Now that Namu is taking a break from serving lunch, to focus on opening a new deli at Balboa and 3rd, their outpost in the park, Happy Belly, has been receiving lots more visits from yours truly. The next time you're strolling from the Conservatory over to the DeYoung or taking a break from Lindy in the Park, stop at this modest little hot dog cart and read the menu carefully.

The three Lees -- David, Daniel, and David -- have transferred their Korean and Japanese sensibilities from much-loved Namu to the humble hot dog. Yes, it is most definitely worth the 6 bucks plus some to enjoy homemade kimchi relish and Japanese Kewpie mayo on a spicy dog.

There are many reasons why San Francisco does not appear on the list of the Top Ten Hot Dog Consuming Cities. Fortunately, we have the likes of Happy Belly along with Rosamunde and What's Up Dog, Sausage Party! in Mission Dolores Park and even Charles Phan's new café at the Academy of Sciences, all fighting the good fight.

California Retail Food Code (Cal Code) passed in 2007 includes much more stringent requirements for individual food cart owners, including a commissary for preparing the food and larger, more expensive carts. It's always been difficult to balance the public safety of hungry, curious foodies with the need to encourage microenterprise ventures. More recently, with the increased regulations for taco trucks and food cart vendors, there are even fewer options for small food business owners to thrive and grow within a wide range of opportunities.

It's become such a challenge in California, where new immigrants and intrepid foodies rub shoulders and interests, that hot dog cart sellers have taken it upon themselves to offer free help with the health department and to translate the Cal Code into plain English (we're still waiting for the Spanish, Vietnamese and Chinese versions).

For those who don't mind eating outside the law, follow the smell of bacon and caramelized onions through the Mission district on any warm, weekend night. At its source, say in front of the Roxie on Valencia, you can taste that amazing heart-attack-in-a-bun treat imported from Los Angeles, the bacon-wrapped hotdog that's "so good it's illegal."

Happy Belly has the backing, facilities, and full resources of its restaurant partners, as do many of the vendors at our larger farmers markets, but the individual vendors have a much tougher go of making a living from our food dollars.

A truly food loving city needs to support the full range of food businesses. While we don't want pigeon poop in our suadero tacos or listeria in our banh mi, San Francisco and all its citizens are only the poorer when we offer more restrictions than support for micro-enterprises.

It's just as important to support the little cart as your local neighborhood café or downtown's fine-dining establishments. Remember that local food includes the corner carts, so be proud to support everyone in the culinary spectrum.

Happy Belly
Southwest corner of J.F. Kennedy Dr. and Tea Garden Dr.
Golden Gate Park, San Francisco 94101

View Larger Map

Fri, Oct 17, 2008
The California Report
Host: Stephanie Martin

Melamine-Tainted Cookies
Food safety experts say one of the most serious issues concerning the appearance of melamine-tainted foods from China lies in finding what's contaminated -- and getting it off the market. We bought samples of popular Chinese-made cookies and had them tested for melamine. The results? Positive.
Reporters:
• Oanh Ha

Listen to the program

Mon, Oct 20, 2008
The California Report
Host: Rachael Myrow

Melamine Cookie Recall
We reported on Friday that our testing of a popular snack sold in California came back positive for the industrial chemical melamine. Lotte USA, the Michigan distributor of Koala's March cookies, has now announced through the FDA that it's recalling the product nationwide.
Reporters:
• Oanh Ha

Listen to the program

When I mentioned to a few friends that I was making caramel apples, I got the same response every time. "Yum! Can I have some?" Caramel apples are one of those treats both kids and adults love. There’s something about sweet and sticky caramel coated over a crisp and slightly tart apple that is truly a match made in heaven. These treats are great all year long, but fall seems an especially perfect time for to indulge. Maybe it's because apples are in season, or perhaps it's the promise of more sticky sweets on Halloween, but October has always seemed like the ideal time to make candy apples.

I hadn't made caramel apples in years, but when I saw one apple priced at $22.50 in the Williams Sonoma catalog (yes… $22.50 for one apple!), I knew I had to make a batch. From what I could remember, making caramel apples was easy and fun. And, in these times of failing 401Ks and plunging stock markets, it’s nice to also pay less than $1 for each one.

After conducting a little Internet research, I learned that many people prefer using melted caramel candy instead of homemade caramel. According to Sara Moulton, of the Food Network’s “Sara’s Secrets” and also of Gourmet Magazine, melted store-bought caramel stays firm and also creates a consistency that is tender to bite into, while homemade caramel has a tendency to become hard. It also turns out that using pre-made caramel makes the entire process ridiculously easy.

With this in mind, I bought a couple of packs of caramels, apples, and skewers (to hold the apples, although you could just as easily use popsicle sticks). I chose small granny smith apples as I wanted each treat to be firm and slightly tart, while also being a manageable size (i.e., not enormous, which would lead to half of it getting thrown out or a major child sugar rush). Along with these items I also picked up some nuts because I love nuts on my candied apples.

Some recipes called for using milk or cream, but I stuck with the Brach’s package recipe, which included only the caramels and some water. Although I was tempted to cook the caramels on the stove, I ended up melting them in the microwave because I was concerned a hot pot could potentially burn one of the kids while they were coating the apples. The result was melted caramel that had a nice creamy consistency in a bowl that was easy to tilt and handle.

My daughters and their friend were only too happy to help out -- or rather take over -- the task and they did a great job with very little adult assistance or supervision. It turned into a great craft/cooking session with lots of laughing and finger licking. The project was also much more cost effective than the Williams Sonoma apples. All the ingredients cost about $15 and we ended up with 16 caramel apples -- some plain and others decorated with nuts and chocolate. For full disclosure, I must mention that the Williams Sonoma apple is two pounds and looks perfect, but that still seemed like a lot of money for one apple, especially as I could care less how it looks. But high cost or not, making homemade caramel apples is just way more fun than ordering them and waiting for the mail to arrive. I definitely need to turn this into a yearly event.

Homemade Caramel Apples

Makes: 4 – 8 candy apples

Ingredients:
4 large or 8 small Granny Smith Apples
1 14 oz package of caramels
2 Tbsp water
4 – 8 thick wood skewers or popsicle sticks
Nuts (optional)
Melted chocolate (optional)

Preparation:
1. Wash and dry apples and remove the stems.
2. Set a skewer or popsicle stick into each one, through the stem hole, being sure to poke them down at least halfway through the fruit.
3. Set nuts in a bowl and place in your work area, if using.
4. Line a 9 x 13 baking sheet with waxed paper that has been sprayed with oil (oil side up) and place in your work area.
5. Remove the wrappers from the caramels and then place in a microwave-safe bowl with the water.
Note: You can also heat the caramels and water on the stove. Just place them in a pot and slowly heat on low.
6. Heat caramels and water for two to three minutes, stirring every minute to help incorporate the candy with the water and to check for readiness.
7. Once the caramel’s consistency is like chocolate syrup, you’re ready to stop heating it and dip your apples.
8. Place the bowl of caramel on your work station and start dipping in your apples, holding the sticks and tilting the bowl. Use a spoon to help cover the apple with caramel if needed. If the caramel starts to clump or become too thick, just microwave for another 20 seconds and stir.
9. Dip the caramel-coated apple in your nuts (if using). Be sure to do this directly after dipping the apples in the caramel and before they begin to set.
10. Drizzle on melted chocolate if desired.
11. Place apples on the oiled wax paper when finished.
12. Set apples in the refrigerator for at least 15 minutes and serve.

I love figs. They're on the short list of my favorite things, so I have always had difficulty with the phrase "I couldn't give a fig." The meaning of the phrase, of course, is that to give a fig is to care little. To not give a fig means to care even less. Of course, the true purpose of the word "fig" in that phrase is commonly thought to be as a replacement for another, unprintable-on-this-website "f" word. And that depresses me. It's given the fig a bad name.

According to The Phrase Finder and numerous other sources, the saying is based upon the Spanish "dar un fico" (substitute the "o" in fico with an "a" and any Spanish speaker will know the not-so-subtle change in meaning), which gave its name to the traditionally obscene gesture of placing one's thumb between one's first and second fingers-- roughly the equivalent of giving someone the finger-- the third finger-- but en español.

And the list goes on. There are several more unpleasant fig-related associations. Here are but a few:

The word "sycophant" (from the word sykon) is derived from a Greek term roughly meaning "to show the fig". According to one interesting source, when valuable, sacred figs were stolen, a man sucking up to authority discovered the theft and revealed the figs and accused the robbers on the spot.

If one writes the word in all capital letters-- FIG-- one could be accused of referring to the Libyan terrorist group that once attempted to assassinate Mohammar Qaddafi. The attempt was made, I believe, in exasperation over their repeated attempts to force the press into settling on one official spelling of his name.

Cleopatra took her own life with the bite of a snake hidden in a basket of figs.

And then, of course, there is the penchant of likening the fig to a certain part of the female anatomy, which may or may not be a bad thing, depending on your point of view. Fortunately, the reputed First Woman found that a large leaf from the fig tree would do nicely in concealing hers.

A Little Bit of History.

The fig is ancient. Remnants of the fruit have been found in excavations dating from 5,000 B.C.E. in Western Asia Minor. The tree and it's fruits quickly spread around the Mediterranean.

Demeter gave them to Dionysus. Plato mentioned that Greek athletes were fed on a diet of them to increase their strength and speed. Temporarily. Figs contain a high concentration of sugar (up to 50%). Think of them as ancient Power Bars. Jesus, in a fit of ungodly pique (Matthew 21:18), cursed a fig tree for not producing any fruit for Him as He passed by, thus killing the tree and ensuring there would be no second chances for it. Unless, that is, He chose, in His infinite goodness, to resurrect it at a later time.

The leaves of the tree have been used to provide shade, wrap food, and hide the naughty parts of statues. The tree itself was an easy source of quick-lighting firewood.

The fig is one of only five fruits mentioned in the Quraan along with olives, grapes, pomegranates, and dates. That's some good company.

Eat Them While You Still Can

Unpleasant associations aside, figs are inherently good on the inside. They are high in fiber, yet according to the ancient Egyptians, have a mild laxative quality to them.

They are rich in calcium, iron, phosphorus, and potassium. Less so in Vitamin C and B vitamins, but they are sourced there, too.

Figs are excellent dried, stewed, or eaten raw. They add a subtle depth to sweet dishes, and sweetness to savory ones.

How anyone could see their way to giving this simple fruit, one which exudes such sweetness, sexual suggestion, and history with every mouthful, is beyond me. And frankly, I simply couldn't give a fig about this poor fruit's detractors.

I shall think no more about it. Instead, I plan to continue making myself sick on them until the season is over.

Fig Salad

I like this preparation because it basic-- if not as old as the hills, it is possibly older than the Bible. All the ingredients have been in common use in and around the Mediterranean for more than 7,000 years. That's about 1,000 older than the earth itself, according to Young Earth creationists.

I am not giving specific amounts for any of the ingredients because that would complicate such a perfectly simple dish. The amount of each ingredient is entirely up to your preference.

Serves as few or as many as you wish.

Ingredients:

Ripe figs, well washed, to reduce the risk of poisoning from scheming Roman matrons.

Any soft, faintly salty sheep or goat milk cheese at room temperature. Goat cheese will add a wonderful tang to the dish, while sheep’s milk lends a certain umami to the overall outcome. I do not recommend cow's milk cheese-- it's just not biblical.

Olive oil. Extra virgin.

Honey. I prefer mine warmed. If one replaces the period with a comma in this last sentence, the meaning is very much changed.

Chopped pistachios. Or almonds. Your choice.

Preparation:

Wash the figs well, dry and bisect. Place them on a serving dish with the cheese which you have broken into reasonably attractive chunks. Drizzle figs and cheese with olive oil and honey. Sprinkle dish with chopped nuts to garnish. Eat.

This summer I made a vow to get over to the farmers' market—any farmers' market—once a week. For the most part I've managed to do it. And for the past 3 or 4 months I've purchased a bag of fresh ripe tomatoes each week. Ever since they hit the market, I've been obsessed. And now I'm in a downright panic, as they are on their way out.

This week, I had a pile of gorgeous Ella Bella tomatoes—my favorite tomato vendor at the SF farmers' market who just pulled up stakes and moved to Hawaii, wah!—which were threatening to go bad (it's been a busy week!). So, as my one last hurrah, and in celebration of the amazingly sweet, delicious tomatoes I had on hand, I came up with this super fresh, super fast, and super easy gazpacho. It's a delicious way to bid tomatoes farewell for another year.

There are tons of versions of gazpacho, a soup that, at its best, lets the flavor of sweet, seasonal tomatoes shine. It is by far one of my favorite soups of all time, simple perfection on a hot summer day (well, at least for us in the Bay Area where it still seems to be summer). This Andalucian-style version is inspired by a recipe from Wild Honey restaurant in London.

Last Hurrah Gazpacho

Serves: 4

Ingredients:
About 5–6 large ripe heirloom tomatoes
1/2 jar roasted piquillo peppers (about 5 peppers or 5 ounces)
1/2 English cucumber, peeled and seeded
1 small garlic clove
2 teaspoons Worcestershire
2 teaspoons rice vinegar
2 teaspoons white balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup good-quality extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt
Freshly ground pepper
Hot sauce, such as Melinda's habañero sauce

For garnishing:
Cucumber, peeled, seeded and diced
Avocado, peeled, seeded and diced
Olive oil, for drizzling
Croutons or sliced, toasted sourdough baguette

Preparation:
1. Have ready a medium-mesh sieve set over a large bowl. Halve the tomatoes crosswise and squeeze the seeds into the sieve. Cut out the stem, chop the tomatoes and put in a blender. Add the juice from the bowl and discard the seeds.

2. Add the peppers, cucumber, garlic, Worcestershire, vinegars, and oil, and process until smooth. Season to taste with salt, pepper, and hot sauce. Pour the soup through the sieve set over the bowl. Transfer to an airtight container and chill for at least an hour, and up to a day.

3. Garnish with cucumber, avocado, and a drizzle of olive oil. Serve with the croutons scattered over the top or toasted baguette.

On Friday October 10th the Asian Culinary Forum kicked off with a sold out tasting event, The Six Asian Flavors. What made this program such a fantastic success was the opportunity to see, handle, smell and taste examples of the defining flavors of Asian cuisine that spans many countries.

Sour featured Sinigang na Baka a tangy soup made by Filipino chef Emmanuel Santos of Bistro Luneta and explanations from food writer Nancy Freeman. Fresh tamarind, limes, tomatoes, eggplants, green mangoes, long beans and taro root were all featured in their uncooked forms, as well as in the scrumptious and soothing soup.

Umami is possibly the least well known flavor. It is best described as "savory" and has a mouthwatering effect. It was represented by sake-braised shiitake and maitake mushrooms. On hand were also other examples of foods high in umami such as cheese, olives, miso and tomatoes. While this flavor is found just about every cuisine it is particularly important in Asian cuisine and was first identified in Japan.

Salty took the form of fish sauce provided by Viet Huong, producer of the Three Crabs and Flying Lion brands. While fish sauce is made with salt, not every style is very salty. Several bottles from a local producer were available and guides explained the differences and offered up rice paper rolls to dip in various sauces.

Spicy was a bit of a surprise, because it wasn't necessarily "hot." Thai Sriracha, Vietnamese chile salt and a Malaysian sambal were offered with a savory selection of bites including pork belly, cucumber and shrimp. Each offered a different twist on spiciness.

Bitter might be the toughest for Western tastes to accept, it is the opposite of sweet. Nutritionist Karen Diggs presented the health benefits of bitter including stimulating bile production, expelling "heat" from the liver, and toning digestive organs and the heart. A bitter tonic primed the palate for a stack of bitter melon, shiitake mushroom and a goji berry.

Sweet was presented last, much as it is in Western cuisine. Writer Robyn Eckhardt of Eating Asia presented various palm sugars and a sweet Malaysian dessert called onde onde, made from coconut, pandan, coconut palm sugar and glutinous rice. Each component was sweet and together they created a decadent and rich morsel.

Do you know about Twitter? It's the reason that many Bay Area food blogs have been lying dormant lately, and why mothballs are piling up on our RSS readers. Twitter is a "micro-blogging" site where users can post statements of 140 characters or less. And many of us do it, many times a day. It's quick and following your favorite bloggers is easy to do. Even if you're not interested in "tweeting" yourself, you can set up a Twitter account and follow your favorite bloggers. Just select the links below and press "follow" under the username. Then, each time you go to Twitter, you'll be able to see what everyone is up to.

Why follow Twitter? Is it just one more time-waster in a day? Maybe, but I am starting to feel differently. Folks who follow Bay Area food blogger Pim found out yesterday that Daniel Patterson had scored two Michelin stars for Coi before any large news organization had reported it. Using Twitter, you can talk directly to the corporate offices at Whole Foods. And many of us talk about the food news of the day on Twitter long before we write blog posts or comment on community boards.

Twitter is also changing the way that organizations do business. To learn more about that, check out this story about Twitter on Marketplace.

I've listed some of the Bay Area Twitter feeds that I follow below. You'll recognize the first few as authors on Bay Area Bites. This list, however, just scratches the surface. For a more comprehensive list of food bloggers on Twitter, see the Serious Eats list.

Stephanie, Grub Report
"Having hot cocoa and Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese for breakfast. Clearly, I am now 12."

Amy Sherman, Cooking with Amy
"off to buy polenta. I always think I have it on hand but then it turns out to be couscous or cornmeal..."

Bay Area Bites
"Temescal farmers' market rocks! cauliflower, artichokes, shitake mushrooms, lamb sausage...and, of course, indian food...my sunday addiction"

Shuna, Eggbeater
"One day establishments specializing in sweet things will eradicate the mis-spelling DESERT. One Day... One can hope beyond hope, yeah?"

Michael Procopio, Food for the Thoughtless
"currently working both a Wells Fargo dinner and a Morgan Stanley..."
"Fargo folks are laughing, Stanley folks are not."

Genie, The Inadvertent Gardener
"Four hours until I have to leave the house again to get to my dinner engagement. Need to make a realistic list that does not include sloth."

Pim, Chez Pim
"I can eat cream cheese frosting by the cupful, really I can, and I am...um, eating it, by the cupful..."

Kristin, Offbeat Eating
"Yum, had my first pupusa--bean and cheese--at the Alemany farmer's market. I could get used to eating those."

Biggie, Lunch in a Box
"Used a pile of beautiful tomatoes tonight in a no-cook pasta sauce with smoked mozzarella and basil. Bug approved, wants the rest in bento."

Jennifer Jeffrey
"Tamari-sesame rice cakes: eh. Not exactly what I was looking for in a mid-morning snack"

Sam, Becks & Posh
"My work colleagues raised their eyebrows at my radish-eating habits today. I took a pile of them to a meeting for a snack. They think me odd"

Denise, Chez Us
"I have to say vanilla bean spongettes w/burnt caramel sauce was OUTSTANDING! I will post all later ... tomorrow."

Sean Timberlake, Hedonia
"is making leftovers ragù: lamb/beef shank from Friday's ad hoc ossobuco, lamb chop/rabbit from Eloise last night, braising liquid & tomatoes ..."

Derrick Schneider, An Obsession with Food
"Making Heidi Swanson's 'Do-it-yourself Power Bars' because we were near Rainbow Grocery, the only store that carries all the ingredients."

Elise, Simply Recipes
"just posted my rabbit cacciatore ... Waiting for the 'You can't kill thumper!' people to descend."

Organizations I follow on Twitter
Serious Eats
Whole Foods
Center for Food Safety
American Farmland Trust
BART(so I can get to my dinner dates on time!)

And you can find me Twittering here.

Some explanation here: Starting at age 11, my father worked on a muck farm in western Michigan. Over the course of two, hot, Midwestern summers, he planted, weeded, cultivated, and harvested produce. While Hudsonville, MI is known as the celery capital of the world because of the ideal growing conditions it provides in its dark and loamy rich soil, Dad mainly dealt with lettuces, radishes, and green onions on his muck farm.

After spending the morning crawling along the growing rows to weed around the vegetables, Dad says in the afternoons, he got the "posh job." He got to escape the beating sun and work inside, washing and packing the produce for market. A percentage of this Michigan produce was loaded onto trains and sped off to stock Chicago markets. In a weird twist of fate, my Dad got his job at the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission in Washington, D.C. because of the muck farm.

The guy who interviewed him was the son of a Chicago market owner who bought from the Dutch farmers in Michigan. Growing up, this SEC guy learned from his dad that not only did the Dutch deliver excellent produce, but they were fair, honest, and hard workers. You could always trust the Dutch to do good business. The fact that my dad was both Dutch and a muck farm worker sealed his position as an SEC staff attorney. Dad calls that "an instance of favorable stereotyping."

At sixty-eight, my Dad has professed himself confused as to why I want to work on a farm, since it was a job he did out of necessity and not pleasure. However, he listened patiently when I went on at great length about locavores, the connection between farm and table, and Jen Maiser, and a year later, he sent me the following childhood recollection. Given how natural it was for my grandparents to source, buy, and eat locally, I'm not surprised Dad has been somewhat unimpressed by all the chatter surrounding the newest eat local resurgence. What I want him to know is, in many ways, the current eat local movement honors our parents and grandparents who got it right the first time around.

In recognition of Eat Local Month, I am sharing his potato memory here.

The Great Potato Hunt

By Vern Vander Weide

It was that time of year again, the time when the first hint of fall could be felt in the western Michigan air. The seasonal ritual began with my father diligently perusing the classified ads in the Grand Rapids Press. I knew that meant we (my father, mother and I) would soon be spending evenings and weekends traveling throughout western Kent and Newaygo and Ottawa counties, visiting the numerous farms Dad had marked in the classifieds. Thus would begin the Great Potato Hunt, the annual quest for the Perfect Potato.

Of course, I did not think of this in those grandiose terms back then. I was a mere child. Searching far and wide for the best strawberries, the most luscious blueberries, fresh eggs from a cousin's farm, the ripest cherries, the plumpest peaches and, yes, the super potato was just part of our very ordinary lives. After all, didn’t everybody do that? It was such a common-seeming experience that I never bothered to ask my friends whether they were expecting to spend countless hours in the back seat of their parents’ car while they searched for the Perfect Produce.

Today, this would be, I guess, "locavores." But that word was in no one's vocabulary in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Everyone practiced "locavore." The produce we bought in our grocery stores in the summer had been in the ground just 24 hours earlier and less than 20 miles away. The grocers purchased their produce every morning at the wholesale farmers' market. Every week, my parents visited one of two (sometimes both) retail farmers’ markets throughout the summer and early fall. There one would find everything, depending on where we were in the growing season, from live chickens (no, not for pets) to freshly picked corn. Beyond that, my parents’ "'voring" was as "local" as it could get. Except for a brief hiatus in the early 1950s, my father continued our World War II Victory Garden, so that bib lettuce, tomatoes, radishes, green onions and other delectables were just steps outside our back door.

But back to the search for the Perfect Potato. From the back seat I heard my parents talking about "russets," "Idahoes," "red russets" (or "red" something or other), or other brands of potato, all of which was completely meaningless to me. After extended discussions between my father and farmer after farmer, the Great Decision would be made: we would make the annual purchase (sometimes more than one purchase from different farms) of our winter’s supply of potatoes. The precious find would be brought home and carefully stored in our fruit cellar (along with all the jars containing the canned fruits and vegetables my mother had already prepared).

As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it. But I also vaguely remember conversations at dinner, or maybe just before dinner, that seemed to be a continuation of the Great Potato Hunt. But first some important background. We usually ate potatoes that had been peeled, boiled and then served in a form in which the potatoes had been broken up. On Sundays (usually only on Sundays), they would be mashed, as part of our roast chicken or roast beef dinner. The key test of the Perfect Potato came every night in the unmashed form. I don’t remember very much of this conversation; after all, I really did not like potatoes until I got much older, so this conversation about the Perfect Potato was really of no interest to me.

My father would ask my mother how the potatoes "did up" or how they "cooked up." She would say something like "too mealy" or "too wet" and sometimes -- nirvana! -- "very good." Again, this meant nothing to me, but many times since then I have wondered just what the whole potato thing was all about. I’ve asked several persons, including my culinary expert food-writing daughter, what the BIG DEAL is about the potato, but to no avail. (SO not true! Dad never asked me this question! Artistic license, indeed! -- Stephanie) Nobody had been able to explain to me what so preoccupied my Dad.

Last week I visited my 92-year old aunt, my father’s last surviving sibling. I related a much shorter version of the above, and she, of course, nodded knowingly. I asked, "Aunt Win, why did Dad spend all this time looking for potatoes, what’s the difference?" She explained that it depends upon whether the potatoes cooked up "dry" or "wet." "Dry or wet?" I asked. After all, they’ve just come out of a pan of boiling water. How can they be anything other than wet? She said that after the potatoes have been properly boiled and the water decanted (my word, not hers), the cook shakes the pan so as to cause the potatoes to break apart. If the resulting pieces are "wet," that is not good; if the potato easily breaks apart and the resulting pieces are "dry," that is the Perfect Potato.

So, now I know why we spent all that time long ago on the Great Potato Hunt.

Noshing on sticky buns the approximate size of your head is a Midwest breakfast tradition. I came to this realization early in life when, on a trip Up North to a friend's cabin, we had some relief from the constant yodeling (on the radio, not the parents, though it was the their choice of music for three hours straight) when we stopped at Tobie's in Hinckley, MN. Halfway between Minneapolis and Duluth, Tobie's is a famous rest stop/family restaurant where people mostly load up on enormous rolls, sticky with caramel and studded with nuts, while reading all about the famous Hinckley fire on informative place mats.

But you don't have to suffer an hours-long, yodeling car ride to get your hands on proper sticky buns. In Minneapolis, Isles Bun & Coffee is the place to go. It's been there for 15 years (current owners have had it for about half that time), and though I grew up less than two miles from the place, it still took James' recommendation on this last trip home to actually get me there.

James suggested we try the Puppy Dog Tails -- puffy twists of cinnamoned dough that have nothing of the snips and snails about them whatsoever -- and to make sure to get the icing. Well, we got two Puppy Dog Tails and a mongo sticky bun (the last in the pan, as it happened, and the baker asked us if we minded getting all the extra caramel goo and nuts. Um, no?!) and then we got the frosting. See, the frosting sits in a tall bowl over on the island where you get your milk, your cream, your sugar, and your soy stuff for your coffee. There's a wide cake spreader for self-dolloping, and just how much frosting you scoop out is between you and your fear of diabetes.

We got our heavy box home and armed ourselves with knife and fork before tucking in, because when it comes to Minnesota sticky buns, there is just no room for dainty fingers and small bites. You saw into these sticky buns as you would a porterhouse. You scrape up excess caramel goo as if it were mashed potatoes and pile it back on your piece of bun. (Going with the steak analogy, the pecans would be sautéed mushrooms, but I'm trying to get you hungry for breakfast, not dinner.)

I won't kid you, these buns are heavy. But it's a delicious, soothing heaviness that sinks into your bones as you eat them while slowly sipping your coffee. It might even make you tired were it not for the intense sugar kick you get at the end, which makes it a perfect way to start your weekend.

Isles Bun & Coffee Company
1424 W 28th Street (at Hennepin)
Minneapolis, MN 55408

Monday-Saturday 6:30am-4:00pm
Sunday 7:00am-3:00pm

View Larger Map

When you hear the word "horchata," what comes to mind? I'm sure the answers will vary. The most literal-minded of you will think "rice milk," some of you may simply associate it with the concept of the "taqueria," while others might draw a complete blank. I for one can't get the image of the mouthy whores of the Mission district out of my head. Not that I associate them with actual drink, it's just the phonics of the word that lead me there.

The word horchata is derived from the Valencian word orxata, which itself is derived from ordiata (from the Latin word for barley, hordeata). A popular, though quite unsubstantiated, myth tells the story of a young Moorish girl who gave King James I of Aragon a beverage of ground chufa (tigernut or earth almond) and upon drinking, the king exclaimed, "Això és or, xata!" (This is gold, girl!).

So there you have it. Believe it or not.

The origins of the beverage are as cloudy as the drink itself. The Egyptians had a similar drink made of barley water mixed with honey. The Arabs brought a form of it up to the Iberian peninsula in their unconquerable days, and the Spanish have loved it so much for so long that they ended up pouring it all over the New World.

In Mexico, the beverage is made of rice, water, cinnamon, and sugar. In Spain, the chufa is the preferred source of starch. El Salvador has its own version, too. Pretty much everybody has their own version which they deem to be correct, but the essentials remain the same: a source of starch, water, and some form of sweetener. Cinnamon is commonly used (and personally, I feel that horchata without cinnamon is just plain rice milk). Lime or lemon zest are also frequent guests in the mix. It is entirely up the the preferences of the individual making it.

And I say make your own. It requires more effort than wandering down to your local taqueria to buy some, but it is inexpensive and extremely satisfying-- much more so than those whores in the Mission, certainly. And it's gold. It's tasty white gold, girl.

Horchata

After examining several recipes, I settled on one that included almonds. The almonds give an extra bit of complexity to this otherwise humble-but-wonderful beverage.

Makes about 5 to 6 cups, depending.

Ingredients:

1 cup of long grain white rice
1 cup chopped almonds, without skin
5-6 cups of water (depending upon one's preferences)
1 cinnamon stick
1 cup of simple syrup or sugar. You may use less or more, according to your taste for sweetness.
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preparation:

1. In a coffee grinder (that does not smell of coffee), pulverize the rice into dust. Most effectively done in two or three batches.

2. In a suitable container, combine rice, almonds, cinnamon and 3 cups of water. Let sit covered overnight.

3. The following day, pour the mixture into a blender and purée until as smooth as possible, adding as much sugar and water as you like.

4. Strain the horchata. Some prefer to do this through a sieve lined with cheesecloth. I prefer to use a tea towel, since there is a lot of grit involved. It takes a bit more time and hands-on wringing, but the gripping and twisting motions are an excellent way to work out pent up aggression, and the results are much better. So I think.

5. Refrigerate or simply serve over ice with a scant sprinkling of ground cinnamon.