Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Where the Boys Are

Saturday, February 26th, 2011

from left, me, Bettsie, me with Diana, right, me thinking about Sol

What a motley group of misfits we were. Putzing around, morning till night, each new day a Groundhog Day repeat of the one before. There was Sol, my soul mate, though he didn’t know it. Skinny kid, a year older than me; a little boy who wouldn’t reach puberty till late, like me. Tons of freckles, also like me. A bit of a trouble maker (me? not so much). There was Doug, way into puberty, hairy and all, and at a young age. Man-like, deep voice, with a bark bigger than his bite. Other kids feared him. Danny, very scary, very hairy, already a bit of a perv at 11 or 12. Dave and Bill were older, or seemed so much older that I didn’t really know why they were hanging around with us. And they sure didn’t seem like they were from Beverly Hills — but I’m not sure any of us did. Many of us were from the “the slums of Beverly Hills,” where our parents moved us for a better education. Some education: playing poker in Roxbury Park.

Most of us were free floaters; lost kids. Kids with parents who didn’t know or didn’t care where their children were. And if they cared, they thought we were at the Teen Center and under some sort of supervision. That could not be farther from the truth. There was gambling, sex and eventually drugs. Again, not me. Not me… yet.

It was an alpha male group and we girls were mainly considered a nuisance. The boys played cards all day, placing big, Vegas-style bets in public. This was a serious pastime and girls were not really allowed. We would foist ourselves on them, standing behind one or another and praying for our guy to win. That’s when we would momentarily be noticed and the boy might say, “Stay there Fredde, you’re good luck for me today.” Ah, the power of that. I was needed and important. I was 12 years old. Stolen moments in the Boys Club.

my brother Alan in hat, Sol looking at camera, Doug to right

My best friend Susie had a pool table so I spent hours practicing my game. Then, I would show up at the Teen Center and strut my new shots. In order to play with the boys, you needed the skill and I was beginning to hold my own. This is also where I became fiercely competitive and not bad at all at ping-pong. The boys were sometimes brutal on Diana, a devoted friend since age 5. She wasn’t quite as skillful at dodging their abuse as I was. And she taunted them more than I did. We were both teased mercilessly for being flat-chested.

Susie was the eternal tomboy, who didn’t quite “get” my fascination with the boys. She had some great toys in her house. Besides the pool table, there were also slot machines. Her dad was friends with all the famous race car drivers because he made parts for their cars. I used these masculine toys as bait to get the gang over to Susie’s house. That was always a real accomplishment, one that went totally unnoticed by Susie, who often feigned disinterest. And to be truthful, the boys weren’t there for me either. They came just to play with the toys. But, the excitement of it all made me dream of more boy-filled nights. (more…)

La Scala’s Chopped Salad and Ellen Barkin’s Hair

Wednesday, November 10th, 2010

Gabriel Byrne, me Matthew Winter, Tara, Augie and Barnaby at Fourth of July parade, Palisades


Today, Barnaby, my youngest turned 20. Sounds pretty old to me. When he was very little he was quite shy; he would turn beet red and look down if he had to speak to someone. I remember when he was only 4 years old he had a huge crush on Cameron Diaz and couldn’t get enough of her from, “The Mask.” He also fancied Kate Moss and Ellen Barkin. I thought, wow, good taste for a kid that age. My husband, not his biological father, thought this kid will be knocking someone up by the time he’s a teenager. He seemed pretty girl or rather women crazy. But then real life takes a turn and by the time he was a teen he was determined not to have a girlfriend. And he held to that as long as he possibly could. He’s not holding to it anymore. He’s been dating someone for nearly a year, and he’s head over heels.
We didn’t know Kate Moss or Cameron Diaz, but we did spend a lot of time with Ellen Barkin. She was very close to one of my best friends and a group of us spent most Sundays hanging at Kimberly’s, swimming. Let me say this, Ellen Barkin is one of the sexiest women alive. I totally got Barnaby having this early crush. She is smart, sultry, engaging and funny. Did I mention that she also had one of the best haircuts around? I was certain she went to one of the top cater to celebrity hairdressers, and as much as I wanted her great haircut, I thought, probably out of my price range. I actually go to Supercuts — or rather went to Supercuts — now I go to Rudy’s Barbershop. I like fast and cheap. I’m not fussy about hair or makeup and spend very little on either. But at that time I was kind of longing for Ellen Barkin’s fabulous haircut, so one day I asked her where she got it and how much it cost.
I thought if you’re ready to cut your hair into a bob it’s better to spring for the big bucks and do it right. So, I made my appointment. The minute I sat down, I told the stylist I was Ellen’s friend and that her cut was the exact one I wanted. That part was easy. In no time at all I was transformed into Ellen Barkin. No fucking kidding. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, wow, this is great! (more…)

I’m Growing Up, I’m 57!!! (said with a kick like Molly Shannon on SNL)

Sunday, October 24th, 2010

me with my dad, "Duke" at the beach house in 1992

My husband has heard my stories so many times he’s given each a number.   There’s the hilarious # 12, the poignant # 8B, and the surefire crowd-pleasers #2 and #33.  Rather than hear them again, at this point in our marriage he prefers I just call out the number.  This one I’m going to tell you is kind of a celebrity-sighting story – it doesn’t have a number yet, but here goes.

Eighteen summers ago when the show my husband had worked on was ending — well, not so much ending as the host was retiring —  he treated himself to a summer in the “bu.”  (Malibu, for those not in the know).   After all the years of experience with my dad blowing big wads of cash on summer rentals, I decided to help with the negotiations.  My dad would always start his rental on Memorial Day and end at Labor Day.  So, I suggested the same and we got the real estate agent to agree on a lower price for the longer term.  My husband moved into a wonderful home on Old Malibu Road the very night of the show’s last taping.

The summer of ‘92 on Old Malibu Road could have been its own book or at the very least a good short story.   Suffice it to say, it was a grand summer.
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Ratatouille, Not Really

Wednesday, August 25th, 2010

Kimberly Beck Clark and Fredde Duke

I bonded with Kimberly, my BFF over a dog named Sidney (often called Bitters , still don’t know why) but the real story goes like this. My best male friend up the street was David Feder who just sort of got stuck with me because of geography, i.e., our parents’ choice of homes on South Roxbury Drive. The day he and his family moved in (7th grade) I walked up the street, knocked on their door and announced that I’m available to be friends with anyone, any age. I was just glad to have fresh neighbors on a block that was getting a little stale.

The boys were CUTE, oh my God. David was exactly my age, my grade, Michael was my brother’s age, and Kayla was the adorable little sister that I would befriend and babysit and possibly be a bad influence on. I always wanted my own real sister and now I had one. I loved the Feders and chose to hang out there rather than at my own much quieter home. Over the years, the Feder boys would go out with plenty of my closest friends and presently (if you read my blog) you know that Michael ended up with my very close friend Kimme after she lost her husband to cancer.

When David and I were around 19 years old, he told me about this beautiful girl he met that was now his girlfriend. He wouldn’t stop talking about her. Fred, he would say, she’s SO great, she’s SO beautiful, I can’t wait for you to meet her. Clearly, he was a goner, madly in love. His former girlfriend, Sherry, had given him an Australian Shepherd dog that we were all wild about. Sidney. Cutest dog I’d ever seen in my life. I used to steal him for the night to sleep with me in my beach bungalow near the pier. Sidney became everybody’s dog and should one day have his own hardcover biography.

One day, when I still had not met Kim, David’s new girlfriend, I was on a commercial audition in Hollywood. I overheard that it was to be shot in Hawaii, a place I’d never been; I wasn’t a privileged kid like the others from Beverly Hills. So that’s when full-blown, serious “I really need this job” ambition came into play. I danced and sang and performed my heart out. I was very focused. It was quite a cattle call, the whole world of actors at that time were there including my old friend from high school, Scott Colomby. So, while waiting to be called, I sat near him and was very calm, saving my energy for “the room”.

While seated there with Scott, a bouncy young thing bopped up to him and was just filled with energy and enthusiasm. She said, “Oh my God,” a bit like a valley girl, “I just cut my hair!!!” After she walked away, I remember thinking maybe she was a bit of a bimbo. In truth, I have that same friendly energy, so there might be a lot of people out there thinking the same of me. Bimbo. (more…)

That’s me, the Underdog Lover

Sunday, May 23rd, 2010

From the earliest possible memory, and I do mean earliest, my mother role-modeled the love of the underdog.   Why, she married my father, a polio survivor, who sported a cane and brace and walked tilted from side to side.  Think Danny DeVito, only slightly taller.  My dad was all of 5 feet, one inch.

My mother took in strays, both people and animals.  A famous gay makeup artist with a serious drug problem moved in for nearly a year.  Each day that I left for high school, he asked me to score him some good dope.  I always smiled and said “sure,” but never copped, not for him at least.

In retrospect, I’m thinking that I was an underdog.   I was extremely tiny, with crossed eyes, so I had to wear those horrific cat glasses of the 1950’s.   But I didn’t feel like any underdog.   One day in grammar school, I watched, horrified, as all these nasty students surrounded the mentally-retarded girl and poked fun at her.  I came home and related to my thin-skinned mother what had happened, and she lectured me, warning that it will never be me joining in.   And it never was.  I was almost always fighting for the underdog.  Put up with no shit, that’s what I learned from both parents.  That new show, “What Would You Do?” resonates with me because I’m the one who gets indignant in the face of injustice, and says something.   It’s not always pretty either.

Some years ago, I kept noticing this homeless woman in my hood.  I feared where my heart would lead me, so I looked away.  I mean, for a few years I saw her out of the corner of my eye and knew that she tore at me, called to me, if you will…. But I wouldn’t touch it (or her). (more…)

KAISERSCHMARREN, I Know, What The Hell?

Monday, March 15th, 2010

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to have me as a mother.  That’s not even true, I am only wondering it right now as I’m about to tell  a having me as a mom story.  So, now yeah, I’m kinda wondering about it.

I’m a big foodie.  Hello? If you’re reading this, you would know that already.  Sometimes I have cravings that just have to be sated.  It could be late at night, so, my kids might be in pajamas, I don’t think I ever woke them up to go on this adventure but it would make the story more fascinating.  But, I like the truth, so here it is.

It would be close to 10:00  at night and the kids  were in pj’s planning on a good nights sleep when I would announce they needed to get “all dressed up” because we were going to Spago for Kaisershmarren.  And MY kids  knew what that meant.  The step-kids will be putting me  and my shenanigans in screenplays and short stories for years to come because of these adventures.   We would all then put our finest clothes on, I would pack up the minivan and head to the fanciest restaurant in Beverly Hills.  We were like the Beverly Hillbillies only sans the newfound money.  Clearly I couldn’t afford to really take them all out to eat at Spago but I never liked the real food there anyway, I love the dessert they have called Kaisershmarren. And if you need “sightings” there really are enough when you arrive at 10:00.  In those days Tony Curtis could be found in the bar area where we were ordering and eating our dessert.

I learned the trick of just ordering dessert in the bar area after I realized all I really love to eat at Spago is the Kaiserchmarren.  I know you’re thinking how many times can I say Kaiserchmarren in one little story.  There is no contest; I just like to say it.

One time, before the famous pastry chef Sherry Yard came out with her book that has the recipe, I was introduced to her.  Sometimes when I’m eating at extremely random great restaurants around the world I run into this guy I know named Andy.  He happens to be married to a famous chef from New York and he is a huge foodie that seems to “know the world”.  He was eating with Sherry Yard this one night , and brought her to my table so I could wax poetic about her talent and well, mainly about my love of Kaiserchmarren.   I didn’t hesitate to ask her for the recipe and she assured me that very soon her cookbook would be published and in it I could find the recipe but that she really shouldn’t give it out until then.  Enjoy the recipe, it took me long to transcribe, it looks too hard for me, so if you are in L. A. I suggest going to Spago and ordering it.emma, barnaby

KAISERSCHMARREN Recipe

For the strawberry sauce

2 pounds, 2 ounces strawberries, hulled and quartered

¾ cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar

¼ cup water

¾ cup fresh orange juice from 3 medium oranges

1 star anise, lightly toasted

1 tablespoon grand marnier

For the pancakes

Softened butter for the pans

9 tablespoons sugar, plus more for dusting the pans

4 egg yolks at room temperature

¼ cup fromage blanc (available at gourmet markets)

¾ cup crème fraiche

2 tablespoons dark rum

¼ cup all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons fat raisins ( I wouldn’t add the raisins and I don’t taste them in it )

8 large egg whites

½ teaspoon cream of tartar

¼ cup confectioners sugar for dusting

  1. make the strawberry sauce:

set aside 2 cups of strawberries and the 2 tablespoons of sugar In a heavy saucepan, combine the remaining stawberries, the water , the ¾ cup sugar, the orange juice, star anise, and Grand Marnier.  Bring to a boil over medium heat.  Stir occasionally to prevent scorching.  Reduce the heat and simmer for 10 minutes.

  1. Remove from the heat and cover with plastic wrap.  Allow to infuse for 10 minutes, then remove the plastic and discard the star anise.  Cover with plastic again and allow to sit for 2 hours.
  1. Pass the sauce through a fine-mesh strainer and set aside, or refrigerate if not using right away.
  1. Make the pancakes:  Place a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat the oven to 400 degrees.. Generously butter two 9 or 10 inch 2 inch deep ( recommend pyrex) pie pans or round cake pans.  Add a heaping tablespoon sugar to each pan and tap and turn the pans to dust evenly.  Tap out any excess sugar.
  1. In a medium bowl with a hand mixer, beat the egg yolks with 2 tablespoons of the sugar until the mixture is light and lemony yellow.  Beat in the fromage blanc and scrape down the bowl and beaters.  Beat in the crème fraiche and rum and scrape down the bowl and beaters.  Beat in the flour and raisins. ( eeuu, I so wouldn’t add those raisins )  Set aside.
  1. In a bowl, beat the egg whites on medium-low speed until they foam, then add the cream of tartar.  Turn the speed up to medium and continure to beat while streaming in the remaining 7 tablespoons of sugar, a tablespoon at a time.  Beat the whites to medium stiff peaks.
  1. Whish half the egg whites into the crème fraiche base.  Gently fold in the remaining egg whites.  Divide the batter between the two pans.  Bake for 15 minutes.  Turn the pans 180 degrees and bake for another 5-8 minutes, until puffed and brown.  The center should be pudding-like.
  1. Finish the sauce:  Meanwhile, in a large skillet, bring the strawberry sauce to a boil over high heat.  Add the reserved 2 tablespoons sugar and stir until the sugar has dissolved.  Add the reserved 2 cups strawberries and heat through, then divide among the serving plates.
  1. When the pancakes are done, remove from the oven and,  using a serving spoon, divide each one into 6-8 portions.  Place 2 portions on each plate and dust with confectioners sugar.  You can also arrange all the portions on a platter, with the sauce and serve family style.  Serve immediately.

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My Big Fat Five Years

Sunday, November 15th, 2009

fatface me on london rooftop, 70s

It’s been over 25 years now, closer to 30 really, but it had a lasting and devastating effect. For a myriad of reasons — too personal for a food blog but perhaps told one day in my “weight issue blog” — at around twenty-one years old I gained 30 pounds, seemingly overnight. My tiny frame, considered “too thin” my entire life, I now thought of as obese. Really, I did. I could not pass my reflection without falling over and sobbing. I’m not kidding. I would literally fall to the ground in the most dramatic style that an actress who had just sabotaged her career by gaining thirty pounds could. A hot surfer friend looked at my legs one day and observed, “gnarly legs, Fred,” which I wasn’t sure what to make of. Until I asked his little sister what gnarly meant, and when she said big, I cried for days over it. Fortunately, it never stopped me from having boyfriends. And the man I ended up marrying and having children with, in those early, adoring days, used to call the fat around my waist his “angel food cake”. Hey, at least he didn’t call it pound cake. And shortly after this acceptance I relaxed and lost all the extra weight, almost immediately.

Everyone owns their own story of why they end up eating too much. My heart will always and forever go out to anyone who suffers this plight. During the five years that I was out of control, I spent most of my days hunting and gathering whatever I needed to sate myself. It was a full time job. Without going further into the gory details, let me reveal why I’ve come to mention my still-haunting weight issue. I just read a book and it’s a “must read.” (Digression: Around the time that I stopped overeating, I started reading. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t read as much as I ate, I am not THAT insatiable of a reader. But I was a late bloomer when it came to food for the brain, if you will. Eventually I became a very particular reader – for me, the voice of the writer must be unique. ) I have mentioned in this blog how much I love anything written by Ruth Reichl. And now I am a huge fan of Frank Bruni, formerly the restaurant critic of the New York Times. The book is called “Born Round” and as you can probably surmise from the title, it is a memoir about his own weight issue and his relationship with food. It resonated with me for obvious reasons, but I think it’s a great book for anyone.
Enjoy a passage from Born Round written by Frank Bruni (more…)

Hot Town, Summer in the City

Tuesday, September 29th, 2009

IMG_0957

It’s late August and even though a hurricane is about to shake it up around here on the east coast, it’s still hot as hell. But, that’s okay, I still hop it on a cool subway ride to my food destination. The person next to me on the subway is coughing a tubercular cough-sure hope it isn’t swine flu. My motto, anything, anywhere for a great meal.

I am at one of my favorite lunch spots in the village called August. Bleeker street between Charles and West 10’th. Fabulous location, dangerously close to Magnolia Bakery, which is really how I stumbled onto August. I was buying cupcakes up the street or would that be down the street?

Here we go again. Why do restaurants change a good thing? I like a good thing and I come to expect it. Here at August it’s the wood oven baked egg dishes served to you in the skillet it was cooked in, so great always. They are telling me it’s now only served on weekends and I don’t want to narrow my window to only weekends. I liked getting this dish every day of the week here. What to do? When all else fails, order something with creme fraiche. I order the smoked trout with fingerling potato’s and creme fraiche.
The bread wins here today as being the best so far on this trip. Crusty and even served with butter. My only note is that I had to ask for it and I prefer they automatically bring you bread.

The smoked trout is good, but probably too big of a portion for me, maybe 8 ounces. On top of the trout are thinly sliced beets and radishes even thinner. The fingerling potato’s and creme fraiche are under the beautiful piece of trout. Fresh chives, is a key ingredient. And I need to remember this, drizzled olive oil, not sure why but I love to see it glistening on a plate of food. I’m really difficult when I come to expect my favorite food at a restaurant and then they switch it up like this, but I’m doing okay considering and I guess I will come back even if they aren’t serving my favorite egg dish.

On Weekends, here are a few items on the brunch menu. My favorite Wood Oven Baked Eggs en Cocotte Provencal: tomatoes, squash and garlic, Alsatian: bacon and onion with creme fraiche, Roman: Tomato and Mozzarella, Andalusian: chorizo and blistered peppers. Challah Bread French Toast with Huckleberry-Blueberry coulis and mint. Traditional housemade Muesli with strained yogurt and honey. Albodigas which is veal meat balls, tomato, two fried eggs and basil.
The dinner menu has slow roasted suckling pig with sweet corn, cranberry beans, dill. Striped Bass with saffron licorice braised artichokes. IMG_0954