Ever experience something that you don’t talk about much because you know people will look at you funny and say, “Yeah, right.” For me, it was the night my mom visited — maybe 7 or 8 years ago. If you’ve been reading this blog for long, you’ll know that’s impossible because my mom died in 1992. However, when she was alive, she always said that after she died…
Last weekend I made sauce for the first time in months. It even had the power to draw my daughter downstairs before 11 a.m. Still in her pajamas, sleepy-eyed, she said, “I love waking up to the smell of spaghetti sauce.” The smell is heavenly. The garlic and olive oil mingle with the sausage, tomatoes and herbs, filling your kitchen with tomatoey love. You should start cooking it…
If you don’t make your own pesto, you should be slapped. * There I said it. That’s probably the most controversial thing you’ll see on this blog, and I mean it. Why? Because you’re passing up your moment of culinary immortality. Years from now, people will forget how you looked, what you said and what you wore, but they’ll never forget the creamy, fresh taste of your pasta…
I have now been in this apartment for about 29 days. It’s hard to remember exact numbers because I was between bouts of near-vomiting when I moved, but that’s pretty close. Yet, I am still not completely unpacked and my bedroom looks like it belongs to someone on “Hoarders.” Does it bother me? No, because a hideous dachshund taught me a valuable lesson in my younger days that…
Since this is flu season and you’re probably suffering through a pretty crappy winter, I wanted to post my mom’s chicken soup recipe. If you’re sick and miserable, at least you’ll be sick, miserable and well fed. But I can’t give you this recipe without the story that goes with it about my mom. (As you may have guessed, I have many stories about mom, so stick around.)…
If you have an Italian grandmother who bakes biscotti, you should probably stop reading right now. Once you have this recipe, don’t blame me if she turns on you, and don’t say I didn’t warn you. OK, my conscience is clear. I started baking biscotti more than 20 years ago. I was never really a fan of them when I was young because they were always the same;…
These were the names on my street in New Brighton, Pennsylvania when I was growing up: Pfeiffer, Schaeffer, Smeltzer, Pfleghar, Anderson, Golbertson, Tunno. It’s like those second grade quizzes where you pick the one that doesn’t fit. The 50’s and 60’s were not the diversity-loving present. I was born only 10 years after WWII ended, and back then things like internment camps were a reality. My parents wanted…