Posts Tagged ‘fall frolic’

~ This is the eighth (and final) in a series of posts about Presidential Food

White House State Dinner, 1888.

All this talk of Presidential Food has, of course, made me very hungry — for JFK’s fish chowder, Barack Obama’s chili, Harry S. Truman’s tuna noodle casserole, and Lincoln’s fruit salad.

But it’s also made me curious — what does the White House kitchen actually look like? Is there more than one kitchen for such a large residence? Does the First Family have their own private kitchen, in case they want a midnight snack?

I toured the White House years ago, and I remember standing in a long line at the East Wing entrance, with the tour itself lasting only about five minutes. I was disappointed, because they didn’t show the kitchen or any of the dining rooms, just a handful of public rooms on the first floor.

But recently I discovered the White House Museum! Squee!! I found it more interesting than the official whitehouse.gov virtual tours, because there are photos of how the rooms have evolved during the last 200 years, making it an invaluable resource for those interested in architecture, interior design, and the personal tastes of previous administrations.

Here’s a peek into the tastiest rooms of the White House:


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So, with our faces still aglow from the Dylan concert, we decided to spend Saturday doing what I’ve we’ve always wanted to do in New York.

For years I had been hearing about Books of Wonder, the oldest and largest independent children’s bookstore in the city. Years ago, I had ordered some lovely Wizard of Oz editions from them via mail order, and now I was anxious to see the store in person.


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“Here’s the thing with me and the religious thing. This is the flat-out truth: I find the religiosity and the philosophy in the music. I don’t find it anywhere else . . . The songs are my lexicon. I believe the songs.” ~ Bob Dylan

South facade, United Palace Theatre, New York City

Sometimes grand adventures kind of sneak up on you.

One day, you’re minding your own business, struggling to write a story, any story. An email comes in, announcing a special, last minute Dylan concert in New York City. Don’t be silly, you live in Virginia. But it’s my birthday. It’s just what I secretly wanted. When was the last time you dropped everything and ran on impulse? It’s not like you. You’re always so sensible. But who am I to tempt fate?

When Bob calls, you go.


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