So it's time to make a meal, and you're bored with making the same old dishes. It's time to recharge your repertoire.

Back in the day before the dawn of the online era, you'd just snag a new family recipe from a relative with some culinary chops, or tune into the wisdom of Julia Child. But the mega-popularity of The Food Network has since ignited an unrelenting avalanche of food-related media, and now you can find endless numbers of resources on television, newspapers, cookbooks, blogs, discussion forums, and even smart phone apps.

So where to go in the midst of this media overload? There are some excellent new sites that offer a curated collection of recipes that will help you sift through the onslaught of available resources.

If you're a fan of food porn, the following two sites will catch your fancy. Punchfork aggregates recipes from a number of popular food websites that rank highly in the social media sphere. According to their website, "Punchfork uses real-time data like tweets and Facebook shares to measure which recipes are grabbing the attention of users. We uncover the latent sentiment in sharing patterns on social networks." You can see which recipes have top-ratings with the foodie crowd, what's new, and of course, what's trending. Each recipe is easily sharable with folks on your own social networks, too. Learn more about this innovative new site in this interview with Punchfork's founder, Jeff Miller.

Then there's Gojee. Be sure to click on this site after you've had a snack, because the glossy photography will make your stomach instantly growl with hunger. You have to register to view the recipes, and then you're greeted with a stunning portrait of a dish that you'll want to make right away -- like Penne with Corn & Brown Butter.

The user interface is quite personable, allowing users to search by ingredient for what you "crave," what you "have" in your pantry, and what you "dislike." And when you type in search terms, witty messages such as "Almond joying myself, are you?" pop up as you wait for the recipe to pop up. And they bring careful attention to their curatorial process, as mentioned in this Forbes.com article: "You could call us a high quality, hand curated, easy to use Google for food blogger recipes. Every recipe on our site is manually chosen by our team," says founder Mike Lavalle.

Then there's Foodpress, which has a roster of featured food bloggers that contribute recipes. You can click on popular keywords that are listed in a handy sidebar, or check out sections such as, "Today's Specials" and "Featured Posts."

But if you'd like to dive into the online juggernaut, there are comprehensive sites such as Yummly, Google Recipe View (and if you're using their new Google+ social network, their "Sparks" feature includes recipes. However, you'll see it filters through articles as well as plain recipes when you scroll through.)

And of course, don't forget to check our Bay Area Bites's extensive archive of great recipes.

A large portion of my childhood consisted of living on a macrobiotic diet. As a kid, I wasn't much of a fan of brown rice, beans, burdock, seaweed, squash, and steamed leafy vegetables. I especially hated kale and after exiting that type of dietary lifestyle I thought that I would never eat kale again for the rest of my life. But something happened. My tastebuds changed and as I became a "grown-up" I started to crave the clean, fresh taste of the ingredients commonly found in macrobiotics. 10-year-old me would not believe it, but I often miss that food from my childhood. Now our pantry is full of seaweed, our vegetable crisper is full of leaves, and we always have a container of umeboshi plums on hand (which is amazing on a steamed ear of corn, by the way). Next to Hungarian food (my obligation by birth), Japanese is my favorite cuisine. And oddly enough, I now love kale.

Kale, as I am sure you have noticed, is all the rage right now, which is pretty refreshing in light of the other recent trend foods out there (bacon, cupcakes, mac 'n' cheese...). It's incredibly healthy, versatile, and hearty.

One of my favorite ways to eat kale is via kale chips. Raw foodists make these by dehydrating pieces of flavored kale (which is how the ones you buy by the bag are made). They are either very simply seasoned, or are smothered in a nut or seed-based sauce before making them crisp. Unfortunately, most of us don't own a dehydrator. But luckily, you can easily make kale chips in your oven! It does change some things. Lightly dressing the kale is very important, so that the oven has a chance to make all the water evaporate -- otherwise you are left with soggy pieces of chewiness. And the oven-variety is best consumed right away -- crisp and even a little warm. It's not really for storing -- but I mean, why would you NOT want to finish a whole bowl in one sitting?

SESAME AGAVE KALE CHIPS
A crispy, sweet, and salty delight.

Prep time: 15 minutes
Cook time: 30-40 minutes
Total time: 55 minutes
Yield: one medium-sized bowl of chips

Ingredients:
1 bunch curly kale (curly works well, vs. Dino or Red Russian, since all the curls trap the sauce)
2 teaspoons soy sauce or tamari (or BRAGG Liquid Aminos, or Coconut Secret coconut aminos to make it soy-free)
4 teaspoons agave
2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar
2 teaspoons lemon juice
2 Tablespoons toasted sesame oil
2 cloves of garlic, pressed
4 Tablespoons hulled (white) sesame seeds
(You could also add a pinch of cayenne for a kick.)

Instructions:
1. Preheat oven to 225 degrees.

2. Tear kale off of stems and into bite–sized pieces (remember: kale will shrink a lot while baking, so don't make them too small).

3. Wash kale in a big bowl of water. Drain, and dry as well as you can (preferably in a salad spinner).

4. Whisk all other ingredients together and pour over kale a little at a time. Massage the sauce into the kale pieces so that they are well coated. You may not use all of the sauce. Only pour enough to JUST coast the leaves. You don't want it dripping.

5. Lay the kale pieces out on two parchment-paper-lined cookie sheets in a thin layer.

6. Bake for 30 – 40 minutes, turning the pieces once or twice while baking. Ovens vary so you may want to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t start browning (which would make them bitter).

7. Once crisp, remove from oven and serve in a bowl. Eat right away.

What ever happened to dessert as spectacle? Too often, dessert is something that happens out of sight. It's made earlier in the day and tucked away; or it's bought from a bakery or dug out of the freezer, the frozen last resort of mango sorbet or some bite-sized thing from Trader Joe's. The flaming drama of crepes Suzette and bananas Foster, it seems, is long behind us.

But why not reclaim the last course's potential as a little bit of interactive performance? After all, your guests have already been fed. If you screw up, no one's going to have to call for pizza delivery on the way home, loudly bemoaning your hubris in the kitchen. No one thinks you can just make a cake, snap, like that, right under their noses while the dishes are being cleared and the coffee made. Thus, I've turned what is actually a fault--not getting it together on time to show up on the doorstep with a cake already baked--into a party trick, showing up with a bagful of ingredients secretly pre-measured and ready to mix and bake. Certain simple butter cakes, especially those topped with sliced fruit and an aromatic sprinkle of cinnamon sugar, like this ever-popular plum torte, are perfect for this, with the added benefit of making everyone's mouth water with their alluring scent of browning butter, sugar, spice, and fruit.

Madeleines, those dainty, shell-shaped little cakes, are even easier, and have the added benefit of being French and therefore, to American eyes, fancy. They also give those who have put their time in reading Proust a chance to show off, especially if they can quote the relevant passages in the original. You can please, or one-up, these people by serving a tisane de tilleul (linden-flower tea), since that is what Proust's narrator was drinking when his fragment of madeleine, soaked in the tea, brought forth its famously prolific gush of memory.)

Now, the thing about madeleines is, they're at their most delectable fresh out of the oven. Yes, the ones sold three at a time in little plastic bags at Starbucks or out of the vending machines in the Paris Metro are still pretty good; as spongy little cakes go, they're surprisingly resilient. But I still remember the grande geste of some very posh French restaurant in New York City where, post-dessert but pre-check, the waiter brought out a complementary bowl, swaddled in a huge napkin, that was unfolded to reveal freshly baked madeleines snuggled in the white linen like baby birds in a nest. Ooh la la, how I wanted to kiss that waiter and leave him a huge, huge tip!

So, to make this happen effortlessly after dinner, a few tricks. You can easily make the batter beforehand and stash it in the fridge. Because it depends on well-beaten eggs, not baking powder, for its puff, it won't lose any potency for being made ahead of time. The ingredients are pantry-simple--sugar, butter, flour, a little lemon or orange rind, a splash of vanilla and a pinch of salt--meaning no frantic last-minute trips will be needed to search out 85% chocolate or a bottle of Grand Marnier. The only thing you must have is a madeleine pan. Usually, I am all about the good-enough substitution; many are the pie crusts I've rolled out with a tequila bottle and the chickens baked in a cast-iron skillet rather than an All-Clad roasting pan. No matter what the nice lady at Crate & Barrel tells you, you do not need a plastic strawberry huller shaped like a strawberry. Nor do you need an egg slicer or a mango pitter.

But in this case, there is no way around it; you want to make a madeleine, you need the pan that makes them what they are: neatly cupped, oblong and indented like a elongated scallop shell. Personally, I prefer the plain metal French version, the kind you need to thoroughly butter and flour to prevent sticking. They are work perfectly and last pretty much forever, so long as you wash and dry them carefully afterward to prevent them any flecks of rust from showing up. (The easy way to do this? Soak the pan for a few minutes to loosen any baked-on bits, give a gentle scrub and rinse, then flip over and return to the turned-off but still-warm oven to dry upside down.) There are non-stick versions, and those creepy, flippity-floppity silicone ones, but in my experience, the extra buttering and flouring the metal ones require help give the subtlest whisper of a crust, just a tiny bite of nutty golden-browness to contrast with the sunny, spongy crumb.

As for flavoring, lemon is classic, orange delightful, some specks of vanilla bean perfectly wonderful. You could rub some lavender flowers into a canister of sugar and use the softly floral results. You can even make savory madeleines, crunchy with cornmeal and a hint of rosemary, particularly nice with soup as a first course. I've long adored this corn-muffiny recipe created by Molly O'Neill, which I tore out of a New York Times Magazine circa 1996 and have kept tattered, splashed on, and well-loved ever since. You can melt the butter and then keep going, gently cooking until it smells nutty and turns the color of honey. Strained to remove the solids, this beurre noisette, as our French friends call it, deepens the flavor with a aura of toasted hazelnut. Right now, my favorite accompaniment to a bowl of summer peaches and nectarines is a batch of Meyer lemon madeleines, made from with a backyard lemon picked right off the tree.

Recipe: Meyer Lemon Madeleines

Summary: These spongy, delicate little cakes taste best fresh out of the oven. If you need to make them ahead of time, reheat gently and dust with powdered sugar just before serving.

By Stephanie Rosenbaum

Prep time: 15 minutes
Cook time: 8-12 minutes
Total time: 23-27 minutes
Yield: 12 to 40 madeleines, depending on the size of pan

Ingredients
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 tsp finely grated Meyer lemon rind
2 eggs, at room temperature
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup flour, plus an additional 2 tbsp for pans
1/4 cup (2 oz/4 tbsp) unsalted butter, melted, plus an additional tbsp of softened butter for pans
powdered sugar, for dusting

Instructions

1. Preheat the oven to 375F. Depending on whether you have a sluggish or an eager oven, this can take up to 20 minutes. You really need your oven good and hot to get the batter to rise up in that characteristic madeleine hump, so turn the oven on as soon as you walk in the kitchen. Prepare the madeleine pans: Rub each scallop lightly but thoroughly with softened butter, making sure to grease all the ridges and crannies. Dust the greased pan with flour, shaking it to and fro to make sure each scallop is completely coated. Turn the pan upside down and tap sharply to remove any excess flour. Set aside.

2. Mix lemon rind and sugar together. Add eggs and salt. Using a wire whisk, a hand-held electric mixer, or a stand mixer, beat eggs and sugar together vigorously until mixture lightens and becomes creamy, pale, and thick. By hand, this will take 5-8 minutes; using a mixer, from 4-6 minutes. Don't skimp on this part, since the volume of air mixed in at this stage is crucial to making the cakes spongy and light.

3. Stir in vanilla extract. Gently fold in the flour, followed by the melted butter. Fold gently until just combined.

4. Spoon batter into each scallop, filling it 2/3 full. Bake for 8-12 minutes, until firm and just beginning to color around the edges. Remove from the oven. Let stand for 1 minute, then flip pan over and tap firmly. Most of the scallops should drop out; run a butter knife around the edges of any that remain to loosen.

5. Wrap in a napkin to keep warm. Sift powdered sugar over the madeleines just before serving.

After two months of relishing the transient taste of summer fruit, I've reached the midsummer doldrums. Suddenly I'm not as obsessively smitten with the cavalcade of fruit available this time of year. Of course I still enjoy eating a ripe peach or crisp cherries, but after spending most of May and June smelling and caressing each peach or apricot as I pick through the lot to find the perfect one, I'm a little over it. Nope. At this point I now simply toss four or five pieces of stone fruit into a bag, cart them home with everything else, place them in a bowl on the counter and hope that someone eats them in the next day or two so they don't molder and collect fruit flies. The more I think about it, the more I find that my relationship with summer fruit is sort of like a romance. You start off all hot and bothered by the unique amazing characteristics that make you fall in love, and end up taking the object of your devotion for granted later when life returns to normal. But that doesn't mean that my time romancing summer fruit is over, because baking brings out a whole new sense of wonder.

Each summer I try to find one or two new fruit recipes. Last year I couldn't seem to make my cherry almond tea cake enough, and I still find that recipe to be very appealing. This summer it's an apricot cream tart. Like so much in life, a series of mishaps led to the creation of this recipe. I was going to make a peach tart, but then the peaches I had bought turned out to be flavorless (more evidence of my waning devotion to picking the perfect summer fruit). So with only eight apricots on hand, I stared at my blind-baked tart crust and began to imagine new possibilities.

The idea of a cream tart sounded intriguing, and so with some advice to check out Julia Child's Tarte Normande aux Pommes recipe from Mastering the Art of French Cooking, I proceeded. As with most Julia Child recipes, the cream filling in the recipe had a lot of actual heavy whipping cream in it, an ingredient I didn't have on hand. Plus I am trying to reduce the use of whipping cream in my life (and arteries). So after doubling the recipe and altering some key ingredients, I laid my apricots on top of my crust with some sprinkled sugar and then poured in the filling. After about a half hour I opened the oven door to find one of the prettiest tarts I've made in ages. But would the taste live up to the presentation? As a matter of fact, it did. The cream filling was rich and dense while the apricots nestled within offered not only sweetness, but also a welcome hint of tartness to counterbalance the flavors.

My love affair with summer fruit is now revived.

APRICOT CREAM TART

An apricot tart with cream filling inspired by the Tarte Normande aux Pommes recipe from Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck

Prep time: 10 minutes
Cook time: 30 minutes
Total time: 40 minutes
Yield: One 10-inch tart

Ingredients:

1 pre-baked tart crust (recipe below)
8 medium to large apricots (you can also use peaches, apriums, pluots or nectarines)
2 large eggs
2/3 cup sugar for the cream filling plus 1/4 cup for the fruit
1/3 cup flour
1 cup whole milk
1 Tbsp brandy or 1 tsp vanilla extract
2 Tbsp apricot jam (optional)

Instructions:

1. Line the bottom of the pre-baked tart crust with apricot jam if using.

2. In a medium bowl, whip the eggs with 2/3 cup of sugar for about one minute. Add in the milk, flour and brandy (or vanilla extract) and then whip until fully incorporated.

3. Cut the fruit in half and remove the pits and mix with the remaining sugar. Lay the fruit on the tart crust in a circular pattern.

4. Gently pour the filling into the crust, being careful not to cover the fruit.

5. Bake for 20 - 25 minutes, or until the filling is just firm.

6. Remove tart from oven and let cool before serving.

CREAM CHEESE TART CRUST

Prep time: 10 minutes
Cook time: 20 minutes
Total time: 35 minutes
Yield: One 10-inch tart crust

Ingredients :

1 stick cold unsalted butter (cut into small pieces)
3 Tbsp cold cream cheese
1 3/4 cups flour
1/2 Tsp salt
~5 Tbsp cold water

Instructions:

1. Mix butter and salt into flour with your fingers, a pastry cutter or in a food processor while pulsing until mostly incorporated.

2. Add in cream cheese the same way you added in the butter.

3. Slowly mix in the water (being sure that it's very cold) until the flour mixture starts to hold together and then stop.

4. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap or dump in a large ziplock bag (I prefer the latter) and refrigerate for at least a half hour (or up to one day).

5. Preheat oven to 350 degrees (or 325 in a convection oven) while you roll out your dough and then place in a 10-inch tart plate.

6. Poke some holes with a fork on the bottom of the tart crust, line the dough with foil or parchment paper and then lay some pie weights or dried beans on top.

7. Bake for 15 minutes and then remove the pie weights/beans and foil/parchment paper and bake for another 7-10 minutes or until just barely turning golden.

8. Remove crust from oven and let cool.

Brick Hut 3: Kwan and Rami. Photo by Ace Morgan

Part 2: The Food... (Part 1: The Story)
Having a cafe was nobody's dream, but it sustained us in our other
endeavors.

The Brick Hut was a place for us all to create a space in the world
where we could be our complete selves.

The food was the community, the edible fare was our way of bringing it
all together, with love.

Brick Hut 1: 1975-1983 "Women Invented Cheese"
In the beginning, it wasn't all about the food. For us, owning our work place was about opportunity, self-determination, sanctuary. Every person did every job.

The Brick Hut was our anchor, as well as an anchor for our community.

Brick Hut 1: Something Moving album cover with menu

The menu was small, painted by Peggy Mitchell of the band BeBe K'Roche, on a board attached to the hood above the stove. It is featured on the cover of Mary Watkins' album, Something Moving which includes the song Brick Hut.
Listen to Brick Hut:

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The food was simple. Comfort food: Eggs, waffles and pancakes, hash browns, toast, bacon, ham and sausage links, one kind of cheese -- cheddar. A bottomless cup of coffee was 70 cents and customers could help themselves while waiting to be seated. And, bless them, wait they did.

In fact, waiting for a seat became a good time to meet old friends or make new ones, hold lively discussions or maybe just flirt with somebody.

Our specialty signature item was a spiced whole wheat batter for our delicious waffles and pancakes. Pure maple syrup was extra.

Our food evolved along with the business and the times. Debi Thow wanted to make muffins. She brought in a recipe from Gourmet magazine that we modified over time and the famous Brick Hut blueberry muffin was born. Amey Shaw showed us how to make a gorgeous Hollandaise sauce and brunch exploded in a bevy of Hollandaise dishes.

Hash browns became home fries and we saw our options were limited only by our imaginations.

People had ideas, we experimented.

We created omelets and named them for inspirational women: Sister Marion for a marathon-running nun; Ruth Reid for an early 20th Century lesbian poet and activist; Seven Sisters for the Berkeley feminist construction collective and the Mendocino omelet for the herb blend we ordered from a woman owned business.

What's in a Ruth Reid Omelet?
• Avocado
• Green chili
• Jack cheese
• Sour cream

Hut 2: 1983-1995 "Pancakes, Eggs and Fun"
When we expanded to a new location, the menu expanded too. More space meant the ability to offer more fresh foods: salads, fruit bowls, better breakfast meats, artisanal sausages, higher quality meat and poultry.

Seasonal fresh fruits topped the waffles and pancakes.

The Tofu Saute with fresh sautéed vegetables was a vegetarian favorite.

We made soups, improved our chili, made salsas, offered a beautiful variety of baked goods, some house-made, some from Berkeley's Nabolom Bakery.

We installed an espresso machine to round out our epic breakfast experience. There was still a line down the street.

We played with our food. We joked that we cooked 50 items 500 ways.

One day, I thought it would be fun to offer something completely new: eggs scrambled with pesto. It was an immediate sensation and was copied by several other cafes in the area, as well as a few in other parts of the country, thanks to customers who had moved away and talked their local eatery into trying it out.

Occasionally, the brunch board offered one special: the Mystery Omelet. I think I started that just to avoid having to make a million of my least favorite omelets (the Ruth Reid-- too many moving parts, too many substitutions!)

We just asked if the customer was vegetarian or not and proceeded to create a whatever omelet on the fly—no two alike all day.

Kids loved our Mickey Mouse pancakes and it wasn’t unusual to see a server carrying around a baby so mom could eat unencumbered.

People came in for breakfast during the times of the Iran-Contra hearings or when Anita Hill was testifying at the Clarence Thomas confirmation hearings and ended up joining people at other tables for discussion and, eventually, lunch.

If a customer asked for something different, we did our best to make it happen.

Tofu Saute
• Cut medium/firm tofu into 1/2" thick triangles
• Cut, blanch and shock: carrot, broccoli, zucchini, set aside
• In heated sauté pan, add: Chopped garlic and ginger
• Add tofu
• Add tamari or soy,
• Add sliced onions and mushrooms (shiitakes are best for this)
• Add vegetables, a little salt and black pepper
• Cover to finish
• Drizzle a little sesame oil to flavor
• Top with toasted sesame seeds, maybe some chopped scallion
• Serve on rice or with home fries and toast

Brick Hut 3 kitchen chaos: Sharon, Rami, Monica, Luana, Kaja. Photo by Ace Morgan

Hut 3: 1995-1997 "Girl Town"
Once again we moved and our menu expanded into dinners. We served pastas, using old family recipes, pizzas, using a cornmeal crust by none other than Sophia Loren. We offered fresh fish, grilled veggies. We made our desserts in house or supplemented them with items, like our sorbet, from local businesses. We served wine and beer (featuring St. Supery, a woman-run winery and Lost Coast Ales, by Master Brewer Barbara Groom).

We bought a fryer and made French fries, chicken wings, and anything that we could make up that we thought our customers would like.

There really was something for everyone.

Still, there was a line down the street, but mostly on weekends.
People were surprised when we closed our doors forever, believing that that line happened all week.

I am grateful for all of the folks who came through those doors, to work or to eat. Every one of them created a part of the Brick Hut.

To this day, we hear from old customers that they really miss us and that they wish there was a Brick Hut. My old friend and business partner, Sharon Davenport usually replies, "There was a Brick Hut."

Join the Remembering The Brick Hut Cafe group on Facebook. Share your memories, thoughts and photos.

Sophia Loren inspired pizza dough
• 5c. warm water
• 8T active dry yeast
• pinch sugar
• mix lightly to dissolve yeast

gently stir in:

• 1.5 c. sweet olive oil
• 1/4 tsp salt
• freshly chopped herb blend (or just rosemary)
• 2T chopped garlic (can also be roasted)
• 8c. pizza flour
• 2c. corn flour (medium grind)
• mix thoroughly, cover, let rise
• punch down dough, divide in 1/2
• cover and let rise again
• after second rise, divide into 12-15 11 oz. dough balls
• stretch, form crust, sprinkle coarse corn meal on pizza pan,
  add whatever toppings you like
• bake at 450 degrees for 6-8 minutes

As I'm sure you know, macaroni and cheese is all the rage right now. With entire restaurants dedicated to the creamy, comforting stuff, it's clear that it's a childhood favorite that we don't outgrow. Vegans have long been in the practice of creating amazing versions of animal-ingredient-free varieties. There's even an entire blog dedicated to it called the Noochy Noodle. But what if you are vegan and also gluten-free? Just because a vegan gets diagnosed with celiac disease or gluten sensitivity his or her ethical stance about animal products doesn't change. So, the elimination of gluten gets added to their vegan lifestyle.

The two main components in traditional mac and cheese are dairy and wheat. So, you may wonder how a gluten-free vegan could possibly, of all dishes, manage to eat some. Believe it or not, it's possible to create a delectable, velvety, savory bowl of noodles that will satisfy even an omnivore. I know of four restaurants in the Bay Area that serve gluten-free vegan mac and cheese: Source, Nature's Express, Cafe Gratitude (and a raw variety at that!), and Homeroom. However, everyone knows that nothing beats homemade. So, let's start with some cashews and some rice pasta and take it from there...

Gluten-Free Vegan Macaroni and Cheese

Summary: This makes a cheesy, gooey mac and cheese. I prefer not to bake it so that the nut base doesn't get too dry or congeal. The base for the cheese sauce was inspired by the Raw Cashew Cheese recipe on Chocolate & Zucchini.

Prep time: After soaking cashews, 15 min
Cook time: 10 min
Total time: 15 min (some steps are done simultaneously)
Yield: 4 2-cup servings

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cup cashews (soaked for 6 hours or overnight -- measure after soaking)
• 1/2 cup vegan milk (I used homemade cashew milk, but any other type would work)
• 1/4 cup roasted red peppers (from a jar works fine)
• 3 tablespoons white wine (find a vegan variety here)*
• 2 tablespoons nutritional yeast
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice
• 1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
• 1 tablespoon Earth Balance (I prefer the soy-free variety, which would also make this a soy-free recipe.)
• 1 large clove of garlic, chopped
• 1 teaspoon salt
• black pepper to taste (but I recommend a lot)
• 1 bag Trader Joe's Organic Brown Rice Fusilli Pasta (This is the best gluten-free pasta I have found, and it's only $1.99. It comes in other shapes, but fusilli is the best.)**



*The addition of wine and vinegar helps give the sauce the sharp taste that the fermentation in dairy cheese produces.
**If you are not gluten-free, you can totally use regular wheat pasta here as well.
Note: If you're not feeling the macaroni part, you can also just make the sauce and use it for other recipes that call for cheesy concoctions, like a vegan fondue, over veggies, or drizzled on vegan pizza.

Instructions

1. Start cooking the pasta according to directions. I've learned that exactly 8 minutes is the ideal time for the Trader Joe's brand.
2. In the meantime put all other ingredients into a blender and gradually increase the speed to the highest possible, and blend until completely smooth. I highly recommend using a good quality (preferably high-speed) blender like a Vitamix to get the creamiest consistency possible. But whatever blender you use, the key it to get it as smooth as possible and without any gritty texture.



3. Pour "cheese" mixture into a pot and over medium low heat, gradually heat sauce while constantly stirring with a whisk.
4. Drain noodles, rinse for a second, and while still wet combine with cheese sauce.
5. Stir.
6. Eat.

You can also customize this recipe easily. Add a little cayenne or jalapeños for a kick. Sprinkle with gluten-free bread crumbs or crumbled potato chips. Stir in peas or broccoli florets. Use your imagination! Then grab a bowl, pile in the creamy pasta, and relive your childhood (maybe add some grown-up cartoons for even more authenticity).

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.

I came late to the quinoa love-fest. Technically, this high-protein, high-fiber, gluten-free superfood from the Andes is not a grain, although it acts like one in the kitchen. When I was a UCSC farm and garden apprentice, we made a lot of quinoa pancakes (not bad) and quinoa tabbouleh (surprisingly good). But too many times, I've had it served plain as plain and here, I must tell you: Quinoa, You're No Rice. Sad to say, you're not even couscous. To me, unadorned quinoa tastes like it came out the wrong end of the flavor-extraction machine, pleasantly fluffy but free of taste.

So, the trick with quinoa is to treat it like tofu: as a nice, neutral backdrop just aching to become a Jackson Pollack. In other words, throw a lot of big, bright stuff at it, and you'll get something worth eating. Unlike, say, pasta, which gets exponentially tastier the more cheese, sausage, and cream you toss into it, quinoa's best partners are stubbornly healthy.

Which brings us to that staple of Bay Area life, the potluck. And especially, the potluck with the vegan/vegetarians, half of whom have recently gone gluten-free. I've already given out my potato-salad tips, which could be adapted to use a vegan egg-free mayonnaise like Nayonaise, or the tofu version in Mollie Katzen's Still Life with Menu.

The tininess and cool purplish color of cooked adzuki beans work well with the colors and general small scale of everything in this salad, but you could, if pressed, use another small bean from your Mason-jar arsenal. If at all possible, soak and cook the beans yourself; canned beans are really too mushy to make a decent showing in any salad.

But who am I kidding? You're already looking at those half-dozen cans of organic black beans in your pantry and thinking, "Burn through gas and raise my blood pressure angling for a parking spot at Berkeley Bowl just to get a half cup of some weird bitty bean? Not a chance!" Okay, sister, I hear you. But at least drain and rinse those beans really, really well to get all the slimy can-muck off. (And by the way, if you've ever had a moon cake stuffed with red-bean paste, you've had adzuki beans; in Asia, where this bean originated, its nutty-sweet flavor is highly prized for use in desserts and other sweets.)

This recipe is a mash-up of inspiration from two different recipes, Tangerine Quinoa Pilaf from The Sunset Cookbook and Curried Couscous Salad in The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook. A small amount of beans and quinoa turns into a satisfyingly generous (and protein-rich) amount of salad, and it can easily be made a day or two in advance. If your favorite farmers' market vendor has carrots in groovy colors like purple and burgundy, by all means buy them instead of the usual orange ones. You'll lose a lot of the color if you peel, so just wash well and dice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instructions:

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

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

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

4. Serve as is or top with whipped cream.

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

Cook time: 15 minutes
Yield: 1 cup

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

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

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

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

Prep time: 10 minutes + 30 minutes refrigeration
Cook time: 30 minutes
Yield: Enough for one 10-inch tart

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

Instructions:
1. To make the crust, in the bowl of a food processor, stir together the flour, and salt. Sprinkle the butter over the top and process for a few seconds, or just until the butter is slightly broken up into the flour but still in visible pieces. Sprinkle the water over the flour mixture evenly, then process until the mixture just starts to come together.

2. Dump the mixture out of the bowl onto 2 large sheets of plastic wrap. Press the dough together into a mound and then wrap with plastic and press into a flat disk. Refrigerate the dough until chilled, about 30 minutes or up to 1 day, or freeze for up to 1 month.

Whore-y Pasta

Pasta Puttanesca roughly translates as "pasta in the style of a whore" -- no doubt an enterprising whore who's a little salty, a little spicy, and has plenty of bite to her. You may be wondering how this dish got its colorful name. Legend has it "ladies of the night" would lure customers into houses of ill repute with the enticing aroma of this sauce simmering away. Alternately, they would make this for themselves because it was a quick and easy meal that wouldn’t take much time away from their biznaz.

Quick, easy, cheap, delicious…qualities any busy working girl/harlot could appreciate. Pasta Puttanesca makes a great spur-of-the-moment meal because it can be thrown together using ingredients in your pantry.

Pantry staples

The dish is full of salt and brine -- olives, capers, anchovies -- flavors typical of Southern Italian cuisine. Canned Italian tuna soaked in olive oil plays well off of the anchovies and tomato sauce, and adds protein and body to the meal.

Fresh elements

I've thrown in some fresh touches to this Puttanesca, but in a pinch you could omit the eggplant, onion, garlic, or fresh herbs, and the essence of the dish would remain intact.

Chive blossoms

I would normally garnish this with fresh oregano or parsley, but a sly animal had just stolen the parsley from under my nose. Luckily, my mom’s garden had a lovely bunch of chive blossoms still intact. The faint oniony twang worked well with the other aromatics, and the tiny purple blossoms even accented the deep hue of the eggplant.

In no time, we had a steaming hearty bowl of pasta to dig into, full of vibrant, sassy flavors. Those ladies of the night were on to something when they came up with this. Who would've thought? Whore-y pasta: customer satisfaction, guaranteed.