A review of "Southside" by the Library Journal

This is the Library Journal review of Southside scheduled to run in the 09/15 issue.

Mike Lyons has made a name for himself as a gang reporter in Los Angeles, mixing with some of the city's most dangerous gang members. As he leaves a bar one day, Mike is shot twice and survives but has no idea who's gunning for him. After all, there are plenty of suspects to choose from. Unfortunately, an audiotape surfaces with Mike telling a gang leader how getting shot and surviving can garner instant respect, and the chief of police is eager to embarrass a reporter who has smeared the LAPD one too many times. However, Mike, who didn't set up his own shooting, is determined to find the shooter before he finishes him off. When others are attacked, a startling connection among the crimes becomes clear. 

VERDICT:  Former "Los Angeles Times" reporter Krikorian takes his readers on a quick and dirty ride through some of the most dangerous territory in L.A. in this fast-moving debut crime story of revenge and murder. The author knows his territory and isn't afraid to highlight the terrifying reality of gang life as well as the very human stories at its core, without ever resorting to cliche. His sparse style will appeal to readers who like their crime fiction no-nonsense and full of realistic grit.--Kristin Centorcelli, Denton, TX Copyright 2013 Library Journal (09/15/2013)

The MENU of the World's Second Best PIzzeria

PEPE IN GRANI

This is the menu of Pepe in Grani, my second favorite pizzeria in the world This is rationally explained in a previous official document first released here and read by more than 45 people and later, thanks to a tweet by Ruth Reichl, (@ruthreichl) by over 1,000.  Franco Pepe sent this menu to Krikorian Writes and urged Pepe in Grani loyalists to join his facebook page which is https://www.facebook.com/pepeingrani

Pepe in Grani is located in the town of Caiazzo roughly 50 kilometers north of Naples and 150 kilometers south of Rome. 

Vico S. Giovanni Battista, 3, 81013 Caiazzo, 

 +39 0823 862718

Classic pizzas

 La pizza a libretto €1,50 

 smaller size pizza with tomato sauce, garlic, oregano and evo oil caiazzana variety 

Schiacciata €2,50 

salt, oregano, evo oil caiazzana variety 

Margherita €3,90 

tomato sauce, fiordilatte, evo oil caiazzana variety 

Marinara classica €3,00 

tomato sauce, oregano, garlic, evo oil caiazzana variety 

La Boscaiola €6,00 

tomato sauce, fiordilatte, mushrooms, speck, oregano 

Ai porcini €6,00 

fiordilatte, porcini mushrooms, oregano 

La Piccante €5,00 

fiordilatte, tomato sauce, spicy salami, oregano 

Al pomodorino fresco €5,50 

fiordilatte, cherry tomatoes, basil, evo oil caiazzana variety 

Calzone classico €6,00 

fiordilatte, tomato sauce, cooked ham 

The original

 Marinara di mastro Stefano €4,00 

the classic + anchovies and capers   

Pdo Margherita €6,50 

S.Marzano Pdo tomato sauce, Pdo buffalo mozzarella, evo oil caiazzana variety 

L’Alifana €6,50 

fiordilatte, scamorza cheese, Alife onions, bacon, oregano 

La Pinsa conciata del ‘500 (mastunicola) €7,00 

nero casertano lard, pepper, Alto Casertano oregano, basil, conciato romano (Alto Casertano pecorino cheese), on demand, Cilento figs jam 

La Riccia Nero ripiegata €8,00 

fiordilatte, smoked scamorza cheese, nero casertano sausage, curly endive, oregano 

La nero casertano €8,50 

tomato sauce, fiordilatte, smoked scamorza cheese, nero casertano sausage, oregano, evo oil caiazzana variety 

Il sole nel piatto €9,00   (ORDER THIS )

Pdo buffalo mozzarella, Pdo Vesuvius’ piennolo tomato, Cetara anchovies, caiazzane olives, Alto Casertano oregano 

Il piennolo €7,50 

Pdo buffalo mozzarella, Pdo Vesuvius’ piennolo tomato, basil, evo oil caiazzana variety 

L’orto del giorno €6,50 

 fiordilatte, seasonal vegetables 

Ai sapori del Cilento €9,00 

Pdo buffalo mozzarella, ricotta from Paestum and Cilento Pgi artichoke 

La ceci delle colline caiatine (subject to availability) €9,00 

fiordilatte, Caiazzo hills chickpeas, loin of nero casertano, curly endive, garlic, evo oil caiazzana variety 

Aglio, olio e peperoncino €6,00 

garlic, Cetara anchovies, chili pepper, parsley, nero casertano lard, Alto Casertano oregano, evo oil caiazzana variety 

Calzone con scarola riccia €8,00 

curly endive, Cetara anchovies, capers, caiazzane olives, evo oil caiazzana variety 

4 stagioni €7,00 

tomato sauce, fiordilatte, carciofi, mushrooms, capers, anchovies, olives, cooked ham 

Capricciosa €6,50 

tomato sauce, fiordilatte, capers, anchovies, baby artichokes, caiazzane olives 

Ai Formaggi €6,00 

fiordilatte, scamorza cheese, pecorino cheese, grana, oregano 

Con patate lesse e condite €5,00 

fiordilatte, potato with evo oil caiazzana variety, oregano and garlic 

Calzone de “Il Casolare” €8,50 

Pdo buffalo mozzarella, ricotta, scamorza cheese, nero casertano sausage, spot of tomato sauce 

Schiacciata gustosa €7,00 

fiordilatte, scamorza cheese, porchetta (italian roasted pork), arugula, oregano 

Schiacciata fresca €7,00 

fresh tomato sauce, pecorino cheese, raw ham, arugola 

Fried pizzas 

Calzone €4.00 

ricotta cheese, smoked scamorza cheese, salami, pepper 

Montanara €4,00 

tomato sauce, oregano, capers 

Tasting menu

 (we recommend a minimum of 3/4 people) 

1] Pdo Margherita, Marinara, Calzone con scarola riccia, La nero casertano, La pinsa conciata del 500. €42,00 

2] Pizza fritta, Il Piennolo, Calzone con scarola riccia, Calzone de “Il Casolare”, La pinsa conciata del ‘500. €46,00 

3] Pdo Margherita, Il sole nel piatto, La riccia nero ripiegata, La cilentana, La pinsa conciata del ‘500. €50,00 

Pizzas are served in succession and divided by the number of diners to taste the quality without overlapping the flavors. For this reason, the tasting option provides a slight increase in price compared to the sum of the individual pizzas, due to the greater time of occupation of the table. Equivalent service mode, will be considered tasting menu. 

Appetizers 

Bruschetta €1,50 

fresh tomato, oregano, garlic, evo oil caiazzana variety 

Tagliere del territorio €10,00 

culatello from Matese or local ham, sausage, sun-dried tomatoes, Alto Casertano cheese, caiazzane olives 

Potato croquettes (3 pcs, homemade)  €3,00 

Typical dishes

 (based on day availability) 

Soffritto (chilli steamed pork offal) 

Pancotto (bread, ham and vegetable soup) 

Baccalà (fried cod) 

Dessert

 Homemade or artisan pastry €3,00 

“Nonna Amelia” biscuits, 1 portion (3 pcs) €3,00 

with Pallagrello wine, olive oil caiazzana variety 

and hazelnuts

Also from the menu : 

Pepe in Grani is a project of Franco Pepe. It’s the place in which the experience of three generations of masters of the bakery converge and where Franco practices its desire of experimentation. Pizza, research and hospitality are the three point of reference of the whole structure, which is meant to be a window on the territory, on the gastronomic tradition and the virtuous producers of Alto Casertano area. 

The dough is made exclusively by hands and it’s worked in the cupboard of wood, without the use of mixers or electricity and is left to rise naturally to ambient temperature.

The products present in this menu are researched and personally selected by Franco and served following the seasons, as well as its pizzas and its fillings. 

A homage to Franco Pepe's country . 

42 YEARS AGO, DEC. 15, 1979, RAYMOND WASHINGTON, FOUNDER OF THE CRIPS, WAS SHOT AND KILLED

This article below about Raymond Washington appeared in the L.A. Weekly back in 2005  days after Stanley "Tookie" Williams was put to death in San Quentin. A movie about his life is said to be in the works.

On The Trail Of The Real Founder Of The Crips

By Michael Krikorian , Dec 15 2005

The founder of the Crips was not lethally injected minutes after midnight Tuesday morning in the sterilized death chamber of San Quentin State Prison. There was no news of his death. There were no Oscar winners or rap stars urging that his life continue. Fifty-year-old white women in $5 million Hancock Park homes did not ponder the gang leader’s fate in his final days. No bums pushing shopping carts on Sunset and Vine had opinions on whether a governor should spare him from a state-inflicted death.

No, the founder of the Crips was gut-shot with a sawed-off on a dreary South Los Angeles corner 26 (now 42) years ago.Contrary to popular assumption, Sranley "Tookie" Williams, who was fatally injected Tuesday morning and pronounced dead at 12:35 a.m., was not the founder or even the co-founder of the Crips. The undisputed father of the notorious black street gang was one Raymond Washington, a mighty 5-foot-8 fireplug who loved to fight and loathed guns. He was killed at age 26 by a shotgun blast — allegedly by someone he knew — on the corner of 64th and San Pedro streets on August 9, 1979.

There was no mention of his death in the Los Angeles Times or any other major newspaper as there was of the death of Williams. But on the hardcore streets of South-Central Los Angeles, Watts and Compton, the slaying of Washington was akin to a presidential assassination.

“All this talk lately about Tookie, we was wondering when someone was gonna finally tell the real story about the Crips, tell the story of Raymond,” said Debra Addie Smith,  who knew the gang leader back in the early and mid-1970s.Raymond Washington was born in Texas, but grew up on 76th Street near Wadsworth Avenue, just west of Central Avenue.

“Raymond was a good kid when he was a boy,” said his mother, Violet Barton, who now lives in Phoenix. “Raymond didn’t go out of his way to fight or do anything bad, but if someone came to him, he would protect himself. And he was well-built. He tried to protect the community and keep the bad guys out. But after a while, every time I looked up, the police were coming to the house looking for Raymond.”

Others on 76th Street, a well-kept block of small single-family homes that is now more Latino than African-American, said that while Raymond protected the boys and girls from bullies from other neighborhoods, he bullied them himself.

“I don’t have a whole lot of good to say about Raymond,” said Lorrie Griffin Moss, 48, with a laugh. She grew up directly across the street from Washington on 76th Street, just west of Wadsworth. “Raymond was a bully. A muscular bully. He wouldn’t let anybody from outside our neighborhood bother us. He would bother us. Raymond could be very mean.”

Washington was known as a great street fighter.“Raymond could really toss ’em,” said Los Angeles Police Department Detective Wayne Caffey, referring to Washington’s fist skills as a street fighter. Caffey’s cousin attended Fremont High School, where Washington was occasionally schooled when he wasn’t kicked out for fighting. “He was an awesome football player, but he didn’t want to play organized ball. He wanted to be a knucklehead.”

Raymond, Caffey said, deplored guns and considered those who brought guns to a fight to be punks.

Washington — who had three older brothers — was a street legend, especially to his one younger brother.

“He was real, real good with his hands. He could bring it from the shoulders. Like Mike Tyson  in his prime,” said Derard Barton, 46, who added that his brother had 18-inch arms and a 50-inch chest. “He weighed abut 215. All muscle. I never saw my brother lose a fight, except to my older brothers when he was real young. But when he got older, he could even take them.”

Even youths miles away from Washington’s 76th Street neighborhood remember him.“I remember that Raymond Washington was a hog,” said Ronald “Kartoon” Antwine, a community activist from Watts who remembers seeing the Crips founder at the Watts Summer Festival. “By hog, I mean Raymond would take his shirt off and fight his ass off all day long.”

Washington was kicked out of every school he ever attended for fighting. He would go away to juvenile detention camps and be sure to let everyone know when he was back in the neighborhood, said Griffin Moss.“He’d go away for a few months, and when he came back, he come up to my dad and mom and say, “Hey, Mr. Griffin, I’m back. Hello, Mrs. Griffin. I’m back.”

His younger brother remembers Raymond fondly and proudly.“He was like a Robin Hood type a person, stealing from the rich, giving to the poor,” said Derard Barton from his home in Phoenix. 

Washington admired the Black Panthers and tried for a while to emulate them as a youth. He eventually joined the local gang called the Avenues led by a youth named Craig Munson. He later left the Avenues after “he kicked Craig Munson’s brother’s ass,” according to Detective Caffey.He started his own gang.

The origin of the name Crips has many tales, has become folklore. Some, including Tookie, have said the name came from Raymond’s gang the Baby Avenues, which became the Avenue Cribs. In a drunken state, Cribs mispronounced their name into Crips.

However, Washington’s brother and Griffin Moss say the name simply came from an injury that one of Raymond’s older brothers incurred.“My older brother Reggie was kind of bowlegged, and then he twisted his ankle bad one time, and he was walking with a limp, so he put “Crip” on his Chuck Taylor Converse All Stars and Raymond took the name,” said younger brother Derard.

As for Raymond’s nickname, he was sometimes referred to as Ray Ray — as many Rays are for some reason — but mainly he was just called Raymond.“Raymond didn’t need a nickname,” said Derard Barton.

Barton said being the younger brother of the founder of the Crips had some benefits.“Sometimes I would get into fights, but once people knew I was Raymond Washington’s brother, they were the nicest people in the world to me,” said Barton, who works at a hospital for disabled people as a behavioral health technician. “Plus, no one ever broke into our house. He was really a goodhearted person. He was really kind to elderly people. He liked to fight, yeah, but if he liked you, he’d treat you so well. If he didn’t like you, he would hate you.”

Raymond had a simple and very effective tactic of expanding the Crips.“He would go to the leader of another gang and fight him,” said Derard Barton. “He went straight to their main man. Once he put the guy on his back, everyone else would join up and follow him.”

Said Detective Caffey: “He went to other neighborhoods and said, ‘Either join me or become my enemy.’  

Most kids living on the edge of thuggery joined. Some did not. Those that were fighters, who were not intimidated, kept to their own gangs.

Eventually, the pressure of the Crips became so intense, so bloody, that the other gangs — the Piru in Compton and the Brims near USC — aligned themselves into a loosely knit gang group called the Bloods. The Swans and Bounty Hunters also signed on with the Bloods alliance. And the bloody battle of South Los Angeles, Watts and Compton was on.

Although inspired by the Black Panthers, Washington and his group never were able to develop an agenda for social change within the community. Early big-shot members included Mack Thomas of the original Compton Crips, Michael “Shaft” Concepcion, Jimel “Godfather” Barnes, Greg “Batman” Davis and Stanley Tookie Williams.

Williams, of course, gained international infamy as his death sentence gained unprecedented publicity. Legend has it that Washington approached Williams to expand his gang to the west side of the Harbor Freeway and Williams became a leader of the Westside Crips.

“It’s just wrong to say Tookie was the founder of the Crips,” said Wes McBride, president of the California Gang Investigators Association.

Moss also remembers Tookie Williams coming by all the time to visit Raymond. “He’d be walking down the street looking like the Pirelli man,” she said. Still, though Williams was killed by the state Tuesday morning and referred to himself as the co-founder of the Crips, many say Raymond Washington is being forgotten.

Many young wannabes calling themselves Crips these days don't even know who Raymond Washington was. It would be like a young Dodger prospect not knowing who was Sandy Koufax.

Back in the 1970s, as the Crips became more deadly and infamous for robbing youths of their black leather jackets and drive-by shootings, Raymond started to become disillusioned with the gang he founded.

“He started running with a black motorcycle goup,” said retired Los Angeles County Sheriff’s gang investigator Curtis Jackson. “I think he felt that the youngsters were getting too crazy, getting totally out of control.“My interaction with Raymond was minimal, but he was very approachable,” said Jackson. “I had no trouble talking with him. Most gang members are actually very personable, and I’ve never had any trouble rapping with them. Tookie was an exception, as he always had a few thugs around him, so he always had an attitude.”

On the bleak corner of 64th Street and San Pedro is a drab pink, two-story apartment building — 6326 S. San Pedro St. — complete with runaway weeds, peeling paint, three rusty barbecues and a large cart labeled Rick’s Hot Dogs, all nestled against a ratty chain-link fence.

It was here on an August night in 1979 that Raymond Washington was blown away by a blast from a sawed-off shotgun. Someone inside a car had called out his name, and Washington walked over. The pellets tore into his guts, and he was rushed away to a hospital, where he died.

It was the end of the founder of the Crips, and it was the beginning of the end of the Crips as a united gang.

Though no one was ever arrested, rumors spread — erroneously — that the Hoover Crips (now Hoover Criminals) were responsible. Shootings broke out between Raymond’s Eastside Crips — now known as the East Coast Crips — and the Hoovers.

Right around then, feud broke out between the Rollin’ 60s Crips and the Eight Trey Gangster Crips, and shootings erupted between those large and extremely violent Crips factions. Other Crip sets chose sides, and Crips have been killing Crips ever since then. More even than Crips kill Bloods or Bloods kill Crips.

As much as he relished a good fistfight, Raymond would be sad and disappointed to see what havoc was wreaked on the gang he founded. Rare is the time when two guys meet in an alley or park anymore and “toss ’em.” The days of bringing it from the shoulders were coming to an end, and the days of bringing it from the holster were the way it would be.

The Bad Ass Peacemakers of Nickerson Gardens

Tending the Gardens

)By Michael Krikorian 

On a recent evening outside the gym at Nickerson Gardens in Watts, a boom box fills the air with the sounds of a jazz flutist. Big Hank Henderson walks over to his GMC Yukon with the shiny 24-inch rims and pulls out one of his jazz compilations. He tells the boom-box man to put on the Les McCann–and–Eddie Harris cut “The Generation Gap.” It’s a fitting jam.

For two decades, Big Hank Henderson, 49, and his ace partner Big Donny Joubert, 46, both raised in the projects, have been reaching out to a younger generation of youth and young men in Watts, urging them to avoid gang violence, stay in school and pursue their dreams. Naturally, in this rough neighborhood, they have been through many heartbreaking disappointments and countless funerals, but without these two powerful men, the situation would be far worse.

“We all about Watts, period. Not just Nickerson Gardens, but all of Watts,” says Joubert, sitting on a folding chair in front of the gym’s entrance. “All these guys and girls deserve to graduate and be all they can be. Gang violence is a disease.”

“To me, Donny and Hank are community heroes,” says Sheldon Cruz, policy administrator for Los Angeles’ Human Relations Committee. “They do all this work to help the community and they do it for free on their own time.”

Cruz recalls how back in 2003, when he came to Nickerson Gardens, the relationship between the project and the LAPD was very low. “Hank and Donny helped rebuild a rapport with the LAPD,” Cruz says.

In March, the LAPD’s Southeast Division, which patrols Watts, played a basketball game in the Nickerson Gardens gym against a team from the projects. Ten years ago, that would have been unheard of.

“I can vouch for Hank and Donny that they are doing a great job,” says the LAPD’s Jerome Walker, of Southeast Division.

Congresswoman Janice Hahn, whose was the councilwoman for L.A.'s 15 District includes Watts, often dealt with the peacemakers.

“They can calm things down because they have the respect of everybody in the neighborhood,” says Hahn. “Hank and Donny are making a big difference.”

“If more urban neighborhoods had individuals like Donny and Hank, who selflessly work toward providing a better place for young people to grow up and achieve their goals,” says Gregory Thomas, a community interventionist who is also devoted to ending the violence, “then Los Angeles would be a better place for all of us to live in.”

Henderson and Joubert come to their maintenance-department jobs at the projects at 7:30 a.m. and get off at 4:30 p.m. Then, after working out on a bench press and a speed bag, they hang out around the gym, offering advice, refereeing games, breaking up an occasional fight and just making sure things are calm. They usually leave around 9:30 p.m. But that doesn’t mean their day is done.

“It never ends,” says Henderson, a man of few words who normally stays out of the spotlight. “We can be home at 1, 2, 3 in the morning and get a phone call that there’s some trouble, and we are right back here.”

Both Henderson and Joubert are quick to point out that they are not alone in their quest to keep the peace. There are many others involved. One of them is Dameian Hartfield.

“To put it simply,” Hartfield says, “they do way more than the average person to help the community in a positive way.”

For all the nice words that everyone says about them, what the two could really use is some help.

“We can’t do this alone. This is a huge problem,” Joubert says. “Get us some computer programs. Some afterschool programs. When you have nothing to fall back on, what are you gonna do? You are going to get in trouble.”

When Henderson’s jazz CD plays out, the boom-box man walks it back to him. Henderson tells Boom Box to put the CD back in his Yukon.

“But keep your hands where I can see them,” Henderson says, smiling just a bit.

On his way back, Boom Box says, “When I get my Caddy, I ain’t even gonna let you sit in the front seat.”

Joubert chimes in, “That’s okay. Hank rather be in the back seat anyway.”

Big Donny up front, Big Hank scooping 

The World's Second Best Pizza

"il sole nel piatto"  The Dream of Caiazzo

PEPE IN GRANI

The world's best pizza is your favorite pizza, whatever and wherever that may be. It might be that pepperoni pizza from your old neighborhood or "the Works" at the pizzeria in your college town. Could be it's Pizzeria Bianco in Phoenix or PIzzeria Due in Chicago. or Di Fara's in Brooklyn.  My favorite pizza is the off-the-menu Michael Pizza ( three cheeses with fennel sausage added) at Pizzeria Mozza in Hollywood South.

I am in no way trying to budge you from your favorite pizza. I get loyalty. I'm all about loyalty. I will tell you, though, the second best pizza in the world is made at "Pepe in Grani" in the quaint town of Caiazzo, in Campania, Italy about an hour-long windy drive from Naples. I'll straight-out proclaim that. 

The particular pizza there that ascends is called "Il sole nel piatto", also known, to me alone,  as "The Dream of Caiazzo"  

I wrote about Pepe in Grani, ( Pepe in Grains) briefly here a few weeks ago, ( https://michael-krikorian.squarespace.com/blog/2013/8/16/pizza-titans-meet ) after Nancy Silverton and I went there August, 13.  But, damn. the pizzas I ate there haunt my memory. Nancy doesn't help at all. The other day she told me "If I had ate a pizza from Franco Pepe before I opened my pizzeria, I would have never opened my pizzeria."  

Thing about the pizza here is not the crust, which, as fine as it is, has nothing on Mozza's landmark handles. The crust at Pepe in Grani is "doughy", but in a very satisfying way. It has quite a pleasant flavor and a good bite-into feel.  Most of the roughly 150 diners here were going at their pizzas with a fork and knife.  I didn't, though I needed to fold and tuck at the point. 

However,, what sets Pepe in Grani apart was the brilliant quality of the stuff on top of that hand-stretched dough.  Even the basil. It was like basil turbo. You bite into it and it's like saying "Yeah, I'm some basil. What about it?" Settle it down, basil.

Same thing with the anchovies. They tasted more like grilled bistecca than salty, dwarf fish.  The olives. These olives would be saying to others, "You call yourself an olive? I oughtta pit you." The tomatoes. LIke Ruth Reichl once wrote about tomatoes, "They tasted like a slice of the sun cooled in a forest stream."  The mozzarella. Supreme. 

After two pizzas and a large calzone (that had Nancy repeatedly saying "This ricotta, this ricotta...") , we were full. But, knowing we weren't passing this way any time soon, we snagged a server and asked her what was her favorite pizza. She pointed to a listing toward the bottom of the menu and said "Dream."  This pizza became known to us then as "The Dream". Since then, I have never really dreamt about it, but I think about this pizza ravenously two, three times a week. 

I emailed the man himself, Franco Pepe, Prince of Caiazzo, about "the Dream". Here is what he wrote back,  

 

"I believe that the pizza you are talking about is "il sole nel piatto", which in english would sound the sun in the plate. It is a pizza that has quite a story since "il sole nel piatto" is a documentary that an italian film director, named Alfonso Postiglione, shot about neapolitan pizza. In this film four 'pizzaioli' coming from families that make pizza from generations and keep it alive as a tradition were interwied, and one of them was me! I was then asked to think about a pizza taking this film as an inspiration, so I decided to put together tastes from the costiera, as anchovies and the countryside here in Campania, as olives. This as an homage to my country. "

That country prolly has had a lot of homages to it, but none more delicious than "The Dream".

*** 

After six weeks in Italy, Nancy and I came up with list of our best dishes and best restaurants in various categories that I billed as "Tastes of the Trip". I envisioned it as an Academy Award-type of show. The big award, the equivaient of the Best Picture Oscar, would be Best Restaurant.   

The big favorite was the blockbuster Osteria Francescana, in Modena, the highest rated restaurant in all of Italy. This place has the top rating in the guidebook L'Exprsso (19.75), is tied for top in Gambero Rosso (95 points),  came in 3rd in 2013 the San Pellegrino listing of the top 50 restaurants in the world and was rated #1 in Europe by the Daily Meal website in December, 2012.  

The last time Nancy and I discussed the best restaurant of the trip award, it was a tie between (Big Sid Catlett hits the drums here)...Osteria Francesca and Pepe in Grani.   

I'd for sure go back to Osteria Francescana. It was outstanding on every front.  I'd make a reservation far in advance and plan a little trip around going there. Hey, It's 273 kilometers from Nancy's home in Panicale, Umbria  It's not a spur of the minute meal. 

But, if we were in Panicale and it was 6 p.m. and it was raining and Nancy said "Let's go to Franco Pepe's for pizza tonight", which, by the way, is 345 kilometers away,  I'd say. "Get in the car." 

We'd be driving there, rain slanting, Coltrane and Davis soothing "All of You", the rented Lancia hitting 190 kph, and Nancy'd say "We might have to wait for a table." 

So we'd wait. It's worth waiting on the Dream. 

I'm working on a dream   Though sometimes it feels so far away

I'm working on a dream   And I know it will be mine someday

- Bruce Springsteen - Working on a Dream

PEPE IN GRANI

Vico S. Giovanni Battista, 3

81013 Caiazzo (CE) Italy

T. +39 0823.862718

https://www.facebook.com/pepeingrani

Il sole nal piatto  aka The Dream of Caiazzo

In the kitchen with Franco Pepe  after the Dream

First pie at Peoe in Grani

Pizza Titans

Half a Dream  

No Outrage For This Trayvon's Killing

August 31, 2013

                         THIS TRAYVON 

President Obama won't be saying "If I had a son, he would look like this Trayvon."  There won't be any marches led by Al Sharpton over this Trayvon's shooting death which occurred Tuesday afternoon in a section of L. A. most Los Angelenos don't even know. CNN and every other network won't be providing "breaking news" reports if this Trayvon's killer ever comes to trial.   

But, for the family of 16-year-old Trayvon Jackson, gunned down with his 18-year-old friend Antonio Riley in a firestorm of bullets on 64th Street near 6th Avenue in Hyde Park, well, for them , the world right now is a cruel place and they just want to be left alone.. 

"I don't even want all that attention anyway, like that Florida Trayvon got," said Trayvon Jackson's mother Tamiesha as she walked aimlessly around the driveway of a tattered two-story apartment complex on East 87th Place where she lives. five miles from the killings.   Surrounded by two daughters and family friends, she politely and softly asked me to leave. I respectfully honored her. But, as I turned to go, her friend Demetrice Harbin asked me "Why are you here?" I told her this has been my beat for nearly 20 years and when I found out the name of the youngest victim, the contrasts in the media attention of Trayvon Martin, 17, and this Trayvon Jackson struck me.

Look, I get it. I don't expect the slaying of a black 16 -year-old boy from South Central Los Angeles by, almost certainly, another black male, to get to national attention. I've been doing this long enough to know that. Thing is, buckhorn foolish as it may be, it still irks me.  I'm not alone.    

“If this Trayvon would have been shot by a white guy,  everyone would have heard about it," said Daude Sherrills, long time community activist who grew up in the Jordan Downs projects. “I mean President Obama was talking about the other Trayvon in Florida. Congress. Movie stars. NBA stars. You had  them clowns Sharpton and Jackson doing their routine in front of the TV cameras. Where are they for this Trayvon and his friend? It's no big deal because a black guy shot them  They're just as dead as they would have been if a white guy shot them "

Back on 87th Place, Demetrice Harbin went back into the apartment where the grieving mother had gone. Soon the mom came out and started talking about her son. 

"He was just a kid. They try and make him out like he's a  gangster because where he was," she said. (Police detectives have said the killings, in a Rollin 60s Crips neighborhood, were gang-related, most likely a payback from the Rollin 40s Crips to the 60s for  shooting death earlier this month. Trayvon, nicknamed "Crafty", was what police call an "associate" of the 60s.)   

The mom went on to say her son loved to watch action and scary movies. "He loved all them "Friday" movies. And "Boyz in the Hood."   One of Trayvon's sisters, Beverly, said he loved to rap and admired the rapper Nipsey Hustle. The mom cut in, "Oh, he loved the oldies, too. The Temptations. Sam Cooke. We used to dance around the front room. Just him and me." 

She got quiet and her daughter and Demetrice stared at her.

"Trayvon used to always tell me he was going to buy me a house and a truck."  

Just under a mile away, on 81st Street near the Harbor Freeway, Anthony Riley was on his porch talking about Trayvon's friend, his own slain son, Antonio.    

"He was just a baby," said Riley, 46 who grew up in Watts and now drives a tanker truck. "He wasn't  a trouble maker. He just went to visiting a friend and he got killed for it. " 

Riley, who got the bad news over the phone from a friend, said he has been in a state of rage since then. 

"I'm hot as fish grease. Mad as a motherfucker," said Riley. his big biceps tensing up. But, he insisted he did not want to personally get revenge on the person who shot his son. "I hope they catch him. I don't want to go to prison. I have another kid to live for."

MICHAEL KRIKORIAN, JR.

NEW YORK TIMES SUNDAY MAGAZINE,  "LIVES"

November 25, 2007

The Namesake

By MICHAEL KRIKORIAN

Back in 1985, while working at Hughes Aircraft in Long Beach, Calif., I met a fine young woman named Addie. She worked in a different department, but whenever I saw her, I’d flirt with her. Eventually she became my girlfriend. I was a fixture at her mother’s house in the Fruit Town ’hood where Addie lived with her two sons. It was known as Fruit Town because of the names of the streets — Cherry, Peach, Pear — and it was one of the roughest neighborhoods in Compton, home of the Fruit Town Piru gang, one of the original gangs in the confederation known as the Bloods.

It was during this time that the crack epidemic was at its inglorious height. There were dealers up and down Cherry Street, a narrow lane of tattered two-bedroom homes. My girlfriend became hooked on crack. Some nights she wouldn’t come home. But I stayed with her and tried in vain to get her to stop. When you love someone who is on crack, you can’t help trying to get them to quit.

Like the fool I was, I continued to have unprotected sex with her. She became pregnant. I wondered if I was the father. Addie swore tearfully I was. When the baby was born, he didn’t really look like me, but he did have a bit of a hooked nose like mine. I put my trust in that nose.

Addie named the boy Michael Krikorian Jr. For the first two years of his life, I bought almost every sip of Similac, slurp of food and batch of diapers. Finally one day, Addie’s sister Kathy called me an idiot and told me he wasn’t my kid. Something I knew deep down. Eventually Addie admitted it to me. Still, the kid didn’t have a real father, so I continued to help out. (The biological father was a dealer up the street. He died eight years ago from a heart attack.)

Even after Addie and I split, I would still drop in on Li’l Mike. When he saw me walk in the door, he’d get this really big smile on his face, rush over and punch me in the leg. But eventually the visits faded, and the last time I saw Mike he was maybe 6 or 7 years old. Then last summer, Addie called. I hadn’t spoken to her in years. Michael, now 19, had been arrested and charged with a gang-related murder.

One morning a few weeks later, I went over to the notorious Men’s Central Jail, where half a dozen inmates have been killed in the last few years. I got in the dreaded line of visitors who wait outside to see loved ones. You really do have to love the person who’s incarcerated to get in that damn line. It felt as long as a football field.

Michael Jr., I learned from Addie, had joined the Neighborhood Compton Crips. As I waited in line, I wondered where Li’l Mike would be today if I really were his father and had raised him. And I wondered where I would be if it hadn’t been for my own father. Maybe I’d be there, too. I got into trouble twice as an adult, and both times my dad came to my rescue.

After about 90 minutes outside, I was let into the jail’s waiting room — a depressing place with flies and swarms of little kids running around. Finally, after another hour and a half, a deputy called out Michael’s name.

I went to Row F, Seat 14, and there he was, waiting on the other side of a pitted glass partition. He looked good — lean and muscular, like a cornerback or a wide receiver. Li’l Mike is now 6-foot-2, 205 pounds.

He looked at me as if to say: “Why you sitting here? You must have the wrong seat.” I just sat there looking at him. Slowly, the past came back: a lopsided grin, then a smile, then the big smile I remember. That recognition was sweet. It took a minute for the phones to work, so we just kept staring at each other. Then the phones came on.

“Do you know my name?” I asked him.

He just started laughing. “Yeah,” he said. “You got a cool name.”

We talked about his life — his brothers, his schooling, his plans if the case goes his way. He asked me to send him a certain book, but it had to be a paperback. I said I would. I told him I was sorry I didn’t have any cash that day to leave for him. “That’s all right,” he said with a warm, sincere smile. “The visit is greatly appreciated.” I said something stupid like, “Hang in there,” and then put my left fist up to the glass. His fist met mine.

As I walked outside into the fresh air, I thought about him sleeping in that jail. I prayed he wouldn’t be found guilty, though the trial wouldn’t be for months. I figured I’d go back and visit him again. Damn that damn line.

Hit 'n Run Becomes Double Homicide in South Central

WRONG CORNER, WRONG TIME 

September 5, 2013

I was trying to think of a word to describe the latest double homicide in South-Central Los Angeles, but couldn't come up with anything appropriate, so I'll just relate briefly what happened. 

Early Sunday morning, there was a hit-and-run car crash.  The guy that got hit, sped after the guy that drove away. It apparently began a wild chase. Barreling west on 50th Street from Flower Street heading toward Figueroa, the "Hit" car caught up with the "Run" car, cutting him off so the two vehicles came to an abrupt, screeching halt. At least one driver, maybe both, exited their vehicle.

It just so fatefully happened that seeing all this commotion at 4:55 a.m. was a gang member hanging near 50th and Figueroa streets. Thinking the two cars were together and about to attack his 'hood, the guy grabbed a shotgun and blasted the two drivers to death.

"Some random gangster shot-gunned them both," said veteran LAPD homicide detective Chris Barling who has just about seen it all.  "It was definitely different. That's for sure. We're thinking the shooter must have thought the two cars were together and sees them driving crazy, slam to a stop and get out and he figures they're going to attack him."

Wednesday afternoon a suspect, Derrick Henry, was arrested for the killings, Barling wrote on his Twitter account. @77thhomicidecop.  Henry, 18, is scheduled to be arraigned Friday.  

The Los Angeles County Coroner's office said Gilbert Ralph Montano, 24, from Rosamond in Kern County died from a shotgun blast to his head and Anthony Smallwood, 40, of Los Angeles died of a shotgun wound to his torso. 

Police are searching for a suspect. Anyone with information can call LAPD gang homicide at (213) 485-1385

Go Go Hong on Italian Culture

A month ago, LIz "Go Go" Hong stayed with me and Nancy Silverton in Panicale, Umbria for one week.  While Nancy was in charge of the food, I became sort of Go Go's personal  Minister of Italian Culture.*

The following is a question/answer with Go Go and Krikorian Writes on her cultural experience during what she has called "the greatest trip of her life"  

 ******************

Krikorian Writes - After being home a month, what sticks out culturally from your trip to Italy? What will you keep in your cultural spirit?

Go Go  -   Umm. That's a good question. There was some much culture going on all over Italy.  But, if I had to pick one thing, probably the Tumeric-flavored Yogurt appetizer at Cibreo in Florence.  

KW  - Well, that's more like fermented milk culture, isn't it? I was talking more about... 

Go Go -  Oh, and did you know that in Florence, the don't even call it Florence. It's called like "Fur 'n Z",  Ya know,. like it's a mink coat company. And i guess they put the "Z" on it so its kinda like "the end", ya know. Like the "last word" in fur coats.  Fur and Z. I kinda like it.  

KW -  I see. Umm, interesting take.  How about your favorite museum?  

Go Go   It might not technically be a museum in the classical sense, like the way the Beverly Center is, but the Prada Outlet was very rewarding.   

KW  - Ok.   Let's see. I  understand in Rome, Michael took you to the Spanish Steps. 

Go Go -  He took me to some steps. I don't know if they were Spanish. They might have been Mexican. You know, the way some Mexicans say they're Spanish. (At this point Go Go coughed, but as she coughed, mumbled what sounded like "Pilar".)

KW   Did you see any Caravaggio masterpieces?

Go Go   No. Baseball is not very big in Italy.   David Rosoff told me Sandy Caravaggio once pitched a perfect game, though. 

KW  Let's move on. Speaking of David, I understand you saw the public copy on display in Piazza della Signoria.

Go Go  Come again? 

KW  That's what she.. .. Forget it. The public outdoor version of Michelangelo's stature of David. Out in the piazza. The town square. You took a photo with it. Were you impressed?  

Go Go -  Oh, the nude guy. Yeah, good abs. Nice ass, too. His thing, though. It wasn't hard. I mean I guess it was hard because it was made out of metal, or ugh, clay. No, not clay because clay would like get all wet in the rain and sorta melt. Right? But, his thing was not pointing up. You understand? It was pointing down. Good thing he didn't pee. I was right under it.  

KW - It's a sta.....   Let's go on.  Let's talk about architecture. 

Go Go  That's ok. 

KW  Ok. Well, let's see. I understand Michael walked you by the Church of Santa Croce in Flore, I mean, ugh, Fur And Z.   

Go Go - You catch on quick. 

KW  -And he told you Michelangelo, Gaiileo, Rossini, Ghiberti and  several other famous people were entombed there and he asked you if you wanted to go inside to, what, pay your respects?

Go Go  Yes. 

KW What did you tell him? 

Go Go . Rest in peace.

Go Go at the Pilar Steps

Go Go at Neptune's Fountain in Piazza Navona in Rome

The Great One with Go Go Hong