I have the not-so-pleasant start to the day when I walk into my kitchen and turn on the tap, and nothing comes out.
To do, or not to do. Unlike Hamlet’s entirely existential question, mine is more of a kinetic quandary, requiring action, in one form or the other.
After a hearty lunch among the verdant tobacco plantations of Vinales, washed down with the usual mojito, or three, came the all important question in Cuba.
It was a quandary that I hadn’t expected to encounter. Not in Bologna.
Chekov, and an onion. No, that’s not the name of a short story, although it does have that kind of pithy ring to it.
With all of the hoopla surrounding Christian Grey and his shenanigans betwixt the pages of the “Fifty Shades of Grey” trilogy, it is a fact easy to forget.
The first time I came across gazpacho was in one of my Mom’s old cookbooks.
We’ve all done it sometimes. Used food to describe people.
It’s been a busy festive season, per usual. Lots of meeting and greeting, to be followed real close by tons of eating, of course.
Spend any time at all in Greece, go visit your friendly neighbourhood Greek taverna, watch “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”.