When you sit down for a meat and three in Montgomery, Alabama, say at the Davis Café, you choose from the menu and you get one plate all for you, but at a Korean table in Montgomery – or anywhere – your plates are all shared. And there are many of them. Meat and six or seven, you might say.
You might think that Adam Seger was ostracized for fibbing about the origins of the famed Seelbach cocktail. But that didn’t happen.
During legal segregation, guides like the Negro Motorist Green Book advised black travelers of places they could dine safely or lay their heads while on the road. My parents had their own versions of these guides in their heads, memorized after the formal end of Jim Crow.
I think about food as a sort of genealogy, an act that remembers loved ones and keeps communities alive.
As Mexicans have made the South their permanent, instead of temporary, home, more tunes are beginning to incorporate it as a setting.
We wanted the sign state not that all are welcome, but that you are welcome.
Celestia Morgan’s images are part of her “Family Recipes” series, a collection of photographs which explores the nostalgia and physical pull of recipes as a generational connector and reinforces the determined effort required to make them last.
When was the last time a random diner assumed they naturally knew more than you about what you wanted to eat or drink—and told you as much?
We know we’re biased, but we think this project is a soaring, powerful contribution to the conversation about our ever-changing region, told through the narratives of the farmers and cooks and waiters who did the work.