A more lighthearted political taco kerfuffle in Texas.

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Just when I thought that the nation’s taco culture wars were subsiding, yet another political taco kerfuffle took shape after James Talarico and Barack Obama shared breakfast tacos in Austin earlier this week.

“Talarico’s Taco Order Turns Into a Texas-Sized Debate” was the headline reported by the Times: “What started as a taco stop with former President Barack Obama quickly turned into a very Texas debate over the proper breakfast taco order.”

At one point in the story, Governor Greg Abbott, the mini Texas Trump, insinuates that Talarico is a closeted vegetarian. Yes, you read that right. Vegetarianism is now a political liability, at the least in the minds of some Republicans. Oh my!

All this talk of breakfast tacos inspired me to head to my favorite Houston breakfast taco place and enjoy a couple.

Those are the “egg/potato/cheese tacos on corn [tortillas]” at Tamales Don Pepe not far from where Tracie and I live.

I first got hooked on breakfast tacos when we lived in Austin (where the girls were born). Those who have never visited the state capital might be surprised to learn that “breakfast taco” is a synecdoche for an entire culture there.

There are breakfast tacos everywhere: at modest taquerias, at bougie breakfast restaurants, fancy restaurants for rich folk, at gas stations…

In my view and experience, the whole point of the breakfast taco is that you customize it to suit your tastes. It’s a personalized expression of individual liberty

This morning, I got the classic egg/potato/cheese but I ordered mine “on corn” tortillas. Flour tortillas are arguably the default vessels.

Some people criticized Talarico, a native of central Texas (where Austin is located), for ordering a breakfast taco at 2 p.m.

Anyone who’s ever lived in Austin — “the live music capital of the world” — knows that musicians often don’t have breakfast until the early afternoon. (I used to be a musician in Austin, myself.)

There’s another best-kept-secret about breakfast tacos that only musicians and late-night revelers know: they’re a great hangover cure.

Have a great weekend, everyone. Enjoy some breakfast tacos with someone you love and share a laugh at the superciliousness of our political class.

When a taco isn’t just a taco… Signs of the absurdist times we live in.

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Ceci n’est pas un taco.

One of the most ridiculous things I’ve read this week: a political kerfuffle in California over the meaning of “street taco.”

“Steve Hilton,” the Republican front-runner candidate for California governor, “called a Crunchy Del Taco a ‘street taco’ in California. The backlash was instant,” reported the Times.

Hilton “posted a video of his Del Taco order. Social media users accused him of misunderstanding the state’s Mexican food culture.” (Evidently, “Crunch Del Taco” is a menu item at the southwest fast food chain restaurants.)

Hilton has a point when he notes that journalists should focus on the issues and not the taco.

But his detractors are also right to call him out for what he is: a carpetbagger, in the most literal sense of the term. (I mean, come on, he’s a Brit who identifies as a Republican. What could be less Californian than that? Tacos aside, of course.)

The reason why Hilton might become the leader of one the largest leftist states in the Union is because the democratic shoo-in fell by the wayside after revelations of his sexual predation.

These days, it feels like the whole world has been turned on its head.

In Maine, Democrats are making moral excuses for a Senate candidate whose previous Nazi-sympathies are on full display.

In Texas, a San Antonio Democratic candidate for Congress openly spews ugly antisemitic rhetoric.

And just this morning, I read about a candidate for Texas oil regulator who has brushed off claims of antisemitism despite countless racist outbursts.

He had posted a poll on social media asking his followers to weigh in: Jews or Muslims, the biggest threat? he asked them.

When challenged over the post, he “said that last year’s social media poll question, which he deleted, was meant to show Islam ‘is the bigger threat‘” (Times). Talmudic or Sharia law, it’s probably all the same to him.

Oh, how I pine for the days when a taco was just a taco!

Happy Mother’s Day, Judy. Memories and gravlax.

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Mom, my goodness, happy Mother’s Day!

How long has it been since you’ve been gone? Not even a year has passed since you left us.

I found this photo deep in the trove of papers I recovered from your apartment before it was cleaned out.

Wow! That was 1995 and I’m pretty sure, based on my memories, that the image was captured in Siena, just off the Piazza del Campo. It was 1995 (a date recorded on the verso), probably January, while I was still on winter break from my Fulbright year at the Scuola Normale and Vatican.

Look at your broad smile! Look at how eager you seem to meet the day!

We sure had some good times in Italy during my years there. I’ll never forget that first dinner at the Osteria del Leone in Bagno Vignoni (in Siena province).

But then again, we also had exquisite brunch at Las Mañanitas relais in Cuernavaca, an evening repast in the same dining room as Henry Kissinger at Ducasse (not long after it opened), lunch across from Kofi Annan at the U.N. mess, supper served by a sommelier with a tongue piercing at Alinea… A Thousand Cranes in LA, Petrossian (back in the day) in NYC, sweetbreads followed by famous flan at La Puerta del Sol in Tijuana…. man, those were the days!

If you were here with us today, I know you would remember each and every one of those meals and occasions. I know I remember them, and a million more, so gladly.

You weren’t so fond of taking pictures. And when you were coerced into posing for one, your smile appeared only reluctantly.

But buried deep, under a pile of photos from your trip to Israel, I discovered a secret stash of photos from that Sienese sojourn, many of them with your beaming smile.

Oh, to share some of your favorite gravlax at Barney Greengrass on this first Mother’s Day without you! I can hear the servers carrying on about the freshly fired latkes now…

Parzen family updates and music this Saturday night.

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Folks may have noticed that I haven’t been posting much lately.

That’s because I’ve been busy with a book project and I’ve been finishing up my coursework to get my realtor license.

Tracie’s real estate business has only continued to grow (poo poo poo!). I’ve already been helping out with all kinds of tasks (media, staging, handiwork). But with my license in place, I’ll be able to support her to an even greater extent.

Now that my studies are complete, I’m just waiting in the queue to get my exam date (the process is painfully slow).

I’ve also been doing a lot of music. I upgraded my recording rig this year and I’ve been helping out with kids’ video auditions and helping a couple of music friends demo their original music. That’s been super fun.

On Saturday evening, Bela and the Bangers (above) will be performing at our beloved Emmit’s Place, our local dive bar/music club. The occasion is Bela’s birthday and a ton of her friends are coming out to jam. We’ll play a set on the early side, followed by appearances from the gazillion awesome musicians Bela plays with. It should be a super fun evening and there will be great food as well. Come on down if you’re looking for something to do and want to support local music and local business.

It’s incredible to think that I haven’t been back to Italy in more than a year. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help out with travel recommendations for friends. But at this point, I don’t have the intel anymore.

What else? The girls are both doing well and are looking forward to their summer camp (music) and summer vacations (Florida and California).

I have so many things that I want to write about and share here. Please don’t give up on me! And thanks for being here. I’ll get back to posting regularly soon. And hope to see you on Saturday night at Emmit’s!

Roundup gets its day in court.

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So much terrible is happening in the world right now. With the public’s myriad distractions, little is being said about the Supreme Court’s audience yesterday where Big Chemical is seeking to dismiss scores of lawsuits claiming that Roundup — and its primary active ingredient, glyphosate — causes cancer.

The central legal issue is a lawsuit where a Missouri man was awarded $1.25 million dollars in a suit where he claimed that Roundup made him sick.

If Bayer — the owner of the patent — wins, all the pending cases will be wiped clean.

Back when I was writing about wine and interacting regularly with grape growers and winemakers on both sides of the Atlantic, I met people who called glyphosate one of the most evil inventions of humankind. At the same time, I also met winemakers — including producers of expensive, top-tier wines — who swore by the product and insisted that they wouldn’t be able to achieve the same high quality in their wines without it.

One of the problems for grape growers, I’ve learned, is that excessive use of glyphosate can contaminate the local water table. In places like northern Italy, where families live side-by-side with the vines, that can lead to dangerous consequences.

But there’s another reason that growers think Roundup is a bad thing. So many people I talked to said that Roundup gave those who use it an unfair advantage. They would also note that it compromises the “natural” or “terroir-driven” character of wine. By using such a specifically targeted weed killer, they argue, they are cheating nature. Winemakers who use it counter that it allows the terroir — the “sense of place” — to shine through.

In any industry where brands are often centered around the “wholesomeness” of the product, glyphosate is an extremely sticky subject.

I, for one, will be looking out for the court’s decision. It will have a huge impact on grape growing. Google it up to read more about the background.

Image via Corporate Europe Observatory’s Flickr.

Lila, age 12: “if not us, then who?” Words to live by.

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One of the biggest changes in our family’s life this year has been the arrival of Tillie Billie Eilish — our rescue Beagle-Red Heeler mix.

Before she was first homed in Willis, Texas, about an hour north of us, she must have been abused. Men, in particular, are loathsome to her — me included.

The passing of our dog Rusty left such a big hole in our home and our hearts. It’s been tough for me not to be able to develop a relationship with her. The only person in the house she plays with is Lila Jane, our 12-year-old. She sleeps every night in Lila’s bed.

When I complained about how reserved she is around me, Lila gently nudged: Daddy, look at it this way. You’re the man she likes more than any other!

When she saw how disappointed I am not to be one of Tillie’s persons, she looked up at me with those beautiful brown eyes.

Daddy, she said, think about it this way: who else, besides our family, would be patient enough to help her? If we don’t do it, who else would? We have to take care of her!

Little did our Lila Jane know that she was quoting Hillel the Elder. If not now, then when?

She was also quoting the late congressman John Lewis. If not us, then who?

In a world where kindness and personal responsibility seem to be in short supply, 12-year-old Lila spoke like the sages of antiquity, like a leader of the civil rights movement.

Reading the awful daily news, I keep going back to what Lila said. We surely could use more of that today. Every morning when I sit down at the keyboard, I’m going to ask myself, If not us, then who? If not now, then when? At our house, they are words to live by.

The Pope and the President.

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The early Italian medieval writer Petrarch — the first humanist — had a lifelong quest that was never truly fulfilled. He wanted the Papacy to return to Rome from its “Babylonian Exile” in France. Like his de facto predecessor, the early Italian poet Dante, he believed the Pope should be concerned only with spiritual matters.

Even after the Papacy returned to Rome in 1377, it remained a political and military power. The Vatican oversaw the Papal State in Italy, including four major regions on the Italic peninsula. It wasn’t until 1870, when the nascent monarchic Italian state defeated the Vatican’s forces and took control of Rome, that the Vatican’s forces stood down once and for all.

But that didn’t stop the Vatican from being an aggressively active political power.

It was stunning to hear the vice president of the U.S. arrogantly advise the Pope that he should stay in his own lane. In one widely cited quote, he essentially tells the Pope that he is a liar (his statements should be “anchored in truth,” the VP admonished!).

As a convert to Catholicism, he should be finely aware of the Catholic Church’s history and its role in shaping world events. Ever since the 4th-century “Donation of Constantine” (look it up), leading thinkers have argued that the Papacy should limit itself to spirituality while others have lobbied for it to remain temporal (earthly) in its scope.

But the fact of the matter is that the Vatican has always been politically focused.

The only thing more stunning is hearing Trump-supporting Catholics complain this week about Trump’s blasphemous comments and imperatives. Where were those same Christians when Trump mocked a disabled journalist, when he denigrated a U.S. war hero and senator, when he scolded a TV anchor for having “blood coming out of her wherever”?

Are they finally getting the message that Trump won’t know Jesus until he finally meets him after his death? After all that’s happened, how can they even call Vance a Catholic and Trump a Christian?

I’m sticking with the Pope’s message to the world: “G-d’s heart is torn apart by wars, violence, injustice, and lies.” Nothing political about that!

Image via the Catholic Church England and Wales Flickr.

HSPVA-bound! Congratulations Georgia!

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Ever since the girls entered the Suzuki strings music program at Parker Elementary, we have been dreaming that one day they would attend Houston’s Kinder High School for the Performing and Visual Arts, one of the top performing arts schools in the country.

It’s been a long and winding road since Georgia first picked up her violin (and later switched to viola), paved with honest hard work and genuine sacrifice.

Yesterday we learned that she has been accepted into the conservatory program there. Tears are welling in my eyes as I write this.

Congratulations, Georgia! Beautiful child, brainy teen, “old soul” (as so many people call you), you are a dream come true. You are my dream come true.

Not long before she died, my mother wondered out loud if she should have supported me more in my own music journey.

“Watching all you do for the girls’ music,” she said, “it makes me think I should have done that for you.” I really didn’t know what to say. “But you did all right without me,” she added.

Because of the tragedies unfolding in our lives during my teenage years, Judy didn’t have the bandwidth or energy to take interest in my creative or academic life. I was on my own. But I did “alright,” as she told me that day not so long ago.

Watching Georgia thrive and achieve a highest of heights feels like an empty space in my soul is finally being filled up with joy and promise. Had Georgia pursued a different field or path I would be just as happy. But that she’s doing music… wow… man… The dreams deferred (who gets the reference?) are making way for a soul fulfilled.

Congratulations wonderful Georgia! Mommy and I couldn’t be more proud, more happy, and more excited for your bright future! We love you! We love you!

Israel’s new death penalty is racist and inhumane.

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As the world holds it breath and Trump threatens to rain Armageddon on Iran at 8 p.m. Eastern Standard Time (set your dials!), the U.S. media have only obliquely reported Israel’s new death penalty, passed into law last week.

Here’s what the Times had to say:

“Israel’s Parliament passed a law on Monday that would allow the hanging of Palestinians convicted of deadly militant attacks, but experts say it almost certainly cannot be applied to Jewish extremists convicted of similar crimes. The law is a victory for Israel’s far right and reflects the country’s shift to a harder line against Palestinians.”

“The legislation makes death by hanging the default sentence in Israeli military courts for Palestinians convicted of deadly attacks. Israeli citizens — both Jewish and Palestinian Arab — could also face the death penalty for killings intended to ‘negate the existence of the State of Israel.’ Experts say, however, the chances that it would be applied to Jewish Israelis for attacks against Palestinians are minimal.”

In other words, Jewish West Bank settlers won’t be held accountable for murdering Palestinians because their acts aren’t a negation of the existence of the State of Israel.

“Before the law passed, Britain, France, Italy and Germany urged [Israeli] lawmakers not to enact it.”

The executions will be carried out by hanging because the Israeli medical establishment has refused to participate with death by lethal injection. The executions will have to be completed within 180 days. The time limit will make it even harder for death row inmates to appeal their conviction.

This is the country that the U.S. has followed blindly into the most consequential war of our times. Don’t forget to set that dial to 8 p.m. Eastern Standard Time!

I’m a Jew and I have loved Israel over the course of my life. I visited the country in 2000, not long before the second Intifada began, and I saw how Palestinians already lived in an apartheid state. But I still felt the call of a Jewish homeland, despite its deep-running flaws.

The genocide in Gaza is a crime against humanity. The occupation of southern Lebanon is sure to bring about yet another humanitarian crisis. The war in Iran is threatening the stability of the world (not protecting Americans). And the new racist and inhumane death penalty reveals that Israel can be considered nothing less than a full-blown apartheid state.

How I finally found the family where I belong. (And they’re all coming over for Passover tonight!)

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One of the wildest stories of my crazy life is how I finally found the family where I belong.

Not long after I moved to Austin to be with Tracie (good move!), a man named Marty Levy started calling me from Houston. I knew who he was — my father’s first cousin. Beyond that, he and his family were strangers to me. That’s because he and my father stopped speaking in the early 1980s when I was a teenager.

As it turns out, Marty and his family like fine dining. Before long, I was commuting to Houston every week for one of the best gigs that I’ve ever had. It was thanks to Marty, a personal friend of Tony Vallone, that I began working with the legendary Texas restaurant Tony’s. The job and the Levys are why we moved here to Houston, a city that I love.

Over the years, the Levy and (Texas) Parzen families have shared countless meals and holidays. We have a lot in common (music, food, wine, academia) and we genuinely love hanging out and caring for one another.

Let’s face it: my San Diego family has never liked me. I used to be close to my older brother. That ended when he became a lawyer more than 30 years ago. My little brother and his wife have shunned me since college. In the run-up to our mother’s death, they seemed to want to have a relationship. But it ultimately emerged that they wanted me to side with them against my older brother. Nice, right? No dice.

Why is my original nuclear family so messed up? I attribute the fracture to the black cloud that has followed us in the wake of horrific crimes committed by our father. It’s not easy to love your own family, I guess, when your dad is featured in the local paper for being a prolific asshole.

Tonight the Levys are coming over for Passover. There will be nearly 20 of us breaking matzos together. It’s a miracle. I came to Texas for Tracie. But Texas gave me the family that loves me. Man, I’m one lucky son of a gun to have escaped the misery of Parzen family California. Gut Yontif! Happy Passover! I’m finally home.