The venerable matzo ball. The one food that perhaps best sums up all of Jewish cuisine in a spherical, dumpling-like shape. They can be soft, ethereal almost, just barely holding their shape in a globe of glutens. They can be hard, tense almost, pressed tautly into a sphere. Me, I like them to be somewhere in between. A 70-30 ratio, in favor of soft. The matzo ball should offer the slightest bit of resistance as you plunge your spoon into it. The center still chewy, doughy, and delectable.
There are many different recipes, even more preferences. Some people experiment with different spices (curry, I’ve read), others prefer a smattering of freshly torn herbs (parsley or dill are popular), and some still prefer an unadulterated matzo ball (perfectly white). I’m a bit of a purist, no outrageous spices, curry would be sacrilege, a bit of parsley, some chopped onion, this and [...]

I love apricots! After months of waiting, 10 months to be exact, they are here. All rosy fleshed, smooth, mildly fuzzy skin– as close to perfection as a fruit can come.

I was doing my food shopping at Berkeley Bowl, a dizzying array of the usual winter fruits, tough skinned citrus in varying colors, a handful of summer fruits from Chile, and there they were– calling out to me. A beacon of early summer appearing in late spring. A lone display, paltry by the Bowl’s standards, one type as opposed to the many which can be found later on in June. I quickly glanced at the poster, $2 a pound, and what I was really looking for, the origin stating these delightful little fruits were from California. Hurray, spring/summer is here!
Each year I forget when the spring and summertime fruit and vegetables actually arrive. I always recall, incorrectly, that I [...]

Christian Clarke’s 4th grade birthday party was not all that spectacular. Late afternoon, roller rink, lights dim with the “disco” lights swirling about in a clockwise fashion. I wasn’t even friends with Christian, it was just one of those parties to which everyone in class was invited. In fact, he pestered and teased me horribly, about my robin’s egg blue Chinese pajama pants (unwarranted), and for tapping my fingernails annoyingly against my formica school desk (warranted). So we were not the best of friends, but I went to his birthday anyway. Not being the hugest fan of skating around endlessly in circles, I sat on the sidelines for most of the afternoon talking to his mother, and eyeing the lovely cupcakes that were setting out on the Transformers plates awaiting to be gobbled up by minions of hungry children.
Strawberry Duncan Hines cake mix topped with fluffy white Seven Minute Frosting. [...]

In honor of Passover, a holiday that has always been more about the food shared than it has been about religious significance to me– I give you Haroset, or Charoses as it may be. Why the difference in spelling, thus the difference in pronunciation? Well its a matter of both transliteration and place. If you are a Jew descending from Western Europe or Africa– a Sephardic Jew, you would say Haroset. If you are an Eastern European Jew, an Ashkenazic Jew, you would soften the T sounds to an S, and the H would be pronounced with a CHA sound, sort of like you were clearing your throat. Whew, its difficult to spell all of those guttural sounds.
I remember the Seders of my youth. Sitting through what seemed an interminable ceremony, the nerves over reciting the Four Questions, ending in the culmination of the Seder, and the sweet, cinnamony flavor [...]

A peculiar thing is happening to Bay Area farmer’s market, and I’m not sure that I like it. They are becoming very much in fashion, in vogue, and not always in a good way. In other parts of the country a farmer’s market is a place to get wholesome farm fresh produce, much better than what you would get at the grocery, for rock bottom prices. The farmer’s market cuts out the middle man; they are a place where the farmer is also the purveyor. But in the Bay Area the farmer’s market is a place for a stroll, sipping your organic coffee, a place to see and be seen, they are dripping with folksiness, not a place for everyone, but a place for those who can afford their organic (sometimes) produce. Not every Bay Area farmer’s market is like this, but the weekend farmer’s market at Ferry Building [...]

Maneschewitz wine, the Boone’s Strawberry Wine of sacrament beverages. It is syrupy sweet, fortified, mustache-staining purple, concord grape. What more can be said than, it’s a twist-off top? I love the stuff, it’s the Passover beverage of my youth. I didn’t come from one of those up-tight American families where drinking before the age of 21 was frowned upon, but generally the youths in my family were not boozing it up. But there was an exception. At the Jewish holidays, a little glass of ice-cold Manischewitz wine (we were simply following the “refrigerate after opening” instructions) was set before me. All of the adults had the real stuff, but the kids were allowed a modicum of Manischewitz.

To this day, I still hold a place in my heart for this beverage. In fact now that I am in my 20’s, and am allowed to consume any alcoholic beverage of my choosing, [...]

Sometimes it is the simplest meals that are the most delicious. A soft-boiled egg, small and self-contained, proudly standing tall in its porcelain cup is the perfect brunch-time antidote to a weekend filled with too much wine, hearty foods, or both. An ideal vessel in which to dip a slice of lightly grilled rustic country bread, or better yet, take advantage of the spring season and dunk an crisp, lightly salted asparagus spear.

I am not the hugest fan of savory egg breakfasts, but there has always been something about the soft-boiled egg that just does it for me. Perhaps it is all of the accoutrements, the delightful little cups, mimicking the shape of the food that they hold, and the diminutive spoons just large enough to get into the shell without shattering it. By the time you prepare your egg just so, a pat of fresh butter, a sprinkling [...]

Call it what you will, pop, soda, soda-pop, soft-drink, hiccup inducing sugar water, from time to time I do love a Coke. In fact it’s just about the only soda I will have in all of its permutations; vanilla, chocolate, and cherry from the fountain. And I adore the fountain Cokes, but they are a slippery slope.
We all know what a standard can of Coke tastes like– sweet, vaguely caramel in flavor, overflowing with effervescence. But a fountain Coke is an entirely different story. So much can go wrong, but occasionally you will receive the ideal Coke, the ratio of syrup to soda water is perfect, providing the flawless mixture of carbonation to sugary sweetness. But these incidences of impeccability are few and far between. Most of the time you will order a Coke where the ratio is askew, too much syrup has overridden the sprightly bubbles, or too [...]

The sunchoke, otherwise known as the Jerusalem artichoke was unfamiliar to me. Sure I’d read about it, even heard about this little knobby tuber in certain circles; I just had never gotten around to trying it. That was until this week, when the gorgeous buttery, potatoey, artichoky bulb came into my home via a Berkeley Bowl bag.

Berkeley Bowl is a legendary Berkeley market with an enormous produce section– enormous. It is not unusual to find seven different types of eggplant there, all lined up in various shades of purple. As I was strolling around the produce section I spotted them,the sunchoke, pimply, knuckly, with a sheer tan skin, they actually looked like hands of ginger. So I snatched them up and brought them home, unsure what I would do with them.
I scoured my cookbooks. Mark Bittman in How to Cook Everything, has only one recipe for Crisp Cooked Sunchokes that [...]

About five years ago I received a blow torch for a birthday present. Now this isn’t just any torch, the kind they sell at kitchen gadget stores, with a minute flame, and hardly enough heat to burn an ant. No, this is the Bernz-o-Matic propane torch, a pint-sized tool that when lit, holds enough power to conflagrate entire kitchens, breakfast nooks included. It’s from Home Depot, need I say more?

I loved the gift. I’ve moved three times since I received the gift of fire from Neil, and with each move the torch is packed away only to find a new home with my Cuisanart, mandoline, and hand mixer. But with all of the love and power-wielding attention brought on by my little flamethrower, I had never actually used it. Neil, knowing my penchant for cooking thought I would love the gift, and he was right; I just didn’t use it. [...]