“So, now that you, you know, got cancer, do you think you’ll switch to a macrobiotic diet?” a friend asked me. Shit, I thought. It’s not bad enough to have cancer? Now I have to eat umeboshi paste?

I get why people follow a macrobiotic diets, raw food… Read full post »

Our pressure cooker crouches in the cabinet like a wild thing, display lights flashing even though it’s unplugged. It is enormous, takes up a quarter of the space inside. When it’s plugged in and buttons are pushed, it issues long lists of commands in Korean, in a ladies’ vo… Read full post »

I'm eager to post something lighthearted and fun, about food, maybe. In the meantime, here's the next part of my cancer story. Wheee!

I watched a woman climb out of her wheelchair in slow motion. She unfolded from the chair, all limbs and wispy gray hair, and started towards the restroom,… Read full post »

You hope this woman isn’t too much of a weirdo. Apparently she is so allergic to perfumes that the receptionist called you twice before your appointment to warn you not to wear scented lotions, even. You’ve just had your hair cut, and the stylist put a lot of stuff in it,… Read full post »

Forgive me for not posting sooner. I was busy gluing steaks back together. Yeah, I’m a food stylist. Actually, an assistant food stylist, most of the time. People seem to think it’s an interesting job. It can be. Mostly it’s a job. Mostly it’s gross. But it pays a hell of… Read full post »

 Although I’ve considered making one up, I don’t have a foodie childhood story. My parents never took me on an eye-opening trip to France, or anywhere, and my grandmothers were two of the worst cooks you can imagine.  Grandma P., who we spent holidays with, never venture… Read full post »

The problem with publicly declaring what you're going to make your honey for Christmas dinner is that you've gotta do it. No heading to the East side for Chinese food this year. 

Look at these beauties. I guess in Andalucia (how I love saying it with a lisp) one would… Read full post »

 Artichokes are a gimme, more metaphor than food already, so we’ll start there. For you, I will trim the thorny leaf-tips, carefully scrape out all the choking little barbs that guard the heart, then blanch them in salty, lemony water until a small knife slides in easily (just a li… Read full post »