“Lament,” by Adrienne Su

August 17, 2026We were never a family of food snobs.We barely knew what a food snob was.Good food was food you liked; taste meant partiality.The stars had blessed the neighborhoodwith a Po’ Folks, which later transformedinto Folks, then closed, but in my psycheit’s still there, complete with the Po’because I left so long agothat I confuse the dead with the far away.Thus, to me, my grandparents breathe.They relish fried chicken, sweet tea,and biscuits at a down-home placewhere I’m a kid, my parents middle-aged.I haven’t gone north nor betrayedthose beginnings. Haven’t turned gourmetor true amateur,and no one’s afraid to invite me to dinnerbecause I cook like an expert or order that way.Where do I lodge my innocent plea?Whatever I’ve learned, I’m still meand want to share a tablewith the peo