Some explanation here: Starting at age 11, my father worked on a muck farm in western Michigan. Over the course of two, hot, Midwestern summers, he planted, weeded, cultivated, and harvested produce. While Hudsonville, MI is known as the celery capital of the world because of the ideal growing conditions it provides in its dark and loamy rich soil, Dad mainly dealt with lettuces, radishes, and green onions on his muck farm.

After spending the morning crawling along the growing rows to weed around the vegetables, Dad says in the afternoons, he got the "posh job." He got to escape the beating sun and work inside, washing and packing the produce for market. A percentage of this Michigan produce was loaded onto trains and sped off to stock Chicago markets. In a weird twist of fate, my Dad got his job at the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission in Washington, D.C. because of the muck farm.

The guy who interviewed him was the son of a Chicago market owner who bought from the Dutch farmers in Michigan. Growing up, this SEC guy learned from his dad that not only did the Dutch deliver excellent produce, but they were fair, honest, and hard workers. You could always trust the Dutch to do good business. The fact that my dad was both Dutch and a muck farm worker sealed his position as an SEC staff attorney. Dad calls that "an instance of favorable stereotyping."

At sixty-eight, my Dad has professed himself confused as to why I want to work on a farm, since it was a job he did out of necessity and not pleasure. However, he listened patiently when I went on at great length about locavores, the connection between farm and table, and Jen Maiser, and a year later, he sent me the following childhood recollection. Given how natural it was for my grandparents to source, buy, and eat locally, I'm not surprised Dad has been somewhat unimpressed by all the chatter surrounding the newest eat local resurgence. What I want him to know is, in many ways, the current eat local movement honors our parents and grandparents who got it right the first time around.

In recognition of Eat Local Month, I am sharing his potato memory here.

The Great Potato Hunt

By Vern Vander Weide

It was that time of year again, the time when the first hint of fall could be felt in the western Michigan air. The seasonal ritual began with my father diligently perusing the classified ads in the Grand Rapids Press. I knew that meant we (my father, mother and I) would soon be spending evenings and weekends traveling throughout western Kent and Newaygo and Ottawa counties, visiting the numerous farms Dad had marked in the classifieds. Thus would begin the Great Potato Hunt, the annual quest for the Perfect Potato.

Of course, I did not think of this in those grandiose terms back then. I was a mere child. Searching far and wide for the best strawberries, the most luscious blueberries, fresh eggs from a cousin's farm, the ripest cherries, the plumpest peaches and, yes, the super potato was just part of our very ordinary lives. After all, didn’t everybody do that? It was such a common-seeming experience that I never bothered to ask my friends whether they were expecting to spend countless hours in the back seat of their parents’ car while they searched for the Perfect Produce.

Today, this would be, I guess, "locavores." But that word was in no one's vocabulary in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Everyone practiced "locavore." The produce we bought in our grocery stores in the summer had been in the ground just 24 hours earlier and less than 20 miles away. The grocers purchased their produce every morning at the wholesale farmers' market. Every week, my parents visited one of two (sometimes both) retail farmers’ markets throughout the summer and early fall. There one would find everything, depending on where we were in the growing season, from live chickens (no, not for pets) to freshly picked corn. Beyond that, my parents’ "'voring" was as "local" as it could get. Except for a brief hiatus in the early 1950s, my father continued our World War II Victory Garden, so that bib lettuce, tomatoes, radishes, green onions and other delectables were just steps outside our back door.

But back to the search for the Perfect Potato. From the back seat I heard my parents talking about "russets," "Idahoes," "red russets" (or "red" something or other), or other brands of potato, all of which was completely meaningless to me. After extended discussions between my father and farmer after farmer, the Great Decision would be made: we would make the annual purchase (sometimes more than one purchase from different farms) of our winter’s supply of potatoes. The precious find would be brought home and carefully stored in our fruit cellar (along with all the jars containing the canned fruits and vegetables my mother had already prepared).

As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it. But I also vaguely remember conversations at dinner, or maybe just before dinner, that seemed to be a continuation of the Great Potato Hunt. But first some important background. We usually ate potatoes that had been peeled, boiled and then served in a form in which the potatoes had been broken up. On Sundays (usually only on Sundays), they would be mashed, as part of our roast chicken or roast beef dinner. The key test of the Perfect Potato came every night in the unmashed form. I don’t remember very much of this conversation; after all, I really did not like potatoes until I got much older, so this conversation about the Perfect Potato was really of no interest to me.

My father would ask my mother how the potatoes "did up" or how they "cooked up." She would say something like "too mealy" or "too wet" and sometimes -- nirvana! -- "very good." Again, this meant nothing to me, but many times since then I have wondered just what the whole potato thing was all about. I’ve asked several persons, including my culinary expert food-writing daughter, what the BIG DEAL is about the potato, but to no avail. (SO not true! Dad never asked me this question! Artistic license, indeed! -- Stephanie) Nobody had been able to explain to me what so preoccupied my Dad.

Last week I visited my 92-year old aunt, my father’s last surviving sibling. I related a much shorter version of the above, and she, of course, nodded knowingly. I asked, "Aunt Win, why did Dad spend all this time looking for potatoes, what’s the difference?" She explained that it depends upon whether the potatoes cooked up "dry" or "wet." "Dry or wet?" I asked. After all, they’ve just come out of a pan of boiling water. How can they be anything other than wet? She said that after the potatoes have been properly boiled and the water decanted (my word, not hers), the cook shakes the pan so as to cause the potatoes to break apart. If the resulting pieces are "wet," that is not good; if the potato easily breaks apart and the resulting pieces are "dry," that is the Perfect Potato.

So, now I know why we spent all that time long ago on the Great Potato Hunt.

Noshing on sticky buns the approximate size of your head is a Midwest breakfast tradition. I came to this realization early in life when, on a trip Up North to a friend's cabin, we had some relief from the constant yodeling (on the radio, not the parents, though it was the their choice of music for three hours straight) when we stopped at Tobie's in Hinckley, MN. Halfway between Minneapolis and Duluth, Tobie's is a famous rest stop/family restaurant where people mostly load up on enormous rolls, sticky with caramel and studded with nuts, while reading all about the famous Hinckley fire on informative place mats.

But you don't have to suffer an hours-long, yodeling car ride to get your hands on proper sticky buns. In Minneapolis, Isles Bun & Coffee is the place to go. It's been there for 15 years (current owners have had it for about half that time), and though I grew up less than two miles from the place, it still took James' recommendation on this last trip home to actually get me there.

James suggested we try the Puppy Dog Tails -- puffy twists of cinnamoned dough that have nothing of the snips and snails about them whatsoever -- and to make sure to get the icing. Well, we got two Puppy Dog Tails and a mongo sticky bun (the last in the pan, as it happened, and the baker asked us if we minded getting all the extra caramel goo and nuts. Um, no?!) and then we got the frosting. See, the frosting sits in a tall bowl over on the island where you get your milk, your cream, your sugar, and your soy stuff for your coffee. There's a wide cake spreader for self-dolloping, and just how much frosting you scoop out is between you and your fear of diabetes.

We got our heavy box home and armed ourselves with knife and fork before tucking in, because when it comes to Minnesota sticky buns, there is just no room for dainty fingers and small bites. You saw into these sticky buns as you would a porterhouse. You scrape up excess caramel goo as if it were mashed potatoes and pile it back on your piece of bun. (Going with the steak analogy, the pecans would be sautéed mushrooms, but I'm trying to get you hungry for breakfast, not dinner.)

I won't kid you, these buns are heavy. But it's a delicious, soothing heaviness that sinks into your bones as you eat them while slowly sipping your coffee. It might even make you tired were it not for the intense sugar kick you get at the end, which makes it a perfect way to start your weekend.

Isles Bun & Coffee Company
1424 W 28th Street (at Hennepin)
Minneapolis, MN 55408

Monday-Saturday 6:30am-4:00pm
Sunday 7:00am-3:00pm

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When you hear the word "horchata," what comes to mind? I'm sure the answers will vary. The most literal-minded of you will think "rice milk," some of you may simply associate it with the concept of the "taqueria," while others might draw a complete blank. I for one can't get the image of the mouthy whores of the Mission district out of my head. Not that I associate them with actual drink, it's just the phonics of the word that lead me there.

The word horchata is derived from the Valencian word orxata, which itself is derived from ordiata (from the Latin word for barley, hordeata). A popular, though quite unsubstantiated, myth tells the story of a young Moorish girl who gave King James I of Aragon a beverage of ground chufa (tigernut or earth almond) and upon drinking, the king exclaimed, "Això és or, xata!" (This is gold, girl!).

So there you have it. Believe it or not.

The origins of the beverage are as cloudy as the drink itself. The Egyptians had a similar drink made of barley water mixed with honey. The Arabs brought a form of it up to the Iberian peninsula in their unconquerable days, and the Spanish have loved it so much for so long that they ended up pouring it all over the New World.

In Mexico, the beverage is made of rice, water, cinnamon, and sugar. In Spain, the chufa is the preferred source of starch. El Salvador has its own version, too. Pretty much everybody has their own version which they deem to be correct, but the essentials remain the same: a source of starch, water, and some form of sweetener. Cinnamon is commonly used (and personally, I feel that horchata without cinnamon is just plain rice milk). Lime or lemon zest are also frequent guests in the mix. It is entirely up the the preferences of the individual making it.

And I say make your own. It requires more effort than wandering down to your local taqueria to buy some, but it is inexpensive and extremely satisfying-- much more so than those whores in the Mission, certainly. And it's gold. It's tasty white gold, girl.

Horchata

After examining several recipes, I settled on one that included almonds. The almonds give an extra bit of complexity to this otherwise humble-but-wonderful beverage.

Makes about 5 to 6 cups, depending.

Ingredients:

1 cup of long grain white rice
1 cup chopped almonds, without skin
5-6 cups of water (depending upon one's preferences)
1 cinnamon stick
1 cup of simple syrup or sugar. You may use less or more, according to your taste for sweetness.
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preparation:

1. In a coffee grinder (that does not smell of coffee), pulverize the rice into dust. Most effectively done in two or three batches.

2. In a suitable container, combine rice, almonds, cinnamon and 3 cups of water. Let sit covered overnight.

3. The following day, pour the mixture into a blender and purée until as smooth as possible, adding as much sugar and water as you like.

4. Strain the horchata. Some prefer to do this through a sieve lined with cheesecloth. I prefer to use a tea towel, since there is a lot of grit involved. It takes a bit more time and hands-on wringing, but the gripping and twisting motions are an excellent way to work out pent up aggression, and the results are much better. So I think.

5. Refrigerate or simply serve over ice with a scant sprinkling of ground cinnamon.

I am lucky enough to have an apple tree in my backyard. Unfortunately, it has been diagnosed with fire blight, so I think this may be its last year. The aborist says it can't be saved, which makes me want to weep. Our beloved apple tree was already misshapen from years of neglect before we bought our house, but it now additionally has broken branches and peeling bark. Overall, it looks pretty shabby. But I don’t care how it looks. I adore the fruit it bears.

The apples from my tree aren't anything like what you get at a store. They are unique and part of an age when heirloom varieties grew in abundance. I never have it sprayed, so the cores may sometimes house a happy little worm, but the meat is beautiful, organic and tastes fantastic. Our apples are crisp and delicious right off the tree while also holding up well when cooked or baked. The thought of going to buy a replacement tree makes me depressed. I like the old scruffy tree we have.

One of the best things about having an apple tree is being able to go in my own backyard to pick apples to make a cake. I have quite a weakness for apple cake, especially when the apples are crisp and sweet. So, in honor of my tree and the many apples it has bestowed upon us for apple slices, apple tarts, apple butter, and, yes, apple cakes, I'd like to share my recipe. As you'll see, the cake is full of apples, but don't be alarmed that it looks like there are more apple pieces than batter. The abundance of apples makes the cake wonderfully moist. The apples also bake nicely into the batter so they don't detract from the cakiness of the texture. With a hint of cinnamon and some toasted walnuts, it's perfect for dessert, brunch, tea, or an afternoon snack. It's also easy and quick to make.

I am still hoping for a botanical miracle that will save our tree. Maybe I'm feeling sentimental because it's dying, but I've always seen it as a sentry of sorts in our backyard, marking the passing of time: blooming in the spring, bulging with fruit in the summer, dropping golden leaves in autumn, and standing bare and empty in winter. And then it does it all over again, or at least it did.

So in honor of my apple tree, here's the recipe. I hope you like it as much as we have over the years.

Apple Cake

Makes: 10 - 12 Servings

Ingredients:

1 cup vegetable oil
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
4 heaping cups peeled and chopped apples (about ¼ inch thick cubes)
½ cups toasted walnuts (optional)
¼ cup brown sugar
1 tsp cinnamon

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. Butter or oil a bundt pan or a 9x13 baking dish.
3. Combine oil, eggs and sugar in a large bowl.
4. In a separate bowl, mix together flour, baking soda, salt and cinnamon
5. Add flour mixture to egg and sugar mixture, being careful not to overstir.
6. Add apples and nuts (if using) to the batter.
7. If using a bundt pan, sprinkle the final ¼ cup of brown sugar and ½ tsp cinnamon on the bottom of the greased bundt pan.
8. Pour batter into your pan, spreading evenly.
9. If using a 9x13 baking dish, sprinkle the ¼ cup of brown sugar and ½ tsp cinnamon evenly on top of the batter.
10. Bake for 35 – 40 minutes, or until you can pull a toothpick out clean.
11. Sprinkle with powdered sugar when cool.

Every few years an amazing baking book comes along. You may already have a tried and true favorite, but if you are still on the hunt I have a suggestion for you, check out The Art and Soul of Baking from Sur La Table. Beginning bakers and seasoned experts alike will find something to love about the book. With glowing recommendations on the back cover from baking authorities and pastry chefs such as Peter Reinhart, David Lebovitz, Sherry Yard, Emily Luchetti, Dorie Greenspan and Flo Braker and an introduction from Alice Medrich you know it must be good, right?

The book is massive, over 450 pages with 250 recipes. Along with easy to follow instructions there are tips for success and little snippets called "what the pros know" that give even more insight. Recipes include classic brownies, pot pies, Danish pastries, elegant soufflés, breads, pizza and more. There is also information on more than 50 pieces of baking equipment and special chapters dedicated to basic pantry staples, sauces, garnishes, and decorations.

Author Cindy Mushet is going to be in the SF Bay Area October 23 - 26 teaching Baking Bootcamp classes at various Sur La Table locations.

What: Baking Boot Camp

Where: October 23 - 26 at Sur La Table stores in Los Gatos, San Francisco and Palo Alto.

How: Three hour demo classes are $69

Why: The class covers the following: Versatile Bread Dough -- Spongecake -- Chocolate Toffee Scones -- Classic Apple Pie with Flaky Crust -- Pumpkin Spice Cake with Maple Cream Cheese Frosting and Caramel Sauce -- Chocolate Soufflé with Cocoa Nib.

Want to see what an entry in the book looks like? Here's the recipe for luscious Duo-Tone Chocolate Pots de Crème reprinted by permission from The Art and Soul of Baking.

Duo-Tone Chocolate Pots de Crème 
Serves 6

Milk chocolate is often overlooked in the quest for the newest and darkest offerings, but it’s still a favorite—with kids and adults alike. Its presence is a surprise in this recipe, as the luscious milk chocolate custard is hidden under a thin layer of warm chocolate ganache. So although the spoon dips into a dark surface, it comes out with a lighter custard full of the malty, caramel-like qualities of milk chocolate. The interplay of cool, milky sweetness against warm, dark richness is sublime.

Equipment:
Medium Bowl, Small Bowl, Medium Saucepan, Whisk, Fine-Mesh Strainer, Pitcher or Large Measuring Cup with Spout, Six (6-Ounce) Ceramic Ramekins or Custard Cups, Large Roasting or Baking Pan, Tongs, Cooling Rack, Small Saucepan, Silicone or Rubber Spatula

Ingredients
Custard:
7 ounces good-quality milk chocolate, finely chopped
1 large egg
4 large egg yolks
1¼ cups (10 ounces) heavy whipping cream
1¼ cups (10 ounces) whole milk
¼ cup (1¾ ounces) sugar

Ganache:
1½ ounces semisweet or bittersweet chocolate (up to 64 percent cacao)
5 tablespoons (2½ ounces) heavy whipping cream

Softly Whipped Cream (page 416) and milk or dark chocolate curls (page 428), for serving

1. Preheat the oven to 325°F and position an oven rack in the center.

2. Make the custard: Place the chopped chocolate in the medium bowl. Combine the egg and egg yolks in the small bowl. Heat the cream, milk, and sugar in the medium saucepan over medium heat until just before the mixture boils. Immediately pour it over the chopped chocolate. Let it sit for 1 minute, then whisk gently but thoroughly to completely blend the mixture. Add the whole egg and yolks, whisking to incorporate thoroughly.

3. Strain and bake the custard: Pour the custard through the strainer into the pitcher. Place the custard cups in the large roasting pan, making sure they don’t touch, and divide the warm custard among them. Pull out the oven rack and place the pan on the rack; then remove one of the cups, pour enough hot tap water (not boiling) into that area to come halfway up the sides of the cups, and replace the cup. Cut a piece of foil large enough to fit just inside the edges of the pan, then lay the foil across the top of the cups, making sure it doesn’t touch the custard. You may need to smooth and flatten the foil on the counter if any wrinkles touch the custard. Gently push the rack back into the oven, shut the oven door, and bake the custards for 50 to 60 minutes, just until the edges of the custards are set—there should still be a dime-size liquid area in the very center of the custard (test by gently tapping the side of the pan).

4. Remove the foil and then the pan from the oven, being careful not to tilt the pan and splash water on top of the custards. Set the pan on a heatproof surface. Use the tongs (or your hand protected by a kitchen towel) to immediately remove the cups from the water bath and place them on a rack to cool to room temperature, about 40 minutes. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until cold, at least 4 hours or overnight.

5. Add the ganache layer: Place the chopped semisweet chocolate in the cleaned small bowl. Heat the cream in the small saucepan over medium heat just until it begins to simmer (do not allow the cream to boil and evaporate). Immediately pour the cream over the chocolate. Allow the mixture to sit undisturbed for 1 minute, then gently stir with the spatula until thoroughly blended and smooth. Spoon a tablespoon of ganache onto the surface of each custard, then gently swirl each cup until the dark chocolate completely covers the custard. (If the ganache seems too thick to spread easily, heat another tablespoon of cream and add it to the mixture).

6. Serve the custards immediately, while the ganache is still warm, or refrigerate up to 1 hour. As the ganache chills, it begins to harden and pull away from the sides of the cup, losing its silken texture and exposing the custard beneath, thereby spoiling the surprise. Serve each with a spoonful of whipped cream, topped with a scattering of chocolate curls if you like.

What the Pros Know
Milk chocolate and white chocolate are different from dark chocolate in two main ways. They have very little or no dark cocoa solids, otherwise known as cacao mass, which provide the dark color and thick viscosity of dark chocolate. In addition they have milk powder added. Because of these differences, milk and white chocolate cannot be substituted for dark chocolate in most recipes. Sometimes, however, they can be substituted for each other. In this recipe, for instance, you could create a white chocolate custard by substituting it for the milk chocolate in the ingredient list. Keep the dark chocolate ganache topping the same. If you want to add an additional layer of flavor, infuse the milk and cream with the spice, herb, or flavoring of your choice and let it sit for 15 to 20 minutes (or until you like the flavor) before reheating the mixture, pouring it through a strainer over the chocolate, and continuing with the rest of Step 1.

Getting Ahead
The custards may be baked up to 2 days in advance and refrigerated, covered with plastic wrap. Cover with the warm ganache shortly before serving.

I've lived near Fillmore and Sacramento in San Francisco for about six years. There are benefits to spending so much time in an area -- I know exactly where to shop, where to drop off my dry cleaning, and when the neighborhood Victorian gets a new paint job. But there are also frustrations -- shops and restaurants can bore me after a while. Don't get me wrong -- I love sitting at the bar at Florio when I'm feeling flush, and think that Ten-Ichi is a good neighborhood sushi place, but I was getting tired of the same old scene.

Things started to change on Fillmore last year when SPQR opened. The great food by the A16 group meant that Fillmore Street was becoming a destination for people who wanted to try A16's Roman counterpart. The hour-long waits and no-reservations policy of SPQR mean that people are often milling about outside, and the energy of the street has changed. A wine bar called Wine Jar has even opened up across the street and has been referred to as "the SPQR waiting room."

But one restaurant is not enough to sustain this food lover. That's why I've been so excited about the other changes in the area as well.

Two weeks ago, Pizzeria Delfina opened on California Street at Fillmore. It's the second pizzeria for the folks at Delfina in the Mission, and the pizza that I had on the second night they were open is as good as that at the 18th street restaurant. The spot is bigger than 18th street, and is already quite crowded. I'm loving the house wine they have on tap -- Segromigno from Unti Vineyards -- and the reasonable price of all the wines-by-the-glass.

Later this year, we are looking forward to a couple more additions to Fillmore Street. Dosa will be opening on the corner of Fillmore and Post, in the old Goodwill store. I've been peeking through the windows for months, and Eater has some photos of the design. Also, Woodhouse Fish Company is redesigning the space where Toraya was located, across the street from SPQR, and should be open within the next few months. Finally, we've been waiting about a year for our installation of Charles Phan's Out the Door to arrive on Bush street at Fillmore. Word is that may be a bit longer as Phan is busy with other projects around town.

You'll notice that all the restaurants mentioned above are not original -- most are the second or third outpost for already successful restaurants around town. But at the moment, I will take what I can get and am looking forward to a much improved dining scene on Fillmore street in my immediate future.

SPQR
1911 Fillmore Street (at Bush)
San Francisco
415-771-7779

Pizzeria Delfina
2406 California Street (at Fillmore)
San Francisco
415-437-6800

Wine Jar
1870 Fillmore Street (at Bush)
San Francisco
415-931-2924

Sunday mornings are special at my house. Instead of rushing around and trying to make breakfast for my daughters while finding homework or soccer shoes, I get to lounge around, reading the paper while my husband cooks up a pot of steel-cut oats. I live for Sunday mornings, with my hot cup of coffee and steaming bowl of oatmeal.

Because one batch of oats was never enough to feed the four of us, my husband started making two batches each Sunday. But two batches was just a bit too much for our crowd and I often ended up with about a cup of cooked oats leftover. With this little container of oaty goodness each weekend, I set out on a quest to find the perfect oat cake recipe. Remembering some lovely oatcakes I used to order at a little café when we lived on Nob Hill, I started experimenting.

After a few tries, I came up with a recipe that created great breakfast cakes: supple, yet still firm, with a hint of nuttiness, and just the right amount of fruit to add bits of sweetness to each bite. They are the perfect quick breakfast for a hungry child before school, and an antidote to a crazy Monday morning.

I’ve also added jam, instead of fruit and nuts, to create a Sunday dessert. The outcome is a pan of delicious oat squares filled with gooey strawberries. It’s a crowd pleaser for both kids and adults.

With either recipe, these oatcakes take only about five minutes to throw together. So now, in addition to benefiting from the treat of a lovingly cooked oatmeal breakfast on Sundays, I get the added perk of a nut and fruit oat cake on Monday mornings, or strawberry oat squares Sunday night. It’s a win/win/win situation.

Note: For a great recipe detailing how to make steel-cut oats, see Kim Laidlaw’s Steel-Cut My Oats. Trader Joe’s also sells cooked steel-cut oats in their freezer department. I tried them in my recipe and it turned out great. So, if you’re not interested in making your own pot of porridge, this is a great alternative.

Nut and Fruit Oat Cakes

Makes 9 servings

Ingredients:
1 cup cooked steel-cut oats
3/4 stick of softened butter
1 egg
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 cup cut up currants, prunes, raisins or dried apricots
1/4 cup chopped pecans, walnuts or almonds

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degree.
2. Combine butter, sugar and egg and mix until combined. I use an electric mixer, but you can do this by hand.
3. Add in the cooked oats, being sure to fully incorporate it into the mix.
4. Mix the flour, baking soda and salt in a separate bowl and then add to the oat and butter mixture.
5. Add in fruit and nuts and mix until just incorporated (but not too much or the batter will become rubbery).
6. Spread the batter into a greased 8 x 8 pan.
7. Bake for 20 minutes or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean.
8. Cool and serve.

Strawberry Oat Squares

Makes 9 servings

Ingredients:
1 cup cooked steel-cut oats
3/4 stick of softened butter
1 egg
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup strawberry or other fruit jam
2 Tbsp brown sugar

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degree.
2. Combine butter, sugar and egg and mix until combined. I use an electric mixer, but you can do this by hand.
3. Add in the cooked oats, being sure to fully incorporate it into the mix.
4. Mix the flour, baking soda and salt in a separate bowl and then add to the oat and butter mixture.
5. Spread half the batter into a greased 8 x 8 pan.
6. Top with the jam, spreading it evenly over the batter.
7. Spread the remaining batter over the jam.
8. Sprinkle brown sugar on top.
9. Bake for 20 minutes or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean.
10. Cool and serve.

Having just recently returned from the UK, I am currently obsessed with a dessert that is considered, by many of my British friends and family, "nursery food." I am speaking of bread and butter pudding. At its best, bread and butter pudding is both crispy and creamy, sweet and salty, simple and comforting, with just the right amount of butter, enough custard to soak through the layers of bread, a few sprinkles of raisins, and a toasty golden brown top. (At its worst it's a soggy, insipid, flavorless blob with too many raisins, but we don't have to go there.)

Lest you think it is the same thing as what we Americans call bread pudding, you are wrong. At least most of the bread puddings I've had here, which tend to be richer, heavier, and sweeter, with all sorts of extras thrown in (chocolate, fruit, etc). Don't get me wrong, when it's good—case in point: Tartine's bread pudding—it's divine.

The timing could not have been better the very first time I ate bread and butter pudding. We had just arrived in London, on a cold wintry day in January, and were completely jetlagged. Our very good friends Andrew and Helen whipped one up, and I was in heaven. It was perfection, and made me feel like I’d been wrapped up in a squishy comforter in front of a roaring fire. The recipe they used (from Simon Hopkinson's Roast Chicken and Other Stories, a very favorite cookbook of mine), was exceedingly simple, and simply perfect.

However, Hopkinson's recipe uses a few ingredients that are quite difficult to get here in the states, such as tea cakes (like little raisin rolls) and double cream. So I came up with a revised version for those of us on this side of the pond who have fond memories of British comfort food.

An American Bread and Butter Butter Pudding Tribute
Based on Simon Hopkinson's recipe from Roast Chicken and Other Stories

Makes 1 big pudding; feeds 2 to 8 depending on how much comforting you need

Ingredients:

2 tablespoons raisins
2 tablespoons (sweet not peaty) whisky or dark rum
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature, plus more for greasing the pan
8 thick slices of stale challah bread
3 whole eggs
2 egg yolks
1 cup whole milk
1/4 cup whipping cream
1/3 cup sugar plus more for sprinkling
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
small pinch of cinnamon (optional)

Preparation:

1. Preheat the oven to 350F. In a small bowl, soak the raisins in the whisky to plump. Grease a baking dish large enough to hold all of the bread with butter.

2. Spread the sliced challah thickly and evenly with the 4 tablespoons butter, then cut the slices in half crosswise.

3. Drain the raisins, reserving the whisky. Lay the challah slices in the dish so they overlap slightly, sprinkling the raisins in between the bread slices.

4. In a bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, cream, sugar, salt, cinnamon (if using), and reserved whisky. Pour over the bread evenly. Let stand for about 30 minutes so the bread soaks up the custard (I occasionally press down on the bread for extra absorption).

5. Bake the pudding until crisp and brown on top, about 35 minutes. Let stand for at least 10 minutes before serving big scoops. It is delicious with lightly whipped cream.

Next weekend, the inaugural Asian Culinary Forum kicks off at the San Francisco Ferry Building and the theme is Asian Food Beyond Borders. There will be tours, classes, workshops and panel discussions. Learn about chutneys, kimchi and sambal, how to pair wine with Asian food, all about Asian diasporas, the delights of South India and so much more.

One highlight of the weekend will be the program The Politics and Practicalities of Rice, a panel discussion and tasting, taking place on Saturday October 11th from 10-12 at the Ferry Building and tickets are only $20, $12 for students/seniors. On the panel will be Ross Koda, of Koda Farms, a Japanese American family rice farmer from the Central Valley, Kenneth Lee, president of Lotus Foods, specialty rice importer and distributor, Kent McKenzie, researcher and director of the California Rice Experiment Station and Raj Patel, food policy analyst and author of Stuffed and Starved. Learn about farming techniques, global food policies, and environmental issues. You'll also get a chance to taste half a dozen different varieties of rice from California and around the world.

What: Asian Food Beyond Borders presented by the Asian Culinary Forum

Where: Events take place at the Ferry Building in San Francisco and at various other locations for tours

When: Friday October 10 - 12, 2008
How: Purchase tickets.

Why: Hear from speakers ranging from Maddhur Jaffrey, to Martin Yan, local farmers and chefs with ties to Japan, Korea, Indonesia, India, Vietnam and more. Taste, talk, explore!

About 3 million people depend on rice for survival. This simple rice soup is almost endlessly versatile. Recipe adapted from Into the Vietnamese Kitchen, by Asian Culinary Forum co-director and co-founder, Andrea Nguyen.

Basic Rice Soup "Cháo"
Makes about 8 cups, to serve 4 as a light lunch or 6 with 2 or 3 other dishes

3/4 long-grain rice
2 1/2 quarts (10 cups) chicken stock
4 quarter sized slices unpeeled fresh ginger
2 scallions, white part only
Salt

1. Put the rice in a 4 quart saucepan and add enough water to cover by 1 inch. Stir the rice with your hand 8 -10 times then let the rice settle. Drain the water and rinse the rice to remove some of the starch.

2. Add stock, ginger, and scallions and ring to a oil over high heat. Lower the heat to a vigorous simmer , and then cover partially. Cool for 5 minutes, stir the rice to make sure it is not sticking and gently simmer.

3. Recover partially and continue cooking for one hour or until the rice has thickened and turned creamy white. Discard the ginger and scallions and salt as necessary. Use this soup base with chicken and cilantro, seafood, shredded pork or salted preserved eggs.

October is Eat Local Challenge month around the nation. Over at the Eat Local Challenge blog, we are excited to have over two hundred people who have committed to eating locally in their area for the entire month. We choose to eat locally because it supports the local economy, because it supports local farms and farmers, because it's lighter on the earth, and because it supports responsible development.

Since its meager beginnings in 2005, the Eat Local Challenge has grown to a movement that is beyond any of our dreams. This is evidenced by the cooperation of many organizations in San Francisco that are bringing you a myriad of eat local events throughout the month of October.

Even if you don't commit to eating locally for the entire month (though we'd love if you sign up and participate!), there are lots of ways that you can support eating locally in October in the Bay Area. Here are just a few ideas:

1. Support restaurants in the Bay Area that make a habit of buying from local farms. Just a few ideas include Delfina, A16, SPQR, Flea Street Cafe, Coi, Piccino, Pizzetta 211, Serpentine, Hog Island Oyster Company, Pauline's Pizza, NOPA, and so many others.

2. Support restaurants in San Francisco that are committing to buying locally in October. Eat Local SF is a local organization that has worked with restaurants to provide special Eat Local menus during October. Those restaurants can be found via Open Table.

3. Learn more about eating locally by attending a lecture. The Commonwealth Club is hosting a four week series about eating locally. I will be attending several of the events. I sat in on some of the planning sessions for these events, and am excited about the panelists at each. Events include:
October 1. Local Food, Local Pride: Policies for Sustainable Economies
October 8. The Water Connection: State Policies and the Impact on Local Food Systems
October 15. From Farm to Feast: How chefs, farmers and artisans strenghten our community
October 22. Food as Medicine: Health and Food Safety

4. Attend tastings of local wines and food at 18 Reasons each Thursday night in October. 18 Reasons is a great art + food gallery in the Mission, and I am excited to check out these celebrations of local wine.

5. Use the Buy Fresh Buy Local database to find local food in your area, and support those purveyors in October.

6. Attend a farmers market each week in October. Use the Chronicle website to find your local market.

7. Ask your supermarket manager where your meat, produce and dairy is coming from. Remember that market managers are trained to realize that for each person actually asking the question, at least 7 people want to know the same answer. Make a difference!

However you decide to support local eating in October, be sure to let us know what you're doing and how it goes.