Oh Tony. Oh no. Sitting here weeping. There will never be another like you. Really tragic loss.
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ruthreichl
@ruthreichl
Writer. Eater. Cook. Former Gourmet editor.
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Dr. Blasey Ford is making me proud to be a woman. She is so incredibly brave.
I'm Ruth Reichl, and These Are the Best Recipes from My Gourmet Years epicurious.com/recipes-menus/ via
I'm a longtime fan of Goya Foods. Won't be buying their products again:
I am devastated by what is happening to Asian restaurants. Most of us aren't aware of how dire the situation is, but if we don't support them now, we may find there are no Chinatowns left in America. Order takeout. Often. Tip well.
Read this infuriating thread. It's the same old pattern. When I went to the LA Times as restaurant critic in 1983, I found out that I was making less than half of any of the men at my level. I said to my boss, "You screwed me," and he replied,"Yes, we did."
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This is enraging twitter.com/piescarcega/st…
I am very sad to report that Gael Greene passed away this morning. A huge heart and a huge talent. She is irreplaceable.
Summer slowly fades. The first orange leaf, high up in the forest. Prune plums fill the market. Corn, tomatoes, last of the peaches. Savor the moment.
Toni Tipton-Martin for EIC of BA? Worked with her at the LA Times. She'd be great.
Wandering Paris. Oysters at Regis: the coppery joy of Belons. Glass of wine. Olympe at Musee D’Orsay. Books at Shakespeare. Happy.
Pale moon in a pink sky. Snow drifts hug the house. Scent of coffee, toast and tangerines. Grace on a winter morning.
Gabrielle Hamilton is such a terrific writer. This is a must read.
Pumpkins in the market. Air suddenly cool. A bear wanders up the driveway, eyes my apple pancakes. Fall is here.
Orange leaves on emerald grass. Soft rain. An owl hoots in the woods. Lemon verbena tea. Warm biscuits. Apricot jam. Fall's come.
An avocado you eat like an apple: peel and all. Rich. Soft. Almost creamy. It’s called Mexicola.
Sun sparkling off snow. Tiny birds flit about the feeder. Deer leap joyfully through the woods. And the days start get longer. Feeling hope.
Apple pie in the oven. Chicken soup on the stove. Aromas swirl deliciously through the house. A cool gray day, but inside it's very sunny.
Wind just came up. Sounds like rain, like music. Dark night, alone, wine, bread, butter. Purring cats. Finding reasons for joy.
SF sparkles this morning. Blossoms everywhere. Dogs cavort joyfully through the park. A lone woman dances. Trolley bells ring. Coffee in a paper cup. Happy to be here.
White out in the city. Furious snow pelting down. Sound muffled. So lovely. Hot cocoa, billows of cream. Toasted bagel, buttery, warm.
Cool rain, gray sky, lawn shrouded in mist. Strange beauty.
Scent of butter and maple syrup. Pancake morning. Warm comfort.
Woke up. Late night. Early morning? Big moon streaming in the window. Scent of just-picked melons fills the house. Cats purr. Some hope.
Snow drifting down in great fat flakes. Fire blazing. Ginger tea. Lemon tart. Grateful.
Wind whispers through the pines. Tide rises on the shore. Wild blueberries. Black coffee. Morning in Maine.
Cold. Air smells like snow. But the first robin just appeared, with its proud red breast. Ginger tea. Pancakes. Maple syrup. Signs of hope.
Amazing! And not even signed. Whoever you are, many, many thanks. Faith restored.
Bare feet. Emerald grass. Butterflies dance in the breeze. One perfect peach, juice on my cheek. Trying for hope.
Standing in tall grass, dew-damp feet, peach juice running down my arms. Birds sing. In a world gone crazy, grateful for small blessings.
Terrible news. Floyd Cardoz - brilliant chef and wonderful man - has fallen to the Corona virus. A huge, huge loss.
Air sparkles with cold. Deer nuzzle snow-dusted lawn. Cats curl by the fire. Coffee. Apple cake. Winter's early.
Perfect NY morning. Air fresh. Sun sparkles off the Hudson. Zabars filled with frenzied picnic people. Smiles. Laughter. Happy to be home.
Great flock of turkeys just dashed across the lawn. Scent of butter, onions, apples fills the air. A full house. I love Thanksgiving.
Blue sky, purple mountains, yellow leaves. A fawn nuzzles the lawn. Pumpkin pancakes. Apple cider syrup. Ginger tea. Fall!
Cold. Golden sun shines through the woods. A deer leaps over snow. Spicy noodles: pork, scallion, chiles, spinach. Ready to resist.
Inside The Tropical. Tastes as gorgeously colorful as it looks. The passion of fruit. So refreshing. So seductive.
Leaves bursting into color. Fox scurrying across green lawn. Scent of basil in the air. One last tomato. The joy of fall.
Cool. Fresh. Mountains blue against pale sky. White ribbon of mist hugs the river. Standing in damp grass. Eating a peach. Grateful.
Cool Vermont morning. Dappled sky. Rain coming. Country store. Wooden floor. Scent of coffee. Blueberry muffin. Gentle conversation. Happy.
A wood thrush is singing outside my window. I am eating a ripe peach. Both give me hope.
I am very sad. Just learned that Molly O'Neill - wonderful writer, reporter and celebrator of all things food - has passed away. A huge loss.
A flock of wild turkeys comes out of the mist. Orange leaves skitter across the lawn. Black coffee. Fried eggs. Toast. Clear flavors in strange weather.
Misty melancholy morning. Chill fog hangs over the valley. Fresh ginger tea. Warm plum cake. Looking for hope.
Snow falls, gently. Black branches edged with white. Flock of tiny birds flutter about the feeder. Coffee. Cream. Stollen. Moment of peace.
Early morning New York. Secret smiles of sidewalk strollers. Scent of baking bread and fresh oranges. Coffee. Reasons to love this city.
Clear. Cool. Scent of chestnuts and burning leaves in the air. Coffee. Crisp bacon. Plump pumpkin pancakes. Heading off to vote.
RIP: Michel Richard, one of the truly great chefs in America, passed away this morning. There was nobody who had more fun in the kitchen.
Blue sky, no clouds. Sun shines on emerald grass. Leaves rustle. A yellow bird flits past. Fragrant strawberries, sliced. Thick cream. Grateful for every sight, sound, taste.
Gray skies. Rustling leaves. Storm's coming. Warm buttered biscuits. Fragrant sliced strawberries. Seeking grace.
The Hudson flows like molten silver beneath a pewter sky. Sun glints off distant windows. Toasted bagel; lox; cream cheese. NY City after the storm.
A pretty red bird just landed at the feeder. The sky is washed with rain. Tea. Toast. Orange marmalade. Tiny moments of joy.
Been a long time coming....
SAVE ME THE PLUMS: My Gourmet Memoir will be available on April 2nd. Learn more at ruthreichl.com/books/.
Mist rising from the valley: wispy white sheets. Grass glowing green. Lemon tea. Warm biscuits. Apricot jam. Home!
Rain falling on sidewalk: delicious city scent. Rye bread, still warm, caraway. Cold sweet butter. Coffee in a cardboard cup. Flavors of NY.
Hot. Still. Not a single cloud. One lilac bursts into bloom. Iced lemonade. Sliced peaches, splash cream. Still summer.
At LGA. Continually amazed by the professionalism and good cheer of the TSA folks. I'm so grateful they're still working - and so furious they're not being paid.
Empty sidewalks. No cars. Dog tugs an anxious owner down the street. Bagels, cream cheese, lox. Sunday morning in NY.
Just roasted a fresh Kinderhook Farm chicken. Did nothing - put it into a hot oven. Best chicken I've ever tasted.
Crystalline. Still. Tiny birds flit to the feeder, dancing in the frigid air. Coffee. Toast. Tangerines. Scent lingers, hopeful. Happy New Year!
Early morning walk in cool woods. Leaves crunch beneath feet. An owl hoots. Home to hot coffee, warm stollen. Seeking peace.
Lone hawk hanging in a bright blue sky. A hedgehog scuttles past. Yellow butterflies dance across the lawn. Tomato sandwiches. Lemonade. Joys of late summer.
Woke to two inquisitive deer peering in the window. Air crisp. Sliced tomatoes piled on buttered bread. Fall's coming.
Gentle rain. Lovely light over the water. Lemon filled donuts. Scent of coffee in the air. Morning in Seattle.
Soft snow falls in fat flakes. Achingly beautiful. Quiet. Ginger -lemon tea. Warm biscuits; apricot jam. Color in a pale world.
Cold. Bright. Scent of smoked leaves in the air. Fire lit. Remains of the feast: cold turkey, ham, cranberries, stuffing. Apple pie. Still Thanksgiving....
Cold. Clear. Sunny. Frosty grass crunches beneath my feet. Leaves crackle. Sound of distant hunters. Fire blazing. Butter toasted oatmeal. Ginger tea. Cozy.
Radiant morning. Clear sky, no clouds. Heat wave over. Birds sing, squirrels skitter, rabbits hop. Slicing peaches: such a hopeful scent.
Rain. Leaves blow. Mist wafts. Wind whistles around the house.
Hot spiced cider. Buttered biscuits. Sour cherry jam. A day to stay inside.
Mist drifting gently away. Mournful doves sing their lament. Black beans, white rice, splash of tabasco. Pray for our country.
First frost glitters on the grass. Scent of chestnuts in the air. Hills glow red, yellow. Tangled peppers, onions, eggs. Fall's here.
Perfect spring morning. A sailboat chugs up the Hudson. Last lilacs bloom. Dogs cavort in the park. Coffee. Cream Bagels. Lox. I love NY.
Outdoor shower in the rain. Golden leaves falling all around me. Fresh ginger tea. Warm biscuits. Apricot jam. Savoring autumn.
Deer leap joyfully through snowy woods. Cats purr by fireside. Hot cocoa. Warm blueberry muffins: pure pleasure.
Peaceful Sunday; not a leaf stirs. Two baby birds in the nest by the shower greet the day. Coffee. Apricot-raspberry cobbler. Cream. Happy to be alive.
Radiant fall morning. Sky blue. Leaves yellow. Hills tawny. A flock of wild turkeys. Green tomatoes, fried. Gently poached egg. Bacon.
Woke to a white world. Soft powdery snow; lace on every tree. In this gorgeous silent, hawks circle. Apple pancakes. Crisp bacon. Grateful.
Cool night. Bright morning. Promise of fall in the air. Thickly sliced tomatoes. Cold butter. Bread. Snipped basil. Salt. Still summer.
Midnight rain on tin roof. Such a delicious sound. Scent of earth wafts through the window. Sky bright with stars. Drifting. Dreaming. Grateful.
Fluffy white clouds. Tiny yellow birds. Orange butterflies dance through the air. Bright green grass. One perfect peach. Hope.
Melancholy morning. Cool rain; leaf-strewn lawn. Trees nearly naked. Riotous peppers- red, yellow, orange - tangled into eggs. Looking for hope.
Bands of color: pale sky, blue mountains, white ribbon of mist, green trees. Air fresh. Cold lemonade. Peach cobbler. Cream. Still summer.
Woke to silent silver world. April snow! Ground covered, trees dusted. Coffee. Cream. Bacon. Crisp-edged eggs. Warm biscuits. Spring winter.
A yellow bird just landed on the lawn. Peeling ripe peaches; their gorgeous perfume fills the kitchen. Small pleasures on a strange morning.
Being a poll worker is a wonderful way to protect democracy AND support your community - a sign of hope that we need.
Sign up today: bit.ly/PowerThePoll
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It's simple.
Without poll workers, polling locations close. That means your community might miss the chance to vote.
As long as you're 16, you can be a poll worker. Guess what - you'll even get paid to do it!
Be a part of the movement & sign up today:
powerthepolls.org/?source=go
Warm mysterious mist. Trees wink in and out. A fat hedgehog appears. Toes in damp grass, eating a ripe juicy plum. Still savoring summer.
Mist. Drizzle. Orange leaves tossed in the air. Sizzle of apple pancakes. Warm clove-spiced scent of cider. Drama of fall.
Long white ribbon of clouds hangs in the valley. Light breeze blows. Storm gone. Sour cherry jam on just-baked biscuits. Still summer.
Rain washed sky. Orange leaves float through the air. A flock of wild turkeys. Fat floppy pancakes filled with warm spiced apples. Fall!
Sitting in sunshine. Flower petals drift slowly through the air. A hummingbird flits by. Cappuccino. Ginger biscuits. LA!
Snowflakes drift gently down. Bare black trees etched in white. Air so cold it shimmers. Cocoa. Whipped cream. Toasted poundcake.
Snowing. Cats curl by the fire. Chili burbles on the stove. Cornbread bakes. Cozy start to winter.