Jasmine is a regular contributor to Edible Monterey, a quarterly publication about local food and hospitality.
Illustration by Jasmine Senaveratna
Illustration by Jasmine Senaveratna
THE GREAT ESCAPE
Vintner Robin McBride shares childhood memories of Monterey, Black Girl Magic and other pivotal moments behind McBride Sisters—the wine company she and sister Andréa built from their bond and determination.
Long before she and her sister launched a national wine company, Robin McBride’s interest in wine was sparked at a young age—in Monterey.
“As a little kid, I tried to make wine under my bed,” she says with a laugh. “I learned wine was made from grapes, and grapes were made into grape juice and fermented. And I felt I could do that for sure. I had baby bottles from my dolls and would take Welch’s grape juice and put it in these bottles. And I’d put them in a cool dark place, under my bed and wait for them to turn into wine…until my mom discovered it, and asked, ‘What is this stuff cooking under your bed?’ I said, ‘Hey! Leave my wine cellar alone, I’m making wine over here.’ And she said, ‘Okay, girl, do you, I guess. Just don’t make a mess on the floor.’”
Jasmine is a regular contributor to Counter Service, a publication about hospitality and food written by creatives in the industry.
Transforming Guilt into Power
A recent call to my father, a retired chef, ends with him saying, “Don’t disappoint Daddy.”
I hang up, and sit in silence. It hits me hard, the reality that I subscribed to a lifetime, personally and professionally, of pleasing others, and fearing their disappointment if I cannot or do not want to.
This feeling is not a surprise, but a milestone; if I’m being honest, I’m tired. And after a decade in hospitality, I’m starting to see that in serving others, my last priority has been myself. I take a long walk in my memories, collect and spread them at the round table in my mind.
A Five Year Old’s Ode to Spice
The first food experience I recall wasn’t dreamy, inspiring or even satisfying. We were eating with Siri, my dad’s best friend in Colombo, Sri Lanka. He welcomed us with a banquet of a meal with all the trimmings; pappadum, coconut sambol, pol sambol, curries, egg hoppers, rice, beef patties, rice with raisins and cashews… I was in the middle of an endless table with so many choices, with strangers anticipating my appetite, and I was petrified. I saw orange, red, green, yellow—all colors that screamed spicy as hell.
At five years old, my palette was not sophisticated or brave enough to bear capsaicin heads on. Imagine being just out of diapers and fresh from the US, satisfied with friendly shaped chicken nuggets, pasta, French fries and pizza. The spiciest thing I ran into was Tabasco, located on the highest shelf, or far corner of a restaurant table—far and away from my chubby fingers. Now I have the luxury of snickering at the harmless bottle of watered down, red, vinegary liquid.
The Service Monologues: Lessons Learned & Knowledge Gained from a Woman in Industry
Service as performance.
In 2012, I used to call it “Tears by Ten.” I could handle verbal abuse, but usually broke by 10pm during service. In my mid 20s, I regarded my manager title as one would a medal after battle. I would take on with pride (and, in retrospect, with a high threshold for bullshit) every harsh criticism spat at me by superiors; over-the-top flirtations by guests; repetitious disciplinary action upon servers and bartenders with whom I treaded the precious, slippery, territory of friendship post-service. It was an endurance sport on all fronts. Emotional and physical endurance was indeed a self-medicated sport; A childhood based upon my merits, and my acceptance of that game, explained the love of the sport.
My parents wanted so much for me, of me, and for good reason. My mother was a mixed southerner growing up in South Boston, Virginia, during the late 1960s. My father was a Ceylonese man growing up during the late 1940s in a former British colony, was named after Winston Churchill and endured more than I could fathom.
A Carnivore’s Ode: Meat, Memory and Milestones in Three Vignettes
Childhood. Baltimore. My Papa Winnie’s Beef Tongue Curry.
Perfectly slow-cooked chunks of tender tongue hiding in burbling sauce. The oils bubble on the surface as the bay leaves peek out here and there. I sit in my papa’s living room, full from the first round of snacks: fish cutlets, coconut sambol and papadum.
I am keenly aware of my greediness. I hear my father, in his typical fashion, dashing about his kitchen, genius and neurotic at the same time. He knows where everything is, and how to season without measure. He dashes about, chopping an onion, squeezing a lemon, mumbling to himself, questioning his actions. He tastes the curry sauce, and he disapproves. “Coriander, coriander!” he exclaims to himself.
Meditations in Comfort: East to West
It’s winter here in Carmel Valley. I make myself coffee, step out into the light, listen to the birds and watch a tiny lizard peek from under a pot. I carefully tip toe around some new spider webs. My new concern for their homes simultaneously baffles me and makes sense.
We’re all being blown around by the wind while trying to create a home -- a place where we can comfortably exist.
Flash back to New Year’s Eve, 2016. A night of high-volume, never-ending dinner service. A no square-inch to move, champagne flutes everywhere, barely walking out at 5am kind of service. Not an unusual way to end the night as a restaurant manager in NYC. The type of night you come to expect, in which you won’t kiss your love at midnight, but hell, a lot of money was made.
Jasmine also contributes to various publications including but not limited to The Village Voice publication group.
What People in Arizona Were Really Drinking During Prohibition
The nationwide ban on alcohol known as Prohibition existed from 1920 to 1933. Everyone was drinking hooch and there were plenty of photographs to prove it. The black-and-white photos romanticize the era: dimly lit back rooms, gangsters in three piece-suits, flappers, ladies doing the Charleston … you get the picture.
Documentaries and archived footage give us the speakeasy snapshot we’ve come to know and love. But what did Prohibition look like on the ground in Arizona? What were (Great)-Grandpa Joe and his buddies swigging?
Beat the Heat With These Cool Cocktails This Summer
It’s mid-July, the A/C at work is broken, and you’ve had a hard week. Time for happy hour. Whether that spot is your local watering hole or a cozy spot close to the martini shaker in your own home, you deserve a cocktail that will take the edge off your crummy week. What’s your best bet?
Steven Van Haren, a Skurnik Wines rep who peddles fine wine and spirits to restaurants, bars, and retailers in New York City, wants you to give rum the attention it deserves this summer — specifically, rum aged between eight and 10 years.