Good tidings

For the Lunar New Year.

Sweet

Because it is apparently National Chocolate Cake Day.

Anthologizing

Editor Holly Hughes' annual anthology "Best Food Writing 2013" captures with some success the mood in today's food world. "The season of foam and gels has passed," she reflects in the introduction, "and the Year of the Pork Belly has given way to the Year of Kale." 

What follows is a collection of essays and articles by bloggers, journalists, big-name chefs and foodies alike all published within the last year.

People have also returned to slow foods, Hughes says, assuming they had previously left. 

In the meditative essay "Slow Cooking, Slow Eating," for example, Edward Behr encourages readers to take it easy both in and out of the kitchen: "Slowness really means living at the right speed for whatever you are doing, living more in the present moment, rather than looking always ahead to the next thing... It means you pay attention."

Further highlights include Michael Pollan's "Step Two: Saute Onions and Other Aromatic Vegetables," Jonathan Gold's profile of Kogi co-founder Roy Choi ("The King of the Food Trucks Hits Hawaii"), and Brett Martin's GQ article "Good Food Everywhere." They are topical, accessible and nicely done. 

The eclectic anthology would not be complete, however, without occasional paeans to questionable food items as well. 

Katharine Shilcutt, for example, writes about McDonald's in "I Ate My First McRib, and I Regret It." Dan Barry bemoans the Hostess bankruptcy in "Back When a Chocolate Puck Tasted, Guiltily, like America."

Pieces like these add lightness and levity to the volume as a whole. They provide necessary balance, making it informative as well as entertaining. 

(A version of this review appeared originally at Publishers Weekly.)

Reason to feast

"My brother and I dressed up, though after all the hellos we did not figure much into the main social swirl. The women were dressed in rich hues of silk, and sandals slapped the back of their heels. Their black hair was swept up. Jewelry flashed. The men wore dark pants and white shirts, and their greetings included hearty laughs and shoulder slaps.

"Our table was covered from side to side with steaming dishes of rice, chicken curry, aloo copi, and shrimp cutlet. Mom had been in a cooking mood, so chops lined a long glass dish as well. Women standing near the platters dazzled me in their colorful dress, as did the array of foods: red tomato chutney, snappy green beans, golden dal..."

Nina Mukerjee Furstenau in "Biting Through the Skin: An Indian Kitchen in America's Heartland"

Sweet start

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

Food fantasy

"I have a food fantasy.

"When Iris is six, I'm going to take her to Tokyo. Just the two of us, dad and daughter, in the big city, kickin' it Japanese-style.

"Laurie will stay home, because - this is her only fault - she doesn't like Japanese food. Sometimes she comes along for sushi, but she says it makes her feel like a philistine, because she only eats the easy bits, like tempura.

"So, while Laurie eats whatever it is she eats when we're not around, Iris and I will eat at a skeezy yakitori joint and enjoy char-grilled chicken parts on a stick. We'll go to an eel restaurant and eat several courses of eel, my favorite fish. Iris's favorite is mackerel, so we'll also eat plenty of salt-broiled mackerel, saba shioyaki, tearing off fatty bits with our chopsticks. We will eat our weight in rice..."

Matthew Amster-Burton in "Hungry Monkey: A Food-Loving Father's Quest to Raise an Adventurous Eater"

Old-school

Bring us some figgy pudding and bring it right here...

Figgy Pudding

from Brent Ridge and Josh Kilmer-Purcell's "The Beekman 1802 Heirloom Dessert Cookbook"

softened butter for the pan
1 1/2 cups water
3/4 pound plump, dried figs, stems removed, cut into small bits
3 Tbsp. orange liqueur
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (spooned into cup and leveled off)
1 Tbsp. unsweetened cocoa powder
2 1/4 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 tsp. salt
3 large eggs
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
8 Tbsp. (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted
1 1/2 cups fresh bread crumbs (white or whole wheat)
ice cream or whipped cream, for serving (optional)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Generously butter an 8- to 10-cup tube pan or metal steamed pudding mold with a top.

In a small saucepan, combine the water and figs. Bring to a boil over high heat, reduce to a bare simmer, cover, and cook for 20 minutes, or until the figs are very tender. Remove from the heat, but don't drain. Stir in the orange liqueur.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa, baking powder, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and salt.

In a bowl, with an electric mixer, beat together the eggs and granulated and brown sugars until well combined. Beat in the butter and bread crumbs. Stir in the figs and soaking liquid. Fold in the flour mixture. Scrape the batter into the pan. If using a tube pan, cover the top with a double thickness of foil and place a pot lid that will fit snugly on top. If using a steamed pudding mold, close the top.

Place the pan in a roasting pan and pour hot water to come halfway up the sides of the pan. Bake for 2 hours, or until the pudding is firm and starts to pull away from the sides of the pan.

Remove the pan from the water bath and cool on a wire rack for 5 minutes. Run a spatula around the sides and center tube and invert the pudding onto a serving platter. Serve warm with ice cream or whipped cream, if desired. Makes 12 servings.

Priorities

"And I had but one penny in the world. Thou should'st have it to buy gingerbread."

William Shakespeare in "Love's Labours Lost"

Winter white chocolate

White Chocolate-Cherry-Carrot Cookies

from Michelle Obama's "American Grown: The Story of the White House Kitchen Garden and Gardens Across America"

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 1/4 cups (packed) light brown sugar
1 Tbsp. mild honey
2 tsp. pure vanilla extract
2 large eggs
1 cup dried cherries
1/4 cup toasted chopped macadamia nuts (optional)
2 ounces white chocolate, chopped into small pieces, or white chocolate chips
1 cup finely grated carrots

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Place the rack in the center of the oven.

Sift together the flour with the baking powder and salt. Set aside.

In the large bowl of an electric mixer, beat together the butter, brown sugar, honey and vanilla until smooth. Add the eggs and mix until well combined. Scrape down the bowl.

On low speed, add the cherries, nuts and chocolate. Scrape down the bowl.

Stop the mixer and add one-third of the flour mixture. Turn to low speed and combine. Stop the mixer again, add the rest of the flour mixture, and combine on low speed.

Add the carrots, and mix on low speed until incorporated. The batter will be stiff.

Using a standard ice cream scoop or a heaped tablespoon, drop batter in mounds, 2 inches apart, onto a parchment-covered cookie sheet.

Bake for 12 to 14 minutes, remove from the oven and allow the cookies to cool completely before removing them from the cookie sheet. Makes approximately 24 cookies.

Sweet ginger

Because it is apparently National Cupcake Day.

Beyond gold

"There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world."

J.R.R. Tolkien in "The Hobbit"

Soup is good food

When people in the Northwest talk about the incessant rain, I look out my window and curse the blue sky. More sun in California. I long for wet winters in Oregon and the afternoons I spent years ago in my studio apartment cooking soup. A pot would last a week.

I am reminded of the energizing chill in that corner of the country, the smell of the air outside after a night of hard rain and the red scarf that helped to keep me warm. Soft and thick, it was one of my favorite items of clothing. It now sits neatly folded near the bottom of a dresser drawer, mostly untouched.

When friends in New England speak of the biting cold, I sympathize. They grumble about the low temperatures and slick pavements; I worry about their health and safety. But I envy them as well. When they describe the icy weather, I think of the small, cozy kitchens to which they will eventually return.

I imagine the steam rising from the bowls of soup they will undoubtedly enjoy: hearty chowders prepared with russet potatoes, chopped clams and heavy cream, spicy gumbos simmered with chunks of seafood, meat and vegetables. I get nostalgic for places I am not.

On cold days in the Bay Area, when close friends and neighbors complain about falling temperatures and increasingly wet roads, I smile surreptitiously. Deep down, I welcome the wild weather. Finally, there is an excuse to make soup. Craving things like split pea and barley, I eagerly dig into recipes collected from books and magazines.

One rainy afternoon, I consider making a pea and ham soup by Australian food writer Donna Hay or a squash, parma ham hock, sage, onion and barley broth from British chef Jamie Oliver. In the end, I settle on hamburger barley soup, made from a recipe given to me years ago by an older sister. It promises to be easy and satisfying, tasty and comforting.

First, I brown the beef. Ground turkey could substitute well, too; I make a mental note for the future. Using a pot instead of a frying pan helps to facilitate cleanup. Into that large pot, I add chopped tomatoes, tomato juice, water, vegetables, seasonings and barley, saving the carrots and potatoes for later. When things come to a boil, the heat gets turned down.

As the soup simmers, I work on other things. I write. I wander through the house, tidying up the living room and bedroom. I flip on the radio. I surf the Internet.

Roughly 45 minutes later, back in the kitchen, now warm and fragrant, the colors in the pot are impressive: deep reds, dark and light greens, sprinkles of black. Carrots and potatoes go in next, giving the dish additional colors and textures.

While the ingredients continue to cook, I grab my keys, my coat and my red scarf, and head for the front door. I go for a walk around the neighborhood. The chill in the air outside keeps me alert. Life is good, I tell myself, wiping a raindrop from my forehead. When I return, there will be soup.

(A version of this essay appeared originally on www.npr.org.)

Turkey Day

Because it is silly and so over the top.

Taking it slow

"You're living a slow life when you gather seashells along the shore, feed a campfire, visit a nearly empty museum on a weekday morning, talk late into the night, read an ink-on-paper book cover to cover without stopping to do much else, and, I would say, if you take the time to be bored. 

"Part of being civilized is not just being slow but occasionally coming to a stop, establishing a point of reference for the moment when you start moving again. When you stop you aren't really stopping, of course, because that's often when good ideas rise to the surface..."

Edward Behr in "Slow Cooking, Slow Eating" from "Best Food Writing 2013"

Ramen done right

"In Japan, ramen is much more than a tasty bowl of noodles - it borders on an obsession. Forget that cheapo 'cup ramen' you downed to fuel college all-nighters. What we're talking about is perfection in a bowl: a rich broth labored over for hours; fresh, springy wheat noodles; savory, mouthwatering seasonings; and toppings like slices of tender braised meat and creamy soft-boiled egg. 

"But ramen isn't some high-concept cuisine, and that's the beauty of it. These noodles can be one of the most amazing things you've ever tasted, but this dish is about as down-home and down-to-earth as it gets." 

Tadashi Ono and Harris Salat in "Japanese Soul Cooking: Ramen, Tonkatsu, Tempura, and More from the Streets and Kitchens of Tokyo and Beyond"

Frightful

Because we couldn't resist.

Noodle pull

"I knew that I wanted a bright, modern place, but it had to be unmistakable as a ramen shop. I was a gaijin trying to break into the highly scrutinized, carefully documented, publicly policed world capital of noodle shops. There would be people ready to harp on every missed detail. 

"We ultimately decided to keep the bones of the old shop, but jazzed up the counter with a dark wood-grain laminate, squared off the corners, and added steel trim. We added lighting above and below the bar.

"Most ramen shops have stools for seating, and generally they're the most uncomfortable stools you can find. Ramen shops are all about fast turnover, and owners don't want customers to feel like they can hang around.

"But I wanted my business to be focused on service, just like Lutece had been all those years earlier. I bought nice comfortable stools with backs and decided to worry about shooing customers out the door later."

Ivan Orkin in "Ivan Ramen: Love, Obsession, and Recipes from Tokyo's Most Unlikely Noodle Joint"

Mac and cheese 2.0

Point Reyes Original Blue with Pecans, Figs and Shells

from Stephanie Stiavetti and Garrett McCord's "Melt: The Art of Macaroni and Cheese"

1/2 cup pecans
3 Tbsp. butter
12 ounces whole wheat shell pasta
4 ounces Point Reyes Original Blue, coarsely crumbled
3/4 cup chopped mission figs
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper

Place the pecans in a single layer on a baking sheet. Roast in a 350-degree F oven for 7 minutes. Set aside to cool. Once they're cooled, chop the pecans coarsely.

Heat a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat. Add the butter and cook. The butter will foam and then subside. Eventually, lightly browned specks will form on the bottom of the pan. The butter will turn a light brown and begin to smell nutty. Be sure to keep an eye on it, as it can go from brown to black in an instant. Remove from the heat immediately and pour into a bowl.

Cook the pasta in a large pot of salted boiling water until al dente. Drain through a colander. Place back in the pot with the heat still on. Combine the noodles with the brown butter and Point Reyes Original Blue and gently toss until the cheese has softened and melted a little. Add the pecans and figs and continue tossing. Add salt and pepper to taste and serve. Makes 4 servings.

Provence

"It was the question of France that loomed largest, and meant the most, for all of them. The very idea of transcendent cooking, of cooking as an art form, the rituals of haute cuisine, the luxury and decadence of a bearnaise sauce or mille-feuille pastry, the wit of the seminal gastronome Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, the knowledge of chefs Marie-Antoine Careme and Auguste Escoffier - that was all French, and always had been.

"But a seismic shift was in the offing. And there was no better place to see it coming, to feel the looming, moving fault lines, than in the steep, rocky hills of Provence in late 1970."

Luke Barr in "Provence, 1970: M.F.K. Fisher, Julia Child, James Beard, and the Reinvention of American Taste"

How sweet

Because the morning - cold and hazy and moody - calls for something sweet.