I grew up in a family of six in the Los Feliz/Silverlake area of Los Angeles, where my father and his twin brother owned and operated Nicola Twins Market on Sunset Boulevard. The jovial twins, Lester (Les) and Mike Nicola, ran that market for 45 years where they were well loved by the community and made a lasting impression. They specialized in high-quality meats but also offered a full range of produce and groceries, excelled as caterers and, above all, were two truly remarkable personalities. Both my father’s and my uncle’s families worked at the market, but I’m the only one who chose to stay in the food business. 

Through my family, I inherited this deep connection to food—the way I touch, smell and understand it and the profound joy I find in serving others. As I explore my spiritual side and the memories of my childhood, I acknowledge that my family is me and even though some are not here today, they are still present for and enjoying this crazy ride. 

Nobody ever walked into the market without having a slice of something delicious handed to them the moment they arrived. This is where I learned many aspects of the food business—butchering, catering, handling produce, buying, customer care—and the joy of seeing happy faces as people tasted our offerings. As the son of a butcher I developed a keen sense for selecting and handling fresh ingredients: to touch, smell and display them with care, while ensuring every customer felt accommodated. Every piece of meat was cut to order on an oversized butcher block, then wrapped and presented. When young children would come to the market with their parents, they were ushered into the back walk-in, where they’d roll up their sleeves and reach into the wooden barrel to pull out a souvenir pickle from the icy brine. 

Everybody worked late on Friday nights while we prepared for the upcoming weekend. That is when the most amazing meals were created, all laid out on the butcher block—the very same butcher block that now resides in the Winebox at Ojai Rôtie. My father always made lamb, while Uncle Mike always had something with corn. Everything was on the table—from raw lamb liver with onions to bread—sometimes neighbors Tiger and Bill might stop by with Bill’s famous fried chicken. 

It was amazing and fun and many personalities would stop by to visit and eat. Walter Mason, the porter, would scurry around with his broom, a cigar hanging from his mouth. Sarkis, our cousin who came from Lebanon, became part of our crew. He was an important diplomat and always in a proper suit but loved hanging at the market and being with the twins. Uncle Charlie and his son Joe in produce, cousin Mabel sleeping at the cash register, and all of us kids putting bottles away and helping folks. To say that this was a cast of characters was an understatement. Besides the immediate family, most of the employees were over 70 or under 13, and included cousins, uncles and aunts. But what truly defined the experience was exceptional food, a welcoming atmosphere, warm service and, of course, the twins. 

SITTO’S HANDS 

l loved the market and learned a great deal from my father’s teachings, but it was his mother, Sitto—Lebanese for grandmother—who instilled in me the passion and deep love for preparing food and entertaining guests. As a young boy, my siblings and I spent glorious time with Sitto Nabeha, roaming her grand craftsman house in Los Feliz. There were many rooms and places to hide and always lots of great food cooking. She baked bread from her tiny basement where folks would come to visit and enjoy her, all vying for a taste of her lovely bread and Lebanese dishes. 

I remember when my best friends—Bob and Bob—and I would hear the school bell, signaling we were free. We would run down the block to Sitto’s house where we’d sit on her basement steps and enjoy her warm bread, delicious food and the sound of her laugh. We were just seven or so years old, but it is a forever memory. I can still taste the bread and feel the flour dusting my hands. 

Sitto Nabeha wasn’t just the caterer for large Lebanese celebrations and events—she was also a baker and chef for the community, preparing Holy Bread for Sunday services. She was so sweet and beautiful, welcoming us with open arms and always ready to dance. 

I’ll never forget how she propped me up on a chair in her kitchen. She bent over the sink, washing my hands with warm water and Ivory soap. I can still feel her touch, so soft and deliberate, as if she was passing her passion for preparing and serving food directly to me. It’s a feeling I carry with me to this day, with all my heart. 

Sitto had interests far beyond the kitchen. She was truly larger than life, and her passions knew no bounds. Somehow, she discovered Shakespeare and began performing his plays in Arabic. I have photos of her dressed in full Shakespearean costumes—always with her signature flair. 

She loved taking my brothers and me to the ocean in her white Dodge, where she would rub salt water into our skin as if she were passing on the essence of the sea. Everything she did was infused with passion, style and love. She deeply cherished her family, entertaining, food and laughter—it was the heart of who she was. 

FOR THE LOVE OF PICNICS 

All my grandparents, on both sides, were immigrants from Lebanon. They arrived at Ellis Island around 1915, seeking a new life. My father’s family homesteaded in North Dakota, while my mother’s family settled in West Virginia. After World War II, both families moved west. My father, who fought in Europe, and my mother’s family—grieving the loss of their eldest son in the Battle of the Bulge—all eventually made their way to Los Angeles. 

The Lebanese community in Los Angeles was very close-knit, and it was at one of Sitto Nabeha’s famous parties that my mother, Leerese, met my father, Lester. Of course, Nabeha brought them together—it’s only fitting.

Though my parents had never been to Lebanon, my brother Allan and I had the incredible opportunity to visit Zahle, the small town where my father’s first cousins live. To our amazement, we discovered that my mother’s first cousin lived just down the road in the hills. What a small and beautiful world.

Both sides of my family adored picnics, and Friday afternoons were often spent together at Ferndale in Griffith Park or Olive Hill in Barnsdall Park. Everyone brought food, and we’d celebrate anything and everything. With 18 first cousins, we always had a crowd ready to party.

The women and kids usually arrived first, setting everything up, and then, after work, the men would join in. These family gatherings were more than just fun—they were a vital part of learning our culture, traditions and the joy of our incredible food, close-knit family and abundant love.

Six years ago my wife, Kelli, and I moved to beautiful Ojai to open my Lebanese/French picnic concept, Ojai Rôtie. On arrival we fell in love with the amazing farmers’ market and produce just rolling down the hills. We found sweet, lovely friends and a platform to bring my family’s precious dishes and culture to curious/hungry diners. 

Though it took years and experiences, in this restaurant, the others I’ve owned and in so many of my culinary adventures over the years, I can now see the touch of my grandmother’s hands.