We spotted thirty-five river cooters and sliders in a half-mile stretch of the Eno River, all but a few basking on logs.
David Walbert is a historian, writer, educator, craftsman, web designer, erstwhile physicist, sometime duck rancher, devoted cook, and several other things. He writes about various of those things here. There’s more about me, and there’s also a more traditional cv if you’re feeling more traditional.
We spotted thirty-five river cooters and sliders in a half-mile stretch of the Eno River, all but a few basking on logs.
The Bradford pear in its two weeks of glory. The other fifty it is useless. And even now it stinks of fish.
Chive omelets. Chive mayonnaise. Chive scones. Chive, um, beans and rice.
It is spring, at least.

At about this time I realized that the young man had no earthly idea how to make a tuna melt. (photo credit)
I was intrigued by this article in today’s New York Times about “Mormon cuisine,” not because (as is the point of the article) it’s changing (what cuisine isn’t?) but because I had trouble seeing what was uniquely Mormon about any of it. Read on
A few years ago I bought some fresh pasta at the farmers market. (Well, frozen fresh pasta, anyway.) I asked how much it cost, and the lady said six dollars. Not cheap for plain noodles, I thought, but ok — let’s try the new business. I handed over six dollars. She handed me a six-ounce package of noodles.
That’s sixteen dollars a pound for noodles, y’all. Silly me, thinking I’d get a whole pound for just six bucks.
As I have since learned, it isn’t actually all that difficult to make fresh noodles. What’s difficult is making them look perfect. That takes equipment and space. But if you are willing to accept the style commonly known as rustic, you can make fresh pasta for a weeknight dinner. Seriously. You need a food processor, but you certainly don’t need a pasta machine. And depending on how you shape your noodles, it only takes about ten minutes of hands-on work. Read on
Thomas Jefferson was a man of many interests, and being President of the United States doesn’t seem to have deterred him from pursuing them. If from the White House he couldn’t putter in his beloved garden at Monticello, he still managed to keep up with the business. During his eight years in Washington, he kept track in his journal of the produce available month by month at the city market and drew up a chart showing each item’s earliest and latest availability during his residence — a fascinating, if a bit foggy and bubbly, window into early American gardening and vegetable consumption.
Because I’ll not be out-geeked by a two-centuries-dead president, I’ve made an HTML version of Jefferson’s chart. His handwritten original was quite clever (you can see it at low resolution on the Monticello website) and I’ve preserved the basic design while adding a bit of interactivity: for now just the ability to mouse over headings to highlight rows and columns, but eventually also to view definitions and commentary on various items of produce. Read on
Lest you think that the symbolic gesture of the self-righteous reformer is an invention of our own age, let me assure you that it has been with us for a good couple of centuries. Tonight I bring you conscientious consumption, 1830s-style!
But first, as always, a little historical background. Read on
For Christmas dinner I wanted to try something historical — besides the cookies, I mean, and other than a plum pudding, which nearly killed me the one time I tried to eat it after the full-on holiday feast. The centerpiece was roast beef (top sirloin, which is nearly as good as prime rib and about a third the price per pound of actual meat), and heaven knows people ate enough beef in the nineteenth century. What did they put on that beef? Well, how about Worcestershire sauce? Read on