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Meg Donohue Biography

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“My brother Clive thinks I'm dog crazy," she says. "In this office," I respond, deadpan, "we call it 'dog normal.'" Anya's lip twitches. Is that the beginning of a smile? I sense something shifting between us. The line was a joke, but I was also serious. It's important that my patients know they aren't alone in caring deeply for an animal companion. Our dogs see us at our best and at our worst, and love us with unparalleled devotion through it all. We share our lives with them. They know our deepest, darkest secrets, things that sometimes our closest human confidants don't even know. No one should feel ashamed for caring for another being, for feeling heartbroken when a friend is gone. What is more "normal" than love?”

Real LoveDogsCompanionsBook TitleDogs Loyalty
Book:Dog Crazy
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“I hugged Wes and inhaled the scent of his neck- a reassuringly familiar combination of coffee and leather and something sweet I always had trouble putting my finger on. What was it? Butter from his morning toast? A package of chocolates left over some hotel stay? Maybe a hint of the honey he liked to drizzle on apples. I smiled, allowing myself a moment to believe in the possibility of a shared life full of sweet things.”

SweetScentsJulia And Wes
Book:How to Eat a Cupcake
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“Along Miramonte Drive, shingled buildings in salt-scrubbed pastels bear the names of shops and restaurants that have been there for as long as I can remember, and longer still. Corde's Hardware. Pacific Surf Shop. Bantom Bay Books. Sakura Sushi. Miramonte Pizza. Las Olas Taqueria. I can't help smiling when I spot the cheerful red geraniums and trailing sweet potato vines that spill lavishly from the window boxes of the Shark Bite Café. I planted them myself a couple of years ago, and the cafés owner, Roger, was delighted to find that business ticked up soon after.”

NamesRestaurantsShopsSan FranciscoBy The Sea
Book:The Memory Gardener
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“Pet bereavement counselors hear a lot of happy stories. This always seems to surprise people, who assume sessions are soggy, heart-wrenching undertakings. Sure, there are tears, but there are also the stories of the dogs that made people feel less alone, the dogs that taught them about love, that made their hearts feel bigger and stronger. And dog people-- the majority of my patients are dog people-- have wonderful senses of humor. Some of the funniest, most uplifting stories I've ever heard have come from my patients. They're an eclectic bunch, but the stories they tell have the same simple truth at their core: dogs make us better.”

CounselingDog PeoplePet Bereavement
Book:Dog Crazy
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“At the sight of the dozen assorted cupcakes, as bright and optimistic as party hats, Louise's eyes lit up. "How wonderful!" she said, clapping her hands together again. I handed her one of the red velvet cupcakes that I'd made in the old-fashioned style, using beets instead of food coloring. I'd had to scrub my fingers raw for twenty minutes to get the crimson beet stain off them, but the result was worth it: a rich chocolate cake cut with a lighter, nearly unidentifiable, earthy sweetness, and topped with cream cheese icing and a feathery cap of coconut shavings. For Ogden, I selected a Moroccan vanilla bean and pumpkin spice cupcake that I'd been developing with Halloween in mind. It was not for the faint of heart, and I saw the exact moment in Ogden's eyes that the dash of heat- courtesy of a healthy pinch of cayenne- hit his tongue, and the moment a split-second later that the sugary vanilla swept away the heat, like salve on a wound. "Oh," he said, after swallowing. He looked at me, and I could see it was his turn to be at a loss for words. I smiled. Louise, on the other hand, was half giggling, half moaning her way through a second cupcake, this time a lemonade pound cake with a layer of hot pink Swiss meringue buttercream icing curling into countless tiny waves as festive and feminine as a little girl's birthday tiara. "Exquisite!" she said, mouth full. And then, shrugging in her son's direction, her eyes twinkling. "What? I didn't eat lunch.”

IngredientsFlavorsHahaCupcakesMother And SonRed VelvetAnnie QuintanaOgden Gertzwell
Book:How to Eat a Cupcake
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“But I know that I’ve always had a connection to plants, an ability to care for them in a way that makes them thrive quickly, vibrantly, fragrantly. And among the flowers that I grow… I’m able to sense when there is a fragrance that will return a person to a forgotten moment in time, a long-buried memory. Scents have always been heightened for me… the scents of the flowers that I grow most of all.”

FlowersGardenerMagical RealismScentsLost Memories
Book:The Memory Gardener
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“And then one day, as I stood in front of the plant, puzzling over its unusual size and the strange connection that I felt to it, I sensed the rosemary's earthy, green, complex fragrance intensifying, lifting above all of the herbs' scents, pressing so close to me that it felt like breath against my skin, a murmured answer to my questions. The aroma was so strong that I could almost see it, gossamer and shimmering in the air.”

Magical RealismChildhood MemoryRosemaryHerbalSense Of Smell
Book:The Memory Gardener
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“The expensive wine coated my throat with warm notes of fig and vanilla. Mozzarella melted like cream on my tongue and a jumble of lacy and tubular wild mushrooms lent an earthy heartiness to a glistening plate of homemade pappardelle.The dessert- my litmus test for any restaurant, of course- was a flourless chocolate cake so dense and rich that most people would have put down their forks, happily satiated, after a few bites. But Jake knew to untangle his hand from mine when the waiter set the two plates down on the table. Within minutes, I'd finished my entire slice. 'Be still,' I thought, 'o heart of mine,' when I looked up to see that Jake had also scraped his plate clean. 'Finally,' I thought, grinning at him, not caring that my teeth were probably stained a lovely shade of dark chocolate. 'A real man.”

FlavorsDinner DateAnnie And Jake
Book:How to Eat a Cupcake
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“Even in its ragged state, the garden is astonishingly beautiful. The untended, untouched look of it--- and the ivy-covered walls that protect it on three sides--- only add to the air pf enchantment, of mystery, that rises from it like a shimmer of heat. It looks like something from a fairy tale, like it could have been torn from one of the picture books my mother read to me when I was a child. Here and there wishing the tangle of green, I spot flashes of purple. Is this the lavender that I caught a hint of earlier when I stepped out of my truck? I breathe in. Yes. The scent is as gentle, as soothing, as a warm bath. There are other scents, too... alluring notes that drift toward me in soft waves. Viburnum. Honeysuckle. Sage. Phlox. Roses, so many roses...”

GardenLastingFlowersHerbsScentsOvergrown
Book:The Memory Gardener
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“Rosemary. I breathed in. Its fragrance was woodsy and herbal, rich and savory and layered with olive oil and pine. By that age, I'd been aware for years that my sense of scent was highly attuned; everywhere I went, fragrances whispered to me, telling me of the world, revealing to me insights that were hidden from others. But it wasn't until I held that rosemary in my hands that I began to understand my powerful connection to plants and their scents.”

Magical RealismChildhood MemoryRosemarySense Of Smell
Book:The Memory Gardener
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“Once we'd balled up our burrito wrappers and tossed them into the trash, Jake and I walked several blocks from El Farolito to the home of Gus, a rescued shepherd mix that I walked a few afternoons each week. Jake sat on the stoop while I ran upstairs. As usual, Gus was waiting for me at the door of his apartment,; I could hear his tail pounding the floor as I turned the key in the lock. Once I got inside, he hopped around me, nipping delicately at my fingers, nails clackety-clacking at the floor, his tail an ecstatic black blur. I knelt down in front of him, pressed his floppy, expressive ears flat back against his head, and planted a kiss on the side of his long, black schnoz. He whined happily, his whole body shimmying. Gus was one of those dogs who had an entirely different personality at home, where his sense of security gave him the confidence to be joyous and goofy. Out on the street, the shelter pup in him came out and he turned skittish and sorrowful, his tan quotation mark eyebrows pressing together to turn his forehead into a series of of anxious wrinkles. Needless to say, I was gaga for Gus and his layered personality. Downstairs, I could see right away that Jake loved dogs as much as I did. I had to warn him not to try too hard with Gus; too much attention from a stranger would only make Gus more nervous out there in the big loud world. Jake managed to restrain himself for half a block, but soon was cooing down to Gus, running his hand down the length of his silky black-and-tan coat, and passing him a little piece of chorizo from a napkin that he'd somehow slipped into his pocket at El Farolito without me noticing. Gus pressed himself against Jack's leg and looked adoringly up at him as he gobbled the meat, his tail for a moment wagging as freely as it did at home.”

DogPuppy LoveGusAnnie And Jake
Book:How to Eat a Cupcake
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“There’s color here, too—- flowers like jewels sewn onto green silk. Rhododendron shrubs laden with magenta clusters of ruffled blossoms. Fronds of emerald ferns, luminous even in deep shadow. Weeds, tangled and exuberant, are flourishing most of all, but among them I sense the vibrant blossoms of periwinkle, primroses, and lunaria, small buds of white anemone nodding atop tall, thin stems, speckled hellebores and toad lilies pressing toward the light. And the viburnum! They’re thriving— ten feet tall and just as wide. Along the walls, and now and then along the edges of the path, their creamy-white, pink-tinged blossoms float atop dark green leaves, and their spicy vanilla fragrance threads through every shadow.”

GardenFlowersViburnum
Book:The Memory Gardener
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“Raw persimmon is an acquired taste," he said, handing me a slice, "but I have a feeling you'll like this one." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. 'I'm a baker, Ogden,' I wanted to say. 'Of course I know what persimmon tastes like.' I bit into the fruit. It had the texture of a firm heirloom tomato and a heady, semisweet taste as though infused with a tiny drop of honey. I nodded and made a sound of approval. "You didn't order any, but I brought you a few to try anyway. I wondered if maybe they might inspire a new cupcake flavor for the holidays," Ogden said. He kept his serious brown eyes trained on the persimmon in his hand while he spoke, a gesture that seemed oddly bashful and entirely unlike him. "You'll have to excuse me if that sounds presumptuous. I'll be the first to admit I know nothing about the recipe creation process." I took another bite of persimmon, considering. Ogden held himself very still as he watched me chew, and I appreciated the restraint he showed in not jumping in to fill the silence. I knew it couldn't have been easy for him. "You have good instincts," I said finally. "A persimmon cupcake could be a great addition to the menu. Add some chocolate, a little cinnamon and cardamom, some sweet vanilla icing, and I think we'd have a new Christmas favorite." "You don't think persimmon is too adventurous for your patrons?" "Nah," I said. It was actually nice to talk to someone who took food as seriously as I did- I only wished he could do so without sounding so pompous. "But we might have to lead with the chocolate. Chocolate Persimmon Spice. That wouldn't offend you, would it? If I promised to use organic chocolate?" "I think my ego can handle a little organic chocolate," Ogden said.”

TasteIngredientsFlavorsCupcakesPersimmonsAnnie And Ogden
Book:How to Eat a Cupcake
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