SIX POUNDS DOWN. Blood pressure lowest of my adult life. Decaffeinated. Old jeans sitting on my hips. Dress that didn’t fit does. Drinking green tea. Sleeping through the night. Only one question remains: Who the hell is this woman?
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In 1960, older Margaret's on the light end of the seesaw at age 6.
IF A POUND IS GAINED in the forest, and no one is there to see it, is it still a pound? This is the exact kind of question I’ve pelted my poor sister with over the years that I’ve seen my weight go up and hers go down; her side of the seesaw is ever higher up in the air. And trust me, there were more annoying exchanges, like these: [click to continue…]
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WHEN IN DOUBT, DESSERT. It might be my new motto. It would make a good t-shirt, wouldn’t it? Hmmm. Anyway, it certainly is a motto I’m using for John, of Teaching John to Cook, my friend, and subject of an occasional series here on TSP on how to sister a pal into the kitchen.
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IT’S TIME YOU MET JOHN, of Teaching John to Cook (the lovely man and dear friend of the Facebook self-portrait, above), to whom so many of you have reached out during his difficult time. I’m happy to report he’s doing marvelously well at it, and that he has mastered a new recipe. It’s one you may enjoy, as well. [click to continue…]
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I KNEW I COULD MARRY the man when I discovered that his mother didn’t put eggs in her potato salad. I hate eggs in nearly every form, but never so much when they appear where they clearly have no business. Seeing that my then-boyfriend expected no such thing as eggs in his summer salad, I was ready to take the relationship to the next level. We’ll be married 20 years later this month and God knows, marriages have been based on less. [click to continue…]
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SMACKING MY HEAD seems to be my favorite pastime. Why else would I have utterly missed the obvious, the totally abundantly clear-as-gin issue that all of my three guy friends have that is keeping them from learning to cook? What more simple problem could there be than this one? You tell me and I’ll smack my head for you each time you send in the correct answer.
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SHE DIDN’T WANT A BIRTHDAY, my sister-friend didn’t. We’ve all been there. For one reason or the other, we’re not the least bit interested in what is about to take place in our lives. And it’s not just that she didn’t want a party: She didn’t want to be the number she would be; she didn’t want a party; she didn’t want candles, songs, or even to recognize the day. So, we did what a sister or sister-friend has to do: We made her do it, and to make her laugh, we made her dinner. But not just any dinner. [click to continue…]
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TEACHERS NEED TEACHING. And the best of teaching comes from the students. Years ago, a Swiss friend making his first trip to America was looking for a typically New Yorker thing to do. I took him to a Mets game, where I spent the first three innings describing and defining such intricacies as the designated-runner rule, the infield-fly rule, the real specs, nuts and bolts of the game of summer. Right around the fourth inning my friend turned to me, owl-eyed and asked, “What’s a base? Yes, well, there you have it. I had forgotten the essentials, which is exactly how I felt when John, of Teaching John to Cook, came to dinner over the Memorial Day weekend and seemed more flummoxed than helped by the recipes we’ve been offering him. One of three men whose aid we’ve come to, he well represents what I’ve heard from all three “Johns” we’re writing about here at TSP. [click to continue…]
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THREE MALE FRIENDS. Each, for his own reason, needs to learn to cook right now. One is coming to terms with his New York lifestyle which, in the recession, requires he scale back from his diner existence of three take-out meals a day. One just lost his partner in such a tragic death that we celebrate that he’s tying his own shoes. And one just saw his wife of 20 years walk out. [click to continue…]
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M EATLOAF MADE ME DO IT. There is no other explanation I can think of, and while that is a tautology, I know, I offer it anyway: Meatloaf made us write about meatloaf. We have succumbed and are sinking further, daily, into the warm, aromatic, comfort that is meatloaf. My name is Marion and I am powerless not to write about meatloaf. Fine. I admit it, as well as the obvious fact that eating meatloaf begets writing about meatloaf, begets eating more meatloaf begets… [click to continue…]
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First time here? Here's the idea: 
