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The highly Instagrammable Neighborhood Ramen storefront beckons you to open its doors. Once inside, the laid–back order–at–the–counter setup and plenty of menu advice will leave you with a steaming bowl (or two) of ramen. You sit on the outdoor patio, surrounded by muraled walls, ivy colored bricks, and string lights, while enjoying pulsating music as you feast. Upon exit, one thing is for certain: You will be coming back.
Nestled on a tranquil, tree lined block on Front and Morris streets, Tonalli is the latest addition to South Philadelphia’s vibrant restaurant scene. In a neighborhood renowned for both its pizza and Mexican cuisine, Tonalli truly stands out. Co–founded by lifelong friends Odilón Sandoval and Israel Cortes, this BYOB skillfully blends traditional pizza recipes with the vibrant flavors of their hometown, San Mateo Ozolco, Mexico.
On any day of the week, you’ll find a line at CHICHA San Chen, and there’s a good reason. Their beverages won the International Trade Institute Award in 2021, a certification from the Michelin guide. Even on a chilly Tuesday afternoon, I'm waiting in line to get my boba.
Cookbooks and Convos is all in its alliterative name: It's a month–long docket of events that took place in the last month and celebrated food writers, chefs, and so much more around dining tables across Philadelphia.
What is New American cuisine? If we were to break down the phrase on its own, it suggests an offshoot of the burgers, hot dogs, and fries that we all know and love.
We are living in the apex of recycled media. From dark and gritty reboots like Riverdale to unwanted sequels like the upcoming Gladiator 2, most high–profile projects these days simply get greenlit with a specific audience in mind. This is probably why when Rick Riordan visited the Disney+ offices, it didn’t take long to seal the deal: Percy Jackson and the Olympians—a veteran children’s series—is getting its well–deserved adaptation this holiday season.
“I didn’t come to Philly to open a restaurant. It just kind of happened,” says Pietramala’s chef and owner Ian Graye.
For those of us who have dabbled in Philadelphia’s vast landscape of hipster coffee shops, the scene inside Baltimore Avenue’s newly opened Milkcrate Cafe on a sunny autumn morning wouldn’t appear at all surprising.
Why are filmmakers so obsessed with food? The past few years have seen a dramatic rise in the popularity of movies and TV shows set in the kitchen: The Bear, The Menu, Burnt, Boiling Point and The Taste of Things are just some examples. Why has this niche genre exploded? In this article, I will answer that very question and present my Grand Unified Theory of Food Film, a five–part theory as to why the Food Film has become so popular.
On Monday, Oct. 9, after nearly five months of being on strike, 99% of the membership of the Writers Guild of America voted to ratify the contract that the WGA negotiating team had reached with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers. With gains made for a restructuring of the residuals model in the age of streaming, protection from AI, and assurances about the minimum amount of work a writer will get for a certain project, the deal is nothing less than historic.
As a slightly homesick newcomer to Philadelphia in search of comfort through food, it felt as if everyone I asked knew what I was searching for and what the antidote was.
Wes Anderson loves stories. He loves stories about stories. He even loves stories about stories about stories. With his three latest films, The French Dispatch, Asteroid City, and the recently released collection of short films, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, Anderson has delved deeper into his fascination with storytelling and created an unofficial “artifice trilogy,” three films that explore why we tell stories and how we frame them.
In a Miyazaki film, time is granted to allow the characters to live.
To say “food is a love language” has become a one–liner spoken ad nauseam, but it cannot be denied that some foods truly do create feelings of warmth, comfort, and love. Filmmakers clearly understand food’s connection to love, specifically the correlation between eating noodles and falling in love. Captured countless times in some of cinema’s great love stories, these scenes showcase that the power of pasta and the power of love are not mutually exclusive phenomena.
Few things define Brazilian cuisine as distinctly as a love for steakhouses. But for me, a born–and–raised Brazilian, a “churrasco” is much more than a meal—it’s a culinary spectacle. In it, an array of meats is expertly skewered or placed on a spit, resembling a delicious rosary of flavors charbroiled to perfection. It's an art form unto itself. Over the years, I've enjoyed numerous churrasco meals with loved ones, whether indoors or outdoors, and it has always been a joyful celebration.
It’s a feeling every young person is familiar with. You just need to print that one resume copy before dashing out the door, or maybe get the crumbs off of your floor before your parents visit, or even just steam your shirt before logging onto a Zoom interview. Then you remember: You never splurged on a printer, forgot to ask that guy down the hall for a vacuum, or didn’t get that steamer your mom insisted you would need for college. And even if you had purchased these items, your cramped apartment barely has room for them.
In the basement bar of a theater in SoHo, Manhattan, on the third Saturday this September, sits an audience of 20. Or just about that many. In the dim purple glow of kitschy wall sconces and dying track lights, they sip vodka tonics and beer.
It's another day. The same day you've lived countless times over. You wake up at the same time, eat the same breakfast, talk to the same people, and finally collapse in the same bed to start the cycle all over again. The next day is, well, the same. It almost feels like you're living life in third person, a voyeur to the "real world," one of adventure, excitement, and newness. It's a world you're not sure even exists and you're definitely not sure where to find. But amidst the isolation and mundanity of our corporatized twenty–first century lives, you'd give anything just to see something truly brand new.
What does it mean to be kosher? How can our family recipes enter mainstream culinary canon? How much is a yahrzeit glass? Heck, what does it mean to be a Jew today?
The term “cult classic” can very easily be understood by breaking it up into its two constituent words: Cult and classic. Cult means that a given piece of culture only appeals to a certain group, and that these devotees rarely make up more than a small subset of the overall population. But classic means that for these dedicated few, the piece of culture occupies a very special place.
Solutions by The State News