In a kafuffle over truffles. In Istria.

In a kafuffle over truffles. In Istria.

For the normal man, September is the start of football season. For Don Day, September is the start of truffle season. As I write this, I am not in front of my 60-inch Samsung, checking my fantasy league performance; I am in the heart of truffle country hoping to...
When in Venice

When in Venice

The Champagne Lady. That’s what they call Don Day’s Wife. For seldom a day goes by when she doesn’t tootle a flute of sparkling wine. It’s rarely real Champagne. Usually it’s a French Cremant. Occasionally, a Spanish Cava. And once-in-a-while, an Italian Prosecco. But...
Oh, my goodness. Cherimoyas.

Oh, my goodness. Cherimoyas.

“If I were asked which would be the best fruit, I would choose without hesitation, cherimoya. Its taste, indeed, surpasses that of every other fruit.” There were two reasons I had to write about cherimoyas. I had been reading this book Life In Mexico, a...
I’m embarassed to dance the salsa. But I can make it.

I’m embarassed to dance the salsa. But I can make it.

Don Day doesn’t dance, unless he’s had a few drinks. Don Day doesn’t cook, no matter how many drinks he’s had. Because Don Day’s Wife doesn’t allow him to cook. In fact, Don Day is staunchly discouraged from ever entering the kitchen. Well that is until there...
Once a king, always a king.

Once a king, always a king.

The name of William King is not listed among the great ones of the earth. No monuments will ever be erected to his memory, for he was only a cook. Yet what a cook! In him blazed the fire of genius which, at the white heat of inspiration, drove him one day, in the old...