Food off my plate

It’s like a second skin that you slip back into after many moons have passed. You see him as part of a group gathering, this man you shared a small part of your young life with. And he still carries your bag to the car. You turn to find it, spinning, wondering where it went….

Hand me a carrot. And by that I mean a carrot cupcake.

I just ate a small coconut ice cream cone. And now my stomach hurts. Which makes me think of a friend. That didn’t quite come out right, did it? Let’s try again. My friend is a nutritionist. She has, for as long as I’ve known her (many decades) eaten like a rabbit. A vegetarian, she…

Finding your inner Italian sports car

It began so uninspiringly, in the dentist’s chair. He had just adjusted a crown for me, as I’d been having some jaw pain. “I think we were just a millimeter or so off on your bite, but that’s enough to cause the pain,” he said. He joked that my then husband was built like a…

“Mewwy Kwiffmuff”

I heard her before I saw her in the crowded store. “Man, those chips look good! I think I need to get me some of those,” she exclaimed. My son had just thrown a bag of Tostitos Scoops into our cart, an item I had forgotten but needed for a dip I was making. We…

On stolen grocery carts

Yes. I’ve been known to steal grocery carts. There, I’ve said it. Orange is the new black, right? In my defense, the first time I committed cart robbery I was tired as only a single mom can be. And had been that way for so long, I thought I was on my game. Ha. It…

Reviving a lost art

“Well let’s face it, who on earth besides antique dealers and gay couples actually still gives dinner parties?” –Nigel Slater, food writer Oh, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel. Tsk tsk. I recently attended a dinner party. Or should I say a dinner pahtay. Hosted by a perfectly straight couple with nary an antique in sight. And this…

Ring a ding ding. It’s your nemesis calling.

If it’s the holidays, that means I am going to my yurt. Since I don’t  have a real one, I’m going to the yurt I keep in my mind to escape from my nemesis—Little Miss Perfect in the Pumpkin Patch, as I like to call her. As we approach the Thanksgiving holiday in the States,…

When did comfort food start making us uncomfortable?

On my loneliest days, I wish for my mother’s chop suey. This wish may sound odd to you, particularly if you know much about me. I’m not Asian. I come from a family of bland meals where salt and pepper were considered spices. I believe my mother even put Kitchen Bouquet in her recipe, which…

Holy making

I do what a lot of us do on a typical day. I wake up, get kids to school, work, work out, shop, cook, pay bills. On the good days, I find joy in the process. Or rather, it finds me. On the worst days, I wish for—what? More adventure, more money, more time, more…

Solace in the kitchen

The kitchen used to be enemy territory for me. I grew up with a mother who cooked out of necessity. I did not see joy in her face while she prepared meals. My father, on the other hand, saw cooking as one of the highest creative pursuits. He could cobble a spread from whatever happened…

On appetites. Apologies to the salad girls.

I am not a salad girl. Apologies in advance to all the salad girls out there. You’ll have to drown your sorrows in some broccoli or some such. I eat salad. I like salad. But I will never be the gal who goes to the nice restaurant and says, “I’ll have the salmon salad, please.”…