My mom’s panzanella recipe summons some great memories.

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ImageAs I’ve been sorting through my mom’s papers and photographs, a number of gems have already emerged: postcards from her trip to the U.S.S.R.; her diary from her sojourn in Africa (both trips were key elements in her narrative); my grandmother’s wedding announcement; my maternal grandparents’ immigration papers…

But nothing brought a bigger smile to my face than the discovery of Judy’s handwritten panzanella recipe.

Judy first tasted panzanella — the classic Tuscan summer bread salad — when I took her to Bagno Vignoni, a small village in Montalcino wine country where a thermal pool occupies the space of the town square. The year was 1989 and I was in my second academic year at the University of Padua.

My friend Riccardo’s mother spoke no English at all. But she took my mom by the hand and led her to her kitchen where they prepared her first panzanella together. What a magical moment that was.

Judy was fiercely proud of her panzanella recipe and she loved to tell the story of how she learned it — a great tale to share at her epic dinner parties.

I’m so geeked to post it here.

Now that I’m no longer traveling in the food and wine world two weeks every month, I’ve been thinking about what I should write about here.

Judy’s recipe was just the food for thought I needed.

Panzanella

1/2 lb. stale or toasted Italian bread
2 large ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and diced
2 small red onions, minced
1/3 cup black olives, pitted
1 bunch of basil leaves, stemmed and cut into thin strips
3 cans tuna packed in oil
4 garlic cloves, chopped
2 tbsp. red wine vinegar
salt and pepper
1/2 cup olive oil

Soak bread in water to cover. Squeeze to remove water. Crumble into mixing bowl. Add tomatoes, onions, olives, basil, tuna, and garlic. Toss together.

In small bowl, whisk the vinegar with pinch of salt and pepper until dissolved. Whisk in olive oil. Pour over salad and toss before serving.

Serves 4.

MLK Day is behind us, Black History Month is around the corner. Do something “on purpose” this year to observe and celebrate.

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ImageToday’s post is dedicated to my good friend MaQuettia Ledet (above). She and I first met in 2018 when the local chapter of the NAACP had just begun to revive the historic Orange, Texas MLK Day March.

Today, she is the chapter’s vice president and she has grown the event with fantastic results. By my count, there were 200 people at yesterday’s presentation (a far cry from the handful of people who came out in 2018); the speakers were all compelling and engaging and the music was fantastic.

In just seven years, she took a moribund but cherished tradition and has transformed it into a living, breathing agent of community support. She was the mistress of ceremonies at yesterday’s event and man, it was just super.

I was asked to give a short talk about “protecting freedom.” I told the story of Fannie Lou Hamer and how her power as an orator was a key step in bringing about the Voting Rights Act.

That campaign included the now famous quote: “Is this America, the land of the free and the home of the brave, where our lives be threatened daily, because we want to live as decent human beings?”

In 1971, she called out the newly founded National Women’s Political Caucus for not including issues faced by Black women in their platform.

That’s the speech that gave the historic civil rights movement one of its most iconic battle cries: “Now, we’ve got to have some changes in this country. And not only changes for the black man, and only changes for the black woman, but the changes we have to have in this country are going to be for liberation of all people — because nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”

I closed my talk by noting that as long as people are dying in ICE custody (the third person to die in custody this year, detained in Minneapolis, had passed the night before) no one in this country is truly free.

It’s what MLK called the “inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”

Thank you for reading and thank you for observing and celebrating MLK Day. What are we doing for Black History Month “on purpose,” as my friend Annette likes to say?

There’s no thunder in heaven.

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ImageI’m awfully sorry to report that we lost our beloved dog RooRoo (Rusty) at the end of last year.

The doctors believe that he had a brain tumor and possibly suffered a stroke.

RooRoo was one of two dogs I have loved more than any other in my lifetime.

He was a rescue, severely traumatized when we got him.

But he grew into the fun-loving and affectionate if sometimes standoffish dog that we all adored — me especially.

Before I sorted through our photos of him (for this post), I was worried that seeing images of him would make me too sad to write about him.

But instead the opposite happened: they reminded me of how much fun he had in life and how fun he was to be with.

That’s one of my favorites: him cooling down after a long walk at Willow Water Hole. He loved going on long walks and exploring new scents.

During the early months of Covid, when I was struggling to pay the bills, he would sit up with me through the long cold nights, my faithful companion in some of the toughest times.

For all his peccadillos, he was the best dog I could have had. I genuinely loved and still love and miss him with every fiber in my body.

RooRoo, you were and will always be the ‘best dog ever,’ just like I used to tell you in the truck on the way back from the reservoir, remember? Your brother Paco and I talk about you every day and he misses you chewing on his ear, the price of admission to the bed. RooRoo, when you were dying, I told mamma that I didn’t know how I could live without you. I’m still here, RooRoo, but our lives will never be the same. You used to hate the Houston storms, sweet boy. There’s only one thing that gives me comfort: there’s no thunder in heaven. I’ll find you there as soon as I can, I promise, and we will be together again. I promise, sweet RooRoo. I love you.

This is why Tracie and I take our kids to protests.

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ImageAbove: that’s Emmanuel, center, the teenager who was wrongly detained by ICE and held for 48 days without reason. He had to have his appendix removed while in prison. Photo courtesy FIEL.

On Friday the Parzen family attended the FIEL “ICE out of Houston” rally and protest.

Our girls — ages 12 and 14 — would have much rather been at home playing Roblox and texting with their friends, as they would on any other Friday night.

Instead, they listened to the speakers at the rally: children detained without cause and separated from their parents; a doctor who explained that hundreds of people died in ICE custody last year because of lack of medical attention; a mother whose autistic 14-year-old had to have his appendix removed while improperly detained by ICE.

The whole thing took about 45 minutes.

But they got a sense of how members of our own community are being gravely affected by our government’s profiling of brown people.

They heard a young adult tell the story of masked men in unmarked cars arresting his father and then putting him in a chokehold after he asked them to show ID.

They were reminded that while we drive to school and come home to warm dinner, kids their own ages don’t even know if their parents will be able to pick them up from school.

That’s why we take them to protests: so that they will remember that we are “in it and of it” and that the change is only going to come when we all stand up for those vulnerable among us.

Please consider giving to or volunteering for FIEL, an immigrant-led group that provides resources and advocates for the immigrant community (disclosure: I work for them as a pro bono media consultant).

MLK Day “on purpose”! Protest ICE with FIEL tonight.

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ImageHappy 2026, everyone!

It’s already shaping up to be a year full of immense human challenges. The vulnerable among us are facing — quite literally — life and death stakes.

For our family, MLK Day always represents a “New Year’s Day” when we check in with our values and our dreams for a better America.

I’ve got good news to share for the occasion.

The advertising company that posts our MLK billboard overlooking the Neo-Confederate monument in Orange (erected 2017) gave us a returning customer deal.

Our MLK billboard is already active and will remain in place throughout Black History Month. Thank you, B.!

And last year’s GoFundMe had a surplus that made it easy to get us to where we needed to be with our new discounted rate (it’s still open if you want to donate to next year’s billboard).

Parzen family is not planning a protest at the Neo-Confederate site on MLK Day. Inclement weather has made the protest challenging for the last two years. Stay tuned: there will be a protest in February during Black History Month.

But we will be attending the MLK March in Orange with our friends at Mt. Olive Church, a historic Black church in Tracie’s hometown.

Btw that is Lila Jane and Georgia in the photo above carrying the banner for the March a few years ago.

We hope to see you there! Please spend your MLK Day “on purpose,” as my good friend Annette P. likes to say!

In other news…

Houston friends: meet us TONIGHT at Dunlavy Park at 5pm for FIEL’s “ICE out of Houston” protest.

We are praying for the family of the woman who was murdered by them in Minneapolis this week.

We are praying for all the Brown people in our country who are living like Jews in Nazi Europe, afraid to go out lest a government official threaten them.

My ancestors were immigrants who fled the Cossacks (quite literally). They are my children’s ancestors, too. We cannot stand by idly watching the dehumanization of Brown people — any people! — in our country.

We hope to see you tonight. Let’s make 2026 the year of the change!

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To my brother Aaron, who couldn’t be with us to say goodbye to Judy.

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ImageBrother Aaron, nearly 70 years have passed since you were born. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you.

Just last May, while we were in Chicago for a family reunion, I saw our distant cousin Daniel J. in Hyde Park where we all lived when we were born.

Daniel is a pediatrician. He was a co-founder of the “Lab” school for kids at U. of Chicago where you studied before we moved to California. He spoke earnestly and eagerly of his fond memories.

Your best friend from the Lab school, Professor W., has always stayed in touch with me. We’ve even shared a bottle of Nebbiolo or two as we talked about your life.

He’s a famous law professor at Harvard. Every time he and I connect, I am reminded of how Judy used to say that you would have been the first Jewish U.S. Attorney General.

When I got to La Jolla High School, so many of my teachers told me that they expected a lot out of Aaron Parzen’s younger brother. I tried my best, brother, to follow in your footsteps.

My memories of you are hazy: I was five when you died, you were 15. Judy used to tell me how much you adored me and took me everywhere you went.

I have strong, crystal-clear memories of the day you died. And the day we buried you, in the same plot where Judy is now buried. I can see the scene in my mind like it was yesterday.

You couldn’t be there with me on New Year’s as I sat alone in the early hours of a rainy La Jolla morning and dug through our mom’s photography and papers.

But you were in my heart, as you always are.

I barely knew you but I miss you more now than ever.

Four tragedies shaped the arc of our family’s troubled life. The second of those was your death, the tragic outcome of a misguided teenage road trip. The photo above was taken not long before you died.

Know that no matter what happens, I will always speak your name. And my children will, too. And they will tell their children about you. We will always speak your name. I love you.

When a soccer game is more important than family, even as we say goodbye to Judy.

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ImageAbove: the last sunrise I’ll most likely ever see in my mom’s La Jolla apartment. That’s the full moon.

Last week, Tracie, the girls, and I traveled to La Jolla for family vacation. I spent the better part of the week sorting through my mom’s apartment and shipping precious photography and other documents back to Texas where I plan to build an archive for her.

We had planned to gather as a family in La Jolla, earlier in the month, the first weekend in December, although without our daughters — just me and Tra, my brothers and their wives. The mission was to dig through the apartment, leaf through hand-written memories people had shared at the memorial, spend a day, maybe a meal together, reminiscing.

Some days before our trip, brother Micah called to say that he unexpectedly wouldn’t be there that weekend. He was traveling outside San Diego for a soccer game. He would sort through the things on his own and inform us as to what he was taking.

That wasn’t what we planned, I protested.

It was a complicated weekend for us but we had figured it out. A Herculean effort, with a bar mitzvah, an audition, and a friend’s recital for the girls to attend. I turned down a juicy gig with my band. Tra put clients on hold. Her parents cancelled their participation in a credit union board event (Randy’s mayor of West Orange).

Micah, how could you do this?, I pleaded. This is really messing us up.

I have to do what I have to do for my mental health, he said.

A soccer game?

We rescheduled for our winter break. Not only did he not meet me. He didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me that he was punking me again — a pattern through our lives. No call, no show.

Thing is, his soccer team lost and there was no match that first weekend of December. It was all just a game he was playing.

How can he dishonor the memory of our mother like this?

Some years ago he changed the name of his museum from the Museum of Man to the Museum of Us. I applauded at the time.

Seems his next project is Museum of Me.

.דאָס איז אַ שאַנדע און אַ חרפּה

“Melody” my album of songs for 2025 including “Under the Christmas Tree,” this year’s Christmas song. Merry Christmas!

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ImageMerry Christmas, everyone! Happy holidays!

You know what I would like for Christmas this year? For you to listen to my 2025 album of songs, “Melody”!

Click here to stream on Bandcamp.

Here’s the track list:

Melody

I wanted to write Tracie a yacht rock, slow burn song, and so I did! Music and making love feel like the same thing when I’m with her. “Italian mandolins or Paul McCartney songs/just can’t compete.” I love her so much.

Stuck in a Hotel Room in Dallas

I wrote this, yes, you guessed it, when I was stuck in a hotel room in Dallas on the road for work this summer. We knew my mom would be dying soon. But we didn’t know how soon. My vocals on country songs suck but this one meant so much to me. Still does.

Under the Christmas Tree

“No need to invent/a new ornament.” My 2025 Christmas song! I write one every year. Our tree has ornaments dating back to the girls’ pre-school years. We love it so much and it’s one of our favorite family traditions.

Ballad of Rusty and Paco

This one is for our dogs, Rusty aka RooRoo and Paco. There’s not a day when their joy doesn’t lift me up (I’m a “dog person”). I wanted to capture how much fun it is to share our lives with them so I wrote them a “Rocky Raccoon” song.

Land of Aggressive Driving

This song was born out of self-challenge: I promised the girls I would write them a song about the “land of aggressive driving,” in other words, Houston, a city we love but also a megalopolis where the driving can be insane. As the singer (me) says, just use “the Nancy Reagan defense,” just say “no” to aggressive driving!

Aiutami a farti ritrovare

My old bromance Giovanni Arcari gets a song-writing credit on this one. I heard him utter that line one night in a pinseria (similar to a pizzeria) in his hometown. He was trying to convince a woman to give him her phone number. She didn’t. He said to her (in Italian), I’ll look for you, but help me be able to find you. Sounds better in Italian! I wrote it for him for his 50th birthday.

Merry Christmas! Thanks for listening!

I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life…

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ImageOn Friday night, our oldest daughter Georgia marked her 14th birthday. The next night she celebrated with her mom’s pot roast (a favorite), a beautiful cake from our family’s official pastry chef, Fluff Bake Bar, and a sleepover with two of her best friends from school.

She was also surrounded by her Orange and Houston families. They had gathered for another momentous occasion: earlier that day, she had performed with the Region (as in all-region) string orchestra, one of the top accolades a Texan middle schooler can achieve in classical music.

The conductor spoke about how our region, 23, is one of the two most competitive in the state and arguably the most dynamic (thanks to the confluence of three fiercely engaged school districts in its radius).

Georgia was first chair in her section, viola, and performed a beautiful solo in the third piece.

The music was gorgeous, the performance extraordinary, especially when you consider the ages of the musicians.

I couldn’t have been more filled with joy to hear her play.

Maybe it’s just because I’m an unabashedly proud father.

But it’s also because when I see her, a straight-A 14-year-old with a rich network of delightful friends, I see the kid that I couldn’t be when I was her age.

My family simply wasn’t in a place where they could support my cello studies. And the vicissitudes of life had left me precariously adrift among my peers.

A few moments before the concert began, I squeezed Tracie’s hand and told her, I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life. And from the moment she and I decided to get married, every instant has led up to this, I said, this beautiful, graceful child who’s growing into an adult as she explores her creativity and curiosity unyoked from the burden of family trauma.

I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life. Thanks for letting me share it here. Happy holidays.

The worst year of my life, the best year of my life. Holiday blues, open mic at Emmit’s Sat. 12/20.

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ImageMan, it’s been the best of times and it’s been the worst of times.

Losing my mom in October was a crushing blow to my heart this year.

And the heartless way my brothers have treated me and my Texas family in the meantime has left me with an emptiness, a void in knowing that my family in San Diego is now totally gone.

I haven’t felt this alone since Brooklyn, post-9/11.

Watching my children grow this year has been one of the greatest blessings of my life.

Georgia is turning 14 this week and both girls fill me with joy and pride at their myriad accomplishments.

Knowing that they and Tracie will stand by me, even through the helter-skelter and the pell-mell, has filled me with hope and peace in this darkest of times for me.

There’s also something else that I’ve felt this year: I do have a family that loves me, I do have children who are thriving, I do have a partner who lifts me up emotionally and catches me when I fall.

It’s a far cry from the drug-taking, alcohol-guzzling 14-year-old that I was after my family was fractured by catastrophe and my older brother handed me my first hit of weed.

I’ve never felt so much love and support in my life.

My bandmate Bela Adela and I are going to be singing about life’s blues at Emmit’s Place in southwest Houston on Saturday, 12/20, 2-6pm, where we will be hosting our final open mic of the year.

The last event in October was packed and we are expecting a big crowd for our holiday show.

The Rhythmix, the coolest middle-schooler jazz band, will do a set and a ton of people are stopping by for the open mic and jam.

I hope you can join us as we close out the worst of years and the best. Thanks for your support and solidarity.

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