Sunday Dinners comes to us from our own chef/photojournalist/farmer/father figure Tom Hirschfeld, featuring his stunning photography and Indiana farmhouse family meals.

Today: Tom makes ribs, but not because of football. (Don't miss Tom's 5 rib tips).

Tom fancies himself French, and makes Poule au Pot for dinner.

Tom's New Year's Resolution? Only add, don't take away.

Tom's make-ahead Christmas breakfast isn't the tater tot casserole of yore.

When it comes to Holiday Survival Recipes, we knew we could count on Tom for our No-Fail Potato Side.

This is the nineteenth installment of Sunday Dinners, a biweekly column from our own Tom Hirschfeld featuring his gorgeous photography, stunning Indiana farm, and mouthwatering family meals.

Today: Tom ponders both his sanity and his broken stove, with a Sunday dinner menu of Chicken and Tofu with Celery and Cashews, White Rice, Sort of Jiro-Style, and FrancesRenHuang's Sichuan Dry-Fried Green Beans.

This is the seventeenth installment of Sunday Dinners, a biweekly column from our own Tom Hirschfeld featuring his gorgeous photography, stunning Indiana farm, and mouthwatering family meals.

Today: Tom argues for soup's spot on the table and cooks up a Sunday dinner of Creamy Sorrel Soup, Sunday Roast Chicken, and Black Seeded Simpson with American Farmhouse Vinaigrette.

Today: Tom gets into a tight spot with some bees -- but makes the most of his situation with a honey granola tart.

"Crazy-drive, dad, crazy-drive," both girls yell in unison from the back seat of the car.

So in the soft yellow light of a warm spring morning, I do. I weave the car back and forth, fishtailing and tossing gravel from the drive into the tall prairie grass all the way up to the bus stop. If it wasn't so fun, it would be an offense to the quiet of first light.

Today: Tom tells us about the two little reasons he will always garden.

It all starts with peas, well, at least for us it did. It really is that simple.

It is late in the day when I walk around from the back of the house after I finish cutting the grass. What I see is Vivian, standing at the edge of the pea patch, eating, and eating, pea after perfectly sugary and ripe pea. The intensity in her little blue eyes and the smile on her lips says it all.

Tom pens an achingly beautiful letter to one of his culinary heroes, Jacques Pépin.