Still new to each other, I met Clif for breakfast at the local Marie Callander’s after buttoning up the final days of […]
But by this June, the bad boy tumor grew back from its reduced 6 cm to 8 cm. In other words, my continued digestive discomfort was not from a stuck camera capsule. Actually, the CT scan showed that the capsule had left my system.
When Chef Dakota Weiss celebrates with her family, she brings her wealth of food knowledge together with her savvy know-how to bring […]
While we walk beneath what seems like a blue dome, what is more magical than finding a tiny blue butterfly, a spot of blue flowers, a blue stone, or a blue-feathered bird? In nature it seems like all shades of blue are compatible and unlike my interior designer friend’s home decor warning.
Enough of this world and all of its crooks and liars crushing the light out from the morning headlines! A high octane call to take to the road fuels my inner nomad. Drape me in beads and hats. Pack my bags (minimally). Climb aboard Gilda, the 1997 VW EuroVan with 136,000 miles already journeyed
Wee buildings in crayon colors lined the dirt lot next to the Veteran’s Hall.It’s a local Lion’s Club property called Pinedorado. There, eight chili-heads brewed up their best concoctions. Besides the beauteous aroma, the quest for trophy-winning chili trumped our nation’s political divide. There was joy, friendship, and the real America—volunteers, community and visitors waiting for the tasting and judging to begin.
The bargain juicer literally exploded while I juiced grapes! A centrifugal juicer, the juicer’s strainer basket/shredder disk dislocated itself, blasted through the plastic top cover like a terrorist’s bomb. Then the shredder disk rocketed into the air, spun like a UFO, landing 20 feet into the living room. Grape remnants stuck to the kitchen ceiling, the dining room chandelier and cabinets—about 10-feet west—and some plastered the TV screen in a protective cabinet.
But something went terribly wrong. On Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001, horror stuck America. I asked, “Should I cancel the fundraiser?” The resounding reply was, “No! If ever we needed to do something good, and enjoy our country’s harvest, we need a day in your orchard. Keep the event!”
Like the Middle East, this garden vs. gophers is a historical war. My next door neighbor just nukes the furry beasts when he finds them. But, I, Ms. Organic, won’t bait them with poison, so they tunnel under our property lines and into paradise—my garden.
Author’s note: This is a serendipitous story of wine, friends, daughter, and spices— a camerata (experimenting with art form) if you will. (The aria, “Song of India,” from Sadko plays in the background.) Tell me the last time that you tasted wines paired with exotic spices. You have done this? What happened when you paired a chalky Chenin Blanc with three freshly ground peppers? Did you make a slight scene when you shouted, “OMG! What was that mouth explosion?” I did. It […]