Every January, the endless drear of New York City in winter gets to me and I tell Brian I want to move to the country to raise chickens. Afterwards, I usually wander into the kitchen and cook something elaborate like a tart or homemade pasta or a chicken pot pie, and then my yearning for greener surroundings abates and I feel better.
But as this too warm January progresses, there’s a difference. [Read more…]