When asked by me some years ago why our nutty nuclear family always celebrated Christmas, my mother gave the usual explanation for her and my late dad’s often bizarre parenting decisions: “Well dear, we did it for you,” meaning me and my two younger brothers Eric and Jonny.
I Go Ape Over Monkey Bread
I thought one addiction to a Wanda’s Pie in the Sky confection was quite enough. I speak here of the Dulce de Leche Macaroons jokingly dubbed “crack cookies” by the baker-in-chief herself Wanda Beaver. These yummy little creations (dusted with a white powder that is, in fact, icing sugar) consist of a rich brown, delectably chewy exterior that encases an oozy filling of luscious caramel.
It’s a Wonderful (Bagel) World
When my younger daughter Ruth was growing up, we had several dining out rituals.
For much of the ’90s, Friday night meant dinner at Bar Italia located on the College St. strip of Little Italy. The attractions were many: Plain pasta for her with only butter and a dusting of parmesan, a glass of robust red wine for me along with roast chicken or grilled steak. Foccacia dipped in olive oil laced with chilies or the excellent antipasto were mandatory starters.
