Good eats

Any day spent at the Ferry Building Marketplace in San Francisco is a good day. There is Peet's and Blue Bottle Coffee, tasty salted pig parts at Boccalone Salumeria, Boulette's Larder and The Slanted Door. And there are macarons, of course, from Miette. Any day spent eating burgers at Taylor's Automatic Refresher is a good day.

Dagnamit

Baking soda.

The gingerbread recipe from Lauren Chattman's "Cake Keeper Cakes" calls for baking soda... not baking powder. Dagnamit! Why is it so hard to distinguish between the two? And, will anyone eating the dessert on Christmas notice the difference?

Chocolate Gingerbread

3/4 cup hot tap water
1/2 cup dark molasses
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/4 cup unsweetened Dutch process cocoa powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
1 1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. instant espresso powder
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground cloves
1/4 tsp. ground black pepper
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 large egg yolk
1/2 cup mini semi-sweet chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease an 8-inch square baking pan and dust it with flour, knocking out any extra.

Stir together the hot water and molasses. Set aside to cool.

Sift the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, salt, ginger, espresso powder, cinnamon, cloves and pepper in a medium bowl.

Combine the butter and sugar in a large bowl and cream with an electric mixer on medium-high speed until fluffy, about 3 minutes, scraping down the sides once or twice as necessary.

Add the egg yolk and beat until smooth, scraping down the sides once or twice as necessary. Beat in half the molasses mixture on low and then half the flour mixture. Scrape down the bowl and repeat with the remaining molasses mixture and the remaining flour mixture. Stir in the chocolate chips.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top with a rubber spatula. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, about 30 minutes. Let the gingerbread cool in the pan for about 15 minutes, invert it onto a wire rack, and then turn it right side up to cool completely. Makes 9 servings.

When toes get cold

When it is cold as all get out - when two layers of socks, for example, still cannot keep the toes comfortable - there is nothing to do but make soup. To put a large pot on the stove, chop vegetables and season homemade broth. To heat the kitchen nicely.

In the refrigerator, there is turkey stock made from Thanksgiving leftovers. There are potatoes to peel and a package of greens from Trader Joe's purchased Sunday after the basketball game.

Hoping to riff on a potato and kale soup recipe from Culinate, I set to work. I dice and brown sausages and onions. I add broth and turn up the fire. I search the cupboards for bay leaves and happily grind salt and pepper. I let things simmer.

It is the best idea I have had all week.

"Trauma" farming

Like David Mas Masumoto's "Wisdom of the Last Farmer," Brian Brett's "Trauma Farm: A Rebel History of Rural Life" both bemoans and celebrates farm life.

(The book gets its title from the nickname the Bretts give to their family homestead, Willowpond Farm on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia.)

It speaks to the challenges faced by independent farmers as well as the fleeting joys: "Rural living is an eccentric pursuit, in the same way that beauty is an eccentric pursuit."

Unlike Masumoto, however, who grows primarily grapes and peaches in California, Brett talks not only of fruits and vegetables. He also tends to a small selection of cows, chickens and pigs, and condemns, for example, the way in which most cattle these days wind up in feedlots before being "shipped to slaughterhouses that resemble medieval torture chambers, where they are sliced open and cleaned." The strong criticism is not surprising.

Fortunately, however, the author tempers his discussion with lighthearted passages on topics such as farm-fresh eggs: "A real egg is a lovely creation. I can tell what a chicken has been eating and how it's been raised when I break an egg on the frying pan."

He peppers it with humor, too: "How do you make a small fortune at farming? Start with a large fortune." In doing so, Brett makes the book a stretch more provocative than others and an altogether compelling read.

(A version of this review appears in Publishers Weekly.)

The big feed

In the end, two days (on and off) of cooking. Twenty minutes of eating, not counting dessert. Three hours of cleaning.

At the White House, incidentally, Pres. Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama host dinner for friends, family and staff members. The menu includes roast turkey, honey-baked ham and (this is the best part) six kinds of pie:

Turkey
Honey-Baked Ham

Cornbread Stuffing
Oyster Stuffing

Greens
Macaroni and Cheese
Sweet Potatoes
Mashed Potatoes
Green Bean Casserole

Banana Cream Pie
Pumpkin Pie
Apple Pie
Sweet Potato Pie
Huckleberry Pie
Cherry Pie

Worth savoring

In "The Soul of a New Cuisine: A Discovery of the Foods and Flavors of Africa," New York City chef Marcus Samuelsson delivers a tempting version of Yellow Rice.

Dutch traders brought the dish, he says, to South Africa from Indonesia: "In its most traditional form, it is white rice cooked with raisins and turmeric, which gives it a bright golden hue." He jazzes things up with corn, mango and yellow bell peppers.

Born in Ethiopia and raised in Sweden by adoptive parents, Samuelsson traveled across Africa over the years to learn more of his personal history and cultural heritage. As he went from one end of the continent to the other, sampling foods and absorbing techniques, he realized the importance of simple preparations.

"Most of the cooking," he writes, "is what we think of as 'poor man's food': simple stews, grilled meats and fish, steamed vegetables, filling side dishes, and a range of breads. Yet these simple foods are anything but dull."

From Libya and Morocco in the north to Cape Town in the south, from Mali and Senegal in the west to his native Ethiopia, Samuelsson watched and worked.

In time, he devised recipes for Mango Couscous, influenced by the flavors of North Africa, and Chicken-Peanut Stew, eaten throughout West Africa. He developed recipes for Plantain-Coconut Stew, a nice vegetarian option, and Bobotie, a one-dish casserole popular in South Africa.

He provides us the impetus to step out of our comfort zone, to experiment with different flavors in the kitchen. Our taste buds won't know what hit them.

(A version of this article appeared originally on www.culinate.com.)

Flipping out

Should my sister meet Bonny Wolf, I think they would get along. She is a Bundt-pan fanatic, using hers nearly every other week to create simple round cakes for friends and colleagues. Have boxed mix, will travel. Or so she says.

In "The Little Cake Pan That Could," the first essay in "Talking With My Mouth Full," Wolf takes a delicious look at Bundt cakes, "perfectly shaped, evenly browned, and consistently moist."

The Washington, D.C.-based journalist pays proper tribute to H. David Dalquist, who with his wife, Dorothy, founded Nordic Ware in 1946 in the basement of their Minneapolis home. Roughly four years later, they developed their signature mould.

After a Texas woman placed second in the 17th annual Pillsbury Bake-Off in 1966, for a Tunnel of Fudge cake prepared in a Bundt pan, the Dalquists' creation took center stage. Its popularity soared. Production orders rolled in quickly. It is now considered a bakeware icon.

"For a while, everyone made Bundt cakes," Wolf writes, "blueberry cream cheese, walnut rum, even one with 7-Up. The Harvey Wallbanger Bundt cake... used yellow cake mix, vanilla pudding mix, eggs, oil, orange juice, vodka, and Galliano liqueur, just like its namesake cocktail. The Margarita cake involved margarita mix, orange liqueur, and tequila." The possibilities seem endless. Doesn't my sister know it?

The author describes in straightforward prose foods she has always eaten: the old-fashioned dishes of her childhood in Minnesota, the crab cakes of her college days in Baltimore.

Avoiding fancy or fussy presentations, Wolf concentrates instead on homey comfort fare. She examines family classics and regional specialties, easy-to-make entrees as well as tried-and-true sweets. They are items we have had before or would hope to taste in the future.

She punctuates these 30-plus discussions with cooking instructions for meats and vegetables, fancy drinks and frozen desserts, all recipes she has collected religiously over the years from a variety of sources.

Should my brother meet Wolf, they would get along, too. Wolf looks beyond the kitchen as well, to kitschy county fairs and thriving food halls across the United States. In the piece "A Day at the Fair," for example, she describes greasy grub at the annual Minnesota State Fair, which features "forty-nine foods on a stick... (representing) the good, the bad, and the truly gross."

It is a scene I think my brother would appreciate. With his friends in Southern California, he has gone to the Los Angeles County Fair nine years running. He has downed deep-fried Oreos, Snickers, and Twinkies; fried green tomatoes, zucchini, and mushrooms; curly fries, garlic fries, and chili-cheese fries. Presumably on different afternoons.

In "Market Pleasures," one of my favorites, Wolf takes us to the Eastern Market in Washington, D.C.'s Capitol Hill neighborhood, an institution she cherishes.

"It is where (we) shop every day, like European housewives, for fresh fish, meats, poultry and bread," she explains. "This is where we go for cold cuts and cheese, fresh pasta and sauces. If we wanted to, we could even buy pigs' feet. On Monday, the one day the market is closed, we suffer."

The Eastern Market is similar in many ways to the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia, the Pike Place Market in Seattle, the West Side Market in Cleveland, the original Farmers' Market in Los Angeles, and the Ferry Building Marketplace in San Francisco.

"It's at a city's market that you come to understand the city," Wolf writes. "When you see how real people shop for food you begin to understand who they are and how they live. It's the 'life' part of city life and the 'heart' part of heart of town. If you're very lucky, you live nearby." I want to be that lucky.

Other essays - on ice-cream shops, perfectly roasted poultry, and what the author calls "the holy trinity of Texas meat cooking" (chicken-fried steak, chili and barbecue) - prove equally rewarding. Accessible topics such as these help give "Talking With My Mouth Full" a strong sense of familiarity and a certain cohesiveness.

By looking at things we all have encountered, Wolf reminds us of the bonds we inevitably share, the common threads that run through our lives at the table. She celebrates the items that nourish us time and again, offering insight on a host of uniquely and traditionally American foods.

(A version of this article appeared originally on www.culinate.com.)

Feeding groupies

Jamie's Italian at Canary Wharf. It is the meal I look forward to. If Jamie Oliver is a rock star, then we are bona fide groupies. Admittedly so. It is the meal on which we conclude this particular trip. We enjoy spit-roasted lamb and pasta Bolognese. We are happy and well-fed.

Happy Harrods

Nor can we resist the food hall (and chocolate Santas) at Harrods.

Literary London

All it takes is a walk through Hatchards on Piccadilly or Books for Cooks in Notting Hill to make me wish I've brought extra empty luggage. Next time, definitely.

I think, for example, to buy "Pies and Prejudice: In Search of the North" by Stuart Maconie, or "Breakfast at The Wolseley" by A.A. Gill, or "Great British Grub" by Brian Turner or "Full English: A Journey Through the British and Their Food" by Tom Parker-Bowles, son of Camilla...

But I practice restraint and limit myself to one title - Nigel Slater's "Eating for England: The Delights and Eccentricities of the British at Table," in paperback.

Upstairs we eat

Downstairs in The Horniman at Hays, a stone's throw from the HMS Belfast and London Bridge, people laugh and drink after work and into the evening.

Upstairs, away from the bustle, we eat. We have pie and mash and veggies. We have fish and chips and mushy peas. Others come for the beer. We, apparently, come for the food.

Fortnum for sure

Nor can we resist the pretty sweets at Fortnum & Mason on Piccadilly.

BBQ buns

We can take the girl out of Chinatown, but we can not take Chinatown out of the girl.

The White House eats

During a June visit to London, the Obama girls, their mother, grandmother and the rest of the entourage reportedly ate at The Audley in Mayfair. The children, we understand, had fish and chips. When we explore the quiet tony neighborhood, we find the British pub for ourselves.

Humming along

Opened, as it turns out, by a friend of a friend, The Hummingbird Bakery sells American-style desserts aplenty. There are cupcakes, for instance. There are layer cakes, pies, cookies and brownies.

And, not surprisingly, there is a book: "The Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook" from owner Tarek Malouf.

We opt for a red velvet cupcake with traditional cream cheese frosting. My sister takes a bite. I happily finish the rest.

Leave the rice, keep the soy

The store-bought sushi is convenient but mediocre. The rice is cold and hard, the fish nearly nonexistent. The soy sauce, however, is packaged in such a unique way we can not resist a photo.

Brick Lane beigels

Brick Lane in the East End is filled with curry houses, none of which, I am told, is any good. 'Tis a shame really.

What we do like on the street, however, are cheap and chewy beigels from Brick Lane Beigel Bake, a testament to the historically Jewish influences in the dynamic neighborhood.

On Broadway

The stalls run the length of Broadway Market, from Regents Canal on one end to London Fields on the other. We shop on a refreshingly chilly Saturday morning, happy to meet new people and taste new foods. I find I do not mind the light rain. Not at all.

Major marketing

"A magnet for locals, visitors and foodies attracted to its more than 100 merchants and fast-food stands," Borough Market is mecca for gastropods, those of us who travel on our stomachs.

It can also be a madhouse on weekends, when it is open for business to the general public. We wander from stall to stall to stall, eyeing everything from sausages and cheese to pies and pumpkins. We get full on looks alone.

Totally Selfridges

We can hardly resist the food hall at Selfridges on Oxford Street.

Flying on faith

The line for dinner is interminably long. But I fly on faith. I trust a recommendation from a virtual stranger: Tayyabs in Whitechapel. I learn to let go.

Inside the restaurant, I examine the sweets on display. I practice restraint and resilience; I dodge servers coming and going. I think also about the granola bar in my purse but do not give in yet to hunger.

An hour later, seated finally, with food, glorious food on the table, with lamb, chicken, okra and naan before us, I understand the wait.

London town

Maybe it is the relief of sitting at a table after a day of planes, trains and automobiles. Or the peace of mind that comes with having gotten away. Of being in a city that means a great deal, a place that figures significantly in a personal history.

Maybe it is the warm comfort of seeing a good friend I have not seen in close to a year. Of having fun together again. This I know. Whatever the reason, the meal at Solche Cilician in Hackney is lovely.

How the British eat

"Alison Parente realized a few years ago, when she was unable to find the baker she needed for one of her artisan food businesses, that Britain needed to do something about the loss of traditional culinary skills..."

Thus begins a quite interesting article in The New York Times about artisanal foods in the United Kingdom and the people who champion them.

In the air

I have not flown British Airways in a long time but am definitely liking the experience.

Dinner begins with ginger-flavored poached salmon and edamame salad with a creamy sweet chili dressing. The entree: pan-seared cod with tomato basil olive oil, lemon pepper risotto and broccolini, served with a fresh seasonal salad. And for dessert, there is wildflower honey cheesecake.

I am over the moon.

An apple a day

In an effort to stay healthy through the fall and winter, I eat an apple a day every day. I peel and slice an apple in the late afternoon for a wholesome tide-me-over, or in the evening for a guilt-free finish to dinner. The nutrients should do me good.

The challenge: To transition from the summer produce I'd gotten used to, to go beyond the Red Delicious and Golden Delicious eaten in the past without a second thought and seek varieties I had not tasted, to satisfy a curiosity about other apples currently available.

At the neighborhood market, I collect enough fruit to last a week. They go into the refrigerator. The Jonagold, its skin yellow and green with tinges of red, crosses a Jonathan and a Golden Delicious. It is sweet and crunchy, an auspicious start to my apple adventure.

But the Fuji I try next is a tad tart. The Gala is also slightly tart. Are they supposed to be? I wonder. Is that typical?

The Braeburn, on the other hand, resembling a Golden Delicious, reminds me again how terrific apples can be - like candy, only better. The Rome Beauty is smooth and round, too; its skin is a rich, gorgeous red, its flesh yellow with bits of pink. On looks alone, I am smitten.


On a slow afternoon, I think to bake. In Joie Warner's "Apple Desserts: America's Favorite Fruit," I find instructions for dumplings and tarts, cookies and cakes, pies and crumbles, but settle, as I often do, on Apple Oat Squares. They sandwich thin slices of fruit between layers of oatmeal.

When I visited a friend in London years ago, I baked a batch to bring along, storing the squares in plastic containers to carry onto the plane. At her door the first night, I showed up with Apple Oat Squares. She seemed happy to see me. She seemed happier to see the food.

In my kitchen that afternoon, I combine quick oats, flour, baking soda, salt, brown sugar and melted butter to form the so-called crust. For the filling, I scatter cinnamon and sugar over slivers of Granny Smith apple. I press half the oatmeal mixture into the bottom of a glass pan, and top it with fruit and the rest of the oatmeal.

Nearly an hour later, the Apple Oat Squares come out of the oven golden brown, crumbly and slightly crunchy. Eaten warm with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or a dollop of Cool Whip, they are delectable.


In the produce section of the Berkeley Bowl, among the largest in the Bay Area, I come across apple varieties I have not even heard of.

The Pink Lady is a little tart. One bite and I shiver. Its skin, yellow and green with a soft red hue, blushes without meaning to. It smiles discreetly.

The Sierra Beauty tastes like a mildly tart Golden Delicious. Its appearance, though, is like no apple I have seen before. Yellow, pink and orange, it recalls a luscious sunrise over distant mountains, an establishing scene in a movie.

Looking like a Fuji, the Christmas apple seems to suit its seasonal moniker. Its sweet, crunchy texture can be a gift in and of itself. Also somewhat resembling a Fuji, the Pacific Rose proves especially crisp. Any crisper and it could be mistaken for an Asian pear, the kind my mother used to buy in Chinatown.


I contemplate a road trip to Apple Hill, east of Sacramento and Placerville. Vague on details of a visit years ago, I have been hoping to return.

At applehill.com, I discover buckets of information. Formed in 1964 as a marketing vehicle for a group of 16 ranches in Camino, the Apple Hill Growers Association consists of roughly 50 orchards, wineries, a microbrewery, Christmas tree farms and a spa.

It sponsors local events and fundraisers. It runs complimentary shuttle buses to nearby farms. It publishes guides, maps and community cookbooks, too.

I locate facts on Larsen Apple Barn, apparently the oldest continuously family-owned and operated farm in El Dorado County. I come across mentions of Mill View Ranch on Cable Road and its apple cider doughnuts, and Mother Lode Orchards.

I learn of Denver Dan's on Bumblebee Lane, which grows varieties such as Pippin, Gravenstein, Crispin and McIntosh, apples about which I have been curious. I learn also of Honey Bear Ranch, whose bakeshop, like many of its neighbors, puts out an impressive array of desserts.

Perhaps I'll collect food along the way as I venture from one farm to the next. When I need a break, I can claim a picnic spot at Abel's Apple Acres or High Hill Ranch, amid acres of trees and meandering walkways, and think about how far I've come.


When a younger brother started high school years ago, I packed him lunches that included a ham or turkey sandwich, a serving of cookies, a box of juice and a small apple. When he returned home in the late afternoon, the sandwich had been eaten. The cookies and juice were gone, too. But the apple remained.

There wasn't time, he said, to finish all his food. Day after day, week by week, the same thing happened. Eventually I realized it was an excuse.

Working full-time, commuting thrice weekly in the early evenings to a college 30 miles away for her master's, an older sister reached for something nutritious before class, something she could eat with one hand on the steering wheel. She decided, of course, on apples.

After long days in the office and hard nights in the classroom, she had little energy to spare. The stress and fatigue were immense, she said. The weekend she graduated, she stopped eating apples.


In time, I, too, grow tired of my apples, of searching for different varieties, whether down the street or up the highway; of having to peel and slice them at the kitchen counter, tossing scraps into the compost bin; of eating them at the table, feeling delighted yet slightly deprived.

I've had Jonagolds and Braeburns, Rome Beauties and Pink Ladies. But I have yet to try Winesaps, Jonathans, Cortlands and York Imperials, varieties about which I remain curious. I've had crisp apples and tart apples, crunchy apples and sweet apples. But they make up just a fraction of all the apples out there.

What I need then is a breather, I say, and a pledge to taste more in the future. I will revisit the apples I met recently and keep my eyes open for those I've not had - Empire, Honey Crisp, Jazz and Arkansas Black.

Meanwhile, I can begin to shift my attention to citrus. I had forgotten how much I liked oranges - navel oranges and Valencia oranges. I will snack on them. I will collect tangerines, mandarins and tangelos, too. They should be sweet and juicy. The Vitamin C will do me good. The change should suit me fine.

(A version of this essay appeared originally in The Oakland Tribune.)


Apple Oat Squares
from Joie Warner's "Apple Desserts: America's Favorite Fruit"

1 1/2 cups quick-cooking rolled oats
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup packed brown sugar
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) butter, melted
3 cups peeled, cored, thinly sliced Granny Smith apples
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 cup sugar
2 Tbsp. butter

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Stir oats, flour, baking soda, salt, brown sugar and melted butter in a large bowl until thoroughly combined. Press half the mixture evenly into bottom of a 9-inch square baking pan.

Toss apples, cinnamon and sugar in a bowl, then spread evenly in pan; dot with butter. Sprinkle with remaining oat mixture and bake for 45 minutes or until golden. Cool and cut into squares. Makes 9 to 10 servings.

Mooncake marketing

Sienna Parulis-Cook writes for The Atlantic about Chinese mooncakes, traditional sweets eaten during the Mid-Autumn Festival.

To quote:

"Older people often complain that children do not appreciate mooncakes the way they used to, but the mooncake companies are finding ways to solve this problem, too. This year marked the introduction of Barbie mooncakes in Shanghai, where the $57 deluxe box comes with a Barbie doll. Mooncakes may also come bearing images of cartoon characters like Snoopy or Hello Kitty..."

It is a timely piece. And though I am partial to lotus seed paste-filled mooncakes from Eastern Bakery on Grant Avenue in San Francisco, I think it would be a total trip to spy Snoopy- and Hello Kitty-themed mooncakes in the stores.

"Monsoon Diary"

Shoba Narayan reflects on youth with reverence and awe. She reminisces about school yards and road trips. She describes her family and talks about food.

In "Monsoon Diary: A Memoir with Recipes," she recalls key moments and significant phases in her South Indian childhood. She details her introduction as a young adult to American habits and manners. Through it all, she speaks with a voice that is confident and lyrical.

Narayan divides her discussion into two parts. The first half deals primarily with her experiences in Madras, India, in a household surrounded by family and food. The second half focuses on her adventures as a college student - and, a few years later, as a newlywed - in the United States.

In chapters such as "Sun-Dried Vegetables on the Roof" and "Vaikom House," all of which conclude with at least one or two recipes, Narayan writes about the role food played in her upbringing, the way people connected in the kitchen and celebrated at the table.

She writes about the school lunches her mother packed - okra curry, for instance, or idlis, rice-and-lentil dumplings - and the bartering rituals she and her classmates devised over time. On good days, she got bite-sized pieces of everyone's lunch.

She remembers the zesty vegetable stew her friend Amina's mother made, and the mango relish her friend Sheela's mother prepared. Seasoned with sesame oil, mustard-seed powder, asafetida and chili powder, it was "a juicy, spicy, lip-smacking condiment that we never tired of."

Narayan writes about the fruit trees and flowers her father planted on land he would eventually develop. In addition to six coconut trees, there were neem, banana, guava and mango trees as well as jasmine, hibiscus, chrysanthemum and bougainvillea bushes.

When her father hired an architect to design a house on the property, he told the man he could not remove any vegetation on the small lot. He extolled the health benefits of the neem leaves and the beauty of the mango leaves, directing the architect to build around it all. "The resulting construction," Narayan says, "was odd-shaped and rambling, with rooms ducking in and out between trees and shrubs."

She writes also about her maternal grandmother, Nalla-ma, a cheerful and affectionate woman. The days she spent with her, Narayan says, were some of the best days of her childhood. In the mornings, she sat in her grandmother's kitchen, sipped Ovaltine and watched her skillfully mix vegetables and spices.

"Carrots with ghee for growth, potatoes with ginger to soothe, beans with garlic to rejuvenate, onions or asafetida to balance," Narayan says. "Meals were a pageant of colors and flavors, all combed together with an array of spices. Cumin and coriander were the backbone, supported by black mustard seeds and fenugreek, while fennel provided the top note."

In the afternoons, she relaxed with Nalla-ma and listened attentively to her tales. "She had a phenomenal memory that stored colors, textures, sounds and smells," the author says, "and a gift for shaping them into spellbinding narratives."

Nalla-ma was an umbilical cord to her past, a connection to her family history. Years later, after Narayan had married and settled in the United States, she and her husband invited her grandmother to join them on a two-week vacation across the country, traveling from New York City to Los Angeles.

She documents her grandmother's roadside impressions, her insistence on Indian food and her slow acclimation to American tastes, in the chapter "Descent of the Relatives."

In New York City, Nalla-ma would eat only Indian foods, the vegetable curries, rice, rasam, pongal and pickles she prepared herself. On the road, however, her options quickly diminished. She would need to relent.

"In Du Bois, Pennsylvania," Narayan says, "Nalla-ma accompanied me to a grocery store. After much deliberation, she picked out a carton of 2 percent milk and some fruits. In Cleveland she tasted strawberry yogurt for the first time and decided that she liked it.

"In South Bend, Indiana, Nalla-ma declared that Dunkin' Donuts coffee tasted just like the filter coffee back home. For the rest of the trip we (stopped) every time we saw a Dunkin' Donuts so Nalla-ma could have a large coffee accompanied by a French cruller, which, according to her, tasted just like jilebi."

By the time they arrived in Los Angeles, Nalla-ma had made several concessions. "She would take salad without the dressing," Narayan says, "pasta without the garlic, Mexican food without the cheese, and Thai food without the lemongrass. We had come a long way."

Stories such as these, coupled with descriptions of Indian foods such as rasam, a lentil broth with tomatoes and cilantro, and vada-pav, a deep-fried potato pancake spiced with ginger, garlic, green chiles and cumin, give "Monsoon Diary: A Memoir with Recipes" an interesting bite and enticing flavors.

Whether discussing members of her extended South Indian family or detailing the things she grew up eating and continues to eat, Narayan keeps us entertained. Her writing is honest, evocative and engaging, her passages on food nothing short of mouth-watering.

(A version of this review appeared originally in The Oakland Tribune.)

Vegetable Stew

2 tsp. olive or canola oil
1 small onion, thinly sliced
2 green chiles, Thai or serrano, slit in half lengthwise
4 1/4-inch slices ginger
4 garlic cloves, diced
2 medium potatoes, cubed
1 small carrot, chopped into 1/2-inch pieces
10 green beans, sliced into 1/2-inch pieces
1 tsp. salt
2 cups coconut milk (available in cans at Asian markets)
10 curry leaves

Heat the oil in a medium-sized stainless steel vessel and saute the onion, chiles, ginger and garlic until the onions turn golden. Add the chopped vegetables, salt and 1 cup water. Cover and cook over a low flame until the vegetables are soft. Stir in the coconut milk and heat until it just starts to boil. Remove from heat. Garnish with curry leaves. Makes 4 servings.

Chinatown cakes

On one hand, the LA Times piece on Phoenix Bakery makes me want to say "uh-duh." Who doesn't know about Chinatown cakes, lighter in texture and less sweet than desserts from many other bakeries?

And who doesn't know "you can special order (them) with peaches. Bananas are good, too."

(Photo credit goes to Mark Boster of the Los Angeles Times.)

On the other hand, the food story does manage to pique my curiosity. And so it goes. The next time I find myself in Los Angeles, I just might have to drop by Chinatown for a decent taste.

Chicken soup

A visit to the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco and "There's a Mystery There: Sendak on Sendak," on exhibit through Jan. 19, reminds me of Maurice Sendak's classic children's title "Chicken Soup with Rice: A Book of Months."

I can hear Carole King singing the words.

This is an excerpt:

In March the wind
Blows down my door
And spills my soup
Upon the floor.
It laps it up
And roars for more
Blowing once
Blowing twice
Blowing chicken soup
with rice.

Peach lit

"When I first started, I realized I would never make a fortune in farming, but I hoped I could be rich in other ways - and maybe, just maybe, my work would create some other kind of wealth in the process."

David Mas Masumoto, in "Epitaph For a Peach: Four Seasons on My Family Farm."

Summer still

Because autumn does not arrive until Tuesday, I slip in a version of this summer cake from "Rustic Fruit Desserts: Crumbles, Buckles, Cobblers, Pandowdies, and More," by Cory Schreiber and Julie Richardson. It hits the spot.

Stone Fruit Tea Cake

1 Tbsp. unsalted butter, at room temperature, for pan
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. fine sea salt
1 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
3 eggs
1 Tbsp. pure vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups coarsely chopped mixed stone fruit, fresh or frozen
1 Tbsp. turbinado sugar

Whisk the flour, baking powder and salt together in a bowl.

Using a handheld mixer with beaters or a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, cream the sugar and butter together on medium-high speed for 3 to 5 minutes, until light and fluffy.

Add the eggs one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition, then stir in the vanilla. Add the flour mixture and stir just until a smooth dough forms.

Wrap the dough in plastic wrap, flatten into a 1-inch-thick disk and freeze for 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Butter a shallow 10-inch round baking pan or tart pan.

Divide the dough into two equal portions and pat one portion evenly into the bottom of the prepared pan. Spread the fruit over the dough. Break the remainder of the dough into tablespoon-size pieces and distribute atop the fruit, then sprinkle the turbinado sugar over the dessert.

Bake for 30 to 40 minutes, or until lightly golden and firm. Cool for 30 minutes before serving. Makes 10 to 12 servings.

Food matters

On the table: Cheeseburgers and chicken sandwiches from the Dollar Menu at McDonald's. It is a last-minute but convenient lunch, coupled with baked apple pies and strong cravings - left unsatisfied - for high-sodium french fries.

On the reading list, ironically: Mark Bittman's book "Food Matters: A Guide to Conscious Eating." In it, he advocates "sane eating." He suggests, for example, we consume less meat, certainly less fast food, more vegetables, legumes, fruits and whole grains.

Next time, we do better.

In the Sunday paper

Nigel Slater has a book on gardening, "Tender: A Cook and His Vegetable Patch," coming soon, and offers a substantial excerpt in The Observer.

Among the best paragraphs:

"The beauty of a single lettuce, its inner leaves tight and crisp, the outer ones opened up like those of a cottage garden rose; the glowing saffron flesh of a cracked pumpkin; the curling tendrils of a pea plant... a bag of assorted tomatoes in shades of scarlet, green and orange is something I like to take time over.

"And not only is it the look of them that is beguiling. The rough feel of a runner bean between the fingers, the childish pop of a pea pod, the inside of a fur-lined broad-bean case, the cool vellum-like skin of a freshly dug potato are all reason to linger. And all this even before we have turned the oven on..."

This is exciting. I like Slater even more than I like Jamie Oliver, and we know how much I like Jamie Oliver.

Why bears must hibernate

Now I know I am fruit-obsessed. I find myself going through summer withdrawal, seriously. I realize just now I am not able to have another terrific yellow peach this year. The season's over.

I should have made cobbler more often. Shoot. I should have made pie. I should have simply ODed on fruit. (To be fair, I did have my fill.) Where does the time go? Is there even a reason still to visit the farmers' market? Oh, kettle corn. Is it any wonder bears hibernate?

Kitchen music

Local station 92.7 FM KNGY is off the air. Its new owners changed the format and the call letters, and alienated a significant radio audience.

For the time being, I cannot listen to good dance music when I chop vegetables in the late afternoon or bake on a Saturday morning or wash dishes late into the evening. There is no house or electronic or club mix to keep me company. There is nothing but crap now on that frequency.

I mean, do I actually have to go clubbing in San Francisco to get my fill of good dance music? And, will they let me in the building with my kitchen gear?

Road food

I have a pricey burger at the Big Sur Bakery & Restaurant. Its staff and recipes are showcased in "The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook: A Year in the Life of a Restaurant," written by owners Michelle Wojtowicz, Philip Wojtowicz and Michael Gilson.

Topped with white Vermont cheddar, grilled onions and slices of heirloom tomato, the sandwich looks good on the plate and tastes fine. The beef is a little overcooked, though, unfortunately.

I have a much less expensive burger at Burger Me, a casual place opened by Mark Estee on Donner Pass Road in the small town of Truckee, near Lake Tahoe. Nobody at the restaurant has published any kind of a cookbook, as far as I know.

They use meat, I learn, from Five Dot Ranch, a family-owned business in the Napa Valley. The beef is 100-percent natural, raised without antibiotics or hormones. And, it is cooked exactly the way I like it, medium-well.

(The photo is of Burger Me!)

Cake love

"I could kill for cake. Here's the list: 1 carrot cake, 2 cheesecakes, 3 chocolate cakes, 3 slices of fruit bread, 9 slices of fruit cake, 2 slices of birthday cake, 2 slices of Pret a Manger pecan pie, 5 slices lemon cake, 1 apricot tart, half a ricotta tart, 5 fairy cakes (once you start you can't stop), 2 battenburg and a slice of walnut pie. Not bad, until you add it to the 32 biscotti, 8 flapjacks, 4 Jaffa cakes, 500g pan forte, 2 madeleines, 14 double choc chip cookies, 4 meringues, 12 amaretti and a fortune cookie, which I promptly spat out.

"I have separated puddings and cake for obvious reasons (put them together and I sound like Billy Bunter). Anyway: 3 chocolate banana fritters (which I didn't want but Ruth Watson made me eat), half a pannacotta with passion fruit, 2 mouthfuls of zabaglione, 1 apple crumble and custard, 4 plum crumbles and custard, 1 blueberry tart, 1 apricot tart, 1 raspberry tart, 1 lemon tart, 1 fig tart, 1 gooseberry tart, 6 mince pies, 1 prune tart, 1 plum pie, 5 portions of trifle and a summer pudding. On the ice cream front I managed to get by with only 2 tubs of vanilla ice, 2 of orange sorbet, 1 portion of rose, 2 of pear, and 500ml of mango. Oh, and I almost forgot, 2kg of chocolate ice cream."

Nigel Slater, in the article "Last Year I Ate...," anthologized in Bonnie Marranca's "A Slice of Life: Contemporary Writers on Food."

Is it any wonder I love him?

Toon town

Because it is silly.

Big Sur and back

We make it to the Big Sur Bakery & Restaurant, stunned by the coastal scenery along Highway 1, but they run out early of many baked goods. There are handfuls of cookies left but no scones at all. What I would do for fruit scones. We mask the disappointment and stay for lunch.

The recipe is from "The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook":

Scones

1 cup fresh huckleberries or blueberries
1 cup (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cubed
3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar
1 Tbsp. baking powder
2 tsp. baking soda
1 1/2 tsp. kosher salt
2 Tbsp. vanilla extract
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup turbinado sugar

About 2 hours before making the scones, scatter the berries on a cookie sheet and put it in the freezer.

Put the cubed butter, flour, granulated sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a mixing bowl. Put the bowl in the freezer and leave it there for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and set it aside.

Using a pastry cutter, work the chilled ingredients together in the bowl until the butter cubes are the size of peas. Make a well in the center.

Combine the vanilla and buttermilk in a separate bowl, and pour the mixture into the well. Mix the ingredients with a wooden spoon to form a shaggy mass. Add the frozen berries and gently mix them in, trying not to crush them.

To shape the scones, place a 3-inch round cookie or biscuit cutter on one corner of the prepared baking sheet. Take a handful of the scone dough and press it into the cutter, patting it down so that the top of the scone is flat.

Pull the cutter off the sheet, leaving the scone behind. Repeat this process across the sheet, keeping enough space between the scones for them to double in size, until you've used all the dough.

Sprinkle the tops of the scones with the turbinado sugar and bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until they're golden brown along the sides but still tender inside. Transfer the scones to a cooling rack and let them sit for at least 10 minutes before serving. Makes about 1 dozen scones.

Where to go, what to eat

On a spur-of-the-moment trip to Sonoma County to see lavender gardens at Matanzas Creek Winery, a sister and I drop by Wild Flour in the small town of Freestone, just outside of Sebastopol.

A good friend mentioned the bakery once. He liked their breads, he said, but had to pay a pretty penny for them. He wouldn't let any go to waste. I have been curious about the shop since.

My sister and I share but still can not finish a large sticky bun. It measures at least 8 inches across and, honestly, tastes quite good. Nice and sticky, the way I like it. I will have to try the scones and breads as well sometime soon.

I can feel travel priorities shifting. My sister is contemplating a trip to Carmel and Monterey, hoping to take advantage of the long summer days. I tell her I am interested only if we can make a detour to the Big Sur Bakery & Restaurant off Highway 1. I have been reading about it lately.

She thinks about where to go. I think about what to eat.

Wisdom

David Mas Masumoto works hard both in and out of the fields.

The third-generation Japanese American, whose "Epitaph for a Peach: Four Seasons on My Family Farm" is a perennial favorite, recently published "Wisdom of the Last Farmer: Harvesting Legacies from the Land."

Like earlier titles, this book touches upon themes of home and hope, prosperity and posterity.

Referring to Masumoto as "America's Peach Laureate," something with which I cannot argue, The Seattle Times offers a substantial review:

"His prose is contemplative, disciplined and repetitive in a pleasing way.

"He gives marvelously detailed particulars about farming, especially the hard work of weeding by hand, the continual vigilance for plant diseases and pests, and the precise timing of when to pick the fruit and rush it to market..."

It is worth the read.

On the edge

On a road trip through the Central Valley in California, William Emery and Scott Squire visit smaller farms and businesses. They concentrate on individuals connected to their land, "rooted in their philosophies, their practices, their maniac desire to feed their families and the planet something healthy, gorgeous, and delicious."

The result: "Edges of Bounty: Adventures in the Edible Valley."

They speak, for example, with Lucy and Ramon Cadena, who own just over an acre in Yolo County on which the couple grows herbs and vegetables without pesticides. They farm for themselves first, Emery says, and their customers at the weekly market in Davis second.

"(Their) belief seemed to be that everyone should farm so that no one should starve. It was a compelling and sobering understanding of agriculture, that the farmer should seek to feed himself and then the world, not the other way around."

Emery, himself raised on a farm in the Smoky Hills of Kansas, and Squire also meet Harold Dirks, a beekeeper in Sutter County drawn to his enterprise like, well, bees to honey.

A full-time inspector with the California Department of Agriculture, Dirks tends to his hives every day before and after work and all day on weekends, and sells jars of honey through a "network of roadside stands." He has been fascinated with bees for decades, Emery says, and continues to experiment with new ways to extract liquid gold from his combs.

And they visit Mike Madison, a writer and farmer in Winters, in the Sacramento Valley, whose books include "Walking the Flatlands" and "Blithe Tomato." The men taste a Spanish melon straight from Madison's abundant patch.

"Its flesh glistened like melting snow, weeping over its own perfection," Emery recalls. "The flavor was a cathedral and a liqueur." But the fruit does not meet Madison's own exacting standards; he tosses the rest of it aside for the chickens later. "There's nothing they like better than melon seeds," he says.

What further distinguish "Edges of Bounty: Adventures in the Edible Valley" from other similar titles, however, are the numerous evocative images from Seattle-based photographer Squire: A field hand picking and packing rosemary. Juicy slices of tomatoes on a cutting board. A cowboy eating an apple next to a pick-up truck.

They enhance the overall narrative, helping to make Emery's work both a literary and visual achievement.

(A version of this article appears in Gastronomica.)

French fries and mangoes

Among the best parts of the exchange between Pres. Obama and 11-year-old Florida student Damon Weaver, who had been angling for months for an interview with the chief executive:

Damon: Do you have the power to make the school lunches better?

Pres. Obama: Well, I remember that when I used to get school lunches they didn't taste so good, I've got to admit. We are seeing if we can work to at least make school lunches healthier, cause a lot of school lunches, there's a lot of french fries, pizza, tater tots, all kinds of stuff that isn't a well-balanced meal. So we want to make sure there are more fruits and vegetables in the schools. Now, kids may not end up liking that, but it's better for them. It'll be healthier for them. And those are some of the changes we're trying to make.

Damon: I suggest that we have french fries and mangoes every day for lunch.

Pres. Obama: See, and if you were planning the lunch program it'd probably taste good to you but it might not make you big and strong like you need to be. And so we want to make sure that food tastes good in school lunches but that they're also healthy for you, too.

Damon: I looooove mangoes.

Pres. Obama: I love mangoes, too. But I'm not sure we can get mangoes in every school. They only grow in hot temperatures and there are a lot of schools up north where they don't have mango trees.

Young Damon might be onto something. I would love to subsist for a while on french fries and mangoes as well. They would definitely have to be crisp steak fries, however, and fresh juicy mangoes.

Three-quarters plum, one-quarter apricot

Chip Brantley remembers eating a pluot for the first time at a farmers' market in Culver City in the middle of the week.

"I was warm and hungry, and it looked like a plum... When I bit into it, it felt almost liquid, like plum jelly. I ate it outside the fruit tent, bent forward, dripping juice onto the pavement, and I used my two front teeth to scrape off the flesh that clung to the pit."

He remembers learning its name and proper pronunciation at another farmers' market a few days later.

"Feeling somewhat justified for having majored in French, I asked the man at the stand what the story was with the 'plew-ohs.' He looked over at me and said, 'PLEW-ott. PLUH-um and ay-prick-OT. Plu-ots.' 'Pluots,' I said, turning it over in my mouth."

In "The Perfect Fruit: Good Breeding, Bad Seeds, and the Hunt for the Elusive Pluot," Brantley details his affection for the unique fruit. He sings its praises. Co-founder of the website cookthink.com, he traces the development in California of the hybrid fruit and its increasing popularity among growers and shoppers in recent years.

Three-quarters plum and one-quarter apricot, the pluot is prettier and substantially sweeter than either of the individual fruits. The Flavor King, for instance, one of a handful of pluot varieties, is "dark purple, almost blue, and lightly specked with gold," Brantley tells us. It tastes "of caramel and almonds."

Pluots appeared initially in the early 1990s in markets on the West Coast, after decades of experimentation by Floyd Zaiger, "considered by many who knew about these things to be the foremost fruit breeder in the world."

A scientist in Modesto and owner of Zaiger Genetics, Zaiger, 83, has helped to create more than 200 new and improved fruits, from low-acid peaches to different types of apples and pears. For his contributions, he was awarded the American Pomological Society's Wilder Medal in 1995, "the fruiticultural equivalent of the Pulitzer Prize."

Brantley sheds light on the late Luther Burbank, too, a botanist in Northern California who cultivated numerous strains and varieties of plants during his lifetime, including the Santa Rosa plum and the plumcot, equal halves plum and apricot. He describes Burbank's work and achievements in the field, remarkable accomplishments that preceded Zaiger's by a generation.

Part personal narrative, part food world exegesis, "The Perfect Fruit..." brings to mind other nonfiction titles. The author's love for the pluot, for instance, recalls David Mas Masumoto's devotion to the peach in "Epitaph for a Peach: Four Seasons on My Family Farm."

His look into the lives of fruit breeders and his forays into the Central Valley, "that enormous trough that occupies the whole middle of California," remind us in some way of Susan Orlean's experiences with orchid collectors in South Florida in "The Orchid Thief."

And his talk of taste, of pluots grown primarily for mouth feel rather than size or durability, makes us want to re-read Russ Parsons' "How to Pick a Peach: The Search for Flavor from Farm to Table." It makes us want to celebrate, and indulge in, truly amazing summer fruit.

Straightforward and occasionally humorous, Brantley's book provides insight on a burgeoning industry, one that can benefit farmers and retailers as well as consumers. It makes agricultural science accessible, helping us to realize where some of our best foods come from and the effort involved in producing them.

(This review appears originally in the San Francisco Chronicle.)

Just Julia

"In France, Paul explained, good cooking was regarded as a combination of national sport and high art, and wine was always served with lunch and dinner. 'The trick is moderation,' he said.

"Suddenly the dining room filled with wonderfully intermixing aromas that I sort of recognized but couldn't name. The first smell was something oniony - 'shallots,' Paul identified it, 'being sautéed in fresh butter.' ('What's a shallot?' I asked, sheepishly. 'You'll see,' he said.) Then came a warm and winy fragrance from the kitchen, which was probably a delicious sauce being reduced on the stove. This was followed by a whiff of something astringent: the salad being tossed in a big ceramic bowl with lemon, wine vinegar, olive oil, and a few shakes of salt and pepper.

"My stomach gurgled with hunger...

"Rouen is famous for its duck dishes, but after consulting the waiter Paul had decided to order sole meuniere. It arrived whole: a large, flat Dover sole that was perfectly browned in a sputtering butter sauce with a sprinkling of chopped parsley on top...

"I closed my eyes and inhaled the rising perfume. Then I lifted a forkful of fish to my mouth, took a bite, and chewed slowly. The flesh of the sole was delicate, with a light but distinct taste of the ocean that blended marvelously with the browned butter...

"Paul and I floated out the door into the brilliant sunshine and cool air. Our first lunch together in France had been absolute perfection. It was the most exciting meal of my life."

Julia Child, in the memoir "My Life in France," written with Alex Prud'homme.

Berry good

Though the home plating might not look as professional as possible - strawberry sauce to cover the bottom of the dish, who knew? - the taste is terrific.

The cake is everything I hoped it would be, a lovely way to incorporate seasonal fruit. The recipe is from Food & Wine magazine.

Warm Strawberry Crumb Cake

filling:

3 lbs. strawberries, hulled and halved (8 cups)
1/2 cup sugar
2 Tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 1/2 Tbsp. cornstarch dissolved in 2 1/2 Tbsp. of water
1 vanilla bean, split and seeds scraped

crumb topping:

1/2 cup lightly packed light brown sugar
1/2 cup plus 2 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
pinch of salt
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter, cubed and chilled

cake:

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 Tbsp. baking powder
3/4 tsp. salt
1 stick unsalted butter, softened
1 1/4 cups sugar
3 large eggs
1 1/2 tsp. pure vanilla extract
3/4 cup buttermilk

Make the filling:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. In a large bowl, toss the strawberries with the sugar, lemon juice, cornstarch slurry and vanilla seeds and let stand until the berries release some of their juices, about 30 minutes. Pour the fruit filling into a 9-by-13-inch glass or ceramic baking dish set on a sturdy baking sheet.

Meanwhile, make the crumb topping:

In a medium bowl, mix all of the ingredients with your fingers until a coarse meal forms; press into small clumps.

Make the cake:

In a medium bowl, whisk the flour with the baking powder and salt. In a large bowl, using a handheld electric mixer, beat the butter with the sugar at medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.

Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well between additions. Beat in the vanilla extract and scrape down the bowl. Add the dry ingredients to the batter in 3 additions, alternating with the buttermilk.

Spoon the batter over the fruit filling, spreading it to the edge. Sprinkle with the crumb topping. Bake in the center of the oven for 1 hour and 15 minutes, until the fruit is bubbling, the crumb topping is golden and a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out with a few moist crumbs attached.

Transfer to a rack to cool slightly. Serve the crumb cake warm or at room temperature, with ice cream. Makes 8 servings.

Note: The crumb cake can be refrigerated overnight. Serve warm or at room temperature. The fruit filling can also be made with a combination of blackberries, raspberries and blueberries.

In the Sunday paper

Michael Pollan starts with a discussion on the forthcoming Meryl Streep movie, "Julie & Julia," based on Julie Powell's book as well as Julia Child's autobiography "My Life in France," co-authored by Alex Prud'homme.

But the story in The New York Times eventually becomes an exegesis on food television - then and now - and our constantly evolving cooking culture. It is an altogether interesting read.

Homer on beer

"Beer. Now there's a temporary solution."

Homer Simpson, in an episode of "The Simpsons."

Wise words. The man must have been named Homer for a reason.

(The photo is from the Associated Press.)

The White House drinks

I find it hard to believe Pres. Obama actually likes Budweiser. It seems to me he has better taste than that. I suppose politics, however, demands everyday beer.

Among the highlights from a Slate piece on beer profiling and beer diplomacy:

"When Obama announced that he would have a Budweiser on Thursday night, it suggested he was going for the most regular-guy brand he could find. (It sells for about $6.50 for a six-pack.) But it turns out that the cop likes the same kind of fancy beer the professor does: He's having a Blue Moon, a Belgian-Style witbier ($7 to $9 a six-pack), while Gates is having a Red Stripe ($7) or Becks ($8). Upon this affinity for upmarket beers may be built a towering reconciliation."

The thing is: If the president, the police officer and the professor are drinking beer together, shouldn't they drink the same beer?

Fruit bliss

In addition to bananas, which I always seem to have, there are plums and nectarines in the kitchen.

There are pluots - a plum and apricot hybrid - I have been meaning to taste. Three-parts plum, one-part apricot. Not to be confused with apriums - three-parts apricot, one-part plum.

There are white peaches and yellow peaches. There are kiwis from New Zealand.

In the refrigerator, there is cantaloupe and pineapple cut into chunks. There are pints of blueberries. There is a bag of cherries from Washington and a flat of strawberries from Watsonville.

This, I learn to appreciate, is Northern California in the middle of the summer. Pure fruit bliss.

Salad days

Just when I remind myself to eat more vegetables, Mark Bittman comes up with 101 ways in The New York Times for me to do exactly that.

His are simple suggestions.

The question then: Should I start at the top of the list and work my way down? Or should I select dishes randomly depending on mood and availability?

Perhaps the more important question, however: If there is salad for dinner, will there be cake for dessert?

Bob's Big pie

A morning spent in the Mojave Desert is reason enough for a visit to Bob's Big Boy on the return.

It is my first time at the original Bob's on Riverside Drive in Burbank. It is an opportunity for onion rings and milkshakes in the early afternoon. And one tremendously red strawberry pie.

I cut four slices for the table and pack the rest for later.

Pulling pork

Honestly, I have only used the OXO potato masher for potatoes. Until now.

Now, I realize the tool, with its terrific ergonomic grip, works equally well in pulling pork. That is to say, I can use it also to shred the pork in this stovetop recipe.

Since I do not have bread rolls, I think I will toast some Thomas' English muffins instead.

I cannot decide, however, whether to eat the sandwich opened, with a knife and fork, or closed, with my hands. If I have it opened, the meal will seem fancier. If I have it closed, I can lick sweet sauce from my fingers.

Pulled Pork

1 3 1/2- to 4-lb. boneless pork roast, cut into chunks and trimmed of fat
1 large yellow onion, diced
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 cup orange juice
1/2 cup ketchup
3 Tbsp. brown sugar
3 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
2 1/2 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 tsp. liquid smoke
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
3 cloves garlic, minced
6 to 8 sandwich rolls

Heat olive oil in a large pan or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Cook the pork and onions for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally.

In a bowl, combine the orange juice, ketchup, brown sugar, red wine vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, liquid smoke, salt, pepper and minced garlic.

Add this mixture to the pan or Dutch oven, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for 1 hour.

Cook, uncovered, for an additional 30 minutes over medium-low heat, or until most of the liquid has evaporated.

Shred the pork with a couple of forks or a potato masher. Serve on warm bread rolls. Makes 6 to 8 sandwiches.

Peach love

"The Mackinaw peaches, Jerry, the Mackinaw peaches! I waited all year. Oh, this is fantastic! Makes your taste buds come alive. It's like having a circus in your mouth!"

Kramer, praising the fictional Mackinaw peach on an episode of "Seinfeld."

Remember the time

"So I went over to his house to have dinner. The chef came out and said, 'What would you like?'

"I said, 'Some grilled chicken.'

"So as we begin to talk about the video and what he wanted me to do, the chef brought me out the grilled chicken. But he brought Michael out a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken.

"And I went crazy, like, 'Wait a minute! Michael, you eat Kentucky Fried Chicken?'

"That made my day. That was the greatest moment of my life. We had such a good time sitting on the floor, eating that bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken."

Magic Johnson, on working on the video for "Remember the Time," speaking at the memorial service for Michael Jackson.

Apple pie and the Fourth of July

John T. Edge gives the classic its due in this breezy and informative read. One in a series of books on beloved food items, including fried chicken, hamburgers and French fries, and doughnuts, "Apple Pie: An American Story" looks at the history and folklore of an iconic dessert, from its English origins in the 14th century to its current status among food fans across the United States.

From Oxford, Miss., where he directs the Southern Foodways Alliance at the University of Mississippi, Edge travels to Washington state, where "growers harvest more than fifteen billion apples each year." That is a whole lot of pie.

The author also heads to the Midwest and Southwest. In Iowa City, he checks out the Hamburg Inn, an old-school diner that serves apple-pie shakes. "Chock-full of crust fragments and crushed apple slices, the shake calls to mind a better class of Dairy Queen Blizzard," he writes. In Albuquerque, New Mexico, he spends time at Señor Pie, tasting "apple pies spiked with fiery green chiles."

In Florida, though, Edge runs into "the dark side of pie." A judge in the National Pie Championships, held during the Great American Pie Festival in Celebration, Florida, he finds representatives from Sara Lee, Entenmann's, and Mrs. Smith's "pimping freezer-case pies." He watches children make pastry dough from scratch, only to later use canned pie filling. He worries about our culinary future.

(A version of this review appeared originally on www.culinate.com.)

Weekend cobbler

"There are two types of people in this world: those who like pie and those who prefer cobbler," Cory Schreiber and Julie Richardson write in "Rustic Fruit Desserts: Crumbles, Buckles, Cobblers, Pandowdies, and More."

Me? I like them both. Hesitant to prepare pie crust from scratch, however, I tend to make cobbler, incorporating fruits I have in the house at the time. This weekend, there are apricots.

The recipe, from Schreiber and Richardson's cookbook, calls for raspberries as well. I substitute frozen blackberries. I also decrease the amount of sugar for the filling. If I am lucky, the fruits should be sweet enough on their own.

Apricot Raspberry Cobbler

1 Tbsp. unsalted butter, at room temperature, for dish

fruit filling:

10 apricots, pitted and each sliced into 8 to 10 pieces
2 cups raspberries, fresh or frozen
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 tsp. fine sea salt

batter:

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. fine sea salt
6 Tbsp. unsalted butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup whole milk
1 Tbsp. turbinado sugar

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Butter a 2-quart baking dish.

To make the fruit filling, toss the apricots and raspberries with the sugar and salt in a bowl and set aside to draw out some of the juices while you prepare the batter.

To make the batter, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. Using a handheld mixer with beaters or a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and granulated sugar together on medium-high speed for 3 to 5 minutes, until light and fluffy. Stir in the flour mixture in three additions alternating with the milk in two additions, beginning and ending with the dry ingredients and scraping down the sides of the bowl occasionally.

Spread the batter evenly in the prepared pan and distribute the fruit over the batter, being sure to scrape the bowl well. Sprinkle the turbinado sugar over the top.

Bake in the bottom third of the oven for about 45 minutes, or until the center of the cake springs back when lightly touched. Cool 20 to 30 minutes before serving.

Storage: This cobbler is best if eaten the day it is made. Any leftovers can be covered with a tea towel to be finished for breakfast. Reheat in a 300 degree F oven until warmed through. Makes 8 to 10 servings.