A Rock Industry Insider Recalls the Malibu Wildfire that Consumed (Almost) Everything
I miss the change of seasons in New Jersey. Transplanted here in Southern California, I must make do with Football Season, ’Tis the Season and the new TV Season. And then there is that other, more ominous, time of year: Fire Season. In a matter of minutes, it can turn you from a “have” into a “have-not”. For my friend Sue Sawyer (right), the November 1993 blaze that raged through the Malibu canyon where she lived swallowed more than just her home. It took a bite out of the joie de vivre she once had—the loss of which she is still coming to terms with today. In the early 1990’s, Virgin Records America was in its heyday, and Sawyer was its V.P. of Media Relations. Her clients included Michael Jackson, Tina Turner, Keith Richards, Lenny Kravitz, and The Clash. Over the years she received many gold records from artists such as Cyndi Lauper, Sade, and Cheap Trick that she hung on her living room wall. Her five platinum albums from Michael Jackson had an inscription from Michael that read Dear Sue, thanks for the hard work. These also were displayed in her home. A triptych photograph taken in the early 1980’s, showed Sue sitting on a sofa with Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne. Ozzy was promoting his first solo album, and a marketing meeting was set up at Epic Records. Ozzy walked in with a photographer, which was unusual; this should have been the tip-off for Sawyer that he had something up his sleeve (or in his pockets, to be exact). When everyone was seated, Ozzy produced a white dove from his coat, smiled sweetly at it—and bit its head off. He reached in his other pocket and pulled out another white dove and prepared to dine on that one, but the conference room erupted in protest, and the bird and everyone else in the room was saved from another unsavory spectacle. Although the photographs showed Sue’s expression going from Oh, what a pretty bird Ozzy has to utter revulsion, the triptych was exhibited on her walls to prove that, yes, this really did happen… I was there. The fire took everything. Sawyer’s “to die for” record collection? Vaporized. Her priceless collectibles? Incinerated. Early punk rock singles, including Elvis Costello when he was with Stiff Records? Up in smoke. A few charred 4×4’s, the bottom drum to her Weber grill, the blackened and ash filled carcass of her boyfriend’s vintage1967 metallic gold Thunderbird, the blob of melted coins from her piggybank, and the over-baked Halloween pumpkin that was sitting on the porch, was all that was left. There wasn’t even a place to hang the red UNSAFE FOR OCCUPANCY notification, so it was left under a rock. After the fire ran its course and Sawyer was allowed back on to the smoldering property, it was her incinerated books that she mourned the most. Everything that Graham Greene and Raymond Chandler wrote she collected. She had all of her childhood books, especially Winnie-The-Pooh, lovingly placed on bookshelves. “I would look at my books and it gave me a kind of a…hug,” she recalls. “I don’t have that now.” The literary collection was her treasure. Through the day-today roller coaster ride that was her job, those books provided a sense that everything was going to be all right.
It kept her grounded in a world of music icons and crazy, all-night industry parties. Sawyer has since acquired more books to fill new shelves, but the concertized connection to her younger, more carefree self was gone; as was the piano that she was more than proficient in playing. “When I was seven, I could play Rachmaninov in C sharp minor,” Sawyer says. She hasn’t owned a piano since she found the twisted remains of its soundboard nestled in the ash and soot of what was once her living room. “My house was completely gone.” The great Malibu fire of 1993 burned for three days. Sue Sawyer and 267 others lost their homes. Among her burnt-out neighbors were Sean Penn and Madonna, Ali MacGraw, Dwight Yokum, and Roy Orbison’s widow, Barbara. Three people perished in the fire, which was fueled by a combination of oil-rich and highly combustible chaparral, severe drought, and the hot, dry Santa Ana winds that roared through the canyon. In the first 10 minutes the fire spread from one acre to 200, and within an hour it had scorched over 1,000. It was about 20 minutes into the burn that Sawyer knew her house was in its path, and she had to get home to save her pets. Normally, there were a lot of meetings on Tuesday mornings, but she happened to be in her office with the television on. There was a breaking news bulletin about a fire sweeping toward the sea. “I knew this was no small deal by the way the newscasters talked about it,” she recalls. “And I knew my house was directly between the origin of the fire and the ocean.” The sick feeling that started to take hold of Sawyer was confirmed when a neighbor called. He told her he was evacuating and would take her Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy, but she needed to come and grab her cats. Driving along Pacific Coast Highway toward he
r threatened home, she was struck by the surrealism of it all. “The ocean was glittery with the sun bouncing on the surface, and the sky was such a beautiful blue,” she remembers. “And then there was this huge plume of smoke going up into the sky.” There was a state-of-the art fire station with a helicopter pad just up the road from where she lived. Would her home be spared? She knows now that when an out-of-control fire is in the mood to burn, there’s not much you can do about it. She reached her home with minutes to spare. With two cats and one cat carrier, she ended up stuffing one in a pillow case and tossing both in the car. Then she bolted back into the house to save what she could. It was about 1:30 in the afternoon and the sky had darkened with soot. Ash was everywhere, inside the house as well as out,
and an orange glow was licking at the ridge line, edging ever closer. “I was rushing around sick to my stomach,” Sawyer says. “There was no rhyme or reason to what I was putting in the car. I grabbed a photo album, my skis, a computer, and bicycles.” “But not enough clothes,” she chuckles wryly. “Next time I’ll pack better.” There was only one way out of the canyon; if an ember had leapfrogged onto her escape route, there would have been no way out. She took one last look at her home and—still hopeful that this evacuation would turn out to be nothing more than a fire drill—thought, “This is going to be so much work putting everything back!” Sawyer retreated to her parents’ house in Simi Valley, where a friend phoned to tell her that the street Sue lived on was gone. Wow, she thought, I guess I’m homeless. The next morning, with the fire still gobbling up homes north of Los Angeles, Sawyer’s office phoned to ask if she would be coming in for the marketing meeting. Hey, that’s show biz! “I don’t have a toothbrush or any underwear,” she told the caller, “I think I’ll be a little late for work today.” A month later, Sawyer began her slow return from the weightlessness of the dispossessed. She was living in a rental home in Burbank and her friends and co-workers threw a surprise benefit party to help her pick up the pieces. “This outpouring of kindness was the best thing that happened after the fire,” she says. “These were not the wealthy people of the music business; these were the publicists and writers. The $50 checks that they gave meant so much to me. I still have the checks from the freelance writers. I didn’t cash them. They didn’t have a lot of money, and I still had a job. The irony was that those same people got hit by the [January 1994] earthquake a month later.” Sawyer has regained most of her zest. But part of that happy-go-lucky, young woman vanished that November morning. “I regret the loss of my books and my music,” she says. “And my love letters. I dated a lot of writers, so there were some incredible love letters. I regret that I didn’t really mourn what I had lost; I was changed by the loss, but I didn’t mourn it. I wish I had had some therapy, it would have helped.” From the ashes eventually there is growth. The élan that defined Sue Sawyer both personally and professionally was replaced with a “don’t sweat the little stuff” sensibility that has served her equally well. After a hiatus from the world of media marketing, she is working as an independent publicist for a boutique public relations firm in Los Angeles. And she bought another house, in Glendale, where she can hear her neighbors’ son practicing the piano. With a twinkle in her eye, she says that she would like to start playing again. EDGE
er or Madonna.” No surname necessary. But no performer makes spicy mango chicken sausage or lamb-blue cheeserosemary sausage like Jabi and his crew. Jabi simply can’t stop creating. “We make at least one new sausage a week,” Jabi says as he packs up spicy Buffalo chicken sausages that deserve to be on Super Bowl watching menus everywhere, and ginger-chili bratwurst that takes the concept of fusion in new directions. My thoughts fly as I consider the more than 100 types of wursts, 20 kinds of kielbasa and tubs of prepared foods. Stuffed cabbage? Herring salad with beets? Time with Jabi is not for the faint of decision-making. Don’t leave without his spicy turkey sausages with chipotle and prunes. Cooked with cut-up root vegetables and diced tomatoes, they make for a dazzling Moroccan tagine, an exotic stew that can be served over rice, couscous or noodles. The myriad sausages also can be served simply in hot dog buns or hard rolls topped by a quick sauté of peppers and onions. A schmear of mustard is nice. But of the eight types I sampled, I have to say a Jabi creation needs no embellishment to be the star at your dinner.
credit for introducing the masses to the delights of moussaka. Rifle through the freezers of local residents and you’ll find the Diamandases’ Greek meatballs waiting for that night when nothing else but a tangle of linguine topped with a few of those oregano-scented meat poufs will do. You also may find phyllo pies filled with spinach and cheese (aka spanokopita) and wedges of pastitsio, a lasagne-like casserole rich with eggy-creamy goodness. Don’t hesitate. Score some of these heat-and-eat entrees for tonight or for your next soirée. Then go to town with selections from The Greek Store’s olive bar and refrigerator case. Here all manner of dips in half-pound or full-pound sizes are sold. There are a good 30 different types of olives at the bar. There is no better way to launch a dinner party than by setting out a selection of Greek olives: Amfissa, the large and soft purplish-black variety from Delphi; Ionian, brine-cured green olives from the Peloponnesos; the traditional Kalamates, the fleshy favorite from Kalamata; Thassos, the oil-cured, dry type from the Aegean island of the same name. Partner these with one of the half-dozen varieties of feta, and lay all out with a spirited dip and pita chips. My personal favorite dip is the taramasalata, a decadent spread of fish roe and olive oil jazzed with nibs of shallots and herbs and a squeeze of lemon. Keep for yourself: a tub of tzatziki, the part-sauce, part-salad classic of sliced cucumbers rolling in thick Greek yogurt laced with mint and garlic. It’s restorative the morning after.
their kid’s First Communion or the folks’ 50th anniversary go for a personal bail-out. Sure, there’s a sizable sit-down space, and many do partake daily of the corner deli’s in-store hospitality. But what you need to know when you’re in a pinch for party-ready takeout is the name of Mr. J’s signature dish: Sloppy Joe. There are almost as many Sloppy Joes out there as there are fellows named Joe. But these piled-high sandwiches, here cut into quarters for easy at-home serving, are superior. Turkey and Swiss are layered with a snappy Russian dressing and extra-rich cole slaw on rye. There are combos renowned for their compatibility: chocolate and hazelnut, for instance, or smoked salmon and cream cheese. But turkey, Swiss, Russian and a phenomenal homemade cole slaw is sandwich nirvana. This winter, when you’re suffering from terminal envy of those vacationing on a sunny Caribbean island, lay out a spread of Mr. J’s Sloppy Joes with a side show of sausages doing a do-si-do with peppers. Home, sweet home.
seasonings don’t fight with the fishes; they complement. In the coconut milk-based soup tom-kha gai, chunks of chicken laze about the surprisingly light broth amid riffs of lemongrass and kaffir lime. In tom yum puk, a feisty little soup chunked with Asian vegetables and tofu, the lemongrass-lime component comes on stronger. As it should. We swooned over the Grand Palace Salad, a veritable party of grilled beef plied with onions and smacked with chilies and lime. There was no letdown with the nato-sad salad, a rather unusual toss of ginger-licked ground pork enlivened by onions and made elegant by the addition of cashews. I’m an easy mark for rice noodle dishes and my new favorite is Thailand Restaurant’s pad kee mna puk, a melange of those silky noodles, crispy fried tofu, egg, Thai basil and shards of vegetables. Sigh. I’ve got to learn to cook like this.
You may be too old to fire off a letter to Santa, but that’s no reason for the kid in you to let the holidays pass without making a decent wish list. From old games to new electronics, there’s something out there to please even the most discerning inner child. May your season be joy filled…and toy filled!
staid old board with sound effects and credit cards instead of cash. Buying houses you can’t afford in real life is fun! History’s happiest accident—the Slinky— has
returned to the family staircase in a 14- karat, gold-plated-brass 55th Anniversary Edition ($100 at Buy.com). According to legend, the discovery that the spring could “walk” was completely serendipitous. The rest is history, with more than 300 million sold and still counting. Another beloved blast from the past is the Rubiks Cube, now available in a glitzy high-tech Rubiks
TouchCube version (on amazon.com for about $70). Nostalgia is also available in book form. The Official Preppy Handbook, that iconic, tongue-in-cheek treatise on the WASP-y culture of the 1980s, finally has its longa waited sequel. One of the original authors has taken another satirical look at the “new old guard” in True Prep: It’s a Whole New World. 
Buy it in hardcover at your local brick-and-mortar bookseller, or go for the preppier Kindle or iPad editions.
exercise equipment often migrates onto our holiday wish lists. If you think walking (or even running) is for wimps—and can put off that new car purchase for another year—then you might want to trade in your treadmill for a Treadwall, a motorless rotating climbing wall that moves by body weight alone. The good news is you are never more than 1-2 feet off the floor. The bad news is that this will set you back about $10,000 (a KidWall version is less). Check it out at uniquefit1.com or call around to some climber-friendly gyms. If work intrudes on your workout, then consider equipping your home office with a Gaiam BalanceBall Chair (on Amazon.com for about $80).
Chiropractically engineered, the chair continues working those core muscles even if you sit at your desk for hours. You’re basically buying the chair’s framework; the rest is BYOB (Bring Your Own Ball). It’s the same balance ball you use in your workout routines. Need to exercise on the road? You’ll have no more excuses away from home thanks to the Tumi Travel Fitness Trainer. It’s equipped with a pedometer, heart rate monitor, stopwatch, MP3 player and FM radio. Look for it at the Tumi store in the Short Hills Mall (or online at tumi.com) for about $165. Masochism comes in myriad forms, not all of which involve calorie burning workouts. Golf leaps to mind. Feeling the 
burn in this sport mostly happens between the ears. If greens are what get you blue, then consider the Laser Alignment Putting Trainer, which uses a laser beam to tell you when your putt is perfect— before you even touch the ball. Look for it online at hammacher.com for $329.95.
you’ll be happy to hear that the toys of tomorrow are here today. For instance, you can actually carry around a computer in a pen with the LiveScribe Echo Smartpen. It captures everything you hear, write or say and delivers it with just a tap of the pen ($170 for 4GB and $200 for 
8 GB versions at livescribe.com; also at Target). Or treat yourself to a Gyration Air Mouse, which controls apps on your computer, TV or DVD player with a wave of your hand ($70 and up at amazon.com or compusa.com). Gadget gals are turning cartwheels over the latest Flip Video Cams.
Their fetching case artwork belies their impressive HD video capabilities, with up to two hours of record time ($150 to $230). Best to go direct to theflip.com, where you can even upload your own photo for a personalized one-of-a-kind camera. If your final wish for 2010 (or final wish, period) is to careen down a snow-covered slope at 70 mph, then you’ll want to invest in an Airboard. Think of these Swiss-engineered inflatables as really Felixible Flyers. Popular for years in Europe, the Airboard has just begun appearing on American mountainsides. You may want to rent before you buy (they sell for $200 to $630 at airboard.com), and probably review your insurance policy. If your thrill-seeking tends to be a bit less public, then the Spy Net Secret Mission Video Watch may be more your speed. It’s a 21st Century take on those old decoder rings buried at the bottom of cereal boxes. It can audio record for 3 hours, video record for 20 minutes, and take still photos with a snake cam that lets you see around corners ($50 at jakks.com and also carried by Kmart).
Most experts agree that there are four cornerstones to a successful marriage. 1. Trust. 2. Honesty. 3. Unexpressed anger. 4. No sports junk on the walls. Many a man has tested rule #4 only to see that framed jersey or signed photo, without warning, donated to a local charity auction. Like a game of Jumanji, the priceless 
heirloom insidiously then works its way into another home, where it initiates marital chaos all over again. Bill Crouse is the exception that proves rule #4. One of the world’s leading authorities on Art Deco posters, his collection may be the best ever assembled. When Crouse purchases a sports poster, it’s invariably a jaw-dropper. In these pages we present a handful of sporting selections from the renowned Crouse Collection. You won’t find these masterpieces at your suburban gala or fundraiser. You will see them in museums and galleries in Europe and the U.S. (including right now at the Guggenheim’s Chaos and Classicism exhibit). If you want to buy them at auction, be prepared to spend somewhere in the mid-six figures!
Art Deco posterists. In this advertisement for a 1934 tournament, Caroselli used this technique—along with an airbrushed black “cocoon”—to capture the energy of a layup.
Monaco/19 Avril 1931 • Robert Falcucci (1900-1989) This rarest of Monaco GP posters—possibly the only example in private hands—shows a Mercedes SSK in hot pursuit of a red Bugatti. Falcucci’s use of white streaks running the length of the racer, concentric arcs of white behind to convey the rush of the wind, and the bright palette of red, yellow and blue give this streamlined design great panache. A multitalented painter, decorator and illustrator, Falcucci received his formal training in Paris and served as the historical painter for the French Army.
attention by placing them in the path of an oncoming shot at net. The use of geometry and dynamic perspective in this extraordinarily rare poster— as well as the ease with which the design’s elements are assembled—are superb examples of what made Cassandre the most important Art Deco figure in the history of advertising posters.
III Olympic Winter Games • Witold Gordon (1885-1968) Gordon left no doubt in this iconic poster where the center of the 
sports universe would be in February of 1932: Lake Placid. These Winter Games—the first held in North America—were opened by New York Governor (and soon-to-be U.S. President) Franklin Roosevelt. Gordon also designed the grand murals at Radio City Music Hall and the 1939 World’s Fair.”
1er Campeonato Mondial de Football • Guillermo Laborde (1886-1940) This poster for the inaugural World Cup is the Holy Grail collectible for soccer fans. Laborde conveys the action and athleticism of the sport with 
just a few linear elements. An acclaimed South American artist and sculptor, he agreed to judge the poster submissions for the 1930 World Cup. Later, Laborde resigned from the panel and submitted two of his own—which came in first and third.
Silk, the fabric of kings and emperors—of nobility, popes and czars—has always signified wealth, prestige and luxury. Always? Probably, that is if you agree that a commodity cherished since 5000 B.C. merits such a term of longevity. Pharaohs dating back at least that far have been disentombed, their royal cadavers worshipfully swathed in silk. In ancient Rome, the wearing of silk was forbidden the ordinary citizen. Only members of the imperial family could appear in public wearing it. In Europe, by the 15th century, the French city of Lyon was calling itself the Silk Capital of the World.
How justified was that claim? Well, when that bit of braggadocio first surfaced, it’s more than possible that China, Korea, India and who knows what other kingdoms might well have challenged Lyon for the title. But today, in the rarefied world of haute couture, Lyon with its silken boast, is right on the money. A city of half a million, Lyon is situated between two rivers: the fast-flowing Rhone and the gently flowing Soane, both passing the city, southbound to the Mediterranean. Of its long and proud history, suffice it to say that it once was the capital of Gaul and often visited by more than one Emperor. In the last two or three years, the traboules of Lyon, those 18th-century covered passageways that crisscross the silk workers’ district, have seen a virtual stampede of designers and couturiers. They fly in from Milan, New York, Tokyo and all points in between. Their names read like a celestial roll call in the paradise of high fashion. Dior, Lanvin, Chanel, Versace, Vera Wang. They come intent on securing exclusivity, or the nearest thing thereto, on the exquisite fabrics that spill forth from the looms of Lyon. Silk, which never ever was out, is now more than ever in. From the silk-wrapped heels of shoes by Dries van Noten to the extravagant ruffles of Lanvin’s evening wear, the word is SILK. Contradicting everything that fashion pundits know about trend, style and fad, silk retains its hold on elegance even while it also successfully teams up with jeans, beach wear and the most casual of the casual. Not possible! Yet true. Lyon owes much of its silky prestige to François I, the first Renaissance king to grace the French throne. A major patron of the arts and a great admirer of Italian style and elegance, he was determined to see France surpass Italy in all artistic endeavors. To that end he persuaded the great Leonardo da Vinci to quit his native Tuscany and come to live in France. Leonardo packed up bag and baggage, tucking into his luggage his favorite opus, “La Gioconda” (aka Mona Lisa). After he died in 1519, cradled in the arms of a weeping King François, that masterpiece became French property. Today it hangs in the Louvre in Paris where, as a touristic attraction, it ranks second only to the Eiffel Tower. Apart from luring Leonardo and his Mona Lisa to France, Francois I also determined that the weavers of Lyon, specialists i
n the secrets of silk-making, should be elevated to the front ranks of French commerce. To accomplish his objective he opened the royal purse strings to attract Europe’s finest weavers. Before his reign ended in 1547, Lyon was acknowledged as the primary source for the finest silks the world had ever seen. For the next 300 years, the weavers of Lyon thrived, lodged in high-ceilinged buildings, designed to accommodate their huge hand-operated looms. Today the looms of Lyon are high-tech marvels, controlled by computers. But in the section known as Croix Rouge, a handful of the ancient looms remain. To the delight of tourists, the weavers perform their ancient rites, still turning out priceless yardage. Few who watch the process escape a visit to the adjoining gift shops, all amply stocked with scarves, shawls, ties, skirts, shirts, purses, bedding, all of course of priceless silk. “I use silk in every one of my collections,” says Andrew Gn, the Singapore-born, Paris-based designer whose highfashion creations are carried by Bergdorf Goodman. “Silk drapes much better than anything else…and the contact of silk with skin is irreplaceable.” In his forthcoming Spring/Summer 2011 collection, Gn uses a magnificent triple-silk crepe, specially woven for his atelier. As he puts it, “Silk translates colors much better; it makes them extremely rich.” His clientele consists in large part of individuals seeking one of- a-kind creations which can be worn in the sure knowledge that her choice will not be replicated. (It’s an assurance that doesn’t come at bargain prices!) Monsieur Gn’s clientele, which includes a healthy smattering of royalty and easily-recognized names from the world of diplomats and heads of state, professes fierce loyalty to their designer of choice. Simply put, “He’s a genius,” was the gratuitous observation by an obviously satisfied client. For Andre Claude Canova, a passion for the silks of Lyon began more than a quarter of a century ago. Today he designs his own collection, which includes the most exquisite silk scarves—some of which encompass as many as 15 or 20 different colors, an achievement unequalled by any other designer. His studio at 26 Quai St.Vincent in the heart of Lyon is an old Carthusian residence, its entrance a handsome horseshoe-shaped Renaissance staircase. Favored buyers are received in its superbly furnished salons, the walls lined with…what else? Pure silk. The ambience is unmistakably Old World but the scarves, vests, pillows and jackets are on the very cutting edge. His own special design of scarf suspenders created a minor tsunami in the world of fashion when they first appeared. Supermodel Jerry Hall was so enchanted with them that she ordered 20 pairs. Princess Caroline of Monaco is frequently photographed in them and when the G-7 convened in Lyon, Bill and Hillary were delighted to be presented with a selection of Canova scarf-suspenders. An undoubted original, Andre Claude-Canova, when asked the source of his creative inspirations, replied, “Travel, history, nature.” He went on, “It can be a sunset in Tuscany, the masks of the Maasai, the silky pearl shades of a Maharajah’s robes, or the jewels of the Taj Mahal…” But the one constant in all of his creations is silk, woven in an unmatched panoply of colors. The distinction of being the oldest silk factory in Lyon belongs to Prelle et Cie, which has been in continuous operation since 1752 and is owned today by direct descendents of its founders. Apart from its stylish contemporary output of scarves, ties, shawls and other pieces, Prelle has proven invaluable in the rarefied world of authentic restoration of palaces and castles, historical houses and public places. It counts among its restorative masterpieces the authentic recreation of the silk brocades used in the Royal Bedchamber of the Sun King, Louis XIV, at Versailles, the draperies and upholstered pieces at Biltmore in North Carolina and at Ash Lawn, the ancestral home in Virginia of James Monroe. Such historical replication of two- and three-hundred-yearold fabrics is possible thanks in part to the exquisite workmanship of the Prelle artisans, and in part to the company’s scrupulously maintained archives, which date back four centuries.
Patterns, hand-drawn in quill and ink, with color samples provided in watercolor paints—their intricate designs sketched in painstaking detail and selected for use in palaces, stately homes, public halls—were recorded and filed. Thus modern-day restorers are able to see exactly what designs and what colors were used in specific venues centuries past. No other silk weaving establishment anywhere in the world can claim as much. In addition to its French premises, Prelle also maintains a showroom in New York at 43 E. 10th Street. Apart from its gilded salons and showrooms frequented by the world’s top designers, Lyon has more than its fair share of stylish boutiques. All along the Rue de la Republique (incidentally, the longest pedestrian street in France), the very latest trends are fetchingly displayed in shop windows. Come early December, Lyon celebrates the Festival of Lights. For one glorious week the town is lighted throughout the night. Music seems to pour from every doorway; mimes, jugglers and troupes of musicians are everywhere. It’s as if the whole city was tripping out on some incredible potion. The restaurants—1,000 of them at last count—do a landslide business, for gastronomy in Lyon is a source of huge civic pride. It’s not for nothing that Lyon is often called the “best-fed” city in France. When I repeated the epitaph to a Lyonnais, he quickly put me straight: “The best-fed city not in France, but in Europe!” So much for local modesty. Then again, it’s no mere coincidence that Paul Bocuse, the high priest of French gastronomy, chooses to live in Lyon, where he presides over two restaurants. A world famous chef who actually cooks? It sounds ordinary enough, but in the tippy-top layers of prize-winning, globally-acclaimed chefs, it’s rare enough to elicit expressions of wonder from fellow chefs. A final word of advice. Don’t journey to the city in search of bargains. It’s doubtful that Lyon even knows the meaning of the word. But if it’s quality you seek, if it’s the full value of every Euro spent, then quite definitely, Lyon may be just the city for you.
If you’re planning to make 2011 the year you lose weight and get fit, join the club: Studies show these are the most common resolutions people make come January 1st. Good luck to you; the grim reality is that most of the people who start the year off wanting to slim down don’t end up succeeding. The same goes for other popular New Year’s vows—stop smoking, get out of debt, help others, etc., etc. etc. The bottom line is that we just aren’t wired to break habits overnight that we’ve developed over 10, 20 or 30 years. As individuals, human beings tend to value their individuality. As a species, we’re just plain stubborn. Some great minds have weighed in on this subject. The controversial author Anaïs Nin insisted she made no resolutions to curb her habits, because “the habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.” Sculptor Henry Moore preferred to “think in terms of the day’s resolutions, not the year’s.” Writer Oscar Wilde, whose list of questionable habits was practically endless, characterized resolutions as “checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account.” Comic Joey Adams’s favorite party toast was “May all your troubles last as long as your New Year’s resolutions.” Mark Twain evaluated New Year’s resolutions with a single word: Humbug. Given this overwhelming preponderance of intellectual evidence, what chance do we mere mortals have to drop a few pounds and elevate our fitness? According to Michelle Ali, a registered dietician at Trinitas Regional Medical Center, there are 10 things we can do to improve the odds: 
started a math advice column in which I answered people’s math questions. After I finished The West Wing, there was an article about me in the Science section of The New York Times. From that article came an offer to write a math book. I realized that I had been preparing to write this book for a long time without knowing it—first, by being a math major and, second, by writing the column.
A golden lotus gracefully opens its ethereal petals, revealing diamonds dancing delicately on its pistils and stamens. It is an alchemist’s dream. No clunky piece of 
jewelry, this luminescent brooch blossoms with timeless design, creativity, and craftsmanship. So often we go treasure hunting in New York, yet so rarely do we unearth a real treasure. In this case the map couldn’t be marked more clearly. Forego 47th Street. Skip breakfast at Tiffany’s. Wander up Madison Ave. past Chopard and Chanel, and turn east on East 70th Street. Proceed to a cluster of brownstones close to Lexington Avenue. There, tucked behind a gentle garden sits a boite of a jewelry store called Mish New York. For years, my Upper East Side girlfriends have talked in hushed, reverent tones about Mish. They swoon over Mish’s chalcedony and diamond earrings, sigh at the sight of the topaz, gold and diamond pagoda pin and quietly covet the gold Chinese charm bracelet. This eponymous boutique also houses a select array of stunning jewel-encrusted rings, bracelets, necklaces and cufflinks created by Mish Tworkowski, a boyish, friendly former senior VP of Jewelry at Sotheby’s. A New Jersey native, Mish graduated from Rutgers with a double degree in Art History and Business Administration—both of which, no doubt, contributed to his accomplishments as a taste-making jewelry designer and successful entrepreneur. Along with the discerning artistic eye and business acumen, Mish’s interest in jewelry design, its process and art, grew out of an early exposure to all aspects of jewelry making. “A family friend owned a jewelry studio and factory where I would hang out watching the craftsmen at work—creating molds, casting, soldering and polishing silver and gold, and setting stones. It was a fun and amazing place.” Mish explains. “So through osmosis and access to the workshop at a young age, I got to the point where I could make drawings and then 
think about how to convert a drawing into a piece of jewelry through, say, the ‘lost-wax’ process.” After college came a 15-year stint at Sotheby’s, which included overseeing the estate sales of Diana Vreeland and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Soon Mish started creating his own line of jewelry. His early business “began organically, as many of my clients at Sotheby’s became friends and were interested in my designs.” He began selling his jewelry on the side with his Sotheby’s boss’s blessings. A self-described “happy workaholic,” Mish threw himself into his dream of opening a shop in 2001. His apprenticeship at Sotheby’s gave Mish some definite thoughts on the subjects of taste and style. To him, they are closely linked. “If you define tasteful and stylish, tasteful could be negative, implying that someone is boring, maybe too solemn or safe in her dress,” he says. “Tasteful and good taste are different. Good taste is always appropriate. Good taste is finely edited, never anything superfluous. Stylish, or having style, is someone who is willing to take a little risk. The little surprise that it gives is always wonderful. It might make you smile. It might make you think, ‘Wow, that person is creative and original.’ When someone is stylish, it is under the veil of appropriateness, there is a tastefulness, but with flair.” Nature is Mish’s primary muse. While at Wakaya, a client’s resort in Fiji, Mish was so blown away by the vibrant colors of sea life that—despite being a self-professed “waterphobic”— donned scuba gear and ventured out to the coral reef. “The colors were awe-inspiring,” Mish recalls. “Huge cobalt-blue starfish, yellow, pink, purple and salmon coral, fish of all colors. I went there to relax, but from the moment I stepped on the island, I was designing jewelry non-stop.” 
Mish has a devoted following of chic New Yorkers. His wide smile and signature bowties reveal a man confident in his own style, who effortlessly puts people at ease. I recently walked into the cheery shop to find a film crew interviewing Mish for a BIG birthday montage for a regular customer. I heard Mish thank her, teasing that without her enthusiastic patronage, he would “never have been able to buy Karl Lagerfeld’s Paris apartment!” When a museum curator friend heard I was researching this story, she emailed me pictures of her Mish treasures— the “go-to” orbiting pearl earrings, the aquamarine necklace, the Henderson brooch Mish designed for her, which she described as a “stunner on a navy suit jacket…the subtlety of colors shows the eye of the artist.” Even online at 72 dpi, she looked great. “What I love about this jewelry,” she wrote, “is his masterly way of mixing colors, keeping it all fresh and not serious-looking (even if the prices are serious). It’s easy to wear.” Mish enjoys collaborating with his customers and being inspired by their lives and interests. His playful wit emerged when designing cuff links and tuxedo studs for a client’s husband’s 50th birthday. The husband collected cars and especially loved his Aston-Martin. Mish made studs, using photos the wife took, that were replicas of the wheels (replete with gemstone hubcaps). He backed the cuff links with miniature gold versions of Aston-Martin tire treads. “What is special about coming to someone like me is that I’m not wholesaling, but dealing one-on-one with the client with a defined style,” Mish explains. “Many jewelers have globalized, so that you can buy their jewelry in any city or country and so can your friends. If you want to buy my designs or find something unique that none of your friends have, you have to come to my store.” In a world where so much is mass-produced, impersonal and brazenly marketed, it is rare to come across a business that thrives on artistry, workmanship and word of mouth. We sometimes forget that, in matters of the heart, a gulf still separates the ordinary from the extraordinary. Mish is a reminder of just how wide that gulf can be. EDGE 
checking. Boardwalk Empire chronicles the highlights and lowlights of the corrupt politicians who came to rule Atlantic City when the town’s sole purpose was providing a good time to its visitors (legally or not). Nucky Thompson, played by Steve Buscemi, is based on Nucky Johnson, the second of three bosses to lead the political machine that dominated city politics, funded by payoffs from bars, brothels, and bootlegging. The real-life Nucky ruled the town for three decades starting in the years prior to World War I. When the author’s manuscript (originally dubbed “Nucky’s Town”) found its way into the hands of John Bryans at Plexus nearly a decade ago, the publisher knew it would sell based on the company’s success with similar regional projects. Johnson always believed it could be more, despite fruitless trips to Hollywood to pitch the story as a feature film or documentary. Fortunately, Johnson did catch the attention of an agent, and in 2006 Bryans received an e-mail from an HBO television executive who was salivating for the rights to a book revolving around shocking backdoor politics, explosive violence, and fatal power struggles. The HBO series debuted on September 19th, 2010, starring Buscemi, Michael Pitt and Kelly Macdonald. The show features the creative talents of Terence Winter, writer on The Sopranos, and Mark Wahlberg as producer; Martin Scorsese directed the first episode. Winter also penned the foreword for the new edition of the book. As a sitting judge, the author has backed away from interviews publicizing the book or the HBO series. However, according to Bryans, upon initial publication, Boardwalk Empire sold roughly 10,000 copies. Thanks to the buzz created by HBO, another 10,000 flew off the shelves. An order for another 85,000 copies, updated to be a tie-in edition, followed. The book concerns itself with a much broader sweep of material than the more narrowly focused series, which, as Bryans points out, focuses on “sex, violence, and swearing.” That being said, the seedy underbelly of Atlantic City is fully exposed in Johnson’s book—often with the aid of stunningly blunt first-person accounts. As one mob connected interview subject observed, “If the people who came to town had wanted Bible readings, we’d have given ’em that…they wanted booze, broads and gambling, so that’s what we gave ’em.” Regarding the HBO series, Bryans has liked what he sees on the small screen. “The show helps you realize that Nucky is a complex, fascinating character, and one you love to hate,” he says. “It’s nice to see that people are open to shades of gray.” “If you delve into the history of any major city in New Jersey,” Bryans maintains, “you’ll probably find the basis for a book. I think Boardwalk Empire makes everyone start thinking about the birth of their own hometown.” EDGE 
the mini-bouts of depression and anger that sometimes accompany this season are very real. The holiday blues can grip even the happiest, most well-adjusted of us with little or no warning. Understanding where these feelings come from, as well as your options for addressing them, can go a long way toward making it to January with your sanity intact. According to Dr. Rodger Goddard, who has served as Chief Psychologist at Trinitas Regional Medical Center for more than two decades, stress is almost always the trigger. And holiday stress can come from many sources. “At the end of the year, during the holidays, we reflect on our lives,” he explains. “When we reflect, we can get nervous about many things. For instance, many of us now face intense financial stress due to the state of the economy. This kind of reflection often leads us to dwell on our shortcomings and what we don’t have, rather than our accomplishments and the miracle of just being alive.” Dealing with relatives can just compound the situation. Tension between different family members, dwelling on past hurts or injustices, rivalries and jealousies can bring old wounds back to the surface. In this environment, little things—such as where to eat, what to eat and who sits where—can become incredibly stressful and suck the joy out of what should be pleasant reconnections and reunions. “On top of this,” Dr. Goddard adds, “we often eat and drink too much. The result is body discomfort, which contributes to distressing emotions.” The media can play a leading role in feelings of depression and anger. Movies, music, television shows and commercials all make the holidays out to be a magical time of happiness and perfection. To feel otherwise just feels wrong. “We live in reality, not a movie,” says Dr. Goddard. “Holidays cramp our schedule—overloading us with shopping, socializing, preparations and party-going. The holiday season has become hyper-commercialized, giving us the message that love is shown through material gift-giving. Under these conditions, we can feel that what we give and what we get are being constantly evaluated—which leads to even more stress.”
According to Dr. Goddard, your anti-stress strategy should look something like this:
Trinitas Regional Medical Center, Dr. Ari S. Eckman, M.D., sees a steady stream of patients dealing with diabetes—a disease approaching epidemic proportions— and also hypothyroidism, another disorder that is growing, particularly among women. When asked if his high-risk patients were better dieters than most, the Chief of TRMC’s Division of Endocrinology, Diabetes & Metabolism said that yes, initially they are. “But many do lapse over time,” he admits. Apparently, risk alone is no guarantee of success. Dr. Eckman is quick to confirm this fact. He maintains that dieting is not so much about food as it is about lifestyle. The root of the word “diet” actually comes from the Greek word diaita, which means a “prescribed way of living.” Dieting, he insists, doesn’t have to mean depriving. That being said, he cautions, the whole point of dieting is to lose weight. “Make no mistake about that.” The Power of Positive Eating Google “diet” on your computer and the results are overwhelming. You’ll discover page after page of sites that are overflowing with imaginative menus and mouthwatering recipes. Whichever one you choose, says Dr. Eckman, you can increase the chance for success by following these ground rules: Spice Up Your Life Although salt can amp up flavor, there are a lot of other herbs and spices, both dried and fresh, that can compensate: pepper, oregano, basil, cumin, garlic, cilantro and the well-sung quartet of parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Most Americans need to reduce their daily salt intake. This is doubly true for people trying to lose weight. Think Outside the Box Get creative in your kitchen. Take advantage of seasonal produce. Cook veggies several different ways (roast, steam, grill) for different taste and texture…and raw is always beautiful. Make fruit a part of your meal to stave off a major sugar craving. Dress Up Your Diet Visually feast, don’t just blindly eat! Set a pretty plate. Garnish your heart out. Color-coordinate healthy food choices. Use your best china. Sip water out of a crystal goblet. Presentation goes a long way—cater to all of your senses, not just your taste buds. Move Away from the Kitchen At home, dine someplace other than where the food is, namely the kitchen. You’ll have to get up for second helpings. The extra steps will make you take notice of how much you’re consuming. Work In a Workout A diet without exercise is a recipe for failure. Find 30 minutes each day to break a sweat with some cardio activity, and not necessarily all in a single interval. Park your car a little farther from the office or the supermarket. If you work at home, devote the commuting time saved to exercise. No buts to getting off your butt. Lead Yourself Not into Temptation Drive by the driveins. Clean out your cupboards. Eat five to six small meals a day rather than only two; your body seeks to metabolize— deny it by skipping a meal and you’ll overeat at the next. Monitor the Usual Suspects Forego the fad diets; better to identify your specific food weaknesses and just stay away from them. That way a minor slip-up won’t lead to a major binge! Among the same search-engine results that yield great recipes for different diets, you will also find lengthy dissertations on the challenges to success: temptation, boredom, stress, self-indulgence and the need for instant gratification. To that, says Dr. Eckman, you can add resentment. Nothing can sabotage a diet’s success more than hating the fact that you have to diet at all. Ultimately, he says, we will comfort ourselves by giving in to cravings. We’ll indulge ourselves with dangerous “treats.” We’ll eat, drink and yet we still won’t feel particularly merry. Denial is also a definite diet-killer, adds Dr. Eckman. “Too often I hear patients claim that they don’t eat much! The problem is how much is ‘much’ to them? And it may not even be how much they eat, but how wrong they eat,” he says. “If you can’t see the real you when you look in the mirror, then maybe you need to go out and buy a good scale…and then be sure to step on it.” The numbers won’t lie. EDGE 
trying to get healthy food into a picky eater. If the kid is yours, however, it’s no joke. There are reasons for your child’s peculiar eating habits, and things you can do to broaden his or her culinary horizons. First off, you may be surprised to learn that it’s hardly ever a matter of taste. Picky eating is a natural part of toddlerhood, as children express their independence. What parents may believe is a fussy eater may not actually be that at all. “Children don’t tend to eat as much at meals as adults expect them to eat, and babies spit out their food, leading parents to believe that they don’t like it,” says Dr. Maria Padron, a pediatric and adolescent psychiatrist at Trinitas Regional Medical Center. “But babies taste food by spitting it out and licki
ng it, and if parents believe their child doesn’t like it and don’t continue to introduce that food, it becomes a foreign food to them.” Well-meaning parents may try to cater to a picky eater, but experts say that that only backfires. “They create a monster,” Dr. Padron explains. “Unless there’s a medical contraindication, children should be ‘helped’ to eat everything that the family eats.” Easier said than done, right? Don’t give up until you’ve exhausted these strategies: Offer variety earlier. “Kids often become picky eaters because they haven’t been exposed to a lot of foods,” Dr. Padron says. “You should slowly expose children to different kinds of foods.” Hold your ground. Your child may decide to go on a hunger strike for a meal or two if you suddenly stop being a short order cook and insist that he eats what you’re eating, but he won’t hold out forever. “Kids may refuse to eat for a few meals, but as long as they’re healthy and still drinking liquids, it’s fine,” Dr. Padron says. “When he’s hungry, your child will eat.” Keep reintroducing the same food. “Parents need to be patient w
hen they’re introducing new foods, and not get upset if kids aren’t jumping to eat broccoli right away,” Dr. Padron advises. Even if your children didn’t like asparagus the first few times, all it may take is the repetition (or a new way of serving it) to make them like it the 10th time around. You just need to insist on one bite each time you serve it— if they still don’t like it, don’t force it. Get your kids involved. Take your kids along to the grocery store and let them choose something new to try in the produce department—and if you have the time, let them get involved in preparing the dinner, too. By allowing your child to have a say in what they’re eating and an investment in the meal, you may find that they’re more willing to eat the fruit they picked out or the side dish they helped make. Minimize distractions at dinnertime. If there are other forms of entertainment beyond eating—a TV, books or toys—that can keep kids from attending to the task at hand. Instead, look for ways to make the meal itself more entertaining, with a colorful variety of vegetables or interesting presentations. Seek help. Get your pediatrician on board, especially if it’s been a long-standing issue, where your child’s eating habits may have become ingrained. For more severe cases, your pediatrician may recommend speaking to an expert, such as a counselor or a speech or occupational therapist. Indeed, in some instances, picky eating can be the sign of a more serious issue—a sensory disorder or a mechanical issue with feeding. So when is the right time to call in professional help? “In children with feeding issues, it could be a textural or tactile issue, often with mushy foods like bananas or yogurt,” says Kevin Nelson, occupational therapist and Manager of Trinitas Children’s Therapy Services. “Or it can be a mechanical issue, where they simply don’t have the musculature in their mouth to handle that food.” Whatever the cause of a child’s pickiness, in the end the key is to work slowly. Your kid won’t become an adventurous eater overnight, and if the issues are more sensory or mechanical in nature, you may need to follow a much gentler, slower path toward introducing these foods.
That’s fine if your goal is to own an undistinguished sofa-sized oil. But what if you want fine art—the kind that will brighten your life and fatten your bottom line? The answer may be as close as your local gallery. For those who believe you have to cross the Hudson to find investment-grade art, this idea may go against the grain. But the fact is that building a relationship with a gallery (or galleries) here in the Garden State can yield a far greater return—not just in terms of value and quality, but in so many other ways. This applies to the seasoned collector as well as the novice. In fact, if you’re like so many New Jerseyans, the thought of opening your checkbook in a local art gallery is nothing short of terrifying. First things first. Let’s wrap our minds around the reasons New Jerseyans don’t buy art. Above all there is the intimidation factor. Most people are afraid they’ll be taken to the cleaners by an unscrupulous gallery owner.
Second, they are nervous that their friends will make fun of a purchase that is different and modern, or simply out of character. Feeding this double-barreled paranoia is the fact that—particularly in the case of an abstract piece—one cannot specifically define the level of talent and technical skill involved in producing modern art. And on top of these very legitimate fears is the great, big elephant in the room: Why, when New York City is so close, would anyone buy art in New Jersey in the first place? Permit me to deal with this last objection first. Galleries here in New Jersey are indeed different than most galleries in the city. That is to say that they are friendly and approachable. If you think about it, it makes complete sense. Gallery owners are where they are, and do what they do, because they love and appreciate art. If they were in this business to make a killing, I hate to say it but they would be in Manhattan. What else does New Jersey have to offer art buyers that the city doesn’t? Well, there is a lot of first-rate talent that, for one reason or another, is only shown on this side of the Hudson. 
There is no comparison in terms of service. Try walking into a gallery on West Broadway or Madison Avenue and asking the owner to drive out to your place in Westfield for a consultation. That thud is the sound of his jaw hitting the floor. A gallery owner in or around your town, on the other hand, will likely welcome this opportunity. New Jersey art dealers are genuinely interested in the people who live around them, and cultivating relationships that extend beyond the buying and selling of art. They are part of the fabric of the community. Connecting with a local gallery also happens to be a superb way of adding texture to your social life. Once you’re “on the list” you’ll be invited to opening receptions whenever a new artist is featured. How often do you get to mix and mingle with new people who just happen to share a common interest? The majority of people attending gallery openings are like you—they want to know more about art and the people who buy it. (By the way, a free wine-and-cheese gathering is a wonderful springboard to dinner, a movie, or whatever else you’ve planned for an evening out.) Okay, so what about the financial side of the gallery relationship? Now more than ever, as we balance the merits of saving and spending, it is important to know what you get for your money when you purchase a work of art. Whether the price tag is several hundred or several thousand, dealers who live and work nearby are unlikely to “rip off” customers; they have reputations to uphold. If you happen to be one of the fortunate few who have five or six figures to invest in art, a good dealer will have solid connections to galleries that can point you in the right direction (and more importantly, steer you clear of the wrong direction). Either way, if your appreciation of art is tied to its potential appreciation, make that clear to the gallery owners you deal with.
They will help you assess potential purchases (or emerging artists) with that goal in mind. Another advantage to buying in New Jersey—besides the good feeling that comes with supporting a local business— is that gallery owners here may be much more likely to work a deal that fits your finances. Their overhead is lower than in the city, which may translate into wiggle room when you whip out the checkbook. Finally, keep in mind as you shop or budget for fine art that you are buying something that could turn out to be a family treasure. Art is timeless. Art is priceless. Unlike a sofa or granite countertop, it does not depreciate the moment it walks through your front door. If you’ve chosen wisely, in fact, it could appreciate dramatically. And as it moves from your home to your children’s, and then to your children’s children’s and beyond, it serves as a link between the generations. In the meantime, this investment will enhance your quality of life every time you fix your gaze upon it. Indeed, as Pablo Picasso once observed, art “washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.” Amen to that. Some other art icons have also had a thing or two to say on the subject. Jackson Pollock famously noted that every good painter paints what he is. Rembrandt suggested practicing what you know to make clear what now you do not know. Believe it or not, Michelangelo often insisted, I can actually draw. Clarity and simplicity enabled these great painters to create magnificently complex works of art. When it comes to buying art in the Garden State, a little clarity and simplicity also goes a long way. EDGE 
Seven forty-five on a Saturday night, and the show is about to begin. Regulars file into the corner storefront at Maplewood and Baker, settling into seats that almost seem assigned. There are nods of recognition, glances over to the fellow in charge, a sense of anticipation in not-sohushed exchanges. Corks pop. Wine glasses are filled and the floor crew at Arturo’s switches into high gear. At the rear of the intimate restaurant, chef/maestro Dan Richer already has warmed up his wood-burning oven by firing dozens and dozens of pizzas for the early-eating crowd. But right now, as the 8 o’clock hour approaches, he’s dispatching cups filled with husked cherries, also known as bush cherries. They’re nutty little fruits that look a bit like miniature tomatillos, but taste like nothing else on the planet. Peel back the papery skins, flick the fruit into your mouth and wonder how you’ll ever again eat another sugared peanut or mushy olive as a prelude to dinner. They’re the ideal starter for Richer’s unique show. It’s dinner theater, this ritualistic Saturday night minuet between chef and diner, a paean to all that’s locally grown and produced and catches the chef’s discerning eye. There’s no formal bill of fare on this night, just a procession of plates served forth with no fanfare and minimal explanation. It’s based on the trust Richer has built up between himself and his diners, folks who have warmed to the distinctive style of both the rustic, no-frills dining space and the man who delivers a spare, yet deeply satisfying dining experience. “Coppa, house-made,” is the way our server describes the next dish. He knows no embellishment is needed to sell diners on the veritable kaleidoscope made from cured pork shoulder and its fat, presented as delicate slices of salumi that appear air-brushed on the platter. Alone, or partnered with crusty, country bread, this coppa is pretty darn perfect. Actually, so is Arturo’s. Richer took over the old pizza joint in downtown Maplewood in early 2007 and re-made it to suit his dreams and palate. Pizzas are now of the modern age – that is to say, they go back in time to ovens fueled by wood, to crusts born of kneading and slow-rise techniques, to toppings that tilt toward Spartan, not extra-anything. A welledited selection of those thin-crust pizzas plus pastas are the order of the night five days a week, with Tuesdays turned over to a scaled-back tasting menu and Saturdays the destination-diner extravaganza. On that night, Richer goes strictly market and microseasonal. It’s completely, obsessively ingredient-driven in a good way. Ask about the olive oil, for instance, and you’ll be brought a bottle of the newest member of the Arturo’s Olive Oil Brigade, an unfiltered number from Puglia whose fruitiness makes already silky-sweet scallops even silkier and sweeter. These scallops are the star of Richer’s crudo, a bowl of dense and rich shellfish bathed in the Puglian oil 
with needle-thin slivers of French breakfast radish that add color and bite to the raw-fish dish. There are a few twirls of baby greens—so tiny that they probably are better thought of as newborn greens—to add color and contrast, and that’s it. It’s gentle, it’s refined, it’s an exacting example of what this chef is trying to do: simplify, simplify, simplify. That’s his culinary style, and it’s both brave and smart. While others less secure in their métier, less confident of their skills, fuss and add a silly number of frills to a plate, Richer practices the art of the take-away. He pares down a dish to its fundamentals, letting his ingredients assume center stage. A salad of baby arugula, for instance, is accented by thin slices of peaches and flecks of shaved Parmigiano- Reggiano. That’s it. High-season tomatoes, both cheery Sun Golds and beefy San Marzanos, are chopped and set in a glass compote to be served only with a sprinkling of sea salt. The tomatoes’ own juices make it good to the last drop. Tagliolini, a thin-strand pasta, is too fresh, too creamy in taste and texture to need anything more than a handful of teeny cubes of zucchini and a little grated Parmigiano Reggiano. We all but bribed our server to admit to an infusion of cream or butter. No, we were told. Nothing but the fresh pasta, the zucchini, the Parmigiano-Reggiano. That’s what good pasta can do. And a good hunk of pork shank needs but a bed of earthy kale to keep it company. In northern states, it’s such an underappreciated partnership, anything pig and greens. In Richer’s hands, it could be the next big thing in Yankeeland. His whipped ricotta, served with raspberries and what possibly was a mirage of shaved dark chocolate, is precisely what dessert should be: neither overwhelmingly sweet nor baroque in scale. I would’ve had seconds had seconds been offered, however, since I’ve always dreamed of cheese and fruit being transformed into just this kind of finale. I left Arturo’s thinking that either I should 1) move to Maplewood or 2) convince Richer to take his show on the road to my hometown. I’ll further assess these options when I return to Arturo’s for the duck prosciutto, hazelnut-pear salad and pasta with wild boar ragu. For without a doubt, this food needs to be a regular part of my eating life. EDGE
stay. The daughter of professional dancers, the Las Vegas born-and-bred Wesley took her show on the road—first to the University of Evansville as an undergrad and then to the Juilliard School in New York. Along the way, Wesley also studied at London’s Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. A plum role on Broadway in David Hare’s The Vertical Hour and the lead in the 2007 dance film How She Move earned her an audition for Alan Ball, who was casting the tricky role of Tara Thornton in True Blood. The depth she brought to the character not only won her the part, it has since made Wesley one of the most popular characters on television. EDGE Assignments Editor Zack Burgess took the actress back to Las Vegas to talk about her show business roots and inspirations, and to explore the imaginative and eclectic Rutina Look (his words, not hers). The ground rules for the interview? Only one “vampire question” allowed (our rules, not hers). Oh, the pressure! As usual, Zack saved the best for last.
