Meatballs.  Vodka.  Pickled herring.  Lox.  Not the best of Sweden’s cuisine but what came to my friends’ minds when invited for ”a night of Swedish delights. ”  Quirky and authentic were what they had learned to expect when dining with me.     In recent years this daring group has endured countless recipe testing sessions, including “Dessert Night Number One” with its soupy lime-and-mint granita and “An Evening of Three Tajines.”  On that cold winter night my tajine-testing friends were transported to sunny, sandy Morocco. Zeye Mayel’s “Nass Marrakech” blared from the stereo.  Hot mint tea spilled out of tall, silver teapots and into painted, filigreed glasses.  A red, silk blanket, purchased at a souk in the seaside town of Essaouira, covered the dining room table. Lined up on the green Formica kitchen counter were tagines of chicken, preserved lemons and olives, charmoula-covered cod and chickpeas and root vegetables.   Prior to setting foot in my house, not one person had seen, much less heard of, these clay, conical-lidded pots.  Yet, this bold quintet — Connie, Sharon, Mike, John …

When planning a global cuisine-themed party, I can think of no better land to honor than Great Britain.   No doubt some will assume that I am joking, displaying a wicked sense of humor.  British cuisine?  Does the United Kingdom even have culinary customs beyond dry tea sandwiches, the ubiquitous fish, peas and chips and standard “meat and two veg” dinners which the previous meal so aptly represents?  After five trips through the UK and more than a few meals consumed in this region, I can attest that British fine dining is alive, well and worth celebrating.  Have doubts?  Recall Fergus Henderson, founder of London’s St. John restaurant and author of the seminal “Nose to Tail Eating.”  An advocate of using the whole animal when cooking, the bespectacled Henderson has made consuming offal cool.  Then there are the celebrated British food writers and chefs.  Elizabeth David.  Delia Smith.  Jamie Oliver.  Nigella Lawson.  Their consumer-friendly cookery books have sold millions in the UK as well as the U.S. Let’s not forget Gordon Ramsey.  Along with his riotous reality shows “Hell’s Kitchen,” “Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares,” and “The F-Word,” Ramsey has 3 Michelin stars to his name.   Last year he took Manhattan …

Long before I wrote about food, I cooked it.  Not in a pull-down-a-weekly-paycheck sense but as in stand-over-a-cutting-board-covered-with-minced-shallots-feeling-remarkably-at-peace-with-the-world way.  For years cooking has served as an escape from the trials of everyday life.  Consumed by the tribulations of ill family member?  Stressed out over a looming deadline?   Worried about upcoming exams?   Pick up an onion and start chopping. I am both calmed and rewarded by the strike of the knife blade as it bears down on my wood cutting board, the sizzle of white onions as they carmelize in a hot, olive oil-coated saute pan.   Nothing — not yoga, walking, hiking, biking, reading, stroking a beloved pet or “drinking like a mad eejit” — can surpass the tranquility derived from working in a kitchen. My fondness for cooking is not intuitive.  My mother had been a serviceable but unenthusiastic cook.  Her standard repertoire included many delightful dishes — beef stroganoff, braciola, chicken cacciatore, French onion soup –none of which she relished making or eating.  To her, cooking was a chore, an onus taken on at marriage and borne until death.      Her lack of culinary ardor extended to my education.  When asked to teach me how to poach an egg or bake …