A garage is a place for storage. Cars, trucks, bicycles, motorcycles. Also (in my case) rakes, lawn mowers, grass seed spreaders, brooms...

There’s something about the pending arrival of houseguests that stimulates in me the strangest behavior. In advance of friends who arri...

A note to readers: At the outset, I want to say that this post does not include the recipe for “my” famous gumbo, because in fact what ...

My food processor is a miracle worker at chopping a big pile of onions or grinding basil and pignoli nuts together for pesto. My blende...

I spent the day yesterday at a workshop for bloggers. For a person born before... to be kind, let’s say 1960 – and I will not be mentioni...

You know, everyone says you should always wear an apron in the kitchen. They’re probably right, but here’s the thing: I don’t like apro...

It was the sort of comment you make without thinking. And for me, that always means trouble. I was just forwarding a recipe to ou...

Yesterday was one of those dimly lit days in Austin, with a light drizzle from dawn to dusk. And my Valentine’s Day tulips struggled to...

I dreamed last night that I sent one of these chocolate truffles to every member of Congress. And I’m pretty sure that if I really did t...

My mother wasn’t much of a cook. She got dinner for us most nights, and it always tasted good, but it wasn’t her thing. She was an arti...