Author: Neal Ross Attinson

Neal Ross Attinson is one of those compulsive writers who feels naked without a keyboard, or at least a a pad and pencil. He lives with companion and cat and library in Sonoma, California.

The (Other) Giving Tree

BY A PATH IN SONOMA’S rustic Mountain Cemetery stands an oak tree bearing the creative goodwill of self-selected and diligent passersby. It began a few years ago, with three small figurines — a white winged angel, a faceless blue woman…

Tortured Gastronome

EVERY TIME ANTHONY BOURDAIN MAKES a reference on one of his TV shows to hanging himself in a shower stall, Ann and I swap meaningful looks. After all, that’s exactly how the 61-year-old chef, traveler, writer and raconteur ended up…

OKAY MOSES,” SAID GOD. “HERE’S another commandment: Don’t boil a kid in its mother’s milk.”
“You mean, don’t eat meat and milk together?”
“No. Don’t boil a kid in its mother’s milk.”
“You mean we should have separate dishes for meat and dairy?”
“No. Don’t boil a kid in its mother’s milk.”
“You mean we should wait a few hours after eating meat before we eat dairy?”
“Moses,” said God,”do whatever the hell you want.”

Why I Love: Restaurants

IT’S THE ATMOSPHERE. IT’S THE background music of cutlery-clinked plates and conversation. It’s the initial pleasure of sitting down at “your” table. It’s having a skilled and knowledgeable waitron. It’s eating what I wouldn’t (or couldn’t) cook for myself. It’s…

Our Own Little “Zone”

IF YOU WERE CONSIDERED A teenage weirdo in the late 1970s/early 1980s in Northern California’s suburban Diablo Valley, you could always find a place on Friday nights at an independent cinema-house in Walnut Creek, gathering with others of your tribe…