It's always an honor to be asked to be part of or contribute to a wedding, but it's even more flattering when your culinary skills are called upon for said wedding.

In October, Kim specifically requested I bring my "famous potato salad" to her post-Scotland wedding reception, and last weekend, Catherine, Jeff, and all of us wedding guests toasted their happiness with my Lady in Red at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.

Over the summer, Catherine -- for whom I once designed a simple birthday cocktail to go along with her gift of St. Germain elderflower liqueur -- asked if I would shake up a special wedding cocktail. Her only request: it had to be red to match her dress.

After first assessing what the Mandarin Oriental stocked in their bar, I set about to concocting the cocktail. Aside from staining its cheeks crimson, I wanted this cocktail to be three things: seasonal, celebratory, and reflective of the bride's tastes. Well, not all of that happened.

Ignoring sangria and all other wine-based cocktails of that ilk, I knew that the red hue was going to come from cranberry or pomegranate juice (seasonal!), and after a few (read: nine) attempts, I ditched the cranberry juice. It was too easily diluted in both color and flavor. I also had to ditch my idea of including both bourbon and ginger ale in this cocktail (the bride's signature drink) because no matter what I did, the bourbon came out too...bourbon-y.

A few weeks later, I started with a whole new plan and a whole new red. Now working with the stronger, tarter pomegranate juice, I cried, "Eureka" after three passes and then set to refining the flavors.

Victorious and hung-over, I presented the recipe to the bride along with a list of potential names: Ruby Slipper, Scarlet 75 (the drink is an adaptation of the classic French 75), Red Letter Day, and Lady in Red. (She chose "Lady in Red," so if you now have Chris de Burgh in your head, it's not my fault.)

(Okay, maybe it is.)

On my reserve list of names was Study in Scarlet, Red-dy or Knot (my husband's contribution), The Red Menace, The Scarlet Letter, The Cat's Meow, My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose, and Redrum. (I will be saving that last one for a blood-soaked mojito or daiquiri in case Stephen King ever wants me to design a wedding cocktail for him.)

Lady in Red

2 oz. pomegranate juice
1 1/2 oz. gin
4 oz. ginger ale (preferably very spicy ginger ale)
Sparkling rosé
2-3 dashes Angostura bitters
Pomegranate seeds

Shake pomegranate juice and gin with ice; strain into a cocktail glass. Add ginger ale and top off with sparkling rose. Finish with bitters. Garnish with four pomegranate seeds for health, happiness, love, and laughter.

I am pleased and relieved to report that the drink was extremely well received. Even my French friend, who I thought preferred champagne to everything, was seen drinking more than one Lady in Red. Additionally, the bartender told someone else that he's seen a lot of guest-created cocktails pass through his shaker, but he had never seen one reordered so many times. Finally -- and most importantly -- the bride, the groom, and all my cocktailing friends loved it.

I hope you do, too.

Well, now I've seen everything. As it was pointed out to me recently, voting Californians care more for the rights of chickens than they do for those of gay men and women. In my bio-degradable peanut-wrapped little world of well-educated, thoughtful, and admittedly left-leaning friends and co-workers, I had previously thought this was all but impossible.

I believed I didn't know a single person-- especially anyone close to me-- who would, by touching a button or drawing a little black line to connect an arrow in a voting booth, actively raise a finger to institutionalize discrimination against me, or my sister, or my brother who, in a very real sense, died from internalizing all the hate and ignorance, both spoken and unspoken, that surrounds gay men and women and tells us we are not as deserving of happiness as everyone else. The electorate has demanded that a chicken be allowed the freedom to fully spread its wings and, in the same breath, has seen to it that I am not allowed to fully stretch mine.

It's nothing personal against chickens. Honest.

I have been chafing at the logic that homosexuals should somehow be satisfied with domestic partnerships and not get hung up on the word "marriage." And my blood is boiling over the 1,400,000 million-vote difference between those who voted for Barak Obama and those who voted No on Proposition 8. The stench of this hypocritical difference has settled in my nostrils and killed my appetite for the past couple of days. And that's saying something.

Does anyone remember a quaint little Supreme Court decision handed down in 1896? No? Well, I've got three words for you. Since those words are unprintable, I shall give you another three:

Plessy versus Ferguson.

Oh, and here are three more words that came out of that historically painful and embarrassing decision:

Separate but equal.

Image courtesy of Jay Floyd

Yes we can? Not in California, we didn't. Not so much.

Well, I'm getting hungry again. And I need a little bit of comforting. It does help that all my straight friends have been actively giving their support, but I need a little more. I need to fill my belly with something other than burning bile. I will resist the urge to drink the blood of all the innocent children I had planned to corrupt by getting married and go for something a little more low key to satisfy my hunger. Something fried. Something bad for my arteries, but tonic for my soul.

I want Chicken-fried steak.

It strikes me as odd that I should crave something that is the unofficial dish of Texas. Or that, given the chicken's newly-found superior status over me, that I would crave something so transparently pro-poultry-life. It's not as though I'd ever encountered it in my childhood. Of course, that may very well be what makes it such a comfort. It is a dish I discovered in college-- a time when I was busy forging my own identity as an adult.

I first encountered Chicken-fried steak at (foodies, look away) Denny's. A photograph of the dish caught my attention, popping off the image-bloated and ketchup-sticky pages of the menu more dramatically than the competing Moons over My Hammy. It was too late to be up, I'd most likely been out either drinking or dancing or depressed over my not-quite-out-of-the-closet status or some combination of all three, and my body called out for something fried to soak up both my sorrow and my alcohol intake.

I sat there, staring at the menu, trying to make sense of the dish. Chicken-fried Steak. On the one hand, I immediately got it-- pounded beef, served up as one would serve fried chicken. Basically, it's a more aged version of Wienerschnitzel, but served up with biscuits and anemic-looking gravy. On the other, I was caught up in the phrasing. Chicken-fried. The immediate mental image was that of a cartoonish hen, complete with pearls and frilly apron, frying up a piece of beaten-to-death cow. The evil, self-satisfied smile on her face convinced me that this dish was somehow subversive-- that there was some clever, morbid joke behind the creation of this dish. So I ordered it, naturally.

And, oddly, I felt much better for it. And it continues to have this mystifying effect on me. It may be its ability to fill my stomach, thereby draining as much blood as possible from my over-worked brain to aid digestion. It could be the fat and cholesterol that coats and calms me into some false sense of protection. I really don't know. All I know is that, for whatever reason, it works for me and I refuse to give into too much analysis. That would ruin everything.

Chicken-fried steak has lifted me up in some of my lowest of moments. It has comforted me on my journeys home from bank-breaking college trips to Las Vegas when the only money I had left in the world was spent on gas and this menu item. It has been consumed through endless, supportive conversations with friends in times of disease and unavoidable death, and recently it has been there to help salve a mopey, broken heart.

And now, I am calling on it to fortify me through this mess.

I never intend to make it myself. I don't even want to know exactly how it is made, so I will not give a recipe, let alone look at one. It is a dish best served to me, rather than by me. Preferably by a waitress whose shoulders have been slightly hunched by the weight of trouble and too many years of taking the brutal insensitivity and orders of strangers. I need this not to feel superior to someone else in my moment of gloom. I need it because I want to look her straight in the eye as if to say, "Girl, I know exactly how you feel." But I won't say it. She may not want that kind of empathy. Or me calling her "Girl". So instead, I'll just give her everything I have in my wallet and go home, bloated and tired, but somehow fortified enough to carry on.

Until the next time.

Many people seem a bit confused by persimmons. Do you cook them or eat them raw? Are they bitter or sweet? How do you eat them? It seems that whenever I buy some, either the person next to me in line or the cashier quizzically looks over and asks what I'll do with them. Everyone seems to have heard a story about some brave soul who tried one and was rewarded with a mouthful of astringent yuckiness.

Contrary to popular belief, only one type of persimmon is astringent when unripe -- the Hachiya persimmon. I won’t discuss the Hachiya today, other than to say that it is sugary and bursting with flavor when ripe and is the perfect base for puddings and fruit butters. Rather, I want to focus on the Fuyu, which is non-astringent, has a sweet and gentle flavor, and is often grown locally. It also happens to be delicious.

Fuyus are shaped like tomatoes and can range in color from light to deep orange. And, unlike Hachiyas, they can be firm when ripe (like an apple). You can cook with them or eat them raw. They’re great all by themselves as a fruit snack, can be cooked into stews or pies, or included raw in salads. Although you can wait until Fuyus get soft before you eat them, I think they are best when firm and crisp. They are also quite pretty when sliced as their seed holes make a natural star pattern. Just make sure they’re not too light in color (and definitely not greenish) as they’re only sweet when ripe.

Persimmons are available all over the Bay Area this time of year. In addition to finding them at farmer’s markets and in grocery stores, you may also see them hanging from neighbors' trees on walks around your block as they are a popular yard tree. (Not that I am advocating stealing your neighbors' fruit. Just knock on their door and ask if you can have a few if they have an abundant crop. Chances are they aren’t eating the fruit anyway.)

Here are a few Fuyu persimmon recipes my family and I have been enjoying this Fall. The tart is one of my new favorites, with a sweet and delicate texture and flavor that is perfect for a cold evening. The couscous is fast to make and a great accompaniment to chicken, pork, or a vegetable stew. And, if you’re looking for something fresh, crisp and seasonal, try the salad, which is perfect as part of a family meal and pretty enough to serve to guests.
If you've never tried this fantastic seasonal fruit, I hope you give one of these a chance.

Fuyu Persimmon, Pear and Walnut Rolled Tart

Makes: 10 - 12 servings

Ingredients:
1 puff pastry or pie crust
2 Fuyu persimmons
1 pear
1/2 cup currants
1 Tbsp orange zest
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup walnuts
1 tsp flour
1 egg scrambled
1 Tbsp white sugar

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
2. Oil or butter a cookie sheet and set aside.
3. Chop persimmons and pears into 1/2-inch cubes.
4. Place persimmons and pear in a bowl and mix in the currants, zest, sugar, walnuts and flour.
5. Roll out your pie crust or puff pastry.
6. Lay out your pastry crust on the cookie sheet and then spoon the fruit filling in a long and full line in the center.
7. Fold the outer edges over the center, overlapping the ends.
8. Fold under the ends and crimp so you have a full seal.
9. If desired, brush on the egg wash and sprinkle the remaining tablespoon of sugar onto the top of the pastry dough.
10. Bake for 40 - 45 minutes or until fully baked.
11. If the top crust starts to brown too much, simply cover it with foil and continue to bake until finished.

Persimmon, Fennel and Almond Couscous

Makes: 4 - 6 servings

Ingredients:
1 Tbsp olive oil
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup chopped fennel
1 whole Fuyu persimmon peeled and chopped into cubes
1/2 cup chopped unsalted raw or roasted almonds
1 tsp dried thyme
1 cup couscous
1 cup hot water, chicken broth or vegetable broth
1 Tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley
Salt to taste

Preparation:
1. Chop onions, fennel and persimmons and set aside.
2. Heat olive oil in a medium sauce pan and add onion and fennel.
3. Cook vegetables for about 5 minutes on medium heat, or until fennel and onions are translucent.
4. Add persimmons, salt, almonds, and thyme and cook for another 2 minutes.
5. Stir in couscous and then add hot water or broth along with a little salt to taste.
6. Turn off heat, cover, and let sit for five minutes.
7. Add in parsley, fluff the couscous with a fork and then serve.

Fuyu Persimmon, Pear and Pine Nut Salad

Serves: 4 - 6 people

Ingredients:
1 bunch of cleaned raw spinach, arugula, or other leafy salad green
1 Fuyu persimmon chopped into cubes
1 pear chopped into cubes
1/2 cup pine nuts
1 Tbsp sugar
Your favorite dressing (I like to use an oil and white balsamic vinegar blend seasoned with Dijon mustard and lemon zest)

Preparation:
1. In a pan, heat pine nuts on medium heat, toasting gently.
2. Sprinkle on the sugar and quickly incorporate it into the nuts so they become lightly coated.
3. Once the sugar starts to meld to the nuts, immediately turn off the heat so you don’t burn the sugar.
4. Place greens, persimmon, pear, and nuts in a salad bowl and mix with your favorite salad dressing.

Watch Video Tour of A16 + Wine

Hands down, one of the most impressive cookbooks this season is A16 Food + Wine. The book is divided into sections on the wines of southern Italy, and a longer section on food served at the restaurant. In the food section it's particularly helpful to read the introduction to learn about chef Nate Appleman's approach to cooking Campanian style in San Francisco. A pantry section details the essential ingredients of the cuisine and then, finally, there are the recipes themselves. You'll find tripe, bruschetta, pickled peppers, roasted sardines as well as pizza and pasta. If you are a fan of this restaurant the book is a must.

For a taste of the food and wine, the Marin Jewish Community Center in conjunction with Book Passages presents chef Nate Appleman and Wine Director Shelly Lindgren. They will discuss their book, and share the source of inspiration for their restaurant A16.

What: A16 Food & Wine Tasting

When: November 13, 2008 7pm @ 7:00

How: $15 members / $20 public / $45 inc. book ($40 retail) Purchase tickets online.

Where: Osher Marin JCC, 200 North San Pedro Road , San Rafael

Why: Nate will be serving his wildly popular Monday meatballs and sharing other favorite recipes from the book. Shelly Lindgren will be offering wine tastings, advice, and a chance to order many of the featured wines for your holiday table.

Butternut squash is everywhere right now. Here is an easy recipe from the book that is a refreshing change from the sweet roasted version.

Roasted Butternut Squash with Pancetta and Chiles

Serves 6

1 (3 pound) butternut squash
Kosher salt
3 Tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
4 ounces pancetta, diced (about 1 cup)
2 Calabrian chiles, stemmed and chopped (or 1/4 teaspoon dried chile flake)

Preheat oven to 500 degrees

Halve the squash lengthwise and scoop out the seeds. Peel the squash halves and slice crosswise into 1/2 inch thick pieces. You should have about 8 cups.

In a large bowl, toss the squash with a few generous pinches of salt and 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Divide the squash between 2 rimmed baking sheets, spreading the pieces evenly over the pans. Roast the squash, rotating the pans front to back about halfway through the cooking for about 15 minutes, or until cooked through and golden.

Meanwhile, heat the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil in a small pot over low heat. Stir in the pancetta and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 4 minutes, or until crispy. Stir in the chiles, remove from the heat and set aside.

When the squash is ready, remove from the oven and let cool for a few minutes. Transfer to a large bowl, add the pancetta mixture, and toss to mix. Taste for seasoning and adjust with salt if needed. Transfer to a serving bowl and serve immediately.

Recipe reprinted from A16 Food + Wine, copyright ©2008 by D.O.C. Restaurant Group, LLC, courtesy of Tenspeed Press.

I am a true election geek. While most of you have probably been feeling election fatigue, I am sprinting toward the finish line. My interest and excitement has increased as the days go on. Most days, you'll find me with my iPod on, listening to podcast after podcast of election analysis. I can't get enough of On the Media, or Fresh Air's campaign interviews, or the Slate Gabfest. Yesterday, my fun activity for the day was to analyze 85,000 campaign contributors to see what corporations were donating to a cause that upsets me greatly. As someone who has spent a lot of my life thinking about politics, election day is the culmination of watching and participating in months and months of policy discussion, campaign strategy, and grassroots activism.

"What do you actually do on election day?" a friend recently asked in an email. I was balking at the idea of planning something on Tuesday. For me, election day is a ritual of being by myself, watching election returns, and waiting for results.

I answered her, "I sit at home, watch tv, click between my gazillion secretary of state / CNN / returns sites / blogs. I was invited to election parties, but I don't do that. I'd rather stay home and not talk to anyone ... It's better than Disneyland."

While there is a part of me that desperately wants certain candidates to win, and certain propositions to lose, and certain cynicisms that I have about the electorate to be put to bed, much of my election day fun is academic. How are the vote turnouts? How did the campaigns get out the vote? What new ingenious campaign methods are taking place? What's the mood like in the country? I click through photo montages and tear up at overview videos. I make spreadsheets, and I watch electoral maps.

Since I'll be at home alone, I'm not planning on a cute election day spread. No Palin Syrah, no red state velvet cake, no "right wings", no arugula (these ideas and more via Serious Eats).

My goal is going to be great sustenance with a minimum of fuss, and a minimum of time spent in the kitchen. Yesterday, I made Suzanne Goin's spiced pork stew, which is a recipe from Sunday Suppers at Lucques. Don't have this fabulous book? Alice Q Foodie published an adaptation of this recipe last year. It's going to be good today as I reheat it between returns.

Even election geeks need to get some fresh air, so before the 3:00 pm poll closings in Indiana and Kentucky, I'll be venturing out to Mission Pie to pick up my new addiction -- their delicious walnut pie. I have a feeling I'll be staying up late to wait for California proposition results, and my late night plan is popcorn or cereal. If things go really badly, I may be turning to my most basic comfort food: corn tortillas with melted cheddar and tomatoes.

If you're more social than I am on election day, you might want to wear your "I voted" sticker all day and take advantage of the numerous opportunities for free food around the Bay Area. You can get free sangria, free coffee, free ice cream, free doughnuts, free cookies, a free drink, and a free chicken sandwich.

Whatever tonight may bring, the drink of choice at this house will be sparkling wine -- probably something from my favorite Anderson Valley winery. It's a day to celebrate the end of this astounding election.

It didn't take long to figure out my contribution to an election night potluck: celebratory jiao zi dumplings made with bipartisan dough.

Inspiration came from the toothsome, homemade, two-tone dumplings served during a recent 9-course dinner at China Stix in Santa Clara. The meal, hosted by the Association of Chinese Cooking Teachers, included a hands-on demonstration of dumpling making with owner Frank Chang and his head chef. Tucked in the corner of a nondescript strip mall, the restaurant is nothing much from the outside. Once inside, though, you'll find some of the best northern-style Chinese food in the Bay Area.

[Photo by Frank Jang]

Instead of green and white, though, my own dumplings would promise the peaceful, delicious coexistence of Red State and Blue State in every single mouthful. For the Republicans, I still had some powder ground from trai gac, a fruit used in Vietnam to color sticky rice a lucky red.

For Blue State representation, I turned to local writer and cooking teacher, Linda Tay Esposito, for a small handful of bunga telang, the petals of dried clitoria flowers that are used to color sweet rice and other desserts in Malaysia. (Yes, Southeast Asians are addicted to brightly colored food.) The flowers are very difficult to obtain, but Linda was willing to sacrifice some of her stash for the Democratic cause. In gratitude, I passed along some of my Republican powder.

Most natural colors are not any more difficult to use than the fake stuff in those little bottles. Most flowers, leaves or barks are best extracted during a cold-water soak. If needed, strain out the solids.

If you're coloring rice, start with a smaller amount of colored water for soaking, to infuse as much concentrated color into the grains as possible, then follow with a second soaking before cooking. (This is a handy trick for deeper golden hues in saffron pilafs, too.) Beets, hibiscus, pandan, turmeric, ube -- we're blessed with many brightly hued foods to lend artistry to our plates.

As we head into the holiday season, with lots of colorful cookies and festive breads to share, it's time to stock up on food colorings. This year, try out natural food colors. If making your own is not appealing or possible, you can find convenient natural colors online. Nature's Flavors offers organic food coloring in both powder and liquid forms.

As for those two-toned, Green Party dumplings at China Stix: Round up some friends and reserve a table, as a full banquet is the best way to experience their excellent variety of dishes. House favorites include the crispy-skinned duck, the tender pork spareribs cooked and presented dramatically inside a whole pumpkin, crazy flaky thousand-layer bread, and refreshing greens punctuated with extra tiny pinenuts.

China Stix
2110 El Camino Real
Santa Clara, CA 95050
(408) 244-1684
Map

[Photo by Frank Jang]

When it's pouring raining, grim and blustery, cold and dark, and frankly dreadful outside, my idea of the perfect day is one where I'm home, warm and happy. The windows are all steamed up, I put on some good music, and I start baking. And cooking. In fact, I'm happiest if I have about 4 different things going at once.

For example, today I have a sourdough sponge—made from my sourdough starter—bubbling away in a warm little spot in the kitchen, just waiting for it’s debut as a big chewy loaf of sourdough bread. On the stove, a gorgeous autumnal pumpkin curry simmering away. Recipe is courtesy of one of my all-time favourites, Nigel Slater. One burner over sits a huge pot of chicken and yams for my dog's dinner (and breakfast, and dinner, and etc etc).

But, I’m thinking, what about dessert? I adore making dessert on the weekend. Especially if it means firing up the oven and baking something. Plus it helps warm up the house and keep it all cozy inside. And nothing beats the smell of pastry or cakes or cookies, or really any kind of dough, baking away in the oven.

So in keeping with the autumn theme, and because I have a bag of pears, I’m going for little pear pot pies. It just sounds nice. Seriously, say it out loud. Pear. Pot. Pies. What could be better on a night like this?

Warm Pear Pot Pies

Serves: 5–8

Ingredients:
4 medium pears (I used Comice)
1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
A big squeeze of fresh lemon juice
About 2 teaspoons flour

For the pastry dough:
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
1/2 teaspoon sugar
7 tablespoons very cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
About 1/4 cup very cold water

Vanilla ice cream, for serving

Preparation:

1. To make the dough, in the bowl of a food processor, stir together the flour, salt, and sugar. Sprinkle the butter over the top and process for a few seconds, or just until the butter is slightly broken up into the flour but still in visible pieces. Sprinkle the water over the flour mixture evenly, then process until the mixture just starts to come together. Dump the mixture out of the bowl onto 2 large sheets of plastic wrap. Press the dough together into a mound and then wrap with plastic and press into a flat disk. Refrigerate the dough to chill for 30 minutes or up to 1 day.

2. Preheat the oven to 375F. Place eight 2/3-cup custard cups or five 1-cup ramekins onto a rimmed baking sheet. Peel the pears, remove the core and seeds, and cut into bite-sized chunks. In a mixing bowl, stir together the pears, brown sugar, lemon juice, and flour. Divide the pear mixture equally between the cups or ramekins.

3. Remove the dough from the refrigerator. Remove the plastic wrap and place the dough disk on a lightly floured work surface. Using a rolling pin, roll the dough into a round about 1/8-inch thick. Cut out enough rounds of dough as you have custard cups or ramekins. Make sure to cut them so they are slightly larger than the top of the cup or ramekin. Place the dough round on top and press the edges down to secure. Cut a few vents in top.

4. Bake until the crust is golden and the pear juices are bubbling. Set aside to cool for about 10 minutes, then serve with a scoop of ice cream on top.