I'm sitting in my non-air conditioned third floor room, sweating, and thinking about last weekend. It's not that the weekend wa...

My dad used to make us fancy breakfasts on Sundays--waffles, pancakes, or french toast, generally. I remember one Sunday in particular wh...

This photo, of women cooks/bakers preparing to serve pie to Mexican workers in Hood River County, Oregon, c. 1943, comes to us by way of ...

As I mentioned a few posts ago, The Runcible Spoon is a wonderful little food zine based in Washington, D.C. whose approach to food is fun ...

Well, it's certainly not the most beautiful thing I've ever made, sweet tea pie. When I was taking these photos, attempting to ...

It's that time. The time of the narrow overlap between rhubarb season and strawberry season. When I lived up north, the reasoni...

Is it summer yet? The sundresses (and even some sunburn), blockbusters, and strawberries of this past weekend all point to YES. But the w...

A classic Sesame Street song (and "Hey Jude" parody) about emotional eating, with a list of comfort foods that includes bread...

I've been delaying writing about this because I've been conflicted. And for a few reasons. There was  the political roller coaster o...

What with May Day, Pete Seeger's birthday today (which is really the reason for my post--Happy 93rd Pete!), and this book I've...

If there's one thing I can do well, it's eat pie. I'm excited to put that skill to good use this Sunday, May 6th as a guest j...

Though my last rhubarb creation disguised essentially disguised it altogether, rhubarb stalks are real purty. Springy pastel pinks and ...

Alright, Garrison, sure, we hear him sing this every Sunday morning. But Meryl takes this to a whole. 'nother. sassy. level. More o...

  Rhubarb season in Indiana was like zucchini season in Vermont. People would practically leave boxes of the stuff on your porch beg...

Natalie with her bike, outfitted with a basket and panniers for pie delivery From 2009-2011, Natalie Glazer ran Bike Basket Pies , deli...