reckoning with society's brokenness
My parents do not fry eggs because they prefer the well-doneness of scrambling and boiling. Thus, I was in awe as a teenager when spending the night with a middle-aged couple from church resulted in a fried egg for breakfast. The wife had to go work earlier than the husband, so he was the one… Continue reading The Men Who Fried Eggs
A year ago, I wrote about deserts of Bed-Stuy as I considered moving to Brooklyn. Since living here, I have made a few discoveries: NYC Green Carts are near bus and subway stops I frequent. I enjoy improvising with, eating, and sharing produce from a CSA. Fresh herbs from volunteering at the Revolutionary Era Garden are a… Continue reading Oases of Bed-Stuy
"Bedford-Stuyvesant is a food desert," someone from Radical Living told me. The closest fresh produce is about a half mile away, an unfair disadvantage for disabled or elderly people desiring this essential fare. For six weeks of my summer sublet on Long Island, I walked half a mile to a farm where I bought locally-grown… Continue reading Deserts of Bed-Stuy
