Of Kim Jongs and Cauliflower

In December of last year, I predicted 2017 was going to be the “Year of the Sandwich” on this blog. But at the rate I’m going, it’s shaping up to be Year of the Korean Food.

Speaking of Korea — and the North in particular — that fat little squirt Kim Jong Un, the Baby Leader, sure is turning out to be a provocative one. I included his father, Kim Jong Il, the Dear Leader, in a previous post about Korean short ribs. And as batshit crazy as that cat was, this new Kim makes him seem positively Lincolnian.

Kim Jong Un

Kim Jong Un

In one of his first acts as leader, he had his favorite uncle executed. He’s been developing nuclear warheads, and has recently launched a barrage of medium-range ballistic missiles into the Sea of Japan. Barring the U.S. going to war with Japan — and I say that only half facetiously, given the unpredictable nature of politics and policy these days — I will be cruising those very waters with my family this summer, visiting Japan, Russia and Korea (South). Hopefully we will not get hit by one of Kim Jong Un’s errant missiles. More

Simplicity

A wet and drizzly morning of the sort we’ve been having lately, the usually dry stream that crosses our property burbling happily, the canyon veiled in gray and exploding in every shade of green, brought me back to a memory:

A child, a younger me, dripping in the rain — no umbrella, no boots, socks and shoes wet — setting leaves into the gutter and chasing them down the street. Joy: unrestrained, unmannered, untethered.

Simplicity.

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In the kitchen, after a previous evening’s West/East mashup of spaghetti ai ricci di mare, Venetian carpaccio, spicy fried tofu and three different kinds of sushi, I craved simplicity on the plate, too. More

A Soft Spot for Bacari

It was a somewhat vulgar term for the pre-opening of a restaurant, my pal Steve pointed out.

“You’re right!” I replied. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

If you’ve never been to the “soft opening” of a restaurant before, the experience can largely be encapsulated in a single sweetly sad moment at the recent preview of a new restaurant we attended with our friends, Steve and Ashley:

A young waitress brought one of our cocktails to the table. The drink was too full, she was nervous, and green tequila-infused juice splashed over the rim of the glass all over her hands and the table as she awkwardly set the cocktail down and apologetically scuttled away.

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“What sort of food do they serve?” Leslie had asked as we drove toward Glendale. More

Kim Chee to the Rescue, Again!

It was Super Bowl Sunday, and things were not going well.

A few evenings earlier, I had awoken in the middle of the night with one of those sneezes that tells you immediately a cold is imminent.

We had friends for dinner Friday night, and despite feeling a bit under the weather, I cooked and ate and drank and toasted and laughed. And then went to bed. And didn’t sleep a wink — the entire night.

My medicine

My medicine

I got up, jittery, tired and sick. And went for a run. When I got home, I showered, took a Benadryl, climbed back in bed. And slept for four hours. When I woke, I felt wildly out of sorts — even sleepier than I had been, my vision skewed, my depth perception practically non existent. More

The Japanese Make the Best Things

Sometimes I think the Italians make the best things. And then I change my mind, and decide it’s actually the Mexicans who make the best things. Other times, I’m pretty darned sure it’s the Japanese.

This is one of those times.

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Of course, it all depends on what you are talking about. If you’re discussing cheese, for example, it’s hard to make a case that anyone does it better than the French. More

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