Basic Folk: Bonnie “Prince” Billy

Will Oldham, also known as Bonnie “Prince” Billy, has led an illustrious, sometimes mysterious career which has spanned decades and genres. Hailing from and still living in Lexington, Kentucky, in our Basic Folk conversation Will reflects on his journey from a young artist struggling to find his place in the music world to a seasoned musician who embraces collaboration and creativity.

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We dive into his latest album, The Purple Bird, discussing the pivotal role of producer David Ferguson in Will’s artistic evolution. He reveals how working with Ferguson and a host of talented Nashville musicians transformed his songwriting process and solidified his sense of belonging in the music community. With a mix of humor and heartfelt honesty, Will describes the joy of collaboration and the unique energy that comes from working with seasoned artists, particularly those from older generations.

Throughout this episode of Basic Folk, Will also touches on the contrasting emotions evoked by his songs, especially when dealing with serious themes wrapped in upbeat melodies. He draws parallels to the works of Phil Ochs, highlighting the importance of addressing difficult subjects through art. As we wrap up, he shares personal anecdotes about his family and the influence of his daughter on his music. Thanks to Will for making a wonderful record and being so willing to get seriously deep into some of its themes!


Photo Credit: David Kasnic

WATCH: Matt Sweeney & Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, “Resist the Urge”

Artist: Matt Sweeney & Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy
Hometown: New York, New York (Matt Sweeney); Louisville, Kentucky (Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, a.k.a. Will Oldham)
Song: “Resist the Urge” (music video by skateboarders Kevin “Spanky” Long and Atiba Jefferson)
Album: Superwolves
Release Date: April 30, 2021
Label: Drag City

In Their Words: “Spanky and Atiba’s video rules. We try to make the listener feel insanely at home in a musical space. Atiba and Spanky have made us feel like we own a share of the skateable world. We got David Ferguson out from behind the board to play double-bass on this one. It needed the lift that only a Ferg could deliver.” — Will Oldham

“I always wanted to see a full video part with just one skater, and once I got asked to work on a video for this record, I knew that Kevin ‘Spanky’ Long was perfect — his way of cutting out, resizing, moving and manipulating photos and videos is amazing, but also he is an amazing pro skater. I asked a lot of Spanky: I wanted him to star, direct, edit, film and do all of the artwork! It was a tall ask, but I know his love for Matt and Will would shine thru. This video was made in the pandemic so it was just me and him going out and shooting together. We shot around LA for 14 days over 4 months. It was great to work so closely with Spanky’s vision but still have him in front of the camera. This collaboration of directing together was great because we are two different generations of skateboarders, but both coming from the pro skater’s perspective.” — Atiba Jefferson

“This was just a great excuse to make a skate video with a best friend for my favorite band. I ran the high def footage and super8 film into my iPhone where I painstakingly cut frame-by-frame, with relatively low-fi digital tools, to execute the stop-motion animation and digital collage elements. It was, in the end, the only way to achieve this look we were after. And we weaved in the layers of sea and sky to meet the big themes in ‘Resist the Urge.’ COVID restrictions made things tricky to get Matt and Will in there, but we revel in limitations.” – Kevin “Spanky” Long


Photo credit: Jonah Freeman & Justin Lowe

LISTEN: ‘Once Upon a River’ Soundtrack

Written and directed by Haroula Rose and based upon a best-selling novel by Bonnie Jo Campbell, the award-winning indie film Once Upon a River tells the story of Margo Crane, a Native American teenager who sets out to find her mother as her own life takes one dramatic turn after another. Margo is portrayed by Kenadi DelaCerna, in her screen debut.

Shot to evoke rural Michigan in the 1970s, the mood of Once Upon a River is frequently elevated by original music from Rodney Crowell, JD Souther, Will Oldham, Bridget St. John, Fran Farley, Peter Bradley Adams, and Haroula Rose, as well as an atmospheric score by Zac Rae. Hear the soundtrack below, and enjoy an exclusive interview with Haroula Rose.

BGS: This story is set in 1977. How did that influence the music you chose for the movie?

Rose: Having it set in the 1970s made me excited about being able to use my favorite era in both music and cinema as inspiration. It was one of the reasons I loved the source material for this very unique kind of road movie, because I knew at once that I could use some psych folk, soul, country and ambient sounds to get into this tale and characters. My film partner at Thirty Tigers (David Macias) was literally the first person onboard for this project, while composer (Zac Rae) and music supervisor (Mike Turner) were also among the first people creatively involved once I had the shooting script. As a musician first, I am always thinking about it as a central element even as I am writing, and the music is deeply embedded into the process from the beginning. I used certain themes Zac had created to play for the actors while we were on set and they were very moved by hearing them.

There are moments of quiet in this movie, too. It reminds me of the adage that a good musician knows when to play a solo, as well as when not to. Can you tell me about your process for placing the music into the film without distracting from the storyline?

I love that analogy! I feel that silence can be as potent as noise, and the pauses in the film all have a voice and are communicating something as well. Margo is not the most traditionally vocal character but is so expressive, thus the music had to parallel that… such that we are still able to feel her subjective experience through the pregnant moments of quiet as much as the action scenes. Ultimately it was about continually paring the story down, sculpting it to its very essence, and the music supported that goal since we were always allowing it to evolve and not give too much away too soon. There was this balance we had to strike with regard to supporting the story and not giving away the emotions before their time. I’m really happy to hear you say it worked!

The placement for Will Oldham’s “Always Bound” works especially well in this film. Can you describe why you felt that scene and that particular recording synched up so well?

Will was the first person to write an original song for the film upon reading the script, and it was this magical piece. In fact “Always Bound” was what I used for our very first scene we shot of the film, which was Margo by the fire when she is eating canned food and camping. I brought these bluetooth speakers out to the woods and played it as we filmed, so we all dropped into this same emotional zone. It was a special moment, having Will as a creative force of support right then at the start. So I already knew which space it would inhabit in the film right when I heard it.

As you were writing dialogue, were there any characters whose perspective, or “voice,” that you particularly enjoyed?

Writing Smoke and Fishbone’s dialogue and banter was super fun, because like so many other parts of this story that inspire me, it is a unique relationship. I loved it in the book too. In terms of perspective/voice, writing Luanne because she is someone who is very complicated and all too easy to depict in a one-dimensional way, was a cool process. I really liked trying to find a way into her that is more complex and nuanced, more empathetic in seeing and understanding her pain, as she struggles to communicate and to exist in the world.

There’s a Rodney Crowell song here, too, and it’s filled with imagery. How did that song, “The Damage,” make its way into the film? And what do you remember about hearing that song for the first time?

Well, Rodney was one of the people considered for acting in the role of Smoke! David Macias reached out and then Rodney and I had a conversation about it. It was surreal because I have long been a Rodney fan. Hearing him play years ago at the Old Town School of Folk literally changed the stream of my life. When he found out he couldn’t do the role, Rodney kindly offered up the idea of a song. I was tremendously honored and then upon hearing it, with its visceral imagery and his manner in singing it, I got very emotional.

He got to the heart of two lonely but loving souls we don’t often see, and their connection. And then recording it — I sang harmonies with him — was so special in many ways. It was similar with JD Souther who wrote a song that Smoke (John Ashton) sings in one of his final scenes. It feels like a dream how this all came together, very fulfilling in terms of making music and making films. I co-wrote a song with Peter Bradley Adams and Zac Rae for the soundtrack as well, that plays in the final scene; that song always gets me emotional too.

To me, cultural identity seems to be a significant theme in this film — in a sense of racial identity, but also privilege. Was that element of diversity part of what attracted you to adapting this film?

Definitely. Bonnie’s novel alludes to Margo’s bloodline, and I thought it would be a great opportunity to showcase talent that would also add a dimension of depth to what the story is saying about “otherness” in her character as well as others, like her father (Tatanka Means) and Will (Ajuawak Kapashesit), who she meets along the way. It’s also part of her journey in coming to know herself and who she will be, that she knows where she came from. Will is the first person who asks her about her own potential, and hence why she makes the choice she does towards the end (no spoilers). In terms of privilege, I think it’s also depicted in terms of the Murrays and how they have interacted with and abused the land and the community, but I hope it’s conveyed that Margo is also someone with skills and talents that she learned from her father, which are a great gift. She has the depth and the comfort in being in the wild, knowing how to survive.

This film will be finding its way to even more viewers in the months ahead. Watching it now, more than a year after you completed it, what are some of the emotions you feel?

I still feel very inspired and emotional, especially at the ending. I also feel beyond proud of every single person involved and their hard work. It’s hard making an independent film and it’s my job to bring out the best in everyone. I hope the world out there sees that as they experience the film, the story, the music. A year after it premiered, 40 festivals and 19 awards later and many years after first reading the book, well it has been a wild and ambitious ride all to support a story that I truly believe we could see more of — seeing one another with compassion, empathy… Margo’s nonjudgmental and generous philosophy of live and let live… even or especially for those who cause you pain. It helps you find your own way.


Once Upon a River is available to watch via Film Movement. You can listen to the soundtrack on all streaming platforms.

BGS 5+5: Bug Martin

Artist name: Bug Martin
Hometown: Philadelphia, PA
Latest album: GUTTERBALL
Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): formerly known as Dead Bugs

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

Undoubtedly there have been a select few at different points in my life and work, but I’ll say Will Oldham has been a notable influence on me. He occupies a very specific corner of folk, or Americana — or “new weird America” or whatever you want to call it — that can be hard to pin down (as evidenced by the game of horseshoes I just played with genres there). [He] always takes on the task of exploring sound in unique ways.

The first record of his I ever heard was I See a Darkness, the title track of which Johnny Cash later did a version of with him. I listened to I See a Darkness at the recommendation of a friend and didn’t like it for a long time. I’d walk around at work with it playing in my headphones just having an all-around bad time; but there was something about it that continued to draw me back. I’d be thinking about what that unnameable glinting thing was way too much while I was listening to it. Eventually I learned to lean back and appreciate the joy of not knowing the answer.

Years later, I got to meet Will and heard him give a lecture to a very intimate crowd, maybe only 30 people, about topics like what songs are, the songwriting/recording process, and live performance. I asked him a question I had been pondering a while and he gave me an unsatisfying answer. Brought me right back to where I’d originally found him and that initial journey of un-learning and for that I’m forever grateful.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

In the town I grew up in there were lots of loud and lively bands. It’s the common plight of the up-and-coming acoustic act; show up to a bar or venue and play your heart out while folks zone out or talk over you. I always saw all these electric bands come through town that tried to command attention through volume and were also unsuccessful and it got me to thinking.

The next time I played, I brought a few power strips and as many electronics as I could fit in the car — I’m talking toasters, Christmas decorations, a TV looping a muted Looney Tunes VHS while I was playing… pretty much anything that I had in my house at the time to spare. I plugged all of it in around me and turned everything on while I was playing. It was probably the quietest that place had ever been as a room full of people collectively tried to figure out what was going on.

A thunderstorm rolled in and the whole room was pretty much dark and silent except for the glow of all these unnecessary electric props and what I was singing. After the set was over, people came up and talked to me about things they had just noticed in those same songs that I had played a dozen or so times in that same venue. I was glad they were able to be mindful of something going on in front of them and connect with live music. I was gladder still that I didn’t short out the entire fuse box mid-set.

How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?

My job is to be a conduit for whatever stories the ghosts around us have to tell. When I’m presented with an idea from wherever it is thoughts come from, I can give my opinion on it in a song but that doesn’t mean I can claim any ownership or that the story is mine. Thoughts don’t belong to or define the thinker.

What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc — inform your music?

My partner is a very talented abstract painter, so our studio space and home are full of visual works. In the past we’ve collaborated on work where, say, the title of a song will be the inspiration for a painting or I’ll meditate on a piece of theirs and try to capture feelings that the colors or forms stir up. It’s a great exercise to shake up patterns you fall into as an artist.

Besides that, I’m a film buff and a fairly avid reader. I had the pleasure of working recently with a friend of mine who is a dancer to create choreography to a song off of GUTTERBALL. Basically I have no allegiance to any specific medium of expression and recognize that inspiration is everywhere if I have the good sense to accept it.

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

Living? I’d happily make brunch for Alice Gerrard any day she’d let me. All-time? I’d take the Carter Family out for ice cream.


Photo credit: Mia Fiorentino

Six of the Best: Musical Alter Egos

Before we start, let’s just get this one out of the way: no one will ever do the musical alter ego as well as David Bowie/Ziggy Stardust/The Thin White Duke. But American roots has dabbled plenty with personas, often to pretty hilarious effect.

For example, comedian Rich Hall will be taking his own Tennessee jailbird-turned-singer-songwriter Otis Lee Crenshaw on the road this summer. (You can catch Otis in September at The Long Road Festival in Leicestershire, and for a couple of dates at the National Maritime Museum and Bush Hall in London.) But for now, we think it’s time to pay tribute to all those part-time musicians living in the fantasy fringes.

Hank Wilson / Leon Russell

It was a bold leap, back in 1973, for a California rocker and bluesman like Leon Russell to record a bluegrass and country album. No wonder he didn’t do it under his own name. Hank Wilson’s Back! was a return to his roots for Russell, who had grown up playing the standards in Oklahoma. And here they are all in their glory, including Bill Monroe’s “Uncle Pen” and Jimmie Rodgers’ “In the Jailhouse Now.”

It’s an album filled with special guest appearances, from Jim Buchanan and Johnny Gimble on fiddle to Tut Taylor on dobro, and the whole project was produced at Bradley’s Barn in Tennessee by JJ Cale. Hank’s version of “Roll in My Sweet Baby’s Arms” even made it into the charts. Hank had such a great time, he returned over the ensuing decades, with no fewer than three sequel records — and a number one hit recording of “Heartbreak Hotel” with Willie Nelson.


Lester ‘Roadhog’ Moran and the Cadillac Cowboys / The Statler Brothers

If you’ve ever wanted to hear Buddy Spicher purposefully butchering “Wildwood Flower,” there’s only one place to go — the 1974 recording of “Alive at the Johnny Mack Brown High School.” The Cadillac Cowboys, fronted by Lester ‘Roadhog’ Moran, are truly one of the worst country outfits ever committed to vinyl, ploughing their way through “Little Liza Jane,” “Freight Train” and “Keep on the Sunny Side” with all the nuance and musicality of a herd of stampeding hippopotami.

They were, in fact, the Statler Brothers — with a little back up from Spicher and Bob Moore on bass — who had created the fake (dreadful) band for the B-side of their 1972 album Country Music Then and Now. Their nine minute comedy routine, based on their memories of local radio shows from their childhoods, was so popular that Roadhog Moran and the Cadillac Cowboys got their own record deal. “It won’t die,” said Don Reid later. “We can’t even drown it.”


Luke the Drifter / Hank Williams

If you’re going to have an alter ego, you might as well imbue it with all the qualities you wish you had. And that’s certainly what confirmed reprobate Hank Williams seemed to be doing with his “half brother” Luke the Drifter.

Not many would have suspected the infamous bad boy of country music of having a penchant for sermon-making. But in 1950, as the singer was reaching the peak of his popularity and his upbeat hits were being played on radios all over the country, he was also recording a series of “talking blues” records that hit an unexpectedly moralising tone.

“He had another side to him that he wanted to get out,” said his grandson Hank Williams III. “And a lot of people didn’t understand the Luke the Drifter side. That’s a dark side, man.” It was his record label who insisted on the pseudonym, worried that an unsuspecting punter might punch his dime into a jukebox and get a spoken-word dressing-down instead of “Move it On Over.”

The recordings had proverbial titles like “Careful of the Stones You Throw,” and some, like “I’ve Been Down That Road Before,” described the kind of bad behaviour and poor decision-making that Williams was known for in his own life. “I’ve learned to slow my temper down and not to pick no scraps no more,” said Luke. Sadly Hank didn’t always heed his words.


Bonnie “Prince” Billy / Will Oldham

Some will say Bonnie Prince Billy is just a stage name, but to Kentuckian Will Oldham it’s always been more than that. As someone whose career has lasted more than quarter of a century, Oldham has put out records under plenty of different names, including Palace Flophouse (named after a John Steinbeck novel), Palace Brothers, Palace Songs, and Palace.

Confirming, perhaps, that he has a thing for royalty, he picked Bonnie “Prince” Billy to differentiate his Nashville-style songwriting from his previous indie rock offerings. “The primary purpose of the pseudonym is to allow both the audience and the performer to have a relationship with the performer that is valid and unbreakable,” he said in an interview.


Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers / Hot Rize

There is arguably no more beloved sideshow in bluegrass than Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers. No Hot Rize live set is truly complete without the promise of these performers from “Wyoming, Montana,” the support act that has supposedly been travelling in the back of their bus, and occasionally emerges to play some of the ‘40s and ‘50s country tunes they learned from the jukebox at their local cafe.

One by one, Tim O’Brien, Nick Forster, and Bryan Sutton will leave the stage, only for a slightly familiar-looking Red, Wendell and Swade to reappear in the time it might take to, say, put on a cowboy shirt. Eventually, they’ll be joined by oddball Waldo on pedal steel – there’s no way that’s Pete Wernick under that accent – and the next 15 minutes will combine music and frankly wacky comedy in the vaudevillian style that was an integral part of the earliest bluegrass bands/

A comic appearance from Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers brings back the days when Bill Monroe would wear a dress and “Uncle Josh and Cousin Jake” provided laughs at Flatt & Scruggs’s shows. But then, Hot Rize have always liked to pay tribute to the old days.


Dirty Doug / Dierks Bentley

In Pennsylvania they were the Scranton Scrotum Boys. In Boston they were the Mansfield Manscapers. They’ve also been the Big Jersey Johnsons, the Michigan Mule ticks and the Bolo Boys Bluegrass Band, but while the act’s name might change, the bluegrass pickers who open for Dierks Bentley keep one thing the same — their guitar player, Dirty Doug.

Beneath his big hat and sunglasses, it normally takes even the keenest eyes in the audience a few songs before they spot the similarity. That guy acoustifying ‘90s country songs — that guy playing Dierks Bentley’s hit “Lot of Leavin’ Left to Do” to a bluegrass groove — isn’t that… Dierks Bentley? Yep.

He started opening for himself on his 2017 What the Hell tour and it just made sense. “I’m crazy about bluegrass,” says Bentley. “You get the building for the whole day so why not take advantage of the fact you’re already paying to rent this place out?”


Photo credit of Dierks Bentley: Jim Wright

Canon Fodder: Bonnie “Prince” Billy, ‘I See a Darkness’

Will Oldham stands on the stage of the Odeon in Louisville, Kentucky, dressed up like a bruise: black pants hanging low on his hips, a blue shirt barely tucked in, hints of mascara around his eyes. He is gesticulating dramatically and singing about how death will come to us all, and behind him a large band kick up a larger ruckus. It sounds like chamber klezmer, its jazzbo rhythm section squaring off against a frantic string section and a clarinet that sounds like a gremlin in the works. The song is “Death to Everyone,” which originally appeared on 1999’s I See A Darkness, the first album to bear Oldham’s odd stage name Bonnie “Prince” Billy and likely his best-selling album.

“Death to Everyone” has never sounded quite like this before. The original is a low-key, heavy-quiet dirge, Oldham’s vocals measured and steady and even menacing, as an electric guitar mimics the sound of decaying flesh. It is a rover’s song, a justification for hedonism and rootlessness, and when Oldham sings the chorus—“Death to everyone is gonna come…”—he makes it sound like a threat. But the Odeon version of the song, from August 2018, backed by a sprawling band called the Wandering All-Stars & Motor Royalty, is starkly different. The tempo is ratcheted up, the lyrics sung like there is an exclamation point after every phrase; the energy is agitated yet gregarious, and Oldham stands on the stage, his hands flailing to the audience, as though inviting us to partake in every lusty pleasure before we perish. Oldham might be Falstaff or Caliban up there on stage, a figure of uneasy company.

All artists must live with their works, and most musicians maintain intimate connections to much of their catalog, performing the same compositions night after night. Few roots artists, however, take as many liberties with their songs as Oldham. He constantly revisits and revises, reinterprets and reconsidered, less out of obligation to fans than out of curiosity: How far can these melodies and sentiments bend? What will they allow? In 2004 he released a full album of Bonnie “Prince” Billy covering songs that pre-date that pseudonym, written when he was making art under various Palace monikers: Palace, Palace Music, Palace Brothers. Later this month he’ll release Songs of Love and Horror, which collects new versions of tunes from throughout his career, including the title track to I See a Darkness.

That album may be his most revisited, a set of missives from what he calls a minor place, comprising something like an Appalachian operetta. He writes lyrics as soliloquies, as monologues by characters in transit, wanderers and loners, sinners both defiant and humbled. The characters on I See a Darkness ponder the thin membrane between life and death, being and not being, this world and the next. On the title track the narrator confesses to a friend the abyss he sees behind everything as well as his desire for “peace in our lives.” It recalls Waiting for Godot or True West in its stark setting and sparse details, but that makes it easier for him to restage it, as he did on 2012’s Now Here’s My Plan. That version was sped up considerably, almost flippantly, as though the character were retreating from the darkness, confessing his deepest fears through a sidelong joke.

The most famous version of the song, however, features Oldham in a supporting role. Johnny Cash covered the song on 2000’s American Recordings III: Solitary Man, playing up the implications of his own Man in Black mythology as well as his own waywardness earlier in his life. But it also plays as a late-in-life reverie, and it gives Cash the opportunity to face down the impending darkness with dignity: “You know I have a drive to live, I won’t let go,” he sings, his voice bowed but not broken by age and illness.

This songwriting strategy—this idea of songs as short plays—echoes Oldham’s own actorly pursuits. As a teenager he appeared in John Sayles’ Matewan, about miners in Appalachia in the 1920s, and the TV movie Everybody’s Baby: The Rescue of Jessica McClure. In the 1990s he gravitated more toward music, but occasionally appears in independent films like Junebug and Old Joy. And there is in these songs a sense of dramaturgy, of an actor slipping into a role, which creates a very squirrelly strain of roots music. But it’s an inexact and not quite satisfying metaphor, one that suggests he is only acting, that there is none of himself in these lyrics and melodies, that he is merely pretending to see a darkness.

And perhaps that more than anything else—his long relationship with indie label Drag City, his use of antiquated or skewed syntax, or his headquarters in Louisville, just a few hours but many worlds away from Nashville—is why Oldham has not embraced nor been embraced by the Americana establishment: He stands slightly apart from his music, doesn’t inhabit his songs the same way Chris Stapleton or Margo Price or Sturgill Simpson inhabit theirs. That doesn’t mean his songs are personal or don’t expose something of the person singing them, but that he has radically different relationships with his songs.

Perhaps that’s why I See a Darkness still stands out in his expansive catalog: It gets at something profound about its creator and implies a darkness too dark, too enormous, too horrible to approach directly. He needs the scrim of a character, a decoy perhaps or a shield; a larger narrative emerges of an artist confronting depression without naming it. “So I become more lively to bury all the ugly,” he sings on “Another Day Full of Dread,” whose very title implies a black unnameable feeling lurking within these songs. To reinterpret these songs is to admit that the depression remains, even twenty years later, but his relationship to it has changed. Every time he sings these songs, he prevails against it, bruised but not beaten.


Photo credit: Jessica Fay

3×3: Lo Carmen on Prine, Parton, and Pizza

Artist: Lo Carmen
Hometown: Los Angeles, CA via Sydney, AUS
Latest Album: Lovers Dreamers Fighters
Personal Nicknames: Carmo, Lo Lo, Yo Lo, Loey, Lolene, Leone

Uncanny resemblance @tfsrecords. Midnight portrait by jet lagged 6 year old.

A post shared by Lo Carmen (@locarmenmusic) on

What song do you wish you had written?

“Be My Baby.” This is my 50th answer in five minutes. How can such a short question be so difficult?

Who would be in your dream songwriter round?

Will Oldham, Dolly Parton, John Prine

If you could only listen to one artist’s discography for the rest of your life, whose would you choose?

Dylan — pretty much got all bases covered for life there!

How often do you do laundry?

Constantly. I have small and rather grubby children, and sometimes I feel like Loretta Lynn in the bad ol’ days of “Hey Loretta.”

What was the last movie that you really loved?

Youth by Paulo Sorrentino. It had a really surreal, reflective Fellini-esque feel.

If you could re-live one year of your life, which would it be and why?

Maybe 14. Every crazy teenage story I have seems to be from when I was 14. I’d like to take notes this time and see how much is true.

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What’s your go-to comfort food?

Spaghetti marinara. Or pizza. I think I must have Italian heritage somewhere.

Kombucha — love it or hate it?

I’m suspicious, but occasionally curious/hopeful.

Mustard or mayo?

Chipotle mayo!

Photo credit: Katerina Stratos