“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” my wife says. It’s a sunny Saturday morning, early September.  I’m climbing a ladder leaned up against the house. It’s that time of year. The air has begun to change; it’s both crisp and faintly rotten-smelling. Where we live we are rich in cottonwoods, proving that riches can also be a curse. Trees with big leaves, cottonwoods start unleaving early in the fall. Our trees are mature, tall beasts.  The eaves and gutters on […]

Categories: Eating, Essay • Tags: food, memoir, nutmeg, passatelli, pumpkin_pie, ravioli, travel