This is a family of winter squash, including jack be little pumpkins, delicata and sweet dumplings, carnival, kuri, baby bear pumpkins, butternut, spaghetti squash and a cinderella pumpkin.
Photo by Julia Wiley of Mariquita Farm

Just in case you're wondering: no, you can't recycle last night's only-slightly-scorched jack o' lantern into this morning's pumpkin muffins. Sorry, greenies, into the compost bin it goes.

Why? Well, for starters, it wouldn't taste very good. Pumpkins bred to be big, beautiful, and able to sit on the porch without rotting for weeks on end are not going to be yummy, too. There are only so many characteristics that you can highlight on a gene string, and as far as it goes with pumpkins, you can find a fabulously chunky orange canvas, or you can have one that's dainty and edible. But not both. If it's big enough to carve a vampire face on, it's probably also going to be bland, stringy, and watery. Roast the seeds, yes, but put the rest to rest in your big green bin.

The baker's secret, however, is that even those cute little pumpkins, often sold under the names Sugar Pie or Sugar Pumpkin, are just not all that delicious. Compared to that supermarket workhorse, the beige-skinned butternut, even the cutest pumpkin is all bark, no bite. The butternut is dense and rich-fleshed, wonderful roasted and pureed into soups with apple and sage or a little curry powder and coconut milk. Mashed butternut is what I use for homemade pumpkin pies, pumpkin bread, and pumpkin cookies, and the only difference is how much better it tastes than actual pumpkin.

All these hard-shelled winter squashes are in the same family of cucurbits, anyway, under the same umbrella that shelters melons, cucumbers, summer squash and zucchini. Winter squash get their name not from their growing season (they need 100+ days of warm weather, ripening just at the tail end of summer and then curing on the vines for a few more weeks into early fall) but from their usefulness as a winter staple. Once cured--that is, left in the field or in a cool, airy place for a few weeks--their skin hardens, their curvy stem (a peduncle, for those botantically inclined) dries to almost wood-like firmness, and they can be stored in a cool, dry place with little loss of flavor or texture for months on end. Their only real enemies are warmth and moisture.

But good as butternuts are, there's no reason to stop there. Right now the markets are lavishly stocked with every size and crazy streaked-and-spotted shape of winter squash. There's the delicate delicata, ivory-skinned with green stripes and orange flecks over a pale yellow-peach flesh. You can slice it into narrow half-moons, massage lightly with olive oil and bake until tender. The thin skin is edible to all but the most fastidious. For those folks, cut the squash in half lengthwise, scrape out the seeds and strings, and fill with an autumnal bread or wild-rice stuffing. Bake until squash is fork-tender and filling has browned and crisped.

There are other variations on the delicata, like the dumpling squash, shaped like an oversized popover and perfect for stuffing.

The squarish, dark green buttercup squash is for those who like their squash dry and nutty, tasting like a cross between roasted chestnuts and baked sweet potato. In their Ladybug newsletters, Andy and Julia of Mariquita Farm have sung the praises of two big beige squash, the plump, round-cheeked Long Island cheese pumpkin and the deeply grooved, deep-orange fleshed Musquee de Provence squash, also called the Fairytale pumpkin for its Cinderella-coach shape.

Although, if I were a mouse looking for glamor, I'd hitch myself to a Rouge Vif d'Etampes pumpkin and wait for the fairy godmother to descend. This is the most glamorous squash of all, vivid orange-red, huge and elegantly grooved. If you've ever wanted to make a pumpkin soup and serve it in a pumpkin, this is the one you want. Not surprisingly, given its shape and its tongue-twisting French name, it's often called the Cinderella pumpkin. Carved out, it also makes a striking ice bucket for an autumn brunch.

But my favorite remains a tricky-to-find recent hybrid, the Sunshine kabocha. Bright orange skinned, it's easy to confuse with the Red Kuri, but once tasted, it can't be mistaken for anything but its amazingly delectable self. Oh, all right, I'll admit it: roasted, it tastes like chicken. Or, even better, like the incredibly savory drippings left at the bottom of the pan after you roast a chicken. Trust me: if you think you don't like squash because you've only ever eaten those bland and pasty little baked acorn squash, you owe it your tastebuds to seek out--or grow--a Sunshine kabocha. A plain old kabocha is pretty good, too, sweet and nutty, but the Sunshine variety is just nubbly orange heaven.

Once you've done something virtuously savory with your roasted squash--soup, a suave puree--then it's time for a few treats. Squash, like applesauce, adds moisture without fat to baked goods, and it seems everyone turns out a loaf or two of low-fat pumpkin bread this time of year.

Then again, we are moving into hibernation weather and a holiday mood. At least once this month, follow the lead of Alameda home baker Steven Mounce and get every Peter Pumpkin Eater at your table moaning with pleasure over this lush pumpkin bread pudding. Trust Mounce: a man with the word "homemade" tattooed on his knuckles knows what you want.

Pumpkin Bread Pudding
Serves 6-8
Did you know that canned pumpkin is rarely actual pumpkin, but rather butternut or other winter squash? Whatever you call it, plain canned pumpkin is always a handy staple, since it can be used in both sweet and savory dishes. Of course, you can also roast and mash your own for this gorgeously warming centerpiece for brunch or dessert.

Ingredients:
4 eggs
2 cups half and half
15 oz can pumpkin (not pumpkin pie filling) , or 1 3/4 cups roasted, mashed butternut or kabocha squash
¾ cup brown sugar
3 tablespoons dark molasses
¼ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
¼ teaspoon ground ginger
1 large loaf of French bread, cut into 2" cubes
½ cup walnuts, roughly chopped
¼ cup raisins or dried cranberries
3 tablespoons butter, softened
3 tablespoons brown sugar

Preparation:
1. In a large bowl, whisk eggs, half and half, pumpkin, brown sugar, molasses, salt, and spices together. Add bread cubes to bowl in batches, stirring well between each batch. Add only enough bread to soak up liquid mixture; you may not need all the bread. Let mixture rest for 15 minutes.

2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Fill a kettle or pitcher with hot water, and set aside. Lightly grease an 8"x8" glass baking dish. Stir nuts and raisins into bread mixture. Spoon mixtures loosely into baking dish. Do not pack bread mixture into dish. Mound lightly above edge of the dish if necessary.

3. Place glass baking dish into a 13"x9" baking pan. Place both dishes on the center rack of the oven. Pour hot water into larger baking pan to come up halfway on the glass pan. Bake for 30 minutes, until top is golden brown and center is set. While bread pudding is baking, stir together butter and 3 tablespoons brown sugar, and set aside.

4. When pudding is baked, remove glass pan from oven and set on a rack. (Wait to remove water-filled pan until oven has cooled.) Dot with brown sugar mixture, which will melt into a gooey caramel sauce, mmm. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Got a fabulous pumpkin recipe to share? Enter Omnivore Books' pumpkin cooking contest. Everything from soup to muffins considered, as long as the main ingredient is pumpkin. Sat. Nov. 21, 4-5pm.

With Halloween around the corner, it’s time to talk about something that really gives kids the creeps. Forget about vampires (those hunky blood suckers) or zombies (they have feelings too). What terrifies many children are cruciferous vegetables. Even the name sounds scary -- sort of like crucify or crucio (for all you Harry Potter fans).

Cruciferous vegetables, also known as brassicaceae, are the ones that hit the market in fall, just in time for Halloween. Cabbage, kale, broccoli, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts are just a few of the commonly unloved veggies that make up this plant variety. Yet although the cruciferae are often sneered at, and even loathed by some, they are hardly villains. Dubbed super vegetables, they are full of antioxidants and vitamins, are thought to have cancer-preventing and fighting agents, and also protect against cardiovascular disease. So, contrary to popular belief, these under appreciated vegetables are actually the heroes of the food world.

Yet as much as I put myself in the role of PR rep for these amazing plants, multitudes of kids (and even some adults) meet a plateful of cauliflower, kale or Brussels sprouts with scrunched up faces and pursed lips. Of course there are many people (adults and children alike) who love all things cruciferous, but I don't think it's farfetched to say these vegetables have a bad rap.

But don't lose heart. If your child has decided she hates all things cruciferous, you can trick her into getting excited about eating them. Don't worry. I'm not suggesting you hide the vegetables (as I am strongly against deceiving kids about food -- Santa Claus, however, is a different matter). Rather, I support getting your children interested in eating these amazing vegetables with their eyes wide open, and some of the little darlings will even come to love them. The younger your kids are, the easier your job. So if your kids are a little older, your task will be more difficult, but with a little effort -- along with a fair amount of Parmesan cheese and bacon -- it's possible to convince your kids that cruciferous vegetables are not only edible, but quite tasty.

Here are a few ways to get your kids to eat all things cruciferous. A few of the items on this list repeat some tips I provided last year, but as they really do work, it's worth mentioning them here again.

• Try roasting your vegetables instead of steaming or boiling them. Roasting allows the natural sugars in the vegetables to caramelize, which makes them more flavorful. It is also a great way to make sure the veggies turn out al dente instead of mushy. And, if you need another incentive, boiling and steaming emit the vegetables natural gassy odors while roasting helps contain the smells.

• Try fun colored vegetables. Right now you can find purple or yellow cauliflower, or those lovely Tuscan ones with spiky cones all over them. Even the most cauliflower-hating kid will be interested in nibbling something purple.

• Buy an entire stalk of Brussels sprouts. It's fun to take the sprouts off the stalk, and you are then left with a long green baton your kids can play with.

• Don't overcook your cruciferous veggies as they are high in gas and cooking them for too long makes them stinky. See if you can get your kids to eat the broccoli or cauliflower raw (with salad dressing or melted cheese if necessary) and then cook the rest al dente.

• Make a creamy soup. When blended with milk or cream and butter, vegetables become much more manageable for kids who reject foods out of hand because of weird textures. So if your child thinks Brussels sprout leaves are slimy, puree them.

• Add bacon and cheese (if you eat these things). Let's face it, everything really does taste better with bacon and cheese. Kale sautéed with bacon or pancetta is truly amazing. And cauliflower baked au gratin with cheese and butter is beyond decadent. Toss in your children's favorite pasta to make the dish even more appealing.

• Take your kids to a garden or farm at picking time. Picking vegetables is fun and kids are far more likely to eat something they got to commune with in the garden. Many local farms have family days where you and your brood can pick to your hearts' content.

• Let your kids pick out your weekly vegetables in the market. Go to a farmer's market if you can as they offer inviting opportunities for your little ones to touch, smell, and even talk with a farmer.

And now for that irresistible purple soup.

Roasted Purple Cauliflower Soup

Serves: 4 people

Ingredients:
1 medium head of purple cauliflower chopped into small florets
1 medium potato chopped into 1/2-inch pieces
1 small onion chopped
3 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1 cup milk (preferably whole milk)
4 Tbsp butter
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Preparation:
1. Lay the cut up cauliflower and potato in a pan. Drizzle on some olive oil, black pepper, and salt (kosher or sea salt preferably). Roast in a 400 degree oven for 20 minutes or until you can easily pierce the cauliflower and potato pieces with a fork.
2. In a medium pot, sauté the onion in 2 Tbsp butter until soft. Add in the roasted cauliflower and potato along with the chicken or vegetable stock. Cook until the broth is heated through.
3. Using a hand or stand blender, blend the cauliflower mixture until all chunks are gone and the soup is smooth.
4. Add the mixture back to the pot and mix in the milk. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Bring the soup to a low simmer.
5. Mix in the Parmesan cheese and the remaining 2 Tbsp butter. Serve.

Drizzle your baklava with local honey. Photo of Potrero del Sol community garden's honey by Bill Basquin.

Well, there's no getting around it. My birthday is making its annual appearance in just a few days. Apart of the whole getting-older thing—I now believe that specifying the decade is detail enough, and if you want more you're going to have to wrestle me down and and force-feed me chocolate mousse until you can get into my purse—I'm actually rather fond of birthdays. Cards, new socks, licking icing off the candles, what's not to like? Given that there's only one day of the year when you can get total strangers to be nice to you for no reason, I don't understand those tight-lipped, don't-make-a-fuss types hating on their birthdays every year.

Anyway, they're lying. When my mother turned 70 a few years ago, she insisted that no recognition be given. No cards, no calls, no nothing, no how. I tried to abide, as did her beau, himself a hale and hearty 70-something. Naturally, she called both of us, late in the evening, irate and wanting to know why we'd blown off her birthday. By the time the day rolled around, it seemed, she's changed her mind and wanted the whole deal: phone calls, presents, pink icing roses, telegrams if only they still existed. My feeble little text message wasn't nearly good enough.

This month, of course, is happy birthday Libra month. Now Libras love Libras, so if you're lucky enough to have been born in October, you probably have a whole pile of lucky Libra pals. And there's nothing as much fun as a multi-headed Libra party monster. Take it from me: a party thrown by Libras is a good party: charming company, tasty munchies, lovely cocktails, just enough misbehavior to make the recap entertaining, but not so much that you have to reupholster the couch and buy schnapps for the neighbors. (If you want that sort of party, you wait a week and throw a shindig for the Scorpios.)

OK, so maybe I'm biased, but I'm also experienced, having written the book on this. And if you want to hear more, tune in to Mouthful Sunday night between 7 and 8pm on KRBC 91FM, when I'll be chatting about food, love, and astrology with host Michele Anna Jordan.

So how do you entertain your Libra lovelies? Well, keep in mind that Libras hate to be tied down. We're the sign of the scales, after all, and we like to keep everything in balance, some of this and some of that. We're noshers by nature, tasters who would happily take a forkful off everyone's plate, if we could do it gracefully. So the Libra party is full of little snacklets, tasty bites we can pop in our mouths without having to stop talking.

My dream Libra party menu would be Mediterranean in its drift, with savory little lamb kebabs dunked in herby Greek yogurt, glasses of champagne sparkling with floating pomegranate seeds, grated carrot salad drifted with a chiffonade of mint. And for dessert, a sweet and sticky baklava, not exactly Greek-authentic but absolutely delicious nonetheless. So enjoy, and happy birthday, Libra lovelies!

Birthday Baklava for Libras
Adapted from The Astrology Cookbook: A Cosmic Guide to Feasts of Love

Filling:
2 cups walnuts, blanched almonds, or pistachios, or a mixture of all three, finely chopped
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons honey
Pinch of salt
One of the following flavorings: 1 teaspoon grated orange and 1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom; 1 teaspoon cinnamon and a pinch of ground cloves; 1 teaspoon rosewater; 1 teaspoon orange flower water

1/2 pound phyllo, defrosted
1/2 cup butter, melted

Honey syrup:
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 cup honey
1/2 tablespoon lemon juice
1/3 cup water
One of the following flavorings: 1/2 tablespoon grated orange rind; 1 stick cinnamon or 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon; 1/2 tablespoon rosewater

1. Preheat oven to 325°F. Lightly grease an 8-by-8-inch baking pan. Unfold phyllo dough and trim into 8-by-8-inch squares. Cover sheets with a damp cloth.

2. In a small bowl, mix finely chopped nuts, sugar, honey, salt, and your choice of flavorings. Set aside.

3. Spread a phyllo sheet over the bottom of the baking pan. Using a pastry brush, lightly brush sheet with melted butter. Repeat with 5 more sheets, lightly buttering each sheet before adding the next.

4. Spread approximately 2/3 cup of nut mixture over 6th phyllo sheet. Layer 4 sheets (buttering each one) on top of the nuts. Spread another 2/3 cup of the nut mixture on top sheet, and top with another 4 sheets (buttering between each one). Spread with last 2/3 cup of nut mixture. Top with 6 sheets, buttering each one and finishing with a final layer of butter.

5. Using a sharp knife, make four equal cuts (about 1 1/2 inches apart) through the top layer of pastry. Then make eight equal diagonal cuts (approximately 1 inch apart) across these strips to form 18 diamond shapes. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, until pastry is crisp and pale golden.

6. While baklava is baking, make the syrup. In a heavy-bottomed pan, heat sugar, honey, lemon juice, and water to boiling. Keep a close eye on it, as the syrup will froth and foam up. Add orange rind, cinnamon stick, or ground cinnamon, if using. Over medium-low heat, simmer for 10 minutes, until syrup has thickened slightly. If using rose water, add now. Remove from heat and pour into a pitcher. Let cool.

7. Pour syrup over hot pastry. (Alternately, let pastry cool to room temperature before cutting. Reheat syrup to almost boiling, then pour hot syrup over cool pastry. See note. ) You may not need all of the syrup. Following the previously made cuts, cut pastry all the way through into diamonds and let syrup soak in for at least 3 hours before serving.

Note: The trick to ensuring a crunchy, sticky pastry is to pour cool syrup over hot pastry, or hot syrup over cool pastry. As long as the pastry and syrup are opposite in temperature when they come together, you won’t end up with soggy baklava.

Last weekend's fat harvest moon flipped a switch, and all of a sudden, it's fall. Tomatoes still shine in the garden, but now's the time to gorge on (or can) what's ripe, and accept that what's green now will still be green at Thanksgiving. At the farmers' market, grapes, figs, pomegranates, and winter squash are muscling out the last peaches and melons of the season.

If you're a Northeast transplant like me, you can't cross off the first week in October without craving the first bite of a snappy fresh apple, all crunch and tang. And any apple is better when you've picked it yourself right off the tree, blue sky painted between the branches and the promise of hot cider and fresh cider doughnuts to come.

As a kid, every autumn held a sunny October weekend where my mom would toss my sisters and I into the back of the Volvo (ah, the jouncing-around, sister-jabbing joys of the pre-carseat era!) and head out to the country to go apple picking. This was the Garden State in the 70s, and there was still a lot of working farmland around. Even my hometown, an otherwise drab suburb whose last exciting moment happened in 1780, had a small farm smack in the middle of it, right across the street from my elementary school.

It didn't take long to shake loose from the strip malls and find a place where we could run through the trees, getting stung by yellowjackets drunk on fermenting fallen fruit and hauling back bags bulging with Winesaps and Macouns. Always next to the dusty parking lot was a little farm market selling cloudy, fresh-pressed apple cider, boxed apple pies and cider doughnuts, popped fresh from a greasy, batter-spattered contraption that moved rings of batter along a conveyor belt of bubbling oil, flipping, frying, and finally spitting them down a chute to be sugared and sold.

What's a cider doughnut, you ask? Oh, you poor deprived child, you. Yes, here in California you had sunshine and skateboarding, while we had slush and mittens, but the doughnuts, and the snow days, were worth it. Cider doughnuts are nothing more than cake doughnuts made with apple cider in the dough, usually rolled in cinnamon sugar and best served minutes from the fryer, but they have a mythical connection to autumn, part of deep blue skies and the crunch of leaves underfoot, geese flying in V's overhead and the first smell of woodsmoke after dinner.

Recreating this experience on the West Coast can take a little doing. For the full sticky-fingered, apple-and-doughnut experience, you need to hit the road and head up to the gold country northeast of Sacramento, near Placerville. To Apple Hill, to be exact, where the foothills of the Sierras offer the warm days, chilly nights, and colder winters that apples like. Apple fritters, hayrides, cider and u-picks abound, although the varieties of apples lean more towards Galas and Fujis-- sweeter, milder apples that don't need as many below-freezing winter chill hours as their hardier East Coast cousins. Most likely to scratch that East-Coast itch is the charming Rainbow Orchards, in Camino, which offers excellent fresh-pressed cider and hot cider doughnuts in their barn, along with sprawling acres of apple trees, live bluegrass music, and lots of room for picnicking.

Closer to home, you can take a meandering drive on the back roads west of Petaluma to the Chileno Valley Ranch. Here, between folded hills still lion-colored from summer's long dry days, are sprig-headed quail skittering across the road while hawks ride the rising air currents overhead. Herds of black Holsteins and buff Jerseys drowse beneath the oak trees.

You can see the small organic orchard as you drive up, planted on a gentle slope running down to the barn. Nearby are chicken coops, some vigorously baah-ing goats and sheep, and a lavish flower garden brimming with roses. Sally Gale, who owns the ranch with her husband Mike (the ranch property has been in her family since 1856), is usually on hand to walk pickers through the trees, pointing out green, grapefruit-sized Mutsus (great for baking) and dainty lunchbox-sized Pink Ladies and Pinovas, along with Molly's Delicious and fat, late-ripening Arkansas Black Twigs. In the barn, where you go to pay for your haul ($2/lb) is a small table with some of the ranch's other products, which might include eggs, tomatoes, red pears, dried beans, and the ranch's own grass-fed local beef.

If the scene at Chileno Valley is a little low-key for your taste, then don't miss the signs for the Peter Pumpkin Patch on your way back. Follow the (naturally) pumpkin-shaped signs to Spring Hill Road, where the otherwise cow-centric Spring Hill Cheese Company dairy is decked out in full haybale-and-pumpkin drag through the end of October. There is an acres-wide field dotted with fat orange jack-o-lanterns on the vine, each more carve-worthy than the last, stacks of edible winter squash in all sizes and shapes (carnival, acorn, rouge vif d'etampes, munchkin, banana, and more), pyramids of hay to climb and jump from, a tractor-pulled wagon, even a very patient cow to milk. The air, it's true, is tangy with the smell of cow pat (a scent that always made a rancher pal of mine breathe deep, exhaling with satisfaction, "Ah, the smell of money!"), but there are plenty of picnic tables nonetheless.

What's actually the most fun, though, is the dig-your-own-potato patch. The appeal isn't immediately apparent--walk across the road from the pumpkins, and you'll find yourself in a field of scrubby weeds. Pick up one of the long gardening forks provided, however, and look for a dried-out stalk, remnants of what was once a green and growing potato plant. Jab the fork in about 8 inches from the stalk, dig, wiggle, and lift, and voila! Buried treasure, in the shape of silky-skinned Yukon Golds. It is oddly satisfying and hard to stop, not quite this kind of gold, but a lot easier to find, and only $1/lb.

Now that the weather is cooling off, I'm in the mood for slowly simmered stews. After a summer of grilling outside, it's nice to stay indoors and hunker down with a meal that bubbles for hours and makes the house smell warm and inviting. Add in some bacon and wine and the dish becomes even more alluring. Sunny days that meander into cool crisp nights are a perfect time to slow cook meals.

Braising is also the most economical way to serve meats. Unlike grilling, where the most tender cuts of meat do best, stews and braises need cheaper cuts of meat to really shine. After starting the cooking process by quickly searing your beef, pork or poultry, the meat spends most of its time stewing in a liquid (usually broth, juice or wine) where the tough connective tissues break down and become so tender they fall apart. This is why you can't rush a stew.

Braises can be cooked on top of the stove or in the oven, usually in a big pot (I think a cast iron one works best, particularly one covered in enamel as the heat distributes evenly). Slow cookers (or crock pots) are also perfect if you have one.

Normally I stew beef, pork or chicken when braising, but last week I was in the mood for something a little different and ended up buying some turkey thighs instead along with pancetta, brown mushrooms and a bottle of red wine. I envisioned something between a coq au vin and beef bourguignon, but with turkey.

I started by simmering the pancetta in some olive oil and onions. After removing these from my pot, I seared the turkey thighs and then simmered them with the pancetta and onions in red wine and chicken broth, along with some of the early girl tomatoes I roasted and froze the week before. After an hour and a half in the oven, the turkey meat was literally falling off the bone (I could barely lift the meat out of the pot without it falling off the fork). After separating the meat from the bones, I placed the turkey back into the pot where it continued to simmer on top of the stove while I browned some sliced mushrooms and thyme in butter. Feeling like more gravy was in order, I sprinkled in some corn starch and then added more wine and broth to the mushrooms along with salt and pepper. I then added all this into the turkey stew and simmered for another hour.

The result was an aromatic ragu full of nuanced flavor. I was wishing I had some homemade pasta to go with it. Or any pasta for that matter. But as my Mother Hubbard's cupboard was bare, I instead slapped some frozen puff pastry on top and baked for 20 minutes. The puff pastry rose beautifully and added a lovely buttery finish to the dish. If you're not interested in dealing with pastry dough, however, pasta would be a perfect compliment, particularly pappardelle.

With puff pastry or pasta, I really love how the ragu turned out. The turkey was incredibly tender, while the gravy was rich and complex. Served with a green salad, it was the perfect way to end a fall evening with friends.

Wine Braised Turkey Ragu with Puff Pastry

Serves: 4 - 6

Ingredients:
2 large turkey thighs skinned and seasoned with salt and pepper
1/2 cup chopped pancetta or thick-cut bacon
1 large onion chopped
1 Tbsp fresh thyme
2 cups red wine
2 cups chicken broth
2 cups roasted tomatoes or 2 Tbsp tomato paste or 1 can chopped tomatoes
1 cup sliced brown mushrooms
1 tsp corn starch
2 Tbsp butter
Salt and pepper to taste
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 sheet frozen puff pastry (store bought or homemade if you're an overachiever)

Preparation:

1. Heat your pan or pot on medium high. If you are using your oven to make this dish, make sure to use a large ovenproof pot. If using a slow cooker, you can use a regular large frying pan.

2. Sauté your chopped pancetta or bacon in 1 Tbsp olive oil. Add in the onions after a couple of minutes and cook for about five minutes on medium heat or until the onions are glossy.

3. Remove onions and pancetta/bacon from the pan, turn heat up to high, and add the second tablespoon of olive oil to the pan. When the oil is nice and hot, sear the turkey thighs on both sides, letting each side cook for at least 3-4 minutes so you get a crispy exterior.

4. If using tomato paste, then remove the turkey thighs from the pan now so you can brown the paste for a couple of minutes. If using roasted or canned tomatoes, don't add them yet.

5. Add the onions and pancetta/bacon back to the pan with the turkey thighs and then add in 1 1/2 cups of both red wine and chicken stock. Scrape the bottom of the pan so you pick up all the caramelized goodness down there. If using roasted or canned tomatoes, add these now and stir in. Season with salt, pepper, and half of your fresh or dried thyme.

6. You now have three choices:

• If using a slow cooker, you should now transfer everything to your crock pot and cook according to your slow cooker's directions.
• If baking (which is what I do), then stick your ovenproof pot with its lid on top into a 400 degree oven to bake for an hour and a half.
• If cooking on top of the stove, reduce heat to between low and simmer, cover the pot and cook for an hour and a half.

7. After the stew cooks, remove the meat from the turkey bones, set the bones aside to throw out, and return all the meat to the pot to simmer.

8. In a separate medium-sized pan, heat your butter and then sauté the sliced mushrooms with the remainder of the thyme along with some salt and pepper.

9. After sautéing for a few minutes, mix in the corn starch and then add the remaining 1/2 cup each of wine and chicken stock. Mix to create a rich gravy and then add all this to the turkey mixture.

10. Season with more salt and pepper and then simmer for hour.

11. 20 minutes before you're ready to serve the dish, pour everything into an oven-proof dish and top with puff pastry. Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes or until the pastry is browned.

12. Serve with a green salad and crusty bread.

Team Sauce's strategy: an array of accoutrement to ease down the sucking process

155 oysters, 10 minutes, 1 stomach of steel...that's what it takes to be the reigning champ of McCormick & Kuleto's 16th Annual Shuck & Swallow Oyster Challenge.

Reigning Champs 2 years in a row: Aaron Young and Ryan Seamus (Team Farallon)

That's right, Team Farallon took down 155 oysters with Ryan Seamus shucking at the speed of light, and Aaron Young showcasing his perfected method of swallowing and spitting.

Young divulged that his secret to success was in keeping a glass of Muscadet wine by his side to rinse out and refresh his palate over the course of downing an absurd number of oysters. He claimed that the acidity of the wine helped to wash out the taste and keep his eye on the prize.

I came home curious to learn more about Young's secret weapon. Wikipedia confirmed that Muscadets are indeed "fresh, crisp, and acidic, light-bodied, and almost always dry with very little, if any residual sugar. Left over carbon dioxide from the bottling process can leave the wines with a slight prickly sensation." Just the kind of sensation one may seek out when trying to cut the buttery flavor and texture of oysters I suspect.

As I read on, my suspicions were once again confirmed! Turns out, Jon Bonné, wine editor of the San Francisco Chronicle, had in fact called Muscadet -- the minerally white wine of France's Loire Valley -- "the perfect oyster wine" back in 2005. It was this bold statement that actually led to another bacchanalian oyster-centric event of SF past: The Great Oyster Smackdown of 2007, which pit fresh, fruit-driven West Coast wines against minerally, lean French wines. Check out that gem of an article if you're interested in finding out which wines won out as the best pairing for raw Pacific oysters.

Sorry for the digression. Back to the Shuck & Swallow of 2009.

Team Asia de Cuba's Strategy: cute t-shirts and pregame bloody mary shooters

Bay Area radio personality Sterling James returned for the 12th year in a row as the presiding Master of Ceremonies, and the Deadlies Band provided some surferdelic tunes for the dozen or so teams (one shucker, 1 swallower) from Bay Area restaurants.

Home Team McCormick & Kuleto's: Sarber and Roger, shucked and sucked 84 bad boys. I counted them myself.

Celebrity and media judges included Chef Ryan Scott, Liam Mayclem, host of CBS's Eye on the Bay, Lynne Char Bennett from SF Chronicle, Sarah Duxbury from SF Business Times, Kathleen Jay from SF Examiner, Matt McFetridge from Northside SF Publications, Erin Roth from WHERE Magazine, Icky from KLLC-FM, Jayn from Alice 97.3, Kimmie Taylor from 102.9 KBLX, among others (including yours truly).

There was Blood…

Yeah...ouch.

Sweat...

Actually, Roger from McCormick & Kuleto's was cool as a cucumber. Made it look downright easy.

...and Oyster Juice.

The Swallowing half of Team Anchor & Hope

Following the competition, a $30 per person oyster and wine tasting, benefiting The Marine Mammal Center was held. The Marine Mammal Center saves seals, rescues and provides veterinary care for injured marine mammals along 600 miles of California coast, and educates the public about ocean health.

6 different oysters and 12 different wines were featured. My favorites of each were the Sinku Oysters from Denman Island, British Columbia -- salty (due to the cold water where they grow), meaty, creamy and rich -- and the Morgan Sauvignon Blanc, Monterey, CA 2008 -- crisp and apricoty.

It may be a long long while until some of yesterday's contestants can even look at an oyster again, but I bet many of the spectators are hooked for life.

Dominic (9-years-old, Shuck & Swallow three-year veteran, oyster count for the evening: 47) and fellow oyster lover, Tu.

16th Annual Shuck & Swallow Oyster Challenge
Ghiradelli Square / McCormick & Kuleto's
October 6, 2009

What do you eat when the grapes are ripe? Well, if you're surrounded by vineyards in northern Italy, you take your grapes and make a merenda, a snack, by pressing them into focaccia dough, sprinkling on olive oil, sugar, maybe a little anise seed, and baking the whole thing puffy and golden. And you call it schiacciata d'uva, which translates, appropriately enough, as "squashed grape thing."

But what if you can't get to Italy this autumn? While I was living in New York City, I discovered schiacciata d'uva on the fall menu at the Sullivan Street Bakery, along with a bunch of other rustic Italian-inspired breads and pastries. I'd walk 8 blocks from my office in Hell's Kitchen to get a slice in a paper bag, then eat all of it on the way back, wiping olive oil from my fingers as I went and wishing I'd bought two.

Spring, summer, and winter, I'd make the same walk for a slice of their Roman-style, thin-crust pizzas, topped with mushrooms or celery root, radicchio or potato. And they were good, but fall's grape flatbread was spectacular: pockets of juicy sweetness nestled into chewy, yeasty crust and crumb, accented by the surprising, subtly medicinal-herbal scent of anise.

Last time I checked, we had a lot of grapes growing around here, And what with all the slick Italian pizza joints around, you'd think we'd be rolling in grape-topped foccacia right about now. But nope: just as New York City has no Indian pizza, San Francisco has no schiacciata d'uva, as far as I've been able to discover. But, you have yeast, you have grapes, you have flour, sugar, a little anise seed and an inch or so of last night's white wine, and you can make your own.

This recipe began from the Focaccia from Genoa recipe in Carol Field's cookbook Focaccia: Simple Breads from the Italian Oven, further adapted by baker/blogger Jen McAllister, then messed around with in my own kitchen. Jen, who became a friend while we were both living the sweet outer-borough life in NYC (she in Queens, me in Brooklyn), wrote one of my favorite blogs, Prepare to Meet Your Bakerina. We shared a similar obsession with making bread, cake, jam, and pie, and an equal enthusiasm for the late Laurie Colwin, out-of-print British cookbooks, and the Writers' Colony at Dairy Hollow in Arkansas, where we both did fellowships.

Sadly, law school's gain is the blogosphere's loss; she's now out on the West Coast, a good thing, but too busy as a lawyer-to-be to blog much anymore. Happily, though, her site offers a big archive to sift through, including step-by-step pictures of this very focaccia in action.

But, back to the schiacciata. Given that the word means "squashed," this is a thinner, flatter focaccia than the usual fluffy mattress. It's mostly crust and topping, with just a thin layer of chewy, pull-y crumb inside. Tiny garnet-colored champagne grapes are perfect for this, but most red, blue, or purple seedless grapes would be fine. I wouldn't use Concords or Muscats, though, as they're too sweet and strongly flavored.

Unless you have a huge aversion to anything remotely licorice-flavored, don't skip the anise seeds. You don't need a lot of them, but you do need some. If you have some larger-crystal sugar, like turbinado (also sold under the brand name Sugar in the Raw), it adds a pleasant crunch.

This is a delicious before-dinner nosh with a little smudge of ripe, oozy tallegio. For breakfast the next morning, I'd warm up a slab in the toaster oven and serve it with some of Bellwether's crescenza cheese, the recipe for which these Marin cheesemakers learned from a small dairy near Milan. Buon appetito!

Schiacciata d'Uva

Sponge
1 cup flour
2/3 cup lukewarm water
1 tsp regular yeast
Dough
1/2 cup tepid water
1/3 cup olive oil
1/3 cup white white
2 tsp salt
2 1/2 cups flour
olive oil for bowl
Topping
2 tbsp olive oil
2 cups grapes, removed from stems
1/2 tsp anise seeds, or to taste
1-2 tbsp sugar

1. To make the sponge, dissolve yeast in a little of the lukewarm water. Add flour to the yeast mixture, then stir in enough water to make a stiff dough. You may not need all the water.

2. Cover sponge and let rise until softened and very bubbly, about 2 hours.

3. Scoop sponge (it will be sticky and stringy) into the bowl of a stand mixer, if you have one, or into a regular large bowl if not. Using the paddle attachment or a wooden spoon, beat in the water, olive oil, wine, and salt. Add the flour in 3 parts, beating well after each addition. The dough should be fairly slack.

4. Using a dough hook, knead until smooth and elastic, about 6 minutes. Or, knead by hand for 10-12 minutes. Try lightly oiling your hands if dough sticks to them. If the dough gets goopy and threatens to wrap around your hands and turn them into enormous gooey dough paws, add a little more flour, but go easy. Better to suffer a little now than to end up with a tight, heavy bread later.

5. Swish a couple of teaspoons of olive oil around a big clean bowl. Turn the dough into it, turn to coat, then cover the bowl and let the dough rise in a warmish place for 2 to 3 hours. Because you're using a fairly small amount of yeast, don't expect a big jump at this stage of the game. But it should rise somewhat, and have a nice supple, stretchy texture.

6. Lightly oil a large sheet pan, about 10 x 15. Punch down the dough and turn it out onto the sheet pan, spreading and stretching until it is forms a nice even rectangle. Dimple the dough with your fingertips. Brush with 1 tablespoon of olive oil.

7. Let dough rise again for another 40 minutes or so. Preheat oven to 425F. Just before baking, dimple the dough again and brush with another tablespoon of oil. Scatter grapes over dough, followed by anise and sugar.

8. Bake on middle rack for 30-35 minutes, until gently puffed and golden brown.

Can you tell what is in the foreground of this blurry little image, shining like a diamond? It's not a real diamond, you know. It is a piece of ice. Not just some run-of-the-mill, made by a cold, inhuman machine kind of ice. It isn't even technically an iced cube and don't you dare to call it one. It is, to my eyes at least, the Hope Diamond of frozen liquids. Why? Because it has given me 20 glimmering karats of hope at the end of a rather traumatic afternoon, that's why.

It is a Gläce ice sphere (US $8.00). Hand carved and smoothed by a genuine, thinking, living, feeling person. And it doesn't hurt that it happens to be the sexiest ice cube sphere I have ever laid my now-swollen eyes upon. Or arched a carefully-shaped eyebrow over. Just ask any Playboy Bunny. She can tell you a thing or two about sexy ice. Or the need for a stiff drink.

It is also emblematic of why I am finding it so difficult to pay my rent this month. I see sparkly things and simply must have them.

I'm sure my landlord can understand. It's been a hard month for a lot of people, but especially for me-- turning 40 absolutely does things to a person. The body begins to sag in unfortunate places and sprout hairs in others. Action must be taken: an injection here, a little waxing there, and everything old is new again.

Or should be.

Never trust an aesthetician who accepts coupons. Or is unable to speak fluent English. Or suffers from pre-operable glaucoma. And never, ever, ever pay up front. Or in cash. It is a mistake I won't make twice, believe me. What should have been a short, happy trip to the Fountain of Youth (one that might finally help me snag the rich, attractive, available doctor or lawyer that I am positively destined to snag) took a sharp detour into hell. At one point in my day, I thought I might have need of both a doctor and a lawyer. Of course, in my current state, I can no longer afford either of them.

And this is why I am sitting here in the middle of the afternoon, drowning my sorrows in a top shelf cocktail with only a bartender and an $8 piece of ice to console me:

"Should I not be able to feel my mouth like this?" I asked the woman who had recently finished jabbing my lips with a hypodermic needle and had since moved on to the slightly less sensitive area of my soon-to-be-smooth brow. At least that's what I meant to say. To my great shock, I simply could not move my lips! The words I spoke came out sounding like gibberish. Not unlike my aesthetician, who muttered a string of mostly unintelligible words that sounded like something in the way of a vague apology when she looked closely at her handiwork after re-examining the vials of Botox and collagen she had apparently confused with each other.

"Don't worry," she said, "It don't last long. A couple of weeks." Apart from her demand to be paid up front, it was the one thing she said that I clearly understood.

That un-American creature botoxed my lips! I slapped my forehead in disbelief only to find the travel time from hand to head had been significantly shortened. Collagen! She then proceeded to click open the garage door of her "office" and motioned for me to leave. I should have know better than to trust any place of beauty business that smells of motor oil. And is completely devoid of mirrors.

I felt a bit nervous being out on the street in such a condition. Was my face hopelessly ruined? Was I now (temporarily, thank God!) some sort of freak? Would I frighten small children? The last part I was more or less fine with, since children typically frighten me, and the evening of such a score was the only solace I could take from my current state of being.

I did what any sensible person would do in this situation: I put on my most dramatic pair of Jackie O sunglasses ($250 from Nina Ricci we share the same birthday, you know. Jackie and I. I don't know about Nina.) and went for a cautious stroll. I gathered up enough courage to examined my new self in the nearest reflection which, as fortune would have it, was a streak-free plate glass window fronting the Christofle store on Grant Avenue. Christofle! A sign from heaven!

The damage was not as severe as I would have imagined. My forehead had turned into something akin to a fivehead, to be sure, but the sunglasses helped to disguise it. Besides, I thought, I'm a man. The brow-increase might just make me look as though I had extra brain capacity, with room to grow. And the lips? They drooped and were-- for the time being-- essentially useless, but the overall look was rather French and therefore exotic. I could absolutely make this new look work for me.

I was, however, exhausted and just a tad on edge from my aesthetic experience. With the exception of those directly connected to my lips, every nerve in my body was afire. I needed a drink. A strong one. But how on earth could I get that calming dose of alcohol into my system if I couldn't even manage to lift my upper lip?

Fortunately, Christofle thinks of everything! Though my speech was a terrible, slurry mess (remember, I did look French, so I managed to pull that off beautifully), I managed to convey my needs to the shop girl by performing what I imagined to be the universal charade clues for the words "drink" and "suck." She smiled and raised her eyebrows in a way I can no longer manage, disappeared for a moment, and returned with just the thing I needed-- not one, but two sterling silver champagne straws from their Fidélio collection ($165 per pair). Two! I took this as a sign from God that, not only was I going to get my much-deserved drink, but that I was about to find that rich man to suck it all down with, to boot!

I didn't even wait for the girl to wrap my purchase. I headed for the nearest, nicest bar-- a restaurant bar; one with leather seats and flattering lighting, naturally-- and ordered what any young, handsome, cosmopolitan French-looking man would at two in the afternoon: that's right, a Cosmo! Not just any Cosmo, mind you, but a Grey Goose Orange Cosmo, because I'm not stupid. Knowing instinctively that Grey Goose is a French vodka, I would have pronounced it oh-rahnzh, had my mouth been cooperative. Instead, I ingeniously wrote my order onto a cocktail napkin with my Mont Blanc Bohème Arabesque Pen (don't even ask how much that was), making certain that the "n" in Orange look as much like a French "n" as I could without being too obvious.

"I can tell you are a man of," the bartender paused a moment here, "refined tastes. Perhaps you would like me to chill that down with the most beautiful, hand crafted ice that money can buy?"

The most beautiful ice money can buy? How could I refuse? Especially since, if I played my cards right, I would end up having another, richer man buying me round after round of luxury cocktails. I needed to be pampered. I needed to be taken care of. I needed that ice! However, given my current inability to register any sort of emotion other than pouting disappointment on my face, I must have looked somewhat nonplussed, so the bartender added:

"According to their product page, 'The presence of minerals, additives and other pollutants found in artesian sources may contaminate the taste on premium liquors and drinks. That is why Gläce is made with purified water to ensure its tasteless quality.'"

I was livid at the thought that, for all these years, my premium liquors were being contaminated by additives and pollutants! Just the thought that I was innocently putting such horrible things into my body made my forehead bulge with rage. Though at the moment not fully able, I was both ready and willing to pay for premium ice. At that point I was willing to pay anything for tasteless quality.

He then asked for my patience as he removed a piece of that gorgeous 2.5' diameterice of crystalized, purified water from its elegant packaging and lowered it into my martini glass, stating that the ice "sphere" must be "aged" for a period of three to four minutes to "acclimate to room temperature and cause a frost to form on the surface."

The bartender, sensitive to my needs as all good ones are, saw the alarm registering upon my face. How he managed to do so under the circumstances is a testament to his subtle powers of observation. He then said, "Of course, if you don't want to wait that long (and who in his right mind would, after a day like I'd had?), I could just pour your drink over it right now."

I sat for a brief moment looking at that beautiful orb of frozen water shining up at me like like a diamond. It was then that I christened my particular sphere the "Hope Diamond," which was, apart from the Koh-i-Noor, the biggest, most beautiful diamond I could think of. So what if the Hope diamond is blue. So is water, which is what the damned ice cube sphere is made of. So what if the Hope diamond is famously cursed. Look at Liz Taylor! She once owned the thing and she won two Oscars! And had 127 husbands! Apart from all that has happened to me today, I am feeling lucky. I am positively filled with hope. Especially since a rather handsome gentleman in an expensive-looking suit has just seated himself at the bar, just across from me.

I gave the the bartender the international hand sign for "Just pour me the fucking drink."

As he poured, he said, "Just see what happens now.... watch the ice 'crackle' and 'spider' but not fall apart!" I wish to God he had warned me. My beautiful diamond crackled and spidered! I loathe flaws of any kind. Especially crackles, which are precisely what got me into this particular situation in the first place. My lovely Hope diamond was now hopelessly ruined, worthless.

Or was it? Earlier that afternoon, I had thought my beautiful-but-(slightly)-aging face was ruined, but I survived! I was strong. I realized that if I could make an outsized brow and paralytic lips work in my favor, than I could make this expensive, "spidered" chunk of ice work to my advantage. Like me, it hadn't broken apart-- it was still doing what it was meant to do and I was doing the same!

I pulled a Christofle champagne straw from my Jack Spade Crown Twill Haversack messenger bag ($365). As I placed one end of the straw into the martini glass, I playfully nudged the ice about. I then lowered myself seductively towards the cocktail and carefully slipped the other end of the straw between my lips. It was then that I noticed the handsome man in the suit watching me. He smiled. If I didn't know any better, I might even say he looked shocked.

My plan was working!

"Sterling silver champagne straws are sexy," I thought to myself. "Luxury ice is sexy. I am sexy. Now get to work!." I sucked at the straw a little harder, hoping to fill myself with a bit of extra liquid courage before making my next move.

I motioned the bartender towards me and, with a flick of my head in the direction of the suited man, I indicated that I would like to buy him a drink. Then by giving my head a sharp dip towards my glass, I signaled that I should very much like his drink to be cooled by a hunk of $8 ice. I complimented myself on having the forethought to remove the straw from my mouth before making that last gesture.

And then, slowly and seductively, I reached back into my bag, gently placed the second straw on the bar, and playfully patted the bar stool next to me. Who in their right mind could refuse an offer like that? I would have smiled at him if that were at all possible but, knowing full well how absolutely French I looked, I was full of hope that the next round of drinks was going to be on him. If I played my cards right, he might just pick up the whole tab.

Or even pay off my landlord.

If he sits next to me, I won't speak a word, but only because I can't. Instead, I will subtly mime to the bartender that I would like him to repeat his story about the Gläce spheres. If I could speak with any sort of clarity at all, I would certainly do so myself, alluding to my own, special tasteless qualities. The ones that allow me to enhance the specialness of other, richer men without diluting or polluting their strength or unique character. I'm good like that, you know.

Fortunately, I'm very good with my hands. More than once they have been called "expressive" and "artistic". I'll just maneuver that big hunk of ice around my glass and mesmerize him with my technique. I don't need words to prove to anyone I'm tasteless. He'll get the picture.

And the bar tab.

I'll let you know how it all turns out!

BlogHer Food '09 Keynote with Ree Drummond, David Lebovitz and Elise Bauer

Founded in 2005, BlogHer's mission is to create opportunities for women who blog to pursue exposure, education, community and economic empowerment. Today, it reaches more than 15 million women each month via a Web hub with a listing of over 22,000 blogs by women (ranging from topics on politics, news, and technology, to food, health and family), a publishing network of more than 2500 blog affiliates, and annual conferences like the inaugural BlogHer Food '09 which took place Saturday, September 26th.

I felt giddy as a school girl as I ran my finger down the list of speakers lined up:

David Lebovitz, David Lebovitz: Living the Sweet Life in Paris
Diane Cu and Todd Porter, White on Rice Couple
Elise Bauer, Simply Recipes
Heidi Swanson, 101 Cookbooks
Helen Dujardin, Tartelette
Jaden Hair, Steamy Kitchen
Matt Armendariz, Matt Bites
Pim Techamuanvivit, Chez Pim/Menu for Hope
Ree Drummond, The Pioneer Woman Cooks
...among others.

These are the blogs I turned to for inspiration and guidance when I first decided to create my own. These are the people I looked to and thought, yes, that is what I want to do! To carve out a little space of my own, building my own story with each scrap of experience, word, or crumb I shared with the world.

As I sat amongst 300 fellow food writers/bloggers, rapt with attention as our blog crushes talked about the trials and tribulations, joys and inspirations of food blogging, I felt a wonderful sense of community. Regardless of where we were from, what we liked to write about, how long we've been at it, we had at least one thing in common...food. And the inexplicable need to talk about it.

And talk we did.

The day was divided into three tracks: Visual, Vocation, and Values, with speakers represented from diverse backgrounds and perspectives.

"Developing Your Visual Voice" -- Matt Armendariz and Heidi Swanson

The Visual Track focused on food photography -- developing your visual voice, basic principles and techniques, and how to take your photography to a new level.

"Your blog is great...now what?" -- Jaden Hair, Helen Dujardin and Amy Sherman

The Vocation Track delved into best practices on building a better blog, blogging as a profession, developing business relationships online and offline, and protecting yourself and your work. Bay Area Bites' very own, Amy Sherman from Cooking with Amy moderated a panel in this track all about letting your blog lead the way to new opportunities.

BAB also represented on the Values Track, with Jen Maiser, the woman behind the Eat Local Challenge, leading a discussion on "The Politics of Food...and Food Blogs" -- the very deliberate movement to change minds within and about the food industry. This track also explored "How Food Blogs Can Save the World," with discussions on how bloggers can support issues they care about, and how to take that action offline as a volunteer or activist.

And, of course, there was food.

Rocco and the lunching ladies

While overcooked pasta for lunch left much to be desired for, it appeared that Rocco DiSpirito did some damage control with his amped up charm, flying from table to table (dizzying as it may have been).

TuttiFoodie and Scharffen Berger hit the sweet spot with its Chocolate Adventure Contest demo with Elizabeth Falkner, Executive Chef of Citizen Cake and Orson.

The concept of the Chocolate Adventure Contest is to create an inventive recipe using Scharffen Berger chocolate and least one of their 17 listed "adventure ingredients." Chef Faulkner demonstrated her confectionary prowess by using 11 of them in her Chocolate Adventure Box, layering all sorts of goodies like homemade pandan-flavored marshmallow, peanut butter, cumin, and corn nuts, among other things.

Chef Elizabeth Falkner gets sticky

Chocolate Adventure Box

Now for the fun part…

Dive in! (Gudrun from Kitchen Gadget Girl goes fishing)

Yeaup, really get in there (Photo credit: Amy Wilson, Streaming Gourmet)

After we were sufficiently sugar-high, the Closing Keynote treated us to an open discussion with Elise Bauer, Ree Drummond and David Lebovitz -- three accomplished bloggers who have been at this a while. With very different styles and approaches to blogging, it was interesting to hear how they responded to similar challenges of sustaining momentum and avoiding burnout. It was also reassuring to hear that 1 post typically takes them anywhere from 4-6 hours to complete...and that it doesn't always come easy to them.

Party time: Todd Porter, Diane Cu and David Lebovitz

BlogHer Food '09 was very much about community, support, and growth. More coverage on the conference can be found in the live-blogging forums, but for a quick recap, here are my 5 take-aways from the sessions:

• Create opportunities -- Put yourself out there. Talk to people. Network. Step away from the computer.

• Come from a place of authenticity -- Sincerity goes a long way.

• If a business is what you want, treat it like a business -- Have a plan, make goals, create a vision that will keep you inspired.

• Share more than just the sugar and the flour -- People want a person and a life behind the blog. Don’t be afraid to share your story.

• Writer's block and burn out -- Happens to the best. Remind yourself of what you want. Do what makes you happy.

At the end of the day though, the highlight was getting to meet so many kindred souls. The weird and beautiful thing about blogging is how well you get to know someone from a distance. It was a real pleasure meeting many bloggers I've been following for months, and in the end, I guess that's what it's really about. Human connection (over something good to eat).

Joy, Gourmeted

Being a writer, I've worked a lot of retail over the years. I've sold flown-from-Switzerland chocolates to San Francisco socialites who spent more on three boxes of truffles than I made in a week. I've peddled Pez and Camel Lights from a tray slung around my neck, squeezed ladies (and gents) into latex dresses and leather corsets, frothed lattes for bond traders, boxed up cookies and talked tourists into overpriced art on Union Square.

In my personal life, I'm not a shopper, but I can see what people get out of good service, besides just new shoes and credit-card debt. You tell a dumpy guy with a thing for latex that he looks great in that $500 catsuit and you mean it, because he's so happy wearing it that just for that moment, he's Jon Hamm. You know you've made his day, along with a little bit of commission.

But what I realized last Sunday is how much more fun it is when you can just give the stuff away. Especially when the goods in question are beautiful organic fruits and vegetables, things everyone needs: yellow tomatoes and Japanese eggplants, kale and collards, curvy neon-bright summer squash, sticky green figs and late-season peaches.

Set up every Sunday from 1-3pm at the Parque Niños Unidos at 23rd and Treat Streets in the Mission, the Free Farm Stand is a joyful place. Anyone can come, and all different people do: determined grandmothers and families pushing strollers, clusters of groovy, effusively grateful British girls in tiny halter tops and oversized sunglasses, eco-hipster Mission couples in vintage dresses and ironic t-shirts, gray hair and glasses meeting bedhead and glasses.

By 2 o'clock, a steady stream of people has been flowing past the table for an hour. Jeremy, a frequent volunteer, starts tootling away on a wooden flute. Inspired by the giveaway, a man named Steve has set up a agua fresca stand nearby, quenching the sunny Sunday afternoon thirsts with free glasses of melony coolness. There's a separate table stacked with loaves of bread donated by Acme Bread, another full of free thumb-sized lettuce plants for home gardeners.

Only one guy grumbles about the line not moving fast enough for his taste. No one can take him seriously, though; it's a sunny Sunday in the park and the tomatoes are free. If you can't chill out here, you're way too tense, man.

It's set up like any farmers' market stand: a white tent overhead for shade, colorful tablecloths stacked with bowls and baskets overflowing with vegetables, herbs, and fruit. Volunteers pull out more tomatoes, more artichokes from boxes stacked beneath the tables, answer questions and offer recipes. There are plastic and paper bags on hand, but never enough; smart shoppers bring not only their own totes but their own recycled plastic bags for separating out the basil from the peppers, or the bean sprouts from the squashy figs.

One table is stocked with farmers' market giveaways, donated produce left over at the end of the day from Ferry Plaza and other top-notch Saturday markets. I recognize bundles of herbs from Marin Roots Farm, fat red tomatoes from Phil Foster's 200-acre organic ranch in Hollister, perfect-looking Brussels sprouts and box after box of red Russian kale and yellow-flowering Chinese broccoli.

Another table is the super-local table, filled with urban produce grown or gleaned all around the city, shared from backyards, parks, and community gardens. Regulars show up with baggies of lemon verbena, boxes of apples, bags of zucchini and butternut squash.

This is how the Free Farm Stand started, when Tree, a community gardener and longtime social-justice activist who works at the St Martin de Porres soup kitchen, decided that his gardens' extra communal produce shouldn't go to waste.

The goal was to make locally grown, organic produce available to all, especially those with low incomes or limited budgets, creating garden-to-table food security right on the street. With this in mind, Tree set up a card table inside the Treat Commons garden at 23rd and Treat Sts in April of last year, offering a little bit of whatever was growing around the Mission and Potrero Hill.

Slowly, word of mouth (and blog) spread about this sweet neighborhood thing happening on Sunday afternoons. Other gardeners started sharing their bounty. Tree formed connections with growers selling at local farmers markets and began picking up their extras after the markets ended. The farmstand moved out in front of the garden, into the park, and turned into two tables, then three, with a line that could stretch out of the park and down the block when the harvest was in full swing and there were sweet treats like peaches and figs on offer.

But the crowds don't come just for the free lettuce, or even the free tomatoes. Everyone has a question:

What are these? Baby artichokes--clip off the pointy leaf tips and steam or boil them whole.

Is this salad mix? No, it's braising mix, a little too tough for eating raw, better for sauteing.

Is this cilantro? No, smell it, it's parsley; cilantro's over there.

What is this? This is red mustard, very good for you, strong-tasting and good sauteed, stir-fried or put in soup.

Can I eat the leaves? Yes, beet greens are delicious, cook them like spinach. You can cook radish greens too, if they're green and not yellowed or wilted. And this is curly kale, this is lacinato kale, what the Italians call cavalo nero and what American supermarkets call dino kale, because it's so bumpy and puckered, see, like dinosaur skin, and these are collards, this is chard. They're all in the brassica family along with cauliflower and broccoli, what used to be called the crucifers because of their cross-shaped stems.

OK, so maybe I get a little carried away giving out information. But I'm not the only one. Gloria, who works at a detox center in the city, is sharing her recipe for roasted kale (rub with olive oil, salt and pepper, bake at 375F for 20 minutes, better than potato chips, leave them in the turned-off oven under the pilot light for a day if you want them really crispy). Lisa's got a new favorite salad, radishes dressed with mustard, olive oil, fresh ginger, a little sucanat, garlic, salt and pepper, orange juice and chopped parsley. People are chatting with tote bags full of leeks and beets over their arms, eating burritos on the grass, talking compost and chayote squash in the garden while their kids splash the strawberries with a hose.

That it's all free seems to bring out the best in the crowd. No one grabs, no one hoards. Take what you can use or share, we say from behind the tables, and people carefully separate out a few sprigs of cilantro if that's all they want, pour half a box of cherry tomatoes into their bags and replace the rest. The feeling is one of abundance shared, not charity bestowed. Everyone takes home a slightly different mix, an urban stone soup cooked up by a community of growers from the Bay Area and beyond.

By 3 o'clock, the boxes are flattened and Christina, a regular volunteer, is sweeping up crumpled leaves and squashed tomatoes with a broom. The day's bounty has been reduced to some mixed greens and a few bundles of thyme and oregano. The baskets are stacked, the tent pulled down. We share chunks of homemade apple cake baked by Clara, another volunteer who gardens nearby.

I pick up my own box of veggies, thank Tree and head home over the hill, slurping a cold watermelon agua fresca from La Taqueria on the way. I've promised a friend in Oakland that I'll hang out with her two young boys today. The figs and tomatoes will come with me, I decide. There's always enough to share.