It is a golden green cool morning in the San Fernando Valley. The feel of autumn is delightful to my soul. The earth in cold to my feet. A clean fresh feeling is in the air. There is a Café in LA that is also experiencing this lovely weekend as well.

As I was experiencing some creative endeavors at DROMEBOX LABS I stopped by the Zapotec Café right near by.

Delicious, desirous, deliciously!

The Zapotec Café is having a Fundraiser.

Sunday September 24 !

 11 AM – 4 PM

Also Today check out the Zapotec Cafe’s DROMEBOX LABS SPECIAL PRESENTATION !!

 Sep 23 at 4 PM to Sep 24 at 1 AM



Help support a yummy entrepreneurial  business that supports their community, or just show up and enjoy the celebration, food and art.


Mr. Kale

Blue Cheese Crumble

Having to eat better is a good thing. Hormones and emotions play nasty games with my blood pressure. My Kaiser doctor tells me I have to sweat more and eat better. I have a great relationship with Mr. Kale now. Cakes, pies and cookies…and pints of beer…I am seeing less of. In fact, if you were to line up chocolate cake or a big piece of wedding cake with mile high rich white frosting together with Kale; I would now walk away with Mr. Kale. It is that good for me. I love the texture and taste.

I’ve created a blue cheese crumble to put over and mingle with the deep savory expectations of my large dark green leaves of organic Kale. Mr. Kale took the indecent proposal well! Now my Venus veins are doing the good green sweating for my happy health.

The Recipe

Any container from the market of crumbled blue cheese.

A bag of sunflower seeds. Any kind will do; salted, roasted or raw.

A colorful handful of shredded cheddar cheese.

Another colorful handful of dehydrated purplish red cranberries.

Mix together in your favorite mixing bowl.

Cut up the kale in bite size pieces.

Put kale into a voluptuous large salad bowl

Put blue cheese crumble on top. Mix intimately.

Eat as is or save in refrigerator with cover for later.

It only gets better with time…

Some Grape seed oil, sweet vinegar, a couple drops of Tabasco and salt & pepper dresses well with this too.

I also like to use I Goddess Dressing; Simple Truth Organic.

Unsquare Uncup

I eat meat, fish and vegetables. My philosophy is~ we have all killed and been killed; we have all eaten and been eaten. This is the continuity of life, death and rebirth and today I feel like shining.  I hope to do it a little bit better each time around.

Hudley's flowers
Resurrection flowers of a waxing moon on November 2013. Last years flowers are looking mighty good this year…

When I go a looking for something if I start out Googling; I first type Yup I prefer YAHOO. Then it is to the music I go. Today I went to  KJazz 88.1 FM to find the song on my mind at about 7:40 am this morning. It is the jazz song by the Dave Brubeck Quartet called  Unsquare Dance.005 I needed to get it right. This was all done after I went shopping, and after I took the groceries to the car. Also it was done after I looked up to get in the car and saw someone take a picture of me with their hand-held device from their car. I caught him. He was in a SUV. He had on a hat with a small goatee on his chin. He was around 45 to 50 something. Very creepy


Before I looked  up this song and after I went shopping and put my grocers in the car seeing a strange man take a picture of me;  I went crazy in the kitchen. I cooked up some scallops , sesame seeds, yellow squash and zucchini. I made black forest bacon and scallops without wooden spears to make my treat. I highlighted this all with some San Luis Obispo garlic sourdough bread and a uncup of my favorite coffee; Java Delight Donut Shop.


Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?
The Book of Thel, Thel's Motto (1789–1792)
~ William Blake

From Mama Mantis’s cave..

Hand held Sony Camera and food by Hudley

During the hot, dripping, mucky, cenobite summer mama cooks in her cave.  Here we have sqauw rolls covered with a secret tomatoes sauce, marinated tomatoes & red onions… covered with copper kettle Parmesan cheese… with a little jazz, life seems cooler. Pop these babes in the oven until the rolls are toasty and the cheese melts… and happy animals all around!!

I think I have found I am in the process of vegetarianism speaking to me again but contradiction howls as Coyote says,

“Keep it cool baby…keep it cool!”

She is chewing on hallowed out bones…ohhhh. She tells me her stories; the whisperings of tricks, humor, love and barbecue ribs. I give her a sly glance. I just don’t know if I want to take her too seriously. I have been fooled before.

Mom’s potato salad

the saldandHolly, Gus and Mom

I grew up with Potato salad as a Hudson family tradition. Brother Gus said that he is gong to publish a cook book. He is asking his independent siblings to write about our favorite recipes that we grew up with. Ones that our mother used. It is spring I am spring cleaning. This includes the garage, books and my computer files. I ran across some images for a preparation for my mom’s potato salad.  I must admit I do not make this up much anymore because I do not partake of mayonnaise as much. I know you can use the healthy home-made stuff, but quite frankly, it will not taste as good. Potaotes saldReal Food mayonnaise is the motivator for this salad.  Mom made this salad on holidays; Easter and Fourth of July mostly. Mom collected recipes.  When she used them she was very exacting about following the recipe. Improvised cooking was a matter of taste and seasoning for her and this was her gift. I respect her for this. I do this as well.this is itYet, with this recipe I do not have to look at a recipe. I think this is what my mom and I had issues over. She was a control freak in the kitchen. I sometimes wondered if I could cut a strawberry correctly. Dad did not like us kids in the kitchen either.  Surprise surprise, regardless, all five of us are excellent cooks. the green stuff


A large heavy armful of potatoes.

Salt and  Pepper

Apple cider vinegar

Real Food mayonnaise

French’s Mustard

Little sugar to taste

Green onions



Take the skin of the potato the usual way. Cut them up and throw them in a  pot to boil . When they are soft strain them over the sink and let them cool.

Cut up some green onions, radishes and celery. I really don’t care how big or how small you cut these vegetable. I will leave this up to you. I prefer rather small so I get a bite of it all in each bite. Put it aside in a small bowl if you like.

The magic of this recipe is the dressing. If you don’t have a good taster your salad will suck. Mom had the best taster and nose for smelling in the world. I think if she did this for a real profession instead of just being a mom she would have been a billionaire. I am glad she preferred just being a mom.  We always had delicious food on the table or Dad would let us know, in a very obnoxiously loud manner.

Combine the salt and pepper, apple cider vinegar, Real Food mayonnaise, French’s mustard and a little sugar to taste in a medium-sized bowl. Use enough to match the amount of potatoes you had in your large heavy armful.  You have to make sure that it will over saturate the potatoes other wise the salad will suck. The potatoes will absorb a lot so please don’t under dress your potatoes. Get a big wonderful fun bowl and mix all of the ingredients together. Taste until your full and then you must let it sit for at least 4 to 5 hours in the refrigerator for the real magic to happen. Take the salad out and taste and smell again and add any extra seasoning that turns ya on I don’t care. When you get it right you will know it because the angels will sing… like they do for me. I guarantee you, that you will have a great Hudson family potato salad to add to your table.

Good luck !!!


Mom’s Rose

Strawberry Nose

Dad and me

I think dad will be 93 this year. He once was a very good story-teller. He would sit out on the back porch looking over the San Fernando Valley and tell a story to whomever world sit next to him. Just make sure it was not past 5 pm …before the liquor hit his brain. This put him into a fighting mood and a meaner fucking son-of-a-bitch you will never find; it was always like this; between good and evil, and you had to be as sensitive as a cat; to stay and purr or take off and get away; to be domestic or wild.

To this day you can bet your cards on this about my dad. My siblings are in justification mode when it comes to his actions, or they rise above as if in some place of divine grace. I have always been straight with the man, as I told mom once,

“Mom if anything ever happens to you, I will not take care of that bastard.”

So be it this is how it is today. Don’t get me wrong I am kind to him now. He lives in an unimaginable place of dementia. I often lift my pint up to him and smile.

“Cheers dad!”

I realize he does not know if I am his wife, daughter, sister or some dame he has his eyes on? I really don’t care and just affirm again and again that,

“I am your daughter… Holly; the youngest of five children.”

He smiles and he is pleasant.

I hold firmly, in my mind and breast, that he needs to be accountable for the pain and suffering that he caused us. But, I also remember the times during the quiet, in the eye of the storm, when life seemed normal and even sweetly naïve, fun and magical.

This is a story I share with my sister. It recently came to my mind while reflecting on dad. Remember my relationship with him is always like clockwork based on the swing of the pendulum, and this story is when the pendulum was happy.

My mother was a stay-at-home-mom during the 50s and 60s while I was growing up. She did not drive so dad did the shopping for her. Their life was based a great deal on the conversation of “what’s for dinner honey?”

My folks always had lots of fruit around for the kids to eat. I never will forget one particular summer about the mystery of who was eating the strawberries.

In the evening mom would clean up the strawberries and get them ready for breakfast. I watched her rinse them and cut off the tops; putting the fresh, sweet, redness in a large bowl. The berries where then put into the refrigerator.

I said, “oh boy, strawberries for breakfast!”

“Yes, honey…we will wait until then.”

Morning came and there were no strawberries. I wondered about this. The whole family did. This went on for a couple of weeks, until someone did some investigational work.

It seems that my sister caught my dad in the act. He was getting up late at night and eating the strawberries. She then drew a picture of my dad with a strawberry nose. She showed it to me and instantly I knew who had been eating the strawberries. It was not a strawberry monster.

“Who’s been eating the strawberries?”

“Dad with the strawberry nose!”

We laughed together and I think mom put the picture up on the refrigerator for viewing as dad confessed.

Dad has a good size roman nose and at one time he had a dark mustache underneath. The drawing of dad induced an upside down strawberry, the uncut green top was his mustache.

Happy Birthday Dad!


Sushi turkey

Did you ever notice when you close your eyes and look up at the sun that you can see a mandala? Red and orange colors flashing out in bursts of color. It reminds me of a Mosque. A vast ceiling in my eyes. This is what I am thankful for.

~ Holly said to Bear.

The sushi restaurant was not open on Turkey Day. My son called earlier, and no one answered the phone so we thought we would drive by and just see,

“Maybe they will be open?”

We planned to do this a couple of weeks ago.

“Na, it is dark. No one is there.”

My son continued to drive on while we decided what else to do.

“Well, I cooked up a turkey breast, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and yummy pan gravy at home. How about just going back home?”

“How about Coco’s or Niko’s restaurant?”

“Ya lets go to Niko’s!”

Niko’s is a coffee shop that we have eaten at many times over the years. We know most of the workers there; it is down and homey to us.

On the way there I was having the holiday blues. It was nice to get out of the house for a drive.

The streets were easy except for one slicer, which is a car that races in and out of the other cars without signaling.

I looked up and over and saw a bus with only one passenger at a bus-stop getting out.

“Hey, look at that guy on the bus all alone.”

“Don’t forget the bus driver!”

“Ya…, I see him too.”

Kentucky Chicken’s was open on Topanga Blvd. with a few people eating there. I also saw a few older people walking the streets. I felt a lonely freedom in my heart.

We drove past Coco’s, and it looked open and packed.

“Should we stop?”

“No let’s go to Niko’s.”

We drove up, parked, and walked up to the restaurant. I saw the host getting menus ready for us.

“Good evening.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” we all said. Then we sat at a booth.

Our friend the waiter greeted us. We gave out smiles and said our greetings. We really like this guy because we have known him for years and he makes the best smoothies.

“I’ll have a third eye.”

“What is that?”

“It is mango, carrot and banana…”

We all gave the drink a try, and then the youngest son said,

“That is what I love about Niko’s they make the best smoothies and they put all sorts of things in them that I would never eat. They make it taste so good.”

I smiled at my son as I ordered the chief’s salad. He ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich. He powered down his hot coco already. I knew this meant trouble due to lactose intolerance, but hey it is Thanksgiving. My oldest son got his usual gyro sandwich.

We talked about friends, astronomy, and family. I left as the oldest son began to finish the youngster’s sandwich off.

“Sometimes you just got to let it go.”

“Why? I am hungry and it is Thanksgiving…everyone eats too much on thanksgiving.”

A turkey companion.

It was a world of mostly boys. It was a time of the real Mad Men. I was born in the 1950s. All Thanksgivings, until I was in my thirties, were celebrated at the same place every year. Uncle Royal and Aunt Louise lived on a beautiful farm in Orange County California. Acres housed pomegranates, tangerine, and avocado trees. 

As kids we ate all of them until our hearts content. Knots Berry Farm was only a few miles away, being a small amusement park, where we would chase chickens around before they were caught, butchered, and fried up. It was a country fair more than the multi-media corporation it has become today.

Turkey was put into the oven early and mom did most of the cooking. Louise always baked up her famous mini-pumpkin pies. She put in all the pie ingredients together so whimsically fast before you knew it a warm pie tin was in our hands.

The most delicious pie I ever had. It was because her crust was perfect; I think this pissed off mom because she never could get a good pie crust down like my aunt did. Louise talked while she baked until your head felt like it would explode.

I had a huge family of realities that came to dinner. The adults played poker after the meal was over. It was not family poker it was nasty ruthless cards. Dad was not the only one to get rip-snorting drunk, but he was most likely the loudest.

I remember once he danced like a Native American in the kitchen, as Royal made up his famous hot-buttered Rum cocktails. We would follow dad around mimicking his moves to the irritation of my mother who knew he was plastered; at the time I thought he was just having fun. Maybe it was a little of both.

Royal always had a glint in his eyes while smoking his cigar. The night held sounds of quiet, then yelling depending on the hand of the game. The kids outside played kick-the-can, or sometimes we threw tangerines at passing cars, while hidden in the large branches of avocado trees; hearing knocking at the door while panting with older cousins but never confessing to the accusations of these strangers whose cars showed the damage.

Mom always made time to play poker with the men. Sometimes I rested against her warmth while she silently played the game.

Thanksgivings are much smaller now and Turkey is not always invited. This year my two kids and I are going to go out for sushi. It is hard to believe that the freedom I feel now is based on the control of a family long ago, but it is true.

It was nice to be part of such a big family then, but I like it much better now. I think I will smoke a cigar this year in memory of Uncle Royal and Aunt Louise.

As I smoke the cigar I will watch the smoke whirling up to them, imagining where they are with the great mystery of death,  and similar to the inspiration of a Native American Indian prayer I will evoke  their spirits in gratitude by saying,

“Thank you Louise and Royal for the memories, and for the old farm-house with the steep slanted stairs that led up to the room where Grandmother haunted us kids! Thank You for the delicious Turkey skin, mashed potatoes and stuffing  galore. “

Happy Thanksgiving to family and friends….