Q: Dear Flash,
My girlfriend has more virtues than I could possibly count. Her breath, unfortunately, isn't one of them. She has a love of extremely strong-smelling foods in quantities that are sometimes hard to believe—the other day she made an entire meal of nothing but raw garlic and cabbage, two of the most odiferous foods there are.
I can trace the beginnings of my love affair with all things gastronomic to a very young age. I was an Army brat living in Germany with only one TV channel in English: AFN, the Armed Forces Network. Mixed in with old sitcom reruns and soap operas was the occasional PBS cooking show.
Finding the right cookbook is like finding the right shoe. There's the look of the thing, then there's the function of it. Sure, those wingtips are as stylish as all get out, but they pinch at the toes, and you certainly wouldn't want to run any marathons in them. In the grueling race that is cooking for your family, you need a cushioned shoe and a functional guide, one that can hold up to the task of finding something to feed their young faces day in and day out. I'm a sneaker fanatic, myself.