As I write this ? my last column before I graduate and head off into the real world ? it?s easy to reflect on everything that I?m going to miss about Charlottesville.
Cooking, as my regular readers have probably gathered, is one of my favorite pastimes.
Yesterday, while touring the Berkeley Plantation in Charles City, Va., I saw an antique waffle iron.
I was first introduced to the gastronomic wonder that is Greek yogurt at Aroma?s Caf
As anyone who was ever single on Valentine?s Day knows, it can be a bit of a downer.
Occasionally, when my life is very busy ? which is actually much more often than occasionally ? the one thing I truly miss about my youth is having someone to make me a boxed lunch.
In February of my freshman year at New York University, my friend Elena and I took a Greyhound overnight to Montreal for a long weekend.
Last week I saw my first snow flurry of the season, and suddenly I was a 6-year-old kid again, wearing my pajamas inside-out, doing snow dances and praying for a thick blanket of white to have transformed the world by the time I woke up in the morning.
The first time I tried to cook sweet potatoes, it didn?t go so well.
I?m not sure when it started, but somewhere in our nation?s history, the humble apple pie joined the ranks of the bald eagle and ballot box as American icons.
