When My Mother Forgot Me

On the day my mother forgot I existed, I sat across from her in a small cafe in the Berkshires, watching her sip her cappuccino and delicately tear off a piece of the croissant we were sharing. As she looked up and met my eyes agreeably and impersonally, I worked to get my bearings in…

The Kombucha Life

Good morning. I have a fun story in The Times this week about kombucha, a drink that I’ve been making for a while now, ever since I was given a Scoby — a symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast that ferments sugared tea and creates the drink — by a former West Coast bud-trimmer who…