Giving Jon a Second Look

My friend Jon has long served as comic relief for my blog. If my cheffy friends are the Shakespearean thespians, he is Falstaff, the bumbling kitchen clown. I like to post shots of his attempts to make himself dinner, or stories about his inviting his visiting parents over to our house for a meal.

A few nights back, we were invited to dinner at our friends the Tehranis, and Jon would be joining us. He called me beforehand. He wanted to know if he made his specialty, Coke-and-Jack Daniels sausage, if I would feature him on my blog again.

Jon, like a proud papa, and his sausages

Jon, like a proud papa, with his sausages

“The first time is free,” I said. “After that, you have to pay to be on it.” More

Skinny Girls at Rachel’s Table

I am the king.

I am the king.

Awhile back, my friend Rachel of the fun blog Rachel’s Table dubbed me the King of the Food Snobs. More

Panzanella

Summer! A magical land of flip flops, sunshine, rock & roll, olive oil, zinfandel, barbecues, sunflowers, golden sunsets, the laughter of children, hummingbirds, wild salmon from Alaska, zucchini blossoms, sand stuck to your feet, pink wine, watermelon, baseball, baby deer in the park, cold beer, and, most of all, tomatoes.

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Summer makes me think of Tuscany. Once, while strolling through Florence with my sister Andrea on a blazing hot summer day, I was wishing I had some sunglasses. The very moment I had the thought, I glanced at a trashcan we happened to be passing, and there sitting on top of a pile of refuse was a pair of almost-new, round John Lennon-y sunglasses. And, they were rose-colored glasses! Tuscany is sort of magical that way. More

He Would’ve Approved

There are many interesting stories surrounding the Steve McQueen beach house in Malibu. Some of the most colorful involve him and his neighbor, the notoriously rowdy British drummer for the Who, Keith Moon.

Morning at the Steve McQueen beach house

Morning at the Steve McQueen beach house

Once, for example, exasperated by Moon’s refusal to turn off a light in an upstairs bathroom that shone into McQueen’s bedroom, the actor grabbed a gun and shot the light out. Another time, he found Moon passed out in a full Nazi uniform at the bottom of his beach access stairs. The tide was rising, and would soon overtake the stairs, and McQueen had to consider for a moment whether or not to drag the despised neighbor to higher ground. More

Up Popped a Restaurant

In cooking, as in many things in life, it’s all a matter of scale.

The chefs — (l to r) your humble author and pals, Ernie and Peri

The chefs — (l to r) your humble author and pals, Ernie and Peri

“That’s not enough gazpacho for 60 people!” my wife declared, alarmed, as I walked through the kitchen with a gallon bag a quarter full of soup. “I have another bag,” I said.

“It’s still not enough!” More

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