Bookshelf
From the Blog:
Mes parents ils sont presque tous morts
I can’t stop thinking about New Orleans. Last fall, Brendan and I went down to Louisiana to meet my half-sister Thea and her husband Pop, a singing cowboy, at the Blackpot Festival in Lafayette. Beforehand, we spent three days in New Orleans. We stayed at the Maison...
I’m never satisfied, I want the frim-fram sauce
I had planned to make an oyster stew last night. I’d been craving it, and I wanted to continue this winter oyster kick I’m on, but I found no fresh live oysters at Hannaford, and I’m loath to use those little tubs of shucked dead ones since I got mild food poisoning...
Let me fall out of the window with confetti in my hair
Yesterday, I changed planes in D.C. and got on a flight to Portland, Maine and came back to reality, winter, work, grownup life, home. My flight, which took place during the Super Bowl, was almost empty. Far down below the little jet, the Eastern seaboard was...