The Crabby Cook - by Jessica Harper

So, after I bitched about what a pain it is to make lasagna, my  friend Jeffery told me to stop whining and try his recipe, which he swears is delicious and
“easy, but not speedy.” Now, to me, if a recipe is not speedy, it ain’t easy, but then, I’m a crabby cook, and Jeffery is one of those admirable people who understand the expression, “the joy of cooking.” Read More

When I returned to LA today after a three-week absence, my dog Oliver was the happiest being on earth. His ecstasy was very gratifying, although after a six-hour flight I could have done without the body block.

As soon as I brushed the golden retriever hairs off my black traveling pants (unlike Hillary, I was not wearing a traveling pants suit, and can we talk about what the difference is between a pants suit and a suit? Is it just that if a chick is wearing it, it’s a pants suit? What’s up with that? But I digress.) I rushed to the kitchen to make my imagined recipe for Louie’s tomato sauce. Read More

My husband has a thing about buying gas. It’s sort of like asking for directions: he won’t do it until the situation is dire. As you can imagine, this sometimes gets him in trouble, as it did when I was in labor, minutes away from giving birth to our second child. Luckily for Tom I was in too much distress to hit him with a frying pan when he pulled into a gas station on the way to the hospital.

He got in trouble again the other day when our big fat rental car conked out on highway 95 just shy of our Connecticut destination. Tom coasted down an exit ramp, at the bottom of which the car just stopped, refusing to go one inch further, stubborn as my husband.

A speedy guy in a pickup truck honked behind us. When Tom threw up his hands to indicate helplessness, Mr. Speedy screeched around us, yelling “Jackass!”at my husband, saving me the trouble. Read More