When friends visit New York, they often complain about high food prices.  Two dollars for a cup of coffee?  Six dollars for an omelette, toast, hash browns and juice?  Eight to ten bucks for a glass of wine?!    May they never travel to Las Vegas.  At first glance prices in Vegas don’t seem out of proportion.  Martinis and mojitos at the Venetian Resort with my friend Tim cost around $12 apiece, roughly what I’d spend on a cocktail in New York or Philadelphia.  Factor in the live music and that we were in a fancy hotel in the heart of Las Vegas and the amount appeared realistic.  Even the first night’s dinner at Thomas Keller’s Bouchon didn’t seem particularly outrageous.  My trout almondine entree was $27 while my friend Marilee’s scallop special was $46.  Okay, $46 was quite steep but this was THE Thomas Keller.  What truly surprised me was not the cost but the quality.  Good but not astonishing.  Plus, the haricot vert that topped my trout were limp and lukewarm.  When you’re favorite part of the meal was the complimentary bread, well . . .. …

With close to 20,000 restaurants in the five boroughs I am never at a loss for dining options.  Although it feels as though I am constantly trying new places, I still manage to revisit more than a few favorites.  A couple, such as David Bouley’s elegant French mecca in Tribeca, Bouley www.davidbouley.com, I save for special occasions.  Others I frequent for specific meals, such as a bagel breakfast at Tal’s or the not-to-miss Sunday champagne brunch at Isabella’s www.brguestrestaurants.com.  (As an added bonus, while my brunch buddies wait for a table at Isabella’s, I can slip across Columbus Avenue and shop for vintage photos, antique silverware or alpaca sweaters at GreenFlea Market. www.greenfleamarkets.com)  When I’m in a rush, I turn to grab-and-go spots like Two Boots Pizza, Chickpea and Artie’s Deli. There I can pick up a slice of vegetable-laden pizza, falafel-filled pita or egg salad-on-rye sandwich and eat as I walk down the street.  If time isn’t a factor, I drop by Savoy in SoHo, Carmine’s and Acqua on the Upper West Side and …

Why, yes, I would.  When I was in my 20s, I thought that wine and beer would sustain me for life.  A nice glass of Montepulciano at dinner.  A couple of beers on a Saturday night.  Older and more seasoned, I now realize that cocktails are where it’s at. Whether inviting a few friends over for dinner or throwing a big soiree, nothing says “celebrate” like a mixed drink.  In the summer I whip up watermelon daiquiris, coconut mojitos and lemon drops.  Fall and spring mean sidecars and Pimm’s cups.  Winter marks the return of moose milk, steaming wassail and nutmeg-dusted Irish cows.  Thanks to my spiral bound “Bartender’s Black Book,” I can make a multitude of drinks every day of the year. Dolled up with a tiny paper umbrella or served au naturel, cocktails are, for me, the hallmark of adulthood.  I have my parents to thank (or blame) for this view.  Normally teetotalers, they would splash out and indulge at parties, receptions and upscale restaurants.  Harvey Wallbangers, whiskey sours, and — yick! — scotch.  Never left out, I received the requisite, maraschino …

Just as I bestowed pom-pom topped club covers, golf ball retrievers, and rubber gardening shoes on my golf- and gardening-enthusiast father, I now am bombarded with egg poachers, cookbook weights, and whisks of all sizes and shapes.  If a new culinary contraption hits the markets, chances are I’ll receive it as a Christmas, birthday or hostess gift.  Yes, my lust for cooking has turned me into the goddess of kitchen gadgets.     Some sound too quirky to be useful.  Take, for instance, onion goggles.  Others, such as the silicon oven mitt, sound like a clumsy baker’s dream.  Yet, often the reverse is true.  Onion goggles are a godsend – no more tears! — while that hot, unwieldy oven mitt has been shoved to the back of a kitchen drawer, never to be used again.  With so many utensils at my disposal I have become somewhat of an authority on non-essential cooking tools.  Below are a few of my favorites.  I could live without them but why would I want to? Onion goggles – If I sloppily — and …

                Usually, when I’m at home in southeastern Pennsylvania, I prefer either to cook or grab a simple meal at a nearby brewery or coffee shop.  Driving 35 minutes into Philadelphia never sounds terribly appealing when I’m tired and hungry.  However, over the past two weeks I broke from my usual routine and had some exceptional dinners in Philadelphia as a result.  The restaurants? Amada and FARMiCiA in Old City, the Water Works in Fairmount Park and Vetri in Center City. Authentic, earthy Spanish tapas with flavor and flair was what I wanted, and got, at Jose Garces’ Amada.  www.amadarestaurant.com   Lychee mojitos, cranberry-studded sangria and a cheese plate of Manchego paired with lavender honey, Cana de Cabra with a side of fig marmalade and Queso de Cabra accompanied by balsamic strawberries started the evening.  Following this were small platters of bread slathered with tomato and garlic, patatas bravas or spicy potatoes topped with saffron aioli, salt cod croquettes, shrimp sauteed with chunks of garlic, and charred green onions as well as bowls of …

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” …