book doesn’t offer a comprehensive history of boba; instead, it provides an impassioned argument for drinking boba now from Chau and Chin, who keep the tone friendly and conversational throughout. Colorful photos of drinks alongside pictures of Boba Guys’ fans, employees, friends, and family make the book feel like the brand’s yearbook. And even if there’s no interest in recreating the drinks at home, The Boba Book gives readers the best advice on getting the most enjoyment out of boba, including tips on how to achieve that perfect Instagram shot. — James Park

Ana Roš: Sun and Rain

Ana Roš Phaidon, March 25

Ana Roš is a chef on the rise. While not quite a household name in America, the Slovenia-based chef of Hiša Franko got the Chef’s Table treatment as well as plenty of attention from the World’s 50 Best List. She’s known for being an iconoclastic and self-taught chef.

As with so many fine dining restaurant books, this volume isn’t really meant to be cooked from at home. Roš seems to have gone into the process knowing that, so she avoids the standard headnote-recipe format. Instead, lyrical prose is frontloaded, taking up most of the book, with recipes for things like “deer black pudding with chestnuts and tangerines” or “duck liver, bergamot and riesling” stacked together with only the shortest of introductions at the end. Gorgeous, sweeping landscape photos of Slovenia coupled with gorgeous food photography, both by Suzan Gabrijan, provide a lush counterpoint to the text.

Rather than a guide to cooking like Roš, this is a testament to one chef’s life. There’s quite a bit of personal narrative, from Roš’s experiences with anorexia as an aspiring dancer to a meditation on killing deer inspired by her father’s hunting. And for fans of Chef’s Table, culinary trophy hunters, and/or lovers of travel photography, it’s worth a look. — HDC

Lummi: Island Cooking

Blaine Wetzel Prestel, April 7

The Willows Inn on Lummi Island is that specific kind of bucket-list restaurant that’s fetishized by fine dining lovers: isolated (the island sits two and a half hours and one ferry ride north of Seattle) and pricey ($225 for the tasting menu, not including the stay at the inn, a near prerequisite for snagging a reservation). I should find it irritating.

But the Willows Inn is also inherently of a place I have great affection for — the Pacific Northwest — and that’s captured beautifully in chef Blaine Wetzel’s Lummi: Island Cooking, a restaurant capsule of a cookbook that doesn’t feature the restaurant’s name in the title. Instead, the book is a survey of the ingredients farmed, foraged, and fished from the Puget Sound, a stunning taxonomy of salmonberries and spotted prawns, wild beach pea tips and razor clams. Several recipes quietly flaunt the inn’s reverence for the local bounty. Each in a quartet of mushroom stews involves just three ingredients: two kinds of mushrooms and butter; a recipe for smoked mussels simply calls for mussels, white wine, and a smoker.

The book, though, is really all about the visuals. Photographer Charity Burggraaf captures each striking dish from above on a flat-color background, and the bright pops of color and organic forms evoke brilliant museum specimens. Lummi: Island Cooking shows off the ingredients of the Pacific Northwest — and how in the hands of Wetzel and his team, they become worthy of this exacting kind of archive. — Erin DeJesus

My Korea: Traditional Flavors, Modern Recipes

Hooni Kim WW Norton, April 7

Hooni Kim’s debut cookbook, My Korea: Traditional Flavors, Modern Recipes, is part cookbook, part autobiography. Before he opened Korean-American restaurants Danji and Hanjan in New York City, Kim worked at prestigious fine dining institutions like Daniel and Masa, and as a result, he interprets Korean cuisine with French and Japanese techniques.

Over 13 chapters, Kim breaks down the fundamentals of creating Korean flavors, from where to buy essential pantry items to how to recognize the different stages of kimchi fermentation. The recipes themselves cover a wide range, from classic banchan and soups to technique-driven entrees, such as bacon chorizo kimchi paella with French scrambled eggs, and a recipe for braised short ribs (galbi-jjim) that uses a classic French red wine braise method Kim mastered while working at Daniel.

The focus of the book is less about cooking easy, weeknight dinner recipes, and more about understanding and applying Korean cooking philosophy. Throughout, Kim talks about the importance of jung sung, a Korean word for care, which also translates into cooking with heart and devotion. The chef’s jung sung in making this book is apparent as Kim provides foundational knowledge to make readers aware of Korean culture, beyond just knowing how to cook Korean food. — JP

Everyone Can Bake: Simple Recipes to Master and Mix

Dominique Ansel Simon & Schuster, April 14

I’ll get this out of the way from the get go: Dominique Ansel’s newest cookbook has nothing at all to do with the Cronut. In fact, rather than simply a book of recipes for the things you’ll find at the Dominique Ansel bakeries and dessert shops stationed around the world, it’s a manual for how to make just about any dessert the reader’s heart desires, whatever their skill level. With Everyone Can Bake, Ansel asserts that armed with the “building blocks of baking” he provides, baking is achievable for even the most intimidated novice.

This idea guides the book’s structure. It’s split into three sections of Ansel’s “go-to” recipes: bases (which includes cakes, cookies, brownies, meringue, and other batters and doughs); fillings (pastry cream, ganache, mousse, etc.); and finishings (buttercreams, glazes, and other toppings). A fourth section covers assembly and techniques, such as how to construct a tart or glaze a cake. Charts at the front of the book show how these four sections combine to make complete desserts. For example, almond cake + matcha mousse + white chocolate glaze + how to assemble a mousse cake = matcha passion fruit mousse cake; vanilla sablé tart shell + pastry cream = flan.

Although the book’s primary aim is to simplify baking for newcomers, the notion that creativity can arise from working within the boundaries of fundamental building blocks is a helpful lesson for any home baker. And whether they’re after just those fundamentals or the “showstoppers” that come later, they’re in good hands with Ansel’s Everyone Can Bake. — MB

Mosquito Supper Club: Cajun Recipes from a Disappearing Bayou

Melissa M. Martin Artisan, April 14

At Mosquito Supper Club, a tiny, 24-diners-per-night New Orleans restaurant that’s more like a big dinner party, chef and owner Melissa Martin keeps a shelf of spiral-bound Cajun cookbooks with recipes assembled by women’s church groups. “The cookbooks are timeless poetry and ambassadors for Cajun food,” Martin writes, “a place for women to record a piece of themselves.” Martin’s first cookbook, Mosquito Supper Club: Cajun Recipes from a Disappearing Bayou, belongs alongside them. It’s a well-written personal and regional history of a world literally disappearing before our eyes due to climate change: Every hour, the Gulf of Mexico swallows a football field’s worth of land in Louisiana.

But Mosquito Supper Club isn’t an elegy. It’s a celebration of contemporary New Orleans, a timeless glossary of Cajun cookery, and a careful, practical guide to gathering seasonal ingredients and preparing dishes from duck gumbo to classic pecan pie. Martin’s recipes are occasionally difficult and time-consuming — stuffed crawfish heads are a “group project” — but written with gentle encouragement (“Keep stirring!”) and an expert’s precision. And since Martin’s restaurant is essentially a home kitchen, her recipes are easily adapted to the home cook (though not all of us will have the same access to ingredients, like shrimp from her cousin’s boat in her small hometown of Chauvin, Louisiana). Still, Mosquito Supper Club is a cookbook you’re likely to use, and as a powerful reminder of what we’re losing to climate change, it’s a book we could all use, too. — Caleb Pershan

Trejo’s Tacos: Recipes & Stories From L.A.

Danny Trejo Clarkson Potter, April 21

Anyone not living in Los Angeles will likely still recognize Danny Trejo. Muscular and tattooed, with a mustache dipping down below the corners of his lips and dark hair tied back in a ponytail, he makes an impression in just about every role he’s played in his 300-plus film career, whether it’s as a boxer in Runaway Train, the gadget-loving estranged uncle in Spy Kids, or a machete-wielding vigilante for hire in Machete. But since 2016, Trejo has taken on a role outside of Hollywood: co-owner of a growing fleet of LA taquerias.

Trejo’s Tacos, the 75-year-old’s first cookbook, written with Hugh Garvey, is as much a tribute to his restaurant legacy as it is to Los Angeles, his lifelong home. The actor spent his childhood dreaming of opening a restaurant with his mother in their Echo Park kitchen. Years later, film producer Ash Shah would plant the seeds and vision for Trejo’s future taquerias, opened with a culinary team led by consulting chef Daniel Mattern. The cookbook is a reflection of what the actor calls “LA-Mexican food.” Readers will find all the Trejo’s Tacos greatest hits in the collection, including recipes for pepita pesto, mushroom asada burritos, and fried chicken tacos. The recipes are relatively simple and malleable — designed for home cooks who might want chicken tikka bowls one night and chicken tikka tacos the next. There’s even a recipe for nacho donuts.

Throughout, Trejo interjects with stories from his life in LA, like the time a security guard on the set of Heat recognized him from the time he used to rob customers at Bob’s Big Boy in Burbank. “I used to rob restaurants,” he writes in his new cookbook. “Today I own eight of them.” — Brenna Houck

Falastin: A Cookbook

Sami Tamimi and Tara Wigley Ten Speed, April 28

Sami Tamimi and co-author Tara Wigley are probably best known for their proximity to Israeli chef and columnist Yotam Ottolenghi. Tamimi is Ottolenghi’s longtime business partner and co-author of Ottolenghi and Jerusalem: A Cookbook. Wigley has collaborated with Ottolenghi on recipe writing since 2011. With Falastin, the pair are stepping out on their own for the first time as part of a rising chorus of voices celebrating Palestinian cuisine.

Falastin is the culmination of Tamimi’s lifelong “obsession” with Palestinian food. The Palestinian chef pays tribute to his mother and the home in East Jerusalem that he left to live in Tel Aviv and London, returning after 17 years. For Wigley, who grew up in Ireland, the book is about falling in love with the region and, particularly, shatta sauce (she’s sometimes referred to by her friends as “shattara”). However, the book isn’t about tradition. Tamimi and Wigley approach Falastin’s 110 recipes as reinterpretations of old favorites — something they acknowledge is an extremely thorny approach everywhere, and particularly given the highly politicized history of Palestine. Food, after all, isn’t just about ingredients and method; it’s also about who’s making it and telling its story.

To do this, Wigley and Taminmi instead take readers into Palestine, exploring the regional nuances of everything from the distinctive battiri eggplants, suited to being preserved and filled with walnuts and peppers for makdous, or the green chiles, garlic, and dill seeds used to prepare Gazan stuffed sardines. Along the way, they pause to amplify the voices of Palestinians, such as Vivien Sansour, founder of the Palestinian Seed Library. Keep plenty of olive oil, lemon, and za’atar on hand. It’s a colorful, thoughtful, and delicious journey. — BH

Bitter Honey: Recipes and Stories from Sardinia

Letitia Clark Hardie Grant, April 28

At first glance, Bitter Honey seems like an outsider’s fantasy of Sardinia. British author Letitia Clark moved to the island with her Sardinian (now ex-) boyfriend, looking to escape Brexit and embrace a slower, more beautiful way of life. The book’s warm photography and indulgent descriptions of olive oil seem the stuff of an Under the Sardinian Sun romp. But then, it suddenly becomes real. In the introduction, she speaks of plastic Tupperware and paper plates and blaring TVs, and in stories throughout the book, she gives a more honest depiction of modern, everyday life in Sardinia.

Clark’s recipes are all about achievable fantasy, with some coming directly from her boyfriend’s family and some that are admitted riffs on Nigella Lawson recipes. But all include the island’s staple flavors and ingredients, like pork in anchovy sauce, fried sage leaves, saffron risotto, and culurgionis (essentially Sardinian ravioli) stuffed with potato, mint, cheese, and garlic. Clark describes Sardinian food as a “wilder” version of Italian cooking, something less refined and more visceral. The book is a great way to expand your regional palate, though you’ll have to source your own bottarga and pane carasau. — Jaya Saxena

The Vegetarian Silver Spoon: Classic & Contemporary Italian Recipes

Phaidon, April 29

The essential, 70-year-old Italian cookbook Il cucchiaio d’argento, known as The Silver Spoon in English, gets a plant-based update in The Vegetarian Silver Spoon, forthcoming from Phaidon. Boasting more than 200 vegetarian and vegan recipes, it’s a welcome addition to the library of Silver Spoon spinoffs in a time when diners are cutting back on meat consumption, whether for health, environmental, or animal welfare reasons. While some patrons of red-sauce Italian-American restaurants may exclusively associate the cuisine with weighty meatballs and rich, meaty sauces, as written in the book’s introduction, “the Italian diet has never centered on meat”; rather, home-style cooking “more often revolves around substantial vegetarian dishes like grains or stews.”

Across eight chapters — which are organized by dish, moving from lighter to heavier flavors — classic recipes like pizza bianca mingle with more regional specialties like Genovese minestrone, as well as less traditional fare like vegetable fried rice, demarcated with an icon of “CT” for “contemporary tastes” (other icons distinguish dairy-free, gluten-free, vegan, “30 minutes or less,” and “5 ingredients or fewer”). In this book, the writing is clear, the photos inviting, and above all, the sheer breadth of tasty-sounding dishes encyclopedic enough that any level of cook can find something to make. For fans of Italian cuisine, it’s impossible to flip through the pages without salivating, vegetarian or not. — Jenny G. Zhang

Chi Spacca: A New Approach to American Cooking

Nancy Silverton Knopf, April 30

For home cooks, restaurant cookbooks usually serve as half archive, half inspiration, but Los Angeles chef Nancy Silverton writes ambitious recipes a home cook looking to grow (or flex) actually wants to try. The Chi Spacca cookbook, written by Silverton, Ryan DeNicola, and Carolyn Carreño, will fuel fantasies of massive slabs of meat seasoned with fennel pollen on the grill, served with salads of thinly shaved vegetables and a butterscotch budino for dessert.

Chi Spacca is the newest of Silverton’s three California-Italian restaurants clustered together in what locals call the Mozzaplex, and it’s decidedly meat focused (Chi Spacca means “he or she who cleaves” and is another word for butcher in Italian). One of the restaurant’s most famous dishes is a beef pie with a marrow bone sticking out of the middle, like the tentpole of a carnivorous circus. That recipe is in the book. So is one for the restaurant’s distinctive focaccia di Recco, a round, flaky, cheese-filled focaccia, which, according to a step-by-step photo tutorial, involves stretching the dough from the counter all the way down to the floor before folding it over into a copper pan. There’s a recipe for homemade ’nduja, a section of thorough grilling advice, and more precisely composed salads than 10 trips to the farmers market could possibly support.

What’s really wonderful about the book, however, is the way it mixes serious ambition with practical advice and tons of context. Silverton explains the inspiration and authorship of every dish, and in those headnotes reveals the extent to which Chi Spacca, for all its Tuscan butchery pedigree, is a deeply Californian restaurant. Reference points range from Park’s BBQ in Koreatown to trapped-in-amber steakhouse Dal Rae to the traditions of Santa Maria barbecue. And the recipes always consider the cook. My favorite headnote, for a persimmon salad, says, “The recipe for candied pecans makes twice what you need for this salad. My thought is that if you’re going to go to the effort to make them, there should be some for the cook to snack on.” Entirely correct. — Meghan McCarron

Eventide: Recipes for Clambakes, Oysters, Lobster Rolls, and More From a Modern Maine Seafood Shack

Arlin Smith, Andrew Taylor, Mike Wiley, and Sam Hiersteiner Ten Speed, June 2

Eventide Oyster Co., named one of the best restaurants in New England by restaurant critic Bill Addison, embodies everything a Maine seafood shack should be — a casual place to sit down to slurp shellfish and eat fried seafood with friends and family. Since opening in Portland, Maine, in 2012, and despite accolades and expansion, it’s managed to retain that convivial feel. Now co-owners Arlin Smith, Andrew Taylor, and Mike Wiley, along with writer Sam Hiersteiner, have created a breezy cookbook for easy entertaining and coastal-inspired cooking.

With 120 recipes, accompanied by visual how-tos and guides on how to properly prepare seafood and shellfish, Eventide offers enough insight to make any home cook feel comfortable assembling an amazing raw bar or hosting a full New England clambake. The book even gets into less-traditional ways to use seafood as the basis for celebratory meals, with recipes for oysters with kimchi rice, halibut tail bo ssam, and the restaurant’s famed brown butter lobster rolls. And although seafood dominates, the authors of Eventide include alternatives to satisfy anyone, like the restaurant’s burger, a smoked tofu sandwich, potato chips and puffed snacks, plus a blueberry lattice pie for dessert. Whether or not you live by the coast, Eventide is the perfect spring cookbook to help you prepare to turn your kitchen into a New England oyster bar this summer. — Esra Erol

Vox Media has affiliate partnerships. These do not influence editorial content, though Vox Media may earn commissions for products purchased via affiliate links. For more information, see our ethics policy.

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