I cook because I love to eat. I garden because I love to cook.
It’s early April and the weather is conflicted. Some days give a hint of what’s to come; warm and sunny, with birds squawking to attract mates and protect their territories. Other days are cold and dreary. Not snow-filled, but rainy and gray, and chilly to …
The other day while I was searching for an archived document on very old floppy disks, I came across recordings of my son, Jacob, singing nursery rhymes. They were adorable. He must have been about two years old. Of course, it made me think about …
In September 1995 my wife Marci and I were starting our second year living on St. Thomas in the Caribbean. It was the heart of the Atlantic hurricane season and an extremely active year. This is part two of the letter I wrote to friends …
My children Jacob and Ariana were home last weekend for the holidays, joined by plenty of family. When they departed, they were both weighed down with an abundant bounty. Jacob took containers of leftovers: roast chicken, butter simmered carrots, green beans with shallots, stuffed cabbage, …
When it comes to chicken, I used to prefer white meat. Firm and homogenous, with no fatty blobs or errant veins, the breast is cleaner, leaner, and neater than dark meat. But over the years my point of view has changed; I have turned to …
Some foods are so simple and obvious and delicious that you want to eat them all the time. These foods make so much sense that you think to yourself, “Why didn’t I think of this?” or “Why haven’t I been cooking this all of my …
The meatloaf sandwiches that my brothers and I were compelled to take for school lunch – lest we starve – were lacking in several components that make sandwiches such fine fare for a midday meal. In fact, they were so bad that they have become …
Think about winter food; root vegetables, hearty soups and stews, braised meats. All delicious, they warm the body as we face the chill of the season. They are heavy and satisfying, getting us through the darkest, coldest months of the year. But sometimes …
Growing up, dinners in our house were on a schedule that repeated weekly. Tuesday and Thursday, refried beans and tortillas. Wednesday, homemade pizza. Friday was almost always chicken, either at one of my grandmothers’ apartments or cooked by my father. I have no recollection what …
My father cooked all manner of food when I was growing up. His baba ganouj was garlicky and smooth, a perfect dip brought to many a party. We ate his brisket, fall apart tender, every Passover. He never purchased store-bought salad dressing; a jar of …
