Soup for My Father

04 Nov 2011 3 Comments

by scolgin in Observations, Recipes, Video Tags: , , , , , , ,

My dad’s teeth are falling out. Even the ones they put in to replace the ones that had already fallen out. He’s a few months shy of 87 — they’ve lasted a long time. (A friend was telling us recently that the one thing that annoyed his octogenarian mother more than anything was when people said things like, “Well, he lived a good long life,” or “Can’t be disappointed with that many years!”)

Salmon chowder, pumpkin soup and French onion soup (l to r)

This is not a cautionary tale about taking care of your teeth. I spend enough time on that with my children. Rather, it is a reflection on the one thing I could do for my father to help ease his burden: make soup. More

I’m a Rocket Man

01 Nov 2011 Leave a comment

by scolgin in Eating Out Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Sometimes the thing you need the most is the thing you want the least. Or to put it in culinary terms, sometimes you think you’re in a caviar mood, but it’s popcorn shrimp that soothes your soul.

Flynn at Johnny Rockets

So was it yesterday, as I drove along Santa Monica Boulevard with three hungry kids clamoring in the back seat. It was Sunday, past lunch time, and some decisions had to be made. More

Chilaquiles

28 Oct 2011 4 Comments

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

I’ve never been one for pancakes and omelets. I’m a fan of cultural breakfasts. I remember eating a traditional Japanese breakfast at a hotel overlooking a zen garden in Tokyo. And then the next day, eating sashimi with beer for breakfast at 7 a.m. at the Tsukiji Wholesale Fish Market. (When in Tokyo…) In Athens I dispatched of great heaping piles of yogurt with honey, while in Alaska I’d relish smoked salmon on Russian rye toast. But the exotic breakfast that makes the most appearances at our own house has to be chilaquiles.

Chilaquiles Casa Colgin

While not as well known a breakfast dish in Mexico as, say, huevos rancheros or chocolate con leche y pan, you’d be hard-pressed to find a more satisfying dish on a Saturday morning — especially when you introduce a couple of farm fresh fried eggs on top! If you happen to be a bit hungover, as I often am on a weekend morning, it’s said that the dish is a recognized cure — “recognized” by whom, I’m not sure. But the spicy kick and the supple greasy undernote of pork chorizo will do you a world of good. More

More Skinny Girls Pet Peeves

25 Oct 2011 3 Comments

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

"Krab"

Certain places are more conducive to food-related annoyances than others. Here’s some location-specific pet peeves:

At the grocery store:

• People with 18 or 20 Things in the 15 Things Aisle
I guess I’ve probably been guilty of this myself. But I’m always incensed when it’s someone else. They always know they’ve got too many things, too, and fidget nervously lest they be called out. And they inevitably have weak rationales for why they haven’t actually exceeded the limit. “What?” they’ll say, pointing at their grapes, bananas and strawberries. “That counts as one thing: fruit.” More

The Autumn of Our Content

21 Oct 2011 14 Comments

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

I woke this morning to the first day of autumn. Not the official first day — technically, it’s been fall for a month now. But the first real first day of autumn, where I could feel it in my bones and soul. It’s one of my favorite feelings.

Silvery Autumn morning through the oaks

We in Southern California are less fortunate than our friends in other parts of the country who enjoy spectacular displays of changing foliage. Our poison oak turns kinda pink, which I guess is nice. And typically, when October arrives and those same friends are raking leaves and building fires, we’re out on the deck in shorts and t-shirts, grilling ribs and drinking beer. They envy us, we envy them.

But not today. Today was different. I awakened to a chill, reluctant to emerge from under my pile of covers. Out the window wisps of gossamer fog weaved through the muscular arms of the scrub oaks, softening them. Our silky rooster crowed plaintively, and I could smell coffee that was not yet even brewing. My favorite season had come. More

Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries