Sshhh…don't tell!

When I started procrastinating about an hour ago, Facebook group Secret San Francisco was at 42,654 members. Now, it's at 43,736 members. A mere 10 days ago, it was just a glint in Jamie Quint's eye.

The 24-year-old entrepreneur started this group based on the model of Secret London, which went from zero to 180,000 members in under 20 days. The group is an open forum for people to spill San Francisco's best kept secrets, from restaurants and bars, to events, shows, and random cool things to do.

Discussion boards contain threads on topics like Best Sandwich, Best Brunch (for foodies not alchies), and Best Outdoor Workout…to burn off all those carbs and eggs benedicts. There is even a brief diatribe that ensues when an out-of-towner catastrophically requests some good tips on where to go when she visits "Frisco" this summer. Eeek. Poor thing won't be uttering that jaunty little nickname for a long time.

There is a lot of noise on the Wall, but search and you are bound to happen upon a hidden gem or two, and get inspired to plan an excursion the next time you have a free weekend.

Now, I know we all love the Internet and everything, but still…it is remarkable how popular this group has become in such a short time. Is it because we all love a juicy secret? Is it because we're bored? Or because Yelp reviews are too hiply cryptic to understand sometimes?

In a time and place where Twitter-roving street food carts are the new speakeasies, slinging Kung Fu Tacos and Sexy Soup to the masses willing to seek them out, "underground" is the new black, and "secret" is the new twenty.

SF Underground Farmers Market, 01.28.10

Just ask any one of the hundreds of kombucha-thirsty flavor-ravers who turned out for the Underground Farmers Market last month.

Mission Street Food, 01.28.10

Or walk by Lung Shan on a Thursday or Saturday night, when an unassuming Chinese restaurant turns into the packed, twinkle-lit, pop-up restaurant, Mission Street Food.

Perhaps we gravitate to these projects because they exude a sense of authenticity, of being "in the know", and part of something special and communal. Or, it could simply be...some things are just too good to keep to ourselves.

Flavor-ravers, SF Underground Farmers Market

Secret San Francisco Facebook Group
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As I get older, I identify less and less with my adolescent self. In fact, not infrequently, I imagine going back in time and smacking myself on the head. I'm only in my very late twenties, but the period of my life has already become a vague unpleasant fog punctuated on rare occasion by vivid waves of memory. I suspect strongly that I was whiny, overly self-conscious, woefully insecure, and generally a twerp. I do clearly remember that, when I was in my mid-teens, I (like most teenagers) didn't get along particularly well with my parents. I also recall that my impatience with their habits and eccentricities tended to erupt at meal-times.

A classic scenario: I was 13, on my first trip to Europe with the family. We were at a good French place in the 14th Arrondissement. My mom ordered in English, but she spoke with what my brother and I felt was a contrived French accent -- rolling R's, stretching out E's, her voice rising up higher than usual at the ends of sentences. She might have been nervous. She might have been drunk. In any event, whatever it was she was doing was unintentional. At first, we giggled into our water glasses, amused. After it happened at every restaurant we visited, we were mortified, irritated and finally nasty -- all because she insisted again and again that she was speaking no differently than usual.

Family vacations were known for bad meals -- but usually only on the nights we'd arrive in a new city. At the mercy of indifferent hotel clerks, governed by hasty impulses spurred on by empty stomachs and jet-lag, we'd fall prey to half-cooked, insipid pizza in Rome, succumb to over-priced, grease-laden bistro fare in Paris, and settle for fusion-y Mission-style burrito wraps in San Francisco. It became a chronic thing, a syndrome that permeated all interactions. The bad food and exhaustion would inevitably lead to an argument, and we’d end up trying to put it all back together the next day.

These days, I don't feel like a teenager too often -- except maybe when I'm home for the holidays. Now, when my mom comes to San Francisco for a vacation, good feelings swell to the surface. Our meals together are the highlights of her visits and I try hard to make them meaningful and pleasant.

In 2003, less than a year after I moved to the Bay Area, my mom visited for the first time. On the evening of her arrival, we were wandering around downtown, looking at buildings. Even though I hadn't yet had one myself, I figured she'd like to eat a fish taco -- because I'd heard it was one of those important California food things. I just didn't know where to get one. Since we were in the area already, we moseyed into the now-defunct Chevy's at Embarcadero Two and supped on grilled fish tacos with pico de gallo, lettuce, and fresh cheese. If she found the meal revolting, she didn't let on.

Since then, I have found better places to take her, destinations informed by what I've read and experienced as a focused seeker of tasty things -- a portion of my identity I had not quite realized in 2003. My mom digs unusual food, but nothing too strange. She will eat fish sauce, but not fish heads. She likes a clean restaurant with a pleasant atmosphere, but she's also cost-conscious and unswayed by pretentious flourishes. She eats seafood, but eschews meat -- which eliminates Korean barbecue joints, pork-heavy Shanghai-style dumpling houses, and Incanto from contention. My mom prefers to eat reasonably healthy food. As a result, sushi, ceviche, or pizza with vegetables appeal more than battered fish, cream-laden sauces, or anything destined to be dabbed with aioli. When I'm picking out a restaurant, I filter these criteria through other sets of necessary circumstance. When she visits, she usually stays somewhere in the Union Square, so I like to take her somewhere within swift striking distance via BART or Muni. Being lazy, I usually stick to my neighborhood, the Mission District, where I've lived for the vast majority of my time in San Francisco. On a few occasions, I have lightly pushed the envelope. In 2004, we went to Utopia Cafe, a sneaky spot down an alley in Chinatown. I wouldn't call it a "dive" exactly. That word is over-used; it shouldn't apply to every restaurant disinterested in putting a premium on inedible trappings like decor and service. Fruit flies circled like helicopters over a battlefield as we attacked clay pot rice with shrimp, mustard green soup, and salt-and-pepper fried bean curd, but the food tasted fresh, and that eclipsed any sanitation concerns. A year or so later, we went to Minako, the organic mother-and-daughter-owned Japanese eatery. I thought she'd enjoy the food -- tataki, gobo kinpira, salmon misozuke -- but I also suspected the restaurant's cool quirks would appeal, that she'd get a kick out of the snappy, funny daughter and the odd location -- Mission Street, boasting a sign the size of a playing card you can't see unless, as I recall, you're approaching from a very specific angle along the sidewalk. Another time we visited Kiji, an ordinary but inoffensive sushi place on Guerrero just because it was conveniently close to a Valencia shoe store she'd been perusing.

She really liked Delfina, but her reaction to the food nonetheless confirmed my suspicions that she would inevitably rather go out to eat what she doesn't cook at home, where pasta, pizza, and risotto frequently grace the dinner table. Even though Delfina is a better restaurant -- albeit a very different one -- she was truly blown away by Destino. We went there in 2006 or 2007 -- well after its heyday -- but she still talks about it -- because, at the time, it was so unusual to her.

She's coming to town for a few days later this week, and this time around, the first visit in nearly two years, I'm brimming with ideas. There's a Mayan restaurant in Louisville my mom adores. While it's not at all awful, it is something there that it would not be here, which is fine. After all, when it comes to barbecue and beef jerky, San Francisco could learn a few things too. Still, I'd like to take her to Poc Chuc -- even if platters of juicy, thin-sliced pork (the restaurant's namesake) don't jive with her diet. She'd be happy enough with feathery, toasty corn tortillas, a bowl of the smooth black beans, and a few bites of fish -- though I don't imagine she would dive into the head for the best pieces. I thought about Universal Cafe, but I think she'd prefer something less familiar. La Ciccia is another option, the current front-runner, I'm afraid. Sardinian flavors -- rich, heady fregula pasta with ricotta and cured tuna heart, smoky, spicy octopus stew -- diverge enough from the Italian fare she knows well. If I were really daring, we would go to Yellow Pa Taut on Bryant and 7th for the best Burmese in the city: Tea leaf salad, fried squash, and catfish noodle soup, perhaps -- all within spitting distance of the courthouse's grim facade.

I'm lucky to share life (and a kitchen) with my girlfriend, who has an equally serious relationship with food. Our weeks revolve around dinners together. When we eat somewhere particularly nice, whether an old stand-by or a newcomer, we often imagine how our parents would like it. Hers enjoy eating at least as much as mine, if not much more. That process is natural; it makes the meal better. I feel the same way about music. I have a few big stacks of vinyl, but I don't play records too often around the house. When friends are over, musician friends particularly, I'm galvanized into action. I slip on a record. I tell stories I know about the band. I react to what I'm hearing and the feelings I have about it in their presence, and their reactions combine with mine to enrich the experience. Food is not much different. A steak is better shared; so is Mavis Staples. The restaurants I pick for dinners with my mom have evolved along with me, but regardless of where we end up eating, every meal speaks to the power of shared experience. To adapt and respond to a well-travelled adage: If a meal falls on your table and there's no one there with whom to share it, its deliciousness cannot help but be diminished -- even if you write about it.

The rain was pouring down in sheets, the streets smeared and shiny as licorice along Larkspur's main drag. You'd think that, on this chilly, wet Monday night, everyone would be at home pulling a pizza from the freezer and flipping through the Netflix stack, but up and down Magnolia Street, there's not a parking place to be found. By eight o'clock, nearly every table at Picco is full and happy.

Welcome to Marin Mondays, chef-owner Bruce Hill's popular eat-local brainstorm. The concept is simple: each Monday, the restaurant offers a homey, five-course prix fixe menu showcasing local producers, for $30-$33 a person. (The restaurant's extensive regular menu is also available, and the Marin menu items can be sampled à la carte.) Think Ad Hoc with a locavore twist, and so far, it's brought out big crowds every week, on a night that's typically a slow one in the restaurant biz.

This might be a tricky proposition in, say, Fargo, or Cleveland, but with the Pacific Ocean on one side, San Francisco Bay on the other, and the rich, rolling green fields, woods, and pastures of rural West Marin (plus oyster-friendly Tomales Bay) in between, Marin County is pretty much a year-round bounty of bliss for local-conscious eaters and producers alike. Fishermen, dairy ranchers, farmers, vintners, and foragers all work the land (and water) here, raising sheep, cows, goats, and chickens on grass, farming oysters in the bays, making cheese, distilling liqueurs, catching squid, growing greens, picking mushrooms, baking bread in wood-fired ovens, and more.

So, sourcing: not a problem. And the menu's once-a-week status gives Picco's cooks the chance to be micro-seasonal in their creativity as they come up with new recipes based on whatever cool stuff is available each week. As long as there's enough of it to feed one night's worth of customers, they can use it-- a great boon to the foragers and farmers with just a few acres of continually cycling crops. And the menu isn't strictly local-limited; there's coconut milk in the curry, candied ginger on the ice cream, sriracha hot sauce on the fish cakes. But flavorings aside, the bulk of the ingredients come from nearby, because even in the depths of winter, abundance reigns.

And the menu is open to interpretation each week, instead of being locked down in the pristine, unadorned Cal-Med style, all sea salt and olive oil, that has become the de facto way of cooking local here. On the night we went, the inspiration was Thailand, with a side of Jersey & Buffalo. Or at least that's how we interpreted the appearance of sliders, chicken wings, and soft-serve ice cream between the squid salad and beef curry. To sip, there are two local libations, a Stubbs Estate organic chardonnay and a Shaken, Not Stirred cocktail made with house-infused elderflower liqueur and Square One cucumber vodka, made in Novato.

Last Monday, in honor of Beer Week, there was beer from Marin Brew Company in every dish, from Hog Island manila clams steamed in Albion ale to a fritto misto battered with IPA, cheddar soup with pilsner and rye croutons, and a stout cake with Straus Dairy caramel ice cream.

But back to Thailand in Marin. We started with a light and lovely squid salad, tender and tangy and tangled with cubes of crunchy Asian pear and fresh herbs, alongside a puff of succulent miners' lettuce, that wonderful winter weed named for adding much-needed vitamins to many a Forty-Niner's salt pork-and-sourdough diet.

Next up, a gloriously (but not excessively) greasy fish "slider," White Castle meets Thai fish cake. Unlike the fish cakes in Thai restaurants, which are often bounceably rubbery, these were more like crab cakes, made with rock cod from Bolinas, gentle and just a little springy, lavished with crunchy County Line cabbage and Star Route Farm carrot slaw, dripping with sriracha-spiked mayo and paired with super-crunchy, extra-salty chiplets made from sunchoke curls.

Superbowl-sublime chicken wings from Coastal Hill Farms followed, lacquered sticky-meaty mouthfuls, messy and wonderful. A thick puddle of seasoned Straus yogurt sauce and a mound of shredded celery root with baby watercress replaced the ranch dressing and celery sticks of sports-bar tradition. Dressing up lowbrow favorites doesn't always work (I'm still shaking my head over the dainty arugula-and-mandarin-orange salad served with the lobster roll at nearby Yankee Pier when they first opened—when, as every New Englander knows, a true lobster roll needs nothing but a bag of chips) but in this case, it's great.

By this time, we're pretty happily fed. The main dish, a Mussaman beef and potato curry, looks a little skimpy lurking at the bottom of its big white bowls, but it's deceptive. Rich and coconut-sauced, dotted with translucent, almost fetal baby radishes, the Marin Sun braised short ribs fork tender and lush, it turns out to be all we need.

All we're expecting for dessert is a bitty swirl of Picco's famous Straus Dairy soft-serve, what might fill a Chinese-restaurant teacup. Instead, we get a massive swirl towering above a cereal bowl, heavily crunched with candied ginger and pecan praline. Lovely, palate-cleansing, and crazily big.

Then again, being graced with too much ice cream made from the milk of happy local cows? Way, way down on my list of Bad Things.

Picco
320 Magnolia Ave.
Larkspur, California 94939
Map
415.924.0300
Picco on Facebook

Photos by Debra St. John

There are two ways you can go on Valentine's Day. On one hand, it's an excellent holiday for kids, or goofily cheerful adults. You get out the paper doilies and the glitter and red velvet cupcakes with pink frosting and those chalky little conversation hearts that now say things like Text Me and Tweet Me (and am I the only one who thinks there should be a Boomer or even Gen-X version of these that leaves out the technology and just sticks with Luv U and Foxy Lady and Love Bug?) and you sit around the kitchen table with hot-pink crayons and sparkly markers and cut out homemade cards for everyone.

In the morning there are chocolate-chip pancakes made in the shape of hearts and maybe gold-sprayed macaroni necklaces, if anyone makes those any more. In the evening, whoever doesn't usually make dinner does the job, or if that's a serious obstacle to getting something edible on the table in less than 3 hours without total kitchen destruction, then copious back-rubbing and foot-worshipping should follow, once the sugar-happy kids are off to bed. Maraschino cherries, red food coloring, whipped cream for breakfast: perfectly acceptable food choices today.

And then, for all of you grownups without kids, or with kids over at Grandma's for the night, there's Valentine's Day, Goth Edition. Don't get me wrong: I agree with Gawker that the only thing more tedious than Walgreen's chocolate boxes are Valentine's Day haters (the fabulous My Sucky Valentine show excluded, of course). But why must love be celebrated in only its sweetest incarnations?

The best way to save your holiday drowning from Hallmark/LIfetime movie/Whitman's Sampler goo? Paint it black instead of pretty pink, shiny and slick as a tangy of squid-ink pasta, topped with the claws of a lobster or a Dungeness crab in all their fiesty gripping glory, bathed in a fiery fra diavolo sauce.

Make your menu a vampiric splendor of fang-licking blood red and bat-cave midnight black. You could go straight to the Scorpio menu in my Astrology Cookbook: figs wrapped in proscuitto and dripping with pomegranate glaze; lamb chops sauced with port, bleeding heart cake gushing molten chocolate and raspberry. Or you can mix and match you and your demon lover's favorite dishes, adding an edge of pleasure and pain. Like it spicy? Then make that curry really, really spicy. Endorphins=good. (Just be careful slicing those chilis. Capsicum can linger for hours on fingertips, even after washing, not something you want to discover during your after-dinner activities.)

Love sushi? Lay out a spread of the most luscious, mind-melting bites you can find-rich tuna belly, crazy-sexy uni, salty-slippery roe, a little octopus, for the chew.

If you must go heart-shaped, do it with beets, bathing your fingers deeply in their magenta dye. Beets, blood oranges, avocado: this Heart's Desire salad is actually full of encouragingly aphrodisiacs, especially vitamins B and E. Plus, it looks much more alluring that your average pile of mixed greens. You could even add cooked shrimp, crab, or even lobster to it, making it into a ravishing main dish that won't send you into a prime-rib food coma when you have charming toes to kiss or a nape of the neck to adore.

Heart's Desire Salad
Peeling raw beets is a thankless task. Luckily, the skins will slip off effortlessly once the beets are cooked, especially if you get to them while they're still warm.

Ingredients
4 beets, roasted or boiled until very tender, then peeled
2 blood oranges
2 handfuls of arugula, watercress, or mixed greens
juice of 1 Meyer lemon
1 tbsp pomegranate molasses
2-3 tbsp olive oil
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1 avocado
2 tbsp crumbled feta or soft goat cheese (optional)

Preparation:
1. Cut beets into wedges or half-moons. (Or, using a small cookie cutter, cut into heart shapes.)

2. Grate rind of 1 orange finely. Whisk together orange rind, lemon juice, pomegranate molasses, olive oil, salt, and pepper, adjusting ingredients to taste. Let beets marinate in dressing for 1 hour.

3. Peel oranges, ruthlessly removing all white pith, and slice thinly into rounds, then half-moons. Mix orange slices and greens with beets, tossing to coat with dressing. Yes, everything will turn red, but that's OK, under the circumstances. Arrange on two plates. Just before serving, top with avocado slices and optional cheese. Grind on a little fresh pepper and serve.

... under the circumstances.*

Today marks the Opening Ceremonies of the XXI Winter Olympics in Vancouver, British Columbia, if you haven't been paying attention. In its honor or, more correctly, honour, I've decided to make a real Canadian breakfast to express my love for all things Canadian and, more specifically, Vancouvery.

The only problem was that, apart from a big bowl of Weetabix, I came up totally blank, which isn't an unusual state for me first thing in the morning. Since I was introduced to the cereal by Canadians in Vancouver, of all places, I naturally assumed it was a proudly Canadian product. I was wrong-- it's English.

There I was, disappointed, hungry, and without a clue as to what I could make today in order to show my affection for our northern neighbours. So I did a little research.

And I do mean little. I began to wonder:

Do Canadians eat anything that is distinctly Canadian? What, if anything, defines Canadian cuisine, let alone Canadian breakfast? Poutine? No, that's Quebecois, which simply won't do since, Olympically speaking, it smacks of Montréal and is therefore too 1976 for my tastes. I cornered a Vancouverite the other evening at work, asking her if she could help me think of anything that was distinctly Canadian and, more specifically, British Columbian I could prepare. All she could come up with were Nanaimo bars. At least it was something. I decided to stop asking questions when her boyfriend suggested Hawai'ian pizza might do, since it had Canadian bacon on it. Even though he was being a complete smart ass, he at least put one item on my mental Canadian grocery list. And it's something salty, which always puts me in a good mood.

Another thing that came to mind, of course, was maple syrup. One can't get much more symbolically Canadian than the maple. Just look at their flag, for God's sake. I was fortunate enough to have been gifted a perfect little bottle of Canadian maple syrup. Granted, it was given to me in Paris, but by a Canadian from Vancouver, no less, so I'm not quibbling. It's just been sitting in my kitchen acting pretty. It was time to make proper use of the stuff.

So there I was again standing in my kitchen with a sauce and a side dish, but no main event. In my opinion, that's akin to a Winter Olympics with plenty of Moguls and Biathalon action, but no Women's Figure Skating. I needed a main event. I needed my Elizabeth Manley.

What I wound up with is as natively Canadian and plucky as the 1988 silver medalist who out-charmed everyone else on the ice that year. I decided to make Bannock. It might be native and plucky, but it's not exactly as light on its blade-pointed toes as Miss Manley. It's manly, alright, just without that little "e" between the "l" and "y."

Sadly, not even the Canadians I asked knew what Bannock was. I had come up with a "Salute to Canada" breakfast that would have even the most flag waving among them scratching their heads.

I was hoping to start a trend, but I somehow doubt that fry bread is going to sweep the nation of Canada, let alone the city of Vancouver, by storm. They're too busy either enjoying their Olympic fever or fretting over the projected $2 billion loss that it will most likely bring them. Or how the government can see fit to finance a $486 million retractable stadium roof yet can't seem to come up with the $47 million needed to fund the Arts, which the government has said is the "second pillar of the Olympics."

That piece of news sits in my stomach as heavily as a piece of Bannock.

Bannock and Bacon

Bannock is one of those things that just makes plain old Canadian sense. Though the word is derived from the Latin word panicium, or baked goods, it is tradition of both the Scots and the First Nations of Canada-- and there are a lot of both, heritage-wise, in British Columbia. Call it fry bread, call it scone-y, it's dense, nourishing, hearty fare-- the perfect breakfast food to ingest before ski jumping, ice dancing, or protesting Gordon Campbell's cuts in Arts funding.

Adding a few slices of Canadian bacon adds a much-needed bit of saltiness and protein to the breakfast and plays well with maple syrup. Canadians, by the way, do not call Canadian Bacon "Canadian Bacon." They call it back bacon. Lean, and ham-like, it's much less fatty than the belly-derived bacon that Americans are used. Unless, of course, one is eating an Egg McMuffin.

Makes about 12 Bannock cakes

Ingredients:

2 cups whole wheat flour

2 cups oatmeal flour (not, my friends, oatmeal)

4 tablespoons melted butter

About 1 1/4 cups water

1/2 cup brown sugar

1 teaspoon salt

4 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 or more (a handful or two) of dried currants, raisins, or, if you happen to have some on hand, Saskatoon berries.

Lard, vegetable oil, or butter for frying.

In addition to the bannock ingredients, you will need:

As many sliced of Canadian bacon as you like

Maple syrup. I won't tell on you if you use American syrup.

Preparation:

1.Combine all ingredients except the dried fruit and water in a mixing bowl. Add water a little at a time until a stiff dough has formed.

2. Knead dough for approximately 10 minutes. Fold in fruit while kneading.

3. Form dough into flatten discs, as small or as large as you like, but about 1/3" thick. Cover them with a slightly dampened cloth.

4. Heat a small amount of your cooking fat in a large cast iron pan. Add sliced Canadian bacon and cook until lightly (or darkly-- it's up to you) browned on both sides on medium heat. Reserve in a warm oven.

5. Lowering the heat under your skillet, add as many Bannock cakes as you can fit without over-crowding. Cook them gently, until browned on both sides-- about 4 to 5 minutes per side.

6. Serve Bannock cakes and bacon together, with a liberal drizzle of maple syrup. Drink tea in a brotherly gesture to our Northern friends.

7. Sit back and muster as much enthusiasm as you can for the Olympics as you can.

*Years ago, the Canadian periodical McClean's ran a contest in which readers were asked to complete the phrase "As Canadian as..." as some sort of northerly response to "As American as apple pie." The winning response? "As Canadian as possible under the circumstances."

And that, despite their lack of famous cuisine, is one of the many reasons I love Canadians.

This week, there will be many boxes of chocolates given in the name of love; we'll also see a lot of stuffed teddy bears and bouquets of flowers. And although I would never turn any of these down (well, maybe the teddy bears, but definitely not the chocolates), when I want to tell my family I love them -- whether for Valentine's Day or any other time - I cook. And, at least as far as I'm concerned, nothing quite says I love you like a homemade pot pie. After all, this relative of the savory meat pasty contains the homiest comfort food ingredients: butter crust and gravy (oh yeah, and chicken too).

As I mentioned last week, making a pot pie is a great way to use leftovers from a roasted chicken. But you shouldn't only think of this dish as a method for getting rid of that dark or white meat no one wanted the night before. After all, pot pies -- with gravy bubbling out of the cracks of its buttery crust -- are so good that I often roast a chicken simply so we can have pot pies the next day. And, unlike other dishes, this meal tops the favorites list for both kids and adults alike, which means everyone is happy on chicken pot pie night.

There are various ways to make chicken pot pie, but I think the easiest (and tastiest) is to use leftover chicken with its drippings and a bit of fat. As my Italian Catholic mother would say, it's a sin to throw away those lovely pan juices after roasting a chicken. Those drippings contain a chicken essence that is impossible to replicate with butter and store bought chicken stock. No, the most richly-flavored gravies are always made with the source material.

But it's not enough to make a great gravy; the key to a fantastic pot pie is making enough gravy to fill your dish. Your chicken and vegetables should be swimming in brown gravy goodness, because really, who wants to eat a dry pot pie. This is why saving all the ingredients from a roasted chicken is so important. In addition to the drippings, you should also save the carcass and wings, which you'll use to make a rich chicken stock that is essential for producing a hearty supply of gravy. I usually have some store-bought broth on hand, but trust me, use this only in case of emergency as your gravy will have more nuanced flavors and a fuller taste if you make your stock from scratch.

Now don't shake your head and mutter something about not having the time to make that stock, because – yes I know I say this all the time – it's easy and fast. Really. It is. You just add some water to the carcass along with a half onion and some celery, carrots, and a bay leaf and you're done. Truly. That's it. Plus you only need to cook it for around 20 minutes – okay so that's not super fast, but it's also not so time intensive that you can't do it. How often do you spend 20 minutes digging around your refrigerator and pantry trying to find something easy and fast to cook? By the time you've finished searching, your stock could be made.

As for the fillings, they are really up to you. In addition to your chicken, you can add anything you like. I personally like potatoes, mushrooms, peas and carrots in my pot pies (I'm a savory pie traditionalist, at heart), but my daughters hate the carrots, so I only add them to my own serving. If broccoli and zucchini sound appetizing, add them in. Hate mushrooms? Leave them out. Wondering what to do with those turnips you bought? Just use them instead of the potatoes. It's your pot pie, so make it the way you like it.

When it comes time to throw everything together, you can make one big casserole in a porcelain or glass dish, or, if you have individual casserole dishes (mine look like large ramekins), you can use those instead. If you are big on crust, feel free to line your casserole dish(es) with crust (and then prebake so it's not soggy) and then also top the pies with another layer; I, however, think one layer on top is usually sufficient (and less caloric – not that I'm counting calories after using chicken fat).

So this year, forget the flowers and express your love with a chicken pot pie.

Chicken Pot Pie

Makes: One large or four individual pot pies

Ingredients:

Leftovers from a roasted chicken (around 3 cups meat plus the carcass, wings, pan drippings and 1 Tbsp chicken fat)
5 cups water
½ large onion
3 carrots
1 stalk celery
1 bay leaf
1 Tbsp butter
1/4 cup flour
½ tsp dried thyme or 1 tsp fresh thyme
1 cup cubed potatoes or turnips
6 brown or white mushrooms sliced
¾ cup frozen peas
1 round of pie crust (recipe below) or puff pastry
Butter for greasing your casserole dishes

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees

2. Set the chicken carcass (stripped of meat), wings, and neck in a large saucepan and cover with water. Include your pan drippings, which should have settled in the bottom of your container overnight. Leave out the fat for now. You may have to break up the carcass so it's fully submerged. Add in 2 chopped carrots, the chopped celery stalk, the half onion (also chopped) and the bay leaf. Simmer for 20 - 30 minutes or until you have a decent chicken stock.

3. While your stock is simmering, chop up 3 cups of chicken meat. You can use dark or white meat or a combination of the two (which I think tastes best). This is also a great time to peel and chop up your potatoes or turnips, slice your mushrooms, and chop that last carrot (or whatever vegetables you're using).

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4. Once the stock is ready, strain the liquid and set aside. You should have about five cups.

5. In a large pan, heat up 1 Tbsp chicken fat plus another Tbsp butter. When bubbly, add in the flour and thyme and then mix to create a roux. Whisk in 4 cups of your chicken stock slowly, stirring constantly to avoid lumps. Salt and pepper to taste.

6. Add in the potatoes or turnips along with the carrots and cover. Simmer for 7-10 minutes or until the vegetables are al dente.

7. Add in the chicken, mushrooms and peas. Mix in more stock if the gravy is too thick, or if it's too thin, create a slurry in a separate dish with a tablespoon of cornstarch and enough water to create a thin paste and then mix in as much as needed to thicken. Taste again to see if you need more salt, pepper or thyme.

8. Turn off heat, cover pan and let sit while you roll out your pie dough or puff pastry. If using small individual casserole dishes, cut the dough to fit each dish.

9. Butter the inside of each dish and then fill with your chicken and gravy mixture. Top each dish with your pie dough or puff pastry. Cut a hole or slit into each piece of dough so the casserole can breath in the oven.

10. Bake for 30 minutes. When crust is golden brown and gravy is bubbling out of the cracks, remove pot pies from oven. Let sit for five minutes and then serve with a big salad.

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.

Photo Credit: Knight Lights Photography

February 14, 2010. Doily valentines, conversation hearts, and sugar-coated smooches, step aside. This year, you'll have to share the spotlight with the Tiger. Rawrrr. {Cue firecrackers and those darned little Pop Pops the kids are still playing with.}

Pop Pop Pop

It's the Year of the Tiger and on February 14th, the first day of the first lunar month in the Chinese calendar this year, the Tiger's reign will begin. On New Year's Eve, Asian families all over the world will be celebrating with a dinner feast.

As is customary in Chinese celebrations, food is of the utmost importance and various dishes have symbolic meanings.

Last year, to welcome in the Year of the Ox, we had a true Lucky Feast. I'm still noodling on what will be on the menu this year, but certain traditional items are must-haves.

1. Dumplings (Jiao Zi) = prosperity

Pork and Shrimp Dumplings

The Chinese are really into prosperity and good luck, so anything that can help bring those thing along in the new year are important. For example, the color red (this is why red foods like lobster are often served at New Year celebrations and wedding banquets). For another example, and a tad more affordable, dumplings (jiao zi in Chinese). Making homemade dumplings can be a fun group activity, and the pay off is delicious. For some great tips on dumpling-making, I turn to the dumpling queen herself, Andrea Nguyen. Author of Asian Dumplings, Andrea knows a thing or two about these prosperity-bearing pouches of goodness.

2. Noodles = a long life

Lo Mein

Lo mein is a classic, and is a great filler if you have a lot of guests. I'm partial to the way my mom makes it, with thicker-cut Shanghai-style noodles and generous amounts of marinated mushrooms, barbecue pork, scallion, Napa cabbage, egg, and goji berries.

3. White Cut Chicken with Ginger-Scallion Oil = happiness & purity, and family as well if it's served whole

White Cut Chicken (bok cheet gai) with Ginger-Scallion Oil

A simple recipe with vibrant flavors, White Cut Chicken (or as it's called in Chinese, bok cheet gai) with Ginger-Scallion Oil is so good you’ll be making this well into the new year. The white chicken symbolizes "happiness and purity," and if it is presented whole (yes, with the head and the butt on the plate), it also signifies "family." I'll abstain from chicken butt jokes now.

4. Steamed Whole Fish = an abundance of good luck

Steamed Whole Fish with Ginger and Scallion

Much less intimidating than it looks, the fresh fish is simply prepared with soy sauce, ginger, and scallion. Similar to how the chicken is finished off, the fish is topped with a mixture of hot vegetable oil poured over fresh scallions. The fish is served whole, with the head and tail intact to ensure a good start and finish in the New Year.

5. Black Moss Seaweed = good fortune

Mushrooms and Black Moss Seaweed (Dong Gu Fat Choy)

Black Moss Seaweed is called fat choy in Chinese. Literally translated, it means "hair vegetable." Makes sense, huh? It looks uncannily, and unappetizingly, similar to masses of black hair. Fat choy is also a homophone in Chinese for "good fortune." It is served with braised Chinese mushrooms in a mixture of oyster sauce, soy sauce, and sugar for a full, savory flavor…and is slightly less scary looking that way.

6. Tray of Togetherness (sweets = good luck)

Tray of Togetherness

It is customary to start the New Year with something sweet. This tray is full of eight (a traditional lucky number) different treats like candied dried fruits and coconut.

7. Kumquats = prosperity

Lucky golden kumquat tree

Translated, kumquat means "gold orange" and during Chinese New Year, families and businesses often showcase the whole kumquat tree, or the fruit with stems and leaves attached (which symbolizes strong relationships). Eat them whole, skin and all. The peel is usually pleasantly sweet, although the flesh can be mouth-puckeringly tart. I solved this problem last year by making Kumquat Vanilla Marmalade from my happy little kumquat tree.

8. Orange Slice Jello Shots = a good time

Orange Slice Jello Shots

Not a "traditional" dish per se, but could very well be the makings of a new classic! Needless to say, these were a hit at last year's Chinese New Year party. I saw this brilliant idea on Adventures in Amateur Baking and Cooking. Oranges symbolize wealth, so make your boozy jello with some orange-flavored vodka and just wait for double the riches to come pouring through the door.

Photo Credit: Knight Lights Photography

Finally, don't forget about the Chinese New Year Parade, a San Francisco tradition since the 1860's. This world-famous parade will include a 250-foot long Golden Dragon, lion dancers, stilt walkers, acrobats, and elaborate floats.

Chinese New Year Parade, San Francisco
Saturday, February 27, 2010
5:15 pm - 8:00 pm
Location: Market and Second Street to Kearny and Jackson
Parade Route

Watch Food and Wine This Week to see Leslie Sbrocco, host of Check, Please! Bay Area in a new segment on local food and wine trends. On February 26, a conversation about celebrating the food and traditions of the Chinese New Year with Bay Area Bites bloggers, Thy Tran and Stephanie Im.

An East Coaster gets his first taste of In-N-Out Burger. Photo by Michael V. Chopko

Growing up, my house was healthy. Bran stocked the cupboard, gallons of skim milk sat in the fridge. We didn't eat fast food except on rare occasions. On busy nights, my parents picked up sprout-laden sandwiches and baked potatoes from our nearest Fresher Cooker franchise. After multi-million dollar losses year after year, the locally-owned company (conceived as a healthy alternative to burger joints) filed for bankruptcy, folded, and the restaurant in the strip mall parking lot near my house fell apart and came back together as a Skyline Chili.

Fast food mainly happened on road trips then, when we'd drive from Louisville to New Orleans or Northern Florida for a vacation. I remember one drive down with my brother and dad. I must have been ten. We stopped for fries and Arch Deluxes. I had a fish sandwich. An hour later, not far from Tuscaloosa, Alabama, my brother started throwing up. He hadn't been poisoned; he was car-sick, a tendency worsened by his habit of doodling in notebooks as the Volvo heaved and pitched over I-65's pocked surface. We stopped at a gas station so my dad could clean him off and buy a styrofoam cooler. My brother was still throwing up, leaning out of the car, near the pump. A scraggly old yokel sauntered over. "What's wrong with 'im?" he asked, practically chuckling. My brother threw up into the cooler all the way to Hattiesburg. As soon as he was done, he wanted another burger. Vegetarianism dulled the allure of fast food for a while, but even in college, it permeated the culture. My senior year, I lived next to a Rax, a pitiful little lump of a franchise my friends and I always assumed was the last of its kind in the country -- so disconnected so under-patronized that perhaps -- like Edwina, the cookie-baking dinosaur -- it hadn't gotten wind of its own extinction. Then, for some people, going for fries at Rax was as palatably ironic an act as stacking toilet sculptures in the main quad or carefully growing a neat cop-style mustache to sport above a bemused smirk.

Today, I avoid fast food. I strive to eat healthily, responsibly, and well -- and I manage to get two out of three right most of the time. In other words, if I'm going to eat fried chicken, it's going to be good fried chicken -- featuring a bird whose life was reasonably pleasant prior to its sudden conclusion. However, this general rule isn't always easy to follow. Over the last five years, I have spent a lot of time touring around the country playing music -- and eating on the road in any way resembling that to which I am accustomed in San Francisco is tough if not impossible. If I were more of an urban homesteader, I'd make my own jerky, dry fruit, and roast nuts for snacks. Instead, ducking into parking lights, entranced by warm neon glows, I forage along the inter-states with wildly varying results. Thanks to a soggy half-rotten "veggie delight" foot-long somewhere in Michigan, I haven't eaten anything from Subway in three years, and I never will again. On the other hand, I have learned that Arby's makes a decent vegetable soup. Its coffee shakes are good too. I have also learned that Carl's Jr. has one healthy sandwich that doesn't make me feel sick after I eat it: the grilled chicken with barbecue sauce and crunchy lettuce on a whole wheat bun. The sauce tastes like low-cal ketchup dosed with liquid smoke, but I don't quibble. I'm always happy to see that yellow star rising up on a pole in the dark next to the highway. In general, grocery stores are better than restaurants. Whenever I stumble across a reasonably well-appointed one, I buy carrots, bananas, bread, and peanut butter, or some deli turkey and cheese. While these eats assault my body with less malice, something remains appealing about fast food on the road, particularly when it's eaten in the car, as music hums from the stereo, and the windows rattles as the wheels tumble along. Towns give way to cities, suburbs, and towns again. The windshield steams up from unwrapped burgers. A greasy smell oozes into the upholstery and hangs in the air between the front seats. Ketchup packets fall on the van floor. Someone steps on one, and he is cursed as red spits across the carpet.

On the West Coast, In-N-Out Burger -- every famous chef's favorite drive-through -- reigns supreme. My band was heading up from Los Angeles last weekend. As we approached the parking lot, the keyboardist, a Lebowski fan visiting from D.C., awoke from a two-hour nap and practically dived out of the rolling van to get his first taste. While little approaches a double-double animal-style, the Midwest and East Coast offer a few nice options you can't get out here. Wawa, a Mid-Atlantic chain of convenience stores, has excellent sandwiches you can customize via touch-screen. Frequently found in service plazas along East Coast turnpikes, the Falls Church, Virginia-based Roy Rogers has the "Gold Rush" chicken sandwich, fried breast on a roll with bacon, melted provolone, and honey barbecue sauce. The closest White Castle outpost may be 1 and 1/3 days away from us by car -- in Shakopee, Minnesota to be exact -- but you can buy frozen sliders from Walgreen's stores anywhere. I know because I have done so from the one on 24th and Potrero.

Some fast food restaurants have short menus focusing on a specific culinary theme -- fried chicken and little besides fried chicken, just burgers, or chili -- and others, like Jack in the Box, for example, try to be all things for all customers, offering tacos, egg rolls, and cheese-steaks as well as burgers and fries. In my experience, the former -- focused, quality-conscious enterprises in the vein of In-N-Out Burger -- tend to be more successful. To play with the idea, I've come up with a few unique fast food concepts -- inspired appropriately by San Francisco -- to diversify the field.

Offal promises to stay hot in the food world. Falafel is a fast food Americans outside of cities don't know or trust yet. I was thinking a restaurant serving both could be both excellent and successful. Chris Cosentino and the proprietors of Old Jerusalem would have to consult. I would call it Fal-off-All in honor of Chik-fil-A and serve lavash wraps stuffed with fried sweetbreads, kidneys, and liver.

Mini-cassoulets. Sounds a little precious for sure, but I think even road-trippers in far-flung bastions of rigidity would warm up -- especially in snowy weather. I know I would have loved to stumble across a franchise of Le Petit Confit zipping across Nebraska several Februarys ago.

This past fall, New York City Momofuku impresario David Chang ticked off a bunch of sensitive locals when he semi-drunkenly accused low-watt San Francisco chefs of "fuckin' just serving figs on a plate." He might have been taking a cue from an expat. Over the summer, former A16 and SPQR chef Nate Appleman abruptly abandoned local stardom to move to New York in search of a louder buzz. He popped up in a New York Times profile to lightly dis San Francisco diners: "In San Francisco the audience is easy. You put tripe in a bowl and tell them it's from a humanely raised cow and they're going to eat it." In honor of both famous chefs' opinions, someone should start a faux-Chez Panisse fast food restaurant serving austere mockeries of the perfect-simple-thing-in-a-bowl motif: shriveled radish slices with table salt, canned pears with a touch of low-grade honey, and gassed half-green tomatoes with "balsamic" drizzles -- all served with pseudo-artisan sourdough bread. Bowls and Rolls -- it'll be huge, I'm telling you.

Some of the Valentine's treats available at SusieCakes.

Now I don't know about you, but I think the negative vibes towards Valentine's Day are kind of laughable. We've all heard it before. Perhaps some of you are guilty of shouting it out on a yearly basis: "Urgh, I can't wait for the day to be over--it's not like I have anyone to spend it with." That sort of thing. But what could be better than a day during the dead of winter where pinks and reds abound in all the shops and where chocolate is pushed, pedaled, and procured? I mean, c'mon. Who needs a sweetie to enjoy a jaunt through See's or Recchiuti? Or, as I learned earlier this week: SusieCakes.

SusieCakes welcoming storefront

Los Angeles-based SusieCakes has been open about a month in the Bon Air Shopping Center in Marin, and I've been meaning to visit with each passing day. I was doing errands in the area the other day and decided to stop in and see what all the fuss was about. I'd heard about their "frosting-filled cupcakes" and I thought it was a genius idea for all of us who use the cupcake as a socially acceptable excuse to eat frosting. And lots of it. What I didn't expect to find was the huge celebration of Valentine's Day in full effect--from sweet little cookies to festive whoopie pies. I took some photos (for you), I chatted with the gals to see what was good and what was flying out the door, and then--of course--I took some things home.

The "Love Shack," a special Valentine's Gingerbread House, and the adorable Conversation Heart Cookies

So let's talk about those frosting-filled cupcakes. Now I'm not sure how they do it. There's literally a dip or a groove in the top of the cupcake where a nice little shot of extra frosting lays. It's pure magic. I love their almost haphazard way of frosting each cupcake as well. It's not perfectly even and looks rather homemade, but in a generous, abundant sort-of way.

The genius that is SusieCakes' signature frosting-filled cupcakes

I tried the Peanut Butter, Chocolate, Red Velvet and the Sugar and Spice (February Special) cupcakes. You'll notice there aren't any photos of the Peanut Butter. That's because, like an eager and grubby-handed child, I ate it in the car. I just couldn't wait. Each flavor I tried was unbelievably soft and moist although I must say that I’m a bit of a Red Velvet snob, and I couldn't taste the cocoa in theirs. But the chocolate was rich in cocoa, and the Sugar & Spice cupcake had a lovely, light vanilla-sugar flavor. I made a big batch of snickerdoodles recently and the Sugar and Space tastes a lot like the classic cookie. You just look at these cupcakes and want to bring them to someone you love, or like, or appreciate, or want to make smile. They're happiness in a box, really.

I didn't try some of the other treats, although I'll be back in town this week and plan on swinging by for a whoopie pie (or a "Makin' Whoopie Pie," their current take on the old-school dessert). And while there's certainly a glut of cupcake spots in the Bay Area and while some people I know are excusing cupcakes altogether as a retired trend, there’s something special about SusieCakes. It's evident in the regulars who were strolling in before 11 a.m. on a weekday to pick up a few treats. And it's evident in their attention to homemade, old-fashioned desserts (think along the lines of Magnolia Bakery in New York but before the Sex in the City madness) with banana and butterscotch puddings, classic pies and stacked cakes. They're not trying to be anything they’re not with wacky and original flavors, but they're doing the classics incredibly well.

A good motto to live by, and a great daily selection of cupcakes

So for a little shop with a big sign deeming "Eat Cake," I don't think it much matters if you have a sweetheart or not this year. Those are words we can all take to heart.

SusieCakes
310 Bon Air Center
Bon Air Shopping Center
Greenbrae, CA 94904
Map
(415) 461-2253

Hours: Mon.-Sat. 10am-7pm; Closed Sunday (although they will be open Sunday February 14th for Valentines Day).

Twitter: @Susiecakes

Cupid's arrows hit Bernal Heights hard this week. Along Cortland Avenue, every storefront from the card store to the cafe to the taqueria is emblazoned with huge red and pink hearts and flowers. What's so romantic about a quesadilla or a double nonfat mocha with whip? Well, anything's romantic when you're sharing it with your honey. Or maybe Bernal just loves window dressing.

Still, the holiday is nearly upon us, and if you've got a sweetheart, you're probably wondering, with eagerness or dread, what to do about it. Personally, I don't ascribe to the fancy-jewelry, table-for-two view of Feb. 14. If you asked me to name my most romantic gifts or moments I've had, I'd remember the poem by Sappho an old girlfriend inscribed for me in gold ink on pink rose petals, one word per petal. Or being picked up from work on Valentine's Day by another date, who whisked me across the Golden Gate Bridge to the Headlands, where we sat on the hood of the car, looking out over the bay and eating take-out shrimp dumplings boxed up from my very favorite dim sum dive. (He knew me well enough to know that heaven, for me, is an endless supply of shrimp dumplings.)

The most romantic notion is the most personal, the gift that makes you feel truly seen. So, what does your husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend secretly like best? At home or in the company of like-minded sensualists, this week offers dozens of ways to tease and titillate your valentine.

Popping the cork on a bottle of good champagne may work for me, but for plenty of people, beer's the drink of choice. And conveniently enough, it's Beer Week in San Francisco now through the 14th, with dozens of bars offering many delectable suds, along with brewmaster meet-and-greets. And who says beer and chocolate aren't a perfect match? Serious Eats has an exhaustive guide to pairing the two. Although many of their picks are geared towards East Coast brands like Jacques Torres, the flavor profiles can certainly apply to your favorite Bay Area treats.

Or you can head to Humphry Slocombe and bring home a pint or two of their this-week-only beer ice creams, made with local brews. Beer ice cream! I think someone out there is just waiting to plant a big wet Homer Simpson m'waaah on you for thinking of this, and better yet, bringing it home, stripping down to your underwear, and grabbing a couple of spoons. Especially if you add a side order of Slocombe's cult-favorite caramels (made with Boccalone lard, and much better, and more bacony, than they sound).

In fact, caramel is breathing hard down chocolate's neck this year, a happy development for those less inclined towards the bean. Bi-Rite Market has a particularly fetching selection right now, starting with the salted caramel ice cream from their own Bi-Rite Creamery. Then there are the tamarind-spiked treats whipped up by local Indian baker and confectioner Spice Vice, as well as the vanilla-speckled, cajeta-inspired softies from Happy Goat, enriched with caramelized goat's milk.

Can't decide between caramel and chocolate? Local Charles Chocolates offers the best of both worlds: fleur de sel caramels covered in chocolate, arranged in an edible, flower-printed chocolate box. Or you can invest in Michael Recchiuti's dynamic duo, a jar each of Extra-Bitter Chocolate Sauce and Burnt Caramel Sauce. Who needs a spoon when you can just pour it on and...well, the rest is up to you.

Prefer to play with your food? Check out this list of chocolate spa treatments for two. Get rubbed down (or revved up) with a chocolate-espresso scrub, let yourselves be macerated in rose petals or painted with cocoa butter and chocolate oil, all while enjoying truffles and bubbly. Remember that goofy Axe chocolate man commercial? Like that, only pricier (and presumably, much more pleasing to the nose).

Can't quite swing that spontaneous weekend in Paris this year? Happily, in our European-minded city, there will always be croissants to wake up to (I may be Bernal-biased, but the delicate, extra-flaky ones at Sandbox Bakery are worth the trip up the hill) and pastel macarons in more flavors than Hermès has scarves. People who love macarons really, really love them, and while Miette has its fans, the latest buzz is about the stylishly packaged dainties at Paulette in Hayes Valley, the first NorCal branch of a popular shop in Beverly Hills. Or you can dream of escaping to the French countryside, à la Juliette Binoche in Chocolat, as you melt and roll your own ravishing truffles at La Cocina's chocolate-making class on Feb. 10.

Got a honey who's more salty than sweet? Well, take it from the Fatted Calf: the couple that grinds together, stays together. Head over to the Calf's headquarters in the Oxbow Public Market in Napa for their I Heart Sausage class on Feb. 13th, and get busy making it all: fresh, smoked, poached, and, for all you vampires out there, boudin noir, the infamous (and delectable) blood sausage. Or pencil in a plan for Whole Hog Butchery, Part 1, upcoming on Feb. 27.

To go with your sausage-fest, pick up a bloomy Heart's Desire cheese. Molded in the shape of a heart, it's named after a charming beach along Tomales Bay and made by Cowgirl Creamery this month only, available in their store in San Francisco's Ferry Building as well as at Tomales Bay Foods in Point Reyes. Out of town? You can order it online in a gift pack along with Jasper Hill Farm's Constant Bliss and Redwood Hill's Camillia cheeses, plus a selection of Tcho chocolates. Farmstead Cheeses and Wines in Montclair and Alameda will also be carrying a selection of heart-shaped cheeses this week, including French goat cheese Coeur de Gariottes, sold with rose petal jam; creamy cow's milk Coeur de Bray; and Coeur Cendrée, a goat cheese dusted with ash. And in keeping with the holiday, their weekly Friday & Saturday wine tasting will focus on sparklers and rosés.

Then again, what about dinner? Just about every restaurant in the city will be angling for your V-Day dollar with passion-fruit mousse and hearts of palm salad. Still, I'd like to imagine that all kinds of polyamorous, four- or more-some wake-ups will be happening the morning after the Wild Kitchen's Valentine's Day Dinner. That secret Mission location, those candlelit communal tables full of curious couples, those shared platters of candycap mushrooms and foraged mussels...how can they not inspire more than just gustatory exploration?

As an appetizer, the two (or more) of you can tango down to the Ferry Building on Feb. 12, from 5 to 8pm, for the annual Food from the Heart. After the food-court tourists have gone home, the elegant main promenade will be transformed into a place to sip, nibble, flirt, and perhaps even dance. Local restaurants and wineries will have tables set up offering drinks and small plates for tasting, $2-$4. The money goes towards sending one lucky Ferry Plaza Farmers Market seller to Slow Food's Terra Madre event in Italy this fall.