Washington, D.C. has played a role in my life for over sixty years.

Whether you are in the American Midwest when summer heat and humidity are thick enough to slice or anywhere hot around the world, ice cream is a universal language.

Recently my friend Phyllis wrote that for some reason she had been compelled to read a book on grieving.

For Kit’s 86th birthday on August 6th, I gave him a copy of author Peter Hessler’s newest book Other Rivers: A Chinese Education.

Well, a lot has happened in Peekay’s life since he arrived at the Salter home in the Sierra Foothills a month ago.

Since reading “The Cold Dish,” the first Longmire novel, I’ve sung the praises of consummate storyteller author Craig Johnson.

The final chapter in my book Notes From Boomerang Creek is entitled “The New Old West” and begins with an essay on the American cowboy.

Thirty years ago, my journey as an essayist began following the Great Flood of ’93 in the Midwest.

Louise and I have a special history. She met my plane when I first arrived at the Columbia Regional Airport in October 1988, ready to trade life in big cities for a house and barn on seven acres in the country.

The Montmorency cherry is a tart sour cherry that originated in the Montmorency Valley in France sometime before the 17th century.

The day Sherman walked into our lives began like most days.

Of late, I’ve become a vegetarian.

In November 2007, Saveur Magazine published a feature story about Clementine Paddleford—a pioneer American food writer who championed American regional cuisine from the late 1920s through the 1960s.

While reading in our living room lined with bookshelves, I hear a conversation underway that spans centuries.

When a small elegantly bound and illustrated travel guide entitled “Florence” fell off a shelf in my studio this week, I opened it and found myself lost in memories.

In the morning quiet at our home in the Sierra Foothills, there is a movie playing in my head.

May is a month when everything tastes better with lemons. Squeezed, zested, sliced, slivered, sipped or preserved, lemons bring life to every dish they meet.

Since learning that our friend writer Matthew Goodman would be in Paris with his wife Cassie in late April, I’ve been revisiting the journals I kept while exploring Paris on past trips with Kit.

In this era of mega modern kitchens and six-burner, industrial Wolf stoves, I would like to speak of the simple pleasures and delicious hours that I’ve spent cooking in small kitchens over the past half a century.