Making amazing snails in District 1, Oc Huong Pho Mai

I've been eating myself silly the past 15 days -- I know, what's new. But no, this has been a really special kind of silly. The eating-my-way-through Vietnam kind of silly!

Well, to be more specific, not quite all of Vietnam, since an unexpected detour to Hong Kong for a roundtrip price of $150 proved too tempting to pass up, but for sure, through a majority of Ho Chi Minh City (a.k.a. Saigon).

There is a good reason why even hardened eaters like Anthony Bourdain have fallen so in love with the cuisine of Vietnam. It's fresh, vibrant, varied, and satisfying without feeling gluttonously heavy.

And, most often, it is cooked on the spot, right before your eyes, on the street, by someone who has been making that one particular dish over and over, for years, decades, quite possibly, generations.

Since Hua's father and uncles are locals, we had the benefit of zipping about on the back of their motorbikes (amongst the unimaginable number of other motorbikes on the road), being led by the nose to some of the most delicious food I have ever tasted.

That's a big statement, I know, but I stand by it. These local favorites are something special. Purveyors of food so good, so exciting, so complex in flavor yet simple in execution, I ate like I was starved (which is absurd because I don’t think I once felt the sensation of "hunger" the entire trip). I now pass this joy to you. Go seek these places/dishes out:

Cha Gue, Nen Nha Dat

Place: Nen Nha Dat
While I don't think this is the real "name" of this vendor, this is what the sign says above the storefront where this little set-up is situated.
Dish: Cha Gue (pronounced "chow gway")
Translation: Pan-fried Rice Flour Cake with Egg
Address: 91 Ha Ton Quyen (cross street: Tan Thanh) - P.15, Q.5

Awaiting Cha Gue

Located in District 5, sort of like the Chinatown of HCMC, Hua's dad took us here for a snack on Day 1. The bar was set high early.

The dish consisted of thick, rectangular pieces of pan-fried rice flour cake. The perfect golden crisp on the outside is beautifully offset by the smooth, supple texture on the inside.

When the rice cakes are nearing the end of their browning, an egg is cracked over them and the rich orange-hued yolk is broken. Throw a handful of minced green onion on the pan to warm through, and add bits of fried onion, fried pork skin (like little precious bits of chicharrones), and garlic. The dish is then served with a side of homemade pickled daikon and carrot slaw, and a savory dipping sauce of sweet soy sauce and a dollop of chili sauce.

Cha Gue, Nen Nha Dat

The Cha Gue, hot off the pan, had this corner bumpin', and even in the rain people were pulling up on their motorbikes and shouting their orders to-go from the street.

Apparently, business is so good that the owner doesn't want to grow his operations because he's afraid he wouldn't be able to handle the volume. Interesting how this kind of success would inspire a very different response back home, as I envisioned a fleet of Kogi taco trucks multiplying like rabbits in the streets of LA.

Wok-fried Snails, Oc Huong Pho Mai

Place: Oc Huong Pho Mai
Dish: Wok-fried Snails in a heavenly sauce
Translation: Bliss
Address: 37/3 Nguyen Cauh Chan - Q.1

After day of shopping in Saigon Square we were carted off to rejuvenate ourselves with a little pre-dinner feast of the most amazing snails I've ever had.
I was skeptical as we turned onto a tiny, dimly-lit, nondescript, side-street. It would have been a little sketchy if it wasn't for the insanely cute kindergarten class that was being held a few doors down.

Cute kids near snails

The set up of the shop was typical -- a kitchen (comprised of a few burners and a grill) that spilled out from the ground floor of someone's home onto the street, a few small tables and chairs along the street, and an extra bonus here, a lady squeezing fresh sugarcane juice right across the street! It couldn't have been better.

Making fresh sugarcane juice

We over-ordered of course, and out came dishes of small snails, large snails, clams, crab, even balut!

For those unfamiliar, balut is a fertilized duck egg with a nearly-developed embryo inside that is boiled and then eaten out of the shell with a spoon. You heard right, a partial chick (please don't hate me). Since it was my first time trying this delicacy, I was advised not to look directly at it (kind of like that adage of not staring into the sun). The texture can be challenging if you're squeamish, and you can't help but look too closely, but the flavor was good. As expected, a combo of an egg and chicken, but all in one bite. A little dish of salt and pepper mixed with lemon juice added a nice kick of flavor, and of course, some herbage, coriander leaves.

That was probably the most exotic thing I tried on this trip, but the snails! Those may have been the best. Boiled first to cook through, then finished off in a wok, seared until some magical sauce evaporated and coated the shells.

Bliss

The snails themselves were meaty and succulent, but the sauce, now that was truly extraordinary: a little creamy and cheesy, with a touch of sweetness, and a tinge of heat that played on our lips. It was caramelized into almost a crust on the shells. We unabashedly licked our fingers clean while still reaching for more. The flavor teased us as we chased after it, wanting to savor it, have more of it, freakin' bathe in it.

Hu Tiu Nam Vang, Tin Phuc

Place: Tin Phuc
Dish: Hu Tiu Nam Vang (pronounced "hoo tee-yoo nam vang")
Translation: Pork and Crab Noodle Soup
Address: 16 Duong Dinh Nghe (cross street: Cu Xa Binh Thoi) - P.8, Q.11

Tin Phuc

Tin Phuc is more of restaurant than actual street food, although, with its breezy architecture, you could technically drive right in if you really wanted to.

Regardless, it is delicious. Only one dish is served so you can't mess up the order: Hu Tiu Nam Vang. (In Cantonese we call it "gum been fun.") You can order it "dry" but the soup is so good that you probably won't want to.

Basically, hu tiu is a noodle soup similar to pho, but more seafood-based and with a light broth. Prior to this meal, I had never tasted it before, so I did some research on its origins. Vietnamese culinary expert Andrea Nguyen had much light to shed regarding this addictive dish. According to Andrea, "At its core, hu tieu signals a Chinese-Southeast Asian style noodle soup made with a pork bone broth and no fish sauce." But, there are many riffs on it, one of which is the Nam Vang style, "Nam Vang" being the Vietnamese word for Phnom Penh (the capital of Cambodia). Thus, Vietnam's proximity to Cambodia resulted in this Cambodian-Chinese concoction.

Herbage

Tin Phuc's rendition of Hu Tiu Nam Vang is divine. The soup is phenomenal, sweet and rich, made from the stock of pork bones and crab shells. The angel-hair-thin opaque rice noodles have just the right amount of springy chew to them. And the toppings are generous portions of pork meat, tendon and heart, crab meat, and shrimp. Tear up handfuls of leafy Romaine, Chinese celery and flat Chinese chives, add some crunchy bean sprouts, a touch of chili pepper, and you good to go.

The result is soul-satisfying. Warm, comforting, full of umami, fresh and healthy feeling. I bet a bowl of this could cure a cold like nobody's business.

The best part? Lunch for 5 people here rolled up to a mere $9.75 USD.

Street Scene

Back in September, Thy Tran wrote a great article on Street Food Beyond Festivals in which she compares the young street food culture in the U.S. to other places where it has been "long embedded into their daily rhythms." Witnessing the street food culture of Saigon brought that alive for me. Daily rhythm is right, it seemed like everyone eats out all the time whether it’s having your morning coffee delivered to your front door from the coffee lady down the street, getting some fruit to-go from the number of fruit vendors rolling around, or popping a squat on a little plastic chair at a tea-party-sized table for dinner. Sure, the convenience, affordability, and quality of product are all great. But it is the daily human interaction, the chit chat, the sense of community that comes with it, that makes this daily rhythm so soothing.

Nen Nha Dat (for Cha Gue)
91 Ha Ton Quyen (cross street: Tan Thanh) - P.15, Q.5
Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
Phone: 0903380574

Oc Huong Pho Mai (for Snails)
37/3 Nguyen Cauh Chan - Q.1
Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Tin Phuc (for Hu Tiu Nam Vang)
16 Duong Dinh Nghe (cross street: Cu Xa Binh Thoi) - P.8, Q.11
Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
Phone: 3.9627977

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As California's road trip season begins, it's time to pull out that list of foods that are worth a detour or two. If you're passing by or through tribal land, allow time in your day and space in your stomach for a stop at roadside stalls offering fry bread or, even better, Indian tacos. Many of us are all a-twitter about the mash-up of Korean bbq and tortillas. But this much quieter and long established blend of taco toppings on soft, still-hot flatbread is better than anything I've tasted from digitally hyped menus.

For the taco aficionados among you: Do not pepper me with hate comments about what constitutes a "real" taco. Take it up with the Indian Nations. For the politically minded, I acknowledge that the physical and cultural repercussions of making refined white flour a daily staple, is not something to celebrate, especially in communities stranded both literally and figuratively in the middle of vast food deserts. Like many foods we love, from latkes to lumpia, eating more isn't eating better.

But for those who are open to the culinary creativity of everyday folks, then this is food worth savoring. During your summer travels, look for stands located on busier strips near post offices, grocery stores or tribal councils. For the best fry breads, plan on arriving earlier in the day, as they will sell out. Peek around and see if there are cast iron pans at the ready. Each round of dough should be patted by hand and fried to order, and if it's your first time, order a plain one to enjoy fry bread at its humblest. If you like funnel cakes, doughnuts, angel wings, or those little bits of leftover pie dough that your mom fried up just for you, then you'll be right at home.

Many give Navajos of the Southwest the blue ribbon for making the best fry bread, but tribes all across the country have perfected their own versions. Some use baking powder; others have developed yeasty variations. Big or small, round or square, thin or hefty -- everyone has their favorite way of making it.

I wish I could say that fry bread has a happy history. Stories that includes broken treaties, prison camps and reservations, surplus commodities and starvation are not the ones usually passed around while we're stuffing our faces. But like bitter parsley and unsalted bread, times of suffering are also passed from table to table with pride. We are here. We survived. We are together. We will prevail.

Pow wows are one of the best places to enjoy native foods. Celebratory gatherings, these were banned by our government until the 1960s, but fortunately, they now appear annually in every region. Search this pow wow calendar for California to see if you'll be near one this year. Be sure it's open to the public, and check for special events that the kids will especially enjoy.

Fry bread is super easy to make, and kids will enjoy patting their own rounds. For a healthier version, try grilling the bread, another trick that is family friendly and even easier.

FRY BREAD

This recipe is adapted from one that appears in the excellent book, Foods of the Americas, by Fernando and Marlene Divina, published in partnership with the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian. Fry bread is usually cooked until golden, without deep browning or char marks. You can sprinkle the rounds with cinnamon and sugar for a sweet treat, or wrap your favorite sandwich fillings for a savory meal.

Makes: 8 small rounds.

Ingredients:
3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus extra for rolling
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 1/4 cups warm water
Vegetable oil, for frying

Preparation:

1. In a bowl, combine and stir together the flour, baking powder and salt. Make a well and then pour in the water. Form a soft dough, and then knead very gently and briefly to form a ball. Roll into a log, cover with a clean towel and let rest for 10 minutes.

2. Cut the dough crosswise into 8 pieces, keeping the pieces covered while you're working. Patting with floured hands and using a rolling pin, form rounds that are about 1/4-inch thick. Dust both sides of each round evenly with flour, stack and cover with a cloth until ready to cook.

3. To fry: Heat 1 inch of oil in a deep, wide pan over medium-high heat. Cook 1 to 2 pieces of dough at a time, taking care not to overcrowd. Cook, turning once, until golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes on each side. Cook one first, and test for doneness before continuing with the other rounds. The fry bread should be dry and crisp on the outside, moist on the inside. Drain on paper towels and serve will still warm.

4. To grill: Prepare charcoal or heat a gas grill to medium-high. After forming the rounds, place the dough on the grill rack and cook until bubbles form and the dough has risen slightly, 2 to 3 minutes on each side. The surface of the bread should be dry to the touch.

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

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

It has recipes. Lots and lots of recipes.

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

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

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

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

Perhaps I should have read one chapter further...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*What Would David Lebovitz Do?

Palmira’s Pescada a la Vinagreta

During my junior year of college I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to study abroad. For a year I lived in the "fat city" of Bologna and discovered the joys of cooking (and stuffing myself silly). I also bought discount tickets to other European cities every chance I got.

One of those tickets happened to land me in the beautiful city of Barcelona, where art is life, dinner is grazing through tapas, and nightlife doesn’t get good 'til 3 am.

I stayed with Emily, a friend from school also studying abroad, who lived with a senora named Palmira. Palmira was a sweetheart and on my first night in, made a lovely supper of fried fish, topped with toasted pine nuts and a shower of fresh parsley. It was light, crispy, and had a subtle splash of acidity.

The dinner conversation was an interesting jumble of English, Spanish, Catalan, and Italian, but we did manage to get one thing straight: Palmira's recipe for Pescada a la Vinagreta.

Like much of the cooking I witnessed while abroad, this simple and satisfying dish is made with just a few fresh ingredients, and no strict measurements. The guidelines are there, the rest is the joy of cooking.

Palmira’s Pescada a la Vinagreta
(una receta de cocina fresco de Espana!)

Ingredients:
white fish fillet (hake, grouper, sole...really any white fish with a mild flavor)
parsley, chopped
garlic, minced
pine nuts
salt
flour
white wine vinegar

Preparation:
Wash, dry, and salt the fish. Coat it in flour, dusting off the excess.

Heat a few tablespoons of olive oil in a large pan over moderate heat. Fry the fish until browned on both sides.

With the remaining oil in the pan, on low flame, add the minced garlic, chopped parsley, pine nuts, and stir. When the nuts are toasted, add a splash of vinegar (enough to coat the bottom of the pan). Pour the mixture over the fish and serve immediately.

I grew up in Southern California. I lived there until I was 25, and inherited most of my food prowess from my mother. She is great at seeking out hole-in-the-wall restaurants with divine food, and we had very few bad meals during my childhood. After moving to San Francisco, my food obsessions became a little more focused, and I often have a list of new places that I'd like to try in Los Angeles. Combine my careful research with mom's, and we spend most of our time tasting our way through my days in Southern California.

Small tangent here, but our family has another...hobby...that you may find strange. We love to check out old cemeteries. We appreciate the history that can be found in cemeteries and, of late, have become quite enamored of a cemetery in Los Angeles where many, many movie stars are buried: Hollywood Forever. The history of this cemetery would take more time than I have right now, but I truly believe it should be on the "must see" list for anyone visiting Los Angeles.

I spent the holiday weekend in Southern California with family, and on Friday we had a couple of out-of-towners who wanted to see Los Angeles. Mom and I put together a fun trip. It was by no means a comprehensive look at Los Angeles, but it provided the guests with an overview of things that we find interesting and tasty.

Stop #1: Westwood Cemetery.

This tiny cemetery in Westwood is one of my favorites. I used to work at the building next door, and we would eat lunch in the cemetery among the graves of Marilyn Monroe, Natalie Wood, Dominique Dunne, and others. New tenants include Merv Griffin, Rodney Dangerfield, Jack Lemmon, and Peggy Lee. Though our guests found it initially strange that we would be visiting cemeteries, this first stop chipped through their pre-conceptions and they were ready for the rest of the day.

Stop #2: Milk Restaurant.

After a drive through Beverly Hills and some of the Westside, we stopped at Milk for a sweet treat. I learned about Milk last year through an interview on Good Food. Bret Thompson, the owner, is making handmade sweet treats such as ice cream bon bons, drumsticks, red velvet cake, cookies and sorbets. I have only been here for sweets -- they are delicious and worth a stop. The crew ordered a drumstick, a root beer float, some ice creams and an ice cream bar as our first tastes of the day. It's fun to take out-of-towners here -- the restaurant is right next to CBS studios and has the vibe of the entertainment industry. Even if you don't recognize stars, you will hear lots of conversations about scripts, pilots, shows and other stars.

Stop #3: Grauman's Chinese Theatre.

A quick stop at Grauman's Chinese Theatre was necessary to see the kitschy part of Los Angeles. We stayed a very short time until one guest said, "I get it, this is kind of like taking tourists to Fisherman's Wharf, isn't it." An apt analogy, as locals never tour through Mann's Chinese Theatre, but tourists always want to see it. After watching tourists laying down next to George Clooney's handprints, we quickly left.

Next week, I will tell you about the rest of our Los Angeles Tour. It includes potato tacos, and one of my favorite Japanese meals in Southern California.

Milk Restaurant
7290 Beverly Blvd. (at Pointsettia) [ Map ]
Los Angeles, CA 90036
323.939.6455

Before we left for Scotland, we heard many warnings about the horrors of Scottish and British food. People seem very keen on laughing at haggis and detailing horrible meals they’ve had or heard about in the UK (Spotted Dick anyone?). Well, I'm here to tell you that Scotland has some truly wonderful food. But, like anywhere else, it' usually found in restaurants and inns that are run by discerning folk who like to purchase quality ingredients, often locally.

Although restaurants that offer well-prepared dishes from organic and/or local ingredients can be difficult to find once you leave your home turf, there are a few wonderful online sites that will do some of the groundwork for you. I spent some time on both TripAdvisor and Chowhound before we left town, and it paid off. The reviews on TripAdvisor led me to some great country inns with fantastic food, and Chowhound helped me find a restaurant or two in Edinburgh that we really loved. We also had the benefit of getting some sound advice from friends in the know -- which is always the best option if you have it.

So here are some of the excellent places we found with the help of our fellow posters at TripAdvisor and Chowhound, as well as our beloved friends. We were even lucky enough to stumble upon one by ourselves. These culinary gems are definitely worth looking up if you’re traveling to Scotland. I would also love to hear about other sites people use to find great restaurants or inns while traveling.

The Barley Bree Restaurant with Rooms, just outside Crieff and about an hour north of Edinburgh. (Found using TripAdvisor) -- This lovely inn has comfortable beds and a very nice host, Fabrice, who also happens to be a French chef. Fabrice makes everything from scratch, including the bread, and seeks out fresh local produce and meats. For dinner, he served one of the loveliest butternut squash soups I have ever had. It was velvety and creamy without being overly so. He also added slivers of some pickled ginger, which added a bit of spiciness. It was truly great.

This inn also offered the finest breakfast we had in Scotland. It was a sort of Scottish Breakfast/French petit dejeuner that started with yogurts, homemade stewed prunes, grapefruit slices, nuts and porridge, and finished with eggs, homemade sausage, back bacon, haggis (a lovely version created specially for the inn by a local butcher), roasted tomatoes and mushrooms. If you’re going to The Trossachs, this is definitely a great place to stay.

Heatherfield House, in Oban on the western coast about an hour outside Glasgow. (Found using TripAdvisor) -- Heatherfield House is run by Gary and Sue, a very nice British couple. One of the reasons I chose Heatherfield is because they have their own chickens and use their eggs for their complimentary breakfasts. So, after a fantastic night’s sleep in the extremely comfortable beds and a shower in the nicest bathroom we saw in Scotland, we sat down to a full Scottish breakfast. We started with berries, yogurts, muesli, and English and Scottish cheeses, before digging into the main portion of the eggy meal. I cannot stress enough how perfect the eggs are at Heatherfield. They are laid either the morning they are served, or the morning before, and the freshness of flavor and texture prove it. The homemade sausage (made at the inn) and back bacon were also fantastic. The dish was also served with blood pudding, and from what I can tell, it was a great version of this dish. I, for one, found that I am not a blood pudding fan, however. No matter how nicely it was made and seasoned, in the end, I can barely suck on a cut finger, let alone eat something that was essentially blood and suet in a casing. After breakfast, my daughters frolicked in the garden while the chickens pecked at worms in the wet dirt. Gary and his wife were very gracious hosts. It was really a perfect place to stay.

The George Hotel, in Inveraray about 30 minutes outside Glasgow. (Found using TripAdvisor) -- A small hotel run by the same family for the last couple of hundred years, this inn is nicely updated and has the quintessential Scottish pub on the main floor. The dining room is also nice, but as kids weren’t allowed inside for dinner we ate in the pub. This was just fine with me; the pub kitchen offered the best fish and chips we had on our entire trip. The full Scottish breakfast the next morning, which is included with a night's stay, wasn’t nearly in the same league as Barley Bree or Heatherfield House, but I think at that point we were spoiled. Our room, however, was beautiful -- complete with a whirlpool bathtub and view of Loch Awe.

Oink, in Edinburgh. (Discovered on a fluke while walking by) -- Oink is a new restaurant on Victoria Street in Edinburgh’s Old Town district. Each morning the folks at Oink present an entire roasted pig in their front window, and by the end of the day, that pig is stripped clean. Oink offers sandwiches of pulled pork on white buns with crackling or without. I got one with the crackling, but wouldn’t do so again: it was so hard I thought it would crack my teeth. The pork, however, was beautifully cooked and very tasty, but I must admit that I was craving a vinegar and tomato-based Southern-BBQ sauce to go with it. When I asked if they had one, or at least some vinegar, they said that many Americans ask for it, but they instead had a “chili sauce.” Excited at the prospect of something resembling a Vietnamese or Thai chili paste, I instead found that their chili sauce was the equivalent of a jar of Picante salsa. Oh, well. The pork was still mighty fine.

The Mussel Inn, in Edinburgh’s New Town. (Found using Chowhound) -- If you like mussels, this is a great place to go. There is a constant parade of heaping pots of fresh local mussels going from the kitchen to various tables in this small restaurant. In addition to the mussels, I ordered some freshly-made pasta with mushrooms for my daughters, which was quite good, and some fresh scallops for me. I was pleasantly surprised to find that they offer the entire scallop -- not just the white meaty part Americans traditionally see, but also the roe, which is the coral-colored softer part not usually served here, despite its delicious flavor.

Urban Angel, in Edinburgh’s New Town. (Heard about from a friend) -- If I could bring any restaurant home with me, it would be this one. Urban Angel provides Fair Trade, Free Trade, organic, and local fare at a fairly affordable price. I loved the natural and organic ingredients we found in our soups, salads and sandwiches at lunch and hear they have a spectacular dinner as well. I had an incredible frisée salad with couscous, white beans, almonds, and chorizo, while my daughters stole my delicious cream of mushroom soup and homemade bread out from under my nose. I dream of a restaurant like this opening within walking distance of my house.

It's probably not going to surprise anyone to hear that one of the things I love about being in a foreign country is experiencing the food. But this simple pleasure became far more complicated when I started traveling with kids. I have tried to raise daughters with a sense of gastronomic adventure -- and for the most part they are willing and excited participants in our culinary outings -- but when you're in a different time zone, all bets are off as the crabby-child factor increases with each 1,000 miles you journey from home.

I know many parents who spend their first days on vacation seeking out food items that will be acceptable to -- as the Scottish would say -- their wee bairns. Even if a child eats a fairly healthy diet at home, they often recoil when plates of “exotic” foods are placed before them elsewhere. A friend of mine had to search out pinto beans and French fries on a recent Mexico vacation as her son refused to eat anything else, while another friend of mine was frustrated to find her normally food-compliant daughter would only eat chicken fingers and pasta during their summer holiday. My daughters are thankfully less demanding (which may be due to the fact that I become temporarily deaf when they try to become picky eaters). But although our girls were happy eaters during our recent trip to Scotland -- devouring haggis, local mussels, scallops, and other fine local dishes -- I think they were more willing to try new foods because we also strived to provide an equal amount of food they felt comfortable with.

So there we were, all four of us in Scotland, ready to explore castles, lochs, and the many culinary delights available, but also on the search for food that would be easy on a kid’s stomach. Thankfully, finding kid-friendly food turned out to be much easier than I could have ever dreamed as it turns out that Scotland is the land of the panini. Yes -- the panini. Although there were also plenty of toasties (the UK equivalent of the grilled cheese sandwich), Italian paninis was available wherever we went. Imagine my sense of motherly relief when I found out I could get my children’s three favorite foods -- mozzarella cheese, tomatoes and basil -- melted in flat bread wherever we traveled, including small towns, large cities, and airports.

Although there were some variations of the panini we failed to try, such as the haggis panini, more often than not, my daughters had some sort of melted cheese sandwich for lunch. These little bundles of toasty goodness offered them the calories they needed to march around castles, up and down long streets, and through museums and galleries, while also providing a sense of culinary calm so they could branch out and explore other dishes at dinner. As a friend of mine told me when we got home, "There's nothing like melted cheese to soothe a tired kid," which is why I will be forever thankful to the person who brought the panini to Scotland.

I’m curious to know how other parents address food issues while on vacation. Also, has anyone else out there found something unexpected, and mercifully kid-friendly, on a recent vacation?

My family and I are flying to the UK this weekend, so in addition to trying to arrange our trip and get a bunch of work done before we go, I'm planning our in-flight menus. I've been a plane picnicker for years, even before most airlines stopped serving in-flight meals. It all started when I was pregnant and just couldn't bear the thought of airplane or airport food. Before a short flight to San Diego, I brought along a prosciutto sandwich from my favorite deli along with a Stewart's root beer (which wouldn't be allowed anymore. No liquids!), and some fried artichoke hearts. As everyone around me munched pretzels, my husband and I split our delightful dinner. There was no going back after that.

Since that time, I've had to consider my children's food intake in addition to my own. I remember a flight to Washington D.C. where I literally brought an entire grocery bag full of food. As my family and I munched on cobb salads, BLTs, brie, and chocolate, I caught the envious looks of my fellow passengers who were stuck eating Jet Blue potato chips and cookies. I ended up taking pity on a lovely Indian grandmother in a beautiful sari who sat a few seats away. Switching seats with my husband so I could sit next to her, she told me all about living in India, the food her cook would make her there, and how her saddened she was that her daughters didn’t make the same foods in their U.S. homes. It turns out she was a moderately famous singer in her native country, a widow, and extremely funny. I was so glad I had brought along that extra mozzarella and tomato sandwich to share.

I rarely make anything homemade for our flights. Unlike road trips, I want the food to be packaged and sealed when I make my way through the security lines. No muffins falling out of my carry on, just food from a restaurant or store in its own paper or plastic lining. Maybe it’s my stomach-twisting fear of flying, or the fact that being on a plane is such a dismal experience, but I just can’t cook before I fly. Our standard airplane repertoire is usually freshly-made sandwiches from a local deli, some Petit Ecolier dark chocolate cookies, a few apples and pears, maybe a salad or two in secure plastic containers, some cheese (often brie), and always a bar or two of good chocolate. Anything I can think of to ease the pain of having my legs in one position for hours with some guy’s reading light piercing my right eye as I try to sleep with my jacket over my face.

The return trip home is often a problem as I’m never as sure where to shop for airplane food while in a strange place, and I sometimes forget to buy food at all. I’m vowing not to let this happen this time around, however, as the last time I flew home from Europe, I was stuck eating a greasy and cardboard-inspired excuse for a piece of pizza in the Toronto airport while running from plane to plane. My goal is to find some nice meat pasties for the trip home, along with some shortbread and a few pieces of fruit. I’m hoping to extend the good feelings of Scotland with some treats for that long and boring plane ride home.

Does anyone else pack a picnic when they fly? I'd love to hear what you bring.