For writers, there's no better feeling than seeing one's own name in glossy print. I know, we're a vain bunch. But it's a justifiable reward for hours spent hunched over at the desk, racking your brain endlessly for the perfect turn of phrase. Getting carpal tunnel and increased myopia. Missing out on fresh air, merry water cooler gossip, and a 401(k).

But I'm digressing. What I really want to tell you about is a book I contributed to last year called Food Journeys of a Lifetime: 500 Extraordinary Places to Eat Around the Globe, published by National Geographic. It came out last fall, without a lot of fanfare, but still managed to climb to #159 on the Amazon Best Sellers list before Christmas. A big pretty coffee table book, it's full of hunger-inducing pages on suckling pig in Segovia, street food in Singapore, dim sum in Hong Kong, feijoada in Rio, and 496 other journeys both abroad and stateside.

(I write about a certain hairy crustacean Shanghai is known for, and a festival of all cold foods that China is lesser known for. Other equally peripatetic and insatiable contributors include Robyn Eckhardt from Eating Asia, Karen Coates from Rambling Spoon, Cathy Danh from Gastronomy Blog, and Darra Goldstein from Gastronomica.)

In short, perfect reading material for the breakfast table.

Before I put together the results of my edamame wiki recipe, I wanted to share a dish appropriate for the joyous cholesterol-clogging spirit of Christmas.

There are few vegetable dishes better than roasted brussels sprouts. Drizzle olive oil over them, add some sea salt and pepper, roast them in the oven until the leaves are brown and barely crunchy, and I'm a happy girl. But for the holidays, any self-respecting dish should make you consider elastic pants, for just a second.

That's where Parmesan and bacon come in. Well, that and keeping all your bacon fat. The new year is still a week away, and there's still time to indulge in a little decadence before then.

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The last few months have been incredibly busy and challenging for me. But in January I resolve to return to my regular posting in full force, and update you on all that has been going on. Thank you all for continuing to read these past two years. Have a very happy holidays.

It took a trip to Japan to realize I've been making edamame wrong all these years.

Well, not necessarily wrong wrong. But not the best way possible.

When I discovered the joys of edamame about 10 or 12 years ago, I would buy bags of the frozen stuff, microwave them, and sprinkle table salt on top. Then I progressed to boiling them in a pot. When I discovered fresh edamame in Chinatown, and replaced Morton with Malden, I thought this was as good as edamame could get. After all, it tasted the same as at all the Japanese restaurants in the US. 

Then I went to Japan. In Tokyo this past summer, I noticed something slightly different about the fuzzy little legume that was as good an accompaniment with omikase-style sushi as it was with beer at 2 a.m. My meals of tempura, sashimi, fugu, and yes, even fugu sashimi were all bookended by a dish of edamame that tasted, well, better. Was it just because my subconscious dictated that the Japanese food had to taste better in Japan?

One night when returning to the guest house, a traveler from the north of Japan was snacking on some edamame in front of the TV. He was watching game show contestants clad in knee pads and mud hurling themselves around an obstacle course. He offered me some edamame.