The first time I saw magic happen in the kitchen I was six years old and wanted to help my mother cook. I’d follow her every step and move, clinging like her shadow, struggling to see what she was doing. Inevitably, she’d turn around and trip over me. It wasn’t optimum for either of us, so when she told me we were going to bake a special cake and I could help … “there is a surprise at the end,” she promised…

I beamed with joy…

Cooking is full of mystifying moments that are…

The last time I took a train that had a dining car was right after I graduated from high school.

Walking into the dining car, I was flooded with memories of childhood trips. It looked exactly as I remembered: the tables were set with clean white tablecloths, cloth napkins, china, silverware, and gleaming glasses—just like in an old movie. 

I was excited and hungry for French food. My first taste was . . .

The apartment my mother grew up in Paris was large. My grandfather was a médecin, a doctor, and the apartment included his office...

During World War I, he served as a doctor and, like so many veterans, he brought home a souvenir. His choice was a big artillery shell, about eighteen inches tall with a twelve-inch diameter—a bomb. Proudly he displayed it in his office...

What could possibly go wrong?

I had a strange and unpleasant experience a few weeks ago, and it still haunts me—probably because it adds to a chorus of experiences that I have chosen to not talk about. But now I have to: 

A few weeks ago, eight of us were dining at a local restaurant. As we were finishing our meals, a police car stopped in front of...