Bread haunts me so. I am not supposed to eat it this week (a Passover thing) and so, it teases. And lures. And promises me I can’t live without it.

The scale reconfirms Jewish law: I can live without it (the scale insists for longer than one measly week). The rolls forming on my gut reconfirm that Jewish law and scale are correct (when did this happen?) But the bread, ah the bread, in all its glorious forms is insurmountable torture to go without. There are warm bagels sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds and spread with generous seas of creamy cream cheese or ciabata bread, with its extra chewy crunch on the outside, torn open to reveal those craters of dough forming planet-like surfaces which beckon wild blueberry jam to get trapped and devoured in. And …Read on

When you are given something called “Friendship Bread,” be wary. It’s not like I was given the actual finished product, I got the dough and a dizzying list of daily instructions with the promise of the finished product. That is when I got extra suspicious. I was told that “Friendship Bread” was an old Amish tradition (this is done as a selling point, I assume) but figured, anything with such a blatantly obvious adjective has got to be bad, right? I mean, for years I walked right by the closest neighborhood sushi (and never went in) because, and only because, it was called Amazing Sushi and everyone knows that anything called Amazing (fill-in-the-blank) has got to be major crap. (I later learned, in a desperately hungry moment of weakness that it is the best sushi in town.) …Read on

Growing up in a tropical country during the winter holiday season had its apparent disadvantages for a young child.
Snow, for one, was a misnomer reserved for the obscure North where Santa and many flush-faced giddy elves allegedly worked under a flurry of coveted snowflakes.
The foliage didn’t help set the mood either:
not a pine tree in sight, in fact, my family’s backyard alone was cluttered with trees adorned with sun-drenched fruits like limes, mangoes, and bananas.

Then you had to fight your way through the hummingbirds, lizards, parrots, guacamayas and, of course, Murtle The Turtle, our tenured pet who inconveniently preferred strategically treacherous spots, such as the walkway, to sunbathe its crusty head.
None of this was shouting ho-ho-ho, if you know what I mean.
Still, the benefits of a December spent 8 degrees north of the equator seemed to far outweigh the …Read on

I’m going to say it now, but, first, let me kiss my husband and kids goodbye, sprinkle a dash of anemic fish food on my beloved pets, Goldie #1 and Goldie #2, and take one last longing look at my comfortable and safe life before I am shackled up and taken away to a dark, and secret place… I love bread.Yep. Sometimes I go to the market and buy a fresh baguette. Nothing else. I bounce towards the cash register with the (hopefully still toasty) crusty delight tucked under my arm, a warm smile spreading across my face as its delicious aroma completes me, and people instantly open a path for me, their eyes bulging, their mouths wide open but speechless, completely aghast at my impertinence with the evils of carbohydrates. They anxiously await for …Read on

You survived the night of Halloween. Okay, actually enjoyed the night of Halloween, the one night where, amidst the competition of Atkins, South Beach, and all the other salon-tanned, skinny diets out there, you could legitimately break down and gorge on candy. ;Lots of candy… All the candy you want;. Sure, they say it’s for your kids, but, come on, who ends up carrying the plastic pumpkin when twelve pounds of caramel, corn syrup, chocolate and peanuts become too much for those precious five-year old hands to handle? That’s right. And there’s the benefit of them not knowing their multiplication tables… no one will notice if one, or two, or heck ten, are missing.Except for you. Now the buzz and guilt of an unwanted sugar high course through your veins (and your thighs) like …Read on