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.
I discovered the medicinal benefits of apple pie while writing a book. It’s in the way the softened apples melt into a buttery crust and forms a kind of batting around the mind and a stilling weight to the body that almost always quiets any lingering residue of wattage that disturbs my rest.
You can ask as many times as you want and use all the interviewing tricks you know but she won’t give you the recipe. “They’d go ahead and screw it up and then it’d be ‘oh, Ms. Johanna’s cake isn’t good at all,’ all over around here.”
There are tastes that linger in memory–good and bad, those you hunger for or avoid the rest of your life. My first bite of a fig is among the great ones.
Mom adored and respected Mrs. McLoughlin but all her preparations belied a lingering insecurity from growing up poor, afraid of being considered shabby.
All the summer fairs may be closed for now but that doesn’t mean you have to be without your favorite fair food.
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.
I rarely comment on her posts but this one was so admirable and meaningful to me that I told her she was my hero. She wrote back, “I’m jonesing for lemon meringue pie!”
As we enter our third week of confinement, I have to be honest and tell you we’re pretty sick of one another in this house. And so we had a virtual dinner party.
Food is the one elementary need we all have, feeding a comfort we can share, especially in troubled times. I finally remembered this and slapped myself out of isolation funk. Then I pulled a large bag of bones from the freezer to make beef stock.