The Gearhead is a charmer. Not like a snake charmer, more like a snake oil salesman. He’s a person who, given a reason and a mind to do so, could…
When I arrived at the racetrack, the Gearhead’s car was marooned on the tarmac, a red, black and yellow beacon signaling—unmistakable—abandonment. In the moment it took to register the empty…
The Gearhead has been remarkably behaved and ordinary of late, leaving me little opportunity to derive inspiration for this blog. [wife edits: that’s right, it’s his fault]. In part, this…
“where’s the meat?!” I wonder sometimes if the Gearhead asks this question as a form of ritual, you know, to get in touch with his Neanderthal roots. For a split…
Can she write about broccoli, a casting call and a racecar all in one post? Of course she can! She’s the gearhead’s wife; part superhero, part peon to mediocrity. She…
Once in a while, over the last seventeen years or so, the Gearhead asks me to go somewhere with him. Kind of like a date. It makes me feel that…
The gearhead and I celebrated 15 years of marriage the other day. Well, celebrated probably isn’t the right word because we didn’t: go out for a romantic dinner for two…
This is a dish that I crave year round but it can’t be replicated with store-bought produce during the depths of winter – I’ve tried with disappointing results. It’s addictive…
The gearhead is on to me about my plan to infiltrate his dinners with more vegetarian fare. Before this blog, he accepted the chance disappearance of meat at some of…
This salad is one that sets off fantastic fireworks on your tongue – and flavours that might linger a little while after dinner. It’s a bit strong for the kids…
Food by the Gearhead's Wife 