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 Pasta Carbonara
Pasta Carbonara with Normy and Sam at Odessa
It was by far the biggest paying gig ever offered to the Slim Men. Not only that, but the promoter was going to put us up in a nice hotel, and buy us all dinner and drinks at the club after the show.The club was called Odessa. It was a fine-dining, elegant nightclub/restaurant in Laguna Beach, California. Swanky.Because it was so swanky and brand spanking new, and because they were paying us a lot of do-re-mi, we decided to pull out all the stops. We invited some guest soloists — guitarist Richard Smith and trumpet player Tony Guerrero.We made sure our shoes were shined, and our suits were pressed, and our wigs were in place. Showtime!John E Coale was on drums. The keyboard player that night was David Bach — it was one of his first shows with us. Mombo Hernandez played percussion. It was crowded, a good turnout of Slim People. Odessa had a 1960s supper-club vibe. Well-dressed guests sat at well-dressed tables and enjoyed dinner as they watched the show. We were scheduled to do two 1-hour sets.We did the first set. We sounded OK — we were just starting to catch our stride when we had to take a break to do a drawing. In between sets, they had scheduled a drawing for dinner with the band after the show. They brought a big fishbowl filled with tickets up to the stage. I picked a number from the bowl and called it out to the crowd. There was a short silence. A guy stood up. He didn’t yell or scream. He just stood up and sauntered to the stage.He was tall and thin, with blond hair. He was dressed casually, and had a loopy grin. He showed me his ticket. He had the winning number. So this guy and his guest were gonna join us for the post-concert dinner and celebration, a little after-party slurp and chew.The Slim Dudes went back on stage and did our second set. There were a couple of rough spots. At one point, Richard Smith came up to me after playing guitar on a couple of songs and said,“Nice trying to play with you.”But the Slim Men pulled it together. The crowd seemed to enjoy themselves. Nobody threw anything at us and nobody left. After the show, we walked over to the restaurant area of the club. They had a huge table set for us. Each setting had more forks and knives than anyone would ever need. I sat next to the couple who won the dinner drawing. It turned out to be quite a conversation.Normy was kinda quiet, and kinda quirky. His wife, Sam, was sweet with a quick smile.Normy and I started talking, and he told me that he made clay models for Porsche. Clay models are what they use to create the shells for the bodies of actual cars. And Normy worked with the designers making new Porsche sports cars. I’d been to the Porsche factory in Stuttgart, Germany. I did a private party there. Normy and I talked about sports cars, clay models, Porsche, Stuttgart, horsepower and how Normy did what he did. It was an intriguing conversation.We ordered food. We got appetizers. We got soups. We got salads. We drank more than a few bottles of wine. We had main courses. We had desserts. We had after-dinner drinks.It must have been around midnight when the waitress – who had been working so hard all night – gave me the bill. I was kinda embarrassed, but I told her that the promoter was picking up the tab. She told me the promoter was nowhere to be found.I got up, and started looking around the club; in front, out back, the men’s room, the ladies’ room, under tables, in the kitchen - I looked everywhere. I called him. I called the hotel. I sent out smoke signals, helicopters, and drones. Promoter dude had vanished.So I took out the old credit card, and prayed that the cops wouldn’t leap out of the woodwork and arrest me on the spot when it got declined. The wine alone must have cost a thousand bucks. Twelve courses for twelve people in a place like that? I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to wash dishes for the rest of my life.My card went through. I didn’t want to chance it with a tip, so we gathered some cash, and gave it to the waitress.We left the club that night a bit weary, kinda dreary, somewhat embarrassed, and a lot lighter in the wallet. We went to our hotel rooms and crashed. The next day, I was checking us all out of the hotel, and discovered the promoter had not paid for the rooms. Ouch.He never sent me the money he owed, and it was a lot. I never heard from him again. I ended up paying the band anyway. It was a huge loss, but…Normy and Sam have become good friends of mine. I’ve seen them at least a couple times a year for the past 15 years. We talk on the phone a couple times a month.They came to Catalina Island a few years ago to see the Slim Man Band at the Jazz Fest. We went out afterwards, and Normy had quite a few festive beverages. In his defense, Catalina doesn’t allow cars, people walk everywhere, so everyone tends to drink a bit more than usual. We were playing pool at a local bar when Normy started shouting at the band,“I LOVE YOU GUYS! I MEAN IT! I REALLY LOVE YOU GUYS!”He kept saying it; over and over, louder and louder. Quiet Norm was so loud and boisterous, that we ended up leaving the pool hall - after some encouragement from the staff and patrons. We walked on to the small streets of Catalina and Normy kept on yelling,“REALLY! I’M NOT JUST SAYING THIS!! I REALLY LOVE YOU GUYS! REALLY!”Sweet Sam finally dragged him back to his hotel room, screaming “I LOVE YOU!” all the way.The next morning, the Slim Man Band had breakfast with Normy and Sam. Normy was unusually quiet, turning whiter shades of pale with each bite. We quietly told him we really loved him, too. Really. To this day, when we see him, that’s what we say.
Normy and Sam pop up a couple times a year at Slim Shows. They don’t ask to be put on the guest list. They don’t call in advance. It’s always a pleasant surprise when they show up. They usually manage to stay in whatever hotel the band is staying.Two weeks ago, I was in Palm Springs, California. Normy and Sam came out to see me play at a super swanky hotel called The Riviera. We had dinner that night after the show. We partied in the hotel room after dinner, drinking wine and whatnot.We had a wonderful time.Here’s the thing - I would never have met Normy and Sam if it weren’t for the Odessa gig.Sure, I lost a ton of dough. But would you trade two good friends for ten grand?Let me think about that one…PASTA CARBONARAIf you’ve been through a tough time, and you need a “What the hell, might as well” sauce, have I got a dish for you.I eat pasta carbonara a couple times a year. Any more than that and you’ll have to walk around with a defibrillator duct-taped to your chest.It’s a heart-stoppin’, artery poppin’ dish, but it’s one of my favorites. As soon as you try it, it’ll be one of your favorites too! This is my own version. I added white wine, which gives it a little kick.I use Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese. Most recipes call for Romano, which I find a little too salty for this dish. So I use Parmigiano, which is a little sweeter.The name ‘carbonara’ comes from the Italian word for coal, carbona. Legend has it that coal miners would put a couple of eggs, a piece of pancetta (Italian bacon) and a hunk of cheese in their pockets, and make this dish on their lunch break, using just one pot.Putting eggs in your pocket doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, especially if you’re mining, but what the hell do I know?
INGREDIENTS3 eggs1 cup fresh grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese2 tablespoons fresh Italian flat leaf parsley, chopped8 ounces pancetta, diced into small cubesCrushed red pepper (I start off with ¼ teaspoon)4 cloves of garlic, peeled, and smashed/flattened with the broad side of a knife¼ cup white wine1 pound of spaghettiKosher salt and fresh cracked black pepperHere we go…We’ll do this all in real time.Get a large pot. Fill it with cold water. Put it on the highest heat. This is for the pasta. As it heats up…Get a large bowl, one big enough to hold all the pasta and other goodies.Break the eggs into the bowl. Add the cheese. Add the chopped parsley. Add some fresh cracked black pepper.Beat all this goodness with a fork. Now let’s cook our pancetta.Pancetta is Italian bacon. So treat it like bacon. Don’t be flippin’ it all around. You want it to brown on each side. It’s tough to brown pancetta that’s been diced, but you can try!Get a small sauté pan. Put it over medium heat. Put the diced pancetta in. Let it cook until it's brown, about 4 minutes.Flip it over, give it a stir, and cook until it's brown on the other side, about 4 minutes.When the pancetta is done, turn off the heat, and use a slotted spoon to get it out of the pan. Put the pancetta in a small bowl and set aside.You should have some pancetta drippings left in the bottom of the pan. You’ll need about a tablespoon to cook the garlic. Get rid of the rest.Put the pan on medium-low heat.Add the crushed red pepper and the smashed garlic, cook 2 minutes until the garlic is golden and turn it over. Cook for 2 minutes more.Turn the heat to high. Add the wine; let it cook off for a minute or 2 while stirring. Turn off the heat.Now back to the pasta…When the pasta water comes to a boil, add a couple tablespoons of kosher salt. Add the pasta.Follow the cooking instructions on the pasta box. Two minutes before the pasta is supposed to be done, take a piece and bite into it. Look at the center of the pasta. If it looks chalky, it is not done. Check the pasta every 2 minutes. It might take longer than the instructions say. When the pasta is al dente, not chalky or chewy, drain it well.IMMEDIATELY put the pasta into the bowl with the eggs and cheese and parsley. You want the heat from the pasta to cook the eggs. Add the garlic and white wine from the small sauté pan. Toss gently. Add the cooked pancetta, and toss gently.Dish it up! Garnish with a piece of parsley, and…
MANGIAMO!!!!!