Tales from Cheffing Around
The white wooden sign at the entrance to the gated community reads something like “Welcome to Camembert Meadows,” in a swirly gold font that gives me motion sickness. I stare at the acres of perfectly green grass turf that underlay dozens of single-family homes deep …
My left sneaker unintentionally snapped sticks into twigs as my right one sunk gently into the loamy earth. My eyes diligently scanned every surface of the forest floor, but nothing. I suck at this. I am the absolute worst. I searched and searched. Just that …
The captain stood in a dripping wet, faded yellow PVC coat and fishing pants, shouting at us through tumultuous wind and sleet on the dock of Iona, an island in the Inner Hebrides off the Western coast of Scotland. “Please be aware that these seas …
The white wooden sign at the entrance to the gated community reads something like “Welcome to Camembert Meadows,” in a swirly gold font that gives me motion sickness. I stare at the acres of perfectly green grass turf that underlay dozens of single-family homes deep …