
Ellen Cushing
Staff Writer at The Atlantic
I write about food (mostly) for @theatlantic and my email address is [email protected] 🌞
Articles
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1 week ago |
theatlantic.com | Ellen Cushing
Katy Perry climbed aboard Jeff Bezos’s Blue Origin rocketship with a smile on her face. She held a daisy, in tribute to her daughter, Daisy.
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1 week ago |
theatlantic.com | Ellen Cushing
When the couples therapist inevitably asks, I’ll have an answer ready: The trouble began in August 2017, when my boyfriend and I moved in together, and I quickly revealed myself to be an absolute ding-dong at loading the dishwasher. I am not what you would call “precise” or “tactical” in really any aspect of my life, but certainly not in front of an open dishwasher. I lack the structural engineer’s mind for space optimization, or maybe I lack the functional adult’s patience to figure it out.
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3 weeks ago |
theatlantic.com | Ellen Cushing
A young woman is at a diner with friends, being stared down by a waitress with frosted lipstick and no time to waste. What she wants is a soda—but for whatever reason, she can’t bring herself to have one. Same with the girl at the pool party, and the one at the drive-through, and the one sitting in what looks like a sorority house, and the guy at the convenience store.
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1 month ago |
theatlantic.com | Ellen Cushing
Listen1.0x0:009:17Listen to more stories on harkWhen I was a child, in the 1990s, there was only one kind of salt; we called it “salt.” It came in a blue cylindrical container—you probably know the one—and we dumped it into pasta water and decanted it into shakers. I didn’t know that any other kind existed, and the women who taught me to cook didn’t seem to, either: Joy of Cooking, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and Moosewood Cookbook all call, simply, for “salt” in their recipes.
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2 months ago |
theatlantic.com | Ellen Cushing
In Blaine, Washington, there is a very special Starbucks. Like every Starbucks, this one has tables and chairs and coffee and pastries and a pacifying sort of vibe. Also like (most) Starbucks, it has a bathroom, open to anyone who walks in. The bathroom is important because this Starbucks is located about three-quarters of a mile past Peace Arch, the busiest border crossing west of Detroit, and a wretched, wretched place where you can sometimes get stuck in a car for several hours without warning.
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