Heather Fogarty, the founder of TheFoodinista.com, a blog that was profiled notably in Bon Appétit, Los Angeles Times, The New York Times, Women's Wear Daily, and other prestigious publications interviewed me when (Re)Making Love, originally written as a blog, was picked up by a publisher. This interview took place before Substack existed. Man, how things have changed! But, for sure, Heather remains a treasure,: She retired the blog before transitioning to get her MFA degree and on to teaching at USC. Huzzah!

Interview with Heather!

Heather: Without doubt, what I love best about this blog are the people it has led me to, total strangers who have become virtual friends. And at the top of that list is a woman I greatly admire, Mary L. Tabor. And so today, it is my great honor to talk with the writer about her seductive new memoir, (Re) Making Love that you may now read (on Mary’s Substack, my note) or buy HERE. Then, settle in for a delicious conversation with Mary, complete with her recipe for finding lasting love.

Heather: Your first book, a collection of short stories, is The Woman Who Never Cooked. Who is that woman? How does she differ from you?

MARY: I am hidden inside the fiction and oddly or maybe not so odd, I included three memoir pieces that I don’t identify as such. That’s the first tip-off. In the fiction, I used food and adultery as metaphor for the grief I bore through my mother’s, my father’s and my sister’s illnesses and deaths. I wasn’t sure who I was. I didn’t know when I wrote “The Woman Who Never Cooked,” the title story, that I would become that woman. The story relies on cooking, despite its title, and scrolls through recipes from some of my favorites:The Silver Palate Cookbook, Julia Child’s The Art of French Cooking, The Ramognolis’ Table, Martha Stewart’s Pies and Tarts, Chez Panisse Desserts, Maida Heatter’s Book of Great Desserts, Gourmet’s Best Desserts, Silver Palate Desserts.

I stopped cooking after D. in my memoir left me. Was I prescient? I don’t think so. I do think that cooking and love and family are inextricably entwined.

I’m cooking again. I know that’s a good sign.

Heather: What is the great seduction dish of all time?

MARY: It begins with a joke and ends with a kiss. I read this recently somewhere: “Vacationing in Vermont, someone picked up the local paper to check out the forecast. It read: Today: Sunny, 76. Tonight: Not so sunny, 55.” I laughed and thought of eating lobster at a lobster shack somewhere in Maine. That’s near Vermont, right? Geography is not my long suit. For me, boiled lobster is the ultimate seduction dish. And I’ll never forget watching Darryl Hannah eat one shell and all in a rom-com I love: Splash. But I hear she’s a vegetarian so that was a very complicated lobster.

Complicated is good where love is concerned.

If I were going to seduce a man, I would make Pierre Franey’s (the 60-Minute Gourmet whose passing left a hole in my favorite rag The New York Times that Mark Bittman has done a great job of filling) chocolate mousse and his Strawberries Romanoff (strawberries steeped in Grand Marnier, orange peel and topped with a dollop of fresh whipped cream). (Note: click for the Recipe!)

Dessert first. Then make love and think about food later when you’re starving.

Heather: Your new memoir (Re)Making Love is about finding love after sixty, but there are rather beautiful truths for women of any age. I particularly loved the chapter about your hair. What can a haircut say about a woman? Does long hair at 24 mean the same thing at 64? Incidentally, after a bad breakup in my 20s, I cut off all my hair and moved to Paris. The short hair played well over there. It did not have the same effect when I moved back to San Francisco.

MARY: I remember when Mia Farrow cut her hair. Wasn’t that after she hooked up with Frank Sinatra? I remember Jean Seberg, really cute haircut, in Breathless, but, golly, she did also play Joan of Arc.

I do think the French, despite all the bashing we Americans sometimes get from them, have an esthetic that focuses on beauty and sensuality in a way that we Americans can learn but don’t grow up with: The reason your short hair in Paris was a hit.

I first cut my hair after my second child was born: Went into the bathroom and cut my ponytail off with a scissors. Something was going on with that crazy move—and I don’t think it had to do with my kids—first husband maybe?

I then let it grow and cut it again when a corporate job and raising two kids on my own was my stated reason, but I had also met the man I later married: my second marriage.

When I let my hair grow again—what I refer to as the trial of the hair: Have you ever grown out curly hair?—the result gave me a new sense of my sensuality. Long and white, this hair will not see the scissors again.

So, if there’s a difference, it’s not age, it’s Paris.

Heather: Is La Perla the best revenge?

MARY: Feeling beautiful inside is the best revenge. A good bra on the way there helps like this one from La Perla:

I don’t have this bra but, if I did, I’d dance around the kitchen in it and pretend I was Lady Gaga.

Will he love you when you’re 64? He will, with or without the bra.

Heather: In (Re) Making Love, there were three kitchens and two husbands. Tell us about your dream kitchen and your dream husband.

MARY: My dream kitchen would have a Wolf range top, two Wolf wall ovens, a Subzero fridge and freezer and a stainless steel island with lots of electrical outlets. And the sink would have a window over it.

My dream husband would cook with me in that kitchen and he’d be the man who wrote this description of my memoir: here’s an excerpt of what the man I love actually wrote to help promote the book:

“A series of men appear—all identified as a lower-case first initial—while the upper-case D. weaves out and in, as both he and Mary maneuver through the separation. Along the way are the Internet dates, emails, T.S. Eliot and Nietzsche, romantic comedies and the Grimm Brothers, photographs, recipes, dreams, Obamas, and yes, even the kitchen sink. Her journey moves from her home in Washington, DC to Missouri to Australia and eventually to Paris, a visit that offers a stunning surprise that changes her life.”

Gotta love him, and I do.

Heather: Please share two recipes for love—one philosophical, one we can cook.

MARY: Philosophical recipe:

Never forget the Laws of Thermodynamics. C.P. Snow provided this shorthand to remember the laws: 1. You cannot win. 2. You cannot break even. 3. You cannot get out of the game.

But if you stay in the game, you can dance even when it seems that the dancers have all gone under the hill.

Now, go to the farmers market, buy corn and tomatoes and lots of basil.

Slice the tomatoes, sprinkle with some grated parmesan and asiago cheese, preferably from The Cowgirl Creamery. Add a chiffonade of basil, salt and pepper. Then make Angel Hair Pasta and Pesto. I refer to this as my McDonald’s meal ’cause to me this is fast food fast and it says summer.

1 or 2 bunches basil (about two cups, leaves only)
1 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese (or more; I don’t measure; just look)
4 cloves of garlic
the best extra virgin olive oil you can afford (More tips in the link)

Put the garlic cloves, the basil and the cheese in your food processor. Give it all a whirl while you pour in olive oil until you see the green of summer like grass in a field.

Boil angel hair pasta ever so briefly the best homemade brand you can find or use DeCecco. Put the pasta in a beautiful bowl, scrape all the pesto on top, pour a quarter cup or so of the pasta water on top. Toss and serve with corn and tomatoes.

Don’t forget to tell jokes and kiss while cooking: You will taste both in the pesto. And remember Robert Hass the poet who says in “The Privilege of Being,” “Many are making love. Up above, the angels/ in the unshaken ether and crystal of human longing/ are braiding one another’s hair, which is strawberry blond … .”

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Love, Heather and …

Do You Dare Eat Rabbit?

In the memoir (Re)Making Love that floats on hope and your belief, you’ll find this recipe that I made in Paris because rabbit is easy to find there at the Marché de la Bastille. If you live in the U.S. (let me know about Canada and elsewhere), you need to find a butcher who will order it for you—or order online. It’s worth it!

Here’s an excerpt from the memoir and a recipe for Mustardy Rabbit that will heal your soul:

If you’re in Paris, walk this city.

The repairs will startle. The lining of my heavy black coat, its hem that touches the top of my boots, got caught on a boot link: separated and frayed. I could have walked into any dry cleaners along the streets of Marais and gotten an excellent repair. But it was Sunday. So, I pinned the hem with safety pins and walked to the open market at Bastille: fresh food: roasted beets (yes, they roast them for you), cheese, meat, fish, a rabbit for dinner (Yes, I cooked it. See the recipe below.) But I also found needle and thread and could do the repair myself. I’m not the seamstress my mother was, nor as good as anyone in the Parisian dry cleaners, but the satisfaction of the needle and thread in hand healed.

Repair

(click ⇧for the full chapter)

Here’s Melissa Clark’s easier-on-the-fat recipe:

Mustardy Braised Rabbit with Carrots

Time: 2 hours 45 minutes

Braised Rabbit

1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 thyme sprigs
1 rosemary sprig
1 whole clove
1 2 1/2-pound rabbit, cut into 8 pieces, rinsed and patted dry
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 1/2 teaspoons ground black pepper
1/4 cup (4 tablespoons) extra virgin olive oil
4 large leeks, halved lengthwise, cleaned and thinly sliced crosswise
3 tablespoons chopped fresh sage
1 pound carrots, peeled, trimmed and cut into 1 1/2-inch chunks
1 celery stick, diced
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
2 teaspoons whole coriander seeds
1 cup dry white wine
About 2 cups chicken stock
1 to 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard, to taste
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley, for garnish
Buttered noodles, for serving (optional).

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Place flour in a shallow bowl. Tie thyme, rosemary and clove in a spice sachet or square of cheesecloth (or just toss them in pot if you do not mind accidentally biting into clove later).

2. Season rabbit pieces all over with salt and pepper. Coat each piece evenly with flour; tap off excess. Heat 3 tablespoons oil in a large oven-proof Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Sear rabbit in batches, until browned all over, 5 to 6 minutes a side. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate.

3. Add remaining 1 tablespoon oil to pot; reduce heat to medium. Add leeks and 2 tablespoons sage and cook, stirring, until softened, about 2 minutes. Stir in the carrots, celery, garlic, coriander, salt and pepper. Cook, stirring, until vegetables begin to color, about 5 minutes.

4. Add wine and increase heat to high; simmer, scraping up browned bits from bottom of pot, until reduced by half, about 5 minutes. Return rabbit to pot. Add stock (it should come almost halfway up the sides of rabbit) and herb sachet (or herbs and clove). Transfer pot to oven and cook, partially covered, until meat is fork-tender, about 2 hours.

5. Transfer rabbit pieces to a serving platter. If liquid seems too thin, place pot over medium-high heat and simmer until it thickens slightly. Discard sachet. Stir in mustard, to taste. Spoon sauce and vegetables over rabbit. Garnish with parsley and remaining 1 tablespoon chopped sage.

Noodles (optional) but a nice addition to the dish.

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Love,

When life confounds, a good dinner can pull us together. An unusual recipe that’s easy to prepare and more delectable than you’d think can do exactly that.

That wasn’t exactly the case in Chapter 26 of (Re)Making Love, but dinner was still grand. See the alert at the end of this post before you read it, if you haven’t already!

Russian Chicken Burgers with Stroganoff Sauce:

The recipe is by my beloved Pierre Franey, who used to write the column “The 60-Minute Gourmet” in The New York Times where I found this:

I serve Russian Chicken Burgers with roasted beets in the oven (if you haven’t done this, it’s worth a try: a roasted beet beats (forgive the awful alliteration) any beet you’ve ever eaten). I let them cool and then slice the beets with a heart shaped cookie cutter (Maybe a bit tacky—but love is the answer).

To Roast Beets: Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Cut off the ends of each beet and wrap each in aluminum foil. Place on a sheet pan lined with foil (sometimes the beets may leak a bit) and place in the oven for 45 to 55 minutes until a slight squeeze lets you know they’re done. Let cool. Maybe wear tight-fitting food gloves to keep stain off your fingers as you peel the beets—the peel comes off so easily after roasting—so need to peel before roasting.. Once peeled, slice the beets and you’ve got a perfect side dish.

If you’re lucky enough to be in Paris, you could go to a street foodmart where you’ll find roasted beets ready to buy!

The Burgers

1 ½ pounds skinless and boneless chicken breasts
1 cup fine soft breadcrumbs (I do this the easy way with Panko breadcrumbs)
1 ⅓ cup heavy cream
pinch cayenne pepper
⅛ teaspoon grated nutmeg
salt and freshly ground pepper
2 tablespoons corn or peanut oil (I use olive oil)
fresh dill for garnish

1. Cut the meat (remove cartilage) in 1-inch cubes and put in a food processor; blend to coarse texture.

2. In a mixing bowl, place meat. Blend ½ cup of the breadcrumbs with the cream and add to meat. Add the cayenne, nutmeg, salt and pepper. Blend with hands.

3. Divide mixture into four balls, pat down to flatten, roll in Panko breadcrumbs. Press to make sure crumbs adhere.

4. Heat oil in a skillet. Cook the patties until browned on one side. Turn and cook 10 minutes on other side.

Make the Stroganoff Sauce as soon as the burgers are done. I find it helps to do the prep ahead of time—Be your own sous chef!

Stroganoff Sauce

1 tablespoon butter
¼ cup finely chopped onions
½ teaspoon paprika
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
¼ teaspoon dried thyme
⅓ cup heavy cream
¼ cup sour cream
salt and freshly ground pepper

1. Melt the butter in a saucepan, add onion and paprika, Cook, stirring until the onion is wilted.

2. Add the vinegar and thyme. Cook stirring until the vinegar reduces.

3. Add the cream and cook until mixture reduces to about half.

4. Add the sour cream, salt and pepper. Heat to boiling point.

A bit of an alert: this chapter of the memoir (Re)Making Love where this recipe appears is about sex and shame—and self-discovery for me, anyway. So, delve if you’re brave—and get some advice about being broken in “The Parable of Two Vases” from psychiatrist and poet Salman Akhtar.

But no matter what, you should try this easy-to-make lovely dish and give or get a kiss. Here are some of my favorites to get you in the mood:

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Love,

Note to subscribers: I tried the “test title” yesterday and accidentally published the post with the silly title: “Truth a” (learning new feature, screwed up! apologies!)

“P.S. I Love You?” is a rom-com I love (without the question mark) and the title (with the question mark) of chapter 23 of my memoir (Re)Making Love.

Remember that gorgeous bowl from “Two Recipes for Love”? Have you made that fab Pesto yet?

Back to the memoir for a sec: No way I could’ve written any of it as fiction: too remarkable to be believed unless told as all-out truth—and that it is.

During the dark time: The times of the good, more bad and a whole lot of foolish, I made this dish for a man who didn’t show up. Turns out he was pretty gone already and into, if you can believe what he did, rejection: it’s quite a story that I tell in Chapter 23, meaning what he did to someone else—and that he told me about, much later when he was trying to come back to me—if you can believe that!

But the recipe is fabulous and so was dinner that night—the first time I’d made this dish since my husband said, Oh, so Greta Garbo, “I need to live alone.”

I ate alone and made this fab recipe, to follow here: The first time I’d made it after the so-called "wreckage" of my marriage.

For more on a sweet guy who did show up for the Thomas Keller Chicken, alias lower-case m.r.s, and more truth about rejection, go to this chapter of the memoir.

Now, for the FAB recipe:

If you can get fresh mussels, try this. It’s easy, quick and will give you hope when all seems lost, especially if you can share it with someone you love.

Mussels with Potatoes and Spinach from Gourmet’s Five Ingredients (a great little cookbook. Recipe, slightly adapted here)

(start to finish 35 minutes)

1 lb small red potatoes
3 Tablespoon olive oil
1 Tablespoon minced garlic (I use more)
2 lb mussels (preferably cultivated, meaning less gritty, cleaned and beards removed)
½ lb baby spinach (I use more)

1. Simmer potatoes in enough salted water to cover by 1 inch until tender, about 15 minutes. Drain under cold water. Pat dry; cut in half or quarters.

2. Heat two tablespoons of oil in a large heavy skillet (I use my cast iron pan) until hot but not smoking, then sauté potatoes with salt (I use Kosher coarse salt), turning as they brown (don’t turn too often or potatoes will crumble instead of getting crisp—and that’s what makes this dish great), about 10 minutes.

3. In a 5 to 6-quart pot, while potatoes are sautéing, cook garlic in one tablespoon of oil until fragrant (don’t burn the garlic; burnt garlic ruins a dish). Stir in mussels and ¼ cup water (white wine also works, but I use a little more when I choose wine), cover pot and cook until mussels open (take them out as they open), about three to five minutes (discard unopened mussels).

4. Add spinach to the pan with the potatoes that are now crisp and toss until spinach wilts. Serve potatoes and spinach with mussels.

Serve with a dry Riesling. Any dry white wine would be fab—as would a cool glass of iced tea.

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Love,

“Dessert first, huh?” —that’s a line from my short story “Guarding the Pie”—not yet up here, but it’s in my collection The Woman Who Never Cooked.

Love advice: Have dessert first, then make love. Think about food later when you’re starving. Here’s Pierre Franey’s fab dessert and easy as pie:

Strawberries Romanoff

2 pints red, ripe strawberries (farm stand berries if you can get them)
1/3 cup + 2 Tablespoons sugar
1/3 cup Grand Marnier or Cointreau
1 orange
¾ cup heavy cream

Preparation

1. Remove the stems from the strawberries, Rinse well and drain. Pat dry with paper towels.

2. Place the strawberries in a bowl and add 1/3 cup of the sugar and the Grand Marnier.

3. Using a zester or one of those cool microplaners (I love mine) and grate the orange peel onto the strawberries. Don’t grate the white pulp because it’s bitter. Stir ever so gently.

4. Cover the bowl and refrigerate until ready to serve.

5. Whip the cream and flavor it with the remaining 2 T sugar. Serve the whipped cream with the strawberries.

When strawberries are in season—or whenever you can find fab ones: Make this super easy dish. If you make it for company, everyone will want to hug you!

In (Re)Making Love: a memoir about the good, the bad and the foolish, “Hypersensitive” tells about desserts with my father that were super—and then my search for a man like him in every man I dated. Yep, another dessert is in this chapter about the search for love, but nothing as good as Strawberries Romanoff—perfect after a fab roast chicken.

“Pie and Story” will come here soon … Watch for a yummy recipe for Berry Pie — with all the secrets on how best to make it.

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Love,

When I was Internet dating after being dumped, losing my beloved husband (He’d said, oh so Greta Garbo, “I want to live alone” –and insisted we sell our much-loved townhouse in Adams Morgan, D.C.) One of the first meals I made (maybe after the Pesto, when I’d returned from my visiting-author professor job In U. of Columbia’s Ph.D. creative writing department (Can you believe it? You can get a doctoral degree in creativity!).

Get the whole story of the chicken, the fire alarm and more in “Bliss.”

Here was the lost kitchen 😢

Wherever you are, be sure to make Thomas Keller’s recipe Mon Poulet Rôti.

I made it in this lovely kitchen—okay, not as grand, but no matter— and I keep making it: Best Ever!

Mon Poulet Rôti by Thomas Keller, the amazing chef

Here’s Thomas Keller making it. He shows you how to truss, and he takes out the wish bone (I don’t bother with the latter, but you might. I do truss!):

Ingredients

One 2- to 3-pound farm-raised chicken (at room temperature before you begin the prep; makes a big difference; who knew?)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 teaspoons minced thyme (optional)
Unsalted butter
Dijon mustard

Preparation

Preheat the oven to 450°F. Rinse the chicken, then dry it very well with paper towels, inside and out. The less it steams, the drier the heat, the better.

Salt and pepper the cavity, then truss the bird.

Hint: I stick a half lemon inside the bird before I truss!

Trussing is not difficult, and if you roast chicken often (See the video for how to do this!). It's a good technique, Thomas says, to feel comfortable with. When you truss a bird, the wings and legs stay close to the body; the ends of the drumsticks cover the top of the breast and keep it from drying out. Trussing helps the chicken to cook evenly, and it also makes for a more beautiful roasted bird.

Now, salt the chicken—I like to rain the salt over the bird so that it has a nice uniform coating that will result in a crisp, salty, flavorful skin (about 1 tablespoon). When it’s cooked, you should still be able to make out the salt baked onto the crisp skin. Season to taste with pepper.

Place the chicken in a sauté pan or roasting pan and, when the oven is up to temperature, put the chicken in the oven. I leave it alone—I don't baste it, I don't add butter; you can if you wish, but I feel this creates steam, which I don't want. Roast it until it's done, 50 to 60 minutes. Remove it from the oven and add the thyme, if using, to the pan. Baste the chicken with the juices and thyme and let it rest for 15 minutes on a cutting board.

Remove the twine. Separate the middle wing joint and eat that immediately. Remove the legs and thighs. I like to take off the backbone and eat one of the oysters, the two succulent morsels of meat embedded here, and give the other to the person I'm cooking with. But I take the chicken butt for myself. I could never understand why my brothers always fought over that triangular tip—until one day I got the crispy, juicy fat myself. These are the cook's rewards. Cut the breast down the middle and serve it on the bone, with one wing joint still attached to each. The preparation is not meant to be super-elegant. Slather the meat with fresh butter. Serve with mustard on the side and, if you wish, a simple green salad. You'll start using a knife and fork, but finish with your fingers, because it’s so good.

A roast chicken prepared in one hour, tender, remarkable. Safe from fire.

I serve this fab roast chicken with easy to do roasted carrot and fab mashed potatoes and I make a sauce for the chicken and potatoes from the drippings. Here are a couple of photos.

Let me know if you want the how-tos! If so, I’ll do a separate post for those. 💕

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Love,

Omelet fork-stirred with LOVE

In (Re)Making Love: a memoir (chapter 7) (☜clic and go the chapter) and in “Trouble with Kitchens”— a short story in The Woman Who Never Cooked, I write about the Fork Stirred Omelet as a gesture of love.

In (Re)Making Love, I say: “I cooked like a mad woman in search of the perfect recipe, in search of the joining of family, in search of the belovéd. I’d heard him sigh after I’d made angel hair pasta with pesto, after I’d roasted the chicken with caramelized carrots and onions, after I’d placed in front of him my first fork-stirred omelet lightly dusted with white cheddar cheese before I’d rolled it onto his plate.”

Here’s how to do that omelette:

Make it and then make love: or do these loving acts in reverse.

Fork-Stirred Omelette with a big nod to Jacque Pepin and Julia Child:

What you need:

3 large eggs
2 Tablespoons butter—but you can use olive oil even though for this butter is better
Freshly ground black pepper
Dash of salt
Grated white cheddar cheese or parmesan (not out of a can—get a good piece of cheese and grate it by hand—it’s so worth it).
Chopped parsley
Chives are better
Both are best (parsley and chives)

1. You need a good non-stick pan about 8 inches

2. Beat your eggs until you don’t see any of the egg white

3. Heat your pan until the butter melts, but don’t let it brown. Add the chopped chives if you have them or the parsley or both.

4. Let the eggs cook until the bottom has begun to set.

5. Begin stirring the wet eggs with your fork until they appear to be lightly scrambled without breaking that bottom shell.

6. Sprinkle some grated cheese on one half of the egg mixture.

7. Remove from heat and roll the half without the cheese over the half with the cheese (If you get really good at this with practice, you can roll the heavier cheesy side of the omelet onto a plate and the other half will, with the angle of your pan, roll over on top.

Voilà!

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Love,

Two recipes for love—one philosophical, one to cook.

Philosophical recipe:

Never forget the Laws of Thermodynamics. C.P. Snow provided this shorthand to remember the laws: 1. You cannot win. 2. You cannot break even. 3. You cannot get out of the game.

But if you stay in the game, you can dance even when it seems that the dancers have all gone under the hill.

Now go to the farmers market, buy corn and tomatoes and lots of basil —or grow the basil in your garden. In summer, it will bloom in a small patch of earth.

Slice the tomatoes, sprinkle with some grated parmesan and asiago cheese, preferably from The Cowgirl Creamery that when I lived in D.C was around the corner from me, sadly gone now but still available via the web and in many grocers. Add a chiffonade of basil, salt and pepper. Then make Angel Hair Pasta and Pesto. I refer to this as my McDonald’s meal ’cause to me this is fast food fast—and it says summer.

Angel Hair Pasta and Pesto

1 or 2 bunches basil (about two cups, leaves only)

1 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese (or more; I don’t measure; just look)

4 cloves of garlic

thyme (fresh is best): add to cold water

very cold water (just a bit so you use less oil)

the best extra virgin olive oil you can afford

Put the garlic cloves, the basil and the cheese in your food processor. Give it all a whirl while you pour in olive oil and a bit of cold water (with thyme) until you see the green of summer like grass in a field.

Boil ever so briefly angel hair pasta (the best homemade brand you can find or use DeCecco) . Put the pasta in a beautiful bowl, scrape all the pesto on top, pour a quarter cup or so of the pasta water on top. Toss and serve with corn and tomatoes.

Click on the bowl for another recipe that I’ll add soon and a memoir chapter—and a rom-com trailer to go with it. ⬇️

Serve with a nice wine, a light red—my son used to make Woop Woop (He designed the wine and the label, and the wine won all kinds of awards; super affordable)—or a Sauvignon Blanc.

Don’t forget to tell jokes and kiss while cooking: You will taste both in the pesto. And remember Robert Hass, the poet, who says in “The Privilege of Being,” “Many are making love. Up above, the angels/ in the unshaken ether and crystal of human longing/ are braiding one another’s hair, which is strawberry blond … .”

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Love.

Table of Contents for all recipes

Recipe #1: Two recipes for LOVE —Pesto!: one philosophical

Recipe #2 Omelette Fork-Stirred with LOVE

Recipe #3: Thomas Keller’s FAB Roast Chicken

Recipe #4: Strawberries Romanoff or Dessert First!

Recipe #5: Fab Mussels with Potatoes and Spinach

Recipe #6: Russian Chicken Burgers

Recipe #7 Mustardy Braised Rabbit

Seductive Interview: Food and The Foodnista

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Love,

Cover photo Shawn Rundblade Photography with his gracious permission.

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents for all the recipes

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Love,