Latest Blog Posts

by Diane Leach

20 Nov 2012

“There is almost nothing as reassuring as having some stock up your sleeve.”
—Fergus Henderson, The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating

Yesterday the mail brought the first thick Christmas catalogs, pages full of glossy, wealthy, healthy white families. The outdoor shots feature these American dreams gamboling in the snow, decked out in expensive sports gear. There’s the mandatory shot of the man of the family, schlepping a freshly whacked Christmas tree through the snow, leading me to wonder where the fellow is (Iceland? Antarctica?), or if the snow he was gallantly slogging through was manufactured. The indoor shots involve immaculate, beautifully furnished homes, the model standing thoughtfully in a velvet dress, a seemingly forgotten gift in hand. The gift is also an exercise in perfection, exquisitely wrapped, gold ribbons corkscrewing like Shirley Temple’s hair.  The two blond children, a girl and a boy, are naturally adorable, as are their drowsy puppies. All, I’m certain, are housebroken.

by Diane Leach

29 Oct 2012

It’s that time of year, when the leaves turn, and the weather becomes even more unpredictable: blistering heat followed by temperate days edged with a warning chill. The sunlight thins, slants, and fades by 5PM. Summer’s vegetable bounty has surrendered to the first of winter’s staples: greens, radishes, turnips, and hard or winter squashes. Bluish Kabochas and Hubbards, orange Acorn squash splotched with green, red Kuris, ridged yellow Delicatas streaked greeny orange. Stringy Spaghetti squash, good for so little, and piles of pumpkins, from decorative ones no larger than kittens to monsters comparable to SUVs.

If you are a politically correct locavore, winter squash is unavoidable.

Unhappily, it’s easy to get sick of eating them.

by Kaye Alave

25 Oct 2012


Photo from Wild Aid.org

I always have a soft spot for Hong Kong, for its bright lights and spindly towers and unpretentious attitude. It feels First World and Third World at the same time, and it smells like oyster sauce, a mainstay of my childhood.  Eating is a past time and an adventure in Hong Kong, which is why the city and I get along well. I ate pastry with bean paste, soup made with tripe and offal, dumplings made with chives and mystery meat. But there is one food that I’m too squeamish to eat whenever I’m in Hong Kong: live reef fish.

Hong Kong, the portal between East and West, is the center of the live reef fish trade, an unsustainable food industry. It’s the first stop for the seafood that are farmed, harvested, or poached from the abundant waters of Southeast Asia and the Pacific Ocean before it goes to mainland China, its final destination.

by Diane Leach

30 Aug 2012


Stylized illustration of tomato from Shutterstock.com.

Yes, I know. Winter? Hear me out. It’s high summer in the United States, a time when vegetables and fruits evoke adjectives like glut, plethora, cornucopia, fleeting. The tomatoes have arrived in Northern California, in all their multicolored heirloom glory. The market I frequent has bins overflowing with a multiplicity of sizes and colors. Shoppers load up greedily, furtively popping smaller tomatoes into their mouths.Now is the time to gorge: tomatoes morning, noon, and night, for all too soon—note that fleeting up there—August will give way to September’s lesser specimens, the peppers will come in, a small if colorful consolation, then we’ll be hard back into October’s orange squashes, turnips, and greens. Tomato junkies had best get their fixes now.

Of course there are ways around the tomato in winter. The first is acceptance of a Lenten abstinence, a starved seasonal waiting practiced by Chef Alice Waters and her locavore devotees. Oh, we cry, we love winter’s root vegetables, the chard and rutabagas and those enormous red kuri squashes. We love winter’s deep winey stews loaded with hearty tranches of beef.  We can wait, thank you very much, for the summer tomato. No poor quality tomatoes from faraway lands when we could be eating local greens from California’s Central Valley.

by Diane Leach

8 Aug 2012


Julia Child wielding a knife in the television studio, circa 1970

“AND LET US NOT FORGET: JULIA CHILD. Everything started—everything changed—with her.”
—Anthony Bourdain, The Les Halles Cookbook

In October 1961, Knopf Publishing released a 732-page cookbook entitled Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  The authors, Louise Bertholle, Simone Beck, and Julia Child, were unknown writers. The book was expensive ($10 dollars!) and unwieldy, its recipes complex. The interested cook needed time, equipment, and courage. Publishers Alfred and Blanche Knopf were sure they’d never earn a dime.  his was an era of gustatory shame in America, a time of speedy meals comprised of processed foods. But a young editor named Judith Jones, herself an excellent cook who had lived in France, insisted there were American book buyers ready and willing to prepare dishes like oeufs à la Bourguignonne (eggs poached in red wine) and oie rôtie aux pruneaux (roast goose stuffed with prunes and foie gras).

//Mixed media
//Blogs

'Cube Escape' Is Free, Frustrating, and Weirdly Compelling

// Moving Pixels

"The Cube Escape games are awful puzzle games, but they're an addicting descent into madness.

READ the article