Entries from The Amateur Gourmet tagged with 'Bellingham'
How To Make An Apple Pie
Some of us have Oedipal complexes, others have Electra complexes, but very few of us have a complex based on apple pie. Allow me to lay on your therapist's couch for a moment: I have a serious pie issue. My apple pie is inadequate--it comes from Martha Stewart--and though it often inspires a happy nod and a fleeting smile, it rarely induces the kind of exaltation that comes when Craig's dad--who we'll call "Steve" because that's his name--makes his signature apple pie. What is it that makes his pie so good? Why do my pies never measure up? On a recent visit to Bellingham, Washington--home of "Steve"--I decided to solve this mystery once and for all. What follows are the closely-guarded secrets of Steve's Signature Apple Pie; a pie that I finally recreated at home to much acclaim--so much acclaim that I don't need this therapy anymore. How much do I owe you?...
Holiday Bounty
When it comes to gift-giving, it's good to have a thing. Those without a thing are hard to buy gifts for: you choose between scarves and candles and ponder the merits of fuchsia vs. chartreuse or hyacinth vs. gardenia. But when someone has a thing, you just get them something that fits their thing. Like shopping for Bono or Michael Jordan or Sigfried & Roy--you buy them music, basketballs and magic trick sets, of course; and everyone's happy. And those that have a thing can buy stuff for other people based on their own thing: like Bono can make you a mix tape, Michael Jordan can give you Air Jordans, and Sigfried & Roy can give you a white tiger. Having a thing is awesome....
My First Christmas
For the longest time, as a young Jew, I was convinced that all of Christianity hinged on a deep, profound belief in Santa Claus. Jesus baffled me; I presumed he was just a supporting player in the epic, inspiring story of Santa. And as much as I was supposed to be impressed with an oil lamp that burned for eight straight nights, the idea of a big fat man with a beard soaring through the air, climbing down the chimney of good little Christian kids and smothering them in a sea of gifts filled me with a jealous rage. It took 20 some odd years, a flight to Seattle and a drive to Bellingham Washington--where Craig's family lives--to finally experience December on the other side of the religious fence. And though I won't be baptizing myself in the bathtub any time soon, I was thoroughly impressed. Here's why....
