If anyone can understand a kid's qualms about food, it would be me. Terrified of mushrooms and partial to creating a hot dog/Kraft macaroni and cheese mutant, I was a very picky eater. My little brother Louis, out-of-this-world trumpet player and sarcasm whiz, is obviously following in my footsteps. To save him from an all-day Jazz and Blues festival our dad goes to every year, we spent a Sunday lounging in his Playa del Rey apartment utilizing his flat screen, blu-ray player (him) and spacious kitchen (me).
Since Louis and I are twelve years apart (11, 23), I often find myself lamenting his lack of movie education. After suffering through The Diary of a Wimpy Kid II at his request and his required trumpet practice, I informed the snarky pre-teen that we were going to watch a classic from my childhood: The Fifth Element. As Louis marveled in the special effects ("How can this movie be fifteen years old?!") and sat entranced by the comic stylings of a young and trim Bruce Willis, I set to work on his dinner.
