Foodie MacFoodface

Back in the mists of time, when I was a lithe bachelor, living downtown in a slick, split-level apartment with a pool on the roof, and a doorman for gossip, I would save all of my chicken bones, and lob them into a massive Ziploc bag in the freezer. At the point when there was no room for more bones, I would saunter on down to the supermarket, load up on some celery, carrot, and everything else mentioned in my superb, fool proof  turkey stock recipe , and bubble up some stock for posterity. Oh, the times we had! Did I mention the pool on the roof? My mate, Dave, lived next door, and The CHEF's restaurant was within stumbling distance of the front door. Dangerous days!

There are a couple things the United States of America can shamelessly offer to the world, and no, it’s not regime change and tax evasion. I’m talking turkey and Thanksgiving. En repos Back in the early days of the separatist American enclave, a band of fresh-off-the-boat religious zealots invited over their brown neighbors to toast a wondrous harvest. Corn, turkey, cranberries, and other assorted goodies were passed around in thanks, and a foundation myth was born. Pesky facts are irritatingly truculent, and it seems the record contradicts almost every alleged component of that first Thanksgiving dinner . They probably ate deer (not turkey), the natives were likely crashing the party, and the mythical Indian leader, Squanto, rather than being the heart of the party, was actually a former slave of the English who had lost his entire people to small pox. It’s entirely unclear what he would have had to be thankful about. But why sully a good story? Fast forward almost...

A spaghetti squash had been loitering on the kitchen counter for weeks, demanding attention. Thankfully, this particular fall phenomenon has a relatively long shelf-life and, as a consequence, I could eyeball it, and wait for optimal squash roasting conditions to avail themselves. With the moon in a waxing crescent, rain in the overnight forecast, and an oversupply of kale from my garden plot, the squash's fateful evening duly arrived. But, I also had a hankering for fish... and lemon vinaigrette. Following a quick scan of the interwebs for inspiration (beurre blanc, ahoy!), and having stowed the pesky squash in the oven to roast in my absence, I alighted to the supermarket to top up the required ingredient stash. An hour and a half later, there was quite a triumph to behold. The squash, praise be, had not been sacrificed in vain. Boom! Ingredients (serves two) 1x medium sized spaghetti squash (ours was donated from a friend's garden) 1x large handful of green...

Does dicing onion get you down?  Dice it like you own it. Dice like a boss. If the instruction "2 onions, diced" fills you with woe, let it be known that by the time you have finished reading this post, I will have changed your life, forever . Do you remember, way back in the mists of time, when someone took you aside and said "Your handshake is like a dead fish?" Hitherto, and probably unbeknownst to you, you had been skulking about proffering your limp wrist as a lame caricature of greeting. But no, our hero's life is about to change forever through the acquisition of a startling new skill; a technique passed down through the ages, making men. Henceforth, having "grow[n] a bit of backbone, boy", shoulders back and eyes psychotically locking into those of your interlocutor, you have seized prehensile limbs like a diminutive French President... And life has been glorious! I remember too, how onions would bounce around the cuttin...