Karyn Calabrese is like the grandmother I wish I had. Albeit, with the humor and energy of a twenty-something, she’s a smokin’ dynamo of a grandmother. In fact, if she didn’t proudly publicize her age (62), based on her vibrant youthful appearance, I might even be able to call her my Chicago mama. More »

He might eat foie gras on occasion, but even if you’re an animal-rights advocate, there’s no question that Mark Caro is a great human being. The Chicago Tribune scribe and author of the new book “The Foie Gras Wars” gave a reading at Borders in Lakeview last Thursday. He opened the affair with a duck joke told by his young daughter, which engendered a bout of crying from his other daughter who was a tad jealous of her sibling’s moment in the limelight. More »

Though Prunus amygdalus is, as its name hints, a close relative of plums, as well as peaches, you’ll never eat this tree’s fruit. For this drupe (the technical name for fruit with stones, such as plums and cherries), life is the pits. Literally. The fruit of this native of southwestern Asia becomes leathery as it matures, and splits open when ripe, exposing the world’s most popular nut, the almond. More »

As I went to the ladies’ room, I really felt like I should pick up a dish towel. More »

Well now that Oprah’s declared herself a fatty again and is back on the Bob Greene Best Life diet, you can bet she probably won’t be sharing any food finds during her next favorite-things segment. Have no fear. Though I’ve declared myself a fatty seven times over, I’m always here for you with the latest and greatest of my fabulous food favorites. Enjoy. More »

My father was a home builder in Post -WWII America. His turf: Long Island, the spit of land running eastward from New York City for 150 miles out to Montauk Point. Formerly the exclusive domain of truck farmers and the Great Gatsby, “the Island”, with its Levittown (immortalized by Pete Seeger as “little boxes”), was destined to be the quintessential example of the banality of suburban culture. And while my father was busy draining the city of post-war families fleeing crowded conditions in Brooklyn and the Bronx, we lived in a relatively dense post-war urban setting in Queens. More »

The dapper Frenchman smiles happily, temporarily forgetting his cup of cooling cappuccino as he enthusiastically pours out a lively stream of French history peppered with comments about architecture and food. Segueing from history to his own life, he notes, “When I was fourteen, I wanted to be either a chef or an architect. I ended up doing neither, but in a way, I am involved in both.” More »

The first time I browsed through Andrew Carmellini’s and Gwen Hyman’s new cookbook “Urban Italian”, I was quickly turned off by what I took to be a bit too much attitude. More »

Our food historian Cynthia Clampitt is a master of all things down under (and coincidentally burst our bubble that Fosters is not Australian for “beer”). She recently gave a talk on the foodways of Australia at the gathering of Culinary Historians. Listen here.

There’s just something about Bruno. And tonight, I aim to please him. How else explain that, though I’m a 32-year-old straight dude who shops entirely too much at Old Navy, I’m more skittish than a red-carpet-roving Hollywood starlet caught in the crossfire gazer beams of Joan Rivers and Steven Cojocaru? More »

During 1968 and 1969 I served as an Army Medical Service Lieutenant in South Vietnam. I arrived a few days before Thanksgiving and hoped with luck, to be back in the world before Christmas of the following year. More »