On a Moroccan Beach
Recently, I’ve ended up in several conversations about the new Mediterranean cuisine. My clients, food companies, and I start taking French and Italian cuisine, and before you know it, we’re into discussions about Spanish chorizo, Greek yogurt, and Moroccan spices. About that point in the conversation my mind begins to wander.
Images of a Moroccan beach replace the din of professional chatter. I picture the northern coast, lined with white-washed buildings and white sand. The people sun bathing and splashing in the water are vacationing from Fez. The year is 1999. We are on a family vacation.
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A Conversation between Sisters
“Happy Hour tonight?”
I pressed the send button—and waited. Anna, my sister, is notoriously slow at responding to text messages. But who can blame her? She’s 26, in her first year of teaching, and lamenting the recent move of her boyfriend to Washington D.C. I figured happy hour would be something she would need, but not necessarily something she could prioritize.
Read More >Waning Summer Evenings
A few nights ago, lost in a post-work daze, I bumbled into my apartment building. I had few plans for the evening: Check mail, pour a glass of wine, fall onto the couch. But waiting at my door was a box of local farm produce from Door-to-Door Organics.
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