When I was growing up in Pittsburgh, we had a big German Shepherd, and whenever we fried potato pancakes during Hanukkah, he smelled like them for a week. When you fry anything with oil, like a piece of fish, you get into bed (hours later) and stink.
Sparkling wines scream out to be paired with so much more than just gooey, buttery, cheeses. Even when you’re married to a hot sexpot, you might still wanna try a little somethin’ on the side.
The Spanish region of Andalucía might be one of the last remaining places in the Western world where people are far more concerned with feasting and family than frantic shopping.
Fruitcake is gross, and ugly, and nobody likes it. It’s the brunt of late night television jokes and finds itself as a punchline in songs. And yet, fruitcake endures as a staple in the American Christmas culinary tradition. What gives?
I visited Miyajima, a funny little island off of the coast of Hiroshima, to wrestle aggressive deer for bags of chestnuts and eat grilled oysters that hopefully won’t turn me into a mutant.
On Christmas, when UK markets basically shut down, convenience stores will still be bestowing their convenience —and comforting reliability—on us all.