Ah, the impending new year is all about lists, isn't it? Well, here's yet another one.

Recent tragic events, human and animal alike, at the San Francisco Zoo has me doing several things:

1. I'm snatching up my very plump and extremely domesticated cats and kissing them all over, while demanding to know how their sister could behave so much like...well, a tiger.

2. Swearing I will never go to another zoo to gawk at animals. They may be alive and safe from hunters' rifles, but they are still miserable unless they happen to be lucky enough to secure roams in the spacious San Diego Wild Animal Park.

3. Thinking about primal urges for meat.

While I do live a fairly vegetarian, multi-grainal, or pescatarian lifestyle, it's more from ease and quickness of prep and less of actual desire. I do love my fish and vegs, but I also love, crave, and need on a deep, dark, and primal level, meat.

When hit with a specific meat need, it's usually for how a certain restaurant prepares it. Like, if I'm feeling porkish, it doesn't follow that I'll be satisfied with any old piece of pig.

My Top Meat Places in San Francisco

Pork: Late-night or middle of the day, nothing beats a burrito stuffed with thick, shaggy pieces of carnitas at El Farolito. Also, because I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since Jen reminded me in her post, the shelling beans with Sofrito at SPQR and sweet and smoky Suppenkuche's cured pork chop.

Beef: I haven't yet found my designated "favorite steak" place in San Francisco, but the Slanted Door's Shaking Beef still makes me very happy; I'm really sorry to see that it hasn't yet made it onto the menu at Out the Door in the San Francisco Center. When it comes to the ground stuff, Burgermeister is the place I go back to again and again. That said, Zuni Cafe's lunch-time burger is pretty spectacular, even if the ridiculously greasy focaccia bun has me wiping my hands down every three seconds.

Chicken: I'm sorry to be predictable, but I'm still not bored nor have I ever failed to reach complete nirvana with Zuni's roast chicken. However, Ziryab Grill's sumac chicken with velvety oyster mushrooms and Ton Kiang's deceptively plain-looking salt-baked chicken run it a very close, very delicious second.

Duck: I'm very choosy about duck and I don't order it every time I see it at the menu, but Paul K's Syrian Spiced Duck with pomegranate molasses and Ton Kiang's peking duck get my picky vote.

Lamb: This is my favorite meat, but I have yet to find a place that satisfies my need for tender, rare. Until I find it, I have to be satisfied with my own lamb chops: salt and pepper, broiled for 3-4 minutes on each side. Though I haven't yet been, I have suspicions that Kokkari might scratch this particular itch, however I'm open to suggestions...

Chef Sanjay Thumma is my current favorite time suck.

It's refreshing to watch someone demonstrate mouth-watering dishes with uninhibited joy, a matter-of-fact globalism and minimal make-up. It helps that I love so many cuisines in India, but what immediately appealed to me is his stance as a teacher. It's a very different experience to learn about traditional foods from someone who assumes, from the beginning, that his audience is not comprised of outsiders. Like a student whose teacher sets high expectations, viewers and home cooks rise to the challenge.

His balance of expert advice with friendly reassurance is neither oversimplified nor condescending. He's a professional who knows his stuff, yet he doesn't gleam with that over-polished, over-packaged look of television. Each video, from 2 to 10 minutes, covers one specific dish -- just enough for a mouth-watering work break if not dinner inspiration.

Don't expect super-high production value. Two still cameras and a complete lack of location shots does not a sexy food show make. But what Thumma's demos lack in glamour, he more than makes up with passionate enthusiasm (a taste of Hydrabadi mutton biryani literally brings him to tears), humor and generosity. Both veg and non-veg recipes appear in his demos, and he discusses the food of diverse communities across India.

Thumma seamlessly blends traditional techniques and modern adaptations. His simple yet brilliant two-step rice cooking for biryani ensures perfectly cooked basmati throughout the pot. His secret ingredient for butter chicken reveals the wonderful ways that food crisscrosses the oceans. Mentioning Indian restaurant cooks in the U.S. and England, Thumma holds up a bottle of "tomato ketchup" and squirts some into his sauce to finish it with just the right texture and tangy flavor.

While cooks already familiar with basic Indian spices will have a headstart, the demonstrations are geared to beginners, whether you're mixing your first raita, simmering a batch of comforting chana masala, making your own herb-infused paneer or--for the ambitious--rolling and stretching roomali roti to serve with kebabs.

There are many, many cooks demonstrating recipes on YouTube. I'm looking forward to watching the better ones emerge as new stars of the wide, wild culinary world.

Always looking for a little extra help with ringing in the New Year correctly, if quietly, I have turned to eating luck-giving food. I would consider 2007 a very good year, since I didn't die as I had supposed I would, on or before my last birthday. I'm not going to attribute my good fortune directly to the eating of Hoppin' John, but I won't entirely discount it either.

So I am continuing my consumption of pork in the New Year, given the fact that pigs are symbolic of good fortune and prosperity. Since most of the ones I've seen end their short lives being consumed by humans, I don't feel that their luck is personal, but rather that it radiates from within their own pot bellies, only to find its way into other pot bellies-- ours. There are, of course, notable exceptions, like Babe, Wilbur, and Arnold Ziffel. If our pig friends are aware of these porcine super-stars, I do not know. I can only imagine that it might lead to unrealistic expectations of salvation and celebrity lifestyle on the part of the pig, but who am I to judge? I still believe I am going to win the lottery and meet a special someone who isn't crazy.

The scientific reasoning behind pork's luckiness stems from the fact that, unlike fish that might swim away with your fortune, or fowl who could very well likely fly away with it (and are thus to be avoided), pigs tend to root out treasure, aiding in your well-deserved prosperity. Not being one to question science, I am upping my pork consumption next week. It seems to be working for my neighbor across the hallway. She looks as though she has spent a lifetime eating nothing but pork several times a day. Judging by the headboard-banging and fascinating vocalizations emanating from the other side of my bedroom wall at this very moment, she seems to be a very lucky woman indeed.

Pork Chops with Apples and Thyme

This is a recipe taken (but is not exactly duplicated) from a cookbook I worked on several years ago called New England by Molly Stevens, which was part of a series called New American Cooking by the folks at Williams-Sonoma. I was the food styling assistant on this book and was initially disappointed that we didn't photograph this recipe. Given the rather monochromatic nature of this dish, I now understand the wisdom of that decision. What this dish lacks in color, it definitely makes up for in flavor. It's seriously good.

Ingredients

4 or 5 fresh sprigs of thyme
2 tablespoons of unsalted butter
2 large tart apples, like Granny Smith, peeled, cored, and sliced
4 center-cut pork loin chops I chose the bone-in variety and, oh, 1 to 2 inches thick
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
salt and ground (fresh) pepper to taste
2 tablespoons of olive oil
3/4 cup apple cider
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 clove of garlic, minced
1/4 cup of heavy cream

Preparation:

1. In a frying pan large enough to hold all four chops, melt butter over medium-high heat. Add apples and sauté, shaking often (the pan, though if you've got the DT's this dish might help. Just pour yourself an extra glass of cider.). When apples have some lovely browning to them, remove them from the pan and transfer to an awaiting bowl.

2. Pat the pork chops dry with paper towels. Season liberally with salt and pepper. Put the flour on a shallow plate and place chops in the flour. Coat on both sides of the pork, shaking off any excess flour.

3. Return your pan to medium-high heat and add the oil. When the oil is very hot but not smoking, add the pork chops and brown evenly on both sides, about 1 to 2 minutes per sides, but no more than that, please. Add cider and vinegar, then turn heat to low. Add garlic and thyme. Cover tightly to cook. turning them once half way through the process. Cook until done, of course, which will take you anywhere from 14 to 18 minutes, depending upon the thickness of your chops. A slight rosy pinkness in the center is idea. In the center of the pork chop, that is.

4. Transfer the chops to a plate and keep warm. I suppose that might relate to both you and your chops. Remove thyme from the pan. Raise the heat to high, scraping the bottom of the pan to dissolve any caramelized bits, and add the cream. Boil until the liquid in the pan is reduced by half. Stir in the apples. Taste and adjust your seasonings.

5. Spoon apples and sauce over the pork chops and serve immediately.

Serves 4

As we inch towards the ledge that is 2008 I am taking a lot of time for reflection. I'm thinking about transition and change and how we never know exactly where we'll land and how we'll feel about arriving there, even though we think, with all our planning and list-making and contriving, we can control everything.

This last year brought me back into the fold of an industry I wasn't sure I'd ever fully join again. Almost five years ago someone very close to me was given less than three years to live and I exited Restaurant Kitchens to take care of her, help her die, and then grieve fully. In this grieving period it's been impossible to tell whether I was done with my industry out of default, choice or exhaustion. And I had no idea if I'd ever go back, or if I wanted to.

Restaurant work is not part time work. It takes all of you and then some. It's intimate and physical the way sex and relationships are. It engulfs, and tars and feathers you. It's like your family of origin, cults, gangs and religion. We say you're either on the train or not and after working the line for a period of time it's easy to see why the military and kitchen work are so often compared.

For years I worked morning, noon and night and missed anything and everything important in anyone's life I knew or the world at large. To walk away from My Industry when my friend became terminally ill was no small feat. But I knew. I knew that I could only do this immense piece of life's work once. And then, without any warning, it changed me forever. It changed the cook I was to return to being, if I was to return.

In March my blog Eggbeater will be three years old, and I will be 40. I name the numbers because, in the time-line of this story it means that I began writing in a public forum while my friend was dying. I began writing about myself, being a pastry chef, fruit, teaching and local agriculture when I was not in A Kitchen per se. I was away for a long time, and yet I stayed close by keeping up with professional friendships and writing about the branches of my work. I worked hard to reconcile calling myself a chef and not having anyone's name on my jacket but my own.

In professional cook-speak, if you are not {actively} in a kitchen you are not a cook, or a chef. If there are stoves without your name and sweat on them, you have no business wearing whites or calling yourself a cook. And in turn you have no right writing like you're on the inside if you aren't. We're like punk rockers or OG's--- if you're not in the game, you're posing, full stop. It makes feelings more black & white than grey, and opinions about who deserves what title when are not hidden from audible view.

Those who write about my industry, and are not in it, are barely taken seriously. Sure there's hand shaking and schmoozing and photo shoots in cushy houses, but those people are considered Outsiders and are treated thusly. (We need them to "Become Known," they know it, and so the snake swallows its tail.)

But what does it mean to both hold the title of chef and writer? What does it mean to be both critic and critiqued? What does it mean to be the underdog cook and the despised? Who is allowed to write about the inside? And who can do it justice?

My industry has enjoyed it's day in the sun concerning major media outlets in recent years. We have dozens of cooking slots, reality chef shows, superstar chef darlings, and certain restaurants getting press week after week, month after month, in every magazine-- because they are so well known on TV.

But that's not my reality. And TV, no matter how "real," is edited beyond recognition: airbrushed, liposucked, botoxed, and teeth-whitened to a point of Hollywood psychosis, cannibalistically feeding on itself to survive.

The truth is that the truth still isn't out there. And my industry, like the insider's trade that they are, doesn't mind keeping it that way.

Don't pay attention to the man behind the curtain.

We will happily feed you lies if it sells dinners, or we have no say in the matter because TV has historically been entertainment and we suppose you'll be smart enough to figure that out. Or we will happily let Them feed you lies because the dirty truth of the matter is that the restaurant industry is plagued by contradictions so entrenched, class and gender and racial disparities so vast, environmental crimes so grossly overlooked and gaping holes so wide, we look like a corrupt government with erased histories and disappearing leaders.

Am I allowed to report on the good, the bad and the ugly or should I keep our dirty laundry close? Should I stand back and smile cynically when person after person signs their life away to culinary schools and shiny happy media "chefs" tell them to follow the bouncing red ball as they join in one big sing-along to the tune of the Big Lie about how wonderful and easy being a chef is? Or maybe I should just stand by, keep my head down and shut up when a female cook gets passed by for a promotion or salary raise because of her sex?

Can I make a difference as a chef-writer? When my voice is so small compared to the big stars? What does it mean to straddle a fence separating two historically enemied roles? Can I stay true to both crafts?

I don't have answers to my questions. I can blame the new media-ness of it all. For we are all a part of the Internet's Great Experiment. "Every one's" on the w.w.w. looking, eating, slurping, voraciously consuming, arguing, posing, learning, dishing, mud-slinging, opining, mis-informing and dawdling. The concept is that everyone can have a voice in a forum, and now those historically critiqued can talk back.

I might be naive to think that hearing from real chefs in real kitchens matters but I do. It's a very different experience now working in a restaurant, and then writing about it. Blogging buoys me-- writing down my life is my way of telling you, the you who read and listen and converse, what one real life in a kitchen among kitchens, a cook among cooks, is like. Writing from my heart, and being part of a small community of other chef and cook bloggers, is important because we can be a small movement educating those who want to know the true life of professional cooking, not the made-for-TV version.

You? Do you care where you get your truth from? Does it matter to you if said source has fact-checked, painted a pretty and easy-to-digest picture or done their time on the front lines? Do you think chef-writers are a good or dreadful thing? Do you appreciate a transparent restaurant industry or do you wish it would all stay behind closed doors like it always has?

Last year I didn't make much progress with my resolutions. But I think I know why. It's not enough to just have good intentions, you need a plan and you need a goal that is easy to follow through on. This year, I have it all figured out.

For 2008 I plan to celebrate deliciousness. I will eat as many delicious things as I can, foresaking all that is not delicious. I will pay more attention to how everything I eat tastes. I will try terribly hard not to get caught up in the food fights of the day--you know the ones, organic, sustainable, local, blah, blah, blah. I will pay attention to all of the politics, but in a secondary way as it relates to deliciousness, not virtue or trendiness or political correctness.

My hope is that by focusing on taste I can get back to why I love food in the first place, because it is my connection to people, to places, to experiences.

Last year I wanted to try to eat more whole grains, so I purchased lots of them. But I didn't cook with them. This year I will seek out tasty recipes to make using them a breeze, instead of a chore. Since food is about relationships, I will also try to learn more about where the most flavorful food comes from. Usually those who create great food are passionate about what they do, and that passion is infectious and exciting.

Last year I tried not to take food too seriously, but everywhere I turned food was the source of great debate. I'm going to try to stay out of the debate, I'll watch from the sidelines perhaps, but I don't want to let the debate get in the way of the deliciousness. I promise not to let my fear of the scientific ingredients in molecular gastronomy, or any scary bits of offal distract me from anything that tastes good. It's a resolution I think I can live with.

This is the second time that I have listed my top 10 tastes for a year. The flavor highlight of this year was a three-week trip to Vietnam at the beginning of the year. Truth be told, I could easily list at least 10 tastes I had there that rocked my world. But in order to give a little balance to the list, I've chosen just two from that trip and the others from other travels and from my home city.

As with last year, these tastes are in chronological order.

Pepper Leaf Pork at a street vendor, Hanoi.
People often ask me about the best thing that I ate in Vietnam. I usually hedge on the answer because it's a difficult one. But often, my mind travels back to this bite. It was pork wrapped in a leaf -- pepper leaf or betel leaf, I don't remember -- and grilled. The whole package was then wrapped in lettuce with condiments.

Grilled Goat at the Boiled Goat Inn, Ho Chi Minh City.
It was a hot day in Saigon when my friend and I decided to try the Boiled Goat Inn. The menu had five items: boiled goat meat, fried goat meat, roasted goat meat, mixed sour goat meat and "goat meat boiled with Chinese medicine." We ordered the roasted goat meat which involved our cooking it at the table on small grills and then wrapping the goat meat in lettuce and dipping it. Fantastic.

Bun Cha Ca at Bodega Bistro, San Francisco.
I'd never eaten Bun Cha Ca until I had it at the most famous place to eat it in Hanoi. It was very good there, but I actually really love the Bodega Bistro rendition that I ate when I returned to San Francisco. Noodle Pie does a great job of describing this dish. It's basically white fish in oil with saffron, dill and peanuts. The large amount of dill and the side of rice noodles, salad wraps and herbs makes this a wonderfully fresh tasting dish.

Mushroom Pizza at Ken's Artisan Pizza, Portland.
I wrote about this when I first tasted it, and eight months later, I am still thinking about the delicious pizzas at Ken's. Like so many things on this list, part of the deliciousness of the taste was also wrapped up in the experience of the night: great friends, great wine, and a wonderful trip.

Lamb Popsicles at Vij's, Vancouver.
I spent a few days in Vancouver over Memorial Day weekend, and ate a delicious meal at Vij's, an upscale Indian restaurant that is world renowned for it's cuisine. The lamb popsicles are served with a fenugreek cream curry, heavily spiced and delicious.

Malted vanilla ice cream with peanut brittle and milk chocolate chunks at Bi-Rite Creamery, San Francisco.
As was evident when I posted this post outlining my ice cream forays for a week in July, I love this ice cream from Bi-Rite Creamery . I've had to force myself to try other flavors at the Creamery because every time the aforementioned ice cream is available, I gravitate straight to it.

Porchetta sandwich made with Roli Roti Porchetta, San Francisco.
One of the fun additions of the Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market this year is that Thomas, the roaster at Roli Roti has started making a drop-dead amazing porchetta along with his rotisserie chickens. It's not always available, but when it is, Thomas offers it by the pound or in a sandwich. He sprinkles it with sea salt and rosemary. On the day that Jeanne and I canned tomatoes, we picked up some of the porchetta and made our own sandwiches at home with Della Fattoria ciabatta, Philippe's mustard, and a tomato. Heaven.

Fresh shelling beans with pork soffrito and the panino at SPQR, San Francisco.
I know that I should shut up about SPQR already, but I can't help myself. SPQR gets two tastes of my year. The shelling beans are offered as part of the small plates, and it's a bowl of soupy beans topped with crispy pork that is homey and comforting and I want to lick the bowl every time I have it. The panino is basically a grilled sweet dessert sandwich that has a dulce de leche style filling with pears and is topped with chocolate and fleur de sel. It's an "Oh my God" dish, as many people -- friends and strangers -- who I have made taste it exclaim that upon their first bite.

Bone marrow dumpling at the Schneider home, Oakland.
When I was invited to Derrick and Melissa's house for dinner in November, I knew that I was in for a treat. The best taste of the night was a crispy fried ball on top of the salad that was full of bone marrow. This bite epitomized perfect tastes -- it was just one small bite that left me wanting more and more.

I hope you had as many wonderful tastes in 2007, and wish you many more for 2008!

My friend Ed works crazy long hours making sure people are fed well. Fortunately, he also knows how to party. More to the point, he knows how to throw down one hell of a spread and mixes generous, powerful drinks.

Thus, I blame him for my momentary lapse of politics. It's been roughly a year since I gave up shrimp, confused and frustrated and devastated. Then, at a recent bash, Ed laid out platters piled high with buttery, herby, perfectly poached shrimp. My powers of resistance were strong for a good half hour, then slowly, steadily, the other guests' swoons of delight and the potency of sangria convinced me to try one...just one....

Two dozen plump prawns later, I remembered my boycott. I ate another dozen while contemplating their deadly deliciousness. I convinced at least two other guests to consider not eating shrimp while finishing my last plate. And when I got home, I emailed Ed for the recipe.

He obliged me with his secrets, which I offer now verbatim for anyone looking for easy holiday party food:

Ed's Party Shrimp

• I filled a stock pot with water and about enough salt for it to taste like the sea (about 1/2 to 3/4 cup).
• I added about 3 cups of dry vermouth. (It's what I had left over after a night of martinis).
• I then threw in one tin of the fish rub that I found in the spice rack at the grocery store. If you are morally opposed to using pre-packaged fish rub then I suppose you could substitute with about 1/2 cup of the following chopped/ground and combined: rosemary, thyme, sage, marjoram, parsley, onion, garlic, pepper, celery seed, oregano, basil (basically a mystery basket of cupboard spices)
• I quartered 2 lemons, squeezed the juice into the broth..and then threw in the rinds too.
• Here's the secret.....two sticks of butter (sshhh!). Just throw it in too.
• Bring to a boil...then simmer for 15 minutes.
• I used frozen shrimp. Cook the shrimp in the simmering liquid in small batches for about 3 minutes each.

Voila! Yummy...BUTTERY shrimp!

THE DARKER SIDE OF SHRIMP

As someone raised happily on my mother's spring rolls, black pepper shrimp, caramelized shrimp, shrimp dumpling soup, shrimp fried rice, and just plain ol' spicy stir-fried shrimp, giving them up has been one of the most difficult diet changes I've tried to make. They're so succulent and versatile and easy to cook. And they're everywhere -- which is, unfortunately part of the problem.

It was during one of my early trips back to Vietnam that I first realized the devastating effect on my homeland as rice farmers and fishermen moved to the lucrative, fast, easy promises of shrimp farming. I could hardly blame war-torn, embargo-crippled families for trying to make a living. Through the 90s, though, shrimp and prawns became a standard item on every restaurant menu, and as Southeast Asian food became popular, so did one of its staples. Jumbo shrimp became gourmet rather than simply an oxymoronic joke. They became affordable and, for the home cook, approachable.

However, that popularity came at a steep price. Nearly 40 percent of the world's mangroves, crucial to the health of the oceans, has been destroyed because of shrimp farming along coastal areas. In Thailand, it takes roughly three years for a shrimp farm to ruin the local ecosystem; many farms simply pick up operations and move further along the coast, hopscotching until there's no clean coast available.

Inland ponds require heavy use of chemicals to clean the water and kill the viral invasions endemic to intensive farming. The European Union bars all shrimp from China, where carcinogenic chemicals appears frequently in farmed shrimp; the U.S. still imports it.

Another heavy impact comes hidden in the shrimp's feed: while in the wild they scavenge, on farms they're fed fish much higher on the food chain.

THE SILVER LINING

Fortunately, there's a tiny tiny bit of light for shrimp lovers.

The strongest among us have already become vegetarians, but for others like me, with weaker wills tied more directly to emotional and sensual cravings, searching out good shrimp is possible.

The Monterey Bay Aquarium's Seafood Watch lists a few options for those who still crave a taste of shrimp now and then. Currently best on the list are wild-caught prawns and spot shrimp from British Columbia, and wild-caught ocean or cocktail shrimp from Oregon. Small, cold-water shrimp are the most sustainable. True, they're not as sexy as those big, lusty, warm-water prawns. However, anyone even remotely worried about the future of our planet should avoid these oversized, striped crustaceans.

Wild-caught is no guarantee, as by-catch is always a problem, but look for those from domestic companies. Small pink or white shrimp are generally -- very generally -- a safer bet for the conscientious eater than large, brown, imported shrimp.

Sustainable shrimp farming is still in its infancy. That said, Ecuador has surpassed other countries in developing organic, nonpolluting shrimp farms. EcoFish imports it under the name "Henry & Lisa's Natural Shrimp." Look for their bags of cooked or raw shrimp in the freezer section of naturally-minded, full-service markets.

I was dreading lunar new year without my family's recipe for spring rolls. The tofu version is fine the rest of the year, but it never inspires me to heights of celebration. So, I'm very glad to know that, come February, I'll be able to make my mom's cha gio.

MORE INFO

Some links for those interested in learning more:

• NASA's Earth Observatory shows before and after Landsat images of shrimp farming effects along the Pacific Coast of Honduras, one of the largest importers of the crustaceans to the U.S.

• The Environmental Justice Foundation created a short film about shrimp farming along the eastern coast of Brazil.

• Shrimp News International offers a detailed description of shrimp farming. Food wonks immune to industry spin might like scrolling down to see the charts and illustrations showing the life cycle of shrimp (missionary position!) or how El Nino affects the supply of larvae . Be forewarned: the text is a strong reminder that shrimp are, after all, just swimming insects.

• The Chefs Collaborative's communique with recommendations for sustainable shrimp was directed at restaurants, but the home cook can also use their excellent information.

• The White Boot Brigade, based in New Orleans, is a nonprofit dedicated to developing a sustainable shrimp industry in Louisiana. They work to educate businesses and consumers about the economic, environmental and social benefits of supporting small family fleets that harvest shrimp from the Gulf.

• And, finally, what's the difference between a shrimp and a prawn? In the U.S., nothing. Though there's sometimes a vague sense of "specialness" about prawns, the two words appear in menus and markets interchangeably. Australians, however, apparently make a point of remembering that prawns have evenly overlapping abdominal segments and that their females release eggs to currents rather than brooding them. For them, Americans are silly and confusing for calling shrimp prawns and vice versa.

I hate black licorice. I don't drink pastis or ouzo or sambuca, so why the hell was I standing outside Hangar One-St. George Spirits on a December morning in a thin jacket waiting for them to throw open the doors to Absinthe Verte, the nation's first absinthe? If you had asked me at 10:30, my wind-numbed lips wouldn't have issued anything more intelligent beyond, "...'cuz?" At 12:30, my absinthe-numbed lips told a very different story, "Frabjous! Refulgent! EUDEMONIA!" Quite frankly, if the Jabberwocky had a signature drink, Absinthe Verte would be it.

With the doors set to open at 11:00 on a Friday morning on December 21st, we thought we were playing it safe by arriving in Alameda at 10:30. However, as there were about 160 people in line ahead of us, clearly others were playing it safer. We were in line not even 20 minutes when the line behind us snaked and bulged exponentially. When the doors did finally open at 11:00, the news came out that they were allowing in groups of 10.

St. George Spirits made 3600 bottles and after they distributed to their choice stores and bar and other accounts, they had 1600-ish bottles left to sell to those of us who showed up on this chill December morn. Given that they weren't restricting the amount each customer could carry off, it was going to be tight for some.

Once inside, we smiled at those buying up cases of four, secured our single bottle for $75.00*, and headed to the tasting room for our $10 sip of liquid envy. Sporting green shirts announcing, "Green is the new black," St. George Spirits' alchemists slithered bright green, one ounce-pours into elegant and keepable glasses and slipped a small shard of ice on top. We were advised to taste quickly before the ice melted and blanched the clear cheeks a pearly green. Happily complying, I felt my lips go numb and my tongue tingle. I tasted not the dreaded intensity of black jelly beans, but a gossamer haze of fennel, lemon balm, and mint.

Clean and herbaceous, Absinthe Verte is unlike other varieties that often summon up a traditional sugar cube filter to mitigate their bitter edge. Alone or with the tiniest splash of cold water, Absinthe Verte blew my muse to a brillig place of spongy clouds, buzzing with emerald bees. As I swam through my happy mist that also warbled about stinging nettles, basil, tarragon, hyssop, wormwood, meadowsweet, and star anise, it hit me: absinthe does make the heart grow fonder, the meaning of life is easy to find if you just look for it, and St. George Spirits has lusted up one happily wicked drink.

While I have absolutely no desire to profane this blithe spirit with anything beyond ice or water, I spoke with Dave Smith, Assistant Distiller, about cocktail ideas. His eyes glowing, he told me about a cocktail his friend whipped up: simply shake some citron vodka (I think Hangar One's Buddha's Hand might do well) with ice and pour it into an absinthe-rinsed cocktail glass. (Rinsed right into your mouth, I would think!) However, at this celebratory time of year, Hemingway's famous Death in the Afternoon might get your party started (or ended) with just champagne and absinthe. Finally, you can try this historic and area-appropriate tipple from the Stork Club.

Earthquake Cocktail

1 ounce gin
1 ounce bourbon
3/4 ounce absinthe

Shake with ice and serve in a cocktail glass.

All over the city Bay Area bartenders are rushing to create absinthe-based cocktails, because for the near future, absinthe definitely replaces St. Germain as the new It spirit.

For any unfortunates who didn't manage to wrap their cold fists around any of the first 3600 bottles, don't despair. Dave said that while Absinthe Verte is their "most complicated product" that they "can't just make on the fly," they do hope to have their next batch bottled by the end of January. Get in line now.

*(In the interest of full disclosure, I did pay the full amount for my bottle of Absinthe Verte and my $10 taste. I also didn't muscle through the patient crowd, flashing my KQED press badge, and jump the queue. Nope. I stood there and waited my turn with everyone else and I'm proud of it.)

When the weather turns cold and Christmasy, what do you think about? Chances are you think about roaring fires, snowflake-patterned sweaters, or lacing the chestnut stuffing with arsenic. Me, I think about Scandinavian food. In particular, my mind wanders to gravlax.

Perhaps it's just a reaction against all the frosted sugar cookies and enforced glee, but the desire for something clean and salty that comes from a land prone to waves of alcoholism and depression during the long, dark, and cold winter months is irresistible to me.

Gravlax, gravad lax, gravlaks, graavilohi or graflax. However you spell it, it's salmon cured with salt, sugar, and dill. Traditionally, it is served with a gravlaxsas-- a sauce of dill and mustard, and with dense, dark bread or boiled potatoes, but Christmastime is no time to think of tradition, certainly.

Gravlax is a fisherman's dish, originally of salmon salted and the buried in the sand above the high tide line. If you hadn't made the connection between the Scandinavian grav and our word grave, then you weren't paying attention. It should now come as no surprise that the true meaning of gravlax is "salmon dug into the ground." If you, in turn, could now explain to me the true meaning of Christmas, I'll call us even.

The original dish was somewhat fermented, not unlike the way those clever Vietnamese make that lovely fish sauce I used to put into everything, but times have changed. Today, the only burying done to the salmon is in salt and sugar.

If you are as tired of cookies and fudge as I am, this is a great treat to take to a party or have at your own. It's remarkably easy, taking very little skill, which I appreciate during the Holidays. All that is required is a little forward planning.

Gravlax

There are hundreds of recipes for gravlax. I don't know why, since it's basically the product of very few ingredients. The one I used for the purposes of this blog is a good one, but everyone, especially Norwegians, is bound to argue about the exact ratio of salt to sugar. All I have to say is please, not on Christmas, Dawn, not on Christmas.

Ingredients

1 to 2 pounds salmon fillet, sliced into equal pieces. If you want to get fancy, buy center cuts. I, however, do not care.
1/4 cup kosher salt
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon of cracked black pepper
1 bunch of dill
a splash or two of alcohol-- Akvavit is traditional, but vodka or brandy works well, too.

Preparation

1. Remove pin bones, if any, from salmon with needle nose pliers or tweezers.
2. In a small bowl, combine salt, sugar, and pepper.
3. Rub both sides of salmon fillets with salt and sugar mixture. My salt and sugar, when preparing my mise en place for this blog looked very much like a granulated Maidenform bra when poured.

4. Spread remaining sugar and salt mixture onto the pink, fleshy side of the fillets and sprinkle with your booze of choice, but not too much.

5. Lay dill more or less evenly over one of the fillets. I like to crush it in my hands to release the essential oils. Place the second fillet on top of it to form a sandwich, with the salmon acting as the bread. If this is difficult for you to follow, I don't want to know you.

6. Place your "sandwich in an appropriately-sized freezer bag, removing as much air as possible. Close the bag.

7. Place your package in a shallow baking dish or pan and place a weight evenly over it. There is much disagreement about this step. Some people like 5-to-8 pounds of weight, others, none at all. Weighing down the salmon produces a denser finished (or Finnish, in this case) product. I decided to go for something lightweight in both the literal and literary sense.

8. Refrigerate for 2 to 3 days, turning the salmon every 12 hours or so.

9. After the appropriate amount of time, take salmon out of the bag, scrap off most of the dill and pat dry with paper towels. Once cured, the gravlax should stay "fresh", or at least, good, for a week, if refrigerated and well-wrapped.

To serve, slice at a 45 degree angle, as thinly as possible and leaving the skin behind. Drink a little glasas of Akvavit or vodka to toast your good fortunes. Or drink a bit of champagne, that pairs well, too. Did I mention that this is a great New Year's Eve or New Year's Day breakfast dish? No? Well, it is.

You have until tomorrow, Friday December 21st, to donate to Menu for Hope, and bid on any number of priceless prizes donated by food bloggers all over the world. As you already know, Ms. Pim of Chez Pim has organized this impressive fund raising event for the past four years. This year she's picked The United Nations' World Food Programme, as she did last year, but for 2007 she's made a special request,

"With a special permission from the WFP, the funds raised by Menu for Hope 4 will be earmarked for the school lunch program in Lesotho, Africa. We chose to support the school lunch program because providing food for the children not only keeps them alive, but keeps them in school so that they learn the skills to feed themselves in the future. We chose to support the program in Lesotho because it is a model program in local procurement - buying food locally to support local farmers and the local economy. Instead of shipping surplus corn across the ocean, the WFP is buying directly from local subsistent farmers who practice conservation farming methods in Lesotho to feed the children there."

In the spirit of supporting local food economy, one of the USA West Coast prizes has been amended as of the afternoon of Wednesday December 19.

(UW17) Dinner for 8 prepared by Brett Emerson
Brett Emerson, owner of the soon to be opened Contigo, is offering dinner made for 8 people in his new Noe Valley home. Wines to be paired and picked by none other than our very own wine blogging superstar, Alder Yarrow of Vinography. And desserts will be made by yours truly, Shuna fish Lydon of Eggbeater. Triple threat, no doubt.

This all-star dinner could be yours for a mere $10!

More USA West Coast prizes can be found here at Rasa Malaysia. But if you're a jet-setting world traveler you may want to bid on a personal tour of the El Bulli kitchen {EU31}, or have lunch with your not-so-secret lover at Alain Passard's 3 Michelin star L'Arpege in Paris one lovely afternoon {EU40}, to name just 2 insanely amazing possibilities!

The prizes are varied and beyond your wildest imagination. Delicious in every regard. Please take a few minutes to head over to First Giving and help us raise a record amount this year. (Last year we raised $60,925.12)

How To?

- To donate, go to First Giving. To specify a specific prize, follow the instructions on the Chez Pim website (scroll down to the instructions and screenshots).