I have always been mildly troubled by cupcakes. I understand their immediate attraction-- they're cute, individual packages of utensil-free eating. It's cake on-the-go for busy people who like such things. I had once thought they were adorable for (small) children's parties, but I am no longer convinced.

I just don't care much for them. Not that they aren't occasionally delicious. I just don't like what they stand for.

The Origin, in Brief

The name "cupcake" is derived from its method of measurement, though it is also argued that these treats were often baked in cups or smaller baking tins in the 19th Century, when oven-baking was done with wood fires, thus making the production of larger, more substantial cakes subject to uneven cooking and burning.

Rather than weighing ingredients, the cupcake was borne of measuring by volume and a need for easy counting, thanks to non-universal literacy rates:

1 cup butter, 2 cups sugar, 3 cups flours, 4 eggs.

Essentially, the cupcake was created as a helpful recipe for the illiterate, the bad bakers of the world, or both.

Cute in a Cup

For me, cute is only attractive if there is some element of menace behind it, much like sweetness needs a pinch of salt to prevent it from becoming cloying, insipid. Puppies, which are smaller versions of solid, dependable dogs are cute, but they are unpredictable, sad-eyed creatures capable of terrible destruction at any given moment. The child star Shirley Temple was a cute, smaller version of the more serious Ambassador to Ghana-and-Czechoslovakia Shirley Temple Black, but she has earned her place in my heart through playing edgier parts before hitting the big time: knife-wielding tots, honky-tonk singers, and highly-paid temptresses bent on destroying the integrity of politicians new to Washington. Cupcakes are merely irritatingly cute, diminutive versions of a proper cake. Of course, given their newly-found, inherent dangers, I think they just might qualify, but it doesn't make me like them more.

Sharing is Caring

I've been thinking about the cupcake ever since a newlywed couple hosted their nuptial dinner at my restaurant. The bride was a depressing control-freak who didn't for one moment seem to be enjoying herself at her own wedding. The new husband was obliging and obedient.

The wedding "cake" was comprised of three tiers of cupcakes monogrammed with the bride's and groom's' initials. One bloated, over-sized cupcake sat on top. I stared at the cakes for a moment, feeling mildly disgusted and uneasy about the couple's future.

And then one of my managers hit on what was bothering me when he stated that this couple just didn't get it, that cupcakes are individual items, unsharable; that dividing up a true cake would have symbolized the couple's desire to share their happiness with their guests. I went back to look at the bride and groom. They sat alone, facing each other at a tiny square table, while guests and family sat apart from them at larger, round ones. I felt a little depressed.

Cupcakes are, by nature, considered separate but equal confections. There is no question, as in the sub-division of a large cake, as to who receives a frosting rose, who gets a corner piece, who gets a bigger or smaller slice. They are all, more or less, similar to one another. They are dismally egalitarian.

Each bite of a cupcake is designed to be similar to the next. With a slice of layer cake, for example, there is no inner negotiation, which is part of the joy of eating one. Does one eat the frosted outer edge first, or save it for last, or does one move back and forth between them?

This is, perhaps, why I no longer think they're such a good idea for children's parties. While the allure of their convenience might be attractive to harried parents (and what parent in their right mind doesn't look for a shortcut here and there?), cupcakes teach children nothing about how life really works: negotiation (I'll trade you my frosting rose for your corner piece), disappointment (why did I get such a small piece?), hierarchy (Why did she get a better piece? Is it because her daddy is my daddy's boss?), or, most importantly, sharing (You want some more frosting? Here, have some of mine.). They are, sadly, one of the many indications of the modern parent's tendency towards protecting children from anything "unpleasant."

Speaking of Unpleasant...

Perhaps my first experience with birthday cupcakes left a bad taste in my mouth. A girl, who I shall call "Karen" (because that is her real name), was given a special 6th birthday party in our kindergarten class. Her mother was our ever-present teacher's aide. For the special event, Karen's mother had baked cupcakes into Scoopy's ice cream cones, which would, I suppose, make them cone cakes. Karen's was, unsurprisingly, more elaborate than the other cupcakes. Her name was even embossed on the cone. The rest of us got random names, none of which matched.

It is more than likely possible that I was jealous of the fact that, since Karen's birthday fell within the school year and had a mother in a position of influence among the kindergarten-teaching set, she could be singled out for specialness, just as she was often awarded the title of "Wake-up Fairy", which was bestowed upon the best napper in class on any given day. Snigger all you like, but I was a lousy napper and therefore, never allowed to play that particular rôle.

So it was with the most satisfying schadenfreude, that I witnessed the birthday girl bite off the tip of her tongue as she tucked into her special cupcake. The rest of us were shocked into silence when she screamed, the blood pooling over the frosting of her dessert as she opened her mouth to cry and dripping down the white apron-front of her party dress.

By high school, Karen was running around with the Heavy Metal crowd and, I believe, referring to herself as a "headbanger." I've often wondered if that first taste of blood-tinged frosting influenced her future tastes. I'm not saying, I'm just saying.

I Knew You Were Coming

A birthday is a very special event, as is a wedding, or a much-anticipated visit from a loved one. To bake a cake in honor of someone is to tell them you esteem them sufficiently to make a gift of your time. Had Eileen Barton, for example, sung "If I Knew You Were Comin', I'd've Baked a Cupcake," the meaning would have been lessened to almost pointlessness-- a sort of, "oh, hey. Welcome. Just put your stuff over there and we'll unfold the couch when I'm off the phone." Cupcakes are simply too quotidian to illicit as much good will as a full cake, no matter what their biggest fans might tell you.

One Cupcake, Indivisible

Yesterday, I came across this rather provocative quote:

"America is an enormous cupcake in the middle of millions of starving people."
-- Gloria Steinem

I'm sure anyone could have a field day with this statement. "One cupcake, indivisible," was my first thought. Cupcakes are a symbol of, if not independence, then individuality. America is seen as a place where freedom of expression is encouraged. The cupcake is not self-sufficient, it takes several ingredients and the efforts of a baker, for example, to create it. It is, however, self-contained-- it stands alone, apart, and, in its paper wrapper, symbolizes our modern obsession with hygiene. A perfect, if heavy-handed, metaphor for a nation that has historically preferred isolation and individual freedoms to full engagement and, say, universal health care.

Is it any big surprise that the popularity of the cupcake wildly increased during Bush's years in the White House? Interesting.

I won't even get into what those millions of starving people of the world might think of us. Some of it's good, some of it's rather unpleasant. I do not, however, wish for them to think of us as an unengaging, selfish little cupcake. If our history teaches us anything, it's that we are quick learners. We can't go it alone. We need to share with our friends and bribe new allies. Perhaps if we kick this annoying little cupcake habit and turn, instead to sharing larger baked goods that are, by nature and necessity, broader in their world view, we all might just get along.

Oh, who am I kidding? But it would be a nice start.

A Final Treat

Back to Shirley Temple. As the black lingerie-clad temptress-for-hire Polly Tix, she slinks and vamps her way into the new-in-town senator's heart. How does she entice him into selling his soul?

An enormous cake, that's how.

Twitter, the microblogging site, is rapidly becoming a time-sensitive source for news and information about what is happening in the world of food. Bay Area Bites uses Twitter to share daily food highlights chosen from our favorite food & drink resources as well as share stories covered by KQED Food.

Follow Bay Area Bites on Twitter to stay up-to-date with breaking food news and events specific to KQED or relevant to the food blogosphere and beyond.

Setting up a Twitter account and following food bloggers and like-minded foodies is an excellent way to connect with the food community online.

For more information read Jen Maiser's post on Twitter and Serious Eats' post to see a list of BAB and other foodworthy bloggers to follow.

Scan the list of people that your favorite food bloggers are following to find interesting threads from people with food-related content.

You can also use Twitter search to find food-related tweets.

Here is a Twitter badge (one of two types you can generate from your own Twitter account) displaying the live feed from bayareabites:

Informative articles on Twitter and Related Applications
From TechCrunch:
How To Make Twitter Sound Like Music To Your Ears
The Top 21 Twitter Clients (According To TwitStat)
The Top 21 Twitter Applications (According to Compete)
The Real Video Twitter: 12seconds.tv (500 Alpha Invites)

From Mashable:
Twitter category -- numerous articles

A few years ago Shauna, the blogger aka Gluten-Free Girl, wrote about Eating Gluten-Free in Italy. She was amazed at how many gluten-free products she found there. It turns out celiac disease is the most common genetic disease in Europe and in Italy about 1 in 250 people suffer from it.

Celiac disease is a digestive disease that damages the small intestine and interferes with the absorption of nutrients from food. Celiacs cannot tolerate a protein called gluten, commonly found in wheat, rye, barley, and possibly oats. The problem is, gluten can be very hard to avoid. It's not just in things made from flour but as an additive in things like bouillon, candy, cured meats, sauces, soups, soy sauce and even tortilla chips. The symptoms of celiac disease are many and include a whole host of gastrointestinal disorders, making it hard to diagnose.

Relatively few Americans are diagnosed with celiac disease, it's estimated most suffer unknowingly. Fortunately awareness is growing in no small part thanks to food blogs like Gluten-Free Girl, Karina's Kitchen and La Tartine Gourmande (mostly gluten-free). Each of these three blogs include plenty of recipes but are really about the love of food and how our experiences connect us all, written by passionate, funny women with unusually strong creative talents.

Celiac products are beginning to show up on shelves, and not surprisingly some of the best are from Italy like two newly introduced gluten-free organic pastas from Rustichella d'Abruzzo. One is made entirely from corn, the other from rice. If you are cooking for someone who is celiac, they are a great choice. Each are light and flavorful, but like conventional pasta they must not be overcooked or they become gummy. The rice noodles are particularly good with Asian style sauces and the corn noodles pair well with Southwestern flavors. Here are a couple more suggestions for how to use them, courtesy of Market Hall Foods, I think canned tomatoes would work in place of fresh too:

• Cook some loose Italian sausage with fresh tomatoes and garlic and toss with the Corn Fusili
• Stir together fresh tomatoes, black olives, feta cheese and fresh parsley and mint. Let marinate for a few hours and toss with the Rice Spaghetti

Two good books for celiacs include Shauna's book, Gluten-Free Girl How I Found the Food That Loves Me Back...And How You Can Too and 1000 Gluten-Free Recipe. Shauna's book will be an inspiration to anyone who wants to enjoy food, not just tolerate it. While Gluten-Free Girl has some recipes in it, the real bible is 1000 Gluten-Free Recipes. It's what the Joy of Cooking is for the rest of us, a place to find a recipe for almost everything under the sun.

I should have known that when my ultimate food friend, Melanie, invited me to her house in Cloverdale this weekend that the days would be filled with chowing my way through Sonoma County. When not hanging out at her house chatting by the fire and drinking delicious wine, we were cruising the county having nibbles and bites in Santa Rosa, Healdsburg, Cloverdale and the surrounding areas.

"Can you leave work at 2:30," she asked via email late last week, "I'd like to get to the Downtown Bakery in Healdsburg by 4:30pm for the half-price markdown."

On the way to Healdsburg, we exited Highway 101 to avoid traffic and came to our first stop: Joe Matos Cheese Factory. The Matos family sells their St. George's cheese to many cheese stores and restaurants in the Bay Area and their unassuming "retail store" (consisting of a wheel of cheese and a loud bell announcing customers) is located in Santa Rosa. The cheese is a bargain at $7 per pound, and I bought a large $10 slice for our weekend. This is a delicious cheese. Cowgirl Creamery's Library of Cheese describes the St. George as a "full-flavored cow milk cheese with a cheddary depth and a rich texture."

Next, we stopped at Willie Bird Turkeys to pick up some bones for stock. Many of you know Willie Bird as the purveyors of a large number of sustainable turkeys around the holidays. Their retail store is worth a stop and many bargains can be found inside. The bones were seventy cents a pound, and we bought a flat of 20 delicious turkey eggs for $4. I left the store noshing on their peppery turkey jerky and we were on our way.

We pulled into Healdsburg at 4:40 pm, and Melanie was in a hurry to get to Downtown Bakery. "I've never gotten here this late," she mentioned as we quickly walked to the bakery. Each weekday from 4:30 to 5:30, Downtown Bakery marks down many of their items to half-price. We walked in and took a number (18 people were ahead of us!) and perused the mark-down menu to make our decisions. What followed was an oddly stressful ten minutes as we watched item after item be completely sold-out by the earlier customers. Still, by the time it was our turn there were many items left and we bought a large bag of baked goods (a lot for freezing) for $15. I've always loved Downtown Bakery's croissants, which I purchase at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market, and happily had one for breakfast the next morning. The highlight of our purchases was a delicious almond tart which was quite sweet, full of nuts, and perfect when toasted.

Next week, I'll let you know about the rest of our trip which included a trip to the delightful Santa Rosa Farmers Market and more Sonoma county wanderings.

Joe Matos Cheese Factory
3669 Llano Road
Santa Rosa
9 am - 5 pm
707-584-5283

Willie Bird Turkeys
5350 Highway 12
Santa Rosa
707-545-2832

Downtown Bakery
308A Center Street
Healdsburg
707-431-2719

The 2nd Annual NorCal Regional Grilled Cheese Invitational was held this past Saturday at Dolores Park.

Half-Naked Juggling Guy in Boxer Briefs was present with an African drum on his back. As was Chick in a Hot Dog Suit accompanied by Boy in a Banana Suit. All in all, just another day in the Mission.

Hot Dog and Certified Organic Banana (Photo Credit: Kai Yu)

Really, days like this make me love San Francisco for what it is: the most eclectic bunch of people in one city, all bonded by a shared appreciation for some tasty eats, a little entertainment, and a patch of grass to sit on.

The Crowd Goes Crazy for Cheese (Photo Credit: Kai Yu)

The crowd at the Grilled Cheese Invitational was pumped up and full of exuberant cheering. The air was electric... and full of the intoxicating scent of sizzling butter and bread. The promise of melty cheese for the masses created a kind of aphrodisiacal nirvana that settled over our little corner of Dolores Park.

According to the official "Grilled Cheese Invitational Rules & Regulations" there were three categories of competition:
1) The Missionary Position: Standard bread, standard butter and standard cheese. No additional ingredients or flavorings allowed.
2) The Kama Sutra: Any kind of bread, any kind of butter, and any kind of cheese (or blend of cheeses) plus additional ingredients.
3) The Honey Pot: Any kind of bread, any kind of butter, any kind of cheese (or blend of cheeses), and any additional ingredients, but a sandwich that is sweet in flavor, or would best be served as dessert.

I was impressed with the creative license many contestants took with the "any kind of butter" option. I saw duck fat being used, pools of bacon grease and butter comingling in unhealthy heart happiness, and my favorite of the day -- coconut oil.
The Honey Pot category produced some entries that just boggled my concept of the grilled cheese. Take this for example.

Mushroom-Banana Grilled Cheese

Nifer, a volunteer ballot-collector decked out in her finest grilled cheese bonnet, models a Mushroom-Banana Grilled Cheese topped with whipped cream.

Nifer

She took a bite and declared, "It's weird... but I kinda like it."

Err... I'll trust you on that, Nifer. Mushrooms and whipped cream may be just a little too risqué for my taste. I'll save room for seasoned vets Laura Wiles and Katherine Scherbel's Baklava Grilled Cheese.

Laura and her Honey Pot Entry

Laura and Katherine took The Honey Pot category at last year's Oakland Regional Grilled Cheese Invitational and I could see why. They cook for the people. Katherine divulged that their strategy was to create something that possessed a familiar flavor people could identify with. The result was a round honey bun, fried in fragrant coconut oil, and filled with a nutty mixture of pistachio, orange zest, and cinnamon, ricotta and mozzarella cheese, and drizzled with chocolate sauce.

Baklava Grilled Cheese

Big thanks to the organizers of the Grilled Cheese Invitational. They may have made the world (or at least San Francisco) a better, happier, more fulfilled place with this cook-off. It's hard to not love life after spending your Saturday afternoon with over 500 of your fellow neighbors, paying homage to the almighty Grilled Cheese Sammich. The best sammich there ever was.

Grilled Cheese Euphoria (Photo Credit: Kai Yu)

Grilled Cheese wins at life (Photo Credit: Kai Yu)

You think you know a person, and then you move into her house for a few weeks to keep the lights on and take in the mail while she's gone, and you realize: Salt. This person has a crush on salt. First you find kosher salt, in the big red box. Then a jar of pink-tinged Hawaiian red clay salt next to a white box of flaky English Maldon salt, the kind that Nigella Lawson likes to sprinkle over her soft-boiled Italian egg every morning. On the counter is a vase-shaped bottle of French sel gris, crunchy, chunky crystals with a whiff of seaweed, and a tiny, face-cream-sized jar of saffron salt. Next to the stove, two ceramic dishes stand ready to deliver up a pinch or two to the soup or scrambled eggs.

On the top shelf, there's even a cylinder of good old supermarket Morton's salt, dosed with iodine and still with the little rain-slickered girl on the dark-blue wrapper. (At least the freezer offers the girly reassurance of chocolate-peanut butter ice cream.) In the refrigerator, the crush veers over to umami, the Japanese-named "fifth taste" of mouth-watering savoriness: capers (2 jars), a wedge of real Parmesan, a chunk of smoked Gouda, soy sauce, cornichons, bread-and-butter pickles. In the pantry, canned trout filets and canned sardines, regular and smoked.

Short of licking one's fingers and working up a case-of-beer thirst, what to do with this grand bouffe of briny delights? There’s an old Jewish tradition that a guest always brings bread and salt to bless a new house. So what better way to make a house a home, just for a little while, than chewy breadsticks sparkling with any number of salts? And when the house’s owner comes back, she’ll find a bouquet of the same fresh salted bread waiting to welcome her back home.

Easy Salty Breadsticks

These are the perfect accompaniment to hearty winter soups and stews. You can also add some of the toppings--like caraway or poppy seeds--into the dough itself for more texture.

Ingredients:
2 teaspoons dry yeast, dissolved in 1/4 cup lukewarm water 1 cup milk, warmed
4 tablespoons butter
2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar or honey
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup cornmeal or rye flour
Glaze:
1 egg beaten with 2 tablespoons water
Salt, sesame seeds, caraway seeds, and/or poppy seeds

Preparation:
In a small bowl, sprinkle yeast over 1/4 cup lukewarm water. Set aside. In a large bowl, pour warm milk over butter, salt, and sugar or honey. Let sit until milk is lukewarm and butter is melted. Add yeast, white flour, 1 cup whole wheat flour, and cornmeal or rye flour. Add more whole wheat flour as needed to make a soft, shaggy dough. Knead for 6 to 8 minutes until dough is smooth and elastic. Let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 50 minutes.

Deflate the dough. Divide dough into small egg-shaped balls, stretching or twist into thin ropes. Lightly grease a baking sheet, or line with parchment. Lay ropes onto prepared baking sheet and let rise in a warm place until gently puffed, about 20 minutes. While breadsticks are rising, preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Using a pastry brush or the back of a spoon, brush with glaze. Bake for 12-15 minutes, until set and just beginning to brown. Remove from the oven and brush again with glaze. Sprinkle with toppings. Return to the oven and bake an additional 8-10 minutes, until crust is crisp and deep golden brown.

In college I was always broke and ate very little meat. Ironically, I spent my freshman and sophomore years working at a prime rib restaurant called, of all things, The Gentleman's Choice. As I couldn't actually afford the beef dishes we served, I usually ate a free house salad and bread while escaping the cigarette smoke in the kitchen during my breaks. Since serving slabs of prime rib at The Gentleman's Choice, I have eaten at a prime rib house only twice. This is partially due to the fact that I try to eat only grass-fed beef, and there's nary a prime rib house that does that, and also because steakhouses aren't my cup of tea.

My first prime rib experience after waitressing at the Gentleman's Choice was about ten years ago in Santa Cruz. While visiting with my family, my Dad insisted we all eat at the Hindquarter -- yes that is really the name -- because, according to Dad, "Nothing else looks good." I rebelled by ordering fish, which was dry and tasteless. The next occasion was last weekend when I was visiting our friends Mark and Margaret in San Diego and they wanted to use a gift certificate they had won for Red Tracton's in Del Mar, a 60-year old landmark from the days when Hollywood icons like Bing Crosby and Jimmy Durante came to watch the ponies.

As soon as I entered the building and walked up to the hostess stand next to the bar, I was thrown back to my days serving at The Gentleman's Choice. The décor was dark, the room smelled like beef and butter, and there were old white retirees everywhere drinking cocktails. The only thing missing were the wafts of cigarette smoke, which I am sure would have been there had it been legal.

Under normal circumstances, I try to purchase and eat only grass-fed beef. But what do you do when you're faced with a social situation that is in disagreement with your general food philosophy? Do you walk out and say, "Sorry," or do you stay mum and participate? I suppose the answer to this question depends on how vehemently opposed you are to what's being served. A vegetarian in my situation most likely would have walked out (and rightly so), but as I eat meat, this seemed a bit extreme. So as I was handed the menu, I thought "when in Rome," and put my personal beef ideology in a little mental box in the back of my head. This seemed the best thing to do, particularly as I had learned a very important ordering rule years ago.

While driving cross country a year after graduating from college with my dearest childhood friend Margaret and her husband Mark, we stopped in Monahan, Texas for lunch. Margaret's black curly hair and her husband's dangling cross earring stuck out in the little diner just as the ten-gallon hats on the male diners would have on Haight Street. As Mark ordered his hamburger, Margaret and I decided on turkey sandwiches. While Mark devoured his juicy all-American meat patty, Margaret and I picked the grayish turkey with a big black vein down the middle from between our sliced bread. Mark looked up and said, "We're in Texas. Just get the burger." Words to live by.

It's easy to be a food snob in a steak house. There is no magic behind the dishes; no culinary expertise; and no tantalizing use of fresh ingredients. There are just large slabs of Grade-A beef (industrial food complex beef at that), lots of butter, and mayonnaise-based salad dressings. But I had learned my lesson in Texas and so realized I should just embrace the situation.

The gift certificate covered the price of two full prime cuts. Just one of those babies could feed a family of eight easily, although Mark and my husband handily finished most of their dinners plus a good portion of the chocolate cake afterward. I opted for the huge iceberg lettuce chunk with blue cheese and a much smaller steak. Did I enjoy my dinner? Not really, and I actually felt a little sick afterward. But did I hate the experience? No, and here's why.

It's simply more fun to eat up and drink your wine, than complain or walk out, especially when someone else is using their gift certificate. The Red Tracton's (or any Gentleman's Choice equivalent) is not my restaurant of choice, but we there for the great company, not the food. I can pretty much guarantee you that I won't be eating in another prime rib house anytime soon, but sometimes it's good to be reminded of your past. And sometimes, when in Rome, it just makes sense to get the prime rib.

Things are tough all over. This isn't exactly news. I can't think of a single person I know who hasn't been hit on some level by the mess our economy is in. Everyone, it seems, is scaling back on spending.

And who can blame them?

In a city that prides itself on its food scene, San Francisco's restaurants have taken a very hard hit. With fewer people lunching and dining out these days, many places in the city have either laid off staff or cut their hours. Some once-favored haunts have decided to close their doors for lunch, some have chosen to to hang out the "Now Open for Sunday Brunch" sign (which is usually an indicator of fiscal desperation), some have been forced to shut down permanently.

As a professional waiter, I consider myself very lucky to be working in a popular and (blessedly) busy restaurant. Hell, I consider myself lucky to have a job. Period.

Tipping Down

The current trend in dining these days seems to be downsizing-- from the price tag of the wine purchase to the amount of food ordered. Perfectly understandable. Not a single server I have talked to about the situation was unsympathetic to the current, collective economic plight. People are ordering fewer bottles of wine, and more are going for what some refer to as "non'trées"-- the ordering of appetizers in lieu of main courses. It's a hit to our wallets, of course (I have personally seen an average 30% decrease in my own sales), but we know were not the only ones. It's been openly discussed at our staff meetings that the guests who were dining with us in the fat times are still here with us in the lean ones, and we should be ever mindful of that. Which, for the most part, we are. The goal is to keep them coming back. We are making less money, of course, but we are working harder for it.

And that's fine.

What isn't fine is the much more alarming trend that seems to be running apace with the downsizing of dine-out meals-- the downsizing of tips. Along with decreased sales, servers are seeing a general lowering of their gratuity's percentage. And this is not okay. Not at all.

Tipping Out

I've always wondered if people who have never worked in the service industry know how restaurant tipping actually operates. It's a subject that most people probably don't give much thought to. You tip your server, she pockets the money, and goes home with it at the end of the shift.

But that's not how it works.

In a recent phone interview with a reporter from a major national newspaper, I was asked about the current economic situation and how it was affecting San Francisco restaurants. In relating my own experience, I told her roughly what I sell on an average night and what my tips are like. When I told her where exactly that money went, how I am taxed on my sales, and what I actually walk out the door with, she was surprised. She explained to me that, in all the years she had been covering restaurants, she had never even thought to ask about the process of tipping out. I respected her for that admission. And it dawned on me that, if she didn't know, how many diners do?

If I am given a $50 tip, on a $250 bill, that's wonderful, but it's not exactly all mine to keep. In most restaurants, especially high-end places, a server is not simply working for his own tips. In my place of business, the gratuity I receive from any given table goes towards supporting nine other employees. Ten, including myself.

Here's an illustration of what is occurring with ever-increasing frequency in our restaurants. Possibly just a bad turn of luck, but it illustrates what really happens when a good server receives a bad tip:

I'll use the example of a fellow waiter who took care of some regular guests and four of their friends. The waiter in question is extremely professional-- fun and chatty at the right moments, formal and efficient at other times, or any combination of the above-mentioned, as each case necessitates. And, above all, he actually cares about what he's doing. He puts his heart into his work.

The regulars and their guests were treated to a few complimentary appetizers and were well taken care of, as usual. When the bill arrived, it was not the regular guests who paid, but one of their tablemates. On a $500 check, the guest left the waiter a $20 tip. Needless to say, the waiter was upset, but could say nothing, except to his co-workers and manager. Vent it, shrug it, face it, let it go. Hopefully do not repeat-- that is often our sanity-saving mantra.

His tip may have been $20, which is insult enough, given his high level of care and service. The financial damage, however, is far worse in such cases.

The Break Down

Granted, the "tip out" (what a server tips out to his support staff) varies from restaurant to restaurant. Some houses pool tips, others ensure that the kitchen staff receives a percentage. The permutations are endless, but all enacted with the goal of supporting the other, no-less-important members of the service team. This is how it works at our place of business:

Tip outs are often based on sales, not the total amount of gratuity.

On a $500 sale, the waiter must give, at the very minimum:

Busser: $15 (3% but usually closer to 4% since a busser is a server's chiefest ally)

Food Runner: $5 (1%)

Hostess: $5 (1%)

Bartender: $6.25 (1.25%)

Our stocker receives $5 per waiter as a flat fee every shift, our barista receives $10.

We do not ever decrease the amounts given to our support staff.

Having been given $20 for his services, the waiter actually lost about $12 taking care of these guests. And that's just on the surface. The IRS calculates roughly 8% of a server's sales as taxable income, owing to the variability of tipping. 8%, in this instance is $40-- more than twice what the waiter was paid.

Clearly, I am biased. I have a vested interest in people tipping properly. And by properly, I mean 15% at the very minimum for basic service. Good service deserves 20%. That is our custom.

The goal of this post isn't to shame people into tipping more. My readers are, by and large, pretty savvy in these matters. I just have the feeling that, if more people understood where that tip money goes and what the consequences are to those who bear the double brunt of lowered sales and lowered tips, they might think twice about saving that extra few dollars by leaving less money to the people who take care of them.

If you are well taken care of, take care of your caretakers.

Amen.

And pass it on.

Given the whole pregnancy thing, I've been sourcing non-alcoholic alternatives to my usual alcoholic libations. Cocktails aren't too hard to fake with mocktails, because while you may miss the satisfying bite of the gin or the underlying sweetness of rum, at least you can still make it a tasty drink with high-end mixers, homemade syrups, fresh herbs, and fruit, right?

It's harder when it comes to wine and beer. My findings on near-beer will follow in another post, but first I tried to find a sub-in for my comforting glass of red Italian table wine with dinner. With that goal in mind, I bought a bottle of Ariel Cabernet Sauvignon, and threw in a bottle of Sutter Home's Fre "sparkling wine beverage" for kicks.

Ariel Cabernet Sauvignon
I saddled my plate with wild mushroom ravioli in a homemade chorizo ragu and poured myself a glass of the CaberNOT Fauxvignon. The smell was promising, if a little weak, so I forked up a mouthful of pasta and paired it with the wine.

Yish.

Pros:
1. Having a selection of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Chardonnay (instead of just "red" or "white") was enough to convince me Ariel knew what they were doing. So, kudos on that marketing scheme, Ariel.

2. Personal edification bonus points: I finally taste-experienced the definition of wine "structure." More to the point, I now know what it means when there's such a complete lack of structure that the only thing keeping the wine vertical is the stem of the glass. Call it the Joey Potter of wines.

Cons:
1. If you drank a glass of actual wine, then swirled water around in the same glass to catch all the dregs, and then drank that water, you'd have a very good idea of what Ariel CaberNOT Fauxvignon tastes like.

Fre Sparkling
I was all set to let loose with another scathing name and derogatorily dub this non-alcoholic sample "Shampagne," but it's actually really quite good. While called a "brut," it's actually slightly sweeter than a full alcohol brut would be, but it's not sweet, either. Nor is it too washed out. Also, it has a fine and elegant mousse of bubbles, which makes it even more enjoyable as a champagne stand-in.

It puts me in mind of the heady days of my youth when Ann and Jane and I would traipse down to Milt's Grocery on Lake Street and spend our allowance on bottle after bottle of Catawba juice. After this pleasant surprise, I'd be willing to try the rest of the Fre line.

Navarro Grape Juice
I do like the Navarro grape juices -- made from their Pinot Noir and Gewurtztraminer grapes -- but both offerings tend to be overwhelmingly, cloyingly, throat-chokingly sweet. A splash of tonic water or club soda with a squirt of lemon or lime vastly improves them for me.

I far prefer Navarro's Verjus, because it's way more intense and sour. It's supposed to be used in cooking, I think, but I just chill it and drink it. The Verjus can also be cut with club soda or tonic water if you find the flavors too much for you. Plus, that sort of treatment really stretches the bottle in these financially tight times.

Though findable by the glass in local restaurants -- Zuni and Nopa, for sure -- in order to start your own juice cellar at home, you just might have to force yourself to drive up to the beautiful Anderson Valley and buy yourself a case. (If so, I recommend a night or two at the Sea Rock Inn. Affordable with views of the ocean from cozy cabins and a complimentary split of local wine in your room, this place is a very special retreat.)

Golden Star Sparkling Tea
Even before I was pregnant, I was singing the praises, extolling the virtues, and generally falling all over this sparkling non-alcoholic alternative:

"Let me tell you, I have never met such a beverage. Sparkling ciders -- both grape and apple -- have never been dry enough for me. They're tasty and juicy but that's what they really are: juice. The sweetness that overwhelms these teetotalling options is not found in the limpid depths of a perfectly chilled flute of Golden Star.

The uniquely refined sour flavor in Golden Star comes from the fermentation process, and though you might think the heady florals of jasmine might turn your tipple into Grandmother's eau de cologne, but it really doesn't. It's simply a remarkably balanced glass. It's simply a remarkable drink."

Golden Star Tea is now available at Whole Foods in 750 mL bottles; it was my "champagne" over the holiday season.

Fizzy Lizzy Cranberry Juice
Of all the Fizzy Lizzy juices, the cranberry is the most wine-like. Tart to the point of having an almost fermented-tasting sourness, this has become my preferred tipple of an evening.

Vignette Wine Country Sodas
Effervescent and dry, they're really not bad at all. Vignette offers Pinot Noir, Rose, and Chardonnay. The Chardonnay reminds me of pear cider and is my favorite of the three, thirst-quenching versions.

Sin Vino
Available in "Gold" and "Red," these juices are only so-so. They're overly syrupy, not very complex, and while they might make it into a mocktail, they don't really do it for me in a glass on their own.

For a few years, I have been trying to emulate my grandmother's cooking. I'm lucky because she is still alive and I talk to her nearly every day. So when I have questions about how to make her albondigas or Mexican rice, I can call her and see what I've done wrong. About two years ago, I went to Southern California for ten days with the sole plan of learning several of her recipes. Each day we'd pick one or two things to cook, and I would photograph and take notes and voice record the process.

I cherish those voice recordings because her spirit and her personality come through. Though the recipe learning was purely for selfish reasons, she acknowledged through her questions that there may be a larger audience. "What do I tell them," she asked "about salt? It's such a personal thing." I said, "Oh, we can just say 'to taste'." After that, and throughout the recording, any time she adds salt, then pauses for a beat, and then she says "to taste."

Though I am getting some of the recipes straight -- I can make a mean cocido and my albondigas are coming close -- my every day cooking tastes very different than grandma's. Until I had a revelation recently. For most any dish that I make, I cut up fresh garlic and use it along with any fresh herbs, alliums and other flavor builders. The other day, I was completely exhausted so I made a very fast pork stew by tossing the pork with salt, pepper, and something I never use: garlic powder. I had a small container that I had purchased from Penzey's for a particular recipe or two, and that sits in my cupboard mostly ignored.

I'll be darned if that stew didn't come out tasting exactly like it was from grandma's kitchen. I'm not saying that I know everything about cooking, but it amazes me that, being in my mid-thirties and cooking pretty much every day, I can still have culinary epiphanies that completely change my point of view. I don't think that I will be using garlic powder in everything I cook, and I treat it like a totally different flavor than fresh garlic, but it's nice to have another Silva family secret in my back pocket to use in the kitchen.