I've come to South San Francisco on a foggy Sunday morning to learn how to bake challah. Over the phone, Celia told me to arrive with hands clean and dressed in something that can take a little flour and egg. "And dear, don't bring a pen or notebook. Challah is made with the eye and hands, not a recipe."

"There is a pubic hair in my pasta." I said this calmly, with as much dignity as I could muster. Across the table from me, Karen paused in mid-chew and put down her knife and fork. Her eyes quickly scanned the surrounding diners for any undue attention. Perhaps they heard me say "pubic." We were in Grenoble, and people understood English very well.

My Double Chocolate Mint Cookies are the best cookies in the universe. This is not bragging; it is true. I challenge you to bring me a better cookie. Why are my cookies so good? I have a secret ingredient—I bake with love. I also have fabulous recipes.

We approached the window of the yellow shack, where a sun-beaten woman in her forties stood beside a cash register. "Two bread bowls of chowder and a Sierra Nevada," I said. Marc paid with a twenty and we waited for change. Below us, under the weathered gray boards of the pier, sea lions lounged and barked in the late afternoon sun.
"This is it," I said.
"Nervous?" Marc asked.