It’s easy to fall into a summertime pattern of eating tacos and kabobs and barbecue on a three-day rotation, because those are delicious things to eat and they are best eaten in summer. Broadly speaking, this is doing summer right. Enjoy your tacos! Enjoy your kabobs! Enjoy your barbecue, so long as someone else is…

I’m sure we can all agree that summer is for grilling. Burgers are good for grilling, as are your various tube-meats. A good steak is delightful. I happen to think, though, that a good pork chop is the happiest, summeriest of the grilled proteins.

Here’s an axiom that’s maybe only a little bit true: everything “tastes like chicken.” Actually, almost nothing tastes like chicken... including a lot of the chicken you’ve eaten in your life. The taste of chicken is something exceptional when done right.

I often wonder whether the infamous French grouchiness isn’t born of resentment over the fact that the most fertile, bountiful turf in all of the Western world has given them only the third-best cuisine, behind both Spain and Italy. That’s gotta blow. Everything grows in France, and beautifully, and then those damn…

Most modern cookbooks are too complicated. With the rise of the celebrity chef and the attendant fetishization of foodie culture, everyone gets their own shot at the genre nowadays, and the results are mostly worthless. Inevitably, they attempt to replicate restaurant dishes that necessitate restaurant-caliber…

Nothing will make you appreciate the amazing chew of delicious pasta quite like substituting the sad, overmatched strands of spaghetti squash. Awful.

A dumb thing to do, here, would be to tell you that the basic goodness of compound butter, its fundamental appeal, is much of anything other than that it is butter. It’s butter! That’s it. Butter good.

Classic is the key word here. These days, you can probably get sushi at Yankee Stadium, and ballparks take particular pride in their unique offerings—as they well should. If you go to Citizens Bank Park to watch the Phillies lose and don’t get the Chickie’s and Pete’s Crab Fries, you’ve made a mistake.

Maybe you already know how to poach eggs. Perhaps you were inspired by my esteemed colleague Albert Burneko’s missive a few years ago, and now you’re pretty confident you can poach any old egg, no problem. (Note: always poach fresh, new eggs.) You feel a little smug about it, actually—waiting for unsuspecting…

“This advice can be fatal,” wrote Dr. Henry J. Heimlich to the New York Times in 1981, protesting their suggestion to pregame with peanut butter to curb overeating. “We have records of persons choking to death after eating peanut butter off a spoon. The problem is that the thick substance becomes lodged in the throat…

The quickest way to improve your cooking—besides throwing a stick of butter into everything—is to throw onions into everything. Onions work with every cuisine, they’re versatile, and they taste amazing. However much onion a recipe calls for should be doubled, at least, no matter the recipe.

It seems like real-deal ramen has become a thing, which is cool. Ramen is great. Here’s an especially cool thing about ramen, though: we all get to say we were down with ramen before it was cool, because we were all slurping down bowls of ramen when it was just about the least cool thing imaginable. Behold!

Yo, anchovies, they’re foul, right? Nasty little briny cretins smiling up at you from their orange-oiled death tub. Let’s just stick to safe, wholesome backyard classics, like miscellaneous swine parts stuffed into intestinal casing, or pucks of meat-paste grilled into grayness.

As a baby I gnawed on lemons with joy. I‘ve never been kind to my taste buds. Chain-eating Warhead candies, nibbling habaneros, taking dares on wasabi globs. Short of the really inhumane—nuking your innards with genetic monstrosity Scoville-freak peppers, which some people do, voluntarily, on camera —I was feeling…

Authenticity is an interesting thing, where food is concerned. We’ve reached a point, now, where it is possible to strive for authenticity in the construction of a thing while completely missing what is authentic about its origin, its nature.

A few weeks ago, I made some fuckin’ pasta. The pasta I made is right there in the image above. Isn’t it gorgeous?

We do this thing in my house where we arbitrarily shoehorn green things into the family diet, generally in quantities insufficient for any real nutritional purpose. Most often, this takes the form of a small bowl of sad lettuce splashed with cheap balsamic and presented as some sort of pre-dinner hazing ritual: We…

A couple days back, Complex published an interview with Allen Iverson, which you should most definitely read, if you want. In it, there were lots of good tidbits, but perhaps the primo tidbit came when Iverson swore his allegiance to T.G.I. Friday’s, which is something (erroneously!) attributed to him here and there…

Hey, bud, want a burrito? For real. I appreciate you: For the way you talk, the way you walk, the way you’re statistically unlikely to be the shrieky dude who lives upstairs. But mostly for the way you click. Damn, you click so good. So I would like to give you a burrito. Or more specifically, I would like to transfer…