Chopping My Way to Glory

Lately when I’ve gone to the fridge feeling uninspired and not knowing what to make for dinner, I’ve often turned to something that was missing from my repertoire for years — the chopped salad.

While not codified in the same way as other great salads, the Caesar for example (romaine, anchovy, lemon, parmesan and garlic), or the Cobb (avocado, bacon, egg, chicken, etc.), it is precisely its flexibility that makes the chopped salad so great. More

Barack, Brits & Bananas

Necessity, as they say, is the mother of invention. And I find this is often true in the kitchen — especially if one is going to a dinner party and needs to make something in a hurry.

The makings of a dessert

Election night: English friend Patricia down the street was having a disco birthday election bash which we, in the whirl of activity that is our lives, had forgotten about until our iCalendar gave us a cheerful little alert that same afternoon. More

Porkcorn Goes Public

My friend and fellow elementary school dad, Thad, approached one morning asking a favor. Some Topanga folk had started a monthly antique fair at a nearby mall recently, and the school had a fundraising bake sale table at the event. Would I consider baking something for the table? Of course, I said.

Porkcorn, ready for sale

A short time later, I received an email from the woman in charge of the fundraising table, thanking me for being a part of their “healthy bake sale.” More

A Mansion of Dreams

When I was a lad, saké was something warm and exotic we drank at the local sushi bar that served underage kids. Not ones for moderation, we used to do something called a “saké bomb,” where we would drop the small ceramic cup of hot saké into our glass of beer, and then down the whole thing.

Saké Still Life (with Sushi Knife)

I remember once, several bombs in, I chucked a California roll at my friend Pat, sitting a few seats away. It hit him on the forehead and fell into his saké-and-beer. He lifted the glass, drank the bomb and ate the roll at the bottom in one epic gulp, and we all applauded. More

Duck in a Can

The texts and emails began arriving in earnest on a Thursday afternoon. Friends Don and Monica were in Montreal, they had booked a reservation in one of the city’s most talked about restaurants, Au Pied de Cochon, and they wanted me to know about it.

First came links to Yelp, followed by one to the restaurant’s own website, and finally photos of the food they were eating — fois gras poutine, steak tartare, fois gras hamburger and something called “Duck in a Can.” More

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