Sweet start

It is a sweet and savory Sweet Bar start to the new year. We wouldn't have it any other way.

Peeling the banana

Who knew the banana could be such a complicated fruit? Or, perhaps more accurately, who didn't know? Really.

Dan Koeppel's book "Banana: The Fate of the Fruit That Changed the World" is fascinating.

"The more I researched, the more it became clear that there's nothing we eat - that the world eats - more paradoxical than the banana," he writes. "The humble treat we pack into our lunchboxes is among the most complex crops cultivated by humans. In ancient times, the fruit helped the earliest farmers put down roots and establish communities. In the modern era, the banana - literally - has destroyed nations and ruined lives."

Koeppel's segment on "Science Friday" with Ira Flatow on NPR is equally fascinating.

Food for my father

When we were growing up, my mother spent afternoons in the kitchen making traditional Chinese dumplings and pastries. Determined not to let us forget who we were, she poached chicken and steamed fish. She simmered pots of soup. She stuck with the familiar.

But my father liked to experiment. Having been in California long enough to taste other foods, he wanted to introduce us to all sorts of things. He asked my mother to serve asparagus the way many Americans did - with hollandaise sauce. He showed her how to bake russet potatoes in the oven. He fed us sour cream.

He allowed my sibling and me departures from Chinese food, rescuing us from what would become our mother's predictability. He injected new flavors into our weekly menus, bringing home burgers from a restaurant near his store in San Francisco, patties so thick they dripped with each bite, and deep-dish pizzas. He had these with glasses of beer, a practice I have long since adopted.

He took us to the grocery store. My mother shopped mostly in Chinatown. But my father preferred the American supermarkets. We went with him on Saturdays for staples such as milk and bread.

My sisters, brothers and I wandered the aisles and filled the cart with cookies while our father stayed in the meat department comparing packages of beef. We never asked permission for the items we chose. He never denied us the foods we liked.

So it is disheartening to learn now that my father, as he gets older, sometimes fails to eat, that he sleeps late and skips meals, that he's uninterested in the things my mother cooks. That his weight has begun to fall.


Nutritionists and psychologists talk often about the connections between age and health, mood and appetite. In articles and on Web sites, they write about the benefits of a balanced diet, offering suggestions for seniors to stay well.

Eat more whole grains, they say. Eat more fruits and vegetables, beans and nuts. Eat less fat, cholesterol and sodium. They tell me nothing new.

They look at the possible effects of treatment and medication on appetite. One influences the other, they say. But my father isn't on treatment. He isn't on heavy medication. He takes a pill a day and a couple of calcium supplements.

They look also at environment. Seniors who live alone sometimes find it discouraging to eat alone. They don't like to sit by themselves. But my father does not live alone. My mother is next to him, cooking morning, noon and night. How could he not be hungry?


Watching my father in the kitchen, I recall a time years ago when he ate heartily, when sumptuous Saturday evening meals, for example, were rewards for weeks of hard work, when holidays, both Chinese and American, were occasions for serious family feasts.

My mother would fill the table with my father's favorites: cellophane noodles, shrimp and vegetable stir-fry, sweet and sour pork, as well as crab or lobster when they were available. She'd top the menu with refreshing slices of oranges or sweet, ripened mangoes.

Eager to watch television, my siblings and I tried to tear through the food. But our father disapproved. Slow down, he'd say. Enjoy your meal.

He'd pick up a mouthful of noodles with his chopsticks, touch it to his lips and taste. The seasonings were perfect. He'd lick the sauce off a piece of pork or wok-fried crab, savoring its juices.

Half an hour later, my father would wipe his lips, push his chair from the edge of the table and gently pat his stomach. Good, he'd say, smiling discreetly. I'm full.

I wonder if that might happen again, if my father would find such peace and satisfaction in the things he ate.


One afternoon, aiming to give him a respite from Chinese food, the way he had done for my sisters, brothers and me when we were children, I set out to make a pot of chili for my father.

I select a recipe from my eclectic collection and cook ground turkey instead of ground beef. I want the dish to be heart healthy. I include tons of vegetables: diced bell peppers, portobello mushrooms, corn, zucchini and tomatoes. I want it to be nutritious. I throw in chili powder and red pepper flakes. I want it to have a significant kick.

At my parents' house that night, I serve the chili with steamed white rice, something my mother cannot refuse. I note the ingredients and encourage them to help themselves.

My mother thanks me for cooking, saving her time and energy. It is not a big deal, I reply, before turning to my father, who scoops a small portion.

I want him to like the food. I want him to have seconds. Thirds even. I do. He doesn't. In the end, I impress only myself.


Perhaps the nutritionists and psychologists were right. Maybe my father - like others his age - isn't thinking much about eating. At 80, he has different concerns. But does his decreasing appetite for food in particular mirror a decreasing appetite for life in general?

Does he believe, 15 years into retirement, that he has tasted all there is? It would be a shame. I want to convince my father there are tons of foods he has not tried.

So I will continue to encourage my father to eat today and tomorrow. He is the one who introduced us years ago to American favorites, who did not deny us the snacks we craved, who pushed his chair from the edge of the table after an especially satisfying meal.

I will help my mother keep their kitchen stocked with all sorts of good food - the chicken and fresh fish she likes, the cereals and bananas he likes - and provide them occasional departures from the usual.

And on mornings when my mother visits friends in the neighborhood, I will stop by the house to spend time with my father.

I will boil eggs for his breakfast. Twelve minutes, no more, no less, the way I learned to in college. They will come out perfect. He can have them with a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee.

It might not be the biggest or most extravagant meal in the world. It might not be fancy or expensive. But it will be a decent start.


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

The second pancake

A brother makes me pancakes. Without having to ask, he takes out a mixing bowl in the morning and heats a skillet on the stove. He whips up batter. I watch from a seat at the kitchen counter.

The first pancake does not come out right. No big shakes. I tell him it's like Katie Holmes' character in "Pieces of April." Something about how she is the first pancake, the first child in the family, the one who never turns out totally right. He looks at me funny.

My brother tries again.

And the other pancakes turn out fine. They are light and fluffy, served with slices of banana and strawberries, and scoops of vanilla ice cream. He spreads separate layers of Nutella and chunky peanut butter in between as well.

They are over the top and delicious. We take turns at the plate while drinking orange juice and Champagne. Is it any wonder he remains my all-time favorite sibling?

Celebration pudding

The Saints are heading to the Super Bowl and we are heading to the kitchen.

Now would be as fine a time as any to break in the cookbook "Dam Good Sweet: Desserts to Satisfy Your Sweet Tooth, New Orleans Style." First up, to celebrate properly, a recipe for pudding.

Banana Pudding with Vanilla Wafer Crumble
from David Guas and Raquel Pelzel's "Dam Good Sweet: Desserts to Satisfy Your Sweet Tooth, New Orleans Style"

for the pudding:

5 large egg yolks
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 tsp. salt
2 cups whole milk
3 Tbsp. banana liqueur (or 1 tsp. banana flavoring)
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 ripe bananas

for the crumble:

1 cup vanilla wafers (about 15 cookies)
2 tsp. sugar
1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon
pinch salt
1 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted

To make the pudding:

Whisk the egg yolks, sugar, cornstarch and salt together in a medium bowl and set aside.

Bring the milk to a boil in a medium saucepan. Remove from the heat and whisk a little at a time into the egg mixture. Once the bottom of the bowl is warm, slowly whisk in the remaining hot milk.

Pour the mixture back into a clean medium saucepan (cleaning the saucepan prevents the pudding from scorching), add the banana liqueur and whisk over medium-low heat until it thickens, about 2 minutes.

Cook while constantly whisking until the pudding is glossy and quite thick, 1 1/2 to 2 minutes longer. Transfer the pudding to a clean bowl.

Add the vanilla and butter and gently whisk until the butter is completely melted and incorporated. Press a piece of plastic wrap onto the surface of the pudding to prevent a skin from forming. Refrigerate for 4 hours.

To make the crumble:

While the pudding sets, heat the oven to 325 degrees F.

Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside. Place the wafers in a resealable plastic bag and seal (make sure there is no air in the bag prior to sealing). Using a rolling pin or a flat-bottomed saucepan or pot, crush the vanilla wafers until they're coarsely ground.

Transfer them to a small bowl and stir in the sugar, cinnamon and salt. Use a spoon to evenly stir in the melted butter, transfer to the prepared baking sheet, and toast in the oven until brown and fragrant, 12 to 15 minutes.

Remove from the oven and set aside to cool. (The crumbs can be stored in an airtight container for up to 5 days at room temperature or frozen for up to 2 months; re-crisp in a 325-degree F oven for 6 to 7 minutes if necessary.)

To serve:

Slice the bananas in half crosswise and then slice in half lengthwise so you have 4 quarters. Slice the banana quarters crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces and divide among 6 custard cups or martini glasses (sprinkle with a squeeze of lemon juice if you like - this helps prevent browning).

Whisk the pudding until it is soft and smooth, about 30 seconds, and then divide it among the custard cups. Top with the vanilla wafer mixture and serve.

(If not served immediately, the pudding will keep in the refrigerator for up to 3 days, with plastic wrap intact. Sprinkle the crumbs on just before serving.) Makes 6 servings.

A cheeky bunch

Nigel Farndale writes about bananas in The Telegraph. The British are indeed a cheeky bunch:

"It is heart-lightening to behold. As cheerful as a daffodil, but somehow more human. In a bunch they look like fingers. Individually, they have skin as smooth as human skin and a gently curving shape that is perfectly evolved to fit the human grip. They are even satisfying to peel, unlike the mean and fiddly orange.

"There is the snap of the stem, then, as a silk dressing gown might fall with a whisper from the shoulders of a beautiful woman, it stands before you in all its pale, naked glory. On a cold winter's day, its sweet fragrance offers a hint of the Caribbean. A cure for seasonal affective disorder if ever there was..."

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

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.

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.