Perugia, Italy. May, 1988

Halfway through the adventure Nick and I were having -- researching, photographing and eating our way through all of Italy’s dolci for his Great Italian Desserts book -- Miriam joined us in Bologna. From there we made our way to Perugia in our little Fiat Panda, now jam-packed with luggage and acquisitions, professional and otherwise. So much so that when I turned the car down a street the map had indicated was the most direct route to our destination and it suddenly became a staircase, I couldn’t see anything in the rear-view mirror in order to back up, much to the amusement of the gathering locals. Eventually we got free, parked, had lunch and snapped this photo (which for reasons she still can’t explain, is one of Miriam’s favorites.) It was on this same Perugian soggiorno that we visited Sandri, the enticing pastry shop about which both Simon and Marin would later rhapsodize at length: Marin for the pasticceria he remembered from his student days, Simon for the cheese bread whose displayed price, he didn’t realize before his purchase, was for an etto not for the whole bread, which, he says, cost him almost $40.

Perugia, Italy. May, 1988

Halfway through the adventure Nick and I were having -- researching, photographing and eating our way through all of Italy’s dolci for his Great Italian Desserts book -- Miriam joined us in Bologna. From there we made our way to Perugia in our little Fiat Panda, now jam-packed with luggage and acquisitions, professional and otherwise. So much so that when I turned the car down a street the map had indicated was the most direct route to our destination and it suddenly became a staircase, I couldn’t see anything in the rear-view mirror in order to back up, much to the amusement of the gathering locals. Eventually we got free, parked, had lunch and snapped this photo (which for reasons she still can’t explain, is one of Miriam’s favorites.) It was on this same Perugian soggiorno that we visited Sandri, the enticing pastry shop about which both Simon and Marin would later rhapsodize at length: Marin for the pasticceria he remembered from his student days, Simon for the cheese bread whose displayed price, he didn’t realize before his purchase, was for an etto not for the whole bread, which, he says, cost him almost $40.

Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, NY. Easter, 2017

A series of health issues has not robbed our friend Miriam of her dignified, regal mien. Here she is on her first outing since hip surgery, after having made her way up the stairs to Nick's second-floor apartment for Easter dinner. I only get to see Miriam on holiday occasions at Nick's home. To see another portrait of her, this one from Christmas 2015, click here.

Brooklyn, NY. December 25, 2015

Happy New Year. I love this photo of my friend Miriam. She appears to be a no-nonsense type, when actually she is very much a nonsense type. Here she is at Nick's Christmas lunch-into-dinner party. Because Nick is a pastry chef, the meal ended with four (count 'em) dessert courses, some of which you're likely to see here in the near future. And speaking of the future...today marks five years of my posting daily blog entries, and I'm thinking of making some changes. Weekly entries? Photos transferred from Instagram? Occasional postings with no set schedule? Or keeping things pretty much as they are? Can't decide. Thank you to the daily readers who've been with SLS for the whole five years. You know who you are.

Paris. New Year's Day, 2006

An invitation to a New Year’s Eve party in the City of Lights, hosted by a pastry chef, featuring a Moroccan master serving up couscous...who would say non? Nick and I had already spent a week in Paris, mostly eating and walking, looking and shopping. My birthday: lunch at fabled Bofinger; dinner at Mon Viel Ami (thanks, Nick.) Miriam arrived in time for an end-of-year nosh with us at Le Comptoir (Nick and I had also been there a few days earlier.) And failing to find a suitable fireplace, I’d tossed my annual Dec. 31 list of resentments into the cold and dark waters of the Seine, hoping they’d drift away and not enter the new year with me. The party at Dorie and Michael’s was warm and sophisticated, the food memorable, the conversation stimulating. And as midnight approached, we walked to the nearby Pont des Arts to watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the distance, marking the stroke of midnight and signaling the sparklers all around us to light up. Everyone was happy. Happier still those of us who headed back to the party for the Pierre Hermé Ispahan-inspired dessert Dorie had prepared -- lychee and raspberry ice creams, candied rose petals, lavender marshmallows, plus financiers and teensy madeleines. Best New Year’s ever.

Assisi. May, 1988

Some come to Assisi in pilgrimage to honor San Francesco. Some to visit the tomb of Santa Chiara (St. Clare, the patron saint, as it happens, of television.) Some for the frescoes of Giotto, Duccio and Simone Martini. Nick, Miriam and I came to check out the bakeries and pastry shops as research for his Great Italian Desserts book. An interesting selection of old and new in this shop that remains happily in memory: pine-nut cookies, panforte, shortbreads, almond cookies, meringues, cream-filled puff-pastry delights. I remember the young man whose shop this was as being extremely nice and hospitable, and somewhat amazed that Americans would be as interested in his business and craft as we were. As a courtesy, of course, we purchased a great number of items and were professionally bound to eat every last one.

Florence, Italy. May, 1988

When Nick, Miriam and I drove into Florence, we decided to park our fully-packed car in a guarded lot. (The attendant, when Nick asked him to pay special attention to the car, said he would guard it with una pistola.) Then on we went to Pasticceria Robiglio, where Signore R gave us a tour of his wares (some seen here in the shop’s front window) and sent us on our way with a zuccotto (a confection of ice-cream-filled cake shaped like a pumpkin.) So when we arrived at Trattoria 4 Leoni (a place I’d remembered from an earlier visit) for lunch, the staff refrigerated our zuccotto and, after some half-hearted protesting, enjoyed it with us for dessert. No one touched the car, by the way, and we headed off to nearby Lucca to reconnect with friends and to spend the night.

Assisi. May, 1988

Some come to Assisi in pilgrimage to honor San Francesco. Some to visit the tomb of Santa Chiara (St. Clare, the patron saint, as it happens, of television.) Some for the frescoes of Giotto, Duccio and Simone Martini. Nick, Miriam and I came to check out the bakeries and pastry shops as research for his Great Italian Desserts book. An interesting selection of old and new in this shop that remains happily in memory: pine-nut cookies, panforte, shortbreads, almond cookies, meringues, cream-filled puff-pastry delights. I remember the young man whose shop this was as being extremely nice and hospitable, and somewhat amazed that Americans would be as interested in his business and craft as we were. As a courtesy, of course, we purchased a great number of items and were professionally bound to eat every last one.

Paris. December, 2005

Oh, those wacky French. Who else would issue a diplôme to someone to commend his efforts in defending the true l’œuf mayonnaise? Sure, I like those hard-boiled eggs (somehow the French do them better than we do) cloaked in a rich egg-and-oil-based mayonnaise sauce. Seems the Association de Sauvegarde de l’Œuf Mayonnaise bestows a “best of” prize for this dish each year to a Parisian restaurateur. Nick, Miriam and I saw this framed honor as we lunched at M. Camdeborde’s excellent ASOM-prize-winning bistro, Le Comptoir, on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve as snow gently fell on those outside waiting for a table. We had pied de cochon, if memory serves.

Lucca, Italy. May, 1988

I have not seen my friend Antonio in almost 25 years. We met for the first time in 1984 when I was touring Italy solo, taking trains all over the place, from Venice to Palermo. When I got off the train in Lucca, Antonio was there waiting for me. We’d never met before, but we’d corresponded frequently (in the days before email) and exchanged artworks through a network of mail artist connections. I remember staying at his parents’ house, touring the city, visiting him in his graphic design studio, meeting his girlfriend Roberta (in orange, above). I have not seen him since visiting Lucca in 1988 (Antonio is holding a wineglass in the photo) with Nick and Miriam. If all goes as planned, Antonio will be coming to meet us in Portovenere today with his wife Anna Maria and his children Suzy and Tiziano. I cannot wait to see him again, to meet his wife and his son and daughter.

Perugia, Italy. May, 1988

Ah, the splendid pastry shop Sandri on this medieval town’s main thoroughfare. No wonder so many people I know have been here. My Croatian friend Marin, when he was a high-school student in Perugia for the summer, was a regular visitor. Nick, Miriam and I were here while doing research for Nick’s Great Italian Desserts book. And my friend Simon, when he was trying to find a place he would like to live. (He finally chose Tucson.) Simon went into Sandri, saw these cheese breads, saw the price listed, and asked for one to be wrapped up for purchase. It was only when he was presented with the bill that he realized that the price was per etto (about 3.5 ounces) and he told me his weighty Crescia cost something like $40. Oh, well, I’m sure it was good.

Paris. December, 2005

Oh, those wacky French. Who else would issue a diplôme to someone to commend his efforts in defending the true l’œuf mayonnaise? Sure, I like those hard-boiled eggs (somehow the French do them better than we do) cloaked in a rich egg-and-oil-based mayonnaise sauce. Seems the Association de Sauvegarde de l’Œuf Mayonnaise bestows a “best of” prize for this dish each year to a Parisian restaurateur. Nick, Miriam and I saw this framed honor as we lunched at M. Camdeborde’s excellent ASOM-prize-winning bistro, Le Comptoir, on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve as snow gently fell on those outside waiting for a table. We had pied de cochon, if memory serves.

Perugia. May, 1988

Ah, the splendid pastry shop Sandri on this medieval town’s main thoroughfare. No wonder so many people I know have been here. My Croatian friend Marin, when he was a high-school student in Perugia for the summer, was a regular visitor. Nick, Miriam and I were here while doing research for Nick’s Great Italian Desserts book. And my friend Simon, when he was trying to find a place he would like to live. (He finally chose Tucson.) Simon went into Sandri, saw these cheese breads, saw the price listed, and asked for one to be wrapped up for purchase. It was only when he was presented with the bill that he realized that the price was per etto (about 3.5 ounces) and he told me his weighty Crescia cost something like $40. Oh, well, I’m sure it was good.

Assisi, Italy. May, 1988

Granted, most people come to Assisi to admire the Giotto frescoes. To follow in the footsteps of native son San Francesco. Or maybe to visit the nearby resting place of his Facebook friend Santa Chiara, patron saint of television (no joke). Well, we did all of those things. But then Miriam, Nick and I took some paths less traveled in this beautiful Umbrian hilltown. Good meals, visits to friendly proprietors of local pastry shops (Nick was researching his Great Italian Desserts book) and then just some ordinary things like dropping into a hardware store (where I bought one of those clicking ignitors for manually lit gas stoves, which I still use today.) And this. A reminder of how completely gaga tutto Italia was about the King of Pop’s tour. He continued to dog us for the rest of our Italian visit. And the first leg of my journey home (a flight from Torino to Zurich) was actually dominated by his staff and technical crew on their way to the next gig. Michael, it seems, had arranged private transportation.

Paris. January 1, 2006

Happy New Year. Sandy Leonard Snaps is six years old today. And since most of my friends can't even remember much of what occurred last week, I'm taking advantage of this and diving into the SLS archives for many of 2017's postings. Starting today. So... 

An invitation to a New Year’s Eve party in the City of Lights, hosted by a pastry chef, featuring a Moroccan master serving up couscous...who would say non? Nick and I had already spent a week in Paris, mostly eating and walking, looking and shopping. My birthday: lunch at fabled Bofinger; dinner at Mon Viel Ami (thanks, Nick.) Miriam arrived in time for an end-of-year nosh with us at Le Comptoir (Nick and I had also been there a few days earlier.) And failing to find a suitable fireplace, I’d tossed my annual Dec. 31 list of resentments into the cold and dark waters of the Seine, hoping they’d drift away and not enter the new year with me. The party at Dorie and Michael’s was warm and sophisticated, the food memorable, the conversation stimulating. And as midnight approached, we walked to the nearby Pont des Arts to watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the distance, marking the stroke of midnight and signaling the sparklers all around us to light up. Everyone was happy. Happier still those of us who headed back to the party for the Pierre Hermé Ispahan-inspired dessert Dorie had prepared -- lychee and raspberry ice creams, candied rose petals, lavender marshmallows, plus financiers and teensy madeleines. Best New Year’s ever.

Lucca, Italy. May, 1988

I had not seen my friend Antonio in almost 25 years. We met for the first time in 1984 when I was touring Italy solo, taking trains all over the place, from Venice to Palermo. When I got off the train in Lucca, Antonio was there waiting for me. We’d never met before, but we’d corresponded frequently (in the days before email) and exchanged artworks through a network of mail artist connections. I remember staying at his parents’ house, touring the city, visiting him in his graphic design studio, meeting his girlfriend Roberta (in orange, above). I have not seen him since visiting Lucca in 1988 (Antonio is holding a wineglass in the photo) with Nick and Miriam. Fortunately, Antonio came to meet us in Portovenere when our boat docked there in 2012. It was as if no time at all had passed.

Florence, Italy. May, 1988

When Nick, Miriam and I drove into Florence, we decided to park our fully-packed car in a guarded lot. (The attendant, when Nick asked him to pay special attention to the car, said he would guard it with una pistola.) Then on we went to Pasticceria Robiglio, where Signore R gave us a tour of his wares (some seen here in the shop’s front window) and sent us on our way with a zuccotto (a confection of ice-cream-filled cake shaped like a pumpkin.) So when we arrived at Trattoria 4 Leoni (a place I’d remembered from an earlier visit) for lunch, the staff refrigerated our zuccotto and, after some half-hearted protesting, enjoyed it with us for dessert. No one touched the car, by the way, and we headed off to nearby Lucca to reconnect with friends and to spend the night.

Assisi, Italy. May, 1988

Granted, most people come to Assisi to admire the Giotto frescoes. To follow in the footsteps of native son San Francesco. Or maybe to visit the nearby resting place of his Facebook friend Santa Chiara, patron saint of television (no joke). Well, we did all of those things. But then Miriam, Nick and I took some paths less traveled in this beautiful Umbrian hilltown. Good meals, visits to friendly proprietors of local pastry shops (Nick was researching his Great Italian Desserts book) and then just some ordinary things like dropping into a hardware store (where I bought one of those clicking ignitors for manually lit gas stoves, which I still use today.) And this. A reminder of how completely gaga tutto Italia was about the King of Pop’s tour. He continued to dog us for the rest of our Italian visit. And the first leg of my journey home (a flight from Torino to Zurich) was actually dominated by his staff and technical crew on their way to the next gig. Michael, it seems, had arranged private transportation.

Paris. December, 2005

This is my friend Nick, holding a cute little demi-glass at our table at Le Comptoir where we were having a late lunch with our friend Miriam on New Year's Eve. Nick has more dishes and glasses than anyone I know. And when he saw these, I can remember his saying, "Oh, I'd really like to get some."