I'm tapping numbers into a junky-looking ATM in the back corner of some random bodega that hugs the BQE. It's dropping those dollar bills down, one hundred, two hundred, as I get prepared to hand over some dear cash to the broker for a beautiful new apartment in Brooklyn, when I notice that I probably shouldn't probe the machine for any more.
I have thirty dollars.
Which is all well and...
Those on a diet should click away now. Those left will have their heart beat just a few ticks faster when these are finally removed from the oven, and even faster once the oil starts pumping through your system...
Barbara Kafka loves these, and we love her from creating them. They are horrible for your health, use just a little less butter than a hollandaise, and look like burnt, mushy,...
Step 1: Find a Spanish Man.
Step 2: Find a Spanish Ham.
Preferably, a wildly handsome Spanish friend with a hunk of Spanish ham that his mother sent him. Jorge had looks. And he had the ham. What follows is an evening of many, many stages that included overcoming fears of anchovies, quail eggs, and two romantic party members who ate their share, doted on each other, and c...
Gnocchi. No idea. For years this has been the unpronounceable dish on the menu that starred me down and begged to be blurted out to the uproarious laughter of the seasoned waiter. "Did you hear what he just said?" Hell, I didn't have any idea what it was. Was it a type of pasta? Dumpling? Did it have a filling? This feeling of inadequacy kept the recognizable dish on the menu page...
Food photography is an obsessive business. Pictures are alluring, appetizing, what make somebody want to try the recipe. There are times when, obsessed by lighting, aperture, and focus, we forget about the actual eating part. Look at that piece of meat. See the grains? Looks good, eh? Trust us, it was succulent. There's nothing quite like a warm salad in the winter, sharp, crispy...
With minds planted firmly in the dirt, we probed the...
With minds planted firmly in the dirt, we probed the starchy tuber for secrets buried within, all in search of the perfect cooked potato. Armed with a bag of $2.99 Idahos, we set aflame preconcieved notions, sexed things up, and tried to find the courage (and stomachs) to eat nothing but potatoes like our poor brethren of the 19t...
