Cornerstone Theater Company

Hunger Stories

David “Mas” Masumoto

I grow slow food and stories. Our farm is quiet and isolating; we nurture the silence of growing food for the hungry. Farmers are independent yet not alone. We hunger for recognition but not publicity. We speak through what we grow. Our foods carry value not always recognized. If you are what you eat then…

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By Nika

Herbs are always within reach. Last minute grabs in semi-darkness of parsley, sprigs of oregano, a handful of rosemary to pop inside a chicken – I dodge slugs, hop-scotch over rocks to get to the herb garden. I can hear guests- my dear friends – inside the house, their voices amplified by wine. Kneeling down…

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By Daniela

Humus. Not the kind that’s spelled with two m’s. Not the yuppie infused, sun-dried tomato injected Trader Joe’s kind. And not the chunky garlic, unsalted and un-lemoned food court kind. I hunger for true Middle Eastern humus, perfectly seasoned and celebrated via the properly fluffy and warm pita. The kind I grew up on when…

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By Amanda

My history with food was a sorted one from the start. My mother always hated cooking and passed that sentiment on to me. She was never taught how to cook and therefore growing up, neither was I. She still frequently forgets to eat when she is too busy and when eating alone will usually opt…

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By Kozetta

My earliest memory was about 3 years old. We lived on a large farm in Kansas and had a goat, well for drinking water, chickens for eggs and on Sunday we may get to eat one and only the food that we could grow. Which was usualy tomatoes, corn, both kinds of potatoes, rutabaga (and…

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By Billy

I am a grad student, so eating usually occurs at odd times. I am studying theatre, so that means I eat at midnight( which is not good for my girlish figure). Food tends to be whatever is cheapest, or quick most of the time. However, when I can have a moment to do it, I…

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By PiCKLeZ

i Do NoT HaVe a uNiQue HuNGeR SToRY. JuST a FaiRLY TYPiKaL oNe FoR THe TiMeZ & PLaSeS THaT i WuZ & aM iN. iN THe MiD 80z i WuZ aN uRBaN-KaMPeR iN SaN DieGo.  aFTeR ‘WHiLe, DaiLY LYPHe BeKaMe a SeRieZ oV TReKS FRuM oNe SeRViNG-LiNe To THe NeXT. KoNVeRSaSHuN SeNTeReD oN WHo SeRVeD…

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By Julia

Food has become purely functional in my life. I live alone, I often eat alone. I stand over the sink at home, eat crackers from my office desk drawer, or catch some fast food on a quick trip off-campus between teaching and an evening rehearsal. I sometimes wonder if I’ve forgotten how to really relax…

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By Jean

A meal prepared for family and friends is a metaphor for love.  From the menu planned with care, to the shopping for the freshest ingredients, I am thinking of those whose hunger will be sated, including mine, by a lovely, satisfying meal.  With each dice of an onion, each smash of a garlic clove, each…

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By Jianulla

I remember visiting my Uncle Nick who lived in Port Chicago, near Concord in Northern CA.  My Dad and his brother came to this country from Greece as very young men.  As we pulled up to the little house, we could smell the delicious Lamb roasting in his wood stove oven. The welcoming smell of…

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