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 …
Growing up, every Tuesday and Thursday we ate Bert’s Beans for dinner. Refried beans that my father actually re-fried in a skillet with probably too much oil, we would wrap them in homemade tortillas and slather on hot sauce. As the refrying process neared its …
There are lots of things I never understood about the high school students I taught for 30 years. Chief among them was why they ate the pizza served in the school cafeteria. Long Island, where I live, is the land of excellent pizza. Virtually every …
In the mid-1980s when I was in high school, we held a series of memorable multi-day gatherings at our friend Jody’s house that came to be known as the “Swarthmore Parties.” I think there were two such events, possibly three, obviously at times when Jody’s …
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 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 …
