On my way to New Orleans- on my way home
The city of New Orleans is a gift. It’s a gift for those who love good food and who love to eat and cook. It’s a gift for writers, and for those who love music and good times-a gift for those who love life lived large. I’ve witnessed a steady flow of traffic between New Orleans and Los Angeles throughout my lifetime. My father visited about once a year for the rest of his life after he left to start anew with his young family in Los Angeles. Even though my maternal cousins and I grew up mostly in Los Angeles, we’ve continued to visit regularly- for Mardi Gras, Jazz Fest and French Quarter Festival. We even sometimes send our children back to school there. My brother, Al, spent a year of college at Xavier University, my parent’s alma mater, and just this week, two of my L.A, cousins traveled to New Orleans to settle their children into colleges (LSU and Dillard) there. My brothers and I have returned like homing pigeons (perhaps to recall wonderful childhood memories of summers spent visiting as children, or perhaps to reconnect with the spirits of our ancestors, as another New Orleans friend likes to say) to the two houses on St. Anthony Street built by my grandfather in the early 20th century- the first to take his young bride home to, and the second-next door to it, as their family grew. The houses remained in the family (3 generations have lived in them) until about 10 years ago. My youngest brother, Eric- the only one of us born in Los Angeles- was the last to live in one of them when he decided to make New Orleans his home in the late 1990’s. On my first visit, post- Katrina, it was the first stop Eric and I made (after grabbing a bowl of gumbo and a po’boy in the French Quarter), when I arrived in New Orleans. Two Decembers ago, my brother, Ricardo, was the latest of us to visit, taking pictures and reporting back to us on their status. The neighborhood had fallen on hard times well before Katrina, but the flood dealt it a nearly fatal blow. Ric reported back that although someone had cared for and lovingly restored the houses, they stood like 2 floats in an empty sea. This week, I, too, am, once again, joining the flow of traffic to that steamy city on the bend in the river. When I learned this spring that the International Food Bloggers Conference was being held in New Orleans, I jumped to find a way to attend. A big thank you to Jarlsberg USA, which has generously sponsored me to attend the. I’ll be reporting from the conference, about the food, and on the current state of New Orleans. Please come back and check in as I report on my visit....
read moreA First Birthday Party- and Italian Cream Cake
In May of 1994, my father celebrated his 70th birthday at a grand party. It was the first and last birthday party of his life. I made this wonderful Italian Cream Cake, a recipe I thought it would be perfect for a New Orleans crowd, chocked full if pecans and coconut, and as I suspected, it was a hit.
read moreChicken Piccadillo Chiles Rellenos
I will often take the time to make chiles rellenos con queso for Cinco de Mayo. This year, I took the opportunity to do something a bit different by stuffing my chiles with a chicken piccadillo, inspired by the wonderful Lindsay Naturals green olives.
read moreIn Praise of the California Avocado-and a Recipe for Chunky Guacamole
Guacamole is a dish much beloved by So Cal dwellers who grew up eating Cal Mex food. It should never be made in a food processor, never whirred to a smooth paste- in fact, ideally it should be mashed in a bowl (or a molcajete to be really authentic) to a nice, slightly chunky consistency, and it should never be stretched with sour cream. The taste of the avocado itself should shine prominently.
read moreSweet Potato Brioche- Part 2 in a Series on Sweet Potatoes
On a visit to Bayona, a the bread basket containing little rolls of Sweet Potato Brioche appeared. I devoured them immediately, and I never forgot those wonderful little rolls, so was very happy to see that Susan Spicer’s cookbook included the recipe for them.
read moreMaking Shrimp Stock and Remembering Momí
I always have a quart or two of shrimp stock in my freezer. I don’t remember exactly when it was I started reserving and freezing the shells of shrimp I peeled until I had enough to make shrimp stock. I do know that it’s been at least 20 years since my father started dropping bits of information to me about how Momí, his mother, cooked as he watched me begin my journey of becoming a professional culinarian.
read moreAn Homage to the Gulf, a Short Elegy for Shrimp and a Recipe for Remoulade
I have spent the last month organizing a fund raising tasting event (LA Helps LA), here in Los Angeles, to benefit the Gulf Restoration Network based in New Orleans. Because it was all over the news this summer, some may think it’s about the BP oil spill. Or perhaps because we have just passed the 5th anniversary of hurricane Katrina, some may think it’s in response to that. While it’s a silver lining to a very dark cloud, that the oil spill brought attention to the Gulf, and while I hope our nation never forgets the destruction wrought by Katrina, it’s not just about the BP oil spill, or Katrina. In this post, I am going to share with you a few issues, issues that have existed for a very long time, and that I wish everyone understood about the Gulf Coast region, which is the third coast of our nation. Perhaps it'll give you a better sense of why I have poured so much energy into this event. Much of this information came from www.healthygulf.org, which has been in existence since 1995- well before either of the above mentioned occurences. I urge you to visit their site for more info. The Dead Zone Sounds scary, right? And it is, although maybe not in the way you’re thinking. You may have read my relating of this story before. On a summer visit to New Orleans as a young teenager, I accompanied my Uncle JuJune and Aunt Leticia on a trip to “make” the groceries, as they say down there. I marveled at the low price of shrimp in the local grocery stores (a premonition of my life as a chef, perhaps). Uncle JuJune responded “hell, they’ll just give ‘em away if you drive a pick up truck down to the Gulf, they got so much of it.” Unfortunately, they are not quite so plentiful now. I was so saddened to learn what has happened, in the course of my adult lifetime, to shrimp in the Gulf. A “dead zone” (an area where oxygen levels in the water are too low to support life) forms seasonally off the coast of Louisiana and Texas, which while varying in size from year to year, often reaches the size of states like Delaware and New Jersey. Those fish, crabs, and shrimp that can swim away from the Dead Zone do so, while others simply die. So what causes the causes the Dead Zone ? It’s no mystery. According to www.heathygulf.org, “when the Mississippi River reaches the Gulf of Mexico, it is loaded with nitrogen and phosphorus pollution. The polluted water acts as a fertilizer of algae, resulting in large algal blooms. When the algae die, they sink to the saltier water below and decompose, depleting already low oxygen in the deeper water. Because the salty bottom waters do not mix well with the lighter, fresh water from the Mississippi River, oxygen in the water is not replenished, resulting in a large dead zone in bottom waters. There has been an almost threefold increase in nitrogen entering the Gulf from the Mississippi River and its tributaries in the last 30 years. Nitrogen remains the prime factor in causing the Dead Zone. The largest source of nitrogen is commercial fertilizer used throughout the...
read moreLessons learned from Hurricane Katrina and the BP oil spill- and how LA Helps LA
Every disaster we face brings with it hard won life lessons, and even silver linings.
Here are a couple of lessons I have learned, and which I have observed that the people of coastal Louisiana have learned in the past 5 years.
read moreFive years after Katrina-New Orleans Night at the Hollywood Bowl
Looking over the last 5 years, there’s no doubt that the two main engines fueling the restoration of New Orleans post-Katrina, are the food and the music. As I began to mull over what I would write, I knew I had to write about this concert.
read moreThe Passing of Albert Vera- and an Institution
Albert Vera, the owner of Sorrento’s Italian Market, in Culver City, and former Mayor of Culver City, died last week. I learned of his death last weekend, when I walked into the funky, overcrowded deli he’s operated for close to 50 years now, according to the story I found online when I got back home. There was a notice posted in the window informing his many loyal customers of his memorial service. I‘ve shopped at Sorrento’s, off and on, for almost 25 years now. I’ve watched his son who was always very friendly to me- maybe even a bit flirty as a teenager, grow into an adult with his own set of demons to battle. I was surprised at the depth of emotion I felt as I spoke to the women working there, even the sometimes grumpy woman who slices the meats, and who I often judge inwardly. I bowed my head so she wouldn’t see the tears begin to well in my eyes as we spoke of him. Why I felt his, I don’t know. Maybe it’s that Mr. Vera has been a constant presence, a kindly figure, always willing to give me (and others, I’m sure) a little discount, or some free items if we were cooking for a worthy cause, or tell me with a wave of his hand “just pay me next time,” if I wasn’t buying enough to meet his credit card minimum. Maybe I felt the sadness because of the personal touch with which he operated in this big impersonal sprawl of a city, or maybe because his little, old world store with its narrow crowded aisles and slightly dusty shelves, is such an anachronism, and I wondered if it will survive. I thought back on the day I went into the store shortly after my father died. I mentioned my father’s death to Mr. Vera. He had always donated food to the Autocrat West’s (my father’s expatriate New Orleans social club) for their St. Joseph’s Day celebration, as the feast was something Italian immigrants shared with the New Orleans expatriates. He didn’t really remember my father by name, but he commiserated with just the right touch of empathy nevertheless. Although I was unable to attend the funeral, I passed by the church on Tuesday morning. There was a procession of fire trucks and police cars, and a color guard of the Knights of Columbus, the old world Catholic men’s society, lining the walkway leading to the church’s entrance. I’m happy to say that Albert Vera, Jr. was at the store on Wednesday morning, continuing to greet customers who came by to pick up a bit of pancetta, and offer their condolences to him. Rest in peace, Mr....
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