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.

Red, hot and blue

Everywhere I turn, there is red, white and blue. In the stores. On paper goods. On cakes and cupcakes. On balloons, banners and cotton tees... Though I have yet to determine a Fourth of July menu, it could include presidential chili from the Obamas, some sort of fruit cobbler and IT'S-ITS.

The Obama Family Chili Recipe

1 large onion, chopped
1 green pepper, chopped
several cloves of garlic, chopped
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 lb. ground turkey or beef
1/4 tsp. ground cumin
1/4 tsp. ground oregano
1/4 tsp. ground turmeric
1/4 tsp. ground basil
1 Tbsp. chili powder
3 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
several tomatoes, depending on size, chopped
1 15-ounce can red kidney beans

Sauté onions, green pepper and garlic in olive oil until soft. Add ground meat and brown. Combine spices together into a mixture, then add to ground meat. Add red wine vinegar. Add tomatoes and let simmer, until tomatoes cook down. Add kidney beans and cook for a few more minutes.

Scoop over white or brown rice. Garnish with grated cheddar cheese, onions and sour cream. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

Like butter

As it turns out, I have a copy of "Body of Life," from inaugural poet Elizabeth Alexander. The collection was published by Tia Chucha Press in Chicago.

As it turns out, I also have a copy of "Kings of the Hill: How Nine Powerful Men Changed the Course of American History," written by Richard B. Cheney and Lynne V. Cheney. Who knew?

I pull the first book out of the brown cardboard box to read more thoroughly in the future. I put the second book back into storage.

Butter

My mother loves butter more than I do,
more than anyone. She pulls chunks off
the stick and eats it plain, explaining
cream spun around into butter! Growing up
we ate turkey cutlets sautéed in lemon
and butter, butter and cheese on green noodles,
butter melting in small pools in the hearts
of Yorkshire puddings, butter better
than gravy staining white rice yellow,
butter glazing corn in slipping squares,
butter the lava in white volcanoes
of hominy grits, butter softening
in a white bowl to be creamed with white
sugar, butter disappearing into
whipped sweet potatoes, with pineapple,
butter melted and curdy to pour
over pancakes, butter licked off the plate
with warm Alaga syrup. When I picture
the good old days I am grinning greasy
with my brother, having watched the tiger
chase his tail and turn to butter. We are
Mumbo and Jumbo's children despite
historical revision, despite
our parent's efforts, glowing from the inside
out, one hundred megawatts of butter.

Elizabeth Alexander, in the poetry collection "Body of Life."

Her father eats

"Dad ate all his meals with vigor and passion, as if each were his last. He hated eating in a hurry as much as his father despised overcooked meat. Instead, Dad lingered over every sip of wine or bite of food throughout the duration of a meal. He paused between bites, resting his chopsticks across his rice bowl as he decided which delicacy he would taste next. Dad admired the whole meal placed in front of him and then studied each dish, appreciating its appearance and aroma. He may have eaten a dish a hundred times, but he approached each meal anew, as if he had never before tasted what lay in front of him."

Linda Furiya, in "Bento Box in the Heartland: My Japanese Girlhood in Whitebread America."

Simple and seasonal

With apricots from the market and sour cream in the refrigerator to use up, I decide to make coffeecake. If I have plums or peaches, I could use those as well. I need something simple and seasonal.

Spongy and mildly fragrant, the coffeecake does not disappoint. Thankfully. It looks lovely coming out of the oven. I grab a mug for a caffeine kick, and sit down at the table to cut a slice.

Apricot Coffeecake

8 medium apricots
cooking spray
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 cup canola oil
1 cup sugar
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 large egg
1 large egg white
1 cup sour cream

Rinse and dry the apricots. Cut them in half and discard the pits. Set aside. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Coat a 9- by 12-inch Pyrex pan with nonstick cooking spray. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the all-purpose flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, combine the canola oil and sugar. Beat. Add the vanilla extract, egg and egg white. Beat on a medium speed until smooth. Alternate portions of flour and sour cream into the wet mixture. Mix until just combined.

Pour batter into the Pyrex pan and spread evenly. Top it with the apricot halves, cut sides up. Bake 30 to 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Makes 15 or 16 servings.

Wasting eggs

The lime tart is an abysmal failure, a gooey, sticky pie-plate of a mess I wind up scraping into the trash. It is a waste of time and energy. It is a waste of eggs.

The recipe, which I also toss away, calls for a cup of sugar. For some reason, however, I think it asks for two. One forkful of filling and I can feel my teeth fall out. It is much too sweet. My dentist would not approve.

Food for thought

"We only have three meals a day. I hate to waste one."

Michael Pollan, author of "The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals," in an interview last year with the San Francisco Chronicle.


And so I think often about what to eat: the vanilla yogurt in the refrigerator, the rhubarb cooked down with sugar and orange juice, the granola. I think about what to drink. Do I want coffee, the first sip that goes down warm and smooth?

I think about what to have for lunch. Leftover rice or pasta? Salad, soup or a sandwich? I wonder if I will get five servings of fruits and vegetables; there is that mango on the counter ripening nicely. I think about what to prepare for dinner as well, how to shop and chop and braise. I do all this before I make it out of bed.

Alien cupcake

I see the oddest thing in front of an office building in the Silicon Valley. So odd, in fact, I have to pull into the parking lot, get out of the car and take a picture.

The hole truth

John T. Edge pays attention to familiar foods. In "Donuts: An American Passion," he charts our often guilt-ridden love affair with these deep-fried classics.

Digging into the folklore and history of the doughnut, he visits mom-and-pop businesses as well as franchises such as Krispy Kreme and Dunkin' Donuts. He feeds our incessant sugar cravings. Director of the Southern Foodways Alliance at the University of Mississippi in Oxford, Miss., he provides both useful facts and intriguing trivia.

Among our favorite bites:

- In the mid-1820s, the term "dough nuts" showed up regularly in American cookbooks. By the early 1870s, "doughnuts" became standard. Hoping to venture into international markets, and to "obviate difficulty in pronouncing 'doughnuts' in foreign languages," the New York-based (though ironically named) Doughnut Machine Corporation began to popularize the word "donuts" in the 1920s.

- At Moto restaurant in Chicago, innovative chef Homaro Cantu likes to play with his food. On his dessert menu at one point: doughnut soup.

- Maybe it was an American Indian who accidentally pierced a fry cake with a bow and arrow. Or a sea captain in Maine, caught in a turbulent swell, who "impaled his fry cake on the ship's wheel to save the goodie for later." Or...

To settle "The Great Donut Debate," the one about the hole, celebrity judges entertained arguments in a New York City hotel ballroom in 1941. The story they eventually selected: That same sea captain, in 1847, watching his mother in the kitchen make fry cakes when he was a boy, "asked her why the centers were so soggy." She told him she didn't know; for some reason, they never got cooked. So he poked out the centers with a fork, creating "the first 'ring' doughnuts."

- Tres Shannon and Kenneth "Cat Daddy" Pogson cater primarily to night owls at Voodoo Doughnut in Portland, Ore. Their neighborhood shop gets going when many of us have settled down for the evening. They dish out items such as Grape Apes, doughnuts "sprinkled with powdered grape drink mix," and Dirty Snowballs, cream-filled chocolate cake donuts "slathered with pink marshmallow frosting." The two of them work with an ordained minister, too, should the marital bug bite customers in the pre-dawn hours.

- Dusted liberally with confectioners' sugar, beignets are classic New Orleans fare. Also good, but often overshadowed in Southern food lore, calas are "roundish fritters of rice and yeast, eggs and sugar and spices." Creole women originally sold them on the streets in the early 1900s.

- At the Donut Man in Glendora, east of Los Angeles, Jim Nakano offers the ultimate fruit filling. When California strawberries are in season, he takes five or six of them, dips them in a glaze and piles them onto "(clamshells) of fresh fried dough." In the middle of summer, he does the same with big slices of juicy peaches.

Scattering items such as these into the narrative, Edge gives us substantial food for thought. In this entertaining title in what has become a successful publishing series, he lets us eat without worry of empty calories or expanding waistlines. Bless his heart, he lets us indulge.

(A version of this article appears in The Oakland Tribune.)

Pho (a.k.a. Noodle Love)

For comfort and simplicity, few foods beat pho, beef noodle soup. Served in deep, oversized bowls, it consists of thin slices of meat cooked quickly in hot broth, long strands of rice noodles and a smattering of fresh herbs.

According to chef Mai Pham, author of "Pleasures of the Vietnamese Table," pho originated in Hanoi after the French occupation of Vietnam in the late-1800s.

Historians note its similarities to pot-au-feu, a French classic with meat and vegetables cooked in water or consommé. They believe the word "pho" (pronounced "fuh") comes from the word "feu," French for fire.

Others point to the influence of the Chinese, neighbors to the north who favored ingredients such as rice noodles, ginger and star anise.

In time, of course, the Vietnamese embraced pho as their own, Pham says. They added splashes of fish sauce, for example, to the simmering broth. Cooks in cities such as Saigon incorporated mung bean sprouts and aromatic Asian basil. These provide an irresistible crunch and a distinct fragrance. They also offered garnishes and condiments.

This is the pho Vietnamese immigrants introduced to American palates in the 1980s and '90s. This is the pho we know.

A rich, meaty broth is essential to the dish, Pham explains. Briefly blanching the beef bones and beef chuck in a separate pot helps to minimize impurities in the stock. Occasionally skimming the fat and foam off the top helps as well.

While the soup bubbles gently on the stove, work on other elements. Soak dried rice noodles in cold water to make them pliable. Prep mung bean sprouts and slices of yellow onions. Plate them alongside sprigs of Asian basil, for example, and wedges of lime.

Hours later, top servings of cooked noodles with slices of beef, and ladle into big bowls generous amounts of steamy broth. They should keep things hot through the end of the meal. With chopsticks in one hand and soup spoons in the other, slurp away.

(A version of this article appears in Relish. The photo is from Relish as well.)



I adapt the following recipe from Mai Pham's "Pleasures of the Vietnamese Table." For each bowl, Pham recommends 1 part noodles to 3 parts broth.

Pho Bo
(Vietnamese Rice Noodle Soup with Beef)

for the broth:
5 lbs. beef marrow or knuckle bones
2 lbs. beef chuck, cut into 2 pieces
2 (3-inch) pieces ginger, cut in half lengthwise, lightly bruised with the flat side of a knife, lightly charred
2 yellow onions, peeled and charred
1/4 cup fish sauce
3 oz. rock sugar or 3 Tbsp. sugar
10 whole star anise, lightly toasted in a dry pan
6 whole cloves, lightly toasted in a dry pan
1 Tbsp. sea salt

for the noodles:
1 lb. dried 1/16-inch wide rice sticks
1/3 lb. beef sirloin, slightly frozen, then sliced paper-thin across the grain

for the garnishes:
1/2 yellow onion, sliced paper-thin
3 scallions, cut into thin rings
1/3 cup chopped cilantro
1 lb. mung bean sprouts, tails trimmed
10 sprigs Asian basil (or Thai basil)
1 dozen saw-leaf herb leaves (optional)
6 Thai bird chilies or 1 serrano chili, cut into thin rings
1 lime, cut into 6 wedges
ground black pepper

Note: To char ginger, hold the piece with tongs directly over an open flame. Turn occasionally, charring it until the edges are slightly blackened and the ginger is fragrant, about 3 to 4 minutes. Char the onions similarly. Peel and discard the blackened skins, then rinse and add to the broth.

To prepare the broth:

In a large stockpot, bring 6 quarts of water to a boil.

Place the bones and beef chuck into a second pot and add water to cover. Bring to a boil and boil vigorously for 5 minutes. Using tongs, carefully transfer the bones and beef to the first pot of boiling water. Discard the water in which the meat cooked.

When the water returns to a boil, reduce the heat to a simmer. Skim the surface often to remove any foam and fat. Add the charred ginger and yellow onions, fish sauce and sugar. Simmer until the beef chuck is tender, about 40 minutes.

Remove one piece of meat and submerge in cool water for 10 minutes to prevent it from darkening and drying out. Drain, then cut into thin slices and set aside. Let the other piece continue to cook in the simmering broth.

When the broth has been simmering for about 1 1/2 hours total, wrap the star anise and cloves in a spice bag (or cheesecloth) and add to the broth. Let infuse until the broth is fragrant, about 30 minutes. Remove and discard both the spice bag and yellow onions.

Add the salt and continue to simmer, skimming as necessary, until you're ready to assemble the dish. The broth needs to cook for at least 2 hours total. (It will taste salty but should balance out once the noodles and garnishes are added.) Leave the remaining chuck and beef bones to simmer in the pot. Just before serving, bring the broth back to a rolling boil.

To prepare the noodles:

Soak the dried noodles in cold water for 30 minutes, then drain. Bring a big pot of water to a rolling boil. When you're ready to serve (not before), place the noodles one portion at a time into a sieve and lower it into the boiling water.

Using chopsticks or a long spoon, stir the noodles so they untangle and cook evenly. Blanch just until they are soft but still chewy, about 10 to 20 seconds. Drain completely, then transfer to a large preheated bowl. Cook remaining noodles similarly.

To assemble the dish:

Place a few slices of beef chuck and raw sirloin on top of the noodles. Ladle about 2 to 3 cups of hot broth into each large bowl. The heat will cook the raw beef instantly. Garnish with sliced yellow onions, scallions and chopped cilantro. Guests can garnish individual bowls with mung bean sprouts, herbs, chilies, lime juice and ground black pepper. Makes 6 servings.

"Wagamama" and me

Though I say nice things about Andy Raskin's "The Ramen King and I," I have pretty much stopped eating packages of instant ramen and Cup Noodles, and tend not to stock them in the house. The artificial quality and high sodium content frighten me.

On the other hand, I can appreciate fresh noodles served in big bowls of hot broth or stir-fried swiftly with slivers of meat and vegetables. I like the taste and the versatility. Birthday meals, for instance, always include platters of noodles.

In what can be called a stroke of synergy, I am given a copy of "The Wagamama Cookbook."

Written by Hugo Arnold, it includes ideas and recipes from the popular British restaurant chain specializing in soba, ramen and udon noodle dishes. The first outpost opened in London's Bloomsbury neighborhood; there are now dozens of Wagamamas around the world.

I favor chicken ramen and will have to try this version in the near future:

Chicken Ramen
(Charbroiled Chicken and Noodle Soup with Bok Choy and Bamboo Shoots)

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
vegetable oil, for oiling
salt and white pepper
9 oz. fresh egg noodles
4 cups chicken or vegetable stock
2 bok choy, trimmed and roughly chopped (or 2 handfuls of baby spinach leaves)
12 pieces bamboo shoots, drained
4 scallions, trimmed and finely sliced

Preheat the broiler or grill. Lightly oil and season the chicken breasts and broil or grill for 4 minutes on each side, or until cooked through. Let rest for 5 minutes, slice on the diagonal, and set aside.

Cook the noodles in a large pot of boiling water for 2 to 3 minutes until just tender. Drain, refresh under cold running water, and divide between 2 bowls.

Heat the chicken or vegetable stock until boiling. Put the bok choy on top of the noodles and ladle in the stock. Top with the sliced chicken, bamboo shoots and scallions. Makes 2 servings.

"The Ramen King and I"

Andy Raskin's book is difficult to define. On one level, "The Ramen King and I: How the Inventor of Instant Noodles Fixed My Love Life" recalls the writer's deep and utter fascination with Momofuku Ando, "the 94-year-old billionaire who invented instant ramen in his back yard." It charts his career as founder and chairman of Nissin Food Products in Japan.

On another level, Raskin's work examines the ways in which Ando affected him personally. Through a series of frank and reflective letters he directs to the chairman but does not send, the San Francisco resident learns from his own mistakes with women he has dated. He discovers reasons for his infidelities and insecurities. He vows to do better.

Still, on another level, "The Ramen King and I" offers occasional looks into Japanese food and drink, both in the Bay Area and abroad, as well as Japanese films and comics. Raskin references these throughout his narrative, citing cinematic warriors, for example, and manga titles such as "Shota's Sushi" and "Ramen Discovery Legend." It is a tangle of threads. But it is a tangle that mostly succeeds.

With great enthusiasm and substantial clarity, Raskin talks of Ando's early days and experiences. He was born in Taiwan in 1910 and raised alongside two brothers and a sister by his paternal grandfather, a textile distributor. He considered the old man "a strict disciplinarian" and "an excellent role model for life as an entrepreneur."

In 1958, Ando experimented in a shed in his back yard in Japan and figured out a way to flash-fry noodles. This led to the creation of instant ramen. (A replica of the shack now stands "like a shrine" at the Momofuku Ando Instant Ramen Museum in Ikeda.) Thirteen years later, Ando developed Cup o' Noodles, utilizing a foil that would "serve as the top of a revolutionary packaging design in which instant noodles could be sold, cooked, and eaten." The product was subsequently renamed Cup Noodles.

Raskin devours as many books and articles by and about Ando as he possibly can, often quoting passages from autobiographies such as "Conception of a Fantastic Idea," "Magic Noodles" and "Thus Spake Momofuku." He attends a massive memorial service at Kyocera Dome Osaka when the chairman passes away in 2007, too; it is among the most endearing and compelling moments in the story.

The time the author spends researching Ando's beliefs, values and accomplishments coincides with the time he spends abstinent. He decides to stop dating in order to give himself the emotional distance necessary to understand his failures.

Heeding advice from a friend in a local support group, Raskin begins to pen letters that reveal intimate details of his fears and faults. Instructed to select a deity or a spirit to whom to address the letters (and thinking constantly then of ramen), he chooses Ando. His correspondence becomes an exercise in honesty. It is therapeutic and enlightening.

Eventually, Raskin realizes that the goals Ando established for ramen applies to his situation as well. The inventor wanted noodles that were tasty, long lasting, economical, healthy and safe. In the end, these words "also described the kind of healthy romantic relationship that had eluded me."

Does Ando actually repair Raskin's love life, as the author suggests? That is still debatable. The connection between the two men remains somewhat of a stretch. Though Raskin tries repeatedly to arrange interviews with Ando in Japan, for example, they never meet face to face. They never interact personally or professionally. The bond is tenuous.

For some reason, however, Raskin's memoir is oddly entertaining. Perhaps it is his earnestness and determination. So long as he believes Ando will guide and support him, who are we to spoil the illusion?

Perhaps it is the way Raskin peculiarly juxtaposes love with food, history with pop culture, and his life in San Francisco with his travels through Asia. Perhaps it is his voice, confident yet humble, self-effacing and unassuming. Or perhaps it is simply how he reminds us of the guys we knew in college, the ones who frequently faltered but genuinely meant well, who were inherently flawed but had significant potential, the ones who carried themselves a certain way, in short, the ones we couldn't help rooting for.

(A version of this review runs in the San Francisco Chronicle.)

So "Lost"

I am lost nearly every week. But I love the challenges the ABC mind-bender, "Lost," generates. I love the acting and the storytelling. I also love these photos, taken during the show's 100th episode celebration in Hawaii.



Jeremy Davies plays Daniel Faraday.



Jorge Garcia plays Hugo "Hurley" Reyes.



The cake comes from the crew at "Ace of Cakes" on the Food Network. (The photos are from ABC.)

In the Sunday paper

The San Francisco Chronicle looks at French macarons, "perfectly round cookie sandwiches in pastel greens, bright pinks and vibrant yellows."

(Photo credit goes to Eric Luse of the San Francisco Chronicle.)

I have been thinking about macarons on and off for months now. I first tried them at Miette in the Ferry Building Marketplace in San Francisco. True, they are wickedly expensive. Then again, they are wickedly good.

The reporter highlights a handful of other places in the Bay Area where these cookies are also available, including Masse's Pastries in Berkeley, Pamplemousse in Redwood City and Bouchon Bakery farther out in Yountville. Grab the sunscreen. I feel a road trip coming on.

Meeting for lunch

Google might have cut back on afternoon tea for its employees in Mountain View. But during its annual meeting at corporate headquarters, the company still offers an impressive lunch buffet for shareholders who attend.

In addition to items such as salad greens and hard-boiled eggs, we have an orange couscous salad, and a Greek pasta salad with olives and artichoke hearts.

We have bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin, rotisserie chicken, and mini pot roast sandwiches. We have crab cakes with little to no fillers. We have asparagus, macaroni and cheese, and corn and lima bean succotash. We have so-called raw lasagna layered with thin slices of zucchini and "cheese" made from macadamia nuts. We have strawberries and fresh-cut pineapple.

For dessert, we have eclairs, white chocolate chip and cranberry cookies, berry cobbler, and IT'S-ITs packaged with the Google logo.

I'm sorry. Is the CEO talking? Is there investor business to conduct?

Sugar, sugar

"All I ever really want is sugar."

Andy Warhol, who spent time at Serendipity 3 in New York City, something I learn in the gift shop for "Warhol Live," on exhibit through May 17 at the de Young museum in San Francisco.

Was he talking only of sugar, what we bake with? Or was he referring to something more?

Sun-made, ice-cold

When the weather is hot, an unseasonably 91 degrees, and there are leftovers in the refrigerator, I do not cook. I think only to brew sun tea. It is something I learned to do from a good friend, who learned it from his mother years ago.

I grab a two-quart Rubbermaid jug, put in six teabags, fill the container with tap water, tighten the lid, and set it outdoors. The sun does the rest of the work.

Hours later, I bring the plastic container into the kitchen, remove the teabags floating inside, screw the lid tight again, shake things a bit for proper effect, and pour tea into a glass filled with ice. I pause to take a long drink. It goes down nice and cold.

What I must take for granted

At a farmers' market across town, I stock up on strawberries but can not yet locate rhubarb. Darn.

When I email a friend in snowy Colorado, and talk of having enough luscious red fruit to last the week but unfortunately still no rhubarb, she envies the year-round farmers' markets in the Bay Area.

To which I ask, semi-seriously: What, aren't all farmers' markets year-round?

Spoken like a fruit-privileged Californian.

I am reminded of the mildly morbid but telling story a brother used to share about a man who complained of having no shoes until he saw somebody else with no feet.

Cake love

"Cake holds a family together. I really believed it did. My father was a different man when there was cake in the house. Warm. The sort of man I wanted to hug rather than shy away from. If he had a plate of cake in his hand I knew it would be all right to climb up onto his lap. There was something about the way my mother put a cake on the table that made me feel that all was well. Safe. Secure. Unshakable."

Nigel Slater, in his memoir "Toast: The Story of a Boy's Hunger."

Schedule C for cake

I finish taxes and send the suckers off. Hallelujah! This calls for cake. Well, technically, anything can call for cake.

The forms take about three weekends, on and off, and plenty of hair-pulling (even with TurboTax). But, in the end, I complete my taxes and my parents' taxes, and crosscheck returns for a few sisters and brothers.

If the threats of IRS audits don't hang perpetually over their heads, I swear, people would not worry half as much as they do about numbers and calculations, explanation and documentation.

Suffice to say, I am greatly relieved, and look forward to again engaging my creative right brain (leaving the methodical left brain alone until next April). In the meantime, Uncle Sam gets its share; and I, well, I get cake.

To market, to market

Imagine the excitement when I learned of a farmers' market opening nearby. Finally, I thought, I could walk on a slow, casual Saturday to an outdoor market, and head home shortly afterward with fresh, seasonal fruits.

I wouldn't need to get into a car to wander farmers' markets in other parts of the city. I wouldn't need to find parking to sample an array of lovely and sometimes unusual produce. I wouldn't need to drum up a list of errands "in that area" to justify visits to markets 20 or 25 minutes away from where I live.

In other cities, I have happily strolled farmers' markets, taking the train or the car, finding (and paying for) parking.

I love the Ferry Plaza farmers' market, for example, and try as much as possible to include it in plans when I BART into San Francisco. Trips to see a brother in Southern California also feel much more satisfying when we get to go to the market in Santa Monica.

But this new farmers' market, this one would be different, I thought. This one would actually be in my very own back yard. Finally, I could tumble out of bed, slap on a pair of sneakers and walk there.

Imagine the disappointment when I arrived during the second weekend to find less than two handfuls of stalls and vendors, and even fewer people shopping.

Organizers say they hope to see the farmers' market expand in weeks, months and years ahead, as more growers come and word spreads inevitably across the neighborhood. I do, too.

The knead to succeed

The first time I made focaccia, the dough did not rise at all. It sat bored and bewildered, a lazy blob in a mixing bowl atop the counter. I tossed it reluctantly into the compost bin outside.

Weeks earlier, my brother had brought an olive-and-onion focaccia to the house. He had gotten it at the store. Soft, fresh and flavorful, the bread had gone remarkably well with our supper: pasta with sausage and peppers. It had been splendid.

Inspired by its apparent simplicity and versatility, I decided to re-create that loaf in my kitchen. Though I am not a bread baker, I have learned to follow directions fairly efficiently. I like to believe I understood enough about cooking and ingredients that complemented one another to prove somewhat adept.

With a recipe culled from a few different sources, I set to work. Alas... I checked the date on the yeast packet; it had been almost a decade old, presumably when I last attempted bread.


The second time I made focaccia, with a new package of Fleischmann's, the dough rose only slightly. Had the water been warm enough? I wondered. Had it generated a sort of fizz when it hit the yeast? I was stumped.

I carried on nevertheless, ambitiously stretching the dough across a baking sheet before drizzling olive oil and scattering herbs. I dimpled the surface artistically with my fingers, pressing in handfuls of sliced olives and sautéed onions. Warm from the oven, the focaccia tasted fine, if not entirely fluffy.


According to Marcella Hazan, focaccia is most closely linked to Liguria, the Italian Riviera along the country's northwestern Mediterranean coast. In some towns, she notes in "Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking," focaccia is known as "pizza Genoese, Genoese-style pizza."

Focaccia does resemble pizza in some ways. It can have a similar texture, and often incorporates familiar toppings such as basil, garlic and mushrooms. Fortunately, however, focaccia is seldom inundated with tomato sauce or drowned in melted cheese, making it easier to handle.

Ordering focaccia in Italian bakeries can be a tricky endeavor. In Bologna, "if you're looking for focaccia, the appropriate word to use is crescentina; in Florence, Rome, and a few other parts of central Italy, it is schiacciata," Hazan writes. "If you ask for focaccia in Bologna or Venice, you will be given a very sweet panettone-like cake, studded with candied fruit and raisins."

Focaccia can be eaten as a side to the main course, the way my brother and I approached our meal that night. It can be considered an appetizer, served warm perhaps with a lovely bowl of soup.

Thick loaves can also be cut horizontally for sandwiches and filled with coppa and provolone, prosciutto and slices of mozzarella, or a mix of grilled or roasted vegetables. Or it can be eaten the way it is served in Ligurian bakeries: hot from the oven, wrapped in paper and downed on the spot.


In "Lidia's Family Table," Lidia Bastianich delivers an intriguing fig focaccia. In "How to Cook Everything: Simple Recipes for Great Food," Mark Bittman's basic focaccia is essentially a pizza dough, with different ideas for toppings.

And in his latest, "The Modern Baker," Nick Malgieri gets creative. His focaccia recipes include combinations such as tomatoes, anchovies and dried breadcrumbs; sliced onions, anchovies, black olives and green olives; and prosciutto, mozzarella and Parmigiano-Reggiano, for a ham-and-cheese-filled focaccia.


The third time I made focaccia, I added warm water to the yeast and watched it fizz. I proofed the dough in the hottest place in the house: an upstairs bedroom with strong afternoon sun, nowhere near the kitchen. The dough rose significantly and developed an elasticity with which I was satisfied. It stretched amicably and went into and out of the oven effortlessly.

Cut and plated nicely, the focaccia looked terrific, speckled with the contrasting colors of black olives, red onions and green herbs. Fluffier than the previous loaf, the bread felt soft and spongy; the toppings tasted savory and mildly sweet. I ate chunks of it meal after meal, until nary a crumb remained.

Why, I wondered, had focaccia even mattered? What was the big deal? So what if I messed up the first time, or the second. Why was it important to make bread when I could go to the store? Could I not have resisted the challenge? Maybe I was trying to impress my brother. More likely, however, I was trying to impress myself.

(The site www.culinate.com, where the photo is from, publishes a version of this food essay.)


Olive and Onion Focaccia

dough:

2 tsp. active dry yeast
1 cup warm water
2 Tbsp. sugar
3 1/2 to 4 cups flour
1 Tbsp. coarse salt
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

topping:

1 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
1 onion, peeled and sliced
2 cups olives, pitted and sliced
1 tsp. dried herbs (rosemary, basil, thyme or oregano) or 2 tsp. chopped fresh herbs
salt
freshly ground black pepper

To make the dough: In the bowl of a stand mixer, combine the dry yeast, warm water and sugar. Stir gently to dissolve. Wait 3 to 5 minutes for the yeast to activate; it should fizz. Attach the dough hook. With the machine on low, gradually add the flour. Dissolve the salt in 2 Tbsp. of water. Add it to the mixture as well. Pour in the olive oil.

When the dough begins to form, increase the speed to medium. Periodically scrape the dough off the hook. Mix about 10 minutes, until the dough is smooth and elastic, adding a little flour if necessary.

Turn the dough out onto a board and fold it over itself a few times. Shape it into a ball. Put it into an oiled bowl. Cover with plastic wrap or a damp cloth and let it rise in a warm spot in the house for about 45 minutes, until it has doubled in size.

To make the topping: In a medium-sized skillet over low to medium heat, caramelize the onions in olive oil.

To bake the focaccia: Lightly oil a baking sheet. When the dough is ready, turn it out. Roll and stretch it into the pan until the dough is about 1/2-inch thick. Cover with plastic wrap again. Let it rest for 15 minutes more.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Uncover the dough and dimple it with your fingers. Brush it with a little more olive oil. Top the dough with the caramelized onions, olives, herbs, salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Bake on the bottom rack for 15 to 20 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature. Makes 1 sheet.

No foolin'

What I would do to eat at 10 Downing Street, where Jamie Oliver, among my favorite rock star chefs, and a crew from Fifteen London prepare dinner for politicians and world leaders the evening before the G-20 economic summit.



The menu:

Baked Scottish Salmon with Seashore Vegetables, Broad Beans, Herb Garden Salad, Mayonnaise and Wild Garlic-scented Irish Soda Bread

Slow-Roasted Shoulder of Welsh Lamb, very first of the season Jersey Royals, first of the season Asparagus and Wild St. George Mushrooms, Mint Sauce and Gravy

Hot Bakewell Tart with Homemade Custard

(The image is from www.jamieoliver.com.)

Vegetarian options include:

Childwickbury Goat's Cheese with Roast Shallots, Seashore Vegetables, Herb Green Salad and Wild Garlic-scented Irish Soda Bread

Lovage and Potato Dumplings with first of the season Asparagus and Wild St. George Mushrooms


I am going to have to figure out what lovage is exactly. The lamb, however, reminds me of a terrific recipe from "Jamie at Home: Cook Your Way to the Good Life":


Incredible Roasted Shoulder of Lamb with Smashed Vegetables and Greens

for the lamb:

1 (2.2-lb.) shoulder of lamb
extra virgin olive oil
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper
1 large bunch fresh rosemary
1 bulb garlic, unpeeled, broken into cloves

for the smashed vegetables:

1 1/2 lbs. peeled potatoes, cut into large chunks
3 large carrots, peeled and cut into small chunks
1/2 a large rutabaga, peeled and cut into small chunks
6 Tbsp. butter

for the sauce:

1 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
2 cups good-quality hot chicken or vegetable stock
2 Tbsp. capers, soaked, drained and chopped
1 large bunch fresh mint, leaves picked
2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 lb. lovely greens, such as white cabbage, savoy cabbage, Brussels sprouts tops or cavolo nero, leaves separated, stalks finely sliced

for the lamb:

Preheat your oven to full whack (450 to 500 degrees F).

Slash the fat side of the lamb all over with a sharp knife. Lay half the sprigs of rosemary and half the garlic cloves on the bottom of a high-sided roasting pan, rub the lamb all over with olive oil and season with salt and pepper.

Place it in the pan on top of the rosemary and garlic, and put the rest of the rosemary and garlic on top of the lamb. Tightly cover the tray with aluminum foil and place in the oven.

Turn the oven down immediately to 325 degrees F and cook for 4 hours - it's done if you can pull the meat apart easily with two forks.

for the vegetables:

When the lamb is nearly cooked, put the potatoes, carrots and rutabaga into a large pot of boiling salted water and boil hard for 20 minutes or so until you can slide a knife into the rutabaga easily.

Drain and allow to steam dry, then smash them up in the pan with most of the butter. If you prefer a smooth texture, add some cooking water. Spoon into a bowl, cover with foil and keep warm over a pan of simmering water.

for the sauce:

Remove the lamb from the oven and place it on a chopping board. Cover it with foil, then a kitchen towel, and leave it to rest.

Put a large pan of salted water on to boil for the greens.

Pour away most of the fat from the roasting pan, discarding any bits of rosemary. Put the pan on the stovetop over medium heat and mix in the flour. Add the stock, stirring and scraping all the sticky goodness off the bottom of the pan. You won't need gallons of gravy, just a couple of flavorsome spoonfuls for each serving.

Add the capers, turn the heat down and simmer for a few minutes. Finely chop the mint and add it to the sauce with the red wine vinegar at the last minute then pour into a pitcher.

Add the greens and stalks to the pan of fast-boiling salted water and cook for 4 to 5 minutes to just soften them. Drain and toss with a knob of butter and a pinch of salt and pepper.

Place everything in the middle of the table, and shred the lamb in front of your guests. Absolutely delish! Makes 6 servings.

Sour grapes

Shame on me. I should know better.

I had Chilean grapes the other week. They tasted horrible. Or, to put it more accurately, they tasted like nothing. They were not sweet at all. What a waste of time and effort.

From now on, so long as I am living in California, I am spending money on California grapes. There is no point in purchasing mediocre produce packed and shipped from afar when all I need to do is wait. It is better that I support local agriculture when it is in season.

Besides, in no time, I should have access to berries, beans, rhubarb and a mess of spring and summer produce also grown in California.

Alas... only when I find myself in Chile will I eat Chilean grapes again.

Ice cream

"We dare not trust our wit for making our house pleasant to our friend, so we buy ice cream."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Deep-fried goodness

"They are my favorite food in the whole wide world... I could live on french fries."

Michelle Obama, speaking of food indulgences in The New York Times.

I have got to love this woman. She chooses to eat well and exercises regularly, yet can not resist an occasional side order of goodness. Her French fries are my lemon doughnuts.

The White House gardens

Marian Burros describes the vegetable garden about to take shape on the South Lawn, a stone's throw from the new children's swing set:

"The Obamas will feed their love of Mexican food with cilantro, tomatilloes and hot peppers. Lettuces will include red romaine, green oak leaf, butterhead, red leaf and galactic. There will be spinach, chard, collards and black kale. For desserts, there will be a patch of berries. And herbs will include some more unusual varieties, like anise hyssop and Thai basil. A White House carpenter who is a beekeeper will tend two hives for honey.

"Total cost for the seeds, mulch, etc., is $200."

The White House has this shot:




Though vegetable gardening is not something I aspire to do, it is something I can admire. More so given the national profile here. Imagine the possibilities on this patch of public land.

Irish eats

I must have a bit of Irish (ingenuity) in me after all.

Bored with the usual corned beef and cabbage, I decide to try a sort of stew. I use lamb, which I love but do not cook often enough. I use broth for further flavor. And I use parsley for that requisite splash of green.

For dessert, of course, there is Baileys Irish Cream on (or in) anything.

Irish Lamb Stew

2 lbs. boneless lamb, trimmed and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1 Tbsp. olive oil
3 medium yellow onions, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
3 to 4 medium carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
3 to 4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1 tsp. dried thyme
1 bay leaf
3 to 4 medium russet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
1/4 cup packed fresh parsley leaves, chopped

Salt and pepper the boneless lamb. In a Dutch oven over medium-high heat, heat the olive oil until just smoking. Brown the meat. Remove pieces to a plate lined with paper towels to soak up the fat. Set aside. Pour out most of the fat from the pot.

Saute the onions and carrots in the Dutch oven for 3 to 5 minutes over medium-high heat, scraping up any browned bits, until the onions are translucent. Return the boneless lamb to the pot.

Add enough broth to cover the vegetables and meat, about 3 cups. Add the thyme and bay leaf. Put the lid on. Bring to a boil then simmer for 1 to 1 1/2 hours. Add the potatoes and cook another 20 to 30 minutes. Remove the bay leaf and stir in the parsley. Makes 8 servings.

Cashew chicken

Southern food writer John T. Edge looks at the cashew chicken phenomenon in Springfield, Missouri.

Its incarnation - "deep-fried chicken chunks in a brown slurry of soy sauce, oyster sauce and stock, scattered with green onions and halved cashews" - frightens me actually. I can imagine the chicken goop, for lack of a better word, and remain grateful to know true Chinese food.

The version from Kylie Kwong's "Simple Chinese Cooking," for example, is more healthful and tastes much cleaner:

Stir-Fried Chicken Fillets with Cashews

1 lb. 10 oz. chicken thigh fillets, cut into 1-inch slices
1 medium cucumber
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 cup unsalted and roasted cashew nuts, about 5 oz.
6 cloves garlic, finely diced
2 Tbsp. Shao Hsing wine or dry sherry
2 tsp. sea salt
3/4 cup finely sliced scallions

marinade:
2 Tbsp. Shao Hsing wine or dry sherry
2 Tbsp. cornstarch
1 Tbsp. cold water
1 tsp. sea salt

Combine chicken with marinade ingredients in a large bowl, cover, and leave to marinate in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.

Cut cucumber in half lengthwise and scoop out the seeds using a spoon. Place cucumber cut-side down on a chopping board, finely slice on the diagonal and set aside.

Heat 2 Tbsp. of the oil in a hot wok until the surface seems to shimmer slightly. Add half the marinated chicken and stir-fry for 1 minute. Remove from wok with a slotted spoon and set aside. Add remaining chicken and stir-fry for 1 minute, remove from wok and set aside.

Add remaining oil to the hot wok, stir in nuts and garlic and stir-fry on medium heat for 30 seconds, stirring constantly to ensure garlic does not burn. Immediately return chicken to the wok and increase heat to high. Pour in wine or sherry and stir-fry for 30 seconds.

Add salt and continue to stir-fry for a further 30 seconds or until chicken is lightly browned and just cooked through. Lastly, add reserved cucumber and stir-fry for 10 seconds.

Arrange chicken on a platter, garnish with scallions. Makes 4 servings.

The White House cooks

The New York Times, offers insight on the eating habits of Pres. and Michelle Obama and their daughters, Malia and Sasha.

"White House officials say the focus on healthy living will be a significant item on Mrs. Obama's agenda... As the nation battles an obesity epidemic and a hard-to-break taste for oversweetened and oversalted dishes, her message is clear: Fresh, nutritious foods are not delicacies to be savored by the wealthy, but critical components of the diets of ordinary and struggling families..."

At some point, I will have to try the recipe from White House chef Cristeta Comerford:

No Cream Creamed Spinach

2 lbs. baby spinach, washed and cleaned
2 Tbsp. olive oil
4 shallots, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
salt
freshly ground black pepper

Blanch half a pound of spinach in salted, boiling water. Immediately, "shock" the blanched spinach in a bowl of iced water. Drain and squeeze out the excess water. Puree in a blender. Set aside.

In a large skillet, sweat the shallots and garlic until translucent. Add the rest of the spinach leaves. Toss and sauté until wilted. Fold in the spinach puree. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Makes 6 servings.

Why ask why?

"I forget what we ate, except for the end of the meal. It was a big round peach pie, still warm from Old Mary's oven and the ride over the desert. It was deep, with lots of juice, and bursting with ripe peaches picked that noon. Royal Albertas, Father said they were. The crust was the most perfect I have ever tasted, except perhaps once upstairs at Simpson's in London, on a hot plum tart.

"And there was a quart mason jar, the old-fashioned bluish kind like Mexican glass, full of cream. It was still cold, probably because we all knew the stream it had lain in, Old Mary's stream.

"Father cut the pie in three pieces and put them on white soup plates in front of us, and then spooned out the thick cream. We ate with spoons too, blissful after the forks we were learning to use with Mother.

"And we ate the whole pie, and all the cream. We can't remember if we gave any to the shadowy old man who sold water... and then drove on sleepily toward Los Angeles, and none of us said anything about it for many years, but it was one of the best meals we ever ate...

"I suppose that happens at least once to every human. I hope so.

"Now the hills are cut through with superhighways, and I can't say whether we sat that night in Mint Canyon or Bouquet, and the three of us are in some ways even more than twenty-five years older than we were then. And still the warm round peach pie and the cool yellow cream we ate together that August night live in our hearts' palates, succulent, secret, delicious."

M.F.K. Fisher, writing about peach pie in "The Gastronomical Me."

To taste

A brother offers my mother Indian food left over from his take-out lunch: tandoori chicken, chickpea curry, naan. They are items she seldom eats, prepared in ways with which she is not entirely familiar.

"Try it," he says. "It's different. You might like it."

"Taste it," my mother says, correcting his Cantonese. "With food, the word is taste."

It is a small distinction, I realize, between trying something and tasting something. But it is an important one. It is the same subtle distinction perhaps between seeing and knowing, between hearing and listening. "Taste it," she says.

Sir Duke

"I accept this in memory of my mother. I know that Lula Mae is smiling right now. Mr. President, I know that if she were here, she'd say, 'Let me give him a peach cobbler.' She would say peach cobbler."

Stevie Wonder at the White House, on receiving the Library of Congress Gershwin Prize for Popular Song from Pres. Obama.

In the Sunday paper

The San Francisco Chronicle writes of Bill Niman, co-founder of Niman Ranch, subsumed in January by its primary investor, Chicago-based Natural Food Holdings LLC.

Theirs is an engaging piece on the "idealist, whose mission was to change the way people eat and encourage them to think ethically about their food."