I’m old-fashioned, I admit, and this is another Friday cocktail post devoted to classic cocktails. It’s not because I’m nostalgic (though I am). It’s because classics are classics for a reason: they’re good. There’s a reason you don’t have a Swanson’s TV dinner in your freezer but will never tire of a well-made Martini. My dad was a Martini man. He was also an Ad Man (who actually looked a lot like Don Draper), a creative director at a Cleveland ad firm where I interned the summer after my freshman year of college. He was a gin drinker. I still remember my first revulsion at gin. I asked him what he had in that plastic cup of his. He told me it was a Martini. Go ahead, he said, taste it. I did. How on Read On »

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Harold Dieterle, of Top Chef shares memories of catching and preparing crabs with his mother, via WSJ.

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OK, it’s really gotten bad. I’d been ready to give up the fight. But I just can’t let this one go. I went up to the bar, I’m not even going say where, and asked for a martini. The bartender, I shit you not, said, “Any preference of vodka?” I left. I just left. Walked out. I’ve gotten used to the question, “Vodka or Gin?,” grudgingly and have been told outright by Jonathan Gold to simply give it up, losing battle, he said. But I can’t. I can’t. Names are important. H.L. Mencken, as the martini Wiki entrance notes, calls this drink “the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet.” So true! And sonnets are not writ with Vodka, which is defined by tastelessness.  (The “vodka martini” should be referred to as a Kangaroo, Read On »

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Learn how to make a delicious onion tart. It is so easy and so tasty, via NYT.

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I love Twitter for maybe 50 or 60 different reasons and this post resulted from one of them. A year ago, Donna was poking around in an antique store, bought the above pan for no explainable reason and put it in the basement where it sat untouched for, well, a year. The other day, looking for something to shoot an egg in, she brought it upstairs along with a few other props. The cups are about twenty-five percent bigger than the fattest part of a large egg and it didn’t work as a prop. I’m sure I said something annoying like, “You bought that,” as in paid cash money for something we can keep in the basement for a year? Then I said, “I mean, what is it.” She said something along the lines of Read On »

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