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I have never made a homemade chicken potpie. Until now.

Woah. I feel like I just got let in on some secret toward finding eternal happiness. This is encouraging, particularly at this time of year when it is completely dark by 5 p.m.

Chicken potpie is one frozen food that I will admit to eating. Maybe it has some childhood nostalgia for me. My parents had busy careers and even though we enjoyed lots of home cooked meals, an upside down chicken potpie straight from the mini aluminum pie tray with a slosh of applesauce on the side was one of my favorite dinners. It was one of the first things I got to make as kid all by myself, which means, I got to poke fork holes into the top of the frozen pastry and slide it into the oven. By the time I finished watching an episode of “Laverne & Shirley,” my dinner was ready. Continue Reading »

This weekend felt like fall’s grand finale. The temperature dropped and dry leaves skittered through the air like colorful confetti. It was, in a word, magnificent.

There was this other event going on, too, called Halloween. But for me the real costume parade was happening overhead. Continue Reading »

I was settling sweetly into fall, having allowed those feelings of rush rush rush pass me by when I suddenly realized: My apples were going “off.” This means all those apples I had gathered from beneath the trees just a few weeks ago were beginning to look a little wrinkly and soft. Oops. So much for my reverie.

It’s good practice to buy fresh produce but that actually requires doing something with this produce. And I sometimes don’t follow through. (I am ashamed to admit to how many bell peppers I have tossed out recently.) I needed to snap awake before the apples were for naught. Continue Reading »

There is something about October that says slow down: two-hour naps should follow two-hour walks in the arboretum; spending a few hours to finish a book should pass without guilt. Think Dave Brubeck’s “Indian Summer.”  This is about the pace that October should feel – kind of relaxed and bouncy, lightly mellow, and warm. The other day I rearranged my living room so I could lie on the sofa in golden autumn light and watch the shadows of changing leaf patterns silently tattoo across the floor. That’s all I did for a half hour.

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It goes without saying that a dish of food may smell good but if it doesn’t look good, you don’t really want to eat it. Decadent, delicious photos of food have captured the public’s attention to the point that this kind visual stimulation has spawned two 24-hour food networks, more than 11,000 food blogs (ahem), and countless cookbooks. It’s kind of crazy if you stop and think about it.

But what if you couldn’t see? Would you care that much about food? Would you still want to eat it?

It’s something I think about almost every day because my nephew, Sawyer, doesn’t see. He is 6 years old and teaching him about the world even as he tries to figure out where he is in space takes patience, great skill, and enormous amounts of love. It’s kind of like hanging out without someone who doesn’t speak the same language. We are all trying to crack Sawyer’s special code. I am in awe of my sister-in-law  and my brother who are his parents, and even his younger sister. He is really lucky to have them as his family. And they – we – are really lucky to have him because he teaches us things.

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I had an epiphany at the Boston Local Food Festival on Saturday. I was standing in line at a farm stand, arms overflowing with vegetables, bright sunshine bathing rows of colorful vegetables in white light, and listening to the jangle of banjos from a Cajun band playing on a nearby stage when I realized: Why can’t buying produce always feel like this?

Going to the grocery store, bracing against its uncomfortable chill, wandering aimlessly in aisle after aisle of fabulously packaged goods competing for my attention as Top 40 music wails of love gone wrong – simply fills me with dread.

Would I consider buying kale in that kind of environment? No. Would I consider it in a sunbathed pile while a smiling farmer stands nearby? YES. Continue Reading »

Fish Tacos

My most memorable fish tacos was had off the main drag in Laguna Beach, Calif. It is entirely possible that it was my first fish tacos simply because it is the first one I remember having. I don’t recall the name of the place. It was nearly a shack. Just a long high counter with a few guys in white caps working behind it. Over head was one of those plain menu boards, the kind that you find at concession stands at ballgames.

“Fish Taco $5” it read.  I ordered one.

I wanted it badly, I remember, because this was my first time in Southern California and for some reason I had convinced myself that I hadn’t fully arrived in California until I ate a fish taco.

I was with a photographer from the Monitor. We were on one of those assignments that a desk editor like me gets to do about once a decade. My mission was to tackle three kinds of surfing in 24 hours, skim boarding, boogie boarding, and long board. Yes, that was my job. I was getting paid to to do this. And we were going to film it. I hid my dread as best I could.

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Today's Special

For all those indie, foodie folks out there watch for local listings so you can get a serving of feel-good vibes from “Today’s Special,” a new movie by David Kaplan to be released Nov. 19, 2010.

Samir (Aasif Mandvi, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and “The Last Airbender“) is a sous chef who is gunning for head chef at an upscale Manhattan restaurant. He loses out to someone younger and less experienced who outshines Samir with charisma. Samir’s crisis in identity and career coincides with his father’s health scare and Samir is suddenly tasked with keeping the day-to-day operations of the family’s ailing Indian restaurant, Tandoori Palace. His mother, Farrida, (played by legendary cookbook writer and actor, Madhur Jaffrey), complicates every scene with her quest to find a wife for Samir, her only living child. Continue Reading »

It is easy to take the tomato for granted in late summer. A stroll around Copley’s Farmer’s Market, or any farmer’s market, shows an abundance of these beautiful round shapes, their skins taut and from juices who’ve had the luxury ripening in the fresh air of an open field instead of a hothouse. But these jewels are fleeting. Eat them while you can.

I was at the farmer’s market last Friday, a few blocks from the Monitor. I had met my mom and my brother there for lunch. Mom had taken a bus up from the Cape with a group that was listening to a performance of Trinity Chapel‘s organ (not to miss, if you are ever in Boston). My brother’s office overlooks Copley Square from his shiny office tower in the John Hancock building. It was easy for him to swoop down and join us for a sandwich among the smells of ripe vegetables and the sounds of a guitar and saxophone jazz duet.

Mom spotted a gazpacho recipe pinned to a basket of tomatoes in one of the stalls. I didn’t waste any time in loading up my own bag with the ingredients (parsley, peppers, heirloom tomatoes, yellow onion). I had been wanting to try making a batch of gazpacho since I spotted the Rowdy Chowgirl’s recipe, a new pal from the International Food Blogger’s Conference.


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After leaving Seattle and the International Food Blogger Conference, I’m having a short visit with my mom and my “Auntie Marj” in leafy Leland, Mich. I’m heading for a long weekend in a cabin setting with friends, but I had time for a quick cooking lesson from Auntie Marj. She makes her own broth which also ensures that the chicken for this soup will be tender. Learning how to make your own broth is a good habit to develop, I’m told. I’m still working on it.

Once you’ve made your broth, this soup is fast, tasty, and will prepare you for the chill that is starting to creep into these last days of summer. Both mom and Auntie Marj served me plenty of motherly wisdom as we ate, because I was salting my soup with a few tears as I unpacked some life frustrations. Moms and aunts and kitchen tables are good for this kind of thing, but I recommend using regular sea salt or table salt for your soup. Continue Reading »