Ever experience something you don’t talk about much because you know people will look at you funny? For me, it was the night my mom visited — maybe 7 or 8 years ago. If you’ve been reading this blog for long, you’ll know that’s impossible because my mom died in 1992. However, when she was alive, she always said that after she died she was coming back as…
My daughter just started college a few weeks ago. I hate to admit it, but it’s nice to be able to take a break from my indentured servitude with the PTA. I think I served for 12 years. PTA years are like dog years, so that’s close to an average life expectancy I put in. I did what I had time to do, but there were women and…
(September 23rd will be the 32nd anniversary of my mom’s big debut on national television. After this story, which was originally called, “Da Holy Hour.” I have an accompanying YouTube video of my mom in action. Watch it after you read the story. If you ever thought I was making any of this stuff up, this video will prove I’m not.) Some women love athletes, others love actors,…
Last weekend I made sauce for the first time in months. It even had the power to draw my daughter downstairs before 11 a.m. Still in her pajamas, sleepy-eyed, she said, “I love waking up to the smell of spaghetti sauce.” The smell is heavenly. The garlic and olive oil mingle with the sausage, tomatoes and herbs, filling your kitchen with tomatoey love. You should start cooking it…
I just found out that the doctor who delivered my two children passed away this year and I’m unbelievably sad. I’ve been thinking a lot about Dr. Sanford Tisherman and why he meant so much to me. Yes, he had a couple of unfair advantages over everyone else; he definitely saw things other men haven’t, and he helped bring two of the most important people in my life…
If you don’t make your own pesto, you should be slapped. * There I said it. That’s probably the most controversial thing you’ll see on this blog, and I mean it. Why? Because you’re passing up your moment of culinary immortality. Years from now, people will forget how you looked, what you said and what you wore, but they’ll never forget the creamy, fresh taste of your pasta…
It’s no surprise that I was 32 when I married. Frankly, I’m amazed I was that young because my mom had a way of winnowing out the weaker prospects pretty quickly. Any suitor who visited had to be warned about her because her childlike frankness left people stunned. To protect myself, I sat at the table with her, laughing too loud so whomever she was talking to knew…
When I walk into my favorite Italian store, I can’t wipe the smile off my face. It’s like coming home. There’s a smell Italian stores have; a combination of peppers and oregano with a little hint of salami and tomato sauce in there for good measure. I love it.…
Summer means fruit pie season and I am a ho for fruit pies and crisps — especially right out of the oven with vanilla ice cream on top. Every time I overeat, then vow to cut out sweets completely (this happens weekly) I realize I could never do it if it meant not having fruit pie again. This is clearly genetic. My brothers are both ho’s for blackberry…
I love the Fourth of July. Even its name shows it’s a holiday to be reckoned with. No holiday gets the number first, not even Christmas. I also LOVE fireworks. They’re all the excitement of lightning without the house burning down part. And mostly, I love the Fourth of July because it was my mom’s birthday.…