A Whale of a Tapa

One of my favorite scenes in the Pixar film, “Finding Nemo,” is when Marlin, Nemo’s father (a clownfish voiced by Albert Brooks) is worried that an approaching whale is going to eat him and his pal, Dory (a blue tang voiced by Ellen Degeneres). Dory says, “Don’t worry. Whales don’t eat clownfish. They eat krill.” Just then, a school of panicked krill passes by, screaming, “Swim away!!!” “Oh, look!,” says Dory, “Krill!” as the massive open-mouthed whale swims up behind them.

Dory & Marlin as the whale approaches

I’m always one for a culinary adventure, but I must say, I never thought I would actually eat krill. After all, I’m a human, not a baleen whale. But things changed when I read a recipe for a tapa called tortilla de camerones in a cookbook by the great Spanish chef,  José Andrés. They were lacy little tempura-like fritters of small whole shrimp originating at a famous restaurant called Casa Balbino in the Spanish province of Cadíz. They looked delicious — right in my “fried” and “crispy” wheelhouse. So I resolved to make them. More

Heaven Sent, Via Kentucky

I am fortunate to have not lost many friends over the years. There was a rash of deadly car crashes in high school, reckless kids gone almost before they began, but since then things have pretty much been quiet. With the exception, that is, of one of my dearest friends — a Southern gentleman named Dann Byck.

Dann at Byck’s Department Store in Louisville, 1977

Dann would bristle at that description of him, which is exactly why I use it. He had a good sense of humor. We met at a coffee joint on a snooty street in Santa Monica where we would both sometimes sit in the mornings and watch the beautiful Range Rover mothers push their babies past in Italian-made Peg Perego strollers. More

The Thanksgiving Rebellion

If you had told me, as a child, that Thanksgiving would one day be a favorite holiday, I might’ve laughed. For the younger me, the fourth Thursday in November was a day of dread.

Me and mom, around the time of the Thanksgiving Rebellion

The memories are hazy. As I’ve remained close to my extended family on my mother’s side, I can only assume they were my father’s relatives. I can still remember rolling up to a curb somewhere in the Southern California suburbs, and not wanting to get out of the car. More

What’s the Bigoli Deal?

Oftentimes when I have a specific ingredient I want to cook, I’ll have a vague recollection of a wonderful dish I had once, read about or made myself that uses said ingredient. And then I’ll set out — sometimes successfully, sometimes not — to remember what it was and find it.

Venetian bigoli in salsa

That was what was happening on a lazy Sunday afternoon as I contemplated what I was going to make for dinner. I felt like Italian, and moving jars, bags and boxes around in the pantry, I discovered a forgotten bag of whole wheat spaghetti. More

Random Thoughts for a Thursday

Sometimes when I’m out at a pub or bar, I’m amazed how much beer I can drink. I’m not some hefty beer guzzling dude or Japanese competitive drinker, a Kobayashi of quaffing. But somehow, against the laws of physics and reason, I can make beer disappear like the most talented illusionist.

Hot dog eating champion Kobayashi

Recently, we went out to Duke’s in Malibu for Taco Tuesday, and I ordered a pint of pale ale. It was gone in about 48 seconds, so I ordered another. That one lasted a little longer, but was still empty well before the food even arrived. So for my third I went the inexpensive route and got the can-of-Modelo beer special. Or two. More

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