Category Archives: de rebus californicis

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!

Parzen family Thanksgiving letter. Happy Thanksgiving!

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On the day we memorialized my mother in La Jolla, a double rainbow appeared over the Pacific Ocean. My older brother Tad took the photo above, a few hours before the celebration.

Maybe it was the accumulated sleep deprivation, maybe it was the cresting waves of emotion… or maybe Mother Nature decided to show us that even in the face of grief, there is beauty in the world — beauty that reminds you why you live and breathe despite the crushing, suffocating pain of loss.

A week has passed since we returned from San Diego where we buried my mother. The yahrzeit candle on our kitchen table is not quite spent as I write this.

It’s been the worst of years but also the best.

Daughter Georgia, violist and soon to be 14, made the cut for all-region orchestra earlier this year (wow!) and she’s been enjoying Houston Youth Symphony, another new feather in her musical cap. She’s also been playing electric bass.

Daughter Lila Jane, cellist and going on 13, is excited for first chair at this year’s varsity holiday concert. But even brighter in her life is the incoming 3/4-size cello that her former teacher is lending us until she grows into a full-size. Her current teacher got together with the former: they are both so impressed by her natural ability, they told me, they felt she needs a better instrument.

This was the year that the tariffs reshaped the European wine industry in the U.S. It’s also been a year where wine sales have dropped precipitously, including for domestic wine production.

But this year was also a year of miracles: the collapse of my industry and career dovetailed with Tracie’s growing success as a realtor (poo, poo, poo!). We’ve never had more financial security than ever before thanks to my brilliant and incredibly hard-working partner. I love her and the girls so much.

I’m thinking about that double rainbow as we prepare to leave for Orange, Texas where we’ll celebrate the holiday with Tracie’s family (aunt Ida is hosting this year, for a change).

I remember a line I once read in a prayer book during Yom Kippur: nothing, said the rebbe, heals like a broken heart.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Brown people are being “disappeared” in the U.S. We must stand up and speak out for them and their families and communities!

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According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the word “disappear” first began to be used as a transitive (as opposed to intransitive) verb in the 1960s.

As you can see from the OED, the term was initially used to describe the abduction and vanishing of political opponents in Soviet bloc and Latin America countries in that decade.

Today, the U.S. joins that list of countries whose governments have engaged historically in the practice.

On Saturday, more than 15,000 Houstonians took to the streets to protest the U.S. raids on Brown communities (among other egregious transgressions of American values). Tracie and I were there and it was an amazing and energizing experience (photo above).

But on Friday, I also attended a protest at a privately run ICE prison near Bush airport. There, multiple speakers shared their stories of family members who had been aggressively abducted and locked up despite the fact that they had legal status to be in the country.

In one of the most hideous moves by the U.S. government, I learned, ICE agents are lying in wait outside courtrooms in Houston. As it was described by multiple speakers on Friday night, they collude with the prosecutors who summarily move to dismiss the cases of asylum seekers. And as soon as they walk out of the courtroom, thinking that they are free to go, they are snatched by mask-wearing agents.

It’s entirely illegal: volunteer lawyers who have challenged the agents report that agents back down when they are pressed to show a warrant. One lawyer at the event managed to save 15 persons from deportation by challenging the agents.

In the meantime, these poor people are lost to the vortex of the byzantine immigration system. On Friday, I watched and listened to people weep for their relatives behind the walls of the privately run prison. Literally.

It’s time that we finally call this what it is: the profiling of Brown people and Brown communities by the U.S. government.

It’s anti-American and it runs counter to everything that we were taught to love about our country.

Thanks for being here and thanks for your solidarity and support. Please stand up and speak out!

Smith-Story Cabernet Sauvignon was delicious, a perfect fit for our family.

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Every since I poured my Houston cousin Neil a bottle of Smith-Madrone Cabernet Sauvignon, a wine he swooned over, it’s become a bit of a shared family quest: to find Neil Cabernet Sauvignon with freshness (acidity), a combination of fruit and savory flavors, and judicious use of oak aging.

Over the years he’s moved away from the oaky-jammy paradigm that managerial class members like him used to drink regularly. Maybe because he’s been enjoying Italian wines with us over the last decade, food-friendliness and freshness have become the two criteria that seem to drive his preferences.

While shopping for our family’s holiday wines last year, I came across the Smith-Story Sonoma Mountain Cabernet Sauvignon at our go-to wine shop, Houston Wine Merchant.

I first met Alison Smith back during her Texas career when she was a supplier rep for a high-profile Italian winery group. I’ve never met her husband Eric Story but I have enjoyed following their winery’s social media — especially their cynophilia.

Although the wine wasn’t a cheap date, it didn’t break the bank either. And it hit that sweet spot between inexpensive fruit-forward, oakier California Cabernet Sauvignon, and the really high end stuff (like Smith-Madrone), which I love but cannot regularly afford.

This wine had freshness, balanced fruit and acidity, judicious alcohol, and no oakiness.

Neil loved it, too, and it was gone in a flash after being served at our Hanukkah party. I highly recommend the wine and the people who make it.

Please don’t stop praying for our sisters and brothers in LA. And please join us for the MLK Day March in Orange, Texas on Monday, followed by our protest of the Neo-Confederate memorial there.

Rock with me, march with me, pray for LA.

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Our family is still reeling as we watch the awful images from LA.

So many of my friends have been displaced but luckily everyone, at least in my personal LA orbit, seems to be okay. Thank G-d.

It’s terrifying to read some of their accounts of escaping the flames.

We are praying for the city and its communities. We know our LA friends and colleagues are going to need a lot of help in recovering. Right now, many are just looking for a place to sleep tonight. It’s terrible.

For folks in Houston, I did want to let you know that my 80s cover band, Biodynamic Band, featuring Katie White on vocals and melodica, will be playing this Sunday, January 12, at Vinsanto on the westside. We’ll be playing three sets starting at 4 p.m.

And just around the corner… Tracie, the girls, and I will be marching in the historic Orange, Texas, MLK March on Monday, January 20. See flier below.

For those who have never participated, I believe you’ll find it to be an extremely compelling experience.

After the march, Tracie and I will be heading over the neo-Confederate memorial on I-10 for our yearly protest. Thanks again to everyone who contributed to our GoFundMe campaign to raise an MLK billboard across the from the monument. It will remain active throughout January and February (Black History Month).

I recognize that protesting symbols of white supremacy isn’t for everyone. But the march is something that nearly everyone in the community — except for the white supremacists — participates in.

We hope to see you then (Orange is an hour and a half drive from Houston btw).

Thanks for the support and solidarity. Please pray for LA. G-d bless the City of Angels. G-d bless us all.

La Jolla won’t annoy ya. A week in So Cal to relax and recharge.

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Does anyone remember Mel Tormé’s 1957 masterpiece operetta “California Suite”?

One of the early songs in the cycle is “La Jolla” and it begins with the line, La Jolla won’t annoy ya.

I feel so lucky to have grown up here. It was different when I was a kid: a sleepy beach town with lots of mom-and-pop storefronts and homey restaurants and dive bars. Today, downtown looks a lot like main street America (Starbucks, GAP, Victoria’s Secret etc.).

But the nature here is unbeatable: some of the best beaches and views in the state. And the food is great, too, with wonderfully fresh seafood and some of my favorite Mexican.

My adolescence was focused on getting away from this place to forge my own path. I wanted to live in LA and NYC and Europe and I did all those things. I’m glad I did.

Today, it’s wonderful to come back and share my La Jolla with Tracie and the girls. We have our family and so many great friends here and even the girls have made California friends.

On Wednesday, Tracie and I were in LA where I led a sold-out wine dinner at Rossoblu, one of my old haunts where I helped launched the wine program. We had a blast and it was great to see so many colleagues and old friends. We even got a little alone time in because the girls did an overnight at friends’ in La Jolla. We spent yesterday touring the city and eating fantastic Thai food.

Man, 57 isn’t so bad, after all.

Next week, I’ll get back to sharing my tales from the road in Italy. But not before I eat a yellow fin and a carne asada burrito. One more swim in the Pacific will do this soul some good.

Thanks for being here. Enjoy the rest of the summer and see you soon!

“I am not my geography.” Thank you American Tributaries Podcast for having me on your show! Plus: a song I wrote about the experience.

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Big shout out and thanks today to my friend and fellow wine professional and activist Michael Whidden for asking me to join him on his American Tributaries Podcast.

Listen on YouTube here or below.

Michael contacted me after I published a post in March entitled “Stop telling me I’m a bad person because I live in Texas.”

After having an encounter with a now former friend who made some extreme, severe comments about our family’s life in Texas, I asked the two people who read my blog to consider that “state boundaries do not represent monolithic ethical, moral, and aesthetic divides. There are all kinds of people in [my adoptive state] Texas, just as there are all kinds of people in California (including plenty of ultraconservative racists, among others, in my home state).”

I was thrilled to get a chance to discuss the unfortunate episode. Thanks for checking it out.

I also wrote a song about my experience. Warning: it’s profanity laden. But it really captures the absurdity of those situations.

The only thing that mattered to the person in question was that I live in Texas. Nothing else about my persona interested them. As it turns out, there’s a lot more to me (and everyone) than just geography.

Thanks for checking out the song as well. Heartfelt thanks to Michael for having me on his show.

Parzen family guide to La Jolla. Our favorite restaurants and places to visit.

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The Parzen family just got back from our yearly summer trip to La Jolla, California to visit our family and friends there. It was an awesome trip.

The following are our favorite places to visit, updated based on our last stay there.

La Jolla is a lot more crowded than it used to be. And the traffic there has become challenging to say the least.

But as long as you don’t waste half of your day driving in and out of town, it’s still a fantastic place to vacation.

That’s the view walking down the hill toward the Children’s Pool in the photo above, one of the best places to watch the sunset. And you invariably find seals and sea lions on the beach there and on “seal rock” just a stone’s throw up the coast (literally a stone’s throw).

El Pescador Fish Market, a La Jolla institution since my childhood, remains our favorite seafood destination.
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Natural wine in Palm Springs? Yes, it’s true and it’s wonderful.

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Just had to give a shout-out this week to John Libonati (above) and his awesome natural-focused wine shop Hyphen- in Palm Springs. Yes, Palm Springs!

For a lot of folks who grew up in southern California like me, Palm Springs was often a destination for visiting relatives, family get-togethers, and long weekends just a few hours away from home.

But in my adult years, those get-aways always meant bring your own wine because you’re not going to find much there. Let’s face it: beyond Sherman’s Deli, Palm Springs is not exactly known as a fomo food destination.

That’s all changed now that John, a lovely man from a storied New York restaurant family, has launched his shop. Organic is the baseline, he told me when we visited earlier this week. He wants to get his clients to get out of their “Rombauer” mind set. And it’s working.

Yesterday, during a visit with a hipster colleague in San Diego, news of natural wine in the desert was met with glee.

“I’m going there this weekend!” he exclaimed. “Where is this place?”

He was pleased to know that you’ll find it right on California State Route 111 as you drive into town.

John ran restaurants and night clubs in the city roughly around my same years in New York. It was so much fun to reminisce about some of the characters and players from that now lost era when cool bands still played at CBGB. Natural wine began to become a thing around that time as well.

It’s great to see John spreading the good word to the Golf Capital of the World. Be sure to check his shop out when you visit. You’ll thank me.

Where homage to tradition is transcendent: Cotogna in San Francisco, one of my best meals this year.

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Wines for Peace: Brunello Consortium auction benefitting Ukraine, Monday, April 11, at Vinitaly. Click here to learn more.

Since the late 1980s, Italian cuisine in the U.S. has been shaped by a tension between traditional- and creative-leaning forces.

Remember the wave of “northern Italian cuisine” that came around in the Reagan years? “Sunday gravy” was out and polenta was in.

The problem was that culinary interpreters often didn’t see these dishes in historical or cultural context. The rich meat- and jus-driven sauces we ate as kids in this country were a derivative of haute Neapolitan cuisine (vis-à-vis Ippolito Cavalcanti).

Polenta, on the other hand, so popular “rustic” and “peasant” (ugh, I can’t stomach that term) movements of the late 1990s, was a dish that many older people in Italy refused to eat at the time because it reminded them of a time when there wasn’t enough to eat (the 19th-century pellagra crisis in Italy was caused in part because polenta had become a staple for economically marginalized families; in the years following WWII, many older Italians in the north will tell you, polenta was all they had to eat).

Making my way over to Cotogna from my hotel in San Francisco the other night, I couldn’t help but remember a chilly winter evening in the late 80s when I stopped a man on the street and asked him if he knew the way to a certain “trattoria,” a name for pseudo-Italian restaurants that had become popular in the second half of the decade.

He did, he responded, but he would only tell me — and I’m not kidding about this — if I pronounced it correctly.

It wasn’t traht-toh-REE-ah, as I had enunciated it. It was traht-TOH-ree’ah, with the emphasis on the second syllable, not the second to last.

It kinda says it all, right there.

In my view and experience, the greatest Italian restaurants in the U.S. have always found a precarious however brilliant balance between the traditional and creative. And my meal at Cotogna was a fantastic example of how respectful homage to tradition can be transcendent.

The carrot sformato (first photo) blew me away with its ethereal texture and subtle dance of bold but elegant flavors. Sformato — properly called a savory custard in English — is all about the texture. It should be firm but light, rich but buoyant. I know already from my Instagram that people agree with me: this dish was nothing short of show-stopping. I loved it.

The asparagus alla fiorentina (second photo) brought to mind trips to San Francisco with my parents when I was a child in the 70s. They would slurp coffee as they inhaled “eggs Florentine” at a swank hotel restaurant on Union Square.

This truly Florentine-inspired dish sang out to me. The flavor — the bontà or goodness as we say in Italian — of the materia prima was nothing short of spectacular. And I loved the play in texture — again, texture! — between the lardons and American-style bacon (which btw is extremely popular in Italy today).

The finale, garganelli with rabbit, also played on its balance of textures and subtle flavors. I loved that the rabbit was ground, not stringy, and the richly flavored pasta was the focus of this dish, not the rabbit. I couldn’t agree or have enjoyed it more.

Paired with the delicious, spicy Ruché Panta Rhei by Valdisole (thank you, Ceri Smith!), this dish became the synecdoche for the entire dinner. For a generation who grew up complaining that there wasn’t enough sauce on the soggy over-cooked and rinsed pasta, it made me feel like we might finally have adolesced.

Thank you wine director Joseph Di Grigoli and team for taking such good care of me. Your work is as inspiring as it is delicious.