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“Consuming Passions”: Kitchen Fever
With Martha Stewart’s future up for grabs in the wake of allegations of funny business trading stocks, it’s hard to imagine what people will do with the fancy kitchen tools they have acquired over years of watching her; years of acquisition of tools, pots and pans, pastry tubes, cookie cutters and cheese cloth, and coloured sprinkles and …[Read more]
September 2009 By Reggie Nadelson Manhattan’s Il Posto Accanto is Roman cooking at its best. Nothing fancy. Just utter perfection. It’s midday Sunday, a very mellow time at Il Posto Accanto, the little Roman-style trattoria on Second Street in Manhattan’s East Village. Sun streams through the glass panes of the doors. 
In seafood shacks, at gourmet tables, and especially during a stomach-defying live-fish auction, Reggie Nadelson discovers the true—and a new—Hawaii. It's 5 a.m. at Honolulu's fish auction, and I'm eyeballing a quivering Hawaiian opah, a pink and silver moonfish, round and flat as a plate. 
I love ice cream. I mean, I really love it, as much as sex, almost as much as Frank Sinatra, more than Manolos. I'll eat anything sweet and frozen (and have): yogurty vanilla ice cream in Red Square in the dead of winter as Soviet soldiers ate their own; an exquisite prune-and-Armagnac flavor at Berthillon, on Paris's Ile St.-Louis; Vassar Devils (hot fudge and marshmallow sundaes served on brownies) accompanied by many gin 
For her latest culinary adventure, intrepid cook-in-training Reggie Nadelson heads to Harlem, where she learns an authentic southern specialty from a revered master. The oil sizzles, snaps, crackles in the seasoned black cast-iron pan. The skillet feels a hundred years old, something seasoned with depth and age and history. Tentatively I pick 
For her latest culinary escapade, Reggie Nadelson pays a visit to Ron Ben-Israel for tips on crafting a dessert almost too pretty to eat. By REGGIE NADELSON "Elton John’s people just called and asked me to make his birthday cake—what should I do?" says Ron Ben-Israel when he calls to 
Steak is to Buenos Aires as chocolate is to Paris. Not only is it everywhere but beef is also part of this city's history and soul. Reggie Nadelson reports.
Midnight at La Dorita in Buenos Aires and a friend, call her Luisa, arrives from her shrink and consumes a pound or two of bloody and delicious rump steak. On the terrace the crowd eats meat and drinks red wine from old-fashioned, thick-necked carafes. In this neighborhood restaurant, almost no one speaks English. Cigarette smoke drifts on