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.
Tag Archives: nostalgia
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.
not everyone likes capers…
At some point I asked Sous Chef to retrieve a giant jar of capers from the pantry. He obliged, but muttered, “You know, not everyone likes capers,” to which I gleefully added, “But not everyone matters.”
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.
a mac & cheese metamorphosis …
My adventure cooking began slowly that spring, although the blog didn’t take shape until over a year later. Those early months are documented by poorly lit photos, unaccompanied by any snarky commentary. At the time we needed excitement and pizazz, hence all the international and often obscure meals that showed up on my social media feeds. But in between those exotic moments was a deep desire for comfort food – a meatloaf, some buttery mashed potatoes, a roast chicken, and of course, macaroni & cheese.
gratitude and bread…
I’m going to wind my way toward baguettes vis-a-vis yet another lengthy, formulaic self-awareness journey: first an introduction to my frame of mind, next a little story, and then some resolution in the kitchen. It’s been 8 months since my last post so you sort of have it coming.
a healthy fear of electricity…
(There is an) implausible, but very cool connection between reimagining chicken thighs and reimagining a bathroom. How’s that for a bizarre premise? While Foodishness has a tendency to occasionally morph into Toolishness, I always have food on the brain.
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…”
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