It’s taking FOREVER to get the new issue, and basically this cat is…us.

Pre-orders and subscription open on September 15th. Today, we’re sharing a couple of sneak peeks. The Pot & Parcel subscription box and our new merch!

Our subscriptions come in different tiers from digital only to print!

Also to note! We are moving off of Substack, if you’re already subscribed you will remain so with “The Drop” tier. Your email/login will be automatically switched over.

If you’re paid, we will automatically give you “The Dash” tier for the remainder of your subscription. You can opt to switch to a print subscription by emailing us (info@synonym-mag.com)! You don’t have to update your payment method since both Substack and our new platform work off of Stripe, it’ll automatically be transferred.

🎁When you subscribe to our print subscription tier of “The Peck,” ($300/year which is $25/month!) you’ll get ONE specially curated box of some of our favorite products from our Community Board, usually 4-5 items retailing anywhere from $100-150. Comes with discount codes to small businesses from the diaspora, everything is specially picked for you by us!

💝We’re also setting aside a (very small) handful for you all to purchase the box by itself without a subscription.

Highly recommend turning on the sound for this one!

In this edition of the box we have:

🫒 Ya Albi Extra Virgin Olive Oil 250 ml

🍊Picaresca Cafe’s Cafe de Olla Syrup

☕️Yafa Brooklyn’s Mokha Java whole coffee beans

🌴Van Van’s Palmyra Sugar

👾Special edition, hand dyed kitchen towel

🚀Sign up for our mailing list to be the first to be notified when we open the doors.

🫒Ya Albi

We’re a sucker for good design, and the vibrant packaging of Ya Albi (ya-albi.com), olive oil sourced from the West Bank by a Palestinian American mother-daughter duo, called out to us like a beacon in the night. The taste is meaty and juicy with a smooth finish, and it’s delicious drizzled over vanilla ice cream. Better yet, part of the proceeds go toward Heal Palestine, an organization aiding Palestinian children affected by the war on Gaza.

(From our Community Board in Issue 05)

🍊Picaresca Cafe

Café de olla syrup is easy to make, so why would you buy this version made by a small café in L.A.’s Boyle Heights neighborhood? Because the balance of cinnamon, star anise, orange peel, and brown sugar is that good. In a hot cup of coffee it feels like a warm hug from Abuelita. It also makes a great mixer for cocktails and nonalcoholic drinks.

(From our Community Board in Issue 05)

☕️Yafa Brooklyn

From the lush mountains of Yemen to the bustling streets of Brooklyn, Yafa set out to bridge together our homelands through coffee in 2019.

They’re a family-owned, small-batch roaster that pride themself on ethically sourcing and serving specialty coffee — without the gimmicks.

Built upon a culture of care, hard work, and friendliness, Yafa is proud to continue serving our community of Sunset Park, Brooklyn for over 25 years.”

About the beans:

“This historic combination of beans just might be one of the world’s first coffee blends ever. Yafa is proud to reintroduce a modern classic, the Mokha Java. A reunion of old friends; Yemen & Indonesia pair up for a bold, dark roasted coffee with notes of caramel, tobacco, passionfruit, with a sweet vanilla finish.”

Yafa Brooklyn was featured in Issue 02: Rice & Beans.

🌴Van Van

Van Van is a single-origin spices and herbs company where everything is sourced from different areas of Việt Nam. Not only do they source the best but they give back in return to the growers by paying a fair price but also giving back to Saigon Children a non profit in Việt Nam.

Van Van is featured in Issue 03: Spices and Thao (one of the owners of Van Van) wrote a piece about mooncakes in Issue 05: Sweets

And check out our new merch, all coming to our shop on Sept 15th!

• A special collaboration with PatPat Kate for stickers, mugs, and hat!

• New t-shirt “Same, Same but Different!”

• Matchboxes

• More to come!

And stay tuned! Call for Submissions for Issue 06 is coming soon.

Dear Readers and Supporters,

As mentioned in an earlier newsletter, we’re growing and officially launching print and digital subscriptions! They’re multi-tiered so we can keep this publication accessible while making it sustainable. We started this publication 3 years and 5 issues ago, completely self-funded and volunteer-run, in the hopes of creating a space to platform the diaspora–immigrant, third culture and of the global majority. We became tired of seeing our stories told from an outside point of view, and dedicated ourselves to telling them from our own. With the funds from the new subscription tiers, both print and digital, we will be able to compensate our contributors and artists at a better rate, as well as cover printing, production, and overhead costs. These tiers will help us become more sustainable and better able to support our community.

In the past 3 years, our readership has grown.

• Our first and fourth issues are nearly sold out! This means we’re printing more copies for the next issue.

• We got more than 200 submissions in the last round of pitch calls and expanded the number of stories we accepted in the latest issue. We want to be able to give attentive care to each and every one of these pitches, so we need more resources.

• With the support and attendance of our community, we’ve been able to participate in more art book fairs and pop-ups, and we’ve been able to produce specially curated events such as our latest International House of Breakfast. We want to create more spaces for connection: cookbook swaps, pop-ups, and holiday fairs; we’ve got so much in store for you!

Your support through subscriptions and/or a donation would help all of this—and more—become possible.

Print and digital subscriptions start real soon (SEPT 15th) with Issue 05: Sweets out for distribution by the beginning of October.

🤫 (Psst! we’re going to have a limited launch sale of subscriptions once we open them up, so be sure to sign up for our mailing list!)

Here’s a sneak peek at the different tiers we’re offering.

DIGITAL SUBSCRIPTIONS (OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL SUBSCRIBERS)

💧The Drop: FREE!

• weekly newsletter, limited access to content

EDIT (we’re eliminating one of the tiers for ease!)

🤏🏽The Pinch: $8/month

• full access to online content including web exclusives

• 10% discounts on events and merch

• discounts on shipping for international print buyers

〰️The Dash $20/month

• Everything in the Pinch

PLUS

• invites to members-only events

• Access to Presales

• 3 gift subscriptions

PRINT SUBSCRIPTIONS (US BASED ONLY)

🍨The Scoop: $72/year, that’s $6/MONTH!

What you get:

• 2 issues a year

• Full access to online content including web exclusives

Your first issue starts with Issue 05: Sweets

🍺The Pint: $144/year, that’s $12/MONTH!

What you get:

• Everything in the Scoop

PLUS

• 10% discounts on events and merch

• Discount codes to partner brands and small businesses that have been featured in our Community Board

• Free giveaways

😘The Peck: $300/year, that’s $25/MONTH!

• Everything in the Pint

PLUS

• One POT & PARCEL box (a specially curated box of some of our favorite products from our Community Board, usually 4-5 items retailing anywhere from $100-150. Comes with discount codes to small businesses from the diaspora, specially picked for you by us!

• Invites to members-only events, plus presale alerts

• 5 web-only “Smidge” gift subscriptions or pass-it-on subscriptions

🧺The Bushel: $ 1000 one-time donation

• Everything in the Peck

PLUS

• All 5 issues—or 5 issues of your choice

• 10 web-only Smidge gift subscriptions or pass-it-on subscriptions

• Unlimited access to online content, ad-free

• Our utmost thanks and love for supporting independent media

We hope you’ll join us in building our community and helping to create a space for these diasporic stories that deserve to be told.

❤️With love and gratitude,

The Synonym Team

P.S. You may have questions about your Substack subscription, both paid and unpaid.

If you’re a free subscriber, you will remain so with “The Drop” tier. Your email/login will be automatically switched over.

If you’re paid, we will automatically give you “The Dash” tier for the remainder of your subscription. You can opt to switch to a print subscription by emailing us (info@synonym-mag.com)! You don’t have to update your payment method since both Substack and our new platform work off of Stripe, it’ll automatically be transferred.

Thanks for your patience in dealing with this transfer!

By Ananta Prayitno and Ruby Robina Saha

Photos/Art by Ananta Prayitno and Ruby Robina Saha

Walk into Omarcito’s on Fullerton Avenue in Chicago’s Logan Square and order a café con leche. Hot or cold, it comes garnished with a nod of hospitality: a single Marie biscuit.

You know the one. A beige medallion of milled flour and mild vanilla the size of a hockey puck, embossed with meandering borders and serif lettering. We know her as Marie, but you may know her aliases: Maria, Mariya, Marietta, Mariebon. A biscuit to some, a cookie to others, it’s made in 50 countries by twice as many brands that dub it regal, lucky, bonita, gold.

Omarcito’s is Chef Omar Cadena’s spot. A first-generation Cuban-Ecuadorian, he is, by all accounts, one of the most hospitable people in Chicago. He takes everyone’s order one by one, shakes their hand, asks their name, calls them “my love” regardless of gender. For him and most Latinos, the biscuit is called Maria.

“My grandmother’s the one with the sweet tooth,” he says. “When you had café con leche in the morning, there was either bread and butter, or there was Maria cookies.”

Omar is a proud city kid, fluent in the cultural plurality that comes with it. Growing up, he’d eat Marias with a slice of guava paste and a chunk of Edam cheese. With that, in his words, he’d “be a happy little fat kid.”

“I lived on one city block that must have had 10 different cultures,” he says, dunking a Maria into a mug with his name on it. He remembers the Vietnamese refugees who transformed a rat-infested field into a community garden and the gang members who opened fire hydrants for the neighborhood kids every summer. Recalling an old group photo, Omar rattles off a Model UN roll call: Indian, Pakistani, Filipino, Korean, Colombianos, Guatemaltecos, Boricua. “In my mind, this is how the world exists.”

He serves Maria Cookies made by Goya, the omnipresent Spanish-American conglomerate. He gets them because they’re usually on sale at Jerry’s Fruit & Garden, a multiethnic cash-and-carry in the suburbs. “Jerry’s used to have an aisle where there was at least 12 different Maria cookies from different countries.… I don’t know what happened, man,” he says, reflecting on Jerry’s dwindling selection of prepackaged treats. “That broke my motherfucking heart.”

To keep our own hearts intact, we head to Devon…

Read the rest in the next issue of Synonym….

Partner with us for an upcoming event? In-kind donations for our upcoming events?

Email us! partnerships@synonym-mag.com

We’re bringing you a very fun interview with two contributors from the latest issue of Synonym Magazine (coming soon!!). Robina Ruby Saha and Ananta Prayitno co-wrote an article about the ubiquitous Marie cookie—a cookie that pervades multiple cultures, countries, and generations. Ruby and Ananta talk about their process of writing this story, as well as creating the art to accompany it.

Stay tuned for a sneak peek excerpt from their upcoming article.

In honor of our upcoming issue themed “SWEETS,” we’re bringing this web exclusive interview with Ice Cream Queen author and pastry chef Lokelani Alabanza.

We’re bringing you some special interviews, spotlights, and more in the upcoming weeks to help whet your appetite for the new issue AND to show you a preview of what we plan on having for you if you become a free subscriber! We’ll have lots more web content and stories to share as a subscriber!

Special thanks to our frequent contributor Ashia Aubourg for doing this interview.

Subscribe now

By: Ashia Aubourg

Photos by: Brittany Connerly

The second I snagged the galley of Ice Cream Queen, I knew this drop would amplify a long-told story in Black foodways. At first glance, it fits snugly into the current rolodex of new cookbook releases, embracing a visually eye-catching editorial style, think: saturated, flash-hefty photography, glitzy colorways, and statement-making fonts. This look channels a spirited, almost rebellious energy, breaking from the minimalism of past decades in favor of unapologeticness. Yet Lokelani Alabanza flips the script almost immediately.

Alabanza’s debut cookbook isn’t just another pretty prop for your shelf or coffee table. Instead, the acclaimed pastry chef delivers strategically curated archival research laying out the truth: ice cream, as we know it, exists because of both the histories of colonization and enslavement and the fierce ingenuity of Black folks.

Chalk it up as essential reading. For those unfamiliar with Black history, the truths Alabanza presents may come as a revelation. For those of us who have long refused to stay silent about Black ingenuity and innovations that rarely get their due, it’s refreshing to see the real story finally acknowledged and uplifted. Between pages that teach you how to turn brewed bags of Lipton tea into a creamy custard or transform Prince’s famous fried chicken skins into an ice cream topping, you’ll also stumble upon archives that document what we’ve always known: Black people have been pioneering, even through trying times. Food is never just sustenance for us; it’s grounded in centuries of struggle and ancestral wisdom that guide us through it all.

Special for our paid subscribers, TWO excerpted recipes (Salted Watermelon and Honeycomb, Vietnamese Cinnamon, and Cacao Ice Cream)

from Lokelani’s book Ice Cream Queens.

Subscribe now

Are you a brand that wants to partner with us? Reach out to partnerships@synonym-mag.com and let’s make it happen!

We’ve been teasing Issue 05 on our Instagram for the past couple of weeks: the cover reveals (because both are so, so beautiful), the ever-popular scroll-through of the full issue, and a step-by-step look at how we designed the table of contents.

One of the first things people notice about Synonym is the design. Almost everyone on the team comes from a visual background, so it’s a very important part of the publication. From the photos to the colors to the layout, we truly believe it ties everything we present together. In this newsletter, you’ll find both the front and back covers, the scroll-through, and finally a step-by-step process behind the table of contents with a few words from our designer, Joel. We hope you enjoy this peek behind the curtain.

Joel, Design Director:

I always save the TOC until last, which makes sense but it also happens to be one of my favorite spreads to design. We’ve got a visual system established so I just wanted to shake it up a bit this issue, and we also have SO MANY features this time I had to figure out a way to fit everything! I am in love with the typeface we’re using this issue (Another Serif by Not Your Type Foundry ❤️), and it’s very fun to find bits and pieces from throughout the issue to help bring this spread to life. The gradients (which we also use on our Contributors and Community Board sections) are definitely an ode to the Colby Poster Printing Company, and they also just feel like a yummy sweet...

Support us here!

Happy mid-Summer everyone

Issue 05 is official at the printer and in production. This one is a real treat, and we can’t wait to share it with you!

That makes FIVE issues! ,FIVE feels huge because to be honest we didn’t think we’d make it this far. We started this publication with a spreadsheet full of stories and ideas and three people on our team. No funding, no staff—just a team of volunteers believing that stories from the diaspora, third culture, and the global majority all deserve a place to call home and a way to be shared. We’ve now grown to a volunteer-powered team of seven and are looking to grow even more (editors! visual directors! we’re looking at you. More to come on this later.)

We’ve done it all with the support of friends, family, credit card points (no, really) and you, the readers. So many of you gave us the support with comments, submissions, and emails to keep going and so we are.

What’s next?

Now, we’re ready to grow—with your support. In the next couple of months, we’ll be revealing snippets of Issue 05, a new site, subscription tiers (yes! a subscription), new merch, and a curated box of goodies that only your coolest friends (that’s us 😉) could curate. This is how we’ll keep making the magazine sustainable, pay our contributors what they deserve, and tell the stories WE, as in you and us, want to share.

Sign up for our mailing list here (if you already subscribe, thank you!), you won’t regret it. The first ones to sign up will get perks before anyone else.

Subscribe now

We can’t wait to show you what we’ve been working on.

Abrazos,

The Synonym Team

P.S. Are you a brand that wants to partner with us? Reach out to partnerships@synonym-mag.com and let’s make it happen!

July 30-Aug 2: Come find us in CDMX at LagoAlgo at HARDCORE ART BOOK FAIR.

Check out the amazing programming they have in store.

2 of our editors will be on site with some of our latest merch (a sneak peek!)

Free to attend.

Apropos of our next International House of Breakfast (tomorrow! Get your tickets!), we’re sharing this article (AND RECIPES!) from Issue 01:Pantry about three shaved ice makers. Chef Nico de Leon is one of our chefs for our event and his previous halo halo pop-up was one of the makers featured.

Enjoy!

Get IHOB tickets

Photo by: Joyce Kim

By Kat Hong

Photos of Camphor and Tito Rudy’s by Joyce Kim

Photos of famiLEE by Sheadon Ringor

“The process seems to start with a foreign dish in its original form, brought in by foreigners. It is then taught to a native cook, who naturally adopts it to the tastes he knows and the ingredients he can get (borrowing, adapting). Eventually, he improvises on it, thus creating a new dish that, in time, becomes so entrenched in cuisine and lifestyle that its origins are practically forgotten (indigenization).” —Filipino food columnist Doreen G. Fernandez, 1988

Shave ice comes in many forms: granizado in Cuba, where shards of ice are studded with warm, spicy star anise; Cambodia’s vibrantly hued teuk kork chus; Filipino halo-halo capped with spell-binding desserts; Pakistan’s beloved street food gola ganda; chamoy-slathered raspados in Mexico; and Korean bingsu, where the ice is shaved so finely, it resembles the country’s mountainous Gangwon-do region during wintertime. No matter what part of the world one finds this icy treat, there is always a fascinating tale behind its arrival.

Photo by Sheadon Ringor

The story of shave ice is one of indigenization. Ice, once a luxury item for the ruling class and the very wealthy, eventually trickled down to the masses with the advent of modern refrigeration in places like Italy, Japan, and the United States during the 19th century. Throughout history, expatriates have scraped together new versions of shave ice, longing for a taste of home and using whatever ingredients they could find, often reaching for canned foods and pantry staples. Did you know frosty Colombian cholados can be made with canned lychee, mangoes, or pineapple if fresh fruit is not available? Condensed milk—an American product—found its way to the Philippines and other Southeast Asian countries during World War II, where it was used to feed soldiers before becoming the beloved halo-halo we know today. Common pantry goods, like adzuki beans, can be found on Japanese kakigōri, Chinese baobing, and Korean patbingsu. In short, the story of shave ice encompasses the history of global commerce, class conflict, colonization, immigration, war, resilience, and blade-sharp ingenuity. Plus, it’s pure heavenly bliss to consume in the summer.

For Max Boonthanakit at his L.A. restaurant Camphor, and the couples behind Familee Shave Ice on Kauai and Tito Rudy’s, a modern halo-halo concept in L.A., sweet beginnings extend far beyond the past and stretch into the future, as these shaved ice aficionados create new experiences, delicious things for us to eat, and most importantly, memories. Make some of your own with the recipes they share here.

Photo by: Joyce Kim

Maxou Boonthanakit

Co-Executive Chef at Camphor

Speaking with Maxou (Max), one gets the sense that he got into the restaurant business as a way to eat shave ice whenever he pleases. Despite stints in some of the world’s most famous kitchens (Blue by Alain Ducasse, José Andrés’ Bazaar, and Mei Lin’s Nightshade), it’s ice that truly captures Max’s imagination. Now a chef at Camphor, a French bistro with Southeast Asian influences that was awarded a Michelin star in 2023, Max talks about shaved ice with the fervor of a detective getting deliciously close to solving a murder case that’s gone cold.

Raised in Atlanta by Thai and Chinese parents, Max draws on a sprawling, almost anarchical well of influences when crafting his desserts: He begins in the Malaysian restaurants he frequented as a child, then heads into the world of Italian ices, creamy custards, and unnaturally hued treats, proving that inspiration can come from just about anywhere. The result is one of Camphor’s most renowned desserts—a sweet serving of marzipan ensconced in a pile of fluffy ice, topped with Meyer lemon shavings.

How did Camphor’s marzipan dessert come to be?

Max: When I was growing up and going to Chinese restaurants, I would always order the almond jelly or the almond drinks. So, naturally, I fell in love with marzipan. It has that same floral, almond-y taste to it that I love. And my favorite dessert of all time is shave ice. I wanted to combine the two while also making something really lemony and citrusy, so I created a Meyer lemon ice. We don’t shave the ice with a shaver but pulverize it with nitrogen, which causes the ice to freeze, then over-freeze, and become really brittle before turning into powder. It’s a super-light shaved ice, essentially, but it’s really more of a powdered ice. And it’s nice to not have dairy at the end of a meal. Camphor is a French bistro, which means you’re eating a lot of butter, so it’s great to have something at the end to cut through all of that.

What are your first memories of shaved ice?

Max: I had one of those tiny, cheap manual [ice] shavers at home, so I would always make myself shaved ice. And there were times when the blade would get too dull and my mom wouldn’t buy me a new one right away. So I would press the crushed-ice setting on the fridge, add syrup, and just eat that. Later, I became obsessed with Rita’s Ice & Frozen Custard, particularly the blue raspberry flavor. Another thing that sparked my whole “blue ice situation” back then was Burger King’s Ice Age drink.* When that came out, I begged my mom every day before Chinese school, like, “Can we please? I just need this drink.” So, icy desserts have always been an obsession of mine.

*In 2002, as a part of the promotional campaign for the animated movie Ice Age, Blue Sky Studios released a limited-edition Blue Cherry Frozen Float, which featured frozen Minute Maid Blue Cherry slush poured over vanilla ice cream.

What do you find particularly invigorating about making icy dishes?

Max: Ice is the perfect vessel. It’s so clean and pure, so that the flavor will come through no matter what. I like ice because it helps release the flavor [of ingredients] better than a lot of other things. With ice you have structure, you have pockets. It melts on your tongue and everything lasts longer. I wish more people would open more ice places.

Photo by: Joyce Kim

Nico de Leon and Kaylie Miraflores

Tito Rudy’s

Like many foods enjoyed in the Philippines today, halo-halo is more than just a dish. The crushed ice and evaporated milk treat, literally translated to mix-mix, offers a glimpse into the complex, often brutal history that led to the creation of what is now considered the unofficial dessert of the Philippines. Halo-halo’s odyssey begins during the Spanish colonial rule (1565-1898), a period when much of the Philippines’ wealth (as dictated by despotic Spain) depended on sugar haciendas, or plantations. Desserts, as an art form, blossomed during this time, giving birth to modern classics such as ube macapuno cake and glossy, golden leche flan. Later, during the Japanese occupation—a short but violent military stunt that took place between 1942 and 1945—one of the earliest halo-halo prototypes swept the nation, capturing the hearts of Japanese farmers and expats. Called mongo con hielo or mongo-ya, the simple dish sees boiled, syrup-laden mung beans spooned over coarse, ground ice and topped with sugar and milk, in a tradition not unlike Japanese kakigōri.

After World War II, with little reason to stay, the Japanese withdrew from the Philippines, but that delicious coarse ice dish remained. Halo-halo, as we know it now, began to take shape. To this day, there is not one set of standardized ingredients, although common hallmarks include a tall, clear glass paired with a long silver spoon, condensed and evaporated milks, canned fruit, fresh fruit, jellies, and flan. Toasted coconut flakes and crispy pinipig (pounded young rice) provide textural snap. Ube ice cream is all but required.

At Tito Rudy’s, a modern halo-halo concept in L.A., the resourceful, ever-evolving spirit of the Philippines lives on through this labor of love. Co-founders and life partners Nico de Leon and Kaylie Miraflores enjoy playing to their strengths (de Leon is an award-winning chef who co-owns Lasita, a funky Filipino rotisserie in L.A.’s Chinatown, while Miraflores boasts over 10 years of food, beverage, and barista experience). Since Tito Rudy’s inception, they’ve served their halo-halo—which features miso-condensed milk and ube ice cream, macapuno coco jelly, and candied pinipig—at pop-ups, a Chinatown kiosk, and as a permanent addition to Lasita’s menu.

Photo by: Joyce Kim

What memories does halo-halo evoke for you?

Nico: My dad would surprise us with halo-halo growing up. When he came home with all the accoutrements, we knew immediately that after dinner we’d all be enjoying our own customized glasses of halo-halo, sometimes even seconds, if we were naughty. [laughs]

Can you share the origin story of Tito Rudy’s?

Nico: Tito Rudy’s began as a pop-up during the pandemic. Kaylie and I were living in San Francisco and trying to find ways to keep busy. We wanted to have a project together that encompassed all of the things that we love: design, food, and culture. Locked down and confined to our home, we started to peer into our pantries for inspiration. What was in there that we could utilize and be creative with?

What goes into creating a halo-halo at Tito Rudy’s?

Kaylie: We’re picky about the ice, the ratio of the components, and the texture. The level of sweetness, also. We don’t like it too sweet—you don’t want palate fatigue. And you want to taste the quality. We make the ingredients and toppings in-house, and that’s something we’re really proud of.

Nico: When you’re delivering something that’s so nostalgic and personal, you need to make sure that you’re hitting all of the textural points while also providing different notes of, almost feelings. We’re fortunate to live in California, because a lot of our native produce is available here. But not everything is! Like, calamansi is really difficult to find unless your family has a tree, or you have that one tita who hands you a bag at a family party. So, discovering other citrus that speaks to us, or finding other flavor profiles that can mimic or evoke the same feeling, that process reminds us of what our ancestors would do in the Philippines—shop locally, etc. Whether it’s a mile from your barrio or around the corner at your favorite farmers market, Filipinos make do with whatever’s around them.

Tito Rudy’s has existed in many forms. What’s been your favorite iteration?

Nico: The kiosk [in Chinatown.] That was a really fun moment.

Kaylie: We turned it into a seated bar where people could have conversations with us as we made the halo-halo. We were able to see the diversity of people who were attracted to the project. We met people who had never heard about halo-halo before and just stumbled upon us. Some people came because they were curious about the design. And then you had a bunch of Filipinos, Filipino Americans, and titas who were like, I haven’t had a good halo-halo in so long.

Who is Tito Rudy?

Nico: My father. The whole origin story, with the nostalgia I brought up earlier, circles back to him completely. It’s a little ironic because he’s diabetic now. He hasn’t had one of our halo-halos yet, unfortunately.

Kaylie: He keeps telling us, “You need to make a sugar-free one.”

Photo by Sheadon Ringor

Jess and Tim Lee

Familee Korean Shave Ice

Bingsu, in its earliest form, was an icy treat reserved only for Korea’s court royalty and high-powered government officials. During the winter, ice was cut from the frozen Han River then put into seokbinggo, or royal ice boxes, a practice that remained until refrigeration was introduced to Korea in the 1950s.

By comparison, Familee Korean Shave Ice could not be more egalitarian: The bingsu truck, run by husband-and-wife duo Tim and Jess Lee, operates off the side of the Kuhio Highway on Kauai and sources its ingredients from local farms, friendly neighbors, and the bounty found on trees in the Lees’ backyard. The truck, which offers traditional and modernized takes on Korean bingsu, has become a hit, attracting tourists and locals alike with its playful flavors, seasonal fruit, and puns galore (each flavor is named after a Lee family member, and the descriptions are packed with a poet-laureate amount of wordplay).

Do you have any strong memories of shaved ice or bingsu as children? And if so, how did they influence Familee?

Jess: When I was really young, my dad and his friends played ping-pong in our backyard. After their games, they would go out for bingsu and he’d bring one back for me, which I shared with my grandma. We’d eat it on my bed. So for me, bingsu brings people together.

Tim: I’m from Los Angeles, but we came to Hawai’i a lot as kids. My dad loves it here. He’d always joke around and say something like, “Oh, if someone opened a bingsu shop here, it would do really well.” He wasn’t serious, and it became a running joke in our family. But when Jess and I met during the pandemic, we both were looking for something new for our careers.

Jess: And that’s how [Familee] started.

Photo by Sheadon Ringor

When did you learn to make bingsu?

Tim: Although we grew up eating it, we didn’t know much about bingsu from a business perspective. So, we spent about a year researching everything we could and traveled to Korea in 2022.

Jess: Korean bingsu is next level. Before our trip, I reached out to my family in Taegu and they gave us a list of places to try. So, there were some days that we would eat, like, four bingsus a day. There were unique flavors trending there, like mugwort, corn, grapefruit, salt and cream, and tomato bingsu. We got a lot of inspiration from what we saw in Korea, especially around how creative you could be.

It’s interesting to think of bingsu in the context of Kauai, where there is not a large Korean population.

Tim: I can probably name every Korean person.

Photo by Sheadon Ringor

How has that been?

Tim: Once we opened, all 10 Koreans on the island somehow found us and they loved it. We were told that when a new business opens on the island, everyone comes. And we found that to be true. [Bingsu] is something new for a lot of [customers].

The inspiration for Familee’s menu comes from your family members. Walk me through some of the flavors.

Jess: Everyone calls Tim’s dad Pa, and one of his favorite places on Kauai is the Nā Pali coast. So he became the “Nā PaLee.” Plus, he loves mangoes, so that’s how we came up with that one. Another one is The Sweet Kamja, which represents my brother-in-law, Kam. He loves ube and kamja in Korean means sweet potato. So we made his flavor sweet potato, even though it’s not a 100 percent translation match.

How do you feel about the word authenticity?

Jess: That’s what we’re trying to offer, authentic Korean bingsu. There aren’t many Koreans on Kauai compared to Southern California. Language and food have that way of pulling at your heartstrings. They’re such a deep part of who we are and how we grew up. So, to be able to carry something as simple as bingsu here to Kauai is so special to us.

RECIPES

Camphor’s Marzipan Sorbet

⅔ cup marzipan

Read more

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF BREAKFAST

at Chifa

IN PARTNERSHIP WITH ARROZ & FUN AND CIPOTA COFFEE

FILIPINO BREAKFAST

Sunday, July 12th is the next installment in our International House of Breakfast series. This time, we’re bringing you a Filipino breakfast from Nico de Leon of Ako and Otto Markel of Nananu Ka.

Tickets on sale now! (These will go fast!)

We’ll be offering four time slots: 9:00AM, 9:45AM, and 10:30AM, 11:15AM.

Chef Nico is an old friend of Synonym — he was featured in our very first issue talking all things shaved ice and his halo-halo pop-up, Tito Rudy’s then served up those icy treats at our inaugural release party. Now he’s back, collaborating with us again for IHOB alongside Chef Otto Markel of Nananu Ka.Otto has been a friend for just as long. You might know him as the smiling face behind the counter at one of our favorite bookstores, Now Serving, or from his Instagram deep-dive recreating every variation of Jell-O, or from his famous bibingkas at a pop-up. Come to think of it, whenever you run into Nico or Otto, they greet you with the warmest smile — and you can taste that in everything they make.

A little about Chef Nico:

Nico de Leon is a Filipino American chef from the greater Los Angeles area whose work has helped define LA’s Filipino food movement. Through projects including LASA, Lasita, Tito Rudy’s (read about this in our first issue!), and Ako, he explores the intersection of memory, seasonality, and identity, creating food that reflects his evolving experience as both Filipino and American.

A little about Chef Otto:

After studying food policy, farming, and terroir at Evergreen State College, Otto moved to Los Angeles and started working in food. Primarily a cook (more craftsman than artist), he has also worked as a butcher, a farmer, a Jell-O obsessive, and a cookbook merchant. Through extensive research, lots of trial and error, and a decent amount of luck, Otto focuses on making Filipino food the old way.

We’ve gotten a sneak peek at the menu for Sunday, July 12th and trust us, we’ll be the first in line.

RECAP of June’s IHOB

A quick recap of June’s iteration of “International House of Breakfast” with Arroz and Fun and A Manos at Chifa. A nice, cool day for June was welcomed with plantain waffles and savory soy milk. The community was dyeing which was led by the fiber artist Cayetano. Thanks to all that came.

• Issue 05: Sweets is being wrapped up as we speak! We’ve got lots of plans to unveil and merch to reveal. Stay tuned and be sure to be subscribed for advance notice!

• LOS ANGELES: One of our editors, Tien Nguyen, will be in conversation about food stystems and culture in Los Angeles at the LARC (Los Angeles Reporting Collective) Food Media Summit on July 9th. Get your tickets here.

  

• July 30- Aug 02: We’ll be at Hardcore Art Book Fair at Lago Alto in CDMX. Our editors, Remy Ramirez and Lisa Butterworth will be in attendance, come say hi!

  

Support Independent Media!

Ozoz Sokoh is a writer, food historian, culinary anthropologist, and now James Beard award winner! She won a JBF award for Emerging Voice in Books for her cookbook, Chop Chop: Cooking the Food of Nigeria (Artisan Books) and we couldn’t be more thrilled. Her depth of knowledge and thoughtfulness around food—its history, even its language—is so expansive that once she starts talking, you just want to keep listening. Ozoz has contributed two articles for us: one from Issue Two: Rice and Beans, about the fried fritter “akàrà (…akkra…accras…kara…kala…cala…calas),” and another from Issue Three: Spices, on West African spices. We absolutely love Ozoz and can’t wait to see what she does next. In this week’s newsletter, we’re sharing her article “Just a Pinch” about the West African spice cabinet.

Celebrating the staples of a West African spice cabinet.

By Ozoz Sokoh

Illustrations by Zab Shavrick

Are you familiar with the other nutmeg — the one named after a gourd? Or the bean used as a spice known as soup perfume? What of the smoked pods that resemble black cardamom but aren’t at all related to it? Welcome to the world of West African spices, seasonings that grace kitchens from Calabar in southern Nigeria to St. Louis in northwest Senegal — fascinating, intriguing, and abundant, yet largely uncommon outside the region.

Used in various ways, ancient and contemporary, these spices — calabash nutmeg, grains of paradise, African cubeb, and more — bring life to soups and stews, broths and teas. Among them is the classic Nigerian pepper soup, a broth enjoyed as food and medicine, like chicken soup in the States, Thai tom yum, or Vietnamese pho. Always creating deep flavors and warm notes, these spices are deliciousness encased. Beloved across West Africa, they have just as many names — thanks to the multiplicity of local languages, including Urhobo, Igbo, Yoruba, and more — as uses. Here are the spices you need to make a beloved pepper soup, and a few others for good measure.

Calabash Nutmeg

Monodora myristica

This smooth, shiny, oblong seed comes from a fruit similar to the custard apple. Each fruit has several seeds, which are almost an inch long and contain an oily kernel. The spice’s name likely stems from the seed’s resemblance to the calabash gourd and its similarities to the more well-known nutmeg, Myristica fragrans, including its hard form and shared taxonomic order, Magnoliales. To use, discard the seed’s shell, then toast and grind the kernel.

Other Name

African nutmeg

Local Names

Erhe (Urhobo), Iwo (Itsekiri), Ehuru (Igbo), Ariwo (Yoruba), Guliya dan miya (Hausa), Ukposa (Bini)

Flavors

Warm, nutty, and citrusy, with woody and bitter hints. Think nutmeg and coriander with a hint of cumin.

Uses

In soups; in spice blends for pepper soup; often combined with grains of Selim.

Historical Uses

“As an aromatic and stimulating addition to other medicines and to snuff.” — The Useful Plants of West Tropical Africa, J.M. Dalziel, 1937

Guinea Cubeb

Piper guineense

Fresh clusters of these small berries, which have a more pronounced piney flavor before they’re dried, are sold in different colors, including green, orange, and red. The dried berries are black with curved tails. To use, remove the fresh berries from their clusters and add them whole, or dry the clusters, then remove the peppercorns and use them whole.

Other Names

Ashanti pepper, Benin pepper, West African black pepper

Local Names

Edusa (Ibibio), Eti-nkeni (Efik), Uziza (Igbo), Iyere (Yoruba)

Flavors

Floral, herbal, peppery, and resinous. Think floral and black pepper.

Uses

In soups and rice.

Historical Uses

“Although one of the early spice grains brought from the Grain Coast (Liberia) in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, it does not appear to have at any time been accepted in Europe as a substitute for ordinary pepper (P. nigrum) which is more aromatic.”

Grains of Selim

Xylopia aethiopica

These brown-black pods — between one and three inches long — have dry, ridged skin shaped by the pod’s seeds, which they hold fast to. They are in the Annonaceae family, like calabash nutmeg, custard apple, American pawpaw, and ylang-ylang. To use, bruise the pods and add them whole to soup or sauce (remove before serving), or remove and discard the seeds, then roast and grind the pod skin.

Other Names

African pepper, Guinea pepper, Ethiopian pepper

Local Names

Urheri (Urhobo), Unien (Bini), Attasoursop (Yoruba), Uda (Igbo), Eeru (Ibibio/Efik)

Flavors

Smoky, musky, and peppery, with warm notes of cloves and nutmeg and a hint of bitterness. Think black cardamom and black pepper.

Uses

In soups; in spice blends for pepper soup; in drinks, blended with coffee beans to make Senegalese café touba, added to water to purify it, or added to palm wine for flavor. Also great in tomato and red pepper sauces.

Historical Uses

“As a flavourer and spice, at one time similarly used in Great Britain.”

Grafilo

Botanical name unknown

This spice is a singular kernel housed in a brown, egg-shaped shell that’s about one or one-and-a-half inches long. Shake it and you might hear the kernel move inside. The brittle shell has the texture of sandpaper, and when cracked it reveals an oily kernel that resembles cocoplum. The kernel has flavor notes reminiscent of nutmeg. To use, break the shell and use only the kernel, raw or toasted, then ground.

Local Names

Gbafilor (Itsekiri)

Flavors

Nutty and slightly bitter. Think nutmeg and tonka beans.

Uses

In soups; in spice blends for pepper soup.

Alligator Pepper

Aframomum melegueta

With knobby skin that resembles an alligator’s, each pod contains at least two seed clusters, wrapped in papery, lacey skin. The skin is broken to release brick reddish-brown, pyramidical seeds, which are used across West Africa, particularly in traditional ceremonies.

Other Names

Grains of paradise

Local Names

Ehie ado (Bini), Ntuen (Efik), Ose oji/okwu oji (Igbo), Atare (Yoruba)

Flavors

Floral, bright, citrusy, and spicy, with peppery hints. Think cardamom, black pepper, and citrus. The seeds have a tongue-numbing effect, like Sichuan peppercorns.

Uses

Eaten whole as a snack alongside kolanut; ground seeds are added to soups and stews.

Historical Uses

“Was at one time important in trade with Europe…. It was in demand as a spice… in liqueurs and alcoholic beverages.”

Cocoplum

Chrysobalanus icaco

Cocoplums are brown, hard-shelled “nuts,” less than an inch long, with striations and honeycomb patterns. They are somewhat aromatic, in a light but complex way, similar to the tonka bean — nutty (almond with hints of walnut) and vanilla. Each one contains an oily kernel whose essence is similar to nutmeg in flavor, ranging in color from cream to brown and purple. To use, crack the shell and use only the kernel, raw or toasted, then ground.

Other Names

Coco plum, cocoa plum, fat pork (Lesser Antilles), icaco (Puerto Rico)

Local Names

Omilo/Umilo (Itsekiri)

Flavors

Nutty, slightly bitter. Think nutmeg and tonka beans.

Uses

In soups; in spice blends for pepper soup; roasted and enjoyed as nuts; pressed to extract oil.

★ All historical uses are sourced from The Useful Plants of West Tropical Africa, J.M. Dalziel, 1937.

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF BREAKFAST

at Chifa

IN PARTNERSHIP WITH ARROZ & FUN AND CIPOTA COFFEE

CHINO/LATINO BREAKFAST

Sunday, June 28th is the next installment in our International House of Breakfast series. This time, we’re bringing you a Chino/Latino breakfast from Arroz & Fun and A Manos. We’ll be offering two time slots: 9:00AM and 10:30AM.

Get your tickets here

🌈Hecho by Caye will be hosting a community dye workshop.🌈

Fiber-reactive dyes in chartreuse, turquoise, fuchsia, and deep yellow.

👕Bring your own items to revive solid or tie-dyed (T-shirts, pillowcases, lounge shorts, napkins, etc.).

Items must be small in size and medium weight. 100% natural fibers or high-fiber-content (cotton, linen, rayon, hemp, bamboo).

Pre-washed. All materials provided.

$20 per 2 items to be dyed (No need for a ticket to participate in the dye workshop!

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF BREAKFAST

at Chifa

IN PARTNERSHIP WITH ARROZ & FUN AND CIPOTA COFFEE

CHINO/LATINO BREAKFAST

Sunday, June 28th is the next installment in our International House of Breakfast series. This time, we’re bringing you a Chino/Latino breakfast from Arroz & Fun and A Manos.

Tickets go on sale Wednesday, June 10th at 9am.

We’ll be offering two time slots: 9:00AM and 10:30AM.

Arroz & Fun, created by Jarod Wang, first opened as a cafe in Lincoln Heights before moving its residency to its sibling restaurant, Chifa, for morning and daytime service. Drawing influences from Taiwanese, Peruvian, Chinese, and Salvadoran food traditions, Jarod blends it all together with bolo bao breakfast sandwiches and porridge. His love of cooking traces back to his Popo, who taught cooking classes at his elementary school, and to his dad’s home cooking. Shaped by surf, skate, and punk culture, his food is an ode to Los Angeles.

Agua Lemus launched her pop-up A Manos out of a desire to serve and nourish community. She wants to show that Salvadoran food can go beyond pupusas. She cooks for community and herself and is very intentional with her work. Her food reflects life in Los Angeles while remaining deeply rooted in her Salvadoran heritage.

Agua and Jarod have cooked together at pop-ups before, most recently at the El Sereno Community Garden, and they’re teaming up again for our next IHOB this June.

And Hecho by Caye will be on-site with a community dye workshop. Fiber-reactive dyes in chartreuse, turquoise, fuchsia, and deep yellow.

👕Bring your own items to revive solid or tie-dyed (T-shirts, pillowcases, lounge shorts, napkins, etc.).

Items must be small in size and medium weight. 100% natural fibers or high-fiber-content (cotton, linen, rayon, hemp, bamboo).

Pre-washed. All materials provided.

$20 per 2 items to be dyed.

Tickets on sale now.

• July 30- Aug 02: We’ll be at Hardcore Art Book Fair in CDMX! Save the Date!

Other news to share from the community!

• READ: Texture by Osayi Endolyn, We’ve love reading Osayi Endolyn’s newsletter all about pop culture, art and media, and food and drink.

  

• GO: (LOS ANGELES) Armenian Supper Club at Sooki Studio on Sunday June 14, 6-8pm.

• GO: (AUSTIN) En Vivo! Black & Indigenous Mexicans: A coming together of food, untold history, and rich history. A Juneteeth celebration. June 18, 2026 | 6pm-8pm.

• PARTCIPATE: Híjole y Café: A 3-week food storytelling workshop with Issue 01 contributor and author of Salvi Soul, Karla Vasquez. ​A 3-week food storytelling workshop which will take place Thursdays at 6pm (June 18, June 25, July 2) online (join from wherever you are). Space is limited, so sign up!

KEEP PRINT ALIVE

_{And now, onto the story.}

Buy Issue 04

NUMBER ONE

By Frank Shyong

Photos by Bethany Mollenkof

It’s safe to say no one has ever waxed poetic about Los Angeles chili. You know the kind: served as condiment, not quite stew, more of a mortar for welding burger buns to patties and cementing fries into bricks, crowned with a snowdrift of orange cheese, the shade found at construction sites.

Chili never makes anyone’s Instagram in this town, not even Stories. For me, it is more often the last regrettable decision in a night of them. Especially because chili entrées are almost always served in amounts impossible for a sane and sober person to attempt.

But sanity and sobriety are not always within reach, and it’s in those moments that chili finds us. I once lived down the street from the original Alhambra location of The Hat, in Southern California’s San Gabriel Valley, and I still indulge in their pastrami chili fries a few times a year. Ordering a tamale from the Original Tommy’s—submerged in a paper boat of chili thickened with masa harina, capped with a slice of American cheese and round of tomato—is a canonical L.A. experience.

I’d recommend some other places, but if you live here long, chili will appear, like magic. You’ve probably passed a burger spot with chili on the menu dozens of times on your commute. You go there even though the fries aren’t that good—always that thick, soft kind that doesn’t taste like much—because they all possess that all-important Southern California commodity: They are on the way. It was a five-minute stumble from my first college apartment in Westwood to a burger stand students called Buck Fifty’s, served swimming in a vermilion slick of grease that stained every surface that came close. Since then, I’ve lived in a dozen different zip codes in Los Angeles and Orange Counties, and this Mexican burger stand menu has always been within reach.

The history of chili in America is one long shouting match that everyone enjoys too much to declare a winner. As the food scholar Charles Perry put it: “Chili is a vernacular dish, and one that was long considered rather déclassé. It was not born in the spotlight, and its history is bound to be hazy.”

Still, politicians in Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico have all attempted to pass resolutions making it their state dish. (Only Texas succeeded, in 1977.) The late Arizona statesman Barry Goldwater once rose to denigrate Texas chili in a speech on the Senate floor, a conflagration that culminated in an official senatorial chili cookoff and a cookbook collecting the recipes.

Southern California chili heads are much more relaxed: less talking, more eating. There aren’t really hard rules for what constitutes Los Angeles chili. You can find chili with all kinds of regional influences here; our recipes are so glibly transgressive, so liberal with thickeners and beans, that they unite chili purists from all major regions in disdain.

Elizabeth Taylor helped make the chili famous at Chasen’s, a Hollywood haunt owned by David Chasen that shuttered in 1995. But Frank Tolbert, a newspaper columnist and house stylist of the Texas chili establishment, was firm if diplomatic: “A real chili buff wouldn’t give Dave’s product a passing grade. It is actually a fine stew, scented with chili powder.”

At El Cholo Mexican Restaurant, the oldest still-operating restaurant in the city of Los Angeles, it’s on the menu as chili con carne, though the server also referred to it as chile Colorado when he set the plate down. In either case, the menu suggests the restaurant began serving it in 1927. Chili con carne, most associated with Texas, is believed to have originated with Mexican women running open-air food stands in San Antonio in the 1880s; their colorful, bold entrepreneurship earned them the moniker Chili Queens. This style shuns beans and thickeners, instead relying solely on meat and simmered chile peppers. El Cholo serves the dish as a main course in a bowl, with a side of tortillas, much like they do in Texas.

Midwestern chili variants abound in Southern California as well. “Chilli,” Illinois-style, dates back to 1909, incorporates beans, and is spelled with two l’s, the second of which stands for love, according to Springfield restaurant lore. The dish was the creation of Greek immigrants influenced by a spiced, minced meat called kima, which traveled to South Asia via keema curry, a Burmese version I first had in Culver City.

Around the time chilli was created, Greek restaurateurs in Michigan pioneered a seasoned, minced meat gravy called Coney sauce to accompany the eponymous hot dogs, an example of which is served at Pink’s Hot Dogs in the Fairfax neighborhood of Los Angeles. A Greek immigrant opened Skyline Chili in Ohio in 1949, and his recipe, much like the Greek dish makaronia me kima, is often served over spaghetti, a dish you can find at Bob’s Big Boy or Chili John’s in Burbank.

But there’s really only one kind of chili found in all over L.A.: a smooth, rust-red gravy of finely ground beef thickened with flour or maseca and seasoned with some mix of cumin, paprika, allspice, cinnamon and chile powder, what Tolbert called “the dreadful stuff masquerading as chili in 9 out of 10 cafes.”

So why did chili become one of this city’s most ubiquitous foods? I guessed the answer lay somewhere within the tangled genealogies of Southern California’s named burger stands. Could they all be related somehow?

The more of them I visited, the more similarities I spotted, like a small town where everyone has the same kinds of noses and jawlines. Drive around a lot and you’ll notice these burger stands all use the same set of names. A lot of them have numbers in the name, indicating a franchise, but most of the other numbered locations seem to be missing. All the menus have chili and pastrami. And they usually serve some of the best Mexican American food—specifically, breakfast burritos—around.

I followed the trail to an unusual density of burger stands in a concrete quadrangle bordered by the 105 and 110 freeways and the Los Angeles River, an industrial wetlands south of downtown Los Angeles once known as the city’s Rust Belt.

It turned out this region is home to the number-one stores of the burger chains like Jim’s, Apollo’s, Troy’s, Dino’s, Chris’s, Gus’s, and Douglas Burger.

When I began listing the names of all the original stores to Tommy Karmos, 55, the owner of Jim’s Burgers Number 1 in the city of Cudahy, he laughed.

“Yep, recognize a lot of those names. A lot of those guys used to work for my dad,” Karmos said.

Karmos and his father took over Jim’s Burgers in the 1970s. The restaurant was founded in 1958 by Jim Angelopoulos, a Greek immigrant who came to America at the age of 15 and found work at a soda fountain in Decatur, Illinois.

Chili and burgers featured heavily in Angelopoulos’s eponymous restaurant. He was a shrewd businessman but generous with his recipes, said Georgia Alevizos, his daughter. There’s even a family legend that the burger recipe at In-n-Out was influenced by Jim’s.

When they came west, their generous, satisfying food quickly caught on in neighborhoods where everyone was shouldering long shifts and lengthy drives home. Angelopoulos felt there was enough opportunity to go around, Alevizos said. He always gave his blessing to employees who wanted to start new restaurants and didn’t charge a fee to use the name. He didn’t care if new franchisees changed a letter, picked a name that sounded similar, or even if they picked a new name.

“My dad just gave it to them. He just believed that there’s always enough business to go around if you’re a hard worker and if you’re honest,” Alevizos said.

The burger stands were an open-air redesign of the Greek diner concept, according to Alevizos. But they never saw themselves making Greek chili or any other kind of Greek food, said both Karmos and Alevizos. They wanted to create a successful business, which meant serving American food, Karmos said.

“We were Greek inside the house, but not really out,” he said.

But there are still hints of Greek identity at many L.A. burger stands if you look. At the Jim’s Burger location two blocks over, next to the register, there is a stack of distinctive blue Greek diner cups next to the soda machine and a Greek salad on the menu. And Chris’s Burger down the street serves a chicken tzatziki burrito.

Chris’s also serves a chili burrito, perhaps a reflection of the fact that the city of Cudahy is now 96 percent Latino. At Douglas Burger, a nearby burger chain started by a former Jim’s employee, they serve an old dish called chili size, essentially an open-faced hamburger topped with chili. Chili size was popularized at Ptomaine Tommy’s Chili Parlor, a Lincoln Heights restaurant that was one of the first—if not the first—to serve it in Los Angeles.

Each time the burger stand changed owners and neighborhoods, it absorbed a different group’s ideas about what American food should be. And today no two Tim’s, Jim’s, Tom’s or Tam’s are exactly alike.

Greeks opened many of the first locations, but as Los Angeles grew more diverse, so did the ownership of its burger stands. Today, many are run by Mexican, Central, and South Americans. Fatburger is under corporate ownership now, but it was started by a Black woman, Lovie Yancy, in 1947. And the other day I visited Peppi’s, a Korean-owned burger stand in Fontana that opened in 1946. Chili and pastrami are on the menu, but it’s best known for beef bulgogi.

I like to imagine all these burger shops are related. If you look at their distribution across Southern California, it’s clear that Angelopolous’ generosity was catching; that his former employees and fellow franchise owners passed on the recipes just as freely as he did. What if L.A.’s named burger stands aren’t copycats but kinfolk? That’s what L.A. chili tastes like to me: a big, complicated family recipe

.

Thanks to everyone that came out for our very first International House of Breakfast with Chef Diep Tran. Special thanks to Neighborhood Seed Exchange for providing seeds and seed talk. An another appreciation note to Koda Farms, Autonomy farms, Yao cheng farms, The Garden of, and K&K ranch.

Sunday, June 28th: The next one will be with Chef Agua Lemus of Amanos and Chef Jarod Wang of Arroz and Fun for a Chino/Latino breakfast. As usual, Cipota coffee will be making a special drink for this one (how about those oro blanco cordials??)

Community dye bath by Hecho by Caye, more info soon.

Tickets will be released June 10th and this time with slotted times. Stay tuned.

July 30- Aug 02: We’ll be at Hardcore Art Book Fair in CDMX! Save the Date!

Other news to share from the community!

• Híjole y Café: A 3-week food storytelling workshop with Issue 01 contributor and author of Salvi Soul, Karla Vasquez. ​A 3-week food storytelling workshop which will take place Thursdays at 6pm (June 18, June 25, July 2) online (join from wherever you are). Space is limited, so sign up!

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Support our work

Written and photos (below) by Rawah Badrawi

When news broke of a London restaurant opening by chef Meedu Saad evoking his personal journey and Egyptian heritage, I knew that something big was about to happen.

For too long, Egyptian cuisine barely made a dent in the culinary consciousness of Western societies. Outside of a koshary shop here, or a ful and ta’amiya stand there, Egyptian food seemed inaccessible, mysterious. Unlike its Lebanese and Turkish counterparts, whose food spread like wildfire through restaurants and ocakbaşi grills around the world, the Egyptian diaspora kept its food to itself—recipes were family heirlooms, rather than edible exports. When I ask my London friends what they think of Egyptian food they shrug: “It’s not your strongest suit,” they say. This misguided comment shows they haven’t been to the home of an Egyptian who knows how to cook.

Enter Impala. The brainchild of Meedu Saad—he of Kiln fame—it may just be what many of us have been patiently waiting for all this time. London is buzzing with talent—a fantastic cohort of young chefs are cooking up food so beautiful it breaks hearts. When I tear a piece of Guinness bread at Max Rocha’s Cafe Cecilia, which is an ode to the Irish food his mother Odette made, or when I inhale Dara Klein’s pasta e fagioli at Tiella Trattoria, I am transported to a joyful place created from personal histories. Their food moves me because it is so clearly rooted in identity, memory, and story. In a world torn apart by war, dispossession, exile, and separation, food stands as a witness and guardian, assuring us that certain moments and places existed—they are not a figment of our imagination. Food, as a storyteller of peoples’ lives, travels, and cultures is the most powerful plate on the table, immortalising the things that count.

In the same vein, Meedu Saad outlined his mission to the press: dishes will lean on Egyptian and North African flavours, they will be cooked on a killer open fire, and presented in an entirely personal way. In other words, this is not Egyptian food as much as it is a British chef referencing his Egyptian heritage, culinary journey, and individual style. His memories of driving around Egypt in a Chevy Impala with friends come up as touch points in the discussion around his solo debut. The Sinai Peninsula, a land of roseate peaks and azure waters, gave him a canvas for his first brushstrokes with cooking—fishing in the Red Sea, grilling outdoors. I noticed a piece in Stone Magazine about his more recent research trip to Egypt to explore food in Cairo, Port Said, and Ismailia. His field notes from that trip, as well as his Sinai memories, all sounded like déjà-vu. My co-author Suzanne Zeidy and I had taken the same road trips for our upcoming book Egypt: Recipes and Stories from an Ancient Land, out in September 2026 by Nourish Books.

Meedu Saad’s father comes from Ismailia, in the northeastern region of the Nile Delta. On the recce trip to his ancestral home, Meedu encountered the industrial version of the old mud brick ovens that are the golden thread of the Egyptian hinterland. He calls them “community ovens”—what an apt label! Suzanne and I have fond memories of sitting with the rural women of the Nile Valley and Delta at their ovens, watching everything from aish (bread), feteer meshaltet (layered pie), ruz muammar (cream rice), and tagin (vegetable bakes) go in and out. In Luxor, mud brick ovens are used to make the local shamsi (sun) bread, believed to be the world’s first leavened bread, dating back to pharaonic times.

(Luxor Mud Brick Oven)

Up on the coast, Meedu made the essential pitstop at Port Said’s fish market; a bustling hub of fishermen, vendors, and cooks engaged in a daily dance around the customers. A 96-year old Port Said native was our guide there; he picked a selection of freshly caught fish and shellfish for lunch including sehleya (keeled mullet), sardines, crab, and bouri (grey mullet). Lightly spiced sardines and crab hit the open fire grill, while the bran and rock salt–covered mullet fish entered a volcanically hot oven for a blackened finish. After devouring the seafood feast with our bare hands, we asked our host a simple question: How come more people don’t know about this? A wistful smile spread across his face, “People don’t come to Port Said anymore,” he said. The cosmopolitan, glitzy town that flourished after the construction of the Suez Canal in the late 1800s, fell into a steady state of distinguished decay after the Suez Crisis in 1956. Be that as it may, Port Said is still the top purveyor of batarekh (bottarga) in the Arab world.

(Blackened Mullet from the Port Said Fish market)

The obsession with heat and smoke is an ancient, time-honoured tradition in Egypt. Meedu’s decision to reference it at Impala with a high, central fire–grill adorned with hanging ducks, is a mise en scène of visual genius. Birds are an Egyptian national dish, especially stuffed pigeons, roast ducks, and grilled quails. Last October, we made our way to Alexandria to catch the city’s famous quail season, where every autumn thousands of quail fly over the city from Central Europe on the way to their winter habitat in the Sudan. The long journey forces the birds to land on Alexandria’s coastline where nets laid by Bedouin trappers await them. We rolled into a restaurant called Malek El Seman (King of the Quails), an institution, and feasted on Levantine-spiced quails that had been grilled to perfection on an open fire. The veteran grill master stood over multiple rows of quails, flapping a palm-leaf fan, keeping the heat steady and the birds juicy.

(Grill Master in Alexandria with Palm leaf fan)

By the time I take my seat at Impala I feel emotionally invested in its mission. The beating heart of the restaurant is its central open plan kitchen—run by Head Chef Adam Smith—featuring a sleek oven on one side and an impressive fire grill on the other. I smile when I see a few palm-leaf fans hanging by the grill—the details are intentional, sharp. Ben Chapman—co-founder of Super 8 Restaurants, the group that owns Impala, Brat, Smoking Goat, and Kiln—described the design approach on Instagram: “Lots of concrete and render, referencing those giant community ovens in Ismailia.” I take a close look at the menu, decoding the Egyptian references right away: aish baladi, white beans and bottarga, squid salad with cumin seeds, sheep cheese, bird’s tongue pasta with oxtail, duck roasted in molasses, bream baked in bran, monkfish wrapped in vine leaves. We order as many dishes as the table can hold and sit back with perfectly crafted cocktails.

(The concrete oven at Impala)

As I wait for the food to arrive, I walk over to the grill to see what’s cooking. One of the sous chefs points at a piece of meat sitting on a mesh iron basket over the embers. “Feather blade,” he says, “make sure you order it.” Next to that is something even more decadent: sweetbreads. Nose-to-tail eating is a culinary tradition in the Egyptian countryside. Life is hard for farmers, and with many mouths to feed the matriarch makes use of every part of the animal. One of my favourite dishes at Impala turns out to be buttery oxtail meat tossed in lisan asfour—a pasta that resembles orzo and typically appears in soups across Egypt. Delicately spiced, with a hint of sweetness, it takes me to the fields of clover in the Nile Delta where the ox tends the fields with his farmer—a viewscape highly symbolic of rural Egypt. In that same field we sat down for lunch with a local family and had tagin akkawi (oxtail tagine), sweetened by pearl onions, tenderized by a long cook.

(Sweetbreads on oven at Impala)

Every bite I take at Impala takes me somewhere special, because there is a story behind it. The bread that comes out of the wood oven, fluffy and slightly charred, could have come out of a traditional mud brick oven in my hometown Abu Sir outside Cairo. The dandelion salad has the rustic feel of the foraged rigla (purslane) salad loved by Egyptians in the countryside. The bream baked in bran echoes the specialities of the frenetic fish market in Port Said. The sheep cheese, wild herbs, and olive oil bring back memories of a Bedouin breakfast spread in the Sinai. The spice blends are more sweeping, traversing the Egyptian Mediterranean coastline and across the Maghreb, with playful concoctions of harissas and chilli sauces.

Some dishes have a spicy kick and big personality, such as the feather blade and beef tartare, the latter being some of the best I have had anywhere. As for the duck, well, Impala treats it like a national dish, marinating it with molasses and black lime paste, roasting it to perfection, and serving it with a fancy fig sauce. The thread of French influence in some of the dishes is undeniable, an influence that exists in the Egyptian culinary canon as well. During the monarchy (pre-1952), French chefs ran the palace kitchens and trained a cadre of Egyptian sous chefs in the same style. One would think the appearance of so many concepts at once would be chaotic, but somehow Impala pulls it all together in a seamless way, marrying contrasting flavours and cuisines with enviable confidence. Dessert is equally confident because there is only one: a date and pistachio tart of rare and special beauty.

(Hanging Ducks at Impala)

Impala has many sublime, whimsical and unforgettable dishes to name, but it’s a simple ftira that makes me sigh out loud. The fried, doughy bread with a jammy egg in the middle, flavoured by harissa, is an absolute showstopper. When I bump into Meedu Saad at the staircase I tell him how personal the meal felt to me after all the road trips, research, and writing, then ask him about molokhia (jute mallow), Egypt’s leading leafy green. “We don’t have it today, but I make it in the Tunisian style, braised with mutton,” he says. Molokhia is versatile. In Egypt’s coastal towns it is a deep green, viscous soup made with shrimp; in the mainland they opt for chicken or rabbit; in the desert they enjoy it with lentils. I make a mental note to come back again and try Impala’s version. I tell Meedu that having just finished the book, I am in awe of Egypt’s rich and vast culinary heritage. He smiles knowingly and asks, “How do I even explain to people the food in a place like Ismailia, with its lakes, the nearby Suez Canal, Nile Delta, the Mediterranean Sea, and countryside?” He doesn’t need to explain, I think, Impala does all of that for him.

International House of Breakfast

A summer series with some of LA’s best — and we’re doing it at the back patio of Chifa in partnership with Cipota Coffee and Arroz and Fun.

Each month, a different chef takes over the morning. Here’s the lineup:

Vietnamese Breakfast by Diep Tran of the legendary Good Girl Dinette

Get your tickets!

MAY 30 · 9am–12pm

Neighborhood Seed Exchange will have a table with anyone wanting to do a seed exchange!

SATURDAY, JUNE 27th

Chino/Latino Breakfast by Amanos & Arroz and Fun

SUNDAY, JULY 19th

Filipino Breakfast by Ako (Chef Nico de Leon) & Nananu Ka (Chef Otto Markel)

AUGUST

TBD (trust us)

Every penny supports us!

If you’re familiar with Los Angeles, you’ve heard of Good Girl Dinette. Back in the day, we used to visit when we lived in Highland Park—going for dinner occasionally but frequently going for breakfast. It was special: Maggi steak and eggs, porridge, roasted pork hash, and oh, those GGD tots!! Damn, we miss those days. Luckily, Diep does a number of pop-ups, and we’re lucky enough to host one this month in Los Angeles. She’ll be our inaugural chef for International House of Breakfast on May 30th, 9am–12pm.

Tickets are encouraged but walk ins are welcome. Tickets go on sale Wednesday, May 13th at 9am PST. (ON SALE NOW!)

Neighborhood Seed Exchange will be hosting a seed exchange and we’ll, of course, have a table with some new merch and all our issues!

A little about Diep:

Diep Tran is a James Beard Award winner and former chef and owner of Good Girl Dinette in the Highland Park neighborhood of Los Angeles. She is also the founder of The Bánh Chưng Collective, an annual event celebrating and communing friends, family, and chosen family for Lunar New Year by making bánh chưng together. It was initially created to celebrate and affirm community among LGBTQIA, women, and people of color. You can hear her talking about the collective here on Heritage Radio.

She has been featured in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, Lucky Peach, Saveur, the Netflix series Ugly Delicious and KCET’s Migrant Kitchen.

Diep has been a longtime advocate for workers’ rights in the restaurant industry. She’s co-written The Red Boat Fish Sauce Cookbook and won a James Beard Award for her article in Food & Wine title “The Day My Cooking Ambitions Got the Best of Me.” She’s had her writing published in the Los Angeles Times and New York Times.

We’ll leave you with some interviews Diep has done with Thao Nguyen (of Thao & the Get Down Stay Down) and Dave Chang.

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF BREAKFAST continues

• JUNE
  Chino/Latino Breakfast by Amanos & Arroz and Fun

• JULY
  Filipino Breakfast by AKO & Nananu Ka

• AUGUST
  TBD

HARDCORE ART BOOK FAIR in CDMX

More info to come

July 30-Aug 2

🍳 Save the date 🍳

Synonym is launching International House of Breakfast, a summer series with some of LA’s best — and we’re doing it at the back patio of Chifa in partnership with Cipota Coffee and Arroz and Fun.

Each month, a different chef takes over the morning. Here’s the lineup:

MAY 30 · 9am–12pm

Vietnamese Breakfast by Diep Tran of the legendary Good Girl Dinette

Neighborhood Seed Exchange will have a table with anyone wanting to do a seed exchange!

JUNE 28

Chino/Latino Breakfast by Amanos & Arroz and Fun

JULY 12

Filipino Breakfast by Ako (Chef Nico de Leon) & Nananu Ka (Chef Otto Markel)

AUGUST

TBD (trust us)

Tickets are encouraged but walk ups available. BUY YOUR TICKETS HERE.

Of course, we’ll have a table with new merch and magazines!

By Neema Syovata

Illustration by Tina Tona

Sound is perhaps the most underrated sense when it comes to the consumption of food and, even more so, its processing. We use auditory cues when cooking but seldom explore them, though sound is deeply embedded in the prep and harvesting practices of many cultures. Every sound tells a story, so what meaning can be derived from its contemplation?

In a small village in the town of Masii, about an hour and a half outside Kenya’s capital, Nairobi, an age-old method is used to process a variety of common beans. It’s a practice that takes place several times a year on a multi-generational homestead with women at the helm.

To harvest the beans from their dense, leafy clusters, the pods are broken off at the stem—snap, snap, snap—and gently dropped into burlap sacks, landing with soft, muffled thuds before being laid on tarps to dry. After several days under the hot African sun, the brittle pods are spread into a single layer, the crunch of the leaves and the rustling of the stalks so crisp it can send tingles down one’s spine.

Using a long, thick, weathered stick, the matriarch sets a tempo that others soon follow. It begins with a delicate tap, gradually building to a firm yet gentle strike, a necessary balance that keeps the beans whole while cracking open as many pods as possible. The rhythmic whack! whack! whack! of the group’s alternating strikes transforms the task into something of a musical performance. Music, you see, is inextricably woven into the fabric of African culture, and it elevates this mundane undertaking into a symphony of harmonies.

Credit: Neema Syovata

Once the beans are shelled, the performance continues with percussion produced by shallow, woven winnowing baskets that remove debris and chaff from the beans. As women shake the baskets from side to side, the beans create a shuffling sound—shuh, shuh, shuh—reminiscent of maracas. As the beans rise and fall, they collide with the woven fibers of the baskets, creating hollow rattles and a fitting finale.

Credit: Neema Syovata

Sounds are both practical and culturally significant. Here among the beans, they showcase communal cooperation as villagers come together to carry out the harvest, reinforcing familial bonds and honoring long-standing traditions. By paying closer attention to the noises we so often take for granted, we uncover deeper connections between our sensory experiences and the rituals that shape them, nurturing a greater appreciation of the symphony of sounds that enrich process and culture. Let’s listen.

Additional video and audio recordings of the harvest below the paywall.

Sharing this here to amplify this and hope many of you are able to apply!

The Vilcek Prize for Creative Promise

The Vilcek Prize for Creative Promise supports immigrant professionals who have demonstrated exceptional early career achievements.

• Nine $50,000 cash awards;

• Young immigrant research scientists and culinary professionals are welcome to apply.

In 2027, prizes will be awarded in Biomedical Science and in two categories in Culinary Arts: Food & Beverage and Media & Storytelling. Applications are open through May 4, 2026.

More info and apply here!

Read more

Why, you may ask? We’re doing everything we can to make this a sustainable project and keep the project in print. We’re a small (but mighty!) volunteer-run team with hopes of paying everyone equitably including ALL of our team, which we hope to grow so that we can bring you more stories.

This year, we’re focusing our efforts on making an amazing issue in addition to evaluating resources. This is why you’ll see an uptick in events, merch, and soon, a Summer fundraising campaign. Our efforts are to serve the immigrant diaspora and third culture community and we want to keep giving those stories a platform. Any way you can support us; by word of mouth, picking up a print copy, grabbing some merch, asking your bookstore about us, or making a donation is all helpful in every way. And let us know how best to serve you! We love to hear from you!

We love being able to share some of our contributors and artist’s work like Sandy Christ’s work from our latest issue (04!). This illustration spread was for our “Snack Break” column. In creating this illustration, she describes it as a “magical entryway” into Nigerian/West African markets of London (like “Little Lagos” in South East London/Peckham) and how these enclaves create a replica of home but in a different surrounding country/place.

Food in Print Magazine Fair

Speaking of London, over the weekend, we were able to participate (in magazine only) in the first ever Food in Print Magazine Fair put together by Vittles Magazine, The Pit, and Fat Boy Zine. Thanks to all who stopped by, we wish we could’ve physically been there! It looked like a blast.

Do you want to collaborate with us? Advertise with us? Do an event together?

Reach out! info@synonym-mag.com

Support Us!

Fiscally sponsored by

a 501(c)(3) charitable organization

Do you work at a corporation that matches your donations? You can now donate to us and have your employer match the donation. Look for Tiny News Collective and make sure to notate Synonym Magazine!

Photo credit: Doaa Elkady

Eat, Drink, and Be Myrrhy

Ifrah Ahmed on cooking authentically as culinary cultures evolve.

By Abena Anim-Somuah

Photos by Celeste Noche

Prop Styling by Nidia Cueva

Special thanks to Goodies in Seattle

Photo credit: Celeste Noche

Eaters lucky enough to score a coveted seat at Milk & Myrrh, Ifrah Ahmed’s pop-up restaurant, are treated to a bevy of East African flavors from the Somali American writer and chef. Menus in Seattle, New York City, and Los Angeles have featured signature dishes like coconut soor ( corn grits) with xawaash-braised short ribs, crab sambuus, mussels in dalac bilaash (tomato stew) served with traditional corn flatbread called muufo, and upside-down banana cardamom cake. Every meal is accompanied by a vibrant Somali soundtrack.

Raised in Seattle in a prominent Somali community, Ahmed transitioned out of law school to create these culinary experiences rooted in her heritage. These dishes serve as a great introduction for those new to this East African country’s fare. Somali cuisine is a product of trade and commerce, as well as rich diversity among the regions scattered across the expansive landscape. Distinct flavors include cardamom, cumin, coriander, and cilantro—you can find most of these in the staple spice blend xawaash—alongside ingredients like tamarind, mango, banana, coconut, and camel meat and milk.

In Los Angeles, Ahmed hatched the concept of the anjero burrito, inspired by her memories of eating the fermented crepe-like bread at the breakfast table and her love of the Tex-Mex classic. She wrapped xawaash-spiced mushroom, kale, and sweet potatoes or egg and fuul (fava bean stew) in anjero and served them with basbaas, a green hot sauce. The burritos sold out every week of the inaugural six-week run.

If you haven’t had a chance to try Ahmed’s food, you will soon: Soomaaliya, her debut cookbook filled with recipes, interviews, and stories paying homage to Somalia’s distinct culinary culture, will be out next year. Here, she talks about the connective nature of cuisine, her first American food experience, and what it means to be culturally authentic when creating dishes from home in a new one.

How did you and your family end up in Seattle?

We were resettled by a refugee agency coming from Somalia, by way of Tanzania and Kenya, before we were resettled in the United States.

Growing up in Seattle, how did food play a central role in your life?

Somali food was a big part of maintaining cultural connections and ties to our heritage. I didn’t think of it that way, but looking back, this was an intentional act that my mom was doing to help us remember home. For American food, it was more a source of curiosity and a way to understand a new environment. My first instance of American food was on the plane. I have this distinct memory of being served cake. I remember my mom saying in Somali, “It’s dolci, it’s cake,” and then me spitting it out because it was too intense and didn’t resemble the cake that I knew.

Exposure to American food was mostly through television and school lunches. At home, my mom would make American foods but with a Somali variation. If we wanted something like hamburgers, she would add xawaash spice mix to flavor the meat. So it would taste distinctly Somali, but it was a burger.

Read more

Special thanks to Jon Pacio for the video intro!

NEWS & EVENTS

AUSTIN:

• SXSW: our editor-in-chief, Caroline Hwang, will be speaking on a panel at SXSW.

  Print’s Edge in a Culture of Immediacy Panel

  Jennifer Prohov of Noema Magazine and Kyle Tibbs Jones of Bitter Southerner. Moderated by Vico Puentes from Tomo Mags.

  March 18th

Do you want to collaborate with us? Advertise with us? Do an event together?

Reach out! info@synonym-mag.com

Support us!

Fiscally sponsored by

a 501(c)(3) charitable organization

Do you work at a corporation that matches your donations? You can now donate to us and have your employer match the donation. Look for Tiny News Collective and make sure to notate Synonym Magazine!

A special thanks to those who donated to our giveaway: Cipota Coffee, Burlap & Barrel, Van Van, Na Sung, Our Lady of Shallot, Hecho by Caye, Masienda, Happy Organics and Newlin House.

Stay tuned later this week for the full video interview with Frankie and Abi!

For Asian Americans who grew up first-gen, it’s not unusual to have Southern barbecue on the table next to scallion pancakes or to snack on Yan Yans alongside Hot Cheetos. Influenced by that dichotomy of cultures, Abi Balingit and Frankie Gaw create wildly innovative takes on what food can mean, when your family’s flavors become your own.

Photos by Jennelle Fong

Prop Styling by Samantha Margherita

Special thanks to 99 Ranch Market and the Pollack Group

Halo-halo baked Alaska, strawberry shortcake sapin-sapin, ube macapuno molten lava cake—the recipes in Abi Balingit’s repertoire are a sweet tooth’s fever dream, packing Filipino flavors into traditional American desserts and vice versa. Her book, Mayumu: Filipino American Desserts Remixed, is as much an exploration of her cultural identity and the heritage that shaped her as it is the flavors she grew up loving and eating. Frankie Gaw’s First Generation: Recipes From My Taiwanese-American Home does something similar, so that culinary crossovers like lap cheong corn dogs and Cincinnati chili with hand-pulled noodles make perfect sense. Here, the two home cooks talk canned-food breakfasts, third-culture pantries, and making space for the in-between.

Frankie: So, where are you based?

Abi: I’m in Brooklyn. You’re on the West Coast, right?

Frankie: Yes, in Seattle. I’m originally from Cincinnati, Ohio. I went to college in Pittsburgh for design, then I was in San Francisco for seven or eight years, and I moved to Seattle three years ago, right in the pandemic. Do you live in Crown Heights?

Abi: I actually live in Bed-Stuy. I’m originally from California. I lived in San Jose, moved to Stockton when I was six, and then I went to UC Berkeley, graduated 2017, and moved to New York right after. Do you still feel connected to the Midwest?

Frankie: It’s weird, sometimes I feel more American, and other times I feel more Asian. But innately I do feel very Midwest still. A lot of my values came from living in the Midwest, just hanging out with my friends’ families and growing up in the suburbs. I think that shaped a lot of who I am today, both in terms of how I go about the world and my cooking. A lot of my formative years were based in this very Midwestern upbringing, of trying to fit in with everyone else, where I was the only Asian kid.

Because my parents were immigrants, our pantry was a mix of things they grew up with that they would get at the 99 Ranch, and then the things that I would want—all the processed American foods like Cheetos, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Gushers. It was very much a visual representation of the generational gap between me and my parents. Also, my grandma would live with us four months out of the year when I was a kid, so she would stock our pantry with so many dried mushrooms. I’d be trying to get my cereal, and I’d just see boxes of dried mushrooms. I was like, What are you dealing here? [laughs]

It seems like you had a really strong connection to your Filipino heritage, even as a kid.

Abi: Yeah, I felt connected to a lot of Filipinos growing up, just because it was a built-in community of people—my parents’ friends’ kids and then people at school. It was definitely easier to come to terms with, Oh, yes, I am Filipino first before I think of myself as American. But it is a push and pull. With my parents, there was more generational tension in life things. I remember when I was going to college, they were like, “Do you want to be a nurse? Do you want to be an accountant?” I was like, No. I still don’t necessarily fit all the boxes they would have wanted, but I just had to accept that. Moving away helped, and being able to be my own person outside of family has been so important to me. Do you feel the same way about moving away?

Frankie: I always knew I wanted to leave because I felt different, but it was never like I wanted to leave my family. When we immigrated, my family didn’t move to a single location; everyone dispersed. My friends would have generations—their grandma would be down the street, their aunt would be over there. And I always kind of envied that, like, Oh, it’s so nice that they have these big giant family dinners. I’m an only child, so I only lived with my mom and dad and a wiener dog. It was this feeling like there’s something more out there. I also loved watching MTV, so I would watch Laguna Beach and Gossip Girl and be like, Oh wow, there’s so much out in the world. And that, for some reason, shaped my perspective of what I wanted my future to be like—I’m going to go out to the big city, and I’m going to become somebody.

Abi: Do you find yourself craving specific dishes or foods when you’re missing your family?

Frankie: Yeah, totally. I crave very traditional Taiwanese food that my grandma would make for me—steamed buns with pork and cabbage. But then I also crave junk food, like McDonald’s. Whenever I’m exhausted, I just Uber Eats McDonald’s, or a Chipotle bowl [laughs]. That to me is just as comforting, weirdly enough. Do you have any sentimental, nostalgic dishes?

Abi: Yeah, I think about all the canned food we would eat. I don’t know if you ever ate canned corn beef as a kid. I don’t know why this is a Filipino thing—I mean, American occupation and all that. But it was a breakfast thing to have sauteed corn beef with onions and tomatoes over rice. And then we’d have Spam with fried rice, and insert whatever side of egg you want—fried egg most of the time. I always reach for dishes that are “easy” Filipino cooking. A lot of people think Filipino food is like kare-kare, these stews that take so long. That’s what you get at a party. People think it’s everyday food and it’s not, really. American-wise, I love Hot Cheeto puffs. I’ll dip them in cream cheese.

Frankie: Oh my God, I have to try that. One of the things I really admire about your sweets is that you are not afraid to incorporate savory pantry items into your desserts. Do you have a favorite?

Abi: Yeah, it’s funny, I just mentioned kare-kare—it’s a peanut butter oxtail stew with annatto seeds and fermented shrimp paste, bagoóng. I have a cookie recipe that is kare-kare embodied—a peanut butter cookie with a fermented shrimp paste caramel on top. It has the flavors of everything I love about eating that dish without having to make an eight-hour stew. Do you have a dish that embodies savory and sweet?

Frankie: Yeah, I do a Cap’n Crunch miso shortbread. I love Cap’n Crunch, but it’s very sweet, so bringing umami into the mix is a nice balance. I grind up some Cap’n Crunch, mix that with flour, and add pecans and miso into the batter. Then I roll the shortbread in demerara sugar and Cap’n Crunch. They’re these very salty, sweet, kind of nostalgic cookies.

Abi: Can we do a cookie swap?

Frankie: Yeah! That’d be amazing. Do you find that you incorporate Filipino pantry items and ingredients into American desserts? Or more American ingredients into Filipino forms?

Abi: Both. Because I grew up in the States, I know cakes and cookies and Western desserts very well, so it’s easier for me to translate Filipino flavors that way. Sometimes I end up doing the reverse, but there are some things I just don’t know how to do. We’d have steamed rice cakes, kakanin, and my parents would just buy from the store, because they’re so time-consuming to make. There are so many things that I have to demystify in terms of Filipino cooking and desserts, because I take it for granted that you can go to a store or bakery and get these things.

Frankie: What is your relationship like with the Philippines? Do you feel connected to Filipino culture?

Abi: Growing up, I only got to go twice to the Philippines. It’s just so far, it’s so much money. When I think about my immediate family, I think of my mom’s extended family who was also in the Bay Area with us. My dad’s family is more dispersed around the world, and a lot of them still live in the Philippines. So it’s a global identity. I love the Philippines. I wish I could be there more, but I’ve established a whole life here, too. I think there is a conflict; for me, at least. I am Filipino American in the sense that I definitely still care about what is happening in the Philippines, but there are certain ways that I don’t completely fit in there—people can tell a mile away. How do you feel?

Frankie: My initial relationship with Taiwan stems from my parents’ relationship to Taiwan. I only went back maybe once in my childhood, and I think that was because my parents, when they came to the States, they came with the mentality like, We are going to completely conform to American culture. They weren’t erasing their Taiwanese heritage, but they were definitely doing all they could to be as white as possible, basically. We didn’t talk about Taiwanese food or culture that much. I only got that through visiting my grandparents on holidays. They were the portal to being able to connect my identity on paper with my actual heritage. A lot of that was through food and the things they would cook.

When I was on my book tour, I would feel this imposter syndrome because I just wrote this book, it’s Taiwanese American, but I still feel very uncomfortable claiming that I’m an expert. The whole reason I wrote the book in the first place was to basically say that it’s okay to be in-between and not feel like you fit completely into your Taiwanese or Filipino or whatever heritage that you’ve grown up with. Especially as first-, second-generation kids who have grown up in a different environment from their families. It’s a complex relationship, but I’m still very proud of it and happy to be Taiwanese.

Abi: I feel that so much—the expectation that you have to be an expert because you wrote a book about the subject. Of course, you have to be knowledgeable, but I’m pretty sure someone in the Philippines can say more about the native produce and plants there. But it’s like, Okay, yes, I am Filipino enough. And I think about this a lot, too, of presenting Filipino and what does that mean? It’s difficult for me when people say, “Oh, you’re whitewashing our own food.” And it’s like, But I’m not white. I am American. I think that’s what they mean. But I hope the reverse is that people see that I’m just taking it in one direction and there are so many paths you can take your own food and your own culture.

Frankie: It’s really cool to see people like you and all these other Asian Americans really embracing this in-betweenness that we kind of exist in and how that shows up through food— dishes that blur the lines of Asian and American. I think it shows that it is a valid identity in itself, and that food is valid too.

Abi: Putting aside Taiwanese and Filipino things, you’ve lived so many places. Where do you lean in terms of American regional influences?

Frankie: A lot of my Asian American cooking definitely leans Midwest, like comfort food—chilis, corn, mac and cheese. My grandma on my dad’s side immigrated to Memphis, Tennessee, from Taiwan, so I have a lot of nostalgia for Southern barbecue too. On Thanksgiving we would have very traditional scallion pancakes and steamed buns and dumplings, but then we’d also have beef brisket and baby back ribs and green bean casserole. It’s such a core memory for me. The West Coast has informed my cooking in subtle ways, I feel like I never had a good vegetable until I lived in San Francisco.

Abi: That is so real. The Chez Panisse effect of farm-to-table is so Californian.

Frankie: Where does your American regional situation fit into your cooking?

Abi: Growing up in California, there’s such a big Latinx community—Mexican food, specifically. And the most mind-boggling thing for me in moving to New York is, the grocery stores are just completely different. There’s so much more Puerto Rican and Cuban and Dominican kinds of items. And that’s the thing: You just cannot homogenize anyone’s food and culture. It makes me think of the ways that I was introduced to things from [other parts of America] like red velvet cake—I remember getting it at California Pizza Kitchen. I think it’s just having an open mind about the people [you meet] or stories you hear. Even specific to you in Ohio, I made a Buckeye recipe with a Filipino traditional egg custard. I have a fascination with food that is so American. I’m like, What are casseroles like? I want to know. But the nice thing about living where I was in California was the globalness of it. That’s such a lucky luxury.

Frankie: I think that’s so special that that’s your version of regional American influence, the fact that in California you have access to so many different cultures. That’s just as American as the canned corn and green beans I grew up with.

ABI’S KARE-KARE COOKIES

Makes 36 cookies

Creamy peanut butter flavors these chewy, thick cookies. The dough is rolled in an annatto-sugar mixture before baking to give them a burnt-orange color. The centers of these cookies are filled with spicy bagoóng caramels, which get slightly melted in the oven, so you get a taste of sweet, shrimpy goodness with every bite.

Ingredients

8 Tbsp. (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature

½ cup creamy peanut butter

1 cup packed dark brown sugar

1 large egg plus 1 large egg yolk, at room temperature

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1¼ cups all-purpose flour

¾ tsp. baking soda

½ tsp. baking powder

½ tsp. kosher salt

¼ cup granulated sugar

2 tsp. annatto powder

36 Spicy Bagoong Caramels (see recipe below)

1. Position an oven rack in the middle of the oven and preheat the oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with silicone mats and set aside.

2. Place the butter, peanut butter, and brown sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Beat together on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, 3-4 minutes.

3. Mix in the egg, egg yolk, and vanilla until the mixture is well combined. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl with a rubber spatula.

4. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt until well combined.

5. Adjust the mixer to the lowest speed and gradually stir in the flour mixture until it forms a dough and there are little to no flour streaks.

6. In a small bowl, mix together the granulated sugar and annatto powder.

7. Using a 1-tablespoon cookie scoop, portion the dough into 18 balls and roll them twice in the sugar mixture. Place the dough balls on one of the prepared baking sheets, making sure to leave at least 1½ inches of space between the balls.

8. Bake for 6 minutes. Take the baking sheet out of the oven and insert a spicy bagoóng caramel in the center of each cookie. Immediately return the sheet to the oven and bake for an additional 3-4 minutes, or until the edges of the cookies are golden brown. Before taking the cookies out of the oven, drop the sheet against the oven rack a couple times at a height of about 4-5 inches to create outer ripples in the cookies. Transfer the baking sheet to a wire rack to cool completely.

9. Repeat the process with the remaining cookie dough and the other lined baking sheet until all the dough is baked. Store any leftovers in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 3 days.

Spicy Bagoóng Caramels

Makes 96 caramels

Ingredients

Nonstick spray

½ cup heavy cream

2 Tbsp. unsalted butter

¾ cup packed dark brown sugar

2 Tbsp. light corn syrup

1 Tbsp. spicy sauteed bagoóng (go for the sauteed shrimp variety labeled as ginisang bagoóng alamang or salted shrimp fry, not bagoóng isda, which is made from fermented fish)

1. Using nonstick spray, grease a silicone mold that has at least 96 square cavities. Each square should hold 2 milliliters’ worth of caramel.
2. Place the cream, butter, brown sugar, corn syrup, 2 tablespoons of water, and the bagoóng in a medium saucepan. Cook over low heat, stirring frequently with a rubber spatula, until the mixture reaches a boil, 3-4 minutes.
3. Clip a candy thermometer to the saucepan. Continue stirring until the mixture reaches 240°-245°F. This can take 8-10 minutes.
4. Remove the pan from the heat and remove the candy thermometer.
5. Pour the caramel into the prepared molds, using the rubber spatula to evenly spread the mixture. Let the caramel squares cool to room temperature.
6. Cover the mold with a sheet of parchment paper and chill in the fridge overnight before wrapping each caramel in a square of wax or parchment paper. Store the caramels in an airtight container in the fridge for up to 1 month.

Recipes excerpted from Mayumu by Abi Balingit. Copyright © 2023 by Abigail Balingit. Reprinted by permission of Harvest, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

FRANKIE’S CAP’N CRUNCH AND PECAN SHORTBREAD COOKIES

Makes 20 cookies

Ingredients

3½ cups Cap’n Crunch cereal

1¾ cups all-purpose flour

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature

½ cup granulated sugar

1 cup light brown sugar

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1 Tbsp. white miso

1 cup chopped pecans

½ cup demerara sugar

Flaky salt

1. In a food processor, finely grind 2 cups of Cap’n Crunch; you should end up with 3 cups ground cereal. In a medium mixing bowl, combine the ground cereal with the flour. Set aside.

2. In a large mixing bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer, combine the butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar, vanilla, and miso. Using a hand mixer or the paddle attachment of the stand mixer, beat the mixture on medium-high speed until it’s smooth and fluffy, around 3 minutes or so.

3. With the mixer on low speed, slowly incorporate the Cap’n Crunch–flour mixture until combined. Add 1 cup Cap’n Crunch and the chopped pecans, and mix on low speed until incorporated.

4. Remove the dough from the mixing bowl and divide it in half. Place one half on a large piece of plastic wrap. Fold the plastic wrap over the dough and roll into a log approximately 2-2½ inches in diameter. Repeat with the other dough half, and then place both halves in the fridge and chill for 1-2 hours, until completely firm.

5. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. In a small mixing bowl, crush the remaining ½ cup Cap’n Crunch into small pieces. Add the demerara sugar to the bowl and mix to combine. Transfer the mixture to a large plate. Remove the dough from the fridge, unwrap, and brush with water. Roll each log in the Cap’n Crunch–sugar mixture to create a crust. Slice each log into 1-inch disks and place the disks onto the baking sheets 1 inch apart.

6. Sprinkle with flaky salt and bake for 16 minutes, until cooked through and the edges have browned, swapping the baking sheets at the halfway point so the cookies bake evenly. Transfer the cookies to a wire rack to cool completely, then serve.

Recipe excerpted from First Generation: Recipes from my Taiwanese-American Home by Frankie Gaw. Reprinted by permission of Ten Speed Press.

NEWS & EVENTS

AUSTIN:

• SXSW: our editor-in-chief, Caroline Hwang, will be speaking on a panel at SXSW.

  Print’s Edge in a Culture of Immediacy Panel

  Jennifer Prohov of Noema Magazine and Kyle Tibbs Jones of Bitter Southerner. Moderated by Vico Puentes from Tomo Mags.

  March 18th

NEW YORK:

• We’re so excited for our interviewee from Issue 01: Pantry: Ifrah F. Ahmed’s new cookbook, Soomaaliya: Food, Memory, and Migration: A Cookbook, debuting March 24. New Yorkers, you got a real treat as Ifrah is reintroducing her pop up Milk & Myrrh at Rhodora Wine Bar on Wednesday, March 18th. Make your reservations here.

  

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