Some of the Valentine's treats available at SusieCakes.

Now I don't know about you, but I think the negative vibes towards Valentine's Day are kind of laughable. We've all heard it before. Perhaps some of you are guilty of shouting it out on a yearly basis: "Urgh, I can't wait for the day to be over--it's not like I have anyone to spend it with." That sort of thing. But what could be better than a day during the dead of winter where pinks and reds abound in all the shops and where chocolate is pushed, pedaled, and procured? I mean, c'mon. Who needs a sweetie to enjoy a jaunt through See's or Recchiuti? Or, as I learned earlier this week: SusieCakes.

SusieCakes welcoming storefront

Los Angeles-based SusieCakes has been open about a month in the Bon Air Shopping Center in Marin, and I've been meaning to visit with each passing day. I was doing errands in the area the other day and decided to stop in and see what all the fuss was about. I'd heard about their "frosting-filled cupcakes" and I thought it was a genius idea for all of us who use the cupcake as a socially acceptable excuse to eat frosting. And lots of it. What I didn't expect to find was the huge celebration of Valentine's Day in full effect--from sweet little cookies to festive whoopie pies. I took some photos (for you), I chatted with the gals to see what was good and what was flying out the door, and then--of course--I took some things home.

The "Love Shack," a special Valentine's Gingerbread House, and the adorable Conversation Heart Cookies

So let's talk about those frosting-filled cupcakes. Now I'm not sure how they do it. There's literally a dip or a groove in the top of the cupcake where a nice little shot of extra frosting lays. It's pure magic. I love their almost haphazard way of frosting each cupcake as well. It's not perfectly even and looks rather homemade, but in a generous, abundant sort-of way.

The genius that is SusieCakes' signature frosting-filled cupcakes

I tried the Peanut Butter, Chocolate, Red Velvet and the Sugar and Spice (February Special) cupcakes. You'll notice there aren't any photos of the Peanut Butter. That's because, like an eager and grubby-handed child, I ate it in the car. I just couldn't wait. Each flavor I tried was unbelievably soft and moist although I must say that I’m a bit of a Red Velvet snob, and I couldn't taste the cocoa in theirs. But the chocolate was rich in cocoa, and the Sugar & Spice cupcake had a lovely, light vanilla-sugar flavor. I made a big batch of snickerdoodles recently and the Sugar and Space tastes a lot like the classic cookie. You just look at these cupcakes and want to bring them to someone you love, or like, or appreciate, or want to make smile. They're happiness in a box, really.

I didn't try some of the other treats, although I'll be back in town this week and plan on swinging by for a whoopie pie (or a "Makin' Whoopie Pie," their current take on the old-school dessert). And while there's certainly a glut of cupcake spots in the Bay Area and while some people I know are excusing cupcakes altogether as a retired trend, there’s something special about SusieCakes. It's evident in the regulars who were strolling in before 11 a.m. on a weekday to pick up a few treats. And it's evident in their attention to homemade, old-fashioned desserts (think along the lines of Magnolia Bakery in New York but before the Sex in the City madness) with banana and butterscotch puddings, classic pies and stacked cakes. They're not trying to be anything they’re not with wacky and original flavors, but they're doing the classics incredibly well.

A good motto to live by, and a great daily selection of cupcakes

So for a little shop with a big sign deeming "Eat Cake," I don't think it much matters if you have a sweetheart or not this year. Those are words we can all take to heart.

SusieCakes
310 Bon Air Center
Bon Air Shopping Center
Greenbrae, CA 94904
Map
(415) 461-2253

Hours: Mon.-Sat. 10am-7pm; Closed Sunday (although they will be open Sunday February 14th for Valentines Day).

Twitter: @Susiecakes

Cupid's arrows hit Bernal Heights hard this week. Along Cortland Avenue, every storefront from the card store to the cafe to the taqueria is emblazoned with huge red and pink hearts and flowers. What's so romantic about a quesadilla or a double nonfat mocha with whip? Well, anything's romantic when you're sharing it with your honey. Or maybe Bernal just loves window dressing.

Still, the holiday is nearly upon us, and if you've got a sweetheart, you're probably wondering, with eagerness or dread, what to do about it. Personally, I don't ascribe to the fancy-jewelry, table-for-two view of Feb. 14. If you asked me to name my most romantic gifts or moments I've had, I'd remember the poem by Sappho an old girlfriend inscribed for me in gold ink on pink rose petals, one word per petal. Or being picked up from work on Valentine's Day by another date, who whisked me across the Golden Gate Bridge to the Headlands, where we sat on the hood of the car, looking out over the bay and eating take-out shrimp dumplings boxed up from my very favorite dim sum dive. (He knew me well enough to know that heaven, for me, is an endless supply of shrimp dumplings.)

The most romantic notion is the most personal, the gift that makes you feel truly seen. So, what does your husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend secretly like best? At home or in the company of like-minded sensualists, this week offers dozens of ways to tease and titillate your valentine.

Popping the cork on a bottle of good champagne may work for me, but for plenty of people, beer's the drink of choice. And conveniently enough, it's Beer Week in San Francisco now through the 14th, with dozens of bars offering many delectable suds, along with brewmaster meet-and-greets. And who says beer and chocolate aren't a perfect match? Serious Eats has an exhaustive guide to pairing the two. Although many of their picks are geared towards East Coast brands like Jacques Torres, the flavor profiles can certainly apply to your favorite Bay Area treats.

Or you can head to Humphry Slocombe and bring home a pint or two of their this-week-only beer ice creams, made with local brews. Beer ice cream! I think someone out there is just waiting to plant a big wet Homer Simpson m'waaah on you for thinking of this, and better yet, bringing it home, stripping down to your underwear, and grabbing a couple of spoons. Especially if you add a side order of Slocombe's cult-favorite caramels (made with Boccalone lard, and much better, and more bacony, than they sound).

In fact, caramel is breathing hard down chocolate's neck this year, a happy development for those less inclined towards the bean. Bi-Rite Market has a particularly fetching selection right now, from the tamarind-spiked treats made by local Indian baker and confectioner Spice Vice to Happy Goat's vanilla-speckled softies, enriched with caramelized goat's milk. Local Charles Chocolates offers the best of both worlds: fleur de sel caramels covered in chocolate, arranged in an edible, flower-printed chocolate box.

Prefer to play with your food? Check out this list of chocolate spa treatments for two. Get rubbed down (or revved up) with a chocolate-espresso scrub, let yourselves be macerated in rose petals or painted with cocoa butter and chocolate oil, all while enjoying truffles and bubbly. Remember that goofy Axe chocolate man commercial? Like that, only pricier (and presumably, much more pleasing to the nose).

Can't quite swing that spontaneous weekend in Paris this year? Happily, in our European-minded city, there will always be croissants to wake up to (I may be Bernal-biased, but the delicate, extra-flaky ones at Sandbox Bakery are worth the trip up the hill) and pastel macarons in more flavors than Hermès has scarves. People who love macarons really, really love them, and while Miette has its fans, the latest buzz is about the stylishly packaged dainties at Paulette in Hayes Valley, the first NorCal branch of a popular shop in Beverly Hills. Or you can dream of escaping to the French countryside, à la Juliette Binoche in Chocolat, as you melt and roll your own ravishing truffles at La Cocina's chocolate-making class on Feb. 10.

Got a honey who's more salty than sweet? Well, take it from the Fatted Calf: the couple that grinds together, stays together. Head over to the Calf's headquarters in the Oxbow Public Market in Napa for their I Heart Sausage class on Feb. 13th, and get busy making it all: fresh, smoked, poached, and, for all you vampires out there, boudin noir, the infamous (and delectable) blood sausage. Or pencil in a plan for Whole Hog Butchery, Part 1, upcoming on Feb. 27.

To go with your sausage-fest, pick up a bloomy Heart's Desire cheese. Molded in the shape of a heart, it's named after a charming beach along Tomales Bay and made by Cowgirl Creamery this month only. Out of town? You can order it online in a gift pack along with Jasper Hill Farm's Constant Bliss and Redwood Hill's Camillia cheeses, plus a selection of Tcho chocolates.

Then again, what about dinner? Just about every restaurant in the city will be angling for your V-Day dollar with passion-fruit mousse and hearts of palm salad. Still, I'd like to imagine that all kinds of polyamorous, four- or more-some wake-ups will be happening the morning after the Wild Kitchen's Valentine's Day Dinner. That secret Mission location, those candlelit communal tables full of curious couples, those shared platters of candycap mushrooms and foraged mussels...how can they not inspire more than just gustatory exploration?

As an appetizer, the two (or more) of you can tango down to the Ferry Building on Feb. 12, from 5 to 8pm, for the annual Food from the Heart. After the food-court tourists have gone home, the elegant main promenade will be transformed into a place to sip, nibble, flirt, and perhaps even dance. Local restaurants and wineries will have tables set up offering drinks and small plates for tasting, $2-$4. The money goes towards sending one lucky Ferry Plaza Farmers Market seller to Slow Food's Terra Madre event in Italy this fall.

A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to fill out a questionnaire about food and my relationship to it. What did I think about the latest food trends? Why is food important? Do I consider myself a "foodie"? (Answer: Eww, no.)

For the most part, the questions were easy for me to answer, save one:

"What is the best meal you've ever had (or made) and why?"

I had to walk away from the computer for a little while after I read that. The best meal ever? Ev-er? How the hell am I supposed to choose one meal out of the 43,000 or so meals I've eaten in my lifetime? There isn't one best meal. There are several.

I've already written about some of them: dining in a rain-soaked Paris with the most charming man on the planet; eating al fresco in a rose-scented garden with good friends; brunching and game-playing on a Sunday afternoon on the Isle of Alameda. Choosing a favorite among them would be like having to single out your favorite child. And there are so many others.

As I was struggling to single out one to discuss, I suddenly thought of one of the simplest meals I've ever eaten and one taken mostly in solitude-- a quesadilla that made me cry.

I had been out the night before with the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes upon and who, conveniently, doubled as my boyfriend. He was an actor who made his monthly rent by bartending at a swank restaurant by night and posing for greeting cards by day when he wasn't busy playing sailors with one line to speak on Murphy Brown and other, popular television shows of the day. He was old. Thirty. And charming. Very. What on earth he was doing with a twenty-two year-old with a flair for the dramatic was beyond me. Maybe it was an actor thing. Drama is as drama does.

Apparently, his being with me was rather beyond him as well, because that evening, after the depressing, excruciatingly unwatchable Derek Jarman film we'd just seen, he said the magic words that every love-struck person loves to hear:

"I'm sorry, but this just isn't really working for me. I think you're a nice guy and all..." And so on.

It was an early night.

I returned home to find my roommate Craig sitting on the couch in our living room, watching television. I withered into the cushion next to him. He didn't have to ask what was wrong, because he knew I was going to tell him everything. So he just poured me a drink and let me do it. I shall spare you the details.

The next morning, I awoke to a timid knock on my bedroom door. "Mike? You up?" Craig opened the door with his free hand. In the other was a tray. The guy had made me breakfast in bed. I sat up in my bed and took the tray from him. "I thought this might make you feel a bit better," he said.

No one had ever made me breakfast in bed.

On the tray were a cup of tea, a little glass of orange juice, and a quesadilla. A quesadilla for breakfast? Now that I think of it, that's a rather odd choice for breakfast, but the man's from San Diego, so there you have it. He sat on the edge of the bed for a minute or two and chatted with me, then suddenly sat up and told me that I should eat because my breakfast was getting cold. With that, he left the room.

I sat there staring into my quesadilla for a moment and thought how sweet it was of my best friend to make me breakfast like that. Why couldn't my boyfriend do things like that for me? And then, of course, I remembered that I no longer had a boyfriend. Depressed, I tucked into the quesadilla.

It was still warm and creamy on the tongue. He'd used the cambozola cheese we'd bought. We were coming out of our "brie-is-fancy" stage of cheese awareness and were now branching out into the bleu-veined ones.

But there was something else tucked into that crispy tortilla which made my tongue heated up. A lot. He threw in peppers. Scotch Bonnet peppers. Craig and his girlfriend Shannon had just started dating and were trying to out-macho each other on the Scoville scale. As an occasional participant in their bizarre, heat-related courtship ritual, I considered myself a wimp when it came to such things, but I continued to eat. My eyes burned, my nose began to run. After a couple of bites, I was in discomfort; after a couple more, I was in pain.

The gulping of hot tea did nothing to help. The swishing of orange juice around my gums only seemed to spread the heat everywhere. I had never eaten anything so hot in my life. It was horrible, yet oddly delicious. And then something unexpected happened.

I cried. I sat there in bed, balancing the tray of food on my knees and cried, which was something rather foreign and forbidden to young men. I hadn't allowed myself to do it in years. The heat from those damned peppers so filled my eyes with tears that there was nothing else I could do, so I just went with it.

I wept and sobbed and moaned as quietly as possible, but it went on and on. And on. Had I been standing, I would have lost my balance and fallen into a heap. It was uncontrollable. I felt inconsolable. All the disappointment and hurt I'd been storing inside me for years just poured out of me and onto my t-shirt and the breakfast tray. I can't remember how long I went on like that. I was grateful that Craig was thorough enough to provide a napkin.

"Well, that was weird," I thought. I was puffy and tear-stained and my tongue was still a but numb, but I felt incredibly, wonderfully light.

What was so awful? So I got dumped. I was disappointed, but I had to admit that the fellow who did the dumping did so honestly and with concern. He was (and I am sure still is) a thoroughly decent fellow. Rather than concentrate on a man I didn't have anymore, I thought about one that I lived with, thanks to some quirk of fate and good timing, for the past four years and realized just how lucky I was. I got out of bed, wandered into the kitchen, and thanked him. I should have given him a big bear hug and told him that, despite the pain of that meal, I'd never felt better after eating anything in my life. I should have told him that I loved him, but I was twenty-two and felt weird about telling anyone I loved them.

Fortunately, a lot has changed since then. I can handle heat, I can cry unaided by painful food stuffs, I can tell the people who are important in my life that I love them.

And then there are some things that haven't changed. Craig's still there after twenty years. When I begin to mope and whine about all the things I don't have in my life, I check myself by thinking about all the great things I do. And Craig, his wife Shannon, and their wonderful/crazy children are always at the top of that list. So, since I'm here and all, I might as well say it.

Thanks for always being there, Craig. I love you, man.

Cambozola Quesadilla

Serves 1

Fortunately, I've grown to the point where I no longer need the help of chile peppers to make me cry. I can do that on my own, thank you very much. As a result, I am sparing with their use. If you still need such aid, I would suggest going overboard with them. It's your quesadilla, you can cry if you want to.

I've substituted habañero chiles for Scotch Bonnets in this recipe because they are easily available and hover in the same heat category (100,000 to 350,000) on the Scoville scale.

Quesadillas are incredibly versatile-- you can put just about anything in them, so long as the ingredients won't crack a tooth. I mean, Craig did. Add whatever you like.

Ingredients:

1 large flour tortilla

Cambozola cheese (rinds removed or not-- your choice), sliced into thin wedges.

Olive oil or butter for cooking

1 to 2 habañero chiles, finely chopped. Or Scotch Bonnets. Or, if you really need help, Law Enforcement Grade Pepper Spray (5,ooo,ooo+ Scoville rating). Or just skip making the quesadilla altogether and try intensive psychotherapy.

Preparation:

1. Heat a heavy-bottomed skillet, preferable cast iron (or, if you have one, a comal) with about a half-dollar-sized amount of butter or olive oil. Add tortilla and cook gently until little air pockets form.

2. Arrange cheese on one half of the tortilla. Sprinkle as much chopped chile as you dare, keeping the heat on low. Fold the empty side of the tortilla onto the one covered in cheese and chiles.

3. Wash hands thoroughly with soap and water. When living with Craig, I used a cutting board that had just been used to chop habañeros. Neither of us washed our hands, but merely rinsed them off quickly. I made the mistake of touching my eye. Craig made the greater mistake of going to the bathroom. We both retired to our respective bedrooms and writhed in pain in privacy.

4. Return to the quesadilla, increasing the heat slightly. Flip it every twenty seconds or so until both sides are browned and crisp and the insides melted.

5. Remove quesadilla from the skillet and cut into wedges. Serve with sour cream or Mexican crema, or whatever you like. Or just slide it onto a plate, crawl into bed, and prepare yourself for a good, long weep.

Long long ago (which in this digital age means a few decades prior to now) people used to eat chicken for fancy Sunday suppers. After a day at church, the family would gather around the dinner table. Bobby, with his favorite baseball cap set next to his dish, and Sue, with hair in pigtails, claimed the drumsticks. Meanwhile Mother in her apron and Father in a button-down shirt had their fill of the breasts or thighs. After dinner, Ma would collect the remainder of the chicken -- carcass, drippings and all -- so she could make a nice soup or meat pie later in the week. Doesn’t that sound homey, and well... quaint?

Well, in the modern-day equivalent of this scenario, this is my house on a Sunday (although insert a morning reading the New York Times instead of church, bickering kids who roll their eyes at their parents for the mild-tempered Bobby and Sue, and jeans with t-shirts and sweaters for the clothes. Oh, and toss in a crazy dog and a messy house). I've also been known to make a whole chicken on a Tuesday or Thursday (or, as you've probably picked up by now, any day of the week). So although my version of this American tale is a little different, the premise remains the same: I bake a whole chicken for one dinner, and then wrap up everything (and I mean everything) that is left for another meal (or two) later in the week.

Although my method for cooking chicken was once de rigueur in America, it now seems old fashioned. Chicken, however, is more popular than ever. According to the USDA, "Chicken consumption more than doubled between 1970 and 2004, from 27.4 pounds per person to 59.2 pounds." Yet during this time of increased chicken eating, the tradition of baking a whole bird for a family dinner has almost disappeared.

Most poultry eaters these days simply pick up a package of boneless, skinless chicken breasts at the grocery store (and that’s only if they're actually cooking dinner instead of picking up take-out). They think that not having to deal with those bones makes cooking easier (a notion I will argue in a second). Plus most people are also more interested in the breasts because they have less fat than those delicious thighs and legs. But if you're cooking from scratch (that is, not purchasing something pre-cooked with a ton of fat, salt and starches added to it) one leg or thigh will not clog your arteries or make you fat, especially if you eat it with a large serving of vegetables. According to the Daily Plate (a food calorie site), a thigh has 237 calories, while a grilled skinless breast has 120 calories; sure the calorie count is almost double, but 237 calories for a main part of your dinner is quite good when you consider that a chicken burrito has 334 calories in it. Also, if you eat that chicken breast lightly breaded and fried (as many people will), you jump up to 247 calories with 133 fat calories (the baked thigh has only 12 fat calories). That thigh is no longer looking so fattening, is it?

Now I realize that many people don't like to make a whole chicken because they think it’s difficult and time intensive. But, just like pudding and pancakes, nothing could be further from the truth. Unlike boneless and skinless breasts, which often need to be dolled up in a pan with other ingredients because they become dry and a bit tasteless when baked on their own, a whole chicken is a simple endeavor that has juicy results. In the name of full disclosure, I need to admit that baking a chicken takes about an hour and a half, but other than the first 5-7 minutes of prep work, this is all baking time.

Making a whole chicken is also a great way to stretch your food dollar as it will bear two to three meals for your family. After our roasted chicken dinner, I often make a soup out of the carcass, chicken pot pie with gravy (which I'll cover next week), or creamy chicken and rice casserole. If I get an especially large chicken or if I make baked potatoes with the first meal (which fills everyone up) I then usually have enough chicken left over for a third meal where only a minimal amount of meat is required, such as tacos, quesadillas, or stir fry.

Here are some general directions for baking a chicken. I am not providing a recipe because this meal is so easy that strict instructions aren't necessary. Give it a try and you'll see how good this traditional family meal can taste, while also saving you a few bucks later in the week when you’re eating some delicious pot pies.

How to Bake a Chicken

Preparing Your Chicken

Remove the offal from the chicken (I like to cook these up for my dog, but you can do whatever you like with them, which includes sticking them in the compost bin) and rinse out the bird, including the inner cavity. Set your chicken in a baking pan and pat dry with paper towels. You want to keep the skin fairly dry so it's crispier later.

Decide what type of fat you want to use to flavor your chicken. Now is the time to get creative. I've used olive oil mixed with lemon zest, fresh rosemary and garlic; butter; and even a bit of bacon fat (only about a tablespoon for the entire bird, which ends up tasting pretty amazing, by the way). Whatever you use, be sure to also season with salt and pepper (less salt if using bacon grease), as well as any herbs you like (I usually go with thyme). Spread everything all over the chicken and also under the breast skin.

Place a chopped half onion inside the cavity. This will help flavor the chicken as well as the drippings. You could also add a half lemon, herbs, or an apple.

Baking the Chicken

I bake my chicken in a 375 degree convection oven. If you don't have convection, just bake at 400 degrees. Be sure to get the oven nice and hot before you place the chicken in it.

The key to baking a great chicken is to cover it for about 60 minutes and then finish it off, uncovered so the skin gets crispy, for another 20-30 minutes or until clear juices run from the meat (the USDA recommends cooking until the chicken is 165 degrees). The larger your chicken, the more time you'll need to bake it. Don't be afraid to use a meat thermometer. Better to be safe than sorry.

You can use a pan with a top (such as a Le Creuset Dutch oven) or you can simply tightly cover a standard baking dish or large cast-iron pan with aluminum foil. I've tried both methods with equally succulent results. Either way, covering the bird will keep the juices from evaporating in the hot oven. You'll also get some nice pan drippings that you can use later in the week for a soup or chicken pot pie gravy base.

If your chicken drippings start to dry out once you uncover your pan, simply add between ¼ and a ½ cup of water or chicken stock to the pan. This will keep your drippings from burning. Don't worry about the extra moisture in the oven. I've done this numerous times and the skin on my chicken was still crispy.

Serving the Chicken
Carving a chicken can seem a bit daunting, but once you see how easy it is (below) you’ll hopefully feel ready to conquer the job. I found this great video on You Tube (what would we do without You Tube?), which stars Norman Weinstein of the Institute of Culinary Education giving instructions on how to carve a chicken. Well done, Norman!

Saving the Leftovers

Be sure to save EVERYTHING that is left over from your scrumptious chicken dinner. This means stick the carcass, leftover meat, wings, drippings and even the fat into a big container to be used later. Next week I'll show you what to do with all this; in the meantime, happy chicken eating.

Most years, I don't pay professional football any attention until the last few games of the season. That wasn't always the case. Growing up in Louisville, my younger brother and I were rabid fans. Very curiously, we rooted for the San Francisco Forty Niners. They were extremely good, easy to like because they won buckets of games, but I think we also liked them because we liked San Francisco. We'd visited a few times. My brother and I had to do chores to earn television time in those days, and after turning over frost-glazed garden beds, emptying compost pails, and moving around boxes in the basement, we'd settle in front of a 300-pound television set with a small, low-definition screen to watch our gold-helmeted heroes do battle with rivals like the Giants and Cowboys. The Cowboys were, to me, the worst. Whenever the Niners played them, I felt, even then, like I was watching a culture war unfold -- albeit on a canvas of green grass and white chalk. Coach Jimmy Johnson looked like a slick hillbilly hustler. Their cheerleaders wore gaudy, unusually trashy get-ups. To me, at the time, Dallas epitomized sprawl, conservatism, and flash without class. I was too young and headstrong to take a more nuanced tack. It was Green Party v.s. hunting party, Alice Waters against brisket barbecue. In truth, Dallas had little to do with it. I was reacting on prejudices I harbored against my own home-state, hating the Cowboys because their stomping ground epitomized a bigger, grander, and more nefarious version of Kentucky culture.

Since my very late noughts and early teens, I have mellowed into more palatable state of fan-ship. Today, I avoid firm allegiances, at least with regard to football. I get a little excited late in the season and pick a good team with a compelling story begging for a happy ending. Last weekend, I watched the New Orleans Saints beat the Minnesota Vikings at a Chili's outpost in LAX as my girlfriend and I waited to catch a plane back to San Francisco. After Brett Favre threw his fatal interception, the three large Viking fans next to me -- I thought of them as pale blobs of butter-soaked lutefisk heaped on stools -- grumbled about a "Katrina curse." I smiled. I had been a Saints fan for about a month and a half. I suppose Katrina does have a lot to do with it. A Saints Super Bowl victory would mean a lot to New Orleans. My aunt, uncle, and cousins have lived there for two decades. They lost their house to the hurricane. New Orleans has problems beyond the debris, flooding, and disease that disaster brought upon its residents. Thankfully, food at least is not one.

From beignets, pralines, and chicory coffee, to crawfish boils, gumbo, and etouffee, New Orleans boasts a magnificent cuisine that reflects its French, Spanish, African, Italian, and Cajun influences. They run through the city's classic preparations like arteries; the end product is -- like the city -- both high and low, rich and frugal, bold and wildly delicious yet unhealthy, a little dangerous. I remember one New Orleans visit years ago, when I was around ten -- and Montana was, in my mind, still truly more Joe than state. We ate at a fish place, a frill-free joint with checkered tablecloths and wood-paneled walls. My tiny cousin was lurching around the room. He neared another table, and an old lady presiding over a huge steaming plate leaned down to slip him a fried chicken finger from her spread of eats. He crunched on it. I've never thought about New Orleans without recalling that moment.

I'm excited about the Super Bowl, not just because the game should be good, but because party hosts all over the country will have such a stellar culinary tradition to mine for inspiration. The kitchen table face-off on Sunday will be as interesting as the on-field action: on one side, offerings from one of America's most storied indigenous food cultures -- and on the other, perhaps a cornucopia of delicacies from a less-celebrated bastion of gastronomic excellence...

Indiana, home of the Colts.

I'm not trying to be an asshole here. I grew up not far from Indianapolis. Kentuckians clown hard on Hoosiers. They toss around jokes about us, and we return the favor, touching on topics as diverse as their perpetually bare feet, their absurd dental shortcomings, and a statistically-proven propensity to commit incest and avoid using bathrooms. I will make no jokes about Midwestern food though -- mainly because there's nothing really to joke about. I'm doing the research, and while in this match-up, the deck appears stacked to favor The Big Easy, Indiana has a few tasty tricks up its dirty old sleeves. The Taggart Bakery Company of Indianapolis originally produced Wonder Bread. Van Camp's, the second-best-selling brand of pork-and-beans hails from the same city. Indiana is respected for its corn, both popped and otherwise prepared -- wrapped around hot dogs impaled on sticks, for starters. Lard-crusted sugar cream pies know many admirers, as does Amish-style fried chicken. In Indiana, chicken is only the paper-thin puffed-out outer crust of the fried food diaspora. State Fair food is huge here, and funnel cakes, cheese, and candy bars tumble gloriously into vats of oil alongside poultry and meat.

The state's greatest deep-fried achievement, at least that which enjoys the most notoriety (thanks in part to an indie documentary on the subject), is the breaded pork tenderloin sandwich. A gigantic piece of pork is pounded until it is approximately a quarter-inch thick. It is breaded and then fried. It comes on a toasted hamburger bun, much smaller than the craggy sheet of fried swine, anointed with mustard and mayo, topped with lettuce, tomato slices, pickles, and onions. According to a legend popularized by Jane and Michael Stern, Jake Freienstein, brother to Nicholas, the Indiana man who supposedly invented the pork tenderloin sandwich, had lost his fingers to severe frostbite. He used his stumps to tenderize the pork slices, and apparently drove Nicholas's competitors to emulate his technique with hammers and mechanical devices.

On Sunday, even as I hope the Saints' defense manages to pound the Colts' star quarterback Peyton Manning (incidentally a New Orleans native who attended the school at which my aunt teaches) into the turf like a hapless hunk of pig, I'll be bringing an Indiana-style pork tenderloin sandwich to the party I attend. In a sense, it'll be fitting. I'll view my contribution as an effigy for the team the Saints must best. Just as I consume the sandwich, the Saints will devour their foe, and somewhere, far away, in a magical luxury box high above Lake Pontchartrain, Lil Wayne, John Goodman, Aaron Neville, and Paul Prudhomme will all clink glasses of Sazerac.

Lattes at Matching Half Cafe

So I moved to the city a few weeks ago. After enduring many sweaty hours of I can't imagine anything I'd rather be doing less, I've vowed never to move out of my apartment for as long as I shall live. Yes, the size of the kitchen will take a little getting used to, and I may never have a grown-up dinner party. But moving is just no fun. Getting the couch up the four flights of stairs was an unspeakable feat. That being said, I've put it all behind me and am settling in just fine: finding my favorite grocery store, getting the bus route figured out, exploring yoga studios to find one I like and--of course--drinking lots of coffee.

Now the Internet's a pretty big part of my life since I do a lot of writing from home. And since Comcast rarely works with anyone's ideal schedule, they couldn't come out for five days after I moved in, so I set out researching some free Wi-Fi which brought me to the following neighborhood gems in the NOPA/Western Addition neighborhood. While the free Wi-Fi is what initially attracted me to these coffee shops, I love each for different reasons and still go frequently despite the fact that the wireless is up and kickin' at home.

The Matching Half

Airy and industrial interior of Matching Half Cafe

The Matching Half is one of those places I'm excited to bring people to. Yes, come and check out the new digs, and I'll take you to my new favorite coffee place. Those are words I've uttered numerous times in the last few weeks. And before telling you all about how rad it is, a quick disclaimer for the laptop crowd: there are very few outlets, so if you've got a laptop battery that's hanging on for dear life, this may not be the best choice. However, it's great for so many other reasons, and I'm almost hesitant to talk about it because I like its tucked-away, not-too-crowded, neighborhood appeal. I appreciate places that pay close attention to each detail, from the lovely ceramic cups to the metal bar, to the stark but warm industrial space. I love the menu penned on craft paper. I love the vivid, industrial painting by Mike Shankman.

When not working, settling into one of the window-side tables is prime people watching territory. There are dog walkers, young families buying treats and hanging at the outdoor tables, and runners cruising towards the Panhandle. And the coffee: this is not quick in-out-and-on-with-your-life coffee. It really is slowly and carefully prepared and it shows. The lattes are beautiful and strong, and they have numerous single-origin drip coffees brewed to order. They also have a small but nice selection of breakfast pastries (the croissants are buttery, flaky goodness), sandwiches and salads.

And while I haven't had the pleasure of having a glass of beer or wine--it's sure to happen in the coming week. They do happy hour specials from 4pm-6pm daily, and have some interesting bottles of beer available. Like Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout and PBR in a bottle. Right now they actually have a breakfast panino and PBR special. I can't say that I've ever had PBR in a bottle and I definitely haven't had PBR for breakfast...but here's to a new home and new beginnings, perhaps PBR and all.

The Matching Half
1799 McAllister (@Baker), San Francisco, CA 94117
(415) 674-8699
Hours: Mon.-Thurs.: 7am-7pm; Fri. 7am-10pm; Sat. 8am-10pm; Sun. 8am-6pm.
Cash only.

Café Abir

Storefront of local favorite, Café Abir

Café Abir prides itself on roasting their own coffee daily in their micro-roasting machine. They make a rock-solid Americano and a nice, strong latte. But so do many places in the city. So what sets Café Abir apart? What I like is their varied workspace: they have a giant, communal table along with raised round tables with red velour booths that feel like little work nooks. They play good 80's music: I've been sitting here writing for the past hour and there's been some classic Heart, Bruce Springsteen and Men at Work. Good stuff. And they also have tons of individually wrapped treats, from slices of cake, to apricot bars and chocolate-dipped Rice Krispie bars. I'll admit, before I'd stocked the kitchen and actually gotten a feel for the 'hood, I had my fair share of their giant Rice Krispie treats.

Café Abir serves Numi tea, and a few different selections of beer and wine. In the evening, I've seen couples having a bottle of beer, presumably before heading out to one of the bars nearby. The red velour couches are that good--and when it's warm enough, the outdoor tables are prime for Divisadero people watching. So while there are dozens of incredible coffee joints around town, I'm thankful Abir's close by, and that they're open a bit later than most.

Café Abir
300 Fulton Street (@ Divisidero)
San Francisco, CA 94117
(415) 567-6503
Hours: Daily, 6am-10pm
Cash only.

Apollo Coffee

A quiet Sunday afternoon at Apollo Coffee

When I first moved in, Apollo had a sign on the front door that they'd be closed for the next week. I wasn’t sure if this was because of the construction on Divisadero or because post-holiday business is just darn slow, and it's a smart business move to shutter for a few days. Regardless, I'm happy they're up and running now. This is quite literally the perfect place to get work done--oftentimes I actually feel guilty talking on the phone because the atmosphere is so conducive to quiet work and reading that it tends to have more of a library vibe than a happening coffee house vibe. So while you won’t hear the hippest live music here, there's tons of comfortable individual seating, lots of outlets, and great natural light. It's uber-clean, and the owner is incredibly friendly.

The lattes are great. Their espresso has smooth, sweet notes. And the drip coffee is strong--even though I have a coffeemaker at home, the houseguests I've had prefer to cruise over to Apollo for a cup. They have a small selection of breakfast pastries and scones, panini for lunch, and a great selection of snacks like Lara Bars, Dagoba chocolate, mini brownies, and mini truffles. In fact, I noticed a lot of options for the chocolate aficionado here, from chocolate bars to dark chocolate cupcakes. They sell beer and wine as well, although I think the hours at Apollo aren’t so conducive to this. When asked about the early hours, the owner commented that it's a much quieter part of Divisadero, and maybe in the summer they'll stay open a bit later. Until then, I'm sticking to the coffee, the quiet, and the chocolate.

Apollo Coffee
1064 Divisidero St. (between Turk and Golden Gate Blvd)
San Francisco, CA 94115
Hours: Mon.-Thurs. 8am-7pm; Fri.-Sat. 8am-6pm; Sun. 9am-6pm

Bay Area Bites bloggers, Michael Procopio and Stephanie Rosenbaum join Leslie Sbrocco, host of Check, Please! Bay Area in a new local food and wine segment on This Week in Northern California. This week, the conversation is about restaurants and the recession and underground food markets.

WATCH THE EPISODE:

Posts related to this segment:

• Underground Farmers' Market
• Cutting Corners: Tipping in a Down Economy

Related Twitter feeds:

• Leslie Sbrocco
• Michael Procopio
• Stephanie Rosenbaum
• Iso Rabins at ForageSF

Six o'clock on Friday night, and the line outside the door at 17th and Capp was snaking down past the motorcycle repair shop and around the corner. Clutching brown paper bags of Sam Adams and Tecate, the crowd was a typical Mission mix: young guys in goatees with bike locks slung through their messenger bags, cool dads with baby strapped to their chests in slings, women staying warm in hand-knitted scarves and stripey fingerless gloves, even a few used-bookstore-looking folks with wild gray hair and heavy glasses.

What was the scene? An iPad giveaway? Lifetime free coffee at Four Barrel? A Radiohead jam session?

No, no, and no...instead, it was the second Underground Farmers' Market, organized by ForageSF's Iso Rabins. Essentially, an extra-groovy bake sale, held for no reason except to showcase the fun stuff being made by your friends and neighbors. What was on the table? All kinds of delights: kombucha by the jug, bags of peanut brittle and beef jerky, bergamot marmalade, white-grapefruit vanilla jelly, onion-bacon relish, lemonade, butternut-squash lasagna, little bowls of rice and mung-bean stew scooped out of Mason jars, acorn fudge, made-while-you-wait Indian chaat, corned-beef sandwiches, pumpkin pie by the slice, raw chocolate truffles, cupcakes, cucumber marmalade, kale, fresh chanterelles, granola, chipotle popcorn.

Photos by Wendy Goodfriend

Well, awesome, you may say. But this is San Francisco, hardly a raw-chocolate truffle—deprived place. Between our dozens of farmers' markets, our thousands of restaurants, and our many, many gourmet stores, why would anyone need to stand in line on Capp Street to score good food?

Because walking into a store and handing over money is easy. Anyone can do it. To get to the Underground Farmers Market, you had to know about it—through Rabins' own 1000+ person email list, through a re-tweet from a street-food cart, or from one of the many blog or media mentions that had been buzzing around the concept since the first market, held last December. Just like at a show by a new band, though, a lot of the attendees seemed to have gotten there the old-fashioned way: they had a friend selling stuff, or knew somebody who knew somebody who told them to check out this cool scene.

So there was the buzz factor, and the undeniable urban urge to be in at the beginning of the next new thing. And, like a warehouse show, there was a little of the Permits? We don't need no stinkin' permits feeling, too. After all, this was outlaw food, made by artisans canning on the far side of the law—in other words, brewing the 'buch or popping the corn in their home kitchens, uninspected by the health department.

Few of the vendors make their product professionally in commercial kitchens; for most, it's a fun side gig, something they were doing anyway for friends and family, a way to make a little extra money from a particular passion for chocolate or kimchee. (Of course, the continued stream of layoffs have made more and more people seek profit in their passion; at a recent SPUR panel discussion on the economics of street food, Imelda Reyes from the Department of Public Health said she gets 12 to 16 calls a day now from would-be street-food entrepreneurs curious about the permitting process, up from 2 or 3 a week a year ago.)

Is this how twentysomethings are rebelling now? As outlaw onion-bacon relish-makers, flaunting the law with their organic flax-seed crackers or park-foraged miners' lettuce? Whatever the reasoning, the scene was amazingly cheerful. This was a church social of a different stripe, bringing together like-minded urbanites eager not just to shop and nibble (although shop they did) but to to put a face on their food, talking pickling, swapping project ideas, sharing chicken coop innovations and enthusing about the excellence of Fatted Calf's butchery classes. That bunch of mustard greens? Grown and bunched by Patricia on an eighth-of-an-acre vacant lot in Berkeley, thanks to a friendly landlord happy to see vegetables sprouting instead of weeds and trash. That lemonade? Made by Robin from lemons picked in her friend's backyard, and served up with peanut brittle "made from stuff I just had in my kitchen."

Selling my own hot-from-the-oven homemade bread, apricot jam and vanilla pear butter from a card table in the corner, it was easy to feel like instant friends with everyone to whom I handed a warm loaf. After all, I'd kneaded and shaped each bread just a few hours before, peeled every single pear after it was picked at an orchard I knew.

The recession may be fueling a renewed interest in home cooking and small-scale entrepreneurship, but money was definitely being spent. By 10pm, Becky of Urban Preserves estimated that she'd sold over half of the 150 jars she'd brought; Kitty of Kitty's Creations, who makes her products in her church's kitchen in the Sunset, had maybe 5 dozen left of the 14 dozen jars of jam, chutney, and relish she'd walked in with. Slow Jams, on the verge of going pro, charged $10 and up for their sleek jars of sweet and savory jams and relishes; by 9pm, they were sold out and packed up.

By 10:30pm, organizer Iso Rabins looked equally exhausted and thrilled, if a little stunned by the turnout. A lot of advance press and a savvy use of social media, combined with a particular young-urbanite quest for authenticity, had made the night's market popular beyond anything he'd imagined. For the next one, a bigger venue will clearly be necessary. How big can it go and still feel underground? How many of the novelty seekers will come back? How much jam and jerky does the city need? For the moment, it seems, that if you make it, they will come.

Watch This Week in Northern California tonight, Friday January 29 at 8pm to see Leslie Sbrocco, host of Check, Please! Bay Area in a new segment on local food and wine trends. This week, a conversation about restaurants and the recession and underground food markets with Bay Area Bites bloggers, Michael Procopio and Stephanie Rosenbaum.

2009 was a rough year for restaurants in San Francisco and (if January is any indicator) 2010 isn't going to be a bed of truffles and lollipops either. As a 20-year veteran of the restaurant industry, I cringe.

Have you taken a look at the list of restaurants that closed their doors in the past year? It isn't pretty. Browsing through SF Weekly's SFoodie blog and looking at all of the fallen eateries the other day, I felt like Scarlett O'Hara listening to a long roster of Civil War dead, hoping that none of the old soldiers I truly loved in this city were among the dead or wounded.

Some of the casualties were no big surprise. For example, my reaction to finding out that The Carnelian Room (sorry, Dad) atop the Bank of America tower had closed was like hearing that Abe Vigoda was really, really dead this time. My only surprise was that it had held on for so long.

I am, however, wearing my widow's weeds for some of the other, smaller restaurants that have left us, like Old Krakow, The Palace Steakhouse , and Clementine, just to name a few.

Many restaurants that have survived the 21st century economy thus far have resorted to luring guests into their dining rooms with 2-for-1 specials, happy hours, and (sigh) coupons. Even the once-mighty Aqua and The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton are offering 1,000 Open Table points if you would just pretty-please come for a visit. That's pretty much the online equivalent of begging.

In terms of restaurant workers, I'm one of the lucky ones. I work in a place that is still (author makes a hurried sigh of the cross) going strong. And there are fortunately several other venues in this city which are doing the same. That doesn't mean, however, that my fellow waiters and I are not feeling the pinch like everybody else. Like maybe you, for example.

These days, a lot of diners are cutting corners where they can. Some of those who do come into our places of business are either coming less often than they used to or are simply spending less. Often, I see couples either sharing one main course or foregoing them altogether and sticking to appetizers. If wine enters the picture, people are drinking more wines-by-the-glass than they are bottles. On the weekends, I see almost as many guests bring in their own wine as order from our wine list. And, of course, those wines aren't usually the ones listed on the reserve menu. As a result, our sales our down. Just like everyone else's, with the possible exception of pharmaceutical companies, undertakers, and bank executives.

Yesterday, for example, I overheard a very well-dressed business woman who works for a high-profile company mention to her lunch partners, "I don't go out much anymore. I've started brown-bagging it at work. I even stopped getting my Starbucks every morning, for God's sake, so today's a real treat!" It's a sensible, Depression Era mindset and I can't say that I blame her one bit.

What I do blame her for is leaving me a 12% tip. And I blame the business guy sitting ten feet away from her discussing how his children don't appreciate how expensive their ski weekend in Aspen really was who gave me even less. And, no, I wasn't having an off day. I was clean, neat, welcoming, informative, prompt, and all the dozen-or-so other good things I have to be to each and every table I take care of. I happen to see it as a trend-- and an ugly one at that.

Don't worry, you won't be hearing violins and I promise not to go all Sally Struthers on you today (though we do share the same birthday, Sally and I). But it is a bit of a rant.

I've said it before and I will say it again, if you leave a (expletive) tip to a server, there had better be a good reason for it. If she is rude or hostile, don't leave one at all. If he screws up your order and blames everyone else, then disappears for a cigarette when you need to pay the check so you can get to the airport like you said you needed to at the beginning of the meal... stiff him-- he deserves it.

But leaving $20 on a $500 bill to a waiter who has orchestrated your meal, told you when you are ordering too much, selected a wine for you that you absolutely rave about, and who makes you look good because your guests are all raving about their experience is an outrage. All the more so because that waiter can't say or do anything about it without losing his job. There is a special dining circle in hell reserved for just this kind of diner.

Not that I feel very strongly about it one way or the other, of course.

Nearly a year ago, I explained in detail exactly what happens in such an extreme case of (undeserved) bad tipping. I mention it again because I've just witnessed another co-worker be treated in the same manner on a similarly-sized check.

Granted, the above is an extreme case, but people are leaving $3 less here, $5 less there. It's alarming to those of us who earn our living depending upon the unreliable tipping habits of strangers. $3 might not sound like very much, but it is. If a server waits upon ten tables in a night and they all sought to save a little money by leaving $3 less, that's $30 out of a server's take home pay per shift. If a server works five shifts per week, that's $150 less. Per month? Around $600. Per year? I think you get the picture. I'm being conservative in my estimates. And remember, sales are typically down all over town, so a server's losses are frequently more when you consider that tips are based on sales.

If you do need to cut down your dining expenses, don't take it out on the good servers. Of course, if you come into my restaurant and want to spend a lot of money, make no mistake-- I'll help you spend it. You'll have a great time doing it, too. But if you come and don't want to blow your whole pay check, I will go out of my way make sure you don't. I'm not going to make you feel like a cheapskate and you'll have just as good a time as the Fat Cats sitting next to you (if not better because, hey, you're more relaxed since you haven't just spent your rent money trying to impress your date).

When the bill comes, be kind. Remember that I found you that beautiful bottle of wine from a region you've never tried before that was $20 less (and much better) than the one you were asking about. It made you look adventurous. Do keep in mind that I suggested our rib eye steak was big enough to feed the both of you. That made your dinner a little more intimate, didn't it? And when I served it all out table side? Ah, that was a nice touch, wasn't it? And when I sent you that dessert for no other reason than "just because," well... perhaps you might bear in mind that I just cut about $50 off of your tab when you are leaving me a tip. Great waiters are worth their weight in gold.

My assumption here is that most of you reading this are savvy enough diners to not make your servers take one in the shorts. You are more than likely sophisticated enough to know good service when you experience it. Why do I know this? Because you're reading a food blog, that's why. I'm not saying it's you. Really. Except those of you who are invariably going to comment that I am being whiney or that I should "get a real job" (I've heard that one before). I'm saying it might just be your mother, or your husband, or your best friend, in which case I hope that you might pass this post along to them after you've given them a nice big hug and told them you love them, even though they are embarrassingly cheap.

The next time you go out to dinner and you've had a great meal and and even greater server, make sure he or she is taken care of. In the words of the mortal Canadian (and you know how Americans make fun of their tipping habits) pundit Nicholas Demeda, "If you can afford to dine out, you can afford to tip well."

Tipping for good service is the one place you should never cut corners.

Watch This Week in Northern California tonight, Friday January 29 at 8pm to see Leslie Sbrocco, host of Check, Please! Bay Area in a new segment on local food and wine trends. This week, a conversation about restaurants and the recession and underground food markets with Bay Area Bites bloggers, Michael Procopio and Stephanie Rosenbaum.

The casserole is undergoing a resurgence in popularity. After years of being maligned as a tasteless and gloppy suburban dish made with Campbell's cream of mushroom soup, it is finally coming into its own. Blame it on the economy and the rising cost of food, but high-end cuts of meat seared faultlessly and served with the perfect wine are passé in this environment: extravagant and unseemly amidst layoffs and foreclosures. Comfort foods are the new at-home gourmet chic, and there's nothing more heartening and reassuring than a chicken casserole.

Now if you're someone who still thinks a casserole is a jumble of congealed leftovers, than think again. This may have been the case a decade or two (or three) ago, back in the day when Campbell's soup had a best-selling cookbook featuring dishes like Green Bean Bake and Vegetable Beef and Biscuit Casserole. But although they have a new book called Campbell's Casseroles, One-Dish Meals and more (Plastic Comb) -- okay, what the hell is "(Plastic Comb)"? -- I'm happy to see that it's ranked # 416,157 on Amazon. No. Modern casseroles are not your mama's 1970s dinner.

Casseroles can take many shapes and forms. And while some may use leftovers, this doesn't mean they should be avoided. After all, chicken enchiladas -- which are often made with leftover chicken -- is a type of casserole. And don't forget about ooey gooey macaroni and cheese (which often uses leftover pasta) and cassoulets (which can be made out of leftover duck, sausage and beans with stellar results). Fresh ingredients that are baked together in a sauce are some of the most satisfying and affordable types of dishes you can make for a family dinner.

My Creamy Chicken and Rice Casserole is a good example for how this type of dish can really stretch your food dollar. Whether you use leftovers from a previous night's dinner or start from scratch, you only need to use about half the meat you would normally serve your family because the rice adds substantially to the dish. And, with some local onions and mushrooms added into the mix, it is ample enough to feed a family of 4-6 people while costing less than $15 to make. Truly the perfect savory mid-winter meal.

Following is my recipe. Made with a rich onion and mushroom gravy that undergoes a velvety transformation when sour cream is added, I like to think of it as a type of chicken stroganoff. But no matter how you classify it, when it comes out of the oven all bubbly and creamy and warm, it is the ultimate in comfort food.

Creamy Chicken and Rice Casserole

Makes: 1 large casserole

This is a great dish to make if you have leftover baked chicken (and be sure to use the juices from the baking process). But if you are starting from scratch with uncooked chicken, just poach it in some water. This keeps the meat moist and also provides a nice broth that you will use to help develop the gravy. I'll provide steps for both methods below.

Ingredients with Pre-Baked Chicken:

2 cups already-cooked chicken plus pan drippings
1 1/2 - 2 cups chicken broth
2 cups cooked white or brown rice
1 large onion halved and then sliced thinly
1 cup chopped mushrooms
1/2 cup sour cream
1 Tbsp olive or vegetable oil
2 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp flour
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp paprika
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup fresh bread crumbs (I like to just chop up the ends of some sliced bread in a cuisinart).

Preparation with Pre-Baked Chicken:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
2. Shred leftover chicken and set aside in a bowl.
3. Add oil to a hot pan and add the onions. Cook on medium heat for two minutes.
4. Add the shredded chicken along with the pan drippings from the previous night's baking of said chicken (including about a tablespoon of that glorious chicken fat if you have some).
5. When drippings are incorporated into the chicken and onions, add the butter, flour, thyme, paprika and salt and pepper to taste. Stir until everything is fully incorporated.
6. Add chicken stock and mushrooms and mix thoroughly.
7. Simmer for 5-10 minutes on low heat with the cover on.
8. Incorporate sour cream and then add the rice, mixing fully. If the mixture seems thick, add in another 1/2 cup chicken stock.
9. If baking in a separate dish, this is the time to butter the inside and then set the mixture inside, topping with the breadcrumbs. If baking in the same pan you used to cook the ingredients, (which is my preference) then just top with the bread crumbs and set in the oven.
10. Bake for 20 minutes and then serve with a nice salad or steamed vegetable.

Ingredients Using Fresh Chicken:

2 chicken breasts or 4 thighs raw and on the bone
1 cup water
1/2 - 1 cup chicken broth
2 cups cooked white or brown rice
1 large onion halved and then sliced thinly
1 cup chopped mushrooms
1/2 cup sour cream
1 Tbsp olive or vegetable oil
2 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp flour
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp paprika
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup fresh bread crumbs (I like to just chop up the ends of some sliced bread in a cuisinart).

Preparation Using Fresh Chicken:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
2. Place oil in a hot pan and then lay the chicken inside. Season with a smattering of salt and pepper.
3. When chicken is slightly browned on the outside, add in the water and cover so everything steams. Cook for five minutes on medium heat.
4. Remove chicken and broth from the pan and then add in the onions. Add in a little more oil and then cook on medium heat for two minutes.
5. While the onions cook, strip the chicken from the bone and chop into 1/2-inch pieces. It's okay if the chicken isn't fully cooked.
6. Mix the chicken into the onions and add in the butter, flour, thyme, paprika, salt and pepper. Stir until everything is fully incorporated.
7. Add chicken broth you just created while steaming the chicken plus 1/2 cup chicken stock plus the mushrooms and mix thoroughly.
8. Simmer for 5-10 minutes on low heat with the cover on.
9. Incorporate sour cream and then add the rice, mixing fully. If the mixture seems thick, add in another 1/2 cup chicken stock.
10. If baking in a separate dish, this is the time to butter the inside and then set the mixture inside, topping with the breadcrumbs. If baking in the same pan you used to cook the ingredients, (which is my preference) then just top with the bread crumbs and set in the oven.
11. Bake for 20 minutes and then serve with a nice salad or steamed vegetable.