Jack Dailey, a former student from my teaching days, checks in with Part 1 of the story of his family farm in Louisiana, and he sends us a killer recipe for spatchcocked Cornish game hens, which taste much better once you know what “spatchcocked” actually means.
Why are broiler chickens as big as carry-on luggage? And remembering a meeting at Paramount Pictures where I could’ve said, “Sure, I’ll do it for free.”
Kick-a** harissa sauce! And a sampling of some New Year’s letters we’ve gotten over the years that we’ve never gotten over.
I recently took a “memory test” as part of my application for long-term care insurance. They told me to take it very seriously, which I didn’t, until…
A simple welcoming poem I wrote for my new granddaughter, and for all newly arrived baby girls.
It starts like this: “There was always lots of snow then, and you’d go out with your brother wearing your scratchy wool jacket and hole-y mittens and corduroy pants worn smooth, along with those leaking galoshes, and you’d build snow forts and an arsenal of snowballs…” but the ending belongs to you.
Sumptuous, delectable chocolate-pecan bourbon balls, an easy recipe that requires a few moments of physical violence, but for all the folks who will go “ooh… aah…”, it’s well worth it.
Bloody Marys with shrimp ceviche… and one tough city P.I. who keeps giving his time, talents, and money away.
Bananas Foster Flambe, an exciting light show on the stovetop.