We just spent a few days in Dublin on our way home from Italy. When we departed Rome on Thursday it was ninety-seven degrees and dry as toast; when we got off the plane in Dublin two hours later it was in the mid-fifties and drizzling. The first thing I did was to buy a wooly sweater and a cap. I love Europe — you can change cultures as easily as changing your clothes.
We were there to visit our friends Marc and Cathy. He’s an American of Irish descent and she’s a Dubliner born and bred. They showed us a grand time, a brilliant time. That’s the way they talk over there.
First stop on Thursday evening, we met Marc at O’Donoghue’s bar — a perfect place to slip into the spirit of the Auld Sod. I noticed that Irish bartenders aren’t mixologists. They draw pints, they pour shots and they engage one and all in charming conversation — that’s it. I asked for a gin Martini and the barman looked at me quizzically.
“So, that would be a bit of Martini in a glass and then … a bit of gin?”
“Well, more like a slug of gin and then just a whisper of Martini.”
“Ah, just a whisper then,” he said with a smile. The smile is everywhere.

Going to the Olympics will be a huge amount of fun, especially if you know where to eat. Before I left on the trip, I used Facebook and Twitter to ask for restaurant recommendations.
For many years as a youngster my Mum and Dad would take me to tea at this superb property deep in the heart of Warwickshire. Only a stone’s throw from Stratford-Upon-Avon the hotel offers all the many delights that country house hotels are famous for.
Anchorage, Alaska has some of the best restaurants in the world.
Especially if you like salmon. Years ago, I spent a summer in
Anchorage-it was the Exxon Valdez trial, and it went on for months. I
remember some things about the trial. I remember everything about the
dinners, which isn't particularly remarkable, as I had the exact same
thing-in different restaurants-every night (except for this one place
where I always ordered venison).
Every other year for the past 10 years my husband and I make the long and arduous trip from Los Angeles to Bangor, Maine for a week’s vacation at his family’s camp on Lake Pushaw. There’s nothing like relaxing on the dock with a nice glass of wine and listening to the Red Sox games on the radio. Usually we have to stop in New Hampshire or Massachusetts to get anything remotely drinkable because, in past years, the wines found in the grocery store were for emergency use only.