Posts Tagged ‘Barnaby Kupper’

(Zarider) and Devine Intervention

Saturday, January 14th, 2012

When my first child, Oliver, was in pre-school, there was the perfunctory final meeting with his group of loving teachers.  One bit of advice stood out.  Maybe when he starts kindergarten, you can encourage him to lose the costume and makeup that he insists on wearing daily.

Who was I to discourage the distinctive fashion choice of my four-and-a-half year old son?  I wore costumes to school every single day of my life — in high school, mostly.  One day I might wear holsters and fake guns.  Next, I might walk my plastic duck on a leash into the classroom, take out a toy tea set and have a pretend tea party.  And I miss my matador costume; I would wear that right now if I still had it.

So there was Oliver in “big boy school” and he decided to not wear the face paint, but he did rock his new 1950’s-style greaser jacket.  He had just seen the movie “Grease.” (more…)

Dance Battle

Wednesday, November 9th, 2011


Barnaby,
The day you were born seemed, at first, like any ordinary day. I dropped my car off for service then stopped to pick up a few gifts for the brother and sister you would soon meet. Then, it was off to St. Johns for a three-in-the-afternoon scheduled C-section. Thinking of it now, it sounds so strong and brave and unlike me. But on that day, I was prepared and matter-of-fact about it all.

Just nine days before, on Halloween, I wore my pants low and a shirt cropped high to show off my hugely pregnant stomach. It was your first costume. I drew eyes and a mouth; my big belly button was your nose. We caused quite a stir as I told random kids who stared that they too could get their stomach as big by connecting a bicycle pump to their belly button. We were so unforgettable that night, that people still remind me how outrageous it was.

pregnant with Barnaby

Within hours of arriving at the hospital, there you were!!!! And, you were a boy, not a girl or you would be named Holiday, after a childhood cat. You dodged that bullet.

Barnaby. With your great new name and a red dot on your forehead. I asked the doctor about the dot, it sort of concerned me. He gave some sure-of-himself answer saying it would go away in the next few weeks. Well, I grew to adore that red dot that never disappeared, distinguishing you in childhood photos from your brother.

You rocked your name. Always announcing loudly and proudly when asked, “Barnaby, like Barnaby Jones,” to new teachers or coaches. It always got a big laugh if they were old enough to understand the reference. Thank you, by the way, for being so mainstream as to play sports at all. We didn’t understand it, since your older brother was an artist and not the athletic type. We made jokes that you were really from the Winter family, our close family friends whose boys played competitive sports. (more…)

What’s in a Name?

Sunday, June 12th, 2011

me and Harry Morton


I LOVE my name. I love Fredrica. I love Fredde Duke. I just love my name. A lot of people call me by my first AND last name, so they must love it too. Sometimes friends call me Duke or Dukie. I love that. My dad was Duke and sometimes Dukie.

But here is what I hate. Frankie. Hate it. Because clearly you were not listening. And the other reason is that there was this wicked little girl who was walking with her posse in my alley when I was also little — I was OLDER than her — and she looked at me and called me Frankie in this nasty voice that was unforgettable.

I shouldn’t take it personally because no one is saying Frankie instead of Fredde to be wicked. However, it still gets me edgy.

There is a girl that works at the market in town that has taken to calling me Frankie. At first I corrected her but it didn’t work, so now I have given up and respond to Frankie. She says, “Hi, Frankie,” and I say Hi back, usually whispering to myself as I walk away, “Oy, Frankie.”

I have a lot of old people that I like to call to check in on. I love almost all old people. But when I call — and sometimes months can go by — I say “Hi, it’s Fredde.” And they often respond, Hi, Betty.” Here is an actual conversation that took place with a friend of my dad’s named Harry Morton. It was months after my father died. I dial the number in Florida. Phone rings and Harry picks up. “Hi Harry, it’s Fredde.”

“Hi, Betty.”
I say louder this time, “No Harry, it’s FREDDE.”
He says, “Hi, BETTY.”
Again I go, “It’s FREDDE!” now screaming it.
He says, “Oh, hi, Fredde, how are you?”
I say, “Sad, Harry.”
He says, “Why are you fat?”
I say, “Harry, I’m SAD”.
Again, Harry says, “Why are you fat, Fredde?”
This time I yell, “I’m not FAT, Harry, I’m SAD!!!!!”

We try it one more time and then he says to me, “Talk to my wife Billie about being fat,” and he hands the phone to his wife.
I then went into great detail about how fat I was. Kidding. I said, “Billie, I’m not FAT, I’m sad because I miss my father.” And Billie says, “I’m sorry you’re sad, Frankie.”

Today, I had a whole different name given to me. I called a mother of a friend of mine. We talked for twenty minutes and at one point she called me Patty. I corrected her only once. But she continued calling me Patty for the rest of our conversation. So, now I guess I’m Patty Duke!” (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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Chasing the Dragon (I mean the burger)

Saturday, May 8th, 2010

Going on the hunt for the “best-of” meals can be a lot like an addict after a fix.  I remember years ago seeing someone I knew in Ruth’s Chris Steak House.   I watched him from afar as he ordered his steak.   He was well into his fifties at this point, and you just knew his doctor wouldn’t approve.  When it arrived, his eyes were as big as saucers and he even rubbed his hands together before picking up fork & knife.  He dove into it like it was his last meal on Earth.  It was really something to behold, and I have never forgotten it.

I hope I never come off as a “know it all” about food but I feel I do know where to get the best burger in L.A., and for me, sorry folks, but it ain’t the Apple Pan.  It is (or maybe right now I can say was) at the Beverly Hills Hotel coffee shop.

My addiction in life is food, strictly.  There are no crossover addictions.  Facebook for an ex-addict friend of mine became dangerous.  She couldn’t casually walk back to her bedroom without the computer calling to her to “check”.  Then she would get lost in the Facebook world of other people’s comments and photos and all that Facebook has to offer.  Hours later, she would finally drag herself away from her computer and catch a bit of sleep.  She unhooked herself quickly.  I miss her presence on Facebook, but she’s a “real” friend, so I actually see her and talk to her whenever I want.

Yesterday, I was doing my five-minute stroll onto my homepage when I noticed that my childhood friend Joy had said something about the best burger ever.  Well, you can only imagine how that caught me eye.   Joy’s posts often get my attention, but none like yesterday.  Where was this amazing burger? I wanted to know.  Her reply: “Fred Segal in Santa Monica,” not usually known for its gourmet cuisine.

The following morning I had one goal in mind.  But first, I had to find which Santa Monica Fred Segal was serving these rumored Best Burgers in Town.  For anyone venturing out, it’s the original or East side Fred Segal.  The place is called Umami and it’s where that little coffee house once was near the parking lot.  And it’s packed.  Clearly the world had heard about this place before me.  I took my son Barnaby, who, several months ago had sworn off burgers after hearing horrific details about them in the documentary “Food, Inc.”

I found a table and scanned the room for the reactions of people eating, and   I’m not exaggerating too much when I use the word orgasmic.   Were smoking allowed, some would have lit up afterwards.  I got very excited, but needed to order just the right burger to make me happy, and so I did.  A cheeseburger–leave the sundried tomatoes and carmelized onion on the side—but keep that special sauce.

Barnaby couldn’t resist and broke his burger-boycott by ordering exactly what I did.  And we shared onion rings.  Orgasmic – can you use that word when you’re dining with your son?   What the hell.

And, just when I thought lunch and life couldn’t get any better, we ran into one of my best friends’ ex-husbands (just one of many exes of many friends).  So, a big shout-out to Tom who picked up the check!

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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