the beautiful worst

A few meals from literature, photographed by Dinah Fried:

Prepare a literary meal at home with this round-up of recipes, including Turkish Delight, seed cake, and butter beer.

A Beautiful Worst Throwback: Isabelle Giancarlo (vol. 2 Issue 5)

Upcoming Essay: The Sweetest Thing

“It’s going to be vegan.”

“Katie,” my dad said, his voice cautious. “We can get you a cake.”

“You don’t have to, you’re gonna love this!” 

The inspiration came from the dining hall at my college—ranked among the liberalist of liberal arts schools, a place I chose in part because it resembled a hippie commune with dreadlocked students roaming barefoot around the quirky, retro campus nestled among untamed woods and an organic farm. The dining hall had two food lines—one for vegetarians that included a vegan option, and a line for meat eaters, who were a vocal minority on campus. 

They strut through the dining hall, plates of ribs or wings stacked high on their trays, passing classmates enjoying vegan casseroles and bountiful salads and bagels spread with hummus or Tofutti. 

Still, the meat eaters would opt for the vegan desserts—fluffy yellow cakes with a perfect sweetness, frosted with rich dark chocolate. The vegans would be upset by the encroachment on their territory (“That cake is OURS!” “You can eat ANYTHING ELSE!”). But their pleas were ignored. 

The cake was that good. 

This was in the early aughts, before veganism, gluten-free, and other dietary restrictions were so ubiquitous dairy companies started broadcasting commercials reminding people that “real” is better (Have you ever had an oat milk latte? It’s not).

I wanted to share my experiences with my family who, despite our kitchen with cuisine from around the globe, had yet to experience the joy of alternative baking.

“You’ll see,” I told them. 

This would have been a great time for me to do some research. Buy a cookbook. Test a few recipes. None of these things happened. The morning of my birthday, I looked up a recipe for yellow cake and chocolate frosting, then purchased the ingredients called for—with the exception of milk, butter, and eggs, for which I bought substitutes. 

The cake was baked with love. However, there are limits to how much love can be expressed through food. My family, apprehensive but curious, sang happy birthday, clapped when I blew out the candles, then watched as I cut the cake.

Here's a look at how some restaurants around the world are social distancing:

Online Recipe Exchange

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