Hello, sunshine! Foggy August is winding down, with sunnier September right around the corner, just in time for the kids to be back in school and the doldrums of summer’s cut-out-early-Fridays to slip away. So grab these last couple of weekends before Labor Day, sling your sandals and beach towels in the back of the car, and get out of the city in search of sunnier climes.

From Oakland or San Francisco, my vacation compass always points north. Yes, the delights of Pacifica, Pescadero, Santa Cruz, Monterey, San Luis Obispo on down to Los Angeles are many, and I’d happily return for a second slice of olallieberry pie at Duarte’s, or another view of the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s undulating kelp forest and huge, prehistoric-looking sunfish. But what always lures me to the back roads is the sea-tinged scent of eucalyptus and coastal scrub, and the small farms, quirky towns, and rolling sheep-dotted hills of West Marin. So, 101 North, what have you to offer for the casual daytripper?

For starters, get out of town early, before the bridges and highway are clogged with the rest of the vacationing hordes. A promise of really excellent doughnuts and a superior cappuccino is usually enough to rouse even the most sluggish of un-morning people. A decade or so ago, I was working on a round-up of doughnut shops in the Bay Area for a local magazine. Not a single chocolate-glazed was worth getting up for until my friend Liz, born and bred in Marin, turned me on to her favorite high school hangout, Donut Alley in Larkspur. (The exit was Paradise Drive, easy to remember, for what is paradise but a morning that starts with a perfect doughnut?) I went there and fell in love.

The same guy had been running the place for years. They opened at 6:30am and closed when they ran out of doughnuts, usually before noon. There were no maple-bacon or vegan plum-cardamom doughnuts, just good old old-fashioned old fashioneds, your buttermilk bars and apple fritters and cute, tender, just-sweet-enough cake doughnuts, chocolate-iced, cinnamon-sugared, or pink-sprinkled. Parents came in with their kids for a bag to go; old guys sat around a few Formica tables scattered with copies of the Marin I-J and drank paper cups of coffee from the help-yourself Bun-o-matic machine. And while a recent visit revealed the place to be a little spiffed up (the coffee is organic now, the tables dark wood, and a new blueberry doughnut, made with dried berries, is selling fast), the spirit and doughnuts are exactly the same. Polite kids still point and ask, “Can my little brother have that chocolate one, please?” while their baby sisters squeal for sprinkles and chocolate milk.

And while the drip coffee on offer is perfectly fine, you Sightglass-spoiled city folk probably need a more potent eye-opener. Head across the street to the marble counters of Emporio Rulli and order your Rome-worthy latte or cappuccino. Sip it at one of the sidewalk tables, or take it to go and stroll over to Dolliver Park, at the corner of Magnolia Ave and Madrone St. Sit under a redwood tree and breathe the green forest smells while you lick the sugar off your fingers.

Double back to 101, but not for long. It’s time to get onto the meandering Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. It winds, stop and start, through the posh Marin towns, San Anselmo, Greenbrae, Ross, and Fairfax. Soon, though, the countryside opens up and the road slides under towering redwood trees and bark-shredded eucalyptus, swinging past the forested campgrounds of Samuel P. Taylor State Park, through the one-block town of Olema, epicenter of the 1906 earthquake, and into the (by comparison) bustling little town of Point Reyes Station. During the week in wintertime, Point Reyes Station is a very mellow place. On a sunny summer weekend, however, it’s up and lively, thronged with bicyclists and birders.

The Saturday morning Point Reyes Farmers' Market, in front of Toby’s Feed Barn and next to the town’s sweet community garden plots, has just a few farmers—Paradise Valley Produce, Fresh Run Farm, Wild Blue Farm—but they’re well stocked and doing a bang-up business in lettuce and kale, cukes and squash, bundles of herbs, freshly dug onions and potatoes, bright carrots and brighter bouquets. A glance through a wooden crate of new-crop Gravenstein apples from Paradise Valley reveals a couple of ringers: none other than the elusive, rarely seen Pink Pearls, a tart early apple whose cream-colored skin masks its fantastic, hot-pink flesh.

Stop by the Brickmaiden stall to pick up one of Celine Underwood's tangy sourdough loaves, baked in a wood-fired oven in a little unmarked cottage just across the street. It’s the same cottage where Chad Robertson and Elisabeth Pruiett of Tartine got their start in 1994, baking bread and pastries for small stores and farmers markets in the area under the name Bay Village Bread. Next to the bread stall is Wild West Ferments, offering handmade sauerkraut along with canning jars full of wonderfully fruity, lacto-fermented “sodas” in flavors like nectarine-vanilla and plum.

Osteria Stellina's GBD Grilled Cheese serves up three kinds of grilled cheese: a basic one with Valley Ford Estero Gold cheese on Stellina's own crusty bread; sharp cheddar with a griddled egg; and “The Bill from Bo,” Bill Niman’s slow-roasted brisket with Estero Gold. The Marshall Store, from across Tomales Bay, is serving up oysters to go, on the half shell or barbecued.

Not in the mood for oysters or cheese? Well, there’s always what might just be the best burger in West Marin, served right on the way out of town at Marin Sun Farms’ butcher shop and café. (Their beef jerky is perfect trail food, too.) Otherwise, fill out your picnic menu at Tomales Bay Foods, home of Cowgirl Creamery, and take your pick of perfect picnic spots. Families with children can head to the placid shoreline of Hearts Desire beach along Tomales Bay near Inverness. Too full of sunbathers and kayakers? Take the short, shady hike through the mossy, Hobbit-y trees to nearby Shell Beach, generally a little less populated. Or go exploring among the numerous ocean beaches, lagoons, and estuaries of the Point Reyes National Seashore itself.

On the way home, sand in your shoes, cell phones ignored, you can keep the beachy feeling going by snagging an outdoor table overlooking the marina at Sausalito’s Bar Bocce, ordering a pitcher of beer or a glass of white sangria while you wait for your crisp-crusted calamari pizza to arrive, dribbled with lemon oil, flecked with chiles. The best seat in the house isn’t actually in the restaurant; it’s the bench down on the beach, shaded by a big umbrella, where you can dig your toes into the sand and toast your very, very good fortune at having all this bounty in your backyard.

Margo True, the food editor for Sunset, will be demonstrating recipes from the magazine's latest cookbook,The One-Block Feast, at the Point Reyes Farmers' Market at 10am on Saturday, August 27.

Alice Waters clutches garlic and talks up edible education while Levi's President and Chez Panisse fan Robert Hanson looks on.

All photos: Wendy Goodfriend

Unless you've been living in a cave the last week or two you likely know that a certain iconic restaurant in Berkeley is celebrating its 40th birthday this weekend.

Iconic owner of iconic eatery has been here, there, and everywhere in the past week or two. SEO-friendly translation: Alice Waters of Chez Panisse has chatted with former Chez chefs on KQED's Forum, dished on supping solo on Fresh Air with Terry Gross, and got dirty with Hollywood heartthrob and Edible Schoolyard supporter Jake Gyllenhaal on the Today Show, where she was interviewed by Jenna Bush Hager — yes, that Jenna Bush — at The Edible Schoolyard at the San Francisco Boys and Girls Club in Hunters Point, one of several affiliates to the original Edible Schoolyard in Berkeley.

She's also been the subject of not one but two lengthy retrospectives in the San Francisco Chronicle and graced the pages of many glossies this month, with more major print media to come this weekend when the Chez Panisse 40th birthday celebrations kick off.

Today, however, Waters took to the streets of San Francisco -- in Maiden Lane off Union Square no less -- to serve lunch, sell T-shirts, and sign books.

On the menu: School lunch, of course, or Waters' vision of what school lunch should be. The boxed lunches were a fundraiser for the newly named nonprofit Edible Schoolyard Project, a national organization designed to integrate garden and kitchen education into grade-school curriculum. Suggested donation: $5 a pop for a box and 400 lunches sold out within an hour or so. In the mix: Smoked pulled chicken baguette (featuring Soul Food Farm chicken, Dirty Girl Farm shallot and Early Girl tomato, and Little City Gardens herbs and baby, frilly mustard greens) with harissa and aioli. The sandwich was accompanied by La Tercera cucumber pickles and radish, along with Knoll Farms figs, Lagier Ranches Bronx grapes, and Happy Quail Farms peppers. For veggies: Pounded lemon thyme pistou with iacopi butter bean mash, Dirty Girl tomatoes, pickled vegetables, and aforementioned frilly mustard greens. And to wash all those organic veggies down, a refreshing drink of Full Belly Farm yellow doll watermelon with anise hyssop and lime juice.

Got all that? There will be a quiz after lunch. Oh, and in case you were wondering, the Chez chefs were all too busy prepping for the weekend galas to whip up lunch today, which was outsourced to Nicole Lobue's Lobue Events, a high-end catering company, in close consultation with Waters, of course.

Waters also teamed up with another local-gone-global icon, Levi's, to launch a limited-edition t-shirt collection (100 % organic cotton, natch) designed by Alice Waters (who 'fessed up to help from chef Sylvan Brackett on her tee) and four well-known creative types: musician David Byrne, filmmaker Sofia Coppola, author Dave Eggers and illustrator Maira Kalman. Alas, none of the luminaries were on hand this afternoon to model the $30 shirts, proceeds from the sale also support the Edible Schoolyard Project. Beginning today, the shirts are available in select Levi’s stores and online at levi.com. At lunch some 40 or so Ts were snapped up, Kalman's pie print proving as popular as Waters' apple images.

Waters addressed the crowd and the media asking: "What could be more universal than blue jeans and edible education?" To which there were no snappy rejoinders, since this is Waters' moment in the sun. Levi's honcho Robert Hanson told a story about his then-very-pregnant girlfriend insisting the couple keep a date at Chez Panisse, some years ago. That night, she gave birth to a baby girl, who's been an organic vegetarian eater ever since. Cue awww now.

It was all very lovely: Wheelbarrows full of freshly harvested produce, including ground cherries, squash, and aromatic herbs from the ESY garden, along with cute little booths. The communal tables sported linen table cloths and posies of fresh flowers. Waters sang the praises of freshly picked garlic the way she has famously waxed about a perfect peach and stressed the importance of educating all the nation's children about good food and the pleasures of the table.

The crowd was a mixed bag of die-hard Chez Panisse fans, supporters of Waters' school lunch and slow food agenda, self-described foodies -- and nearby workers who stumbled onto a good thing. Some in line said that the boxed lunch was the closest they'd ever get to Chez Panisse food, since the high-end restaurant is out of reach for many. Some had never heard of the Edible Schoolyard, offering proof that Waters' mission is far from over.

The local food legend, who signed copies of her new book 40 Years of Chez Panisse: The Power of Gathering, shook hands with lunch-goers waiting in line to eat and promised the mellow crowd of 500 or so that anyone who missed out on a meal was invited to come eat at Chez Panisse. No word on who would foot the bill.

When asked if her offer was good, press rep David Prior, who was fairly confident that everyone who wanted a box lunch was accommodated, said: "I wouldn't be surprised. There's nothing Alice likes less than running out of food. She's all about feeding people."

Related Posts:
Chez Panisse's birthday kicks off with party to remember (Berkeleyside)

It's summertime, and we might just be the one place in the country actually enjoying itself, rather than wilting under an onslaught of brain-melting heat and humidity. So get out of the house! Some of our favorite bloggers have already told you where to eat outside this summer. Still, maybe you'd like to find yourself some green, rather than spending it. Forget the food trucks for a minute; let's go hang out with the farmers!

Getting on the electronic mailing list for Marin Organic, promoters and advocates for sustainable agriculture in Marin, is a great way to keep on top of tours, talks, and special events happening just across the bridge. Coming up next month are a dairy tour of Straus Family Creamery, an orchard walk through the olive groves of McEvoy Ranch, and a discussion with bakers Chad Robertson (Tartine Bread), Celine Underwood (Brickmaiden Bakery), and David Muller (Outerlands) about their adventures in sourdough. You can also go to Sonoma Farm Trails to downloads maps and farm guides and plan your own tour of that area's rich agricultural offerings.

CUESA, the Center for Urban Education about Sustainable Agriculture, is best known for running the San Francisco Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market, but they also organize periodic tours of local farms and producers. On August 10, you can join CUESA for an Organic Greens & Blue Cheese Tour featuring County Line Harvest, growers of excellent lettuces, strawberries, and more, and the family-run Point Reyes Farmstead Cheese Company.

Chez Panisse is planning a series of pricey fundraisers for the Edible Schoolyard in conjunction with its 40th birthday next month, but there is one free, family-friendly OPENeducation event happening on August 27 at the Berkeley Art Museum. (Tickets are free but must be reserved in advance.) The day is planned as a series of "interactive cooking installations" between museum-goers and a posse of farmers, educators, and artists, using corn, beans, and squash planted in the outdoor spaces of the museum.

And speaking of family fun, devoted Bay Area Bites readers may know Devil's Gulch Ranch as one of our favorite sources for locally produced rabbit, but they're more than just bunnies. They also host a ranch camp for kids, with three more weeklong sessions remaining.

Apples in August? For anyone born and bred on the East Coast, where apples mean autumn, the idea of this can seem a little bizarre. However, our California-grown heirloom apple, the Gravenstein, is a early ripener, ready for pie by mid-August. Celebrate its yellow-and-red striped delights at Sebastopol's down-home Gravenstein Apple Fair on August 13 and 14. You can even go up against this one-time grand champion in the Apple Pie Contest.

Most small producers have their hands full just getting their day-to-day chores done, especially when there are animals in the mix--which means your favorite cheesemaker or farmer is rarely available for drop-in visits. On August 7, Bay Area Green Tours is planning a daylong "Tomatoes, Peaches, Corn, and More" tour of Brentwood, with stops at Frog Hollow Farm, Dwelley Farm, and Smith Family Farm. (Don't forget your sunscreen and sun hat, as Brentwood bakes in the summertime. Good for the peaches and tomatoes, a little shocking to fog-dwelling San Franciscans.) On August 18, take a One Valley, Three Milks tour and get a behind-the-scenes peek of Bellwether Farms (sheep), Two Rock Valley Cheese (goat), and Valley Ford Cheese Company (cow).

You can also sign up (for free) as a member of Weirauch Farm, a small sheep dairy and creamery, and save the date for their next members-only tour on Aug. 13. The setting, in the rolling hills of Petaluma, is beautiful, and the sheep (pictured above) are as friendly and inquisitive as puppies. While owners Joel and Carleen Weirauch finish up their sheep-milking parlor (they're hoping to have it completed in time for next spring's milking season), they're making some delectable cows' milk cheeses, available after the tour for tasting and purchase.

But what if you want to stay closer to home, enjoying the flavor of local farms without getting mud on your shoes? Then head over to Potrero Hill's sweet, sunny Plow. Look for the metal pig hanging outside, or the many happy diners inside, all grooving on lemon-ricotta pancakes or (my favorite) dreamy French toast gobbed with mascarpone and topped with thick wedges of brown sugar-and-butter roasted Summer Zee peaches from Blossom Bluff Orchards.

The menu shifts daily, but a recent meal included breakfast and lunch offerings like a soft scramble with lambs quarter greens, mushrooms, and goat cheese; housemade yogurt and granola with fruit and Potrero Hill honey; cucumber-buttermilk gazpacho; green bean and Sungold tomato salad with purslane and fresh mozzarella; and a BLT stacked with Nueske bacon and glowing, gorgeous heirloom tomato slices. Farms, orchards, ranchers, bakers, and producers are thanked in four lines of small type at the bottom of the menu, name-checking all the purveyors we know from markets around the Bay Area: Mariquita Farms, Dirty Girl Produce, County Line Harvest, Hamada Farms, Frog Hollow, Straus Family Creamery, Marin Sun Farms, Acme Bread, and more. Happy summer!

No matter what you call them -- ICEEs, Slurpees or slushies -- frozen fruit drinks are one of the best ways to quench your thirst on a hot day. This is especially true if you're a kid. But what do you do if you're a mom and aren't particularly fond of the idea of your kids gulping down frozen high-fructose corn syrup beverages all summer? Make your own, of course.

My foray into homemade slushies has been fairly recent. When my kids became old enough to realize what a slushie was, I was only too happy to take them to our local mini mart to indulge. After all, I spent my childhood riding my bike through cow pastures so I could purchase my own Slurpees from 7-11. During the age of sugar innocence -- up til about age 8 by my calculations -- my daughters accepted the occasional ICEE as a little chance gift. It wasn't until last summer that they started begging for these drinks each time we drove through town, and I was relieved when the machine broke down for a while.

It finally occurred to me only this year that I could actually make my own slushies out of fresh seasonal fruit. Although I know some people use Italian soda syrups to make similar concoctions, I wanted my slushies to actually have something worth ingesting in them. So after purchasing an overly large watermelon recently, I decided to experiment with it. The recipe I used is similar to watermelon granita, except unlike that delicacy, my watermelon slushie is not frozen through. Rather I simply freeze the drink in my ice cream maker until the consistency is icy and similar to that of a slushie, and then pour and serve immediately.

Now let's be honest here. Kids aren't stupid, and when mine were faced with a homemade slushie instead of their favorite ICEE they were skeptical about how it would taste and a little irritated that I was trying to dress up frozen fresh fruit as a summer treat. But once I put the concoction in a fun glass with a straw, the complaining ceased as they quickly finished off their slushies. Will they beg for an ICEE the next time we're at the local market? Sure. But were they happy with the watermelon slushies I made? Absolutely. Plus I could eat two and not feel guilty.

Recipe: Watermelon Slushies
A frozen beverage made with fresh watermelon

Prep time: 10 minutes
Cook time: 10 minutes
Total time: 20 minutes
Yield: 6 cups

Ingredients:
5 cups hulled and cubed seedless watermelon*
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup water
1 juicy lime (or two semi-juicy limes)
* You can also just remove the seeds from a regular watermelon.

Instructions:
1. Heat sugar and water in a pot and simmer for 5 minutes or until the consistency of maple syrup. Let cool.

2. Place watermelon in a food processor (you may need to do this in batches depending on the size or your container). Pulse until smooth.

3. Place watermelon liquid into a bowl and add in the cooled simple syrup and lime juice. Stir.

4. Set frozen ice cream-maker containers into your ice cream machine and then pour the watermelon mixture into them (you'll need to process only half at a time if your ice-cream machine has only one container). According to your ice-cream maker's directions, process for about 10 minutes or until thick. You may need to stir about halfway through.

5. Place in fun cups with straws and serve to unconvinced children.

6. Smile when they exclaim that it's delicious and then feel smug.

Note: If you want something a little more grown up, just pop the mixture into a container and then place in a freezer until solid. After that you flake with a fork to fashion a granita.

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

Laying out Ingredients

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

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

Every family has its own version of comfort food. For us -- an Italian American clan that immigrated 100 years ago from Naples and Sicily -- vegetable pasta dishes have supplied not only nourishment for each generation, but a sense of well being. The continuity of eating something your great-grandparents, grandparents and parents ate is both reassuring and calming. The premise for these dishes all starts with the same idea: take whatever vegetables are in season and fresh, sauté with olive oil, garlic or onions, and maybe throw in some tomatoes for good measure. Mix with pasta and you have a meal.

Pasta Piselli is one of those dishes. A dish made with peas, tomatoes, herbs and onions, it is simple and forthright. There is nothing showy about this dish. Yet the mix of fresh spring onions and just-shelled English peas makes it not only the perfect family meal, but also elegant enough to serve to guests.

Now I need to confess that my use of fresh peas is unique in my family. Somewhere along the way -- I'm guessing during the Depression -- canned peas were employed as the main ingredient. My grandmother made the dish with canned peas, as did my mother. Yet although I adored this dish as a child, I have always made it a little differently, using fresh or frozen peas instead. This is probably because I really don't like canned vegetables. Plus fresh peas are only available for a short while in the spring, which means I need to take advantage of their wonderful verdant sweet flavor while they last. Prepared with small spring onions, and, if you're lucky, some nice early tomatoes, and you have a dish that celebrates the end of winter.

I made this pasta dish earlier this week after finding some crispy English peas and spring onions at the market. I wasn't lucky enough to stumble upon heirloom tomatoes, so used my standard can of San Marzano plums that I rely on so much throughout the year. And, because the day was rainy and cold, I added in some pasta water to make the dish soupy. If it had been warm out, I most likely would have left it out. But that's the great thing about a dish like this; its innate simplicity allows you to easily transform it for whatever mood you're in. Like all good simple foods, it is malleable, which, I suspect, is why it's been around for so long.

Collage by Wendy Goodfriend

Do you remember your mother's favorite cookbook? My own mother, raised in the 1950s, married with children in the 1960s and 1970s, a working mom with a vegetarian husband and teenagers in the 1980s, had dozens of cookbooks on her kitchen shelves, each a talisman of a particular moment. To me, each of them is as much a part of her as her scarves and shoes, her Estee Lauder perfumes, the coral lipsticks and gold foil of half-unrolled tubes of Certs always in her pocketbook.

Now, I imagine, there are moms who love their books from Rachael Ray and Paula Deen, who gravy-stain their Emerils and their Inas. But I made my very first cookies "all by myself" from a recipe in the Joy of Cooking, the late-50s version that still had hand-drawn illustrations explaining how to skin a squirrel and decorate an Easter bunny cake. The recipe? Rolled Caramel Cookies, fussy, waferlike things that had to be swiftly removed from the baking sheet and wrapped into a curl around the handle of a wooden spoon while still warm. Even then, I wasn't happy in the kitchen unless I was trying out something just a little beyond me.

I watched, then helped, my mother make the perfect Banana Tea Bread from Craig Claibourne's New York Times Cookbook, whose austere layout was complemented by black-and-white photographs of an equally severe hauteur, presenting every veal roast like an affair of state, complete with bone-china consomme cups and silver candelabra. For dinner parties, we tried out the poached, stuffed sole with tricky beurre blanc from Mastering the Art of French Cooking and the chocolate mousse from The French Chef Cookbook.

Pretty soon, though, Mom loosened up, making homemade granola, whipping up Tiger's Milk shakes, and growing her own basil and tomatoes in the backyard. Now into the kitchen came The Seasonal Kitchen by Perla Meyers, circa 1973, which I loved for its earthy, oily-garlicky insistence on cooking what was fresh from the garden, and for its chunky, resolutely modern sans-serif typeface and brown-paper pages the color of a Bloomingdale's shopping bag. But I especially loved the photo of Meyers on the cover. The photographer had snapped her striding along, a confident brunette in orange turtleneck and black trousers, looking like Mary Tyler Moore if Mary had clutched a shopping bag bursting with organic vegetables instead of a plaid tam o'shanter.

It followed the New York Times' Natural Foods Cookbook (1971), in which the paper of record tried to get down with what those crazy kids were doing, with their whole wheat breads and their bean sprouts and their blackstrap molasses. Mom made her own mayonnaise, went to the vitamin-smelling health food store for cartons of brewer's yeast and wheat germ. She still keeps a plastic bag of soy flour in the fridge, the essential ingredient for the excellent Soya Coffeecake. And I still remember, vividly, the terrifying ("3 fruit bats, well washed but neither skinned nor eviscerated") yet fascinating recipe for Fruit Bat Soup, not to mention the groovy, Rousseau-inspired dust jacket.

Given that my parents were a lot more interested in health food than most of our suburban neighbors at the time, these books were shortly followed by Mollie Katzen's whimsically hand-written, cheese-heavy Moosewood Cookbook, then the equally whimsical Vegetarian Epicure (1972) by Anna Thomas, and Katzen's follow-up, The Enchanted Broccoli Forest.

Julia gathered dust while these went into heavy rotation when first my sisters, then myself, then my father all became vegetarians. Easy broiled lamb chops and chicken breasts were replaced by tofu nut balls and endless veggie chopping, much to my now-working mother's irritation. Having since tackled the multi-part, multi-page recipes in the The Greens Cookbook to impress my still-vegetarian sisters, I can understand her frustration.

Thank god, then, for quiche, salvation of the 1980s busy mother. Already a dab hand at piecrust, she could whip up a quiche à la anything the night before, pop it into the fridge, and instruct my dad to put in the oven an hour before dinnertime, which he could just about manage, having learned from the infamous Roast Chicken Incident that our oven only worked when both knobs were turned on, one for temperature and the other for settings like bake and broil.

The Silver Palate's luscious chocolate fudge sauce was a much-loved indulgence in our house (over Haagen-Dazs vanilla Swiss almond ice cream, of course) and so the fabulous Silver Palate Cookbook (1982) quickly earned a place on the shelf. I pored over it, imagining a glamorous life of high-style dinner parties punctuated with goat-cheese phyllo triangles and seafood lasagna. As Paul Prudhomme became a celebrity chef on the strength of his blackened redfish and shrimp remoulade, my parents took jaunts to New Orleans, coming back with spiral-bound cookbooks full of recipes for gooey bananas Foster and gloriously messy barbecued shrimp, served swimming in bowls of tinglingly spicy sauce with yards of crisp-crusted French bread.

Although my father hadn't been to the Bay Area since shipping out for the Pacific during WWII, he nonetheless bought my mom a copy of the Chez Panisse Menu Cookbook, written by Alice Waters with then-chef Paul Bertolli. My mother never cooked from it (too much grilled squab and nasturtium-flower salads to make it useful for suburban New Jersey, circa 1982) but I read and re-read it endlessly. Alice Waters had escaped the suburbs of New Jersey to eat deliciously in France and re-invent herself in California; how I longed to do that, too!

Stir-frying, fueled by the wok craze and our own forays into the newly popular Hunan and Szechuan restaurants in New York City, came into my mother's kitchen through The Thousand-Recipe Chinese Cookbook by Gloria Bley Miller (1984). Tucked inside the front cover was a soy sauce-spattered sheaf of printed recipes from Uncle Tai's, my parents' favorite Hunan restaurant, a fancy place in midtown with ice-blue wallpaper, tuxedo'd captains, and fantastic hacked chicken, sesame noodles, and lamb with scallions, worlds away from the greasy fried noodles dunked in sticky duck sauce at our local strip-mall Cantonese joints.

I still find the sight of any of these books--on the shelf of a used bookstore, or in the welcoming, pleasantly decorated kitchens of ladies in their 50s and 60s--incredibly comforting. A glimpse of the Silver Palate Cookbook or Chef Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana Kitchen (1984), buttressed by the twin volumes of Mastering the Art of French Cooking,and I feel like I've come home.

My mother watches Ina Garten's cooking shows now, and collects her bright, enticingly easy Barefoot Contessa cookbooks. I tuck jars of homemade jam into my suitcase when I go to visit her in New York; she stocks up on goat cheese, bagels, salmon, and lamb chops. She's discovered panko crumbs and Prosecco, rainbow chard and pomegranate juice. I sneak downstairs in the morning, to get the coffee going before she gets up. We cook together, and she reminds me again of how, at 15, I threw her out of the kitchen so I could finish whatever I was making my own way. We laugh about this, and she points out my own three cookbooks, now on display in the wicker kitchen bookshelf. I tell her I learned everything from her.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

As far as I'm concerned, ice cream is the perfect dessert. There's nothing more relaxing and comforting after a hectic day with kids and work than a little hillock of lush and frosty ice cream sitting in a bowl. But lately my cholesterol has been creeping a little higher, making my nightly indulgence unsustainable. So after some months eating mostly store-bought sherbet and frozen yogurt, I decided to try something new -- almond milk ice cream -- and I'm so glad I did.

Now no one would ever proclaim me a vegan -- after all, I have far too many recipes on Bay Area Bites that use pork shoulder as a main ingredient -- but I do love the idea of cutting cholesterol and fat from my diet. So, noticing refrigerated almond milk at Trader Joe's, I started to wonder how it would fare as an ice-cream base. The container claimed it was "rich and creamy" and I also saw it was free of cholesterol and saturated fat. So far so good, but would it taste like ice cream? As someone who's never really liked soy ice cream -- it has too much of an aftertaste for me -- I was skeptical but ready to give almond milk a try.

I made three types of ice cream and, no surprise to many vegans out there but sort of a surprise to me, they were all amazingly good, exceeding my expectations on every level. My ten-year old daughter Maddie even exclaimed about the chocolate version "This is better than store-bought ice cream! It's my favorite!" I have to agree. My three flavors were almond, strawberry and chocolate (recipes below). All are vegan. The first two were delightful but the chocolate was really special, and all are cholesterol and fat free. But don't make these because they're healthy for you; make them because they are creamy and luscious. Basically they are everything that ice cream should be, minus the artery clogging component.

Eggs from Tara Firma Farms

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

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

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

Easter brunch menu at Della Fattoria

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chicken at Tara Firma Farms

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

Olivia the sow and her piglets

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

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

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

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

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

My favorite comment about Wise Sons' Saturday-only deli came from my sister, who wrote on Facebook, "Your grandfather, may he rest in peace, he didn't eat at delis that popped up. He married a balaboosta and SHE cooked for him."

Too true! Growing up, everything at our Passover Seders was made from scratch in my grandmother Fae's kitchen, from the gefilte fish to the brisket to the spongecake. (The exception was Passover brownies, which my 7-year-old self loved to whip up from the box of Manischewitz mix. My grandmother was a true balaboosta--Yiddish for perfect housewife & mother--and she knew how to keep a kid out of her hair when she was busy making chicken soup for 20.)

I had high hopes of finally making my own gefilte fish (chilled fish balls, typically made from carp, pike, and whitefish mixed with onion and matzoh meal and poached in fish stock, a kind of Mitteleuropa quenelle) from scratch this year. My mother even sent me the recipe she'd used, torn out of her well-splattered copy of From My Mother's Kitchen by longtime New York Times writer Mimi Sheraton. Time and deadlines, alas, will preclude this from happening for Monday's Seder, but sometime during the rest of the week, who knows? I could have a carp swimming in my bathtub yet.

Gefilte fish cupcake. Photo: J. Pollack Photography

However, you don't need to make your fish balls to present Stefani Pollack's fabulous (or terrifying) Gefilte Fish Cupcakes from The Cupcake Project. Just buy a jar of fish balls, mash them into a cupcake liner, and top with a big, tempting swirl of...wait! That's not strawberry icing, it's HORSERADISH WHIPPED CREAM! Oh, the horror. As my friend Molly said, just start saving for the kids' therapy now.

Passover, like Thanksgiving, only happens once a year, and so I've found that people really don't need something new and wild on the table, especially during the first two festive Seder nights. (The holiday itself goes on for 8 days, so I can understand that you might want to get a little crazy by the 5th or 6th night.) I can vouch for the deliciousness and complete ease of Gourmet's brisket recipe with one suggestion: Ditch the brisket, get the chuck roast. The weird, webby-stringy texture of brisket has always put me off, along with its tendency to dryness. Moist, slow-cooked chuck roast, by contrast, falls apart in perfectly succulent shreds at the poke of a fork. This is an especially good dish for Passover, because it's easily made ahead of time. In a heavy covered pot, it can keep warm in a slow oven for the time it takes to do the blessings and hide the afikomen.

I used to give myself major tsuris trying to reproduce the perfection that was Grandma Fae's spongecake, until I realized that, tradition aside, what everyone at my table really wanted was flourless chocolate cake, made with good chocolate, finely ground almonds, and lots of eggs whipped to fluffiness. This, plus strawberries, a few macaroons and maybe some jelly rings, is all anyone will have room for.

But what about after the Seder? A few days of leftovers, and then, it's a week of Atkins, with only matzoh and potatoes for starch, since all other kinds of bread and grains are forbidden during the holiday. By day five of crumbling tuna-on-matzoh sandwiches, I can well understand why Robin of Doves & Figs might want to soak her matzoh in wine before frying up a Drunken Passover Grilled Cheese.

And then, you probably want to get out of the house and let someone else do the cooking. If you're not strictly observant of the kosher-for-passover dietary laws, several Bay Area restaurants are doing menus this week inspired by Passover dishes from around the world (if by "around the world" we mean Italy.)

From April 19 through April 26, Delfina will be featuring its annual array of Passover-themed dishes. They're not doing a Seder, just adding a rotating selection of special seasonal items to the regular menu. Selections will change daily, but you can probably count on finding some kind of brisket, fried artichokes (a classic of Roman Jewish cuisine), veal tongue, chef-owner Craig Stoll's family recipe for matzoh ball soup, and an "edible Seder plate" with farm egg salad, charoset (apple-walnut dip) and lamb-shank crostini. (But going to Delfina while forgoing pasta? That would take more willpower than I can muster.)

Maror Cocktail. Photo courtesy of The Sipping Seder

And finally, let's not forget the required drinking. Yes, four glasses of wine are mandated at each Seder, but in between, why stick to Manischewitz (or even Baron Herzog) when you can knock back a beet-and-horseradish Maror cocktail instead? As Irwin Keller writes in his introduction to The Sipping Seder,

The seder asks us to retell the story of the exodus from Egypt as if we had been there in person. It’s hard to imagine enduring generations of slavery and a slew of plagues, only to flee our homes in the dead of night and run straight into the sea with the world’s fiercest army in hot pursuit. If we managed somehow to survive the experience, what would we do when at last we reached safety? Perhaps we lack the fortitude of our ancestors, but we can easily imagine being ready for a good stiff drink. Maybe two.

The six cocktails on the site, each of which corresponds to a ritual item on the Seder plate, are the inventions of Rob Corwin and Danny Jacobs. Even better, they're currently working with Umberto Gibin, co-owner of Perbacco, to debut the cocktails at the downtown restaurant during Passover. (To make your own, try searching out our local Distillery No. 209's kosher-for-passover gin, made with sugarcane instead of grain.

Perbacco will also be continuing its tradition of offering an Italian-style Passover meal cooked by executive chef Staffan Terje with former Square One chef and cookbook author Joyce Goldstein on the 3rd night of Passover, Wed., April 20.

Wise Sons is doing a pop-up Traditional Passover Seder at Coffee Bar Monday, April 18 and Tuesday April 19. Tuesday is sold out but reservations for Monday are still available. Saul's in Berkeley will be hosting a prix fixe Seder dinner on Friday, April 22, while Firefly in San Francisco's Noe Valley will turn its whole menu into a celebration of Passover dishes from April 18-26. Mission Beach Cafe will also offer a Passover dinner on April 25. Palio D'Asti is doing a "What Would Jesus Eat?" Holy Week mash-up from April 18-23, whipping up dishes from Italian Passover and Easter traditions.

And to that, l'chaim!