Middle East, Your Own Feast

There are some days that just don’t blend. My memory is like a treasure trove of places and people and things, those that help me conjure up each post; each memory, while different in feel, has a similar undercurrent: individuality and food. The year was 1994. My parent’s best friends owned a a local pharmacy in…

Open The Flood Gates

It’s kind of like Pamplona: the gates swing open… and ready, set, bull! Cooking, for me, is like opening the gates of something packed-with-action: the beginning and middle are irresolute, yet, somehow, the finale brings happiness to all spectators and participators; it leaves people adamantly wanting more. As with all other tasks or challenges in life, I abandon any traces of fear before…