I often hear friends sheepishly admit that they make wine choices largely on the basis of a pretty label. What they—as well as snooty wine purists—might not consciously realize, is that you learn a surprising amount about what’s inside a bottle just by looking at its getup.

Jean-Michel would stop by during set up, before they were open, and sit at Randy’s bar with no one else around. By the time the doors opened at four o’clock in the afternoon, he’d be gone.

You asked your server to bring you to the cold room walk-in, give you a shot of whiskey and close the door for you to scream your lungs out into the frozen void, after which you’d return to your table for dinner.

This year’s closures fell victim to a raving pandemic that made our favorite boozy, shoulder-to-shoulder, kiss-the-chef go-tos into potential superspreader ground zeroes, and by government inaction and indifference to their plight.

We don’t love Alison Roman simply because she’ll “give you the food your people want” (her words). She’s also blessed with the personality we all wish we had.

The difference between the drive-thru and its bygone predecessor may seem obvious, but there’s more to it than meets the eye. The drive-in is the American invention your road trip actually needs.

One day in March — six loaves of bread showed up. It was weird. Disorienting. But I didn't know then what I know now. Or perhaps I was in denial.

If you want to protect yourself from killer spices, you should probably resist the urge to buy loose packed spices, especially in foreign countries.

When I heard about a “Sugar Shack in the woods” 45 minutes outside of Montreal serving up French-Canadian delicacies, I jumped at the opportunity to make a trip out of it.

Great books make us feel less alone, put things into words that we are all feeling, and sometimes provide a road map for our behavior.

As the doors to the rest of the world slammed shut, in our apartment, they opened onto a brave new world. Of toast.

The bright lights and freshly waxed floors offered fleeting respite from the challenges of Midwestern suburbia, which we traded for a shopping cart at the front of the store.

Seeking comfort in unlikely places seems to be the only method of combat in our present day. A game I like to call: what can I still do that won’t be taken away from me at the next local press briefing.

I was originally all in-favor of the cashless store trend. I never carry cash and it made me feel futuristic—checking out with my grain bowl in a queue full of customers swiping cards and phones. Five whole seconds saved from change-handling!

Long distance romance is sometimes best defined by the midway stop at Grand Central Terminal for a black-and-white cookie.