A site for global citizens interested in life, style and the nexus of the two from the POV of a six continent chickThirty years in the waiting...
It was only as an adult that I came to hear of my mom's prowess in the realm of sponge cakes. Apparently her powers to create delectable, gâteaux towers were renown. Just not to me.
Although I would be the first to defend her baking skills, my spontaneous recollection of mom's baking was of more-ish arrays of biscuits (a.k.a."cookies"), fruit and nut bars and breads, and paradigm-defining trifles (a layered cake/fruit/custard dessert.)
It turns out that her sponge cake phase pre-dated my birth. And so it came to be in recent years, that sponge cake was top of the list whenever she offered to make something. Yet for years it failed to rise to the occassion. Until now...
Having consumed the golden delight fragrant with the lightest of lemon touches, I can attest that the title of sponge cake queen was well deserved. And now if you'll excuse me, it's time for seconds.
Last week a serendipitous opportunity presented itself: food + wine = a shared meal to remember.
The wine was rather interesting; highly aromatic, a little snippy to start, but we found the perfect paring for it -- a rather brilliantly rich Tomme Crayeuse that Jay picked up. Subsequent investigation reveals that the cheese is somewhat unique, created a mere decade ago by an affineur in the Savoie region. In their article on it, the San Francisco Chronicle writer notes that "I thought the cheese's tartness would make a wine selection difficult..." and proceeds to recommend a rather pricey bottle. We found our match in our bottle, so generously shared, and we were happily alternating between nibble and sip until the bottle was gone. (
For the past years, Jay and I have held a Christmas Tree trimming party. In the most recent years, we've battled a blizzard, a frozen tree, and a flooded tree, but this year was the most difficult battle of all -- the alternate tree.
Last Thursday was Thanksgiving, and on the occasion of this adopted holiday, I had a few moments to think about how this would become a family tradition. By tradition I mean something beyond the pilgrim story, and the ritual of the meal and dishes. (Although you can see we enjoyed that part too!) 
Apart from the feast, it was both rewarding and humbling to take a day annually to consider the many reasons one has to be happy in one's life. Family. Friendship. Generosity. Health. Safety. Opportunity. Food ;0) 
An email from a good friend ex-Canada and now comfortably ensconced in Scotland invited me to join a recipe swap chain mail. The attached mouthwatering and simple recipe for peanut butter biscuits (biscuits, yay!) was incentive enough to think of what recipe I might share in becoming part of the cuisine network.
I was all prepared for a first solids night extravaganza. Would the sloppy organic rice cereal be rejected? Would there be cereal flying about in all directions? Interesting expressions? Cereal ejections?
Just like the movies; first there was '28 days' and now '28 weeks later.' Well, I have to offer 'the wedding' and then, '365 days later'. Yup, I can hardly believe it either. On 27 May a year had passed since we got married.
We love Google's Maps and Google Earth. Especially now that both have evolved into much more user-friendly forms. 
Today it's got down to 25F and "feels like 14F." For those of us from the rest of the world, that's -4C feeling like -10C. Cold enough in anyone's unit of measure. And as recent weeks has had us New Yorkers plunging into the depths of arctic, we've tried out various coping strategies -- some conventional and others contrary.
The Stowaway and we are still reeling from the goodwill, good times and generosity shared by a brace of friends in New York at a surprise baby shower last Sunday.
How do you send off a friend who is heading into 
As we stepped up to the barely marked threshold, I noted with horror a sign stating, "Kyotofu will be closed this evening for a private function."
We came. We saw. We didn't get to use our auction paddle.
Now that I come to think of it, I've no idea where I came up with the idea of putting a slow cooker on our wedding gift registry. As far as I remember, no one I know know owns one, I never grew up with one and I can't recall eating a memorable meal that I knew came from one. But it must have been that enticing idea of plonking all ingredients into the device, switching it on and coming home to a home-cooked meal hours later.
With a title like this and a New York location I know you're thinking I'm going to be talking about the 'Sex and the City' made-famous 'Magnolia Bakery'... or their ex-partner's rival cupcake venture, Buttercup Bakery. Or perhaps an entry on the florally fantastic offerings of the Cupcake Cafe. But you'd be mistaken.
Last night we decided to treat ourselves to dinner at the bar at 
All week I've been reminding myself to post the third of four series of photos from St. Lucia, this one covering some of the food and drinks we got to enjoy on the island. There was food aplenty and lots of exotic drinks -- take it all in by 
Pair a wonderful summer afternoon with a stroll through Chelsea, calorie-killer cookies from City Bakery (as in the chocolate fudge cookie has a cookie layer sandwiching solid chocolate -- it's insane! Don't eat this alone!!) followed by Keeanu on the big screen in "Scanner Darkly" at the Landmark Sunshine Theatre on the Lower East Side. It doesn't get much better than this... except if you end the evening with drinks at "The Elephant" and dinner at "Prune." That's weekend perfection.
Friday evening was a warm summer evening, and as an hobby-related errand took me within blocks of Madison Square Park, there was clearly only one logical choice for supper: 
What could have taken up a whole week when those honeymoon photos are just dying to be seen? Try a combination of attending a dawn wedding; spending six hours in line for tickets to 
I've done my fair share of battle in the kitchen, including unintentional flambes, blenders that blew their tops (and contents) and oven timers that were set to a different plant's rotations. But none of these experiences prepared me for what I imagined would be a scene of domestic Sunday bliss -- the baking of an apple bundt.
Oh if only all our wedding work were as pleasant as Friday lunch: heading over for Tavern on the Green for a two-hour tasting of our various menu options for the reception. We were once again wowed by the space and were served the four enormous main course options we'd selected in the Terrace Room. It was bright and lovely, the new lanterns were out on the outside terrace and we got to appreciate the newly-upholstered chairs.
When I was in LA a few weeks ago and marvelling at the produce bounty at the Santa Monica Farmer's Market, I came across an odd fruit at the "avocado guys" stand. They assured me it was fragrant, succulent, delicious and ready to eat. The big question was, what kind of fruit was it?
Sevilla, a sixty-year-old West Village standard seemed like a great place to celebrate the birthday of someone among whose avowed passions include fast cars, gravity sports, sushi and tapas. The crowds on this sodden evening made it evident this place has garnered a larger than life following, or at least, a larger than capacity following.
There are people you know, and then there are people you know who posess uncanny culinary intelligence. This lady (right), is one of the latter, to whom we can attribute the discovery of numerous places of caloric worship.
One would think that the Brit's bad reputation in the cuisine scene would dissuade a chef with the name "English" from branding his restaurants with his last name. Not so Todd English, who is as proud of his profile as he is of his cullinary skills.
If you imagined that in a globalized world, care packages of home-grown edible pleasures was over, think again. It’s true that your national culinary treasures, be they rooibos tea, Ovaltine, or Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups, have become a more widely available as a result of extended distribution or online vendors. But the age of the lovingly selected care package is far from over. If anything, the ingredients have become even more local. 
There are far worse spots that you could choose for an after-work drink than Bookmarks, the just-opened-for-the-season rooftop bar at the 
Remember this post about 
Web and IT professionals (should) spend a lot of time considering good usability. You know, can the user easily find what s/he is looking for? Are the labels clear and unconfusing? And so on.
This post is inspired by a friend back in South Africa from whom I received two mysterious missives in the past week. Both referred to the consumption of eggs. Both were part of a series of e-mails that I hadn't read because both e-mails had reached mein error. 
I had a moment yesterday evening where I was channeling Hanibal, BA Baracas, Murdoch, Face and the A-team gang. Incongruously, that signature phrase came to mind at the moment when I took my seat at an intimate, corner table at 
Apple pie, peach cobbler, berry tart... How is it that the pear got gypped out of its rightful place as a fruit pastry filling? Specifically pie (as in the sweet American version of pie). One group's quest to set the record straight.