Category Archives: Savories
Calling horta “braised greens” is an act of descriptive kindness and far more appetizing than calling them what they essentially are, which is boiled weeds. Continue reading
I had wanted to attend The Greenbrier symposium ever since a young woman recently returned from there mentioned it was the place to which Congress would flee in the event of a nuclear holocaust. Continue reading
Now you can understand my state of mind when, earlier this year, I suffered my own, devastating loss– the spanakotiropita, served at my restaurant since the day it first opened, vanished into phyllo-thin air. Continue reading
Serve the First-Day anchovies on their own, with just a drizzle of the marinade and a squeeze of fresh lemon.
Serve Second-Day anchovies on toasted bread with great lashings of butter.
Serve Third-Day anchovies to your cat.
Do not serve Seventh-Day anchovies on the Sabbath. Continue reading
I want to spread the news of this fried chicken like a televangelist spreads the Gospel.
Except I won’t be asking you for any money. Nor will I condemn you for not believing it is the One True Fried Chicken Recipe.
But it may very well be. Continue reading
I thought perhaps this dish was an acquired taste like scotch or tripe or spanking, and I was right. Nevertheless, I threw myself into the task of acclimating to its I-may-not-need-teeth-to-eat-this-but-I-will-need-a-strong-digestive-system-to-process-it texture and succeeded. Much like scotch or tripe or spanking, once you acquire that taste, there is no going back. Continue reading
We all have our demons– ghosts that haunt us, ogres who hide under our beds, vampires that swarm around our heads. I know I’ve got them and, if you’re the least bit introspective, I know you’ve got them, too.
Or, if you happen to be one of those people completely untroubled by the monsters of self-doubt, I’d love to know how you’ve managed it, though I probably won’t believe you. Continue reading
See this young fellow? It happens to be his eightieth birthday today. And before you crack wise about his Shirley Temple ringlets, I can assure you this is a male child. I know because he’s my father. Just look at … Continue reading
When my brother went off to the south of France for his year abroad, one of the first things he planned to do was take a little side trip to Monaco to visit Princess Grace.
He had no prior introduction to either Her Serene Highness nor her family, but I am almost certain he considered that, since he and she were half Irish and both of their fathers were from Philadelphia, he was a shoe-in for a dinner invite. Continue reading