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Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!
Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!
All in Meat
With much of North America and Europe sitting in a deep freeze, there is little to do by way of coping but make soup. We’ve tried it every which way. Just this week:
I am fully aware as I start this post that there’s pretty much zero possibility of me getting through it without making at least one ball
Look what I did! From scratch! All by my onesie! And it was delicious!
Over the years, the things I’d put on my “last meal” list have shifted. I’ve written here that I’d probably want braised lamb shanks, and I guess that still holds as long as
Mini lamb & harissa sausage rolls made from Bourke Street Bakery’s cookbook.
It’s summer in my mind. Sydney is still graciously warm, though the days are distressingly short.
First of all, I should start off by stating that I never have, and in all likelihood never will, keep Kosher.
Every few years, my parents throw an all-out, champagne fluting, gown wearing, music blasting
A little while ago, we broke the number one rule when feeding Italians. We served them a saucy, ultra-orthodox version of spaghetti and meatballs. Contrary to popular belief, you will not find meatballs on spaghetti in Italy. Tiny little meatballs in baked penne, maybe. Meatballs as an antipasto or a second course, definitely. But spaghetti and meatballs is a wholly, indisputably, non-Italian entity that – from into songs, children’s books, and Disney movies – has penetrated our culture and become entirely American.
You’d think that after having posted 14 different pasta recipes – and making countless more – I’d have the whole thing down. Especially when it comes to a weekday, throw-it-together kind of pasta.
I’m not usually one of those people who doesn’t know what they want for dinner. Growing up, discussions about dinner used to take up the whole ride to school with my dad, who was generally in charge of the hair-brushing, English muffin-toasting morning routine.
This chili came thisclose to being an outright disaster, twice. It all started so innocently. After subsisting on a fridge teetering on empty, pizza delivery, pasta with cheese and shakshuka for the last week, I needed more.
This is as traditional as it gets. If you want to truly taste Bologna, this is about as close as you can get to a legitimate, authentic Bolognese sauce. Just thinking about it brings me back under the porticoes.
While it is my inclination to write about watermelon salad, gin gimlets and other things I want to make with apricots, I did promise something hearty.
You know those stupid questionnaires where famous/supposedly interesting people are asked a bunch of questions and one of them is always, without fail, What would your last meal be?
I’m going to be brief today thanks to yesterday’s 5 bottles of wine. And though I should probably not be staring into an abnormally blinding computer screen in my condition,
