I cook because I love to eat. I garden because I love to cook.
I hate traveling on holiday weekends – Memorial Day, Labor Day, Thanksgiving. Far too much hassle for far too little reward. The frustration of traffic or a crowded airport and airplane, with so little time at the destination, result in a cost far outweighing the …
If one were to peruse my three ring recipe binders they would find newspaper and magazine clippings, printouts from the internet, and hand scrawled lists and notes, and they would come across two very special recipes, one for Spider Salad and the other for Olive …
We recently held our annual Early Thanksgiving dinner – the 27th or 28th consecutive year we’ve hosted friends for a celebration weeks before the traditional holiday. Our gathering goes back to the days when supermarkets would entice shoppers with a free turkey. We weren’t going …
In my opinion there’s almost no stage in life worse than middle school. Zits are erupting; odors are wafting; hormones are raging; hairs are sprouting. Kids this age have no control and don’t really understand what’s happening to their bodies. It’s incredibly awkward. I went …
As little kids, my brothers and I must have been a grave disappointment to our maternal grandmother, Jeanette. She lived in a garden-style low-rise apartment complex in the decidedly non-glamorous section of Philadelphia’s Chestnut Hill neighborhood. As tradition had it, we frequently visited for dinner …
My wife Marci and I had a wonderful trip to Scotland last fall. Wandering around Edinburgh one morning, we searched out Pantry, a well-regarded breakfast, brunch, and lunch spot in Stockbridge, a high-end neighborhood with stately stone homes. The plates on neighboring tables were spectacular. …
My freshman year of college I resided in the dorms, and as would be expected, I ate in the college cafeteria. The food was acceptable, more quantity than quality. We occasionally used the dorm kitchen to cook a meal or two, but I consumed mostly …
My early childhood was mostly lacking in trauma, but there is one glaring example of distress I suffered about which I am reminded annually in the heat of midsummer. As a young child, I rarely had a birthday party. It was pain and suffering that …
Every year it happens. The weather gets hot and sweaty, and the zucchinis grow from finger to baseball bat-size in a matter of hours. I am swamped. It’s the equivalent of a zombie apocalypse in the garden. They can be so prolific, it’s almost obscene. …
I am hesitant to talk about the current state of my garden in the same way that when traveling I don’t discuss the traffic, lest a sea of red taillights appears around the next bend in the highway. I don’t want to jinx anything. But …
