Caroline Klocksiem has been consumed by shrimp, grits, and biscuits in her home state of South Carolina, Atlanta’s Krispy Kreme donut milkshake, Seattle’s Thanksgiving pumpkin cheesecake, cannolis from Ferrara’s in NYC, lobster rolls from the Williamsburg Snack Shack, eggplant parm at this little place in Boston’s North End that’s now closed, fresh tomatoes in Venice, gnocchi with walnut cream sauce in Florence, farm fresh Slovenian eggs, avocados and blue potatoes from the Guadalupe Market in Arizona, seafood stew on her honeymoon in Cancun, and her husband’s mint juleps in steamy Alabama, where she lives now.
More from The Journal
- Postcard Prose
By Kelly Hill
Trying to wrap my mind around living on a tropical island for thirteen years and never once seeing the ocean, I stumbled through my Indonesian vocabulary to say, It’s good. It’s big.
- Travel Notes
By Sandra Larson
A dinosaur dangles over my grandson at the Field Museum near a pink thumb that pops into the prom picture of my granddaughter dressed in strapless red leaving her house in Medina …
- Travel Notes
By Megan Hallinan
The bill in question is actually a 2,000 West African franc note, and it’s the equivalent of about four U.S. dollars. A helpful sum, really, but as I clutch the weathered crinkle in my sweaty palm, its value feels as dirty as the grime that is undoubtedly being transferred to my fingers.
to Egg and Berry brewery, to the pack / of Czechy words I made but didn’t work / in this pink town. I’d readily go back / to your best spots, the unfired gun, that perk //
By Jason Warren
And if the neap tides of my beauty / sadden him, I cannot help it: / I hang high, the waxy night light …
By Anastasia Vassos
Three thousand ancestors ask how I straddle / the sea, a foot on either shore. //