Nneka M. Okona

As someone who loves food and spends a lot of her time eating, cooking and writing about food, I’m constantly thinking about my relationship to and with food.

Atlanta. A southern metropolis that used to be known as Terminus because of the massive railroad station once there.

They may have been invented in Switzerland, but Maggi bouillon cubes are the starting point for a whole lot of Nigerian cooking.

A day of perfect eating in Puerto Escondido should end at Costeñito Cevichería.

With a population of about 200, Cody, Nebraska, is a quiet town. Only a handful of restaurants can be found within its city limits, a few other locally owned businesses, and a sole grocer, Circle C Market.

As a Black woman, I know what it feels like to be tired. Back in March of this year, when I was more tired than usual, I decided to take a trip.

As longer days roll in and temperatures rise, I think of beach season. I think of weekend trips or longer vacations spent sipping margaritas or mai tais. But I also think about how for people who look like me — for black folk — beach trips weren’t always an option.
When I was a child in the 1990s and early 2000s, I looked forward to our family vacations to Myrtle Beach, S.C. My family would pile into our station wagon and road-trip from Atlanta, loaded down with snacks and music for the ride....

The lobby is a ruckus: loud talking, movement, spirited laughs. Spaniards and native English speakers (mostly Americans, which explains the noise) are playing an “icebreaker” game.

The leaves were starting to change colors — from the deep greens of summer blades of grass to shades of burgundy, gold and orange — when I visited Philadelphia in November.

Since Philadelphia formerly served as the nation’s capital, the story of the founding fathers is often the core lesson that visitors take away. There is, however, a narrative of equal importance to remembering and preserving American history here: the legacy of African Americans and their contributions to the city’s cultural fabric.

Siete lugares para tomar cafe in Bogota.

A year ago, I was wrapped up in the rapture of love (word to Anita Baker) — and convinced that hopping on a plane to Washington, D.C., from Atlanta, where I lived at the time, for a romantic weekend was a great idea.

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Of all the quintessential Southern food I learned to cook at the heels of my mother—smothered pork chops, skillet cornbread, a proper gravy with meat drippings—neck bones and lima beans surely was not one I loved.

Knees bent and spread apart. Feet positioned at a half-diamond just beyond my behind. Torso resting between my thighs.