The Crabby Cook - by Jessica Harper

When I was a freshman in high school, I auditioned for the annual Gilbert and Sullivan production (that year it was Pirates of Penzance) and I snagged the role of  “a villager,” which involved lurking on stage in an ugly dress, chatting sotto voce with other villagers about the activities of the more interesting characters. The director (fresh out of drama school—she knew her stuff) told us that if we all spoke the word “rhubarb,” over and over, we would collectively sound like we were making intelligent conversation. Read More

When people ask me for advice on cooking (this rarely happens except in my imagination), I usually begin my response by saying, “Don’t ever  make lasagne. You know the Spanish Steps in Rome? Well, lasagne has more steps than that.” So I was immediately attracted to an article my friend Suzanne sent me about a restaurant that serves lasagne with 100 layers. I have to recline in the Baracalounger just thinking about this.

Mark Ladner is the chef at Del Posto restaurant in New York, where he says it takes three “departments” to create the lasagne (which sells for $30 a serving). One group makes the three sauces (yep, three, trois, a full trio) that go into the dish, one makes the giant sheets of pasta (I have no idea how this happens so don’t ask me) and one assembles it all in a giant baking pan. So, Ladner does have help. No wonder I find lasagne challenging. The only extra “department” besides myself I ever had in my kitchen was the fire department, that time I forgot I was broiling garlic bread.

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This Mother’s Day my kids AND my own mother are all two thousand miles away. For the first time in 20 years I won’t have some kind of maternal relationship in the house, unless you count Oliver, my dog and almost-son. However, since he is equipped with paws, he is (sadly) unable to bring me breakfast in bed (my favorite Mother’s Day privilege), although I know he’d like to.

My daughters will be home from college in a few weeks. They’re studying for finals, and in a frenzy of maternal energy (inspired by their upcoming absence on Sunday), I sent them care packages.

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