Brown Rice Bowl

              Bowled over by a simple twist of fate


rice bowl with fried tofu in miso sauce, roasted carrots and onion, stir-fried shiitake mushroom and scallion, garnished with radish, scallion rings and a poached egg…


“I participated in all these these investigations that engaged the imagination of my generation at that time.” Leonard Cohen.

The brown rice bowl has come a long way from its humble origins as cheap nutritious sustenance for financially challenged hippies. No longer confined to fringe vegetarian outposts in sketchy areas of town, it is now as ubiquitous as the chopped kale salad.

Embraced by the counter-culture of the 1960’s it eventually went mainstream and instructions for its preparation can now be found — as a nod to its respectability — on the recipe pages of the hallowed The New York Times.

Continue reading “Brown Rice Bowl”

Green Chile

Green Chile



They’ve crossed the state line coming up from Hatch, New Mexico, calling themselves Big Jim, Dynamite, Sandia and others — mighty migrants they are, they have infiltrated the city limits, settling into roadside stands minutes from where I sit, under cover of great blue tarps, on the corners of empty lots of North Federal and Sheridan boulevards. Sitting in their bushels they beckon, they dare, they curl, they point and they burn.


For the time has come, as it does every autumn, for green chiles — whether they stem from Hatch, New Mexico or from Pueblo, Ft Lupton or Brighton, Colorado — to assume their rightful place, as the dominant culinary player of our town. Continue reading “Green Chile”





Summer’s almost gone, and it’s a sad and beautiful time at the foot of the Rockies, as we say a tearful goodbye to chilled rosé, and a hello again to the charming allure of red wine.


No matter how tempted we are by the fresh crop of cabbages at our local farmers market — just one look sends me into salty fermenting memories of shredding and pounding last year’s kraut — or by the new crop of hard squash, which, as I leer into the bin, finds me rekindling a summer long, lost relationship with my oven; it pleads and cajoles: come back to me baby, turn me on, lay something on my big steel rack — I still, during these last beautiful days of autumn, only have eyes for the love apple: the pomme d’amour, the wild and unkempt luscious heirloom tomato. Continue reading “Gazpacho”