It’s Sunday morning, and I’m cooking bacon for the children. It’s a snap. You line a big tray with parchment paper, and put the bacon on it. You pop it in the oven, turn the temp to 400 degrees, and walk away. 25 minutes later, you have bacon ready. It’s a cinch to clean up
Unctuous broth, home-made noodles, and lots of savory little bits of goodness. I had a meeting in Somerville today and headed afterwards to the much-ballyhooed backbar (no caps is how they spell it). I went quickly, for I hear that they often sell out of a particular dish, for which I am on the hunt.
A favorite but episodic weekend ritual for me is to wake up early and buy bagels and challah for the family. So, breakfast is ready to go by the time everyone wakes up. I don’t know when I started to get into bagels, but I went through a phase in middle school during which I
One chef. 11 diners. 8 courses. Hard work. Grace under pressure. I went out last night for a special treat, a dinner at Stir Boston. A few friends strongly recommended it, and I’m glad I went. It truly was an amazing feast (see photo at the left), but it really brought home to me how
I think we are in a “golden age” for coffee in Boston, with the ascendancy of small, quirky and craft-minded coffee shops. When I first moved to town in the late 1980s, there wasn’t much on the scene. It was mostly a sea of over-roasted coffee and meh corporate chains. Now, there’s much choice. Very
If you read my blog, you know I’m “into” food. Street food, fancy restaurants, and everything in-between really appeal to me. A well-made bánh mì, a high-end meal at Menton, or a really good mac and cheese, I’m for it all. It’s all good. And, on Sundays, it’s a special time during which the pace