All posts filed under: Ruminations

The Stepmoms Club

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I don’t really have a best friend.  My husband, of course, fills the official title, but, aside from him, there isn’t that one person I speak to on the phone every single day. It’s not something I’m sad about, but it is something I’m aware of, and ponder occasionally. Maybe it’s a big club, now that Instagram and Twitter have become our de-facto check-ins. Or maybe I’m just not a phone person. Oh well. To me, friendship isn’t about hours clocked, anyway. It’s about the instant reconnect. No matter how much time has passed, you pick up right where you left off, and you pick up seamlessly. Take the other night’s dinner with Becca and Stephanie. I’ve known Becca for ages, but the frequency with which we get together is pretty rare. We’ve been in each others’ homes only once or twice, and we have a meal three times a year, tops. Yet she feels like a cousin. We use the same references and descriptors, we make each other laugh and we generally just get each other. That kind of …

Ina Gonna Lie. I Don’t Watch Her Show

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Bertrand and Remy come upstairs and rouse me around 9am this morning. “Honey, do you know the Barefoot Contessa?” “You mean, oh, what’s her name? The woman on TV?” “I don’t know,” he answers. “But she’s at the Store. They’re filming the Barefoot Contessa there. Rose is all excited. She said she has to make 20 coffees.” “Did she still give Remy cheese?” I ask, always putting my child’s needs before anyone else’s. “Yes,” he smiles as Remy licks my face. “Is the Contessa blonde?” That slows down my resolve to get dressed and run over to check out the action. “She’s brunette,” I answer. “Bangs, shoulder length hair. Twinkly smile.” Okay, I didn’t actually say “twinkly smile” but it is, so I’m adding. We get to the Southfield Store and see this. We walk right past the crew, jaded and disinterested New Yorkers, but with our phones set on camera mode as they swing at our sides, hoping our thumbs will deliver something in focus as they discreetly but busily click away. There was …

Just Five Spoonfuls of Sugar

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If you’ve been drinking the same beverage for decades, I do not understand you. Don’t you get bored? Just so we’re clear, I’m not referring to alcohol. I’m talking about the bottle or glass or cup of whatever that sits on your desk, or on your bedside table, or in your car’s cup holder, day in, day out. If it’s coffee, it can’t always be coffee, can it? Or are you the type who starts with a coffee (or latte or chai) in the morning, then switches over to water for the rest of the day? Well, I don’t understand you, either. I do understand how important hydration is, but back to my first question: Don’t you get bored? Then there are the Diet Coke loyalists, whose taste buds I really do not understand (Seriously. That’s what you’re wasting your addictive side on??) The fact that I’m so curious about this was beginning to make me think that I just have too much time on my hands, until I brought it up to my friend Kerry, who also …

Walks in the Woods

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As I begin this post, the house is still and silent. It’s 5:40, dusk has turned to darkness outside, and everyone’s been napping for nearly two hours. Part of me is inclined to wake them, because an extra long nap might make it harder to fall asleep later, but we’re all in such a relaxed vacation mode, I highly doubt anyone will have trouble. I love this quiet. Through the dining room window,  the two boxwoods framing our front door glisten with white lights, while, around the corner, stands our Christmas tree on the porch, brilliantly lit from hundreds of bulbs, providing a beacon into the dark living room. Earlier today, we took an extra-long hike to ring in the New Year, and to celebrate the end of hunting season.  We kind of know that hunting starts sometime in October; after that, our grasp of the law gets even murkier. Crossbow hunting is allowed until the end of October, right? Slingshots and muskets through November…and rifles get the last hurrah until December hits…Or something like that. Jokes …

Idiot’s Delight

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We are idiots. It’s one thing to stress about the menu when your guests are a bunch of fancy foodies, but it really makes no sense to stress when a) you’re cooking just for family members, and b) you’re only responsible for the sides. Nope, being the kitchen show-offs we are, we decided we had to a) make five sides and two salads, and b) make a main dish, too. The latter reason not because a) I don’t like Uncle Jeff’s salmon, but because b) I don’t like anyone’s salmon. I don’t like seafood (see “fraudulent eater.”). So, there we were, with Christmas Eve dinner looming one day away, forking over $300 at Guido’s market in Great Barrington, then running back to the house to spend the next 30 hours sweating it out in our kitchen. All of this to impress who? Ourselves? What is wrong with us? I blame Yotam. If you don’t know who he is, just google “Yotam.” After that, I don’t know whether to say “You’re welcome” or “I’m sorry.” His first …

Let the Sides Show Begin (or Going Cold Turkey)

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Thanksgiving is a very “Modern Family” holiday for us.  We spend it with Bertrand’s kids, as well as his ex-wife Danielle, her mom, Bertrand’s mom Eva and, often, her half sister and her two sons. For years, we’ve gathered up at Danielle’s house north of the city where she’s happily stood aside and let us take over her kitchen. When it comes to cooking, there’s something about walking the walk (and, perhaps, a little bit of talking the talk) that can completely fool others into believing that you really know what you’re doing. It could be an action as small as crushing a garlic clove with your fist or using French dish towels in lieu of potholders. Just maintain a serious, concentrated expression on your face while you’re bustling around the kitchen, and those who don’t like to cook can easily convince themselves that they are in the presence of, if not greatness, then at the very least the great promise that a memorable meal is on its way. It certainly fooled the kids, who both showed interest …

Snow, Frost and Browning an Onion

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Welcome to The Fraudulent Chef! I chose this name because I consider myself a fraud of many, master of none. I first chose “The Fraudulent Pro,” but my husband pointed out that it sounded like a website offering help to those who’d been scammed online. Oops. If you’d like to buy the domain, inquire within… So, chef. Many of our friends are foodies. Not self-proclaimed foodies, but bona fide gastronomes. Some own restaurants , some edit luxury food magazines, some run markets. These friends have served up some of the best meals we’ve ever tasted, but the work that went into said meals involved days of meticulous prep work. Not that we don’t appreciate that! We just don’t have the patience to commit that much effort, or time to even attempt creations like the ones set before us. So, we fake it. Example: Our friend Oliver makes this amazing ricotta and truffle oil pizza on his outdoor grill, which he sprinkles with fresh sage before serving . We once tried making pizza dough from scratch …