When I lived in Fargo, I used to love going to Santa Lucia restaurant for a big Greek salad. It was a plate filled generously with fresh lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, feta and kalamata olives. The colorful mix was dressed with a nicely seasoned vinaigrette. I could easily make that salad a meal. It’s been several years since I’ve had an opportunity to dine at Sanat Lucia, but I’ve often thought of that delicious salad.
The other day I had cooked chicken in the refrigerator. It was meat remaining from my experiment grill-roasting chicken, one propped on a can of beer, another placed right on the grill rack over a shallow pan of water and lemon juice. I was interested to know how the flavor and juiciness would differ.
My pick is the chicken placed over a pan of liquid and cooked over indirect heat. It really is the juiciest and most flavorful chicken I’ve ever eaten. The rub of spices and olive oil on the skin and under the skin of the chicken certainly helps it along. My husband says it’s just as good as the Greek-style chicken he would sometimes have on our visits to Omega restaurant in Niles, IL — moist and juicy with a hint of lemon.
For some reason, I recently had a hankering for Chocolate Mayonnaise cake, a staple in our house when I was growing up. If you're not familiar with it, it's a wonderfully moist chocolate cake that was created, according to food legend, by the wife of a Hellman's mayonnaise salesman to help increase his sales. Although it may seem like an odd ingredient, the mayonnaise is used in place of eggs and oil, making it handy to throw together with just a few pantry ingredients.
Whether or not you’re trying to lose weight, here’s a hearty but 
Growing up I spent a lot of vacations traveling up the California coast. It always seemed our first stop was a small town just north of Santa Barbara known as Buellton. Here we would stop at Pea Soup Anderson's to have...wait for it...their famous split pea soup.
When I was growing up in England in the fifties and sixties, there was a snack called a flapjack that could be occasionally bought at bakeries but was more often found in homes, served up by diligent housewives. It was never found at my home: the only time my mother turned on the stove was to light a cigarette. But some of my friends’ mothers did make them, and the sweet, buttery smell of freshly baked flapjacks is one of those childhood aromas that still haunt me today.