Clees is a breakfast genius.

Even when Clees is in the doghouse, I am always all smiles when he fries up some prosciutto with a fresh laid egg. My all time favorite is his sourdough French toast. Since Clees has been away in New York for a week, I've been eking by with random fruit. But a lazy Saturday morning deserves more than that. I dipped some stale Acme sourdough round slices in a egg and milk batter and voila. The egg creates a barrier to steam the bread inside and becomes soft and chewy again. Uhhaha, I've got one of Clees's secrets.

Holiday Granola

I'm making everyone a special holiday edition with pumpkin seeds and cranberries; mostly so friends can ease off the holiday sugar. Truly there is no more cozier aorma than carmelizing maple and coconut . When ever I bake granola these days, I sneak in a few small sweet potatoes to roast slowly.

Binch time

Cookies that crack you up. How does it taste? Well, binching...

Blushing

Lemony beer

No self respecting beer drinker would even put lips to this girly brew but it's all good by me - all honey notes and half lemon soda. When you're a beer philistine, you can enjoy lightweights without any shame.

C and I finally made it over to Pyramid Alehouse to try some apricot weizen on tap. We shared a single pint and had good feelings all around. I won't need to go back for another few years as it's the most Houston or mid-west establishment you can experience in Berkeley. Nonetheless the apricot- strong to the nose and palate was a pleasant surprise.

Sandwiches You Will Like

Friday night there's nothing more perfect than a ninety minute PBS documentary about meaty sandwiches dripping au jus. The footage is wonderfully quirky. Only a few minutes in, you hear an alien computer voice praises tripe sandwiches. It's some dude with a tracheotomy. Sandwich makers discourse quite fondly about their creations just like a family member, "beef on weck", "muffalettas". Tomorrow I am going to make my mini-"Elvis", peanut butter,banana, bacon beauty grilled with tablespoons of butter.

Pleasure of Waiting

Even when the nights are chilly and the summer stone fruits long gone, autumn is not without it's bounty of jewels. Chestnuts and persimmons, pomegranates and bright skinned citrus. But truly autumn is not autumn until I spoon my first ripened persimmon, a pulpy pleasure which cannot be rushed.

These orange beauties sit rock hard making you doubt if they're ever going to give it up. I don't like to bring them home already ripened; I want to wait together, the fruit and me. You have long days and hard days when you snap at your dog or your husband. Too many of them pass and voila the persimmons yield to your thumb.

Great grandma Cho who use to eat her apples scraped with a spoon was particularly fond of these as is Hugo who still has most of his teeth.

World's Most Brilliant Poppy Seed Cake

I had one of the rare mind blowing food moments.

Last of the Summer Plums

It always makes me a little sad to taste the last of the summer stone fruit.

Anniversary Grill

Yup. Something feels official once you own a standalone grill. This baby got recalled last year for bursting into flames. Cheap valves from China.

Heirloom Tomatos= Tomatos with Orifices

Those crevices are just too big to be considered mere bellybuttons. The beauties on the left are Black Krim a Russian variety. Despite the frankensutures, these fruits burst with that special Black Sea flavor. Plant kingdom is not the only place we relish such crinolous folds although Shar Pei's are not bred for the eating.

I love mayonnaise

...and what's better than a fresh new jar of mayo for dinner. It was C who put his artistic talent to such good use; who doesn't love a man always trying to making you smile.

As per usual, we were facing bleak prospects for dinner. I generously told C he could have my leftover lunch tilapia and I will make do with what ever crumbs I can find on the floor. While squirting ketchup on a hot dog bun we had gotten for free at Brook and Victor's barbeque last Saturday C bragged, "You are going to be amazed how good my sandwich is going to be".

I had prosciutto, fig, pecorino sandwich on some cheap leftover lunch bread but I think his sandwich tasted lip smacking better.

Boar Bacon

Sigh, to think I lived so long on this earth without trying Wild Boar Bacon. But then it's always good to have new things to discover at every age. These strips of boar are marvelously nutty. While C had the sad duty of attending Grandpa Kopczewski's funeral in Cleveland, he went to a meat shop and thought only of me when he ran in to this slab of boar fat. That is true love.

*You can go to iheartbacon.com more a more technical analysis on the official BRS- Bacon Rating System.

Butt Block and Super Bowl Sunday

Every Sunday we rotate bakeries and today was a trip to La Farine. I was about to grab a chair and enjoy my Swiss Twinkie with C when some guy with a sizable ass prevented me from a straight entry to my seat. He was blocking sideways, not even a block maximizing frontal.

As it was Super Bowl Sunday I went round to Mi Tierra for some six packs of Malta Goya. They started carrying Malta India as well. I polished off a few on my porch and let me tell you I forgot all about my present woes as I saw the sun go down. C and I were waiting for the screech owl to fly out of the neighbor's palm trees for it's nightly hunt but instead we got doves roosting in the michelia tree hopping branch to branch until they found one to their liking.

The Best Donut in East Bay

Yesterday at the checkout line at Monterrey Market I tried to break up my Ben Franklin. The cashier asked me, "Did you make this at home. That's pretty good."

The lightest non greasiest donuts are from Donut Time in El Cerrito next to Marshalls on San Pablo. The shop is a time warp back into 80's just like Genki Sushi. I always try to limit myself to one treat and today I went for it. Bavarian creme donut with chocolate glaze. I normally get the old fashioned no glaze cake kind but the yellow dot squirting out the end hooked me somehow. Donut creme, I doubt it has milk products in it, is like a sweet mayonnaise. It was fantastic. And now I'm dying for another donut fix.

C and I made giant batches of organic granola. You have to do it at least once if you live in Berkeley. I made mine quite fancy with dried cherries, cranberries, apricots and Brazil nuts. C stuck to the oat and almond formula. I guess I'd better have just a bowl or granola. No donut is better than a stale greasy donut found at past 11 on a Sunday night.

Porkalicious

Waffle party with sausage and fried ham on Sunday. Almost bought the bacon but most party goers are on a diet so I judiciously held back. After everyone ate, I kicked everyone out like I always wanted to. No point chit chatting once the food's gone. I myself would love to be kicked out of a party once my belly's had it's fill.

I had put Belgian waffle maker on my X-mas wishlist, but Brook gave me hers so we would invite her over. She said she used it only thrice since 1999 as whipping the egg whites were too much of a production. My neglected KitchenAid has been getting more action these days ever since the waffle handover. It's true. Friends love you when you make waffles for them.

I think my new year's resolution is also same as Satchel's. I vow to eat more pie. I bought myself two pie stands to get a head start.

Pudding head

On Sundays I love listening to the BBC Food Programme, and today was my lucky day since the show was all about puddings. I am all for food soft and warm which requires no chewing. Sheila Dillon invited an ex-colonial to cook her steamed figgy pudding with an extra lime rum twist. Since the Jamaican grandma was very tight about her recipe, I will just have to slosh in some lime and rum in my usual batter this year. I tried to hang up my Christmas stockings but it didn't feel right so I hid them away.

On many a Sunday, I bicycle over to 4th street for a pumpkin cream cheese muffin. C likes his blueberry polenta scone. Living in Berkeley, one bakes less that one wishes. It's hard to compete with the pros. My baking pans have not seen serious service in months. Sigh.

Cold tonight. I'm gone to make a hot toddy.

Today I fantasized about buying a professional Belgian waffle maker. My friends would be so happy and love me because I would invite them for waffles- fluffy yet crispy on the outside. You can see times are not so good.

Friends always ask me what's new with you. Fine yes. I've started using a cast iron frying pan. Who wants all that Teflon in their bloodstream anymore. There is nothing cozier than an egg and a slab of ham frying up in a cast iron skillet.

Terrible rough patches.

Today I made some lime-olive oil scones for C. We ate them hot with some gooseberry jam.

Yesterday I ate a very delicious juniper brine porkchop at Jimmy Beans.

4 days ago, I did not win the lottery but I was very glad. I read somewhere that lottery winners complained no one gave them birthday or Christmas gifts.

5 days ago, I started eating an extra chocolaty brownie a day sent by Big J.

7 days ago I started making reuben sandwiches at home. I make my own thousand island dressing with a pimento relish with generous dollops of mayo and ketchup. It is quite delicious.

Otherwise everything else sucked this week.

How perfect is a piece of toast.

When the days are unbearably rainy and cold, what more comfort than a slice of toast and a mug of hot milky tea. Toast of course begs for jam. Despite the 2 open jars of jam at anytime rule, I'm up to 5 jars. The rosehip is really from 2002, and the elderberry jelly is so slippery and not very general purpose. One simply cannot not have a jar of gooseberry jam. Bergamot marmalade I've made myself so it cannot really count towards the quota.

I've rediscovered the joy of toast and have been enjoying it's merits for two months. It pulled me through some rough patches. Tomorrow I'll go down to acme and by a hefty loaf. Even though it will be fresh to eat, I'll toast it, rub it with olive oil and a garlic clove and poach two eggs with some prosciutto. Yes mmm.

Trudged out of the house with 10 slices of prosciutto and two pepper tamales. With such solid provisions in one's lunch pack, how can it be but a fantastic day. I just love looking forward to ham.

Trudged out of the house with only a brown paper sac full of tangerines. I left a wedge of cheddar at work and with some crackers in my desk, it can't be all bad today!

Lardy Toast

When one cleans flashing off of plastic chicken feet all weekend long, one gets to enjoy a lot of back issues of BBC radio. Farming Today and the Open Country. Just love it. Who doesn't relish an entire show devoted to "Extolling the Virtues of Lardy Toast" on a cold rainy day.

I have yet to render my own pig fat so I have not had the true pleasures of lardy toast. It's good to have so many things to look forward to.

Winter Draught

All summer I was slugging carrot juice halfed with almond milk. This month, I am all about eggnog lassi, just the store bought egg nog swished with dollops of the fattiest yogurt one can find. Must have it every night while I cozy about the fire. If you think back to all the foods you ate with such enthusiasm in past, perhaps a pork rice with stewed eggs or cinnamon dusted snickerdoodles, you may marvel how one's taste could change.

This morning I felt like a used tea bag, all slumped over. Year end blues, not uncommon. All this cold and shivering. I try to side with Wallace Shawn in my Dinner with Andre. Electric blanket is a marvelous thing to lift one's spirits.

Fish Taco Alert

It's rare to come across tasty fish tacos so when it happens, it's occasion for sharing the gladness. The hard part is that one never knows which taqueria is hiding tasty fish tacos, so you have to suffer through a great many bad ones. Cactus Cafe on Solano has revamped their menus adding the best fish tacos I've eaten thus far (discounting homemade ones with halibut cheeks and such). Just fresh rock cod topped with cucumber salsa. Fresh and tasty is all one could desire of a fish taco. I'll take a picture tomorrow.

Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote when her house burnt down (or maybe hail ruined her crops or some such disaster) that there is no great loss without some small gain. I've been numb all week about the election, but found some small satisfaction in Ashcroft getting the boot.

Most contested death of the week:
"He is dead," one Palestinian source said. "He died after bleeding in the brain began last night. His bodyguards started hugging and kissing and telling each other to be strong."

Been snickerdoodle crazy all month.

I walk eight blocks everyday from my desk to pick up my fix. Buttery chewiness dusted with cinnamon- afternoon work simply cannot proceed withtout one. Yesterday I brought home two planning a double snickerdoodle date. But I just could not wait so I made an early start on half a cookie. I firmly told C that this did not mean he can have 1.5. An hour later, I notice all 1.5 cookies gone. Wha Happen? C quite innocently said "You told me 'I'm only going to have half and you can eat the other half' so I did."

Two x Mouthfuls

I had a plausible fantasy fanned by last week's heat wave that I could snorkel one last time this year. Larry generously offered his Mendocino wood shack- he said take as much firewood as we lug away. All signs pointed to a marvelous one last dunk of 2004. Sadly I did not even get a toe wet as intrepid divers C and G first went out in the water only to came back defeated. No use snorkeling in pea soup. As a consolation there was no small amount of chicken pot pie, smoked ham sandwich, a most figgy fig tartlet, quince cheesecake, plump carrot cake- all from the excellent Boonville General Store. Also we licked the year's first batch of Cowlick's pumpkin icecream along with the novel candy cap mushroom icecream. So C and I returned with belly's properly full and a truckload of free wood.

To continue consoling myself over the stolen snorkel, I met Sof for a Frog Hollow Sunday brunch of Tomato pancetta turnover, sausage frittata, pear tartlet, peach tartlet and the requisite blackberry buttons. All buttery mouthfuls were exactly what I had been missing in Italy. We were promptly regretful we had stuffed ourselves after seeing the caviar sampler on display; I had forgotten how to food hop at the Ferry Building. So we exerted ourselves mightily climbing up Coit tower to ready our appetites for a second wave. I highly recommend the American caviar sampler(Hackleback Sturgeon, Pearl Trout, and various whitefish) from Tsar Nicoulai's Caviar Bar. Not too decadent at all. Lumps of caviar on a dollop of creme fraiche on buckwheat blinis. What can be more lovely than that popping of salty roe in one's mouth.

Sof got ambitious and wanted to go for the raw oyster bar, but I sagely stopped such excess and drove us straight to dessert. But nothing was quite suitable so we went with the overrated pates de fruits from Recchiuti. I missed out on "the dazzling flavors of fresh fruit burst from each elegant square". I took a few obligatory nibbles of each flavor but was not compelled to do anything more. So we took another stab at dessert with a little manchego and fig cake. And still something was still lacking so we carefully shaved the sides of a chocolate cherry torte which I had gotten for C . Nothing tastes as good as pilfered food even after a long day of eating.

I had expected to eat better than this traveling through Italy. While gems were found here and there- zucchini blossom tempura, flavorful saltimbocca, world's best panna cotta ever, beautifully cooked turbot, some lovely house cured porcini- I could not manage to sustain a full long day of wonderful varied eating as today. So I am grateful I live where many people take their eating quite seriously.

(Dear Reader, I swear nothing that exciting happened in Italy hence no entries or photos. Okay, okay. I've been junking my brain out on Netflix dvds instead of the infinitely more pleasurable activity of writing. But I swear to you I'm back on the bloggery. )

Long Winter and Crow Pie

Dear Reader. Where did we leave off. Yes bacon. My porky inclinations took me to a revival of Laura Ingalls Wilder. Little Suse sprang a surprise visit on me last weekend and of course we had to go to the library and raid the self-help section. It's less humiliating I find to borrow such books then have to buy them. Less since you can be rid of them more discreetly than having to sell a copy of "How Do You Know A Man is Right For You" for two bucks on Amazon. Since I can never bring myself to check out just self-help books at the library (eventhough they were really for Suse), I gave my pile a little more respectability adding a volume from the Little House on the Prairie series.

Ah pioneer life. There is a lot of fond narrative revolving around salted pork, and sitting around cozy inside a cabin snug as a bug while winter storms rage about. How could I resist. I ordered the Little House on the Prairie Cookbook on line so C can also enjoy the flavors of pioneer life. Now if he can shoot down a few plump crows devastating our crops....

Starting the Day Right with Bacon

Yesterday a friend of mine sadly reported that she had excess levels of cholesterol; the doctor advised her to clamp down on her diet and get retested. If things don't improve, she will have to go on medication- this at the tender age of thirty. So yesterday I told C similarly I should clean up my act, no more gratuitous greasy goodies for me!

Wednesday is free breakfast day at work. That's when they bring in boxes of donuts, bagels, cream puffs, and the odd bran muffin. If plum forgot about this table of free food and ran to the ABC Bakery across the street. ABC is the classic modern Chinese bakery with corn mayonnaise buns. Lo and behold, they had a brand new item, the bacon mayonnaise wonder in a hotdog bun, one slice of tomato, one slice of cuke. What can a girl do.

Butter breakfast and return of the Hudgebend

With C away to L.A., Ms Amanda and I go for butter breakfast at Tartine in the Mission. The dreamy creamy coconut cream pie! Can life get any better. I cry- it was better than the pie of our imaginations with surprise chocolate lining and soft caramel hiding at the bottom. After two bites, I shamefully forgot all about my current favorite the Crixa Boston Creampie. But I now I have to run back to Crixa to do a taste comparison.

C had gone to attend the closing gala of the L.A. Independent Film Festival as he had designed a poster for them; Doug used this opportunity to squeeze 6 free tickets out of them. I refused to go as me and Doug, we are like the fox, the goose and the sack of grain- plus I had Butter Breakfast to attend. Doug had 2 copies of the poster at the gallery and requested C sign them. C asked what Doug wanted written, and Doug said "With Love, Chris. Just like Andy used to..." C said slowly "Andy? Andy Goldsworthy?" Although Doug was insulted, he said "Uh yeah. Andy Goldsworthy." But then Doug's pride couldn't withstand it so he said "Uh no. Andy Warhol."* I think cheap shots don't get you anywhere, but Joel was ever proud C slyly showed Doug.


*No insult to anyone who likes Andy Goldsworthy, but in the world of fine art, Goldsworthy is for housewives and the like.

Cake for lunch

My life has as of late become a run-on sentence, prepositional clause after prepositional clause and unfinished intentions. This can happen when you let punctuation occur too naturally. There is one solution for such a condition: to indulge in a meal composed entirely of cakes from the best bakery in town. One must find a partner in crime, not easy these days as no one is proud of pudge even if it's pudge from the finest buttery treats one could eat. Big J, my natural partner, is 3000 miles away so S, my icecream partner at work, happily obliged me this Friday noon.

Crixa cakes has upseated Massa's for being best bakery in town. Massa's is all about stiff buttery treats, but sometimes a girl wants to enjoy without too much chewage. So lunch was all about
1. ginger cake(moist and solid)
2. apple walnut cake(ditto)
3. chocolate rum quad layer cake (pushing up type b diabetes in the bay area)
4. frou frou almond rose concoction (for some lace underwear lady out there, but nobody at the table)
5. obligatory pave (still fabulous as ever)
6. coconut tapioca (no chewing, but topping of toasted coconut and shaved almonds might have pushed it over the top)

Between mouthfuls of cake and dollops of fresh whipped cream , I was trying to convince S to reserve running shoes for running and get more hip shoes. This is all in the name of upping his gay appeal. S is a fine fellow to be sure but looking like a dorky young dad about to go to the gym is no way to attract a gay soulmate. Grubby running shoes are universal deal breakers, gay or not gay.

C, who is now officially on a diet(my own hudgebend saying no to butter can you believe it) also met us just to sip coffee. He was poo-pooing my expertise on all such matters demanding pedigree and experience. C didn't believe I understood the rules of attraction between gay men. Come on. I so know all about it! I apprenticed under the original expert on all human nature, EJ. Even S appeared to have been convinced for the need for upgrading to casual stylish gay apparel. Clean clothes never hurt the cause.

*On a bizarre side note, our executive admin came to my desk asking me if I wanted what looked like a wrinkly never worn white shirt with the yellowed price tag still hanging off it's exaggerated cuffs. They had been cleaning out the closet and found this thing with frill ties hiding in a box; none of the guys in the near area would own up to having anything to do with it. I told her I was "not pirate enough" to be it's new owner.

Ode to greasy grease-soaked lumps of greasy goodness

C and I ventured to dine at India Chaat and Sweets- you know the place, that bad karma location on University and 8th. Masala dosa was a'ight but all else came straight from deep fry double fry hell. Greasiness is not a crime unto itself- who hasn't relished funnel cake fried up in oil of dubious origin*- but greasiness combined with stale and dry, it's evil to make people waste their grease points that way. Had I any balls, I would have promptly thrown the fish pakoras back to the kitchen yelling in my best old lady Chinese voice "I no eat refry leftover from buffet. I no pay for this. I not even feed to my chiken. You bad restaurant! Baaaadd! Bu hao bu hao!" But since C and I are gentle folk, we paid 14% tip and left without a word.

*I always get good fuzzy feelings thinking about funnel cake. I've been fortunate enough to enjoy it's greasy goodness no less than thrice total in my short life. Funnel cake has unjustly held fantasy food status in my imagination due to the sheer rarity of encountering it. I even think a dream date somehow involves enjoying funnel cake together. (Since C doesn't even read this blog, what's the point sigh...) Oh funnel cake, will I ever meet you again.

Yesterday, I had a dinner of bacon cheeseburger,onion rings, and a malt vanilla icecream shake. So naturally, I didn't feel much like dessert. As we were walking towards the car, Chris who was rather inclined towards an after-dinner treat says "What would June do?" And so of course we headed back to get a latte and cocoa with a tall tall column of cream.

So today after dinner I baked a lemon walnut cake to celebrate receiving a bonus. When making a cake, it seems a waste not to make another, so I again asked C. Naturally, he just said "What would June do?". So I was obliged to make a chocolate pecan cake.

Maiden Mushroom Hunt

First day of winter vacation- G&L took us foraging in Olema and Pt Reyes. Our golden prize- chanterelles hiding under live oak groves. C did not find any, but yours truly chanced upon two specimens- plump for the taking. Consolation prize- oyster mushrooms to be had everywhere- so plentiful that I took very little of what was available.

I'd been in a food funk lately as grocery stores haven't been doing it for me lately. Luckily last week, C caught a rock crab off the coast. My parole officer at work brought me beautiful big bag of lemons. I squeezed lemons all night and then decided against making lemon curd. Instead I baked a persimmon pudding which only I myself enjoyed as C was fast a sleep snoozing by the fire.

Snacked on half a tuna sandwich this afternoon. What a shame such a powerful swimmer ended up as a soggy leftover with too much mayo.

Idi Amin died this week. I had better update my list of 3rd world dictators who lived a full and cushy life. I had to last update it when Great Leader Kim Il Sung passed the veil. Nope, it must have been Pol Pot. Netflix probably will see a spike for the Barbet Schroeder documentary. There is one scene where a fisherman, to a frightened and fascinated crowd, pulls up an unnaturally corpulent fish from a Kampala lake. To the casual viewer, this is just the bounty of Africa. But french-trained filmmakers are too wiley to waste such a simple scene. Only months later, Kapuczinski unraveled this mystery for me.

C is away diving for sea cucumbers today. I vaguely remember a kiss on the forehead this morning. I had better not get in too much trouble today- nobody to bail me out.

I scrounged a respectable brunch for myself. Rosemary potatoes roasted with shad roe(not a bad replacement for sausage), plumpiest plump cerignola olives, gorgonzola pizza, one yolky egg glugged down all without worry with gingerbeer. And now I am wasting a perfectly good Saturday blogging about it. Away I go.