Category Archives: Food

Those Silly Kitty Cats Are at It Again

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And a Four‑Year Mystery Is Finally Solved

Banner and Balboa, those silly kitties,  have a talent — not just for finding things, but for finding the exact things I don’t want them to find. Rubber bands, paper clips, bottle caps, the occasional bug… and yes, even my car keys. (If you missed Banner’s infamous key‑hiding caper, you can read the full story here: Tale of the Lost Keys — October 3, 2021.)

Their preferred playground is the middle of my tiny kitchen floor. Runner‑up: the bathtub. At least in the bathroom they’re out from underfoot.

Anyway, there has been a mystery in my house for more than four years. It only ever annoyed me when I wanted to use my food processor — and only when I wanted to grate carrots — so you can see why it wasn’t exactly top of mind.

The Food Processor Era Begins

I bought that food processor in a moment of weakness. A literal one. I had just shredded a five‑pound bag of carrots by hand for a carrot cake, and my arm was about to fall off. My thought was “There has to be an easier way.” I watch the Food Network. I watch the cooking shows. You drop ingredients in, press a button, and voilà — shreds, purées, grinds, blends. It was time to modernize.

I brought it home, plugged it in, dropped in a carrot or two, and it worked beautifully. Perfect shreds. Coleslaw here I come. I gave it a place of honor on the counter.

The Carrot Catastrophe

Now, I’m not always the most mechanical of people, and the next time I tried to shred carrots… mush. Tiny bits. Sand. What was going on?

I ran to my computer and watched YouTube videos. Looked simple. Tried again. Same result. Back to the old‑fashioned hand grater I went, but the food processor was still great for bread crumbs, crushing crackers, and grinding honey grahams for pie crusts.

Over the years I kept reviewing how‑to videos and giving carrots another try. No success.

Then one day, I had an epiphany. I Googled the parts of a food processor.

And there it was. The answer to my question. The missing part. The center shaft.

 

I only had the shaft with the blade. So when I put carrots in, they got shredded by the disc and then immediately chopped to bits by the blade underneath. I couldn’t remove the blade without having the center shaft to put in its place.

Head‑slap. Duh.

 

Enter: The Culprit

Okay all you culinary experts, stop laughing. I can explain.

Not long after I got Balboa, I found the little culprit in the kitchen playing with a plastic thing. I had no idea what it was — I thought it was something he found under the sink. He used to go in and out of there all the time, and I figured it was leftover from when the workers replaced the countertops.

Now that I realize what I’m missing, I recognize the thing as the shaft from the food processor.

Needless to say, it’s long gone. It was tossed even before the Great Kitchen Declutter.

Balboa posing in the middle of the kitchen with the food‑processor shaft he ‘liberated,’ looking very satisfied with himself.

The Wallet‑Smacking Finale

The worst part? That tiny plastic thingy costs almost as much as a new food processor to replace. Can you believe that.

One small moment of stupidity… one big bang on the wallet. But at least I finally know why I couldn’t shred carrots with my food processor.

When that part gets here, I may have to make a carrot cake to celebrate.

 

Summer on the Cape: A Visit to Marconi Beach

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A roadside “Welcome to Cape Cod” sign surrounded by tall green trees, featuring a lighthouse illustration and the text “Massachusetts – Cape Cod & Islands – 2026.”

Crossing the Bridge Into Cape Time

It’s summer in Massachusetts, and that means my brain automatically drifts east toward the Cape. Or Cape Cod for all of you visiting from away. Around here, we just say “the Cape,” and everyone knows exactly what we mean. We’re heading over the bridge—doesn’t matter if it’s Bourne or Sagamore—once you’re south of either one, you’ve officially crossed into Cape Time.

Lunch, Seals, and Fresh Catch

After weaving through the inevitable bridge traffic, the whole Cape opens up like a choose‑your‑own‑adventure book. One of my favorite early stops is Chatham Pier Fish Market. I swear, nothing tastes more like summer than fresh fish eaten with the sun on your shoulders and gulls arguing overhead. The fishing boats unload right in front of you, the seals pop up hoping for snacks, and I’m sitting there humming “Yummy Yummy Yummy” because yes—I’ve got fresh catch in my tummy and a whole day ahead of me.

Heading Into the National Seashore

With lunch behind me, I can wander anywhere along the Cape Cod National Seashore. Miles of dunes, beaches, and history—yes, history. Cape Cod isn’t all sun and sand and sharks. It played a very real part in developing the wireless technology we rely on every single day.

Marconi Beach: Where Wireless Communication Was Born

A Little Science, A Little Drama

Guglielmo Marconi built the world’s first successful wireless transmitter—basically the ancestor of every text message you’ve ever sent. Thanks to his invention, the RMS Carpathia heard the Titanic’s SOS and raced to help, saving more than 700 people. Not bad for a guy tinkering with radio waves.

Why Cape Cod?

To send signals across the Atlantic, Marconi needed stations positioned just right. He built them in Poldhu, England; Glace Bay, Nova Scotia; and—surprise—South Wellfleet, Massachusetts. Yes, right here on the Cape. On January 18, 1903, the South Wellfleet station made history by completing the first two‑way wireless communication between Europe and America. Before long, ship‑to‑shore messages became big business. You could send a social note or a business update for fifty cents a word, which makes today’s texting bills look pretty good.

Cape Cod: The First “Voice of America”

For about fifteen years, the South Wellfleet station was the powerhouse of North American wireless communication. Skilled telegraphers tapped out messages at about seventeen words a minute, and the station—known by its call sign “CC” for Cape Cod—became the unofficial voice reaching out across the ocean.

Erosion, War, and the End of an Era

Nothing on the Cape stays still for long, especially the coastline. The cliff under Marconi’s station was eroding at roughly three feet a year, inching the towers closer to disaster. By 1917, with World War I underway and new technology replacing spark‑gap transmitters, the Navy shut the station down for security reasons. It never reopened, and by 1920 the whole operation was dismantled.

What Remains Today

Most of the original site has been claimed by the Atlantic—those cliffs don’t play around. But the surrounding land is protected as part of the Cape Cod National Seashore. If you stand on the bluff on a cold winter day, looking out over the ocean, it’s easy to imagine the crackle of early radio signals leaping across the waves. This quiet stretch of coastline is where global wireless communication truly began.

 

Boogie in the Bogs: A Massachusetts Cranberry Story

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A close-up view of fresh cranberries, glossy and bright red, filling the entire frame.

Sweet Stuff and a Tart Little Legend

We’ve talked about all the sweet things Massachusetts is famous for — cookies, candies, Cambridge’s confectioner’s row, and that little “INN” in Wareham — but there’s one flavor we haven’t touched yet. And honestly? It’s one of my favorites.

Cranberries. The original sweet‑tart.

Fall Means Bog Season

Once fall rolls around, it’s time to boogie in the bogs. The colors turn electric red, the air gets crisp, and every farm stand suddenly smells like cider donuts and chocolate‑covered cranberries. I will happily pig out on those tart little gems until someone pries the bag out of my hands.

Ocean Spray: Born Tart, Raised Bold

Ocean Spray is a cornerstone of Massachusetts life, and its headquarters sit right in Lakeville — practically down the road from me. I’ve always loved their slogan: Born Tart. Raised Bold. It fits the berry and the people who grow it.

The company started with just three maverick farmers who weren’t afraid of bold beginnings. Today, around 700 family growers carry that same spirit forward. That’s a lot of families keeping a very Massachusetts tradition alive.

A Berry With Deep Roots

Cranberries aren’t just a fall decoration or a Thanksgiving side dish. They’re one of the oldest cultivated crops in New England. Native peoples harvested wild cranberries long before colonists arrived, using them for food, medicine, and dyes. When commercial bogs began popping up in the 1800s, Massachusetts quickly became the cranberry capital of the country.

And here’s the fun part: Most of those bogs aren’t on Cape Cod at all. They’re north of the bridges — in Carver, Wareham, Middleboro, Lakeville, and all through southeastern Massachusetts. The Cape gets the fame, but the mainland grows the berries.

How a Bog Works

Cranberry bogs aren’t ponds, and they aren’t fields. They’re a little of both. The vines grow low to the ground, and when harvest time comes, the farmers flood the bog. Cranberries float — which means the berries rise to the surface in a bright red sea. Workers corral them with big booms, scoop them up, and send them off to become juice, sauce, dried snacks, and those chocolate‑covered beauties I love so much.

If you’ve never seen a bog harvest, put it on your fall bucket list. It’s like watching the land turn into a giant bowl of cranberry punch.

Cranberries: A Year‑Round Massachusetts Flavor

Cranberries may be harvested in the fall, but they’re a Massachusetts flavor for all seasons. Summer cookouts, beach days, backyard evenings — cranberries show up everywhere if you let them. Sprinkle a handful into your summer salad and suddenly all those greens have a little bite, a surprise pop of tart flavor that jumps out and wakes the whole bowl up. And one of my favorite summer treats proves it.

A Seasonal Favorite: The Loaded Cranberry Hot Dog

This is the hot dog that says cranberries aren’t just for Thanksgiving — they’re for July, August, and every sunny day in between.

A hot dog in a bun topped with stuffing and cranberry sauce, served in a red‑and‑white checkered basket with bowls of stuffing and cranberry sauce in the background.

Here’s how to build one:

  • Place cooked hot dogs and buns on a platter for serving.
  • Add cranberry sauce into a serving bowl with a spoon.
  • Add gravy into a serving bowl with a spoon.
  • Add stuffing into a serving bowl with a spoon.
  • Build your hot dog by adding stuffing, a spoonful of cranberry sauce, and a drizzle of gravy over the top for a fully loaded summer hot dog.

It’s sweet, savory, tart, bold — and it works shockingly well. Cranberries aren’t just a fall tradition. They’re a Massachusetts tradition, all year long.

 

Massachusetts: Where the Sweet Stuff Happen

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Five glossy chocolate Junior Mints candies arranged on a white surface, with one cut open to reveal the smooth white mint filling.

With the Fourth of July just passed and everyone enjoying waterfront strolls, cookouts and all the summer traditions, I fell down a fun little rabbit hole this morning — the “Massachusetts Food Hall of Fame.” We all know our big hitters: Toll House cookies born in Whitman, Fig Newtons created in Cambridge, and the cranberry empire that practically defines the state. But here’s one I didn’t expect to add to the list:

Junior Mints are made right here in Massachusetts.

A Minty Massachusetts Surprise

Not invented here — but still produced here, and have been for 75 years. That’s a long time for a candy to stay put.

Back in 1949, the James O. Welch Company released Junior Mints and named them after a popular Broadway show called Junior Miss. Welch was based in Cambridge, and at the time the area was known as Confectioner’s Row.

In the mid‑1940s, more than 65 candy companies operated in Cambridge. Sixty‑five! Today, only one remains — the Junior Mints plant, still tucked into an unassuming building near Central Square.

You’ve probably driven past it without realizing you were passing the birthplace of movie‑theater minty goodness.

The Last Candy Maker Standing

The factory is now owned by Tootsie Roll Industries, who took over the brand in 1993. And despite its quiet little presence, the place is busy: it turns out over 15 million Junior Mints every single day.

They also make Charleston Chews and Sugar Babies, so if you grew up with those in your Halloween bag, there’s a good chance they came from Cambridge too.

Mint Cousins… But Not Related

And yes — even though Junior Mints and York Peppermint Patties look like cousins, they’re not related. York started in Pennsylvania and eventually landed under Hershey. Massachusetts gets the minty chocolate pillow; Pennsylvania gets the minty chocolate puck.

A Sweet Addition to the Massachusetts Legacy

So now, when you’re grabbing snacks for the parade or the fireworks, you can toss a box of Junior Mints into your cart and say you’re supporting local history. Toll House cookies, Fig Newtons, and Junior Mints — three very different treats, all tied to our little corner of New England.

Not bad for a state that’s only 190 miles long. I guess I know where my sweet tooth comes from!

 

 

Pillsbury Cruffins

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The Cruffin Man, Pop ‘n Fresh’s Cousin

Do you know the Cruffin Man,
The Cruffin Man, the Cruffin Man?
Oh, do you know the Cruffin Man
Who lives on Drury Lane?

The cruffin has been floating around culinary circles since at least 2013, when Kate Reid of Melbourne, Australia, started making waves with her version. So I suppose we can safely blame the Aussies for adding one more calorie‑packed breakfast treat to our diets.

The word cruffin is exactly what it sounds like — a croissant–muffin hybrid. Traditionally, it’s made by baking laminated dough in a muffin tin. Sounds fancy, but there’s a wonderful shortcut thanks to our old friend, the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

One of the best things Pillsbury ever did, in my opinion, was to take their crescent roll dough and turn it into sheets. No more trying to patch little triangles together to make one larger piece. Now you just pop the tube and roll it out.

I’m a latecomer to the cruffin game. I hadn’t even heard of them until a couple of months ago. Intrigued, I dug around and found a simple, no‑baking‑skills‑required recipe. The original makes 12, but you absolutely don’t have to go that big. You can make just four very easily — perfect for a single person. I’ll give you those tips after the recipe.

Freshly baked cruffin with crisp, swirled layers and cinnamon sugar on a blue plate.

Pillsbury Cruffins

Ingredients

  • ¾ cup granulated sugar
  • 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
  • 3 cans (8 oz each) refrigerated Pillsbury Original Crescent Dough Sheet
  • 6 tablespoons butter, softened

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 375°F. Grease 12 regular‑size muffin cups with shortening or spray with cooking spray. Place a large piece of heavy‑duty foil on the lower oven rack to catch any butter‑sugar drips. In a small bowl, mix sugar and cinnamon; set aside.
  2. Unroll 1 dough sheet on a lightly floured work surface. Using your fingers, pat the dough to even out the edges and flatten it into a 13×8‑inch rectangle.
  3. Spread 2 tablespoons softened butter evenly over the dough. Sprinkle 2 tablespoons of the cinnamon‑sugar mixture over the butter and gently press it in.
  4. Starting with the long side, roll the dough up tightly. Pinch the seam to seal so you have one long log.
  5. With a sharp knife, cut the log in half crosswise to form 2 shorter logs. Then cut each short log in half lengthwise to make 4 pieces.
  6. To shape each cruffin: hold the dough piece with the cut sides facing up. Starting at one end, wrap it into a spiral.
  7. Tuck the tail underneath and place in a muffin cup. Repeat with the remaining 2 dough sheets. Set aside the remaining cinnamon‑sugar mixture for rolling after baking.
  8. Bake 18–21 minutes or until golden brown. Using a fork or small icing spatula, immediately remove the cruffins from the muffin cups and roll them in the remaining cinnamon‑sugar mixture. Place on a cooling rack. Serve warm.

Notes

As you can see in the above picture I rolled 2 of the cruffins backward (or inside out by mistake) they still baked up beautifully. This resipe is very forgiving

  • Granulated sugar gives the classic cinnamon‑sugar flavor, but brown sugar works too.
  • Mix powdered sugar with a splash of milk to drizzle over the warm cruffins.
  • If you’re cooking for one (like me), you don’t need all 12. Use one dough sheet to make four cruffins and grease only four muffin cups.

And that’s the joy of these little cruffins — a fancy bakery moment without any of the fuss. They’re quick, they’re fun, and they make an ordinary morning feel just a little more special. If you give them a try, let me know how your spirals turn out. I’ll be over here humming the Cruffin Man song and brushing cinnamon sugar off my counter.