It probably comes down to the eyeballs. Most people, if asked at a fish market counter why they're choosing salmon filets instead of a whole rockfish or sea bass, would recoil slightly and stutter out something about bones, all the while trying not to meet the accusing (if unseeing) stares pointed their way from the ice.

But once you make your peace with the face of Mr. Fishie, a whole fish is actually much more forgiving to the cook than a filet. Personally, I've had a few rough moments with filets, salmon especially. Getting it to stop being raw and jellylike (heaven to some, creepy to me) at the thick end without turning the other, thinner end into salmon jerky is still sometimes beyond me.

A whole fish, by contrast, does not require split-second or split-screen timing. You can leave it in the oven for a few extra minutes while you wrestle with the corkscrew or work out a knotty point of Hogswarts school policy with your seven-year-old and you won't end up with a main course that looks like a string of little shrunken heads, as you would if you were making, say, shrimp-pineapple-and-cherry-tomato kebabs—a lovely idea, generally, but just a wee bit demanding on the timing aspect.

There's also the grandeur of a whole fish, how it comes to the table looking lavish and extravagant, even if, pound for pound, it's actually much more economical to buy your beast whole. Get it gutted and scaled by your fishmonger, and there's little else you need to do.

It does help to have a good sharp knife around so you can make a few slashes on each side of the fish—three or four, depending on the size of the fish, down to the bone, so the fish will cook evenly without curling and the skin will crisp up. This also reveals the flesh so you can tell instantly if it's cooked all the way through, somewhere on the pearlescent side of just opaque, since it will continue cooking a little off the heat.

Whole Raw Fish - Photo by Scott Hawkins

Every sea kitten is happier—or at least tastier—for some very thin slices of lemon in the slits, along with a few sprigs of fresh herbs tarragon, summer savory, parsley, mint. Massage the whole fish with olive oil. Don't be stingy. This will make the skin much more delicious while also safeguarding the whole thing from drying out should you be distracted by the aforementioned cork-removal or Snape-and-Malfoy issues.

Now that we're having a little sunshine again, you might be feeling summery enough to fire up the grill. Grilling, especially a good, high-heat charcoal grill, gives a succulent, smoky, beach-in-Spain savor to oilier fish like mackerel and fresh sardines. Salmon, too, is lovely and dramatic on the grill. But you can fake it very well with a hot pan and a broiler, too, especially if you're cooking small, one-to-two person sized fish like branzino, tai snapper, or striped bass.

The lovely, lively Big Sur Bakery Cookbook offers a good trick for such faux-grilling, one that I used myself to great success this weekend. Do the aforementioned lemon-herb-olive oil anointing. Preheat the broiler. While it's heating, splash a little puddle of olive oil into a saute pan big enough to fit your fish. When the oil is good and hot, lay down your fish (watch out for splatters), reduce heat to medium-high and let it get good and browned on the bottom side, about 2 to 3 minutes. Turn off the heat and lift your fish, browned side down, onto the broiler pan. Broil about 8 to 10 inches from the heat for about 8 to 10 minutes, until just cooked through. That initial searing gets the bottom side cooked, without having to wrestle the fish mid-broil.

Present with a flourish, on a platter generous enough to make navigating the skeleton easy. Make sure you have a second plate handy, for depositing the head, tail, and assorted bones. Unless your friends are very familiar with the whole-fish concept, they probably would prefer not to be stared at reproachfully by the head of their dinner during the meal.

Whole Cooked Fish - Photo by Scott Hawkins

Truly fresh fish, simply cooked, is a wonderful thing, and plenty of people just back from a week in Greece will rhapsodize about the beachside fish served so simply, just grilled, with a little olive oil and lemon and it didn't need anything else. But remember—they were on vacation. They were in Greece. They were sitting outside after several days of island hopping and/or hotel sex behind them. When you're staycationing, fish needs a sauce.

Anything herby and tangy is perfect for giving your fish a little bounce. Salsa goes wonderfully with fish, either a lovely, unexpected white-peach salsa, spiked with cilantro, minced red onion, and lime juice, or a juicy tomato salad jazzed up with fantastic heirloom tomatoes in all colors, a handful of corn kernels, loads of basil, chopped scallions and the most fragrant, olive-y olive oil you have.

Italian salsa verde is also a good match. Make a thick slurry of finely chopped herbs—parsley, watercress, plus some combination of mint, basil and/or dill, with just a smidge of tarragon—with a clove of finely chopped garlic, some chopped capers, a couple of anchovies or a bit of anchovy paste, and olive oil. Some hard-boiled egg and a few chopped cornichons will turn it into something like a French sauce gribiche. A little lemon juice and grated lemon peel will perk up the green color and balance the salt from the capers and anchovies. Or you can just uncork that bottle of wine, cut up a lemon, and bask in a few fog-free hours of the city's Mediterranean light.

Diagnosed seven years ago with allergies to wheat and dairy, Lauren Hoover was thrilled. Finally, she had a reason for the stomachaches and congestion that had plagued her for decades. All she had to do was cut every last bit of wheat and dairy out of her diet. How hard could it be, especially for a smart foodie and trained chef?

"I didn't think I ate a lot of processed food, but the first time I went to the supermarket after my diagnosis, I stood outside in the parking lot and cried," Hoover relates. Everything, it seemed, had some sneaky remnant of wheat or dairy in it. "I thought, what am going to eat, besides chicken, fish, fruit and vegetables? I decided right then that I wasn't going to live the rest of my life without the foods I love."

As a professional pastry chef trained at the California Culinary Academy, Hoover was better equipped than most to start tinkering with her favorite recipes. Having worked at numerous high-end hotels, resorts, and restaurants including San Francisco's La Folie, she didn't want to ditch her pot pies and chocolate cakes for quinoa and sprouts. Instead, she wanted her meals to be healthy but normal-- the sort of thing anyone would be happy to eat, whether or not they had food sensitivities.

What began out of necessity turned into a mission. Returning to college to pursue a psychology degree, she had dreams of becoming a child-advocacy lawyer. In between classes, though, she kept baking, bringing wheat, dairy, and soon sugar-free treats to her study buddies. Friends clamored for her cupcakes and other goodies, and finally an enthusiastic friend insisted that she share her recipes in a cookbook.

"This has become my legacy, the way I can help people who are suffering," says Hoover. The 150 sweet and savory recipes in her new book No Wheat, No Dairy, No Problem are the result of seven years' worth of experimenting, testing, and teaching. She'll be celebrating with a launch party on Saturday, July 18 at 3pm at Noe Valley's Omnivore Books.

So, what are the must-haves for the wheat- and/or dairy-free kitchen? Since Hoover doesn't cook with refined sugar, agave nectar is high on her list, although she also likes date sugar, sucanat, and maple syrup for sweetening. "Along with agave nectar, I'd say oat flour, olive or grapeseed oil, and some kind of milk substitute-- I like coconut and almond milks, but you can use rice or soy milk, too," she notes.

Making her book accessible, even to novice cooks outside the well-stocked environs of the Bay Area, was very important to Hoover. "I'm not interested in using a lot of weird ingredients; I think people should be able to make these recipes whether or not they have a Rainbow Grocery down the street."

Accordingly, her recipes offer plenty of suggestions for substitutions, along with instructions for whipping up homemade basics like raw almond milk.

The back of the book also offers a crash course in supermarket label-reading, including a 4-page list of often-overlooked wheat and dairy derivatives, from whey protein to modified food starch.

Having seen too many food-sensitive friends give in to momentary brownie or pizza cravings only to suffer the consequences for days on end, Hoover promises that "with this book, you can have everything you love without having to suffer." The hardest thing for her to leave behind? "Triple-creme cheese, and yogurt," she sighs. "But I know, for me, it's just not worth it."

Summer Fruit Crisp

Adapted from No Wheat, No Dairy, No Problem by Lauren Hoover

Yield: 6-10 servings

Ingredients:

Filling:
3 pounds of stone fruit (nectarines, peaches, apricots, plums), washed, pitted, and cut into 1" slices
½ cup agave nectar
1 teaspoon real vanilla extract
zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 teaspoon tapioca starch or 2 tablespoons oat or barley flour

Topping:
1 cup oat or barley flour, sifted
½ cup date sugar, maple sugar or sucanat
1 stick Earth Balance, cold or frozen, diced
zest of one lemon
1 teaspoon vanilla powder, optional
¼ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ cup chopped nuts (walnuts, pecans, almonds)
½ cup old fashioned rolled oats (not quick cooking)

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Toss fruit with filling ingredients and pour into a 9x12 glass baking dish or a 2-quart round soufflé dish. Set aside.

2. Put topping ingredients into a food processor with the 's' blade, and pulse until it is until it is crumbly and the size of cherries. (This can also be done with a pastry cutter in a bowl.)

3. Pour topping evenly over fruit and bake for approximately 30 minutes, until the topping is golden brown and fruit is bubbling. Let cool for 1 hour before serving.

If the way to a man's heart is truly through his stomach, Giulia Melucci has tried every trick in the book.

Or, at least in her book, I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti. As the title might imply, she's still looking for the right stomach.

In her memoir of loves won and lost, Melucci takes us on a culinary tour of her love life-- from the loss of her virginity to the near regaining of it, with several interesting but ultimately wrong-for-her men showing up in between-- the notable ones being given their own chapters, as they were, in fact, chapters in the author's own life.

Though none of the men may have lead her down the aisle, Melucci's natural instincts lead her into the kitchen with excellent results: the recipes woven into the chapters read like a kind of food diary and are alarmingly accurate indicators of the author's state of mind-- or heart, as the case may be.

For example, in the chapter "The Ethan Binder School of Cooking," Melucci's Seder menu and the time devoted to its preparation read as serious commitment. To anyone who understands the meaning that often lay beneath cooking beyond the need for basic sustenance, the meal says "I love you and want to be part of your life" more clearly than any love letter. By substituting Broccoli di Rape for bitter herbs, the Brooklyn-born Italian-American author subtly injects her own identity into the menu, suggesting a desire to share her life with Ethan rather than totally sublimate it.

In the following chapter, "Mitch Smith Licked the Plate," there are few recipes and those that are speak of disappointment and compromise (Italian Grilled Cheese for Teenage WASPs, String Bean and Potato Salad for Gringos). What else can be expected when writing about a man who could only go as far as admitting that he was "deeply drawn" to Melucci, but could never mention the word love?

Oh, and the F***-You Cakes (yellow cake, of course) that follow the break up of another relationship are priceless.

I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti, is alternately amusing, frustrating, heartbreaking, and hopeful. It would have lost me, had the author chosen to blame her marital status woes solely on the shoulders of her lovers. Fortunately, she doesn't:

...I had a remarkable ability for turning any picture into the picture I wanted to see: me with a husband. My imagination had the flexibility of a thirteen-year-old Chinese gymnast.

I found myself rooting for Melucci, but cringing a bit with each new chapter thanks to the giveaway in the title of the book-- that each new relationship would ultimately end. For anyone who has ever loved and lost, and who loves good food, I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti is worth a read.

Even if it's just for the F***-You Cakes.

Meet Giulia Melucci to discuss her book in person at Omnivore Books Saturday, July 11th from 3 to 4 pm.

Omnivore Books on Food
3885a Cesar Chavez Street (at Church)
San Francisco, CA 94131
415.282.4712

There are myriad guidebooks to Paris: Pudlow, Michelin, and Lonely Planet, to name a few and all of them worth the money. They tell you where eat, where to stay, and what to see.

And then, of course, there are guidebooks to Paris-- those that tell you all of the above plus a little bit more, like how to navigate unfamiliar social customs, how to blend in with the landscape-- in short, how not appear as though one has arrived from Central Casting to play the Ugly American. The Sweet Life in Paris by David Lebovitz is that and a bit more:

It has recipes. Lots and lots of recipes.

Granted, The Sweet Life in Paris was neither written nor is it marketed as a comprehensive guide to the sights and flavors of the city. Rather, it's more or less an organic extension of Mr. Lebovitz's blog, which chronicles his life and experiences as a San Francisco pastry chef who packed up everything he owned and moved to Paris-- and all the pleasures, pains, and frequent head-scratchings that accompany French Culture Shock.

I refer to his book as a guidebook because that is precisely how I used it on my recent visit to his adopted city-- an entertaining, human, and extremely useful guide.

For example, his chapter "The Most Important Words to Know in Paris" warns that one absolutely must say "Bonjour Monsieur" or "Bonjour Madame" to the first person one makes eye contact with in any store or restaurant or "even in an elevator." It's a minute, but extremely important bit of information to share with Americans who are by nature accustomed to a thin veneer of anonymity when out in public. That and the knowledge that even the most feeble attempt by an American to speak French goes a very long way with Parisians. Having French-speaking abilities on par with a backwards two year-old, I found this comforting knowledge and entirely true in practice.

I purchased a copy of The Sweet Life in Paris the afternoon before leaving on my trip, hoping to read it on the flight over. It's a smooth, pleasurable read that I decided to put down at around page 200 so that I might finish up in the city itself.

Perhaps I should have read one chapter further...

Prior to my visit, I contacted Mr. Lebovitz, suggesting that we might meet up for lunch or a glass of wine so that I might talk to him about this latest book of his, and to which he politely agreed. Two days into my stay, I resumed reading and was horrified by what I read in the next:

In "The Visitors", Lebovitz shares his growing distaste for out-of-towners-- especially friends of friends-- who expect him to drop everything to meet up with them. Here's an excerpt:

The final straw was when one of those friends-of-friends types, whom I foolishly agreed to meet, deeply insulted a waiter at what was once my favorite café in the Marais. The charming waiter, who liked to joke around with me, said to this fellow, who ordered his drink in English, "You should try to speak a little French, after all, you are in France!" To which my gracious guest glared and shot back, "You know what? I don't even want to try." It would have looked a little funny trying to disappear by sliding under the table, so instead, I gulped down my drink quickly and got out of there as politely as I could. And I haven't gathered up the courage to go back. After that, I swore off guests forever.

As an out-of-town friend-of-friend, I gulped and quickly shot him off an email underscoring the fact that lunch or drinks or shiny baubles were on me.

I had short list of questions I wanted to ask Lebovitz when we finally met up for lunch, which happened at 5pm and turned into a bottle of wine and no food except the obligatory bar snack that seems to arrive anywhere, anytime you order a drink in Paris. And I don't think I asked a single book-related question. I didn't really care. I was enjoying myself.

Some people read better on paper than they do in person. Sometimes the persona a blogger dons is bigger than the one he wears in real life. Neither are true, so I discovered, with Mr. Lebovitz.

After a couple of hours and a couple of glasses of red wine later, Lebovitz offered us some advice as to where to have dinner. With that tip, we said goodbye and I headed off to the suggested restaurant, A la Biche au Bois.

Upon arrival without a reservation, I looked the man I took to be the owner in the eye, said "Bonsoir, Monsieur," and, in my terrible French, apologized for not having a reservation, but that we would very much like to "eat of the food here." He looked around at the very crowded restaurant and back at me to say, "There is no room for you!" Then he paused a moment and said, gruffly, "Come back in 45 minutes."

45 minutes. No problem. But he didn't take our name, which would have been the expectation, had this been happening here in San Francisco. Instead of worrying about it, we just decided to do as he said, go next door, and drink a kir or two (which happens to be the first recipe on offer in The Sweet Life in Paris and purely a coincidental occurrence).

At the agreed-upon time, we re-appeared, and so did the tall, bald linebacker of a man who told us to come back in the first place. He waved us to the rear of the restaurant and wedged us into a tiny table next to the service station, where a basket of old silver spoons lay tantalizingly within reach.

In short, the meal was simple and wonderful. It remains one of the favorite memories of my stay in Paris. And the best part of all? When Monsieur Gruffiness came by at the end of our meal, he looked at our water glasses and said, "You'd better drink up, boys." We did as we were told and emptied them in a gulp. He then refilled them with Armagnac from an obscenely large bottle he held under his arm. His serious scowl was replaced by a grin which led me to think he may have had one or two snorts himself. He roamed the place pouring out the bottle to his guests.

From the moment I entered the restaurant to the time I left, I played the "W.W.D.L.D."* game. From how I said hello, to what I ordered, to how I attacked the cheese platter, to how I eventually (and reluctantly) said goodnight.

It was a little bit of Paris for which I am grateful. Though it could be argued that nearly any Paris guide could lead you to such a place, how many of them will tell you, an American in Paris, what to do when you get there? The Sweet Life in Paris does.

And, of course, the others don't have recipes.

*What Would David Lebovitz Do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Recipe reprinted courtesy of Sunset and chef Burak Epir

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

That's quite a mouthful.

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

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

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

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

Some (very subjective) highlights include:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lemon Sabayon
from Bouchon by Thomas Keller

Makes: Enough for one tart

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

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

Sweet Berries with Lemon and Sugar

Makes: Enough berries to garnish each tart slice

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

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

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

Makes: Enough for one 10-inch tart

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

Preparation:
1. To make the crust, in the bowl of a food processor, stir together the flour, and salt. Sprinkle the butter over the top and process for a few seconds, or just until the butter is slightly broken up into the flour but still in visible pieces. Sprinkle the water over the flour mixture evenly, then process until the mixture just starts to come together.
2. Dump the mixture out of the bowl onto 2 large sheets of plastic wrap. Press the dough together into a mound and then wrap with plastic and press into a flat disk. Refrigerate the dough until chilled, about 30 minutes or up to 1 day, or freeze for up to 1 month.

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

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

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

Host: Michael Krasny

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

Mark Kurlansky's books on Amazon.com

Listen Live to Ruth Reichl on KQED 88.5FM Mon, May 11, 2009 -- 10:00 AM.

Listen to the audio archive of Ruth Reichl on KQED's Forum.

Ruth Reichl
Ruth Reichl is best known for her work as editor in chief of Gourmet Magazine, but she's also a best selling author who tackles subjects outside the world of food. Her new book, "Not Becoming My Mother: And Other Things She Taught Me Along the Way" examines her mother's life as a woman in the early 20th century.

Host: Michael Krasny

Guest: Ruth Reichl, author, editor in chief of Gourmet Magazine, former restaurant critic for the New York Times and four-time James Beard Award winner

Explore and buy Ruth Reichl's books on amazon.com
Follow Ruth Reichl on Twitter @ruthreichl
Follow Gourmet on Twitter @gourmet
Gourmet.com website

My mother never wanted to be taken out on Mother's Day. "Don't you dare," she'd say, half-joking but half-serious. Mostly, she disliked the obligatory part of it, the thought of being surrounded by, as she said, "all those people who probably never talk to each other the rest of the year, having to be nice to the old bat because it's her day." Not us, of course, but still she had no interest in getting hauled out for overpriced mimosas and underdone eggs Benedict.

What she did like was a homemade breakfast, wobbled up the stairs as soon as the oldest of her three girls was able to carry a tray. We didn't make anything particularly fancy, but just putting together eggs, toast, and coffee can be a challenge when you're four, seven and eight, even with Dad on deck. Partly, I think, she enjoyed the simple luxury of a morning off, but it also reassured her that we'd picked up the basics of what she did to feed us, day in and day out.

As she attests in her lavishly illustrated and user-friendly new book, Williams-Sonoma Family Meals: Creating Traditions in the Kitchen, cookbook author and former PlumpJack Cafe chef Maria Helm Sinskey feels the same way. Kids should know where their food comes from, whether it means picking out carrots at the market or helping Dad fry shrimp.

This isn't a kids' cookbook; instead, it's a cooking-together kind of book, full of dishes and menus that a whole family can make and enjoy together.

Helm Sinskey, her husband (acclaimed organic winemaker Robert Sinskey) and their two girls are adorable, the styling is charming, the recipes look both tasty and accessible, and alright, I'll admit it: by page 50, I was envious (those chickens! that lavender! those sweet dirty carrots!), and by page 260, I was downright suspicious. Who were these preternaturally well-behaved children daintily cutting out star shapes from their very own homemade marshmallows? As they frolic in the meadows around the Sinskeys' gorgeous wine-country house while stuffing handfuls of fresh vegetables into their mouths and saying things like "Mommy, you make the best vanilla ice cream ever!" the whole package can seem almost too rustically perfect.

Then again, it's a Williams-Sonoma book, not real life. And dinner with the Sinskeys sure looks like fun. In a time when some kids live on juice boxes and Cheerios, and other parents treat a single cupcake like a gateway drug to a lifetime sugar binge, Helm Sinskey's approach is refreshingly down to earth.

Her family seems to make the most of that old standby, the varied and balanced diet. Fresh fruits and vegetables are treated as a joy and a treat, not like pills that have to be gooped with brownie batter before they'll go down. As a smart mom and chef, she advocates for sustainable, responsible eating, providing helpful lists of recommended seafood, for example, or the differences between grass- and grain-fed beef. But she also doesn't flinch from serving reasonable amounts of butter, cream, steak, and yes, marshmallows. She can wax rhapsodic about red lentils and yellow split peas while also giving step-by-step instructions for making your own bacon.

In fact, the rainy-day projects interspersed throughout the book, like rolling pasta and pizza dough, simmering chicken stock, and making homemade jam and ricotta cheese, really make this two books in one.

The everyday recipes are good enough for company but generally simple enough to get on the table for a family meal, especially if some little hands help shell the peas, shuck the corn, or peel the shrimp.

The projects are part science (how does yeast grow? why does milk curdle?) part kitchen technique, and part educational messy fun. Who needs a Game Boy when you can be making real, honest-to-Pete home-cured bacon? OK, that last one might take a little convincing. But a kid who can make her own bacon is a kid well-prepared for adulthood. Thank Maria Helm Sinskey for that.