Project MUSE®: The McNeese Review - Latest Articles
https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876
Project MUSE®: Latest articles in The McNeese Review.daily12026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00text/htmlen-USVol. 59 (2022) through current issueLatest Articles: The McNeese ReviewTWOProject MUSE®The McNeese Review2997-30150885-467XLatest articles in The McNeese Review. Feed provided by Project MUSE®Enigma
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953972
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enigma (noun)1. a person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallEnigma2025-03-20text/htmlen-USEnigma2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®34022026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20On Writing "The Sandwich Artist"
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953974
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I wrote "The Sandwich Artist" when I was feeling disillusioned with my writing career. I had some initial successes publishing stories in literary magazines, but was going through an onslaught of rejections that made me question my abilities as a writer, as well as my pursuit of the art form of fiction. Literary magazine readerships, as we all know, are small, and even when I managed to publish work in them, I questioned the impact my words were making in the world. Meanwhile, at my day job, I was writing soul-crushing B2B software content, employing jargon like "leverage," "agile," and, of course, the dreaded "synergy." This only exacerbated my disillusionment. I lost sight of what made me love writing in the
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallOn Writing "The Sandwich Artist"2025-03-20text/htmlen-USOn Writing "The Sandwich Artist"2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®53032026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20The Sandwich Artist
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953975
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Sandwich making is the noblest art form. To craft a sandwich is to thumb one's nose at the vast cosmic nothing that envelops us, to breathe life into a world hellbent on its own destruction—that was my ethos, anyway. But my coworker, Garrett, insisted sandwich making was nothing more than a job and a bogus-ass, thankless one at that. We replayed this argument in an infinite loop as we waited for customers to grace our godforsaken Subway with its flickering neon sign. It was nestled in the heart of Effingham, Illinois, of all places, a whisper of a town that glimmered like a mirage in a sea of cornfields. On slow nights like this, I gazed out at the domed Midwestern sky, which was somehow claustrophobic in its sheer
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallThe Sandwich Artist2025-03-20text/htmlen-USThe Sandwich Artist2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®205822026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Black Trash Bags at Shady Rest
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953976
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My father would have been better off marrying a Russian porn star forty years younger. When my mother passed away, I half-expected him to fly to Moscow, court one of his XXX DVD actresses, and marry her under the California sun. But no, he surprised me by tying the knot with you. A Russian porn star would have at least screwed him in the traditional sense, not with his pocketbook.Much to my surprise, you and he were the same age when you married fifteen years ago, in your mid-seventies. You were both relics of World War II. Seemingly cut from the same cloth, you shared the same compulsion for an old-fashioned church wedding. After all, you believed it was a sin not to be married before (ugh) having sex. You were
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallBlack Trash Bags at Shady Rest2025-03-20text/htmlen-USBlack Trash Bags at Shady Rest2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®205142026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Images
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953977
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Walk on 'til morning. 2020Ink and pencil color on used field-book paper, 8 × 10 in.Maker of rules. 2021Gouache, ink, pencil color on used field-book paper, 8 × 6 in.Pretending to see what the future will hold. 2024Acrylic and gouache on used field-book paper, 8 × 10 in.Ease you. Cool you. Love you. 2021Gouache, ink, pencil color on used field-book paper, 8 × 6 in.This is my mistake. Let me make it good. 2020Ink and pencil color on used field-book paper, 8 × 10 in.Times when all the world's asleep. 2021Gouache, ink, pencil color on used field-book paper, 8 × 6 in.All our colors have run. 2020Ink and pencil color on used field-book paper, 8 × 10 in.Hope when the whole day's done. 2021Gouache, ink, pencil color on
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallImages2025-03-20text/htmlen-USImages2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®42022026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20The Journal of a Disappointed Woman
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953979
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after The Journal of a Disappointed Man by Bruce Frederick Cummings (writing under W. N. P. Barbellion), called the best-known personal account of multiple sclerosis after publication, also called disgusting, immoral, and geniusMy daughter memorized the smell of my favorite perfume—the fancy perfume for going out, spicy though I prefer florals for everyday. I know I once chased my children around our yard on summer days, the air honeysuckle and trumpet vine. We'd picnic. Cookies decorated like hamburgers and watermelon piled into plastic disposable bowls. I know how awake I once was. How a moaned sigh or the shuffle of sheets against their tossing bodies would rouse me from bed across the distance of our house.My
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallThe Journal of a Disappointed Woman2025-03-20text/htmlen-USThe Journal of a Disappointed Woman2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®63492026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Contributor Notes
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953980
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Dominique Ahkong is an Arizona-based poet of Hakka-Mauritian descent. Her work appears or is forthcoming in The Southern Review, The Cincinnati Review, The Georgia Review, Best New Poets, and elsewhere. She coedits Shō Poetry Journal. More at dominiqueahkong.com or @domkeykong.Derek Andersen is an Illinois Wesleyan alum working as a copywriter in Chicago. His short stories have appeared in Arts & Letters, Barrelhouse, Catapult, Columbia Journal, and elsewhere. His piece "Napalm" was named a notable Best American Short Story of 2022. Read more of his work at derekandersenwriting.com.D Anderson recently graduated from the University of Iowa Creative Writers Workshop. His short stories have been published in Pangyrus
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallContributor Notes2025-03-20text/htmlen-USContributor Notes2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®185192026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Bill Graham Presents… Dinner
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953982
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Bill Graham, the famous rock-'n'-roll promoter, is in our kitchen, making dinner. How he got in here, we haven't the foggiest idea. There is no sign of forced entry, no flower-power Cadillac convertible parked outside our home. Our phones did not ping with an urgent message from our security system, notifying us that an unlawful intrusion had taken place. Bill Graham has simply appeared—his presence is a plain fact, undeniable and inconvenient, and he greets us with an angelic smile as we enter our kitchen from the garage."A momentous occasion!" he announces in a sonorous baritone. Although his exotic looks lean European, Bill Graham speaks with perfect English diction, with no affect at all. "I'll be your host for
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallBill Graham Presents… Dinner2025-03-20text/htmlen-USBill Graham Presents… Dinner2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®139662026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Savior
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953985
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What the therapist calls it, after looking it up on his phone, is lockiophobia, the fear of childbirth. I've told him about my dreams, my skin ripping apart, stretching like a balloon and bursting with a deafening pop, flesh tearing and blood spraying, pain emanating from my center like fire and knives and cracking bones all at once, my own screams waking my sweat-wet body, sometimes three or four times before the sun rescues me. The therapist asks how I feel about these dreams, if I want to have children, if I regret not having them already. I ask him how this matters, since I'm a man; having children for us is so much easier—when it comes down to it, it's all the pleasure and none of the pain. He asks me how I
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallSavior2025-03-20text/htmlen-USSavior2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®37542026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20On Writing "Dear Father,"
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953986
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A prayer is a way of expressing devotion, yes, but it can also be the medium through which we investigate our obsessions. "Dear Father," was born due to my all-consuming interest in religion, desire, and girlhood. When I first approached this poem, I was spending a week in Lake Tahoe surrounded by a community of poets who were following a simple rule: write a poem a day, turn it in before midnight, and workshop it the next morning. As you may imagine, the (good!) pressure of presenting your work to many talented writers and a pretty strict deadline resulted in this poem starting as all bones and no meat. I can confidently say this poem flourished only because I revised it. See, I do not think of revision as a
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallOn Writing "Dear Father,"2025-03-20text/htmlen-USOn Writing "Dear Father,"2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®57802026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Venom
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953990
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The boy had run behind the dumpster and into the strip of woods between the drainage canal and the street."Come on, now!" Jack called. "There's nowhere you can leave them bushes where I won't see you come out. Unless you try to cross the canal, which I wouldn't, not with all the crap in it."He waited. The boy didn't respond."I'm not going to hurt you," Jack said. "I just want you to tell me why you threw that ball at her."He waited again."I'm not coming in there after you. But the longer you make me wait out here, the worse I'm going to tell your parents on you. Because—and no mistake, now—I know you live in these apartments, so I won't have any trouble finding them. Somebody'll know your folks. Door to door
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallVenom2025-03-20text/htmlen-USVenom2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®178272026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20The Moves: A Record in Flashes
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953992
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She is thirteen, creating synchronous steps to Dead or Alive's "You Spin Me Round" with her best friend. Her arms twirl, body shakes, hips shimmy. Silently she mouths words with a stern face, strong lips. They will do the dance at a New Year's Eve party on the other side of town. It will be her debut. She gets intoxicated. "You're hot," says the guy she does not know who holds her hair, a hand on her forehead, as she pukes in the snow. After midnight her best friend walks her home, guides her into the house. She stops to dunk her head under the kitchen faucet. Shushing her, her best friend helps her upstairs and puts her to bed. She spins, round and round.She is seventeen, selling new shoes to collegiates at a
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallThe Moves: A Record in Flashes2025-03-20text/htmlen-USThe Moves: A Record in Flashes2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®107702026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20So Far in Such Small Distance: Using Expansive Economy to Energize Stories and Readers
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953996
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My daughter pulls from her backpack a class project and places the stack of crumpled construction paper, bound with glue across the top like a checkbook, on the table. I ask for a tour. She's quick to flip through the pages, elaborating little, interested not in presentation but leaving for the basement to play games on her tablet.I smooth out the creases in front of me like an archivist. "My Place in the Universe" spreads from edge to edge of the topmost page in washable marker. I fold over the front cover and our house appears, spirals of smoke from the chimney and classic triangle-atoprectangle construction. On the next panel is a top-down view of our neighborhood, then following that the city in which we live.
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallSo Far in Such Small Distance: Using Expansive Economy to Energize Stories and Readers2025-03-20text/htmlen-USSo Far in Such Small Distance: Using Expansive Economy to Energize Stories and Readers2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®246262026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Everything's an Experiment: An Interview with Michael Martone
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953998
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Few things are more serious than play, and as much is true for the work of Michael Martone: his playfulness demands a deep engagement and hyper-awareness. He is known as a literary prankster, a writer's writer, a hybrid, an iconoclast. His work strives for a narrative unity beyond linearity, unconcerned with differences of memory and imagination, reality and irreality.His past students frequently sneak fake literary detritus onto his Wikipedia page. He's been sued by the Blue Guide people after publishing his (fictional) Blue Guide to Indiana, and its Amazon listing now carries a warning: "This book is not actually part of the 'blue guide' series."And yet, all of his stories are true stories, especially when they
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallEverything's an Experiment: An Interview with Michael Martone2025-03-20text/htmlen-USEverything's an Experiment: An Interview with Michael Martone2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®311682026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20When the Rain Comes
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/953999
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I moved to Austin with Billy when I was seventeen. I thought of the move as an adventure, a frantic journey out of Dallas and away from myself. I took tally of my genetics, the hands of fate, the crummy patterns I'd let myself slip into and speculated that I—that everyone—may be unknowable, unknowably bound to the dull cruelties we've been given. No deep mystery or core self to be uncovered in any of that. I still don't think you can ever discern your true self, let alone the makings of another person. Perhaps what's more measurable is the effect people who come into our lives have on us—the people you never see coming, the ones who swerve into us amidst their own adventures and, collateral collision, end up
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallWhen the Rain Comes2025-03-20text/htmlen-USWhen the Rain Comes2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®183232026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20The Corrections Officer
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954000
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The corrections officer sat on the bed in his son's room, cradling the boy's head as he wept."Oh god, oh god, please," the boy cried.The corrections officer hadn't yet had time to change out of his uniform and the accoutrements that hung from his belt—baton, taser, flashlight, etcetera—jammed awkwardly between his body and the mattress."Oh god, Daddy, please," his son wailed. The boy was fourteen years old but his sobs seemed like those of a much younger child. The corrections officer gently ran his fingers through his son's hair."Shh," he said. "Hush. It will be okay. We'll find some way to make this right."Earlier that afternoon, at the county jail where he worked, the corrections officer had nearly killed a man.
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallThe Corrections Officer2025-03-20text/htmlen-USThe Corrections Officer2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®78582026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Lake Big Arbor Vitae
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954001
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for
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallLake Big Arbor Vitae2025-03-20text/htmlen-USLake Big Arbor Vitae2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®39172026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Go to Sleep, a Cento
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954002
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After Louise Glück, Sharon Olds, and Kerry HardieThere's a mother who's sick to death of her life. Tells her daughter, You may not be tired but I'm tired—so they switch mattresses. Mother dreams of sneaking out, a lawn sloped down from woods long since been taken by moss. Molehills erupt in purplish indiscipline across the face. Chase through the woods. Some man's thumbs thrust back inside her jaw. Hands like paddles, fingers jointed and short. She's hooked, hung out in lines along barbed wire, like a gibbet warning the neighbors. She swings in the wind. Somehow, there are shredded pom-poms in her fists. Mother wakes to her daughter staring, helps her with the words—the snow has to fall, sleep has to come, and
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallGo to Sleep, a Cento2025-03-20text/htmlen-USGo to Sleep, a Cento2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®25032026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Wakefield
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954003
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Like so many other members of the species Felis catus, I spent much of my earliest youth in a shelter for unwanted animals. I was treated reasonably well there before being adopted by a single man. Some of my littermates were adopted before me, but I wasn't the last to be adopted, either, by which intelligence I mean to communicate that I am not exceptional. What happened to me could happen to anyone.I was happy with the life I shared with my owner. Please make no mistake about that. Though I did not have wet food every day, I had it regularly. My litter box was scooped and kept clean. My owner felt affection for me, of that I am certain, and I felt affection for him, of that I am also certain.After a time, we
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallWakefield2025-03-20text/htmlen-USWakefield2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®187042026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Night Fog
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954005
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The new neighbors across the way are spies. She's much too pretty to be married to such a fat man. That's the tell. That and her tattoos—two arms full of bright skulls and occult herbs. They watch me from their porch, follow me to the market, creep through my home at night. They move things. Break them. Small things. Edith's porcelain duck. My good sneakers. Just enough that I notice. Enough to rattle me. To force me out. Their phony smiles wilt when I catch them at their mailbox, lean in and whisper: I know.A man claiming to be Jacob—my oldest—knocks on my door after supper. Says we need to talk. Says he's worried about me and that it's time to think about selling the house. That it's too much for me to handle on
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallNight Fog2025-03-20text/htmlen-USNight Fog2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®38572026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Editor's Note
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954006
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In an August 1870 letter to T. W. Higginson, Emily Dickinson offered the following: "If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire ever can warm me I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry." The next morning, after traveling the same ninety-three million miles as it does today, the early light reached the front stairs of her Amherst home. The science says this distance is covered in eight minutes and twenty seconds. If you could somehow make the return trip aboard a commercial airplane moving at average, commercial airplane speeds, you'd reach the center of our solar system in nineteen years. While these numbers might help us begin to
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallEditor's Note2025-03-20text/htmlen-USEditor's Note2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®40852026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20A Tale of Mystery, Romance, and International Intrigue
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954008
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The two men sat opposite each other, a shortwave radio on the table between them. It was dark in the underground bunker, but Albert still found himself irritated by the fact that his colleague Boris, the new guy from the East Berlin agency, insisted on wearing a feather boa to work.Albert had tried to be congenial, but there were just too many obstacles—like the top hat Boris also insisted on wearing. At least if one had to be so odd, one should try to develop a little fashion sense, he thought. And it was obvious that neither the feather boa nor the top hat were the proper accessories to go with the army boots and lederhosen.But never mind, he thought. They had a greater bond, a common mission, these two men. They
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallA Tale of Mystery, Romance, and International Intrigue2025-03-20text/htmlen-USA Tale of Mystery, Romance, and International Intrigue2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®72192026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20On Writing "Ground-up Glass"
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954009
<p></p>
"Ground-up Glass" is an excerpt from my opiate recovery memoir, a work-in-progress tentatively titled The Radioactive Patient: Suboxone, Pain and Rock 'N Roll. My intent is to draw the reader deep into my opiate-soaked existence—to show a person dependent not only on prescription opiates, but also on the doctors who prescribe them.The piece takes place in 2016, when the U.S. government's reaction to the opiate epidemic was to crack down on the doctors prescribing them, a consequence of which was that legitimate pain patients were abruptly cut off their meds and left to suffer. I remember the fear and outrage as I thought, I'm not going to be one of those people, something's got to change. This is the origin story
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallOn Writing "Ground-up Glass"2025-03-20text/htmlen-USOn Writing "Ground-up Glass"2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®57262026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Ground-up Glass
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954010
<p></p>
I am ripped from a heavenly dream—in which my herniated discs have healed and I'm running on Hollywood Beach—by an unholy pain that grips me with a panic so stunning it takes away my breath, leaving me forlorn of all hope. The room is smothering; the sheets are damp. My back feels like I'm lying on a coil of hot razor wire that punctures the dimple marking my sacroiliac joint and the start of my lumbar spine. And the pain doesn't end there. My sciatic nerve rages down my right leg, alerting me to more damage than I can bear to think about.I have no clue what time it is. I know one thing—it's dark under the black satin eye mask I wear to stave off the flashing lights of the football games my husband leaves on all
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallGround-up Glass2025-03-20text/htmlen-USGround-up Glass2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®197142026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Fats, Oils, and Sweets
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954011
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I noticed when Travis began buying fat-reduced foods. The coconut milk had a twirling banner and the milk, a green cap. He wanted to toss the Halloween candy and quit drinking. He had the determination of someone who had just learned an important fact about the world, like all money is in venture capitalism and app development. Travis knows how I love to click.I had gained eighty-five pounds since our first date. He had taken me to a fusion place, but the server delivered our food on separate plates. One plate for falafel, pita, and dolma. Another for the crispy chile relleno. I purposefully sat facing the back of the restaurant, to keep him from watching the waitress while we ate.Travis made me hot lemon water
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallFats, Oils, and Sweets2025-03-20text/htmlen-USFats, Oils, and Sweets2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®98082026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20How to Give Away Your Body
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954012
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It's best to start young, before your hips are full, before your sense of self. Lose your voice before you learn to use it. Fall under the hypnosis of external validation. Make sure to do it in little ways so that no one, not even you, will notice until it's too late. Like valuing your worth based on how often someone compliments your ass. Bonus points if it's a boy and extra bonus points if he says it because he wants to have sex with you. Lose it at fifteen because you've made it a race, and you don't want to be the last one left a virgin.Become close friends with a tall boy with dark hair (not particularly handsome), let's call him X. He will talk nonstop about having sex with you even though you tell him you
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallHow to Give Away Your Body2025-03-20text/htmlen-USHow to Give Away Your Body2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®112092026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20Recipe for Homemade Chicken Biryani: International Student-Style
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/954013
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Course: EntreeCuisine: PakistaniDifficulty: MediumServings: 4 people 1 student, 4 timesPrep time: 30 minsCooking time: 1 hour100 ml 3.4 fl oz oil300 grams 0.66 lb red onions50 grams 1.8 oz ginger50 grams 1.8 oz garlic300 grams 0.66 lb tomatoes250 grams 0.55 lb yogurt500 grams 1 lb potatoes500 grams 1 lb chicken500 grams 1 lb basmati rice2 tsp salt3 South Asian cinnamon sticks3 green cardamom4 black cloves4 black peppercorn1 pinch of orange food coloring1 bunch of mint leaves3 green chillies1 packet Shan Bombay Biryani MasalaCut red onions into half-moon slices. Since you are unaware of the difference between yellow and red onions, use whichever is available and cheaper to buy. The onion tears are going to be the
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Project MUSE®https://muse.jhu.edu/2026-05-11T00:00:00-05:00https://muse.jhu.edu/journal/876/image/coversmallRecipe for Homemade Chicken Biryani: International Student-Style2025-03-20text/htmlen-USRecipe for Homemade Chicken Biryani: International Student-Style2025-03-202025TWOProject MUSE®128742026-05-11T00:00:00-05:002025-03-20