Hi Reader, Thereās something almost spiritual about dinner on a Sunday. Not in a raise-the-rafter, devil-come-out kind of way. More like a watching-butter-slump-in-the-pan-when-heated way. No rush, no craziness. When I was a kid, Sundays were all about pumping the brakes. Reading, watching a movie on TV, ambling around the backyard, and eating. Always eating. Mama Leite and VoVo Costa were high priestesses of the Church of the Low Simmer. Slowing down and being still is something I have to...
5 days agoĀ ā¢Ā 3 min read
Hi Reader, If you think I was uninterested in the Super Bowl, multiply that by 10 when it comes to March Madness. For years, I honestly thought it was a term to describe the lunatic March Hare in Alice in Wonderland. Wrong!Whenever I attended a March Madness event (read: kidnapped by straight-boy college friends), I hovered dangerously close to the snack table. Give me a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke, a ridiculously large bowl of potato chips, and Lipton Onion Soup Dip, and I can grit my...
10 days agoĀ ā¢Ā 3 min read
Hi Reader, Every time I cook seafood, Iām yanked straight back to the Massachusetts shoreline in the '70sāa slightly chonky, anxiety-riddled kid trying desperately to pass as someone who actually belonged among the fishermen. I had the walk down, or at least my version of it: a slow, rolling swagger I imagined said I know my way around a lobster trap. In reality, if some guy had tossed me a pissed-off two-pounder with its claws cocked and ready, I wouldāve screamed like a Chihuahua puppy. And...
12 days agoĀ ā¢Ā 2 min read
Hi Reader, Every March, I feel the same creeping pressure: the world goes emerald overnight, and suddenly Iām expected to be half-Irish, fluent in jig, and able to turn every dish a festive shade of green. Meanwhile, my actual Irish experience begins and ends with a wool sweater that makes me itch and an ill-fated attempt at Irish soda bread that couldāve been used as a doorstop.Still, thereās something irresistible about the promise of St. Patrickās weekāthat blend of comfort, carbs, and a...
15 days agoĀ ā¢Ā 2 min read
Hi Reader, Let me make a confession thatāll surprise no one who knows me: I am a bit of a coffee snob. Not in the āgrind-your-own-beans-with-a-burr-mill-from-Osloā kind of way (though, fine, I own one of those). No, my particular brand of snobbery shows up when I have nothing to go with it. A naked cup of coffee feelsā¦ indecent. Like showing up to Mass without your Sunday shoes.So now, every week, I play matchmaker. Thereās the cinnamon streusel coffee cake thatās all tender crumb and brown...
17 days agoĀ ā¢Ā 2 min read
Hi Reader, This time of year always feels like a culinary identity crisis. One day Iām craving stew thick enough to stand a spoon in, the next Iām eyeing asparagus like itās the Second Coming. Late February is the shoulder season of appetitesāhalf wool sweater, half linen napkin. Even The One gets confused. āSoup or salad?ā heāll ask, holding both bowls like a game show host. The answer, of course, is yes.Iāve learned to treat this moment not as confusion but as opportunity. Itās when I start...
19 days agoĀ ā¢Ā 3 min read
Join My Free Substack Live, 8PM ET Hey Reader, Iām going live on Substack tonight at 8 PM ET, and Iād love to see you there! This is only my third one in about a year, so itās a rare treat to hang out with all of you in real-time. ā JOIN ME @ 8PM Iāve got a lot to share, including: A first look at several upcoming cookbooks I have advance copies ofāI want to make sure these are on your radar! Weāll also be diving deep into St. Patrickās Day prep. Iām talking about my favorite recipes and,...
21 days agoĀ ā¢Ā 1 min read
Hi Reader, In our home, frying is less about food and more about ceremony. It starts with the sizzleāthat anticipatory crackle that makes everyone within sniffing distance wander into the kitchen ājust to check.ā The One pretends heās concerned about the mess, but the moment that first golden something hits the paper towel, heās hovering with a fork like a hawk in bifocals.Growing up, fried food was both my grandmothers' love language. Vovo Leite could turn a humble piece of food into a...
25 days agoĀ ā¢Ā 3 min read
Hi Reader, Every winter, I find myself measuring the season not by the temperature but by the smell of whatās baking. When I catch that first whiff of butter caramelizing at the ovenās edge or cinnamon coaxng me from my desk, I know Iāve found my purpose for the day. The One calls it āproductive procrastination,ā but I call it therapy... with snacks.Thereās something almost holy about standing in a warm kitchen while the world outside skulks around in 50 shades of gray and sadness. Mixing,...
26 days agoĀ ā¢Ā 5 min read
