I cook because I love to eat. I garden because I love to cook.
When Jacob and Ariana were graduating from high school and moving away to attend college, I was contemplating my mortality. Top among my concerns was the thought that if I died, my children would no longer be able to enjoy many of the dishes they …
I had to repeatedly remind myself: half the people in the world, especially in less developed countries, cook delicious, extensive meals using a single flame, often fueled by dung. We had just moved into our house. Our refrigerator was dying, the kitchen was falling apart, …
This is a lesson in flexibility, a term that would rarely be used to describe me. I don’t mean being able to bend my body, although there’s not too much of that going on, but rather being able to react when things go badly and …
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 …
As a very young child, my daughter Ariana was the meanest teacher around. She loved to play school with a pointer and easel, standing in front of the class made up of my wife Marci, my son Jacob, and me. She wielded the stick dangerously, …
When I was a five- or six-year-old kid, my father occasionally took my two older brothers and I to the Palestra, the arena that opened in 1927 at the University of Pennsylvania, to see Big 5 college basketball games. We would wander in, find our …
Last year my daughter, Ariana, spent the spring semester of her junior year in college abroad. She went to Berlin. Of course being good parents of a child so far away, we had to pay a visit. The city was lovely; cultured, vibrant, and scenic, …
Overabundance in the garden is a problem I can deal with. To even use the word ‘problem’ is a stretch. Nonetheless, when there is too much of a given crop in the heart of its harvesting season, the gardener must find a way to use …
The story of Jimmy Nardello’s peppers is an immigrant tale. Giuseppe and Angella Nardello arrived from southern Italy in the late 1800s, immigrating to Naugatuck, Connecticut. With them they brought seeds from their Italian garden, including a sweet frying pepper. They grew these peppers to …
