laugh. “But we were on the road together for years. Revenge was ten years for me, longer for Rick.” Why did Soldi leave the band? “There were personal-
ity issues.” “I never heard that before,” Sparhawk says. “I never did like you,”
Soldi grins and they both laugh some more. Then to a guest, “have you ever seen pasta done like this?” Soldi has it going in a fry pan. “You cover it with water, and when the water’s all evaporated, the pasta’s ready.” His mom’s invention? “No, I got it off Facebook.” By the time we sit
down to eat, a thunder storm has begun in ear- nest, shooting blue-white lightning bolts earthward that are loud enough to trigger car alarms and rat- tle the 1915-era windows
in Sparhawk’s Mount Helix home. “Six miles away,” he says. “I counted.” To accompany the
meal, Sparhawk has cho- sen two Italian reds from his wine cellar. Soldi says, “You can
tell he’s not Italian by the way he says the word — eye-tal-y-an.” “This bottle is Serenis-
sima, a blend from Warner Springs,” Sparhawk says. “And this is from Hunt Cellars, a winery owned by the guy who played keyboards for Ambrosia. I forget his name.” Soldi: “We played
with them once, at Mon- terey Pops. It was 1976, I think.”
Sparhawk: “Ike and
Tina Turner, Mont- ezuma’s Revenge, Flash Cadillac, and somebody really big.” Soldi: “That would
have been Ambrosia. That’s when they were really big.”
Another lightning
strike rattles the old bones of the house. “Four miles,” Spar-
hawk says.
Tori Roze’s spaghetti squash surprise 1 spaghetti squash
1 package chicken breast tenders 1 tomato
sharp cheddar cheese, grated lemon pepper to taste basil
“That’s my parents’ spell- ing, R-O-Z-E,” singer/ educator/art model Tori Roze says, sweeping up a dust pan of cat hair from the otherwise spotless yellow oak floor of her row house. Her mother is a member of Tori’s band the Hot Mess, plays flute. Her father is a playwright and director. “They hated
their last name.” Roze and her girl-
friend Jody live in the last of a string of foliage- wrapped cottages near Park Boulevard. An Ikea wall unit still in cartons lies on the floor and a compact black cat lies on it. “This is what we’re
having for lunch.” Roze holds a yellow squash. “It smells like pumpkin. It kind of looks like a pumpkin. But, it does not taste like a pumpkin.” She cuts it in half, places the halves face-down on a baking pan with an inch of water. “Two tits in a tray.” She grins, covers all with sheets of foil. “It’s gotta bake for 45 min- utes at 450 degrees. You know it’s done when the water’s gone. You ever eat one of these? It’s incred- ible how much food just one yields.” A Sharon Jones LP
HEALTH AND BE AUTY
finishes; Roze replaces it with vintage Ramsey Lewis. “This was my 20th birthday present to myself,” she says at the controls of a stack of phonograph gear. We sit on camp chairs. A framed Audrey Hep- burn poster dominates a wall.
Roze and the Hot
Mess have been playing fourth Mondays at Bar Pink for two years. “And, I’m at Ginger’s downtown on Wednesdays with a guitar player.” She says she’s got a third album in the works.
Francesca arrives.
One side of her curly dark hair has been shaved, as if prepped for surgery. In jeans and flannel long sleeves, she leaves to fetch drinks and comes back with a pint of hard-frozen chocolate ice cream from which she
and Roze chisel slivers and wedges and con- sume as an appetizer. The squash is taking its sweet time. We stand in the tiny kitchen; heat radiates from the stove. “Tori’s our resident
salad maker,” Jody says, lured into the kitchen by the ice cream. “Anything with veg- gies,” Roze adds. “And mac and cheese.
And steak. She made a killer steak — once.” Roze: “I’ve been
obsessed with all these cooking shows.” Jody: “When she does cook, it’s really good.” The Ramsey Lewis
gets replaced by Fiona Apple off Roze’s iPhone. “This is a time-consum- ing recipe,” Roze says, “but it’s worth it.” A sec- ond cat, black with white feet, comes out of hid- ing, looks around, and
30 San Diego Reader April 21, 2016
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