Having lived through a rash of daylight shootings up and down my immediate area of Divisadero last summer (no deaths, yet no arrests, natch), I was definitely cynical about the new farmers' market at Divisadero and Grove. Comments like, "Is that Swiss cheese or bullet holes? " and "I guess I'll definitely be getting my iron at this market!" flew between my husband and myself. However, I was also excited by the prospect of walking only two blocks to get my hands on some (hopefully) prime produce.

Clearly, I wasn't the only one whose mind ran along those lines, because denizens of SFist were likewise snarky and hopeful when the news was announced:

"People! I think we have a solid nominee for next year's SFBG "Best Farmer's Market At Which To Get Shot"..."

"Bitchin'! I just moved there. Now I can buy tomatoes to the sound of cat-calls being made at anything with boobs!"

"Thankfully the gun activity around there seems to have died (ahem) down compared to last year, but it's still a thug magnet. I guess Sunday afternoon is one of the better times to take parking away from Lily's BBQ and the pot club, but the lot is TINY - where are the farm trucks going to park, in the lot? Sounds like a potential clusterfuck, but I appreciate the efforts of NOPNA and ASNA to improve their property values. OK, that was snarky. I'll be there!"

My biggest curiosity was: "Who will go?" and I got my answer on opening market day, last Sunday, July 13: Lots of people.

Sure, it wasn't at all like being thronged within an inch of your life at the Ferry Building, but a hearty neighborhood crowd did turn out to look over the exotic Asian vegetables, okra and squash from Modesto, summer fruit a-plenty, a riot of jewel-bright flowers.

While a few denizens stood on the periphery and disdainfully counted how many farm stalls made up this half-block farmer's market, more jumped right in and shopped, pausing only to sign Ross Mirkarimi's petition to continue his superhero tenure as the District 5 supe.

The North of Panhandle Neighborhood Association manned a table to collect membership donations, sell "Respect the Neighborhood" bags and signs, and hand out flyers for the Alamo Square Flea Market.

At the end of the 30 minutes it took to make a full circuit and go back to buy, I went home with a bag filled with dusky-scented tomatoes and warm fuzzies. I'll definitely be going back.

Operated by the Pacific Coast Farmers' Market Association, the Divisadero Farmers' Market is located on Grove at Divisadero and operates on Sundays from 10 AM-12 PM until September 12th.

Forget for a moment that the late Hiroaki "Rocky" Aoki was a heavy-drinking playboy who once boasted of impregnating three different women at the same time. Forget that his Benihana empire turned his family into some Japanese-American version of Akira Kurosawa's Ran. And try, too, to forget that trademark jheri-curled head of his.

Rocky Aoki helped change the way America looked at Asian food and, in his own special way, how Americans dined.

The cultural confusion displayed in this commercial shows us just how far we, for the most part, have come in our acceptance of "Oriental" Cuisine-- a term which now seems quaint, even racist. Before Mr. Aoki opened the first Benihana Restaurant in New York City in 1964, "Oriental" food meant, to most Americans, chop suey and fortune cookies-- both, incidentally, American inventions.

Despite its Japanese trappings, Benihana is a distinctly American restaurant. Named for Mr. Aoki's parents' coffee shop, which was itself named after a little red flower discovered surviving the fire-bombing of their Tokyo neighborhood, the concept behind the new, Japanese-style dining-experience was brilliant.

Take American ingredients like steak, shrimp, and chicken, cook them up in a setting heavy with paper screens and lacquer work, pipe in some hypnotic shamisen music, and have it all served up by, not waiters, but cleaver-juggling chefs.

It didn't seem to matter that the food wasn't exactly Japanese. Mr. Aoki's success lay in the fact that he persuaded American to think it was.

And his idea could not have come at a better time. Benihana was born just months before the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act was passed, reversing decades of exclusionary policies against immigrants from Asia, as well as other non-Western nations.

Though Aoki's concept of a Japanese Steakhouse was, at the time, anything but authentic Japanese food, by getting Americans used to the idea of Asian cuisine through the dressing up of essentially non-threatening foodstuffs in vaguely exotic-yet-accessible dishes, the road ahead was made clear for the advent of later Asian food crazes, like sushi in the 1970's, Thai in the 80's, and Vietnamese in the 90's.

Benihana, too, was instrumental in moving the theatrics of dining away from the waiter, with his twin, dying arts of Caesar salad-tossing and Crêpes Suzette-flaming, and over to cooks with samurai-like knife skills and their lightening-fast slicing of animal flesh. There was (and hopefully still is) always an element of danger and surprise when dining teppan-side, as though one might wind up finding a finger, curled and sizzling, among the scampi.

Mr. Aoki died last week of undisclosed causes, plagued by hepatitis C, diabetes, and cirrhosis of a liver once sliced in two. He lived the American dream of fame and fortune, and died amid the nightmare of litigious children and bitter ex-wives. He lived fast and died quietly. He was a source of both outrage and outrageousness. And he was as American as apple pie or, more accurately, a Japanese Steakhouse.

Sayonara, Mr. Aoki.

Wine tasting is usually not a preferred outing with small children. I don’t regularly take my kids to tasting rooms and don’t necessarily recommend that you take your own kids to Napa and Sonoma for a weekend winery tour. That said, after stumbling upon a few wineries while on family vacations, I have found that, in some places, wine tasting with kids in tow can actually be fun for everyone. It has been my experience that vineyards in out-of-the way places are pretty accepting of kids being part of the experience, and, in some cases, quite welcoming. Many wineries off the beaten track don’t seem to mind if your kids frolic though the gardens and vines as long as you are respectful of the property. This is especially true if you purchase a few bottles of wine before you hightail it out of there. Of course, you have to make doubly sure you don’t sip too much before getting behind the wheel, particularly when you’re about to drive on a bumpy Hawaiian road that leads part-way up to a volcano (but more about that in a bit).

I’ve always loved visiting vineyards, especially with my husband who is a wine enthusiast. I also have always relished spending a little time at a vineyard. The lush green landscapes filled with grape vines surrounded by roses and wisteria really appeals to my inner-world fantasy of going back in time and living as a member of the landed gentry. Before our daughters were born, we would occasionally go to Sonoma or Napa, and have since made journeys up there without kids. I had never actually gone wine tasting with our kids until recently, however, and all of our previous visits were planned events. Before we had kids, we took some typical France and Spain vacations with visits to tasting rooms in old cobblestone buildings full of boisterous German tourists -- one group’s fashion ensembles were so eclectic that we weren’t sure if we were a bit dizzy from too much wine or too much plaid mixed with stripes -- but these outings were specifically made to find vineyards and taste wine.

I’ve found, however, that although it’s fun to plan out your visits to the wine country, discovering wineries in unexpected locations can be even more fun. We had two such experiences in the last year. One was at Tedeschi Vineyards, a pineapple winery we found in Maui, and the second Navarro Vineyards in Mendocino County. Although we should have expected to find wine in the latter location, as it’s in the Anderson Valley, we were camping at the time and looking for a fun place to play in the river. We were therefore surprised when we rounded a bend and came face to face with a vineyard whose wines we had enjoyed in the past at a friend’s house.

While we were in Maui last year, we heard about Tadeschi Vineyards on the way to Mount Haleakala. As we had missed the sunrise, were too early for the sunset, and the drive up the volcano was two hours each way, we decided to do a little wine tasting instead. Tadeschi Vineyards is near the end of the main winding highway on the inner part of Maui. I think the road once went through to Hana, but when we were there, the extended road was closed. Although it’s quite close -- as the crow flies -- to Kihei and Wailea, it’s about an hour’s drive to both. So we made our way down to the vineyard, and if our kids hadn’t been moaning about how they were missing a day at the beach the whole time, the drive would have been lovely.

When we got to the vineyard, I was surprised that it was fairly crowded. The wine tasting area is set up to do a brisk business, and there were retired people and families everywhere, buying up pineapple dishtowels, candles, jams and, of course, wine. They make wine made from both pineapples and grapes, and I have to say I liked neither, but we bought a couple of bottles of the pineapple stuff anyway and had them shipped to our house for curiosity’s sake. Although the drive took a while and the wine wasn’t great, I loved visiting Tadeschi Vineyards. The winery itself is beautiful and, once we left the bustle of the shop full of kitsch, we were able to roam around and enjoy the grounds while our kids explored the property.

Even closer is Navarro Vineyards. Although this fairly well-known winery is located in the heart of the Anderson Valley, we were in the area to camp and so weren’t really expecting go wine tasting the first time we happened upon them. There are a few really great things about Navarro Vineyards. In addition to it being near the Navarro River, which is fun to play in, they make every attempt to be a sustainable working farm, avoiding insecticides and herbicides, banding the area with lots of cover crops to keep the beneficial insect population in business, and using chickens and goats to weed and fertilize the grounds. They also utilize solar panels to help power their operation. Navarro also makes really great grape juice, and the tasting room staff is happy to pour some for your kids so they can enjoy something to drink and feel included in the experience while you swirl your Pinot Noir. Finally, they also make some very nice wines which are, for the most part, only available via mail order or in their shop. So, stopping by on your way to raft in the Navarro River has its advantages. Other great wineries are also in the area, such as Scharffenberger Cellars just down the road in Philo.

As I’m always on the lookout for mixing outings with wine tastings, I’d love to hear about any wineries you’ve stumbled upon during your own travels, and if you found them to be kid friendly. Although my budget will not guarantee that I will get to them all, I can always dream.

Soup and salad, ham and cheese, rice and beans, peanut butter and jelly, dinner and a movie, all great combos. This Summer there are lots of opportunities to see a movie and get a bite to eat without going to a traditional theater. Here are my top picks around the Bay:

1. Charles Chocolates Summer Movie Series
On the patio at the Emeryville factory and store location you can see a movie and snack on caramel popcorn. Bring your own chair, couch or blanket and join the fun. On July 25th see Big Night, on August 8th it's Mostly Martha and August 22nd Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (the Tim Burton version) Movies start at 8:30 and are FREE but please RSVP. Movies start at 8:30 pm. 6529 Hollis St. Emeryville

2. Friday Night Flicks at Copia
What to do in Napa after a day of wine tasting? See a movie! Upcoming films include Dinner at Eight, Rear Window and the Seven-Year Itch. Films start at 8:00 and tickets are $7 general admission and $6 for members. You can purchase tickets online or on-site. Have dinner at Julias' Kitchen for $29 or get a cheap bite to eat next door at the Oxbow Market. Copia is located at 500 First St in Napa.

3. Cinema Supper Club
At the Legion of Honor you can see movies with a San Francisco backdrop. On July 17th see The Conversation, on August 7th it's Harold and Maude. For a full listing of films check out the events calendar. Screenings begin at 8pm and tickets are $20 but include admission to the art galleries. Dinner is sold separately in the cafe. Purchase tickets at museumtix.com. The Legion is located at 34 Avenue and Clement St in Lincoln Park, San Francisco.

Sneaking in your own snack? Here's an easy recipe:

Kettle Corn

Makes: 8-10 cups

Ingredients:
1/4 Cup oil
1/2 Cup popcorn
3 Tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt

Preparation:
1. Heat oil in a large pot, over medium heat.
2. Add the popcorn when the oil is hot and begins to shimmer.
3. Sprinkle the sugar over the kernels, tightly cover and shake the pan to keep the corn from sticking.
4. When the popping slows down remove the pot from the heat and toss with salt.

All of a sudden, it seems that everyone around me is doing a cleanse. I went to a work meeting a couple weeks back, and one of the women ordered a salad with no dressing, lemon on the side, and had an at-length conversation with the server about sugar in the dressing. "I'm on a cleanse," she explained.

Dooce did it. Bay Area blogger extraordinaire Jennifer Jeffrey did it.

And in the greatest tipping point of them all, Oprah got into the cleanse craze after reading Kathy Freston's book Quantum Wellness. Oprah ate a vegan diet and gave up alcohol and caffeine for 21 days. Of course in typical Oprah style, she had a private chef cooking for her most days who even overnighted vegan food to her in Las Vegas when she was desperate.

Generally, a cleanse is a strict elimination diet which usually requires eating lots of fruits and vegetables and eliminating items such as meat, animal products, alcohol, caffeine and processed foods. Some extreme versions of cleanses go even further. The Master Cleanse eliminates all solid food, has the cleansers drink a fresh lemon juice and use laxatives for up to 45 days.

People who are cleansing do so in order to re-set their system, remove toxins, and lose weight.

But not everyone is a proponent of a cleanse. Many people in the medical community say that cleanses are unnecessary and dangerous, stating that the science is "deeply flawed" and ineffective long term.

I am in the midst of a five-day detox of my own -- cutting out alcohol, meat, cheese, fried and processed foods, sugar, and most dairy. I am basically doing it because I have been over-indulging a ton lately and had a few days open in my social calendar where I could just focus on eating good food at home. But I can't imagine doing a master cleanse -- good, satisfying food is too much a part of my daily life.

Have you cleansed? Are you a proponent of giving your digestive system a break every once in a while, or do you agree with much of the medical community that we already have systems in place to do this on a regular basis without cleansing?

As a member of a recently formed meat club, one that divides up monthly deliveries from Marin Sun Farms, I have been revisiting some of my favorite beef, lamb and goat recipes. After a few years of rarely cooking big pieces of meat in my kitchen (the meat lover in my heart is always duking it out with the vegetarian of my brain), I had a large roast in the freezer that required some attention.

An invitation to a Provencal-style patio party helped me decide what to do with that hunk of tri-tip. Beouf en daube, anyone?

There are as many ways of making this classic dish as there are stew pots, but one version, with big chunks of carrots, glossy shallots, and briny green olives is my own favorite. Gentle cooking in an airtight pot is the key, and purists will insist that you make it three days before serving it, reheating it along the way to meld and then re-meld all the ingredients into a rich, complex stew.

I have been known to simmer a stew for a mere two hours on the day of serving. It really does make a difference to let it mature for a couple of days, however, as the leftovers just keep getting better and better.

A few tips for making a daube so good that you will not actually have that much left in the pot after your dinner party…

Use a heavy pan with a very tight-fitting lid. When browning the meat, don't salt in advance or there will be excess moisture, which leads to steaming. Some cooks don't salt at all before browning stew meat. Likewise, avoid crowding the pan. It's worth it, for flavor, to brown in two or three batches. If all those chunks of meat are touching each other, you've put in too many. Wait until the meat releases itself from the bottom of the pan -- if it's still gripping, it's not ready to be turned yet. Aim for nice, deep brown edges in order to establish a meaty base for your stew.

If I'm feeling happy, I might flame off the meat with some cognac. If I'm in a rush, I skip this.

Remove the meat to a plate, spoon out excess fat or add extra fat as needed. (Tri-tip won't give off much at all, so I keep a jar of duck fat in my freezer for emergencies like this.) Then, continue with the vegetables.

For long-cooked stews, keep your vegetables in big pieces. For this version, I used whole shallots and some whole garlic cloves. Some people like to cook them separately and add later, perhaps stirring them in just before serving. I've never liked this because the flavors are never deep enough for me. I'm willing to sacrifice some carrot color for carrot complexity. Lots of fresh thyme, a sprinkle of herbes en Provence, a few strips of orange zest and a couple of bay leaves round out the mirepoix.

Green olives from the south of France, say picholine, would be appropriate, but those big Greek ones are fine, too. I keep meaning to try the pitted ones stuffed with almonds or garlic, but being rather conservative with comforting food like this, I have stuck with plain olives. I do think the pimento-stuffed ones would look silly.

Old recipes call for a handful. I love olives, so my own recipe calls for two big fistfuls.

If they still have their pits, spread them in a single layer on your cutting board and crush them gently with the bottom of a saucepan. Then pop out their pits. You can be a heartless, lazy host and leave in the pits. Just be sure to warn your guests!

My own not-so-secret technique for adding body, especially with flavorful but lean cuts such as tri-tip, is to pour in a full bottle of wine (minus one glass for the cook, of course) and then toss in a pig's foot. Ask the butcher to cut it in half lengthwise. And if you're wondering where the heck you find a pig's foot, head to the nearest market frequented by Asian, Latino or African-American cooks. I usually remove the foot before serving, snacking on its winey goodness by myself while standing in the kitchen.

If you prefer, you can use a thick piece of fatback, which you can find at most supermarkets.

Or, to avoid pork entirely, you can make a thick paste of equal amounts butter and flour, a.k.a beurre manier, to stir into the stew 15 minutes before serving.

Or, you can just enjoy your stew on the thinner, healthier side.

Before my pan goes into the oven, I seal it with a long, thick rope rolled out from a firm dough of just flour and water. You could try using foil beneath the lid for an extra layer of moisture barrier instead. I once thought all this merely frivolous -- until I gently cooked away all the liquid of one of my stews and had to start over with a cobbled together sauce half an hour before the guests arrived.

If you're taking the stew to a potluck, keep the lid sealed on it. If you have a heavy cast-iron pot and wrap it in a thick towel, it'll stay warm for a good hour. I like to serve daube with wide, parsley egg noodles or garlicky mashed potatoes, or lots and lots of crusty bread.

BEOUF EN DAUBE
To make a dough for sealing the lid, stir a small amount of tepid water into about 3 cups of flour to form a stiff dough. Knead briefly, then roll into a long, thick rope; cover and set aside until needed.

Makes: 12 servings

Ingredients:
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 pounds beef roast, such as tri-tip, cut into large cubes
1 large carrot, cut into thick rounds
8 shallots, peeled
8 cloves garlic, peeled
Small bunch of fresh thyme
1 teaspoons herbes de Provence
4 wide strips of orange zest
2 bay leaves
1 bottle of dry red wine
2 to 4 cups good-quality beef or chicken stock
1 1/2 to 2 cups green olives, pitted
1 pig's foot, halved lengthwise and soaked in boiling water for 5 minutes
Salt and black pepper
Chopped flat-leaf parsley

Preparation:
1. Preheat the oven to 300 degrees F, making sure the rack is in the lower third of the oven to accommodate the pan.
2. Over a high flame, heat the olive oil in a heavy, Dutch-oven pan until it glistens. Add the meat in batches and cook until well browned on all sides. Remove to a plate and set aside.
3. Add or remove oil, if needed, then combine carrots, shallots, and garlic in the still-hot pan. Saute until fragrant and golden. Stir in the thyme, herbes de Provence, orange zest and bay leaves along with the reserved beef.
4. Pour in the wine and enough of the stock to cover the meat by 1 inch. Add the olives and then tuck in the pig's foot beneath the meat and vegetables. Bring to a simmer, then remove from the heat and cover.
5. Press the dough rope over the edge of the lid to seal tightly. Make sure there are no cracks or gaps. Place the pan into the oven and cook for 3 hours. Let cool completely, then refrigerate for 1 to 3 days, stirring and reheating once a day if possible. Remove the pig's foot, season to taste with salt and pepper and sprinkle with parsley just before serving.

I think beer is getting a little out of control. It all started with the Bud Light Lime, which is an okay idea, I guess. I mean, I'd much rather jam my own lime slice down the long neck of a Corona, but for the lazier out there who don't mind the taste of artificial lime mixed in with their frat beer? God bless. Yes, they say it's "100% natural lime," but they had to stabilize the juice for shelf life and filter it for clarity, so not sure how much natural is left.

However, Michelob has really gone overboard with their Ultra flavors, because Lime Cactus? Pomegranate Raspberry? TUSCAN ORANGE GRAPEFRUIT? Are these beers or wine coolers? Look, if you didn't want your mass-produced, skanky beer not to taste like mass-produced, skanky beer, here's a tip: stop making mass-produced, skanky beer!

Meanwhile, there are a ton of summer sippers out there just waiting to be quaffed. Here's my shortlist of summer suds:

Wailua Wheat, Kona Brewing Company (Kona, HI): Made by Kona Brewing in Hawaii and raved about here. In a nutshell, it's hoppy and fruity but not fruity like a fruit beer. The passionfruit is more of a kiss than a belt across the mouth. Also? It was featured in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. (You know you drink a lot of beer when you can recognize a beer by the neck label on a small television screen.)

Summer Solstice Cerveza Crema, Anderson Valley Brewing Company (Booneville, CA): I discovered Summer Solstice on a hot San Diego taco night. The spiced meat released the cold, creamy soul of the beer. If a root beer float were made with actual beer, it would be Summer Solstice.

Mothership Wit, New Belgium Brewing (Fort Collins, CO): Bright, white, and organic, Mothership is brewed with both wheat and barley malt along with a feisty dabble of bitter orange peel and coriander.

Skinny Dip, New Belgium Brewing (Fort Collins, CO): The bikini-friendly answer to New Belgium's classic Fat Tire. Skinny Dip is lower in calories and alcohol content but just as big and hoppy in the mouth. The light smudge of kaffir lime makes you happy to be alive.

Golden Monkey, Victory Brewing Company (Downington, PA): Spiky and weird, the beer bubbles in this pour are pure Belgian-style tripel. It sparkles in both your mouth and belly with a yeast-ful power that batters back even the stickiest of temps.

Sam Adams Summer Ale (Boston, MA): A wheat beer brewed with grains of paradise and citrus peel, making it lovely with an overstuffed lobster roll and a walk on a singing beach.

Boddingtons (Manchester, UK): The head on this beer is so thick, the ads in the UK show men shaving with it. It might be a bit on the hearty side for summer, but the bitter back-of-the-tongue thrill gives me happy goosebumps in any season.

Racer 5, Bear Republic Brewery (Healdsburg, CA): Unashamedly hoppy, this is definitely a beer for all seasons, but something about the heady strength makes it ultimate refreshment on a sweaty day or heavy night.

Magic Hat No. 9 (Burlington, VT): There's a strange but wonderful hint of summer stone fruit in this pale-ish ale, which the brewery itself calls "impossible to describe because there's never been anything else quite like it." I long for my East Coast life when No. 9 was stocked in my fridge and pray Magic Hat makes its delicious way West some day.

Cooking becomes problematic for me when the weather climbs above 85 degrees. Although I still want a delightful meal at the end of the day, I really don’t want to turn on my stove. So, what do you do when the Bay Area is going through yet another scorching week? Make gazpacho!

Until recently (uh… this week, actually) I'd never made gazpacho. I was inspired to concoct this cool Spanish soup, however, after tasting some at Cesar's Piedmont Avenue restaurant a couple of weeks ago. Unlike most red tomato gazpachos, the one at Cesar's that evening was a lovely lemony green and was made with cucumbers. It also had a bright summer flavor and was simple yet elegant.

Although I love most soups, I usually don’t go in for the cold ones. Give me a steaming hot vegetable, lentil, chicken, bean or broth soup and I’m quite happy. Cold soups, particularly the fruity variety, just don’t do it for me as they seem like the remnants of a smoothie left out on the counter. Cesar’s cucumber gazpacho, however, was in a class all its own. Smooth and cucumbery, with hints of lemon and vinegar, it was both refreshing and satisfying. My friend Ann and I liked it so much we wiped the plate clean with our bread.

The manager at Cesar's, Kathleen Ventura, was nice enough to give me a copy of the recipe, created by Chef Maggie Pond, when I asked for one. She also said she didn’t mind if I shared it here (thank you, Kathleen). The proportions are on the large side (as with any restaurant recipe), so I cut it down for home use.

When I made the gazpacho this week, I couldn’t believe how easy it was to prepare. I left off the fried croutons and pepper relish, and garnished with some simple cucumber slices instead. I also used Persian cucumbers instead of English cucumbers, simply because they were available at the store where I was shopping. I would think either English or Persian would be fine, or another variety without too many seeds, which can be bitter.

Following is the Cesar’s recipe, trailed by the home version I made that has smaller proportions. If you’re in the mood for a soup that takes less than five minutes to make, is cool and refreshing, and looks pretty in a bowl than I highly recommend it.

Cesar's English Cucumber Gazpacho

Serves: over 12

Ingredients:
8 English Cucumbers
1 1/4 cup Olive oil
1 cup Ice cold water
1 clove Garlic
1/2 cup White wine vinegar
2 Tbsp Fresh lemon juice
2 tsp Salt
1/4 tsp Black pepper
1/2 tsp Cayenne

Preparation:
1. Peel cucumbers and rough chop. Place all the ingredients in a large bow.
2. In small batches puree mixture in a blender.
3. Serve with fried croutons, a spoonful of pepper relish and a drizzle of Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

Note: For the best results, this should be made in a high speed blender. If you use a food processor you must remove the seeds from the cucumbers.

Home Recipe for Cucumber Gazpacho

Serves: 4-6

Ingredients:
2-3 English Cucumbers or 10 small Persian cucumbers (about 3 cups)
1/4 cup Olive oil
1/4 cup Ice cold water
1/2 small clove Garlic
1 Tbsp White wine vinegar
2 tsp Fresh lemon juice
dash of Salt
dash of Black pepper
a minute sprinkle of Cayenne

Preparation:
1. Peel cucumbers and rough chop. Place all the ingredients in a large bow.
2. In small batches puree mixture in a blender.
3. Garnish with cucumber and a smattering of Extra Virgin Olive Oil.
4. Serve with a fresh baguette.

Pretzels are a snack food to which I have never given much thought. They're crunchy and salty, or soft and chewy. Great with beer, great with mustard. Plain, dipped in chocolate or yogurt, they satisfy the basic urge to nosh mindlessly. They work well with myriad accompanying flavors, except possibly huckleberry, which I tried last night. Those, according to the waiter with whom they were shared, smelled like urinal cakes. Pretzels are at home in bars, ball parks, and low-budget parties. They are anything but high falutin.

When a friend mentioned I might talk about pretzels, I thought, "Why not?" Of course, if he asked me to walk into the middle of a Hell's Angels picnic singing show tunes, I'd probably do that, too. I am currently that open to suggestion. Pretzel-making, however, seems a much safer venture, so I did a little reading…

Legend has it that the pretzel was invented by a monk experimenting with leftover bread dough in or around the year 610 C.E.. He twisted the dough into the shape of a child’s arms folded across his (the child’s, not the monk’s) chest in prayer, a position not unlike the one made when jumping off a very tall cliff into the sea. I think that both the willingness to believe this tale and the act of cliff-jumping are alike in their need for a certain amount of blind faith in order to be successful. The priest gave these bready pretiolae or “little prayers” as rewards to children who managed to learn their prayers well. These treats became rather popular, spreading throughout Europe over the centuries, most notably in the German-speaking countries, where they became known as pretzels.

What is certain is that medieval monks used the inter-connected loops of the pretzel to help children grasp the concept of the Holy Trinity. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, all rolled up into one chewy treat. According to a number of sources, they became "an important symbol of Church life."

Above, Pieter Breugel's "The Fight between Carnival and Lent," 1559. Pretzels were also known as "Lenten Bread." Today, of course, the are synonymous with carnivals.

Pretzels soon came to symbolize good fortune, bringing prosperity and spiritual wholeness with every bite. Wedding couples fell into the practice of breaking a pretzel, much like one might break a wishbone on Thanksgiving-- the person with the larger piece was assured domestic happiness. What the loser was left with, besides a smaller bit of pretzel, is unknown. The pretzel, over time, came to symbolize the tying of the marriage knot.

Most importantly, the pretzel seems to have been directly responsible for the invention of the croissant (at least, according to folklore). During either the Siege of Vienna in 1529 or the Battle of Vienna in 1683 (you can read an interesting commentary on this at JoePastry.com, legend has it that pretzel bakers, working in the pre-dawn hours in their cellar workshops near the city’s walls, heard the clang of the Ottoman invaders' digging tools, warned the Austrian army of the enemy’s tunneling efforts, thus saving the city. In commemoration, the bakers of the city created the kipfel, a crescent-shaped pastry mimicking the crescent moons of the Turkish banners. It wasn’t until France’s favorite Austrian, Marie Antoinette, moved to Versailles with her pastry chefs that the kipfel became more commonly known as the croissant.

You can take all that, more or less, with a grain of kosher salt.

Chewy Pretzels

I received a cookbook (on loan) entitled Breads, Soups, & Salads! by Sharon Baizer Winstein from the person who, in his way, has tied me up in my own, special kind of knot. He met the author years ago in Spokane when she was on her national book-promoting/ visiting-the-grandkids tour. How could I not want to try a recipe from a woman who combines business and pleasure so efficiently?

The recipe is stated to be "fun for kids to do with an adult helper." Well, it is easy. I have a feeling that the level of fun depends upon the attitude of the adult and the age of the children.

Makes: 16 soft, chewy pretzels.

Ingredients:

1 1⁄2 cups minus 2 tablespoons very warm water

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

1 package active dry yeast

2 tablespoons cider vinegar

3 1⁄2 cups unbleached flour

1⁄4 cup toasted wheat germ

3⁄4 teaspoon salt

oil or non-stick spray

kosher salt, for topping

1 egg white, for glaze

Preparation:

Pre-heat oven to 425 ° F. Place oven rack on top shelf.

1. Warm a large (4-quart) mixing bowl with hot tap water. If you have a stand, mixer, your pretzel-making life is going to be much, much easier. Empty and immediately add the warm, measured water and sugar into bowl. Stir to dissolve sugar. Sprinkle yeast over the surface of the water and add vinegar. Let rest (of course, the yeast is really being hyperactive at this point, so I suppose I should just say “let it do its thing”) for 10 minutes. The mixture will foam slightly.

2. Put 3 1⁄4 cups of the flour, 1⁄4 cup toasted wheat germ, and 3⁄4 teaspoon salt in another bowl. Mix well.

3. Measure out 2 1⁄4 cups of the flour mixture; stir into the yeasted water. Knead with the dough hook attachment in your stand mixer, or with a lot of stamina without, until the dough is nice and stretchy. Scrape down side of bowl from time to time. Add the remaining flour mixture in small amounts.

4. With flour on your hands (or the hands of a small child, if you like, it doesn’t matter. Make them do the dirty work, they might thank you for it later), work the dough until it becomes soft and tacky, but manageable.

5. Turn dough out onto work surface. Knead dough by hand for a few minutes, until it is “pleasant but slightly tacky” (which seems very much in accordance with my personal world-view). If the dough is unmanageably sticky, work in a little more flour.

6. Put dough on a flour-free surface and squeeze, pull, and roll dough into a 12-inch log of even thickness. Measure the log; cut in half with a knife or dough scraper. With wide-spread fingers, firmly roll each piece into 12-inch logs with ends as thick as the middle. Cut each log into 8 pieces.

7. Line two baking pans with aluminum foil and coat with oil or non-stick spray, or one pan, if you don’t have two. Set near your place of dough-rolling operation.

8. Work with one piece of dough at a time. Place one piece of dough on your work surface. With your palms and wide-spread fingers, roll each piece into an even 18-inch strand. Cross ends, twist once, and bring twisted ends up to rest on the top of the pretzel. Repeat with the rest.

9. Use a soft brush to generously coat pretzels with beaten egg white. Pretzels will be shiny only where the egg white is applied. Sprinkle as much kosher salt over the pretzels as your blood pressure will allow. Place on the top rack of your oven, shut the damned door and bake for 16 minutes, or until golden. Serve while still warm with mustard or what-have-you.

"splat"
"splat"
"splat"

Every night, for the past week, we've been awakened by the sound of fat, juicy plums plummeting from the trees in our backyard to the ground. We pick them as fast as we can, but some are simply out of reach, and others just sneak up on us, ripening suddenly and then hurling themselves out of the tree.

We somehow managed to pick about six pounds of plums before I decided that something must be done.

So, as I did last year, I decided to make plum jam.

A few things have changed, though, since I last made jam. First of all, I moved. Last year's plums were harvested in the heart of the Mission: small yellow plums that were subtle and pleasantly sweet-tart. We managed to spin those into many jars of jam and chutney before we moved.

Secondly, I realized that over the past year I've learned a bit about pectin. The jam we made last year, while delicious, was a bit thin and watery. I wasn't about to make that mistake again. Pectin causes jams and jellies to gel, and some fruits have more and some have less. Apples, it turns out, have a lot of pectin. So when you are trying to make jam with fruits that are low in pectin, like berries or plums, it's a good idea to use an apple, peel and all (trust me, you will never know it's even in the jam). Also, you need the right balance of pectin, acid, and sugar with the fruit to make it all balance and gel correctly.

Anyway, here in our new house we have not only one, or two, but four different plum trees. Lucky for the trees that I love plum jam too, since they've been somewhat neglected over the years (we unfortunately moved just after the plum harvest last year and missed the whole thing). And lucky for me that my husband is tall and can reach all those rogue plums, even though we still wake up every morning to a smattering of plums.

Plumalicious Jam

Makes: 13 half-pint jars

Ingredients:
About 12 cups (about 6 lbs) pitted and roughly chopped plums
1 or 2 green apples
Juice of 1 lemon or lime
2 lbs granulated sugar
2 small plates in the freezer

Preparation:
1. Cut up all the plums and put them into a heavy, 5-quart stockpot.

2. Grate the apple, skin and all (but not the core), on a box shredder-grater. Add the apples, lemon or lime juice, and sugar to the plums.

3. Stir the plum mixture thoroughly, place over medium-high heat, and bring to a boil.

4. Lower the heat to medium and let boil, skimming the foam occasionally and smashing the fruit as it cooks. Boil for about 20 minutes.

5. When the jam starts to look thickened, start testing it by spooning a small amount onto one of the chilled plates. This will chill it quickly and let you see how thick it is. Keep testing it until the jam is thick enough, but don't cook it longer than about 30-35 minutes. If it's not thick enough for your liking, next time add an extra apple. Don’t worry, the jam will still be great.

6. Once the jam has thickened, get your clean jars set up. You can re-use the glass jars, but you should get new lids and rings each time. If you have a canning funnel, it makes your life a lot easier for filling jars.

7. Fill each jar to about 1/2 inch from the top, leaving a little breathing room. Screw on the lid, but not too tight.

8. Turn the jars over at once so they stand upside down on their lids and let them cool to room temperature. This should seal the lids. If the lids are sealed, the top will be indented. You can store the jam in a cool dark place for up to a year. If not, store in the refrigerator and use within about 1 month.