Moroccans don’t go to supermarkets, they go to the souks. They haggle with the vendors, they study the wares — barrows full of thistly wild artichokes, bins of lustrous purple eggplants, baskets of fresh, fragrant mint, pyramids of dried apricots and figs, pillar-sized jars of spices, piles of grains and dried beans. People cook together…
Acquacotta
Our new washing machine overloaded and dumped water all over the utility room floor. This necessitated a major bail and mop. Then our antique dishwasher decided to call it a day and did the same thing, so within a couple of days, there I was again, cursing and mopping up buckets of water. I’d just…
Soupe Joumou: Sunshine in the Midst of Darkness
When a man pours you his soup, he pours you his soul, even when it’s soup cooked up on a hot plate. Maybe especially then. My friend Marcel celebrated New Year’s Day by making soupe joumou, the beloved soup with which Haitians start the new year. For Marcel, it was not enough to make soup…
Sake-Spashed Millet with Miso and Gingered Greens and Tofu
I have for some time been searching for a line by one of the French decadent poets. Baudelaire? Rimbaud? Verlaine? One of them guys. The gist of the citation is, be drunk. On wine. On life. On love. On poetry. But be drunk. I’ve interpreted “drunk” in this context to mean loose, uninhibited, delighted by,…
Obsessive Turkish Noodle Stew With Sesame
I remember a time when I was a little girl, riding in the car somewhere with my parents. The car, I believe, was a Dodge Dart, and it seemed to go on for a city block, This was before the days of confining car seats and I was in my own vast world of the…
Spirit House
This photo looks very like the spirit houses I used to see around Asia. There’s usually an image — a portrait or statue of the spirit, whether it’s a god or someone no longer living, and some offerings, frequently oranges. Candles and incense are lit, all of which is done to keep the spirits from…
Vegetable Soup With a French Accent
Years ago, I put my husband through grad school. He took night classes, I worked days, we basically didn’t see each other for two years. We had no money. I got by by reading a lot of bleak British post-war novels where the heroine wears tatty sweaters because she’s always cold. She doesn’t have enough…
Edgy Veggie Meets Crackerman
Serendipity can happen in the kitchen, with a surprising but happy-making combination of flavors, or it can happen elsewhere, with a surprising but happy-making combination of people. With Crackerman, I got both. Crackerman, aka Stefan Uch, has Michelin star chef creds and a gorgeous wife, Theresa. Together, they make Crackerman crackers. He is also the…
A la Recherche du Poivrons Perdu
Yesterday involved several deadlines, punctuated by numerous interruptions and emergencies, all of which fritzed me out and put me a couple hours behind. I’m sure this never happens to you. The good news was at least I wouldn’t have to scramble for dinner. I had the makings of a Mexican-themed meal — some black beans…
It’s Great American Meatout — Kiss a Cow
French-kissing cows are the logo for Les Halles, the Franco-American steakhouse in New York, Washington DC and Miami. If you go tomorrow night, I can recommend the petatou, a warm goat cheese and potato salad, the lovely salade d’Auvergene, with arugula, apples, walnuts and blue cheese, a very decadent macaroni and cheese or the healthier…
