Tango with a Stranger, NGT

Now and then in Buenos Aires, I have the urge to rub against a man I’ve never met. When that occurs, I usually go to La Boca, the barrio that throbs with the afterglow of Italian immigrants who

Furaha (Joy) Guest House, Nairobi, Kenya

Furaha Guest House in Gigiri, Nairobi is wonderful.

La Cuccìa – Santa Lucia’s dish

La cuccia he quick method is below. I prefer the real thing, using whole wheat berries. This year I’m using hard red wheat berries from Whole Foods (photo). In a good stainless steel pot, I will soak about 2 cups of the whole grains in plenty of water to cover over night. They will swell. You can leave them out or refrigerate if you prefer. Then, I will simmer them on low heat for up to 2 hours until they are cooked—could take longer.

Oregon Coast, Los Angeles Times

Read the original article here. August 26, 2012 FLORENCE, Ore. — My mind drifts back to Ken Kesey’s 1964 novel, “Sometimes a Great Notion,” as my friend Rob and I drive west from Eugene to the Oregon coast along scenic Highway 126. The curling two-lane road sweeps through views of the Cascade Range cloaked in […]

Savoring Patagonia

Dark peaks, many still cloaked in snow, rag the horizon. Besides the druid-like towers, a formation called the Cuernos del Paine rises above Lago Pehoé, one of many lakes we passed, whose waters seem to come in three shades—emerald, aquamarine, and sapphire. When the relentless wind blows, it’s a sight to see hundreds of frothy white caps stand up and dance on their rippling waters. wild hares browsing, and horses running loose from a nearby estancia. Milky Way achingly close. The sky is so dense with stars,

Delighting in Dungeness

Winter is Dungeness crab season; it’s time to get cracking. By Camille Cusumano Original article published in Via Magazine. Consider a mollusk such as the escargot. It would be nothing but a garden pest without a megadose of garlic and butter. On the other hand, Dungeness, the crustacean indigenous to the West Coast, needs absolutely […]

A Splendid Duck

THE MOST memorable duck I ever ate was a canard cooked up slowly, willfully, by my friend Suzanne when we were on a summer work program in France. We were young and impoverished students, enriching ourselves in one of the world’s finest cultures. But pommes frites and salade niçoise could go only so far in making a student from Texas (Suzanne) or New Jersey (me) feel culturally superior. So every few weeks, Suzanne, who at twenty-eight was more worldly-wise than I (age twenty), seduced a couple of men. They would, for the pleasure of our poulet-de-printemps company, wine and dine us. The truite, biftek, and coq au vin were superb, if not free; the men–who always seemed more ravenous at the end of the meal–always expected un petit peu de sexe.
Never mind that there are other names for such an arrangement. It was all soul-blackening premarital sex, as far as I, not long out of Catholic girls’ school, was concerned. (And feminism wouldn’t reach my neighborhood until a year later.) Somehow I always got out of paying the postprandial price. On the other hand, Suzanne, obviously one of those libertine Protestants I’d heard about, would on occasion have no qualms about delivering “les goods.”

Tofu, Tempeh, and Other Soy Delights

Find this out-of-print but never out-of-date book from Rodale Press, 1984 at Amazon.