13 Mar 2012
by scolgin
in Markets & Stores, Recipes, Starlets, Yoga Students & Quinoa (stories)
Tags: Beverly Hills, Iran, Iranian cooking, Persian cuisine, San Fernando Valley, Tehran, Tehrangeles
In the waning years of my pre-pubescent childhood in the quiet and sunny westlands of suburban Los Angeles, a strange thing happened. At 11 or 12, I was only vaguely aware of geopolitical events happening in far away places. But what I did know was that there was quite suddenly a lot more Middle Eastern people in my sphere than there had been the year before.
Why Iranians fleeing the Islamic Revolution wound up in the west San Fernando Valley I would never figure out. But arrive they did, evidenced by the abrupt abundance of columns and marble lions in front of 1950s ranch-style houses. Not your traditional poor huddled immigrants, they purchased liquor stores, dentistry offices and Italian restaurants, and by way of integration took western names. My friend, Gary, worked at the neighborhood liquor store — Greene’s Liquor — recently sold by old Mr. Greene to a pair of 30-something brothers, “Jock” and “Ben.” (“Your name’s not really Jock, is it??” I remember asking him once.) More
09 Mar 2012
by scolgin
in Observations, Starlets, Yoga Students & Quinoa (stories)
Tags: goose barnacles, local food, locovore, Malibu, Oxnard, percebes, San Joaquin Valley, sea lettuce, spiny lobster, Steve McQueen
I like the locavore movement — I think in general it is a good thing to eat food grown as near you as possible. I’ve had some spirited debates about whether locavore was an elitist, bourgeois movement and how was it going to help feed huge numbers of starving people in the third world. I don’t have answers to that — and it opens an endless pandora’s box of food production and distribution issues. I just believe we could all benefit from choosing produce in season that comes from a little closer than Chile or New Zealand (unless you live in Chile or New Zealand, that is…). Even if for no other reason than, the food tastes so much better if it hasn’t traveled the globe and ripened in transit.
Extreme locavorism
But it does beg the question, how local can you get? For we Southern Californians, is it still local to eat food grown in the huge agricultural Central Valley, an hour or more away? Or should I be eating food grown even closer? There’s not much to eat in Malibu but sea lettuce. More
06 Mar 2012
by scolgin
in Observations, Starlets, Yoga Students & Quinoa (stories)
Tags: cicchetti, dinner party, food, hosting, marrow bones, Moveable feast, stomach virus, Venetian food
I live in perpetual fear of having to cancel a dinner party. I hate to disappoint anyone. And I hate to reschedule. Also, I’ve often been pre-prepping food over the course of several days, and am loathe to throw anything away — especially a gourmet meal I’ve worked hard to prepare.
So was it with an improbable Tuesday night dinner party recently. A savage 24-hour stomach bug was tearing through our canyon. Tuesday afternoon arrived, our daughter had been sick the night before, and my wife was not feeling well. “You’re canceling tonight, right?” she asked. “Well, not exactly…” I replied sheepishly. More
28 Feb 2012
by scolgin
in Observations, Starlets, Yoga Students & Quinoa (stories)
Tags: Ernie Demontreux, Fanny Bay oysters, mussels, New Jersey, Oscars, Ringling Brothers, Topanga Lumber, Weehawken
We live in a colorful neighborhood. The day before a dinner at our friend Ernie’s house, I was out talking a walk and met Ant Patty (who is not a true aunt so she drops the “u”). “Ernie’s been working on his dinner for days,” she said. “but he’s not doing it for us, he’s doing it for you.”
Ernie at his stove
I don’t think he’s doing it for me. I think he’s doing it because he loves to do it. And he loves to share it with people — fortunately including me. More
06 Dec 2011
by scolgin
in Observations, Starlets, Yoga Students & Quinoa (stories)
Tags: bacon & date spread, daikon, funny vegetables, japanese, onion, Plum Village, Richard Nixon, Thich Nhat Hahn
Some days are harder than others. Like when the baby wakes up 42 times during the night, as she did a couple evenings ago. On those mornings, I slog about the house feeling glum. But that particular day, I open the fridge, and discover there on the shelf in front of me, wrapped in plastic, the Happy Onion.
The Happy Onion
It doesn’t take much to turn a day around. Something in the cocksure twist of the onion’s smile reminded me that my burdens are relatively light and the world is indeed a mostly pretty good place. More
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