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Rick Nichols is a Philadelphia native (a product of rowhouse Mayfair) who moved as a child to Lower Bucks County and later to New England. He graduated from the University of North Carolina and worked on the newspaper in Raleigh. After a Nieman Fellowship at Harvard, he joined The Inquirer in 1978. He was for many years a member of the Editorial Board, and has several journalism awards.

His column “On the Side” appears Thursdays in Food, and his column “Food” appears in the Sunday Image section.

Video:  A chat with the owner of Queens Farm at the Head House farmers market.

Series: On the Side | The Kitchen Diaries,  a tour of Rick's new kitchen.

 
On the Side
Town of 10,000 Croissants.
Posted 07/02/2009
On Woodbine Avenue in the down-home borough of Narberth one day last week, Stephane Wojtowicz, the former bread and roll baker (in Wayne) for Georges Perrier's restaurants, could be found about his daily craft - the care and rolling of the next flock of flaky, buttery croissants.
"Beer garden" is too tidy a term for the eating, drinking, party spot Mark Bee has made.
Posted 06/26/2009
In the bipolar world that is Northern Liberties these days, you can stroll past a stable and a shaded paddock where the carriage horses are munching (at George and Bodine), and a minute later be in the monochromatic Piazza at Schmidts, its flanks surrounded by boxy apartments right out of the playbook of some prewar modernist housing project in Warsaw.
If you're trying to signal, as chef-owner Mitch Prensky currently is, that your sophisticated, "urban farmhouse" of a restaurant - Supper, by name - is tweaking its menu, tilting more toward farmhouse and less toward urban, what might be a good visual to start?
Family, a suburban restaurant, her garden all need her. But closing the landmark Walnut Street dining room is not as simple as turning a key.
In one breath, Susanna Foo explains that she is leaving these elegant digs on Walnut Street, closing her eponymous landmark of a dining room - the wellspring of her groundbreaking style of French-Chinese fusion - because she needs to "simplify."
After a rocky launch, Darling's at the Piazza at Schmidt's is aiming for that diner groove.
At the northern tip of the unfortunately named Piazza at Schmidts (for the former Northern Liberties brewery that once commanded the site), you will find a cylindrical glass edifice, the ground floor of which is occupied by a perhaps overly spotless Darling's Diner.
A low-key but grand reopening.
An air of homecoming attended the reopening of the sorely missed Sansom Street Oyster House one evening last week, its name, in keeping with its sleeker lines, now collapsed to Oyster House, period.
The subterranean 12 Steps Down got a real chef to come down and fine-tune the grub.
The bar officially called 12 Steps Down Group Therapy Bar - 12 Steps Down, to its devoted patrons - is exactly 12 steps down from the northeast corner of Ninth and Christian, which if you know anything about the geography of the Italian Market, is the equivalent of Hollywood and Vine.
Treasure trove in a N. Philly factory.
The first reports on the four-alarm fire that gutted the top floor of the old factory in North Philadelphia one night in early April were puzzling.
Slap, slap, slap, slap, SLAP!! "Sorry," said Pierre Calmels, a chef out of Center City, tucked on South Eighth Street now (for just shy of a month), pounding the dickens out of a saddle of rabbit, flattening it paper-thin, readying it for the stuffing - creating a racket.
Knifework, Veal Olives, and Chef Staib at the nexus of colonial cookery and TV.
Things got off to a mildly alarming start along Paper Mill Run one morning last week; Walter Staib inadvertently added blood to the copious sweat he was giving to the production of his A Taste of History public television series.
Osteria's kitchen garden brings a bit of country wholesomeness to a stretch of faded urbanity.
Were it located in the genteel wilds of Birchrunville, Chester County, say, or Malvern, even, green farmlands lapping at the doorstep, Osteria's poignant gesture to fresh and local might not be that much worth the noting.
On the screen set up off center court at the Reading Terminal Market, the last of the Mohicans were having their say Saturday evening, giving accounts of the old days - the tremble in the rafters when trains still ran above, the buckets kept handy to accommodate the leaky roof, razzing one another, albeit gently, about the drinkability of fresh buttermilk.
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