Daniel Klein in Tartine Bakery kitchen in San Francisco.
All Photos: Wendy Goodfriend

Regular Bay Area Bites readers will be familiar with the edible explorations of BAB contributor Daniel Klein. The omnivorous chef and his vegetarian girlfriend/cameragal Mirra Fine are the dynamic duo behind The Perennial Plate, a web-based, weekly documentary real food romp devoted to socially responsible, sustainable and adventurous eating.

As you may recall, season one of the good grub chronicles introduced video viewers to a year of food finds in Minnesota, a state that Klein and Fine used to call home. Klein wants people to see where their meat comes from, so he documents rabbit, pig, and turkey killings, along with deer hunting, squirrel slaughtering and bison butchering, often set to a haunting soundtrack. For the more squeamish among us, there's also cranberry harvesting, morel mushroom gathering, and wild food foraging, typically accompanied by more uptempo tunes.

Mirra Fine filming Perennial Plate's dinner prep in Tartine Bakery kitchen.

In season two, which began in early May, the culinary couple took their show on the road for a six-month journey across America in search of stories (and the people behind them) that speak to the heart of food and farming practices in the nation. To date their eating expeditions have led them to harvesting produce in urban farms in New Orleans, hunting feral pigs in Texas, and catching frogs in Arkansas.

Funding for these mini food films has come from Klein's fans via Kickstarter and the National Cooperative Grocers Association. Some 15,000 people see the weekly videos, with Californian viewers coming in second behind Minnesotans as top watchers. The savvy shooter distributes his web work via The Huffington Post, Grist, Serious Eats and Take Part.

Daniel Klein and Samin Nostrat cook dinner at Tartine Bakery in San Francisco.

In the Bay Area this week, Klein teamed up with Tartine Afterhours chef Samin Nosrat to cook a memorable family-style meal for 40 last night at Tartine Bakery in San Francisco. The guest list, gleaned from Nosrat's considerable good food advocate contact list, included Chez Panisse Foundation folk, Eat Real Festival organizers, and a CUESA staffer. On the menu: Simple yet satisfying salads featuring new potatoes, roasted beets, and shaved summer squash. Followed by bronze-cut rigatoni served with Riverdog Farm pork for the meat eaters and cherry tomatoes generously doused in oregano from Oakland's Pluck and Feather Farm for the veg heads.

Chad Robertson's famed rustic bread at Tartine Bakery.

Oh, and some "little snacks" to nibble on initially, mostly seasonal veggies sparingly and elegantly presented with a posse of boiled eggs topped with herbs that wowed the gourmet cooking crowd. Did I mention that Chad Robertson's famed rustic bread was in abundance (and went home with diners)? Don't get me started on the Sunny Slope Orchard's apricots al cartoccio (think parchment paper) with whipped cream and lavender shortbread that provided the sweet end note to the meal.

Lavender Shortbread at Perennial Plate dinner at Tartine Bakery.

Klein and Nosrat swung through the temporary dining room, gracious, grateful and generous hosts both. Fine filmed the event, which featured music by Sonya Cotton and Gabe Dominguez. The 28-year-old chef, who has trained and worked in many top Michelin starred restaurants around the world (The Fat Duck, St. John, Mugaritz, Bouchon, Applewood, and Craft) and made films about Africa and oil politics, took some time at the end of the evening to chat about year two of his real food tour.

Guests feast at The Perennial Plate's dinner at Tartine Bakery in San Francisco.

Can you give us some of your initial impressions of the food scene in the Bay Area?

Obviously, local food here is huge, it's easy and everywhere. There are even some people who are tired of the whole idea. But I could do another 52 week series right here.

How about some highlights from your visit so far?

On the farms: Riverdog is huge but they've been able to get big without sacrificing their values or quality. Sunny Slopes is small and I ate a plum there that was probably the most delicious plum I've ever tasted. Those apricots speak for themselves. And then there's the local urban farming phenomenon personified by Esperanza Pallana of Pluck and Feather.

On the food front: We had a very good meal at Gather. It's refreshing when a high-quality chef does really interesting things with vegetables.

As for people: Samin is the most generous, relaxed, fun-filled, well-connected person to work with -- she organized this whole event -- and she's a great chef as well. And then there's the incredible generosity of the woman in Glen Park, a random stranger, who heard we needed a place to stay and put us up for three nights.

Has anything surprised you in your travels?

People's generosity and willingness to share their stories. We've met people who work really hard and maybe don't have much but they still take the time to show us their world and teach us new things about food. People have fed us, given us a bed, and while we've certainly been in situations where some subjects are off limits, nobody has murdered us.

What's the message you want viewers to take away from your films?

We want to educate and entertain and project a positive image of food around the country, without making it seem like things are perfect out there, because they're not. We're not trying to tell people what to do. We're trying to make people think about their food and become more engaged with what they eat.

What's next?

Foraging with Hank Shaw before we head to Ashland for a coop cookout on July 3rd. Once the road trip is over we'll have time to think about related projects like a cookbook or a long-form film based on our travels. But right now we're only a third of the way into it, so we're busy hitting the road, editing en route, and meeting and eating with a diverse range of food and farming people around the country. The adventure continues.

Stay tuned for The Perennial Plate's Bay Area installment coming soon in this space.

Check out The Perennial Plate's website and blog.

Chad Robertson's famed rustic bread Perennial Plate souvenir.

You're probably already familiar with Michael Ruhlman. He's written many popular food-related books, and is a regular guest on a host of television cooking shows. Media-wise, he's everywhere.

It shouldn't be a surprise, then, that Ruhlman has also made been actively porting his brand over to the mobile app space. His first iPhone/iPad app, Ratio, is a digital followup to his book Ratio: The Simple Codes Behind the Craft of Everyday Cooking. The Ratio app helps you calculate the amount of ingredients necessary to create a series of fundamental culinary preparations. The rational behind both the book and the app is that when you know a culinary ratio, you don’t need a recipe. Instead, you have thousands of possibilities at your fingertips -- no cookbook required.

Michael's second mobile app, Bread Baking for iPhone/iPad, takes it a step further and focuses on one particular topic: baking bread. The app provides users with a primer on home bread baking, offering clear descriptions of the tools and techniques you need for successful results. The Bread Baking Basics app measures all the ingredients, calculates the amounts, and gives you step-by-step instructions for making great bread based on what you want.

Please welcome Michael Ruhlman as he tells us more about his new app, and shares his overall love of bread baking.

Can you give us an overview of Bread Baking Basics, in your own words?

Bread Baking Basics is an app that describes the fundamentals of baking bread. It automatically calculates ingredient amounts according to how much bread you want to make and gives you techniques for all kinds of breads, from sourdough to rye to multigrain.

What made you decide to develop an app that teaches people how to bake bread? What was your inspiration?

My initial inclination, along with my partner in these products, was to develop a series of cooking apps for the iPad and iPhone, but especially the tablet, which presents images so well.  Bread was first because bread baking, completely reliant on ratios, so readily lent itself to tablets and smart phones and what they are capable of doing that books, television and the internet can't do: create recipes designed specifically for each user.

Do you measure in ounces or grams? The app adjusts to your preference. Do you have a stand mixer or are you mixing by hand? The app changes instructions and images based on your equipment. Do you want to make one pizza dough or four? Bread Baking Basics calculates how much flour, water, yeast and salt you will need depending on what you tell it. It also allows us to include many, many images for each recipe step (I'm very lucky to be married to a photographer who can shoot high quality pix).

One of the coolest things about apps is that they're organic -- they can change.  I'll be adding a no-knead ratio and a gluten-free ratio soon, which will automatically update to anyone who has already purchased the original app.

Next up, we're planning a sausage making basics app, followed by a pickling app.

Can you tell us a little about the process of developing the app? Was it like developing a cookbook?

For me, it was very much like developing a book.  Writing text, taking shots of what the food should really look like in your kitchen, writing and then testing recipes. Will Turnage takes care of all the coding, debugging, beta testing, and uploading to the apple store.

What can a user expect to learn from your Bread Baking Basics app?

Users will learn the primary steps of making satisfying bread, but more, I hope, they will gain the confidence and excitement to engage in this ancient, fundamental, and deeply satisfying craft.

Entitled "Bread Baking Basics," it sounds like the app is geared towards those just starting out baking bread. Will it appeal to intermediate and advanced bakers as well? How so?

If a beginner reads the text and follows the recipes, the app will give them the ability to make good bread at home. For intermediate bakers it will introduce them to different bread doughs, such as multigrains and ryes and wild yeast doughs. The app is not intended for the advanced baker (most of whom could teach me more than I can teach them), but it does provide them a handy bread calculator based on standard bakers percentages.  And it's a great resource for professional cooks who may need to come up with some bread recipes on the fly.

Photo credit: Donna Ruhlman

How is Bread Baking Basics different from the bread baking portion of the Ratio app?

That just gives one ratio for a basic bread dough, white bread; the Bread Baking Basics app adds multiple doughs, multiple shapes, a great deal more written information, with lots of images.

If someone wanted to continue their bread baking education after they've made it through all of the recipes and tutorials in your app, what would you recommend as the next step?

Read and practice.  Professional bread bakers spend their whole lives focused on the various combinations of just four fundamental ingredients.  It's inexhaustible and infinitely complex.

What other bread baking resources, book, etc, would you recommend to readers?

I like thefreshloaf blog, and we give a list of recommended bread books for further reading.

---

Other related posts you might enjoy on Ruhlman.com:

• Update: Bouchon Bakery Cookbook
• Veal Stock and Guinness Bread
• No-Knead Bread: A Convert’s Story
• What makes a great cooking app?

2010 Interview:
Food Blogger Spotlight: Michael Ruhlman

Natalie Galatzer; photo by: Rachel Styer

As a fellow baker and small business owner, my heart dropped last week when I read that Bike Basket Pies was going to ride off into the sunset at the end of this month. So many folks all over the city have come to know and love Natalie Galatzer's hand-held sweet and savory seasonal creations, and the low-overhead business model inspired many newer businesses who were just starting out. It seemed from her weekly newsletter that Natalie was doing incredibly well, there were always new innovative flavors and fresh energy. So I couldn't help but wonder, why? I wanted to hear from Natalie about what led her to make the big decision to put the business on hold, and what might be in the cards for the future.

1. Some folks may not familiar with your story: Why pie? Why did you decide to begin a business around pie?
When I was in college, I had this really slow last semester and I convinced a house full of guy friends that I should be their house cook. There were 5 of them, and they all ate for 4-5 people (growing boys and all), so I was struggling to make enough food in their tiny kitchen. One day I was going to make a chicken pot pie but was intimidated by the crust -- my father had always made a home-made puff pastry crust for our pot pies growing up (my father was an amazing home cook -- I swear I'm not biased). I told my friend that I was going to buy a pre-made pie crust and he gave me a kinda dirty look and said "of all things, I'm sure you can make a pie crust." Soooo I pony'd up and made a pie crust. That's the first crust I remember making, although I'm sure I made one or two early on with my dad. And my mom loved, loved, looooved pie.

As for the business, after 2 years of AmeriCorps, I was unemployed and looking for something to do with food, and I loved baking and baked pies at least once a week and muffins, cakes, and cupcakes every other day. When the Magic Curry Kart and the Creme Brulee Cart started, I got inspired and a friend pushed me to do something myself. So I borrowed his basketed bike and sold pies in the park. The next week I was delivering, and after that I was working on turning my hobby into my (at that point, 4th) job.

2. You've spoken on your own website's FAQ about some of the reasons for leaving Bike Basket Pies: financial, loss of inspiration etc. Can you tell us a little about the decision-making process itself: did you wake up one morning and know it was over or had it been a long time coming
It definitely was a long time coming. This wasn't a light decision. Most of the process was really trying to figure out that maybe this business just wasn't for me -- and that didn't mean it, or I, failed. I gave myself a deadline -- get what I want, in an emotional and inspirational level, out of the business, or move on. So after 6 months, I decided it was time to explore something new and find a new project.

3. Can you talk a little about the food community here in the Bay Area? Did you feel nourished and supported by the community, and did you feel it helped further your growth as a small business owner?
Yes -- but I'm not sure I have very good specifics, or a very good answer for this. I mean, I started baking in the restaurant where I was waiting tables, essentially bartering to use the kitchen on the day they were closed and have a little shelf and fridge space. In return, I'd close up shop, run reports, simple stuff to help take some of the burden off the owner/chef. Louis (the owner/chef, my boss) was a huge help to me as I started and continued this business.

4. For me, when I'm in the kitchen baking and watching other bakers pump out cookies and cupcakes at a rate I could never dream of with pie, there are days I question the slow, slow craft of hand-rolling and crimping seasonal pies. Did you go through doubt in this sense or question what you were actually doing in terms of profitability/ability to keep up with demand?
I know exactly what you're talking about. Yes, yes and yes. Why did I not start "bike basket cookies" or, as a customer recently suggested "bike basket brownies?" It rolls right off the tongue, and I could make just as many brownies in probably a quarter of the time that I spent on pies. But, pie is special, pie is so much better than a brownie. You can't eat a brownie every day, maybe even every week. You can eat a different seasonal pie every week, and maybe even every day.

5. In thinking about the future, you allude to the fact you're open for other projects: anything in the works that you can share? What, in your ideal world, would you be embarking on next? What are you inspired/excited by?
I'm excited and inspired by sustainable food and environmentalism. Before I was doing Bike Basket Pies, I was working on sustainable fisheries issues and I like working on sustainable food -- but maybe not full time in the kitchen. Or, at least, not at 2 or 3 am. I've been putting some serious thought into what exactly it is about Bike Basket Pies that burned me out so badly, so I'm not ready to rule anything out except the lack of a full day off anywhere in the week and the insanely early morning hours.

Family recipes are a funny thing. They straddle a fine line between fond memory, mystery, comfort, and tradition. You grow up enjoying them as a kid but usually not actually preparing them. And then you get to a certain point in adulthood and you yearn to duplicate those family recipes on your own. In my experience, that's when relative disaster strikes. Take, for example, my mom's Million Dollar Spaghetti. Growing up, we had this probably once a week and as a teenager I requested it more frequently. I remember when I got my first apartment in my senior year of college and I asked my mom for the recipe. I was shocked to learn that it was basically an excuse to eat one pound of cream cheese, a cup of heavy cream and a bunch of pasta all in one sitting. Then there was my mom's Raspberry Fool which I have fond memories of in the late spring and early summer. We'd have late dinners outdoors and she would make individual glass cups of these and stick them in the fridge so you could sneak into the kitchen and grab yours whenever the time felt right. About five years ago, I learned it was essentially all heavy cream. Utter deliciousness, but not the light summery creation I'd always thought it was.

Laying out Ingredients

But health concerns aside, family recipes can be questionable in other ways, too. Take Chocolate Jumbles. When I was growing up, around Christmas we'd receive a care package from Hilda--my grandmother's across-the-street neighbor in the tiny town of Ames, NY. I didn't care for the Chocolate Jumbles at first: they're a little on the warmly-spiced side for most kids, I think. But then I came to appreciate their subtle hint of cocoa and cloves, their holey center, and their super soft crumb. They're good with tea, perfect with coffee, kind of nice late at night when you can't sleep. I made them for the first time this past weekend and made them again and again. Because sometimes family recipes just befuddle you. You stare at the old index card and think, why? The instructions seem far too complex, a few of the ingredients seem unnecessary, or you simply can't make out the handwriting that's been smudged and stained after years and years of use. In the case that you bake for a living, you really stare at this particular recipe and think, why?!

As I made them the first time, I tried to think about Hilda at her kitchen table pouring hot water into a shortening-based cookie dough and mixing. Out of all of the ways you could infuse a dough with liquid, this wouldn't be my first choice. So I decreased the amount of water, raised the quantity of spice and used part bread flour in lieu of solely all-purpose flour (this makes for a sturdier dough). The result reminds me of Hilda's jumbles although I'm still confused how she could possibly get from point A to point B using the recipe she gave us. Maybe there's something in that country air or maybe Hilda just has a much softer touch than I do. Regardless, you'll enjoy this adapted version. I'm sure of it. And at the end of the day after swimming in Chocolate Jumble dough, it doesn't really matter that you've become a little frustrated and disillusioned with yet another family recipe, does it? It's fleeting. You keep making those Chocolate Jumbles and reworking them until you get them just right because maybe -- just maybe-- you want to bathe in the memory, mystery, comfort, and tradition once more. If only for an afternoon, anyway.

Recipe: Hilda's Chocolate Jumbles

Summary: As I mentioned, I made some adaptations from the recipe as printed, so please don't be confused with the quantities listed in the photo above. Use the recipe below. Also use a good quality chocolate and have a cup of tea ready.

Prep time: 15-20 minutes
Cook time: 10 minutes
Total time: 25-30 minutes
Yield: 24 cookies, depending on size of cutter you use

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup shortening
• 1/4 cup brown sugar
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1 eggs
• 1/2 cup molasses
• 1/2 cup hot water
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup bread flour
• 1/2 cup cocoa powder
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 1/2 tsp. baking powder
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 1/2 tsp. cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp. cloves
• pinch nutmeg

Instructions

1. Preheat the oven to 350 F.
2. Using a standing mixer or hand beaters, cream shortening, eggs, sugars and molasses together on medium speed until just combined.
3. In a separate medium bowl, sift together flour, cocoa, salt, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon and cloves.
4. Add flour mixture to shortening mixture slowly, alternating with additions of the hot water.
5. The dough will be very soft. Quickly form it into a ball, wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least one hour and up to one dough.
6. Even after refrigeration the dough will still be soft. Roll it out quickly under two pieces of parchment or plastic wrap for the best results. Use a 3" circle cookie cutter or your own favorite cookie cutter. Lay each round on a baking sheet lined with parchment.
7. Bake for 8-10 minutes and allow to cool completely before removing from sheet.

It is time once again for my annual raspberry post. You see, early June is my time to contemplate all things raspberry. Why now? What’s stopping me from meditating on the delights of baked and fresh raspberry dishes in, say, April when spring starts, or July when everyone is making juicy fruit crisps? The answer is simple really: raspberries are actually in season now. Not in April or July. Now. Sure you can buy raspberries all year long; and if you’re a commercial grower I’m sure you can extend the season from early spring to late summer or even fall. But if you are a home gardener, this is your raspberry moment.

One thing to know about growing your own raspberries is that you can pretty much forget about the vines for most of the year. In my backyard, they sit alongside a fence near the barbecue. Throughout the summer they pretty much act as a green foliage background to cover up the fence. When summer is done, their leaves change color a bit and then start to fall, memories of their luscious fruit barely concealed by the apples that are ripening heavily above them. By the time winter arrives, I’m focused on pruning, cutting back dead wooden stalks to make room for younger shoots that will emerge soon, the skeletons of old flower buds that once housed berries now dry and sitting vacant. When spring arrives I am struck with just how lovely the small white flower buds are, peaking out of the verdant green leaves that are new and growing toward the sky. I’m always amazed at just how tall those vines then become in the span of a month or two, maturing and getting leggy like a young teenager until they reach the lower limbs of my apple tree. And then just when I’m getting ready for summer, the berries appear. It’s clandestine at first, with only a few hiding under lower leaves, their rich raspberry red peeking out. Excited and anxious to taste them, my family stands right out amidst the vines, eating as we pick, with none making their way into the house. Each day more berries ripen, until we are overwhelmed with them a week later, the vines literally drooping, laden with fruit.

It seem miraculous just how big my patch has become, and numerous the berries. After all, I planted only one lone vine in a gallon pot six years ago. Since that time, my patch has grown from a small one-foot area to 10 feet, now spanning half my side yard. Even better is that these vines are thornless, so I can let my kids romp through them on berry-picking missions without worrying about scratched arms or poked faces.

So what do we do with our haul of berries? In years past we have eaten our share of berry shortcakes and I’ve also tried my hand at making raspberry jam. This year, however, I decided to focus on making tarts. After years of purchasing expensive pastry cream and fruit tarts from La Farine, I thought it was time to get over my fear of making the perfect crust and cream filling. When all was said and done, my trusty pie crust recipe (which is really BAB blogger, Kim Laidlaw’s crust recipe) worked beautifully, and the pastry cream (a Williams-Sonoma recipe) couldn’t have been easier to whip up. My husband even said he liked the tart better than La Farine’s, although I wonder if he just liked saving the money.

So if you find yourself with some sweet ripe raspberries, try making a tart. It’s really the nicest way I can think of to bask in the season.

Recipe: Seasonal Raspberry Tart with Pastry Cream
A summer tart made with freshly prepared pastry cream, a flaky crust and just-picked raspberries.

Prep time: 20 minutes
Cook time: 30 minutes
Total time: 50 minutes
Yield: 1 10-inch tart

Ingredients:
2 cups fresh raspberries (washed and air dried)
1 batch pastry cream (see recipe below)
1 batch of tart dough (see recipe below)

Instructions:

1. Fit tart dough into your pan and blind bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees. Be sure to set some foil or parchment paper on top of the dough and then weigh it down with either pie weights or dried beans (which will become inedible after baking) to keep the dough from bubbling up in the oven.

2. Remove tart dough from the oven and remove the pie weights/beans and parchment paper/foil. Bake for another 10 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from oven and cool.

3. When crust is cooled, spread the pastry cream along the bottom and then nestle the raspberries on top. You can dump them all on or organize in circles for a more uniform appearance.

4. Serve as is or top with whipped cream.

Recipe: Pastry Cream
(From Williams-Sonoma Cooking at Home by Chuck Williams and Kristine Kidd, printed with permission from Weldon Owen)

Cook time: 15 minutes
Yield: 1 cup

Ingredients:
1 cup milk
2 egg yolks
1/4 cup sugar
4 1/2 teaspoons cornstarch
pinch of salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Instructions:
In a small, heavy saucepan over medium heat, bring the milk to a simmer. Meanwhile, in a heatproof bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, sugar, cornstarch, and salt until well blended. Slowly add about one-third of the hot milk to the bowl with the yolk-sugar mixture, whisking constantly. Then pour the combined mixture back into the saucepan and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture comes to a boil and thickens slightly, about 3 minutes. Continue cooking, stirring constantly, for 1 minute longer.

Remove from the heat and pour through a fine-mesh sieve placed over a heatproof bowl. Gently stir in the butter until melted, then stir in the vanilla. Cover with plastic wrap, pressing it directly onto the surface to prevent a skin from forming. Poke a few holes in the plastic wrap to hasten cooling. Let cool, then cover tightly and refrigerate until well chilled, at least 2 hours, or up to 3 days.

Recipe: Flaky Pie or Tart Dough
(Adapted from a recipe by Kim Laidlaw)

Prep time: 10 minutes + 30 minutes refrigeration
Cook time: 30 minutes
Yield: 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

Instructions:
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.

Flashback to Summer '09; that was when I first heard rumblings about a new generation of creative street food entrepreneurs that were causing a stir in the local SF culinary scene. Some of the original individuals included Curtis Kimball, the Crème Brûlée Man, who could make you a delicious crème brûlée right on the spot; and his brother Brian, the Magic Curry Man, who whipped up a tasty Thai concoction from his humble portable kitchen.

These were lo-fi dining affairs with a twist. They elevated street food beyond the usual greasy fare of hot dogs, pretzels and other fast food and provided an upscale alternative. And part of the fun was cyber-stalking them via Twitter; these nomadic vendors rotated their locations on a regular basis, so hungry customers tracked them down once they revealed their daily location.

Another early pioneer of the nouvelle cuisine of the streets was Steven Gdula of Gobba Gobba Hey, whose name pays homage to the punk rock band The Ramones and their classic catchphrase Gabba Gabba Hey.

Author of "The Warmest Room in the House: How the Kitchen Became the Heart of the Twentieth-Century American Home," Steven moved to San Francisco from the East Coast in 2008 to seek new opportunities. But, according to his blog,

"Shortly after unloading the last box and settling into our new home here this past fall, like so many other people, I started to lose my sources of income. As a freelance writer there just wasn’t that much work to be had. Magazines and newspapers were getting smaller. Some folded entirely. Also, I was new to a city where there were many established writers already ahead of me at the various outlets I approached. But writers have to write just as painters have to paint and musicians have to make music, so I did what so many others have done. I returned to my blog to keep my fingers moving and my thoughts flowing. And then I started baking regularly just to, well, just to see what would happen."

Steven started to bake "gobs," or as he describes it in his upcoming collection of recipes, Gobba Gobba Hey: A Gob Cookbook, "two domes of moist, dense cake with filling in the middle...kind of like a cupcake sandwich." These were "one of my favorite confections as a kid. Growing up in Pennsylvania they were everywhere. You could find them at church bake sales, school bake sales, birthday parties, stores and even in some gas stations on the counter right next to the cash register. I haven’t seen anything like them since moving here to San Francisco so I set out to fill the void."

And fill he did. "Wanting to bring some excitement to his game" in the "new food capital of the world," he went beyond the classic chocolate-and-vanilla standard of his youth and created more exotic flavors made with organic ingredients such as Orange, Cardamom Ginger with Saffron Filling and Black Cherry and Chocolate with Lime Butter Cream. (Full disclosure: I became an early groupie of Steven's and these were two of the three flavors that I served at my wedding in lieu of the traditional cake in the fall of 2010.)

Flash forward to the present-day, and street food is more popular than ever with big festivals, the advent of high-profile food trucks, and crowded weekly events. Steven's grown his business as well, with an online storefront at Foodzie and plans for a truck to help promote his upcoming book that will be available in late August. Start warming your ovens now for 52 recipes including Irish Coffee Gobs with Bushmills & Bailey Irish Cream, Kabocha Garam Masala Gobs with Orange Honey filling and Zucchini Gobs with Lemon-Ginger filling.

Recipe: Original Chocolate & Vanilla Gobs

Yield: 3 dozen complete gobs

For The Batter:

Ingredients:
4 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup cocoa flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup vegetable shortening, such as Crisco
2 cups sugar, sifted
2 eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup buttermilk, at room temperature
1/2 cup 1 cup water, or as needed

Instructions:

1. Preheat the oven to 350F. Line three 8-by-13 inch cookie sheets with parchment paper.

2. In a large bowl, sift together the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Whisk the dry ingredients thoroughly.

3 In another large bowl, cream together the sugar and vegetable shortening with a mixer on medium speed. Add the eggs and vanilla to the creamed ingredients, and blend on medium-high until the mixture looks like dense pudding.

4. Alternate adding the dry ingredients and the buttermilk to the egg mixture, mixing on medium speed after each addition. Then add the sour cream, and mix well. Add water if needed to thin the batter. ("Go lightly" was my mom's original instruction.)

5. Using a tablespoon or a pastry bag, drop 1 1/2 inch rounds of batter on the prepared cookie sheets, leaving 1 inch between each round. Bake them approximately 8 minutes, or until the gob domes have risen. Remove the gobs to a wire rack to cool.

For The Filling

Ingredients:
1 cup milk
4 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 cup vegetable shortening, such as Crisco
1/2 cup margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup granulated sugar, or 2 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted

Instructions:

1. Heat the milk in a saucepan over low heat. Bring to a simmer, immediately add the flour. Whisk. Continue mixing over low heat til mixture thickens, approximately 3 to 5 minutes.

2. With a mixer on medium speed, cream together the vegetable shortening and margarine. Add the vanilla and sugar, and mix on medium-high.

3. Add the cooled milk-flour mixture to the creamed ingredients, and beat until the mixture is fluffy; scrape the bowl with a spatula to reincorporate the ingredients if necessary.

4. To frost the gobs, flip the baked gob domes over on a cookie sheet and match up pairs of similarly shaped domes. Add 1 tablespoon of filling to the flat side of an overturned dome, then place another dome on top, sandwich-style. Allow the gobs to fully set by refrigerating them on a baking sheet for at least 1 hour. Wrap the gobs in cellophane to prevent them from drying out.

While I was in Paris, I was determined to get my hands of some cannelés. I'd never seen any in the Bay Area and I was intrigued by these little cake-like treats that were cooked in very expensive copper molds (yes, I know you can buy silicon molds, but they don't caramelize the outer shell of the pastry).

Thankfully, in Paris, cannelés are not in short supply. You can get them at almost any patisserie, including the famous shops, like Pierre Hermé and Ladurée. While I samples cannelés all over Paris, some of the best I had were at tiny hole-in-the-wall pastry shops, where the baked goods were fresh and the patissier beamed proudly over their work.

Still, though, I wanted more. I asked the ladies at Librairie Gourmande where I should go to sample some of the city's best cannelés, and she sent me to Baillardran a chain shop that supposedly sells real Bordeaux cannelés throughout France. As luck would have it, there was a Baillardran just east of Paris, in a little suburb that I could easily access by the Metro. So I made an afternoon of it.

I walked into Baillardran and surveyed the goods. There were cannelés everywhere -- piled into mountains, arranged in circles, and patiently waiting in baking trays. They come in three sizes -- small, medium and large -- and you can also buy them at varying levels of "doneness," similar to a steak. I liked the variety, which I wasn't expecting to find in a shop that sells only a single kind of pastry, but the options were exciting. I bought a few cannelés in the "medium" style, browned but not burnt, and then indulged in a handful of aluminum-lined copper cannelé molds, which they were selling for surprisingly cheap.

I sat down and took a bite. The texture was what I expected: firm and gently smoky on the outside, tender and luscious on the inside, like little caramelized nuggets of soft bread pudding. These cannelés were more rummy-tasting than the others I'd had, adding a liquory tang to each bite. I ate one, then another, and then the final one that I'd expected to save until the next day. Alas, they were just too good to hold onto for more than a few minutes!

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Baillardran
Address: Map‬
‪2 Boulevard Jean Jaurès‬
‪92100 Boulogne-Billancourt‬
‪France +33 1 55 60 90 07
Phone: 05 56 99 13 75

Happy May Day! My middle sister spent her college years at a small Seven Sisters school known for both its academic rigor and its fondness for Anglophile-ish, slightly archaic traditions (lots of teas there). On May 1st, the president of the college would ride into campus on a white horse, and students wore flower crowns and white dresses and sang hymns to the May before having strawberries and cream for breakfast.

White horses, sadly, do not have full representation in my part of Temescal. But the strawberries from just south of here are finally starting to get sweet (all that rain delayed the season somewhat). If you look, you can probably find some rhubarb, too. Any new kind of fruit is very welcome right now, during this season when the weather feels like spring but winter's kales and citrus are still hanging on.

Rhubarb

Remember that rainy scene in the beginning of Animal Vegetable Miracle, when author Barbara Kingsolver, in the first week of her locavore experiment, is despondent at the thought of returning home to her banana-less household with no fruit? Drenched by a spring downpour, she splashes through the farmers' market and is rewarded at last with a beautiful bundle of red-stemmed rhubarb.

Unless you're a gardener and an old-fashioned pie-lover, you've probably never seen rhubarb growing, and you might not recognize it even if you did. A perennial plant, it forms a low, leafy mound, with wide spinachy leaves the size of a hat. Look under the leaves and you'll see long, reddish stalks coming up from the ground. Grip one firmly and pull it out. Trim off the mildly toxic leaf, and there you have it, a sour, sour stalk of what used to be called pieplant.

Still, it doesn't take much sweetening to bring out its lovely tangy fruitiness, one that matches incredibly well with both strawberries and orange.

Lots of recipes tell you to put the rhubarb through all sorts of elaborate machinations before putting it in the pie. What a bunch of, well, rhubarb! Just cut it up, toss it with sugar and a little cornstarch, and you're on your way to pie heaven. The only caveat is that rhubarb contains a lot of water, which the sugar will pull out, so you want to make your filling just before you're ready to bake your pie. Otherwise, you'll end up with a lot of small pieces of fruit floating in a big puddle of syrupy liquid.

Don't go overboard with the cornstarch; being juicy is one of this pie's homemade charms. Vanilla ice cream is the perfect accompaniment.

Because this is a very juicy pie, it's good to use a lattice crust to let the steam out. Yes, making a proper lattice does take some concentration and a little finger-dexterity, but I find the few minutes' effort to be well-rewarded by the amazement this fancy-pants basket weave inspires. If, for some smart reason, your utensil drawer contains a little crinkled-edged pastry or ravioli wheel, now's the time to use it. It will make your pie crust look incredibly 1950s-cute.

So, this is how you do it: Lay your longest strip of dough across the middle of the pie. Then lay another long strip crosswise across the middle. Lay another strip down next the first. Then lay down another crosswise strip, only weave it under the first strip and over the second one. Keep doing this, alternating vertical and horizontal strips, lifting the strips as necessary to get that cute under-and-over pattern. If your strip breaks, just jam the pieces back together or hide the broken parts under another strip.

You can make this either as one pie or six three- to four-inch tarts. In order to get the right crust-to-fruit ratio, I would use tart pans or ramekins that are at least two inches deep.

Recipe: Strawberry Rhubarb Tarts

Summary:These pretty pink tarts are a sweet, tangy taste of spring. Because the filling is very moist, it's best served the day it's made, to avoid a soggy bottom crust. You can also make this as a single strawberry rhubarb pie.

By Stephanie Rosenbaum

Prep time: 2 hours, plus 1 hour chilling time for dough
Cook time: 45 min
Total time: 3 hours 45 min
Yield: 6 tarts or 1 pie

Ingredients

Crust:
• 2 1/2 cups flour
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tbsp sugar
• 2 sticks (1/2 lb) butter, very cold
• 1 tbsp cider vinegar
• 6-8 tbsp ice water

Filling:

• 5- 6 stalks rhubarb, about 1 1/2 lbs, trimmed and chopped into 1/2-inch pieces (should make about 4 cups)
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 4 tsp cornstarch
• 1 tsp finely grated orange rind
• 1 box organic strawberries, hulled and sliced

Instructions

1. In a large bowl, mix dry ingredients. Cut butter into cubes, and toss in dry ingredients until butter is completely coated. Using a pastry blender or your fingertips, cut butter into flour until it is the size of biggish peas. Leave it chunkier than you think you should.
2. Mix cider vinegar into water. Add 5 tbsp of water mixture all at once, stirring and tossing with your fingertips. Gently scooping and mixing in any dry patches as you go, add just enough more water so that you can squeeze a handful of dough together into a rough ball. Flatten into two disks, wrap in plastic (or pop into 2 large resealable plastic bags) and chill for at least an hour.
3. Then, roll out one round on a well-floured surface. For tarts, cut circles of dough just slightly larger than each tart pan. Drape each dough circle over a tart pan and gently press it in so pan is lined evenly. Put tart pans back in fridge to chill while you make your filling.
4. Preheat oven to 375F. Mix sugar and cornstarch together, and pour over rhubarb, strawberries, and orange rind. Toss it a few times. Set aside while you roll out the top crust.
5. Roll out your second dough round. Cut your top crust into strips for the lattice.
6. Take the chilled crusts out of the fridge. Scoop filling generously into each pan, adding in the sugary goo from the bottom of the bowl. (If it seems like you have a lot of liquid left in the bowl, pour it off before you scoop in any leftover goo.) Weave your lattice on top of each tart. Sprinkle with sugar and place on a big foil-lined baking sheet in the oven. (Why a baking sheet? Because some juice going to bubble over and burn, and a baking sheet is easier to clean than the bottom of the oven.)
7. Bake for 40-45 minutes, until crust is golden and filling is juicy and bubbling. Don't worry if filling seems a little soupy at first; it will thicken as it cools.

Eggs from Tara Firma Farms

Happy Easter! And where better to spend this egg-centric holiday than Petaluma, land of butter & eggs? This pretty Sonoma town is worth a drive anytime, especially now while the surrounding hills are green and the cows contented.

Start your Sunday with brunch at Della Fattoria Bakery and Cafe. If you shop at the Ferry Plaza or Marin County farmers' markets, you've probably ogled Della Fattoria's big brown loaves many a time as you try to choose that week's purchase: pumpkin-seed or polenta? Meyer lemon-rosemary (my favorite) or olive? A square Pullman loaf for slicing and toasting, or a crunchy-crusted epi to rip and dunk?

At the heart of Della Fattoria's operation is a farm and bakery, where their breads are baked in wood-fired ovens. The farm doubles as a site for outdoor, communal "ranch dinners"; there's also a small cottage available for rent by the week or by the night.

Easter brunch menu at Della Fattoria

In downtown Petaluma, Della Fattoria runs a bakery-cafe that serves breakfast and lunch 7 days a week, plus dinner on Fridays. The menu shifts a little with inspiration and the seasons, but farm eggs, local meats, and bakery products are always front and center.

Polenta, asparagus, and egg at Della Fattoria Bakery & Cafe

This Sunday, you'll find eggs bennie (eggs Benedict), of course, made with poached ranch eggs, ham, and spring asparagus under a cloak of hollandaise sauce over husky whole-grain toast. Creamy polenta comes topped 3 ways: with braised artichokes, with Italian-style meatballs, or with asparagus, a poached ranch egg, and some rosettes of proscuitto, a lovely, luxurious way to start the day. Bigger appetites might start with fruit salad bathed in brown sugar and champagne, followed by scalloped potatoes with eggs and black-pig bacon, biscuits in gravy with maple-pecan sausage and poached eggs, or a hot pressed ham-and-Gruyere sandwich.

The room is high-ceilinged with walls the color of terra cotta and two long communal tables in the center, plus five smaller tables against the walls. Bouquets of sweet peas and ranunculus add a bright splash of color to each table, where diners share newspapers while kids gnaw on house-baked bagels. At the back is a pastry counter filled with croissants, bear claws, cookies, and tarts, plus a wall of tempting breads.

Enjoy yourself, sip that perfect cappuccino, but don't linger too long; it's time to take a scenic five-mile drive out of town, along meandering, bumpy but beautiful I Street, past horses, cows, and California poppy-studded green hills to Tara Firma Farms. If you're a farmers'-market shopper, you've probably been handed a flyer advertising their pasture-raised meat CSA program and weekend farm tours. Every weekend, from 10am-3pm, owners Craig and Tara Smith do on-the-hour walks around their property, where they're raising pigs, beef cattle, and chickens for both meat and eggs. (There's also a small market garden, three very friendly pet goats, and Roland, the farm dog.)

Craig and Tara started the farm in 2009, raising about 40 head of pasture-raised cattle who move around the farm daily, grazing on three to five acres a day. (Craig still has his day job as the owner of a large long-term-care insurance company; Tara left her job at the same company and now does much of the day-to-day farm management.) They gather about 500 eggs a day from some 700 hens, all of whom spend their days out in the fields, scratching, grazing, pecking, and laying fertile eggs of all sizes and colors. Staunch proponents of the Joel Salatin method, they practice rotational grazing for all their animals. "Everything is always on the move," said Craig, noting that adopting this system made "a huge difference" in revitalizing what had been worn-out, heavily overgrazed land.

Chicken at Tara Firma Farms

After meeting Olivia the sow and her 12 adorable, two-week-old pink-and-black piglets, we walked up to one of the chicken tractors, a shed on wheels kitted out with nesting boxes and secure predator-proof roosts for nighttime. The chickens are busy earning their keep: every straw-lined nesting box we peered into held a clutch of three or four still-warm eggs. It's prime egg-laying time right now, said Craig, as the days get longer and warmer after winter's molting season.

Olivia the sow and her piglets

Pointing out the pond stocked with fish (catfish and large-mouthed bass, for catch-and-release fishing) and encouraging everyone to come back for a hike, Craig said, "We want all our members to feel like this is their farm. We really want to help people understand where their food comes from."

About 80% of the farm's production is sold through its CSA program, which offers both meat and veggie shares; members can pick up boxes at the farm or through one of its 12 drop points between Santa Rosa and San Francisco. After the tour, visitors can browse through the small farm store, where fresh eggs and a small area of produce is on display, featuring a mixture of farm vegetables and produce from County Line, a nearby organic farm. But those in the know head straight for the freezer, where the farm's beef, chicken, and pork are packaged for sale.

As for me, I'm happy to go home with a box of souffle-ready eggs, perfect alongside some Della Fattoria toast.

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Della Fattoria (The Cafe)
Address: Map
141 Petaluma Boulevard North
Petaluma, CA
Phone: (707) 763-0161
Hours: Mon-Thu & Sat: 6am-3pm, Fri: 6am-9pm, Sun: 9am-3pm
Twitter: @DellaFattoria
Facebook: Della Fattoria

Tara Firma Farms
Address: Map
3796 I Street, Ext
Petaluma, CA 94952
Phone: (707) 765-1202
Twitter: @TaraFirmaFarms
Facebook: Tara Firma Farms

It's no secret that I'm a fan of sweets, and macarons are at the top of that list. I've written about macarons extensively on my blog, and made hundreds of them while testing recipes for a macaron cookbook. I've eaten them at every location in San Francisco that I learned made them, and it's not uncommon for me to BART over to SF just to visit Paulette.

I was in Paris this week, and the very first adventure I went on was to go find the two most famous pastry shops in town and try their macarons. That's right -- I went on a macaron pilgrimage, visiting both Pierre Hermé and Ladurée in the same day. I bought a couple in each location and put them to the test to see who had the better pastry.

Ed note: You'll notice I used the term "pastry" instead of "cookie." That's because every time I called macarons "cookies" in Paris, I was corrected. According to the Parisians I talked to, macarons are most definitely not cookies. Lesson learned!

After a little digging, I learned that both Ladurée and Hermé had locations on Rue Bonaparte, not far from the Seine River. Headed to a perfectly central location on the left bank, I planned my day: I would buy a handful of macarons at each bakery, then enjoy them in the sunshine while sitting along the river. The weather was topping out at 72 degrees that day, and I couldn't think of a better way to spend my afternoon than nibbling gourmet goodies in the Parisian sun.

My first stop was Ladurée, where the scent of pure sugar wafted out the door and down the street to greet me at the corner, beckoning me to the shopfront. I was immediately swept away by an incredible assortment of pastries in all sizes and colors, including a selection of ten or so flavors of macarons and a handful of larger macarons that were three times the normal size. The decor was delightfully, classically "French," or at least what this American girl thinks of when she dreams of French pastry from thousands of miles away in California. Think rich greens, blues and browns, pinstripes, and matching seafoam-green ribbons on every box. I felt like I was walking into a Parisian pastry fairy tale.

The line was out the door, but no worry; that gave me plenty of time to gawk without looking like a loafer. After staring in awe at their selection of sweets, I chose two flavors of macarons -- salted caramel and chocolate orange -- and headed out the door to visit Pierre Hermé's shop down the street.

Pierre Hermé was less classically decorated than Ladurée, and was instead very sleek and stylish. The place was decked out in glass and dark teak-looking wood, rounded out with black accents. Here, the desserts provided all the color to the joint, and I suspect that was the whole point. In the dark environment, each little treat glowed like it was Louis XV's crown jewels.

Here I selected two more macarons -- passion fruit and vanilla olive oil (!!) -- and made my way to the Seine River to put these little jewels of egg white and sugar to the test.

The Test
Visually, both shop's macarons were gorgeous. Their colors were bright and they flaunted themselves, unashamed, in the Parisian spring sunshine. The first thing I noticed, though, was that Ladurée's macarons were a little lacking in the filling department, and their shells were a little cracked, while Hermé's macarons were literally bubbling over with filling and the shells were perfectly in-tact, with not a crack to be seen. Upon the first bite, though, it turned out that one of Hermé's macarons -- the passionfruit -- had soaked up the moisture in the filling, making the shell soggy. Also, the passionfruit was really, really tart, and almost made me turn my face inside out. While I did like the flavor, it was a little shocking considering the fluffy texture of the buttercream filling.

Here it's important to note that both bakeries use the Italian meringue method for making macarons, since it yields a more stable batter (anyone who's made macarons knows how volatile the process can be) and a somewhat denser finished product. While Ladurée's macarons had less filling to boast and the shells were a little worse for wear, they both displayed consistency in quality -- the shells were crispy on the outside and soft in the middle, and had a lovely little crunch when bitten into. Hermé's on the other hand, were softer and lighter, floating on your tongue like little sugary clouds, like the very first bite of cotton candy you tried when you were four years old.

Flavor-wise, both were lovely, but I felt that while Ladurée's macarons were more consistently better, Hermé's flavors were more creative. The vanilla olive oil variety was particular unique, and incredibly satisfying, but the passion fruit was a little too much of a sock in the face for me to enjoy it. Ladurée's chocolate orange was smooth and creamy, and the salted caramel divine, but they were flavors I'd expect to see in a macaron, and therefore didn't stand out beyond their high quality of overall flavor.

The Verdict
If I had to pick a winner (and I guess I do, given the title of this post), I'd say that the Macaron Oscar goes to Pierre Hermé, with his vanilla olive oil variety. Hermé also packed in the filling, which made for a better visual experience and a more satisfying first bite, making the overall package a sheer dream. That said, Ladurée certainly held their own in the battle; their macarons were more consistently good, but the shortage of filling and the cracked shells were kind of a bummer.

My final word? Visit both. If you're in the left bank area, the two shops are only like three blocks apart, so stage your own battle!

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Pierre Hermé
72, rue Bonaparte
75006 Paris, France
Tel : +33 (1) 43 54 47 77
Near the Saint-Germain des Prés Paris Metro station

Ladurée
21, Rue Bonaparte
75006 Paris, France
Tel : +33 (1) 44 07 64 87 ‎
Near the Saint Sulpice Metro station