Alexandra Hall

The Tao of Schlow

It was all about the capicola. There you were one night last summer in the enoteca of Via Matta. Let's say, hypothetically, that the tiles were shimmering on the wall behind you, reflecting glitter from the diamonds on the swirl…

Girls With Guns

Christie Caywood is feeling good. Really good. She's been at the firing range for less than five minutes, and already she's hit a bull's-eye. Brass shell casings from her .22-caliber Smith & Wesson are piled around her feet, and her…

We'll Always Have Paris.

I'd heard the rumors whispered at cocktail parties and wine bars, and bandied about in e-mails ever since I'd moved back to Boston from the 12th arrondissement: Paris was changing. The staunchly nationalist grande dame of a city, it was…

Personal Space

A Lofty Marriage A couple's modern South End apartment is big enough to be an art studio, home, and place where two different personalities converge. By Patricia Harris and David Lyon Painter Joan Resnikoff is no stranger to a blank…

Strangers Among Us

Sunlight streams through the bare tree branches onto Cambridge's Joan Lorentz Park, where a local version of international relations is about to play itself out in the cold, clear morning. While her son, Saad Ali, is off in the distance,…

Park Square

I do, however, have a Frida Kahlo, a luscious potable teeming with sweet-tart blackberry pulp, which is distraction enough from the visual reminders everywhere of my absent food. The room, thanks to the audacious and glowing blood-crimson paint on the…