As summer begins its gentle fade into fall, we’re indulging in one last literary feast before the transition into –ber months. We like to savor a good book as much as a good meal, and this roundup of reads celebrates the joys of eating, cooking, and experiencing the world through our taste buds.
In Heather Akumiah’s new novel, Bad Witches, New York City’s restaurants are as magical as the story’s protagonists. In Laurie Colwin’s cherished essay collection Home Cooking, each piece (and recipe) feels like a warm hug from your kitchen. Jessica George’s novel Maame, though not food-centric, is full of moments where food enables care and connection, like cooking jollof rice for a loved one and sharing comfort meals during times of grief.
In alphabetical order by author name, here are our editors’ recommendations for food-loving bookworms.
Bad Witches is a radiant ode to New York, one that captures the city as a living, breathing entity full of magic and possibility. The novel follows three young women who discover, on their 22nd birthday, that they’re witches. As they navigate their newfound powers, I love how Akumiah immerses them in the city’s vibrant food and nightlife, taking Gaby, Delali, and Maya to Via Carota, Polo Bar, Miss Lily’s, and even “chef Kwame’s new pop-up” in a nod to Tatiana’s Kwame Onwuachi. Other moments place them in the ecstatic delivery of a Momofuku birthday cake, the romance of a Brooklyn pizza date, and the coziness of a Hungarian Pastry Shop coffee. Together, these scenes form a love letter to New York and the effervescent chaos of discovering who you are there. I loved the book not only for its Charmed–slash–Sex and the City plot but also for its reminder that magic can be deeply intertwined with a place, especially one as otherworldly as New York. —Karen Yuan, culture editor
“No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary, a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, the wisdom of cookbook writers.” As far as comfort reads go, Laurie Colwin’s Home Cooking (and her follow-up, More Home Cooking) occupies a spot on my bookshelf reserved for well-worn and much-beloved titles along the likes of James Baldwin, Octavia Butler, and Mary Oliver. It’s something of a cliché among food writers, at this point, to sing the late Colwin’s praises, but her unfussy, no-nonsense prose about the comforts and glamor of simple fare made elegant are a balm to my anxious spirit in the dregs of summer heat. The book is cookbook-adjacent, but it’s mostly a collection of intimate essays embedded with homey, earthy recipes. In an internet age when earnestness is cringe, Colwin’s writing harkens to a time when people weren’t living for the ’gram. She was simply living, and she shared that experience—dirty dishes and all—with the rest of us. —Joseph Hernandez, associate director of drinks
In Maame, the debut novel from Jessica George, Maddie Wright tries to balance seeking independence while bearing the burden of her family in an atypical coming-of-age story. Maddie, the 25-year-old daughter of Ghanaian immigrants, is the primary caretaker of her father, who has Parkinson’s disease. Maddie doesn’t want to leave home, but also yearns to be 25, live on her own, have a romantic relationship, and go to brunch with her flatmates. Maame is certainly not a food-centric book, but references to food are everywhere. Maddie cooks for her dad in an effort to nourish him and keep him alive—promising pancakes on Saturday instead of the usual toast or porridge, taking care to bake the fish fresh even if she’s heating up leftover rice, and cooking all of his favorites like jollof rice to cope with her guilt of moving away from home. On her first-ever romantic date, her love interest Ben makes mushroom risotto with an expertly paired (at least he says so) white wine, and Maddie remarks how she doesn’t know a thing about wine. At her publishing job, she pitches a book on “cooking combos.” And when a tragedy strikes, her friends Nia and Shu comfort her through food—they come over to make pancakes, bring jars of Nutella, and eat chocolate bars, which Maddie used to share with her father. —Kate Kassin, editorial operations manager
I read Happy Hour in the sticky month of May 2023 following a breakup, and in the year since, have made this sprawling tale of frivolous youth in the city my summer mood board. Happy Hour isn’t about just one fabulous night out, but rather a string of many nights (and days) experienced by best friends Isa and Gala during their first summer in New York City. They step foot on the island without any money or real plans other than to have fun. What ensues is a summer of parties, clubs, comped drinks and meals thanks to endless flirting, jaunts to the beach, and even a quick trip to the Hamptons. It’s like frosé in book form. In this novel, “happy hour” isn’t just a period of time to indulge, but a mindset to adopt. —Megan Wahn, associate commerce editor
Queer stories are still underrepresented in the rom-com section of the bookstore, so I will always rush to pick up any new book by Casey McQuiston, the undisputed monarch of the genre. I’ve been embracing Chaotic Bisexual Summer, and that’s exactly what their latest book is about. The Pairing is basically a bodice ripper for queer food obsessives: Two bi exes (one pastry chef, one sommelier) end up on the same European food and wine tour and decide to have a competition to see who can hook up with the most locals. Obviously, they’re trying to prove to themselves that they’re over each other, and obviously, they’re not. The plot has everything you want out of a second-chance romance, including a cast of zany side characters, but what kept me hooked was the fact that I wanted to book this trip and eat all the food (peak-season fruit in the French countryside, all the pasta and cheese Italy has to offer) for myself. —Carina Finn, commerce editor
We are quick to celebrate all that is good and happy about food. It nourishes us, connects us to family and community, and delights our senses. But our relationship with food is also a relationship of necessity and survival—which makes it a ripe subject for horror. The Uncanny Gastronomic is a spread of unsettling essays, stories, and poetry that illustrates the darker aspects of all things edible. The book is edited by Zara-Louise Stubbs and features short stories by Shirley Jackson, Angela Carter, and Roald Dahl. It’s arranged like a multicourse meal, with each section exploring a different aspect of culinary terror: human treachery, poisonous deceit, supernatural predation, and plenty of cannibalism to go around. Like any good buffet, there’s a little bit of everything. —Wilder Davies, commerce writer
I couldn’t put this book down. The 2005 novel centers around two women in India, Sera Dubash and her housekeeper, Bhima. Though this isn’t a food-centric book by any means, I found myself touched and haunted by the moments in which food displays the divides when it comes to caste and class in India. It’s in the moments that Bhima makes chai but isn’t allowed to use the same glassware as her employer. It’s in the moments how Bhima expertly navigates how to get the best produce for the best price while showcasing the one vendor who has very bad produce—but it’s all they can sell. And it lingers in the scenes where Umrigar describes how Bhima makes lunch dutifully for the Dubash family despite her old age. There’s also a sequel called The Secrets Between Us. Without giving any spoilers, it follows Bhima, who enters a business partnership selling fruits and vegetables at the local market. —Urmila Ramakrishnan, associate director of social media
