When I was younger and not so wise, I was friends with a couple. Let’s call them Henry and Sarah. They were funny and smart, interesting, going places. We all hit the road one weekend to celebrate another friend’s birthday Read on!
These days, I find myself longing for the flavors of fall, only to step outside and discover that the seasons haven’t quite caught up with me. To make matters more confusing in this short season between blistering hot and biting Read on!
Summer might call to mind lazy afternoons by the swimming hole, the creaky slam of a screen door, and the distant sound of children running through sprinklers, but for those of us involved in the business of food, there’s a Read on!
Late-summer crops are always full of memories. Perhaps because I spent so much of my childhood summers in Louisiana with my grandparents, or perhaps just because summer cooking took over my grandmother’s life and filled her house with the steamy Read on!
I was going to make panzanella, and I wanted plump, voluptuous, vine-ripe tomatoes, warm from the sun, with winey juices and the sweet-tart flavors that only good soil, careful tending and hours of sunlight can create. Unfortunately, in the summer Read on!
My grandmother, a staunch conservationist and environmentalist way before it was cool, was also the most frugal person I ever knew. Famous for birthday cards that didn’t open–“Happy Birthday to a Girl Who’s . . . “–once you tear the Read on!
There’s something about the competitive nature of professional cooking that turns me off. Sure, I held my own though years of smack-talk and innuendo in restaurant kitchens, yelling and flying food, and burns worn like badges of honor, but none Read on!
I might be a romantic, but I have no love for Valentine’s Day. Years of February 14ths spent in restaurant kitchens ruined it for me forever. Mothers Day brunch is no cakewalk either, but Valentine’s Day is hands-down the worst day to Read on!
Whenever I return to Beaumont, I inevitably bump into a certain woman who corners me and jabs her finger under my nose. “I still miss that beet salad!” she exclaims accusingly. At Liberty Market & Cafe we served a roasted Read on!