Red, hot and blue

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

The Obama Family Chili Recipe

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

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

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

Like butter

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

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

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

Butter

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

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

Her father eats

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

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

Simple and seasonal

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

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

Apricot Coffeecake

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

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

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

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

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

Wasting eggs

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

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

Food for thought

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

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


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

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

Alien cupcake

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

The hole truth

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

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

Among our favorite bites:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pho (a.k.a. Noodle Love)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Pho Bo
(Vietnamese Rice Noodle Soup with Beef)

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

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

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

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

To prepare the broth:

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

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

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

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

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

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

To prepare the noodles:

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

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

To assemble the dish:

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

"Wagamama" and me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Ramen King and I"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So "Lost"

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



Jeremy Davies plays Daniel Faraday.



Jorge Garcia plays Hugo "Hurley" Reyes.



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

In the Sunday paper

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

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

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

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

Meeting for lunch

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

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

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

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

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

Sugar, sugar

"All I ever really want is sugar."

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

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

Sun-made, ice-cold

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

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

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

What I must take for granted

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

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

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

Spoken like a fruit-privileged Californian.

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

Cake love

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

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

Schedule C for cake

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

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

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

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

To market, to market

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

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

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

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

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

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

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