Chocolate chip heaven

Ah, the chocolate chip cookie. A classic. An American icon. A comfort so versatile, it is as satisfying raw as it is baked.

I'm sure we've all sampled our share of this pervasive sweet treat, from those that were passable (but got the job done), to those that reached heights of heavenly decadence.

Chocolate chip cookie, unflattened golf ball version

I had one such cookie lately that made me wonder: What makes the ultimate chocolate chip cookie?

After deep introspection, I came to the conclusion that it must satisfy a trifecta of textural perfection. It has to be crunchy, chewy, and gooey.

I was reminded of David Leite's fantastic chocolate chip cookie article that came out almost a year ago in the New York Times, in which he described this much sought after "bull's-eye" of cookie greatness. When you first bite into the cookie, the crisp outer ring should break with a nice crunch, giving way to a satisfying chew, and progressing to near gooeyness in the center of it all. If done right, you should still be able to feel the sugar granules of the cookie dough on your tongue here.

Resist the temptation to eat all of this cookie dough and you will be handsomely rewarded

And then, of course, there is flavor.

The ultimate cookie must envelope you with all the homey flavors of butter, sugar, vanilla, and rich chocolate. Generous, copious amounts of quality, semi-sweet chocolate in each bite, please!

Now, I've made dozens upon dozens of chocolate chip cookies before, but how come mine just never seem to reach the ultimate level of amazingness that my favorite bakeries achieve? What is their secret?

As I learned from Mr. Leite and his arsenal of choco chip experts, it's all about patience. The trick is to let the dough rest between 24-36 hours before baking them!

I mustered up all the self restraint I had, gave it a shot, and was amazed at what a difference it made. As predicted, my cookie had a richer golden color, better texture, and had a significantly more complex flavor. The extra time allowed all the egg, butter and sugar to meld and soak into the flour so that when they baked up, the toffee caramel notes bloomed. Plus, a sprinkle of sea salt at the end adds an extra dimension to the sweetness.

Use the best ingredients you can. I went with my old faithful, unsalted, European Style Sweet Butter from Straus Family Creamery, and E. Guittard’s 61% Cacao Semisweet Couverture wafers. The quarter-sized baking discs melt well and cool with a pretty sheen. They also make for gorgeous, thin strata of luscious chocolate throughout the cookie.

Use an ice cream scoop to create golf ball sized mounds of dough that are all even. I experimented with flattening versus not flattening the mounds before baking. With the ice cream scoop mounds, not flattening resulted in a prettier cookie that was a little cakier.

My favorite batch resulted in using a ½ cup scoop, creating baseball sized mounds, and flattening it slightly so that the cookie spread a bit. The final product was a cookie with wow factor. BIG wow factor. The perfect thing for a special birthday care package.

Jumbo chocolate chip cookie, flattened baseball version

Now that's the ultimate chocolate chip cookie.

Recipe: NYT Chocolate Chip Cookie, Adapted from Jacques Torres

Last month, Senate Majority Leader Dean Florez, an outspoken leader on food safety and animal rights, hosted a special screening of the documentary, FOOD, INC. for a roomful of legislators in Sacramento. Thanks to a friend who works at the capitol, I was able to sneak in. It'd been a very long time since I've been surrounded by that many people wearing suits, and discussing public policy is not one of my favorite ways to make small talk (SBX2 3 or SB 135, anyone?). But seeing this important film with a roomful of legislators who were excited about sustainable food and who could actually institute change was one of the most powerful experiences I've had in a movie theatre.

You will soon be hearing a lot about FOOD, INC., a documentary directed by Robert Kenner, winner of both a Peabody and an Emmy for his previous film, Two Days in October. Opening in San Francisco on June 12, this latest release by Magnolia Pictures tackles the unenviable job of educating consumers about the agricultural industry. It's being called the Inconvenient Truth of the food world, and the quality of its production certainly compares well. Super-saturated colors, animation, engaging graphics, a sprinkling of humor to lighten its distillation of immense amounts of information, and a line-up of articulate, passionate speakers all meld into a highly viewable documentary.

Eric Schlosser, co-producer, and Michael Pollan, both ground the film with their journalistic approach. The soundtrack, with its ominous rumbling beneath mass production and the folksy guitar accompanying underdogs, manages to reveal the film's underlying stance, but FOOD, INC. strives admirably to present multiple views. Of course, that's a challenge when corporations refuse to take part in the conversation. (Monsanto, Tyson and many others declined to appear in the film.) The film offers a surprisingly evenhanded treatment of Walmart executives accompanied by Gary Hirshberg, CEO of Stonyfield Farm. Even more, rock stars of the sustainable food world, such as self-proclaimed grass farmer, Joel Salatin, inadvertently reveal the gray areas of their own much praised business models. After all, how sustainable are loyal customers who drive 400 miles to buy happy, healthy meat?

As someone who has visited feeding lots and blood-slicked slaughterhouses, once worked a very long day in a chicken processing facility, and still wrestles with her decision to continue eating meat, I attended the screening expecting another sermon for the converted. When one of the press contacts reminded me to use all caps whenever I referred to the title of film, I concentrated very hard not to roll my eyes. Yet I there I sat later, stunned by what I was learning.

There's Barbara Kowalcyk, a lifelong Republican who dedicated her life to changing food safety standards after her son died from eating a hamburger contaminated with E. coli and who now refuses to reveal what she eats for fear of being sued by the meat industry. (She doesn't have as much money for a legal team as Oprah does.) There's the fleet of Monsanto "private investigators" who knock on uncooperative farmers' doors to threaten, ever so politely and quietly, to put them out of business forever. There's the seed cleaner ruined for providing non-GMO seeds to his neighbors...and the deals struck by employers of undocumented workers with the border police…and the $18,000 that an average chicken farmer makes for a year of hard work...

But there's also the woman willing to lose her contract with Tyson in order to shed light on an oppressive industry, the farmers banding together, and the scores of other individuals in the film who are working to make a difference in ways both huge and small. It'd be an overstatement to say FOOD, INC. is optimistic, but it does end with some modest suggestions for what each viewer can do to help move us toward a safe, sustainable system. More importantly, its wider release will, like the Obamas' garden, help push the topic to center stage for the public and policymakers alike.

Anyone who needs a good, clear primer on the food industry and the state of agriculture in the U.S should see this documentary. If you're already well versed or long converted, it's an important film to see and discuss with others -- your mom who is addicted to the big box stores, your friends who aren’t convinced that local or organic is worth the extra effort, or your children who have a full life of choices ahead.

For as the film reminds us repeatedly, we cast our vote every time we eat.

Sunset magazine has long been the go-to source for "how to live in the West" especially when it comes to travel, gardening, home improvement and of course, food and wine. Since the centennial of the magazine in 1998, Sunset has been hosting an annual open house called the Sunset Celebration Weekend. The weekend takes place in June, and there is a schedule of chef demonstrations, garden and outdoor living events and live entertainment. The entrance fee is $15 and that gets you admission to all of the presentations although you'll need to sign up for the wine tasting events separately and they fill up quickly.

Many vendors offer tastes and nibbles, but for a meal, you'll have to pay. I was a bit disappointed that the food available was the typical street fair variety such as corn dogs, gyros and overpriced tostada salads. Not very inspiring! The exhibitors and vendors range from Hawaiian Airlines and speciality nurseries to the ShamWow! and everything in between.

Highlights of the experience include meandering through the gardens, including the team garden for the Our One-Block Diet, a tour of the test kitchen and the outdoor kitchen.

Test kitchen has a long counter where finished dishes are evaluated. Once the editorial and test kitchen team is finished with the dish, a green flag indicates the staff can eat it. A red flag means the dish is not yet finished, and a pirate flag means, the dish did not pass muster, eat at your own risk! In the tote bag you receive at the entrance are some coupons, a schedule and a great booklet with recipes from all the chefs so even if you only come one day, you'll have recipes from the whole weekend.

My favorite presentations were by chefs Burak Epir of the Pilita Mediterranean Turkish Grill in San Carlos and Cindy Pawlcyn of Mustard's Grill. Epir showed off his kebab technique with a huge knife, and shared tips such as using a small sieve to filter stems and seeds from dried herbs. He used my favorite pepper, maras, in his recipe for Kilis kebab which also included lots of fresh parsley, the most commonly used fresh herb in Turkey.

Cindy Pawlcyn emphasized the importance of using the ripest produce, explaining it is better to substitute an ingredient than to use something that is not deliciously ripe. She also showed a technique of smashing hazelnuts with the side of a chef knife rather than chopping them to create a better and more uniform texture. Great tips, no matter what recipe you try.

Kilis kebab
10 tomatoes
2 poblano peppers
1 medium white onion, preferably sweet
1 bunch Italian parsley, chopped
1 Tablespoon salt
1/2 Tablespoon fresh ground pepper
1 Tablespoon Maras red pepper, also called Marash pepper
1/2 medium white onion, grated
2 pounds ground lamb, shoulder cut

On a charcoal grill cook the tomatoes and pepper until well charred, remove the skins and finely dice.

Also finely dice the onion and mix it with the chopped parsley. Add to the charred tomato and peppers and set aside. Cover and keep warm.

Prepare the kebab by adding salt, pepper, Maras red pepper and the grated onions to the ground lamb. Mix well. Make the meatballs and place on a skewer. Grill indirectly over the heat, until nice and juicy. Place the charred tomato and peppers on a plate and set the meat kebabs over it.

Recipe reprinted courtesy of Sunset and chef Burak Epir

Chickens pecking around the backyard, kombucha fermenting on the shelf, beer brewing in the closet: there's been a lot of interest in DIY urban homesteading lately. For months now, I've been meaning to get into the slow-process stuff, like curing my own olives and making my own vinegar.

Then again, my homestead is a wee share house in Bernal, already stuffed with other people's tchotchkes. I've commandeered the tiny back patio with my buckets of tomato and potato plants; adding an olive crock and a vinegar barrel might be pushing it.

And honestly, I'm still wedded to the easy delights of jam. Like pie, it's a little bit of a production, but just like pie, no matter what you do, fruit+sugar=sweet fruity goodness. And like homemade pie, homemade jam is better than anything you can buy. Why? Because anywhere this side of Smuckers, you're using more fruit and less sugar when you make your jam at home.

Ah yes, the sugar issue. First off: most cookbooks call for way too much sugar. Why? The more sugar you put in, the easier it is to get a firm and reliable set. Sugar is also a preservative, and jam with a lot of sugar will last longer in your fridge. But capturing the essence of beautiful fruit is the whole point of jam, rounded out with just enough sweetness to bring a smile to your toast. Halve the amount of sugar in most recipes, and you'll do just fine.

For the same reason, I never use commercial pectins, like Sure-Jel. There's nothing wrong with pectin itself; it's a natural compound found in varying levels in all fruits. However, commercial pectin requires a lot of sugar to jump-start that jelling reaction, and the precise formulas turn canning into chemistry, with no adjustments for personal taste.

But with less sugar and no added pectin, won't your jam be a runny mess? Nope! There's an easy, just about foolproof way to get good jam every time, and all you need is sugar, lemon juice, and time.

Take a look at this bowl.

That's 4 pints of strawberries, sliced, mixed with sugar and left to sit overnight until they've shrunken into little berry quarters bobbing in a sea of juice. All that liquid was originally trapped in the berries themselves, and you'd be boiling it mightily for a long time if you just threw the fruit and sugar together and tossed them on the stove.

But separate the liquid from the fruit, add a little lemon juice (which is rich in pectin), and--here's the trick-- cook down the liquid, not the fruit. By cooking the liquid by itself first, you can evaporate any excess water without exhausting the fruit's delicate flavors. There's also less risk of burning and sticking when you're just simmering juice.

This is a technique I first picked up from Helen Witty's invaluable, library-available collection, The Good Stuff Cookbook. In my copy, the jam chapter is wrinkled and spattered on every page, with annotations, additions, and comments in pen and pencil from years of messing around. I use a lot less sugar than Witty does, but her method (streamlined here) still works like a charm to produce delicious jams just thick enough to cling to your biscuit, redolent of ripe, sunwarmed summer fruit.

Since strawberries are ripe and wonderful this week, now's the time to grab a case of jars, a flat of fruit, and get your birthday-and-holiday gifts nailed down. I love Albion berries in particular, but Seascapes, Tristars and Chandlers, all varieties that do well in our cool coastal climate, won't do you wrong, either.

If you want your sealed jars to be able to sit around in the pantry, you need real canning jars topped with two-part lids. Otherwise, if you're just going to stick your jam in the fridge immediately and eat it soon, you can reuse any clean, cute glass jar you have. For best results, sterilize any jar in a boiling-water bath for 10 minutes before using.

Strawberry Jam

Ingredients:
4 pint boxes whole strawberries (2 1/2 lbs)
1 1/2-2 cups granulated sugar, depending on sweetness of berries
juice of 1 lemon, about 2 tablespoons

Preparation:
1. Rinse, drain, and hull strawberries. Slice in halves or quarters. In a nonreactive bowl, toss berries with sugar and lemon juice. Cover and let stand for 3-4 hours at room temperature or 6 hours to overnight in the refrigerator. Stir occasionally, scraping the bottom of the bowl to distribute and dissolve the sugar.

2. When sugar is dissolved and berries are floating in a bright-red syrup, pour into a large nonreactive pot. Bring to a frothy simmer, stirring frequently. Let simmer for 2 minutes, then pour back into bowl. Let cool. Cover and let stand for 2-3 hours at room temperature, or in the refrigerator for 6 hours or overnight.

3. Meanwhile, sterilize your jars, lids, and rings. Set a colander or strainer over a wide, large, and heavy stainless steel or enameled cast-iron pot. Pour berries into colander, letting all the syrup drip into the pot. Remove colander full of berries and set aside.

4. Bring syrup to a boil over medium heat, stirring frequently. Once syrup comes to a boil, stir and watch: it will move from what looks like a pot full of Kool-Aid to a seething, deep-garnet mass of thick, glossy bubbles. Dip a metal spoon into the syrup and let syrup drip off the side of the spoon; it's ready when the last few drops are fairly thick and sticky.

5. Pour in reserved berries. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. If you'd like a thicker jam, mash berries lightly with a potato masher. Simmer for 5-8 minutes, until berries are translucent and mixture has thickened slightly. Scoop into jars and seal.

6. Set jars on a clean towel and do not touch or move them until they are completely cool. If you're using canning jars, listen for the slurpy sucking pop of the jars vacuum-sealing. Sealed jars will keep up to 1 year in a cool, dry place. If jar isn't sealed, store in fridge and eat within 2-3 weeks.

It's 4 p.m. on a typical afternoon at Oliveto, and chefs and interns are hurriedly chopping vegetables, stirring pots, de-boning fish and preparing for that night's dinner service, which starts in 90 minutes.
Service people are rushing through the kitchen, carrying glassware or trays of olives. Dishwashers are trying to return saucepans to overhead hooks, without dropping one on someone's head.

It's a frenetic dance that occurs daily at the Oakland restaurant, and to add to the frenzy, it comes with a soundtrack. Many afternoons, Chef Paul Canales blasts acid jazz from the boom box. Nothing like some mind-bending music to sharpen your focus.

For the last two months, I've been part of this dinner troupe, as a stagehand -- a chef apprentice. Starting in April, I took a leave from my job as an editorial writer and columnist for The Sacramento Bee to intern at Oliveto, an Italian restaurant in Rockridge.

It's been a humbling transition. Until April, I worked in a cushy office and shadowed the power players in California's capitol. Now I'm on my feet all day in a hot, windowless kitchen, taking orders from young sous chefs.

Yet in the realm of unpaid sabbaticals, this one can't be beat. Anyone with an interest in food and cooking needs to work in a restaurant, particularly one like Oliveto. Concepts that once seemed so exotic and unattainable -- curing salami, turning out trays of handmade ravioli -- now seem within my grasp.

In recent weeks, I've filleted fresh mackerel, prepared soft shell crabs, cut up and cured pork belly for pancetta and braised porcini mushrooms for cannelloni, which I later rolled by hand.

I've also improved my knife skills. Dicing dozens of onions and carrots, day after day, helps in that regard.
That said, my initial performance was far from stellar. In one of his first assignments -- a test, perhaps? -- Chef Canales asked me to "turn" a potato. This involved peeling a small spud with a sharp paring knife, turning the potato with my left hand.

Within a few minutes, I had managed to insert the knife tip into my left thumb. Blood was running out. As I moved to the sink to wash and bandage the wound, I noticed a faded photocopy on the wall that offered instructions on dealing with an amputated finger.

"Reattachment is always possible," the sheet said. "Stop the bleeding and place the lonely piece in a wet towel..."

Yes, it was one of those "What am I doing here?" moments. But I hung in there. Before starting my apprenticeship, I had read Bill Buford's book "Heat," and recalled that Buford had stabbed himself within days of starting at one of Mario Batali's restaurants.

Oliveto, founded more than 20 years ago, has a long history of training interns, even those who are initially inept. Like other high-end kitchens, the restaurant's menu is labor intensive, especially in the spring and summer months, when farmers and suppliers deliver boxes of artichokes, beans and other produce to the kitchen.

Interns provide this labor for free. In exchange, they pick up tips, training and contacts they'll never get at culinary school. And if they work hard and show promise, they may get a shot at a paying job in the kitchen, should one open up.

People ask me: Is this just a temporary gig? Are you contemplating a career change?

I don't know. My presumption is that I will return to my newspaper job when my six-month stint is over. But I have to admit, the life of a chef is alluring, even with the absurdly low pay. "It gets under your skin," says Canales, who started interning at Oliveto 15 years ago after leaving a corporate telecom job.

Since April, I've been keeping a personal blog, which is largely focused on my day-to-day experience as a kitchen apprentice. For "Bay Area Bites," my posts will be more focused on classic techniques of Italian cooking, and tips and recipes I’ve picked up from working at Oliveto.

Here is one thing I've learned: There is no "magic" to preparing superlative food. The artistry that arrives on your plate at the best restaurants is not prepared by Houdini.

What separates great chefs from good ones is training, practice, creativity, attention to detail and a passion for the food they are preparing. All of these are within reach of home chefs -- those who prefer to do their cooking in more sedate settings, without a soundtrack.

Photo of a mackerel, from the Monterey Bay, right before I filleted it for that night's dinner menu. Photo by Stuart Leavenworth

I've currently got Paris on the brain. I'm about to invade that city for a week of eating and drinking and wandering and thinking.

So, naturally, the first thing to pop into my head for today's post was, "Oh, I should do something German."

Because that's how my mind works.

Oh, it's not what you're thinking. My mind has been on the Franco-Prussian War, naturally enough, since I'm currently re-reading The Seven Ages of Paris by Alistair Horne.

Paris is a city that has been, at least historically, in perpetual turmoil. It started with the Norsemen pillaging and burning the town until they were bought off with a big chunk of land in the North (Normandy). Only to see those same Normans a couple of centuries later restyling themselves as Englishmen and setting the country afire during a little conflict known as The 100 Years War.

Then, of course, there were several plagues, internal revolts, sieges, and revolutions-- 1789, 1830, and 1848 (twice in three months), World Wars I and II, and a near-revolution in 1968.

But never did the city of Paris suffer more than during what the French refer to as L'Année Terrible, 1870-1871.

The Year in Review

A sickly Emperor Napoleon III declared war on Prussia on July 19th, 1870, hoping to distract people from the problems at home in his dying Empire. It was a bad move, but one made with characteristically Gallic flair. The French were trounced, the Emperor was captured six weeks later at Sedan, and that was pretty much that.

Or so the Parisians thought. They celebrated the fall of the Empire with a lot of cheering and declared The Third Republic two days later. The war was lost, but at least it was over.

Or not. The Prussians, with the iron-willed, iron-fisted, all-around Iron Chancellor Otto von Bismarck forging policy, kept on coming. The French, Bismarck felt, needed to be taught a lesson.

So they marched on Paris.

Surrounding the city, the Prussians sought to starve Paris into capitulation. For five months, the only contact Paris had with the outside world was via hot air balloons floating up and over the enemy filled with letters and dispatches from those trapped inside. The only messages in came from an occasional carrier pigeon. Rats, horses, house pets and nearly every animal in the zoo (one exception being monkeys because, apparently, the Parisians embraced Darwinism) were consumed by the hungry Parisians in their effort to fend off starvation*. By the time the French surrendered, Germany had united over the near-dead body of France and declared itself an empire. At the palace of Versailles, of all places. Nice touch.

But that wasn't the worst part.

As happened so often in Paris, the working class sparked a revolt, leading to a government take-over. In a nutshell, The Paris Commune was set up, socialist reforms were attempted and things went generally crazy. The Tuilleries Palace was burned to the ground, the Vendome Column toppled, even Notre Dame barely escaped destruction-- it's benches had been piled up and doused with kerosene but was saved at the last minute.

The Commune ultimately failed-- stamped out by the what was left of the French government and army in the bloodiest moment of the city's history-- 20,000 Parisians were slaughtered in just one week alone. The city was shattered.

Or was it?

What has always amazed me is the resilience of Paris. Each time it is beaten down, it seems to come back a little bit stronger. After a year of alienation, isolation, the pounding and ensuing humiliation by a stronger enemy, self-destruction, and thanks to a 5 billion franc war reparation bill, crippling debt, Paris rebounded into one of the most brilliant (or at least, fondly remembered) periods of its history-- La Belle Epoque, which lasted nearly 43 years. Solidly, it returned to and confirmed its status as the cultural capital of Europe, if not the world.

It's as though Paris can historically shake off its woes with its world-famous shrug.

So why the history lesson today?

Well, I'm coming out of my own p'tit année terrible-- one that strangely mimics the year Paris faced, but on a much smaller, human scale. So I'm off to see how the Parisians manage it; to do a little shrugging of my own, you might say. I will eat and wander and observe the natives in a place that is more than likely Bismarck-free both in terms of the pastry and the guy who brought Paris to its knees. Or the one who brought me to mine, for that matter.

And maybe I'm hoping for a little belle époque of my own to begin. 43 years? Yeah, I think that will do. That will do nicely.

I will be back blogging June 19th.

* On the bright side, the Parisians were never in any danger of running out of wine.

Bismarcks

Bismarck is the Canadian/American name for the German pastry Berliner, as in John F. Kennedy's famous declaration, "Ich bin ein Berliner." In Berlin, however, they are referred to as Pfannkuchen.

Call it whatever you like.

Apart from the time spent allowing the yeast dough to rise, these doughnuts are relatively simple to make. And delicious-- the unfilled pastry being light and airy and not especially sweet. Fill them with whatever you like, sweet or savory. Hell, toast one and use it to bookend a hamburger, while we're eating things named after German cities.

It's a good thing Kennedy wasn't in Hamburg when he decided to make that speech. Or worse, Vienna.

Makes: 12 Bismarcks

Ingredients
4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups whole milk
2 packages of yeast
4 tablespoons of sugar
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
8 egg yolks
a pinch of salt
Raspberry Jam for filling
Powdered sugar for dusting

Preparation:

1. In a saucepan, bring milk to a boil. Turn off heat and stir in butter and sugar. Cool to lukewarm. Sprinkle yeast over the top of the milk mixture and leave it to bloom and reanimate for about 10 to 15 minutes, until it starts to foam up.

2. Add this yeasty liquid to a large bowl in which the flour and salt have been patiently waiting. Stir and fold to combine into a sticky mess of dough. Cover with a damp, clean cloth and set in a warm place to rise for two hours.

3. With floured hands, turn dough onto a lightly-floured surface and roll to a 3/8-inch thickness. Cut into circles (I used a 3 1/2- inch cutter). Place them on a baking sheet or what-have-you and cover with the same damp cloth to rise for another 30 minutes or so.

4. Fry the Bismarcks in 350° F vegetable oil or lard for 4 minutes. I find flipping them every 30 seconds helpful for some reason. Drain on a paper towel-lined rack to cool.

5. If you are filling these pastries (and you should be or they're not Bismarcks), if you lack a pastry syringe, cut a small opening into the side of each bun and wiggle your knife or (what I used) scissor blade around the inside to create a small pocket into which the jam might find purchase.

6. Put jam into a pastry bag with a plain tip. Place the tip into the pastry's hole and pipe in the jam until it starts to spill out the side like some mortal flesh wound. The jam should be cold, like the blood of Bismarck himself.

Serve fresh, and not over anyone's white carpeting.

I love to eat out. In addition to enjoying a vacation from cooking and doing the dishes, I get excited about trying new foods and discovering fresh ways to prepare old favorites. I was recently at Range where they had a cream of escarole soup. I've been eating escarole all my life but never thought to blend it with cream for a soup. What a great idea.

But eating out as a family is not always a satisfying experience, and can sometimes be downright stressful. In addition to the obvious issues of trying to enjoy a meal while a toddler sits on your lap and bangs a fork on your plate, there is the basic problem of small picky eaters raining on your dining parade. I've found that even the best little eaters can clam up, so to speak, when eating out. The child who enjoyed roasted pork with green beans the night before at home may insist she only likes grilled cheese when dining out. This can be frustrating, but you shouldn't lose hope as there are some great ways to help your children become adventurous eaters in restaurants.

It seems that the idea of the limited and inexpensive kid menu has been adopted by not only by the chains, but also small independent places and even some high-end restaurants. And although some of these places offer decent dining options for children, most kid menus are limited to chicken fingers, mac and cheese (from a box), grilled cheese, and frozen pizza. It's tempting to order one of these options when the price of an entrée is often two to three times more than that slice of kid pizza the boy at the next table is eating. So although my frugal side finds the price of these meals alluring, I try to resist. I am not advocating purchasing $20 entrées for your kids (unless you don't mind paying that much and your kids will eat them). Rather I suggest exploring some other ways to get your children to eat "real" food when dining out.

As with getting your kids to eat vegetables, helping your children to become adventurous diners takes a little work, but is really worth the trouble. Here are some things I have done in the past that have worked well for my family. If you have your own tips, please let me know about them as I'm always looking for good ideas.

1. Try a neighborhood family-friendly restaurant for your child's first (and second) venture away from the kids' menu. Italian, Mexican, and Chinese restaurants are great places to begin. If in a Chinese restaurant, start with the chow mein or chow fun. Your kids will most likely enjoy the familiarity of eating egg noodles, while also getting to try different sauces and flavors. Mexican places have a variety of kid-friendly bean, chicken and cheese dishes, and Italian restaurants have, of course, pizzas and pastas (although of a much higher caliber than what you usually get off a kids' menu) in addition to everything else.

2. Make an effort to try something new yourself and tell your kids about it. Too often kids feel they are in the spotlight, having to try new things while we sit and watch them. So take your own culinary leap and tell your kids what you think about it.

3. If you're on a budget (and who isn't?) and are forced to choose between the cheaper kids fare or an expensive adult menu, ask your server if you can order the kid's pasta but with some vegetables mixed in. Most restaurants are happy to oblige and this will give your child some other flavors to try while keeping the dining bill under control.

4. If your child is interested in trying something new, but is concerned about a topping or sauce that comes with it, ask for the questionable item to be placed on the side. Your child can then try the sauce or topping on his own terms.

5. Help your child make her own decisions. Look over the menu with her and discuss realistic options. Too often, kids' menus are printed onto coloring sheets, which are then set before your children and immediately colored over. This means they often don't even have the opportunity to explore the bigger menu. To give your children more choices, show them the main menu and see if there's anything on it that interests them. They don't have to be able to read to discuss what sounds good.

6. Let your child help you choose your own entrée and then share it with him. Often entrées are enormous and can easily be shared with a child. And, even if the entrées aren't large where you're dining, you can usually get a salad or appetizer to help fill you up. Give your child two or three choices and then ask for a second plate so you can divvy up the dinner. You can then discuss what you both think about the meal as you eat it together.

7. Try going to a restaurant where your children can see the prepared food and pick it out themselves. Dim sum is a great way to do this as most kids think it's fun to choose plates from the carts brought around to each table. My kids also love sitting at the bar in sushi restaurants. They like to point at the sea weed, fish eggs, and cooked fish (I don't allow them to eat raw fish), and then order themselves.

8. Let your child talk to the server. If he has questions about a dish, let him do the asking. If he is curious about something, let him speak up. Too often we try to speak for our kids and then get it wrong. This also helps teach your children that they have a voice when it comes to food -- and, more importantly, life -- which can help them feel empowered to make their own choices.

9. Let your kids try something exotic when eating out. This can range from encouraging them to use chop sticks to taking them to an Ethiopian restaurant where they get to eat with their hands. Most kids will be so focused on how they're eating the food that they won't be as nervous about what they're eating.

10. Try to eat on the earlier side. Your kids will most likely be more alert and happier, you'll have an emptier restaurant to dine in, and you'll probably get a better table and service too.

11. Have fun with your kids. If you're going to be stressed out taking them to a certain restaurant, choose another place. A family night out should be fun for both the parents and the kids.

Dim Sum at Asian Pearl, Richmond

Ever since I've relocated to this lovely city by the bay, I've been asking every local denizen that enjoys good food (and yes, there are quite a few of you) the hard question: Where can I find good dim sum?

I almost always hear the same reputable establishments -- Yank Sing, Ton Kiang, Mayflower.

In a perfect world, I would find the ultimate dim sum spot where the food is exceptional, the wait not frightening, and the prices so low they incur giggles of disbelief and delight at the end of the meal. I know, it's a tall order, but somewhere out there I know … it awaits me.

And, I must admit, the quest is not a painful one (usually). I have stumbled upon some tasty discoveries worth sharing, such as these star dishes at Asian Pearl in Richmond.

Steamed Egg Custard Bun (Lau Sah Bao)

Not your run of the mill dim sum dish, these Steamed Egg Custard Buns are hard to come by. It takes a master dim sum chef to create these treasures of molten, buttery, yolky sweetness, encased in fluffy white steamed buns. The golden lava filling is a shock to the senses, and utterly delicious.

Marinated Tofu (Lo Sui Dao Fu)

The silky fine texture of the tofu is unreal, and seems even more so highlighted by the contrasting crunchiness of the thin fried casing around it. Light as air, but tons more flavorful. This will turn any tofu-sneerer into a believer with one bite.

Crispy Stuffed Rice Noodle Roll (Ja Leung)

A common dim sum dish done exceptionally well, Asian Pearl's Crispy Stuffed Rice Noodle Rolls were executed perfectly. The fried dough inside was freshly fried and extra crispy, and the rice noodle wrapped around it was thin, smooth, and slippery. Mmm you just can't beat carb on carb.

Pan Fried Rice Rolls (See Yao Wong Cheung Fun)

These Pan Fried Rice Rolls were a crowd pleaser. The noodles had a nice chew to them, and were fried fragrant. Like an appetizer version of your typical chow fun, with an amped up seared crispy dimension.

Ranch 99, Asian Market

And with dishes priced from $2.60 - $6.50 (with a majority of them at $3.30 for "medium" plates), you can take all that money you've saved and head over to the Ranch 99 just a few doors down. Stock up on Asian delicacies and condiments before heading home with your satiated self.

All in all, Asian Pearl, thumbs up. But is it "the one"? Afraid not. True, the variety and specialty dishes wooed me, but 1) I was sorely disappointed by their BBQ Pork Bun, one of my old standbys, botched up by too much cooking wine in the mixture; and 2) it's in Richmond. And I'm in SF with only a ZipCar to my name.

Maybe my dream is a pipedream, but this girl's not ready to give it up.

So, my dear readers, where can I find some good dim sum around here?

Yours truly,
Desperately Seeking Dim Sum

Asian Pearl
3288 Pierce St., #A-118
Richmond, CA 94804
510-526-6800

I have been in Southern California for about a week. I am here for some work obligations, and also to "babysit" two boys. The boys are 11 and 14, and they are like little brothers to me. I've known them since they were born, and we all truly enjoy hanging out together. I convinced Jack, the oldest, that my name was "Cool Jen" when I was a baby, and the name has stuck. Even as young men, they still introduce me to their friends as Cool Jen.

Of course, someone local could have watched them while their parents were gone for a couple weeks, but I cherish spending big chunks of time with the boys by themselves. It gives me an opportunity to check in with them, and to do random things with them that their parents don't have time to do. When they are on a normal schedule, it involves two incredibly busy working parents and a lot of sports. But when I'm with them, I usually have time to drive them around Southern California following a spotlight to the end (which was, disappointingly, the grand opening of a lame Chinese take-out), and take them bowling, and do all manner of activities.

What does this all have to do with food?

I think that Jack and Mark's parents will readily admit that I am more adventurous than them when it comes to food. They feed the kids well, but it's often the same sorts of food all the time. I think that their eating habits are much in line with most Americans. The boys have no complaints and it works well for the parents. But opening their eyes to my way of eating is one of the ways that I really can influence them.

I remembered this week, though, that it's tiny little things that make a huge difference to them and that I don't have to take them to an authentic Chinese banquet, or to my favorite izakaya, or do much more than make a roast chicken in order for them to them stop and think about their food, and what they like and what they don't. They notice the way that I live my food life and are curious about it.

"What kind of coffee are you drinking, Cool Jen? I know you don't drink Starbucks so where do you buy it?"

Jack asked me this very astute question a couple days ago and we talked about local coffee makers and what I choose when I'm in Long Beach. I had brought home a latte from The Daily Grind, which is a cute little coffee chain in the area.

"Where would the chicken's head be?"

I was quickly making a roast chicken the other night when Mark sidled up to me to see what I was doing. I was manhandling the raw chicken and plopping it into a pan after rinsing it. We had a quick chicken anatomy lesson, and he walked off to watch The George Lopez Show.

"Remember that purple cauliflower?"

I was running to the Sunday Long Beach farmers market, and neither of the boys wanted to go with me. I didn't push it, and they both went off to ride their bikes with friends. As I was leaving, though, Jack reminded me about a purple cauliflower we had seen at the market together about two years ago. I remember Jack sulking around the farmers market because I made him go with me. He remembered the cool purple cauliflower.

There have been some failures this week, too. I took the boys to Phillipe's on Sunday for French Dip sandwiches -- they were annoyed, and I was cranky. I snapped at Mark when he declared my bright purple pickled egg "weird." They wanted their sandwiches completely dry, and we may as well have been at any sandwich shop in America. But maybe they'll remember it differently.

This post is a reminder to myself, really, that kids do best learning from example and that it can be the smallest things that make a huge difference to the way that they perceive food.