Resisting change

The folks in Huntington, W. Virginia, exasperate Jamie O. They make him cry on "Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution."

Alice, the lunch lady, for example, and her colleagues give the British chef and good-foods advocate a difficult time in their school kitchen. They resist any dose of change.

"So what else are we preparing for lunch today?" Oliver asks.

"Mashed potatoes."

"We should probably start peeling potatoes then."

"Peeling potatoes?"

Meanwhile, children choose chocolate milk and strawberry-flavored milk over vitamin D. They eat pizza and chicken nuggets. They do not properly identify fruits and vegetables.

Hope moves

First Lady Michelle Obama writes in Newsweek of Let's Move, the nationwide campaign she is spearheading. Its primary goal: to solve the problem of childhood obesity in a generation.

This excerpt provides a decent taste:

"It's now clear that between the pressures of today's economy and the breakneck pace of modern life, the well-being of our kids has too often gotten lost in the shuffle.

"And let's be honest with ourselves: our kids didn't do this to themselves. Our kids don't decide what's served in the school cafeteria or whether there's time for gym class or recess. Our kids don't choose to make food products with tons of sugar and sodium in supersize portions, and then have those products marketed to them everywhere they turn. And no matter how much they beg for fast food and candy, our kids shouldn't be the ones calling the shots at dinnertime. We're in charge. We make these decisions..."

Chocolate and Guinness

To mark St. Patrick's Day, Nigella Lawson offers up, among other dishes, a chocolate Guinness cake "loaded with sugar, chocolate and a cream cheese frosting that recalls the foamy head of a pint" on NPR.

The cake would also work well without frosting. Now if only I actually had a bottle of Guinness somewhere in the house.

Chocolate Guinness Cake
from "Feast" by Nigella Lawson

1 cup Guinness
1 stick plus 2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa
2 cups superfine sugar
3/4 cup sour cream
2 eggs
1 Tbsp. pure vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 1/2 tsp. baking soda

for the topping:

8 ounces cream cheese
1 1/4 cups confectioners' sugar
1/2 cup heavy cream

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F, and butter and line a 9-inch springform pan.

Pour the Guinness into a large wide saucepan, add the butter - in spoons or slices - and heat until the butter's melted, at which time you should whisk in the cocoa and sugar.

Beat the sour cream with the eggs and vanilla and then pour into the brown, buttery, beery pan and finally whisk in the flour and baking soda.

Pour the cake batter into the greased and lined pan and bake for 45 minutes to an hour. Leave to cool completely in the pan on a cooling rack, as it is quite a damp cake.

When the cake's cold, sit it on a flat platter or cake stand and get on with the frosting. Lightly whip the cream cheese until smooth, sift over the confectioner's sugar and then beat them both together. Or do this in a processor, putting the unsifted confectioners' sugar in first and blitz to remove lumps before adding the cheese.

Add the cream and beat again until it makes a spreadable consistency. Ice the top of the black cake so that it resembles the frothy top of the famous pint. Makes 12 servings.

"Ripe" for review

For a book on "the search for the perfect tomato," Arthur Allen's "Ripe" is peculiarly and surprisingly light on passages that actually celebrate the popular fruit.

Aside from a few odes to its color, shape and texture, the Washington, D.C.-based journalist takes a technical approach to tomato appreciation, telling "a story about agribusiness through a single crop, examining its travels from a seedsman's laboratory or greenhouse to our tables."

In accessible but sometimes pedestrian prose, Allen writes of meetings with farmers, breeders and canners, examining historical developments and their impacts on various aspects of the industry. The tomato yield in California, for instance, increased from two million tons in 1965 to 11 million tons in 2000.

Sections on UC Davis agriculture professors and tomato breeders Jack Hanna and M. Allen Stevens prove educational, as do chapters on field workers in Florida (where the tomato is the number three crop behind oranges and sugar) and on consumers in Italy (as recently as a century ago, most Italians didn't even eat tomatoes).

By tackling the topic from the perspectives of business and science, the author engages his readers' heads more than their hearts.

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

A day for Pi

It is apparently a day for Pi - 3.14285714. It is a day for pumpkin pie, with an easy recipe lifted straight off the can.

Pumpkin Pie

3/4 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 3/4 tsp. pumpkin pie spice
2 large eggs
1 15-ounce can pumpkin puree
1 12-ounce can evaporated milk
1 unbaked 9-inch deep-dish pie shell

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.

Mix sugar, salt and pumpkin pie spice in a small bowl. Beat eggs in a large bowl. Stir in pumpkin and sugar-spice mixture. Gradually stir in the evaporated milk.

Pour into the pie shell.

Bake for 15 minutes.

Reduce oven temperature to 350 degrees F; bake 40 minutes or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack for 2 hours. Serve immediately or refrigerate. Makes 8 to 10 servings.

Double dose of Dahl

Elizabeth Grice writes in The Telegraph about Sophie Dahl, author of "Miss Dahl's Voluptuous Delights: Recipes for Every Season, Mood, and Appetite" and star of "The Delicious Miss Dahl," which premieres March 23 on the BBC.

"Classically dressed, not a utensil out of place, Dahl drifts charmingly through the rituals of omelette Arnold Bennett and cherry chocolate compote in a spotless kitchen. 'I am a Virgo. I tidy as I go. I can't abide mess in the kitchen or anywhere else.' She loiters in specialist food shops where there seem to be no other customers...

"And everything, sometime, somehow, recalls a childhood of fragrant kitchens, especially that of her paternal grandmother, Gee-Gee (mother of her actor father, Julian Holloway). On a grey winter day, you could easily fall into her languid mood of culinary escapism."

What Hollywood eats

For the 16th year in a row, chef Wolfgang Puck spearheads the Governors Ball, which takes place after the Academy Awards.

The menu, beginning with appetizers:

Tempura Shrimp and Lobster

Mini Kobe Burgers with Aged Cheddar and Remoulade

Wasabi Pea-Crusted Crab Cake with Mango and Thai Basil

Smoked Salmon Pizza with Caviar and Dill Creme

Black Truffle and Ricotta Cheese Pizza

Vegetable Spring Rolls with Sweet and Spicy Dipping Sauce

Chicken Potstickers with Ginger Black Vinegar Dipping Sauce

For dinner, there is:

House-Smoked Salmon, Potato Galette, Creme Fraiche and Baby Greens with Butler-passed Warm Brioche

Chicken Pot Pie with Yukon Gold Potatoes, Baby Heirloom Vegetables and Homemade Pastry Crust

And for dessert:

L'Etoile de Oscar

Baked Alaska with Espresso Glace, Guittard L'Etoile du Nord Chocolate Sorbet and Toasted Meringue

Now who says people in Hollywood do not eat?

The literary Miss Dahl

"In New York, my mum and her friends were constantly waging a battle against the dread affliction of fat. They wrapped themselves in seaweed to ward it off, climbed treadmills with an almost religious fervor, and saw a bevy of nutritionists, trainers, and Russians with heavy biceps to ensure it didn't darken their doors.

"There were cabbage-soup diets, steak diets, grapefruit-and-boiled-egg diets, and failing that, a trip to a spa in Miami where everything was counted for you and printed out on a computer.

"At my school on the Upper East Side, we daughters translated the insidious information we received with clumsy teenage logic, and applied it to our mealtimes...

"We didn't think we were fat; we just sure as hell didn't ever want to get that way. Fat was the girl who sat alone in the cafeteria eating macaroni and cheese... Fat was what came between you and your Calvins. Fat, according to the silent mantra of our mothers, was something that could slink up on you in the night, like a witch from a bad fairy tale, slovenly, spreading, and out of control."

Sophie Dahl, in "Secrets of the Flesh" from the March issue of Vogue.

What Ohno eats

To prepare for the Winter Games, according to Sports Illustrated, speedskater Apolo Anton Ohno "has been on the same fit-for-a-parrot diet for 15 weeks; a meal rotation every three hours that includes oatmeal, salmon, brown rice, salad, fruit, seaweed, blue-green algae and, occasionally, pasta."

Is it any wonder he has but 2 percent body fat?

Though I could eat nearly everything on Ohno's list - what exactly is blue-green algae? - nowhere in that description do I see cake or ice cream or bagels and cream cheese or hamburger and french fries... Or anything else that might easily brighten a day. Imagine the discipline.

Oh well, so much for my Olympics speedskating dreams.

Martha's Place in Montgomery

Owner of the popular restaurant in Montgomery, Alabama, Martha Hawkins chronicles with simple grace in "Finding Martha's Place: My Journey Through Sin, Salvation, and Lots of Soul Food" the highs and lows of her life thus far. She reveals the inspiration and motivation behind her success.

The tenth of 12 children, Hawkins grew up in Alabama in the 1950s and '60s with little money but lots of love, and a mama who was always cooking: "Give her a pot of peas and a dash of salt and she could make a meal for the entire neighborhood."

With honesty and sincerity, she recalls her teenage pregnancy: "I was scared to drink water because I was scared I was going to drown the baby." She talks of her marriage and subsequent divorce, the three other boys she bore, her diagnosis with and treatment for depression, and her financial struggles.

The brightest passages, however, involve food. Hawkins celebrates her time in the kitchen vividly and passionately:

"When you eat a piece of my fried chicken you can snap your fingers afterward. Then there's chicken and dumplings and collards and steamed rice and smothered cabbage and black-eyed peas. For dessert there's pound cake and apple cobbler and banana pudding and sweet potato pie and strawberry pie and more..."

And for readers who can not get to Montgomery themselves to taste her cooking, Hawkins concludes the feel-good memoir with some of her best home-grown Southern recipes.

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

Southern Baked Catfish
from Martha Hawkins' "Finding Martha's Place: My Journey Through Sin, Salvation and Lots of Soul Food"

6 catfish fillets
2 Tbsp. melted butter
1/2 tsp. garlic powder
1/2 tsp. dried basil (or 1 tsp. fresh)
1/2 tsp. dried oregano
1/2 tsp. black pepper
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. dry thyme
1 1/2 cups crushed dry cornflakes

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

In a medium bowl, mix together the herbs and cornflakes.

Place the catfish in a 2-quart casserole dish. Brush with the melted butter. Cover with the cornflake mixture.

Bake 15 to 20 minutes. Makes 6 servings.

Red beans and rice

When others begin to think of deprivation, I contemplate ways to indulge at the table Southern-style and toy with the idea of red beans and rice.

Red Beans and Rice
from "New Orleans Cuisine: Fourteen Signature Dishes and Their Histories," edited by Susan Tucker

1 quart dried red beans
1 pound ham or salt meat
1 carrot
1 onion
1 bay leaf
salt
fresh ground black pepper

Wash the beans and soak them overnight, or at least five or six hours, in fresh, cold water.

When ready to cook, drain off the water and put the beans in a pot of cold water, covering with at least two quarts, for beans must cook thoroughly.

Let the water heat slowly. Then add the ham or salt pork and the herbs and onion and carrot, minced fine.

Boil the beans at least two hours, or until tender enough to mash easily under pressure.

When tender, remove from the pot, put the salt meat or ham on top of the dish, and serve hot with boiled rice as an entree. Makes 8 servings.

The Lunar New Year

Among foods prepared during the Lunar New Year, jai seems to me the most complicated. It is also perhaps the most fascinating.

Known alternatively as Vegetarian's Delight or Buddhist's Delight, the traditional dish incorporates a selection of dried and fresh ingredients, all of which symbolize luck and success. Eaten on the first day of the new year, it should bring fortune in the weeks and months ahead.

Ingredients such as fat choy, a form of black seaweed, and ho see, or dried oysters, signify wealth and happiness. The words fat choy, for example, sound like the Chinese words for "prosperity"; the words ho see sound like the ones for "good news." To eat these items, then, is to be particularly blessed.

Though its origins remain unclear - some peg jai as an ancient, annual offering to Buddha - the healthful, meatless dish can be cooked an infinite number of ways. Recipes and preferences vary by region and differ inevitably among households. Technically a stir-fry combined in either a wok or a large pan, the mixture won't be crisp, however. It will instead turn out quite soft.

Ellen Leong Blonder, who, with Annabel Low, penned "Every Grain of Rice: A Taste of Our Chinese Childhood in America," uses about 15 dried and fresh noodles, fungi, nuts and vegetables in her jai. She also provides illustrations of items such as fresh water chestnuts and arrowheads, handy to have when wandering unfamiliar aisles of an Asian market.

Admittedly, her recipe appears time-consuming. Most of the prep work, though, can be done at least a day in advance. For instance, soak, drain and chop bean-thread noodles and dried black mushrooms the night before.

Veteran chef and cooking instructor Ken Hom strips his jai down to eight or nine essential ingredients. In "Ken Hom's Chinese Kitchen," he simplifies the process by forgoing items such as fat choy and ho see.

His less-expensive version is the one more commonly found in Chinese restaurants around the United States. It reminds me in some ways of chap chae, a popular Korean dish with noodles and vegetables.

Like Blonder and Low, my mother adheres strongly to custom. Growing up, we celebrated with an elaborate jai. In the kitchen New Year's Eve, my sisters, brothers and I found items such as cloud ears, tiger lily buds and jujubes soaking in small bowls of water.

We watched our mother peel fresh water chestnuts and arrowheads, and rinse fat choy. We went to sleep as she continued to work.

Early the next morning, we discovered platters of jai on the dining table, as if by magic. Our mother had awakened before us.

In our bright, new clothes, with our faces freshly scrubbed, my siblings and I ate jai for breakfast. We had it with bowls of steamed white rice and dabs of preserved olives. We ate it sometimes for lunch and dinner, too - a fortuitous start, we said, to our Lunar New Year.

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


Jai (Vegetarian Monks' Dish)
adapted from Ellen Leong Blonder and Annabel Low's "Every Grain of Rice: A Taste of Our Chinese Childhood in America"

1 3 1/2-ounce package bean-thread noodles
20 small dried black mushrooms
1/2 ounce cloud ears
1/2 cup tiger lily buds
20 small dried jujubes (Chinese red dates)
1/2 ounce fat choy (black seaweed)
1/4 cup dried lotus seeds
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. plus 1 Tbsp. vegetable or peanut oil
1 1/2-inch piece ginger
8 to 12 dried oysters, soaked overnight in water to cover
3/4 cup shelled ginkgo nuts
2 ounces dried bean curd sticks (also called dried bean flour skins)
4 ounces snow peas, strings removed
8 to 10 ounces tofu, cut into 3/4-inch dice
8 fresh or canned water chestnuts, peeled and sliced
1/4 cup sliced bamboo shoots, rinsed and drained
4 to 8 fresh arrowheads, lightly scraped with stems intact
12 pieces dao pok (fried wheat gluten)
2 cups finely shredded Napa cabbage
1 Tbsp. red bean curd
1 Tbsp. fermented bean curd

seasoning mixture:

3 cups water
1 Tbsp. sugar
4 tsp. oyster sauce
1 Tbsp. soy sauce

Soak the bean-thread noodles in water for 2 hours. Put the mushrooms in a small bowl with hot water. Let stand 30 to 45 minutes to soften. Cut and discard the stems. Rinse the caps, squeeze dry and cut into quarter-inch-thick slices.

Put the cloud ears, tiger lily buds, jujubes, fat choy and lotus seeds in separate bowls, add hot water to cover and soak for 30 minutes.

Rinse the cloud ears well, drain, cut and discard any hard parts. Rinse and drain the tiger lily buds, cut the hard ends. Drain the jujubes.

Rinse the fat choy and put it in a small saucepan with the salt, 1 tsp. of the oil, the ginger and water to cover. Bring to a boil, turn off the heat and let stand 10 minutes. Drain the fat choy and gently squeeze out the water.

Open the lotus seeds and discard the bitter green parts inside. Put the lotus seeds in a small saucepan with water to cover, bring to a boil, lower the heat and simmer until tender, about 20 minutes. Drain.

Rinse the soaked oysters to remove any sand. Trim off any tough parts. Steam the oysters in a small dish for 10 minutes over medium heat until soft.

Put the ginkgo nuts in a small saucepan with enough water to cover. Bring to a boil, lower the heat and simmer five minutes. Drain, then skin.

Break the bean curd sticks into 2- to 3-inch pieces. Soak for 30 minutes in a small saucepan with water to cover, simmer about 10 minutes to soften, then drain. Drain the bean-thread noodles, then cut into 6-inch lengths.

(You can prepare the recipe to this point one day in advance. Cover the individual ingredients separately and refrigerate.)

Blanch the snow peas in boiling water for 30 seconds. Rinse them under cold water and drain.

Combine ingredients for the seasoning mixture in a medium bowl and set aside.

Put the mushrooms, cloud ears, tiger lily buds, fat choy, lotus seeds, oysters, ginkgo nuts, tofu, water chestnuts, bamboo shoots, arrowheads and dao pok (fried wheat gluten) in a large bowl.

Put the bean-thread noodles and bean curd sticks in a second bowl, and the jujubes, Napa cabbage and snow peas in a third bowl.

Heat a wok over high heat, then heat 1 Tbsp. of oil.

Add the red and fermented bean curd, lower the heat to medium-high and cook 15 seconds, breaking it up with a spatula.

Stir in the seasoning mixture, bring to a boil, and cook for two to three minutes.

Add the mushroom mixture and cook for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the bean-thread noodles and bean curd sticks and cook 4 minutes longer, stirring occasionally.

Add the remaining ingredients and cook 2 minutes longer, tossing gently to distribute the Napa cabbage evenly. Makes 8 servings.


Vegetarian Delight
from "Ken Hom's Chinese Kitchen: With a Consumer's Guide to Essential Ingredients"

6 eggs, beaten
1 tsp. salt
4 tsp. sesame oil
1 ounce Chinese dried black mushrooms, re-hydrated
1/2-ounce cloud ears, re-hydrated
2 ounces bean-thread noodles
4 ounces pressed seasoned bean curd, re-hydrated
8 ounces cucumber
3 Tbsp. peanut oil
1 small onion, sliced
2 Tbsp. finely chopped fresh ginger
2 Tbsp. finely chopped garlic
3 Tbsp. light soy sauce
2 Tbsp. whole bean sauce
3 Tbsp. Shaoxing rice wine or dry sherry
1 Tbsp. hoisin sauce

In a small bowl, combine the egg, salt and 2 tsp. sesame oil, and set aside.

Remove and discard the mushroom stems and finely shred the caps into thin strips.

Remove and discard any hard stems from the cloud ears. Set aside.

Soak the bean-thread noodles in warm water for 15 minutes. Drain well and set aside. Cut the pressed bean curd into thin strips.

Peel and seed the cucumbers, and cut them into thin strips.

Heat a wok or large frying pan over high heat until it is hot. Add 1 1/2 Tbsp. of the oil and, when it is very hot and slightly smoking, turn the heat down to moderate.

Add the egg mixture and stir-fry for a few minutes or until the egg has barely scrambled. Remove the egg from the wok and drain on paper towels.

Wipe the wok clean and reheat it. When it is hot, add the remaining 1 1/2 Tbsp. of oil.

When it is very hot and slightly smoking, quickly add the onion, ginger and garlic, and stir-fry for 2 minutes. Then add the mushrooms, cloud ears, pressed bean curd, bean-thread noodles and cucumbers, and stir-fry for 2 more minutes.

Add the soy sauce, bean sauce, Shaoxing rice wine or dry sherry, hoisin sauce and remaining sesame oil, and continue to stir-fry for 3 minutes. Finally, add the cooked eggs and stir-fry for one minute. Turn onto a platter. Makes 4 servings.

The boy from Essex

"My name's Jamie Oliver. I'm 34 years old. I'm from Essex in England and for the last seven years I've worked fairly tirelessly to save lives in my own way. I'm not a doctor; I'm a chef. I don't have expensive equipment or medicine. I use information, education..."

Jamie Oliver, on accepting the 2010 TED prize in Long Beach, Calif.

Why ask why?

Because there are six more weeks of winter. And we are dying to see blue skies. Because we want something slightly sweet with tea or coffee in the late afternoons. It is time we savor quietly. Time we enjoy by ourselves.

Because there are ingredients in the freezer, fridge and cupboard. Cranberries. Butter. Orange juice. White and brown sugar. Oatmeal. They are simple to pull together. The oven does the work. Because we need to.

Cranberry Oat Squares

for the cranberry sauce:

4 cups fresh or frozen cranberries
2/3 to 1 cup sugar
1/3 cup orange juice

for the cranberry squares:

1 1/2 cups quick-cooking 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

To make the cranberry sauce:

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F.

Place cranberries in 9- by 13-inch glass baking dish. Sprinkle evenly with sugar.

Bake for 1 hour, stirring after 30 minutes. Add orange juice; stir to combine. Set aside to cool.

To make the cranberry squares:

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 glass baking pan.

Top with cranberry sauce in an even layer. Sprinkle with remaining oat mixture and bake for 30 to 40 minutes or until lightly brown. Cool and cut into squares. Makes 9 to 10 servings.

In the Sunday paper

Novelist Alexander McCall Smith writes in The Observer of a lifelong affection for tea and tea-taking:

"Tea, for me, is one of the great subjects. It is a romantic trade, it does not pollute excessively, it has all sorts of health benefits, it calms and wakes you up at the same time. It promotes conversation. You can give it to the vicar when he calls - if vicars still call - and you can give it to the builders when they come to knock down your wall. Builders still take sugar, but then I'm sure they need it..."

Cooking for her "Latte"

In 2001, Amanda Hesser shared her adventures in food and love with readers of The New York Times. In her Food Diary column, published in the Sunday magazine, she wrote about her then-emerging relationship with a man she called Mr. Latte.

He earned his nickname on their first date, when he ordered a latte after dinner - a post-prandial no-no in Hesser's view. She prefers a more sophisticated cup of espresso or a glass of Armagnac instead.

She wrote about his likes and dislikes, and the things they did and did not have in common. She wrote about their friends and families.

Most of all, she wrote about the meals they enjoyed - in fancy and not-so-fancy restaurants, in each other's apartments, while playing pool in a neighborhood bar, on trips to Europe, in their parents' and grandparents' homes, when he proposed, and when they married.

"Cooking for Mr. Latte: A Food Lover's Courtship, with Recipes" is a collection of these columns, paired with more than a dozen new essays. Appetizing and addictive, they chart the couple's connections to food as well as their increasing links to one another. They chronicle Hesser's growing affection for Tad Friend, a New Yorker staff writer, and her delight in being with him.

Sweet and sentimental, the pieces - 37 in all - provide a generous look into their personal lives. They give us reasons to root for the two of them, through thick and thin. They make us care about happily ever after.

Hesser believes in eating well. This means good food as well as good company. "(It) is about the people you share that food with," she says in her introduction, "the room you dine in, what you talk about, and the emotional hungers that you bring to the table." The idea sets the tone for the rest of the book.

When she prepares her first meal for Friend, for example, she wants to impress him. She hopes he likes the dishes - guinea hen, potatoes, a salad and dessert - she makes, that he would be comfortable in her apartment, that he would adore her very nature.

She should not have worried. "He ate heartily and had seconds of everything," Hesser tells us. "We finished the wine. I made him a latte, even."

When he decides to cook dinner for her one night, she is both flattered and flustered. "What could come out of a kitchen with a refrigerator containing only an unwrapped block of cheddar cheese, mustard, and a bottle of Moet & Chandon Champagne?" she wonders.

Imagine her delight when he presents chicken roasted with sour cream, lemon juice and mango chutney; a smooth puree of peas and watercress; and a hearty and pleasantly sharp couscous with celery, parsley and red-wine vinegar.

"Where did these recipes come from?" she asks rhetorically. "How did he learn to cook so well? Why hadn't he seemed anxious about whether I would like it? Why isn't there more food in his refrigerator?"

Hesser's curiosity is piqued. She had underestimated her new beau's interest and ability all along. She was on her way to being smitten.

Despite her professional background or perhaps because of it, Hesser tends to concentrate on simple foods at home.

For the most part, the dishes featured in "Cooking for Mr. Latte" are unpretentious and healthful. Each essay concludes with at least two or three recipes, sometimes as many as six. The ingredients are accessible, the directions uncomplicated.

The crab cakes, for example, her grandmother Helen makes when Hesser visits call for crab meat, bread and cracker crumbs, Miracle Whip and little else. The lobster rolls she and Friend serve at their rehearsal dinner several months later seem just as easy to pull together.

Whether discussing stages of her relationship with the man she eventually marries or noting details about the foods they share and the ways in which their meals are prepared, Hesser keeps her readers entertained.

Her voice is genuine and sympathetic. The brief and poignant individual set pieces work in and of themselves. Taken as a whole, they also create a successful narrative arc, one that is complete and undeniably satisfying.

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

Lobster Rolls
from Amanda Hesser's "Cooking for Mr. Latte: A Food Lover's Courtship, with Recipes"

1/4 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup finely diced celery
1 Tbsp. sliced chives
1 Tbsp. chopped parsley
1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
juice of 1 lemon
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper
2 cups steamed or poached lobster meat, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
4 hot dog rolls
melted butter, for brushing

In a large bowl, stir together the mayonnaise, celery, chives, parsley, mustard and half the lemon juice. Season generously with salt and pepper. Fold in the lobster meat and add more lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste. Cover and refrigerate for at least an hour, to let the flavors blend.

When you're ready to serve, let the lobster salad warm up for a half hour or so. Preheat the broiler. Split the hot dog rolls and toast them lightly on their cut sides. Brush with melted butter and fill each with a few spoonfuls of the lobster salad. Makes 4 servings.

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.

Poppin' corn

From the site www.overheardinthenewsroom.com:

Reporter to another reporter getting ready to pop a bag of Pop Secret in the office microwave:

"That's the thing about popcorn. It's never a secret."

So true.

"The Taste of Place"

Vintners and wine drinkers talk often about terroir as it relates to grapes.

In "The Taste of Place: A Cultural Journey Into Terroir," Amy Trubek discusses the topic as it relates more broadly to food, where it is grown in the United States, and how it is cooked and served.

It matters a great deal because "concerns about practices, tastes, and origins in fact can help create alternative cultural values about place, about community, about agriculture, and about hospitality."

Trubek, whose work includes "Haute Cuisine: How the French Invented the Culinary Profession," takes decidedly French ideals and applies them to California, for example, among the richest agricultural regions in the country.

She looks more specifically at the Ferry Building Marketplace in San Francisco, a major attraction for residents as well as visitors, using it to highlight ways in which growers, producers, sellers and consumers can interact on a regular basis.

The building hosts farmers markets that draw thousands of people to the waterfront; it also includes "a mixture of (businesses) selling artisan products - cheese, chocolate, olive oil, wine - restaurants, a coffee shop, bakeries, and fish and meat shops, as well as a kitchenware store and a bookstore."

In subsequent chapters, Trubek examines farming traditions in Wisconsin and Vermont, for example, giving this insightful title on the food movement in America both topical depth and geographical breadth.

Chocolate-chip forgiveness

"This is my Amelia Bedelia solution. After she had 'drawn' the drapes, 'stolen' home plate, or baked a sponge cake of dish sponges, the naive housemaid of my childhood library visits, when faced with a list of her trespasses, would always produce a surprise plate of perfect chocolate-chip cookies in the end, and all would be forgiven..."

Michelle Maisto, writing in "The Gastronomy of Marriage: A Memoir of Food and Love."

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..."

On the road

Is it my imagination?

Or does the road sign on I-5 north actually say: Hungry Valley, next exit?

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."