Laraine Newman

One of the things I feel is emblematic of being a California Girl is the love of cars.  The Peterson Automotive Museum is having a Low Rider exhibit right now.  Bitchen, right? Personally, I can’t wait.

My earliest memory of the low rider culture was a song by Thee Midniters, probably the first significant Chicano rock bands to come out of Los Angeles.  They had several hits, like Land of 1,000 Dances, but anyone who grew up loving music and cars in the 1960s couldn’t forget “Let’s take a trip down Whittier Boulevard, yeehaa, Arriba , Arriba!” It’s part of my DNA just as much as the love of surfing. In fact, when you listen to the song, it has that early surf sound.  That reverb electric guitar Dick Dale made famous.   But that’s a whole other story for another time. 

Clementine, the great west-side L.A. charcuterie has amazing candies, too...

Ok, so I love Shirley Temple.  Anyone who thinks I’m a sap can eat me.  She was a genius.  There’s never been a child performer who could do what she did.  At the age of 3, she could sing, dance and act. 

When she uh, matured, one of the many things she did was a television show called Shirley Temple’s Storybook. It ran from 1958-1960. She did all the classics and even starred in some of them. 

As young as I was, I was aware of the schism between her matronly plumpness and the tight fitting costumes she squeezed into as she appeared as The Little Mermaid among others.  But, that never diminished my love for her.

One story stayed with me always.  It was Pippi Longstocking.  Everything about it captivated me.  What the hell did I know about adaptations and TV versions?  I was 7.  All I knew was I wanted to be her.  She was free of parents, her life was one rip snortin’ adventure after another and she had magical powers….one of which was her supply of Smart Pills.  And you know what they were?  CARAMEL COVERED MARSHMALLOWS!!!!!!!!!! That’s right! Not only did I happen to love See’s Scotch Kisses I really needed to be smarter!  Ok, so I really didn’t believe it.  But I loved the fantasy of it.  Just like I loved eating spinach as I hummed the Popeye theme song.

My idea of a good time is dragging my sorry ass up the stairs after a long day, plopping down on the bed, snuggling with my husband and watching re-runs of Law and Order or, if God REALLY loves me, a NEW episode of Real Time With Bill Maher. This 4 star vacation is earned after a day of schlepping kids, policing homework and of course the dance of death known as feeding everyone.

I’ve lost the will to live at that point, so preparing food for myself is out of the question.  I hastily eat something over the sink or bring things up to the bed that can be dipped or combined such as pesto with bread and diet coke, or Cheezits and Cranberry Juice. Oy.

Francois Truffaut has been famously quoted about the process of making a movie being similar to a wagon train crossing the country.  You start out the journey with high hopes and the spirit of adventure and halfway through, you just want to get there alive.

That’s pretty much what my journey with cooking has been like.  I seduced my husband with duck breast and wild rice pancakes with apricot sauce.  That was nothin’.  I really loved to cook.  People were always surprised by that and I was always surprised they were surprised.  What? Women in comedy can’t cook?  Every Hungarian Jewish woman has to be a good cook. It’s biological destiny.