Today is Yom Kippur, the day of Jewish Atonement, where all Jews become somber and introspective, asking for forgiveness for any wrongs they may have done throughout the year, spilling the beans to God, for lack of a better word. All this has to be done without any distractions, which means, no food. Such a condition does not sit well with a foodie like me, as you can well imagine, and so, I breathe a sigh of relief to be a member of a very progressive, informal synagogue, the only one in my nieghborhood, I believe, where my son is warmly accepted wearing jeans and crocs to the service and the rabbi conveniently slips us an out to the food clause by ending his sermon with a “for all of you who are fasting, may it be an …Read on

I had all the intentions for a well-balanced meal. I had bought my veal scaloppini for an, albeit, politically incorrect entree, but after an instant sauté carefully paired with fresh lemon sauce, white wine, and plump capers even this milk-fed tender cow would understand why I had to do it. To go with my meat I had lugged out my super-sized industrial rice maker, whose wide and shiny chrome exterior parallels that of a small car. It came from the top shelf of my garage, buried amongst the cemetery of culinary items I thought I couldn’t live without (but turns out I can). Underneath these gadgets is another shelf filled with a rainbow of toxic paints from nine years’ worth of wall history in our house. This is the shelf my husband swears he can’t …Read on

There’s always at least one die-hard fan in the family, one person that will beg, insist, whine and demand that I must accompany my Thanksgiving meal with this item. After all, when it comes to Thanksgiving, I am a traditionalist, and this item is as traditional as it comes for them. And so, ever the compliant hostess with an unrelenting desire to please, I bite my tongue, force a grin, pull out the can opener and begin. As I work my way around the can’s edge, I remind myself to remain calm, begging for my mother’s proper Philadelphia genes to come through and handle this situation with dignity and grace, as those who knew her knew she would do. Alas, my Mediterranean spirit (point for dad) overrides any potential restraint and as my rusty can opener …Read on