Timothy Jacobson

A reward, a respite, a ritual

Cold grates on cold nights are grim. Warm bright ones lift the spirits, whatever tidings the day may have brought

A celebration dinner demands competence rather than brilliance in the kitchen, and, of far greater value, the benison of guests of the right sort

I do not know if there was corn in Eden but would like to think so

These days, we are long into the age of commercial breadbaking and far-removed from the sight of a field of waving wheat