I was in the kitchen making breakfast for the kids when my wife came in with an alarmed look on her face.
“Charlie Trotter died.”
The name stalled in my head, it took me a moment to process the news. And then I was hit with a wave of shock: Charlie Trotter, the boyish Chicago chef whose smiling face grinned out at me from three or four cookbooks in my collection. More
skinny girls & mayonnaise 