Here's my latest newspaper column:

Forget trendy seltzers and flashy energy drinks. In the heart of Appalachia, loyalty comes in a green bottle.

For over a century, Ale-8-One has fizzed its way into the region’s identity, offering a sharp ginger-citrus kick that tastes like home to generations of Kentuckians.

The story of Ale-8-One began in Winchester, Kentucky, in 1926. It was the invention of G.L. Wainscott, a soft drink bottler and entrepreneur who had spent years experimenting with flavors and studying European ginger-based sodas.

Wainscott returned to Kentucky with the idea of creating a beverage that was light and refreshing, yet still spicy enough to stand out from the colas and root beers popular at the time.

Inspired by the bold flavor of ginger beer — “spicy and hot to the palate” — Wainscott began experimenting, gradually softening the spice while refining the overall taste.

“He worked to perfect his recipe until he found it. The combination of ginger with citrus was just right: not too hot and not too sweet,” the company’s website explains. The result was a drink less sugary than traditional ginger ale, with bright citrus undertones and a subtle, lingering bite — a flavor profile that would become distinctly Appalachian.

At the time, naming a product was just as important as the flavor. Wainscott held a public naming contest and selected “A Late One” — a playful nod to it being the latest entry in the crowded soft drink market. Eventually, the name was stylized as “Ale-8-One,” and the product began gaining popularity throughout the Bluegrass region.

Today, most people simply call it Ale-8. The abbreviated nickname rolls off the tongue more easily, and the branding reinforces it: On the iconic green bottle, the “8” is bold and prominent, while the “1” is smaller and often overlooked.

Unlike national soda brands that spread quickly through franchising and aggressive marketing, Ale-8 kept its distribution tight. For decades, it was only available in select parts of Kentucky and southern Ohio. That limited reach gave the soda a cult-like status among those who grew up with it and created instant nostalgia for Kentuckians who moved away.

In recent years, Ale-8 has expanded its reach, thanks to increasing demand from fans outside Kentucky and a growing interest in regional, craft-style sodas. Flavors like cherry Ale-8 and orange cream have joined the lineup, and the drink is now available in more grocery stores and online retailers across the country.

Yet even as it grows, Ale-8 has remained dedicated to its Appalachian roots. The company regularly supports local charities and events, partners with Kentucky artists and musicians, and participates in community celebrations.

In many ways, Ale-8-One’s story mirrors that of Appalachia itself: rich in tradition, fiercely loyal, and quietly resilient. It has weathered decades of change, not by chasing every trend, but by staying true to what it is. For nearly 100 years, it has offered more than just a beverage — it has offered a sense of place and memory in a bottle.

Here is my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

Certain smells cling to memory long after they’ve left the kitchen: bacon grease popping, cornbread baking and apples sizzling in a cast-iron skillet.

Apples have been part of the Appalachian food landscape for centuries. European settlers brought apple seeds and grafted varieties to the region in the 18th century, where they adapted well to the mountainous terrain.

Unlike other fruits, apples were accessible, easy to store and highly versatile. Every part of the fruit served a purpose. Peels could be fermented into vinegar, bruised apples became sauce or jelly, and seeds were used to cultivate new trees.

Preservation was key to survival in rural areas. Families dried apple slices on string, canned them in syrup, or pressed them into hard cider and apple butter.

Frying was another method — using rendered fat, butter, or lard to quickly cook the fruit with sugar and spices.

This dish, now commonly known as fried apples, became a popular and efficient way to use aging or surplus fruit.

They were frequently served at breakfast, as a dessert, or alongside pork, which was a staple protein in mountain communities. Apples and hogs were both central to subsistence farming in the region, and their pairing was practical as well as flavorful.

Fried apples are traditionally made using firm, tart varieties such as Granny Smith, Winesap, or Jonathan, which hold their texture and balance the sweetness during cooking.

Cast-iron skillets became the cookware of choice due to their durability and ability to retain even heat over open flames or wood-burning stoves. This made them ideal for frying apples in large batches for families or community gatherings.

While modern variations may include ingredients like maple syrup, nutmeg, or lemon, the basic recipe has remained relatively unchanged for more than a century.

Today, fried apples are still sold in glass jars at country stores, served in diners across the South, and prepared in Appalachian homes.

They stand as a reminder of historical food preservation, agricultural self-sufficiency, and the practical ingenuity that defines Appalachian foodways. The continued presence of fried apples in kitchens and restaurants reflects the enduring value of seasonal eating and home preservation.

Even as food systems modernize, dishes like fried apples preserve the memory of a time when every harvest had to stretch through the winter and nothing went to waste.

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail.

“Greens” are often paired with tomatoes, cucumbers and croutons for a light lunch in many parts of the country.

In Appalachia, though, “greens” go best with a ham hock, bacon or fatback as part of a hearty dinner.

That’s because in Appalachian cooking and throughout much of the American South, greens typically refers to leafy vegetables that are cooked and slow-simmered with flavor bombs, like smoked meat, onions and spices.

Salad greens, like lettuce, arugula, or spinach are usually eaten raw and aren’t typically considered part of the traditional “mess of greens” in mountain cooking.

Some of the most common Appalachian greens include:

Collard Greens – Heat- and cold-tolerant, collards are prized for their hearty texture and deep flavor, especially after the first frost.

Turnip Greens – Often served with the turnip roots, these greens are tender and slightly peppery.

Mustard Greens – Known for their sharp, spicy bite, mustard greens are often mixed with milder varieties.

Kale – An old-world green that has made a modern comeback, kale thrives in Appalachian gardens and gets sweeter in cooler weather.

Pokeweed – A wild green that must be carefully prepared to remove toxins, poke is a controversial but storied part of Appalachian foraging culture.

Creasy Greens (Wintercress) – A peppery, early-spring wild green that’s beloved in mountain communities.

The tradition of eating greens in Appalachia runs deep, with roots in Native American, African, and European cuisines.

Indigenous peoples foraged wild greens like lamb’s quarters, ramps, and pokeweed long before settlers arrived. European immigrants brought seeds and methods for cultivating kale, cabbage, and turnip greens, while enslaved Africans introduced rich, slow-cooked preparations and the practice of seasoning greens with smoked meats.

For Appalachian families, especially in rural or isolated communities, greens were a critical part of subsistence living. They were easy to grow, nutritious, and adaptable to the seasons. Whether foraged or cultivated, greens represented a reliable food source through lean winters and long growing seasons.

Plus, they’re delicious.

In Appalachian kitchens, greens are often prepared in a way that honors their flavor and maximizes their nourishment. A pot of greens simmered low and slow with a hunk of salty meat is a classic preparation, producing not only tender greens but also a richly seasoned “potlikker” —the broth that’s revered in its own right.

Greens are served with cornbread to sop up that potlikker, tucked into savory pies, or combined with beans and onions for a filling meal.

Today, greens remain a staple in Appalachian cuisine — from appearing at markets and in backyard gardens to restaurant menus, where they can even be found alongside those other “greens.”

Here’s my latest column for HD Media:

Mountain Dew has long been the preferred beverage in Appalachia.

It has just taken on a few different forms over the years.

In the first part of the 1900s, “Mountain Dew“ referred to moonshine, the illegal, potent whiskey.

In the latter part of the 1900s, “Mountain Dew” referred to an electric green citrus soda high in caffeine.

Both, though, have deep roots in the Appalachian Mountains.

Bubbly Beginnings

In the late 1920s, a Knoxville, Tennessee, entrepreneur named Max Licht developed a brand new soda. At the time, soft drinks were rising in popularity as an alternative to alcohol and were even often touted as medicinal.

Licht’s soda was clear, like moonshine, but contained no alcohol. He playfully named the drink Mountain Dew in its honor.

“Mountain Dew” had been used for generations to describe homemade whiskey, often produced in secrecy in the remote mountains of Appalachia.

Do The Dew

The concept was revived in the 1940s when Tennessee beverage bottlers Barney and Ally Hartman created their version as a mixer for alcoholic beverages.

In 1947, the brothers began selling it to the general public. Like the earlier version, it was a clear and caffeine-free citrus soda.

That all changed in the 1950s when the Tip Corporation of Marion, Virginia, acquired the rights to the drink and reformulated the beverage with a sharper citrus profile, bright color and tons of caffeine.

Appalachian Affair

Up until this point, Mountain Dew was a regional product, primarily consumed in Tennessee and nearby areas. Advertisements played up its Appalachian roots and ties to moonshine. The company's mascot was "Willy the Hillbilly," and the label included a blurb touting its "flavors specially blended in the traditional hillbilly style."

While these campaigns were criticized by some for reinforcing stereotypes, they also played a significant role in increasing the drink’s popularity in the very region they parodied. Mountain Dew’s irreverent tone and bold flavor resonated with Appalachians, many of whom saw the beverage as a product that reflected, even if imperfectly, a part of their cultural identity.

Pepsi purchased the soda in 1964. While the soda went nationwide throughout the 1970s and 1980s, Mountain Dew simultaneously became increasingly entrenched in Appalachian communities. Its availability, and strong association with regional pride helped cement its place not only as a popular refreshment but also as a kind of cultural badge.

Flavor Of The Future

It is now the fifth most popular soda in the United States, with Appalachia accounting for a significant portion of Mountain Dew purchases.

In fact, Appalachia may love Mountain Dew too much. Some public health experts believe the soda negatively impacts the region's health and coined the term "Mountain Dew mouth" to describe tooth decay from drinking too much of the soda.

Regardless, Mountain Dew’s popularity continues to grow. Mountain Dew is a billion-dollar brand with a wide array of spin-off flavors, national promotions, and high-profile sponsorships.

And in Appalachia, the soda retains a stronger connection. From its tongue-in-cheek connection to moonshine to its place in our cultural lexicon, Mountain Dew’s roots run deep in the hills and hollers of Appalachia.

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mai:

In Appalachia, spring doesn’t just arrive—it creeps in slowly, teasing warm days before pulling back with a late frost.

The mountains drop signals of spring: the first daffodils in fields, birds chirping in the morning and forsythia exploding in golden fire along fencerows.

But the real herald of spring, the one that says winter has finally loosened its grip, is the redbud tree.

Scattered along roadsides and tucked into the edges of forests, redbuds light up the hillsides in a brilliant shade of magenta.

The best part? Those bright little flowers aren’t just pretty—they’re edible.

The Eastern Redbud (Cercis canadensis) tree is native to Appalachia and indigenous peoples have used the flowers, buds and seed pods as a food and medicinal source for centuries.

Redbud is rich in Vitamin C, antioxidants and protein, which made it a nutritious and beneficial addition to a healthy diet. The high Vitamin C content supports immune health, while antioxidants help combat free radicals and reduce inflammation. Additionally, the protein found in redbud flowers can contribute to muscle repair and overall wellness.

The different parts of the redbud each have a mild, sweet and slightly tangy flavor, and a crisp texture. They can be eaten raw, such as in a spring salad, or pickled with vinegar for a dressing. They can be steeped in hot water to create a delicate tea or made into a jelly to enjoy year round.

Tip: Redbud trees don’t have toxic lookalikes, but it’s always important to consult a local foraging expert if you’re not certain. And avoid trees that may have been exposed to pesticides.

Over time, redbud has remained a seasonal delicacy, often foraged by those who carry on the traditions of wildcrafting and herbalism. Today, chefs and home cooks alike unlock redbud’s culinary potential, incorporating it into Appalachian-inspired dishes that celebrate the region’s deep connection to nature. Its presence in modern kitchens reflects a broader revival of foraging and sustainable food traditions that honor Appalachia’s rich cultural and ecological heritage.

Foraging for items like redbud isn’t just a trend in Appalachia; it’s a way of life that has sustained families for generations. The knowledge of what’s edible and what’s not has been passed down through storytelling and lived experience. Appalachians have always known how to make the most of what nature provides, and redbuds are no exception.

It’s fitting, then, that they’ve quietly become part of our food traditions. So, next time you see a redbud tree in full bloom, don’t just admire it—gather a few blossoms and bring them into your kitchen. Add them to a salad, tuck them into biscuits, or try your hand at this simple, beautiful redbud jelly recipe.

Here is my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

Stuffed peppers have a long and diverse history, with variations appearing in cuisines across the globe.

The concept of stuffing vegetables is centuries old, and peppers, which are native to the Americas, are a popular choice due to their hollow cavity and bitter flavor.

Countries in the Mediterranean and Middle East stuff their peppers with rice, herbs and sometimes ground meat.

In Eastern Europe, stuffed peppers are typically filled with ground pork or beef, rice, and spices, then simmered in a tomato-based sauce.

Mexico’s chile relleno consists of a poblano pepper stuffed with cheese or other fillings.

In Appalachia, “mangoes” are used.

No, not those kind.

In parts of Ohio, Kentucky, and West Virginia, older generations sometimes refer to bell peppers as “mangoes.”

This unusual term dates back to at least the 19th century and has roots in food preservation methods.

“When mango fruits were first imported to the United States, they had to be pickled, since there weren’t any refrigerators. This was true of many other fruits and vegetables that weren’t native to North America, so many of them were also pickled,” according to Mango.com.

“Eventually, “mango” referred to anything that was pickled, which included green peppers. As the veggies became more popular, ‘mango’ just became synonymous with ‘green pepper,’ and it’s stuck in some of the midwest states.”

People mistook the term mango as the process, rather than the fruit, according to Lori Fogg, author of the food blog, A Coalcracker in the Kitchen:

“Some seem to think that this originated with coal miners in eastern Pennsylvania in the 1870s. The Pennsylvania Board of Agriculture referred to them as mango peppers in 1879, and the Ohio Board of Agriculture referred to them the same in their 1896 annual report.”

“Many old local recipes call for ‘mangoes’ when really meaning green peppers. In Cincinnati, in the Forest Hills School district in the 1960s and ‘70s, the term ‘stuffed mangoes’ was used on the school menu.”

Now, it’s less common to see the word “mango” used for green peppers in our region. But stuffing them remains a staple in Appalachian cuisine.

Like any good recipe that stands the test of time in Appalachia, stuffed peppers draw on a few key characteristics: local foods, hearty ingredients, preservation and practicality.

Appalachian cooking is known for making the most of what’s available. Stuffed peppers allow families to stretch ground meat by mixing it with rice or breadcrumbs, making an affordable and filling meal.

Even if it doesn’t contain mangoes.

Here's my latest column for the WV Gazette-Mail:

Creamed, chipped beef on toast, often referred to by the military nickname “S.O.S.” — a shorthand for “Stuff on a Shingle,” with more colorful interpretations in less formal settings — is both a nostalgic comfort food for some and a chided necessity for others.

This humble dish is made of thinly sliced dried beef served in a creamy white sauce over toasted or plain bread.

As a quick aside: What IS dried beef? Just like it sounds. It’s a form of salted and dried beef that is sliced into small, thin pieces and sold in jars or small packets. It is also a common ingredient used to coat a cheeseball.

The dish has roots in military mess halls. The dish’s affordability, ease of preparation and long shelf life made it ideal for feeding large numbers of soldiers.

The recipe appeared in Army cookbooks as early as World War I, but it became particularly associated with the lean years of the Great Depression and World War II. When soldiers returned home, they brought the recipe with them, embedding it into the culinary traditions of their communities.

For Appalachia, a region often shaped by economic challenges and a culture of making do with what was available, creamed, chipped beef on toast fits perfectly into the local food culture.

The dish can be made from pantry staples like dried beef, flour, butter, and milk, ingredients that were often on hand and not dependent upon seasonal produce.

In Appalachia, S.O.S. found a home as a hearty breakfast or dinner. The region’s labor-intensive industries, from coal mining to farming, demanded meals that were filling, affordable, and quick to prepare.

Families embraced the meal for its ability to stretch a small amount of meat into a meal that could feed everyone around the table. It remains a memory — for better or for worse — for those who grew up with it.

It’s a dish that tells the story of perseverance through tough times, creativity in the face of scarcity, and the deep connection people have to food.

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

The more, the merrier. At least that’s the case when it comes to candy bar components.

Marshmallow. Caramel. Nougat. Nuts. Cookie. Cream. Coconut.

The first retail confection to venture beyond just plain chocolate or another singular ingredient was created right here in Appalachia.

In 1912, the Standard Candy Company in Nashville, Tennessee, invented the “Goo Goo Cluster” in a copper kettle.

Known as a “combination” candy bar, the Goo Goo Cluster was the first candy bar in America being mass produced to contain more than one principle element.

The round cluster consists of caramel, marshmallow nougat, fresh roasted peanuts and milk chocolate.

The hand-dipped sweet was gathered into a mound, which bucked the trend of conventional rectangular or square shapes at the time.

Initially, the candy was sold under glass at drug store candy counters. Years later, the Goo Goo Cluster would be swaddled in tinfoil.

Due to its renegade shape, the Goo Goo Cluster was more difficult to wrap than other candies of the day.

But eventually, machinery was put in place to automate wrapping the Goo Goo Cluster, which is how they’re sold in stores today.

You’ll find the classic version, as well as two variations: “Pecan,” which replaces the peanuts with pecans and “Peanut Butter,” which replaces the marshmallow nougat and caramel with peanut butter.

While those two names are pretty self-explanatory, what about the original candy itself?

It turns out that while brainstorming a name for the new candy, one of the founders’ sons recently said his first words: “goo goo.”

That’s how the first slogan was born: “Goo Goo! It’s so good, people will ask for it from birth.”

The Goo Goo Cluster can be seen as a sweet reminder of Appalachian traditions, values and ingenuity.

It embodies the region’s ability to create something extraordinary from the ordinary, leaving a lasting impression on the culinary — and confectionary — history of Appalachia.

Here is my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

The quintessential Christmas cookie tray often includes peanut butter blossoms with the Hershey Kiss in the center, classic sugar cookies in the shape of trees and bells and maybe some peanut brittle for a mix of sweet and salty.

Peanut brittle is a smooth, flat candy broken into shards with peanuts embedded inside. It is buttery, crunchy, nutty – and will add some West Virginia folklore flare to your platter.

Much like how folk heroes Johnny Appleseed planted apple trees down the coast and John Henry raced a steam-powered drill, Tony Beaver – a giant lumberjack who lived in the mountains of West Virginia – brought us peanut brittle.

Tony Beaver’s adventures were created by the West Virginia “woodhicks,” a common term for loggers in the state from 1880 to 1920, according to e-WV: The West Virginia Encyclopedia Online, when they would try to out-lie each other during evenings in the logging camps.

Known as a cousin to Paul Bunyan, Tony Beaver was said to have been born regular-size but grew to 18 feet tall and operated a lumbering camp up on the mountain on the mythical “Eel River.” He was friends with two giant oxen, Hannibal and Goliath, invented both clothespins and match sticks, and grew jumbo-sized watermelons and peanuts.

During one particularly rainy summer, the Eel River rose to alarming heights, and the village people begged Tony Beaver to save their town from flooding. He loaded his giant peanuts into wagons and instructed the townspeople to shell and toss them into the river, while his logging crew dumped barrels of molasses into the water to slow it down. As the river churned and toiled the peanuts and molasses, it created a thick, golden brown sludge that hardened, creating a dam and halting the rising river.

After the weather returned to normal, Tony Beaver took a giant ax to the dam, shattering it into shards and creating the world’s first peanut brittle candy that the villagers exclaimed was “dam good.”

Another common origin story is one of a southern cook who, while making taffy, accidentally added baking soda instead of cream of tartar, creating the hard, brittle structure instead of a stretchy taffy one.

Regardless of how the confection arrived in the region, peanut brittle rose to popularity in the 19th century and gained traction in the American south where peanuts helped make the dessert versatile and affordable.

Made from sugar, peanuts, and a touch of baking soda that is carefully boiled, stirred and poured onto a cool slab, peanut brittle helps tell a story of resourcefulness.

In Appalachia, where families rely on locally sourced ingredients and creative cooking methods, peanut brittle quickly found a home. The candy’s long shelf life made it ideal for preserving a sweet treat during leaner months, and its simple preparation ensured it could be made even in kitchens with modest resources. By the 20th century, peanut brittle had become a hallmark of Appalachian kitchens, with recipes passed down through generations.

Recipes are frequently handwritten on stained recipe cards or remembered by heart, ensuring that the candy remains a link to past generations. Each bite carries with it the flavors of tradition and the pride of preserving a regional favorite.

Peanut brittle embodies the region’s ingenuity, using simple ingredients to create something delightful. It connects people to their past, with each recipe telling a story of family, tradition, and community - perfect for the holidays.

Here's my latest column:

Many are familiar with the well-known snack created in Appalachia that drew inspiration from the coal mining community.

Delicious. Portable. Perfect for a lunch pail.

But, wait. We’re not talking about pepperoni rolls — not today. Nope. Today, we’re discussing the MoonPie.

That’s right. The celestial snack coated in chocolate with a marshmallow center and graham cracker cookies all started with a coal miner.

“It all began in 1917 when a KY coal miner asked our traveling salesman for a snack ‘as big as the moon,’” according to the MoonPie website.

That salesman worked for the Chattanooga Bakery in Chattanooga, Tennessee, which had already been producing over 100 items at the time.

“Earl Mitchell reported back and the bakery obliged with a tasty treat aptly named MoonPie. It was filling, fit in the lunch pail and the coal miners loved it. The rest, as they say, is history,” reads the website.

Selling for just 5 cents each, the MoonPie was affordable and tasty. It flew off the shelves, and by 1929, hundreds were produced every day.

Over the years, the MoonPie became firmly embedded in Appalachian culture — from providing a taste of home to soldiers deployed overseas during WWII to feeding a generation of Baby Boomers growing up needing a quick, affordable snack.

Today, 1 million MoonPies are produced each day and have expanded to include flavors such as banana, strawberry, pumpkin spice, blueberry, mint, salted caramel and vanilla. They also come in double-decker size and mini size.

The snack also shares a cultural tie with RC Cola. The pairing of a MoonPie and RC Cola was popularized during the mid-20th century, becoming a working-class lunch special throughout the South and Appalachia. For many, this combination represented an affordable luxury—two classic items that offered a taste of indulgence.

MoonPie’s accessibility made it popular during economic hard times, particularly in rural areas where homemade sweets were often a luxury. Today, Moon Pies are still a common sight at gas stations, country stores, and festivals across Appalachia.

The snack has remained a staple of Southern comfort food, symbolizing simplicity and nostalgia for generations in the region and beyond.

Here is my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

Few drinks are as symbolic of southern culture as the burgundy soda found in convenience stores and gas stations across the region.

Cheerwine, a cherry-flavored soft drink, has been a staple in the Appalachian south for more than a century. Born in Salisbury, North Carolina, in 1917, the soda was created by general store owner L.D. Peeler amid a sugar shortage. He discovered he could use less sugar with the punchy cherry flavor and still deliver a delicious drink.

The effervescent beverage stood out amongst the more common colas and root beer sodas at the time. Though Cheerwine is named for its cherry hue and not for any alcoholic content, it gained immediate popularity as a refreshing, non-alcoholic alternative.

Cheerwine slowly expanded across the Appalachian region, spreading its cherry goodness into Virginia, Tennessee, West Virginia, and beyond. And in doing so, it evolved into more than just a sweet and slightly tangy drink. It became a representation of place and a point of pride.

And, its application evolved as well.

“In addition to being great on its own, Cheerwine is the most versatile soft drink around,” reads the website. “Our unique cherry taste does wonders for all types of food and drink recipes. From smoothing out hot wings to adding that great cherry flavor to brownies, the possibilities are endless”

Cheerwine’s signature sweetness and subtle tang complement a wide variety of dishes, from glazed ham to baked beans. In some parts of Appalachia, you’ll even find recipes passed down through generations that incorporate the soda, with cooks using it to marinate meats, sweeten sauces or even add to desserts.

But perhaps the most famous Cheerwine-inspired dish is barbecue sauce. The deep cherry notes are sweet, tangy, and rich; it’s a perfect match for many of the region’s traditional foods like slow-cooked pork, fried chicken and more. The barbecue sauce has gained a cult following and can be found in local restaurants as a wing flavor or paired with jalapeño poppers.

Cheerwine’s distinct flavor, history, and deep roots in the region make it a beloved icon in the region. For many in Appalachia, Cheerwine represents more than just a soft drink—it’s a connection to the past. Whether it’s sipping a bottle of Cheerwine on a front porch or passing down family recipes that incorporate the soda, there’s a sense of pride and tradition that surrounds it.

Here is my latest column for the Charleston Gazette–Mail:

One sweet Appalachian celebration is anything but cookie-cutter.

In the heart of Western Pennsylvania and its surrounding regions, there exists a unique tradition that brings the community together: the Pittsburgh Cookie Table.

Often seen at weddings, graduations, and other milestone celebrations, the Pittsburgh Cookie Table is the designated dessert option that is full of homemade cookies gifted from loved ones. It is more than just a display of sugary treats; the custom is a symbol of community, love, and the enduring power of shared traditions.

The origins of the Pittsburgh Cookie Table are as varied as the cookies that adorn it. While the exact beginnings of the tradition are difficult to pinpoint, it is widely believed to have roots in the early 20th century, brought over by Italian and Eastern European immigrants who settled in the steel towns of Pittsburgh and the surrounding Appalachian areas.

These communities, many of which faced economic hardships, found ways to celebrate life's significant moments without the need for extravagant spending. The cookie table became a way for families and friends to contribute to a communal celebration, each offering their own homemade cookies as a gesture of love and support.

There are buttery Italian wedding cookies and delicate ladyfingers to rich chocolate chip cookies and intricate pizzelles. Polish kolaczki, Greek koulourakia, German spritz cookies and Italian biscotti. This diversity reflects the culinary journey through the region’s heritage.

Those cookies are a mixture of family favorites, fun finds and creative spins. Each cookie carries with it a story—a grandmother’s cherished recipe, a new creation shared by a friend, or a classic treat passed down through generations.

The cookie table is an expected and cherished part of any significant celebration — often taking center stage, with guests eagerly anticipating the moment they can sample the homemade confections. Guests are encouraged to fill small boxes or bags to take cookies home.

In many families, the recipes used for the cookie table have been handed down through the years, often with little variation. Grandparents teach their grandchildren the art of making the perfect butter cookie or the secret to achieving the ideal crispness in a biscotti. These baking sessions become opportunities for storytelling, with each recipe carrying the weight of history and the warmth of familial love. It’s a tradition that encapsulates the resilience, generosity and character of the people of the region.