Instead of arming Cupid’s bow with an arrow dipped in the latest chocolate-cayenne-goji berry-sea salt-caramel to woo your sweetheart, aim for your honey’s inner child with a retro sugar rush from Powell’s Sweet Shoppe in Berkeley (or other Bay Area locations).

The Valentine table is carpeted in conversation hearts—speaking dialects from Disney princess to Sponge Bob Square Pants—plus a blanket of red and pink jelly beans and cupid corn, valentine Dots, kiss me mints, chocolate covered marshmallow hearts and XOXO lollipops.

It’s easy to get lost in a sugar-coated trip down memory lane browsing the College Avenue shop’s collection of 6000 classic candies in varieties that date from the 20s to the 80s.

The real fun starts with a perusal of the bags and bars on the nostalgia table that run from Abba-Zabba’s to Zotz. “This is where childhood memories are reawakened,” says Shahrazad Junblat, co-owner of the shop with her sister and brother-in-law. “I always hear customers exclaim, ‘Oh my God, I haven’t seen this since I was 5,’ or ‘ Grandma always used to buy me this.’” The vintage treats include: Look!, Big Hunk, Moon Pie, Sugar Babies, pastel button dots on strips of paper, Turkish taffy and Nik-L-Nip wax bottles filled with sweet syrup.

For the sweetest history lesson ever, check out the Candy by the Decade chart on Powell’s website.

Did you know that Bit-O-Honey, Butterfinger, Charleston Chew and Jujubees go way back to the early 1900s?

If you are a 50s Boomer, you’ll remember Fizzies, Pixy Stix, and Hot Tamales.

Flower Child of the 60s? Fruit Stripe gum, Twizzlers and Lemonheads should ring a bell.

Wore Jordache Jeans in the 70s? Pop Rocks and Ring Pops came out in your decade.

Played Pac Man in 80s? Maybe while chomping Runts and Nerds.

Junblat left the corporate world after 20+ years to cheerfully preside over “this happy place.” She personally favors the British imports, including Cadbury bars, Rountree’s Fruit Gums and Aero bubble chocolate, aptly housed in a red British phone booth. Additional foreign imports satisfy both world travelers and expats, such as Australian Kookabura licorice and Violet Crumble bars. Famous Dutch licorice is represented by licorice coins, hard licorice buttons, and salty salmiak rocks.

Gummis range from butterflies, penguins and mice to khaki green army guys and even sunnyside up eggs.

Asked for the latest trend in candy, Junblat quickly replies, “Bacon is the new black.” And points to a table with bacon flavored floss, toothpaste, chocolate, fizzy drinks and lollipops.

Some sweets perform a double duty, like candy beaded necklaces and Melody pops that play a tune.

All manner of jawbreakers sit in jars, from teensy marbles to huge orbs the size of a baby's head. Aaron Lindstrom, shift manager, admits to keeping a gigantic jawbreaker hidden in a paper bag under his bed when he was in the third grade. He secretly worked on it for months until it was gone.

Powell’s most helpful website also lists candies for those with dietary restrictions and preferences.

It’s nice to know that vegans can still enjoy Swedish Fish, Chick-O-Sticks, Hot Tamales and Boston Baked Beans.

There’s a large number of gluten-free goodies too.

I noticed that the list of candies without high fructose corn syrup includes Gummi Brains, Banana Heads and Smarties.

Does this somehow indicate that people who avoid the stuff are more intelligent?

The Year of the Dragon roars into town today, with two weeks of celebrations capped by the famous Chinatown Parade on February 11. Saturday, I attended a New Year’s themed buffet lunch and wok cooking demonstration by acclaimed cookbook author and San Francisco native, Grace Young, in Louie’s restaurant, a Chinatown institution.

Young —wearing a lucky red-colored top, as are many other attendees— greets her audience by reminding us that New Year’s is “the most important holiday in the Chinese calendar. It’s about renewal, rebirth and family togetherness.” Of all the animals in the Chinese horoscope, the mythical dragon is thought to embody power and success. Those born under its the sign are believed to be exceptionally intelligent, creative, charismatic, fearless, lucky, generous, confident, innovative, passionate but unpredictable. No wonder millions of Chinese people are waiting to get married, start businesses and have babies this year.

Grace Young. Photo courtesy of Steven Mark Neeham

The powerful dragon is a good symbol for Grace Young, a determined woman on a mission. Her goal: to rejuvenate authentic Chinese home cooking by keeping the wok tradition alive. “For 2000 years, the wok has been the iron thread that has bound Chinese culinary culture.” she says. “Now is the first time in his history that it’s at risk of being lost.” Non-stick woks are destroying Chinese home cooking,” declares Young passionately. “The food doesn’t taste right, because you can’t get it to sear and caramelize properly. It ends up braised and soggy. Non-stick cookware is not meant for the high heat necessary for stir-fries.” She prefers a flat-bottom, 14-inch carbon steel wok, with a long wooden handle, which can be seasoned to a warm burnished gold, like the one she is using today to make spicy long beans with sausage and mushrooms, a dish her mother taught her.

Besides coming to celebrate the new year with her family in San Francisco, Young is on a tour to promote and sign copies of her latest book, Stir-Frying to the Sky’s Edge, winner of the James Beard International Cookbook Award, which has taken her to Chinese diaspora communities around the world and steeled her resolve to share the secrets of the wok with as many home cooks as possible.

Young demonstrates how to judge when the preheated wok is hot enough (as soon as a drop of water evaporates on contact) then swirls in the oil and quickly adds her vegetables. One tip she imparts is to listen to your food cook, “That sizzle is the wok talking to you. If you don’t hear it, it’s not hot enough.” Her green beans turn out crunchy with a delicate, smoky wok flavor, which Young says sets it apart from stir-fries made in a skillet or non-stick cookware.

Meanwhile, upstairs, a Chinese calligrapher inks lucky characters on red paper, and the guests line up to fill their plates with lucky foods. Wilma Pang, one of the organizers of today’s event, under the auspices of A Better Chinatown Tomorrow, explains the symbolism of the foods arranged on the buffet table.

Many dishes are considered lucky because their Chinese names are homonyms for auspicious goals; others insure a good year because of their shapes or colors.

“The word for celery (choi) is a homonym for hard work,” Pang explains, and it portends the monetary result of all that effort. Green onions stand for intelligence; the turnip cake signifies that things will keep getting better. The apple means smooth sailing ahead and the tangerine is considered lucky because its orange color connects to gold. Its leaves represent growth and prosperity.

Although, many Chinese New Years foods vary by family and village, the one universal dish is crescent shaped dumplings. Traditionally, dumplings are made on New Years Eve by all the members of the family, working together. Their shape represents gold ingots and so symbolizes good fortune for the upcoming year. “The more you make, it’s like putting money in the bank,” says Pang. “And often, we hide a coin in one dumpling for a lucky diner to find.”

Pang points out the chicken with its head and feet still attached. “Very important to cook an entire chicken, for family togetherness.”

“See these cookies that open up with a smiling face, they represent happiness,” says Pang.

During the meal, there is one dish that has even the Chinese diners stumped. What are those roundish starchy vegetables? “Arrowroot,” Pang answers and holds up a fresh one, slyly smiling as she explains, “See this shape, with the little part that sticks out – that’s for having boy babies.”

After lunch, I have a chance to chat with Grace Young and ask her a few questions.

She grew up eating the traditional Cantonese foods her parents prepared. But at age 12, discovered Julia Child on TV and became fascinated with French cooking, and its entirely different culinary vocabulary. After apprenticing with French chef Josephine Araldo in San Francisco, Young moved to New York in 1979, and worked writing and testing recipes for General Foods. Then she ran the test kitchen at Time Life Books for 18 years, and produced more than 40 cookbooks that spanned the globe.

A chance comment from a cousin ignited the spark of Young’s passion to explore her own family’s culinary culture. Her cousin said, ”When it comes to Chinese cooking, I don’t even try because you can’t beat the Chinese take-out in San Francisco.” Young feared that if most second generation Chinese shared her cousin’s indifference towards learning to make the food of their ancestors, a wealth of authentic recipes and foodways might disappear.

For three years, she made numerous visits to San Francisco to learn her parents’ and family’s recipes. This led to her parents sharing stories about customs and traditions associated with the food, as well as tales from their lives in China that she had never heard before. Young’s first book, The Wisdom of the Chinese Kitchen, was published in 1999 and won the IACP Best International Cookbook. Young is proudest of this book because she feels it preserves traditional Chinese home cooking.

Is the dish you made today special for Chinese New Year's?
Not specifically, but it has mushrooms which grow quickly and so symbolize prosperity. I made this dish today because it’s one of my mother’s favorites. Now that she’s getting older and doesn’t cook, I’m so grateful I have recorded her recipes in my book. When I go back and reread them, it’s as if I can hear her still talking to me through the recipes. For all these years, she always made the New Year’s Eve meal and now in the last few years I am able, through my book, to make it for her. It’s ironic because I always thought that I was writing for the next generation. And in a million years I never dreamed I would give this back to my mother. When I make her a special New Year’s dish, like turnip cake, her face lights up, because food is memory.

Is there a certain dish you always have for New Year's eve dinner?
Fish is the standard dish at the end of the meal. The word for fish “yu” means wish and signifies abundance. It is essential to serve the complete fish, with the head and tail attached to ensure a good beginning and end to the year. Traditionally purchased live from a tank where one can pick out a strong swimmer, the poached fish with scallions and ginger is served as the last course of the New Year’s Eve feast, but not completely consumed. The leftovers are eaten the next day, so that its abundance will spill over into the New Year. Lobster, as the king of the ocean, represents the energy of the dragon. But any seafood is auspicious. Shrimp, whose name ha sounds like laughter, represents happiness; the shells of clams and scallops resemble old Chinese coins and therefore portend prosperity. Also, the clam shells open as you stir fry them, signifying a new beginning.

What's the difference between the Chinatowns in San Francisco and New York?
For me, San Francisco Chinatown has such sweet memories. My father was a liquor salesman and so the owners of every restaurant and shop knew him and gave us a special welcome. Plus, the produce in California is so much more abundant and pristine in quality, especially the Asian vegetables. I love the hustle bustle and energy of shopping on Stockton Street. When a grocer brings out a new box of baby bok choy or snow pea shoots and rips it open, all of a sudden everyone lunges towards it with frenzied excitement and all these hands try to grab the freshest greens.

As we finish our interview, I accompany Grace on a short walk to The Wok Shop, a bustling little warren, filled chock-a-block with woks, gadgets and cooking accessories, whose owner Tane Chan graciously provided the seasoned wok for today’s cooking demonstration.

“This is the best wok store in the whole country,” says Grace as she leads me right to the tower of carbonized steel flat bottom woks (only $24.95). And I gladly buy one. No use resisting the power of the dragon.

I love treasure hunts, especially if cultural adventure and sampling delectable goodies are involved, so I was eager to join Edible Excursions’ new Japantown tour. Although I consider myself pretty savvy when it comes to Japanese cuisine, epicurean concierge, Lisa Rogovin introduced me to a novel set of sweet and savory yummies hiding in plain sight.

The former ad exec for Gourmet Magazine, whose company provides tasting tours of the Mission, Ferry Building and Berkeley’s Gourmet Ghetto, was recently asked by Japantown’s Merchant Association to add a tour of the 4-block area centered on Post and Buchanan. After having done her cultural homework, Lisa ushered a half dozen of us through the warrens of a pair of concrete mall structures that anchor Japantown, as well as some surrounding streets in order to educate and tantalize our taste buds.

Surprisingly, our outing began with a non-Japanese beverage, a warm sweet potato latte at Yakiniq Café, where owner Christy Hwang serves the traditional Korean comfort drink, made with sweet potato, syrup and foamed milk. Lisa informed us that besides Japanese shops and restaurants, Japantown encompasses a few Korean dining spots and even a Danish Bakery.

As we sipped our hot drinks in the funky, art-lined café, Lisa issued a gentle warning, “This will be three and a half hours of eating; so pace yourselves.” That caveat was promptly forgotten as soon as we drained our cups of foamy liquid.

On our walk to our next stop, Lisa gave us a short rundown on the history of Japantown, which began to take shape just after the 1906 earthquake when Japanese San Franciscans needed a place to gather for community support. At its height, it stretched for 36 blocks until WWII internment orders emptied the thriving neighborhood, uprooting its residents and merchants. After the war, many came back to rebuild their lives. In 1968, an urban renewal project bulldozed old Victorians and erected the imposing concrete buildings still at its center, whose fortress-like exterior may seem daunting to uninitiated visitors.

One artifact from the original Japantown that is very much alive is Benkyodo, an unassuming little diner and bakery, that makes traditional fresh mochi confections.

This family business opened in 1906, and is now run by brothers Ricky and Robert Okamura, grandsons of the original owner. Entering their long narrow café, we discovered a split personality: the right side features a low orange Formica counter, matching leatherette bar stools and a Coca Cola menu board with changeable red and black plastic letters that dates from the 50s. Fare and prices also seem to be frozen in time (hot dog $3.15, hamburger $3.10)—just the thing to attract a cadre of regulars. The left side is dominated by the bakery case, which on this late December Friday attracted a crowd of shoppers, standing in line to buy special handmade mochi and manju pastries for the New Year. We sampled chubby, chewy rice flour orbs filled with sweet red beans or blueberries.

Sadly, our next stop was a piece of Japantown history that was just about to close after 105 years in business, Uoki K. Sakai market. There we tasted an earthy hijiki seaweed salad and crunchy burdock and carrot salad from their deli while Lisa clued us in on preparing sushi rice using rice vinegar powder sold at the store. There are two other markets still left in Japantown.

From the oldest businesses, we transitioned to visit the latest addition to Japantown, the New People complex, a narrow, stylish white edifice which houses the SF Film Society, a café and retail stores such as Sou-Sou for tabi (divided shoes and socks) with bold fabric designs and Baby the Stars Shine Bright for Lolita frilly pink dresses.

We stopped downstairs at Onigilly for an updated version of the ubiquitous Japanese finger food, onigiri, balls or triangles of white rice wrapped in seaweed, which may be stuffed with pickled plum or cooked salmon. In Japan, these portable meals are sold in train stations, convenience stores and are as much a part of bento lunchboxes as our PB&J sandwiches.

Onigilly (a play the American pronunciation of onigiri) is the creation of Koji Kanematsu, the first male to go through La Cocina’s food business incubator program. He updated the traditional snacks using brown rice and fillings such as eggplant, hijiki and spicy scallop, as well as the traditional pickled plum. Onigilly also operates a food cart in Justin Herman Plaza and other locations around town.

After this substantial snack and a quick tour of the trendy shops in New People, we headed across the street to the Japan Center. As we entered the busy mall, Lisa, an engaging and knowledgeable guide who was inspired by her own cultural curiosity, told us, “You’ll notice we won’t be having any sushi, tempura or teriyaki today. I want to introduce you to new things and demystify some Japanese dishes that might be unfamiliar to you.”

Our eating adventure continued at Mifune Don, where we sat down for another mainstay of real Japanese cooking that is not commonly known to foreigners. Okonomiyaki is called a “savory pancake” but the name literally means “what you like” and is a tasty way to use leftovers. These large grilled discs usually contain some combination of eggs, shredded yam, cabbage, meat, or seafood, topped with a special brown sauce and squiggles of Japanese mayonnaise. They are sprinkled with bonita shavings, whose eerie 3-D undulations seemed to be waving at me, inviting me to partake in this hearty, vegetable griddlecake. My first okonomiyaki was a satisfying discovery and definitely will not be my last.

Then our group of locals and out of state visitors shifted into an intense assault on sweetness, starting with a neon-hued, mini Geisha float—green tea ice cream topped with red beans, green tea syrup and red mochi cubes at Carol Murata’s Café Hana.

For our second dessert, we strolled over to May’s Coffee Shop, run by Carol’s mother May Murata since 1973, to sample taiyaki, a fish-shaped sweet with a long history. In Japanese culture, the sea bream is considered a symbol of good luck and these distinctively shaped pastries are made by pouring waffle-like batter into metal molded trays and topping with red beans, chocolate or other fillings. The two halves of the fish are then folded together and cooked until golden brown. They originated in Tokyo in 1909.

Full of lucky fish pastries, we ducked into Nippon-Ya, a stylish shop specializing in omiyage, the artfully wrapped regional specialties that Japanese visitors commonly bring back from their travels for friends and co-workers. Beautifully boxed mochi in fruit flavors, plus cookies, tea and other souvenirs from all over Japan are their most popular selections. We were offered tastes of creamy chocolate mochi.

On our way out of the building Lisa pointed out shops that carry stickers, stationery and fashion and then impossibly announced that it was time for lunch. A 3-course lunch at that, with wakame, a slippery green seaweed salad, a pair of mini gyozas and a big bowl of steaming nabeyaki noodle soup with vegetables, fish cake, chicken, shrimp tempura and udon or soba noodles. The key ingredient of the soup is the dashi flavored broth and Mifune Bistro’s dashi had a strong, clear taste.

As I waddled out after lunch, much wiser and definitely much fuller than before I started the tour, I made mental note of the dozen new tastes I’d sampled, and wondered if this is how sumo wrestlers begin to build their girth.

Edible Excursions' Japantown tour is offered every Friday and the second Saturday of the month, from 11-2:30, for $85. Itinerary may vary.

Chef Jacques Pépin demonstrates how to crystallize orange skin to make candied orange peels. This video clip is a web-exclusive that was taped during the filming of Jacques' series Essential Pépin.

Where does inspiration come from? I don't know what Beethoven would say, but for me, inspiration pops up out of the blue when I'm writing recipes. Of course, during recipe creation, like for any creative work, the brain is always humming away, rummaging through sense memories, taste memories, old cookbooks, dishes tasted a dozen years ago and filed away under "try to reproduce," descriptions from novels, bits of poetry, mental snapshots, things learned in first-job kitchens 20 years ago.

One morning, I was gathering the ingredients to cater a lunch for a women's leadership seminar at the Oakland Center for Spiritual Living. Some of the attendees were vegetarian, others dairy-free. I'd planned some nice ladies'-lunch items--the chicken salad with curry and mango chutney I'd made by the bucketful at a fancy deli in the mid-80s, a vegan quinoa-adzuki bean salad I'd created for this column last year--when the sunny day suddenly turned chilly and overcast. Soup weather, my mother would call it, and so tomato soup, with its cozy, home-from-school associations, seemed like a natural fit. But it wasn't summer, and the fresh tomatoes available were mealy, Mexican, and overpriced. How could I make a canned-tomato soup that didn't taste like marinara sauce, or worse, have that unmistakable tinny flavor to it?

Roasting the tomatoes in plenty of olive oil concentrated their flavor, and warming, India-meets-North African spices like coriander, mustard seed, and cumin took them out of the pizza-sauce realm. Instead of cream, a rich slug of coconut milk would balance out the tomatoes' acidity, as would a drizzle of honey at the end. But what wintery thing would give the soup some heft? Some sweetness and ballast? I was driving around Lakeshore, looking for parking, when the solution suddenly turned on in my head, just like the proverbial light bulb: sweet potatoes! Perfect color, perfect earthy sweetness, and the starch, once pureed, would turn the soup to velvet.

These roadside bursts of brilliance don't always pan out, but thankfully, this one did, and the soup turned out to be the star of the luncheon. In fact, I could have skipped both salads, left behind the fruit and cookies and just ladled out big bowls of soup, breadsticks on the side, to make everyone very, very happy.

So, why this soup for New Year's Day? Well, it's a good pantry soup. Canned tomatoes, chicken stock, sweet potatoes...you probably have all these around from the holidays' cooking sprees. The spices can be rearranged depending on your taste and what's in the pantry. It's good for you, a welcome, spice-bright visitation of veggies after all those rich and indulgent holiday meals. You can easily make it vegan by using vegetable stock and leaving out the honey (or substituting agave or brown-rice syrup).

It's easy to throw together, and it doesn't take long, and the recipe's easily doubled or tripled, should you have a lot of friends and family on the couch. And it's good for sipping any time of day, whether as a warm-up after a brisk walk or while wallowing in that all-day Downton Abbey marathon. Plus, what better way to start the New Year than with a burst of inspiration?

Sweet Potato-Coconut Soup

Yield: 6-8 servings
Prep Time: 25 minutes, plus 45 minutes roasting time
Cook Time: 45 minutes
Total Time: 1 hour, 10 minutes, plus 45 minutes roasting time

Ingredients:
1 28-oz can plum tomatoes, preferably organic
5 tbsp olive oil, divided
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 large yellow onion, peeled and chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 tsp mustard seeds
1 1/2 tsp coriander seeds
1/2 tsp cumin seeds
pinch cayenne, or to taste
pinch cinnamon or 1 cinnamon stick
1 tbsp grated fresh ginger
grated rind and juice of 1 small orange or tangerine
2 medium sweet potatoes, chopped
4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1 13.5 oz can coconut milk
1 tbsp honey, or to taste (agave syrup can be substituted for a vegan version)

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Drain tomatoes, saving liquid. Halve tomatoes and spread out in a single layer in a non-reactive baking pan. Drizzle with 2 tablespoons olive oil and sprinkle generously with salt and pepper. Roast for 45 minutes, until tomatoes have shrunk slightly and begun to brown. Remove from oven and set aside.

2. In a small, heavy pan (cast iron is ideal) over medium heat, toast mustard, coriander, and cumin seeds until mustard seeds start to pop and spices smell fragrant.

3. In a deep, heavy-bottomed soup pot, heat remaining 3 tablespoon olive oil. Add onions and saute, stirring frequently, until onions are softened and translucent. Add garlic and toasted spices, and cook, stirring, for another minute.

4. Add cayenne, cinnamon, ginger, rind and juice, sweet potato chunks, and roasted tomatoes. Add reserved tomato liquid and broth. Bring to a gentle simmer, reduce heat, and partially cover. Cook for 45 minutes, or until potatoes are very soft.

5. Add coconut milk and honey to taste. Taste for seasoning; add salt if needed. Remove cinnamon stick, if using. Let cool for a few minutes, then puree until smooth using an immersion (stick) blender. If using a regular blender, let cool for another 10 minutes before pureeing.

6. Taste for seasoning, and add honey or salt as needed. Serve hot.

Happy New Year! Here are two culinary experts sharing radically different approaches to opening a bottle of champagne. Both techniques are excellent skills to cultivate and can be used depending on the mood of the party.

First up is Jacques Pépin, the classic chef and teacher who's new series, Essential Pépin is currently airing on KQED and can be watched online. This technique clip was filmed during the taping of the show and includes Jacques' tips on pouring sparkling wine.

Next up is the vivacious and a bit more dramatic Leslie Sbrocco, host of Check, Please! Bay Area. Leslie shares one of her favorite party tricks that she originally demoed a few years back on the Josh Kornbluth show.

* Note: Do not attempt this technique while intoxicated.

Pumpkin for Christmas: who knew? My Midwestern pals, that's who. Putting together two back-to-back holiday parties for my best friend, who cherishes her Minnesotan roots, I was surprised that she put pumpkin cake, made in a Bundt pan, of course, on the top of her list of must-have treats for the table. She was right: big smiles lit up the faces of the guests who hailed from Chicago and Minneapolis when they spied the cinnamon-brown Bundt. "Pumpkin cake for Christmas! I was just thinking about that," said one. "With whipped cream, of course," agreed another.

It makes sense, though: such a cake is dense and spicy, redolent of all the fragrant holiday spices that perfume everything from gingersnaps to mulled cider and hot wine this time of year. It's easy to throw together, since a couple cans of pumpkin are probably already in the cabinet, souvenirs of Thanksgiving's pie-minded supermarket stock-up. (A recent report found that 20% of Americans always have canned pumpkin on hand in their pantries. Having poked around in a lot of home kitchens, though, I would guess that most of that pumpkin was bought in 1993, forgotten, and never moved or dusted since.) If not, there's a plethora of gorgeous fresh winter squash out there, ready to be roasted and mashed.

(The nomenclature of pumpkin bread aside, I've found that butternut squash gives the most consistently full-flavored results, and cranking your freshly roasted squash through a food mill turns any stringy chunks into a velvety puree.)

The pumpkin cake I made for last week's holiday party was a basic buttery-cinnamony recipe originally published in Gourmet. It was light and moist, thanks to the pumpkin and buttermilk. I added powdered ginger, fresh nutmeg, and a pinch of cloves to the mix; having just cinnamon and allspice is like the Brady Brunch without Cindy, Jan, or Alice.

Turns out I wasn't the only one thinking about pumpkin at this time of year. Talking to my old pal Jennifer Joseph, poet, founder and publisher of the excellent Manic D Press, and Bernal baker par excellence, I got the inside scoop on the pumpkin cake she made last week, which was devoured, down to the crumbs in less than two days by her husband and daughter. Made with whole-wheat pastry flour, fresh cranberries, walnuts, chocolate chips, and pumpkin, it was, she said, "secretly good for you," and we all know chocolate is a health food, right?

It also looks particularly bright and festive, which meant it wasn't too much of a jump to take it from afternoon cake to morning bread. I've cut back the sugar a little, subbing in apple juice (or cider) for the water in Jen's original recipe so as to add a little more natural sweetness and flavor. Served warm, this bread is lovely on its own, or spread with a little whipped cream cheese.

Happy holidays!

Secretly Good for You Pumpkin Breakfast Bread
Fresh cranberries add a nice tanginess to this sweet bread. Stock up on cranberries when you find them in late autumn; they freeze beautifully and don't need to be thawed before using. In a pinch, you can use dried cranberries, but since they're already sweetened, they won't add as much contrast to the finished loaf.

Yield: 1 loaf
Prep Time: 20 minutes
Cook Time: 50-60 minues
Total Time: 1 hour, 10-20 minutes

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1 1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice (see note, below)
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs
1 cup pumpkin puree
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup canola oil, melted butter, or melted coconut oil
1/4 cup apple juice
2 tbsp molasses
1/2 cup chopped fresh cranberries
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 cup dark or white chocolate chips, optional

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a loaf pan or metal or Pyrex ring mold.

2. In a large bowl, sift together flour, spices, baking soda, and salt.

3. In a medium bowl, beat eggs, sugar, pumpkin, oil, apple juice, and molasses together.

4. Stir pumpkin mixture into flour mixture, stopping when just mixed. Gently stir in cranberries, walnuts, and chocolate chips, if using. Spoon into prepared pan.

5. Bake 50-60 minutes for a loaf pan, ring mold 40-50 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Note: Pumpkin pie spice, sometimes called apple pie spice, is a blend of commonly used baking spices, usually including cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, allspice, and/or cloves. For this recipe, you can substitute 3/4 tsp cinnamon, 1/4 tsp freshly ground nutmeg, 1/4 tsp ginger, and 1/4 tsp ground cloves or allspice.

Traditions are a funny thing. So many of us cling to them as a source of comfort, as a "it's the way we've always done things." And so many of them are lovely and wonderful and important. But the truth of the matter is: times change, people change, traditions should change a little too. There has to be a spaciousness to the routine of the holidays, to welcoming new members of the family, accommodating new tastes and needs, and keeping things fresh. On my own blog recently I discussed another wonderful food blog, Remedial Eating. In talking about her family’s Halloween this past year, writer Molly Hays said, “And that’s when I remembered the important thing about traditions, that they’re only as good as the happy they bring. And sometimes that looks like repeating what was. And sometimes that looks like forgetting all that.” I think acknowledging that certain routines are no longer working is the hardest part. Elevating the happy in lieu of the stone-cold tradition.

In my own family, ever since my parents divorced (many moons ago), both my Mom and my Dad made efforts to carve out traditions of their own that were unique to each household. For my Dad, this was Cookie Night. It took place the night of the 23rd every year and my two sisters and I would each choose a cookie recipe, supply an ingredient list and my Dad would pick up what we needed along with a slew of festive cookie tins. We'd set a time that worked for everyone and convene to get our baking on.

Well, Cookie Night became inconvenient after a few years so we switched gears to Cookie Day. When three recipes became overwhelming, we limited it to two. And then one. This year, we're not doing Cookie Day at all. Truthfully it just got old. No one really enjoyed it anymore but was too nervous to admit it to one another. Cookie Day had become a burden. We'll still see one another on that day, I'm sure we'll still eat our fair share of cookies, but we won't devote an entire day to making obligation tins that no one's all that excited about.

And so we come to cocktails. An odd transition in one sense but a perfectly logical one in another. We drink during the holidays at my house. For many reasons, some of which wouldn't be news to you, I'm sure. But really more out of celebration than anything. And we usually drink the same thing. Champagne on Christmas Eve. Spiked Cider on Christmas Day. It doesn't really change or waver. It's just what we've always done. Until this year. I'm introducing a new cocktail into the holiday line-up, one that I think will make everyone happy as it has a little bourbon (which my sisters love), apple cider (which my mom loves) and lemon and bitters which I love. It's a twist on a bourbon-based cocktail called The Stone Fence. Traditionally, The Stone Fence is made with either bourbon or rye and a splash of cider and soda water. Folks have dressed it up over the years with lemon, bitters, ginger, maple syrup, apple brandy, or a variety of spices. My version exists somewhere in between the traditional Stone Fence and the tarted up version. It's not at all too sweet, and the flavors are perfectly balanced yet nuanced.

While you may not do cocktails such during the holidays, let me encourage you to think about what would make everyone happy. What would make you happy? Because sometimes change can be a good, welcome thing. And if you ask me, change in the form of whiskey is always good. Happy drinking, cookie baking, and merry-making to you and yours!

The Stone Fence
Makes: 2 Cocktails

Ingredients:
1/2 cups hard apple cider
2 ounces bourbon or whiskey
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup seltzer
4 dashes bitters
2 cinnamon sticks, to garnish

Directions:
Combine the cider, whiskey, lemon juice, and bitters in a medium bowl. Divide among two of your favorite glasses and top off with seltzer water, add a few ice cubes, and give each a good stir. Garnish with cinnamon sticks, and serve right away.

At Christmastime in Hungary, there are two sweets that are traditionally found in every household. Szaloncukor is one: a chocolate candy most often filled with fondant, marzipan, or jelly (my favorite!) wrapped in white fringy tissue and bright shiny foil, strung with thread, and hung on the tree. The other is beigli, a rolled pastry, filled with either poppy seed or walnut filling (usually both varieties are made at once). My mom used to make beigli every Christmas when my brother and I were kids. She'd pull out a tattered cookbook that she bought with my dad when they were still dating from which she got all her recipes. According to her, it is the perfect recipe (my brother and I, and our bellies, agree!). So, she helped me with this veganized version, referencing her old cookbook and helping me think of the best vegan substitutes to incorporate. I created my own recipe melding her notes, and a few recipes I found online that incorporate the most traditional ingredients (from Chanita Harel's Mom's Recipes and More: Israeli Food Blog and from a recipe from a traditional cookbook called the Innes Mester, posted on the King Arthur Flour community forum by "janiebakes.")

Recipe: Beigli

Ingredients:
For the dough
500 gr flour
200 gr vegan butter, softened (I used Earth Balance)
3 portions of prepared Ener-G Egg Replacer equal to 3 eggs
1 packet dry active yeast
1/3 cup lukewarm vegan milk (I used almond)
1 Tablespoon sugar
2/3 cup vegan sour cream
pinch of salt

Walnut Filling
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups vegan milk (I used almond)
2 1/2 cups ground walnuts (I use a rotary cheese grater, which is what's used in Hungary. It grinds the walnuts leaving them light and fluffy, not gritty like a food processor.)
1 3/4 cups of dry bread crumbs
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon rum
1/2 cup of rum-soaked raisins (optional)
1 tsp cinnamon (optional)

Poppy Seed Filling
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups vegan milk (I used almond)
2 1/2 cups ground poppy seeds (You can use a coffee grinder to grind them.)
1 3/4 cups bread crumbs
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup of rum-soaked raisins (optional)
1 tsp cinnamon (optional)

Dough:
1. Dissolve yeast in a mixture of the 1/3 cup lukewarm milk and 1 tablespoon sugar and wait a few minutes until frothy.
2. Combine flour and butter until crumbly. I used my KitchenAid mixer’s flat beater and it worked great.
3. Add the yeast mixture wait a few minutes. Add the egg replacer, sour cream, and salt and combine to a soft dough (add 70-100 gr more flour if needed).
4. Divide the dough into 4 and place in the refrigerator for 30-60 minutes to rest.

Walnut Filling:
1. Combine, in a large bowl, the ground walnut, bread crumbs, lemon zest, lemon juice, vanilla, rum, and raisins and cinnamon if adding.
2. Add the sugar to the milk, bring to the boil, then add to the other ingredients. Mix very well.

Poppy Seed Filling:
1. Combine, in a large bowl, the ground poppy seeds, bread crumbs, lemon zest, lemon juice, vanilla, and raisins and cinnamon if adding.
2. Add the sugar to the milk, bring to the boil, then add to the other ingredients. Mix very well.

Cool both fillings.

Assembling:
1. Preheat oven to 350F.
2. Roll out the dough (each part) to a rectangular shape that's not too thin (1/8”-1/4” thick). Spread the cooled filling over it, leaving about an inch all around the edges. Fold the edges over the filling. This will create a nice finished edge after rolling. Another way to do it is to roll the filling out between sheets of plastic wrap first. It's important to get a fairly even ratio of dough to filling. [I went a little overboard on my fillings as you can see -- but the filling is the best part!]

3. Roll up the dough along the longer side, creating a log. Prick with a fork along the top. Traditionally, at this point, an egg wash is brushed on top. I left mine au naturale, but feel free to add a vegan egg wash.
4. Place on a cookie sheet or large baking dish. Let the rolls rest a couple of minutes, then place in the preheated oven and bake until golden brown for 35-40 minutes.
5. Let cool completely and only slice once you are ready to serve.

Boldog Karácsonyt!

We’re used to buying cardboard boxloads of factory drone candy canes that are uniform, neatly wrapped, shapely, laden with high fructose corn syrup, and positively soulless. But me -- I’m the gal who likes my candy lumpy. If there were an Island of Misfit Toys for food, these “special” little guys would surely be inhabitants (along with Dingle Berries Candy and Hot Pockets, most likely).

Making candy canes is a lot of fun, and the sweat equity can’t be beat. The flavor is clean and super minty (with a little creaminess to it, thanks to the vanilla extract), and the yield is ample enough to allow me to hand them out generously. And despite the number of words in the recipe below, the whole thing took under an hour. There is a knack to it, however, as pulling hard candy can be a tricky mistress. A couple of things to keep in mind, particularly if you’ve never made candy before:

  
•  A candy thermometer is a very, very, very good idea. No reason not to have one, as they are about $15 and they can be used for frying as well. You can buy a cheaper one made of glass, but they’re pretty breakable. I recommend one like this made of metal, with a sturdy clip, and a protector on the bottom to keep the thermometer off the bottom of the pot.

 

• Heat-retardant gloves. These are great to use as oven mitts as well. But if you’re just dabbling and you don’t wish to invest, you can get by with snug mittens covered by disposable gloves (I always have a couple on-hand for kitchen use and home hair dying stolen from my gynecologist’s office), but you will indeed have to endure a little heat.

    

• Be generous with the oil. A light sheen on the pans and on the bench scraper ain’t gonna cut it. Don’t be shy. Speaking of which...

   

• A bench scraper. This is a small wonder in the kitchen, and an inexpensive and easy-to-store must for baking, candy making, pasta making, etc. Two is better, but you can certainly get by with one.

One other thing: despite the candy appeal, I’m sorry to say that this is not a good project for kids. Scalding fluid and fairly quick work don’t mix well with young’uns.

This recipe took a lot of inspiration from this recipe and this video posted by Slashfood.

Let’s candy cane away!

Homemade Candy Cane Recipe

Time: About one hour

Makes: About 16 3-inch candy canes

Ingredients you will need:

3 cups sugar
1 cup corn syrup (Don’t be scared. It’s not HFCS. Totally different thing.)
1/3 cup water
1/2 tsp. cream of tartar
1/8 tsp. kosher salt
Vegetable oil for pans, tools, and gloves
2 tsp. peppermint oil (ideally not extract, but ok to use if that’s all you have)
1 tsp. vanilla extract
Red food coloring -- about 1/3 of one of those tiny bottles (however, next time I make these I will first make my own food coloring. If you get to it before me, let me know how it works!)

Instructions:

1. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees. Oil two large baking sheets, a bench scraper, and kitchen shears or a sharp knife. Lay a piece of parchment paper or a Silpat on the counter where the canes can dry. Move one of the baking sheets to the warm oven.
2. Meanwhile, in a straight-sided deep saucepan off heat, combine the sugar, corn syrup, water, cream of tartar, and salt and stir them together well. Clip a candy thermometer to the side of the pot and move it onto medium-high heat. Without stirring, let the syrup come up to 305 degrees. Using a pastry brush or a paint brush dedicated to culinary use, wash down any stray sugar crystals from the side of the pot. Ready the peppermint oil, food coloring, measuring spoons, and vegetable oil. Glove thyself with either heat-retardant gloves or snug mittens covered with disposable gloves.
3. Once the syrup has reached temperature, pour it out onto the room temperature baking sheet. Drizzle the peppermint oil on top, and using the bench scraper, scrape the hot candy up from the bottom and fold it over onto itself to stir it through. Once it has cooled slightly, mix in the vanilla as well. Note that the peppermint scent in the air will be strong.
4. Continuously scrape up and stir the syrup to cool it until it becomes a pliable dough. Cut the dough in half and move one piece to the baking sheet inside the warm oven. (First, we’ll “pull” the white half of the candy cane. Then we’ll color the red half.)
5. Quickly oil your gloved hands, as it’s now time to pull the candy. Scrape up the candy dough into one piece and, working as quickly and as continuously as you can, pull it out into a rope, double it over onto itself, and twist it together. Pull it, double it, and twist it again. Keep on going this way at a quick clip, and you’ll notice that the candy will start to take on a ribbon-y sheen. This is how the candy will turn white, so keep going until the color is pure. Embrace the upper body workout. Note that anytime the candy becomes too stiff, simply warm it up again in the oven to soften.
6. Don’t let the candy get too hard. When it’s reached a nice white color, place it onto its baking sheet and move it to the warm oven. Re-oil your bench scraper. Take out the second tray of candy dough and pour on the red food coloring -- about a third of one of those tiny bottles for a good rich color. Use your scraper fold the candy onto itself to incorporate the color completely. Note that this side of the candy cane does not need to be pulled. Move both candy cane trays to the oven and let them warm through for about 5 minutes until pliant.
7. Once warm and squishy enough to work with, take both pieces of candy from the oven and roll them into logs as long as the baking sheet. Cut each log into four equal pieces. Hang on to one red piece and one white piece, moving the rest of the candy back into the oven to keep warm.
8. On the countertop, line the red and white logs alongside one another and begin to twist from one end, stretching as you go, making the candy canes as thin or as thick as you like. Use your oiled shears or knife to cut the length of each cane. Shape the hook of the cane, and press down on the ends to taper. Set the canes aside to cool. (Know, of course, that you could also cut into sticks, rounds, or individual peppermint sucking candy). Admire the individual quality of your handiwork.
9. Repeat this process with the remaining 3/4 of the candy, one piece of each color at a time.
10. Allow candy to cool until completely hard; about 15 minutes. Wrap each cane in plastic wrap to keep it from sticking. Store in an airtight jar for several months.