Jenn Hall Writes

Paste Food: Love & Redemption on the Mid-Atlantic Pop Tart Trail

The childhood ritual that would culminate in Pop-Tarts typically began at a Chicken Holiday off the Jersey Turnpike. See three of us under fluorescent light: my father, my younger sister and me. The table is a tangle of grease-sod napkins, the room humid with flash-fried air. Above us looms a cartoon hen in a party hat. Read more…

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Published August 25, 2016

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