Radish Cream Cheese Dill Dip

All that balmy weather and sunshine last week had me jones-ing for a BBQ throwback. Chips, dip, some charred dogs, cold beer, and a boom-box blaring something from 1994 if at all possible.

Let me see you Tootsee Roll

Those 69 Boyz, they knew a thing or two -- about the universal popularity of dip, that is.

A party's not a party without some chips and dip. A few crowd-pleasers that have made it to my Top Hits list:

Radishes

I first sampled this utterly addictive Radish Dip at my friend, Amy's house last summer. One Fritos Scoop in and I was hooked. The radishes are just perfect here, imparting a crispy, fresh, peppery crunch with each bite, not to mention, the gorgeous sparks of hot pink that peek through the creamy dip. The lemon and zest add a splash of brightness, and the dill is just the herb to tie it all together.

For a fancy re-mix, try spreading it over some slices of pumpernickel and topping with lox for an elegant brunch. Or, for a quickie dinner, try mixing it with some hot angel hair pasta and veggies for an impromptu cream sauce primavera.

Portuguese Green Olive Dip

If you are the type of person who almost always chooses salty over sweet, then this Green Olive Dip will make you swoon.

I discovered this fantastic recipe on Leite's Culinaria and fell head over heels for the stuff. David Leite, author of The New Portuguese Table, came by the dish when he visited a lovely restaurant in the south-central region of Portugal. He suggests serving it with a platter of crudités, crackers or bread, or, even as a topping for grilled fish.

The rich, full-bodied, savory flavor of this dip comes from oil-packed anchovies that have been blended into the mix. Amazingly, it is also made without any of the usual suspects associated with dips (cream cheese, sour cream, or mayonnaise). Instead, the luscious, creamy texture is made from "milk mayonnaise," created by whipping up whole milk and adding oil in a thin stream until an emulsion forms (similar to regular mayo, minus the eggs). For best results, be sure to heed Leite's warning of using an immersion blender or small blender.

For extra olive-y flavor, I use olive oil rather than vegetable oil. Whip this baby up ASAP. Your savory-tooth will thank you. And, it is killer with a dirty martini.

You can never have too much guacamole.

Last, but not least, a classic staple -- cool, creamy, good ol' Guacamole. I'll have to thank 10 for $10 Safeway for this one. That big bin of shiny, buttery avocados was just calling my name.

Avocado green

I like to keep it simple with guac. Just some diced tomatoes, garlic, lemon juice, cilantro, salt and pepper to accent this big bowl of pale green gorgeousness. You can add some red onion if you're into that kind of thing (I may keep my distance when you try to talk to me, but I won't judge you).

Avocados are the star here. I prefer keeping some generous chunks of them in the mix. And the best part of this recipe? It makes a boatload. You can never have too much guacamole.

The weather may be on the fritz now, but when BBQ weather strikes back, don't forget to dip. Oh, I feel a whoomp comin' on…

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Radish Dip
Recipe courtesy of Amy Powers

Makes: 1 ½ cups

Ingredients:
1 cup finely chopped radishes
8 ounces cream cheese
1 tablespoon lemon juice
Zest of 1 lemon
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
1 teaspoon finely chopped dill
1 teaspoon salt
1 clove garlic, minced

Preparation:
1. Mix together all the ingredients and serve (preferably with Fritos Scoops).

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Green Olive Dip (Patê de Azeitonas Verdes)
Recipe by David Leite, from The New Portuguese Table (Clarkson Potter, 2009)

Adaptations: I've found that it is difficult to come by pitted Manzanilla olives that aren't stuffed, and so I often use jarred green olives that have been pitted and stuffed with pimentos. The flavor isn't as pure as Leite's original recipe, but it sure beats tediously pitting olives all day. Also, I like to substitute the vegetable oil with extra virgin olive oil.

Makes: 1 ½ cups

Ingredients:
1/3 cup whole milk, more if needed
6 oil-packed anchovy fillets
1 small garlic clove
Leaves and tender stems of 6 fresh cilantro sprigs, minced
Pinch of freshly ground white pepper
3/4 cup vegetable (or olive) oil
2/3 cup pitted green olives such as Manzanilla, rinsed quickly if particularly salty, roughly chopped

Preparation:
1. Using a hand blender or stand blender (not a food processor -- most are too big to allow the mixture to whip up correctly), add the milk, anchovies, garlic, and pepper, and pulse to combine. With the motor running, add the oil in a slow, thin stream. Keep blending until the oil is incorporated and the mixture begins to thicken into a mayonnaise-like consistency.
2. Add two thirds of the cilantro and whir again until it is mixed in.
3. Stir in the olives, top with the remaining cilantro and garnish with some olive slices.
4. If the dip thickens, stir in a little bit of milk to loosen it up.

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Guacamole

Serves: 10-12

Ingredients:
6 ripe avocadoes
3 plum tomatoes
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon Kosher salt
A handful of chopped cilantro
Salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:
1. Slice the avocados in half, pit them, and scoop out the flesh into a large bowl. Mash them up a bit with a fork or large spoon, leaving some chunks if that's the way you like your guacamole.
2. Dice the tomatoes and add to the bowl.
3. Using either a mortar and pestle or the flat side of a chef's knife, grind together the minced garlic and teaspoon of coarse Kosher salt until you have created a paste. Add this to the bowl.
4. Add the lemon juice and cilantro to the mix.
5. Mix together until everything is incorporated and serve immediately. You can pre-make this, but I've found that the avocados tend to discolor slightly (despite the addition of the lemon juice).

In 2009, urban farming, like punk in 1991, broke. While San Franciscans have been raising chickens in backyard coops and tending verdant patio gardens for decades, the trend has now sprouted up in the city's mainstream, expanding from the realm of co-ops and collectives to the mayor's cluttered desk: In July, Gavin Newsom issued an executive directive aiming to reshape how city residents make food choices, and now, eight months later, neighborhoods and communities are beginning to taste the (literal) fruits of City Hall's efforts in the form of initiatives like public vegetable gardens and mobile produce markets. In recent years, urban farmers have started seeing their flora and fauna as something more than sustainable, super-local eats. They're hyper-aware of how their work can impact their surroundings, and intrigued by what larger ripples they might make. Thus, their missions are evolving, moving in inspired directions towards a brand of community-conscious agri-activism.

Having a president keen on arugula and a first lady tilling soil outside the White House helps, but the movement has found creative, diverse expression locally. Brooke Budner and Caitlyn Galloway run Little City Gardens, a miniature Mission District farm and salad greens business. The founders see their project as "an experiment in the economic viability of small-scale urban market-gardening," a working model for a career path they'd like to see become more common in America. The greens are fantastic -- as knows anyone who has crunched down on a Bar Tartine salad -- but producing good food for people who care is only a facet of the over-arching goal; it's about the people too -- which probably has something to do with the ongoing success of their Kickstarter-funded expansion campaign. Since 1994, Alemany Farm has gone by a few different handles, but the 4.5 acre South Mission garden, tucked away along the intersection of two major highways, staffed largely by volunteers and neighborhood residents, remains committed to growing food and creating jobs for citizens in low-income communities. Craigslist -- you know, that site we used to use for finding jobs -- is a cornucopia of produce. Its farm and garden classifieds always bristle with city farmers looking to unload excess hauls -- whether they be bunnies, bok choy, or Meyer lemons. Novella Carpenter has raised turkeys, goats, pigs, bees, chickens, geese and rabbits in the backyard of her house in Oakland -- everything "short of a cow," she professed in a February 2009 interview with the aptly named Twilight Greenaway of Culinate. Along the way, Carpenter has never identified her efforts as a model to be followed exactly; her farm comes across like a more personal journey. Nonetheless, she chronicled the tending of her plot and its furred, feathered and winged inhabitants in the acclaimed memoir Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer. Published over the summer, her book presents the sorts of funny-sad lessons rookie urban ranchers might want to take into account: how to fatten a hog on donated restaurant scraps, for example, or how to scale a barbed-wire fence to try and rescue an errant turkey from bloodthirsty dogs. Note the "try" in that last clause.

Newsom likely won't suffer so many slashes and scrapes. A March 23 S.F. Chronicle article outlined his plan of attack:

"Urban agriculture is about far more than growing vegetables on an empty lot...It's about revitalizing and transforming unused public spaces, connecting city residents with their neighborhoods in a new way and promoting healthier eating and living for everyone."

To this end, he's had all city departments look out for fallow land with garden potential. The Mission and Noe Valley public library branches have planted plots and held gardening classes for kids. Seven more branches may shortly follow suit. Last week, the city began building a new garden at a Department of Public Works-owned steam powerhouse at McAllister and Larkin. The farm's bounty will feed volunteers. The Department of Education-sponsored Urban Gleaning Program will teach interested San Franciscans how to plant fruit trees. While many did already, now all farmers' markets must accept food stamps as payment. Subsequently, food stamp purchases at city farmers' markets increased 85% last year, a sign that people will eat well and responsibly when they can afford to do so. And that's just for starters, it seems.

Say what you will about his no-doughnuts policy at civic meetings; the mayor might be on to something here.

Newsom thinks urban farms make life better for residents of a city's communities because they render our surroundings more beautiful and bring people together in the interest of a common goal -- a grassroots movement with actual roots. Quoted in the story's last paragraph, the mayor's "greening director" Astrid Haryati bridged the gap between Newsom's stance and the sorts of mission statements d.i.y. farmers actually kick around:

"It's not only about feeding mouths...It's about feeding the soul and feeding the pride of San Francisco urban dwellers."

The idea that relationships between gardeners might blossom along with the blighted spaces they plant is a compelling one -- that a vital, green space symbolizes a vibrant community -- but words like "soul" and "pride" carry a complexity their usage only occasionally signifies. Food does nurture us on a variety of levels, providing sustenance and pleasure, conjuring up memories of family, routines and valued moments in time: the tomato salad Mom started making every August, family trips to pick blueberries at a farm outside of town. What can a garden really do? It's true that greenery makes people happy -- whether it takes the form of a full-blown farm, or just a few plants on the windowsill of an apartment kitchen. A week or so ago, a friend posted a picture on Facebook -- a photograph of a shocking chartreuse moss snake swelling up and curling around the bottom of a parking meter. He added a caption: "Among the trash laden sheets of concrete in downtown Oakland, one can still manage to find a hint of beauty."

On the surface, feeding the soul sounds cheesier than a knob of Gorgonzola. It's a cliche you heard in college co-op kitchens, usually when you were about to steal a flat of eggs to take back to your slovenly apartment. Soul-feeding is not for everyone. Characterized as such, it's not for me. I hated gardening when I was a kid. I'd rather shop at Rainbow, Bi Rite, and farmers' markets than sow seeds myself -- much less decapitate a duck in my bathtub, Carpenter-style. I do not have a green thumb, or a desire to initiate intimate attachments to animals I intend to slaughter. A few months ago, my dad gave me a tomato plant and I completely forgot about it. It sat on the back deck, soaking in a handsome view -- the McDonald's at 24th and Mission, that dance studio above the cheap Chinese place, and a few willowy palm trees for inspiration. The pot flooded when the rains came; the plant withered when they did not. Still, despite my negligence, in late March, two very, very small yet well-shaped red heirloom tomatoes appeared on the end of one brown vine. I was outside drinking a beer when I noticed. I yanked them off the plant, and ran into the house, screaming to my girlfriend: "We grew tomatoes, and we didn't even try!"

Picking lemons from my mom's generous backyard lemon tree

Spring has sprung in the Bay Area. Unless you've been living under a rock, I'm sure this isn't news to you. Haven't you noticed coworkers with a little extra spring in their step--perhaps an unexpected smile on the bus? Asparagus is in the markets, flowers are popping up at the corner store by my place, and it's no longer getting dark at 5:30 p.m. Hallelujah. For me, there's something so appealing about the notion of fresh starts, new beginnings, and second chances that always leads me to put spring on a bit of a pedestal. Who doesn't love the chance at a new beginning? Even if it doesn't come to fruition literally, spring always gives me a surge of creativity and energy. It means going for runs after work instead of hunkering down, making fresh salads for dinner, and doing a little spring time baking. So here we find ourselves.

I spent some time at my mom's place in Marin last weekend and she has an amazing lemon tree with more lemons than she knows what to do with. I started bagging some up and racked my brain for what I wanted to do with them. Then I remembered reading a recipe for a Lemon Pudding Cake recently that I was curious to try. The recipe is from one of my first blogging friends, Kelsey, over at The Naptime Chef. If you haven't seen her blog, it's pretty great. She loves cooking and baking but found herself strapped for time after having her first child. So she started choosing and adapting recipes for the naptime hour--most that can be done in an hour or less. While I don't have kids, I appreciate Kelsey's tasteful recipe choices, great cookbook recommendations, and smart voice. Oh, and this cake.

A bowl of Lemon Pudding Cake right out of the oven. Enough said.

Kelsey adapted this cake recipe from Cooks Illustrated Entertaining 2010. As printed, the directions were much more complex, so Kelsey made it more approachable and do-able in under an hour. It's somewhere in between a luscious lemon pudding and a light fluffy cake, and I loved it right out of the oven. But I've also discovered that, with a cup of strong coffee, it makes a nice breakfast. And in addition to Kelsey's recipe, I've included some links below for other lemon desserts popping up around the web--all from bloggers or food sites that I read regularly. So here's to new beginnings, fresh starts, and cake for breakfast.

Juicing, Zesting, Mixing, and Separating: all in the name of Lemon Pudding Cake!

Lemon Pudding Cake
From: The Naptime Chef; adapted from Cooks Illustrated Entertaining

Makes: 8-10 servings

Ingredients:
1 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tsp. cornstarch
1 1/4 cups sugar
5 Tbsp. unsalted butter, room temperature
2 Tbsp. grated lemon zest
1/2 cups fresh lemon juice
1 1/4 cups whole milk
5 eggs, separated; yolks in one bowl with whites in another

Preparation:
1. Adjust oven rack to center position and heat oven to 325 degrees. Lightly butter an 8" square baking pan. Bring several quarts of water to boil for water bath. Mix flour and cornstarch together in a bowl, set aside.
2. Cream the butter, 1 cup of the sugar and lemon zest until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Then, beat in the egg yolks and flour mixture, mixing until smooth. Slowly mix in the lemon juice, then stir in the milk.
3. Set the custard mixture aside and beat the egg whites until they hold soft peaks. Then, add the remaining 1/4 cup of sugar and beat egg whites to stiff, moist peaks. Gently stir a dollop of the egg whites into the custard. Then, working slowly, fold the remaining egg whites in bit by bit until they are all incorporated, but not overly beaten.
4. Pour the batter into the baking pan and place the pan inside a larger baking pan. Then fill the larger baking pan with hot water bath until it comes halfway up the side of the pan. Bake until pudding cake center is set and springs back when gently touched, about 1 hour. Remove roasting pan from oven and let pan cool for 1 hour before serving.

Other Lemon Desserts to Check Out:

• One of my favorite bloggers, Tim over at Lottie + Doof, made The Ultimate Lemon Butter Bars
• The Kitchn featured a recipe last week for Sticky Lemon Rolls with Lemon Cream Cheese Glaze
• Denise Santoro Lincoln makes Homemade Meyer Lemon Marmalade for Bay Area Bites
• I've heard very good things about David Leibovitz's Lemon Tart recipe
• Joy the Baker whips up Lemon Tea Cloud Cookies

Happy almost-Passover! Today I am eyeing my tiny living room (soon to be dining room), counting the chairs and wineglasses, wondering who I can call to borrow another folding table and hoping there'll be enough cloth napkins and bowls to go around, since, after all, the eggs in salt water must be followed immediately by the matzoh ball soup.

This is the pre-Seder countdown familiar to anyone cobbling together an urban Passover dinner. Just as at Thanksgiving, a successful Seder menu must teeter along the line between Grandma's Traditions and The Way We Eat Now.

For example, what would happen if I went all Manhattan-chic and served tiny, peel-your-own speckled quail eggs with smoked paprika and sea salt for dipping instead of those typically rubbery hard-boiled eggs in salt water? Can the roast chicken be rubbed with Moroccan chermoula paste, made with cilantro, cumin, garlic, and my own preserved Meyer lemons? Do I want to risk all the magenta splatters (and dyed fingers) that come along with the now-traditional pomegranate beet salad with blood oranges and olive oil? Will my garden plot give up enough karpas (spring greens) for everyone?

Should this be the year I finally get around to making my own gefilte fish like my mother and grandmother did, or would the frozen Ungar's logs from Mollie Stone's be just as good? Will my grandmother's savory matzoh kugel, really an onion-celery-mushroom stuffing at heart, made with sheets of matzoh instead of bread, be out of place among these spiced and oiled updates? And the final question: flourless chocolate or Passover angel-food cake? Jelly rings or Barton's almond kisses? Can I hold fast to my loathing of coconut, or must there be macaroons?

As you can tell, I look forward every year to Passover, the eight-day celebration of the Jews' exodus from Egypt, and the accompanying dinner ritual known as the Seder, which begins the holiday this Monday at sundown. Like the crew that started the now-traditional Obama Seder, I see no reason to let a lack of chairs or matching wineglasses deter me from welcoming all who are hungry to come and eat. 13 people in a studio apartment? Bring up your piano bench and that extra card table, and we're in business! I've gone to Marxist Seders, lesbian-feminist Seders, a grandly traditional one overlooking Central Park West and one in Berkeley where the kugel, brisket and charoseth were all whipped up by the Swedish au pair. (I did, however, decline an invitation to a nude Seder one year. Seders can be many things, but naked is not one of them, at least for me.)

Sometimes the Seders were vegetarian, with a golden dill-and-garlic broth bathing the matzoh balls and a "paschal yam" (instead of lamb) on the Seder plate. I tried making sponge cake one year; as it cooled upside down to keep it light, chunks of cake started breaking loose and hitting the counter in clods. My old friend Jen called to tell me she was having doubts about her kugel; I told her I was sitting shiva (the traditional Jewish rite of mourning) for my spongecake.

Much of the food comes with built-in nostalgia, since many dishes are eaten at this time of year and no other. The sinus-clearing blast of horseradish, in particular, is hard-wired to Passover in my brain, no matter how many hip chefs add it to their braised-beef jus or mashed potatoes. Charoseth, a finely chopped mix of apples, walnuts, cinnamon, and sweet kosher wine (and it must be made with that nasty Concord-grape Manischevitz, or it doesn't taste right, right meaning like my grandmother's) is delicious and could be made at any time, but still remains confined to the Seder, where it symbolizes the mortar used by the Hebrew slaves as they built the pyramids, brick by brick.

Every year, I can look around the table and see friends who have been coming for years. The apartments change, the hair may get a little grayer, but each spring, we come back together to celebrate the achievement of freedom, to toast both its fragility and its tenacity, to learn once again that with it comes both responsibility and joy.

And breakfast. In newspapers and magazines, most Passover recipe features tend to focus almost exclusively on the Big Event, forgetting that there are eight days of breakfasts and lunches to get through after the soup and brisket. Since grains, flours, and leavening are the big no-no's during the holiday, baking Jews like myself must get creative once the charm of matzoh wears off around day three.

Now, a large and lucky group of you love Passover for the matzoh brei alone. However, the allure of a frittata fried up with crumbled bits of matzoh remains a mystery to me, hence my reliance on matzoh rolls and matzoh pancakes for my morning-starch needs. Now, there's no denying that everything baked during Passover ends up tasting like eggs and matzoh meal, and these rolls are no exception, but served hot and well-slathered with jam or apple butter, they do the trick.

Passover Rolls
Being very dependent on my morning toast-and-coffee routine, I had to find something else worth getting up for during these eight bread-free days. These take about as much effort as whipping up a batch of muffins, and they're quite tasty. The technique is similar to making the dough for cream puffs.

Ingredients
1 cup water
1/2 cup vegetable oil or melted butter
1/2 tsp salt
1 tbsp sugar
1 1/3 cups matzoh meal
4 eggs

Preparation
1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Lightly grease a baking sheet or line with baking parchment.

2. Bring water, oil, salt and sugar to a boil in a medium-sized pot. Add matzoh meal and stir over medium heat until dough forms a ball and comes away from the sides of the pot. Remove from heat and let cool for a few minutes.

3. Beat eggs into matzoh mixture one at a time, making sure each one is well-absorbed before adding the next.

4. Drop by egg-sized lumps onto prepared baking sheet. Bake for 15 minutes, then turn down heat to 350F and bake for another 5-10 minutes, until well-puffed and browned. Serve warm with butter and jam.

Leslie Sbrocco is back with Bay Area Bites blogger, Stephanie Rosenbaum and Jeannie Choe, creator of the San Francisco Food Wars -- a local competition where seasoned chefs and home cooks alike compete for prizes and the title of SF Food Wars champion. In the latest round...Who can make the ultimate chocolate chip cookie?

Related Recaps, Photos and Video:

• Bay Area Bites SF Food Wars: The Chocolate Cookie Situation
• Food and Wine This Week SF Food Wars on Food & Wine This Week
• SF Food Wars: The Chocolate Cookie Situation Video by VidSF
• Recap at SF Food Wars with photos by Bryan Haggerty
• Fist-Pumping Goodness and Nightclub Flashbacks at SF Food Wars' Chocolate Cookie Situation -- Tamara Palmer at SFWeekly
• CHOW's Chocolate-Cookie Tribute to the Jersey Shore slideshow

Related Twitter feeds:

• @sffoodwars

The other night at work, I watched as a fellow server carried a tray of cocktails to one of his tables. On that tray were three beverages known as Shirley Temples.

As he passed me, I commented with mock indignance, "Poor Jane Withers, no one ever named a drink after her. It's always Shirley, Shirley, Shirley."

Which was exactly what was happening as I spoke the words. One Shirley, two Shirley, three Shirleys down...

So I resolved then and there to create a drink in Jane Withers' honor to make up for nearly seven decades-worth of slight.

For those of you not well-versed in Depression-Era (the 1930's version, not the present one) pop culture, Jane Withers gained fame as Shirley Temple's nemesis in a film or two, most notably in Bright Eyes. Meaner, bigger, and less endearing, she was still entertaining enough to hold her own against Miss Temple. And if I have to explain to you who Shirley Temple is, I am going to cry.

Just watch and you'll see what I mean:

When I got home, I thought about what to make and came up blank. Who even remembers Jane Withers anymore, except me, I mean? Should I just simply do a take-off of a Shirley Temple? Would I add bitters? Make it taller? I was frustrated. There is little pay-off in naming anything after a child who lived her early years in Miss Temple's enormous career shadow.

I needed a drink.

And, suddenly, there was the answer. I decided then and there to forget all about Miss Withers and create an adult beverage in honor of the infinitely more famous Miss Temple. I know what you're thinking-- I'm a star-(expletive)er.

Well, I guess you're right. I am a star-(expletive)er (never, mind you, in a literal sense). And why not? Shirley Temple the mega-child star transitioned successfully into adulthood as Shirley Temple Black-- wife, mother, representative to the United Nations General Assembly (Nixon), the first female Chief of Protocol of the United States (Carter), and U.S. Ambassador to both Ghana (Ford) and Czechoslovakia (Bush the Elder). If anyone has earned a good, stiff drink, it is she.

Shirley Temple Black

The Shirley Temple is far-and-away the most popular "kiddie cocktail" in the world-- fitting that it was named for the most popular child actor to have ever existed.

The original Shirley Temple drink was, as one rumor has it, created by a bartender at The Royal Hawaiian Hotel in Honolulu in the 1930's-- a place Miss Temple visited with her family many times.

It is a non-alcoholic beverage made with ginger ale or some sort of lemon-lime soda, grenadine syrup, a garnish of maraschino cherries and a slice of orange. The Canadians love to add a splash of orange juice, and so do I-- it just makes the thing that much more wholesome, which is something Canadians know all about. After all, they did send us the original America's Sweetheart, Mary Pickford. Miss Pickford, if you didn't know, served as the hairstyle inspiration for Miss Temple. No Pickford, no Curly Top.

The whole notion of kiddie cocktails centers around their ability to allow children to participate somewhat benignly in adult cocktail culture-- preparing them in a sense for their futures as alcohol-swigging grown-ups to whom they look up, both physically and morally.

Maybe they're not so benign, after all.

The idea of the Shirley Temple Black is entirely upside down. It is a drink that allows me to mix and mingle with the wee 'uns from time to time without having them point at my Manhattan and ask what's in it. With an innocent-looking, yet boozy Shirley Temple Black, I can gently tone down those shrieks of bouncy castle delight, or steel myself for the twenty-seventh consecutive screening of Thomas the Tank Engine more or less unnoticed.

At the next children's party I am obliged to attend, when the host or hostess asks me what I'm having, you know my answer's going to be:

"I'll have a Shirley Temple, and make it Black."

Makes One Deceptive Little Cocktail

Ingredients

1 ounce white rum

1/2 ounce Maraschino liqueur

A splash of grenadine

A splash of fresh orange juice

Ginger Beer

Crushed ice

Orange zest or a slice of orange for garnish.

Preparation:

Fill a highball or double old fashioned glass with crushed ice. Pour in rum, maraschino liqueur, grenadine, and splash of orange juice. Fill to near the top, but not brimming (remember, there are children present whose motor skills aren't yet finely tuned) with Ginger Beer and garnish with orange.

Drink immediately to bring your own motor skills closer the the level of the precious little ones.

Variation: The Jane Withers

Just like a Roy Rogers is the classic cola-based alter ego of a Shirley Temple, I felt the Shirley Temple Black was in need of a foil. Feeling guilty that I was turning away from the woman I had originally intended to honor, my friend Rebecca suggested this drink might be delicious with a slug of rye instead of rum.

Of course she would say that-- her boyfriend is an amazing mixologist.

So here you go, Miss Withers-- a drink created especially for you:

The Jane Withers

It's kickier than a Shirley Temple Black, and guaranteed to unclog your pipes faster than Josephine the Plumber.

To make a Jane Withers, simply substitute rye for rum.

And we're done. I hope everybody's happy.

The weather is warming up, baby birds are chirping in my backyard, and my kids are begging to go to the pool. It is once again officially Spring. And, if I needed yet another reminder that Winter is over, I was met with piles of lush green asparagus last weekend at the farmer's market. After making my purchase, my mind whirled with the array of dishes I could make. Should I grill them and top with a fresh lemon and olive oil dressing, or maybe lightly sauté and serve with pasta? How about a creamy green soup? Or maybe a tart?

My musings were nothing new for me (as I'm constantly trying to dream up something interesting for both my family and this blog) or for asparagus itself. You see, as young and fresh as asparagus seems each spring, it's been served on dinner tables for thousands of years. It is even discussed in Apicius, a book of recipes dating back to ancient Rome. Back then, it was considered a delicacy. According to the directions in Apicius, each stalk was supposed to be "peeled, washed and dried and immersed in boiling water backwards." The preparation is a bit meticulous for my tastes. I'm not one to peel my asparagus and am hardly fussy enough to lay each stalk into a pot "backwards." Yet the dish sounds like something I'd enjoy eating nonetheless. And those Romans were right to love those green spears. Full of calcium, magnesium and folic acid, not to mention vitamins A, C and E, asparagus is a nutritional powerhouse.

So what did I make with my first asparagus purchase of the season? Well, I decided to try something completely different -- at least it was unusual for me, but after 2,000 years or more at the dinner table, I am under no illusions that I am the first to make it. I was thinking of making asparagus with pasta, but when I opened the pantry found an unopened box of risotto sitting prominently on the shelf. It had been ages since I made risotto and the idea of buttery rice with the earthy flavor of spring asparagus sounded wonderful to me. Plus my daughter Maddie had lost two teeth earlier that day and could barely chew, so the forgiving texture of rice seemed perfect.

But then I started to wonder how the risotto would taste if the asparagus were pureed into a béchamel sauce which was then added in. After imagining the dish, I knew I had to try it and was glad I did. The béchamel added a wonderful creaminess to the risotto while the pureed asparagus spears gave it a mild and intriguing flavor. Topped off with more asparagus that had been chopped and sautéed in olive oil and lemon zest, the dish highlighted the natural verdant taste of spring while also providing a comforting warmth.

Here's my recipe for Green Risotto with Asparagus, followed by instructions for making croquettes the next day with leftovers. Covered with panko and then fried in olive oil, the croquettes were crunchy on the outside and creamy on the inside. So whether you make risotto, croquettes, or something entirely different, just be sure to take advantage of one of this season's oldest stars.

Green Risotto with Asparagus

Makes: 4 servings

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups risotto
4-5 cups chicken or vegetable stock (warmed)
1/2 cup white wine (optional)
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 large shallot minced
2 Tbsp butter
2 tsp milk
1 cup whole milk plus 2 Tbsp
1 cup grated Parmesan cheese
15 medium asparagus
Zest from one lemon
Salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:

1. Heat 1 Tbsp olive oil in a medium sauce pan and sauté minced shallots for 1 minute.
2. Add risotto and stir until fully incorporated.
3. Pour in 1/2 cup broth and mix thoroughly. When liquid is absorbed, continue adding 1/2 cup broth to the rice and stirring until absorbed. Do this until the rice is al dente (meaning it's cooked through but not mushy). I ended up using around 4 cups of broth but you may need more. Be sure to continually stir so you don't scorch the rice at the bottom of the pan.
4. Add the wine (if using) and add season with salt and pepper. Turn off the burner.
5. Meanwhile, mince 7 asparagus and sauté in the remaining tablespoon of olive oil in a separate sauce pan for 2 minutes. Remove from pan and blend with 2 Tbsp milk until pureed.
6. In the same sauce pan that you used to cook the minced asparagus, melt the butter and then add in the flour to create a roux. Stir in milk and heat on medium low until the sauce is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. Add salt and pepper to taste and then add in the pureed asparagus. Your sauce will now be green.
7. Roughly chop the remaining asparagus and sauté in a separate pan in olive oil (about 1 Tbsp) with the lemon zest. Add salt and pepper to taste.
8. Add the green sauce to the risotto and mix thoroughly. Incorporate 1 cup Parmesan cheese and stir.
9. Spoon risotto onto plates and top with cooked asparagus and lemon zest.

Green Risotto Croquettes

Makes: 4 - 6 croquettes

Ingredients:
1 cup leftover Green Risotto
1 egg beaten
1 cup panko or dried bread crumbs
olive oil for frying

Preparation:
1. Beat egg in a medium bowl and set aside. Place panko in a flat plate.
2. Drizzle a pan with olive oil (I like to use my cast iron) and heat to medium high.
3. Spoon a golf-ball sized amount of rice into your hand and then flatten into a round disk. Dip into the egg and then the panko, coating it thoroughly. Do this until all the risotto is gone.
4. Lay croquettes into the hot oil and saute on each side until golden brown.
5. Serve with grilled asparagus or a salad.

Lettuce from Full Belly Farm

Happy Spring! Yes, the vernal equinox arrived on Saturday at 10:32 a.m., Pacific Daylight Time. Thank you, astronomists, for tracking the exact moment when the center of the sun would be precisely in line with the earth's equator. More generally, though, the equinox represents the twice-yearly date when the sun spends approximately equal time above and below the horizon, producing a day that's almost evenly split between day and night. After the equinox, the days begin to lengthen, adding a few more minutes of daylight to every 24 hours until the summer solstice in June.

And because, short of mushrooms, every plant we eat needs warmth and sunshine to grow, lengthening daylight means new crops springing up with every week that passes. In lucky California, that is. Back in the Northeast, the weather may be finally warming, but it will be months before anything fresh breaks through the frozen ground, and weeks before New Yorkers can even start trying to muster enthusiasm for the season's first foraged ramps (stinky, skinny wild leeks) and fiddleheads (curled fern tops, with a shelf life of about an hour).

Asparagus from Kaki Farm

But yesterday the Berkeley Farmers' Market was awash in tender greens, including that rock star of spring, asparagus. Just in time for Passover dinners and Easter brunch, the season's first succulent spears are popping up from the bare ground like something fresh from the kitchen of Dr. Seuss. Full Belly will have theirs for at least another month. And while the stalks are delicious simply steamed or roasted with a drip of butter and lemon, they also makes a splendid quiche filling mixed with a handful of sauteed green garlic.

Green garlic from Full Belly Farm

Green garlic stalks, which look like knobby-ended slender leeks or tough-minded scallions, are just what the name says: immature garlic plants, thinned out from the ground before the bulb can form. Left to mature, the bottom part of the stalk will fatten into a plump bulb, packed with individual cloves covered in a papery carapace. Once the bulb is fully ripe, the green stalk will yellow and wither, and the plant can be yanked out, left to cure in a warm dry place for a few weeks, then trimmed and stored to provide delicious pungency for months.

Green garlic, however, is perishable, a happy by-product of garlic growing. Only small farmers bother to market it, since it takes a little customer education to get buyers to know what it is and what to do with it. But thankfully, we live in a place with green-garlic pizza and more, and its sweetly delicate pungency has become a essential part of cooking here in early spring.

Artichokes from Swanton Berry Farm

Artichokes, too, are pumping out their fat fists. It's no surprise that, like asparagus, these harbingers of spring also come from perennial plants, plants that can store reserves of food and nutrients all winter, then spring into action at the first touch of warmth. Left to their own devices, these chubby buds would fold back their spike-tipped petals to form a tufty purple flower, making the plant's place in the thistle family abundantly clear. But picked still at the tight bud stage, the petals and the tender heart within make a dreamy base for any number of sauces--homemade mayonnaise, buttery hollandaise, blood-orange maltaise, lemony vinaigrette, even straight-up melted butter.

Citrus is still aglow, from grapefruits and lemons to blood oranges and tangy mandarins. Soon, though, the first pink rhubarb stalks will be arriving, alongside early-crop strawberries, perfect for cascading over angel cake or baking into rosy crisps and pies.

Sugar snap peas

In my own garden, the sugar-snap peas, planted in January, are in full-blown tangled bloom, the green pods swelling to succulence day by day. This type, made by crossing a green pea with a snow pea, produce what the French call mange-touts: sweet, crunchy edible pea pods wrapped around equally sweet full-sized peas. They make an irresistible snack while weeding, and somehow, no matter how hard you look, there's always one more hiding among the leaves.

But, as energetically as I plant my community-garden plot, I'm not sustaining myself every day from that door-sized patch of dirt. Food doesn't happen without farms, and farms don't happen without farmers and farmworkers. From now through mid-April, Berkeley's Ecology Center is honoring the life of Cesar Chavez, whose work as an activist and organizer within the farmworker communities of California (and beyond) made a difference in so many lives. On Tuesday, performers on a stage set up at the market filled the street with songs, poetry, music, and dance honoring Chavez's work and the achievements and struggles of the United Farm Workers.

Meet our Host

Awhile back, we hosted an epic Chinese New Year day of feasting. Throughout the continual grazing, I had the chance to catch up with my friend, Golden. I learned that he spends up to 6 months of the year in Madagascar, and is also quite the cook. As a thank you for all the tasty dumplings he dominated at our party, he invited us over for some African home cooking, Berkeley-style.

I love dinner parties -- there's just something wonderfully intimate about getting to know someone in their element, through the food they've taken the time and thoughtfulness to prepare. On the menu this evening was a Senegalese-style Mafé, a tomato-based groundnut stew, and for dessert, Bread Pudding with Malagasy Vanilla Rum Sauce.

Hua & Justin

As we dug in, we learned more about Golden's studies and travels throughout Africa, and particularly, in Madagascar. Amazingly, what started out as a third grade book report on lemurs, has turned into a total immersion of Malagasy culture and language for the past ten years. Golden is pursuing a PhD at Berkeley in Environmental Science and Public Health, and studies "the interconnectivity between bushmeat harvesting, sustainability, conservation policy, nutrition, and disease."

Tangentially, he apparently also studies the art of barefoot trekking, hunting with blow-darts, building waterwheels, great reggae, and starring in local music videos.

We eagerly drank in visions of a land filled with lychee trees and mango fruit, and tales of exotic animals (like the fosa -- pound per pound, the deadliest carnivore on Earth); we listened, captivated by stories of friendships made and adventures had.

The Fosa (Photo Credit: Nick Garbutt)

We also discovered a new ingredient! Golden used these curious looking pods to flavor the stew.

Melegueta Pepper (?)

They vaguely resembled brown cardamom pods but with a tougher shell. They had a pleasant woodsy flavor to them, tasting a bit like licorice, with notes of ginger and camphor.

Upon a little research on the interwebs, I think that it may be Melegueta Pepper. Is anyone familiar with the spice, and can you confirm or deny my speculation?

Whatever it is, it brought a wonderful aroma to the stew. This was also the first time I've tasted a stew made with a ground nut base, and it was surprisingly, very hearty for a vegetarian dish. In Madagascar, they would have made the base by grinding up peanuts. Here, we used smooth peanut butter…and threw in some shiitakes and leeks sourced from the farmer's market (ok, maybe not completely traditional, but 100% delicious). The mushrooms were a great call, they soaked up all the savory goodness from the sauce enriched with coconut milk.

Senegalese-style Mafé (Groundnut Stew)

For dessert, we were treated with a slow-cooked Bread Pudding topped with Malagasy Vanilla Rum Sauce and whipped cream.

To be fair, I never met a bread pudding I didn't like, but this one was especially good. The slow-cooker did wonders to it, turning the middle into a rich custard and the crust into a caramelized, golden bite of heaven. It was so good, I was convinced that it was just doused in heavy cream and sugar, but it turns out, it was just made with regular milk and not an obscene amount of sugar...which is more than I can ask of any bread pudding.

Bread Pudding with Malagasy Vanilla Rum Sauce

The best part, though, was the fruit that was hidden inside! Plump homemade raisins, big pieces of dried plums, and sweet white peaches (more loot from the farmer's market). You can of course, use whatever fruit you'd like, and however much of it, maybe none at all. But, I highly recommend you go with this version. I wouldn't change a thing.

The clincher was the Vanilla Rum Sauce made from homemade Malagasy rum flavored with vanilla beans (that he grew himself)! Since we don't all have access to a distillery and vanilla beans in our backyard, I'm sure this sauce would be totally acceptable with store-bought vanilla-flavored rum. Or, if you are going to be really lazy about it, you could also just spike some melted vanilla ice cream and voila, sauce done. I won't tell a soul...

*******

Senegalese-style Mafé (Groundnut Stew)
Recipes courtesy of Chris Golden, scientist, Malagasy music video star, blow-dart hunter extraordinaire.

Serves: 6-8

Ingredients:
24 oz. crushed tomatoes with basil
1 ½ cups smooth peanut butter (roughly, half of a standard-sized jar)
3 cups chopped shiitake mushrooms
2 cups chopped leeks
8 oz. coconut milk
8 pods of Melegueta pepper (substitute brown cardamom)
2 tablespoons ground ginger powder (or more to taste)
1 tablespoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes (or more to taste)
Salt and pepper to taste
Bunch of cilantro, coarsely chopped

Preparation:
1. Combine the crushed tomatoes and peanut butter in a large skillet or pot and simmer slowly, stirring every so often so that the peanut butter doesn't burn.
2. In a separate pot, cook the chopped mushrooms and leeks in the coconut milk until softened. You can make your own by soaking some shredded coconut meat in hot water, or you can use the canned variety.
3. Once the mushrooms and leeks are softened, add everything to the skillet with the tomatoes and peanut butter.
4. Add the pods of Melegueta pepper (or cardamom). To release the flavor even more, crush the pods with the back of your knife (like you would crush a clove of garlic). They should pop open slightly.
5. Add ginger powder, garlic powder, dried red pepper flakes (or harissa), salt and pepper.
6. Allow the mixture to thoroughly combine, and come to a simmer. Stir in the chopped cilantro and serve immediately.
7. Best served with couscous, but also good with rice.

Bread Pudding with Malagasy Vanilla Rum Sauce

Serves: 6-8

Ingredients:
1 ½ loaves stale French bread, sliced into thick pieces
2 cups milk
1 stick butter
4 eggs
½ cup sugar
Raisins
Dried plums
White peaches
Slow-cooker

Preparation:
1. Slice the bread into thick pieces, about 1 ½ inches thick, and leave it out for a day or two so that it hardens up a bit.
2. In a slow cooker, add the bread and milk. If you want to be extra decadent, you can use half-and-half, but it's not really necessary.
3. Stir in whatever fruit you like. Our version (highly recommended) used homemade raisins, dried plums, and white peaches, sliced up. You can choose how much or little to put in.
4. Stir in a melted stick of butter.
5. Beat together the eggs and sugar. Pour over the mixture.
6. Cover the slow cooker and cook on low for 3-4 hours. Once a knife comes out clean, you're good to go. Try to wait for the bread to be golden brown.
7. Top with Vanilla Rum Sauce and whipped cream right before serving.

Vanilla Rum Sauce:
Aggressive Version: Make your own vanilla rum by soaking split Malagasy vanilla beans in rum for several weeks.

Ambitious Version: Mix together 6 shots of store-bought vanilla rum with 3 tablespoons of sugar, and ¼ cup of cream (or half-and-half). Gently heat it over low-heat until the sugar dissolves and the ingredients combine.

Slacker Version: Melt some vanilla bean ice cream into a "sauce" and stir in some rum.

I left my home state of New Jersey for good 20 years ago. But watching the cheesy reality show Jersey Shore on MTV, it seems the fashion, at least, hasn't changed. The hair is gelled stiff, the tans are faked, the belts (and jewelry) are gold and the jeans are tight.

Since big hair is my Jersey birthright, it didn't take too much AquaNet to get back in shape for Sunday's edition of SF Food Wars: The Chocolate Cookie Situation. (The name, in case you're wondering, comes from one of the members of the show, who has dubbed his abs—and by extension, himself—"The Situation." And here you thought you'd never see synecdoche in action, much less on reality TV!)

But first, I had to bake cookies. A lot of cookies. Some 200+ cookies, in fact, because a lot of people wanted to be in on the cookie action. Tickets to this, the fifth edition of the increasingly popular cook-nosh-and-vote competition, sold out in less than 5 minutes, even with the extra elbow room provided by new venue Mighty, a nightclub in Potrero.

The set-up followed the formula of the four previous Food Wars: at home, 20 two-person teams baked and baked and baked. Then they came to Mighty, set up their decorations over a couple of feet of table space and laid out their cookies. Three judges grabbed samples of each item, then retired to munch and compare. At 2pm, the doors opened, the milk started pouring, and the general public, all clutching their $14 advance tickets, rushed in to pile their plates high with cookies and cast their votes for the two People's Choice awards. Prizes were donated by a host of local businesses, and the proceeds went to support the San Francisco Food Bank.

Food Wars founder Jeannie Choe, with the slightly manic-yet-dazed look of every event planner just before kickoff, was impressed (and amused) by the thematic efforts of the contestants this time around. Previous topics (bread, holiday side dishes, mac n' cheese) hadn't inspired much decor beyond pretty platters and nicely lettered signs.

Photos by Wendy Goodfriend

This time, though, Bumpits were outnumbering baking pans. Glitter, mirrors, shiny beads and mini disco balls sparkled from every display. Puns and silly names, like Snookie's Cookie Whoopsies (red-velvet rounds which came with the anti-violence message "Fists are for pumpin', not punchin' ") and Stumbling Stoners ("sumpthin' sweet and salty", topped with crushed Ruffles potato chips) abounded, as did labor-intensive preparations, like J-Woww's Juice Heads, tiny chocolate-dipped, orange-marshmallow cookie balls, and Guidoreos, chocolate rounds filled with organic vanilla creme and painstakingly dusted in edible silver glitter. Few contestants (or attendees) seemed to ever have even visited New Jersey ("I got lost there once, taking the wrong turn off a bridge in Philadelphia," admitted Melissa Volokitin, before handing me one of her trail-mix inspired cookies), but that didn't stop them from gleefully embracing the show's boobs-and-eyeliner style.

I'd planned to reproduce the Girl-Scout-inspired Slim Mints that had garnered such raves from Chow staffers, until I got to the part about tempering the two pounds of chocolate needed to coat each batch. Warm the chocolate! Cool the chocolate! Wait, it's too hot, forget it, it's ruined! Go out, buy more, start over!

Alas, fantastic as these were purported to be, no way could I fuss around like that for 200 total strangers, even with prizes (and Twitter bragging rights) at stake. So I ended up in a mash-up of Mollie Katzen's Double Chocolate Mint Cookies (hands down, the most-used recipe in my well-worn copy of Still Life with Menu) with the "minty-breathed" chocolate cookies in Nigella Express. Over the top went my own made-up Jackson Pollack drizzle of white chocolate and cream, doused with more mint and yes, green food coloring, in honor of my state's lavish chemical-additives industry. These were my Mint Mojos: the kind of not-so-thin mints a grown-up Girl Scout might make after one too many mojitos.

They were deeply chocolately and deeply minty, and no, they didn't win, but they were darn good anyway.

And for all the goofy names and kooky ingredients on display, the judges' awards ended up going to the bakers who hadn't bothered with outfits or TV tie-ins. Instead, they had three straightforward and delicious recipes: classic Chocolate Crackles, fudgy and rich, made by self-taught pros Kate Kuckro and Mindi Canner of Sweet Constructions; Melissa's crunchy Hot Summer Asphalt oatmeal-and-chocolate cookie, spiced with cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and Trader Joe's spiced pecans; and Tara Deguzman's "Famous" toffee, chocolate chip and nut cookies, a homemade spin on those bite-sized Famous Amos cookies-in-a-bag.

The People's Choice picks? Again, those chocolate crackles, proving my theory that the best chocolate cookie is the one closest to a brownie, since really, wouldn't all chocolate cookies be brownies if they could? Take it from a Jersey girl: we know from chawklit.

Mint Mojos
The white chocolate drizzle is optional, but it does add another layer of minty goodness. Dyeing it green with food coloring is entirely optional, but fun.

Ingredients:

1/2 cup butter (4 oz/1 stick) butter, softened
2/3 cup brown sugar, packed
1 egg
1 tsp peppermint extract
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 cup flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/8 tsp salt
1/2 cup milk or white chocolate chips
1/2 cup semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate chips
For drizzle:
1 cup white chocolate chips
2 tbsp heavy cream
1/2 tsp peppermint extract, or to taste
1/2 cup powdered sugar
few drops of green food coloring (optional)

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 325F. Line a cookie sheet with parchment or foil.

2. In a large bowl, cream butter and sugar together until fluffy. Beat in egg and extract.

3. Sift cocoa, flour, baking powder, and salt together. Stir into butter mixture. Stir in chips.

4. Drop by spoonfuls onto cookie sheet. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes, until just set and no longer shiny. Remove from cookie sheet and let cool on a rack.

5. Meanwhile, melt white chocolate in double boiler. Remove from double boiler when melted, and let cool. Beat in cream, powdered sugar, and mint. Using a spoon, drizzle over cooled cookies.

Related Recaps, Photos and Video:

• SF Food Wars: The Chocolate Cookie Situation Video by VidSF
• Recap at SF Food Wars with photos by Bryan Haggerty
• Fist-Pumping Goodness and Nightclub Flashbacks at SF Food Wars' Chocolate Cookie Situation -- Tamara Palmer at SFWeekly
• CHOW's Chocolate-Cookie Tribute to the Jersey Shore slideshow