Jeff meets a lot of interesting people in his dermatology practice, like Mr. Petroni (not his real name). They hit it off instantly – they're both native New Englanders with Italian names and a fondness for meatball sangwiches. (It also helped that Jeff fixed his rash.)
After one of Mr. Petroni's visits, Jeff discovered a small package wrapped in crinkly green cellophane on his desk. A handwritten note was attached; its shaky inscription read: To a great doctor. Thank you for making my husband feel better. I hope you and your wife enjoy the zucchini bread. Sincerely, Mrs. Petroni.
Jeff was touched that this elderly Italian woman, whom he had never met, would bake him a loaf of bread. As he toasted a slice for breakfast the following morning, he offered me one. I declined; I wasn't that hungry. Jeff ate the bread, murmuring contentedly, licking his index finger periodically to pick up the crumbs that fell on to the plate. "Sue, you gotta try this," he persisted.
People in Portland, Oregon have salmon on the brain. It is a centuries old, intense love-affair – one that I can easily identify with having grown up in the Bronx where lox was one of the five basic food groups along with pickled herring, pastrami, rye bread and shmalts {or schmaltz} - chicken fat. Everyone from the state’s original people – the Umatilla, Warm Springs, Siletz and Grand Ronde tribes, to the chic tattooed urban dwellers, is salmon obsessed.
We are so glad it's summer. Beach camp, sleep away camp, art camp, baseball camp, days at all the Los Angeles museums, road trips, days spent in our p.j.’s, and lots and lots of long bike rides.
It’s just that time of summer when I feel I haven’t had enough BBQ.
My mother, brother and a couple of friends were coming to dinner Sunday night. I had the main course – some organic St. Louis-cut pork ribs (according to the Whole Food’s butcher these are meatier though less tender than baby-back ribs – and they MUCH cheaper). I had plenty of peppery arugula for a vinegary foil for the sweet and smoky barbecued ribs. What I needed was a side dish salad – something that I could make before my guests arrived. Something starchy, but showcasing summer vegetables. Of course, I really did not want to go to the market. I’ve got a vegetable garden – isn’t that supposed to supply me with veggies?