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By rahoward, on December 29th, 2019
It’s nice when making food can transport you…to another time, another place, another person, another season. Even a salad can do this. A salad! Sorry, but I have to admit, I often see salads as boring, and it could be my own fault, as I limit my imagination as far as they . . . → Read More: Wintering with an artful salad
By rahoward, on November 24th, 2019
I would wager the discussion happens in a large percentage of kitchens every Thanksgiving: “Well, we should have something green…” Then, this green item — in the sea of brown, beige , white and maybe orange dishes that crowd the Thanksgiving table (and plates) — may or may not happen. After all, you . . . → Read More: Green(bean)ing the Thanksgiving table
By rahoward, on May 26th, 2019
Spring fever hit me hard this year. It began way back in January, with the greening from the rains here in California, and it has not let up. It has had me pondering the moon, cricking my ear for every croak and chirp, sniffing every blossom. It had me sitting in the backyard . . . → Read More: Springing to life with homemade citrus salad dressing
By rahoward, on June 30th, 2017
The first time I made “bread salad” or panzanella, as it’s commonly called, the recipe had me soaking cubes of very stale, sturdy bread in water, wringing those cubes out and mixing them with tomatoes, onions, cucumber, basil and vinaigrette for what turned out to actually be a very delicious experience.
This old-world method of . . . → Read More: Bread of the Month: Crumbling new life into old cornbread
By rahoward, on April 5th, 2012
It dawned on me recently (dawning can often come surprisingly late): I grew up surrounded by grains. Living in the rural Midwest, our farm was a cluster of trees centered in vast open fields that yielded oceans of golden wheat. Sometimes, the fields were planted with sorghum (we called it milo), whose bristly rust-colored heads . . . → Read More: Keeping it clean with quinoa
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Quotable: “People ask me: "Why do you write about food, and eating, and drinking? Why don't you write about the struggle for power and security, and about love, the way the others do?" . . . The easiest answer is to say that, like most other humans, I am hungry.”
--M.F.K. Fisher
"It was in a yellow limestone church in Stockdale, Kansas, a crossroads town, that I sat dreaming during summer Sunday sermons, not of heaven or hell, but of the good dinner to come."
--Clementine Paddleford
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