It all started with a request for a cookbook.  Not any old cookbook but one filled with recipes that had been created, modified or copied by me.  My deadline was Christmas Day 2007.  My publisher?  TasteBook.  With financial backing from Conde Nast and a partnership with the online recipe site Epicurious.com, TasteBook provides home cooks with a way to create their own illustrated, hardcover books.  For $34.95 they can select 100 recipes from existing TasteBooks or from the 25,000 listed on Epicurious or they can type in recipes from their own collections.  As my dishes originate with friends, from traditionally published cookbooks or me, I opted to write 99 and acquired only one – asparagus with tarragon sherry vinaigrette – from Epicurious.  The latter I had used for years, ever since tearing it out of the April 2002 issue of Gourmet magazine.  Had I copied recipes from Epicurious or other TasteBooks, I undoubtedly would have completed this project in a matter of days.  However, as I chose to type every title, ingredient list, set of steps, …

Today marked at an all time low on the lunch front.   Having boiled a vegetarian hot dog, I then remembered that I had no bread or buns.  Lacking such entree alternatives as homemade soup, mixed greens, fresh fruit or cereal, I had no choice but to eat this hot dog, with ketchup, on top of a cracker.  (Yes, yes.  I could have eaten just the hot dog but at the time this sounded even less appealing.) The crunchiness of the rosemary-laced cracker coupled with the squishiness of the ketchup-coated hot dog is not a pairing that I want to experience again.  Not a full-fledged “Yuck!” but certainly far, far from “Yum!”  Working from home, I often find myself thinking about food. Yet, when lunch rolls around and I can eat guilt-free, food seems to be the very last thing that I have in the pantry.  On days when I don’t have time to run out to a diner, much less to the supermarket, and the delivery options leave me unenthused, I need alternatives to my usual handful …

On this bleak and frigid January afternoon I sit in my office, staring out the window at the hard, frost-covered ground.  At times winter in the Northeast can seem endless.  One digit days and sub-zero nights.  Plodding around in an ungainly puffy coat, thick mittens, fuzzy hat and thermal underwear, I feel like an ill-dressed Weeble.  Unfortunately, unlike the toy of my youth, when I slip on a patch of sinister black ice, I wobble as well as fall down.   While many of winter’s sufferers dream of white beaches and rum drinks, I yearn for the warm, healthful cuisine of the Mediterranean.  For me nothing beats winter’s chill better than a steaming bowl of bouillabaisse or platter of grilled sardines.  While I can’t drop everything and jet off to Marsaille or Sardinia tonight, I can invite some friends over for an evening of Mediterreanean delights.  It’s a wonderful way to bring a little sunshine back into all of our lives. And what would Mediterranean night be without henna tattoos, shots of ouzo or, for the teetotalers, Turkish coffee?  Not …

I admit it – I own a lot of cookbooks.  Some of my favorites come not from renowned chefs or big publishing houses but from community fundraising committees.  Soft- covered, spiral bound, and with minimal art work, community cookbooks showcase the talent and ingenuity of home cooks while raising money for local churches, hospitals, parks and clubs.        Since the recipes are donated by a specific community, i.e. the members of the Junior Guild or Holy Trinity Orthodox Church, the offerings are invariably vast and varied.  Some, such as the three-ingredient beer bread, are simple and tasty.  Others, such as the 10-egg “English style cheese strata,” fall into the ‘creative cooking’ category.  A few, such as the apple sauce-cream cheese-lemon jello-Miracle Whip salad, are plain, old gastronomic nightmares.      Close to half of these books I inherited from my mother.  Although she didn’t particularly enjoy cooking, she did believe in supporting my hometown.  “No Fault Cooking” from the Liberty Mutual Club, “Northminster U.P. Church Cook Book,” “Favorite Recipes of Pennsylvania” courtesy of the Women’s Missionary Society, and “Cook’s Choice” …

Like millions of Americans, I traveled to my hometown this past Thanksgiving to visit friends and indulge in the foods of my youth.  Growing up in the former steel town of New Castle, Penn., I was raised on the cuisines of the immigrants who had staffed the now-defunct, suburban Pittsburgh mills.  Italian wedding soup, cheese-stuffed ravioli and spumoni ice cream. Polish pierogies, ham and cabbage and nut-filled kolache.  A tad naive as a child, I assumed that everyone in the nation consumed these foods. My assumptions about cuisine extended to some unusual, local offerings.  With a name like “city chicken,” I guessed that these bread crumb-coated squares of meat were served in every major urban center.  After all, this meal featured city-dwelling poultry.  A junior high school trip to New York dispelled that notion.  Not once did city chicken appear on a restaurant menu, a sure sign that I had been duped on the origins of this entree.  An article in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette ended my belief that the dish contained any chicken.  City chicken is, in fact, made from cubed pork …

Ever wonder how to add some excitement to a bowl of bland carrots?  Oddly enough, I have.  In fact, that very quandary landed me in Chef David Kamen’s flavor dynamics class at the Culinary Institute of America last weekend.  Through lectures, tastings, and hands-on cooking sessions I learned the “physiology of taste and development of flavor.”  I also found out how frying, grilling, roasting, sauteing and poaching can alter a food’s flavor and change my humdrum carrots into a sexy side dish.  This was neither my first food enthusiast’s class nor my first encounter with Chef Kamen.  Last spring I had taken Chef Kamen’s day-long “Food Affinities” session.   There the students delved into what foods and flavors complimented and paired well with one another.   We also got clued into a fantastic resource, Andrew Dornenburg and Karen Page’s “Culinary Artistry.”  My secret weapon when conjuring up recipes, it devotes hundreds of pages to what foods work well together.    After a 2-hour classroom lecture, complete with tastings and discussions, our 15-member class had broken up into teams of three.  Each group was assigned a food basket filled with ingredients from which it …

Unwittingly I have become a maven of mushrooms.   In less than 18 months I have raised my own oyster and shiitake mushrooms, hosted a “feast of fungus” dinner party, penned four articles and signed up for a foraging club.  All this from the person who grew up eating button mushrooms from a jar.  Hardly the origins of a connoisseur. Although my mavenhood has been a recent development, I first learned of “better” cultivated mushrooms from my father.  While home on Christmas break in the early ’90s, I joined him and my uncle for a pre-holiday dinner at Boardman, Ohio’s Springfield Grille.  Always an experimental eater, my father ordered an appetizer of Portobello mushrooms.  My initial reaction to his daring was “Yuck!  I’m not touching that weird stuff.” A persuasive man, he eventually convinced me to take a small bite.  I still recall my astonishment over how rich and delicious edible fungus could be. Sliced then sauteed in olive oil, salt and pepper, they possessed an earthy, meaty yet wholesome taste.     Years passed.  My food choices changed.  Almost overnight mushrooms switched their role as a pre-dinner snack to a fundamental part of my menus.   Wild mushrooms …

I fell in love with crepes on a cold, late December evening in Paris.  Famished as well as jet-lagged, I roamed the 1st arrondissement in search of something warm, filling and quick to eat.  On a sex shop-lined street near our rented apartment on Rue Saint Denise Impasse I spotted a stout, middle-aged man standing on a street corner, cooking paper thin pancakes on an oversized, portable hot plate.  After flipping them once, he filled his crepes with fresh, sliced bananas, the chocolate-hazelnut spread Nutella, strawberry preserves or a combination of the three.  He then rolled up the griddle cakes, sprinkled them with granulated sugar, wrapped them in sheets of waxed paper and handed them out to the hungry. Mesmerized by the honeyed fragrance and simple artfulness of his creations, I slid into line and awaited my turn for a confiture d’fraise, or strawberry jam, crepe.  In less than five minutes I had in my hand a warm, otherworldly meal.  Tender to the tooth and with a delicate sweet touch, they were like nothing I …