M.F.K. Fisher. Ruth Reichl. Michael Pollan. Every generation produces a writer or two who unfailingly embraces the ethos of food and is driven to capture it in their own ineffable way. Meet Gabrielle Langholtz. In an era when there are enough food bloggers to break the Internet and the printed book has been declared dead
Climate change is no joke. But then again, we have been complaining about the weather ever since the first washed-out barbeque back in the Pleistocene era (before Doppler radar). It is a well-known fact that there are only three weekends a year when it is truly the perfect time to dine and imbibe outdoors. No
Enough with the cable news. Put down your Mueller Report. Stop practicing how to pronounce Bout-edge-edge. You’ve got 18 months to think about it. Spring is starting to show its roots (unless you live in South Dakota where 4″ of snow is expected). Time to wrap our brains around some plain ol’ recreation and give
A week ago Saturday it was 70 degrees in Chicago. Sunday they had 6 inches of snow. Go figure. At least Central Park is starting to turn green. The winter of our discontent is drawing to a close and one might argue we can all use a little fresh air. If the downside of mobility
It’s no surprise that Kim-Trang Blair was successful in business. One of four children raised in a traditional Vietnamese household, she recalls her mom and dad as “tiger parents” before that was even a thing. At an age where many are still waffling on career choices, Blair had already worked ten years, wed, had a
Becca Goldberg has never been keen on the word “No.” Not in college, where she invented her own major. Not in romance, where she handed her phone number to a guy she met at summer camp, who now plays the role of husband, top chef and Dad to their two young children. And not in
There is little more sacrosanct to a dyed-in-the-wool New Yorker than the weekend ritual of smoked fish meets leavened dough. Zabar’s does battle with Russ & Daughters and an entire generation mourns the gaping culinary hole left on the Upper West Side where H & H Bagels used to reside. A dear friend of mine
I was first introduced to the Brooklyn indie music scene while traipsing through central Ghana with a great work friend, Jason Dilg – a gifted bluegrass player with roots in Appalachia by way of Boulder. We were digging an impromptu local High Life celebration on a red-dusted road near Kumase when he told me about
Life has softened Chef John DeLucie like buttah! Twenty years ago, he was a single man and journeyman chef, riding his bike through Greenwich Village on a spring afternoon. He stumbled upon a vacant restaurant property that captured his fancy. What has transpired since has seen the city, his place in it, and the way
Has this ever happened to you? You get your Chinese takeout home, open up all the packages, lay out the egg rolls and hot mustard and duck sauce, spread out the lo mein and Hunan pork and garlic shrimp and Happy Family special – and then you start with the wonton soup. And the broth
