Culinary confession
I have a confession. It’s a food confession. There shouldn’t be a need to apologize for tastes in food. There are white meat…
Read MoreI have a confession. It’s a food confession. There shouldn’t be a need to apologize for tastes in food. There are white meat…
Read MoreIn these pages three years ago I wrote about some chickens I’d stuffed. My thinking riffed vaguely on turducken. As a reminder for…
Read MoreCrowds of people are not my idea of a good time. I like my space and I don’t like noise. Crowds of drunk…
Read MoreDear Mr. Dukakis, I read the article about you in the Boston Globe a few days ago. At first I thought just that…
Read MoreThere are people who go gaga for sandwiches. You don’t have to look very far to find folks who live for grilled cheese…
Read MoreWhen asked what my last meal would be if I knew I would die soon, I generally name lamb, raspberries and pears. The…
Read MoreSome years ago — not too many years but two or three eyeglass prescriptions ago — I walked into a restaurant in New…
Read MoreWhen I mentioned to Calvin yesterday that I intended to do something for tonight’s dinner with some Cornish hens I knew were in…
Read MoreThere is a restaurant in Paris that I like very much. Truth be told, there are a dozen or more restaurants in Paris…
Read MoreThree years ago I was living in Fitou in France during a period of decompression and introspection. The preceding autumn had been just…
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