Betty Teller is an intrepid food lover and home cook who tries not to take food or life too seriously. Laugh with her about kitchen catastrophes, her endless battle with the oak tree in her yard and whatever else strikes her funny in her column amuse-bouche, appearing biweekly on the Food Page.
I have been trying to concentrate today, but I keep getting distracted. Every 10 minutes, I am compelled to stop what I am doing and open the drawer where I keep my passport to make sure it is still there, safe and sound.
I haven’t had my genome mapped, but if I ever do, I am pretty sure the scientists will isolate a genetic marker that predisposes me to travel.Perhaps it came down to me from my forebears or both sides, who must have had it in spades — after all, they were immigrants at a time when boarding a…
Someone should write me up in a study for the Journal of the America Medical Association. Scientists need to know about me. They should be observing me. I’m a medical phenomenon.
Stuff is a plague in my life. It crowds my closets, fills my shelves, overflows its boundaries and in general clutters up my space and my brain. I have made it my mission this year to get rid of as much of it as possible.
I said a final goodbye to an old friend today, but I find I’m not feeling as sad as I thought I would. It’s a loss, but one we both knew was coming. I’ve done my best to ease her transition, and I’m hopeful that she will be moving on to a better place.
When I renovated the back part of my house a decade ago, I was left with piles of random construction debris. In fact, that is a lot of what was still cluttering up the shed until I finally cleaned it out this fall.
Now why did I have to go ahead and make that New Year’s resolution that I would stop talking about my kitchen renovation all the time? If I hadn’t done that, I could be telling you about how awesomely great it is turning out.
I have always feared that I suffer from OCD. Among other symptoms, I hate loose ends, fixate on details, get way too much satisfaction from raking leaves and (as you know) am obsessed with the idea of cleaning my drawers. On the other hand, I am perfectly capable of overlooking the mail that…
Like most people in Napa, I spent a big chunk of the last two weeks in a state of suspended animation. Even though my house was not near the fires and I was in the lucky part of town that retained power and even cellphone coverage, all I could do for days was pace around the house and obsess…
By now, you are probably beginning to wonder if I plan to rhapsodize about every bite I ate during my recent visit to Peru. It’s tempting (and I did warn you I was going to milk the trip for every column inch I could get out of it), but I do need to move this along or we’ll still be in South…
Here’s the annoying thing about this golden age of instantaneous communication and reality TV: Even when you are thousands of miles from home and being led by a knowledgeable local guide to a less-than-promising-looking eight-table restaurant in the chef’s slightly rundown house that is only…
When I visited Lima on a brief business trip in the 1980s, I was not impressed. It was a sprawling mess of a city under perpetually gray skies. I described it as being a lot like Los Angeles — if you picked L.A. up, shook out all the money and swept it away, then dropped it back down.
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I am happy to report that my personal kitchen “repeal and replace” project has been going far better than the Senate’s. In fact, after an intense negotiating session with the designer last week, I’m ready to put it to a vote. And since I only have to woo one legislator (me), I think it is a …
I’m a big fan of the “Dr. Who” TV series, but if the Doctor showed up and offered to whisk me off in his TARDIS time machine, I’d probably murmur a polite “no thank you” and send him on his way. I don’t envy his constantly imperiled companions.
As you deduced from my last column, I am a world-class procrastinator. Thus, you can understand my having put off buying a new computer for eight years (which is about 110 in tech years).
My dear readers, I owe you an enormous debt of gratitude. You would not believe how much I have gotten done today, and it is all because of you and your expectations that a new column will arrive to amuse you on Tuesday.
My last column about Girl Scout cookies reminded me of this story. I started to tell it when I first began doing this column, but put it aside. I was afraid if I confessed, you would lose faith in my recipes and my ability to cook, and would stop reading.
With Dad gone, one of the things I miss most is his theories. Whenever I drew a blank on a column topic, he was always ready with one, from his belief that the preservatives in food increase longevity to his faith in the power of butter to grease his arteries and make the blood flow better.
When I went to sleep last night, I made sure my last thought was “I need a column idea to write about tomorrow.” I find that if I do that, my subconscious works during the night and I wake up with a brilliant topic.
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Did you miss me? In case you noticed (or didn’t), I skipped writing my column last time. I was busy conducting a very important scientific experiment and couldn’t take the time to pen one.
Last week, in a lull between watching men slide through water like it was air, women run faster than a speeding bullet and muscular little girls defy the laws of gravity, I found myself with a few minutes when the Star-Spangled Banner wasn’t playing.
Say what you will about our current presidential candidates (as long as you don’t say it within my hearing — I am so thoroughly sick of this election that I plan to wear noise-canceling headphones for the next three months), but at least both of them agree on one critical issue facing our co…
I have put off writing about the food in Cuba not because I’ve been saving the best till last, but because, alas, for the most part it lived up to its reputation of being uninspired.
We didn’t spend the whole trip in those great antique cars. Lots of times, they dropped us off at places for sightseeing adventures, and took us home to our luxe accommodations.
When I started writing this column 10 years ago, I confess I was a bit nervous. I was certain my weird cooking, eating and housekeeping quirks were unique to me, and that once I exposed them, you would know how strange I am and judge me for it.
My house has a distinctive smell. It’s not unpleasant, but I don’t especially like it and yet I can’t make it go away. It doesn’t matter what room fresheners or deodorizers I use. It returned even after major renovations that took part of the house down to studs.
Having milked every last detail of my life for material during the past 10 years, I admit there are times when I stare at the empty screen on my computer and contemplate giving up this column for good. I mean, how many times can I write about raking leaves or cleaning drawers before you get …