Every September, I look forward to the baskets of fragrant grape varietals that Klug Farm brings to the Green City Market.
Plums are farmers markets’ harbingers of fall. They come in with the peaches and the berries and go out with the apples and the pears. When plums show up, summer heads out.
It may not be obvious from the multi-day layer cakes and precisely-scaled candy projects, but most days, I am a lazy cook.
A Mezcal Mule, beaded with condensation, is a beautiful thing.
Especially when the weather is oppressive.
I have an irrational love of the Olympics. I cannot wait for the opening ceremonies, for the absurdity of sports like the modern pentathlon, human steeplechase, and rhythmic gymnastics.
Orgeat is a funny word.
