I lifted my maroon apron from the cold marble slab. Its golden embroidery curled into spelling my name, Arun; Wong. Most people stop at Arun.
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A loud hissing sound came from the kitchen, followed by the most divine fragrance that filled the house.
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This woman, who wasn’t local, wasn’t new to pani puri. She didn’t even have to taste all the flavours to know which ones she wanted.
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Shobha Ramani — Excerpt: I had never viewed sesame through the lens of grief until that year.
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Rafaela Kottou — Excerpt: Salamanca, Spain is where I had the best steak of my life. It was at a restaurant in the center of the city, which they call the Plaza Mayor.
