I am the garlic lady, six pressed cloves on my spaghetti, and those bulbs as raw as myself or this blustery day which I shall spend at home, entertaining myself. I find my jokes enormously funny, and I know about herbs and botanicals, too. Take the pungent healing tuber I love to chew: it’s allium, an errant member of the… Read More
RECIPE ONLY This recipe is nothing short of divine with Evelyn Cross’s Very Special Long-Ago Carrot Cake. INGREDIENTS: 2 cups heavy cream 1 tablespoon whole cardamom pods 2 quarts buttermilk (or 1 quart buttermilk and 1 quart plain full-fat kefir) 2 cups sugar 1/8 teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons vanilla 1 to 2 tablespoons rosewater DIRECTIONS: 1. Heat the heavy cream… Read More
INGREDIENTS 2 1/2 cups cider vinegar (preferably organic) 2 1/2 cups water (preferably spring or filtered) 1/4 to 1/3 cup sugar, brown sugar, or maple syrup 2 tablespoons ground turmeric 1 tablespoon sea salt (fine-grind) 1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns 2 teaspoons whole allspice berries 3 bay leaves 2 cinnamon sticks, broken in half 1 large slice fresh ginger, coarsely… Read More
Join us for a LIVE call after the video 1-563-999-2090 access 366608
It’s the softest sound in the world, and one only occasionally hears it: a flower falling. This morning, sitting in the right place, I heard it. A single foxglove blossom dropped from the arrangement I had placed on a table yesterday. It’s such a small sound, but it stayed with me all day. Until I finally asked myself, ” Why?”… Read More
Because yesterday was going to be a very full day, rather than put off what I consider my daily must-do’s until later, I did them first thing in the morning. The must-do’s include a very brief practice that passes for meditation or devotions (it’s not exactly either, but that’s the closest summation). And, writing practice. And, the drinking of alkalized… Read More
This is one of four posts on poundcakes; which is to say, on life. And death. And stories. In June 2012, I went to a memorial for Maurice Sendak, the legendary children’s book writer-illustrator. He’d died the month before, at 84. Among his countless accomplishments, Maurice illustrated one of the books my mother, Charlotte Zolotow, wrote. His pictures for her Mr. Rabbit and the… Read More
I was innocently standing at the foot of my hill by the mailbox, flipping through the envelopes, about eight years ago. And there, smack in the middle of the mail, was one from Bank of America, with the word ‘statement.’ I glared at it. And heard myself say aloud, snarlingly, “Goddammit! I thought I was done with you!” I took… Read More
At the memorial service for the poet Miller Williams, a service held a month ago at the Fayetteville, Arkansas public library, I met his daughter, singer/songwriter/musician Lucinda Williams. It turned out she knew of one of my more obscure and long ago cookbooks, and she began telling me the dishes she made from it… “And those vegetable fritters? I must’ve… Read More
It's been snowing all day. The house at 29 Elm Place, where I grew up, will be sold in a month or two. It's the house in which my mother, the writer Charlotte Zolotow, quietly died 24 days ago. I am here going through her papers. This is a job which could, and in some ways will, take me the… Read More
I had no idea Nate was an undercover cop in the Narcotics Division of the Chicago police department the first time I slept with him. I will skip the whole long, weird tale of his and my relationship, which only lasted 5 or 6 months, and took place when I was around 23 years old, other than to mention that… Read More
