Certain American dishes are best made for a crowd. Take, for instance, Brunswick stew and booya. They’re brewed most often in the fall, with a traditional base built on whatever a hunter brings home.
As we head into the next two bloody months, we could use some semblance of faith we’ll pull through together in one piece.
Ms. Johanna planted many of her herbs from what she read in stories about medieval kingdoms, some historical but mostly fantasy, preferably with dragons and complicated battles and skulduggery among the ruling class.
What is not to love about watermelon? Unfortunately there is, falling in line with other racial realities we’re grappling with this summer.
Mom adored and respected Mrs. McLoughlin but all her preparations belied a lingering insecurity from growing up poor, afraid of being considered shabby.
It’s a mystery how the idea of what to cook comes to me each week. No spread sheet. No consideration for the season. It’s a “that sounds good!” process. And that’s how I decided how wonderful it would be to write about angel food cake on a hot day.
I don’t have time to write and cook today because I’m half way down I 95. Instead, I pulled from the archive a post about politicians campaigning at state fairs.
Sheila Ferguson’s book, Soul Food, is, in great part, a memoir to impart to her daughters the vastness of their heritage. One family, rooted in the history of America, generations braided together in surviving horrible pain and adversity, all the while playing a part in one of the world’s great cuisines.
There isn’t a single anchovy in my kitchen. They’ve all gone to catching our cat, a former rescue and psychotic as hell, who’s been missing for five days.
I think Dad would like these crab cakes and appreciate that they’re a good way to celebrate this truncated holiday and his World War II army service.