A recent lunch with a caravan of hungry friends reminded me of the insurmountable difference between eating in America and eating in Vietnam. Even when the food is excellent, even with folks I love, even when the weather is as freaky hot as it's been this week.

Expansive menus, with dishes numbering into the three digits, and the a la carte approach to dining in the West culminated again in an experience that's difficult for me to reconcile with Vietnamese food: every single person at the table was eating something completely different.

My bowl of noodles was wedged between a dish of curry on the left and grilled beef with rice paper on the right. Across from me were fried frog legs, and at the end of the table was a pile of pork chops. When such radically different dishes are slung onto a table, the spirit of the food itself is lost.

Restaurants in Vietnam tend to specialize in one, two, maybe three variations on a single dish. Everyone in the restaurant, let alone everyone at the table, is slurping soup or wrapping shrimp together. If different courses are served, they come family style, and everyone shares from the middle of the table.

As for true family style, when the Tran clan gathers, we'll clear out the living room furniture, sit in a huge circle on the floor, and place multiple platters of the same dish to share in the middle. There's no such thing as a buffet for the cousins to pick and choose.

Then again...where would we be without American individuality? The freedom to choose, the freedom to express our inner desires, the freedom to break out of the circle, the freedom to be alone.

Clockwise around the table:

Banh hoi, delicate squares of rice noodles, define an entire class of dishes. Here, grilled beef rolls are the savory star.

Duck soup with dried bamboo shoots is a hard-to-find treat.

Shredded duck meat tossed with cabbage falls into the goi category, special salads that start formal meals or accompany congee soup.

Vietnamese "gatorade" made from salted plums and lime juice. An acquired taste for some but most definitely good for your body on the hottest days.

Chicken curry reveals the country's old ties with India and Thailand.

Hearty and spicy, bun bo hue highlights thick, round rice noodles, slices of pork, and chewy nuggets of pig's feet.

Plates of fresh herbs...

...and fresh vegetables define a southern Vietnamese table.

A generous platter of sweetly charred pork chops will feed someone for a week.

Not quite the river prawns promised, but still rich with shrimp brains.

Fried frog legs, one of the restaurant's specialties, are the upscale version of buffalo wings. Lime and black pepper add zest.

The soft, fresh tofu is fried to order.

Spring rolls the New-World way...

...and the Old-World way.

The line out front hints at the lunchtime wait at this very popular restaurant, an excellent place to compose a medley of Vietnamese dishes.

Vung Tau II Restaurant
1750 N Milpitas Blvd.
Milpitas, CA 95035
(408) 934-9327

Despite the proliferation of excellent burritos and taco trucks worth chasing down, it's hard to find a decent sit-down Mexican place in San Francisco. While Mexico DF isn't quite perfect, it's good enough to overlook the flaws and welcome its addition to the city's restaurants.

They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression; visually, Mexico DF nails it. From an oversized rustic chandelier made from a lattice iron grill and hanging crystals to vivid back-lit artwork by Oaxacan artist Rufino Tamayo, Mexico DF is a beautiful space with refined nods to the country that inspired it. Tables are laid with brightly colored chargers, and the open kitchen is roofed with a cherry red canopy. On a recent Saturday night, though the bar was calm, the dining room had a pleasant buzz to it. Service, though rumored to be amateur, was anything but. Our server was friendly, full of recommendations, happy to answer questions (where the goat was raised, for example) and he changed out our plates and silver between every single course.

The name of the restaurant, which refers to Mexico's capital city, gives some idea as to the focus of chef David Rosales' cuisine. The dinner menu offers a bit of everything (except burritos), from ceviche to soup, tacos to whole roasted fish.

We started with the house guacamole. If you had asked me to rate the restaurant after only one bite, I would have awarded it an A. Thick, creamy, and judiciously seasoned, the guacamole ($9) arrived with a handful of tortilla chips architecturally arrayed in its greenery, as well as two kinds of salsa (sweet chile de arbol and peppy tomatillo-habanero, which are available for sale by the bottle). Our server brought us a back-up supply of chips so we could lap it all up.

Both the margaritas we ordered -- the sweet, midnight-colored Xochimilco with hibiscus and peach juice ($9) and the classic Polanco ($10.50) with Herradura reposado -- were well-made and easy to drink. Next time I'd like to try a version with muddled grapefruit just for kicks. After our guacamole, we switched to wine. The Tobia tempranillo ($12) was smokier than I liked, but the fruitier MAS malbec ($8) suited me well. Neither were particularly astute matches for the food, however.

It was the corn fungus that convinced us to share the chile relleno rather than one of the ceviches. A gigantic mild green pepper ($14) was stuffed first with corn, summer squash, and the musky sweet Mexican delicacy known as huitlacoche, then coated in breading, deep-fried, and drizzled in crema and Tangerine tomato salsa. The fried coating got soggy under the sauce, but its inner beauty shown through, and we gobbled up the the insides wrapped in their crisp pepper shell.

For our mains, we heeded the mighty call of the taco. The chuleta consisted of small pieces of lean pork loin ($9 for two), a confetti of raw white onions, and chile de arbol salsa on the side. They were only okay. I was craving a juicier meat, I suppose, so it's my own fault for ordering the loin. But it doesn't change the fact that they were no better than average. Next time, I'll get the carnitas.

The cabrito ($12 for two), however, were oustanding. Goat meat is popular in a variety of cultures, from Latin America to the Middle East. It isn't something we gringos eat a lot, and I can tell you we're missing out. The rich, juicy, slightly smoky barbacoa-style goat was the best thing I ate all night.

We're gluttons, so we also ordered a huarache corn masa "sandal" with grilled short ribs ($10). The meat had a great grilled flavor, but it was too fatty for me and I spit it out. My boyfriend devoured it, though, and I found myself compulsively picking at the queso fresco on top.

I'm not sure whether I loved or hated the house pickled jalapenos ($2) that arrived at my request with my tacos. The thin carrot slivers were sweet and tangy, but the peppers packed more punch than a heavyweight boxer in the fight of his life, and my poor palate got quite a scorching. I had to order a side of crema to cut the heat, and sat spooning it into my beleaguered mouth for quite some time. Still, I can't say that I didn't sort of enjoy the rush, and as soon as my tongue had cooled, I picked up another one and took another bite. (A much smaller bite.)

We ended our meal with a burnt caramel flan ($8). I'd hoped it would change my mind about flan, and though it was creamy and the sweet caramel sauce burnt just enough, in the end it was only flan.

Overall, we enjoyed an above average meal, tasty margaritas, superb service and a few standout bites. I really appreciated the more unusual ingredients on the menu, neither of which I can recall seeing on a local menu before. Our server told us that the goat is raised in Colorado for Niman Ranch, and the huitlacoche is grown for the restaurant by a local farmer. Next time I'm craving Mexican and I want to sit down and linger over dinner, I'll be back.

Mexico DF
139 Steuart Street at Mission
San Francisco
(415) 808-1048
Open 7 nights a week for dinner, M-F lunch

Last month I got a chance to see local personal chef and cookbook author Eric Gower do a cooking demonstration. I was sitting next to veteran culinary industry insiders, and we all marvelled at his creativity and at how truly delicious his dishes were.

Eric Gower's latest book, The Breakaway Cook is one that in all likelihood will make you rethink how you use certain ingredients. Some of his unorthodox ideas include adding yogurt to scrambled eggs to make them fluffly, baking eggs and rhubarb for breakfast, grinding up lentils to use as a breading for chicken or fish, and making a finishing salt out of kafir lime leaves and salt.

While many of the ingredients used are Japanese such as maccha powder, miso, umeboshi, shiitake mushrooms and tofu don't look for traditional Japanese recipes. Many recipes start with dishes from all over the world including roast chicken, risotto, tomato soup, braised turkey, kofte meatballs but are boosted with his "flavor blasts" like flavored salts, lemongrass citrus syrup, chipotle sauce and garlic confit. The philosophy of the book is also about taking shortcuts, and how to create a lot flavor in not a lot of time. You can check out recipes for Five Flavored Salts, Crispy Tangy Tofu, Maccha Poached Eggs, and more here. This book is a real keeper.

Pomegranate Potatoes
Serves 3 or 4

4 medium red potatoes, sliced into rounds slightly thicken 1/4 inch
Extra virgin olive oil in a spray bottle
1 Tablespoon pomegranate molasses
A few shakes of ground cinnamon
Coarse sea salt
Freshly crushed black pepper

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees. Lay the potato rounds on a wire rack over a baking sheet that's been lined with foil (to facilitate easy cleanup) and spray the potatoes liberally with olive oil. Spoon a small amount of pomegranate molasses over each round, smearing it around with a spoon, and top with cinnamon, salt, and pepper. Bake until the potatoes start to brown, about 10 minutes. Remove from the oven, flip each one with tongs or chopsticks, repeat the seasoning, and bake for another 5 minutes or so, until nicely browned on both sides.

Have you driven Highway 80 lately? If you were traveling to Sacramento or Lake Tahoe, you may have noticed an exciting new attraction along the way. The Nut Tree in Vacaville -- a part of the history of the area since the 1920's -- has reopened and has new retail stores, restaurants, and rides for children.

One of the new shops in the "Nut Tree Village" is the Capay Valley Valley Farm Shop. The Capay Valley is an area of Yolo County, approximately 100 miles northeast of San Francisco. It's an abundant growing region where fruit and vegetable crops in addition to wheat, wine, beef, lamb, olive oil, honey, walnuts and almonds are produced. Farmers of the Capay Valley joined together to create the Capay Valley Farm Shop in a location convenient to the many drivers on Highway 80.

That the Farm Shop is located in the historic Nut Tree complex is fitting. The Nut Tree history is integral to the California food movement, and Alice Waters has praised the Nut Tree for being important in the creation of California Cuisine. It started as a fruit stand, and eventually became a stopping point for dignitaries, travelers, and locals alike who were looking for good, fresh food and innovative cuisine.

Visitors to the Farm Shop will find Capay Valley produce, seasonally prepared foods including salads and sandwiches, and gift items such as lavender products, honey, and jam. Over the course of a year, the Farm Shop will feature products from 42 Capay Valley farms. Thomas Nelson, a co-owner of the shop, says that the Farm Shop is modeled after the farm shop concept in England, where it is common to have shops convenient for customers with carefully selected local produce and other items.

I visited the Farm Shop several weeks ago, and was excited to have a brick-and-mortar location to pick up some of my favorite Capay Valley items including dried wheat berries from Full Belly Farm, fresh figs, and potatoes. This location is a quick and convenient stop-off for produce, cheese, crackers, wine and sandwiches on any trips east of San Francisco.

For more information:
SF Chronicle, Nut Tree Nostalgia, Feb 25 2005.
Capay Valley Farm Shop, Participating Farmers
Capay Valley Grown Project

It's that time of year again, the days start to get shorter, the sun no longer wakes me up before my alarm clock (now I actually have to start setting my alarm clock), and I must begin to convince myself that summer is on the way out. In fact, there is a distinct chill in the air, if only to remind me. Sigh. The weather is still nice. But the nice man at Frog Hollow told me we'd be lucky to have even another week of peaches (as I quickly add more to my shopping bag). I can't even find corn anymore. Cherries are sooooo last season. Strawberries are few and far between and I've heard they are not long for these parts. And tomatoes. Oh tomatoes. They are still here, and delicious as ever, but I know my time with them is limited. I am buying them almost on a daily basis now. They are part of nearly every meal I prepare.

But even though I am lamenting summer's dwindling bounty, a whole new crop of food is peaking and autumn treats are appearing. One of my favorites has appeared recently, my late-summer love The Cranberry Bean.

Those of us who know them tend to horde them. I see the occasional stuffed plastic bag with the tell-tale mottled pinky-red pods, firmly grasped in hand. Standing at the bin, I load up my bag as full as possible (knowing full well I'm going to have to lug it on Muni all the way home). But cranberry beans have such a limited season, it's worth it to buy all that you can. They are not only the most brilliant delicious creamy wonderful fresh legume on the planet (in my oh-so-humble opinion) but they freeze extremely well.

I really shouldn't be telling you all of this.

But really they are so good that you should know about them. Creamy, plump, and full of fresh bean flavor.

And there are all kinds of ways to use them: simply boiled and dressed as Cucina Testa Rossa describes in her previous post from last September, tossed with pasta, drizzled with vinaigrette in a salad, or my hands-down favorite, a big steaming bowl of Pasta e Fagioli. This hearty bean, pasta, and vegetable soup is the perfect antidote to a rainy end-of-summer night. It almost makes you happy that winter is right around the corner.

Pasta e Fagioli

2 slices thick-cut smoked bacon (like applewood smoked) or pancetta, chopped
Olive oil
1 yellow onion, diced
2 carrots, peeled and diced
2 stalks celery, diced
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup diced fresh tomatoes, peeled and seeded or 1 (regular size) can finely chopped tomatoes
About 4-6 cups chicken broth, preferably homemade
About 1 1/2 cups fresh cranberry beans, removed from pods (this equals approximately 1 lb unshelled beans in their pod)
Parmesan rind (Note: if you buy a chunk of fresh Parmesan, just cut off the rind and throw it into the soup while it's cooking)
About 1 cup small soup pasta, like ditalini or macaroni

To garnish
Fresh chopped basil
Grated Parmesan cheese

Cook the bacon in a stock pot until crisp, then remove to a plate and set aside. You can pour out the grease, but leave at least 1-2 tablespoons. Add olive oil if needed, then saute the onions, carrots, and celery until just tender. Season with salt and pepper. Add the tomatoes, broth, cranberry beans, and the Parmesan rind, if using. Simmer until the beans are tender, about an hour (give or take, it really depends on the freshness of your beans; start tasting them after about 45 minutes; you want them creamy but not mushy) . Add the pasta and cook just until al dente, about 7 minutes. Add the reserved bacon back to the soup. Serve with grated Parmesan and fresh basil.

Old friends and wedding parties and extended families have a way of creating memorable meals. Place them all in a gorgeous locale overflowing with fresh ingredients -- say the San Juan Islands on the Puget Sound during the last weeks of summer -- and even the simplest pot of soup becomes sublime.

We were gathered on the northern shore of Guemes Island. A single ferry connects locals to the mainland, and the island's one store -- Anderson's General Store -- assures shoppers that: "If we don't have it, we'll explain how you can get along without it." Guemes is a place where feeling the tides is a sixth sense, where the ebb and flow of water determines the success of work and the ease of play. Instead of a farmers market, there's a produce swap on Sunday mornings. The island's highest speed limit is 25 mph, and even at that, you could cross it from tip to tip in 10 leisurely minutes.

Everyone who lives along the shore has a boat and a couple of crab traps. Lone buoys out on the water sport duct tape with names and phone numbers. I tried throwing out a couple of the traps to catch our dinner. Having written about the crab industry, I wasn't expecting it to be easy. But let's just say that if I had to catch my own food -- let alone make a living -- with a row boat and two heavy traps, I'd be a heck of a lot skinnier than I am now.

Fortunately for us, a neighbor across the Sound stopped by and left a deep, wide bucket filled with freshly dug clams and sea water. It was waiting quietly on the beach for us. I tried to count, but stopped at 140.

The bride's mother chipped in tomatoes from her garden. The groom's father offered fresh corn; the cobs and some salmon trimmings would make a rich, sweet stock. There were bottles of wine leftover from the wedding. Butter and garlic, fortunately, always magically appear in the company of food-lovers. A loaf of bread from the wedding reception was a bit stale, making it perfect for croutons, and our cabin offered up the last requirement: a big pot generous enough to hold all the food.

No crabs, unfortunately. But where nature taketh away, she always giveth in return.

Neighborly Clams with White Wedding Wine

Soak freshly-dug clams in cornmeal for a couple of hours to help them purge all their grit. Scrub and rinse them well.

Cut off the kernels from whole corn (reserve them for making creamed corn or, even better, salmon and corn chowder for lunch the next day). If you have a sharp knife, cut the corn cobs in half or quarters. If you don't, ask one of the stronger wedding guests to break them in two. Boil them in a pot of water with any trimmings you may have: carrot, onion, celery, or just some salmon skin and belly flaps. Strain and reserve the broth.

Now the fun part: Melt some butter in a big pot. Add chopped onion and garlic and the precious last carrot; saute over a medium flame until softened. Stir in chopped tomatoes and as much of their juices as you can catch, stir a few times, and then pour in a quarter to a whole bottle of wine. Add that corn and salmon broth that you made earlier. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer for 10 to 15 minutes to meld together all the flavors and emulsify the butter. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Bring the broth back to a full boil. Add the clams and cover tightly. In about 10 minutes, give the clams a good stir and check for doneness. If you have a big batch, you'll probably need to continue cooking for another 5 to 10 minutes. If you like your clams on the rare side, take them out just as soon as they've all opened fully.

Bring the pot to the table along with all the bowls you can find in the cabin. Pass around toasted stale bread, more bottles of wine and stories of younger, greener days.

... or The Carnivore's Dilemma.

Originally, I had thought to do a little post on yet another odd celebrity cookbook, this one by Ted (Cat Scratch Fever) Nugent and his wife, Shemane. I thought I might be able to write an entire piece on the cover photo alone. Or Her name. Shemane.

I was immediately drawn to the cover photo with its creepy magenta-red side lighting, as though the blood from an elk Ted had just shot was seeping from the carcass, onto the hood of the truck where it was tied, and over the headlamps like some macabre gel. They may have thought the light looked pretty, so they got out of the truck and had their son take a picture. Or used a self-timer. That seems a more appropriate technique given this book's subtext of self-sufficiency.

I was also intrigued by the fact that, though Ted may be holding a long phallus of a rifle, Shemane holds an infinitely more sinister-looking instrument of torture. Something that might be a large hunting version of a tomato knife. And a spatula. Of course, with the spatula, she looks more the kill-it-and-griddle-it-type.

Kill It & Grill It is an entertaining read, whether one agrees with Nugent's politics or not. Just take a look at an excerpt from Chapter 16: Limbrat Etouffée:

"Kill tree-dwelling vermin, remove PJs, take to flame, chow down. Drive safely. It's really that simple to get a good meal of squirrel. Limbrat whackin' is truly bigfun [sic] any ol' way ya choose it-- bow and arrow, pistol, rifle, scattergun, slingshot, falconry, grenades, and my favorite, flamethrower. How can ya go wrong? Squirrels are, after all, rodents, so have fun blasting away. That there exists a season or bag-limit on the little shits is mind-boggling to say the least."

When he's not busy telling Democratic presidential candidates to either sit on or fellate his AR-15 rifles, Nugent spends a good deal of time hunting his own animal protein. He reportedly has not bought meat for decades. He hunts, he shoots, he eats what he kills. Outspoken arch-conservative or not, he is a man of strong opinions. He's caused me to take a moment and think about my own meat-eating ways.

I am a carnivore. Okay, I'm an omnivore. I could never give up bacon however I might try. But I've often thought about how far removed I am from the proteins I ingest. Would I, as an eater of animal flesh, be able to hunt down and kill my dinner?

In some cases, yes. If the animal isn't cuddly. I have in the past hunted, killed, and dressed lake trout. Cold blooded animals can be offed by me, naturally, in cold blood. A chicken? I've never seen one in the wild but, though unpleasant the task might be, I think I could do it. Maybe it's that animals whose eyes are on the sides of their heads are less unpleasant to slaughter due to the fact that they cannot look at you with both eyes at the same time.

I once had a lunch date with a man who turned out to be vegan. He was very pleased with his choice of lifestyle, as one should be. Having once dated a vegan in college, I knew that, no matter how wonderful this person might be, we could never have what I would consider a normal dating life. Vegetarianism I can happily accommodate. I eat vegetarian meals quite often. But the minute someone tells me I shouldn't eat cheese or that consuming honey is morally wrong because it represents bee enslavement, I want to remark that I think narrow-bandwidth thinking and a joyless, hyper-sensitive lifestyle is morally wrong because it results in human boredom.

Fortunately, my lunch date was a bore, or not that cute. I can't remember. My response to him was adolescent, at best. I ordered a pork dish and started talking about how, as Americans, we needed to start taking more responsibility for the meat products we eat and, should it become necessary, I would be willing look a cow in the eye and slaughter it on the spot.

It was perhaps the quickest lunch I've ever eaten outside a fast food restaurant.

And now I realize that, though my statement to the vegan was meant to provoke, it was utterly untrue. I don't have the guts to kill any animal cute enough to name. Yet I will happily eat from its flesh if someone else has done the dirty work. I am a hypocrite, yes, but a hungry one.

Though I am not a fan of guns, Sean Hannity, the current war, or much of anything loved by Ted Nugent, I have to give a grudging amount of respect to anyone who puts his money where his mouth is. Or his mouth where his bow and arrow have been. He, by and large, feeds his family on what he himself kills. I go to the store and ask if the neatly packaged chops that were once part of whole animals had been humanely treated in their lifetime. Sometimes. Other times, I forget and am shamed. I am aware of my own hypocrisy. Nugent occasionally makes others aware of their own. The fact that Animal Rights activists (in this case, extremists) have issued death threats against Nugent's children is a rather delicious irony.

By the time you read this post, I will be roaming the island of Santorini. Perhaps I might take the time to spear my own lavraki and throw it on a grill. Or perhaps one might catch me beating an octopus senseless on the rocks in order to tenderize its flesh in time for dinner. I doubt it. I'll let someone with a little more animal integrity to that for me.

I will be living such an aimless lifestyle for the next to weeks.

Apart from the angry comments from vegans I am likely to receive as a result of this post, I am curious to know the thoughts of you out there who are experiencing the same, or similar, meat-eating moral dilemma.

I'll see you in two weeks.

I recently got married (and changed my name from Kim Goodfriend to Kim Laidlaw, in the off chance that there was any confusion) and my new mother-in-law and her partner, who I've only met on one other occasion, came to visit us...all the way from Edinburgh, Scotland.

Now, I adore my mother-in-law, but I was a little intimidated when she announced that she only likes to eat Italian and "normal" food. What would I ever find to prepare for her? How could I possibly wow her with my culinary prowess? What if I made something she hated? Was my imagination going off the deep end?

The solution came with a trip to the SF Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market on the first Saturday of their stay. We arrived early and made an initial pass through the crowd, just to get our bearings. She was enthralled with all the fruits and vegetables and foodstuffs she'd never seen before. We left the guys on a bench near the bay and went off on our second pass, sniffing this, trying that, and all the while, I kept asking her what she liked or disliked. In this way, I managed to cobble together my first dinner for my new mother-in-law.

First stop--and a pretty safe bet--was Shogun Fish, who display their freshly caught salmon and halibut every Saturday. We chose two thick gorgeous, incredibly fresh, deeply red, wild salmon fillets. I mean, who doesn't love salmon?*

*Note: Um, actually I don't. In fact, I rarely like salmon. I particularly loathe farm-raised salmon which I find flavorless. However, when it's fresh it can be absolutely delicious. And I've become quite a fan of smoked salmon in recent years. Which is a good thing, because my husband and his entire family are Scottish. And they love smoked salmon. It's like a national dish. Second only to fried things. And maybe haggis. Oh, wait, and whisky. Yes, whisky is a food group. But I digress...

We also gathered just-dug-up fingerling potatoes, fragrant heirloom tomatoes, wild arugula (aka rocket as it is called in the UK), crunchy lemon cucumbers, figs, and a decadent array of cupcakes from Miette.

Dinner was a raving, smashing success (can you hear the musical crescendo in the background?). We started with sliced figs topped with triple-cream cheese, basil, and aged balsamic. The main event included grilled salmon simply dressed in fresh oregano, olive oil, salt and pepper, along with roasted fingerling potatoes and a salad of cucumbers, tomatoes, and arugula. All of it was washed down with a gorgeous bottle of Navarro Edelzwicker.

Unfortunately, in my fumbling, nervous, slightly overwhelmed culinary haze, I never managed to get out the camera to capture said delicious amazing dinner. But, we were left with a good chunk of leftover salmon, given that I have a knack for over-purchasing. Which brings me to my very own mother (I think I'm establishing a theme here)...

One of my childhood faves, and one of my mom's specialties, is salmon croquettes. Yeah, I know I already blasted salmon. But this is Fried Salmon. In cakes. With sauce. And it truly is, in my opinion, one of the best ways to use up your leftover salmon.

Salmon Croquettes

1 1/2 cups cooked salmon
1 egg, separated
1 handful saltines or water crackers, crushed to bits
1 tablespoon aioli or mayo
Oil for frying

Make sure that the salmon is free of any bones or skin, then put it in a large bowl, breaking it up into large flakes with your fingers. Add the egg yolk, cracker bits, aioli and salt and pepper to taste, then gently stir together to combine. In a separate bowl, whip the egg white to medium peaks (don't overwhip!). Fold the egg white into the salmon mixture. Gently form the salmon mixture into patties, about 2 inches in diameter.

In a large frying pan, heat about 1/4 cup of oil over medium-high heat. Carefully add the salmon cakes and fry, turning once, until crisp and golden on both sides, about 8 minutes total. Remove to a paper-towel lined plate to drain, then serve with the aioli.

Sort-of Aioli

1 egg yolk
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
3/4 cup light olive oil or a mixture of olive oil and canola oil
Juice of 1/2 lemon

Note: This is not garlic aioli which is why I call it sort of aioli because in some strict foodcamps that is the only aioli there is. However, I don't really happen to like garlic (with a few specific exceptions) so if you want to add it, go right ahead.

In a medium mixing bowl, whisk together the egg yolk and mustard. Add a pinch of salt. Slowly add the oil, very slowly, a dribble at a time, while whisking. Make sure that all of the oil is incorporated into the yolk before adding more. The mixture will continue to thicken the more oil you add. If it gets too thick, add a bit of the lemon juice. As you get near the end, you will find you can add the oil a bit more quickly. Once you have added all of the oil, whisk in the lemon juice. Season to taste with salt and pepper and serve alongside the salmon cakes.

Eric Gower is a San Francisco-based personal chef and cookbook author. He is also has a blog over at Yahoo! Food. Here he shares his approach to cooking, ingredients as well as shopping and dining around town.

1. How did living in Japan influence your cooking?
Japanese aesthetics, eating sequence, using chopsticks, caring about eating on great ceramics, eating seasonally .... all have been hugely influential. Each of those could get a multipage response, but if I had to break it down I'd say:
• use good plates and bowls -- it's remarkable what a difference it makes
• think about presentation, both on the plate and at the table -- use great materials and keep things exceedingly simple
• lots of small courses are good! It's fun to make meals composed of small amounts of many different things
• it's now become common sense, but eating what's in season makes a great deal of sense -- whatever your local farmers' market has the most of, buy in great quantity, and think of different things to do with your bounty.

2. How does your latest book The Breakaway Cook differ from your last book, The Breakaway Japanese Kitchen?
The Breakaway Japanese Kitchen focused on Japanese ingredients and my unorthodox "spins" on them. I used common Japanese ingredients like miso, green tea, umeboshi, shiitake, shiso, among others, and combined them in very simple ways with common staples like seasonal vegetables, meats and fish, pasta, and eggs. It is in no way a "Japanese" cookbook yet every recipe in it uses classic Japanese ingredients, all written with the home cook who has little experience with Japanese ingredients in mind. The recipes are vibrant and fresh, and tend to use quite a bit of fresh herbs, citrus, nuts, and fruit as key components of dishes, along with the Japanese ingredients and fresh produce.

The new book, The Breakaway Cook, uses a similar methodology--that is, common fresh produce and meats "woken up" with the judicious use of herbs, spices, citrus, fresh ginger, vinegars, and good oils--but instead of concentration only on Japanese ingredients I've opened it up to include key ingredients from a few other great culinary traditions, notably India, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia).

The idea is to produce easy, delicious food at home by rethinking the quintessential flavors of countries with rich culinary traditions. We do this by capturing/applying those flavors to everyday staples without necessarily doing it a traditional or "authentic" manner. We simply don't worry that much about keeping anything authentic; the only thing we're concerned about it is making and eating insanely great food, using whatever methods and ingredients that get us there.

3. If you could convince home cooks to add 3 ingredients to their list of staples, which would they be?
Pomegranate molasses, flavored salts, and miso.

4. What are "global flavor blasts"?
Global flavor blasts are ingredients from culinary traditions around the world that deliver intense flavors, with no work on our part except to open the jar/bottle/package and use them as is. Typically, they take a great deal of time to make from scratch. Pomegranate molasses, for example, is simply pomegranate juice that has been boiled down to a viscous, treacly syrup with intensely concentrated flavors. We could to this ourselves by buying large quantifies of pomegranate juice and simmering it all day long, but why bother? Someone has already done the work! Same goes for miso.

Tamarind concentrate, mole, adobo, umeboshi ... all can add just wonderful zing and complexity to the homeliest of meals to create flavor sensations you never thought possible to create at home, virtually instantly. They are worth getting to know.

5. Do you still have 15 kinds of vinegar in your pantry?
Well I think I'm down to about 12! Let me see what I can do to rectify that.

6. What is your piece de resistance?
Hmm, I'd say matcha (powdered green tea) salt. Just combine matcha and sel gris in a coffee grinder to produce an ethereal, wildly delicious salt to sprinkle on things, especially poached eggs. As an added bonus, it is hauntingly beautiful.

7. Who would you most like to cook for?
My hero, Bill Clinton!

8. What are some of your favorite local (SF Bay Area) restaurants and places to shop for food?
For restaurants, I like Aziza, on Geary near 21st, very, very much. It's "breakaway Moroccan" and just wonderful. Dosa on Valencia has terrific Indian food. Dragonfly on Judah has some serious breakaway Vietnamese dishes, and Burma Superstar on Clement has one of the world's best salads, the heavenly green tea salad.

Food shopping: I buy all my spices at the wonderful San Francisco Herb Company, on 14th Street. Monterey Fish on Pier 33 has by far (and I mean by far) the best fish in the Bay Area. I buy my meats in whole-animal form from local farmers (it's tastier, more humane, and even cheaper, believe it o not, though you do need a large freezer). Veggies and fruits come from all over, but my favorite market is the Marin farmers' market in San Rafael. I also like Alemany, and I try to shop most Wednesdays at the Civic Center farmers' market. Dairy, juices, and nuts come from Trader Joe's.

Next week come back for a review of The Breakaway Cook and a recipe

Several Mediterranean fruit flies, known as one of the most dangerous and destructive pests to fruit crops, have been found in Solano county which is approximately 70 miles from San Francisco.

In an article in the San Francisco Chronicle on Friday, Solano County Agricultural Commissioner Jerry Howard called the fruit fly "The single biggest threat to agriculture there is."

The main way that fruit flies come into an area is through fruit carried across state lines, and a USDA spokesperson has said that this infestation of fruit flies most likely came from mangoes carried from Hawaii.

When fruit flies are found, the reaction by agricultural agencies is swift and intense. Within days of the announcement, millions of sterile fruit flies had been dropped by plane into the affected area. When female fruit flies mate, they die and sterile fruit flies produce no offspring.

I noticed the fruit fly story last week, but have to admit that the effect of it on our agriculture did not hit home until I read the Eatwell Farm Blog this morning. Eatwell is a polycultural, organic farm in Yolo county. The farm's location is approximately 3 miles from the fruit fly affected area in Solano County.

In order to cease the movement of the fruit fly from the affected area, agriculture officials have placed a quarantine on certain produce within a 4.5 mile radius. This places Eatwell Farm within the quarantine, and they are not allowed to move any tree fruit, eggplant, tomatoes, or peppers off the farm.

Anyone who knows Eatwell from the Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market is aware of the fact that they are smack in the middle of their "Tomato Wonderland" and are one of the main providers of heirloom tomatoes at the market. With this quarantine, it sounds like the tomato season for Eatwell is over.

There are a couple of things that you can do to help this plight. I hope that you will consider doing one of the following:

• If you are an Eatwell CSA member, don't drop your membership. Knowing the farmer, Nigel Walker, he is going to do everything he can to make sure you have a good box each week. This is part of the "through thick and thin" agreement of a traditional CSA. A CSA member prospers when the farm prospers, and takes a hit when the farm takes a hit.
• If you are a Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market shopper, stop by the Eatwell booth this week and buy an item or two that they bring to the market.
• Read the news. I pray that this doesn't affect more farms that it already has, but if it does, it will affect our San Francisco produce supply.
• Adhere to all fruit and vegetable restrictions. The laws set by the state of California are for the protection of our tremendous agricultural economy.

Photo: Eatwell Farm, Jason Meagher, 2006.