Sharing stories of food stories we love.
Last night: New York City. At a bar in Tribeca, I drink two prickly pear margaritas in quick succession; the alcohol heightens my senses. I need food, and I step outside into the night to hail a cab.
Heading uptown: The streets rush past in a blur of neon lights. In mere minutes I speed past dozens of neighborhoods, hundreds of apartments, thousands of people.
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If you're ever having a bad day, here's what to do. Buy two yellow onions. Slice them into thin half-moon shapes. Heat some olive oil on medium-low heat in a heavy-bottomed saucepan. Slide the sliced onions into the pan. The oil will sizzle and hiss in protest. Grab a worn wooden spoon and stand at the stove. Push the onions around the pan occasionally, watching them slowly turn from white to translucent to golden brown to a dark, caramelized brown sugar color.
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Last week, I wrote about my dad's grilled cheese for Cup of Jo. When I told my dad I had written about him -- touting his rare kitchen appearances as enough to make a French chef weep -- he claimed I may have oversold his talents.
But I really didn't. His trick for adding relish to a grilled cheese sandwich is smart and addictive and makes other grilled cheeses seem lackluster.
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I've spent the past few days in the mountains. My mother has just completed her final summit to become a 46er, which means hiking all 46 mountains in the Adirondacks over 4,000 feet. It's a serious badge of honor amongst hikers. She's been at it for a few years now, logging miles of trail and generally becoming even more of a badass, epic all-around person. To mark the occasion, my sisters and I joined my parents for the last few hikes. After a very grueling 14 hour hike on Friday, we got to the trail bright and early on Saturday for the final ascent.
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What do you cook during a summer rain? I like pasta – comforting and simple, but light enough for wet but warm June evenings. I worked on Squam Lake in New Hampshire as a backcountry caretaker one summer, and there I’d eat a lot of quick, easy meals cooked over a camp stove. Each night, I drive the Boston Whaler out to my worksite: a tiny, worn cabin on a small island with dried pasta and pesto from the fresh basil in our garden.
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