Category Archives: At Home

Hey Miami, we coming at you

The Beast and I realized that his dad has probably seen Nick Edwards more than we have this year, which hardly seems fair.

We enjoyed both their company at the Beast’s dad’s pop-up art reception. A few of Nick’s illustrations are included in the show; specifically, illustrations from Bumble Bear, a children’s story that the Beast wrote years ago.

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Too many lentils, not enough curls

About a year ago, maybe longer, the Beast decided to turn a left-over ham bone into a soup. He found the recipe on his own. It called for both split peas and brown lentils–I’m guessing less than a cup of each.

But he brought home two-kilogram bags of each. That’s four kilograms of dried legumes.

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Repetition, Liberty Valance, and leaning in

Foodie: I just love the combination of ham, scalloped potatoes and cabbage salad  all in one bite!


Beast: You realize you’ve said that three times since we started eating, right?

Foodie: Oh have I?

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Brunch at Buca, between the cottage and Thanksgiving

The Beast and I blinked and there went summer, without a vacation together to speak of.

So, last week, I took three days off work. Friday and Saturday I spent with my mom. We did the usual: Costco, Walmart and the Superstore. I got her all stocked up with supplies. At Costco, a woman did a double-take when she saw me, my mom practically willing her to do so, and said: “You look like that girl from The View.”

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A bachelor and a TIFFhole

After eight days and nights of eating with my hands–think skewered meatballs and shrimp, tuna ceviche on flat bread and itty bitty tacos–I had my first meal on a plate topped with food that I consumed with a knife and fork on Thursday night.

I covered the TIFF party scene for Metro this year. It’s my fifth year reporting on the festival’s nightlife, and–like clockwork–I metamorphosed into something I call a TIFFhole. I define what this is here. If you have no interest in reading that, I’ll quote myself, which is a really TIFFhole thing to do: “The transition to TIFFhole is a well-known phenomenon in some circles. It’s two weeks of obsessing over party invites, name-dropping and filing stories as the sun rises,” I wrote. “The TIFFhole is a werewolf, ashamed of what it’s become but hungry for its prey and the second-rate rubbed off luminosity of being in close proximity to the stars that it’s hunting.”

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Porchetta, Panama hats and a director whose name we will only whisper

My friend Giovanna had a bunch of us over for dinner on a recent summer night. With a baby perched on her hip, or on the counter, she prepared a cherry pie, rhubarb crumble, roasted potatoes, green bean salad, panzanella, and a porchetta.



She’s extraordinary. So was the food.

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A Barberian’s birthday

The Beast didn’t get home until 10:00 p.m last night because he worked late. So I came home to an empty house. At first, I thought I could wait to eat dinner with him. But by 8:00 p.m., I gave up.

It was our Friday night pizza party. While I prepared my toppings and waited for the oven to heat up, I decided to watch some TV on my computer in the kitchen. For no explicable reason, I settled on the last episode of the last season of Six Feet Under, a series I’ve already seen but have never revisited.

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