I have never been one of those people who wanted to figure out how to make baked goods “healthier.” The whole idea of replacing butter or oil with applesauce, or subbing out white flour with whole wheat, buckwheat, or rye makes me cringe. I can just imagine my beautiful, rich, tender, lighter-than-air muffins turning into

Though I love sharp pencils, new notebooks, and fresh starts, September is a difficult month for the cook in me. Sure, the summer has been flush with produce, but I have grown tired of eggplant, zucchini, corn, and (gasp) even peaches. My tastebuds are starting to yearn for rich, deeply flavored dishes, but the weather

A year ago, I was almost purely a special occasion cook. I knew how to choose a good recipe out of the thousands on the Internet (or just flip to a page in one of Mom’s books). And I knew how to follow the recipe to get good results. Always aiming for the perfect, impressive,

Last weekend, I walked out to the dumpster behind my apartment and was met with looks ranging from slightly nervous to moderately horrified to seriously inquisitive. It was one of those moments where you start wondering: “Is there something on my face?” or “Is my hair totally sticking up?” or “Is my skirt tucked into

To this day, I am still incredibly thankful that Mom and Dad never made us go to camp. There was one year when we voluntarily spent two weeks at a Quaker camp in northern Bucks County—and loved it. The following year all its rustic charm had worn off, I decided I hated it. Maggy seemed

After a chilly, rainy, and somewhat stressful 12-hour drive home from Ohio, I am currently enjoying a bowl of chowder (quickly thawed), and reflecting on (surprise!) all the extraordinary dishes, cocktails, and wines I experienced during my time away. The unseasonably autumnal nature of my current meal has got me musing about the season. And

As a kid mostly deprived of television (we were limited to Dan Rather’s nightly news, the occasional Saturday morning cartoons, and a few stolen moments of the Cosby show), it’s not surprising that I developed an energetic imagination. Mostly, this served me well. I could effortlessly transform our backyard bushes, trees and brambles into a

Irma S. Rombauer, one of the original authors of the Joy of Cooking, once wrote, “Eternity is two people and a ham.” To be honest, that sounds more like heaven to me. My eternity this week could be more aptly described as “Two people and a pack of hot dogs.” After an early summer barbecue,

It is a well-documented fact that the Anderson family loves lamb. More often than not, when we have each other over for dinner and we’re trying to impress, we make lamb—slow-cooked in deep, rich sauces and falling off the bone, or rubbed, grilled and cooked until barely FDA appropriate, or spiced, seared and stuffed into

The older I get, the more I hate to throw food away. When I was a kid, I had no qualms about chucking an entire hunk of cheese if the end bit was brittle and dried out. I was skittish about eating a slice of bread that had been in the same bag as something

I am not an expensive girl. I don’t own a single piece of jewelry or pair of shoes over 100 bucks (except maybe my hi-tech running shoes). I’m not a fan of pricey, delicate blooms like orchids or roses, but prefer the hearty stems and unrefined brightness of sunflowers. Nine nights out of ten, I’d

Raise your hand if you plan vacations around food. Keep it raised if you don’t think that’s a problem. If your hand isn’t raised, don’t keep reading. It’ll just make the rest of us feel bad. This is standard behavior for the Anderson family. We don’t always choose our trip locations for the food, but

It’s 6:42 am and already it’s 81 degrees. If I were on vacation in Fiji or Florida, I would think it was cool and exotic that it was this hot this early, and I would diligently lather on sunscreen, throw on my bathing suit and head for the beach. I don’t mind weather that tops

At this very moment, I am engaged in perhaps the only activity I can stand in my apartment this week: Reclining on my bed directly in front of my fan, fresh out of a cold shower, and clad in a giant t-shirt and a pair of baggy boxer shorts endeavoring to have as little fabric-skin