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Lupin Leaps In: A Breaking Cat News Adventure

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Georgia Dunn

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“A waiter came by with prepared bites of Cappelli spaghetti cooked with butter and fresh lemon and topped with a spoon of Italian caviar and parsley. Cassie felt the little hairs on her arms stand up with delight, and her whole body reveled in the flawless combination of flavors. She looked over to Eamon, who was also clearly enjoying the dish. "Let the caviar be the hero," said Cassie, before flashing Eamon a big smile.”

“Once in a while we burned a wok trying to make our churan, and Jima, Bhanu, or another matriarch would banish us from the kitchen. “You should’ve told us,” they’d say. “We would’ve helped you.” You’re not getting it, Neela and I thought. This is our party and you’re not invited. To this day, the elder women of my household in Chennai still regard Neela or me with suspicion whenever we enter the kitchen to make anything other than tea. No matter that I host a cooking show or that Neela has raised two healthy daughters who clearly haven’t starved or been disfigured by a kitchen accident.”

“My bubbe's holiday dinners were legendary, the tables overflowing with platters of brisket and tzimmes, stuffed cabbage and potato knishes, blintzes and kugel and fat loaves of challah. Ever since she died eight years ago, our holiday celebrations have splintered into quiet, nuclear affairs, and this year, with my parents in London, we aren't even getting together. But I miss her cooking, the way her tender brisket melted on the tongue, the way her stuffed cabbage hugged the fragrant beef filling tightly and always tasted both a little sweet and a little sour.”