What’s Your Week Like?

27 Mar 2012 3 Comments

by scolgin in Cooking Tips, Observations Tags: , , , , , , , ,

This morning I was shopping. It’s Monday, and I like to think about what I’ll be cooking throughout the week. Sometimes I have no plan, and open the fridge or freezer in the afternoon to see what’s there. But more often than not, I’ll have at least some sense of where the week is going, culinarily speaking.

Fridge, freezer & pantry — items for the week's dinner

Outside influences sometimes play a part — upcoming dinner parties, the tastes of a guest visiting from out of town, my wife’s craving for Mexican food or my son’s for Japanese. I’ll think about the days and nights ahead, how much preparation time I will have for each (I take my son to tae kwon do two afternoons a week, for example), consider what ingredients I already have, and make a plan. More

Tehrangeles, Pt. II

23 Mar 2012 12 Comments

by scolgin in Observations Tags: , , , , , , , ,

One of the most extraordinary and exciting things about living in Los Angeles is the diversity of people and cultures you are exposed to. Over the years, I have dated women from Sri Lanka, Japan, Peru and Afghanistan. I’ve had friends from Malaysia, Brazil, Germany, South Africa, Egypt, New Zealand, Morocco, Norway, China, India, Australia, Fiji, Ukraine, Ireland, Israel, Argentina, France and nearly every region of Mexico. And of course, from Iran.

Three generations — Alex, Miles & Reza Tehrani

Sometime after college, while I was living in Santa Monica, I met Roxanna. She was funny and awkward and beautiful and innocent, and she was from Iran. We were not romantic — she dated Iranian men. But people could be forgiven — and often were — for assuming that we were, seeing us leave one another’s apartments late at night. We were, however, only talking. And eating. More

Gettin’ Me Oyrish Up

20 Mar 2012 10 Comments

by scolgin in Recipes Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

You could say I’m well in touch with my Irish blood — I love cloudy days, I’ve been known to drink a bit, I’m given to song at the slightest provocation, I write poetry and tend to be sentimental and a bit melancholy. So St. Patrick’s Day is a more special holiday for me than it might for the average person.

One of the finest St. Patrick’s Days I ever spent was in Venice, Italy, with my sister Andrea. Wandering aimlessly, we happened to stumble upon a real Irish pub where we spent the evening with a couple from Ireland and an American GI and his mom. The exchange rate was strong, we realized each glass of vino rosso only cost .50 cents, and so we ordered half a dozen each and lined the table with them. The train ride the next day to Florence was a hard one. More

An Unwelcome Guest

16 Mar 2012 10 Comments

by scolgin in Observations, Starlets, Yoga Students & Quinoa (stories) Tags: , , , , , , ,

I was lunching at a favorite cheap sushi bar recently, when I noticed a serious-looking woman sitting at the end of the bar with a binder open, jotting notes. She was not eating. The restaurant’s owner sat beside her, looking uncomfortable. A short time later a man with a walrusy mustache and suspenders came in the door, his own shiny clipboard and notepad in hand. “Is there a health inspector here?” he said cheerfully, then noticed his colleague in the corner, waved, and joined her.

Inspectors comparing notes at the sushi bar

If you’re a restaurant owner, there’s nothing cheerful about a visit from the health department. Even if your establishment is spotless, they are the adversary. (I am reminded of the feeling of being a teenager and feeling nervous whenever I saw a policeman, even though I had done nothing wrong.) More

Tehrangeles, Pt. I

13 Mar 2012 2 Comments

by scolgin in Markets & Stores, Recipes, Starlets, Yoga Students & Quinoa (stories) Tags: , , , , , ,

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

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