How well do we really know our culinary heroes? In The Essential Elizabeth Stone, Jennifer Banash offers a novel that interrogates the food and lifestyle industry, and the (in)famous women who present their perfect kitchens for public consumption. When the title character suddenly dies, her daughter Juliet must take over her multi-million dollar brand—only to discover that she didn’t know the whole truth about her mother or her career. If the Martha documentary left you clamoring for another behind-the-scenes look at a domestic goddess, Banash’s smart, sharply-observed novel is sure to whet your appetite.

As Alex Bleeker and Luke Pyenson (of the bands Real Estate and Frankie Cosmos, respectively) observe, we may think of music tours as fueled by the ecstasy of roaring crowds, but they’re often defined by time spent at the dinner table. As a result, the authors have compiled a fantastic compendium of food-focused essays from some of the world’s most beloved indie musicians. With stories spanning fine eateries and roadside dives, this volume features dishes that go far beyond hospitality riders of brown M&Ms. Tune in to Devendra Banhart waxing rhapsodic about monastic food in Japan, Sasami on soda bread served from an Irish country manor house, and Mark Ibold on the sorghum syrup at Lambert’s Café in Missouri, then build your next must-eat list right alongside your next playlist.

SAVEUR editor-at-large Shane Mitchell brings her sparkling prose to this essay collection on the iconic crops of Southern cuisine, each of them representing what Mitchell sees as “both bountiful and terrible about the place we all simply call The South.” From her ambivalent relationship with grits to the contested roots of rice cultivation to the tomato laborers of South Carolina, Mitchell has a knack for giving voice to the work and meaning of Southern cuisine. My personal favorite is her essay on okra, one that stretches across Indian, Creole, and Hmong farmers of the crop. Whether it appears sliced into egg drop soup, in a well-seasoned gumbo, or in a baby’s bowl, okra’s omnipresence reminds us, and Mitchell, that some foods bind us, for better and for worse.

For me, anything by Geraldine DeRuiter is required reading—her sharp, funny observations about food never fail to delight. In her latest collection of essays, she brings her wit and wisdom to stories of “food, feminism, and fury,” directing our attention to the countless ways that eating and freedom are inextricably linked. She expertly dismantles and exposes the patriarchy that underlies so much of contemporary food culture, calling out the pathologizing of women’s appetites, the lopsided labor of home cooking, and choosing baking over babies. Following in the footsteps of culinary memoirists such as Nora Ephron and Laurie Colwin, DeRuiter has honed a perfect recipe for the food essay.

Though she edited some of the most influential writers of the 20th century and guided many beloved cookbook authors to publication, editor Judith Jones has never been given her full star turn as a shaper of American culture and literature … until now. In this dazzling biography, Sara B. Franklin offers a nuanced, deeply researched, and impassioned look at the life of this groundbreaking editor. Jones not only elevated cookbooks to a new level of literary and cultural prominence, but also combatted marginalization and sexism throughout her career, demanding attention and resources for her authors and her passion projects. Every home cook is in Jones’ debt, and Franklin makes sure we know it in this incisive and compelling biography.

Though some think of food as apolitical, legal scholar Andrea Freeman knows otherwise, arguing that “since its earliest days, the United States has used food as a tool of social and ideological control.” Freeman considers food at the intersection of law, policy, and capitalism, and examines how it has been used to marginalize and subjugate Black, Latinx, and Indigenous communities, forcing sub-par foods into poor communities and framing non-Western diets as of inherently lower quality. By unpacking the historical construction of food inequality, Freeman offers a path forward to dismantling our toxic food system, asking us to “recognize and repair what centuries of food oppression has wrought,” so that we might build something new.

Chances are that your mother, aunt, or workplace bestie has already snapped up a copy of this book—and for good reason. Ina Garten is more than just a culinary celebrity; she’s a genuine inspiration, a model of female entrepreneurship and grace under fire, who started her career in food after decades of impressive but personally unfulfilling government work. Garten’s earnest enthusiasm for food—the work of it, as well as the fun of it—is palpable on every page, and her candid and empathetic voice is as warm and accessible as the recipes that made her a legend. Paired with an oversized cocktail in front of a roaring fire, it’s the definition of a cozy holiday read.

What do we owe to our appetites, and what happens when we try to ignore them? That’s the question at the heart of Lottie Hazell’s propulsive novel, Piglet. While its unnamed protagonist, an accomplished cookbook editor, seems to be on the brink of personal and professional success, the revelation of a personal betrayal sends her spiraling, and food plays a key role in her increasingly erratic behavior. While its descriptions of food are endlessly compelling—sticky-sweet croquembouche, burgers dripping with sauce, a banquet’s worth of Indian dals and biriyani—each meal becomes a harbinger of doom. In the era of Ozempic, Piglet functions as a cautionary tale against deprivation, and an essential read for our troubled times.

Food lovers all have our fantasy locales, those perfect places where we think we’ll become our best selves. For Steve Hoffman, that place was France, or at least the idea of France, until he relocated with his family to the rural southern village of Autignac. In the months that follow, Hoffman must jettison his expectations of perfection—of passing, linguistically and culturally, as French—and instead embrace the limitations of his knowledge. Yet as he learns to shuck oysters, forage for herbs, and shop for fish (mackerel for grilling, minnows for eating whole), Hoffman discovers that food offers the ideal medium for his reeducation, and for anchoring him in a new country, rhythm, and way of life.

As a former Smithsonian employee, I can tell you firsthand that curator Paula Johnson is about as informed an advocate for culinary history as you could ever hope to meet. Johnson collected Julia’s home kitchen for the Smithsonian National Museum of American History, and has a deep knowledge and love of Julia’s legacy as told through her pots, pans, and kitchenalia. In this beautifully photographed volume, Johnson takes us through each part of Julia’s kitchen, linking it to the story of her evolution as a culinary icon for millions of American home cooks. A masterful exploration of kitchen design, culinary biography, and American food history, Johnson’s book is a perfect gift for the Julia-phile in your life.

When we think about the groundbreaking women who wrote recipes, cooked on television, and expanded our appreciation of global cuisine, we should certainly be thinking of Fu Pei-mei. Though she arrived in Taiwan in 1949 as a young Chinese housewife, Fu’s passion for Chinese cooking transformed her into a national icon, shaping a generation of home cooks. In her new book, historian Michelle T. King draws upon not only Fu’s archives (her autobiography, cookbooks, recipes, and programs), but also on countless conversations with modern Chinese women who use Fu’s cookbooks for culinary guidance and cultural memories. Make space on your bookshelf for this one, a long-overdue look at a champion of Chinese home cooking.

In his latest book, chef and author Edward Lee writes a love letter to bourbon, and by extension, to his adopted home of Kentucky, where the drink is “our economy, our history, our livelihood, and our traditions.” Lee has clearly done his homework, offering extensive information on the bourbon-making process, from mash bill selection to milling to fermentation, distillation, barreling, and bottling. He also offers an expansive history of the spirit, notes on the natural landscape of the South, and regional distillery guides. Lucky for us, he also includes 50 original recipes that put the bottle to good use. (At the top of my to-cook list: pork meatballs in a bourbon-gochujang coconut broth.)

From Casey McQuiston, the author of Red, White & Royal Blue, comes your new favorite queer romance, set against the backdrop of a food-focused trip from Paris to Palermo. Theo and Kit, two childhood friends/lovers/exes, have both made adulthoods for themselves in food—Theo in wine and spirits, Kit as an acclaimed French baker. When Theo discovers Kit on the same tour bus as them, they question whether they’ll be able to focus on the flavors of the tour, or whether the taste of love lost will prove more powerful. Fun, frothy, and full of fantastic food descriptions, this is the perfect romance to pack for your next gastro-tourist outing.

Documentary photographers James T. Murray and Karla L. Murray know how to home in on a neighborhood’s soul. In their latest book, they go deep into iconic bars of New York City and, in portraits of 30 pubs, dive bars, former speakeasies, and ancient taverns, showcase the little details that make each so beloved by its patrons. No two bars are the same—from the mahogany balcony at The Campbell to the silhouettes lining the bar at Minetta Tavern to the always-lit candles that ward off ghosts at Parkside Lounge—yet each has a story to share. A great gift for your favorite New Yorkers, just make sure their favorite spot is in the table of contents.

In Bite by Bite, poet and writer Aimee Nezhukumatathil offers 40 essays on how she experiences food as history, both globally and personally. For Nezhukumatathil, vanilla is both a story about her children and about Edmond Albius, an enslaved boy who created the method for hand-pollinating vanilla that’s still used today. Lumpia is not just a delicious Filipino party food, but something Nezhukumatathil failed to appreciate when her parents made it during her awkward adolescence. A plate of waffles serves as a moment for a family gathering, but also as a chance to stave off the whys and what-ifs that come with parenting in the 21st century. Part memoir, part meditation, Bite by Bite will inspire you to linger at the table.

Though history might say that mixed drinks came from men working in bars, saloons, and gentlemen’s clubs, sociologist Nicola Nice directs your attention to parlors, living rooms, and home kitchens as the real crucibles of cocktail culture. In her study of more than 1,800 cookbooks, household management guides, and etiquette manuals, Nice excavates the stories of the women behind the Mint Julep, the Bee’s Knees, and many other cordials, punches, and possets that still shape cocktail culture today. As I read through Nice’s quaffable feminist history, I’ll be making the Suffragette, a cocktail so potent that “one makes a man willing to listen; two convince him that it has some merit; three make him a missionary; and four make him go home and wash the dishes.”

We’ve always known that Ruth Reichl could enchant us with her trenchant observations about contemporary food culture. But in her latest foray into fiction, The Paris Novel, Reichl steps into the recent past—1980s Paris—to tell a story shaped by first encounters with French cuisine, culture, fashion, and art. Beyond its fabulous food descriptions, this book offers a fresh format for encountering Reichl’s deep understanding of French culture and food, and even includes a side plot drawn from her days studying art history in graduate school. In short, it’s a quintessential Reichl read—richly detailed, dense with information and creativity (and ideas for dinner parties), and a total delight.

While many memoirs about food often focus on the comforts it brings, Emma Specter leans hard into food as a source of discomfort. In this memoir of disordered eating, Specter draws connections between the foods she binged on and the deeper cravings that could not be satisfied. As Specter wrote, “I ate—I eat—in order to temporarily anesthetize myself, to forget about my body … tasting nothing, feeling nothing,” but bingeing was also a way of aligning herself with an idealized form of femininity. Specter’s writing about diet culture may give some food lovers pause, but it’s a necessary and compelling read, full of sharp insights about the pathologizing, and eventual acceptance, of appetite as part of the human experience.

In this thrilling graphic novel from the award-winning team of Ram V and Filipe Andrade (best known for The Many Deaths of Laila Starr), a Faustian bargain for culinary knowledge is struck. When a rakshasa (a goblin-like figure in Hindu mythology) named Rubin seeks to achieve Bourdain-like levels of culinary fame, he teams up with a documentary filmmaker to help him chronicle Indian cuisine. As the rakshasa and filmmaker go on their culinary quest, the story of their film appears in narrated recipes, where the pull of chai between two tin cups, harvesting of mirchi chiles, and the tearing of naan in increasing detail, escalates the drama of the dish and story with each panel. Macabre, unsettling, and utterly spellbinding, Rare Flavours demands to be savored.

In this beautiful remembrance of Black Appalachia, novelist and poet Crystal Wilkinson chronicles the culinary knowledge of her foremothers in Indian Creek, Kentucky, tracing five generations of gardeners, bakers, and cooks through the time of slavery to the present. Wilkinson sees her role as one “who conjures up the kitchen ghosts of my rural homeland every time I cook,” and the dishes she prepares are as much ancestral invocations as they are personal reflections, honoring her ancestors for their commitment to seasonality, frugality, and commensality. In the grand tradition of writers such as Edna Lewis and Vertamae Smart-Grosvenor, whether you cook or read from it, Wilkinson’s story stands as a profound testament to the kitchen wisdom of Affrilachian foremothers.

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