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SPRINGFIELD, Ill. — It figures that a billionaire would win big in Las Vegas.

Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker reported a gambling windfall of $1.4 million on his federal tax return this week.

The two-term Democrat, often mentioned as a 2028 presidential candidate, told reporters in Chicago on Thursday that he drew charmed hands in blackjack during a vacation with first lady MK Pritzker and friends in Sin City.

“I was incredibly lucky,” he said. “You have to be to end up ahead, frankly, going to a casino anywhere.”

Pritzker, an heir to the Hyatt hotel chain, has a net worth of $3.9 billion, tied for No. 382 on the Forbes 400 list of the nation’s richest people. A campaign spokesperson said via email that Pritzker planned to donate the money to charity but did not respond when asked why he hadn’t already done so.

Pritzker, who intends to seek a third term in 2026, was under consideration as a vice presidential running mate to Kamala Harris last year. He has deflected questions about any ambition beyond the Illinois governor’s mansion. But he has used his personal wealth to fund other Democrats and related efforts, including a campaign to protect access to abortion.

His profile has gotten an additional bump this fall as he condemns President Donald Trump’s immigration enforcement in Chicago and the president’s attempt to deploy National Guard troops there.

The Pritzkers reported income of $10.66 million in 2024, mostly from dividends and capital gains. They paid $1.6 million in taxes on taxable income of $5.87 million.

Pritzker is an avid card player whose charitable Chicago Poker Challenge has raised millions of dollars for the Holocaust Museum and Education Center. The Vegas windfall was a “net number” given wins and losses on one trip, he said. He declined to say what his winning hand was.

“Anybody who’s played cards in a casino, you often play for too long and lose whatever it is you won,” Pritzker said. “I was fortunate enough to have to leave before that happened.”

O’Connor writes for the Associated Press. AP writer Sophia Tareen contributed to this report from Chicago.

Camarillo — Ever since federal immigration agents raided one of the largest licensed cannabis operators in the state this month, the phones of cannabis industry insiders have been blazing with messages of fear, sadness and confusion.

“It sent shock waves through the community,” said Hirsh Jain, the founder of Ananda Strategy, which advises cannabis businesses. “Everyone is on text threads.”

Glass House Brands, whose cannabis operations have helped make Santa Barbara and Ventura counties the new cannabis capitals of California, has long been among the most prominent companies in the state’s wild frontier of legal cannabis. Some call it the “Walmart of Weed” for its streamlined, low-cost production methods, its gargantuan market share and its phalanx of wealthy investors and powerful lobbyists.

But federal immigration agents stormed onto company property in Camarillo and Carpinteria on July 10 in a cloud of tear gas, as if they were busting a criminal enterprise. Agents in masks and riot gear marched for hours through the company’s vast greenhouses as workers fled and hid in panic. One worker, Jaime Alanís Garcia, died after he fell three stories while trying to evade capture.

For Glass House, the aftermath has been devastating. Its stock, which is traded on the Canadian stock exchange, dropped from more than $7.75 a share the day before the raid to $5.27 on Thursday. Some workers disappeared into Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention or bolted, too fearful to return. Others were so traumatized that Glass House brought in grief counselors, according to a source close to the company.

Glass House Brands has long been a prominent company in California’s wild frontier of legal cannabis.

(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

Across the wider world of legal California cannabis — where many growers and entrepreneurs have hoped the Trump administration would legalize the drug — people were also shaken. Did the action against Glass House signal an end to federal law enforcement’s ceasefire against legal cannabis in California and dozens of other states?

And what did it mean for Glass House itself, among the largest cannabis companies in the world? How could this slick corporate entity, founded by an ex-cop and special education teacher and a former tech entrepreneur, be in a position in which federal agents claimed to have apprehended more than a dozen undocumented minors on site?

“This could not come at a worse time,” said Jain, the cannabis consultant, adding that the images and rhetoric that have whipped across social media in the wake of the raid “impedes our ability to legitimize this industry in the eyes of California and the American public.”

He added that “a failure to legitimize a legal cannabis industry enables the proliferation of an illicit industry that is not accountable and engages in far more nefarious practices.”

Working conditions in the cannabis industry are notoriously grim, as documented in a 2022 Times investigation that revealed workers who had their wages stolen, were forced to live in squalid and dangerous conditions and sometimes even died on the job.

Glass House had no such reports of injuries or deaths before the raid and has long touted its working conditions. A source close to the company said it pays workers more than minimum wage, and internet job postings reflect that.

Still, as with almost all farmwork in California, some of those who labored there were undocumented. The company employs some people directly and relies on farm labor contractors to supply the rest of its workforce. A source close to the company said labor contractors certify that the workers satisfy all laws and regulations, including being 21 or older as required to work in cannabis in California.

In the days after the raid, federal officials announced they had detained 361 people, including 14 minors, who by California law cannot work in cannabis. It wasn’t clear how many of those detained were undocumented or how many were even working at the operation or were just nearby. At least two American citizens were caught up in the dragnet — a security guard headed to work at Glass House and a philosophy professor at Cal State Channel Islands who was protesting the raid.

Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem said this month that Glass House had been targeted because “we knew, specifically from casework we had built for weeks and weeks and weeks, that there was children there that could be trafficked, being exploited, that there was individuals there involved in criminal activity.”

Glass House officials declined to comment for this article, but in an earlier statement on X, the company said that it had never employed minors and that it followed all applicable employment laws. A source close to the company said the search warrant federal officials presented to Glass House the day of the raid alleged it was suspected of harboring and unlawfully employing undocumented immigrants — but did not mention child labor.

In the last few years, the company — along with labor contractors — was named in lawsuits by workers alleging they had been sexually harassed, suffered discrimination, and been shorted overtime pay and required meal and rest breaks.

One worker at Glass House — who asked not to be identified because he is undocumented and hid from immigration agents during the raid before escaping — said he was employed to work in Glass House’s cannabis operation through one of its labor contractors and valued the job because it is year round, not seasonal like many agricultural jobs.

But he complained that the contractor had repeatedly paid him late, forcing him to borrow money to make his rent. He also said supervisors put intense pressure on employees to work faster, screaming expletives at workers, refusing to allow breaks, or yelling at them to eat quickly and return to work before their rest periods were done.

A source close to the company said the complaints involved people employed by labor contractors, regarding actions by those contractors and not Glass House directly.

Many of the suits are pending, with Glass House named as a co-defendant. Company officials declined to comment publicly.

A source close to the company said Glass House takes seriously its responsibilities under California labor law and is committed to ensuring that all labor practices within its operations meet the highest standards.

The source added that the raid has shaken a company that has always tried to operate by the book and that, despite its exponential growth in recent years, has sought to maintain a close-knit feel.

“It’s very sad,” the source said.

In the wake of the raids at Glass House, the United Farm Workers union issued a bulletin in English and Spanish warning anyone who is not a U.S. citizen to “avoid working in the cannabis industry, even at state-licensed operations.” The union noted that “because cannabis remains criminalized under federal law, any contact with federal agencies could have serious consequences even for people with legal status.”

TODEC Legal Center, a Coachella Valley-based group that supports immigrants and farmworkers, issued a similar message. TODEC warned noncitizens to avoid working in the marijuana industry and avoid discussing any marijuana use or possession — even if it is legal in California — with federal agents, because it could hurt their status.

Federal agents conduct a raid of Glass House Brands on Laguna Road in Camarillo.

(Julie Leopo / For The Times)

About half the farmworkers in California are undocumented, according to UC Merced researchers. Cannabis industry experts said it is too soon to know whether the raid on Glass House will affect the larger cannabis workforce — or whether more licensed cannabis operations will be raided.

“My best guest would be that this is going to be happening to a lot more cultivation farms,” said Meilad Rafiei, chief executive of the cannabis consulting group We Cann.

Among the undocumented workers at Glass House on the day of the raids was Alanís, 56, who had been a farmworker in California for three decades. Over the last 10 years, Alanís worked in the Ventura area, first in a flower nursery and then, once Glass House converted the massive greenhouse complex there, in cannabis.

On Monday night, his family held an emotional wake for him in Oxnard, where he lived. The Camino del Sol Funeral Home was filled, as many family members held one another tightly and cried. They remembered him as a hardworking, joyful man, who danced at parties and enjoyed every meal he shared with family.

State Sen. Monique Limón (D-Goleta), who led the Senate in adjourning in Alanís’ memory last week, told the chamber how he had climbed onto the roof of a greenhouse to escape federal officers. From 30 feet up, she said, he called his family to tell them what was happening, and to report “how scared he was.”

“Jaime’s life was dedicated to our lands, our crops, and to providing for his family,” Limón said, adding that he “had had no criminal record, he was who our country and our state depended on to provide food on all of our tables.”

She added that “his last moments on Earth were filled with terror.”

After a raucous night out in my 20s, the real afterparty was always at BCD Tofu House — hunched over bubbling Korean tofu stew and a sizzling-hot stone bowl of steamed rice. After I’d scooped most of it out, a server would pour warm tea into the bowl, loosening the rice clinging stubbornly to the bottom. Scraping up those crispy-chewy bits of scorched rice, known in Korean as nurungji, quickly became my favorite part of the meal.

Long before electric rice cookers, Koreans traditionally cooked rice over an open flame in an iron cauldron called a gamasot. As it steamed, the bottom layer would crisp up against the hot metal, forming golden-brown nurungji.

“Today, nurungji simply means the crispy layer of rice that forms at the bottom of any pot or cooking appliance,” says Sarah Ahn, who co-wrote the Korean cookbook “Umma” with her mother, Nam Soon Ahn. “Personally, and within Korean culture, I see nurungji as a deeply nostalgic food, especially for Koreans of my mom’s generation.”

Chef and cookbook author Debbie Lee adds, “Sometimes it’s intentional, sometimes it’s from overcooking — what I call a great culinary accident.”

Korea isn’t alone in its love for scorched rice. Persian tahdig is the crust that forms at the bottom of the pot, flipped and served with the crispy layer on top. Chinese guoba is crispy rice paired with saucy stir-fries to soak up every bit of flavor. In West Africa, kanzo refers to the caramelized layer left behind after cooking, often found in dishes like jollof rice. Spain’s socarrat forms the base of well-executed paella.

And in Korea, nurungji is endlessly versatile — enjoyed on its own, steeped in hot water or tea as sungnyung (thought to be a soothing palate cleanser and digestive aid), or transformed into nurungji-tang, where the rice becomes the crunchy base for a light broth with seafood or vegetables.

With its nutty, toasted flavor that highlights the grain’s natural aroma, nurungji is comfort food born out of practicality. “Like so much of Korean food, it represents our resourcefulness — nothing goes to waste! — and our ability to find flavor in humble things,” says Sarah. Rather than discarding it, Koreans embraced the crunchy layer as a snack or meal.

“My parents are from Pyongyang and fled during the war,” says Lee. “My mother told me that they’d find an abandoned house to rest in, and nine times out of 10, there was rice. They lived off porridge, steamed rice, and ultimately nurungji as a snack.”

SeongHee Jeong, chef and co-owner of Koreatown’s Borit Gogae, remembers eating it sprinkled with sugar — a delicious treat when sweets were scarce. While there’s no single way to make it today, Sarah and her mom swear by the traditional method. “Nothing compares to the flavor of rice cooked in a gamasot over a wood fire,” Sarah says. “That taste is so iconic, you’ll even find packaged snacks trying to replicate it.”

In L.A., some restaurants keep it old-school by serving nurungji simply steeped in tea or hot water, while others are getting creative with it. Think: nurungji risotto at Jilli, an iced nurungji crema at Bodega Park or a fried chicken and nurungi dish at Fanny’s. At her Joseon pop-up last year, Lee even spun it into a nurungji crème brûlée.

“It’s truly amazing how humble ingredients born from hardship always find their way back,” says Sarah.

Here are 13 of the best restaurants in L.A. serving nurungji in both traditional and unexpected ways.

French Cambodian director Rithy Panh has often cited the genocidal regime of the Khmer Rouge, which killed his family and from which he escaped, as the reason he’s a filmmaker. His movies aren’t always directly about that wretched time. But when they are — as is his most memorable achievement, the Oscar-nominated 2013 documentary “The Missing Picture,” which re-imagined personal memories using clay-figurine dioramas — one senses a grand mosaic being assembled piece by piece linking devastation, aftermath and remembrance, never to be finished, only further detailed.

His latest is the coolly observed and tense historical drama “Meeting With Pol Pot,” which premiered last year at Cannes. It isn’t autobiographical, save its fictionalization of a true story that happened concurrent to his childhood trauma: the Khmer Rouge inviting a trio of Western journalists to witness their proclaimed agrarian utopia and interview the mysterious leader referred to by his people as “Brother No. 1.” Yet even this political junket, which took place in 1978, couldn’t hide a cruel, violent truth from its guests, the unfolding of which Panh is as adept at depicting from the viewpoint of an increasingly horrified visitor as from that of a long-scarred victim.

The movie stars Irène Jacob, whose intrepid French reporter Lise — a perfect role for her captivating intelligence — is modeled after the American journalist Elizabeth Becker who was on that trip, and whose later book about Cambodia and her experience, “When the War Was Over,” inspired the screenplay credited to Panh and Pierre Erwan Guillaume. Lise is joined by an ideologically motivated Maoist professor named Alain (Grégoire Colin), quick to enthusiastically namedrop some of their hosts as former school chums in France when they were wannabe revolutionaries. (The character of Alain is based on British academic Malcolm Caldwell, an invitee alongside Becker.) Also there is eagle-eyed photojournalist Paul (Cyril Gueï), who shares Lise’s healthy skepticism and a desire to learn what’s really happening, especially regarding rumors of disappeared intellectuals.

With sound, pacing and images, Panh readily establishes a mood of charged, contingent hospitality, a veneer that seems ready to crack: from the unsettlingly calm opening visual of this tiny French delegation waiting alone on an empty sun-hot tarmac to the strange, authoritarian formality in everything that’s said and shown to them via their guide Sung (Bunhok Lim). Life is being scripted for their microphones and cameras and flanked by armed, blank-faced teenagers. The movie’s square-framed cinematography, too, reminiscent of a staged newsreel, is another subtle touch — one imagines Panh rejecting widescreen as only feeding this evil regime’s view of its own righteous grandiosity.

Only Alain seems eager to ignore the disinformation and embrace this Potemkin village as the real deal (except when his eyes show a gathering concern). But the more Lise questions the pretense of a happily remade society, the nervier everything gets. And when Paul manages to elude his overseers and explore the surrounding area — spurring a frantic search, the menacing tenor of which raises Lise’s hackles — the movie effectively becomes a prison drama, with the trio’s eventual interviewee depicted as a shadowy warden who can decide their fate.

Journalism has never been more under threat than right now and “Meeting with Pol Pot” is a potent reminder of the profession’s value — and inherent dangers — when it confronts and exposes facades. But this eerily elegiac film also reflects its director’s soulful sensibility regarding the mass tragedy that drives his aesthetic temperament, never more so than when he re-deploys his beloved hand-crafted clay figurines for key moments of witnessed atrocity, or threads in archival footage, as if to maintain necessary intimacy between rendering and reality.

Power shields its misdeeds with propaganda, but Panh sees such murderous lies clearly, giving them an honest staging, thick with echoes.

Chances are, you’ve seen (or heard) Judy Greer in one of her many roles over her prolific, multidecade career. She’s played Maggie Lang in “Ant-Man,” voiced Cheryl Tunt in the long-running animated adult sitcom “Archer,” and appeared as Jennifer Garner’s bestie in the 2004 rom-com classic “13 Going on 30” (the two are friends IRL too). She’s also joining the cast for the second season of Garner’s Apple TV series “The Last Thing He Told Me.”

In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.

Streaming now is Apple TV+’s heartfelt new golf comedy, “Stick,” in which Greer plays Amber-Linn — not a best friend, but the ex-wife of former professional golfer Pryce Cahill, played by Owen Wilson. You don’t have to be a fan of the sport to watch. “Honestly, I’m not a golfer and I love it,” she says.

As for her perfect Sunday, she’ll stick close to Larchmont, where she’s lived for 20 years. “I travel a lot for work, so I don’t always like to go far and wide on my weekends,” she says. “My dream Sunday is to not actually exit the threshold, but today I’m going to.” And she’ll get a lot done, from reading a’plenty to hitting up the farmers market and Dodger Stadium, taking in a movie and getting quality time with her husband, Dean Johnsen, her stepkids and her terrier mix, Mary Richards.

6:30 a.m.: A pot of coffee and reading in bed

I get up at 6, 6:30, and not on purpose. My husband likes to sleep, so if the sun’s out, I can read in bed. If not, sometimes I’ll come downstairs and read and have coffee, and then when he wakes up, I’ll go back up and we’ll have coffee in bed together. I love to start my day with a pot of coffee in bed.

The coffee maker, it’s like a basic bitch, a Cuisinart coffee maker. We get this brand called Punk Bunny. That’s our favorite kind of coffee. We did recently try the dark roast, but we both have decided it’s too much for us. We’re going back down to the medium dark roast. And I just put soy milk in it.

Whenever I’m traveling for work and staying in these Airbnbs and apartments and stuff, there’ll be a cappuccino maker, and we’ll always be like, should we get one of those? and then we never end up doing it. If I go out to a cafe, like Lamill or Go Get ‘Em Tiger on Larchmont, I’ll get a cappuccino, but I don’t need to be making cappuccinos in my house.

9 a.m.: Two loops around the Silver Lake Reservoir

Then I would drive to the Silver Lake Reservoir, and I would walk around it twice, which is probably just under five miles. I would take my sweet dog — she’s a really good walker, even though she’s tiny. After my walk, I would make a parfait for myself at home. I also like to go and get the protein pancakes at Cafe Gratitude. That would be a really big treat. I don’t love getting breakfast on Larchmont on Sundays because it’s so crowded.

11 a.m.: Hit up the Larchmont Village Farmers Market

My husband and I, we’re not cooks or chefs or anything. We have a couple go-tos at the farmers market: There’s the soup guy who has the frozen soup, and I like to get flowers and usually berries. We don’t really eat meat, but once in a while we’ll treat ourselves to salmon. My husband will make salmon on the grill, so he’ll get fish from the fishmonger and sometimes those Parmesan crisps he really likes (and then I eat them, even though he is like, they’re for me). If we’re thinking of making a big salad or something, we’ll get salad stuff. But again, we’re not those people, even though we really want to be those people.

Noon: Stop at Chevalier’s Books

Then I would walk down to Chevalier’s, our little local bookstore, and say hi to everyone who works there and wander around a bit. I have so many books and it’s a problem, but then there’s usually something there that just came out that I’m really excited about, and so I’ll get it. I’ve lately been buying hardcovers because it’s kind of fun to have a first edition of something that could potentially win the Nobel Prize or Pulitzer.

My husband was like, “The thing about you is you buy a lot of books, but you do read them.” So I’m not just randomly buying books. I’m reading a book by Barbara Kingsolver right now called “Unsheltered.” That one I think I probably swiped out of a little library on a dog walk because it’s definitely not brand new. I just finished “Martyr!” [by Kaveh Akbar] and I was so blown away that I almost didn’t even want to read another book for a while.

1 p.m.: A quick dip in the pool, some shopping and Dodger Stadium

Now, we’re coming home, and we’re going to rinse off in the pool, which is gross, but I don’t care. And then we’re decking ourselves out in our Dodger gear and we’re going to go to Dodger Stadium and we’re going to watch the Dodgers win at Dodger Stadium. We would meet my stepkids there and the four of us would watch the Dodger game and they would have some beers and probably some nachos. I’d sit with my peanuts and Diet Coke, and we would watch the Dodgers. I love Sundays at the ballpark because it’s fun, it’s chill, it’s tons of families.

Dodger Stadium has really become one of my favorite places in Los Angeles. It’s just a really beautiful place. Sometimes I’ll walk around the whole loop of the stadium, just get my steps in, wander around and see everybody, and see all the food.

4 p.m.: An afternoon movie and the best popcorn

Mann Chinese [TCL Chinese Theatres] is where my husband and I mostly go to the movies because it’s weirdly closer to our house, but kind of a pain in the ass because it’s really touristy. But now we know where to park and how to get in and out really quickly. So we’ve got it down.

I’m probably going to get myself into a lot of trouble now, but we pop our own popcorn. This is husband territory; he makes it on the stovetop with kernels and coconut oil. We’re an Orville Redenbacher family. I’m not ashamed to say we have tried all the fancy popcorn kernels, but honestly, I feel like Orville gives you the best pop, so that’s what we buy.

Oh, I’ll show you something dorky. Hold on. [Greer disappears and returns with a large Ziploc bag.] I usually sneak it in my tote bag. I love having popcorn in the movies, but the movie popcorn is usually not super good for us. Sometimes I will also sneak in some dried mangoes, and usually I’ll still buy a Diet Coke. I feel guilty not buying anything.

I love that big theater. It’s just so beautiful. There are such great movie theaters in L.A., such old theaters, and that one is so historical. I’ve been to a bunch of movie premieres there too. But probably I prefer it when I’m just like a citizen watching a movie.

7 p.m.: Pasta for dinner

I would finish my day by going to dinner at Osteria Mamma and getting — I don’t want to get in trouble for this, because they took it off the menu — their pasta pomodoro. Sometimes I’m just like, “Can you just make me the pasta pomodoro?” It’s just so good. My husband gets the cacio pepe, which they make tableside in this huge cheese wheel, which is bananas, and I like their tricolore salad. We usually split that. Yeah, we’d have a nice little cozy dinner and not have to cook on a Sunday night. We didn’t really buy much at the farmers market anyway, let’s be honest.

8 p.m.: Watch a little TV or read in bed

Sometimes we’re watching a show and we’ll watch an episode, or we’ll just go to bed and read in bed. I like to ascend around 9. This week, I’ve been really tired, so I’ve been going up at 8:30. I’m like, the sun is still out. But by the time I’m done with all my ablutions and the flossing and all the things, it’s definitely almost dark. I get cuddly with my dog and read for a little while, and then, yeah, lights out by 10, but that’s even sometimes a little bit late. On a Sunday, I want to get a really good night’s sleep before Monday morning.