Game 10: Tom and Claire Callaway - Guacamole Santa Fe
Unlike the Lakers superfans known on first name bases -- Jack and Denzel and Dyan -- I had to look up self-proclaimed “Super Laker Fans” Tom and Claire Callaway. The providers of a Guacamole Santa Fe recipe, the Callaways were both successful TV actors whose IMDB pages span the small screen hits and clunkers of the 1970s and 1980s. But while Claire continued acting until she passed away in 2012, Tom’s resume abruptly stopped at 1995. That’s because he left the industry to become an interior designer. A highly paid interior designer to the rich and famous.
At one point or another, everyone struggling in show business fantasizes about working a real person’s job. Not having to worry about where the next freelance gig is coming from or if a bureaucratic snafu at the unemployment office will force you to put groceries on your credit card. But actually winning at Hollywood… and then escaping to do something you love? AND it pays you even more? Tom Callaway made a deal with the Devil, who then went and got his red ass disappeared by some overseas gangsters.
Speaking of Dyan Cannon, it’s a shame that she doesn’t have a recipe in this cookbook. For years, Cannon -- a courtside ticket holder since the days of Jerry West -- has brought homemade brownies to pass out to the players, announcers, and stadium staff.
As the head of Tom Callaway Associates, the former actor leads a firm that specializes in every type of stylish mansion that dots the Southland. Malibu Modern with clean lines, sharp angles, and floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooking the Pacific. Spanish Revival compounds with babbling fountains and a plethora of pergolas. Beverly Hills mansions where everything from the pillows to the carpets to the hand towels flaunt a maximalist attitude. Dude even has his own line of furnishings and textiles. Your home isn’t just fully furnished by Tom, it’s furnished from him. I wonder why Tom quit to enter this line of work. Maybe he was bored with the process. Or frustrated that despite he and his wife having leading role looks -- her a brunette with striking blue eyes, him with a cleft chin made of the same granite that he now features in kitchens -- they “only” landed steady supporting roles. But one thing I do know is that everyone else in Hollywood, he once fantasized about quitting the industry and going straight. Only difference is he pulled it off.
What a chin! Tom makes my cleft chin look like Hank Hill’s flat ass.
It’s hard not to look at friends with jobs in a law firm or with the city or for a tech company and wonder what the hell I’m doing with my life. To get into a writers’ room, I’m doing work that is infrequent, pays poorly, and has 200 people vying for every spot that opens up. Things like owning a home in California or going to the dentist once a year aren’t even pipe dreams; they’re just not things I bother to dream about. It would put me in a dark place if I spent more than a few seconds thinking about either of those fantasies. But I knew what I was getting myself into. I grew up in Hollywood, both the neighborhood and metonymy. My mom’s an actress. Was an actress. Now owns her own business. Tom and my mom, they were the smart ones who knew when to pull the cord and jump.
So what keeps me in the game? A fucked up combination of passion, spite, and blind forward momentum, I guess. The gears keep turning in my head, putting ideas on paper for scripts and shows and books and historical sports blogs with a food gimmick or an edit of Edie Falco’s WTF episode overlayed over Santana playing guitar on too much acid at Woodstock that’s just for me and nobody else. Making people laugh is a concentrated rush that I’m always chasing. And it’s truly wild that maybe one day, I can make a living off that feeling. Sure, I could probably make a living teaching history or writing press releases for professional sports teams. But then I’d be lying awake at 3AM, staring daggers into the ceiling above, wondering if the floor above me held the accomplishments I failed to seize. I’d rather stick with what I’m doing now: lying awake at 3AM, staring daggers into the ceiling above, wondering how I’m going to pay next month’s rent.
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Guacamole Santa Fe
3 avocados
¼ onion, chopped
Garlic, a touch
Salsa, to taste
1 large tomato
Juice of 1 lemon
Tequila, 1 stiff shot
Blend avocados in blender to smooth consistency. Stir in chopped onion, lemon juice. Garlic (if desired), and as much tequila as you can stand up for. Mix in salsa to taste and top with colorful tomato wedges. “Ole!”
I declined to add “colorful tomato wedges” to this guacamole. I know my self-imposed rules are to follow the recipe exactly as written, but I’m also Mexican. It’s bad enough Tom and Claire used lemon instead of lime for this guacamole. So they’re sure as hell not making me add slices of tomato as garnish.
I also declined to add “salsa, to taste” because… I have no idea what that means. Like, add a little bit of jarred red salsa to the guac instead of dicing up tomato and red onion? Or do they mean to buy one of those green jarred “guacamole” salsas and add a bit of that? I ended up buying a jar of red, but called a last minute audible to save that jar for some other time.
Also, I mashed the avocados. Again, I’m Mexican… a half white Mexican with light skin who was raised by a white woman. But even I know not to throw avocados into a blender. Why would you? The only scenario you would need a blender to mash avocados is if they weren’t ripe. And if that’s the case… buy new avocados.
I ended up making this on opening night, an evening where I was on day 2 of a nasty cold that took a full two weeks to get over The guacamole didn’t turn out that bad, owing to me adding another key ingredient (salt) that the recipe was lacking. The chips I had with it turned out to be some of the only solid food I ate that week. By Sunday, the guac was still fresh enough in our Tupperware to put it on eggy toast for breakfast. Not bad for a guacamole that I thought was going to be a disaster.
