Contrary to a once-popular belief, eating eggplant does not cause insanity. Eggplant, once referred to as “mala insane” or the raging apple, was thought to cause a host of ailments. Grown first in India and Pakistan 4,000 years ago, eggplants are members of the nightshade family, along with tomatoes, potatoes and peppers. Thomas Jefferson loved his vegetables. Disregarding the eggplant’s bad reputation, he introduced it into his Monticello garden.
Everybody loves meatballs. There’s not a country that doesn’t have its own ethnic blend. Call them polpette, konigsberger klope, boulettes or frikadeller — we’re talking meatballs. If you happen to be attending a graduation party in the near future, you’ll probably sample some meatballs, which invariably show up on the buffet table. Who can resist a meatball sandwich?
It’s finally spring! The flowers aren’t quite blooming yet, but the snow is over (I hope). As the residue of winter storms have now been turned into water, much of the Northeast has become saturated with sogginess. How much ice and snow is too much? Where will all this water go?
Comfort food is a “love pat for your tummy.” It’s like a delightful, gastronomical hug. Your comfort food may invoke pleasant memories, favorite tastes, or just make you feel happy. Each person’s comfort food is unique to him (or her) self. However, some studies propose that positive emotions cause comfort food eating in men, while negative emotions cause it in women. Caution, ladies: Eat a little comfort food, and walk a little more.
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Who said that? Was it Smokey the Bear? Regardless, you don’t need smoke signals to know that there’s a barbecue happening. Follow your nose and it will lead you directly to the grill.
Within the span of one month, our neighborhood got two new residents. My family moved in just weeks before my next-door neighbor, Jeannette, did. Besides being a nice neighbor, Jeannette is a wonderful artist who shares her talents with many of us each week at art class. She’s a patient teacher and a gracious lady. I couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor, even if she were Mr. Rogers.
“I think I was born with a rolling pin in my hand,” I declared as I wielded the instrument of flat destruction across the pizza dough, flattening the lump into one, very thin cover for a Stromboli extraordinaire. We were making a Stromboli — my sister-in-law, Denise, and me. It would be our family’s last visit to Atlanta to see Nanny, my husband’s mother, who was in at-home hospice at Denise’s house. Denise wanted to learn how to make Stromboli. But who can do that without a rolling pin? A previous phone conversation had disclosed that we would be without that necessary tool, so I brought mine along on our trip from Philadelphia.
For many years, Nov. 11 was a holiday for me. It meant no reveille that morning. It meant a day without fighting my way through traffic formations. It meant no maneuvering to try to find a seat on the express train to town. It was a day to desist from the duties of the day’s regimented drills. Clearly, I wasn’t AWOL. I was just on a day’s leave, thanks to the veterans. I always appreciated that day.
Once upon a time in the city of Munich, Crown Prince Ludwig married Princess Therese of Saxony-Hildburghausen. All the people of Munich were invited to attend the festivities, which were held on Oct. 12, 1810, on the fields in front of the city gates. All of Bavaria celebrated with the happy couple, and the party ended with horse races in the presence of the royal family.