We’ve all heard some version of when not to eat an oyster. Don’t eat them in months without an R! Or is it ending in an R? Or is it said like a Pyrate — with an “ARRRRR?” Come on, EAT ME. Even I have trouble keeping it straight, but here’s the general logic:  Since oysters reproduce in the warmer months (May through August — see, no “R’s” there), there’s a chance that a “summer” oyster will be either spawny (creamy and gooey, as opposed to bright and nearly crisp), or skinny

A little over  a month ago, I made a dessert of homemade buttermilk ice cream and cardamom orange shortbread for a multiple James Beard Award-nominated chef. And she liked it. Of course, Chef Cathy Whims, of Portland’s Nostrana, might just be a really, really nice person (she IS a really, really nice person), but her fond appreciation of food prepared in her honor made dessert even sweeter. Dessert first? (photo by Dan Driscoll) This culinary coup d’etat took place in the mar

So much coordination was required for my move from Los Angeles to Washington state — organizing years of belongings into piles for sale, donation, and three households — that I didn’t have much time to plan the itineraries for my road trips north and south. And while preparation is the cornerstone of an uneventful trip, where’s the fun in that? Besides ensuring my car was safe and the roads ahead were passable, my sojourns were an exercise in improvisation. I stopped to eat w

Yes, this is a blog about the summer solstice and I’m posting it in August. Admit it, the summer’s gotten away from you too. The earth goes round the sun in its wonky tilt, setting the meter by which we measure time slipping by, and every year, it seems the meter ticks faster. This year’s summer solstice whizzed by, followed up immediately by a Supermoon, when the full moon is at the closest point of its orbit to the earth, making it appear huge and bright and just darn prett

Florida, April 2013 When I told people I’d be spending three weeks in Florida in April, the first thing that 75% of them said to me was some variation of “But doesn’t it have giant flying cockroaches?” I’m sure it does, but it also has flamingoes and turquoise water, amazing seafood, and an incredible diversity of culture and nature. Planning a three-week trip anywhere is ambitious by any standards, and as tricky to execute as jumping off a boat wearing forty pounds of SCUBA

I’ve never tried a long-distance relationship, unless emotional distance counts the same as air miles (I’m not naming names — please do not try to parse this post for clues). But when you share handfuls of common interests with someone — love of nature, oysters, all other seafood, all other food, socializing, wine, parties, adventuresomeness (there really is no better word), competitive party games, otters — you try to find a way to make it work. And while there might be a la

Oysters taste like the water they were grown in — more specifically, the food they grew up eating. If you were to apply this as a metaphor to people, I would probably taste like a Rudy’s hot Italian sub and an Iron City beer. My palate has become slightly more refined and my nutritional habits have evolved, but Rudy’s is still the standard by which I measure subs.  And now I have a standard by which to measure oysters. The Pacific Northwest has always spoiled me for seafood,

Although I’ve lived in Southern California for almost 30 years,  the Pacific Northwest — particularly Seattle and more specifically, Washington’s Long Beach Peninsula — has a hold on me I can’t explain.  I think it tugs at my native Pennsylvanian sense memory — it’s verdant with cedar, fir, rhododendron; brisk from breaking water and crisp winter air.  It gives me a reason to wear wool and eat soups.  It’s a climate that breeds characters that I feel at home with — people tha