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Jan 24, 2020

Frieda Caplan (1923–2020), pioneering produce marketer who named the kiwifruit

Frieda Caplan  was the “Kiwi Queen,” the founder and owner of Frieda’s Inc., the specialty produce company that introduced exotic fruits and vegetables including the kiwifruit, sugar snap peas, and mango to the U.S. Other unusual produce introduced or popularized by Caplan: alfalfa sprouts, habanero peppers, blood oranges, starfruit, turmeric, and hundreds more. Caplan was the first woman in the U.S. to own and operate a produce company. She wasn’t intimidated by the gender imbalance she experienced in her early days in the business: When she won an industry award for “Produce Man of the Year,” she refused to accept it until it was renamed “Produce Marketer of the Year.”

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Jun 3, 2019

Leah Chase (1923–2019), New Orleans chef perfected Creole cuisine

Leah Chase was the "Queen of Creole Cuisine," the owner of the legendary Dooky Chase’s Restaurant in New Orleans who fed presidents and made space for civil rights leaders to meet and plan the movement. She and her husband, jazz trumpeter Edgar "Dooky" Chase, took over his parents’ sandwich and lottery shop in the Treme neighborhood, and she used her background of working in French Quarter restaurants to build it up into a fine dining establishment for the black community in the days when New Orleans was still segregated. Dooky Chase was a popular gathering place whose prominent customers included the , James Baldwin, and , and wrote it into his song "Early Morning Blues." Credited with perfecting Creole cuisine, Chase was honored with the James Beard Lifetime Achievement Award in 2016, and Food & Wine magazine named Dooky Chase one of their 40 most important restaurants of the past 40 years. Chase was also an avid art collector with a notable collection of art by African-American artists, and her own portrait by Gustave Blache III hangs in the National Portrait Gallery.

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Jun 9, 2018

How Anthony Bourdain Taught Me When to Stop Being Snarky

I am writing about Anthony Bourdain while on the road in Maine, nestled near an oceanside cove of beach, plucking words out of a vineyard of sorrow while staving off the shakes from a lack of television. This is one of two acceptable conditions under which one may write about Anthony Bourdain, the other being next to a plate of food; nothing pretentious, something comfortable and with a bit of the finger lick, a salty thing if it can be managed.

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