My family and I are flying to the UK this weekend, so in addition to trying to arrange our trip and get a bunch of work done before we go, I'm planning our in-flight menus. I've been a plane picnicker for years, even before most airlines stopped serving in-flight meals. It all started when I was pregnant and just couldn't bear the thought of airplane or airport food. Before a short flight to San Diego, I brought along a prosciutto sandwich from my favorite deli along with a Stewart's root beer (which wouldn't be allowed anymore. No liquids!), and some fried artichoke hearts. As everyone around me munched pretzels, my husband and I split our delightful dinner. There was no going back after that.

Since that time, I've had to consider my children's food intake in addition to my own. I remember a flight to Washington D.C. where I literally brought an entire grocery bag full of food. As my family and I munched on cobb salads, BLTs, brie, and chocolate, I caught the envious looks of my fellow passengers who were stuck eating Jet Blue potato chips and cookies. I ended up taking pity on a lovely Indian grandmother in a beautiful sari who sat a few seats away. Switching seats with my husband so I could sit next to her, she told me all about living in India, the food her cook would make her there, and how her saddened she was that her daughters didn’t make the same foods in their U.S. homes. It turns out she was a moderately famous singer in her native country, a widow, and extremely funny. I was so glad I had brought along that extra mozzarella and tomato sandwich to share.

I rarely make anything homemade for our flights. Unlike road trips, I want the food to be packaged and sealed when I make my way through the security lines. No muffins falling out of my carry on, just food from a restaurant or store in its own paper or plastic lining. Maybe it’s my stomach-twisting fear of flying, or the fact that being on a plane is such a dismal experience, but I just can’t cook before I fly. Our standard airplane repertoire is usually freshly-made sandwiches from a local deli, some Petit Ecolier dark chocolate cookies, a few apples and pears, maybe a salad or two in secure plastic containers, some cheese (often brie), and always a bar or two of good chocolate. Anything I can think of to ease the pain of having my legs in one position for hours with some guy’s reading light piercing my right eye as I try to sleep with my jacket over my face.

The return trip home is often a problem as I’m never as sure where to shop for airplane food while in a strange place, and I sometimes forget to buy food at all. I’m vowing not to let this happen this time around, however, as the last time I flew home from Europe, I was stuck eating a greasy and cardboard-inspired excuse for a piece of pizza in the Toronto airport while running from plane to plane. My goal is to find some nice meat pasties for the trip home, along with some shortbread and a few pieces of fruit. I’m hoping to extend the good feelings of Scotland with some treats for that long and boring plane ride home.

Does anyone else pack a picnic when they fly? I'd love to hear what you bring.

Have you ever entertained thoughts of becoming a cooking show personality?

Chances are, since you're currently reading a food blog, you've thought about it. Perhaps you have a running narrative flowing out of your mouth as you make your lunch, explaining in chatty style to your cat the origins of oil-packed tuna and how to make it shine. Maybe you've always wanted to be as perfect as Martha or, at least, body-check Rachel off camera and show her how it's really done.

If any of the above sounds familiar and you have a special affinity for garlic, this could be your big, fragrant chance at local stardom.

KTEH Cooks with Garlic is giving you the opportunity to show the Bay Area what you've got. In December, KTEH will broadcast a live show featuring local viewers preparing their favorite garlic recipes.

Submissions so far have been encouraging-- and interesting. All types of professional and amateur cooks have already submitted. A local master chef; a Pavarotti-lover who once got him to sign her package of veal in North Beach; a vegetarian Peace Corps volunteer (and “future film star”) who plans to cook lamb, stating that “eating is not destroying; everything is merely transferred.” That's one segment I'm going to want to see. I hope she makes it.

All kinds of recipes have been submitted, too. Lamb dishes, chicken cacciatore, salads, and-- I only offer this as a warning-- a preponderance of soups. No one, so far, has been adventurous enough to submit a garlicky dessert recipe. Perhaps you can be the first.

No professional experience is required-- just a love of cooking, a bit of enthusiasm, and a knack for teaching. A clever introductory letter is helpful, beginning your letter (as one submitter did) with "I'm not sure I'd make a great tv chef" is not.

Sound like fun? Good. Just remember to be kind to the little people when you're famous.

How to apply:

Step 1: Send them a letter, telling them why you would make a great "TV Chef," and an original recipe that you would like to prepare live on KTEH. The recipe must feature garlic as an ingredient. Submissions must be received by September 15, 2008. (the date was extended from September 1, 2008)

Send Submission by Email or Postal Mail:

Email: Garlicrecipe@KTEH.org

Postal Mail:
Garlic Recipe
KTEH
1585 Schallenberger Rd.
San Jose, CA 95108

Step 2: All recipes submitted become the property of KTEH and will be included (with your byline) in our KTEH Cooks with Garlic Cookbook.

Step 3: KTEH will review the letters and recipes and invite selected viewers to video tape themselves preparing their recipe. These videos will be posted on our website.

Step 4: If you are selected, start your video camera and prepare your recipe as you would if you were on television. Then upload your video to their website (instructions to come) or send it to KTEH and they'll upload it for you.

Step 5: KTEH viewers will be invited to vote for the video they like best.

Step 6: Videos with the most votes will be reviewed by KTEH producers who will invite their favorite "chefs" to prepare their garlic recipe on their live special, KTEH Cooks with Garlic, December 3, 2008.

Step 7: If selected, you will be asked to provide all the ingredients for your recipe and a completed version of the dish. If your recipe is made in stages, you will need to provide a version in each stage-- just like Martha!

Step 8: The show! Chefs will be assigned a time slot and have 10 minutes to prepare their recipe.

Step 9: Each TV Chef appearing on the show will receive a KTEH Cooks with Garlic Cookbook and a DVD of their appearance on the show.

Every year, I look forward to the real fig season--figs have two seasons: the first, in early summer, is fleeting and generally unremarkable; the second one takes place late in the summer. And yes, folks, it's that time of year again. Late summer. My favorite moment in food time, when tomatoes and basil and zucchini and cucumbers and peppers and stone fruit and even berries are still prolific in the farmers' market, and each week, there are more shell beans and succulent delicious figs on display. But it's the figs that send me into squeals of joy, and when I bite into a perfectly ripe fig, perfect bliss.

If you’ve never tried a fig, then put aside your pre-conceived notions, and take a bite. Seriously. Now is your chance! Figs are at their peak from now until the end of the month. Longer if we are lucky. Kind of like a honeyed, sweet strawberry or raspberry but with a much more subtle flavor and less tang, figs are perfect when served with tangy cheese, a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, or wrapped in salty cured meat.

How to choose the perfect fig
Unlike most other fruits, the best figs are often the “ugliest,” at least until you know what to look out for. Once picked, figs no longer ripen, and you’ll never get the succulent figgy perfection if you choose underripe fruit. So back away from that perfectly smooth, unblemished, firm fig, it’s underripe!

Look for fruits that are soft (but not mushy) with cracks in the skin. They should feel heavy and plump, and maybe slightly wrinkled, but make sure to smell them to be sure they haven’t sat for too long and started to ferment.

Because figs must be picked when ripe, they have a very short shelf life. You should plan to use them within a day or two once purchased. Not that I’ve ever been able to hold back once I’ve snagged a bag of fresh juicy delicious figs. It’s best to store them in a paper bag in the refrigerator, unless you are using them the same day you purchase them.

Some figgy ideas
Not only are figs amazing out of hand, they are super versatile, and pair really well with salty, tangy, herbaceous flavors. Trim the stems off, slice them lengthwise in half or quarters, and then serve them:

• Sprinkled with fresh goats' cheese
• Alongside a wedge of tangy blue cheese
• Topped with thin slices of prosciutto or jamon serrano
• Drizzled with balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with chopped fresh basil
• In a salad of chopped toasted almonds, wild arugula, and fresh goats' cheese
• Drizzled with honey and crème fraiche

You can also cook them whole, for example:

• Wrapped with a thin slice of pancetta and then grilled until crisp on the outside
• Roasted in the oven with a drizzle of honey, and served with whipped cream and a sprinkle of toasted almonds

And if you want to go all out, then impress your friends (and co-workers) and make a very simple, but very gorgeous, fig tart.

Fresh Fig and Mascarpone Tart

Makes: 8–12 servings

Ingredients:
One 10-inch tart pan lined with flaky pie dough (use 1/2 recipe of my Flaky Pie Dough recipe below or use your favorite tart dough)
8oz excellent quality mascarpone
1/2 cup whipping cream
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 tablespoons golden brown sugar
Pinch of salt
About 10–16 figs, depending on how many figs you like
Honey, for drizzling

Preparation:
1. Preheat the oven to 400F. Line the tart pan with the dough, then line the dough with foil. Fill with ceramic pie weights or beans or rice. Place the tart shell on a baking sheet and bake until it starts to dry out, about 15 minutes. Remove the foil and weights and continue to bake until golden brown, about 5–10 minutes more. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool.

2. In a mixing bowl, whisk together the mascarpone, cream, vanilla, brown sugar, and salt until soft peaks form. Be careful, especially if you are using an electric mixer, because the mixture will thicken very quickly.

3. Carefully spread the mascarpone cream evenly onto the bottom of the tart shell.

4. Trim the stems off the figs and slice in half or quarters, lengthwise. Place them evenly on top of the mascarpone cream, overlapping so they all fit. Drizzle the figs with honey.

5. Cut into thin wedges and serve. Mmmmmmm. You can store this in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 2–3 days.

Flaky Pie or Tart Dough

Makes: Enough for two 10-inch tarts

Ingredients:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
12 tablespoons very cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
1/3 cup ice water + 1 tablespoon

Preparation:
1. To make the crust, in the bowl of a food processor, stir together the flour, and salt. Sprinkle the butter over the top and process for a few seconds, or just until the butter is slightly broken up into the flour but still in visible pieces. Sprinkle the water over the flour mixture evenly, then process until the mixture just starts to come together.

2. Dump the mixture out of the bowl onto 2 large sheets of plastic wrap. Press the dough together into a mound and then wrap with plastic and press into a flat disk. Refrigerate the dough until chilled, about 30 minutes or up to 1 day, or freeze for up to 1 month.

Food stirs up powerful emotions. It's not so much the "what" as it is the "how" that sometimes seems to be the problem. Accessibility, artisanal, affordability, authenticity, sustainability, these are some of the buzz words of the day and each one of them are loaded. One organization making an impact person by person and bite by bite, and seemingly free from any controversy, is La Cocina.

La Cocina is an "incubator kitchen," but really, it's so much more. La Cocina serves low-income entrepreneurs launching, formalizing or expanding their food businesses by providing affordable commercial kitchen space and industry-specific assistance in order to bring their businesses quickly to a point of self-sufficiency. These businesses are often very impressive ones, making wonderful food by hand. Some of my personal favorites are the Mexican snacks or antojitos and agua frescas at El Huarache Loco that I find at the Alemany Farmer's Market, Clairessquares flapjacks that I devour every time I go to the Kabuki Sundance Theater and CMB Sweets addictive apricot jam (I like it even better than some of the more well-known cult brands). I am also crazy about Los Pastores, the Mexican restaurant that serves what has to be the best mole in town.

The organization also sponsors fund-raising classes open to the public. There have been cocktail classes, cooking classes and on September 24th there will be a class on on The Magic of Mole Uncovered, taught by the cook and owner of Los Pastores, Irma Calderon. On September 12th, you can get a first hand look and taste, at La Cocina.

What: A Taste of La Cocina Taste, drink and shop at San Francisco's incubator kitchen.

Where: 2948 Folsom St, San Francisco

When: 6 - 8 pm, September 12th, 2008

How: $5 entrance fee, pay at the door

Warning: This is not a piece extolling the virtues of Slow Food Nation '08, so if there are delicate sensibilities out there who can't bear the suggestion that Slow Food Nation is anything other than shiny, happy people eating food, you should probably stop reading right now.

It would be one thing if this rant was all about how I volunteered at Slow Food Nation and all I got was this lousy apron.

That's not even the half of it. In fact, it's just emblematic of the entire SFN volunteering experience as I lived it. It's emblematic of the rudeness, the exclusion, the contradictions between what SFN advertised and what was actual, and the overall disgust I came away with after volunteering. The blog posts about what SFN did right are already thick on the ground, and the praise is prodigious; this is not going to be one of those pieces.

All my life, I've volunteered at various non-profits, churches, and events, and this is the first time I've been made so boiling mad by the attitude and treatment received. Building houses for Habitat for Humanity in the 105° Missouri heat was a more rewarding experience, and we even had one of our newly-paned HFH windows shot out by a friggin' drive-by!

I volunteered at SFN to help a friend and to help a vendor I believe deeply in; my beef is with neither of those parties. They took care of their volunteers the best they could. They celebrated our participation and did what they could to make it a pleasant experience. Not so for the rest of the SFN organization.

Let me get it out there right away that I appreciate the idea of slow food. (Note the lowercase.) It's the execution of this particular event I take exception to. Do I think it's awesome that there were, like, 26 different preserve makers there? Of course. Do I celebrate all 110 olive oils made in the Slow Food way? Well, I didn't get to taste any of them, but who wouldn't celebrate that range of fat? Was I completely disgusted by the way the organization treated the unpaid volunteers? Oh, hell yes!

Slow Food is about counteracting the "disappearance of local food traditions and people's dwindling interest in the food they eat, where it comes from, how it tastes and how our food choices affect the rest of the world." Slow Food Nation '08 "was created to organize the first-ever American collaborative gathering to unite the growing sustainable food movement and introduce thousands of people to food that is good, clean and fair."

But how about how they treat their workers? Their unpaid workers? People who volunteered their time, energy, and bright smiles to support them in their cause? Shouldn't that be a consideration?

Directly from the SFN website:

Slow Food Nation is a community event and we welcome your participation. We’re seeking volunteers to help in all aspects of planning and on site. Let us know if you'd like to join in this exciting endeavor—we promise plenty of fun and food!

In the cold light of morning, after an exhausted sleep following a long volunteer shift, I just have to laugh at that: "we promise plenty of fun and food!" So, the fun is debatable. You make your own fun; I've always believed that. And we did. At our vendor, we joked with each other, with the "paying guests," and we laughed a lot. One of my "paying guests" friends even told me I looked like the happiest person at the entire event. But the food? Sure, there was "plenty" of food, but none of us volunteers were allowed to eat it.

I direct you to the "food" portion of the multi-page dos, don'ts, and behavior modifications we received in advance as volunteers (bolding mine):

CIVIC CENTER: Although some small snacks may be available to our volunteers, please note that meals are neither provided nor reimbursed. Affordable meals are available each day from 15 unique Slow-On-the-Go vendors in the plaza."

FORT MASON: Volunteers wishing a simple meal may take one as available from our sponsor, Whole Foods. No additional concessions are available for purchase at this location. Volunteers are asked to refrain from eating samples from our taste partners, as these are intended for our paying guests and we will run out.

SFN never pointed out where these "simple meals" were, and I never saw them. If they meant the cheese and bread and juice they had at our check-in location, well, that was a-ways away from where we were working and would take more than a 10-minute break to get there, bolt the food, and get back to our post.

Keep an eye out for all the shouting "NOs" and "NOTs" in the additional portions quoted below from what I'm calling the SFN Dos and Don'ts. They make the overall tone quite objectionable. Get an editor and learn how to convey things in a more palatable manner, especially to people WHO ARE THERE TO HELP YOU.

Getting There: Transportation: Slow Food Nation encourages you to travel in ways that minimize our collective carbon footprint. We will NOT reimburse for parking and there is NO official parking partner affiliated with this event – plus it is a holiday weekend!

Sheesh.

(Also, given that I have a whole separate post coming about the behavior of the Slow Food Nation "paying guests," maybe SFN should have provided Dos and Don'ts for them.)

After checking in as a volunteer, we were directed to wait in our designated food area. Signs above were labeled "olive oil," "wine," "chocolate," etc. We got our one freebie -- the SFN apron -- and stood around a bit. There was milling. I joked (because the firm, bright smile never left my face ALL NIGHT) to a old friend and fellow volunteer that it's like we were the Joad Family. Day laborers from the Dust Bowl era, waiting to see if there's paying work that day.

A SFN organizer briefly welcomed us, thanked us for our time, and then said no less than five times that we were NOT to ask for food in the Taste Pavilion. If we required food during our 4pm-10pm shift, they had food for us there. However, we had to make sure to ask our managers if we could leave our post and really should consider planning our hunger around a lull.

A lull? Sorry, we didn't see a lull at my vendor. None. Not in six hours. My only lull was a 10-minute break that I used to stretch my legs and call home to report a Top Chef Marcel sighting. We never stopped serving people as fast as humanly possible.

"Do NOT ask for ANY food," he repeated. Again. I turned to fellow Joad Family member and shook a finger in her face, "Don't even THINK about food," I ordered her, "You're thinking about it. I can tell. DON'T!" Because you gotta laugh. Or else you'll scream.

Moving on to the "perks" portion of the Dos/Don'ts, we were told:

Each volunteer will be given a Slow Food apron to wear during their work shift, which is then yours to keep. Please note, however, that aprons only are not valid for entrance to ticketed events. Volunteers will be admitted, with their Managers, to work shifts only and do not receive free entrance to any other events.

Let's put my whines about the lack of freebies for the hard-working volunteers aside. Let's instead consider a case where a volunteer actually tried to BUY a Slow Dough coupon so they could participate in the events. They tried and were reportedly told, "You can't, you're a volunteer."

So, let me get this straight: As a volunteer, I work for free. I work for love and laughs, and I don't get any perks aside from an apron that is probably compostable if I add Slow Food-approved olive oil to it. And as a volunteer, I can't even PAY you to let me enjoy the promised "plenty of food and fun"? Unique.

Maybe they weren't allowed to sell to volunteers in case those volunteers shirked their shifts, but shouldn't that be something the volunteer's vendor policed? Maybe the volunteer was going to use the Slow Dough the next day when they weren't working. Is that not allowed?

When we were herded to the Taste Pavilion to start our shifts, a SFN manager came over to get us. "You [food group]?" she asked unsmilingly, "Follow me." "She's very excited about her job," fellow Joad Family member confided in me. We followed her. We got a warm, happy, and grateful welcome from our vendor.

Since we're still and always on food, I'll quote what the Dos/Don'ts said about water:

Water stations will be located in all locations, so please be sure to bring your own water containers to fill. Individual bottles will NOT be available.

SFN never pointed these stations out to us and I never saw them, so I'm thankful for two things: I brought my own container that I'd already filled at home AND our vendor provided us with filled water bottles. Because our vendor? Is awesome beyond the reaches of the SFN org.

Hand-Outs: Please do NOT give food, samples, or leftovers of any kind to any homeless person, at any location, under any circumstances. Word will spread of free food and we will soon have an encampment. Be sure to clean up all waste at days' [sic] end.

Of course, this is just ironic when part of Slow Food's mission is the professed belief "that everyone has a fundamental right to pleasure."

On two totally separate occasions, two UNPAID volunteers on their 10-minute breaks were ordered quite rudely by extraneous SFN workers not connected with our specific vendor, "Bus that table!" When both volunteers explained that they were not general staff but were working for [specific vendor] and also on their break, the response was, "Yeah. Bus that table!" No please, no thank you. Just an apron.

Maybe I've got this all wrong. Maybe every person wearing a SFN apron -- official ribbons or no -- was an unpaid volunteer who was also working just out of the pure goodness of their hearts. Because they believe passionately in the cause. If so, shouldn't that have brought us together in a more cohesive state of camaraderie where communications are clear, polite, and respectful?

At the end of the sweaty six-hour shift, a bar designer came over to us during clean-up and shook out dozens of cocktails composed of Gin 209, St. Germaine, mint, cucumber, and agave for us. He announced, "I've worked enough of these things to know you guys got nothing tonight." He gave the cocktail some name like, "Multi Spa," but I prefer to call it, "Faith Reviver." Maybe not faith in being a SFN volunteer again, but faith that there are still kind people out there who know how to treat others with respect, dignity, and gratitude.

My parents -- my dad, especially -- didn't raise me to turn a blind eye to the inconsistencies and contradictions of the world. They raised me to speak up and out if changes are to be made to the accepted status quo and not to sit idly by hoping everything will all work out somehow.

Next time you do an event, Slow Food Nation, take better care of the people who turned out to help spread your message. We may not have been "paying guests" in the monetary sense, but we paid with our time, energy, and goodwill and we deserved to be accorded the same respect as those forking over cold hard cash. This was a high-profile chance to show a whole mess of people that you are better than the average food industry expo, and in some ways you did. In other ways, you really didn't.

Bless you and your gleaming cocktail shaker, Bar Designer.

Every Labor Day weekend, Joshua and Jineui gather 30 or so lucky friends for a four-day camping extravaganza by Manresa State Beach. This is not a hardcore outdoor experience -- this year, there was a badminton game going near a very well stocked bar and a four-burner kitchen set up within snacking distance of our tents. For the price of an hour of downtown parking, some of us could even enjoy a hot shower. It's definitely more about extreme eating and drinking that any thing resembling "camping," but there aren't too many things that bond people together better than wide, shaded hammocks or Scrabble marathons or jumping and screaming together in the ocean's cold waves.

For months leading up to the trip, I obsessed about what I was going to cook. If any of you had chatted with me in the last several weeks, I would have bugged you for banana-leaf grilling recipes. Fish rubbed with lemongrass and chile and then mummified in fragrant banana leaves? Or a nice Yucatan-style marinade poured on some pork and then all that succulent goodness wrapped up in the leaves? Or cute little packets of gingery straw mushrooms? Or maybe otek-otek?

Then, I realized I just didn't have enough time to hassle with banana leaves.

Then, I saw a sale on wild-caught Gulf shrimp.

Then, I got an email from a PR agency. Did I want to try some new regional recipes from a classic seafood seasoning company? I had just hosted a big Zatarain's tasting a few weeks ago, so I was somewhat curious about how the East Coast classic would compare. I made a point of specifying two tins of each new flavor. But in that funny PR way, a few days later a huge box arrived with a gigantic logo stamped on the side. Inside, a big stockpot. A stockpot that I do not need. In a box that was a waste of someone's time to produce and pack and ship. There was one set of seasonings, even though I had requested two for testing and photography purposes. (This isn't expensive stuff, folks. I'm not asking for two tins of caviar.) And my favorite...there was one pot-holder. Stamped, of course, with a big fat logo.

Okay, for you PR people lurking out there, if you're going to try to woo a writer, especially one who makes a point of keeping a proper distance between the writing and the selling, it's worth thinking through what you're sending. Most cooks, both novice and advanced, use TWO pot-holders when moving heavy stockpots filled with boiling water and seafood.

So, I wasn't able to do any proper testing. But all my camping friends did enjoy the shrimp boil I made, compliments of a failed PR pitch, and one of my friends will receive an almost new stockpot, only slightly charred from the campfire. (Hint #2 for PR folks: be sure your client's logo appears on the most expensive, most durable object in the box.) I adapted the recipe provided to the seafood seasoning company by our very own Franciscan Restaurant, for a "San Fran-style" shrimp boil that can be done pretty damn easily in the semi-wild.

There was intense debate around the campfire about whether all the extra effort was worth messing up a perfectly good, simple, old-fashioned shrimp boil. I noticed, though, that there was not a single shrimp left, and even the fennel -- one of those love-it or leave-it foods -- was picked clean, so I'd have have to say this version gets the thumbs-up.

MANRESA-STYLE SHRIMP BOIL

When buying shrimp in bulk for cooking in the outdoors far from home, ask the fishmonger for the still-frozen IQF stuff in the back. They're usually sealed in 5- to 10-pound bags that will thaw in 24 hours if packed in a smallish cooler with some beer bottles but no ice. They'll last a couple of days longer if you throw in some ice, too. Prep your veggies and garnishes in advance and bring them along in plastic bags. Make sure you have access to plenty of potable water, a big-ass pot that you don't care about, a long spoon, and some lively embers under a cooking trivet or a heavy grid over flames. And yes, TWO well-insulated oven mitts or pot-holders.

Serves: 24 hungry campers.

Ingredients:
2 big onions, cut into thin wedges
8 cloves garlic, chopped
1 stick unsalted butter
4 cubes chicken or fish bouillon
2 32-ounce cans diced tomatoes
4 14-ounce cans whole artichoke hearts
3 bulbs fennel, cut into thin wedges (stems and fronds reserved)
2/3 cup of your favorite shrimp or crab seasoning mix (stocked by the seafood counter)
Peel from 1 lemon, removed in wide strips
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes, or to taste
1 bottle of dry white wine (optional)
10 pounds wild-caught Gulf shrimp, shell-on
1/2 cup whole parsley leaves
Fresh lemon wedges

Preparation:
1. Fill a very large stockpot halfway with water.

2. Add the onions, garlic, butter and bouillon, then bring to a boil. Let boil for 10 minutes.

3. Stir in the tomatoes with their juices, artichoke hearts, fennel, seafood seasoning mix, lemon peel, red pepper flakes, and wine. Boil for 3 minutes.

4. Add the shrimp, cooking in two batches if needed, and boil for 4 to 6 minutes, depending on size, just until opaque. Do not overcook.

5. Stir in parsley and serve immediately: With a large net skimmer or slotted spoon, transfer the shrimp and vegetables to a big, deep platter or directly into individual bowls. Pass lemon wedges.

Yay! It's hot!

At least, it's hot by San Francisco standards, and when I wake up and find the cats have made neat little piles of their fur next to the garbage can, I'm thinking it's hot.

Last May, we took our first trip to Mendocino. After breakfast at the most amazing bed and breakfast in the area and a hike along the coastal cliffs, we drove inland along the Redwooded Rt. 128 to the Philo Apple Farm.

When we arrived, marveling over the 15° temperature change from the coast, the place was silent. We probably would have thought it was deserted if we hadn't caught sight of a cooking class being held in the main house, but instead we just found the stillness -- broken only by two farm cats wandering out to roll in the dirt at our feet and mew for pets -- peaceful. Pleasantly left to our own devices, we walked around the farm and examined the kitchen garden and the tiny cabins. We enjoyed the seven chickens being chased into a rose bush by a single rooster, we decided not to look in said rose bush to see what was going on, and we bought some cider. Hard cider.

The Philo Apple Farm is known for many things applelicious. At their old fashioned farm stand, which adorably operates on the honor system, they sell vinegar and syrup, chutney and juice, jam and jellies. When in season, they've even got apples. However, what got our attention was the open crate of unlabeled bottles on the loading dock. While the pristinely labeled and primly shelved bottles of hard cider were going for $8.50, this hard cider was selling for $6.00 a bottle.

"Torn labels, moldy labels, no labels!" the cardboard sign above announced, "Still the same good stuff!"

Something about the layer of dust coating the dark green glass made this clutch of cider seem more authentic, more farmhouse-y, more like what you would find in Normandy. So we went for it. We didn't need to pay $2.50 extra per bottle for all that window dressing! We shared one bottle that night in our little cabin and heartily agreed with the sign: "good stuff!" (However, I have to admit that the guarantee, "if you are not completely satisfied, blah, blah," now has me saying, "If you don't like the way I'm driving, blah, blah!" or "I'M out of order? YOU'RE out of order! This whole COURTROOM is blah, blah!")

Thursday, just as the heat of the day was melting into the blue of night, just as the sunburn I acquired planting at Land's End started to flare with comic book stars, we turned off all the lights and cooled off with two icy glasses of cloudy Apple Farm cider by the glow of the Democratic National Convention.

The Philo Apple Farm cider may have had a few more particulates than it did three months ago, but it was just as bracing and refreshing as that first May bottle. Even better, it was the perfect nightcap to a hot, sweaty San Francisco day.

Visit the Philo Apple Farm for cider, chickens, apples, or blah, blah.

The Apple Farm
Bates and Schmitt
18501 Greenwood Rd
Philo, CA 95466

Summer is an ideal time for improvisation-- especially for those of us living in San Francisco. If the sun is shining for more than 30 minutes at a time, we get a bit giddy and wonder if we should just leave our sweaters at home and head for the nearest park or beach to get a much-needed dose of vitamin D. Long term planning is often shed as quickly as our layers of clothing.

Dinners are no exception. Last Sunday, I was invited down to Hillsborough for an al fresco meal in an impossibly rose-scented garden. The event had been in the planning for several weeks, owing to the varied schedules of the guests and host. All that was required of me was to show up-- with dessert. When the idea for the dinner was germinating, I had proudly announced that I would make cannoli because of some unaccountable need to flex the confectionery muscle of my father's people. Besides, I knew my friend Cybele, in whom Sicilian DNA also makes its home, would be there. I think I wanted to impress her.

For those of you with little or no experience with cannoli, it is about the least spur-of-the moment dessert one can make. The dough is made, it rests for a couple of hours. It is rolled and stretched and rested again. And rolled again. It is cut and fried, cooled and filled.

The day prior, I had the dough ready for preparation. The day of the dinner, I got as far as mixing the filling when, suddenly, it just felt allwrong. It was a warm day. Cannoli are for holidays. They are not for garden parties. The dough is still sitting on a shelf in my refrigerator, getting to know its neighbors, the cornichons and mustard.

When I arrived at Cybele's house, I showed her the cake I'd made, and the figs and cream with which I'd planned to serve it. I had planned to simply slice the figs, toss them with a little sugar, and be done with them.

"Figs?" she asked, "What about putting a little pomegranate molasses in them?" She took me into the kitchen, and poured two slow-moving drops of the stuff onto the end of a fork and put it in my mouth. It was a flavor new to me-- sweet, sour, full of depth. It was exactly what the figs needed to make them interesting without taking over the dessert. I learned something new.

One of the many things I love about this woman, apart from her warmth, humor, intelligence, and just-plain-great-to-look-at-ness, is her uncanny cooking-sense. She goes by instinct. She just gets food. It is something that cannot be taught. Not completely.

The dinner was a complete success. Boccalone salumi and Beecher's "Just Jack" cheese (in honor of our host) washed down with a couple bottles of cool Pinot d'Alsace, which fit in nicely with my current obsession with World War I military planning errors. Rib eye prepared by my friend Lyle (who often refers to himself as the luckiest man alive, owing to his partnering with Cybele), roasted, garlicky potatoes and mushrooms to smother- but-not-choke the steaks, accompanied by good, elegant bottles of Rioja. And a perfect salad of Asian pear, lettuces, and summer tomatoes ended the meal. Digestion-aiding conversation followed.

We were ready for dessert by sunset. Given the gargatuan nature of the meal consumed-- especially the 22-ounce steaks, I was grateful I followed my now-engorged gut and decided to leave to cannoli for another day. As I served out dessert, I asked for a bit of feedback, as is my habit with anything I make for the first time. I had mentioned substituting much of the cornmeal with corn flour. Jack rightly commented that "any more cornmeal would have made this a dessert for hamsters." I was rather inclined to agree. Everyone was in full agreement about the addition of the pomegranate molasses-- it was just the right touch.

This post is just my little way of thanking Cybele for simply being around. She is, in her own way, the pomegranate molasses in everyone's life- sweet, with just the right amount of acid wit. A blend of the exotic and oddly familiar, she adds a touch of subtlety and depth to everything she does. And, as if by instinct, it is always the right touch.

So, thanks, Cybele. You have a habit of making good things better.

Almond-Cornmeal Cake

The idea of this cake came from a recipe by Lorenza di Medici, who knows a thing or two about al fresco dining. And Italian food. As I made the dough, I realized it was going to be too dry for my purposes. I wanted something moist-- a word I detest but, at the same time, a quality I treasure in baked goods. Too late in the day for going back to the market for fresh supplies, I decided to wing it and make some major adjustments, in keeping with my own rigidly, self-imposed idea that improvisation was the theme of the day. Fortunately, it worked, and worked very well.

This cake plays well with late-summer fruits. I chose figs, but berries would do well, too. Or just a big dollop of sweetened cream and a good, cool glass of Tokaj.

Serves: 6 to 8

For Cake

Ingredients:

1 cup almonds, blanched and without skin
1/3 cup yellow cornmeal
2/3 cup corn flour
1/4 cup unbleached all purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
4 ounces unsalted butter
3 egg yolks
a pinch of salt
powdered sugar for decoration

For Figs

Ingredients:

1 pint of fresh Mission figs
2-3 tablespoons of sugar, depending upon the ripeness of the figs
1 teaspoon pomegranate molasses

Preparation:

1. Grease with butter a 9-inch cake pan with removable bottom, lining the pan with similarly-greased parchment paper.

2. In a Cuisinart, or whatever you wish to call yours, combine almonds, cornmeal, corn flour, all purpose flour, baking powder and salt. Pulse until the almonds are crushed sufficiently to make a fine meal.

3. Cream butter and sugar until, well, creamy. Add yolks one at a time. The color should be roughly equivalent to that of a blinding afternoon sun.

4. Combine the butter mixture with the flour group until well incorporated. Spread into cake pan and bake on the middle rack of a pre-heated 400° oven for about 30 minutes, or until done.

5. Wash figs, slice into quarter segments. Toss them in sugar and molasses, but gently. Let sit for about an hour.

6. Remove from oven. Remember to turn off your oven. Place the now-baked cake on a rack to cool. Remove from pan. Please remove the parchment paper. Dust with powdered sugar when plated.

7. Slice cake and serve with prepared figs and sweetened cream.

Monday was the first day of school. Yes, school starts in August in our district, which always seems crazy to me as I used to start school after Labor Day when I was a kid. This means that instead of determining what my kids will eat for lunch at around noon, I am now frantically making lunches at 7:30 in the morning.

Although making a school lunch may seem like a no brainer (PB&J with a banana, anyone?), a lot has changed since my mom threw cellophane-wrapped sandwiches into my childhood Scooby Doo lunch box. For one thing, most lunch boxes are no longer made of tin, but polyester and nylon. For another, people are now starting to take note of how much trash is created during the school lunch hour.

Did you know that a typical American school kid’s lunch generates 67 pounds of trash a year? When I first heard about this statistic, I was amazed. I then did a little math and realized that a class of 20 kids produces 1,340 pounds of trash in the school year, and was horrified when I further calculated that a school with 200 kids (which is a small school), creates 133,400 pounds of school lunch trash a year!

The day-to-day issues of dealing with all this trash, combined with a desire to help students become more environmentally aware, led the administrators and parents club at my children’s school to initiate a No Trash Lunch program. What, you may ask, is a no trash lunch? Well, it’s pretty much exactly what it sounds like: a lunch that doesn’t use anything you would throw away -- no baggies, plastic sporks, juice boxes, or paper napkins. I started making no trash lunches two years ago, and although I sometimes slip and use a baggy in moments of desperation -- usually when the containers aren’t clean -- I’ve found that packing a no trash lunch can be just as convenient as making one that generates piles of trash.

But making a no trash lunch isn’t just about giving up baggies and paper napkins. The fad of toting a disposable water bottle has also thankfully fallen out of vogue. Kids are now being taught that those little plastic bottles of Crystal Geyser and Evian clog up land fills and are bad for the environment. The current trend is to use stainless steel water bottles. I’ve seen these available everywhere from REI and Whole Foods, to the L.L. Bean web site and our school’s parents club. Although the stainless steel bottles cost more than the plastic variety, they will last for years and are not made of plastics that could potentially leach chemicals into your child's water. Many reusable plastic bottles are also great, but be sure to purchase those with a 1, 2, 4 or 5 on them as they are thought to be safer.

So if you’re ready to give up baggies and plastic bottles, here are some tips that might help. Once you invest in the basics, a no trash lunch can be just as fast and easy to make as one full of waste.

Making a No Trash Lunch

1. Buy a reusable lunch box. I like the ones made out of Nylon and Polyester that can be washed.
2. Get some sandwich and snack-sized containers. These are sold everywhere from Target and Longs, to IKEA.
3. Purchase a reusable water container. I like the stainless steel ones, but these can be pricey. If you get a plastic bottle, try to purchase one that does not have the numbers 3, 6, or 7 imprinted on the bottom as these are most likely to leach chemicals. The best choices are those with the numbers 1, 2, 4 and 5 (although these are often more difficult to find).
4. Give your child a cloth napkin instead of a paper one.
5. If your child will need a fork or spoon, include a metal one that can be taken home, washed and reused. You can buy inexpensive sets of four at most drug stores.
6. If your child likes warm food, purchase a reusable thermos.

If you have any other ideas for how to create a No Trash Lunch, I’d love to hear them.

Listen to Slow Food Nation on KQED's Forum.

Slow Food Nation
This Labor Day weekend San Francisco will host Slow Food Nation -- a four day gathering to promote sustainable and healthy food. We talk with organizers and experts in the slow food movement, exploring the connection between our plates and the planet.

Host: Michael Krasny

Guests:
• Anya Fernald, executive director of Slow Food Nation
• Dr. Vandana Shiva, author of "Biopiracy: The Plunder of Nature" and founder and director of Navdanya, an organization supporting conservation, renewal and rejuvenation of biodiversity
• Eric Schlosser, award-winning journalist, author of "Fast Food Nation" and a correspondent for the Atlantic Monthly
• Michael Pollan, professor of journalism at UC Berkeley and author of "In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto"

Read Amy Sherman's Event post about Slow Food Nation.