Tag Archives: home cooking

At Home In Copenhagen.

As much as I enjoy researching and planning where to eat out while traveling, there’s nothing like receiving an invitation to a local’s house for a home-cooked meal when you’re living out of a suitcase. I love seeing how people in other areas cook, eat, and entertain, while my inner voyeur gets a kick out of being inside buildings I’d otherwise only glimpse from the street. Plus, that little frisson you get when you think about sitting down with a bunch of perfect strangers with only a bottle of wine for a buffer? Impossible to replicate.

I was informed early on in the Copenhagen meal-planning process that our Saturday night was spoken for—my cousin has a friend in the city, and her family had invited us all over for dinner. Magic hour was just hitting when we got off the train in Hellerup, a well-kept suburb to the north. (Fun fact: If you stand in the spot where I took the picture above, turn about thirty degrees to your right, and look out over the water, you’ll see Sweden. Hi, Malmö!)

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Run Reward.

Last Sunday, before I went for my first run in months, I pulled a few cookbooks off of my shelves, determined to finally make good on those damn New Year’s resolutions.

Though I’d acquired Andrew Carmellini’s Urban Italian during my last visit to Portland two years ago (!), I’d barely glanced at it since that first desultory perusal. That day, though, as I flipped through the pages, this rigatoni Pugliese practically demanded to be realized, and from that point on, it was game over.

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Meet Your Dinner.

On Saturday afternoon, the Carnivore and his daughter came back from our food co-op, lugging bags and boxes of goodies. “You’d better cook all of this,” she said, “after I carried it!” (She turned seven in January, and, man, is she bossy.) She loves to help in the kitchen—cracking eggs, measuring and pouring spices, whisking pancake batter, licking the beaters. There’s something fascinating about having a seven-year-old as your sous chef: You see how primal cooking really is, really should be, watching a child touch and taste everything. She’s normally a fussy eater, but when she helps with the meal, her hands are constantly in every dish; if you don’t want something going in her mouth before its time, you have to keep a sharp eye on her.

Now, this is a child who has never met a type of junk food she didn’t like, so it came as no surprise that she instantly perked up when I mentioned chicken for dinner—KFC is a personal favorite. It was different story entirely, though, when I pulled a whole, raw chicken from my shopping bag.

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