I talk a big game when it comes to lasagna. But, to tell the unbaked truth, I think I eat more of Sonia’s spaghetti these days.
Read MoreFirst text this morning — early, Amsterdam time — came as I was fitfully dozing between acts of a CNN dream-play about the apocalypse.
Read MoreSonia made lasagna. And all night people who’d never been to Sorellas, didn’t know from the chef sister, saying: Man, that is delicious.
“’Cause he gets up in the morning, And he goes to work at nine.”
Read MoreThe stages of adulthood for a guy constitutionally unsuited to it begin, of course, with fraud.
Read More“HOFFMAN JACKED ON PCP! CALL FAIRFAX PD! BE THERE AT 8.”
Read MoreSandy wants to know — again — if the salmon is wild.
Read MoreThe sisters aren’t sure. And that uncertainty, along with their essential modesty, was reflected in the night’s celebration.
Read More“I got a rich guy carrying my stuff!”
Read More“In Penny Lane the barber shaves another customer”
Read MoreWhen a man in San Francisco leapt from 22 stories and almost landed on me, I scrambled to the family table.
Read MoreIn the redwood shadows at the far end of Wood Lane in the small Northern California town residents call Mayberry on Acid stand a dozen horses.
Read MoreIt’s not always Saturday night at Sorellas, you know. And that’s just the kind of crap that ticks him off.
Read MoreYou can learn a surprising amount about the world from the center of the universe.
Read MoreIt was almost a year since Kang had entrusted me with his manuscript that I read the second paragraph.
Read MoreThe miraculous, disastrous path to Table 10 begins just south of the Soviet border, nine-thousand clicks from Fairfax.
Read MoreGleb said the first night — with Wendy, Dave and the band and drop-ins and Sonia’s lasagna in the back room — was the best of his trip.
Read MoreDave works graveyard at the burglar alarm company.
Read MoreIn the last days of the Korean War, when he was 19, Mr. Kang was conscripted into the North Korean army and sent to the front without a gun.
Read MoreSix thousand miles from our town of 7,000, Gleb Lisichkin packs a small bag. He doesn’t need much, beyond the occasional change of rock t-shirts.
Read More