Food, Family, and Memory

Adventures of White and Brown Bear

oliverbothbears I had one hell of a shower for my first born. Numerous gifts were given. I had been to my fair share of showers, both for weddings and babies, and now I wanted a big, fancy one of my own. Kimme had the best house, so she threw it for me with my other BFF, Kimberly. Robin made the unforgettable-to-this-day desserts.

Two of the gifts were what seemed at the time like simple, not-too-much-thought-put-into-it gestures. A white stuffed bear. And a brown stuffed bear.

By the time Oliver was only a few months old, he clung to those two bears — they had become his best friends, his security bears. Before the age of one, he would never leave the house without white and brown bear.

I was hired for a small part in a small movie, on location in Texas. I would be gone a week. Oliver, white bear, brown bear and I boarded a plane. I hired some random local girl to watch my baby while I worked on set. Things went well and I hired her for the following day too. But when I came back to the hotel, brown bear was missing. We went into panic mode, though the teenaged girl seemed way relaxed. I grilled her. “Where were you when you last saw brown bear?” She did seem to recall something about the pool area. It was now evening, dark already and we all went down to comb the pool area. No brown bear. As we were about to give up, I looked into the trash and there he was looking very forlorn, ready to take a trip to the local dump. He would never have been seen again had I not peeked into the trash can. What a relief. Separation anxiety averted.

My Mother's Grape Leaves

My Mother Vina circa 1957

Instead of turkey, mashed potatoes, etc., stuffed grape leaves (along with shish-kabob and pilaf) is the traditional centerpiece of our Christmas dinner.

Disclaimer: Every script I’ve ever written is overly descriptive and too long, so no doubt this recipe will be, too. Apologies in advance.

The River Cafe

The good thing about having a sister who owns a restaurant – and The River Café is a great one in my opinion – is that when she’s cooking my son is allowed to order ‘off the menu’. In his case it’s a plate of the most wonderful creamy pasta carbonara. Made special for him with egg yolks the color of oranges, peppered pancetta and the parmesan cheese hand carried from Parma, I suppose. The bad thing is that my sister won’t let me have any. “You don’t need it”, she says looking at my waist. So it’s the regular menu for me.

When TV Snacks Had Style

Back in the days when evening television was interactive family entertainment, when Ed Sullivan and "College Bowl" were on, my family used to gather in the TV room. In our house, that was the bar. It had a Fleetwood television built into the wall, with the controls built in next to the silk-covered sofa on which my mother would always lie, on her back, her head propped up by four pillows.

Next to her, on the coffee table, was a Dewars-and-soda on ice and a pack of Kent filters. My sisters and I would lie on the floor, my father would sit in his teak rocking chair, and we would watch television and eat TV snacks—clam dip baked on toasted Pepperidge Farm white bread; Beluga caviar, whenever anyone sent it over; a really disgusting (but great) dip made out of cottage cheese, mayonnaise, chives, and Worcestershire sauce, with ruffled potato chips; and Mommy's favorite, blanched and toasted almonds.

"Oh, goody," she would say, " 'College Bowl' is on tonight. Let's make blanched almonds."

Gumbo à la Miss Betty

As any good Cajun cook will tell you, "First you make a roux." But what, you might ask, is a roux?.

Even with the proliferation over the last couple of decades of Cajun chefs, Cajun restaurants and Cajun cookbooks, blackened this and blackened that (what ever that means); most non- Cajun aficionados of South Louisiana’s cuisine can’t explain a roux either.

But I was in luck Sunday when an actual real life Cajun from Kraemer Louisiana, my best pal Keith, showed up at my kitchen door in Silver Lake. "I heard ya'll needed some help with a roux."

As my fellow Louisianaian explains, the gumbo starts with the cast iron skillet, not the roux. If you don’t have a thick skillet the heat won’t distribute properly and the roux will be either over or under cooked. With that in mind, I turn the fire on high and pour one cup of canola oil in the skillet along with one piece of bacon. The bacon adds a subtle flavor and also serves somewhat like a canary in a coal mine. If the bacon cooks too fast the fire’s too hot (I said kinda like a canary in a coal mine).

Food, Family and Memory