I have been derelict in my foreign correspondence.
Hey, British people, they’re called “cookies.” But I’ll let it slide.
Damn hurricane. We’ve fled the scene, so keep your fingers crossed that when I return home, my possessions have not all floated off down the Hudson.
Everyone in Irene’s path, stay safe!
The third time’s the charm, that’s what they say.
I seem to cook with a lot of fennel for someone who professes not to like it.
I’m stocking up my dream kitchen.
I’m a sucker for a crispy, salty tater tot.