Starters. The opening act. The first hit of flavor that sets the tone for everything that follows. You can learn a lot about a place by the way they approach that first bite. Sometimes it’s a whisper—a delicate tease of what’s to come. Other times, it’s a bold slap to the taste buds, a statement that says, “You’re not ready for this, but here it comes anyway.” Starters are more than just appetizers; they’re the beginning of a conversation between the kitchen and the diner, a promise that if this is good, what comes next is going to blow your mind.
Walking the streets of Glasgow feels like stepping into a narrative, each cobblestone and corner store humming with stories. The city—pedestrian-friendly and buzzing with an understated charm—invites exploration. It’s a place that asks you to slow down, not because it’s sleepy, but because the treasures here demand savoring. This is Glasgow, bold and alive, where…
Christmas, for those of us who revel in the kitchen, is a battlefield. It’s where we flex, where we bleed, and where we pour every ounce of ourselves into meals that people will talk about until the next snow falls. The house is too quiet. The last echoes of clinking glasses and scraping forks have…
Growing your own food is like alchemy—a dirty, messy magic trick where soil and time conjure sustenance. But growing a lion’s mane mushroom? That’s culinary sorcery of the highest order. This wasn’t just a mushroom; it was a creature from another world, an alien spore that would become my obsession. I had read about lion’s…
Bermuda—idyllic, pristine, and the kind of place that draws families for its pink-sand beaches and glossy travel brochures. But I wasn’t interested in the perfectly curated tourist experience when I went there as a teenager. No, what captured my curiosity (other than this really cute military guy named Shane) was the grit beneath the glam,…
I remember the man before I remember the meatballs, but not by much. Jim Jenkins—my dad’s best friend and neighbor—was a fixture of my childhood, a constant presence who made the world seem a little more grounded. He was the kind of guy who’d show up unannounced to fix a broken gutter or help haul…
Borscht—deep, earthy, and unapologetically bold—was more than just a soup for my dad. It was the kind of dish that drew on the marrow-deep satisfaction of hard work and simplicity. Beets, his favorite vegetable, were the heart of it. He saw them as the underdog of the vegetable world: overlooked, misjudged, yet capable of greatness…