A recent lutefisk-bashing and subsequent Scandinavian tongue-lashing got me thinking: Don’t you hate it when someone outside your ethnic sphere tells you they know where to get the best (insert ethnic cuisine here)? Read more...

Snaking back roads through Fife into Puyallup, my landlady noted the changes. Industry and warehouses have replaced farmland. Family dining thrives where philandering lovers once secretly supped. And what’s this new place, Toscano’s? It looks like an urbane restaurant got lost in the budding ’burbs. Read more...

When boxer Roberto Duran sighed “no mas,” it was clear what he meant: He wanted no more of the whupping he was getting from Sugar Ray Leonard. Read more...

My barbecue man, Smokin’ Joe Johnson, makes the finest barbecue I’ve had from the West Coast to the Deep South. He has a couple of sayings that go hand in sauce-dripping hand: Read more...