IMAGE BY DANIEL ZEMANS, FLICKER
If only Deviled Eggs came from the Easter Bunny… Since they don’t, and the crucial ingredient is a Perfect Egg,* I’m sharing the recipe for an egg that peels easily, and has a tender, delicate white with a moist golden yolk.
NOTE: *Perfect as compared to one where the yolk is greenish and as resilient as a Superball.
I’ve been chased out of two stores—on two different continents—by store owners, wielding meat cleavers. The first time was in San Francisco’s Chinatown when the owner nodded at my camera and screamed, “Not in store! Not in store!” then proceeded to run out from behind the counter and chase me down Stockton Street.
From what I could surmise, I’d insulted the dignity of a row of headless ducks in the window.
A couple of weeks ago while I was in South Florida, filming my new TV show, Food Quest, on the Food Network, I went for a run. As I pushed open the front door of the hotel, I realized how windy it was outside.
Like any good runner, I decided to head into the wind on the first part of my journey so I could take it easy on the way back.
PEOPLE MET HIM FOR A SECOND, AND YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE HIS BEST FRIEND. HE HAD THAT EFFECT ON EVERYBODY.
If you read my Fashion Friday post last month about the delightful Carol Dietz then you know how fun and fabulous she is, and she’s Diane Keaton’s doppelgänger. As former Art Director for the New York Times, Carol worked with the late Bill Cunningham, legendary photographer and eccentric chronicler of street style fashion, on his “On the Street” and “Evening Hours” columns. As Carol told me, “Bill was a mentor, a father, an uncle… He was everything.”
Carol Dietz and Bill Cunningham… I can only imagine what these two originals were like, together.
PHOTOGRAPH BY JENNIFER DENTON, ©1010PARKPLACE
There’s only so long you can complain about an issue without doing something about it. For several years I’ve been bemoaning the ever-widening landing strips on my scalp. My hair’s so thin, even the invisible man couldn’t hide in there. When I point out the vast shiny spots, my girlfriends put on their sunglasses to block the glare and say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your hair looks great.”
I finally decided to take my thin, receding hairline by the roots and find a solution.
“Hi diddly dee, an actors life for me. A high silk hat and a silver cane. A watch of gold with a diamond chain.” – Pinocchio
As much as I strive to maintain a sense of style, a high silk hat would be a bit much here, where baseball caps and floppy hiking hats are de rigueur. Continue Reading
I don’t have grandchildren. I’ll try not to sound triumphant here, because the word on the street is I’m missing out on something so huge that apparently it would be sacrilegious to admit I am immensely relieved I don’t have grandchildren.
My friends rhapsodize that grandkids are the babies you can spoil to death in a way you never could with your own. They tell me the relationship with an older grandchild is special because of the purity of the relationship. There are no issues such as discipline, clouding the fun and games of time spent together.
But what I hear is babysitting. Babysitting here. Babysitting there. Babysitting while the parents go on a vacation… instead of me.
People always ask whether to use heat or ice, and the honest answer is, for the most part, it really doesn’t matter. Neither is going to ruin the opportunity to heal or have a major effect on the outcome.
For most conditions, it’s about what feels best. Especially when it comes to chronic conditions, like arthritis, bursitis or tendonitis.
Fear dictates our feelings about a great many things, especially death and dying. Death is something we try to outrun our entire lives, but because we don’t keep our end time in sight, many of us don’t live our best lives.
I’ve already realized my biggest fears—my two husbands died and I’ve had cancer—so death holds no fear for me.
I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the phrase “it girl.” It’s been around long enough, ever since Clara Bow was the very first “it girl” in 1927. Time for some “it women,” I say. The women I would classify as “it ” have every bit as much style and pizzazz as any “it girl.” And they have what many “it girls” don’t: the confidence that comes with experience and an understanding of who they are and what the world’s all about. They have personal style, but their style does not define them.
They are, as one friend said recently, “bien dans sa peau.” Comfortable in their own skin and in the world.