David reveals his gratitude to the late, great Julia for all that she gave him. (Hint: It was a heck of a lot more than kitchen know-how.)
David goes out to pasture. Uh, we mean, he decides the only eggs that shall touch his lips hereafter shall be pastured.
David divulges how he learned to bake bread late in life—and how he promptly became quite, quite obsessed.
David practices proper Southern gentility by whipping up batch after batch of that good old-fashioned party must, pimento cheese.
David measures his friends on how true, honest, and kind they are—and how superlative their baking skills. His friend Cindi measures up.
Guess who David blames for his inability to be the epitome of calm in the hours leading up to Thanksgiving dinner? (Hint: Not himself.)
David reveals his pie-crimping obsession and admits he’s been outcrimped by baker Libbie Summers and her 20 cool and classy pie crust tactics.
Why make homemade ketchup? Because you can. And, as David explains, because no one can tell you that you shouldn’t. No one.
David continues where he left off, recounting what happened after he found an intruder in his rental house while on vacay in Maine.
David knew that crab, lobster, corn, and blueberries awaited him and The One on their Maine vacay. But that’s not all….
After 594 contracter hours, David emerges from the dust and despair of renovating to show off his new kitchen.
David mourns the loss of his beloved cats, Chloe and Raja, and anticipates life without them. Kleenex required.
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