Daveed Diggs can't remember ‘Hamilton' and Katie Aselton has a killer 'Sebastian' impersonation.
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Los Angeles Times
a day ago
- Los Angeles Times
‘Nobu' strains to showcase a humble man at the center of a sexy global brand
It takes a little over an hour for 'Nobu' to marinate long enough to approach a point of complexity, not exactly bitter but no longer cloyingly sweet. Nobu Matsuhisa, the celebrated sushi master, is running quality-control checks in one of his restaurants. A poor chef is sweating the test so badly, he won't need soy sauce soon enough. His dish keeps being sent back: Chop the chives finer. Why is this pile of raw crudo smaller? Why did you paint a line of salt instead of a dot? The scene goes on, excruciatingly. A few minutes later, Robert De Niro — an early investor and co-founder — dominates a private board meeting with concerns about too-rapid growth. It's not quite the ominous Waingro showdowns of 'Heat' but in the ballpark. Fastidiousness, precision and a kind of reputational exclusivity are at the heart of Matsuhisa's enterprise. These are hard things to make a documentary about. But it's also why Nobu needed to come to Beverly Hills for his concept take root — not just any Los Angeles but the '80s-era boomtown of power lunches and spend-to-impress dining. Spago's Wolfgang Puck makes an appearance in director Matt Tyrnauer's half-interesting film, fawning over his longtime friend sitting next to him but not quite articulating the essence of their revolution: high-end branding. You wish more time was spent on that conceptual idea, enabled by celebrities throwing around money on food they barely ate. The kind of doc that 'Nobu' more often resembles (as do most foodie-targeted profiles) is a gentle chronology of a humble genius and everyday guy who just happens to fly private. Matsuhisa bows to euphoric local fishmongers, does a lot of hugs and selfies with his staff, visits his roots in Japan and Peru. There are family interviews and a detour to Alaska, where, years before he had a 300-person nightly waitlist, an early restaurant of his caught fire — in the bad literal way (Tyrnauer cuts to the Anchorage newspaper headline). These false starts are somehow exhausting, lacking in suspense. He contemplated suicide, then came to California. The food sails by: wedges of black cod with miso, delicate plates of thinly sliced fish adorned with tweezer-manipulated herbs. All of it is crazy-making and delicious. Still, apart from former Los Angeles Times food editor Ruth Reichl, who witnessed the rise of Nobu as it happened, there are few on-camera voices who speak directly to Matsuhisa's gifts and experimentation with form. 2011's 'Jiro Dreams of Sushi' does a better job of delivering the intimate discipline of cutting and shaping. More testimony to the experience of eating at Nobu would have helped this feel less like a commercial. 'Nobu' is a film oddly unconcerned with the communal experience of dining. We hear about the way his sushi workstations are elevated (a 'stage,' Matsuhisa calls them) and that's central to the performance going on here, also the remove. Something clicks when the film heads to Nobu Malibu and visits the table of supermodel Cindy Crawford, whose 'Cindy rice,' a dish he invented for her, adorns the menu. There's a deep mutual gratitude between them that goes back years. An appreciation of the finer things? No doubt. Game recognizing game? Definitely.
Los Angeles Times
2 days ago
- Los Angeles Times
A Taste of Down Under: An Inside Look at 2025's Great Australian Bite
What is 'Australian Cuisine,' exactly? If you're to ask the average Australian, they might say, as celebrated chef Clare Falzon did during the 2025 Great Australian Bite dining event in Malibu, 'Umm … well, there's not really an answer.' She wasn't stumped. Instead, she was making an observation about the great variety of ingredients, techniques and cultural milieu that make up the Australian dining experience. For Falzon, who cooked alongside Melbourne-to-L.A. Michelin-Star chef Curtis Stone at the event (which took place on Stone's sprawling hilltop ranch in Malibu), dining Down Under isn't one kind of thing. Rather (and similarly to the U.S.) Australia has such a wide variety of terrain, terroir and technique that one style of dining could never fit. This was on display in Malibu on May 29, as over 350 diners arrived for a very special dinner, co-produced by Tourism Australia and the Los Angeles Times. But beyond a dining experience, this second Great Australian Bite (a play on the Great Australian Bight, the enormous open bay that comprises the continent's southwest coast) served as an open invitation to travelers who were … pardon the pun, 'hungry' for more. Stone, who has made a huge impression on the L.A. dining scene since starting the now-closed Maude in 2014, originally hails from Melbourne and, in anticipation of the event, visited to gain inspiration about the Melbourne dining scene. The cosmopolitan city features everything from sky-high fine dining (Vue de Monde, on the Rialto Tower's 55th floor) to an incredible contribution from immigrant populations from Southeast Asia, offering everything from street food favorites to elevated takes (Sunda or Hochi Mama, in the Central Business District). The incredible variety of dining in one city was something Stone brought to the U.S. with him, along with his own family traditions (Maude was named after his grandmother). Now, with two L.A. eateries – sharp, charcuterie-centric Gwen and fun, savory The Pie Room – Stone is bringing Aussie variety to Angelenos citywide. For Falzon, who is from Sydney, the path was westbound. She found herself in the Barossa Valley, South Australia's main wine-growing region, where she recently opened her first restaurant, staguni, in a former one-room schoolhouse, highlighting the region's rural environs. The restaurant, focused on the fresh produce grown in the region and playing on Falzon's Maltese heritage, gives an instantly Mediterranean vibe in ingredients but remains unapologetically Australian, with offerings like sliced beef and rockmelon appearing on the seasonal menu. Of course, both chefs were looking to bring these influences to this year's Bite. Guests at the Great Australian Bite were served a three-course meal at their endlessly long table situated under grand coast oaks. Among the assembled were a very 'who's who' L.A.-style list, including Phil Rosenthal of the smash Netflix show 'Somebody Feed Phil,' and wine expert and self-proclaimed 'drinker in chief,' Mike Bennie. But their revelry didn't begin with just food. During a gorgeous golden hour with a light breeze, the assembled were offered an elevated wine and cocktail hour, featuring some of Australia's best winemakers and spirit producers. Chief among them was the family act Chalmers Winery – husband and wife duo Kim and Tennile Chalmers were on hand to pour whites and rosés from their Victoria vineyard. Wines from across the country were featured, a Cab Franc from Brash Higgins south of Adelaide, Yalumba from the Barossa Valley and Clonakilla's famed Shiraz from the lush wine region surrounding Australia's capital, Canberra. Each wine brought a distinct mood to the setting and the meal. Cocktails were also on the menu, all created with Down Under distillery products, including Four Pillars Gin and Starward Australian Whisky. But it was Daniel Motlop's Seven Seasons vodka that stood out, a native yam vodka made from tubers harvested on Indigenous land by native peoples in Darwin. Guests celebrated both the uniqueness of the spirit and its creation – Australia's indigenous peoples are considered among the oldest civilizations on the planet, inhabiting the continent for over 65,000 years, with their ancient preparation techniques contributing to the flavors of the nation. From a Blackmore Australian Wagyu to a deceptively simple zucchini and summer squash dish, the menu served at the Great Australian Bite was expansive, comforting and deliciously fresh. The squash appetizer, with the titular veggies served over ricotta, had a minor kick with a chili oil topping. The second course, a rabbit terrine (inspired by an old Australian phrase, 'thank your mother for the rabbits,' said Stone), featured the aforementioned coarse forcemeat with a lightly pickled veggie side and a walnut praline. But it was the mains, served family-style, that got the most 'oohs' and 'aahs' out of the gathered crowd. Stone's contribution, the wagyu, was impossibly rich, with its marbling and tender bite mimicking – if not surpassing – its namesake Japanese counterpart. Falzon offered a hearty pile of roasted Magra lamb shanks, with a subtle Mediterranean spicing on their crisp skin and served with dates and pistachios. Sides included Stone's duck fat potatoes and Falzon's crisp watermelon, tomato and cactus fruit salad, an ingredient she was especially excited to use, given its duality in Maltese and Southern California cuisine. And while diners left full and happy (the served dessert, a flaky, just-a-hint-of-citrus passionfruit tart aided in that happiness), the overall takeaway was simple: Visit Australia – not just for its incredible natural offerings, beautiful desertscapes, monumental seas and reefs and vibrant Down Under culture – but go for the food and drink, which has been quietly revolutionizing itself to become a multifaceted and complex cuisine. Whether you're in Sydney or Melbourne, Canberra or Perth, the Barrossa Valley or Victoria's lush vineyards, an Australian 'bite' awaits. As Stone said, 'Today we showed off beautiful Australian food and wine, but there's nothing like going there. When you're in Australia and get to experience their hospitality firsthand, it's just very unique.'
Los Angeles Times
2 days ago
- Los Angeles Times
Violinist has the world on 2 strings
Nathaniel was shy in our first encounter a few months ago, if not a little wary. He took a step back when I approached to say I liked the way his violin music turned the clatter around downtown L.A.'s Pershing Square into an urban symphony. 'Oh, thank you very much,' he said politely, apologizing for his appearance. He had gone through a couple of recent setbacks, Nathaniel said, but he intended to be whole again soon and playing at a higher level. Next time I saw him, he had relocated to the mouth of the 2nd Street tunnel near Hill Street. 'Well, first of all, it's beautiful here,' said Nathaniel, 54, who told me he had been diagnosed many years ago with schizophrenia. 'And right there is the Los Angeles Times building. New York, Cleveland, Los Angeles. All I have to do is look up at that building and I know where I am.' Nathaniel had an orange shopping cart that contained all of his belongings, including a huge plastic water gun, a single black boot and his violin case. We were practically in the shadow of the new Disney Concert Hall, and although Nathaniel said he wasn't sure where it was, he had written the following on the side of his shopping cart: 'Little Walt Disney Concert Hall — Beethoven.' Nathaniel plays classical music, some of it recognizable to me, some of it not. One day, I asked if he could play jazz, and he tucked the violin under his chin, closed his eyes in anticipation of the ecstasy that music brings him and began to play 'Summertime.' He doesn't always hit every note, but it's abundantly clear that Nathaniel has been a student of music for many years. 'That was Ernest Bloch,' he casually told me after one piece, spelling out Ernest and then Bloch. 'Opus 18, No. 1.' I was more than a little impressed, especially when it occurred to me that Nathaniel's grimy, smudged violin was missing two of the four strings. 'Yeah,' he said, frustration rising in his brown eyes. 'This one's gone, that one's gone and this little guy's almost out of commission. You see where it's coming apart right here?' Playing with two strings wasn't that hard, he said, because he began his music education in the Cleveland public schools, where the instruments were often a challenge. 'If you got one with one or two strings,' he said, 'you were happy to have it.' I noticed an empty bag from Studio City Music in Nathaniel's violin case and gave the store a call to ask if they had a homeless customer. 'Black man?' asked Hans Benning, a violin maker. 'We do have a guy who plays with a badly beaten-up fiddle. He comes here every so often. He's very kind, very gentle and very proper. He's a delight.' I told Benning his name is Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, and he seems to know a thing or two about music. 'Yes, he does,' Benning said. 'He talks about the Beethoven sonatas and then slips back into another world.' The reason he used to hang around Pershing Square, Nathaniel told me, was so he could study the Beethoven statue for inspiration. 'I've never seen anything in my life that great,' he said. 'I'm flabbergasted by that statue because I can't imagine how he's there. I don't know how God is operating.' When I asked more about his training, Nathaniel told me he had gone to Ohio University and Ohio State University. He also said he'd played many times at the Aspen Music Festival, and he'd gone to Juilliard for two years in the early '70s. Juilliard? I asked. 'I was there for a couple of years,' he said, as if it were nothing. While waiting for a callback from Juilliard, I called Motter's Music House in Lyndhurst, Ohio. Nathaniel told me he had bought many instruments there over the years, including the Glaesel violin he now owns. 'He's an outstanding player,' said Ron Guzzo, a manager at Motter's. He saw a lot of Nathaniel over a span of 20 years, because Nathaniel's instruments were often stolen from him on the streets. He would work at a Wendy's or shovel snow to save up for another. 'As I understand it, he was at Juilliard and got sick, so he came back home. He'd sit out in our parking lot on a nice day playing the cello, and we'd wonder where the heck that was coming from. It was Tony,' Guzzo said, using Nathaniel's nickname. Cello? Yes, it turns out Nathaniel started on the bass, switched to cello and has never had any training on the violin. He switched to the latter after ending up on the streets, because it fits more neatly into his shopping cart. Everything he had told me about his life was checking out, so I figured Juilliard must be for real too. Sure enough. Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, who sleeps on the streets of the city, takes his meals at the Midnight Mission and plays a two-string violin, attended the acclaimed New York City music school on a scholarship. Nathaniel told me a bass player named Homer Mensch was one of his mentors at Juilliard. Mensch, 91, is still teaching, and he immediately recalled Nathaniel. 'He had the talent, that was for sure,' said Mensch, who remembered that Nathaniel had suddenly disappeared, never to return. I told him Nathaniel's illness had begun while he was at Juilliard and he was now a homeless violinist in downtown L.A. 'Give him my very best,' said Mensch. 'I would certainly like to hear from him.' Nathaniel has memorized the phone numbers of the people who inspired him. To recall the numbers, he writes them in mid-air with his index finger. One day he gave me the home phone number of Harry Barnoff, a bass player and former teacher who recently retired after 46 years with the Cleveland Orchestra. Barnoff was in tears at the memory of Nathaniel. 'Please,' Barnoff pleaded, 'you have got to go tell him how much I think of him and that I still remember what a wonderful musician he was.' Barnoff says Nathaniel was a bit of a slacker when he was in junior high and taking lessons at the Cleveland Music School Settlement. But with encouragement, Nathaniel set the highest possible goals for himself. 'During the riots, he was in the music building, practicing. He really worked at it and got to where he knew I had gone to Juilliard, and he wanted to go, too. ... Next thing I knew, he got a scholarship.' Nathaniel had the potential to play with any of the major orchestras in the United States, Barnoff said. He tried to help Nathaniel through his most difficult times, offering him work around his house and taking Nathaniel's calls from mental hospitals and the streets. Nathaniel was often in a state of distress, Barnoff says of his former student, until they began talking about music. And then everything was right with the world. 'He once sent me a card saying he would give his left hand for me,' Barnoff said. I got hold of Nathaniel's sister, Jennifer Ayers-Moore, at her home in Fayetteville, Ga. She was relieved to hear that her older brother is OK but disturbed to know he's on the streets — again. He was never the same after he got back from New York, Ayers-Moore said, and he has been in and out of hospitals and group homes for three decades. Time after time, he has tested the patience of the people who love him. 'It got to the point where he didn't want to talk to anybody and didn't want to be in reality. I couldn't watch the movie 'A Beautiful Mind,' because every stitch of it reminded me of Nathaniel.' As do so many schizophrenics, Ayers-Moore says, her brother would improve with medication but then refuse to take it and slip back into his tortured world. 'It was very difficult for my mother, because he would curse her out, call her names, threaten her. When we went to visit her in the nursing home on her birthday, she looked at me and said, 'I miss Tony.' He was her pride and joy, and she did everything she possibly could to help him.' Nathaniel talks often of his mother, expressing his love in his own way. 'She was a beautician,' he said. 'That's beauty. And music is beauty, so I guess that's why I started playing.' Nathaniel came west after his mother's death five years ago. He hooked up with his estranged father and other relatives but soon found the streets. 'It's an absolute dream here, and I notice that everyone is smiling,' Nathaniel said at 2nd and Hill, where he sometimes steps into the tunnel to hear the echo of his violin. 'The sun is out all day, and the nights are cool and serene.' Nathaniel often takes a rock and scrawls names on the sidewalk. 'Oh, those,' he said. 'A lot of those are the names of my classmates at Juilliard.' One day I asked about his hopes and dreams. 'Oh, that's easy,' he said. 'I need to get these other two strings, but I don't have the money right now.' He had no use for a house, he said, or a car or anything else. 'All I want is to play music, and the crisis I'm having is right here,' Nathaniel said, pointing to the missing strings and calling out the names of Itzhak Perlman and Jascha Heifetz, as if the renowned violinists might hear his plea and send along the strings. Nathaniel refused to accept money from me or freebies from Studio City Music. I suggested he go back to Pershing Square, where passersby often dropped money in his violin case, but it didn't seem logical to him. When I brought him a new set of strings from Studio City Music, I had to insist that he not pay me for them. He had trouble attaching the strings because his violin is in such bad shape. But by the next day, he had jury-rigged them and was happy to give me a show at his Little Walt Disney Concert Hall. I had invited two staffers from Lamp Community, a service agency for homeless, mentally ill men and women. Maybe they could get his trust, I figured, and determine whether they could help him at some point. But as Nathaniel began to play, I doubted there was anyone or anything that could deliver the same peace that music brings him. He was in his sanctuary, eyes half-mast in tribute to the masters. As cars roared by and trash flew off a dump truck, Nathaniel was oblivious. He played a Mendelssohn concerto, a Beethoven concerto and the Brahms double concerto for violin and cello, his bow gliding effortlessly as it sliced through the madness. * The columnist can be reached at
