Continued from Part One on Monday April 16.

In California we have more than our fair share of live yeast in the air. Catching it and turning it into "sourdough starter" or "natural starter" is pretty easy. All one needs to do is to feed one's starter with cold water and bread flour every week or so. The concept of the 100 years old starter, though, is negligible. But I'm not here to rain on your sourdough starter parade. Although I will mention that sourdough is just that. It was not, originally, a nice thing to say about one's bread. It meant bad. It meant that your bread had gone off.

Like trifle, sourdough was originally a mistake. Or an exaggeration of a mistake. I have heard more than one Master Bread Baker disparage sourdough bread.

Also, for the sake of clarity, sourdough bread and sourdough starter are not the same. It is possible to make bread from live yeast cultures, whether they are from wheat or grapes or some other source, and not have it "taste sour." Although the nomenclature is the same, there's an argument here for saying starter when one means just that, and sourdough starter when one means the starter to make sourdough bread.

Now, who's on first?

All this being said, I had quite a lot of fun and education whilst hanging out with the humble Dylan of Sourdough Monkey Wrangler. A student of the live yeast culture, this man has come far in his self-education of all things involving bread flour. And he's neat and clean to boot.

Is there someone in your community you want to learn from? Maybe pick up a new skill? What stops you from calling them? Do you feel like they need to be paid for their time? Do you have anything to barter?

In my profession we have open doors for barter. I can give my time to just about any chef in whose kitchen I want to learn. We call this a "trail" or a stagiere.

In March, Dylan came to one of my classes, and afterwards brought me some sourdough inspired gifts. Very lucky for me there was a generous bag of homemade English muffins. I could not have been happier!

I love English muffins.

Dylan's English muffin recipe is based on one he found at Nicole's Baking Bites. He adapts his to include favorite locally grown and milled whole wheat flour from Full Belly Farm, as well as milk instead of water.

Milk is a traditional addition to English muffins, as well as Crumpets, which are basically English muffins, but griddled on only one side. In bread, milk becomes a softener. It feeds the yeast an alternative, tastier sugar, and the butterfat relaxes the crumb for a more pliable mouth feel.

When one bakes bread, a baked good of few ingredients, one must really know what each ingredient does, can do and is doing. Yeast, obviously, helps things rise. But the more you use, the faster bread goes stale. (The same goes for baking powder.) Flour and water combine to bind bread. But inherent in most flours is gluten. Gluten is protein, in its simplest terms, and, once "activated," is the structure builder, the 2X4's of bread doughs. Without gluten, there is no barn to raise. This, as we well know in Northern California, does not mean bread cannot be made without gluten. Tall, light bread, though, cannot be made without gluten.

Sugar, even the sugar that exists in the starch of the flour, feeds the yeast. Yeast is an animal, albeit a small single-celled one. (Ask the vegans if yeast is an animal they won't eat, and you will get a myriad of answers.) It eats sugar and emits gas (carbon dioxide), creating the bubbles that will, hours later, become the holes, or the nooks & crannies, in your bread. When flour has enough protein in it, the bubbles will keep their shape as they encircle the gas.

In bread, everything after yeast, flour, and water is dessert. Fat, in any form, is a softener. I'm not talking Wonder Bread here; I'm talking a palatable mouth feel. Think matzoh compared to challah, or French bread compared to brioche. Most people would rather make bread pudding or French toast with brioche, rather than ciabatta.

Flavorings are just that.

When working with natural starters one can develop far more flavor in bread. This is a funny sentence if you've not made bread. The concept is that the longer it takes to "proof" bread, or make it rise, the better the overall end result will be. Yeast does not like to be rushed. In turn, if you give it all the atmospheric elements it loves: humidity, mild warmth, time, it gives you rewards tenfold.

Bread tastes best when all you taste is bread. It's why Tartine's bread has such a following, even though it has more restrictions than a reservation at The French Laundry.

I have never been the type of person to have and keep a natural starter around. Dylan has a worm farm in his kitchen for easy apartment composting. I guerilla compost. Dylan rides his bike, I drive. Dylan feeds his starters on a schedule, I water my plants to keep them looking pretty on my window ledge.

But in the past weeks I've done some natural starter experiments. The recipes he gave me are a 3-day process. Day one you feed the starter and keep it out on the counter. Use a larger bowl than you need and make sure it's not metal. Day two combine starter with milk and flours. Day three add rest of flour, baking soda, salt and sugar, proof and begin muffin production.

English muffin production looks like this:

Knead dough a bit. The longer you knead it, the more likely it will hold it's round shape later and rise evenly. Roll dough out, cut, lay on heavily floured (or cornmeal covered) sheet, proof in a warm-ish, moist place (Dylan puts a measuring cup of very hot water in the oven for a more controlled atmosphere), and griddle until done. "Fork" to open, toast and eat with the best butter you can get your hands on. Have you eaten Clover's new Organic butter line yet? It's the bomb. So to speak.

I wouldn't call this the simplest, most efficient way to get to English muffins, but I will say that all the steps are important and worth it in the end.

Dylan and I use King Arthur bread flour, the blue paper bag. King Arthur has been extremely helpful when it comes to answering my questions about the protein contents and wheat origins of their flours. (Northern wheat is considered "stronger" with higher protein than Southern grown wheat that is considered "softer," White Lily being the best example.) Giusto's is a local company, but I can't seem to get them on the phone to answer questions to save my life. If you long to buy flour in bulk, which is less expensive than paying for the pretty packaging, head over to Rainbow Grocery in SF or Berkeley Bowl in the East Bay.

Most "sourdough" people will share a bit of their starter with you if this is the extra hobby you've been waiting for. For all your spare time.

But even if you take the time to make a starter which you keep alive for a few months in order to make two or three batches of these glorious homemade English muffins, I can guarantee you at least one happy mouth, your own, if not a messianic following. Not to mention the immeasurable learning one acquires from understanding the basics in the relationship between flour, yeast, air and water.

There's a chance that Dylan and I will co-teach a class on this very subject. Keep up with this link for announcements.

"One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well." Virginia Woolf

Maybe. But sometimes it's more important to have fun. When it is, Presidio Social Club is the place to go. It offers revamped American classics, most of which don't merit more than a shrug, but the atmosphere makes it a winner anyway.

From the outside, PSC -- its self-assigned urban moniker -- looks like the old clapboard barracks that it is. An old-fashioned mailbox from Mayberry days hangs on the porch, and just inside the doorway stands a drum set painted Technicolor red. The entire place is a nostalgia-lover's fantasy of the giddy pre-war years when woman wore their hair in elaborate pin curls, men said things like, "Aw, shucks," and Big Band was king. Ceiling fans resembling airplane propellers whir slowly overhead, mimicking lazy, sweat-soaked summer days, and potted palms sweep the floor with wide green leaves.

I walked into this carefree atmosphere a few weeks ago, roughly four months after opening. The crowd was only partially anachronistic, with just as many white-haired ladies and gents "dressed for dinner" as young LucasArts employees in flats and skinny jeans swarming the marble-topped bar. Even the communal table, reserved for walk-ins, was full. The hostess escorted my friend and me to a roomy two-top in the side room, and it was a great table -- close enough to ride the buzz of the main room without having to endure its noise.

One look at the cocktail list got my feet tapping. I was tempted by the French 75 ($9) with cognac, champagne and lemon juice, as well as the Pisco Punch ($8) with Pisco (a South American brandy), pineapple, and bitters, but settled on the lip-smacking Presidio Pink Lemonade ($8). Vodka infused with Buddha's hand, the Edward Scissorhands of the citrus world, was blended with limoncello, simple syrup, and a splash of Campari. It was sweet-tart, just like the ghost of a girl I saw flirting with the dashing officer in my mind's eye.

From the "hors d'oeuvres" section of the menu -- the name another quaint touch -- we ordered PSC Seafood Cocktail with shrimp ($7.95). I grew up in the South and in our family, shrimp cocktail was considered terribly posh. My grandmother even had special dishes for the occasion. I loved PSC's presentation -- a pile of oyster crackers and fork-speared limes on the side -- but what was described as "Mission taqueria-style" tomato juice with chilies was really a barely seasoned swimming pool for baby shrimp.

Gruyere cheese toast ($8.50) was a grilled cheese sandwich, plain and simple. The bread was so buttery, it overpowered the Gruyere's nutty flavor. The fondue tomato dip livened things up, even if that combination can be found on roughly 99% of San Francisco menus right now.

The PSCaesar ($9.50) looked like a Caesar salad but the creamy dressing tasted more like Ranch. It didn't make it any less good, just a bit of false advertising.

Next up was the "Broadway & Columbus" ($13.95), an homage to two of the City's most iconic neighborhoods, Chinatown and North Beach. Unfortunately, it looked and tasted like a poor attempt at using up leftovers. Wide egg noodles in a bowl of orange zest-dotted broth were topped with chunks of fatty duck. The pasta was okay on its own in a soothing, I'm-not-feeling-well kind of way, but one bite of bland, greasy duck was plenty. The dish simply never came together.

Now ask me if I care? The drinks were tasty, the fun-loving atmosphere infectious and the prices hard to beat. By this time I was enjoying an Alamos 2005 Malbec ($6) by the glass. When our waiter recommended it, I admitted I was wary of ordering the cheapest wine on the menu. (Am I the only one?) He convinced me to order it anyway, and I loved it for its raspberry flavors layered with spice and long, velvety finish.

All I can say is that PSC saved the best for last. Like Pres a Vi, they've hopped on the dessert tasting bandwagon -- a trend I'd like to see more of -- with four full-sized desserts ($7), four dessert "sides" ($5), and a mix-and-match approach with one of each ($10). We shared three chocolate cupcakes whose barely cooked insides were a dead giveaway for their inspiration -- molten chocolate cake -- but you can't go wrong with something that's fresh from the oven. The top looked like decorative beads on a cut glass serving dish and added a wonderful crunch, while the shot glass of hand-whipped cream was a cool foil.

Service was a mix. Our waiter had the wink and swagger of a good ole boy, and I had to wonder if he was flirting or stealing nips from the bar since we rarely saw him, but the food runner and busboys were both on top of their game.

At meal's end, the critic in me may have shrugged, but the rest of me had fallen in love.

Presidio Social Club
Building 563 Ruger Street in the Presidio
San Francisco
(415) 885-1888
Open Monday - Saturday for dinner

My parents travel light, so when they told me they were waiting at the baggage carousel, I knew some food had made its way from Missouri to California. I've been treated before to freshly dug potatoes, bags of dewy herbs, a catfish with its whiskers still intact, gooseberry jam, homemade beef jerky, and a selection of Kansas City's finest BBQ sauces. As we approached the airport, I wondered what treats we'd be unpacking this time.

Before boarding that morning's plane, my mom had picked asparagus and packed them into conveniently shaped bags stashed from her newspaper delivery. Earlier in the week, when a freeze recently threatened her food supply, she'd covered her asparagus tips to insulate them from the cold. Some of the stalks were caught in the cover and curled into tight spirals. Though kinda funny-looking, they taste just as good.

As anyone who has tried to grow asparagus knows, they are a labor of love. The scraggly crowns require double-dug trenches and lots of compost-rich soil. Asparagus plants take two to three years to begin producing, and once they start sending up their shoots, they require vigilance from the gardener-cook. Reinvigorated after a winter's rest, the ground pushes out those asparagus stalks with astonishing speed. If you forget to pick your 3-inch baby tips before you head off to work, you just might find 12-inch giants when you return later that afternoon, and perhaps a flowering stalk or two by nightfall.

If you have the space, though, it's definitely worth all the coddling and cutting. I can swear to the truth: freshly harvested asparagus that hasn't traveled further than the distance of your yard (with perhaps a quick plane ride carried by someone you love) are as sweet and tender as the heart of spring.

MY FAVORITE WAY TO EAT THE YEAR'S FIRST ASPARAGUS

Roll the asparagus stalks gently in olive oil, and then sprinkle with a hint of salt and black pepper. Fire up your grill. While it heats, split a few hotdog buns, preferably the lovely egg-enriched ones from Acme Bread. It's fun to set out a selection of your favorite condiments. Some of mine include Sukhi's tomato chutney, Happy Girl's pickled peppers, basil pesto, or thin shavings of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Once your grill is hot, flash the asparagus just until they show a touch of char at their tips. I like mine with a bit of bite at their stalk ends, but go ahead and cook yours to the point you prefer. With tongs, nestle a few asparagus stalks in each of the hot dog buns. Top with your favorite dressing or condiments, or leave bare and beautiful.

Enjoy.

Well, I knew he was coming, but I didn't bake one. I bought one instead. Do you think I could make a cake as precious as the one below? Perhaps, but not under stress.

I thought about baking him a cake, but I've been known to impart too much meaning into such baked goods before. I thought about this one a little too much. So much so, that I ran out of time. So I bought one, which is nearly as good, meaning-wise, but less pressure, which is better.

I have a visitor arriving this week. A rather special one. He hasn't spent much time in San Francisco and so it is up to me to show it to him. I'll show him what I consider to be my San Francisco. The tricky part is figuring out just what that is.

I imagine there are those of you out there who have faced this problem before. A guest arrives. Their idea of San Francisco dining might consist of eating chowder from a sourdough bread bowl. Or Rice-a-roni. Perhaps you're fortunate enough to have a guest who's heard about dim sum and is game for it. That's one meal out of the way. My guest will be spending nine days with me. That's twenty-seven meals together. Hopefully together, anyway. What about the other twenty-six?

The pressure has been building. Inside my own head, I mean. I know it's absolutely silly. I just want to show him, food-wise and other-wise, what it is I love about this city and what it has to offer. I will take him to a few of my favorite places, places that have meaning to me. I will offer him local foods that I love. The rest, I imagine will take care of itself. I will not be rigid. I will go with the flow.

To start things off, I've got a few of my favorite things already laid out for him when he arrives. Enter one Miette Sharfenberger chocolate cake, as pictured above. Also enter a selection of Michael Recchiuti chocolates as somewhat fuzzily pictured above. Nothing says "nice to see you" like a good sugar buzz.

We'll have our first dinner at Frascati. The constant clackity-clack of the Hyde Street Cable Car line just outside the front door will send a rather rhythmic, not too terribly subtle message that, well, he's not in Vancouver anymore (Such a world-class city!).

There are lots of other restaurants I want him to try, but time and budget won't allow us to visit them all. Three more we'll definitely be going to are:

House of Nanking, becuase I want him to get bullied by a waiter into eating great Chinese food.

Florio, because that's my favorite little neighborhood haunt and the chef is a man who made me like tripe.

Kokkari. My guest's family is Greek, so this visit is unavoidable. Besides, I want to eat smelt and lamb's tongue again.

The rest will play itself out. Cowgirl Creamery, Blue Bottle Coffee, breakfast at Tartine, studiously avoiding Delfina, all that stuff will likely follow.

I would like to hear some suggestions from you, dear reading audience (sound of crickets chirping). Hellooooooo?

Really.

What smacks of this city to you? What is your San Francisco Treat? I'd like to know. I've got a few more meal slots to fill.

Check, Please! Bay Area is KQED's local series featuring regular people reviewing Bay Area restaurants.

Check, Please Bay Area was nominated for two 2007 James Beard Awards (pdf) in the Television Food Show Category!

Visit the Check, Please! Bay Area blog to experience the restaurants from Season 2 Episode 15:

1) The Grubstake: | restaurant information | reviews | recipe

2) Charanga: | restaurant information | reviews

3) Viognier: | restaurant information | reviews

Please feel free to join the discussion by posting comments about the show and your reviews of the featured restaurants!

You can watch all episodes online as well as subscribe to the Check, Please! video podcast in iTunes.

This season, Stephanie V.W. Lucianovic will be blogging about what happens behind-the-scenes during the making of Check, Please! Bay Area.

You can also view the Check, Please! Bay Area photo gallery to view behind-the-scenes shots at many of the featured restaurants.

In the spring, a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
In the spring, a young woman's fancy lightly turns to thirsts for beer.

Tennyson might not have penned it, but the fact remains. At least for this young woman it does. (Frankly, I prefer "chick" or "girl" or if you want to be really Jerry Lewis about it, "Laayayayayayadeeeeee," because "young lady" sounds like my mom caught me out after curfew.)

The first warm waft we got that the world was turning mud-licious and puddle-lovely -- which came last month right before that blast of cold had us turning the heaters back on. You know, for the cats. -- I had this odd quirking in my mouth. My tongue felt dry and edgy and my throat was clicking in a greed for something cold, bright, topaz. Something fat. Something tire.

Whizzing by our neighborhood BevMo, we picked up a handy case of New Belgium's Fat Tire and chilled it. A few hours later and, for the first time in many months, I lovingly coaxed that smooth, cylinder out of the fridge and held it close and throttled, enjoying its cold weight.

With a crink! and a spliff!, I let loose my amber beauty and slid it into a gently curving glass. Nose to mouth, nose to soul, heart to lips, I breathed it deep. Yeast and sharp and quench and tang.

Cheese. Cheese? We interrupt this Harlequin Romance: She Bore All for Beer to bring you this breaking announcement: Cheese. Seriously, I started to quaff this amazing beer that brings the full, teaming rush of summertime to my mouth and all I could think of was, "I SMELL cheese! What IS this CHEESE?!" The beer didn't pass my parched, cracked, lusting lips. The beer didn't slide down my willing, hungering throat. I sniffed it. I smelled it. I damn near SNORTED it!

Finally, it came to me: Ardrahan! Gubbeen! St. Nectaire! Durrus! One of those cheeses was the soul mate -- the Ilsa to its Rick, the Rhett to its Scarlett, the Pacey to its Joey -- to this beer. My friends, it was clear that I couldn't revel in my spring fancy until I requited this pairing.

After testing each and every one of the pungent cheeses above, it became abundantly clear to me that Fat Tire was a slut. It had no "perfect mate," no desire to be monogamous, no real loyalty. It slopped as well with Ardrahan as it did with Durrus. And Gubbeen. And St. Nectaire. It was a bi-cheesal beer.

The tart, yeast-bosomed cheeses brought out all that was giving and sensitive in this simple beer. None of them were favored above another, but all of them were deeply loved.

The End.

I've done a lot in my effort to learn more about wine. I've drunk and I've drunk and I've drunk, but to be honest I haven't read all that much until now. Just recently several wonderful wine books have really caught my attention. A Moveable Thirst Tales and Tastes from a Season in Napa Wine Country is one of those books.

The premise of the book is that a journalist and a wine buyer decide to visit all 141 public tasting rooms in Napa over the course of a season. Part of the book is really an in-depth guide to the wineries with details like service, wine availability, picnic prospect and even "intangibles and extras" that includes things like "this winery is worth the effort to find" or "this room is aimed at novices".

The "quest" portion of the book will have you laughing out loud. As Kushman bemoans his lack of spitting ability he is made to feel like an expert when he overhears other tasters ask, if the wine tastes like apricots does that mean they put apricots in the wine? And why do they call it a finish?

Napa is a region you could spend years getting to know. The authors of this book have done a lot of the legwork to help you make the most of your time in Napa. But those who plan no trips to Napa will enjoy it and learn something too. The information in the book ranges from the useful, like which Napa vintners are making Old World style wines to the trivial---did you know that one out of ten bottles of wine sold in America is White Zinfandel?

Another book that features the pairing of a novice and an expert is Educating Peter.

For my review of Educating Peter by Food & Wine editor Lettie Teague, head over to Cooking with Amy.

Vineyards outside of Portland

When spending 72 hours in a food mecca like Portland, it's necessary to plan carefully and choose your dining mates wisely. If you do so, or if you follow my suggestions below, you will be able to both eat well and enjoy the food sights of this Pacific Northwest food town.

Thursday, 7:00 pm

My trip started off on a perfect note when I had dinner with some of my favorite Portland bloggers: the fashionable urban homesteaders Patrick and Holly of Letter from Hen Waller and the adorable Jocelyn and her "sweets" from Brownie Points. After some back and forth via e-mail, we all decided on Navarre; a small tapas and wine restaurant near 28th and East Burnside.

Walking into Navarre, you know that this is a different type of restaurant. Shelves are full of preserved tomatoes, pickles, and other canned items. One wall is adorned with dried chili peppers with a rope pulley system to allow the chef to pull down supply whenever it is needed. And this is not all for decoration. The chef is a member of the 47th Avenue CSA -- the same CSA that Holly and Patrick belong to -- and he uses these seasonal items in his dishes and cans items that he can't use right away.

All of this focus on seasonality and local products would be for naught if the food wasn't good, but it's great. When fellow Bay Area Bites author Shuna went to Navarre, she wrote: "At the top of its game Navarre's individual dishes are rich in flavor and history, transporting you from one ancient Mediterranean culture to another, but magically meld well on a share plate."

It's a comfortable, fun restaurant to meet friends and I was lucky to have gone there.

Friday, 1:30 pm

When I had Friday afternoon free to myself, I decided to check out Wildwood Restaurant. Wildwood is consistently listed on "Best of" lists about Portland, and I was excited to check it out. Chef Cory Schreiber uses his menu to show off the best of Pacific Northwest ingredients, and uses food from local farms, dairies, and wineries to make up his varied and delicious menu.

I started my lunch with a cream of asparagus soup. "I can give you half a bowl if you'd like," my server gently suggested. Such a nice way to say "you may have ordered too much food for one person, how about if we make it a little less." I was thrilled with the suggestion, and when the soup arrived it was the perfect amount. Served with a dollop of mushroom duxelles in the middle, it was perfectly flavored with the duxelles mixed in to add an additional dimension.

The lunch continued with a very good trout dish served with roasted root vegetables, and I left my lunch happy and perfectly sated.

Friday, 6:00 pm

My Friday evening with long-time friends Jeff and Molly began at Mint in North Portland just off Interstate Avenue. Mint is a fashionable bar that takes its cocktails seriously, and it was nice to enjoy a drink and some company there. The best of our drink lot was the Ad Lib, described as "Crater Lake Vodka muddled with cilantro and lemon lime juice, served up in a sugared martini glass". The cilantro added a surprising flavor to the cocktail that was enjoyed by all.

Friday, 8:00 pm

Ken's Artisan Pizza was the highlight of my trip, hands down. Ken's serves the kind of pizzas I dream about. When Monday pizza nights became wildly popular at Ken's Bakery on 21st Ave, the folks at Ken's decided to spin off a pizza restaurant and they have done so with great success. The pizza is thin with a blistered, burned (in a good way) crust, and is topped with delicious, carefully chosen ingredients. Between three of us, we shared a mushroom pizza with several varieties of mushrooms and a margherita pizza topped with a large pile of fresh arugula.

Friday, 10:00 pm

Our evening finished at Noble Rot, a small wine bar that serves dessert and has an ample dessert wine list. While Jeff and Molly shared dessert, I tucked into a delicious glass of port, and we wound down our evening.

A young market shopper.

Saturday, 10:00 am

A good friend laughs about choosing her retirement home with her husband based on the proximity of an excellent farmers' market. The Portland PSU Farmers' Market makes me want to move to Portland as soon as possible. It has the vibe, it has the variety, and it has the community flavor that I am constantly seeking in my farmers' market exploration. In addition to the presence of stellar farmers and vendors, the market features one of my absolute favorite prepared food vendors anywhere: Tastebud Farm with their wood-fired oven that they bring to the market. My breakfast this trip was a pita filled with delicious garbanzo beans, lamb, and other goodies.

Saturday, 2:00 pm

Saturday afternoon we took a ride in the country to Erath Winery and Sokol Blosser Winery. It was an amazing day to check out wineries with large billowy clouds adding a magnificent touch to landscape photos. As we drove past nut orchards and fields of mustard, it was a great time to take in the beauty of this countryside.

Fiddlehead ferns at the market.

Sunday, 12:00 noon

On Sunday, we explored the North Mississippi avenue area, with a leisurely lunch at the friendly Mississippi Station, a restaurant with great fries and a nice beer selection, and then a trip to The Meadow: a store that sells chocolate, wine, flowers, salt and pepper. I immediately gravitated to the salt area and spent a good twenty minutes exploring the world of salt. The owner and employees are very knowledgable about the ins and outs of finishing salts, and I left with some fun selections.

Sunday, 3:00 pm

Even though we were late to get to the airport, Molly insisted that we stop at Grand Central Bakery where she ran into to buy me a large, springy and delicious ciabatta to take home. I thoroughly enjoyed it when I arrived home with a chunk of Rogue Creamery cheddar cheese while I reflected on how great 72 hours can be.

Locations and Links

Navarre
10 NE 28th Ave
Portland
(503) 232-3555

Wildwood
1221 NW 21st Avenue
Portland
(503) 248-9663

Mint
816 North Russell
Portland
(503) 284-5518

Ken's Artisan Pizza
304 SE 28th
Portland
(503) 517-9951

Noble Rot
2724 SE Ankeny
Portland
(503) 233-1999

Portland PSU Farmers' Market
8:30 am - 2:00 pm on the campus of PSU
in the South Park Blocks between SW Mongtomery and Harrison

Erath Winery
9410 NE Worden Hill Road
Dundee
(503) 538-3318

Sokol Blosser Winery
5000 Sokol Blosser Lane
Dundee
(503) 864-2282

Mississippi Station
3943 N. Mississippi Avenue
Portland
(503) 517-5751

The Meadow
3731 N. Mississippi Avenue
Portland
(503) 288-4633

Grand Central Bakery
Several locations in Portland
(503) 232-0575

I am what is known as a germaphobe. (See also: obsessive-compulsive disorder.) During cold and flu season, I never venture out without my purse-sized hand sanitizer. Sick friends know to bow out of dinner if I'm hosting, and I have been known to disinfect seatbelts and radio knobs after a cold-ridden colleague rides in my car. The last time my boyfriend had the stomach flu, I instituted a quarantine so rigorous that he was banned from my bed and bathroom until all surfaces and linens could be bleach-cleaned.

Given my anti-germ proclivities, what on Earth could make me willingly ingest 10 billion living bacteria every single day? The promise of a souped-up immune system.

That, and a bar of chocolate.

I'd never heard of probiotics until two months ago, when a sample box of Attune Food's wellness bars arrived on my doorstep. (Full disclosure: they sent them free of charge, a common and ethical way of introducing members of the media to a new product.) As I read through the literature, I learned that probiotics exist naturally in foods like blue cheese, yogurt, and tofu, and they've been around in supplement form for years. But now companies from Dannon (Activia yogurt) to Kashi (Vive cereal) to Attune are adding them to foods. Here's why: preliminary research suggests that these friendly bacteria may be able to prevent cancer, tooth decay, and allergies; lower blood pressure and cholesterol; reduce the uncomfortable effects of lactose intolerance and irritable bowel syndrome (IBS); and keep a healthy digestive tract working smoothly.

I have to admit, I was intrigued. Who hasn't had the occasional upset stomach after an orgy of rich foods and untold bottles of wine? And, okay, I'll admit it -- I had visions of becoming a sort of Anti-Germ Superwoman, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound and ride Muni in December without gloves and a gas mask. So I started snooping around to learn more.

To understand how probiotics work, we have to talk about something not normally considered polite food blog conversation: the colon. Our intestines are full of bacteria -- 100 trillion, to be exact -- that help us digest fiber, absorb nutrients from food, and eliminate what we don't need. They also play a significant role in our immune system, killing off harmful bacteria. When these gut flora get out of balance -- usually a result of stress, illness, antibiotics, or alcohol -- disaster can ensue.

Probiotics help reinstate that balance by replenishing our intestines with good bacteria. They are often taken hand in hand with prebiotics, a kind of fiber that feeds the good bacteria while the colony repopulates itself.

In order to help you, foods containing probiotics have to meet three requirements:
1. The probiotics have to be alive when you ingest them.
2. They have to survive the digestive process and reach your intestines.
3. They have to be in sufficient quantities to have an effect.

There are several different strains of probiotics but all of them have unpronounceable names. Two of the most popular are lactobacillus and bifidobacterium. Different strains do different things, and the scientific jury is still out on their overall potential. Some researchers have seen promising results on a number of fronts from preventing allergies in children to lowering blood pressure, while others claim that probiotics are still not well understood. But the one thing nearly everyone seems to agree on is that they can help keep your digestive tract functioning without any snafus.

The small print that accompanied Attune's package indicated that I should eat one bar every day for 14 days to judge the full effect. It also stated that "some people may notice minor intestinal discomfort for the first few days." Hmm. One woman's minor intestinal discomfort could be another woman's oh-dear-God-why-me? So I emailed the company and asked them to be more specific. Their reply? Possible bloating and/or gas. I admit that I stared at that box of chocolate bars for a few days. I felt like a lab rat, but the potential benefits -- fewer colds! -- eventually outweighed any worries of unwelcome flatulence.

I unwrapped a Cool Mint Chocolate bar and took a bite. CRUNCH. The first thing I noticed was that it was delicious. I'd expected it to taste like something that was good for me -- mealy, slimy, or chewy all came to mind. But this was creamy chocolate bliss over crisp rice. A few days was all it took to hook me. I felt better -- no intestinal discomfort at all -- and I've been eating them ever since. I've also conducted a small and wholly unscientific focus group on my own. Three friends with ailments that veer from the serious (IBS) to the annoying (occasional constipation) to the mundane (allergies) have tried them. It's not cold season yet, so I can't tell you if they'll keep us healthy or not, but three out of four of us are still eating them -- "germs" and all.

Note: This post should not be considered a substitute for professional medical advice.

I'm still in mourning for the afterhour taco stand that was once wedged in front of Taqueria Vallarta. Huddled outside, bundled against the night air and only slightly buzzed, I've enjoyed many a midnight snack. At first, I alternated my orders, enjoying beef and pork, grilled and fried, sausage and offal. Eventually, though, the tender suadero owned me completely.

I know, I know. A 49 on the health inspector's score card justifies, in the modern logic of cleanliness and public safety, the shuttering of a restaurant. I only wish they'd let the taco cart stick around. Bereft, a friend and I recently wandered up and down 24th Street, sniffing the air for potential rebound consolation. We were in luck. A few doors down from our old taco love, inside a tiny space that was a butcher shop by day, an impromptu taqueria had been set up to serve the swing shift. A thin haze of smoke drifted from the shop, and once inside, we realized that three card tables and a portable grill were the only capital investments in this brand new micro-business. No fire extinguisher or ventilation hood in sight. No menu, no music, no English, and no smiles. Still, the minimalist approach was more than justified by the perfectly charred beef. We returned a few nights later but were disppointed to find only a dark, properly locked-up butcher shop.

For all its bragging about being a culinary capital, San Francisco is woefully behind the curve when it comes to good street eats. The occasional downtown hot dog stand and farmers' market tamale stalls are just not enough for this hungry girl. Where I come from, you can't walk twenty feet without someone grilling or steaming or frying or stacking or stirring something good to eat al fresco, but here in America, fast food ordered through a squawk box from your car is apparently safer for you.

Fortunately, immigrants from lands of good food persist in their attempts to share their treats. Whispers of "you want tamales?" from parked minivans have lured me to steaming bundles of masa joy, while contraband rice cakes reach me through trusted intermediaries. In between such priceless finds, though, it's the taco truck that assuages my need for street food.

Returning from a hiking trip in Big Sur one weekend, my hubby and I were craving some filling, warming soup. With San Jose just a few miles in front of us, we plotted a minor detour from 101 around Capital Expressway up Senter Avenue to one of my favorite Vietnamese restaurants on this side of the Pacific. But before we got very far north on Senter, one stoplight to be exact, we saw a line snaking its way from a shining, white taco truck all across a parking lot to the curb on the corner. Hubby's quick reflexes pulled us right up next to Paisa Taqueria, our quest for pho and bun rieu immediately forgotten.

The best way to identify a good taco truck: a long line even in the middle of the afternoon.

Now, this wasn't your normal taco truck. This was a special tricked-out version that boasted large, squeaky clear display windows through which you could watch women patting and pressing corn tortillas to order. A trompo of glistening pork spun invitingly at the other end of the truck. A few feet away was the grill station: what normally served as a hot dog cart was lined with glowing, hardwood charcoal from Mexico. The salsa station included the usual fresh and cooked salsas, lime wedges, crisp radishes, and a delightfully creamy guacamole-style sauce. Large jars of agua frescas sparkled in the sun.

The taco truck was already passing all my usual tests, but when a patrol car rolled up into the parking lot behind us and then two cops strutted toward the line, I knew for sure. We were in for some good food. (And yes, the cops got to cut straight to the front.)

Non-stop tortilla production line.

Fornuately, the wait wasn't as long as my empty stomach feared it'd be. I ordered my usual suadera and carnitas, and then decided to try one of their mulitas, a sandwich of two grilled tortillas and melted fresh cheese. I had barely ladled and stacked my numerous cups of salsa when our food appeared in the window. Like everyone else, we scurried back to our car to eat. The tacos were exactly the way I like them: small and simple. A light sprinkling of chopped onion and cilantro were the only gilding on the meat, while the freshly made tortillas had that perfect balance of softness and toothsomeness. Gone were the soggy pile of beans; the limp, torn, stale tortillas; and the massive, messy hump of filling found in far too many so-called taquerias.

I'm not sure how often I'll get down to San Jose for a plate of tacos, even ones as good El Paisa's. I guess that means more midnight strolls sniffing the air and praying for benevolance from the street food gods.

MORE TACO LOVE

--Learn lots about tacos, including the Lebanese "sheep herder" roots of al pastor and the difference between lard-cooked carnitas, steamed cabeza, and luscious suadero at this informative guide to Mexican street tacos.

-- Spanish speakers can brush up on their taco knowledge while ingesting a bit of taco history at Mexico's official Taco Day site.

-- Anyone heading to LA should definitely compile a list of taco trucks from the impressively well-researched Taco Hunt blog.