I am in here.
At the moment, I am not cooking anything so if our kitchen smells of anything, it is of the pot of orange-flavored tea that I just brewed. But when I am cooking something I hate to turn the fan on; I want the cooking smells throughout the house. It means that life is being lived … Continue reading The scent of cooking
Because I read Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese last summer, and loved it so much that I insist on dragging it across country with me, just to have it close by, it has had at least one unexpected effect on me: namely, my cooking. The book is not about cooking; food is mentioned in … Continue reading Cutting for Stone, and berbere
The firewood was always freshly stacked in its brass bin by the fireplace in the den each winter afternoon. When I was little, I would try to carve this wood with the blade of the letter opener that sat with its matching pair of scissors and note pad by the telephone in the bar. This … Continue reading Firewood
… of where my childhood home used to be.
white pebble 