Podcasts about your mama

It was really fun having Michele Norris in the studio. Michele is the host of the great podcast Your Mama's Kitchen and the founder of the Race Card Project. A respected journalist, Michele cohosted National Public Radio's evening news program All Things Considered from 2002 to 2011 and was the first African-American female host for NPR. In this episode, we talk about Michele's journalism career and what draws her to stories in the food orbit. Also on the show, we have a great talk with cookbook author and artist Erin Gleason. Erin is behind the best-selling Forest Feast series, and she's the author of a really cool art book: The Watercolor Feast. It's a guide to painting fruits, vegetables, and flowers, and it leads to a great conversation about Erin's career and why more of us should buy a set of watercolors and just paint. And, at the top of the show, it's the return of Three Things, where Aliza and Matt talk about what is exciting them in the world of restaurants, cookbooks, and the food world as a whole. On this episode: Bayou Saint Cake, potato salad in the gumbo at Parkway in New Orleans, I Leave It Up to You is a great food novel. Also: Sinners, taste testing the hot new “protein” bars of the moment, David and Hormbles Chormbles, Big Night's big expansion, and checking out Kung Fu Bros Dumplings on the westside of Detroit.Do you enjoy This Is TASTE? Drop us a review on Apple, or star us on Spotify. We'd love to hear from you. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Sharing another podcast we can't get enough of: Your Mama's Kitchen. It's a show about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Host Michele Norris talks to Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, José Andrés and so many other guests about the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives. And of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, America's favorite kitchen icon Ina Garten opens up about the tumultuous relationship she had with her mama's kitchen when she was a child. She walks us through how her relationship with food evolved in later years, thanks to her husband Jeffrey and a summer spent camping across Europe on a shoestring budget. Plus, we learn how to make the one dish Ina enjoyed from childhood: Chicken Parmesan. You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen at https://lnk.to/yourmamaskitchenHD To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Find out when it's worth splurging on kitchen gear and how to switch banks without losing your financial footing. What kitchen tools are actually worth the money? Is switching to an online bank really worth the hassle? Hosts Sean Pyles and Elizabeth Ayoola discuss the value of investing in high-quality kitchen gear and what to consider when moving your money to an online bank so you can make smarter, more intentional financial choices. They begin by speaking with Michele Norris, host of the podcast Your Mama's Kitchen. She explains how you can align your purchases with your cooking habits — without falling for social media hype. Plus, they discuss how to think about home kitchen upgrades, including tips and tricks on choosing the right knife or stove, knowing when to skip premium brands, and avoiding aesthetic-driven purchases that don't match your lifestyle.  Then, NerdWallet consumer banking editor Ruth Sarreal joins Sean and Elizabeth to discuss how to evaluate whether switching banks makes sense. They explore how to compare rates and fees, keep your auto-payments organized, and transition smoothly without damaging your credit or missing a bill. NerdWallet's roundup of the best online checking accounts: https://www.nerdwallet.com/best/banking/online-checking-accounts  In their conversation, the Nerds discuss: high yield savings account, switching banks, best kitchen appliances to buy, online-only banks, SoFi checking account, bank account switching process, best knives for home cooks, Vitamix vs Ninja blender, Le Creuset alternatives, when to splurge on appliances, budgeting for kitchen upgrades, online banks vs traditional banks, how to switch banks, ATM access with online banks, pros and cons of online banks, choosing a stove, best air fryer to buy, kitchen appliances worth the money, countertop appliances, instant pot storage, what to look for in a blender, managing multiple bank accounts, best checking accounts, how to avoid bank fees, how to transfer auto-payments, comparing bank APYs, personal finance for home cooks, financial planning for kitchen purchases, emotional value of kitchen gear, and sentimental kitchen items. To send the Nerds your money questions, call or text the Nerd hotline at 901-730-6373 or email podcast@nerdwallet.com. Like what you hear? Please leave us a review and tell a friend.

Cookbook author and content creator Sarah Ahn—best known for “Ahnest Kitchen” on Instagram and TikTok—takes us inside her mama's kitchen, a place you've likely seen on your feed! She shares her family's incredible story of surviving the Korean War, the secret to perfect Korean fried chicken, and how her 66-year-old mother feels about her unexpected rise to social media stardom.Your Mama's Kitchen is a production of Higher Ground.Produced by Sonia Htoon.Associate Producers are Camila Thur de Koos and Jenna Levin.Sound design and engineering from Andrew Eapen, Ryan Kozlowski and Roy Baum.Executive producers for Higher Ground are Mukta Mohan, Dan Fierman and Michele Norris.The show's closing song is 504 by The Soul Rebels.Editorial and web support from Melissa Bear and Say What Media. Talent booker is Angela Peluso.Copyright 2024 by Higher Ground Audio, LLC / Sound Recording copyright 2024 by Higher Ground Audio, LLC. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

British actor Lashana Lynch takes us back to the tight-knit West London community where she grew up and to her grandparents' record shop, which was the soundtrack to her childhood. She talks about the importance of bringing her Jamaican heritage to the red carpet and how she channels her mother's strength and discipline to prepare for certain roles. She also share her love for her mama's saltfish dish and why she craves Jamaican comfort food when she's on set.Your Mama's Kitchen is a production of Higher Ground.Produced by Sonia Htoon.Associate Producers are Camila Thur de Koos and Jenna Levin.Sound design and engineering from Andrew Eapen, Ryan Kozlowski and Roy Baum.Executive producers for Higher Ground are Mukta Mohan, Dan Fierman and Michele Norris.The show's closing song is 504 by The Soul Rebels.Editorial and web support from Melissa Bear and Say What Media. Talent booker is Angela Peluso.Copyright 2024 by Higher Ground Audio, LLC / Sound Recording copyright 2024 by Higher Ground Audio, LLC. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

The Queen Diva herself, Big Freedia, joins to talk about all things New Orleans. From making his aunt's Mardi Gras popcorn balls to coming out on his 13th birthday, Big Freedia shares what it was like to grow up on Josephine Street and Music Street. He'll also share what it was like to get that call from Beyoncé and how he brought bounce back to New Orleans after Katrina. Plus he shares how to make his mom's cornbread dressing.Your Mama's Kitchen is a production of Higher Ground.Produced by Sonia HtoonAssociate Producers are Camila Thur de Koos and Jenna Levin. Sound design and engineering from Andrew Eapen, Ryan Kozlowski and Roy Baum.Executive producers for Higher Ground are Mukta Mohan, Dan Fierman and Michele Norris.The show's closing song is 504 by The Soul Rebels.Editorial and web support from Melissa Bear and Say What Media. Our talent booker is Angela PelusoCopyright 2024 by Higher Ground Audio, LLC / Sound Recording copyright 2024 by Higher Ground Audio, LLC. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this rerun from 2024, acclaimed journalist Michele Norris talks to Mark about how she came to start her podcast, Your Mama's Kitchen; the standout moments in her (amazing) career; and how she preps for meals 30 days ahead. View this episode's recipe here: https://bittmanproject.com/recipe/michele-norriss-zucchini-bread/Subscribe to Food with Mark Bittman on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you like to listen, and please help us grow by leaving us a 5 star review on Apple Podcasts.Follow Mark on Twitter at @bittman, and on Facebook and Instagram at @markbittman. Want more food content? Subscribe to The Bittman Project at www.bittmanproject.com. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Sharing another podcast we can't get enough of: Your Mama's Kitchen. It's a show about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Host Michele Norris talks to Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, José Andrés and so many other guests about the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives. And of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, Late Show host Stephen Colbert and his wife Evie reminisce on their romcom-worthy meet cute, they share the food they ate growing up in Charleston, North Carolina (hint: lots of seafood), and some of the cooking hiccups they faced as a new couple in their first kitchen. Plus, Stephen teaches us how to make his version of his mama's fudge – a recipe none of his siblings can agree on.You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen at https://lnk.to/yourmamaskitchenTR Learn about your ad choices: dovetail.prx.org/ad-choices

Sharing a podcast we can't get enough of: Your Mama's Kitchen. It's a show about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Host Michele Norris talks to Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, José Andrés and so many other guests about the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives. And of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, singer John Legend takes us back to his roots in Springfield, Ohio, where he was an academic overachiever and a musical prodigy. John opens up about his early rocky relationship with his mother and how, over time, they came together to nurture one beautiful family. Plus, we learn how to make his mama's special mac & cheese. You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen at https://lnk.to/yourmamaskitchenRR Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Sharing a podcast we can't get enough of: Your Mama's Kitchen. It's a show about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Host Michele Norris talks to Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, José Andrés and so many other guests about the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives. And of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, singer John Legend takes us back to his roots in Springfield, Ohio, where he was an academic overachiever and a musical prodigy. John opens up about his early rocky relationship with his mother and how, over time, they came together to nurture one beautiful family. Plus, we learn how to make his mama's special mac & cheese. You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen at https://lnk.to/yourmamaskitchenRR Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Sharing another podcast we can't get enough of: Your Mama's Kitchen. It's a show about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Host Michele Norris talks to Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, José Andrés and so many other guests about the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives. And of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, Late Show host Stephen Colbert and his wife Evie reminisce on their romcom-worthy meet cute, they share the food they ate growing up in Charleston, North Carolina (hint: lots of seafood), and some of the cooking hiccups they faced as a new couple in their first kitchen. Plus, Stephen teaches us how to make his version of his mama's fudge – a recipe none of his siblings can agree on. You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen at https://lnk.to/yourmamaskitchenFT Learn about your ad choices: dovetail.prx.org/ad-choices

Sharing a podcast we can't get enough of: Your Mama's Kitchen. It's a show about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Host Michele Norris talks to Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, José Andrés and so many other guests about the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives. And of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, singer John Legend takes us back to his roots in Springfield, Ohio, where he was an academic overachiever and a musical prodigy. John opens up about his early rocky relationship with his mother and how, over time, they came together to nurture one beautiful family. Plus, we learn how to make his mama's special mac & cheese. You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen at https://lnk.to/yourmamaskitchenTF Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Award-winning journalist, story collector and teller Michele Norris joins us for a wide-ranging discussion on women, race and identity - and how we often learn about it and see it play out in the kitchen. We chat about the podcast Your Mama's Kitchen, The Race Card Project and the power of curiosity. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome back to Your Mama's Kitchen, where we bring you life changing stories from the childhood kitchens of chefs, musicians, TV personalities and more. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Sharing another podcast we can't get enough of: Your Mama's Kitchen. It's a show about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Host Michele Norris talks to Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, José Andrés and so many other guests about the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives. And of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, Late Show host Stephen Colbert and his wife Evie reminisce on their romcom-worthy meet cute, they share the food they ate growing up in Charleston, North Carolina (hint: lots of seafood), and some of the cooking hiccups they faced as a new couple in their first kitchen. Plus, Stephen teaches us how to make his version of his mama's fudge – a recipe none of his siblings can agree on.You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen at https://lnk.to/yourmamaskitchenMB Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Sharing another podcast we can't get enough of: Your Mama's Kitchen. It's a show about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Host Michele Norris talks to Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, José Andrés and so many other guests about the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives. And of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, Late Show host Stephen Colbert and his wife Evie reminisce on their romcom-worthy meet cute, they share the food they ate growing up in Charleston, North Carolina (hint: lots of seafood), and some of the cooking hiccups they faced as a new couple in their first kitchen. Plus, Stephen teaches us how to make his version of his mama's fudge – a recipe none of his siblings can agree on.   You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen at https://lnk.to/yourmamaskitchenMA Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Your Mama's Kitchen will officially be back next year starting January 28th! In the meantime, join Michele for a walk down memory lane in a very special episode of Your Mama's Kitchen. We'll revisit cherished holiday memories and beloved family recipes from some of our favorite past guests. You'll also get an exclusive sneak peek at some very special new voices to be featured in our upcoming run. Whether you're cooking up a feast or cozying up by the fire, this special is sure to add a dash of joy to your holidays. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In the spirit of the holiday season and all the time we'll spend sharing meals with loved ones this month, Hoda Kotb is sharing something special with you. It's a podcast called Your Mama's Kitchen, all about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Host Michele Norris talks to guests like Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, José Andrés, and more about the complexities of family life and how our earliest culinary experiences shape our lives. And of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, Al Roker shares his holiday traditions, new and old, plus tips on how to perfect his mama's oxtail stew with dumplings. You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen at https://lnk.to/yourmamaskitchen!makingspace

What is "real" Louisiana cooking? There's Creole, there's Cajun, and what's the difference anyway? However you define it, for many of us, it's simply what your mama used to make that made you feel loved. On this week's show, we meet three Louisiana authors whose cookbooks help tell the authentic story of our state's distinctive cuisine. First, we hear from Eric Cook, the executive chef and owner of two distinguished New Orleans restaurants: Gris-Gris and St. John. Eric talks about the evolution of our traditional local fare – many examples of which can be found in his cookbook, Modern Creole: A Taste of New Orleans Culture and Cuisine. Eric shares his secrets to success with dishes such as crab and shrimp stew, wild duck cassoulet, and even his mama's chicken and dumplings. Next, we welcome food writer and culinary historian Marcelle Bienvenu, who has reported on Cajun and Creole cooking for half a century. She shares her expert knowledge and talks about the fifth edition of her classic cookbook, Who's Your Mama, Are You Catholic, and Can You Make a Roux? Finally, for 125 years, Vaucresson Sausage Company has produced its beloved brand in New Orleans' Seventh Ward. In her debut cookbook, Creole Made Easy, co-owner Julie Vaucresson shares recipes and stories both from her illustrious family of origin and the family she married into. For more of all things Louisiana Eats, be sure to visit us at PoppyTooker.com.

What is "real" Louisiana cooking? There's Creole, there's Cajun, and what's the difference anyway? However you define it, for many of us, it's simply what your mama used to make that made you feel loved. On this week's show, we meet three Louisiana authors whose cookbooks help tell the authentic story of our state's distinctive cuisine. First, we hear from Eric Cook, the executive chef and owner of two distinguished New Orleans restaurants: Gris-Gris and St. John. Eric talks about the evolution of our traditional local fare – many examples of which can be found in his cookbook, Modern Creole: A Taste of New Orleans Culture and Cuisine. Eric shares his secrets to success with dishes such as crab and shrimp stew, wild duck cassoulet, and even his mama's chicken and dumplings. Next, we welcome food writer and culinary historian Marcelle Bienvenu, who has reported on Cajun and Creole cooking for half a century. She shares her expert knowledge and talks about the fifth edition of her classic cookbook, Who's Your Mama, Are You Catholic, and Can You Make a Roux? Finally, for 125 years, Vaucresson Sausage Company has produced its beloved brand in New Orleans' Seventh Ward. In her debut cookbook, Creole Made Easy, co-owner Julie Vaucresson shares recipes and stories both from her illustrious family of origin and the family she married into. For more of all things Louisiana Eats, be sure to visit us at PoppyTooker.com.

Harlan County - Jim Ford Hush - Joe South What's Your Mama's Name - Tanya Tucker The Seasons - Lynyrd Skynyrd Please Be With Me - Cowboy Ballad Of El Goodo - Big Star Cotton Fields - Creedence Clearwater Revival Flyin' Shoes - Townes Van Zandt Uncloudy Day - Willie Nelson Bet No One Ever Hurt This Bad - Linda Ronstadt If Love Was Money - Dan Penn I Forgot To Remember To Forget - Travis Wammack Big D - Waylon Jennings An American Trilogy - Mickey Newbury Me And Bobby Mcgee - Kris Kristofferson Changing Colours - Jim Ford Well Of The Blues - Jerry Jeff Walker I Walk On Guilded Splinters -Cher Smokies - Barefoot Jerry Long Road Ahead - Jim Ford

Listen for Dr Bill Williams' Weekend Weather Scale right here: Congrats on the tie for the Autographed Weekend Weather Scale Jack from Grassroads and Your Mama

I can't wait for you to meet my guest this week, singer and songwriter, Bill Abernathy. Bill started in the music world at 19, then shifted to work in the corporate world for 40 years and has come back around to music! Many of his songs are based around sci-fi and the political world that we are experiencing today. Tune in to hear his song Save Your Drama for Your Mama and if you are a paid substack subscriber or a patreon member, you can listen to his second hit It is What it Is Until It's Not. If you are up for a challenge, after you listen to both songs, send me a message at reenita.com/contact-us about the sci-fi connections you hear for a chance at a prize! IN THIS EPISODE: [2:09] Bill shares how he navigated the life of the corporate world and the music world.  [6:23] How did Bill find and build his audience?  [8:44] What does Bill think his audience enjoys about his songs? [9:46] Where does Bill advertise his music?  [10:35] What are the different types of songs that Bill releases?  [12:56] Bill shares the story about his song Save Your Drama for Your Mama. [16:13] What is the bonus Bill is offering to our subscription audiences?  [17:50] How can we change things aside from voting in today's world? [19:30] Bill shares a challenge for our listeners to find his science fiction references in his songs Save Your Drama for Your Mama and It is What it is Until It's Not. [22:41] Tune in to hear Save Your Drama for Your Mama.  KEY TAKEAWAYS: It is what it is until it is not. We have the ability to change the things that we don't like. Use your rights and freedom of speech to fight for what you believe. Don't give up on your dream! My guest this week started as a musician, joined the corporate world and came back around to music, it's never too late. Even music can be a type of fiction from non fiction. Bill writes his music based on sci-fi and politics. If you are a sci-fi fan, tune in to hear Bill's challenge to our listeners.   Subscribe to Reenita's Storytelling Den on Substack for free or become a paid subscriber to watch the video version of this episode and listen to Bill's second song, “It is What it Is Until It's Not”. You will also be eligible to receive other extras such as exclusive content from podcast guests, short stories, exclusive fiction and more! https://substack.com/@reenitahora  Or subscribe to Patreon for exclusive content! https://www.patreon.com/ReenitaFiction Credits: Written by Bill Abernathy Sung by Bill Abernathy  GUEST RESOURCES: Reenita Malhotra Hora - send your challenge answers here! Bill Abernathy's Website  Bill Abernathy's LinkedIn  Bill Abernathy's Personal Facebook  Bill Abernathy's Business Facebook  Bill Abernathy's Twitter  Bill Abernathy's Instagram HOST RESOURCES Website LinkedIn  Tiktok  Instagram  Facebook  Twitter (X)  Substack  Threads  LinkTree  BIO: Bill Abernathy has embarked on an exceptional journey, courageously navigating through the ebbs and flows of his musical and corporate life. Rising from humble beginnings, he has persistently pushed beyond the ordinary, challenging the status quo and dismantling long standing stereotypes. Bill's Latest Project "MORE", released in 2023 has had 3 #1 singles in the Adult Contemporary Charts. The Songs, "Hideaway", Call Their Name, and the title cute "More", have reached hundreds of thousands of listeners on various streaming and video platforms. In 2017, Abernathy's musical passion ignited with the release of his album "Find A Way," indelibly inscribing his unique signature on the vast tapestry of music. His pivotal track, "Goodbye Will Never Come Again," ascended to the zenith of the Roots Music Chart, signaling the inception of a truly extraordinary musical journey. Venturing further, his acclaimed album "Crossing Willow Creek," unveiled the hit "Cry Wolf," among other tracks that captivated international audiences, increasing his global reach. His deeply stirring track, "Who Are You, Who Am I," from his 2021 EP, earned him a place as a finalist for ISSA Song of the Year— an accolade that attests to his ever-evolving artistry. Abernathy's music has permeated the globe, amassing streams from countless devoted listeners. His authentic voice, genuine songwriting, and masterful storytelling have nurtured a long-lasting bond with his audience, carving a niche for him in the hearts of music lovers across the world. Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/true-fiction-project/donationsAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

For the Fourth of July:A. J. Jacobs, NPR contributor, essayist, and the author of The Year of Living Biblically, The Know-It-All, It's All Relative and his latest, The Year of Living Constitutionally: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Constitution's Original Meaning (Crown, 2024), offers his take on "originalism" by living like a "founding father" - tricorn hat and all.Tricia Rose, chancellor's professor of Africana Studies, director of the Center for the Study of Race and Ethnicity in America at Brown and author of Metaracism: How Systemic Racism Devastates Black Lives―and How We Break Free (Hachette, 2024), explains the interlocking and mutually reinforcing individual policies that disadvantage Black Americans and how to cut through.Ross Perlin, co-director of the Endangered Language Alliance (ELA) and the author of Language City: The Fight to Preserve Endangered Mother Tongues in New York (Grove, 2024), talks about the many languages spoken in New York that are at risk of disappearing.Michele Norris, Washington Post columnist, host of the podcast "Your Mama's Kitchen," former cohost of NPR's All Things Considered and the author of Our Hidden Conversations: What Americans Really Think about Race and Identity (Simon & Schuster, 2024), talks about her book that builds on the over half a million submissions to Race Card Project which invited people to submit six words that summed up their story about race.Michael Waters, writer, author of The Other Olympians: Fascism, Queerness, and the Making of Modern Sports (June 2024), explores the history of middle names, and what they say about our lives and our values. These interviews were lightly edited for time and clarity and the original web versions are available here:A.J. Jacobs Lives Originalism (May 8, 2024)Systemic Racism Explained (Mar 11, 2024)A Tour of New York City's Endangered Languages (Mar 21, 2024)What Americans Want to Say About Race and Identity (Jan 16, 2024)What's In a Middle Name? (Apr 3, 2024)

Get behind us soap! Today we are discussing Big Black Skillets but, of course, are not experts so don't @ us. After we discover the worst thing that could possibly happen, we get into some metallurgy before chatting with Special Guest Michele Norris about these kitchen tools and her recent projects. Rust rings, resurrections and hot oil massage all get their air time as we dismantle alien stereotypes and work through rough patches. Your Mama's Kitchen hosted by Michele NorrisOur Hidden Conversations: What Americans Really Think about Race and Identity by Michele NorrisThe Grace of Silence: A Family Memoir by Michele NorrisBROAD BRANCH MARKETMatthew's Now but Wow! - Better Living Through Birding, Christian CooperExtraordinary Birder with Christian Cooper Support Spilled Milk Podcast!Molly's SubstackMatthew's Bands: Early to the Airport and Twilight DinersProducer Abby's WebsiteListen to our spinoff show Dire DesiresJoin our reddit

Jesus asked this question, then answered it in the same breath. "Who's Your Mama" and your brother and your sister? Take a listen on this edition of Turning Home.

 This Week, for our annual We Put Up a Mother’s Day Episode a Week or More Late spectacular, we’re thinking about some moms that haven’t really gotten the spotlight. What’s The Question’s relationship with his mother? What about Doctor… Continue Reading → The post 432: Remy LeBeau, Your Mama’s a Pot of Gumbo! appeared first on Zero Issues Comic Podcast.

“Tell me about your mama's kitchen.” That's how Michele Norris, former host of NPR's All Things Considered, starts conversations with the likes of Michelle Obama and Matthew Broderick on her podcast Your Mama's Kitchen. So naturally, Dan turns the tables and asks Michele about her own mama's kitchen — and how those earliest food memories shape us. Then Michele and Dan take a call from a woman who's struggling with her mother's food choices since her mom developed dementia, and they respond to listeners' hot takes and food disputes, including from a caller who has strong feelings about cooked fruit.The Sporkful production team includes Dan Pashman, Emma Morgenstern, Andres O'Hara, Shantel Holder, Nora Ritchie, and Jared O'Connell. Transcription by Emily Nguyen.Transcript available at www.sporkful.com.

Village reunion turns steamy, fueled by erotic river sighting. by Kuntry yute. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. The rain burst out of nowhere, as it usually does. One minute the afternoon was bright and sunny, then the sun just disappeared behind a big dark cloud and the rain cut loose. No one was in the house but me, with Mama off to see her church sister. The rain was heavy. You could see it in the fat drops and the fast-moving muddy streams that turned the yard into a small riverbed. But the best part for me was the pounding on the zinc roof, as if the rain was playing a whole heap of kette drums at the same time. The wind picked up at times, lashing the large banana leaves into a crazy dance, like big, awkward hands flapping to the heavy rain drops. I watched and listened, content inside the warm, dry house. It was a good mood, like I could roll with the energy and rhythm and dance to my heart's content, or get a sheet and curl up in the big couch, to just rest or doze off.I had something else in mind though, and the first real buzz of anticipation and excitement coursed through my body, leaving me tingling and warming up all over, especially down in my belly bottom and my nipples. The sensation cooled off a bit as I thought about Mama coming home sooner than expected. She had almost caught me once, and I was saved only by the fact that she had left her keys and had to call me to open the door. She had her keys now, and the rain would mask any sound of her approach. But I wasn't going to be denied. This moment was too good to waste. The living room had a big window that looked out on the yard and provided a full view of anyone approaching, as long as the curtain was not fully drawn. I could enjoy the comfort of the love seat and keep an eye out for Mama; all I needed to do was turn it around to face the yard. I easily flipped the couch around, nervous excitement overtaking my senses and body as I imagined the delights just seconds away. I quickly washed my hands in the bathroom, pulled a couple items from my drawer and hustled back to the living room. I started opening the curtains and recoiled in shock and irritation. Someone – looks like a man - was out there in the rain, splashing up on the verandah and depositing a rickety black umbrella in a corner before knocking on the door. The umbrella was useless, on account of all the water he was busy brushing off his arms and legs. I stashed my items under the couch seat and opened the door, intent on quickly dealing with him and getting to my pleasure. “Hi Cherry” he greeted after a slight pause, surprised uncertainty in his eyes as he brushed a few droplets from his face. I figured he was expecting to see Mama instead of me. “Tony, right?” I responded with a smile. “Yes,” he said, grinning suddenly at me from his rain-wet face. My irritation was dissolving rapidly as I looked him over. I had glimpsed him three nights ago, the first time since he had left for university two years ago. Many people didn't go to university from this village, and people talked about him a lot, including his mother who couldn't stop boasting about her bright son. It was annoying, especially for someone like me that didn't make it to university. I wasn't annoyed now though. He was short and stocky when we were kids. He wasn't tall now, just medium height, about two inches taller than my five foot eight. The stocky look was still there, but more athletic, like he was a sprinter or one of those American football players. As a boy his father used to give him bad haircuts, and it worsened the look of his face which was already ordinary with the flat nose and large, almost bulging eyes. Nobody would call him handsome now, but he had grown up well, sporting a clean shaved head, with eyes that were sharp and intelligent looking, and a face that was strong and hard, like a thick chunk of cured pimento wood. His eyes moved quickly, up and down, just as I had done. But it was open and forward, the type of look that said he was not afraid to show his hand. He wanted me to know he was seeing me as a woman, a woman that grabbed his interest, and he wanted me to react to that interest. I was interested in him for real, no doubt about it. I had felt it when I saw him last Friday, that flash of sexual curiosity, seeing him all sexy and relaxed. He had looked at me quickly, followed by a smile of recognition and a polite greeting. I smiled back, blushing and hoping he hadn't seen the interest in my eyes. Now I grinned to myself, thinking how smooth he was then in the public place, acting all polite and decent, when he was clearly interested and just biding his time. There was a prickling on my skin, leaving goosebumps on my arms and my nipples felt like someone was giving them little electric shocks. My pumpum twitched suddenly with pleasure, a sweet, achy pleasure. I was shocked at the reaction in my body and suddenly my thighs squeezed together, as if to keep the feelings trapped down there and not affecting the rest of me, for fear he could see his effect on me. He was like a godsend, appearing as if by miracle, just when I was in the mood to frig myself with the weather and Mama cooperating so well. But with some effort I reined in the feelings. There was desire in his eyes, but I couldn't assume he was planning to do anything about it right now. “You here to see Mama?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said, after a little hesitation. “My Mama asked me to drop off this partner money, and I couldn't pass up the chance to see you.” “I see you develop some sweet tongue,” I said saucily but I am sure he could tell I was flattered by his words. “Sweet tongue yes, but truth too,” he said boldly, eyes lively with daring. “Well, it's good to see you too,” I said, giving him a little something in return, although I was warming up to him much faster than my words would indicate. He held out his hand, offering an envelope that bulged slightly with the contents. “I'll give it to her,” I said, taking the envelope. He stood there for a moment, eyes thoughtful, looking me over. I watched him, imagining the wheels turning in his head, figuring out how he should proceed. I waited, realizing belatedly with a touch of embarrassment that my lips were parted in anticipation of his next move. “You want to dry those clothes?” I asked suddenly, surprising myself with the question. “Could give you time for the rain to ease off and you can tell me about life in Kingston.” He looked at me sharply, surprise on his face. He looked down at his body with a frown, no doubt seeing and feeling the wetness in his shirt and pants. He looked at me, eyes steady, thinking it over. “Ok,” he said with a shrug and smile. “Do you have something for me to put on or am I supposed to wait naked?” “Not a bad idea,” I laughed back at him, knowing he was seeing the devilry in my eyes. “Don't worry though, I'll get you some of Papa's clothes. He doesn't need them anymore.” I found a clean set of pants and shirt that looked close enough for his size. It was far from perfect though, because he was shorter and more muscular than Papa. The shirt was tight across his chest and arms and the pants were snug in the butt and crotch. He looked funny and sexy at the same time. He went and sat in my couch, making himself comfortable while I draped his wet clothes on the warm grate behind the fridge. We talked for a bit, catching up on each other's life over the past two years. I felt jealous, because he seemed to be doing so much and here I was wasting away in the dead-end village. He surprised me though, by praising what I was doing. “Honey is a big deal,” he said, a little frown on his face. “You just need to scale up and get connected to the right distribution channels.” I didn't go to university, but I was always learning shit from free college courses and podcasts when the internet complied, so I knew what he was talking about. “Scale up needs money and time, and that's time I have to put in my regular job.” “Let me think about it,” he replied, then leaned back in the couch with a strange smile on his face. “I see you still go to the river?” “What?” I asked, frowning at him. I was perplexed as to why he would ask about the river. “Those days were exciting even with the hard work,” he said with a longing look on his face. “Remember how we all used to play after the wash? Hide and seek, catch crawfish, eat guineps till we couldn't walk properly…” “Oh boy,” I smiled, remembering. “Those were the good old days. Kids nowadays just want to play video games. No love for nature. We don't even wash clothes down there anymore. That life pretty much done.” “Yet you were there yesterday,” he said quietly, his eyes still on my face. “You were at the river?” I asked him, a nervous type of anxiousness spreading slowly through my belly. He nodded silently, watching me. It might not be too bad, I thought to myself. Maybe he saw me going down or coming up, not necessarily in the river itself. But his next words shattered my flimsy hope. “That big pool with the mango tree over it. I was heading for it, but just as I was about to climb down the bank, I saw you. I immediately thought of leaving but I just stood there, as if I had no power to move. I'm sorry for snooping on you but it was as if you hooked me right there, and the more I looked the more you pulled me in.” I was ashamed and angry. In truth I really didn't mind if someone sees me naked if I know and can make the decision for myself. But this was Peeping Tom stuff, him seeing me and copping a look without me knowing. “You were snooping on me?” I snapped at him. “Your fault for bathing out in public,” he said calmly, a little smile dancing across his lips, no doubt enjoying himself. It was true. I knew it could happen but figured and hoped no one would be around. I was dying for a river bath; to have all the water I need to wash freely without thinking about conserving water. At least I didn't bathe fully naked, although the flimsy slip was not much covering, especially when wet. “What was so enticing?” I asked. His reasoning had taken away my excuse for being angry, and I decided to focus on the exciting part of what he had said. “Everything,” he said, a faraway look in his eyes, faraway and happy. “I could just look at you all day, if you were just standing there in that wet slip, sticking to you like a second skin, you all curvy and sweet. But when you start to wash yourself it just make it sweeter.” I am accustomed to men telling me how I look, in explicit terms. This was different. It's amazing how two men could make it clear that they want bed you, and one leaves you disgusted while the other makes you wat to take off your panties right away. Tony was the panty dropping type. He looked me in the eye once more and shuffled around in the couch, trying to make himself more comfortable, maybe because the pants were too tight for him. Without thinking my eyes slipped down to his crotch and they popped in surprise when I saw the clear outline of his hood to one side. I was surprised but the achiness in my pussy ramped up even more as I imagined him without pants. He must have caught my eyes, and I am sure now that I wanted him to see me checking him out like that. His expression changed, his eyes boring into me, so intense that it was like I was not wearing any clothes and he could see all my nakedness and even into my thoughts. it was surprising to me how comfortable and excited I felt, all alone here with him. Somehow, he had put me at ease without trying too hard, just by being himself. It helped a lot that I was already in the mood to play, but he sure revved up my interest. It was strange. He wasn't really my type. He was this nice, book type, not the big-talking rude boys I tend to like, even though they were not the best for me. Tony was different in a good way from way back, and his time in the city sure made him a sexy, confident man. “So what exactly got you so spellbound at the river?” I asked finally. “All of you, but it was a different level of wonder when you started to soap up,” he said, pulling my attention firmly back from my thoughts and squarely on to him. “It was like watching you caressing yourself for my benefit, caressing and massaging, your body wet and covered in soap bubbles. And the way you did it…it was not just a chore, not just cleaning yourself. I could tell you were enjoying it, and that part was a huge turn on too.” “I love taking a bath,” I said, my mind all woozy with the beauty and sexiness of what he was saying. I always love poetry and he was speaking the sweetest, hottest verses to me right now “And I can't forget,” he continued, eyes glazed and slowly licking his lips at the memory. “You squatted down a bit, spreading your legs wide, and the slip ride up, showing off all of them firm, smooth thighs. And then you move that soapy rag up between them. I couldn't see exactly what you were doing, but I could see your hand moving in, way in, then slowly and firmly up and down, soap suds covering all of your hand, your upper thighs and pussy area. You keep washing, up and down, then around in little circles, then in and out. I managed to look at your face a few times, hoping you were not noticing me watching you. But your eyes were closed by then…as if you were in another world. Your body trembled then, vibrating…and when you opened your eyes you looked so blissful…the joy on your face was real as your hand moved under the dress. "Afterwards you waded into deeper water and sink down till the water was up to your chest. You bobbed up and down, rinsing off. You weren't wearing any brassiere and your breasts bounced up and down, so round and juicy looking with the wet slip plastered tight on them. I couldn't take my eyes off them. You were smiling at this time, a little smile, but a real smile…and I wonder how good it must feel to get such pleasure from washing your pumpum.” He stopped talking and I realized I was staring at him, my mouth wide open, hardly breathing, legs turning jelly. My body felt hot all over and I knew I was in heat. My pumpum was fluttering, steady and strong, like another heart was down there between my legs. There was a wetness too, warm and sticky, like a raw honey spring was starting to open up inside of me. “It was a good feeling,” I said to him, but decided not to mention that all that trembling and vibrating was me cumming. Maybe he knew and decided not to go there too. “And that's what has you running over here to see me?” “Yeah,” he smiled. “It was the exclamation point. I had seen you a couple days before and was going to check on you, but that just sealed the deal. I knew I had to come and see you” “And I am glad you did. You are just what I need with this rain pouring down out there.” I was shocked at how forward I sounded, but he had me feeling a certain way and I was in no condition to resist him, not that I wanted to at all. “I wished you would say that,” he responded, flexing his strong legs, spreading them wide, causing his cock to shift and stand out even more in the tight pants. He followed my eyes, then looked back at me. “Come over here. I want to feel what it's like to stroke your pussy the way you did.” The rain was still lashing outside as I walked the short distance over to him. I stopped a few inches from him, and he leaned forward, his face in line with my crotch. He looked up at me, eyes locked with mine, a little question in his eyes. I realized he was asking permission, even though I would bet he was picking up my sex scent and knew I was ready for him. I smiled at him and he smiled back, the question disappearing from his face. He was the man now, eyes heavy with desire and a lot of good, healthy lust. His wide nostrils opened up, like a jack donkey scenting the ginnie in heat. His tongue was out, slowly moistening the thick lips, moving slowly back and forth. His hands went around my waist and down to my ass, his fingers strong and possessive, gently squeezing my big, soft ass. I grunted as the pleasure build up some more. He looked up at me, satisfied with my response, then got bolder. His hands went under my dress and palmed my ass cheeks again. This time I felt the hard warmth of his hands on my bare ass, because I was wearing one of those thongs with just a little string buried deep between my ass cheeks. “You feel good,” he said softly, his hands busy, roaming all over my ass, fingertips finding and tracing the two dimples on my left cheek, then stroking all over, exploring me to his heart's content. “I like it, don't stop,” I encouraged him, leaning in to brace myself on his broad shoulders. He was like a rock, hard and firm, and I leaned into him as he owned my ass, kneading and stroking, then spreading the cheeks apart, so wide until I could feel my pussy lips opening slightly. “No stopping,” he said again, looking up at me. He kept his eyes on mine and I felt his fingers snaked under the strings of the thongs and slowly rolled them down my thighs. He carefully removed them from around my feet, then tucked them in the pants pocket. He flipped up the hem of the dress and his head disappeared from my view. He sniffed my pussy. Sniffed again, his lips so close to my flesh I could feel his warm breath on the sensitive lips. “You smell good,” he said from beneath the dress, his voice muffled but clear enough for me to hear him above the crashing rain. “It smell like good pussy.” He stood up suddenly and pointed to the couch. “Sit down,” he said, his voice all of a sudden sounding like a command. I quickly complied, body buzzing with anticipation. “Lean back,” he commanded again. “Make yourself comfortable.” I leaned back meekly, totally at his mercy. He seemed to tower over me, standing there, legs braced, his dick thick and hard in my dead Papa's pants. “Spread your legs. Put them up on the armrest. I want you wide open for me.” I hesitated a bit, but he was having none of it. “Just do it,” he said firmly, his bare foot nudging mine. I did as he demanded, lifting my legs up on to the armrest. The dress ride up all the way on my thighs to my belly. I lay there like that, fully skin out, exposing all of my wide-open thighs and my pussy to his eyes. And the doubt hit me hard as I lay there like that, doubt filling up my mind with negative thoughts, doubt that he would be disappointed. He didn't say or do anything, just stand there, eyes fastened on my pumpum, his mouth hanging open and breathing hard. He looked like he was in a spell, like the pussy put obeah on him. The doubt vanished and I smiled with relief and satisfaction. And I could feel the warmth spreading all over me again, starting out in my open pussy, like there was a fire growing down there, growing and spreading out. “What a way you like the pussy, ehh?” I asked him, although it was more like telling him. “Yeah,” he breathed, kneeling down and shuffling in between my legs. “What you like?” “How it's pretty,” he said, eyes roving over it. “So fat and juicy looking. The way you trim it low I can see all the meat. So plump and fresh looking. And the way it's opening up, showing off the sweet puffy brown lips and that wet, pink insides. Look at the clit…I can't wait to lick it good.” “Lick…??” He must have seen the shock on my face because he laughed and firmly nodded his head, making it clear he was going to do whatever he wanted. “Never get your pussy licked? Anybody ever eat you out?” “No,” I said, shocked and embarrassed at the same time, but the excitement hit me hard and I feel my pussy spasm, the hole opening and closing like the mouth of a red snapper out of water. He moved fast without any warning. One minute he was staring at my pumpum pulsing before him and the next second his head dive in and his tongue was swiping through my pussy from bottom all the way up to the top. It was electric, his thick warm tongue licking my wet flesh like he was licking his favorite Devon House ice-cream, when you don't want it to melt and waste in the hot sun. “Oh Jesus,” I moaned, shutting my eyes in ecstasy and my toes curled as the pleasure run through my legs, almost giving me muscle contract as my body tensed up from the sweetness. “It's not Jesus,” he said, talking directly into my pussy. “It's Tony.” His hands grasped my thighs and pushed them wider apart and his lips fastened on my clit and sucked softly. As my head threatened to explode his tongue flicked out and lashed the sensitive meat, swirling around it in little circles that drove me wild. “Rahtid,” I gasped. “it's so good.” “Lots more to come,” he promised, leaning back and looking up at me, his mouth glistening with my pussy juice. “Just lean back and enjoy it.” His hands were warm and firm on my thighs, pressing in, bending me back in two until my legs were pressed against my breasts and my pussy and ass were wide open, on full display before his hungry eyes. I could see all of it, between my big tits, past my rounded tummy and between my thighs. The pussy mound was high, like a little round hill with the trimmed bush barely hiding the meat beneath. The mound split, separating into the plump pussy lips that always stand out like two juicy sausages in my panties, so fat they were usually peeping out on each side of the panty. And right in the middle, above the deep pussy groove, was the clit, as big as my thumb top, standing up hard, glistening with his spit and my cream. He was in awe of my pumpum, but his eyes were everywhere, roving all over my body. I love my body, but I have this shame about some parts, like my tummy. His eyes were glowing, pure joy in them as he took in all of me. From my full breasts, over my belly, then down my quaking thighs then back up to my pussy, resting there, like it was the gold mine of his search. He licked my inner thighs, the soft, delicate flesh just below my pumpum, the part that kissed each other when I sit down or walk. “That sweet,” I said, trying to spread my legs more, invite him in even more. He licked again, a long, slow lick from my fleshy thigh up to my sex, stopping just below the fat lips. “I'm not playing with you anymore,' he said, eyes flashing up to me before returning to the business at hand. True, he had just licked my pussy, and I was now exposed to the pleasure of oral sex. But I wasn't prepared for the intense pleasure, the strange closeness and the nastiness that he was about to deliver to me, straight through my eager, creaming pussy. He licked me again, his tongue delving into the center of my pussy, slurping up my sticky juices, then licking the tender inner lips. "Oh God,” I moaned, as his tongue bored back into my hot hole and lapped me up, like he was drinking his favorite soup. He sucked up and down, drawing out the creamy cum, the sounds lewd and sexy all at once. It was sex sound, pussy sound, pleasure sound and my body and mind accepted and reacted to it, making my cunt even more soft and gushy, till the cream leaked out of me, running down the crease in my ass cheeks and on to the couch. “Eat out my pussy,” I coaxed him, my hand now on his shaved head, urging him on. He didn't need any encouragement, but the slurping got louder, and his tongue felt like a little cock, stimulating every nerve in my pumpum. “My clit now,' I groaned, arching up my ass off the couch, offering him all of my pussy. "Suck it like a lollipop. He did. "Oh sweet Jesus,' I bawled, as the heat and electricity exploded in my fat clit, sending the shivers down into my pumpum. He lapped me, the thick pink tongue gliding in and out of my pussy as it spasmed and spewed more cream for him to slurp. His hands left my thighs and I held them wide for him as his hands spread my pussy lips wide open and he dove in, his tongue straight and firm, digging into me like a hard cock. "Oh God, you so nasty,” I wailed as the tongue lashing put me in tremors. He didn't answer but suddenly I felt his finger sliding into my pussy and his tongue moved to claim my clit. He fucked me slowly with his finger, sinking all the way in then stroking firmly on the way out, teasing and exciting my pussy as no one had ever done before. He sucked and licked my clit at the same time, making me bawl with the twin pleasure. The rain thundered on the roof, matching my wails, and I felt a huge pressure building up inside me, way down in the depths of my cunt. It started to vibrate, big waves of delight rolling out with each lick and each finger fuck stroke. My body was trembling too, shaking in a frenzy. I gripped his head again, mashing his face into my cum plastered pussy and my thighs closed around his shoulders, squeezing and pressing him into me, as if I wanted his entire body to fuck my overstimulated pussy “Come for me now,' he ordered, screwing me with two fingers now, his lips and tongue going back to my clit, abusing it with delicious swirls and licks. My pussy was on fire, thanks to this grown up country nerd and I bellowed in the rain, cross-eyed and delirious from the pleasure attack. "Come for me,” he commanded again. “Give it up gal. Make this fat pussy buss in my mouth.” It was too sweet. And the rough, in-charge patois pushed me over the edge. The spasm hit like a big earthquake and the pussy erupted. The ecstasy washed over me, and I bucked up into him, bawling with every bolt of pleasure. He stayed with me, holding me in place, his lips and tongue working on my heated clit, keeping the pleasure going as my juices flowed like ripe honey, coating his lips and chin. Finally it slowed down, and I relaxed back into the couch, the seat warm and sticky beneath me. He moved his mouth off my pussy and leaned in over me, a pleased puss smile on his face. He was plastered in cum, and I could see a small piece of pussy hair sticking to his lip. I gently removed it and showed it to him, and we laughed out loud. Suddenly I heard the hurried footsteps out back and I looked at Tony in shock and worry. He heard it too, a questioning look on his face. I moved quickly, no time to think about a big plan. “Go hide under the bed in there,” I instructed, pointing in the direction of my bedroom. “take your shoes with you.” His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't question me, just did as I said. I straightened out my dress, looked around for my panties and recalled that Tony had put them in the pants pocket. I pushed the couch back in its right spot and cringed at the wet spot on it. I didn't have time to come up with a solution because the door rattled for a second or two then burst open as Mama rushed in, dripping rainwater. “You all wet,” I said. “Let me get you a towel.” “It's ok,” she replied. “I'll dry off after I get some food stuff at the shop. I just stopped to drop off my handbag and a few things. Thought of sending you but I need to pick out some things myself.” I breathed a big sigh of relief and waited in suspense, hoping Tony would keep quiet and out of sight. “It smell a little funny in here,” Mama frowned, nose sniffing the air. I knew what it was, and it was all over me and on the couch, like an irresistible perfume. “Might be the saltfish?” I asked innocently, gesturing towards the pot that contained the salted cod that was soaking in the water, in preparation for cooking. “Hmm,” she said doubtfully. “Must be a different type of saltfish that. It really smell high this time. Anyway, let me go get these things and come back. Start boil the saltfish.” She left the way she came in and when she got to the front of the house I watched her, peeking out through a small gap between the curtain and the wall. I waited until she was out the yard and up to the street, then watched some more until she disappeared around the corner. “You can come out now,” I called out to Tony. He was out in no time, a look of relief on his face and I could tell he was dying to laugh as well. “That was close, eh? You think really fast on your feet. What if there was no saltfish on the stove?” “I'd have to come up with something I guess,” I said, laughing at him. I switched the water in the pot and turned on the stove. We stood in silence for a bit, smiling at each other, eyes communicating the same message of delight over what we just did. But then his eyes roamed my body once more and grew sharp with desire. I looked at him, mouth going dry as I picked up his intention. My pussy clenched at the realization and I shivered with the thought of what he wanted to do to me. “You want to fuck me?” I asked slowly. “Yeah,” he nodded, moving in and kissing me. It was a long, deep kiss, and I tasted me in the kiss. I could tell he wanted me to taste it because he licked me all over, sucking in my wetness and giving me his, mingling everything together for us to enjoy as we greedily licked and sucked each other's lips and tongue. His hands palmed my ass once more and crushed me against him so that his hard cock rubbed against my lower belly, just above my pussy mound. He dipped slightly until it was pressed firmly against my sex. He rubbed against me like that and I felt him everywhere; his tongue deep in my mouth, hard chest stimulating my hard nipples, his hands spreading my ass cheeks and his cock exciting my pussy. “A going to fuck you now before your mother come back. Come over here.” He stripped off quickly and stood before me naked. I took my time. In the back of my head I knew we didn't have a lot of time and I needed him to dick me down good, but I took my time. He was fine. His body was hard from years of hard country work and developing bigger and harder, most likely from sports or the gym. His cock was a magnet. Even as I drank in his entire body I was tracking it from the corner of my eyes. It was there in shadowy form, but very real in the unmistakable bulk and the slight bobbing as he rocked back and forth on his heels. I looked at it now, fully giving it all my attention. It was not long but thick and heavy looking, very much like him, the skin smooth and tight, with a big vein running from top to bottom. He was circumcised, and the bulby head was extra smooth and shiny, as if it was polished with the greatest care. “I want to touch it,” I heard myself say. It wasn't my first cock by a long shot, but it had me in a trance, making me act like a spellbound virgin. “Say please,” he said, voice so firm I looked at him in surprise. “Say please,” he said again, eyes staring me down. “Please,” I said, my voice suddenly meek and soft, wondering how this man was bossing me around in my own house. “Get down on your knees.” Anger started to well up in me, but he moved into me, his eyes no more than two inches from mine. He was intense and in charge, suddenly reminding me of the big mongrel stalking the bitch in heat, knowing she was at his mercy. He knew I wanted him badly, and he was taking advantage of it to control me now. He saw the surrender in my eyes and his eyes blazed with the knowledge of the full conquest. His hands were on my shoulders, gentle but firm at the same time. I went down to my knees, the floor hard beneath them. I stared at his thigs, firm and strong like the mahogany tree trunk. His cock swayed between them, capturing my attention once more. I took it in my hands, cupping it, amazed at the heaviness and the heat radiating from it, thinking how it would easily fill up my pussy and heat it up. I caressed it slowly with my fingers, loving the smooth, silky feel, then closing my eyes and tracing the vein, enjoying the ridged feel. He inhaled suddenly and I looked up to see the look of pleasure on his face and it filled me with satisfaction that I could affect him like that. I circled the shiny head and he inhaled and grunted when my fingertip brushed the wide-open pee hole. “That's good,” he groaned, his thighs trembling with tension, as if he was in some sort of torture, which I guess he was, but the good type. I had never done it before and had no plans to do so but I took his cock in my mouth. His reaction had me charged up now, and the hood was so pretty and scary looking at the same time that I must have lost my mind and gave into whatever erotic message my pussy was sending. “Oh God,” he moaned, as I took the fat head in and let my saliva cover it. I sucked him softly, knowing that his dick head was bound to be super sensitive. “Yeah, I like that,” he grunted, his hips swinging forward to push some more dick into my mouth. I gently braced against his thighs to stop him from choking me and I licked him good, getting the head sloppy and wet and excited. “You suck cock good,” he mumbled, his hands firm on my shoulders as he slowly fucked my mouth with just the cock head. “But a not cumming like this. A going to fuck you. Get up.” I got up quickly and he flipped me around and guided me up on the couch, spreading my thighs as wide as they could go. He rolled up my dress until my ass and back were bare and my breasts hang exposed, brushing slightly against the backrest. I grabbed a hold of the couch and looked back at him, eager to see him preparing to fuck me. He was ready. His eyes were firmly planted on my swaying ass cheeks, then traveling down to stare at my wide-open lips and cum soaked pussy. His right hand was on my waist, steadying my body, and his left hand palmed the dick that looked really hard and fat now. I shivered in anticipation and my body vibrated with pleasure when the blunt head creased my waiting pussy lips. I kept my eyes on him and he looked me in the eyes as he slowly fed the thick hood into my pussy. The head stuck for a brief moment and I felt his fullness then, giving my soft, plump lips a good stretch before popping in. I felt the immediate relief and the sweetness, but he did not give me any time to rest. He lunged forward in one smooth motion and buried the cock all the way in my pussy. I took him like a champion, and the wet pussy squelched and farted when he bottomed out. He leaned in and his hands circled me, one high around my breasts and the other low, his forearm keeping me tight against him as his fingers and palm cupped my pussy mound. “We going to fuck now,” he whispered in my ears, and then he was hitting it hard. The couch rocked and the rain fell in a soft drizzle, barely audible on the roof as he screwed into me, every stroke churning my cream and filling the room with the sound of good fucking. “Give it to me good,” I begged him, slamming back on to his strokes. “Take it,' he ordered, pulling me in tighter and rabbit fucked me so hard that my pussy was creaming nonstop and his balls were slapping good against my clit as my insides burned with the sweetness. "Fuck me, you fucker,” I cried, fingers digging into the couch for dear life as he stroked me good. “I bet you dying for this pussy, huh?” “Oh yes,” he grunted. “I never dreamt it would happen for real, so I am a lucky man.” “I am lucky too,” I said, screwing my ass and squealing in delight as the fucking felt sweeter with the new motion. “You can fuck,” he said with admiration. “I love that. Love when a woman show that she love the sex.” “You good too,” I groaned, as he slowed down and sink it deep into me, the big vein rubbing and stimulating my steamy pussy. “I could fuck you all day and night but a want you to cum and your Mama soon come back.” He shifted behind me, climbing up on the couch, crouching over me like a male lion, his feet outside my legs, his hard, wet cock bobbing against my puffy labia. His left hand was now lower on my pussy, fingers over the lips, his other hand on my shoulder. He slid into me, gliding in easily, his cock soaked in my juices. I felt the difference when he picked up the speed, the cock hitting different, raking more against the front part of my pussy. He got into a steady rhythm and I rested on the couch and closed my eyes as my pussy hummed once more under the relentless dicking. “I love it,” I whispered, almost to myself. “You have good pussy,” he whispered back. “And I am owning it, ok?” He fucked me, over and over and I wailed into the lazy drizzle as my pussy voiced its pleasure with wet, sucking sounds. “Your Mama is coming,' he said. Panic surged in me and I glanced out the window. She was coming for real, hustling in the light drizzle. "You have 30 seconds to cum,” he said. “So that we will have time to clean up enough. Come with me.” He quickened the pace, his cock pumping into me in earnest, causing the juice to fly out of my pussy and wetting up my thighs. His finger found my clit, stroking it and giving me even more pleasure. I rocked with him, skewering my pussy on his hard cock, loving the delicious ache as she pounded my pussy. I stared out, anxiety mounting as I saw Mama coming closer and closer. And the exquisite sensations in my pussy grew and grew until I was shaking all over in ecstasy. I felt his cock pulsed in me, like a drumbeat. It pulsed again, harder this time, and with each stroke it vibrated even more until the extra stimulation was too much to bear. My pussy quaked, tremored, pulsed…and then it exploded. “Oh Jesus, I am coming,” I wailed. “Good,” he grunted, his strokes harder and shorter now, his fingers delivering mind numbing pleasure to my clit as I gushed on his dick. “I'm coming now,” he warned, and his cock pulsed powerfully in the middle of my orgasm, and I felt the gush of semen as he filled me up. He fucked me through it, and I held him tight to me, enjoying the feel of his cock vibrating in my clasping pussy as his seed swirled in me. There wasn't much room for it and it soon leaked out on to my vulva. I wanted to stay there and savor it, revel in the sweet nastiness but Mama was less than two minutes away. “Let's clean up,” I said, shuffling beneath him. He backed away carefully, his cock making an audible pop as it left my pussy. I suddenly felt the emptiness and wished I could sink back on to him, but had to use common sense. We cleaned up quickly, fixing up as best as possible. The scent of well fucked pussy hung heavy in the air, and I panicked again at the thought of Mama walking into it. But relief washed over me a second later, rolling in on the pungent aroma of boiling saltfish. I opened the door, casually looking out as I let in fresh air to help freshen the room. “Tony!” Mama gushed as soon as she set eyes on him. “What a pleasant surprise!” The joy and respect were evident in her eyes. And he looked smart and respectable there, all dressed up again, his manner very much like the intelligent, church-going young man she knew. I grinned to myself, doing my best to keep the expression inside of me. It was funny seeing her reverence when she would have been horrified if she had seen him fucking me senseless just minutes ago. I grinned again as I felt his seed seeping from my still throbbing pussy. “You have to stay for dinner,” she said, bustling about the kitchen. “How long you down for?” ‘All of the summer, ma'am.“ "Well, it's good to have you and I hope you will visit us some more.” “Yes ma'am,” he said with a straight face. My expression was neutral too as my bare pussy pulsed at the thought of him visiting again and again. by Kuntry yute for Literotica

Village reunion turns steamy, fueled by erotic river sighting. by Kuntry yute. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. The rain burst out of nowhere, as it usually does. One minute the afternoon was bright and sunny, then the sun just disappeared behind a big dark cloud and the rain cut loose. No one was in the house but me, with Mama off to see her church sister. The rain was heavy. You could see it in the fat drops and the fast-moving muddy streams that turned the yard into a small riverbed. But the best part for me was the pounding on the zinc roof, as if the rain was playing a whole heap of kette drums at the same time. The wind picked up at times, lashing the large banana leaves into a crazy dance, like big, awkward hands flapping to the heavy rain drops. I watched and listened, content inside the warm, dry house. It was a good mood, like I could roll with the energy and rhythm and dance to my heart's content, or get a sheet and curl up in the big couch, to just rest or doze off.I had something else in mind though, and the first real buzz of anticipation and excitement coursed through my body, leaving me tingling and warming up all over, especially down in my belly bottom and my nipples. The sensation cooled off a bit as I thought about Mama coming home sooner than expected. She had almost caught me once, and I was saved only by the fact that she had left her keys and had to call me to open the door. She had her keys now, and the rain would mask any sound of her approach. But I wasn't going to be denied. This moment was too good to waste. The living room had a big window that looked out on the yard and provided a full view of anyone approaching, as long as the curtain was not fully drawn. I could enjoy the comfort of the love seat and keep an eye out for Mama; all I needed to do was turn it around to face the yard. I easily flipped the couch around, nervous excitement overtaking my senses and body as I imagined the delights just seconds away. I quickly washed my hands in the bathroom, pulled a couple items from my drawer and hustled back to the living room. I started opening the curtains and recoiled in shock and irritation. Someone – looks like a man - was out there in the rain, splashing up on the verandah and depositing a rickety black umbrella in a corner before knocking on the door. The umbrella was useless, on account of all the water he was busy brushing off his arms and legs. I stashed my items under the couch seat and opened the door, intent on quickly dealing with him and getting to my pleasure. “Hi Cherry” he greeted after a slight pause, surprised uncertainty in his eyes as he brushed a few droplets from his face. I figured he was expecting to see Mama instead of me. “Tony, right?” I responded with a smile. “Yes,” he said, grinning suddenly at me from his rain-wet face. My irritation was dissolving rapidly as I looked him over. I had glimpsed him three nights ago, the first time since he had left for university two years ago. Many people didn't go to university from this village, and people talked about him a lot, including his mother who couldn't stop boasting about her bright son. It was annoying, especially for someone like me that didn't make it to university. I wasn't annoyed now though. He was short and stocky when we were kids. He wasn't tall now, just medium height, about two inches taller than my five foot eight. The stocky look was still there, but more athletic, like he was a sprinter or one of those American football players. As a boy his father used to give him bad haircuts, and it worsened the look of his face which was already ordinary with the flat nose and large, almost bulging eyes. Nobody would call him handsome now, but he had grown up well, sporting a clean shaved head, with eyes that were sharp and intelligent looking, and a face that was strong and hard, like a thick chunk of cured pimento wood. His eyes moved quickly, up and down, just as I had done. But it was open and forward, the type of look that said he was not afraid to show his hand. He wanted me to know he was seeing me as a woman, a woman that grabbed his interest, and he wanted me to react to that interest. I was interested in him for real, no doubt about it. I had felt it when I saw him last Friday, that flash of sexual curiosity, seeing him all sexy and relaxed. He had looked at me quickly, followed by a smile of recognition and a polite greeting. I smiled back, blushing and hoping he hadn't seen the interest in my eyes. Now I grinned to myself, thinking how smooth he was then in the public place, acting all polite and decent, when he was clearly interested and just biding his time. There was a prickling on my skin, leaving goosebumps on my arms and my nipples felt like someone was giving them little electric shocks. My pumpum twitched suddenly with pleasure, a sweet, achy pleasure. I was shocked at the reaction in my body and suddenly my thighs squeezed together, as if to keep the feelings trapped down there and not affecting the rest of me, for fear he could see his effect on me. He was like a godsend, appearing as if by miracle, just when I was in the mood to frig myself with the weather and Mama cooperating so well. But with some effort I reined in the feelings. There was desire in his eyes, but I couldn't assume he was planning to do anything about it right now. “You here to see Mama?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said, after a little hesitation. “My Mama asked me to drop off this partner money, and I couldn't pass up the chance to see you.” “I see you develop some sweet tongue,” I said saucily but I am sure he could tell I was flattered by his words. “Sweet tongue yes, but truth too,” he said boldly, eyes lively with daring. “Well, it's good to see you too,” I said, giving him a little something in return, although I was warming up to him much faster than my words would indicate. He held out his hand, offering an envelope that bulged slightly with the contents. “I'll give it to her,” I said, taking the envelope. He stood there for a moment, eyes thoughtful, looking me over. I watched him, imagining the wheels turning in his head, figuring out how he should proceed. I waited, realizing belatedly with a touch of embarrassment that my lips were parted in anticipation of his next move. “You want to dry those clothes?” I asked suddenly, surprising myself with the question. “Could give you time for the rain to ease off and you can tell me about life in Kingston.” He looked at me sharply, surprise on his face. He looked down at his body with a frown, no doubt seeing and feeling the wetness in his shirt and pants. He looked at me, eyes steady, thinking it over. “Ok,” he said with a shrug and smile. “Do you have something for me to put on or am I supposed to wait naked?” “Not a bad idea,” I laughed back at him, knowing he was seeing the devilry in my eyes. “Don't worry though, I'll get you some of Papa's clothes. He doesn't need them anymore.” I found a clean set of pants and shirt that looked close enough for his size. It was far from perfect though, because he was shorter and more muscular than Papa. The shirt was tight across his chest and arms and the pants were snug in the butt and crotch. He looked funny and sexy at the same time. He went and sat in my couch, making himself comfortable while I draped his wet clothes on the warm grate behind the fridge. We talked for a bit, catching up on each other's life over the past two years. I felt jealous, because he seemed to be doing so much and here I was wasting away in the dead-end village. He surprised me though, by praising what I was doing. “Honey is a big deal,” he said, a little frown on his face. “You just need to scale up and get connected to the right distribution channels.” I didn't go to university, but I was always learning shit from free college courses and podcasts when the internet complied, so I knew what he was talking about. “Scale up needs money and time, and that's time I have to put in my regular job.” “Let me think about it,” he replied, then leaned back in the couch with a strange smile on his face. “I see you still go to the river?” “What?” I asked, frowning at him. I was perplexed as to why he would ask about the river. “Those days were exciting even with the hard work,” he said with a longing look on his face. “Remember how we all used to play after the wash? Hide and seek, catch crawfish, eat guineps till we couldn't walk properly…” “Oh boy,” I smiled, remembering. “Those were the good old days. Kids nowadays just want to play video games. No love for nature. We don't even wash clothes down there anymore. That life pretty much done.” “Yet you were there yesterday,” he said quietly, his eyes still on my face. “You were at the river?” I asked him, a nervous type of anxiousness spreading slowly through my belly. He nodded silently, watching me. It might not be too bad, I thought to myself. Maybe he saw me going down or coming up, not necessarily in the river itself. But his next words shattered my flimsy hope. “That big pool with the mango tree over it. I was heading for it, but just as I was about to climb down the bank, I saw you. I immediately thought of leaving but I just stood there, as if I had no power to move. I'm sorry for snooping on you but it was as if you hooked me right there, and the more I looked the more you pulled me in.” I was ashamed and angry. In truth I really didn't mind if someone sees me naked if I know and can make the decision for myself. But this was Peeping Tom stuff, him seeing me and copping a look without me knowing. “You were snooping on me?” I snapped at him. “Your fault for bathing out in public,” he said calmly, a little smile dancing across his lips, no doubt enjoying himself. It was true. I knew it could happen but figured and hoped no one would be around. I was dying for a river bath; to have all the water I need to wash freely without thinking about conserving water. At least I didn't bathe fully naked, although the flimsy slip was not much covering, especially when wet. “What was so enticing?” I asked. His reasoning had taken away my excuse for being angry, and I decided to focus on the exciting part of what he had said. “Everything,” he said, a faraway look in his eyes, faraway and happy. “I could just look at you all day, if you were just standing there in that wet slip, sticking to you like a second skin, you all curvy and sweet. But when you start to wash yourself it just make it sweeter.” I am accustomed to men telling me how I look, in explicit terms. This was different. It's amazing how two men could make it clear that they want bed you, and one leaves you disgusted while the other makes you wat to take off your panties right away. Tony was the panty dropping type. He looked me in the eye once more and shuffled around in the couch, trying to make himself more comfortable, maybe because the pants were too tight for him. Without thinking my eyes slipped down to his crotch and they popped in surprise when I saw the clear outline of his hood to one side. I was surprised but the achiness in my pussy ramped up even more as I imagined him without pants. He must have caught my eyes, and I am sure now that I wanted him to see me checking him out like that. His expression changed, his eyes boring into me, so intense that it was like I was not wearing any clothes and he could see all my nakedness and even into my thoughts. it was surprising to me how comfortable and excited I felt, all alone here with him. Somehow, he had put me at ease without trying too hard, just by being himself. It helped a lot that I was already in the mood to play, but he sure revved up my interest. It was strange. He wasn't really my type. He was this nice, book type, not the big-talking rude boys I tend to like, even though they were not the best for me. Tony was different in a good way from way back, and his time in the city sure made him a sexy, confident man. “So what exactly got you so spellbound at the river?” I asked finally. “All of you, but it was a different level of wonder when you started to soap up,” he said, pulling my attention firmly back from my thoughts and squarely on to him. “It was like watching you caressing yourself for my benefit, caressing and massaging, your body wet and covered in soap bubbles. And the way you did it…it was not just a chore, not just cleaning yourself. I could tell you were enjoying it, and that part was a huge turn on too.” “I love taking a bath,” I said, my mind all woozy with the beauty and sexiness of what he was saying. I always love poetry and he was speaking the sweetest, hottest verses to me right now “And I can't forget,” he continued, eyes glazed and slowly licking his lips at the memory. “You squatted down a bit, spreading your legs wide, and the slip ride up, showing off all of them firm, smooth thighs. And then you move that soapy rag up between them. I couldn't see exactly what you were doing, but I could see your hand moving in, way in, then slowly and firmly up and down, soap suds covering all of your hand, your upper thighs and pussy area. You keep washing, up and down, then around in little circles, then in and out. I managed to look at your face a few times, hoping you were not noticing me watching you. But your eyes were closed by then…as if you were in another world. Your body trembled then, vibrating…and when you opened your eyes you looked so blissful…the joy on your face was real as your hand moved under the dress. "Afterwards you waded into deeper water and sink down till the water was up to your chest. You bobbed up and down, rinsing off. You weren't wearing any brassiere and your breasts bounced up and down, so round and juicy looking with the wet slip plastered tight on them. I couldn't take my eyes off them. You were smiling at this time, a little smile, but a real smile…and I wonder how good it must feel to get such pleasure from washing your pumpum.” He stopped talking and I realized I was staring at him, my mouth wide open, hardly breathing, legs turning jelly. My body felt hot all over and I knew I was in heat. My pumpum was fluttering, steady and strong, like another heart was down there between my legs. There was a wetness too, warm and sticky, like a raw honey spring was starting to open up inside of me. “It was a good feeling,” I said to him, but decided not to mention that all that trembling and vibrating was me cumming. Maybe he knew and decided not to go there too. “And that's what has you running over here to see me?” “Yeah,” he smiled. “It was the exclamation point. I had seen you a couple days before and was going to check on you, but that just sealed the deal. I knew I had to come and see you” “And I am glad you did. You are just what I need with this rain pouring down out there.” I was shocked at how forward I sounded, but he had me feeling a certain way and I was in no condition to resist him, not that I wanted to at all. “I wished you would say that,” he responded, flexing his strong legs, spreading them wide, causing his cock to shift and stand out even more in the tight pants. He followed my eyes, then looked back at me. “Come over here. I want to feel what it's like to stroke your pussy the way you did.” The rain was still lashing outside as I walked the short distance over to him. I stopped a few inches from him, and he leaned forward, his face in line with my crotch. He looked up at me, eyes locked with mine, a little question in his eyes. I realized he was asking permission, even though I would bet he was picking up my sex scent and knew I was ready for him. I smiled at him and he smiled back, the question disappearing from his face. He was the man now, eyes heavy with desire and a lot of good, healthy lust. His wide nostrils opened up, like a jack donkey scenting the ginnie in heat. His tongue was out, slowly moistening the thick lips, moving slowly back and forth. His hands went around my waist and down to my ass, his fingers strong and possessive, gently squeezing my big, soft ass. I grunted as the pleasure build up some more. He looked up at me, satisfied with my response, then got bolder. His hands went under my dress and palmed my ass cheeks again. This time I felt the hard warmth of his hands on my bare ass, because I was wearing one of those thongs with just a little string buried deep between my ass cheeks. “You feel good,” he said softly, his hands busy, roaming all over my ass, fingertips finding and tracing the two dimples on my left cheek, then stroking all over, exploring me to his heart's content. “I like it, don't stop,” I encouraged him, leaning in to brace myself on his broad shoulders. He was like a rock, hard and firm, and I leaned into him as he owned my ass, kneading and stroking, then spreading the cheeks apart, so wide until I could feel my pussy lips opening slightly. “No stopping,” he said again, looking up at me. He kept his eyes on mine and I felt his fingers snaked under the strings of the thongs and slowly rolled them down my thighs. He carefully removed them from around my feet, then tucked them in the pants pocket. He flipped up the hem of the dress and his head disappeared from my view. He sniffed my pussy. Sniffed again, his lips so close to my flesh I could feel his warm breath on the sensitive lips. “You smell good,” he said from beneath the dress, his voice muffled but clear enough for me to hear him above the crashing rain. “It smell like good pussy.” He stood up suddenly and pointed to the couch. “Sit down,” he said, his voice all of a sudden sounding like a command. I quickly complied, body buzzing with anticipation. “Lean back,” he commanded again. “Make yourself comfortable.” I leaned back meekly, totally at his mercy. He seemed to tower over me, standing there, legs braced, his dick thick and hard in my dead Papa's pants. “Spread your legs. Put them up on the armrest. I want you wide open for me.” I hesitated a bit, but he was having none of it. “Just do it,” he said firmly, his bare foot nudging mine. I did as he demanded, lifting my legs up on to the armrest. The dress ride up all the way on my thighs to my belly. I lay there like that, fully skin out, exposing all of my wide-open thighs and my pussy to his eyes. And the doubt hit me hard as I lay there like that, doubt filling up my mind with negative thoughts, doubt that he would be disappointed. He didn't say or do anything, just stand there, eyes fastened on my pumpum, his mouth hanging open and breathing hard. He looked like he was in a spell, like the pussy put obeah on him. The doubt vanished and I smiled with relief and satisfaction. And I could feel the warmth spreading all over me again, starting out in my open pussy, like there was a fire growing down there, growing and spreading out. “What a way you like the pussy, ehh?” I asked him, although it was more like telling him. “Yeah,” he breathed, kneeling down and shuffling in between my legs. “What you like?” “How it's pretty,” he said, eyes roving over it. “So fat and juicy looking. The way you trim it low I can see all the meat. So plump and fresh looking. And the way it's opening up, showing off the sweet puffy brown lips and that wet, pink insides. Look at the clit…I can't wait to lick it good.” “Lick…??” He must have seen the shock on my face because he laughed and firmly nodded his head, making it clear he was going to do whatever he wanted. “Never get your pussy licked? Anybody ever eat you out?” “No,” I said, shocked and embarrassed at the same time, but the excitement hit me hard and I feel my pussy spasm, the hole opening and closing like the mouth of a red snapper out of water. He moved fast without any warning. One minute he was staring at my pumpum pulsing before him and the next second his head dive in and his tongue was swiping through my pussy from bottom all the way up to the top. It was electric, his thick warm tongue licking my wet flesh like he was licking his favorite Devon House ice-cream, when you don't want it to melt and waste in the hot sun. “Oh Jesus,” I moaned, shutting my eyes in ecstasy and my toes curled as the pleasure run through my legs, almost giving me muscle contract as my body tensed up from the sweetness. “It's not Jesus,” he said, talking directly into my pussy. “It's Tony.” His hands grasped my thighs and pushed them wider apart and his lips fastened on my clit and sucked softly. As my head threatened to explode his tongue flicked out and lashed the sensitive meat, swirling around it in little circles that drove me wild. “Rahtid,” I gasped. “it's so good.” “Lots more to come,” he promised, leaning back and looking up at me, his mouth glistening with my pussy juice. “Just lean back and enjoy it.” His hands were warm and firm on my thighs, pressing in, bending me back in two until my legs were pressed against my breasts and my pussy and ass were wide open, on full display before his hungry eyes. I could see all of it, between my big tits, past my rounded tummy and between my thighs. The pussy mound was high, like a little round hill with the trimmed bush barely hiding the meat beneath. The mound split, separating into the plump pussy lips that always stand out like two juicy sausages in my panties, so fat they were usually peeping out on each side of the panty. And right in the middle, above the deep pussy groove, was the clit, as big as my thumb top, standing up hard, glistening with his spit and my cream. He was in awe of my pumpum, but his eyes were everywhere, roving all over my body. I love my body, but I have this shame about some parts, like my tummy. His eyes were glowing, pure joy in them as he took in all of me. From my full breasts, over my belly, then down my quaking thighs then back up to my pussy, resting there, like it was the gold mine of his search. He licked my inner thighs, the soft, delicate flesh just below my pumpum, the part that kissed each other when I sit down or walk. “That sweet,” I said, trying to spread my legs more, invite him in even more. He licked again, a long, slow lick from my fleshy thigh up to my sex, stopping just below the fat lips. “I'm not playing with you anymore,' he said, eyes flashing up to me before returning to the business at hand. True, he had just licked my pussy, and I was now exposed to the pleasure of oral sex. But I wasn't prepared for the intense pleasure, the strange closeness and the nastiness that he was about to deliver to me, straight through my eager, creaming pussy. He licked me again, his tongue delving into the center of my pussy, slurping up my sticky juices, then licking the tender inner lips. "Oh God,” I moaned, as his tongue bored back into my hot hole and lapped me up, like he was drinking his favorite soup. He sucked up and down, drawing out the creamy cum, the sounds lewd and sexy all at once. It was sex sound, pussy sound, pleasure sound and my body and mind accepted and reacted to it, making my cunt even more soft and gushy, till the cream leaked out of me, running down the crease in my ass cheeks and on to the couch. “Eat out my pussy,” I coaxed him, my hand now on his shaved head, urging him on. He didn't need any encouragement, but the slurping got louder, and his tongue felt like a little cock, stimulating every nerve in my pumpum. “My clit now,' I groaned, arching up my ass off the couch, offering him all of my pussy. "Suck it like a lollipop. He did. "Oh sweet Jesus,' I bawled, as the heat and electricity exploded in my fat clit, sending the shivers down into my pumpum. He lapped me, the thick pink tongue gliding in and out of my pussy as it spasmed and spewed more cream for him to slurp. His hands left my thighs and I held them wide for him as his hands spread my pussy lips wide open and he dove in, his tongue straight and firm, digging into me like a hard cock. "Oh God, you so nasty,” I wailed as the tongue lashing put me in tremors. He didn't answer but suddenly I felt his finger sliding into my pussy and his tongue moved to claim my clit. He fucked me slowly with his finger, sinking all the way in then stroking firmly on the way out, teasing and exciting my pussy as no one had ever done before. He sucked and licked my clit at the same time, making me bawl with the twin pleasure. The rain thundered on the roof, matching my wails, and I felt a huge pressure building up inside me, way down in the depths of my cunt. It started to vibrate, big waves of delight rolling out with each lick and each finger fuck stroke. My body was trembling too, shaking in a frenzy. I gripped his head again, mashing his face into my cum plastered pussy and my thighs closed around his shoulders, squeezing and pressing him into me, as if I wanted his entire body to fuck my overstimulated pussy “Come for me now,' he ordered, screwing me with two fingers now, his lips and tongue going back to my clit, abusing it with delicious swirls and licks. My pussy was on fire, thanks to this grown up country nerd and I bellowed in the rain, cross-eyed and delirious from the pleasure attack. "Come for me,” he commanded again. “Give it up gal. Make this fat pussy buss in my mouth.” It was too sweet. And the rough, in-charge patois pushed me over the edge. The spasm hit like a big earthquake and the pussy erupted. The ecstasy washed over me, and I bucked up into him, bawling with every bolt of pleasure. He stayed with me, holding me in place, his lips and tongue working on my heated clit, keeping the pleasure going as my juices flowed like ripe honey, coating his lips and chin. Finally it slowed down, and I relaxed back into the couch, the seat warm and sticky beneath me. He moved his mouth off my pussy and leaned in over me, a pleased puss smile on his face. He was plastered in cum, and I could see a small piece of pussy hair sticking to his lip. I gently removed it and showed it to him, and we laughed out loud. Suddenly I heard the hurried footsteps out back and I looked at Tony in shock and worry. He heard it too, a questioning look on his face. I moved quickly, no time to think about a big plan. “Go hide under the bed in there,” I instructed, pointing in the direction of my bedroom. “take your shoes with you.” His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't question me, just did as I said. I straightened out my dress, looked around for my panties and recalled that Tony had put them in the pants pocket. I pushed the couch back in its right spot and cringed at the wet spot on it. I didn't have time to come up with a solution because the door rattled for a second or two then burst open as Mama rushed in, dripping rainwater. “You all wet,” I said. “Let me get you a towel.” “It's ok,” she replied. “I'll dry off after I get some food stuff at the shop. I just stopped to drop off my handbag and a few things. Thought of sending you but I need to pick out some things myself.” I breathed a big sigh of relief and waited in suspense, hoping Tony would keep quiet and out of sight. “It smell a little funny in here,” Mama frowned, nose sniffing the air. I knew what it was, and it was all over me and on the couch, like an irresistible perfume. “Might be the saltfish?” I asked innocently, gesturing towards the pot that contained the salted cod that was soaking in the water, in preparation for cooking. “Hmm,” she said doubtfully. “Must be a different type of saltfish that. It really smell high this time. Anyway, let me go get these things and come back. Start boil the saltfish.” She left the way she came in and when she got to the front of the house I watched her, peeking out through a small gap between the curtain and the wall. I waited until she was out the yard and up to the street, then watched some more until she disappeared around the corner. “You can come out now,” I called out to Tony. He was out in no time, a look of relief on his face and I could tell he was dying to laugh as well. “That was close, eh? You think really fast on your feet. What if there was no saltfish on the stove?” “I'd have to come up with something I guess,” I said, laughing at him. I switched the water in the pot and turned on the stove. We stood in silence for a bit, smiling at each other, eyes communicating the same message of delight over what we just did. But then his eyes roamed my body once more and grew sharp with desire. I looked at him, mouth going dry as I picked up his intention. My pussy clenched at the realization and I shivered with the thought of what he wanted to do to me. “You want to fuck me?” I asked slowly. “Yeah,” he nodded, moving in and kissing me. It was a long, deep kiss, and I tasted me in the kiss. I could tell he wanted me to taste it because he licked me all over, sucking in my wetness and giving me his, mingling everything together for us to enjoy as we greedily licked and sucked each other's lips and tongue. His hands palmed my ass once more and crushed me against him so that his hard cock rubbed against my lower belly, just above my pussy mound. He dipped slightly until it was pressed firmly against my sex. He rubbed against me like that and I felt him everywhere; his tongue deep in my mouth, hard chest stimulating my hard nipples, his hands spreading my ass cheeks and his cock exciting my pussy. “A going to fuck you now before your mother come back. Come over here.” He stripped off quickly and stood before me naked. I took my time. In the back of my head I knew we didn't have a lot of time and I needed him to dick me down good, but I took my time. He was fine. His body was hard from years of hard country work and developing bigger and harder, most likely from sports or the gym. His cock was a magnet. Even as I drank in his entire body I was tracking it from the corner of my eyes. It was there in shadowy form, but very real in the unmistakable bulk and the slight bobbing as he rocked back and forth on his heels. I looked at it now, fully giving it all my attention. It was not long but thick and heavy looking, very much like him, the skin smooth and tight, with a big vein running from top to bottom. He was circumcised, and the bulby head was extra smooth and shiny, as if it was polished with the greatest care. “I want to touch it,” I heard myself say. It wasn't my first cock by a long shot, but it had me in a trance, making me act like a spellbound virgin. “Say please,” he said, voice so firm I looked at him in surprise. “Say please,” he said again, eyes staring me down. “Please,” I said, my voice suddenly meek and soft, wondering how this man was bossing me around in my own house. “Get down on your knees.” Anger started to well up in me, but he moved into me, his eyes no more than two inches from mine. He was intense and in charge, suddenly reminding me of the big mongrel stalking the bitch in heat, knowing she was at his mercy. He knew I wanted him badly, and he was taking advantage of it to control me now. He saw the surrender in my eyes and his eyes blazed with the knowledge of the full conquest. His hands were on my shoulders, gentle but firm at the same time. I went down to my knees, the floor hard beneath them. I stared at his thigs, firm and strong like the mahogany tree trunk. His cock swayed between them, capturing my attention once more. I took it in my hands, cupping it, amazed at the heaviness and the heat radiating from it, thinking how it would easily fill up my pussy and heat it up. I caressed it slowly with my fingers, loving the smooth, silky feel, then closing my eyes and tracing the vein, enjoying the ridged feel. He inhaled suddenly and I looked up to see the look of pleasure on his face and it filled me with satisfaction that I could affect him like that. I circled the shiny head and he inhaled and grunted when my fingertip brushed the wide-open pee hole. “That's good,” he groaned, his thighs trembling with tension, as if he was in some sort of torture, which I guess he was, but the good type. I had never done it before and had no plans to do so but I took his cock in my mouth. His reaction had me charged up now, and the hood was so pretty and scary looking at the same time that I must have lost my mind and gave into whatever erotic message my pussy was sending. “Oh God,” he moaned, as I took the fat head in and let my saliva cover it. I sucked him softly, knowing that his dick head was bound to be super sensitive. “Yeah, I like that,” he grunted, his hips swinging forward to push some more dick into my mouth. I gently braced against his thighs to stop him from choking me and I licked him good, getting the head sloppy and wet and excited. “You suck cock good,” he mumbled, his hands firm on my shoulders as he slowly fucked my mouth with just the cock head. “But a not cumming like this. A going to fuck you. Get up.” I got up quickly and he flipped me around and guided me up on the couch, spreading my thighs as wide as they could go. He rolled up my dress until my ass and back were bare and my breasts hang exposed, brushing slightly against the backrest. I grabbed a hold of the couch and looked back at him, eager to see him preparing to fuck me. He was ready. His eyes were firmly planted on my swaying ass cheeks, then traveling down to stare at my wide-open lips and cum soaked pussy. His right hand was on my waist, steadying my body, and his left hand palmed the dick that looked really hard and fat now. I shivered in anticipation and my body vibrated with pleasure when the blunt head creased my waiting pussy lips. I kept my eyes on him and he looked me in the eyes as he slowly fed the thick hood into my pussy. The head stuck for a brief moment and I felt his fullness then, giving my soft, plump lips a good stretch before popping in. I felt the immediate relief and the sweetness, but he did not give me any time to rest. He lunged forward in one smooth motion and buried the cock all the way in my pussy. I took him like a champion, and the wet pussy squelched and farted when he bottomed out. He leaned in and his hands circled me, one high around my breasts and the other low, his forearm keeping me tight against him as his fingers and palm cupped my pussy mound. “We going to fuck now,” he whispered in my ears, and then he was hitting it hard. The couch rocked and the rain fell in a soft drizzle, barely audible on the roof as he screwed into me, every stroke churning my cream and filling the room with the sound of good fucking. “Give it to me good,” I begged him, slamming back on to his strokes. “Take it,' he ordered, pulling me in tighter and rabbit fucked me so hard that my pussy was creaming nonstop and his balls were slapping good against my clit as my insides burned with the sweetness. "Fuck me, you fucker,” I cried, fingers digging into the couch for dear life as he stroked me good. “I bet you dying for this pussy, huh?” “Oh yes,” he grunted. “I never dreamt it would happen for real, so I am a lucky man.” “I am lucky too,” I said, screwing my ass and squealing in delight as the fucking felt sweeter with the new motion. “You can fuck,” he said with admiration. “I love that. Love when a woman show that she love the sex.” “You good too,” I groaned, as he slowed down and sink it deep into me, the big vein rubbing and stimulating my steamy pussy. “I could fuck you all day and night but a want you to cum and your Mama soon come back.” He shifted behind me, climbing up on the couch, crouching over me like a male lion, his feet outside my legs, his hard, wet cock bobbing against my puffy labia. His left hand was now lower on my pussy, fingers over the lips, his other hand on my shoulder. He slid into me, gliding in easily, his cock soaked in my juices. I felt the difference when he picked up the speed, the cock hitting different, raking more against the front part of my pussy. He got into a steady rhythm and I rested on the couch and closed my eyes as my pussy hummed once more under the relentless dicking. “I love it,” I whispered, almost to myself. “You have good pussy,” he whispered back. “And I am owning it, ok?” He fucked me, over and over and I wailed into the lazy drizzle as my pussy voiced its pleasure with wet, sucking sounds. “Your Mama is coming,' he said. Panic surged in me and I glanced out the window. She was coming for real, hustling in the light drizzle. "You have 30 seconds to cum,” he said. “So that we will have time to clean up enough. Come with me.” He quickened the pace, his cock pumping into me in earnest, causing the juice to fly out of my pussy and wetting up my thighs. His finger found my clit, stroking it and giving me even more pleasure. I rocked with him, skewering my pussy on his hard cock, loving the delicious ache as she pounded my pussy. I stared out, anxiety mounting as I saw Mama coming closer and closer. And the exquisite sensations in my pussy grew and grew until I was shaking all over in ecstasy. I felt his cock pulsed in me, like a drumbeat. It pulsed again, harder this time, and with each stroke it vibrated even more until the extra stimulation was too much to bear. My pussy quaked, tremored, pulsed…and then it exploded. “Oh Jesus, I am coming,” I wailed. “Good,” he grunted, his strokes harder and shorter now, his fingers delivering mind numbing pleasure to my clit as I gushed on his dick. “I'm coming now,” he warned, and his cock pulsed powerfully in the middle of my orgasm, and I felt the gush of semen as he filled me up. He fucked me through it, and I held him tight to me, enjoying the feel of his cock vibrating in my clasping pussy as his seed swirled in me. There wasn't much room for it and it soon leaked out on to my vulva. I wanted to stay there and savor it, revel in the sweet nastiness but Mama was less than two minutes away. “Let's clean up,” I said, shuffling beneath him. He backed away carefully, his cock making an audible pop as it left my pussy. I suddenly felt the emptiness and wished I could sink back on to him, but had to use common sense. We cleaned up quickly, fixing up as best as possible. The scent of well fucked pussy hung heavy in the air, and I panicked again at the thought of Mama walking into it. But relief washed over me a second later, rolling in on the pungent aroma of boiling saltfish. I opened the door, casually looking out as I let in fresh air to help freshen the room. “Tony!” Mama gushed as soon as she set eyes on him. “What a pleasant surprise!” The joy and respect were evident in her eyes. And he looked smart and respectable there, all dressed up again, his manner very much like the intelligent, church-going young man she knew. I grinned to myself, doing my best to keep the expression inside of me. It was funny seeing her reverence when she would have been horrified if she had seen him fucking me senseless just minutes ago. I grinned again as I felt his seed seeping from my still throbbing pussy. “You have to stay for dinner,” she said, bustling about the kitchen. “How long you down for?” ‘All of the summer, ma'am.“ "Well, it's good to have you and I hope you will visit us some more.” “Yes ma'am,” he said with a straight face. My expression was neutral too as my bare pussy pulsed at the thought of him visiting again and again. by Kuntry yute for Literotica

After she became a mom, journalist Angela Garbes shifted her focus from food to the invisible, unpaid labor that goes into raising children. On the podcast Your Mama's Kitchen, beloved author Judy Bloom opens her mother's recipe box and reveals her kitchen anxiety dreams. After traveling the world at a young age, Priya Krishna presents global recipes for a new generation of eaters. Climate advocate Puneeta Chhitwal-Varma shares low-waste recipes for maintaining a healthy diet and planet.  Finally, Meredith Bell from Autonomy Farms balances raising animals and a daughter.

You might know Michele Norris from her work as a journalist (including a decade-plus stint at NPR, where she co-hosted “All Things Considered”). You might know her from her Peabody Award-winning Race Card Project, or the two books she's authored. Or you might know her as the host of the podcast Your Mama's Kitchen. Michele joined Chris for a conversation about food memories and a mailbag full of listener questions all about hosting. Recipes:Peggy King's Macaroni & CheeseBroken Lasagna Pasta SaladCrunchy Ramen Noodle Salad With CabbageCast-Iron Roast Chicken With Crispy PotatoesSlow-Roast Gochujang ChickenAndy Garcia's Fricase de PolloNonna Wambach's Pasta for ThousandsEgg Bhurji StrataFruit Salad

We kinda like food, but talking about the kitchens we grew up in involves a lot more than that. Anney and Lauren chat with journalist Michele Norris about how this became the prompt for her new interview-based podcast, ‘Your Mama's Kitchen,' and why those early experiences are both so evocative and instructive to us today.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Caty Borum, Executive Director of the Center for Media & Social Impact and Provost Associate Professor in the School of Communication at American University, joins us again to discuss her new book, The Revolution Will Be Hilarious: Comedy for Social Change and Civic Power. Starting with what Caty finds funny and how she uses comedy as part of her practice as an educator, we go on to talk about how comedy can allow us to approach territory where we feel uncomfortable and provide a forum to share the diversity of our lived experiences. Drawing on Caty's experiences working with comedy writers and comedians, we explore what's necessary to create comedy that engages audiences around societal issues and helps move social change. Of course, we couldn't resist sampling some of Caty's favorite clips along the way, which are linked below.Here are some of the references from this episode, for those who want to dig a little deeper:Caty Borum - Center for Media and Social ImpactThe Revolution Will Be Hilarious: Comedy for Social Change and Civic Power (2023, NYU Press)Author Caty Borum discusses how comedy will fuel the future of social change (WAMU)A Comedian and an Activist Walk into a Bar: The Serious Role of Comedy in Social Justice (2020, Univ of California Press)Story Movements: How Documentaries Empower People and Inspire Social Change (2020, Oxford University Press)Yes, And...Laughter LabSome of the videos we talked about:Inside Amy Schumer - Season 4, Episode 3: "Guy-gles"Georgia Tech - Freshman Convocation - Epic Welcome SpeechLife's a F***ing Fantasy for Santos - A Randy Rainbow ParodyYou're Welcome America: Episode 3 Mental HealthAin't Your Mama's Heat Wave | Official Trailer | Think 100% FILMSThe Hammer - Comedian Corey ForresterThe Marvelous Mrs. MaiselReservation DogsAlso, see the ongoing list of Guest Hosts for The Daily Show (and watch episodes) HEREAnd check out our previous episodes:Taking risks: Comedy as Tool for Social Justice, with Caty BorumPlay as a Precursor to Participation, with Reanne Estrada and Benjamin Stokes ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––Share your thoughts via Twitter with Henry, Colin and the How Do You Like It So Far? account! You can also email us at howdoyoulikeitsofarpodcast@gmail.com.Music:“In Time” by Dylan Emmett and “Spaceship” by Lesion X.In Time (Instrumental) by Dylan Emmet https://soundcloud.com/dylanemmetSpaceship by Lesion X https://soundcloud.com/lesionxbeatsCreative Commons — Attribution 3.0 Unported — CC BY 3.0Free Download / Stream: https://bit.ly/in-time-instrumentalFree Download / Stream: https://bit.ly/lesion-x-spaceshipMusic promoted by Audio Library https://youtu.be/AzYoVrMLa1Q––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Before we return next week with new episodes of Proof, we're sharing an episode of Your Mama's Kitchen, a podcast about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. In this episode, host Michele Norris interviews TV's funniest redhead, Conan O'Brien. The comedian talks about how he first learned to be funny at the kitchen table. We also learn about why Halloween is his favorite holiday, and he reveals his favorite childhood meal: fried ham. Learn more about Your Mama's Kitchen here.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

On this episode of Your Mama's Kitchen, we're joined by Maria Bamford. She's a comedian, actor, and now a New York Times bestselling author with her memoir Sure, I'll Join Your Cult, released in late 2023. Maria talks about her Midwestern upbringing, her journey with obsessive compulsive disorder, and the delicious pot roast she still craves from childhood.Maria Bamford is an American actress and stand-up comedian. She's the first female comic with two half-hour “Comedy Central Presents” specials, and her critically acclaimed work includes her web series The Maria Bamford Show (featured at MOMA NY), Ask My Mom (recommended by The New Yorker), and her Netflix series Lady Dynamite (2 seasons). Bamford's Audible Original You are (a Comedy) Special and multiple comedy albums are on all major streaming platforms. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Sharing an episode of Your Mama's Kitchen, a podcast about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Every week, host Michele Norris talks to guests like Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, José Andrés and more. Together they explore the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives—and of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, singer-songwriter Jon Batiste serenades us with his harmonica-keyboard while reminiscing on the sounds of his childhood kitchen in New Orleans. He describes what it was like to grow up in a big, musical family of jazz legends, and shares some of their favorite Christmas traditions—including competing to see who could make the best and truest gumbo. You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen here. Subscribe to episodes: Apple | Spotify | Amazon | Stitcher | Google | YouTube Follow Us: Instagram | Twitter | Facebook | YouTube Follow Lee: Instagram | Twitter Join our Email List: nosmallendeavor.com Become a Member: Virtual Only | Standard | Premium See Privacy Policy: Privacy Policy Shop No Small Endeavor Merch: Scandalous Witness Course | Scandalous Witness Book |  Joy & the Good Life Course Amazon Affiliate Disclosure: Tokens Media, LLC is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com.

Sharing an excerpt of Your Mama's Kitchen, a podcast about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Every week, host Michele Norris talks to guests like Michelle Obama, Matthew McConaughey, José Andrés and more. Together they explore the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives—and of course, each guest shares a recipe for a favorite dish from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, author Glennon Doyle and retired US soccer player Abby Wambach, who had drastically different upbringings around the kitchen and food, share how they've nonetheless found middle ground in their marriage. Abby shares her mama's hearty Pasta for Thousands recipe, a beautiful mélange of pizza, pasta, and lasagna. You can find more Your Mama's Kitchen at https://link.chtbl.com/yourmamaskitchen?sid=freckledfoodieSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Sharing an episode of another podcast we're loving: Your Mama's Kitchen, all about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Every week, host Michele Norris talks to guests like Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, and José Andrés. They explore the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives—and of course, each guest shares a recipe from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, chef, writer and tv personality Samin Nosrat shares stories of her mother's Persian cooking in Samin's childhood kitchen, of her time training with Alice Waters at Chez Panisse in Berkley, California, and of a special trip Samin took with her mother when she was a teenager that made Samin realize how influential her own Iranian culture had been in her life, all along. The best part -- Samin shares the recipe for her Iranian-influenced, lemony chicken soup that you can savor in your own home. You can listen to more of Your Mama's Kitchen HERE. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Sharing an episode of another podcast we're loving: Your Mama's Kitchen, all about cuisine and culture, ingredients and identities, and the meals and memories that make us who we are. Every week, host Michele Norris talks to guests like Michelle Obama, Glennon Doyle, and José Andrés. They explore the complexities of family life and how their earliest culinary experiences helped shape their personal and professional lives—and of course, each guest shares a recipe from their youth so you can taste a bit of their story. In this episode, chef, writer and tv personality Samin Nosrat shares stories of her mother's Persian cooking in Samin's childhood kitchen, of her time training with Alice Waters at Chez Panisse in Berkley, California, and of a special trip Samin took with her mother when she was a teenager that made Samin realize how influential her own Iranian culture had been in her life, all along. The best part -- Samin shares the recipe for her Iranian-influenced, lemony chicken soup that you can savor in your own home. You can listen to more of Your Mama's Kitchen HERE. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoicesSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

What would happen if you asked Americans to share their experience of race — but in only six words.  Fourteen years ago, that's how journalist Michele Norris started what's called The Race Card Project.  More than a half a million people responded with their personal, honest and sometimes shocking six-word answers: “You're pretty for a Black girl.” “White privilege, enjoy it, earned it.” “Lady, I don't want your purse.” “My ancestors massacred Indians near here.” “Urban living has made me racist.” “I'm only Asian when it's convenient.”Now, Norris has compiled many of the responses, along photographs, back stories and essays, into her new book, “Our Hidden Conversations: What Americans Really Think About Race and Identity.”  Listen to MPR News host Angela Davis talking with Norris about her Minnesota roots, journalism career and helping Americans talk about race.  Norris also will speak and sign her book Thursday evening at an event open to the public at the Westminster Town Hall Forum in Minneapolis.  Guests:  Michele Norris is a columnist for the Washington Post and host of the podcast “Your Mama's Kitchen.” From 2002 to 2012, she was cohost of NPR's All Things Considered. She also spent almost ten years as a reporter for ABC News covering politics, policy and the dynamics of social change. Over her long career she's earned multiple awards, including the Peabody, Emmy, Dupont and Goldsmith awards. She's the author of two books, “The Grace of Silence” and “Our Hidden Conversations.”  Subscribe to the MPR News with Angela Davis podcast on: Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify or RSS.  Use the audio player above to listen to the full conversation.    

Journalist Michele Norris talks to Mark about how she came to start her podcast, Your Mama's Kitchen; the standout moments in her (amazing) career; and how she preps for meals 30 days ahead. View this episode's recipe and show notes here: https://bittmanproject.com/recipe/michele-norriss-zucchini-bread/Subscribe to Food with Mark Bittman on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you like to listen, and please help us grow by leaving us a 5 star review on Apple Podcasts.Follow Mark on Twitter at @bittman, and on Facebook and Instagram at @markbittman. Want more food content? Subscribe to The Bittman Project at www.bittmanproject.com.Questions or comments about the show? Email food@markbittman.com. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Michele Norris, Washington Post columnist, host of the podcast "Your Mama's Kitchen," former cohost of NPR's All Things Considered and the author of Our Hidden Conversations: What Americans Really Think about Race and Identity (Simon & Schuster, 2024), talks about her new book that builds on the over half a million submissions to the Race Card Project which invited people to submit six words that summed up their story about race.

In this episode of Your Mama's Kitchen, comedian, writer and TV host Hari Kondabolu talks about growing up in Queens, New York City, where his mother brought her native South India to the dinner table with an unforgettable peanut chutney. Hari also discusses his parents' quiet activism – and how, from his mother, Hari learned to use humor to confront the world's injustices. Hari Kondabolu is a comedian, writer, TV host, and podcaster based in Brooklyn, New York. His comedy covers subjects including race, inequity, and Indian stereotypes. The latter was the basis of Kondabolu's 2017 documentary, “The Problem with Apu,” a cultural critique of The Simpsons' character, Apu Nahasapeemapetilon. His 2018 Netflix special “Warn Your Relatives” was named in several Best Of Year lists including Time, Paste, and Cosmopolitan. He is a former writer and correspondent on the FX show “Totally Biased with W. Kamau Bell” and regularly appears on NPR's “Wait Wait… Don't Tell Me” and WNYC's “Midday on WNYC.” Kondabolu attended both Bowdoin College and Wesleyan University and earned a Masters in Human Rights from the London School of Economics.Kondabolu's newest comedy special and album, “Vacation Baby”, is available worldwide free on YouTube. He previously released two chart-topping comedy albums, Waiting for 2042 and Mainstream American Comic. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this conversation recorded for Washington Post Live on Sept. 6, Post columnist Michele Norris discusses her new podcast, “Your Mama's Kitchen,” where she talks with guests about the importance of their mom's kitchen in the life of their home and family, and how childhood food memories shape us.

Whether your mom was a natural cook or a reluctant one. Or if your other parent was the one throwing down in the kitchen, food and the place where it's made live inside of us long after we've eaten. What we inherit from our parents' kitchen and pass along as adults is at the center of a new podcast by award-winning journalist Michele Norris.It's called "Your Mama's Kitchen." Former first lady Michelle Obama joins Michele for the first episode. We speak to Michele about how our experiences in the kitchen shape us outside of it.Want to support 1A? Give to your local public radio station and subscribe to this podcast. Have questions? Find out how to connect with us by visiting our website.

“Tell me about your mama's kitchen.” That's the simple request which begins each episode of this new Higher Ground and Audible Original podcast from acclaimed journalist Michele Norris. On the very first episode of Your Mama's Kitchen, Former First Lady Michelle Obama talks with Michele about her beginnings growing up in a working-class family on the South Side of Chicago and the delicious red rice her mother made that reminds her of home. To listen to more of the show, subscribe to Your Mama's Kitchen wherever you listen to podcasts. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

On the very first episode of Your Mama's Kitchen, we're joined by former First Lady, Michelle Lavaughn Robinson Obama. Mother, lawyer and author of her latest title The Light We Carry, Michelle talks about her beginnings in a working class family on the South Side of Chicago and the delicious Red Rice her mother made that she says is perfect to take anywhere. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Whether your mom was a natural cook or a reluctant one. Or if your other parent was the one throwing down in the kitchen, food and the place where it's made live inside of us long after we've eaten. What we inherit from our parents' kitchen and pass along as adults is at the center of a new podcast by award-winning journalist Michele Norris.It's called "Your Mama's Kitchen." Former first lady Michelle Obama joins Michele for the first episode. We speak to Michele about how our experiences in the kitchen shape us outside of it.Want to support 1A? Give to your local public radio station and subscribe to this podcast. Have questions? Find out how to connect with us by visiting our website.

Join us tonight as we talk about the Your Rights, P-IX, KUSA, Your Mama jokes and more on episode 515 of the We Like Shooting Show.  Our CAST is Jeremy Pozderac, Savage1R, Aaron Krieger, Nick Lynch and my name is Shawn Herrin. Gear Chat  Soviet Wood Folding Stock Gun Fights! If you'd like to get … WLS 515 – Mothers Milk Read More »