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There's nothing especially hi-tech about any of these tools. In fact, most of them are quite rudimentary and have been around for ages. It's surprising how little you really need to get by in the kitchen. With a sharp knife, a good pair of tongs, a wooden spoon and the will to succeed, there's not much you can't accomplish. And yet people accrue all manner of nonsense: garlic presses, panini machines, immersion blenders. Just visit a Williams-Sonoma if you don't know what I'm talking about. Even the 5 pieces above—tiny whisk, mezzaluna, reamer, shears and microplane grater—might be seen as superfluous by some kitchen minimalists, and could probably be replaced by a fork and the aforementioned tongs and sharp knife. Still, these are some of my staunchest allies, helping me make short work of countless tedious prep tasks. If you don't own them all, perhaps you should.
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Occasionally—not very often—I go off on a crazy tangent. This is one of those times. Searching for a little mindless entertainment to keep me company as I wrapped countless presents, I decided to download "Sex & the City 2." Some girly fun, I said to myself, thinking back wistfully to a time when Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha were actually a fresh concept. A time before Magnolia Bakery had lines like Studio 54, before SATC tours of the West Village. Friends, do NOT subject yourselves to this movie. It made "Showgirls" seem like a European art film. G told me some people had complained about its depiction of Arab men. WHAT ABOUT ITS DEPICTION OF AMERICAN WOMEN?! There was scarcely a time in the entire movie that I was not either cringing in embarrassment or gagging in dismay. From the second Liza Minelli appeared in thigh-high boots, an abbreviated tunic and a kabuki mask to cover Beyonce's "Put A Ring On It" during the opening gay wedding scene, it was one crypt-keeper moment after another. No amount of Botox, Pilates, makeup or lighting can disguise the fact that these women are trying WAY TOO HARD to be "young." Whatever the f*ck that means. Hey, I'm all for fantasy, etc. This was just painful. SJP looks like a sinewy drag queen half the time, and a homeless lady playing dress-up the rest. (See the ridiculous ball gown and t-shirt ensemble she chose to wear to the souk, above.) Samantha's menopausal moanings and desperate sexual lungings—not to mention her god-awful getups and over-oiled flesh in virtually every scene—are cruel jokes only the snarky gay writers could love. No wonder it's been hard to lure her back for the sequels. They must be paying these "girls" wads of cash. Soon they can just segue into a remake of "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?"
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OK,  a few more suggestions for those of you looking to make your holiday shopping experience painless and effective. Whip up a nice gingery hot toddy, stuff your tootsies into a pair of wooly socks, curl up on the couch with your laptop and chuckle quietly to yourself as you think of all those poor slobs getting elbowed by German tourists at Macy's in Herald Square.
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I'm going to go way out on a limb and assume that, if you're reading this blog, you like to cook; or at least you like reading about cooking. Or maybe you just know someone else who does. At any rate, in a continuation of yesterday's gifting post, I've pulled together some suggestions for wonderful cookbooks—some new, some long beloved—that would make wonderful presents to the accomplished and aspiring chefs in your life (including yourself). I like nothing better than sitting down with something delicious to eat and whatever cookbook I've randomly plucked from my shelf. There are always stacks of cookbooks by my bed. Reading them is vicarious pleasure, inspiration, armchair travel, fantasy and practical preparation. Here's a compendium of some of my favorites, all highly recommended.
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As obnoxious a concept as is Black Friday—when all of America rushes into the mall, wallets clutched in chubby hands still sticky from the Thanksgiving feast—there is something to be said for getting a jump on your holiday gift shopping. We all know that once that turkey is gone, Christmas and Hanukkah are not far behind. For me, this means the annual frenzy of making caramels, then wrapping and packaging them by the hundreds. As far as other gifts for my nearest and dearest, I look for something personal, something that reflects my relationship with the recipients, that shows I've noticed what they need, what they covet. I try to buy things as I come across them during the year, or at least make a note to myself so I can remember to go back and pick up that perfect little something for my sister or goddaughter. But that doesn't always happen (and I know many of you think it's crazy to even dream of being so organized), so I often turn to online shopping. I can do it in the comfort of my own home, and I don't have to deal with the special hell that is the post office. The key is to start immediately, if you haven't already. Avoid paying extra for expedited shipping and banish the dread, the panic and the shame of sending something lame that arrives late. Because I love you, I'll share some of my secret sources for great gifts.
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I am thankful for my loving husband, Titi, family, friendship, a cozy home, freedom, goat cheese, Bach, heirloom tomatoes, hammocks, squirrels, deer, blue jays, black bear, foxes, snakes, spiders, animals in general, ferns, our vegetable garden, walnuts, the 4 Agreements (don't make assumptions, be impeccable with your word, don't take things personally, always do your best), Philip Roth, Coetzee, Alice Munro, Patricia Highsmith, technology, craftsmanship, artists, Pablo Neruda, Joni Mitchell, Maria Callas, Nick Drake, Elvis Costello, Silvio Rodriguez, Irving Penn, Andy Goldsworthy, Velazquez, Goya, Frida Kahlo, traveling, India, Mexico, Venice, Morocco, Madrid, San Sebastian, Iceland, new challenges, old traditions, curiosity, my tastebuds, bourbon, brown sugar, cardamom, lavender, geranium, rosemary, herbs and flowers, fragrance, essential oils, frankincense, sandalwood, myrrh, grapefruit, lemon, yuzu, noodles, tempura, cork, leather, glass, wood, stone, slate, wool, cashmere, silk, sequins, embroidery, Marni, Prada, Jil Sander, Rick Owens, Comme des Garçons, gratins, raw milk, cows, grass, sunrise over the mountain, sunset over the lake, collaboration, allies, support, confidence, children, curiosity, humor, laughing, giggling, chortling, spices, curry, coconut, ice cream, sorbet, popsicles, sneezing, caramel, chocolate, nougat, youth, old age, middle age, grey hair, any hair at all, strength, resilience, courage, kale, quinoa, low cholesterol, high standards, movies, books, Momofuku, Thomas Keller, Wylie Dufresne, Alice Waters, Ferran Adria, Arzak, MFK Fisher, Laurie Colwin, Suzanne Goin, Los Angeles, AOC, Lucques, Campanile, La Brea Bakery, Fairway, Chelsea Market, Dickson's, Lucy's Whey, Eataly, Union Square farmers market, Chinatown, dim sum, Mitsuwa, tofu skin, fresh fish, pickled mussels, pickles in general, flamenco, tapas, molecular gastronomy, textiles, ikat, bargello, velvet, tie dye, street food, fresh potato chips, ethnic markets, theater, poetry, wine, sherry, port, ginger, fields, grains, purple rice, wild rice, risotto, forests, sequoias, silver birch, pine cones, orchids, peonies, ranunculus, naps, meditation, yoga, hiking, sweating, swearing, discipline, sex, romance, loyalty, long walks on the beach, margaritas, rainstorms, kidding!, driftwood, mobiles, driving, convertibles, OH MY GOD I COULD GO ON FOREVER!!! What I'm trying to say is that I am grateful for life and all the complexities and emotions and smells and tastes and people and things it delivers on a regular and generous basis. I am grateful for you, readers, who so kindly share it all with me. I wish you all the contentment that comes from wanting what you have.

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My mother was born on Halloween. Today would have been her 83rd birthday. She definitely had witchy qualities: black hair and flashing black eyes, a long nose, and a fearless quality that was both admirable and daunting. But she was a good witch, and an even better cook. Her paella, enchiladas, shrimp scampi and huachinango a la veracruzana made for some legendary dinner parties. And the German chocolate cake she made for my birthday every year will never be forgotten. Here's to you, June Audrey Chávez Silverman, que en paz descanses. Thanks for showing me that, in all things, where there is a will there is a way.
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I guess you can't call them ice cubes if they're round, huh? If you're not already familiar with the craze for super-large blocks of ice in cocktails, let this be your introduction. Although I'm no expert in the matter, I believe this concept originated with the Japanese. Let's face it, from tea to little girls' undies, no one takes a fetish further. For them, it was all about the ultimate glass of whiskey. The way to drink it cold but undiluted was poured over a large, perfectly spherical and very-slow-melting ice ball. In an aggressive but skilled fashion, Japanese bartenders—and some local copycats—actually carve them out of solid blocks of ice. (If you doubt me, see here.) For a slightly less dangerous approach, with strikingly similar results, you can simply use Muji's spherical silicone mold. The countless "Penicillin" cocktails I've enjoyed at Momofuku Ssam—and also recreated at home—finally convinced me to try the big ice thing. At Momofuku they use blocks, but these round ones work just fine. They're about 3 inches in diameter.
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Once upon a time there was a very spoiled glutton who whined to her potter friend that she really, really needed some condiment bowls. Never mind that said potter had already made the glutton an adorable set of tiny plates, several vases, and a gorgeous platter that the glutton accidentally dropped and has been mourning for the last 8 years. Still, the glutton had the gall to voice this bold wish, and the potter friend had the grace to grant it. Thus the postman delivered a box last week from the lovely and talented Mirena Kim containing a set of five little beauties, and they were immediately pressed into service. (Want some of your own? She's just beginning to make her creations available here.) Do you know what mise en place means? It's sort of the culinary equivalent of one of my favorite sayings: "A place for everything and everything in its place." (Yes, that's been especially beloved by all of my housemates.) 
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It's here again: fall, the season of transition. It bridges the vast chasm between sultry summer and winter's austerity. Nature's gorgeous swan song, fall reaches a grand crescendo before its blazing colors are finally extinguished. The leaves have begun to turn, with bursts of ochre and russet punctuating the drive from country to city. I have always found this time of year especially poignant, for we are witnessing the demise of all that we saw come to life these past months. It is the natural order of things, and it is bittersweet. My dear friend, the talented illustrator and creative director Jan Richter, captures the intensity of fall's colors in these gorgeous illustrations of the season's glories.
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