Hi Reader, There’s a particular sound my husband recognizes on Monday nights.It starts with the pasta water coming to a boil. Then the quick rattle of a pan hitting the stove. Olive oil. Garlic. Maybe anchovies if I’m feeling persuasive. And somewhere in the middle of it all, the faint clink of a wooden spoon against the pot as I taste, adjust, and keep moving.At some point along the way, Monday became pasta night in our house. Not formally—no declarations were made—but the pattern emerged...
5 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, Spring always makes me want to cook seafood.Not in some noble, virtuous way. In a greedy way. In the way that the first warm-ish day sends me straight to the fish counter to stare at fillets, shrimp, and shellfish as if I’ve been personally wronged by winter.After months of braises, roasts, and the sort of food that wears wool, spring seafood feels like a release. It cooks fast. It tastes clean. It doesn’t ask for much beyond decent ingredients and the good judgment not to bully...
8 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, April is a liar.It gives you one perfect day—all sun and freaking Disney birdsong and the delusional belief that you’re done with wool socks forever—then, 24 hours later, you’re back at the stove in a sweater, wondering who the hell thought a salad was a good idea.This is why I’m such a sucker for shoulder-season cooking. Not winter food, exactly. I’m done with the big, brooding braises that taste like survival and require hibernation afterward. But I’m not quite ready for meals...
10 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, There was a small jar in my Vovó’s refrigerator that I was absolutely forbidden to touch.Not because it was rare. Not because it was expensive. But because she had made it.In her kitchen, that distinction mattered. Things that came from the store were replaceable. Things that came from her hands were…well, let’s just say you approached them with respect.She didn’t talk about “artisanal cooking” or “homemade pantry staples.” Those are phrases we invented later to make ourselves...
11 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, There are certain sounds in the kitchen that make my heart beat faster, and high on the list is this: ingredients hitting a blisteringly hot wok. Not a gentle sizzle. Not some prim little hiss. I mean that ecstatic roar that says dinner is moving fast, so you’d better keep up.I’ve always loved that moment—the speed of it, the swagger, the way garlic, ginger, scallions, soy, and chile can turn a handful of ingredients into something deeply savory and wildly satisfying in just...
12 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, There was a small jar in my Vovó’s refrigerator that I was absolutely forbidden to touch.Not because it was rare. Not because it was expensive. But because she had made it.In her kitchen, that distinction mattered. Things that came from the store were replaceable. Things that came from her hands were…well, let’s just say you approached them with respect.She didn’t talk about “artisanal cooking” or “homemade pantry staples.” Those are phrases we invented later to make ourselves...
14 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, Every spring, I tell myself the same lie before heading to the market.This time, I tell myself, forgetting to grab one of our 842 shopping bags—that are hanging RIGHT NEXT TO THE GARAGE DOOR—I’m going to be disciplined. One of the farmers at the New Milford Farmers Market I even bring a list. A sensible list on my phone written by a rational adult with ADHD-ishness who understands that a two-person household does not require four bunches of asparagus, two baskets of peas, three...
17 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, There comes a moment—usually around 6:17 p.m.—when I stand in the kitchen staring into the refrigerator as if it might suddenly reveal the meaning of life. Or at least dinner.This typically happens after a long day of writing, editing, testing recipes, photographing, answering emails, and generally pretending I’m the sort of organized adult who plans meals in advance. Ha! NOT! Thank you, ADHD! By the time evening rolls around, I have the energy of a damp sponge.Now, Vovó Costa...
19 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, I love my inbox, under the right circumstances of course. Not when it’s clogged with the usual nonsense. But when it’s you—writing to say, “I made this again,” or “We can’t stop eating this,” or my personal favorite, “It’s April, so I had to.” That’s when I pay attention. Because every year, right about now, the same recipes start popping up. Different people, same dishes. No big campaign, no reminder from me. Just something in you that says, It’s time. And I’ll admit, I find that...
21 days ago • 2 min read
