When I was in college Atkins was the new diet plan. There we were at the University of Georgia, eating steak with butter and drinking scotch because it didn't have carbs.
I have never been a muffin fan. I didn't grow up eating sweet things for breakfast and just never hankered to the idea of coffee cake and muffins.
I'm reporting in to say that the night of ossobuco (or osso buco) was wonderful.
After my last column about kitchen gadgets I've taken a second to think about each utensil I pick up.
I began a recent cooking demonstration by showing the group a few of my favorite kitchen helpers.
As usual, I've been cooking with what is in my home, doing my best to use up items that for some reason seem to multiply when I'm not looking.
Recently I did a cooking demonstration for a local garden club and after that, hosted five friends for a long weekend.
A friend of mine who I've known since first moving to Columbus teases me about the sell-by dates and expiration dates of the food in my home.
Two weeks ago, I shared the Freeze Family Christmas menu with you.
For the past 10 years I find myself fretting and fussing around this time.
I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with everyone or no one you wanted to be with.
I am always flattered to have someone tell me that they have read my column or to call me with a question on something.
Last week I baked an apple for Terry -- Hasselback style -- and it had so much more appeal than a regular baked apple.
I want the weather to be cool so badly, and I can't stop thinking about winter food I want to cook such as short ribs slow-cooking in red wine, or some gumbo or dishes made with dried peas.
I did not grow up in a hunting and/or fishing family.
When I was in elementary school, lunch was milk in a paper cone and holder from a really, really cold milk dispenser, and whatever the school lunch was for that day.
Peak tomato season seems to have come and gone, but I did buy some last week at the Hitching Lot Farmer's Market and they were good.
A few weeks ago I bought a case of second tomatoes for $9 at the Jasper, Alabama, farmers' market.
I have a friend; we'll just call him "Bob," or Mr. R. He calls me after my column appears to give me a critique. It is often positive, although I have been reprimanded once or twice.
This past June, through the first week of July, was the busiest I've had in decades.
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