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Burkhard Bilger

Burkhard Bilger

Staff Writer at The New Yorker

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Location
United States
Languages
  • English
Covering topics
  • Food

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Recent Articles

newyorker.com

Piecing Together the Secrets of the Stasi

Genin longed to live in East Berlin. She was born in Berlin in 1932, before the city was divided, but was forced to flee with her family at the age of six. The Genins were Jewish. One night in 1937, a boarder who was living with Salomea and her two sisters and her mother—her parents were divorced—denounced them to the local police. Salomea’s sister Franziska was sleeping with an Aryan, the boarder said, in violation of race ordinances. Franziska left for Australia two weeks later, but the rest o…
newyorker.com

What George Miller Has Learned in Forty-five Years of Making “Mad M...

What George Miller Has Learned in Forty-five Years of Making “Mad Max” Movies
newyorker.com

The Secret Sound of Stax

The rediscovery of demos performed by the songwriters of the legendary Memphis recording studio reveals a hidden history of soul.
newyorker.com

The Wild World of Music

What can elephants, birds, and flamenco players teach a neuroscientist-composer about music?
newyorker.com

The Art of Building the Impossible

The carpenter behind some of New York’s most elaborate—and expensive—homes.
newyorker.com

Can Babies Learn to Love Vegetables?

Building 500, as this facility was formerly known, has the looming hulk of an Egyptian temple: it was once the largest man-made structure in Colorado. When it opened, in 1941, four days before the attack on Pearl Harbor, threats to American safety were much on the government’s mind. (After the war, President Eisenhower spent seven weeks on the eighth floor, recuperating from a heart attack.) The Good Tastes Study, as the baby experiment is called, is in a similar spirit. The two electrodes on th…
newyorker.com

The Eternal Seductive Beauty of Feathers

Eric Charles-Donatien held it up to the light. “It’s almost too nice,” he said. “Do you have one that is just a little bit broken?” The shopkeeper frowned, then sent her assistant off with a nod. I trailed along, curious to see what she’d find. This was one of the finest taxidermy shops in Paris. Whenever some wild captive dropped dead within a thousand miles—a victim of sunstroke or virus, homesickness or honey-roasted peanuts—chances were that it would soon appear here, miraculously restored.…
newyorker.com

The Ride of Their Lives

Bull riding is the most dangerous organized sport in the world, but some kids can’t wait to compete.
newyorker.com

Nature’s Spoils

Clover’s pseudonym both signalled his emancipation from a wasteful society and offered a thin buffer against its authorities. “It came out of the security culture of the old Earth First! days,” another opportunivore told me. “If the Man comes around, you can’t give him any incriminating information.” Mostly, though, the names fit the faces: Clover was pale, slender, and sweet-natured, with fine blond hair gathered in a bun. His neighbor Catfish had droopy whiskers and fleshy cheeks. There were f…
newyorker.com

The Dark and Dangerous World of Extreme Cavers

In Mexico, spelunkers are exploring what might be the deepest cave in the world.
newyorker.com

Has the Self-Driving Car Arrived at Last?

The Google car knows every turn. It never gets drowsy or distracted, or wonders who has the right-of-way. But not everyone finds the technology appealing.
newyorker.com

The Rhythm in Everything

A hip-hop pioneer reinvents late-night music.
newyorker.com

The Strongest Man in the World

A new era of strength competitions tests the limits of the human body.
newyorker.com

The Strongest Man in the World

A new era of strength competitions tests the limits of the human body.
newyorker.com

Beware of the Dogs

I’ve never been much good around dogs. In the town where I grew up, about an hour north of Oklahoma City, every other house seemed to be patrolled by some bawling bluetick or excitable Irish setter, and the locals liked to leave them unchained. When I’d fill in for my brother on his paper route, or ride my one-speed bike to a friend’s house, I could usually count on a chase along the way, some homicidal canine at my heels. The dogs didn’t seem to give my friends as much trouble. And my father ha…
newyorker.com

Saving the Great Oasis from Desertification

“It used to be much wetter here when I was a boy,” Hamad Reesi said, as our S.U.V. lurched up a gravel switchback in the foothills. “You never had to buy fodder for your goats.” Ali al-Abdullatif nodded, then yanked the steering wheel to one side to avoid a dropoff. Next to him, Pieter Hoff dozed in the passenger seat. Abdullatif is the chairman of the Horticultural Association of Oman, a slender, cultivated man more comfortable potting plants than going on desert excursions. Hoff is a Dutch inv…
newyorker.com

True Grits

Brock is a Southern chef, so his obsession is understandable. The South is a land of “bacon stomachs,” the Portuguese diplomat Abbé Correia declared, after touring Virginia and the Carolinas in the early eighteen-tens. And, despite war and industrialization, diet fads and the Great Migration, not much has changed. Pork fat is still the irreducible quantum of Southern cuisine—“that precious essence,” as one Virginian wrote in 1822, “which titillates so exquisitely the papillae of the tongue.” Whe…
newyorker.com

The Possibilian

What a brush with death taught David Eagleman about the mysteries of time and the brain.
newyorker.com

Towheads - The New Yorker

New York was once the tugboat capital of the world, with more than eight hundred boats crisscrossing its harbor in the nineteen-thirties. The McAllisters were part of the so-called Irish Navy, with its patchy fleets of steamboats, diesel tugs, coal barges, and smaller fry, schooling on what was once known as the porgy grounds, around the Whitehall Ferry Terminal. The boats were manned by brothers, uncles, cousins, and more distant kin, their blood ties a bond against the petty thieves and extort…
newyorker.com

Perfect Match

Burkhard Bilger on the Bryan twins, Bob and Mike, who are as close as tennis may get to a genetically engineered doubles team.
newyorker.com

Florida’s Uninvited Predators

Florida is an “Ellis Island for exotic animals,” with some twelve thousand shipments of wildlife entering the Port of Miami every year, and thousands of pet stores, breeders, and animal-research facilities.