Keeping it Real

When Real Madrid arrives for a friendly against the LA Galaxy, when 89,000-plus file into and out of the Rose Bowl in Pasadena on a sunny afternoon, we look for icy drinks to cool us down.

Horchata

2 cups boiling water
3/4 cup rice powder or rice flour
4 cups lowfat or whole milk
1/4 cup plus 2 Tbsp. sweetened condensed milk
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
a few drops vanilla extract

Whisk the boiling water into the rice powder or rice flour until incorporated. Add the remaining ingredients and stir until the milk dissolves. Chill for several hours, or until quite cold or at least cool. Stir and serve over ice. Makes 6 servings.

Lunchtime pie

"Nobody makes strawberry chocolate pie the way you do. Wednesday is my favorite day of the week because I get to have a slice of it. I think about it as I'm waking up. You could solve all the problems of the world with that pie...

"Just a pie? It's downright expert. A thing of beauty. How each flavor opens itself one by one, like a chapter in a book.

"First a burst of exotic spices. Just a hint of it. Then you're flooded with chocolate, dark and sweet, like an old love affair. And finally strawberry, the way strawberry was always supposed to taste but never knew how.

"In fact, I tell you what, forget all the other stuff I ordered. Just bring me the damn pie. That's all I want. I don't care if it's not a well-balanced meal. Just bring me the pie..."

Joe (Andy Griffith) talking about Jenna's (Keri Russell) special strawberry chocolate oasis pie in the film "Waitress."

Good Stuff

The July issue of Food & Wine includes a story on Spike Mendelsohn, whose Good Stuff Eatery in Washington, D.C. is a 15-minute drive from the White House, and whose menu features a heart-healthier Michelle Melt, "a turkey burger flavored with sauteed apple and celery."

What intrigue us most in the piece, however, are the recipes:

Michelle's Turkey Burgers with Lemon Mayonnaise

3 Tbsp. canola oil
1 onion, halved and thinly sliced
1/2 cup finely chopped celery
1/2 cup finely chopped Granny Smith apple
2 scallions, thinly sliced
1 small canned chipotle in adobo, minced
1 1/2 lbs. lean ground turkey breast
1 Tbsp. minced flat-leaf parsley
2 tsp. finely grated lemon zest
kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup reduced-fat mayonnaise
1 1/2 tsp. fresh lemon juice
1/4 tsp. chopped thyme
4 whole-wheat hamburger buns, split and toasted
4 iceberg lettuce leaves
4 tomato slices

In a nonstick skillet, heat 1 Tbsp. of canola oil. Add the sliced onion and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until golden and softened, about 25 minutes. Transfer the onion to a bowl. Wipe out the skillet.

Heat 1 Tbsp. of canola oil in the skillet. Add the celery, apple and scallions and cook over moderate heat until softened, about 8 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and add the chipotle; let cool.

Stir in the turkey, parsley, 1 tsp. of lemon zest, 2 tsp. of salt and 1/4 tsp. of pepper. Shape the mixture into four 1/2-inch-thick patties.

In the skillet, heat the remaining 1 Tbsp. canola oil. Add the burgers and cook over moderately high heat, turning once, until no longer pink inside, 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, mix the mayonnaise with the remaining 1 tsp. of lemon zest, the lemon juice and chopped thyme and season with salt and pepper.

Spread the lemon mayonnaise on the top halves of the buns; set the burgers on the bottom halves and top with the caramelized onions, lettuce and tomato. Makes 4 servings.

White House Honey-Oat Muffins

3/4 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
3/4 cup whole-wheat flour
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1 1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ground coriander
3/4 tsp. salt
1/2 cup plus 2 Tbsp. honey
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup canola oil
2 large eggs

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Coat a 12-cup muffin pan with cooking spray.

In a large bowl, mix the oats with the whole-wheat flour, all-purpose flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, coriander and salt.

In another bowl, whisk the honey with the buttermilk, canola oil and eggs. Pour the honey mixture into the dry ingredients. Mix until just combined.

Spoon the batter into the prepared muffin cups and bake for about 18 minutes, until they're golden and a toothpick inserted into the center of the muffins comes out clean.

Let the muffins cool in the pan for about 5 minutes, then transfer them to a rack. Makes 12 servings.

Comfort cooking

In the months before my grandmother's death, my mother cooked.

She bought pork and lamb at the store, glad to take advantage of grocery specials. She marinated beef to roast in a hot oven. She trimmed Chinese greens. She chopped and braised, steamed and stir-fried. She spent time in her kitchen with the television on but often ignored.

My mother cooked not for my grandmother, who by then hardly ate, cancer stealing the best of her appetite. She cooked not for my father. He would be fine with simple soups and porridges. She cooked not for my sisters, brothers or me. Though we dropped by on weekends, we could only eat so much. Imagine the leftovers. She cooked, I believe, for herself.

At the counter or the sink, my mother stayed busy. She prepped chicken perhaps or removed scales from a fish. She gave herself these things to do. Meanwhile, her mind wandered.

She thought about the food she did not have growing up in China and the access she enjoyed when she arrived in California. She recalled years of scrimping to send money back to family across the Pacific and the relief she finally felt when her mother arrived in the United States as well. She cooked and cried.


We talk of comfort food: a scoop of ice cream, for example, or a slice of cake, a barbecued pork bun or an egg custard tart.

Jonathan Reynolds wonders whether the term is redundant. "All food is comforting," he says in the memoir "Wrestling with Gravy: A Life, With Food," "or we'd be eating nothing but hot dogs at Shea and warm tar (indistinguishable in a Times blind-testing), with possibly a few vitamins thrown in.

"Unless you're... undergoing a fraternity initiation or briefly lapse into Joan Crawford territory with one of your sons, there is no such thing as 'punitive food'."

I suspect there is the idea of comfort cooking as well, the notion that kitchen work can help to reassure us, that time in front of a stove can keep us centered. My mother cooked, it seems, for the same reason others might ride a bike or read a book. She needed the diversion.


The moment my mother spied my grandmother in hospice care, the day after my uncle had admitted the woman, she ran to hold her. It was something I had seldom seen my mother do: openly embrace anybody. It felt like a clip from a Chinese-language soap opera.

Outward displays of affection had been rare in our house. Hugs and kisses were things other people traded. My mother demonstrated her love through food instead.

She treated scrapes my siblings and I got playing in the back yard with a little Bactine and a lot of candy. She marked our achievements with dumplings and broth. She greeted our returns from college with dishes we favored: braised eggplant, tofu and beef, vermicelli with egg and barbecued pork. She wasn't about big gestures but small everyday concerns. I realize this now.

"When am I going to get better?" my grandmother asked, her voice a soft but steady whisper. "I don't know when I am going to get better. Maybe this time I won't."

A friend told me once her heart grew three sizes the day her daughter was born; my heart broke into a hundred pieces that afternoon at the foot of my grandmother's bed.

My mother insisted that if my grandmother simply ate more, her health could improve. "If you don't have the nutrients," she reasoned, "how would you ever get well?"

I knew enough Cantonese to understand this exchange. From talks earlier with doctors and relatives, I also knew the truth: That no matter what or how much my grandmother did or did not eat, she wouldn't get better. The disease had taken a toll, wreaking havoc on her pancreas, stripping her body of the energy it required.

My mother punctuated her visits to the hospice with trips to Safeway or Trader Joe's nearby or to Chinatown, recognizing the severity of the situation, I'm sure, but needing still to collect ingredients for her own meals. In this way, she continued to live as my grandmother was about to die.

After all, my mother needed to pay attention to herself, too, did she not? She needed to look to the future and occasions she would inevitably get to spend with the rest of her family. Food - thinking about it, shopping for it, preparing it - provided a way for her to exert control over something when so much around her had been beyond her control. It was the happiness she allowed herself. In this backyard scrape, it was her candy.

The short market trips were also a way, I suppose, for her to fool death personally, to not let it follow her straight home from the hospice. She wanted to open and close car doors, enter and exit other buildings, walk up and down wide aisles, to ditch death randomly. She was superstitious like that.


In the months since my grandmother's death, my mother continues to cook. She shops for exceptional deals and brainstorms menu ideas. Her tears, however, no longer flavor the food.

She tells me about a visit with a friend to their neighborhood Lucky for 99-cent eggs. She wanted to limit herself to a couple of cartons. Her friend, however, dismissed the restraint.

"The people in the store know us," the woman said in Cantonese. "They see us all the time anyway. They know we're greedy. It doesn't matter how much we buy or don't buy." They shrugged, gathered four or five cartons each and headed to the register.

With joy I have not seen in a while, my mother tells me of the day she spent with a nephew from New Jersey. During a last-minute business trip to California, he made it a point to invite her out to eat.

In San Francisco, they came across a Chinese buffet. Though inexpensive, the food they spotted on people's plates seemed unappealing.

He placed his hand on my mother's back and guided her away from the entrance of the restaurant. "The two of us," her nephew said, gently and genuinely, "let's go eat something better. You and I, we deserve something better." She agreed.

My mother tells me these stories, peppered with humor, irony and insight, one night over dinner. I listen and laugh.

(A version of this essay appears on the website for The Atlantic.)

Why ask why?

Pie, pie, three-berry pie.

Though the crust is store-bought, the lattice is not. The filling, consisting of strawberries, blueberries and raspberries, is totally summer.

Stars and stripes

Because it is red, white and blue.

One each

In a box of 15 macarons from La Boulange in San Francisco, we are down to the final four. One for each of us. We check out a jazz festival on Fillmore Street and uncover a French bakery on Pine Street instead. The cookies have all been excellent. We pass them around the table and think of getting more.

Berry love

The Guardian does a combination history, how-to pick, eat and store piece on strawberries. It is a light but informative read.

It seems to me the British strawberry season coincides nicely with the U.S., another reason I love England.

Much too much

OK now this has got to stop.

I survey the groceries and realize there is simply too much food in the refrigerator. There are tons of fruits and vegetables. It's crazy.

After the Mexico-Argentina game Sunday afternoon, I went to the Berkeley Bowl, where I got raspberries, blackberries and blueberries on the cheap. I don't want to keep them too long, though, so I make a crisp.

I got a bag of eggplants for 99 cents and think of a tomato-less pasta sauce with a recipe I saw on Salon. Or perhaps I should roast them for baba ghanoush.

I got six ears of shucked yellow corn for 99 cents. I got a bag of squash - zucchini and two varieties whose names I do not know - for 99 cents. I have not figured out entirely what to do with them but have a couple of days still, I think.

I got rhubarb, which I happened to see and, of course, could not resist. I love it and will need to cook that down for schloop (a word I made up). I can have it with vanilla yogurt and granola for breakfast.

I got kale just because. In hindsight, perhaps I should have put back the kale. I still have carrots, onions and lettuce leaves, too. I even wound up freezing a mess of sliced red bell peppers the other week because I could not use those immediately.

It is ridiculous, right? You'd think I was cooking and shopping to feed a football team. And this is all after the full flat of strawberries the other weekend from the farmers' market.

Oh, and shoot, running errands in Chinatown with my mother this morning, I got pluots, too. I know, I know. But they are in season, and I saw them.

Milkshake

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard and they're like it's better than yours. Damn right it's better than yours. I could teach you but I'd have to charge."

The lyrics are taken from "Milkshake" by Kelis. The sign hangs at Trueburger on Grand Avenue in Oakland, where they serve hamburgers, french fries and, yes, milkshakes. It proves a nifty play on words.

Summer cake

Nigel Slater can not resist cake. I, apparently, can not resist Nigel Slater. The British author champions summer cakes in The Observer. I am smitten:

"Cake is my downfall. I can refuse a glass of wine, push away an opened box of handmade chocolates, spurn a toffee from the tin and turn my nose up at a HobNob, but I can never, ever resist a slice of cake.

"The feel of the soft, open texture of the sponge between my finger and thumb, the warm scent of vanilla, orange, lemon and almond. A slice of cake is both pleasure and vice and I sometimes look away as I walk past a particularly tempting shop window..."

(Photo credit goes to Jonathan Lovekin for The Observer.)

Food for my father

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Coffee cake

"It was coffee cake; I hope that statement implies no sense of disappointment. Eaten warm from the oven, moist and crumbly, a nice coffee cake is pretty hard to fault. Coffee cake! I had made a coffee cake! Mysteriously, I thought, it contained no coffee.

"The velvet crumb business turned out to revolve around an impasto of butter, brown sugar, chopped nuts, flaked coconut, and a little milk that you spread over the cake after it came out of the oven. Then you stuck it back in the oven for a minute or two. Something wonderful happened to those five ingredients when you blended them and briefly subjected them to intense heat. The result was both smooth and grainy, crisp and chewy.

"Cooking, it turned out, was a magical act, a feat of transformation, a way of turning the homely and the familiar into something fine, like carving a pumpkin into a lantern."

Michael Chabon, writing of an early baking foray in "Manhood for Amateurs: The Pleasures and Regrets of a Husband, Father, and Son."

Reason for cake

It is a sunset ceremony linking a girl I no longer know well to a boy I have never met. It is their wedding, their celebration, another reason for cake. As if cake needed a reason.

Baskets of berries

A visit to the farmers' market yields an armload of strawberries, three baskets full. They should keep me happy for the week. I eat them sliced with yogurt and granola for breakfast. I snack on them during the day.

My sister gets baskets of berries at the supermarket, too. As does my brother. The packages are BOGO, they say. Each wanted to surprise the other with an extra. They are twins. We go from none in the house to much too much.

With the surplus, I make strawberry bread using a recipe from Martha Stewart's Everyday Food magazine. It reminds me of the pastries my friends and I had in the college cafeteria, goodness that got us through groggy mornings in Providence. It takes me back.

Strawberry Bread
adapted from Martha Stewart's Everyday Food magazine

5 Tbsp. plus 1 tsp. unsalted butter, room temperature, plus more for pan
1 pint strawberries, rinse, hulled, quartered and mashed with a fork
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Butter an 8-inch by 4-inch loaf pan.

In a small saucepan, bring strawberries to a boil over medium heat. Cook, stirring, 1 minute. Set aside.

Whisk together flour, baking soda, ground cinnamon, baking powder and salt in a medium bowl. Set aside.

With an electric mixer, cream the butter, sugar and eggs until light and fluffy. Add the flour mixture alternately with 1/3 cup of water, beginning and ending with flour. Fold in the reserved strawberries.

Scrape batter into the prepared pan, smoothing the top. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center of the bread comes out clean, about 45 to 50 minutes. Cool 10 minutes in the pan. Run a knife around the edges; invert the loaf onto a rack. Cool completely. Makes 8 servings.

Home turf

"The seeds, these seeds that I had so carefully selected, were tangible proof of man's culture, of my culture, a continuation of a line. Even in this ghetto squat lot, I was cultivating human history. Watermelons from Africa. Squash from the Americas. Potatoes with a history in Peru. Radishes native to Asia but domesticated in Egypt. All now growing here in Oakland.

"Standing near the fence, I realized that not only did I make the garden; it made me. I ate out of this place every day. I had become this garden - its air, water, soil. If I abandoned the lot, I would abandon myself. When Jack Chan told me no building - no permanent structures - only garden, did he realize that by building the soil, perhaps I was making something more permanent than he could have ever imagined?"

Novella Carpenter, in "Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer."

In the Sunday paper

Pegged in part to the publication of her cookbook "In the Green Kitchen: Techniques to Learn by Heart," the San Francisco Chronicle's piece on Alice Waters sums up much of her food philosophy.

"For nearly 40 years, 'St. Alice,' as she's been called for her unrepentant views, has touted the importance of eating local, organically grown food; emphasized the necessity of being good stewards of the land; and tirelessly advocated and funded nutritional meal programs in public schools..."

Getting sauced

Oliver Thring writes in the Guardian of HP Sauce, comparing it to both A1 Steak Sauce and ketchup. Like me, he favors one but not the others.

"It's almost shocking how delicious HP is. From its lowbrow reputation and unappetising hue bursts a remarkable aroma: complex, fuggy and fruity, like swimming through compost and Jif. It tastes better than it smells, too, a sweet-sour, subjugating blend."

Sating a thirst

Not until I met a guy in London who waxed nostalgic about Anchor Steam have I given significant thought to the iconic San Francisco brand, sold by Fritz Maytag to entrepreneurs Keith Greggor and Tony Foglio.

Only now have I developed a thirst for the beer.

The second pancake

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

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

My brother tries again.

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

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

Waste not

"There are legal, fiscal and logistical measures that can be taken to reduce food waste... If we felt, as intensely as the desert-dwelling Uighurs do, that food is a finite, invaluable resource to be cherished, our situation would be very different.

"To experience just how different things could be, go to any landfill site in Britain, the US or countless other countries, and examine its contents. Among the mass of general detritus is an array of uneaten food... Some of it (has) evidently come from restaurants and individual households.

"But there are also entire crates of food that have clearly never seen the inside of a shopping bag: eggs, oranges, cauliflowers in sprawling piles like a scattered bag of children's multi-coloured marbles. The whole world is represented here... bananas from the West Indies, grapes from South Africa, rice from India or America. All of it has come from the earth, and to the earth it has been unceremoniously returned, now blended with plastic, paper and clapped-out furniture..."

Tristram Stuart writing in "Waste: Uncovering the Global Food Scandal."

Going green

"Ulf's farm was a study in green. There was the lime green of Bibb lettuce and the arctic green of collards and the blackish green of Tuscan kale and the bronze green of mustards and the variegated green of cilantro, and many other shades of green, all set out in long, straight rows.

"The glowing pointillist dots of chiles and tomatoes and oranges were missing, for Ulf did not grow these things. He was a leaf man. He just grew greens."

Mike Madison, writing of a neighbor's farm in "Blithe Tomato."

Flannel cakes

"Funniest joke in the world:

'Last night I dreamed I was eating flannel cakes. When I woke up the blanket was gone!' "

Kurt Vonnegut, writing in "A Man Without a Country."

Chicks and bunnies

Because it is Easter.

What matters

"It doesn't take a genius to see that an ever-growing population cannot continue to devote limited resources to produce ever-increasing amounts of meat, which takes roughly 10 times more energy to produce than plants. Nor can you possibly be 'nice' to animals, or respectful of them, when you're raising and killing them by the billions.

"And it doesn't take a scientist, either, to know that a handful of peanuts is better for you than a Snickers bar, that food left closer to its natural state is more nutritious than food that has been refined to within an inch of its life, and that eating unprecedented quantities of animals who have been drugged and generally mistreated their entire lives isn't good for you..."

Mark Bittman, in "Food Matters: A Guide to Conscious Eating"

Raising Ruth

"Mom's novel entertaining scheme involved more than a moveable feast: While her guests drifted from room to room, she served what she called 'interesting dishes they would not forget.'

"To that end she tried turning herself into a cook, pouncing upon every unfamiliar food that crossed her path. She discovered sea urchins at the fish market, their bristles still sharp and dangerous, and brought them home along with a smooth cactus flower she had unearthed in Little Italy.

"She found slick, perfumed lychee nuts in Chinatown, and one morning I opened the refrigerator to find an entire baby piglet staring out at me..."

Ruth Reichl, in "Not Becoming My Mother and Other Things She Taught Me Along the Way"

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.)