The unrelenting volume comparison of women vs. men in the culinary realm compels me to shout out a very rich alpha-female-chef-centric story. Women were the fulcrum to the culinary machination of our Bay Area riches we draw from today.
July 14 marks the birthday of legendary Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman. The quintessential art house filmmaker would have turned ninety five this year. I revisit his films and I am always surprised to discover something new about a character (and sometimes myself).
Brussels sprouts are the only vegetable I ever really liked. People have always mocked me for this, but apparently now it's cool. The Brusselian Era is upon us at long last, and I, for one, welcome our cruciferous overlords.
After my mother passed away last year, I was tasked with emptying out her house in Los Angeles. I found a wheeled, wrought-iron bar cart bearing funny swizzle sticks, a wooden monkey and four old bottles of whiskey. What now?
Viewing Hiroshi Teshigahara's 1965 short White Morning, it's easy to get the impression that the filmmaker, like Scorsese or Godard, is obsessed with cinema itself, totally devoted to deciphering its language and developing its potential.
Maybe instead of worrying if you saved 10%, 20% or 50% on something most likely made in China, that you can exist without, you can be part of baby steps to mindfulness and an appreciation of what is around you.