If eating is an agricultural act, as Wendell Berry so famously said, then what better way to celebrate the connection between food and farming than at Dirt to Dining?

Jesse Cool, the down-to-earth owner-cook (don't call her a chef!) of Menlo Park's Flea Street Cafe is hosting this benefit for the Ecological Farming Association right in her own backyard--which just happens to be a bountiful edible garden on the edge of the Stanford campus.

Cool, well known for her longtime dedication to seasonal, locally-sourced and sustainable cuisine, is opening up her address book, too. On hand to nosh and chat will be dozens of organic farmers and winemakers, including those from Full Belly Farm, Frog's Leap Winery, Green Gulch Farm, Live Earth Farm, Swanton Berry Farm, Robert Sinskey Vineyards, Frey Vineyards, and more.

And of course, going along with the garden tours will be plenty of delectable food and wine. That fava-bean canapé? Probably made from beans grown by the guy sipping sauvignon blanc right next you. Never seen a fava bean in its natural habitat? It's over there, hanging on vines right next to the carrots. Dining doesn't get any dirtier than that.

Dirt to Dining: A Day in Jesse Cool's Kitchen Garden
Sunday, June 7, 2009
2pm-5pm
2150 Amhearst Street
Palo Alto, CA
Tickets: $75

We carnivores who live in the Bay Area are a privileged bunch -- on any given day, we can choose to eat Fatted Calf's bacon, Fra Mani's salami, 4505's chicharrones and countless other artisan charcuterie around the city. To that list, I would add Boccalone's pork ragu. It's a lucious ragu that is intensely spiced and just perfect when tossed with pappardelle. Until a couple weeks ago, my main interface with Boccalone was to buy the ragu, or to pick up a sandwich or two for a picnic.

Boccalone is a store that is located in the Ferry Building, and is the brainchild of Incanto chef Chris Cosentino and his business partner Mark Pastore. It has been open less than a year, and attracts great attention in the Ferry Building with its pristine meat slicers and case of hanging meats. In addition to their delectable porcine products, Boccalone also offers sparkling water (like what is offered at Incanto) -- I love filling up my bottle on farmers market days before I battle the crowds.

I've been spending more time at Boccalone these days, however, and it's all the fault of a delicious new product called Nduja. Let's all say it together, class: en-doo-ya. Can't remember how to pronounce it? Ask for the "N-Judah," like I do, and you will get a smile and the lovely Boccalone staff will hand over the $11 salami-shaped package. Nduja is a Calabrian spreadable salami that is spicy and full of flavor. I love bringing it to room temperature and eating it on fresh bread. Once it's at room temperature, it spreads just like butter and is has a great mouthfeel. Nduja roots come from the French andouille sausage and the flavor profile is not unlike the andouille in smokiness and layers of flavor. Friends have been tweeting about mixing a dollop of it in omelettes.

Because this is such a new and unusual product, the folks at Boccalone tend to have some out on sample -- I would suggest that you try it next time you're at the Ferry Building.

Photo Credit: Bunrab.

Photo by geminder

Anthony Bourdain does not come off as a man easily rendered speechless -- but he may have met his match.

His talk on Thursday night at Flint Center brought out an eclectic crowd of spirited and often rowdy foodies, many of whom seemed quite capable of getting into a bar fight over the relative merits of Anderson Valley Pinots versus Amador zin. Fortunately no fists flew, just steady waves of enthusiasm at Bourdain's dynamic dissertation of Food Network gossip, friendly bashing of Alice Waters and Rachel Ray, and tales of his culinary philosophy and many testicle-eating adventures.

"No Reservations" often details some of the bizarre foods he ingests when traveling abroad, which he explains in terms of social propriety: often he is the guest of local families, who often have very little material wealth, but who generously put forth some of their most cherished cuisine. If they were to offer their honored guest the platter of poached puppy dog heads that would normally feed the family for the whole month, then it would be unconscionably rude to refuse the gift on the grounds of pickiness, squeamishness, or heaven forbid, vegetarianism. He professes a more rabidly inclusive form of gastronomic diplomacy.

While taking audience questions, he called on one fellow who had been interjecting various yells throughout the talk -- "F--- EMERIL!", for example -- addressing him as "you, the angry, belligerent dude in the hat." The Mr. Belligerent said something about a tattoo, and Bourdain invited him onto stage to provide proof.

The madly grinning Mr. B took the stage and lifted his pant leg for all to see. His entire right thigh was tattooed with Bourdain's face, looking brusquely cherubic as a softly lit Stevie Nicks in a biker bar.

Clearly Bourdain sees many unusual things in his travels, but his own face on the body of someone he didn't know left him looking some combination of flattered and mortified. It may have at least been reassuring to note that the other limbs bore similar portraits in ink, a walking Pantheon of Food Network personalities: Mario on the forearm, Alton on the shin, Fieri not visible in polite company...

Mr. B, having leveraged his unique opportunity to win over the roaring crowd, handed his idol a Sharpie and asked him to autograph the leg. Bourdain could have easily signed at the knee or even refused and called security, but instead, reaffirming his unflappability, urged Mr. B to hike the cuff up a little further, to get the scribble right onto the bikini line.

I can only assume he will remember the incident as Cupertino's gift of poached puppy dog heads.

Related Links:
Anthony Bourdain's blog
No Reservations on Twitter
No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain on Facebook
Anthony Bourdain books and DVDs on Amazon.com

From Mark Kurlansky, the author of Cod and Salt, comes The Food of a Younger Land (Riverhead Books: 397 pages, $27.95)-- "A portrait of American food before the national highway system-- before chain restaurants, and before frozen food, when the nation's food was seasonal, regional, and traditional-- from the lost WPA files."

That's quite a mouthful.

Reading this book at a time in history when eating local, organic, seasonal food in an urban setting like San Francisco is either a genuine passion, a fashion statement for those wealthy enough to afford it, or somewhere in between, it's a pleasure to find a book that chronicles a time when eating in such a manner was not a matter of choice or politics, but rather one's only option.

Culled from boxes of manuscripts originally intended for publication nearly 70 years ago as America Eats, Kurlansky took on the task of finishing what the Federal Writer's Project under Katherine Kellock could not, thanks to an interruption of funding and interest created by a little something people called World War II.

Writers and would-be writers in the late 1930's were given the task of collecting recipes, statistics, and food lore from around the country to create a comprehensive tome of American foods and local culinary traditions, region by region, the likes of which had never been attempted. All paid for by the United States government and its Federal Writer's Project, an organization poet W. H. Auden, as Kurlansky states, referred to as "one of the noblest and most absurd undertakings ever attempted by any state."

While Kurlansky's claim that American foodways are quickly becoming homogenized or altogether disappearing (for a good musing on this, please read Jane and Michael Stern's review) is arguable, and not all of the writing is, well, brilliant (Kurlansky shares that an alarming number of entries began with the phrase, "In the Fall, when the air turns crisp...), there are a number of gems worth mining in this work.

Some (very subjective) highlights include:

"Diddy-Wah-Diddy," a one-paragraph story by Zora Neale Hurston.

"An Oregon Protest Against Mashed Potatoes" by Claire Warner Churchill.

"New York Soda-Luncheonette Slang and Jargon," uncredited

And, naturally, an uncredited poem entitled "Nebraskans Eat the Weiners."

It's good fun, and a grand source of old-fashioned-- even obscure-- recipes and traditions. I, for one, can't wait to try baking a Depression Cake (p. 316), but might just take a pass (for now) on Kentucky Oysters (p. 157). Not because I'm squeamish, mind you. It's just not the right season for it. I'll have to just wait until the fall.

For more on The Food of a Younger Land, listen to Michael Krasny's interview with Kurlansky on Forum here at KQED.

One of my favorite spring and summer desserts is a lemon tart with berries and whipped cream. This is one of those pastries where everything melds into the perfect balance of flavors and textures -- the lemon's tartness nicely contrasts the sweetness of the berries and the luscious cream ties it all together. If you have Meyer lemons, so much the better as they are sweeter and have a more complex citrus flavor then the standard variety.

Lemon tart with berries is also the ideal dessert for anyone wishing to make a dish from local and seasonal ingredients. Strawberries, raspberries and blackberries are popping up in markets and backyards throughout the area. Meyer lemons are also in abundance right now. You can find them at most farmers' markets, and maybe even closer by in a neighbor's yard (or your own) as they grow beautifully in the Bay Area. If you don't have your own tree, but have seen one at someone else's house, I bet they'd share if you asked nicely and promised to bring over a nice slice of tart.

I've tried numerous lemon custard recipes, but my favorite is the Tarte au Citron recipe in the Bouchon cookbook by Thomas Keller. And, as luck would have it, this recipe is freely available at Epicurious.com, so you don’t have to buy the book to get it (although if you're in the market for a gorgeous book full of amazing recipes, I recommend it). I love Mr. Keller's lemon sabayon because the consistency lies beautifully in the tart crust, it isn't too eggy and the lemon flavor really shines through. Also, don't let the fact that you need to cook the custard in a bowl over a pot of simmering water dissuade you. This is not hard to make.

The Bouchon recipe calls for a pine nut crust, which I have made in the past and liked. That said, I prefer to make a regular butter crust for my tart as I think the lemon and berry flavors are interesting enough on their own and don't necessarily need a nutty component.

This is a great dessert to prepare ahead of time and then serve chilled. Topped with some berries that have macerated in a bit of sugar and lemon juice, along with a dollop of freshly-made whipped cream, you have the perfect seasonal dessert.

Lemon Sabayon
from Bouchon by Thomas Keller

Makes: Enough for one tart

Ingredients:
2 large eggs, cold
2 large egg yolks, cold
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
6 tablespoons (3 ounces) cold unsalted butter, cut into 6 pieces

For preparation instructions, go to Lemon Tart recipe at Epicurious.com

Sweet Berries with Lemon and Sugar

Makes: Enough berries to garnish each tart slice

Ingredients:
2 cups berries, washed and stemmed
¼ cup sugar
1 Tbsp lemon juice (preferably Meyer lemon)

Preparation:
1. Wash and hull berries. If using strawberries, cut into slices.
2. Place berries in a bowl and mix in sugar and lemon. Stir and set aside for at least ten minutes.
3. Refrigerate until ready to use.

Flaky Pie or Tart Dough
Adapted from a recipe by Kim Laidlaw

Makes: Enough for one 10-inch tart

Ingredients:
1 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
6 tablespoons very cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
1/4 cup ice water + 1 tablespoon

Preparation:
1. To make the crust, in the bowl of a food processor, stir together the flour, and salt. 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.
2. 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 until chilled, about 30 minutes or up to 1 day, or freeze for up to 1 month.

Banana Boats

Ahhh, do you smell that? Green grass, fresh air, smoky charcoal puffing gently into the air. The season of BBQs is officially upon us.

At your next open grill fest, whip up these Banana Boats and polish off your barbecue on a sweet note.

This no-fuss dessert is pure genius, and is sure to satisfy any sweet tooth. I owe this party trick recipe to Bartender Bill from Orson, who taught me how to make this ooey gooey and absurdly easy treat. Amazing what a gal can learn at the bar.

Banana Boats

Ingredients:
Bananas (As many as you need. Estimate 1 per person. Once they taste it, no one will want to share.)
Chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, peanut butter chips, sweetened coconut (Or whatever other toppings you fancy.)
Foil

Preparation:
1. Choose your bananas. I personally like mine ripened until perfectly spotted. I think they are sweeter this way.
2. Slit the banana lengthwise.
3. Stuff them with any combination of toppings you desire. I am a big fan of dark chocolate and butterscotch.
4. Line your grill with foil, and place the nanas on top.
5. Grill with the cover on until toppings get melty and delicious.
6. Eat with a spoon.

I'm going to start everyone off with a "duh" today: Every pregnancy is different. Okay? I've put that out there, and it's my disclaimer for this post. I am acknowledging that what worked for you or me might not work for your sister or friend. However, we can take comfort in the fact that SOME things might work for many.

I now have three pregnant friends, who are all a gradation of weeks behind me in their pregnancies, so since I'm the one to run the gauntlet first, I'm the one who answers questions and gives out what advice I can. I like it. I like sharing what I've learned, especially if what I learned can provide even one hour of relief to the expectant.

By nature, I'm a fairly nauseous person. That is, I'm easily nauseated -- cars, cabs, planes, naval gazing, American Idol -- will all do it to me. I've been this way for awhile and so learned early on in life that Dramamine was my friend, my confident, my constant companion.

I had feared that pregnancy might be much worse for me because of this disposition. (Remembering a ten-year-old New Yorker article that talked about pregnant women who have uncontrollable nausea and vomiting to the point of hospitalization didn't help allay my worst fears.)

Happily, I was wrong. Aside from those annoying people, who don't ever get any morning, noon, or night sickness, I don't think my nausea was any worse than what a lot of others experience in 1st trimester.

The most valuable thing I learned was that the nausea was a result of a blood sugar drop -- explaining why it's worse in the morning and therefore given the totally fallacious name of "Morning Sickness" -- so as long as I had enough food in me at all times, I'd be okay. In order to stave off what was for me 24-hour nausea, I had to eat every two hours.

My stomach was a clock. It would even wake me up in the middle of the night to warn me of waves of impending ickiness. I started keeping food next to my bed because, as the books warned, even the mere act of walking to the kitchen was a lot of effort for a body that was working hard to build a baby from scratch.

Ignoring the resulting crumbs, crackers and almonds were my food of choice for middle-of-the-night noshing. Sometimes cookies for a valuable quick sugar kick.

Food

Carr's Table Water Crackers: Bland, bland, bland, but they will line your stomach.

Almonds: I still carry the Diamond resealable bags of these around with me in case of emergency. I learned early on that the rush of protein these nuts gave me was a sure-fire way to get ahead of the nausea.

Apples and Cheddar Cheese: This was pretty much my lunch for seven weeks. Apples have always been a stomach-soother for me and the cheese was that needed protein. The cheese wasn't fancy -- as you might have expected from an old cheesemonger -- it was just bulk, yellow, grocery store cheddar. Comfort food.

Grilled Cheese Sandwiches: Ah, the ultimate in comfort food. Yes, I ate a lot of these in first trimester because I couldn't handle anything else. What is it about grilled cheese sandwiches and why are they so comforting for so many of us? Is it all rooted in childhood? With a lot of psychoanalysis, I'm sure we could get to the bottom of it some day.

Totino's Frozen Pizza: Again, maybe it's going back to childhood and what we all individually define as comfort food, but Totino's was something we always had at birthday parties when I was a kid. Totino's Cheese Pizza was my Thanksgiving turkey this year.

Drink

Gleaning facts from friends and books and the ever-opinionated Internet, I discovered that sour flavors were great for beating off nausea. I also knew from my long relationship with motion sickness that ginger was also a good curative. Plus, it's very important to stay hydrated throughout pregnancy, so get that liquid into yourself any way you can.

San Pellegrino Limonata: Not sweet or sugary, this "lemonade" has sparkling water to soothe the stomach riots and a nice bracing citrus edge to it. I love this stuff and drink it regularly now. With some bruised fresh mint, it makes an easy and refreshing mocktail.

Fever-Tree Ginger Ale: Yes, I love Fever-Tree so much, it even cures my nausea. (Had the newest Fever-Tree flavor, Ginger Beer, been on the market, I would have stocked that in bulk. But that's for another review. It's a doozy of a drink!)

Sparkling Water: The partner to my Carr's Water Crackers in all times of tummy trouble, sparkling water is stalwart and true. During weeks 6-13, I stuck with the flavorless variety even though I normally prefer lemon (and now PAMPLEMOUSSE!) because the less flavor the better for me.

Miscellaneous

These are a few things that I either carried with me in case of a nausea emergency or gulleted to give me a stomach boost when I knew my preferred food might not be immediately gettable.

Ginger Chews: Jen wrote about these a few weeks ago. Before pregnancy, I was exclusively buying the Ginger People chews at Trader Joe's, but then Jen introduced me to the firmer Chimes chews, which don't go all soft and hygroscopic-y in their wrappers, and I was converted. I found my source of Chimes at Andronico's, but still eat Ginger People in a pinch.

Trader Joe's Triple Ginger Cookies and Trader Joe's Vanilla JoeJoe's Cookies: First of all, it's a ginger 3-way with the ginger cookies, so that's fantastic. Second of all, even if I weren't pregnant, I'd be craving these vanilla JoeJoe's. No, they aren't just like Oreos or other sandwich cookies out there. For god's sake, people, they have actual vanilla bean in the cream filling! Highly addictive and a perfect midnight snack.

Preggie Pops: Yes, it seems like a rip-off to buy very special pregnancy candies when you can just rely on lemon drops or Sour Patch Kids, but I was intrigued, so in the interest of research and in the interest of having a full arsenal to combat nausea, I ordered these. They come in sour fruit flavors (lemon, apple, raspberry, tangerine) and herbal (peppermint, ginger, lavender) and you can buy mixed or single flavors of some. My reaction? Not bad. I went through all the fruit first and picked my way around the herbals. They definitely quelled my rising gorge in times of car trouble, so it was money well spent.

It's not a long or balanced list by any means, but I wasn't being a Renaissance eater during weeks 6-13. You really don't care about the lack of dietary variety when you're just praying it will all stay down.

Good luck! Just remember: gag softly and carry a barf bag.

Ardent fans of homemade corn tortillas, papusas and pleasantly plump gorditas know that arepas belong in Latin America's reigning family of corn-based flatbreads. A staple in Venezuela and Colombia, arepas fill the workaday cook's most important need: foods that are easy to make and easy to use and never boring.

Early recipes required only cornmeal and water. Most cooks now season with a bit of salt, while some lean toward richer versions with milk, lard or butter in the dough. In Venezuela, arepas tend to be split and filled like sandwiches, while the thinner, leaner versions typical of Colombia are often topped with minimalist fillings for breakfast.

Both make perfect handfuls of snackalicious treats when filled with scrambled eggs, cheese, black beans, shredded or sliced meats, avocado, chorizo, spicy cole slaw or whatever leftovers you have hanging out in your fridge. You can dip them into soup or stews. You can even, if you have a pot of tea or coffee at the ready, split them in two, toast them with butter and then spread liberally with homemade jam for a treat every bit as satisfying, if not as proper, as well-made scones or biscuits.

If you're Venezuelan, you might have a Tosty Arepa on your kitchen counter. Or you might just walk down the street and grab one from any number of street vendors or eateries selling freshly made arepas around the clock. Fortunately for us up north, they're incredibly simple to make.

Unlike many other flatbreads from Mexico, generally made from nixtamalized maize (an ancient, lime-based technology used to loosen the hard hull of corn kernels), arepas depend on untreated corn that has been precooked then ground finely. Head to your nearest Mexican or South American market and browse right next to the masa harina for the precooked corn meal ground especially for arepas. The most popular brand of masarepa or arepaharina, Harina P.A.N., comes in a bright, yellow package that's graced with a smiling woman in a polka-dotted head scarf. Don't even think about making this with regular cornmeal. Some recipes use masa harina, but purists will insist that you track down the real deal. Once you have the precooked cornmeal, all you need is a sprinkle of salt, some water and an oiled skillet or griddle. If you're feeling fancy, you can stir butter or olive oil into the dough.

Arepa dough is super kid-friendly. The youngest ones will love its very moldable texture, so parents may want to make extra. For adults who like to play in the kitchen, consider arepas the first step to learning how to hand-pat thinner, more difficult corn tortillas. Keep a small bowl of water nearby; a small amount wiped on your palms will keep the dough from sticking as you roll and pat. Less dextrous cooks, young and old, can simply shape rounds against a flat surface rather than between two palms.

Some like to form hefty rounds and then later remove the interior to make space for savory fillings. I usually make mine thin and crispy, but fluffier versions are great for soaking up sauces. Many recipes for thick arepas, resembling English muffins or hamburger buns, now call for browning on both sides in a pan and then finishing in the oven, right on the rack, for 20 to 25 minutes until they're puffed and cooked through. Traditionally, though, they were cooked completely on a comal or griddle.

One of my favorites ways to enjoy an arepa -- hot from my biggest, heaviest cast-iron pan -- is to fill it with a single, thin layer of nabulsi cheese, an early experiment with leftovers that became a surprisingly good pairing. Nabulsi, a brined, boiled cheese from the Mediterranean, has a dense, smooth texture and a lovely flavor derived from caraway or nigella seeds and ground cherry pits. Slipped into the still steaming arepa and left for a minute to melt gently, the cheese complements perfectly the tender corn of the bread. Roast chicken and guacamole make another excellent filling for an arepa.

If the night-time hunger pangs hit while you happen to be in New York, generally in the vicinity of Queens and specifically near the intersection of Roosevelt and 78th, then -- lucky you! -- you can stop by the Arepa Lady's cart to taste the essence of soul-satisfying street food: sweet arepas filled with soft, fresh cheese.

If, back here in San Francisco, you're strolling through the Mission District, swing by the 24th Street BART station and try one at Mr. Pollo. They offer sweet and savory versions, and all I can say is: save room for both.

Mr. Pollo
2823 Mission Street
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 374-5546
Map

Arepas

Makes: 6 rounds

The technique of sprinkling the cornmeal into the water, rather than pouring water over a pile of cornmeal, helps prevent lumps.

Ingredients:
2 1/4 cups tepid water
1 teaspoon salt
About 2 cups masarepa (precooked white cornmeal)
2 to 3 tablespoons olive oil, butter or rendered lard

Preparation:
1. Stir together the water and salt in a large bowl. Slowly sprinkle in the cornmeal and stir to incorporate. The dough will look very wet, but after a few seconds the cornmeal should soak up the water completely.

2. Knead the dough in the bowl for 5 minutes. If the dough sticks to your hands, sprinkle in a little more cornmeal. If the dough cracks at the edges and does not form a ball easily, then add water, drizzling in a tablespoon at a time and kneading well to incorporate after each addition.

3. Divide the dough into 6 equal parts. Moisten hands, then roll each into a smooth ball. Pat with your palms, pressing gently and evenly, to make rounds about 1/2-inch thick.

4. Heat a heavy skillet or smooth griddle over medium. Add a small amount of oil and cook the arepa until golden brown and crisp, about 5 minutes on each side. The interior will remain very moist. Transfer to a rack or paper towels and let cool slightly. Split with a sharp knife into two thin halves and fill as desired.

Listen Live to Mark Kurlansky on KQED 88.5FM Mon, May 23, 2009 -- 9:00 AM.

Listen to the audio archive of Mark Kurlansky on KQED's Forum. (archive posts 5/25 late eve)

Mark Kurlansky
In a pre-recorded but never-before-aired program, Mark Kurlansky joins us to discuss his new book, "The Food of a Younger Land." It examines the diversity and variety of pre-war American cuisine. Using abandoned documents from the Federal Writers Project, Kurlansky looks at a forgotten America where food varied greatly from city-to-city and state-to-state.

Host: Michael Krasny

Explore and buy The Food of a Younger Land: A Portrait of American Food--Before the National Highway System, Before Chain Restaurants, and Before Frozen Food, When the Nation's Food Was Seasonal

Mark Kurlansky's books on Amazon.com

It may not be sunny, but it is Memorial Day weekend, and you know what I'm thinking? Pink! Rhubarb and strawberries, shrimp Louie, cherries, pink boxers, and yes, rosé.

Stand up and be counted, pink wine drinkers! Personally, I love it when a date seconds my order of rosé. A person who embraces pink wine is a person who's not afraid to get a little girly. It means he or she is a hey, why not? sort of person, happy to take a little vacation from the hopped-up IPAs and tannin-slugging Cabs to sip on what your aunt Cherrie would call a "swimmin' pool wine."

I have fond associations with rosé--chaise lounges, love, the South of France--but I've found that rosé really cheers anyone up, if they're man (or woman) enough to drink it.

So, what's worth pouring this weekend as you lounge under the patio umbrella? My two faves remain Bonny Doon's Vin Gris de Cigare ($15) and Domaine Tempier's Bandol Rosé ($32). The Bandol 2008 vintage has just arrived at Kermit Lynch in Berkeley; get over there now before they drink it all up. Both these wines are supple and elegant, perfect for a sunny summer lunch with cold salmon and a salad full of flowers.

Over at Bi-Rite Market, assistant wine buyer Sarah Bouldin puts the Robert Sinskey Vin Gris ($22.99) on the top of her list. "We can only get 10 cases at a time, so it goes fast. It's really well balanced, with strawberry fruitiness, a little melon." And then there's the Unti Rosé ($18.99), a biodynamic wine from Mick Unti in Healdsburg. Says Bouldin, "It's lighter than the Sinskey, a little more acidic. We're always happy to get our hands on anything Mick produces; his wines are always delicious, really outstanding."

Rosés are featured right now at the Ferry Plaza Wine Merchant, both as a flight on the tasting menu in the bar as well as in their adjoining shop. Wine buying manager Drea Dedona likes their classic Provencal rosés, of course, but also points out the Botasea Rosato di Palmino ($18), from Santa Barbara, made by winemaker Chrystal Clifton. Actually, it's hard to miss; it looks like strawberry Boone's Farm slapped with a lipstick-pink label. "I know the color's a little scary," Dedona admits, "But it's got great fruit and a little spice," thanks to a 50/30/20 blend of dolcetto, nebbiolo, and barbera grapes. There's also a reason for the pink: part of the purchase price of every bottle goes to support breast cancer research.

Were money no object, though, I'd throw down for the Billecart-Salmon Brut Rosé ($80), a fabulously glam and grown-up French Champagne that glows like sunshine on pink marble.

But what if you're looking for a rosé that's more naked Carla Bruni, less Dior-clad Mme Sarkozy? Then you want Jean-Paul Brun's FRV100 ($16.99). Say it like the French do: eff-air-vay-cent. (Get it?) This is Brun's sparkling answer to soda-pop Beaujolais Nouveau: a light, fast-fermented wine with some residual sugar that's a goofy, picnic-perfect good time, not just overhyped grape juice.

From the glittery black label to the fan-dancing fizz inside, this is an unapologetic disco wine, made to get the party started. "It really should have house music pumping out of the bottle," laughs Bouldin. It's also a good way for a girl to drink and have fun without ending the evening as a drunk-dialing hot mess, thanks to an alcohol content that's just 7.5%.

Don't want to drink pink alone? Drop by Piccino on Sunday, May 31st from noon to 9 pm for Dogpatch's own festival of rosés. On the menu: pizzas, salads, a few lovely specials, and lots of rosés, all guaranteed to charm.