Such as:

Bustle Magazine

[excerpt] With her new memoir, What Do We Need Men For?, E. Jean Carroll has written one of the definitive books of the #MeToo movement. Deep within the memoir, 11 pages contain Carroll’s now-famous allegation that President Donald Trump sexually assaulted her in 1996. But that story, first published by New York Magazine two weeks prior to the book’s release, is just one hit in a scourge of attacks. A broader cultural message exists in these 270 pages, in which Carroll writes about her 60 years of experience with what she calls "hideous men," including a babysitter’s boyfriend, a camp waterfront director, a mobster, two media moguls, an auto mechanic, random hostile strangers, and a celebrity ex-husband.

Mark Bittman’s Heated

[excerpt] “My players used to think that vegetables had to be bland and boring, like steamed broccoli,” Wilbon tells me. “I show up with broccolini sautéed in grape seed oil, sprinkled with my Cajun spices, and they can’t get enough. It’s all about adding the right seasoning. That’s why they love me - and my broccoli.” Her meals are built around reimagined classics, the American comfort foods that everybody craves. One popular staple is her oven-fried chicken, made from buttermilk-soaked boneless thighs, baked in a quinoa crust and drizzled with local honey, served with saffron rice and peas. Dishes like this one have broadened the palates of her players and recalibrated their expectation of feeling full.

Narratively

[excerpt] Watching each performance from the wings, I’m mesmerized by all those beaming faces, so worshipful and ripe, begging to be noticed by whoever is on stage. I’m stuck watching the orgy from the outside, and I want a turn at lusty playtime. I want to be adored.

So I start to invite the attention I crave. I flirt with security guards and local crew; I accept stiff drinks from lascivious promoters and record label reps. I alter my attire, adding slinky polyester button-down blouses in loud vintage prints to my old gender-neutral wardrobe. And the superstar’s drummer starts shooting hungry glances my way.