Articles by hannahfreeman

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The cabin smelled of apples, cinnamon and cloves. Nilah DeLetto-Howard stood at her kitchen island, a mound of dough beneath her flour-dusted hands, working it with the steady rhythm of muscle memory. In preparation for her next market, DeLetto-Howard was making baked apple empanadas.

Since January 2024, DeLetto-Howard has been running Honeybee Baking out of her home in Arnoldsville, Georgia. She sells her pastries, desserts and Salvadoran quesadillas at local farmers markets like the Marigold Farmers Market in Winterville and the Athens Farmers Market. 

For DeLetto-Howard, baking is more than a business — it’s a cultural inheritance.

“My mission statement is kind of like a little bit of ethnicity, like getting the cultural flavors out there,” DeLetto-Howard said. “Then, of course, there’s the sensitivity aspect of it to make it more inclusive, and then the community.”

An essential part of Honeybee Baking’s brand is its commitment to inclusivity. Whether it’s her gluten-free chai tres leches or her vegan cupcakes, DeLetto-Howard prides herself on making sweets available for every diet. 

“It’s been really fulfilling and I’ve kind of found my niche of expertise with food sensitivities,” DeLetto-Howard said. “It’s just kind of nice that people know they can come to me and I’ll figure it out for them.”

Many market-goers stop at Honeybee Baking because the menu caters to a variety of dietary restrictions. Sarah Hovater, director of the Marigold Farmers Market, said DeLetto-Howard’s business has opened access to the market by providing more goods for people with food sensitivities. 

Though she is not gluten intolerant, Hovater said she enjoys DeLetto-Howard’s gluten-free desserts and recommends them to everyone — especially the chocolate cake. 

“We’re all trying to find more opportunities to highlight her products because we love her, but also because we feel good about standing behind the product she’s making,” Hovater said. “I think the community feels the same way about her and is passionate about supporting her.”

Hovater also said she loves having DeLetto-Howard as a market vendor.

“Nilah herself is just sweet, she is generous and just really caring,” Hovater said. “She’s a joy to work with, and she’s kind, and she’ll donate leftovers. I love partnering with her in as many ways as we can.”

DeLetto-Howard hopes to reciprocate that love back into the community. 

“A lot of people say they’re about community, or they like community, but I know that they’re (farmers markets) actually doing it,” she said. “They really care, and they show it and you can feel it. I like to be a part of that.”

Building the hive

While the oven preheated, DeLetto-Howard spooned a dollop of spiced apple filling on each circle of dough before folding them into half-moon pastries. She crimped the edges with careful precision and sliced a small “X” on the top of each empanada to ensure they would not burst open in the oven.

Since opening Honeybee Baking, DeLetto-Howard has learned her limitations as a business owner. 

“I kind of deal with burnout because it’s just me,” she said. “I would like to do more, it’s just I’m not at the point yet where I can have help. I just have to work a little more by myself.”

Still, DeLetto-Howard plans to grow her business in the future. Once she has her own commercial kitchen, her goal is to hire formerly incarcerated people to give them a fair chance at getting back on their feet.

Until then, DeLetto-Howard is making strides toward sweet success.

“If you really have something that you’re passionate about or the idea of working for yourself is cool, you have to realize that there’s no one going to be motivating you,” she said. “You have to show up for yourself. No one is going to care about your business as much as you do.”

As she builds her hive, DeLetto-Howard is creating an online store and drive-by bakery box where customers can pick up honey, pancake mix and cookies without having to leave their cars. She also plans to donate unsold baked goods to the local women’s shelter. 

“Everyone deserves something sweet, I think,” she said. 

After 25 minutes in the oven, the empanadas were ready to come out. As DeLetto-Howard placed the hot trays on the cooling rack, the sugar-coated hand pies glistened in the golden kitchen light. Once cooled, the pastries are packaged and prepared for the market. 

There, DeLetto-Howard gets to share her little labor of love with the community.

“The small things that feel really big to me is when people see gluten-free and they get so excited,” she said. “That makes them so happy, and that makes me happy.”

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Tucked in a quiet corner of downtown Athens, The Rook and Pawn may look like any other café. 

But inside, the nutty aroma of espresso and old board games fills the air. Shelves line the wall, brimming with colorful game boxes — everything from Candy Land to Carcassonne. Behind the game room and bar, a dimly lit corridor hums with quiet conversation and shuffling cards.

In a city known for its bustling bars and restaurants, The Rook and Pawn has carved out its own niche as a community-driven “third place” where food, play and connection come together. 

The idea of a “third place” — a space outside the home and workplace where people gather — was first introduced by sociologist Ray Oldenburg in his book “The Great Good Place.” He defined a third place as a convenient, inexpensive public space where people can socialize with others, typically over food or drinks. 

 “Third places exist on neutral ground and serve to level their guests to a condition of social equality,” Oldenburg wrote. “Within these places, conversation is the primary activity and the major vehicle for the display and appreciation of human personality and individuality.”

Tim Kelly and his wife, Carrie, opened The Rook and Pawn in 2015 with the idea of a third place in mind. Their goal was to create a café where people could play their favorite board games while enjoying food and drinks — whether with friends, family or on their own.

Since then, the restaurant has become a staple gathering spot for young adults in Athens. 

“We wanted a place that would appeal to families during the day,” Kelly said. “At the same time, students could study here, treat it as a coffeehouse and then in the evening, have it sort of transition into a more traditional downtown restaurant/bar.”

With a library of more than 500 board games and a pub-style menu of  sandwiches, coffee, cocktails and craft beer, The Rook and Pawn offers a casual atmosphere where everyone from seasoned gamers to curious newcomers is welcome.

“We wanted it to be a celebration of whatever people’s interests were, whether it was games or coffee or food or drinks or just hanging out,” Kelly said. “Everybody was welcomed, everyone, you know, treated the same way.”

Whether stopping by to play a game of chess in between classes or grabbing a drink at night, Kelly said students play an integral role in the daily operations of the café. 

“During the day, it can be a lonely place,” Kelly said. “When the students are back, a lot of times they’ll come in and study and get a coffee, and it’s nice just to have that in and out and just have a little bit more vibrancy.”

For many students, The Rook and Pawn serves as a space to build community during a formative time in their lives. 

Dawn Robinson, a professor of sociology at the University of Georgia,  said third places like The Rook and Pawn are especially valuable for young adults who are navigating independence and shaping who they are.

“Young adults are kind of branching away from their family place in a big way,” Robinson said. “That makes it kind of exciting and important in their lives, because they’re forming new relationships and new identities in those contexts.”

Food, she added, often deepens those connections.

“Food reminds people of some of the warmer memories of family,” Robinson said. “I think food, globally and historically, is an emotionally charged context for enjoying each other’s company.”

Kelly said that sense of comfort is exactly what The Rook and Pawn aims to offer — not just through food, but through the feeling of being at home with others.

“Whether they’re eating or drinking or playing a game or whatever, it’s just like they’re kind of in their living room and they’re hanging out with their friends,” Kelly said. “That’s what we’ve always kind of strived for.”

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Located on Danielsville Road, Tacos Los Plebes is one of the few restaurants in town offering affordable, authentic Mexican street food. Last year, it was voted Athens’ best-kept secret by the Red & Black. 

Now, it’s not so hidden. 

Tacos Los Plebes got its start as a small taqueria inside Supermercado Sinaloa, a family-owned Mexican grocery store in Athens. In 2018, the family moved their taco business into a vacant Huddle House building on the North side of town. Since gaining popularity, they plan to open a sister restaurant in Danielsville.

Part of Tacos Los Plebes’ success is its quick service and affordability. Tacos ranges from $3 to $4, with meat options varying from shrimp to beef head. 

Brent Pilgrim, a construction manager in the Athens area, visits Tacos Los Plebes often when he’s working nearby. He said it’s a convenient spot to get a quick meal, especially when he’s having a busy day.

“It’s good, affordable Mexican food,” Pilgrim said. “Great tacos, quick service. Just a great place to eat.”

After hearing all the positive reviews of Tacos Los Plebes, I had my partner, Connor Abercrombie, join me on an early dinner date to the acclaimed eatery. 

We arrived just before the 5 o’clock rush, but the restaurant was already bustling with customers. A family of four sat near the door, laughing while they waited for their meal. An older man sat in the corner alone, enjoying a burrito and bottle of Coke. The hiss of the grill sizzling with oils and spices pulled the whole scene together.

Three people were ahead of us in line, giving me plenty of time to look over the vast menu. In addition to tacos, the restaurant offers burritos, quesadillas, tortas — a Mexican sandwich — and sopes, which are fried masa patties with various toppings. 

Being a picky eater, I ordered two vegetarian tacos and a chicken sope. Meanwhile, Abercrombie ordered two tacos with chorizo and one with lengua — beef tongue. 

After ordering at the counter, we found a small table next to the kitchen, giving us the perfect view of our food being prepared. The cook working the grill appeared lost in his labor, rhythmically tossing meat and vegetables onto the flat top with his spatula. Behind him, a prep cook assembled tacos into a freshly pressed corn tortilla topped with tomatoes, onion and a fistful of cilantro. 

About 10 minutes later, our food came out in two fast food baskets, neatly garnished with slices of radish and cucumber. Abercrombie tried the chorizo taco first, his eyes widening after the first bite. 

“One of the best chorizo tacos I’ve probably ever had,” he said. “It’s got a good spice to it, not an overwhelming spice. It’s got a nice, earthy undertone to it, as well. And the cilantro, the lime and the onion all help to bring that out.”

As for the lengua, Abercrombie wasn’t impressed. 

“It was a texture thing for me,” he said. “It’s just too tender, and not enough pushback on the meat itself.”

The vegetable tacos on their own were flavorful — the sautéed onions, bell peppers and mushrooms created a savory, slightly smoky base. The raw onion on top added a crisp contrast, while the cilantro brought a bright, herbal tone. A squeeze of lime tied everything together with a zesty tang, making each bite feel fresh and vibrant. 

But the real show stoppers were the tortillas. Their toasty exterior gave way to a soft, tender texture that melted on the tongue. The nutty, subtly sweet flavor of fresh corn lingered even after finishing the meal.

The masa patty of the sope offered a similar flavor, but was crunchier than the pressed tortillas. On top, the crisp lettuce and tomato brought a lightness to the thick base, cut by the cool tanginess of sour cream. Cotija cheese crowns it all with a salty richness balanced by a creamy slice of avocado. 

Though he didn’t enjoy the lengua, Abercrombie agrees with the public — Tacos Los Plebes has some of the best tacos in town.

“Customer service is really good, it tastes good, it was out fast,” he said. “Overall, a great experience.”

New York has it all — $1 slices of pizza, halal food trucks, and the best bagels in the world. 

There are bagels, then there are New York bagels — the kind that steam up the paper bag like a lover’s breath on a cab window at dawn. You devour them on the subway at 8 a.m., cream cheese on your fingers and poppy seeds clinging to your coat. It’s not just a bagel, it’s an experience. 

I was 17 the first time I ever tasted a New York bagel. It was Spring Break, and I was visiting my sister in Long Island. She lived above a Jewish bakery, so every morning the smell of freshly baked bagels wafted through the air vents and into her apartment. I dreamed of biting into one, hot out of the oven — the first crunch like a jolt of electricity to wake you up, then the soft dough melting into your mouth.

On Sunday morning, we woke up early to catch the train to Brooklyn. It was cold, even for mid-March, and all I wanted was a hot cup of coffee to keep me warm. But first — breakfast.

My sister made a point of giving me the full New York treatment, and the bagel shop downstairs was first on her list of things to do. I followed her into the busy bakery, several people already in line waiting for a quick morning meal before heading to work. The yeasty smell of warm bread and greasy fried eggs made my stomach purr with hunger. 

There was no menu; people just knew what to get. My sister looked at me looking at the wire baskets full of bagels lining the back wall — plain, sesame, poppy seed, blueberry, cinnamon raisin. “I’m getting an everything bagel with vegetable cream cheese,” she said. “Do you know what you want?” 

My eyes went wide. I did not know what I wanted. With a bagel, the options are endless; you could have a plain bagel with regular cream cheese, or an everything bagel with bacon, egg, turkey, cheddar, swiss — you name it. The man in front of us ordered a sesame seed bagel with lox, whatever that was. 

“Lox is like a smoked salmon,” my sister said, sensing my curiosity. “Everyone around here gets it.” I nodded. I liked salmon, but had just committed myself to a vegetarian diet two months earlier. I wondered if I should play it safe with an everything bagel and cream cheese, or try lox for the sake of saying I had tried it. When in New York, I thought. 

So, I ordered the lox bagel. While my sister paid, I watched the bakery assistant make our sandwiches. The blade of her knife sliced through the bagel, cracking open the shiny, outer crust and releasing a delicate ribbon of steam into the air. She spread a rich, velvety layer of cream cheese on both sides before placing three thin slices of lox and several rings of red onion on the bottom half. Then she wrapped our bagels neatly in tinfoil, placed them in a brown paper bag, and we were off.

Outside, the wind tore across my skin like sandpaper, nipping at my fingers until I could no longer feel the bag in my hand. I silently cursed myself for forgetting gloves and tucked the bag in my coat, the bagels like two hearts beating to keep me warm. 

As we approached the train platform, my stomach could no longer fight the hunger — I needed to eat immediately. I pulled my bagel from the bag, handed my sister hers, and began unwrapping the sandwich with careful precision. I stopped to admire the beauty of my bagel, licks of smooth cream cheese and supple salmon peaking over the soft edges. I brought it to my lips slowly like a first kiss, mentally preparing myself for what came next.

That first bite was heaven. At first, a savory punch of garlic, onion, and sesame, then the sweet, tangy taste of cream cheese melting on my tongue. The red onion balanced out the creaminess with a much-needed crunch, but then the lox glided in — smooth and silky, salty and subtly smoky. It was the perfect bagel. 

I’ve had many bagels since New York, but none have ever lived up to the everything bagel with lox and cream cheese I ate on the train platform with my sister. Even now, I still dream of that first bite.