Decisions. Decisions.

Recently, we were visiting Mark's 93-year-old mother in Lenox, Massachusetts, nestled in the beautiful Berkshire Mountains. (Apologies to all friends in the area - we really needed to spend time with Dorothy/Mom and are so sorry we couldn't see you!)


Perfectly Poached Pears

Mark and I usually agree on most things. After almost 20 years, it is kind of amazing.


I Swore I'd Never...

I am a man of contradictions. I make rules, and then I break them.


A Sticky Situation

Growing up on the Main Line of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, we had access to some of the finest art, most exquisite music, and deepest American history imaginable.


This Cake Has a Hole in It

Maria: "I am Maria Portokalos; Welcome to our home!"
Harriet: (Hands her a plate with something draped in plastic wrap over toothpicks).
Maria: "Thank you... what is it?"
Harriet: "It’s a bundt."
Maria: "A bunh?"
Harriet: "Bundt."
Maria: "B-b-b-b-bunk?"
Harriet: "Bund-T."
Maria, nodding: "Bunnnnt…t"
Harriet, frustrated: "Bundt! Bundt!
(Neighbor to Maria in Greek): "Είναι κέικ Μαρία." (It’s a cake, Maria.)
Maria: "It’s a cake... I know! Thank you, thank you very much." (Walking away, aside to neighbor): "There’s a hole in this cake!"


Summer Slump

It's hot. It seems as though it's been hot forever. It seems like it WILL be hot forever. (We know it won't.)


Singing for Supper (or Dessert)

Cantuccini. Italian. Cookie. It must have its root in the word cantare - to sing, I thought. They must mean "little songs," I said aloud to no one in particular...