Tag Archives: connections

just keep swimming…

Growing up in Savannah, I spent my summers combing the beach at Tybee, crabbing off my grandparents’ dock, and sailing the Wilmington River. It was idyllic and sun-kissed, but most importantly, it was largely unsupervised…With all that time on the water you’d think today I’d be an accomplished poissonnier. I am not.

where should we go for chicken tonight?

This is the daily question I ask any hungry stakeholder within earshot of my kitchen. It’s a mashup of idioms, born from the old college dining hall quip, “what’s for chicken tonight?” But it carries the promise of exotic flavors, moderately experimental cooking techniques, and a brief but unsolicited sermon on the chosen cultural destination du jour.

the older I get…

This month a pair of viral foodie trends nearly got the best of me, so I had to reinforce my inner dialogue with a hearty dose of Mother’s “I’m so sorry, I can’t.” Of course, this was only after I fell for the Thai curry frozen pot sticker casserole.

fine, I’ll do it myself…

Grinding my own burgers has prompted a major shift in my culinary habits. I can never go back and according to some people, I cannot seem to shut up about it. For me, cooking is like life and I think it’s glorious to seek enlightenment. If that’s too woo-woo for you, simply try to be curious. And if all else fails, go for awareness. Be aware, be human. And grind your own meat.

creatures of habit …

Call me a traditionalist, but my relationship with the Buffalo wing is moored to a specific time and place. As a closeted creature of habit, I downright refuse to dissociate this food from those memories. From a culinary standpoint, I think the most critical benchmark is texture, regardless of size, presentation, or flavor – I shouldn’t have to specify my wing order as “extra, extra crispy.” Nobody wants a soft, gummy wing casing when a stubborn, sauce-embossed crunch is the whole damn point.

the devil in the details…

This lively plate is packed with tandoori chicken smothered in a serrano mint sauce, spiced succotash, jasmine rice, and a red lentil curry called Masoor Dal. And don’t forget the mango chutney and buttered naan. Yeah, we really, really adore Indian food.

a lesson or two from crostini…

Cortona was the backdrop the universe chose to deliver my traditional, mid-holiday existential gospel, and fegatini, a gamey, rustic Tuscan liver pâté, became the week’s edible metaphor.

one simply does not eat étouffée standing over a sink…

..especially if it’s closer to gumbo. Y’all know I have absolutely no qualms about eating cold pizza in my car or standing over the sink scarfing handfuls of chocolate cake, but there really is a time and place for a real dining room. There’s also a time and place for self control, but I generallyContinue reading “one simply does not eat étouffée standing over a sink…”