I was conceived on the Isle of Capri. That’s what my Mom told me. She would know - I hope!Capri is an island off the coast of Italy. My Dad was in Europe, helping with the reconstruction after World War II. My Mom was with him. On their way back to the USA, my folks stopped in Capri. Lucky for me.I was born in Baltimore, Maryland, soon after my folks arrived from Capri. Couldn’t they have stayed on Capri for a couple more months?My folks loved music. My Dad loved old blues and Dixieland jazz; my Mom loved everything. When I say everything, I mean everything. Miles Davis, Chet Baker, Nat King Cole, Isaac Hayes, Aretha Franklin, Bonnie Raitt, Ella Fitzgerald, The Band, Dylan, Johnny Winter, Joan Baez, Hank Williams, Sr., Stan Getz, Astrud Gilberto, Dave Brubeck, The Beatles, Stevie Wonder, Harry Nilsson, Randy Newman, Donovan, Dave Grusin, Marvin Gaye, Norah Jones, Anita Baker, Gladys Knight. I could go on and on.I guess I just did.My Mom turned me on to so many great artists. We’d go see shows together; everyone from Gladys Knight and the Pips to Paul Simon. When Paul Simon came to town, she bought a couple tickets. When the young guy sitting in front of us stood up and started doing the hippy-dippy Grateful Dead dance, she pulled him by his shirt back into his seat and quietly told him to sit down.Dayuummm, Ma! Making me look bad! The guy sat quietly for the rest of the show. My Mom was quiet, but strong.
My Mom didn’t have a lot of dough, but she’d treat herself to music—she always had a nice stereo, and went to see concerts. I remember her going to see Bonnie Raitt when she was playing local college gymnasiums. My Mom would drive to Annapolis, Maryland, to see Charlie Byrd play jazz guitar at the King of France Tavern.My Mom had a lovely voice, sweet and clear with a natural vibrato. She would put on some music, and cook dinner and sing along. Then, we’d have dinner and read cookbooks—looking for new recipes to try. She loved music and loved cooking.She grew up poor in Eastport, which at the time was a ghetto across the bridge from Annapolis, Maryland, which was home to the Naval Academy, where her dad worked as a custodian. My Mom met my Dad in Annapolis; he was going to St. John’s College, and was in a school play. My Mom was also in the play, even though she wasn’t a student. They fell in love, and had us three dimwits. When I was born, we lived with my Dad’s Mom, Angela, in the basement of her house in Baltimore, near Pimlico Racetrack – a thoroughbred horse-racing track that was home of the Preakness Stakes.When I was six, we moved into a house a couple miles away, on a dead-end street named Rosebank. It was a great old house, what they call a “fixer-upper.” It had an upright piano in the dining room. The previous owners had built the room around the piano, and when they moved, they couldn’t get it out. So they left it there. I took the piano apart. I painted it black. I replaced the keys with new ones. I put it back together, and started playing.I was already taking trumpet lessons. Once a week, my Mom would take me down Greenmount Avenue, and I’d study trumpet with Mr. John at a place called Freitag’s. I absolutely loved Herb Alpert, and made Mr. John do all the Tijuana Brass duets with me.I used to read comic books. In the back, they had these advertisements for seeds. No, it wasn’t marijuana seeds. Vegetable seeds. You’d send away for seeds, sell them to your neighbors, and after you sold a certain amount, you could redeem your points for prizes--one of which was a guitar. I learned how to play by ear. It would have been a lot easier if I had used my hands.
There I was, a little kid, learning how to play guitar and piano and trumpet. I can imagine all the horrible sounds my Mom had to put up with. It ain’t fun listening to a kid practice. My first gig was playing guitar and singing Beatles songs at the sixth grade graduation. I was in fifth grade. Roland Park Elementary School. My first gig!When I started my rock band, Momma Max, my Mom let us rehearse in the basement. It must have been incredibly loud upstairs. When I started writing songs, my Mom would type out lyric sheets, and write letters to publishers. When I got rejection letter after rejection letter, my Mom would quietly encourage me to keep going.When I got signed to Motown as a songwriter, my Mom was ecstatic. When one of the first songs I wrote for Motown – “Summer Days” – was recorded by Angela Bofill on her debut CD, my Mom could not have been more proud—she saved all the articles and reviews. When I got offered a record deal with Motown, my Mom’s house was the headquarters while we recorded in Baltimore. When Motown decided not to release the CD, it was my Mom who kept me from jumping off the roof.After my stint at Motown, I started a band called BootCamp. The music was loud, it was rock, and it was making some big noise in the music biz. But I was screaming at the top of my lungs, all night, every night, singing way out of my range.When I lost my voice after all that screaming, when I thought I’d never be able to sing again, it was my Mom who encouraged me to sing low and slow. And that’s what I did after BootCamp broke up. Slim Man was born!When the first Slim Man CD--End of the Rainbow-- was released, my Mom was at the release party. She was about the only one in the joint. Seriously. It was a howling failure. Nobody came out. I was convinced the CD was gonna sink like a stone in the sea.Not my Mom, she kept my spirits up, kept gently encouraging me. When the End of the Rainbow CD started getting airplay, I was playing piano in a dive bar in Baltimore called The Horse You Came In On. My Mom would call the bar on Fridays, and tell me how well the CD was doing on the charts. The CD ended up going Top Ten for the year. My Mom was a huge Slim Man fan. Whenever I played around Baltimore, she’d come see me play. And then she got sick.She had this horrible illness called Supra Nuclear Palsy, a disease where the body’s motors shut down. It becomes hard to move your mouth or tongue; it’s tough to chew or swallow or talk. It’s hard to move your arms or legs. It was difficult for my Mom to even close her eyes to sleep. And yet her mind was still sharp as a razor.My Mom never complained. Not once did I hear her say, “Why me?” I rarely say “never” but I never heard her complain. All she could do was lie in bed and watch TV or listen to music. I once got an advance from a record company; I spent it on a TV and a stereo for my Mom. It was the least I could do after all the hell I’d put her through when I was a teenage idiot.Even when she was sick, she’d get my sister to take her to the Slim Shows. It wasn’t easy, getting her around in the wheelchair, when she couldn’t even move a muscle. But she made it, even when it was snowing.I took care of my Mom the best I could. I brought her food all the time. I called her almost every day, even though she couldn’t talk. I had a jazz radio show in Baltimore on Sunday mornings, I always dedicated the show to my Mom. After the show, I would visit her, bring her a dish, and we’d drink a Bloody Mary and watch old movies. One time, I rented a handicapped van, and took her and the nieces to Pimlico racetrack. Nothing like some horse-racing to take your mind off things!When I got an offer to do a cruise, I was hesitant. I didn’t want to leave my Mom, but she insisted I go. Michael van Droff--who owned a German record company that had released some of my music--organized the concert cruise. I flew to Germany, practiced with the band, and then flew to Jamaica, where the cruise ship was docked. We were going to cruise the Caribbean for a week, cross the Atlantic, and cruise the Mediterranean for a week. Not a bad gig. My first cruise.My first night on the ship was a night off. I had dinner at the huge buffet, and then nestled into my tiny little cabin. Early the next morning I got a phone call.My Mom had died. I was crushed. I was inconsolable. The Germans, they’re a pretty stoic bunch. My grief must have been pretty alarming to them, because they had me off that cruise ship within hours. It was like an evacuation. A small boat picked me up, took me to a small island, where I caught a small cab to a small airport.How small? There was one tiny runway among the palm trees. The terminal had one counter and no walls; just an old rusted tin roof overhead. They had a small sound system that played music in between announcements – which were few and far between. I was pacing; I couldn’t sit still. I had a lump in my throat the size of a basketball. My eyes were swollen and red.
I was staring off into the distance, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, when a song of mine came over the tiny sound system. How that happened, in that little airport, on that tiny island in the Caribbean, I’ll never know. The song was “Night Like This.”I picked up my cell phone and called the first person I always called when I wanted to share a moment like that. My Mom.Except she was gone.CAPRESE SALADMy Mom was an excellent cook. She prepared all kinds of foods—Indian, Mexican, Italian, French. She once made coq au vin—a French dish of chicken with red wine—for my entire seventh grade French class.
Insalata Caprese--that’s what the Eye-Talians call it--is my favorite salad. Yes, I was conceived on the Isle of Capri, where this recipe comes from, so I am partial. But this salad is so quick, easy and delicious.There is only ONE THING you have to remember.Every ingredient has to be the best.The tomatoes have to be ripe and luscious. The olive oil has to be extra virgin, or at least one that hasn’t been pole-dancing at the club every night.This would be a good time to splurge on bufala mozzarella. Yes, it’s expensive. But it’s really, really good. Take out a second mortgage, if you haven’t already. Break open the kids’ piggy bank. This is the one time to dig deep and fork it over.Bufala mozzarella comes from water buffalos. The scientific name for water buffalo is Bubalus bubalis. Which sounds like something I made up, but didn’t. Bubalus bubalis! Boo-Bah Lish!I used organic heirloom tomatoes. They weren’t expensive, and they were so fresh, ripe and colorful and tasted like heaven.Some people use balsamic vinegar as well as olive oil on their Caprese salad.I prefer using just olive oil. But what the hell do I know?INGREDIENTS2 or 3 heirloom tomatoes, or fresh vine-ripened tomatoes1 large ball of mozzarella — I suggest bufala — about a poundExtra virgin olive oilSalt and fresh-cracked black pepperFresh basil, a handfulHere we goSlice the tomatoes into circular slices, about a ¼ inch thick.Slice the mozzarella the same way.
Grab a small flat plate. We’re going to make individual servings. Put a slice of tomato flat on the plate. Put a slice of mozzarella on top.Grab another slice of tomato, preferably a different color. Lay it on top of the first slice of mozzarella, but down about an inch, so it’s layered, like when you play solitaire. Put a slice of mozzarella on top of the second slice of tomato.One more time! Grab a slice of tomato, lay it down, put a slice of mozzarella on top.If my math is correct, you’ll have three slices of each.Drizzle some olive oil on top.Add some salt and fresh cracked black pepper.Grab some basil leaves and a pair of scissors. Snip some basil right on top of the tomatoes and mozzarella.Make as many individual plates as you can, this usually serves four. Unless you’re in my family --this would feed only one of those monsters.Serve with some crusty bread, and…
MANGIAMO!!!
Slim Man Cooks Spinach with Toasted Almonds and Raisins
A lot of people ask me to sing at their weddings. My answer is usually,“Yes. Yes I can.”I love singing at weddings. It’s such a happy time. When I’m singing at a wedding where I hardly know anyone - that’s a lot of fun; watching strangers go nuts at a wedding is a blast. Watching people you know and love go nuts at a wedding is enough to make you want to grab a dart gun and shoot somebody in the neck.A couple years ago, a young gal from Baltimore asked me to sing “End of the Rainbow” at her wedding. She had no budget.I told her, “I can do it.” But if Taylor Swift asks me to open up for her that day; or if David Letterman calls me at the last minute to do the Late Show, I won’t be able to. If you can live with that, “Yes. Yes I can.”The week before her wedding, as hard as it is to believe, Taylor Swift did not call. David Letterman did not appear on my doorstep. I told her yes. She was so ecstatic. Ever since she saw me sit down at the piano and sing “End of the Rainbow” at a concert in Annapolis at the Rams Head Tavern, it had been her wish for me to sing that song at her wedding. I was flattered. Really.When she asked me to sing, I was thinking - I could walk in, sing “End of the Rainbow” and then get back to packing.Packing? Yes. I was moving. The day after her wedding, I was leaving Baltimore to move to Nashville. A permanent move. A big move. The wedding was on a Saturday. I was leaving Sunday. I didn’t mention My Big Move to the bride to be. I figured she had enough on her mind.A couple days before the wedding, we were talking on the phone about details when she said,“You need to be on the boat by 11:00 AM.”Boat? Pardon me…did you say “boat?” Yes. The wedding was a cruise around Baltimore - for five hours. We would be out to sea the whole time, and there was no getting off the boat. The thoughts that were running through my mind - maybe I could have someone pick me up on a Jet Ski after my song. Maybe I could leap on to a passing barge. Or borrow an inflatable boat and bring it on board with me.I’m not a big boat guy. I don’t wake up in the middle of the night and say, “Damn! I wish I were on a boat right now.”My Dad had a small fishing boat, a 17-footer with an egg-beater on the back. That was fun. But a big boat out on the open sea makes me a bit woozy.But una promessa é un debito--“A promise is a debt.” That’s what my uncle used to say. I told the Bride of Baltimore that I’d be on the Love Boat bright and early.
That Saturday, I jumped in the Slim Vehicle, and drove to the Inner Harbor of Baltimore. I parked my car, and walked a few blocks down to the water. I had on my beige Hugo Boss suit and my brown suede Donald J. Pliner loafers. Gotta dress big for a big wedding! I saw some folks boarding a small cruise ship — it held maybe 200 people. I got on the boat at 11:00 AM.The Love Boat was all decked out in flowers and ribbons. It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was out, it was warm – but not too – and there was a slight breeze as the boat slowly headed out into the Chesapeake Bay. They had the ceremony on the top deck. They exchanged their vows and everybody walked downstairs to the middle deck. And there I was, sitting at the piano. I sang “End of the Rainbow” for the bride and groom and their guests.After I finished, people were crying.They were crying, “Don’t give up your day job, Donkey Face!”After I sang, I guess people needed alcohol. My music usually drives people to drink. Folks were lining up at the bar. After cocktails, it was dinnertime. I sat next to Annabelle. I’ve known her for years. Annabelle is a joy. She is one happy woman.Annabelle is married to one of my bestest amigos. They've been separated for ten years, but never got divorced. They get along better now than they ever did. They’re the best of friends.Annabelle and I used to work together at a dive bar in Fells Point called the Horse You Came In On. People in Baltimore go to Fells Point to drink. She tended bar, I sang the blues. My band was called the Scrappy Harris Blues Band.Scrappy Harris was the barback at The Horse. He looked like a skinny little homeless kid. He smoked Marlboro Reds, drank Budweiser and was loud and boisterous. Scrappy had a small apartment nearby that looked like a flophouse. Bare mattress on the floor. Old sheets nailed over the windows. But Scrappy wasn’t poor. It turns out he was a trust fund kid. Had a ton of dough. He just liked being a barback, getting ice, stocking booze at The Horse You Came In On.We named the band after Scrappy. I wrote a song about him. I also wrote a song about Annabelle.“Annabelle…my sweet Annabelle, I’m going down to the wishing well…wish for a girl like Annabelle.”Annabelle and I had a blast at the wedding. After dinner, a band played. The guitar player was amazing, in a Stevie Ray Vaughan kinda way. I got up and sang “Pride and Joy.” The band was good. Really good.At the end of the shindig, Rob Fahey got up and sang “Raised on the Radio.” Rob was in a great Baltimore band called The Ravyns. “Raised on the Radio” was a big hit for them. It was used in the movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High with Sean Penn.Rob sang his heart out. What a way to end the wedding.The Love Boat pulled up to the Inner Harbor. It docked right by the food pavilions. The Baltimore skyline was shining in the setting sun. I said goodbye to Annabelle. I walked up to the bride and groom. They handed me an envelope. Inside was a gift certificate for way too much money for my favorite Italian restaurant in Baltimore.La Scala.I had told them I would sing for free. I’m a great guy, ain’t I? The gift certificate was unexpected, but much appreciated. And very thoughtful.I said my goodbyes, and started walking from the Inner Harbor to the parking lot. On the way, a pickup truck drove by, splashed through a puddle, and splattered mud all over my pants and shoes. It looked like, well, like you can imagine. Dark brown mud. Beige suit. I was getting strange looks as I walked back to my car.I went home, changed, and walked Batu. Then I went to sleep. The next day, Slim Drummer John E Coale came over in his SUV. We packed up everything into our two cars, and drove 700 miles to Nashville.
Batu was in the back of the car, his dog bed piled on top of all the boxes, his head poking between the front seats.Goodbye, Baltimore. Hello, NashvilleBut wait! There’s more!I got an email the other day,“Can you sing “End of the Rainbow” as we walk down the aisle for our wedding? That song has been our song ever since we met.”He told me he was getting married Labor Day in Palm Springs. I’ve been staying in Palm Springs for the past few months. I wrote back and told him the same thing I told the Bride of Baltimore — if Taylor Swift calls at the last minute, I’ll have to bow out. He took it as a “yes.”He was so excited. He wrote me back and told me he was going to keep it a secret – he wanted it to be a surprise for his partner, Jack.SPINACH WITH TOASTED ALMONDS AND RAISINS
If you need some fortification before a Big Day, like a wedding day, why not make some spinach? It worked for Popeye!A few things about this dish…I used multi-colored organic grape tomatoes. Why?I saw them in the grocery store. They looked real cool and colorful. And they were inexpensive.You can buy almonds already toasted. But I like to toast my own nuts. I use raw slivered almonds, and toast them in a dry pan over medium-high heat. Do not leave your nuts unattended. Nothing worse than burnt nuts.I only cook the tomatoes for a couple minutes, you don’t want them to lose their shape or their skin.And only cook the spinach for a couple minutes, just enough to wilt it.Add the toasted almonds and raisins last. Because you don’t want your nuts getting soggy, and you don’t want the raisins to absorb all the sauce.I used brown raisins. Golden raisins would also work well.Serves 2INGREDIENTS8 ounces of baby spinach (I use organic)2 tablespoons raw almonds, chopped or slivered2 tablespoons olive oil2 tablespoons chopped shallotsCrushed red pepper (I start off with about ¼ teaspoon)1/3 cup white wine1 cup grape tomatoes, cut in half, seeds squeezed out1 tablespoon raisins (brown or golden)Salt to tasteHERE WE GO…Rinse off the spinach and spin dry--unless it’s the kind that’s already been triple-washed. Make sure it’s clean, SlimNation.And now, let’s toast our nuts."Here's to you, you nuts!"Get a small sauté pan.Put the heat on medium-high.Grab your nuts, put them in the dry pan.Shake your nuts around until they’re golden brown.Put your toasted almonds on a plate. Let ‘em cool.Put the 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium heat.Add the 2 tablespoons shallots.Add the crushed red pepper.Cook for 2 minutes or so, stir every now and then.When the shallots are almost clear, add the white wine, turn the heat to high, and let it cook off for 1 minute or so.Turn the heat to medium-low, add the tomatoes, and cook for 2 minutes, stirring every now and then.Add the spinach, cook and stir for 2 minutes--or until it wilts.Add salt to taste.Add the toasted almonds.Add the raisins.Give it a stir.Dish it up! This would make a great side dish for any of the Slim Fish Dishes.
MANGIAMO!!!!!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Chicken Stuffed with Goat Cheese
Batu was born in Argentina on Cinco de Mayo – the 5th of May – 2004. Batu’s grandfather was a famous bull terrier from Germany named Rock. Batu’s owner paid $15,000 for Rock. He could’ve bought a car for fifteen grand. I’m glad he didn’t. But that’s still a lot of money for a dog.Batu’s owner had high hopes for the young pup. Batu was entered in a few South American dog shows, but there was some technical defect in his bone structure--he was bow-legged, just like me--which prevented him from advancing any further in his show dog career.Their loss. Batu was a neglected champion, much like Yours Truly. He was kept in a crate, not like Yours Truly. No one knew what to do with him. He just sat in his crate.I had wanted a bull terrier ever since I saw the movie Patton. Patton had a bull terrier named Willie. When my cousin – a true dog lover who knew I wanted a bull terrier – found out about Batu, she decided to get him for me for Christmas.She has a house in Chile. She’s well-connected in the dog world down there. She left Baltimore, Maryland, flew down, rescued Batu, and brought him to me on Christmas Eve, 2005. I was at my uncle Oscar’s house on the river. Cat Tail Creek, outside Baltimore, Maryland.
Batu came out of the bedroom that Christmas Eve, walked up to me, and stuck to me like Velcro that night--and almost every day since. Batu came with that name. I don’t know how he got it. I Googled "Batu" and all that came up was the grandson of Genghis Khan, Batu Khan.Batu Khan. So that’s the story I’m going with.At the time, I was living in an apartment in Roland Park, an incredible place in an old mansion that used to be a country club.I loved the place. When I brought Batu home, he would not leave my side. If I walked into the kitchen, he’d follow me. If I walked into the living room, he’d be right behind me. If I went into the bathroom, there he was.The first few nights I had Batu, he slept in bed with me. When I found a tick on the sheets one morning, I decided to get him his own bed. I put it on the floor by my bed, and that’s where he slept. If I woke up in the middle of the night, I would reach down and pet him.I think Batu had separation anxiety. Or maybe it was me. Whenever I’d leave, he’d howl.Truth was, I missed him, too.
So I took him just about everywhere I went. If I went to a recording studio, I’d call in advance and make sure it was OK. DC, Philly, New York — if I had a session, Batu went with me. If I went on vacation, Batu went with me. If I went to visit my Dad in upstate New York, Batu went with me.Whenever I’d sit down and play piano or guitar, Batu was there. Almost every song I wrote for the past eight years, Batu was at my feet, eyes closed halfway. He was probably dozing off. My music has that effect on people.The apartment in Roland Park had a crazy little kitchen with a small four-burner stove. I got a video camera and started shooting cooking videos; short, goofy little five-minute home movies which featured Batu.
I had heard about this new website called YouTube that had just started. I started posting the cooking videos on YouTube. One of my five or six fans saw the cooking videos, and brought them to the attention of their friend who was involved in a new network, the Italian American Network.They liked the videos. They loved Batu. The Italian American Network started posting the videos on their channel. They encouraged me to do more. Batu and I started making more cooking videos in that little kitchen. And I started writing those recipes down, so the Italian American Network could post them along with the videos. Batu and I kept on making videos and posting recipes.A few years later, Batu and I were at my Dad’s house in upstate New York on the Fourth of July, 2009. We were cooking and making videos. It had just rained, and there was a double rainbow reaching across the mountains. I took a photo. I walked inside my Dad’s house. The phone rang. My Dad lives on top of a mountain, a place called Rat Tail Ridge, and there aren’t too many neighbors. The phone doesn’t ring too often.
I picked up the phone. I got the news that Oscar—my Dad’s only brother-- had died. I told my Dad.My Dad said “Fuck!” about a hundred times in a row. Then he cried. I’ve only seen my Dad cry twice. When his best friend died, and when Oscar died.Unc — that’s what I called him – had fallen down the basement steps at Cat Tail Creek. He was going to the cellar to get a bottle of wine for the osso buco he was cooking. Unc died immediately. He was extremely wealthy, in good health, had a beautiful young wife. He was 88 years old. Unc and I were really close. He was like a second father to me, I had lived with him for a couple years. Unc taught me a lot about cooking. And wine. And life.I packed up Batu and my Dad, and we drove for six hours from Rat Tail Ridge down to Cat Tail Creek. We didn’t talk much. I was heartbroken. I felt so bad for my Dad; Oscar was his only brother, they had grown up poor on the mean streets of New York, and Oscar was always looking out for his younger brother – throughout their whole lives. Unc was like the Godfather — our world seemed to revolve around him.After the funeral, there was a wake at Unc’s house. The next day, I took off for a show in San Antonio, Texas. I had no idea how I was gonna get through it. I left Batu with the family. They knew him, loved him, and I knew he would get more than enough attention. Everybody loved Batu.When I landed in Texas, I got a frantic phone call.My sister started shrieking. They were crabbing off the pier. They put a chicken neck on the end of a string and threw it in the river. Batu jumped in after it. Batu can’t swim. Bull terriers can’t swim. They sink.Batu sank to the bottom. Everyone started jumping off the pier, right into the river--clothes on, wallets and cell phones in pockets. They were following the trail of bubbles, trying to find Batu. Finally they dug down, found him and fished him out. Mouth to snout resuscitation was not needed. Batu survived.Right after the concert in San Antonio, I flew back. Batu was fine.
I’ve had dogs all my life, but I never had a connection like I had with Batu. I never thought of him as a dog. To me, he was more like a funny little man in a dog suit.Batu had a bark that would make you jump five feet straight up in the air — it was loud and sharp and startling. He didn’t bark much. He was a very calm, laid-back mutt. Not much bothered him. When we would walk the streets of Manhattan, there was so much noise – trucks, sirens, car horns, brakes screeching. Batu never flinched. I could have fired a gun next to his head and he wouldn’t have blinked an eye.Batu had a sense of humor, he liked to play. He was funny. He was photogenic. When I pulled out the camera he’d look right at it.
Batu loved to ride in the car. To the post office, to New York City, or across the country, he was all-in. I’d throw his bed in the back of the car, and I’d have to lift all 70 pounds of him into the back. Then we’d take off. It’s funny; I guess he never knew if we were going a mile away, or a thousand miles away. He was just happy to be along for the ride. He would lie there for hours and hours and not make a sound.I’d have to reach back and shake him just to make sure he was alive.In 2011, Batu and I packed up the Slimousine and moved to Nashville. I wanted to re-pot the plant. Wipe the slate clean. So we drove to Tennessee. Eleven hours. Seven hundred miles. We did it in one day.I love Nashville. I found an apartment in a neighborhood called The Gulch. But after we moved in, Batu’s skin problems started getting worse. He’d always had skin problems, really bad sores between his toes. No one could solve the problem. I took Batu to more vets in more states than any one dog known to man. We tried soaks, meds, diets, boots, salves, and nothing worked. His feet were always pretty bad. In Nashville, Batu’s skin got much worse.How bad? At one point, I took Batu to his vet in Nashville and asked him if we should put him down. I told the vet that if we had to put Batu down, he might as well put me down, too. Maybe we could get two for the price of one.
The sores on his feet were so bad he couldn’t walk. He had sores on his elbows, his back, his chest, even his face. It looked hopeless. Batu was so miserable. So was I. The vet then suggested we put Batu on every dog medication known to man, and if it didn’t kill him, maybe he’d get better.We put poor ol’ Batu on antifungals, antibiotics, prednisone - I changed his diet to an incredibly expensive hypoallergenic dog food. I gave him baths a couple times a week with ridiculously expensive medicated shampoo that I had to leave on for 15 minutes at a time. Eventually Batu got better. We started eliminating drugs, and after a few weeks, Batu was almost back to normal. It was miraculous.Once a month, Batu and I would drive from Nashville back to Baltimore to see my Dad. He had moved nearby to Annapolis--Rat Tail Ridge was too isolated, and hard to maintain, with all the snow in the winter. Stacking firewood alone was a full-time job.Soon after my Dad moved to Annapolis, he fell and broke his hip. The doctors placed him in a hospice. I explained to the people in the hospice how much my Dad loved Batu. To my surprise, they let me take Batu up to my Dad’s room. My Dad would always brighten up when Batu and I arrived. When I got there, I’d lean in close to my Dad's ear (he was hard-of-hearing), as he lay there on the bed with his eyes closed and I’d yell,“WHERE DID YOU HIDE THE MONEY? IS IT BURIED IN THE FRONT YARD?”My Dad would smile, frail, cheeks drawn, and squeeze my hand.
A few days later, my Dad passed away. Batu and I were just about to walk into his room when the nurse walked out and gave me the news. I sat down on a bench in the hall. I took a photo of Batu on the floor.Funerals aren’t funny, in general.My Dad’s was. The service was serious, it was at a Quaker Meeting House in Baltimore, the same one where my cousin Johnny had his service years ago; my Mom and uncle Oscar had their services there.I gave the eulogy at my Dad’s service. Afterwards, people got up and told stories, funny anecdotes, and crazy quotes. It was touching, all the remembrances and memories. I played “Summer Days” after the service. It was a song I wrote for Angela Bofill; she recorded it on her debut CD. It was one of the first songs I wrote while I was at Motown. The first time my Dad heard it, he asked me to play it at his funeral. Thirty-five years later, I did.My Dad had been cremated. He wanted the urn of his ashes buried next to his mother, Angela. I had been to that cemetery many, many times. I remembered one February 14th years ago, roses in hand, Batu and I walking through a foot of snow, trying to find her grave, which was a plaque set in the ground. It was her birthday. Valentine’s Day. I stopped, reached down and scooped out some snow, and as crazy as it seems, there was her gravestone.After my Dad’s service, we went to the gravesite. It was freezing cold. There was a small hole next to Angela’s grave. It looked like it had been dug by a five year-old with a Fischer Price shovel. Some spray paint lined the circumference. Pieces of sod sat nearby. Next to the hole was a small plastic orange sign, stuck on a piece of wire, like a flag, that read,
“Please contact our office.”My Dad would have seen the humor. We left a basil plant at his gravesite, to honor his pesto prowess. His wife took his ashes. Batu and I drove back to Nashville soon after.A few days after we got back to Nashville, my sister called. Her only son had died suddenly and unexpectedly of heart failure. Batu and I got in the car and drove back to Baltimore for the funeral. It was heart-breaking. No parent should ever have to bury a child.I spoke at the funeral. And then Batu and I drove back to Nashville. It was a long drive.A year later, in December 2013, I left Nashville with Batu, and we drove to Breckenridge, Colorado. Batu and I needed a change of scenery.Breckenridge is a charming and lovely ski resort, with a vibe like an old Western mountain town. My brother had rented a place there for Christmas so the family could be together and hang out for a week or so. I took a jar of my Dad’s ashes with me, to give to my brother--which we accidentally dropped on the kitchen floor Christmas night. We scooped them up, and went outside, and scattered them at the foot of the Rockies. Batu was there.
After Christmas, Batu and I drove to Scottsdale, Arizona, stayed for New Year’s Eve, and then drove to Palm Springs, California, where I had some concerts lined up. On the way to Palm Springs, we passed the General Patton Museum. We stopped by the statue of Patton and Willie – those two were the reason I got a bull terrier in the first place.Batu and I got to Palm Springs, and decided to hang out for a while. The weather was wonderful; sunny, warm and dry, with fresh lemons, oranges and grapefruit everywhere. Batu loved it.The first four months of 2014 were the healthiest and happiest days of Batu’s life. All of his skin problems disappeared — it must have been the climate. I put him on a diet. He lost nine pounds. He was in the best shape of his life. Batu seemed to flourish in Palm Springs. He was the King of the Springs.Batu had only one health problem remaining. He had an enlarged heart. Batu would pass out occasionally, drop to the ground like a ton of bricks. It was always very scary. But he always came back.Batu turned 10 on the Cinco de Mayo, 2014. He never looked better. On Mother’s Day, I left for a concert in San Diego. When I left Batu with the dog-sitter, all was great.I did the show that night at Humphrey’s, a cool little club on the bay. That night was one of the happier ones in a long time. I had just done a really good show, my California band was sounding really good, Batu was doing great, we were both digging California - all was good in SlimLand.The next morning I got a text from the dog sitter. I called her, and she told me Batu had fallen asleep the night before – Mother’s Day, May 11th – and never woke up.I couldn’t believe it. When I left he was healthier than ever. There was no way he could be dead. I drove from San Diego to Palm Springs. Three of the longest hours of my life. I could hardly see the road from the tears streaming down my face.
I walked in to the house. Batu was lying on the kitchen floor. I scooped his lifeless body up, and put him in the car, as I’d done so many thousands of times before. And I drove him to the vet to be cremated. When they took him out of the car and walked away, you would have thought that everybody I had ever loved had just gone down on the Titanic. I broke.Three thousand fifty-nine days. That's how long I had Batu.Seems like a long time. It wasn’t nearly long enough. I miss my sidekick. He had been by my side for the past nine years, through the good times and the bad.I started this cookbook when Batu and I started making cooking videos for the Italian American Network. It was early 2006.This recipe was the last recipe I did with Batu. I took the photos for this dish on May 3, 2014. Batu passed away the following week. After a couple of weeks curled up on the floor in the fetal position, crying my eyes out, I decided to start this cookbook.CHICKEN STUFFED WITH GOAT CHEESE
I don’t like wasting food. If I’ve got leftovers in the fridge, as long as they don’t have anything growing on them, I’ll eat ‘em.I had some goat cheese that was on the cusp, so to speak. I took a sniff, and it smelled OK.But I knew I needed to use it soon, so I came up with this brilliant idea--mix it with some scallion and red pepper and make a little stuffing for the chicken breasts I was about to cook.The dinner was actually delizioso.A couple things -Before the lawsuits start flying in, always remember to check the expiration dates on your food. Your nose knows. Take a sniff - when in doubt, throw it out.My brother once made a hot dog late at night, and as he was eating it, I noticed the bottom of the roll was all moldy and green. It was pretty funny - until that night when he threw up in the drawer of the bedside table that we shared.It’s important to check stuff before you stuff your face.Whenever you handle raw chicken, make sure you clean everything it touches really well.As with any recipe, if you don’t like an ingredient, leave it out, or substitute.You guys are smart. With incredibly good taste, I might add. You can do this.INGREDIENTS
¾ cup goat cheese1 tablespoon chopped scallion — the middle part only1 tablespoon minced red bell pepperSalt and fresh-cracked black pepper3 chicken breasts, sliced thin (about ¼ inch thick)
3 slices prosciuttoFlour (1/3 cup should do)1 tablespoon butter1 tablespoon olive oilHere we goPreheat your oven to 400 degrees. Now let’s make our stuffing…Put the goat cheese in a small bowl.Add 
the scallion and red pepper.Add salt and pepper to taste.Mick ‘em up.Set aside. Let’s make some chicken!Lay a chicken breast flat on a plate.Put a slice of prosciutto on half the chicken breast.
Put a couple tablespoons of the goat cheese mixture on top of the prosciutto, spread it around evenly.Fold the breast over, in half.Do this with all 3 of your breasts.Put some flour on a plate, about 1/3 cup. Add some salt and pepper, mix.Grab a folded breast.Place it on the flour.Turn it over, so both sides have been dusted with flour.Do this with all the chicken.Get a sauté pan; put it over medium-high heat.Add the butter and olive oil.When the butter starts to bubble, add the 3 chicken breasts.Cook for 4 minutes.Turn ‘em over, cook on the other side for 4 minutes.Put them in a baking dish, and place in the oven for 5 minutes.Pull ‘em out, check for doneness.If they’re not done, put ‘em back in the oven for a few more minutes.When the chicken breasts are done, dish ‘em up!I did roasted beets with carrots as a side dish, along with some risotto.
MANGIAMO!!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Asparagus with Parmigiano
Our manager told us about this new television network that was about to launch, a 24-hour network that was going to play nothing but music videos. They were gonna call it…MTV. Music Television.He played us a few videos that were scheduled for rotation, and asked us if we could do a couple like that. We, the boys in the band, looked at each other and told him, ”Yes, we can.”But we didn’t have a lot of time. The launch of MTV was about to happen.Our manager was Carl Griffin (Griff), the same guy who signed me to Motown. Our band was BootCamp. We had just released a 7” vinyl single with two songs, “Hold On to the Night” and “I’m A Victim.” It was doing really well.We had no idea how to make a music video. We didn’t even know what a music video was until Griff showed us the MTV demo reel. But we knew a guy who worked as a cameraman for the local TV station. He worked in the news van, doing live remotes.We called him. He told us he could “borrow” the cameras and stuff from the TV station, but it had to be after hours. My guess is that he was gonna borrow this stuff without asking, because he asked us to keep it on the down-low. The hush-hush.The first video we shot was for the song “Hold on to the Night.” I wanted to shoot the video at night (clever!) on The Block, which is a two-block section of Baltimore Street in downtown Baltimore that has strip clubs, adult bookstores and peep shows. And a hot dog place called Pollack Johnny’s.But how were we gonna get Baltimore Street closed down in the middle of the night, when all the action was going on?I called the Baltimore Police Department. I told them we were shooting a movie with Ben Vereen. It was the first name that came to mind. To my surprise, the BPD agreed to shut down the street. Ben Vereen is an actor and singer, he was pretty popular in Baltimore, had done a bunch of shows there. So the Baltimore Police Department put out the order to close Baltimore Street for a few hours for a movie shoot for Ben Vereen.We showed up with our TV cameraman, and a couple of guitars, and…we had no idea what to do. We had no script. We had no Ben Vereen. We had a boombox and an empty street. It started to drizzle…so we pressed “record” and started rolling. In the rain.Action! We did take after take. The drizzle worked in our favor—it made the street look shiny and cool. The camera guy was really creative. He did takes where he was lying on the wet ground with the camera looking up. He swooped and swerved and shot some crazy footage.Hit Man Howie Z started banging his drumsticks on the side of a trashcan. Some garbage got stuck on one of his sticks, and crap started flying everywhere. The cameraman was getting it all, but if he had panned out, you would have seen a sergeant with the BPD standing next to Howie, yelling at him…“You better clean up all that s**t when you’re done, son!”We did some more takes, and…Maybe the cops finally figured out that this wasn’t a Ben Vereen movie, or maybe the strippers were complaining about us driving away the customers, but the police put a halt to the filming. They took down the barricades, and traffic started flowing slowly down Baltimore Street again.We left without having any idea if what we shot was good, bad or ugly.It’s a wrap! One down. One to go.A friend of mine had just finished working on an Al Pacino movie that was shot in Baltimore, And Justice for All. The filmmakers had used an old courthouse and the old Baltimore City jail for the movie, and the sets were just sitting there vacant, waiting to be torn down.All the props and the furniture had been left behind, completely intact. It would be perfect for the “I’m a Victim" video.Once again, we had to do it all on the hush-hush. We didn’t really have permission to use the vacant And Justice for All set. We just showed up on the sly and started shooting. Our camera guy had “borrowed” the gear from the TV station once again, and we all sneaked into the courthouse and the jail, and commenced with the craziness.For the “I’m A Victim” video, we actually had a vague idea of what we wanted to do. I was going to be a lawyer. Hit Man Howie Z (BootCamp drummer Howard Zizzi) would be the guy on trial, Rob Roberts (Bob Fallin, guitar) was the judge, and Tom Alonso (keyboards) was the stenographer.There wasn’t a real story. It was just us, in a courtroom, clowning around, with our assorted friends as jurors and observers.We just started filming and improvising. The camera guy was shooting everything, trying to get as much footage as possible in the little time we had. We had one camera, that’s it. We didn’t have any microphones, or audio. We just sang along with a battery-powered boombox. We didn’t have any lighting. We didn’t have any assistants or stylists or producers or directors telling us what to do, where to go or what to wear.At one point, we were filming in a jail cell, and the door accidentally slammed shut with a CLANG! I was locked inside and they couldn’t get the door back open. It freaked me out a bit. I have recurring nightmares about being in prison.We were making it all up as we went along. I was just hoping the real cops wouldn’t bust in, and bust us for trespassing and send us to a real jail.We wrapped up—no sense in pressing our luck. Once again, we left the shoot with no idea if what we shot was any good.The cameraman edited both videos on his own. He snuck into the editing suite at the local TV station, and “borrowed” a few hours at a time. He eventually cut all the footage together. He showed us the two videos.They had a certain charm, for sure. Maybe the cinematography wasn’t gonna win an Oscar, and our acting wasn’t gonna keep Robert DeNiro up at night worrying about us stealing his next acting job, but the videos had a unique down-home allure.Griff sent them to MTV. We, the BootCamp Boys, didn’t think much about it after that. We had no idea how big MTV would be.When the network launched, MTV included the two BootCamp videos. They were two of the first 100 videos MTV ever played. They put us in regular rotation. MTV caught fire. We started getting calls…labels, agents, producers.It was an exciting time. I gotta give it to the camera guy. His name is Kurt Kolaja. He did a great job doing everything, from shooting to editing.MTV took off. So did BootCamp. We were in for a crazy ride…Asparagus with Parmigiano
When you’ve just finished a video shoot outside a strip club, ain’t nothing like a little asparagus to make your pee-pee smell funny.I like to use thin asparagus—the size of a pencil. They’re more tender and tastier than the big boys.So try to find asparagus that’s not the size of a tree trunk. As a general rule, the larger the vegetable, the tougher it is.If the asparagus are really thick, you’ll have to peel the skin off the outer stalks.This dish should serve four people, depending on the people. Members of my family eat like horses. That’s why I feed them in the barn.INGREDIENTS1 pound thin asparagus2 tablespoons olive oilKosher saltFresh cracked black pepper¼ cup fresh grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, plus a little more for sprinklingHere we go…Rinse off your asparagus and pat dry with paper towels.Preheat your oven to 400 degrees.You need to break off the bottom ends of the asparagus. Grab an asparagus spear. Grab one end with your thumb and forefinger, and the other end with the thumb and forefinger of your other hand, and bend until it snaps. Discard the bottom end.Do this to all the asparagus. Rinse well, pat dry with paper towels.Put them in a glass or ceramic baking dish.Drizzle with olive oil, about 2 tablespoons.Mix them up; make sure each spear is coated.Add some kosher salt and some freshly cracked black pepper.Mix them up again.Put the dish in the oven.Bake for 15 minutes. Check the asparagus, make sure they’re done. If they ain’t, put ‘em back in for 5 minutes. They should be firm, but not crunchy.Take the dish out of the oven, sprinkle the asparagus with the grated cheese.Set the oven to broil. Put the dish back in the oven for A MINUTE OR TWO! Keep an eye on these guys!When you see the Parmigiano start to brown, take the baking dish out of the oven, try an asparagus spear, make sure it’s done, and dish it up!This dish goes well with Slim chicken Marsala, or chicken Milanese, or lemon chicken.
MANGIAMO!!!!!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Zucchini, Summer Squash and Eggplant
"Everything I am I owe to pasta."You know who said that?Sophia Loren.I’ve had a crush on her for a long time. My Uncle Oscar once sat next to her on an airplane. They flew from New York to Rome. A long flight, for sure.But if I were sitting next to Sophia Loren, I would have been praying that we’d get stuck on the tarmac for a few days.Or better yet--crash into the ocean, where just the two of us would be stuck on a small, deserted island for the rest of our lives, where I'd cook for her every day on an open fire on the beach next to our thatched hut while the waves gently wash on the shore as the sun sets gracefully on the horizon while I play my guitar (that miraculously washed ashore) as we drink wine that I made from wild grapes that I discovered when we were bathing in a nearby waterfall.I can dream, can’t I?Sophia Loren loves pasta. So do I.The key to eating pasta on a regular basis is…don’t eat a wheelbarrow full. Italians eat small amounts of pasta. Italian restaurants in America serve buckets full of pasta, all covered in cheese and sauce and goo.Take your hands. Cup them together. That’s the amount of pasta you should put on a plate--unless you're four feet tall and have hands the size of Shaquille O'Neal's.Let me tell you a little story, a heart-warming tale about a boy, a bike and a zucchini.I was living in Nashville. I rode my bike to the post office. I dropped off some thank you notes—I write a lot of them, I have a lot to be thankful for—and saw some beautiful mums outside the fruit and vegetable stand across the street.
I walked in to the red and white striped tent, and there were so many vegetables and fruits; fresh, ripe, colorful, local…it was amazing. They had baskets and baskets of home grown tomatoes. So much stuff to choose from.Only one problem…All I had was a five-dollar bill in my pocket.So, I picked out a green zucchini, a yellow summer squash, and a brown eggplant. I had enough left over for a bulb of garlic and a shallot. The total was four bucks and change. I put the stuff in my messenger bag and rode my bike home.It was a beautiful fall day in Nashville; sunny, cool, and clear. On my way home, I stopped by a friend’s restaurant, a great place called Mafioza's. These mobsters grow basil outside in planters that border the entrance. I picked a small handful, put it in my bag, and rode my bike home in a hail of bullets, ducking and weaving.I got back to the shack and decided to make a little sauce. I put the sauce over pasta, but keep in mind, you can use a dish like this for anything…a side dish, on bruschetta, on pizza, over rice, as an appetizer, on your corn flakes…use your imagination.
The sauce was delizioso. Batu loved it. Start to finish, it took 30 minutes. And it cost about five bucks. My kinda dish!I added some freshly grated carrots, about a ¼ cup, for a little color, and a little crunch.This should serve about three people, unless those people are teenage boys, in which case this will serve one.
INGREDIENTS1 green zucchini, ends cut off, chopped into 1” triangular pieces (about a cup and a half)1 yellow summer squash, ends cut off, chopped into 1” triangular pieces (about a cup and a half)1 small eggplant, ends cut off, chopped into 1” triangular pieces (about a cup and a half)1/4 cup fresh grated carrotsSmall handful of fresh basil4 tablespoons of olive oil6 cloves of garlic, peeled, sliced into thin slices, about 1 1/2 tablespoons1 small shallot, peeled, minced, about 1 1/2 tablespoons1/3 cup of white wine1 cup of broth (chicken or vegetable)¾ pound of spaghetti, or fusilli, or farfalleSalt and crushed red pepper
Here we go...Put a large saute pan over medium-low heat. Add the olive oil.Add the garlic and shallots and some crushed red pepper (to taste), cook for 3 or 4 minutes, until the shallots are clear, and the garlic is pale gold.Turn the heat to high for 1 minute. Then add the white wine, let it cook off for a minute or two.Turn the heat down to medium-low, add all the vegetables.Add the stock, and salt to taste.Let it cook over medium-low heat for ten minutes. Stir every so often.Taste the vegetables. You want them firm--not crunchy (underdone) or mushy (overdone).Adjust for salt and pepper.Take your basil, and snip it with scissors right into the sauce. Give it a stir.Remove from the heat.If you want to use this over pasta, get a large pot, fill it with cold water and put it on the highest heat you got.When the water comes to a boil, add a couple tablespoons of salt (I use Kosher salt, not for religious reasons—I just like the way it tastes).Then add your pasta. Stir it up every few minutes, so it doesn't stick together. People should stick together, pasta should not.When the pasta is al dente—firm to the bite--drain it in a colander.Put the pasta in a large bowl. Drizzle with a little olive oil and mix it up.Add most of the sauce, save a large spoonful for each plate (save three large spoonfuls).Mix it up. Then plate it up!Put a small amount on a plate. Add a spoonful of sauce on top. You can add some freshly grated cheese if you like—Parmigiano-Reggiano or Romano—and…
MANGIAMO!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Asparagus and Portobello Sauce
The first time I saw Mombo was when he pulled up in an old VW bus in a cloud of exhaust smoke and dust. He got out holding two large paper bags and said, “Anybody hungry?”Two of my favorite words.The night before, the Slim Men had played at the State Theater in Modesto, California. I had never been to Modesto before.The radio station there was playing a lot of songs from the first Slim Man CD - End of the Rainbow. I called up the radio station to see if there were any places to play in Modesto. They told me about John Griswold.John was, and still is, a valiant promoter of the arts. I called up John and he booked me – sight unseen – at the State Theater, a timeless Art-Deco movie theater that had been renovated. It was beautiful, with red velvet seats, a big wooden stage, and a balcony overlooking everything. The first Slim Man show there was a blast.After the show, a young lady came up to me and said,“My husband plays percussion. He’s really good. You should have him play with you sometime.”I looked at the sparkle in her eye and said,“Tell him to show up in Sacramento tomorrow. We’ve got a show there.”The next afternoon, at the Cal-Expo State Fair in Sacramento, a VW bus pulled up. A large Mexican-American man got out, introduced himself, and asked us if we were hungry. We went into the dressing room, which was a small trailer to the side of the stage.Mombo pulled out some burritos the size of footballs. John E Coale, the faithful Slim Man drummer, and Rick O’Rick, loyal Slim Man keyboard player, looked at the huge burritos.We ate. Mombo had made the burritos himself. They were delicious. Turns out Mombo owned a small restaurant in a nearby town called Lodi. After we finished the burritos, we went out to do our sound check. Mombo set up his congas and bongos, and we, the Slim Men, did our sound check. Mombo sounded good. Really good.The year was 1996. Those first few Slim Man Tours were pretty crazy--we were on a real tight budget. It was basically Johnny, Rick and I traveling around the USA in an Isuzu Rodeo, packed to the max with all our gear. We’d add a sax player, a trumpet player or a percussionist wherever we went.It’s always an adventure when you go on stage with someone you’ve never played with before, but from the first note, Mombo played his heart out. He fit in like he’d been playing with us from day one. Mombo has played just about every gig the Slim Men have done in California since then.
I learned two things that night. One was to keep an open mind – you never know who you might meet.The other thing I learned was - don’t eat a burrito the size of a football before a big show. Wow! There was enough gas on stage to get us halfway across the country. Mamma mia!Mombo and I became great friends. A man who loves music and cooking? What's not to love? His wife, Kim (I call her Kimbo) and their two daughters have a special place in the Slim Heart. To this day, we all keep in touch on a regular basis.This great friendship happened because Kimbo had the guts to ask me if Mombo could play with us. I took a chance on an unknown guy and it paid off big. John Griswold took a chance on an unknown band named Slim Man, and John and I have become true blue amigos. It all worked out magnificently. Better than I ever could have asked for.Mombo and Kimbo have a great relationship. They met when they were teenagers. They have a wonderful marriage. How wonderful, you ask?One time Mombo and I were in an outdoor hot tub at a swanky resort after a Slim Man show. Two young, pretty girls walked over to the hot tub and asked if they could join us. I had never met them before, had never seen them before. Mombo said, “Sure.”They took off all their clothes and got in. Naked babes in a hot tub! Mombo started chatting it up with these girls like they were in line at a Starbucks. I felt guilty and I wasn’t even doing anything wrong; but then I feel guilty all day everyday even when I don’t do anything wrong.Mombo and I had our swimsuits on. They stayed on. But still, I felt pangs of guilt. All we did was chat and relax. Afterwards, they toweled off, got dressed and left. The next day, I saw Mombo and asked him what he wanted me to say if Kimbo asked me about last night.“I already told her.”What?!?“Yeah. Why not? Nothing happened.”Why shouldn’t he tell her? Mombo hadn’t done anything wrong. Kimbo trusted Mombo.Then I remembered a song, the lyrics went something like, “It’s all about love, it’s all about trust.”I think it was a song called “Faith in Us.”ASPARAGUS AND PORTOBELLO MUSHROOM SAUCE
This sauce would be great in a burrito. An Italian burrito!Why does asparagus make your pee smell funny? I don’t know. It’s weird.When the first Slim Man CD--End of the Rainbow--was released, we got invited to dinner at this very cool and stylish restaurant in San Francisco. The single “Faith in Us” was in the Top Ten. We had just done a really successful show at the prestigious American Music Hall. And now the boys in the band were having dinner with Kent and Keith Zimmerman.Keith and Kent are twins. They were editors at a music magazine called Gavin Report, a magazine that tagged me as “A male Sade” a quote that I love because Sade is one of my favorite artists. Kent and Keith are very talented big-time writers. I read their book about Sonny Barger, the guy who started the Hell’s Angels motorcycle club. It’s really good. They just finished a book about Earth, Wind and Fire.At this restaurant in San Francisco, I had a dish of pasta with asparagus and portobello mushrooms, but it was missing something. Know what it was missing? Me! I had to Slimmify it. So when I got back to the Slim Shack I created this dish – now one of my favorites. It took me a while to get it just right.I added some Gorgonzola cheese, which is a blue cheese from Italy. If you don’t like Gorgonzola, you can substitute another creamy cheese, like goat cheese. If you don’t like cheese, leave it out!I also use toasted chopped walnuts, which go well with the asparagus and portobello mushrooms. Chop up your nuts, put them in a dry pan over medium-high heat, and shake and toast until brown.To prepare the mushrooms, rinse thoroughly. Remove the stems. Peel the skin from the top of the caps and discard. Slice into bite-sized pieces.To prepare the asparagus, grab the bottom of a spear with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. Grab the top of the spear with the thumb and forefinger of your other hand. Bend in an arc until it breaks, Discard the lower stalk. Chop the remaining stalk into small pieces, about an inch long. Leave the asparagus head whole. Do this with the entire bunch of asparagus. Rinse well, pat dry with paper towels.INGREDIENTS
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, plus a tablespoon for the pasta5 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped (about 2 tablespoons)Crushed red pepper (I start with ¼ teaspoon)3 cups portobello mushrooms, prepared as instructed above3 cups asparagus, prepared as instructed above½ cup vegetable broth (or chicken)½ cup dry white wine1 pound farfalle pasta (penne rigate would also work well)½ cup crumbled Gorgonzola cheese (¼ for the pasta, and ¼ cup for topping off each dish)½ cup walnuts, toasted in a dry pan over medium-high heatKosher saltFor the pastaGet a large pot; fill it with the coldest water you got, put it on your highest heat. Why cold water? Hot water tastes weird, maybe because it’s been sitting in the hot water heater.As the water comes to a boil –Make your sauceIn a large saucepan, add the olive oil over medium-low heat.Add the garlic and the crushed red pepper.Cook for 5 minutes until the garlic is pale gold.Add the portobello mushrooms.Cook for 5 minutes, stir every so often.Add the asparagus.Add the broth and the wine. Turn the heat to high.When it comes to a boil, reduce the heat to medium-low.Cook until the asparagus and mushrooms are tender, about 5 to 7 minutes or so.NOTE! The thinner the asparagus, the less time it will take to cook.Taste for salt and pepper and adjust.Remove from heat.Back to the PastaWhen the water comes to a boil add 2 tablespoons of kosher salt. Add your pound of pasta.Follow the instructions on the box. Two minutes before it’s supposed to be done, taste a piece of pasta. If it is chalky in the center, it is not done. Cook until it is not chalky or chewy. Check every 2 minutes. it might take longer than the instructions. When the pasta is al dente, firm to the bite, drain it in a colander.Put the pasta in a large bowl, add a tablespoon of olive oil, and mick ‘em up.Take about 2/3 of the asparagus portobello sauce and add it to the pasta, and mix.Add ¼ cup of the Gorgonzola (or whatever cheese you choose) to the pasta, mick’ em up.Dish it up! Put some pasta on a dish. Add a dollop of sauce on top, add a sprinkle of Gorgonzola (or whatever cheese you want) and a sprinkle of toasted walnuts and…
MANGIAMO!!!!!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Codfish Cakes
I had let Batu out into the back yard like I had done a thousand times before. But this time, when I called him, he didn’t come. I had just had arthroscopic knee surgery.I went outside and called Batu’s name again and again. Nothing. So I started looking. I grabbed my crutches, and started hopping around the neighborhood like a fool, looking everywhere. I ended up walking for miles. I started to panic as night fell. I had no idea where he was, or what had happened.Batu is not a street dog. He doesn’t know about cars and traffic, or anything like that. He did have a bright red collar with my name and number on it, but nobody called. As night fell, I started making calls to every shelter, every vet, and every place I could think of.Nobody had seen him. Batu is hard to miss. He’s a unique looking dog. He’s a bull terrier; there are only about 1,500 in the U.S. I hardly slept that night. So I got up and made a poster. I put them all over town – Baltimore, Maryland. I lived in the city, in a neighborhood called Roland Park. The house had a creek out back, with woods and a trail. There was a tiny alley in front of the house.
I put up posters everywhere. I started out close to the house, and kept widening the circle. I put up posters on every telephone pole, grocery store, and 7-11 I could find.No calls.That second night was hell. I checked my phone a thousand times.I had no idea what had happened to Batu. A neighbor told me she heard he got hit by a car in the alley and had bolted into the woods.Finally somebody called. They told me they got the number from Batu’s collar. My heart soared.Until they told me Batu was not attached to the collar. They had found the collar in a shopping mall three miles away. Somehow, the collar had fallen off his neck. They got my number off his dog tag, which was still attached to the collar. My heart sank.I got on my bike and rode over to where the collar had been found, and started calling his name, handing out flyers to anyone who would take them, posting them anywhere I could. That night, the third night, I couldn’t sleep. I got on my bike. I grabbed a flashlight. I started riding around, calling out his name.“Batu!”I’m surprised I didn’t get shot. I love Baltimore, but the murder rate is fairly high, and that rate gets higher when you have a crazy person riding around on a bike at 2 AM, screaming "Batu!" in the dead of night.Still there was no sign of Batu. I was sick with panic — it was an extremely hot summer, and Batu didn’t do well in the heat. Plus, he had a heart condition – an enlarged heart. He was on medication, medication that he needed.I called pet detectives, including Sherlock Bones (true). I called pet psychics. I called every shelter and every vet over and over. I even rented a large animal trap and put it where Batu was last seen. I put up more posters. I placed classified ads.Two girls called me up, Rebecca and Angela. They saw one of my posters and offered to help. It was clear that these two attractive young ladies loved dogs, and somehow felt a connection to Batu. We started canvassing the city. We coordinated our efforts. We went neighborhood by neighborhood. We drove. We walked. We biked.Still no Batu. It was now four days.Every vet, every pet detective, every professional dog person I contacted told me that after three days, I might as well give up hope. Hardly any dogs are recovered after that long. It didn’t stop me from looking. I tried twice as hard. I went to the best neighborhoods, where there were only mansions. I went to the worst neighborhoods, where there were only crack houses. Seriously.In both places I got funny looks – a crippled white guy on a bike handing out flyers offering a reward for a missing dog. I didn’t care.Rebecca and Angela were in constant contact. They helped whenever they could. We were becoming friends. But there was still no Batu. I was terrified. Five days with no food, no water, and without his medicine. I searched high and low. Night and day. I lost ten pounds. I was limping from my operation. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep.When Angela and Rebecca got off work, they’d help me search. Six days turned into seven days as time crawled by. I was depressed and desperate. I called my friend, Tim, who was a meteorologist at the local TV station. He made a mention on the air.
Day eight. I got a call that night. Someone had seen Batu in their yard in Guilford, one of the nicest neighborhoods in Baltimore, about three miles from the Slim Shack. I drove like James Bond over to the sighting. Rebecca and Angela met me there. We looked behind the house and there was Batu. I called out his name.He bolted. Took off like a cheetah. We chased after him. He got away. We looked for hours. Angela and Rebecca went home. I kept looking until dawn. Then, I went back to the Slim Shack, printed up more posters, and papered all of Guilford.I’m surprised I didn’t get arrested. But I didn’t give a shit.After that, I went back to the shack and crashed. I hadn’t slept in days. Then my phone rang. It was Baltimore City Councilwoman Maggie McIntosh. She introduced herself, and then told me she had seen Batu in her neighbor’s backyard in Guilford. I jumped in my Jeep and burned rubber.When I got to the house, Maggie McIntosh was there. She pointed to the neighbor’s backyard. There was an iron fence around the yard. Batu was inside. How he got in is still a mystery.I called his name. He didn’t even know who I was. But when I held out one of his treats, he came running. I loaded him into the Jeep.Batu ate the whole box of biscuits. No wonder. It had been nine days. No food, no water and no medicine. I called Rebecca and Angela. They met me at the Slim Shack. We had a little party. We drank, we laughed, we cried, and we danced.Actually, it was Angela who danced. Turns out, this really attractive, sexy, dog-loving Italian babe was also a belly dancer. Madonna mia. So many prayers answered in one day!After our little celebration, I took Batu to the hospital. They put him in the DICU, the Doggy Intensive Care Unit for four days. He was emaciated, dehydrated, malnourished, had some internal injuries. He really needed Intensive Care.So did I when I got the bill. It was almost four grand. My cousin helped me out.And here’s how it all ended…
Batu got well, and he’s still doing great, seven years later.Rebecca confessed to me that she was gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Some of my best friends are gay. What a doll!And Angela, well I had a secret crush on her. But, I was involved, and she was involved, then I got uninvolved, and she got more involved, and eventually she got married.I send Rebecca and Angela Christmas cards every year. Hope they still live in the same houses!Whenever I think I’m down on my luck, I remind myself of this story.Whenever I think a situation is hopeless, I remember this story.Whenever I think of giving up, I remember this story.SLIM MAN’S COD PIECES
In Baltimore, where I spent most of my Slim Boyhood, almost every little grocery store had coddies –codfish cakes—on the counter by the cash register. The two ingredients were codfish and mashed potatoes. The coddies were displayed on a tray, along with Saltine crackers and plain yellow mustard.I loved ‘em.When codfish went on sale a few weeks ago at the local grocery store near Slim’s Shady Trailer Park in Palm Springs, California, I thought it would be a great time to create my own codfish cake recipe. I call my new creation…Slim Man’s Cod Pieces.INGREDIENTS6 cups water3 medium Yukon gold potatoes, cut into 2-inch cubes (about 2 cups)1 pound codfish filet, skinless, cut into 2-inch cubes (about 2 cups)2 tablespoons butterKosher saltFresh cracked pepper4 tablespoons olive oil1 tablespoon minced garlic2 tablespoons minced shallot1 tablespoon chopped rosemary1 egg½ cup of panko breadcrumbs (I used Progresso Panko Italian Style)Flour (1/2 cup should do)Here We Go…
Get a large pot, put in 6 cups of water or so, and put it on the highest heat. Put the taters in the water and let them cook as the water comes to a boil.When almost tender — it took mine about 10 minutes after the water came to a boil — add the fish cubes. That’s right, put the fish right in the boiling water with the potatoes.Cook for 5 minutes.
Drain in a colander.Put the fish and the potatoes in a bowl, add 1 tablespoon of butter, and salt and pepper, and mash coarsely. Keep it chunky! If it’s too smooth, the codfish cakes won’t fry right.Let it sit until it’s warm to the touch.As it cools, get a sauté pan and put it over medium heat. I used a 10-inch pan.Add 1 tablespoon of butter and 1 tablespoon of olive oil.When the butter starts to bubble, add the garlic and shallot.Sauté for 3 minutes until the shallots are clear and the garlic is pale gold.Add the rosemary and stir a few times.Cook for 2 minutes.Take the shallot/garlic/rosemary mixture that’s in the pan and add it to the codfish and potatoes.Mix it up.Grab your egg, put it in a bowl, and beat it.Add it to the codfish and taters, and mix.Add the breadcrumbs and mix by hand.If the mixture is too liquid, add more breadcrumbs.When the mixture feels right — not too wet, not too dry – make cakes.I like my cakes about the size of a tangerine. This recipe yielded 8 codfish cakes.Put the codfish cakes on a plate.Take the sauté pan that you used for the garlic/shallots/rosemary.Put it over medium-high heat.Add 3 tablespoons of olive oil.As the oil heats up, get a flat plate, and put the flour on it.Lightly dredge each codfish cake in the flour. Make sure each side is lightly dusted with flour.When the olive oil is hot, put the cakes in the pan, and sauté for 3 minutes, until the bottoms are golden brown.Flip ‘em over — be gentle – and cook on the other side for 3 minutes, until golden brown.Place on paper towels when done.Serve with spicy brown mustard, or plain old yellow mustard like we used to do in Bawlmer!In Bawlmer, they eat them on saltine crackers. I like ‘em plain—but what the hell do I know?
MANGIAMO!
Slim Man Cooks Meatballs
Meatballs and Motown
When I was a kid, fresh out of school, a friend of a friend got me an appointment in New York City with a pretty big publisher. I had written some songs, which I recorded and produced at a studio in my hometown of Baltimore, Maryland. I had my little demo tape all ready for the Big Time. In the Big Apple. With a Big Publisher.I got dressed up in my white, three-piece, Saturday Night Fever suit. I had the John Travolta hairdo. I used so much hairspray you could have hit me in the head with a baseball bat and I wouldn’t have felt it.I took the train from Baltimore to Manhattan. I walked uptown from Penn Station, figured I’d save money on a cab.The building was on 54th Street. I walked in, gave the doorman my name, and took the elevator to one of the top floors. I got off the elevator and gave the receptionist my name. I waited for a while, taking in the views of Manhattan, dreaming about what kind of deal I was gonna be offered. The receptionist led me into the guy’s office.He was probably in his 50s. I shook his hand. He gave me a strange smile and a look-over. He then told me that his friend—the guy who set-up the meeting—mentioned that I was “quite attractive.”Welcome to the music binniz! I was flattered, in an awkward way. But I wasn’t there for a beauty contest; I was just a young man trying to pitch some songs. I sat down on the couch. The guy sat on the edge of his desk, and started leering at me like Pepe LePew. I was getting a very strange vibe.When the guy walked over and started to sit down on my lap, I decided it might be best to just skedaddle out of there. So I stood up, thanked him, and hurdled over the couch. I just wanted someone to listen to my songs, without having to…well, you know. I wasn’t pissed off, just disappointed. He hadn’t listened to one song. I walked outside, onto the streets of Manhattan.It was pouring down rain. I had a lump in my throat the size of a basketball. I was supposed to meet my Dad at a French restaurant for a victory lunch. It’s hard to catch a cab in NYC in the rain. So I walked the few blocks to the restaurant; Café Brittany, in the upper 50s, on the west side of town.
My Dad was a World War II veteran. He followed Patton’s army across France. He once rescued a French girl who was behind enemy lines. So the French women who worked at Café Brittany thought he was a hero. And he was. And they treated him like one. He spoke French and was charming. They loved him. No wonder he went there so often.I walked in, all wet. My white suit was splattered with muddy water that cars had splashed on me as they passed by in the rain. I was a mess. I sat down. I could hardly talk.When my Dad asked how it went, I told him it went OK. I didn’t tell him the whole story. I was kinda embarrassed. I just kept my mouth shut. Like my Dad used to say, “Nobody gets in trouble by keeping their mouth shut.” Lunch was quick and quiet. I left my Dad with his admirers, and went back out into the rain. I started cold-calling publishers.One of the first calls I made was the Motown office in New York. Motown had some of my favorite writers — Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Smokey Robinson, Holland-Dozier-Holland — and they had some of my favorite songs.To my surprise a gal named Roxanna Gordy answered the phone. I asked for an appointment. She asked when. I said hesitating as I mustered up my courage, “How about right now?”About thirty minutes later I was in her office. It was on 57th Street, across from Carnegie Hall. I looked like shit, my suit was soaked and soiled, and my hair at this point looked more like Moe from the Three Stooges than John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.Roxanna Gordy took my tape, and started playing it. I sat there in silence as we listened.Her office door was open a crack. A few minutes into the first song, the door cracked open a little more, and a man’s head popped in. The guy asked Roxanna about the music, and she pointed at me. The guy didn’t look too impressed with the way I looked.Can’t blame him.But he liked what he heard. He invited me into his office. His name was Carl Griffin. He was VP of Motown publishing in New York. We hit it off.Carl signed me to a songwriting deal a few weeks later. I got paid a thousand bucks every month to write a song every two weeks. I was in heaven.Right after I signed, Carl called and asked me to write a song for a new artist who had a debut CD coming out. I asked Carl when, and he told me, “Yesterday.”That didn’t leave much time. I immediately wrote a song, and it sounded pretty good to me — it gave me the tingles, which is always a good omen – but how was I going to record it?I didn’t have time to book a studio. All I had was an old cassette player with two inputs, and two microphones. So I hung one mic inside my upright piano, and sang into the other mic.It was the worst recording I’ve ever done. On the playback, the piano came out of one side, and my voice came out of the other. I loved the song, but the recording made me want to hide in a cave in Afghanistan. I sent the tape to Carl.
A few weeks later, Carl came down to Baltimore to do a demo session with me. I’d written some new songs, and we needed to get them recorded. We went into the studio, which was pretty fancy. Carl sat me down in front of the speakers, and told me he wanted me to listen to something.He put on a tape and what came out of those speakers was amazing.It was my song, the one I had recorded into the cassette player. The new version sounded as good as anything I’d ever heard. Dave Grusin, one of my favorite producers, produced it. Dave wrote the soundtracks for Tootsie, The Graduate, On Golden Pond and lots of other movies.The players were amazing…all the top session guys. Francisco Centena on bass, Eric Gale on guitar, Ralph McDonald on percussion, and Dave Grusin himself played electric piano.I was absolutely floored. I could not believe my ears. They took that shitty little recording of my song and made it into this amazing record. With a stunning new singer that had an amazing voice.The singer was Angela Bofill. Her debut CD was Angie. My song was "Summer Days."The album went on to get great reviews in the New York Times, and the Los Angeles Times. It was quite an auspicious debut. It sold quite a few copies. It created a big buzz in the Biz.I played the song for my Dad. He was a rough, tough, and gruff guy that didn’t radiate a lot of warmth, and he didn’t give out compliments. But I could tell he really liked it. Especially when he said, “I want you to play that at my funeral.”Keep in mind, my Dad wasn’t old or sick or close to death or anything. But whenever I’d visit him, he’d remind me to play “Summer Days” at his funeral.That was my Dad’s way of saying he liked it.
MEATBALLS To this Italian kid, meatballs are a source of comfort. They remind me of Sunday at my grandmother Angela’s house, the smell of the sauce, the warmth of the kitchen, the family drinking and screaming and throwing knives at each other.Home sweet home.When I need a little comfort, I make meatballs. A lot of Italians used to put bread soaked in milk in their meatballs. The reason was simple—you could make a lot more meatballs that way. And when you’re poor and starving, you do what you can to extend a meal. I’ve cooked them both ways—with bread and without. And they’re just plain better without the bread soaked in milk.If you’re worried about keeping your balls moist, just don’t overcook them. About 3 or 4 minutes a side is plenty of time. I don’t use lean meats. A lot of that juice makes things…juicy.Traditional meatballs are made with equal amounts of ground beef, ground pork, and ground veal. If you have any objections to any of these meats, you can substitute.I’ve made meatballs from ground turkey, and they were good - I used half dark and half white meat. I’ve made meatballs with just ground beef and pork, and they were good, too. Just make sure you end up with 3 pounds of meat, which should make about 60 or 70 meatballs. Feeds two, if you’re in my family.Freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese is the way to go. The pre-grated stuff in a box is dry and tasteless, and should be avoided if possible.You can eat meatballs plain, but I put my meatballs in a tomato sauce. You will need about 6 cups of tomato sauce—I make my own, it’s quick, simple and easy. My recipe is on page XX.
Ingredients6 cups tomato sauce (bottled is OK, homemade is bestest!)1 pound ground beef1 pound ground pork1 pound ground veal3 eggs3 tablespoons onion minced fine3 tablespoons chopped Italian flat leaf parsley (you can use curly parsley in a pinch)1 ½ cups bread crumbs — don’t use any that are heavily flavored — I use plain panko¾ cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheeseSalt (I use 1 teaspoon of kosher salt) and pepperExtra virgin olive oilHere we go…Heat your tomato sauce in a large pot over high heat. When it starts to bubble, lower to a simmer.Get a big bowl. Put the meat in, crack the eggs on top. Add the onion and parsley. Add the breadcrumbs, and the Parmigiano. Add some salt and fresh cracked pepper.Mix ‘em up! I use my hands. Dig in, mix all the ingredients together. When it’s all well-mixed, it’s time to roll our balls! Grab a small amount of the mix, about the size of a golf ball. Roll it into a ball. Put it on a plate, and flatten it a bit. Do this with all the meat mixture.Get a large sauté pan. Add a tablespoon of olive oil. Swirl it around the pan, and then wipe out the excess with a paper towel. Put the heat on medium, heat for 2 minutes.Add as many meatballs as you can without crowding. No bunching! Cook for 4 minutes. Don’t move them around! We want the bottoms of our balls to be brown. Pick up a meatball with some tongs. If the bottom is brown, turn all the meatballs over and cook for another 4 minutes until brown on the other side. Slice one open, take a look. If it’s done, put the meatballs in the tomato sauce. If not, cook for another minute or two, and then place in the sauce when done.Do this with all your meatballs! Drain the sauté pan of excess juices after each batch. When they’ve all cooked, let them simmer in the sauce for 10 minutes.Dish it up! Put it over pasta, or serve as an appetizer with some crusty bread for your crusty friends, and…
MANGIAMO!!!!!!!