When you’re making brunch for 25 starving artists, you better have a lot of bacon. In a kitchen like the one at the Headlands Center for the Arts, where I’m currently living and working as a kitchen intern, everything counts in large amounts, and nothing’s more beloved by the artists we’re feeding than the house-made meat products we grind, cure or smoke.

Bacon, pancetta, breakfast sausage, spicy link sausage, salmon gravlax, and more: most of them require only salt, sugar, spices, and time to transform fatty, tough cuts of meat into savory staples that can richly flavor any dish. (The exception is the salmon, of course, caught for us in Alaska by a friend of the chef’s and sent to us in pristine vacuum-packed sides. Still, even this great stuff emerges silkier and more aromatic after a few days’ curing with salt and dill.) It helps, too, that Damon Little, my fellow kitchen intern, spent some months last year working as an apprentice in the stainless-steel surrounds of esteemed salumi-makers Boccalone in Oakland.

Making bacon takes time, it’s true—eight days to cure, a few hours in the smoker, another hour or so in the oven to finish—but very little of it requires our hands or even our presence. It doesn’t take much time to weigh out a handful of salt and spices, rub it into a slab of pork belly, slap the belly onto a baking pan and pop it in the fridge. A turn and rub every other day takes maybe two minutes, tops.

Cured bacon slabs in the smoker.

Then there’s the smoking, a couple of hours, but during almost all of that time, the bacon-to-be is quietly, smokily minding its own business while we go about ours. At the end, well-smoked, the slab goes into the oven to finish cooking. (This last step may not be necessary, depending on how hot your smoker gets; the main thing is getting the pork's internal temperature up to 150 degrees.)

Bacon slabs, just out of the smoker, ready for the oven.

The result, eschewing all modesty, is fantastic. Right out of the oven, the slabs are deep red-brown, lacquered like a Peking duck, with an outrageously appetizing aroma. Because our bacon doesn’t have to last for weeks in a butcher’s case or grocer’s fridge (we freeze it immediately and defrost it chunk by chunk as needed), we can make our cure lighter on both the salt and “pink salt” than most commercial versions. Enough to cure it safely, of course, but light enough that you can taste the flavor of the pork and aromatics as well, without your tongue being clubbed by salt. (What is pink salt, you ask? Also known as curing salt, DC cure, or DQ cure, it is a mixture of 6.25% sodium nitrite and 93.75% sodium chloride, or table salt. The nitrites in the salt mixture help prevent bacterial contamination and also preserve the meat's color during the curing process. It is dyed pink to prevent it from being confused with regular salt.)

This last time we made bacon, we added maple syrup to a simple salt-and-pepper cure, to make something straightforward and breakfast-y out of half the meat. The other half became pancetta, cured without syrup but with more spices and aromatics, including plenty of rosemary. After curing, the meat was rolled and tied but not smoked, to make a savory bacon in the European style, useful as a base for sauces, stews, and ragus.

Damon LIttle tying pancetta.

Any pieces of the bacon or pancetta not immediately fried up for brunch quickly find a home: turned into lardons for salad, sautéed with onions, carrots, and celery to give a backbone to lentils or duck-and-bean soup, or simply cooked up for a kitchen-crew snack on yesterday’s sourdough bread, piled with sliced tomatoes and a smear of leftover garlic mayonnaise or Caesar dressing.

Pancetta

Given that we generally cure and smoke four big slabs of organic Berkshire pork from Idaho’s Snake River Farms at a time, the savings in the kitchen budget are significant. High-quality, organic bacon like this would probably cost us four times what the plain pork belly does. When you’re a non-profit cooking daily for 25 to 30 people, sometimes for twice that, making your own value-added products in house is just good sense.

Good organic jam, free of high-fructose corn syrup and made with more fruit than sugar? Expensive, especially when one brunch can empty 3 or 4 fancy jars. A flat of organic, locally grown plums, a pound or two of organic sugar, a handful of lemons and a couple hours of my time? A much cheaper, and much more delicious, way to fill a pantry shelf. The apples from a staff member’s backyard tree are tasty but misshapen and pocked with holes, useless for out-of-hand eating. But a little time with a paring knife, an afternoon’s slow baking in the oven, and we have three quarts of autumn apple butter ready to be slathered on this Sunday’s waffles.

Waffles served with bacon, naturally. Having come to bacon late in life (my parents’ one nod to traditional Jewish dietary laws was no pork in the house), I’ve never felt confident cooking it, especially since every bacon-lover seems to have a different bacon ideal—rigid or floppy, nearly burnt or just sizzled. Here, I’ve learned a good trick for when you’re making bacon for a crowd, when frying up a single panful just won’t do. We cut our bacon in fairly thick strips, laying them out side by side on parchment-lined sheet trays and popping them into the oven to cook until just crisp. Take the slices off the trays and lay them out on cooling racks to drain; this keeps them from getting soggy with grease and steam while you go about prepping the mimosas and flipping the frittatas. Pour the excess grease off the baking sheets (into an old jar or bowl, not down the sink, since it will thicken and harden into a drain-blocking sludge as it cools). To reheat, slide the bacon, still on its racks, back onto the baking sheets, and return to the oven until crisp and hot. Serve immediately, if you can bear to let any of it leave the kitchen.

Final bacon

Recipe: Smoked Maple Bacon
Summary: The following recipe is adapted by Headlands kitchen intern Damon Little from Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking, and Curing, by Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn.

Prep Time: 60 minutes
Cook Time: 4 hours
Total Time: 5 hours, plus 8 days' curing time
Yield: About 4 lbs

Ingredients:
2 tbsp red pepper flakes, crushed in a mortar
1 tbsp freshly ground black pepper
1.75 oz kosher salt or sea salt (not iodized)
1/4 tsp pink salt (curing salt)
1/4 cup maple sugar or packed dark brown sugar
1/4 cup maple syrup (grade B has the most flavor)
One 5-lb slab pork belly, preferably from a pasture-raised animal

Instructions:

1. Combine the chili flakes, pepper, salt, pink salt, and sugar in a bowl and mix well. Add syrup and stir to combine.
2. Rub cure over both sides of the belly, making sure to work it under any flaps and into any crevices. Seal meat in a 2-gallon resealable plastic bag, or place in a non-reactive (glass, ceramic, stainless steel) container a little bigger than the meat. The salt and sugar will pull liquid out of the meat as it cures; make sure the meat stays bathed in this brine throughout the process.
3. Refrigerate meat, turning and rubbing the belly to redistribute the cure every other day, for 7 days.
4. Remove belly from pan, rinse it thoroughly to remove any remaining cure, and pat dry. Put belly on a rack over a rimmed baking sheet and refrigerate, uncovered, for another 12 to 24 hours.
5. Smoke the belly in a hot smoker for 2 hours. The finished internal temperature of the bacon should be about 150 degrees F.
6. If, after 2 hours, your bacon has not reached this temperature, remove from the smoker. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Place belly on a metal roasting rack over a rimmed baking sheet and bake for 60-90 minutes, until the internal temperature reaches 150 degrees.
7. Remove bacon from oven and let cool. When cool, cut into one-pound pieces, and wrap tightly in plastic. Refrigerate or freeze until ready to use.

For the longest time, I never really knew what to think of cherry tomatoes. Or what to do with them. Though I might have regarded them as more interesting and Barbie-sized than the usual, boring (and most often flavorless) Beefsteak tomatoes I'd normally encountered, I left them where I felt they rightly belonged-- at the Sizzler salad bar, carelessly splashed by a variety of commercial salad dressings.

Several (and I do mean several) years later, when God's cruel irony found me making salads to earn a living, I learned that cherry tomatoes had a very special purpose in life. From my guardian angel of a chef/boss named Jan Gardener, I learned that these tiny little tomatoes were meant to be cooked. Sautéed, braised, or (best of all) roasted.

Jan would throw them in a pie pan, add a couple of pats of butter, some fresh thyme sprigs from her business partner's farm in Calistoga, sprinkle a little salt and pepper over them and then pop them in the oven. When they emerged, they were heat-burst, saucy, and very, very tomato-y. She'd serve these precious little (exploded) angels-straight-from- heaven (or, more correctly, straight from the oven) over bowls of creamy polenta and cheese or alongside roasted chickens and grilled steaks.

Simple. And utterly delightful.

It's a busy week here at home. I haven't the time to roast a chicken and I lack the outdoor space to fire up a grill for steaks. And, since I haven't been feeling the pull of polenta lately, I needed to find another way to serve these tomatoes up. Since I'm only home durning lunchtime hours, I craved a sandwich. So this is what I came up with today:

B, L & Oven-Roasted T

It's not a mind-blowing sandwich, nor should it be. If ever I felt that a sandwich had that sort of effect on my life, I'd know that I just wasn't getting out enough. It is, however, a really, really good one. Rather than allowing the bacon to be the star, as it usually is in this flavor trio, the tomatoes take center stage. I mean this is a figurative sense, since the tomatoes are actually smeared on the bread and the bacon is at the actual center.

Oh, I think you know what I mean.

And, by the way, I am not going to give you any instruction as to how to fry bacon. For that, I'll just have to show you a cartoon my friend Lea drew.

Makes 4 sandwiches (with leftover tomatoes, which is a good thing)

Ingredients:

For the roasted cherry tomatoes:

2 cups cherry tomatoes

3 to 4 tablespoons of butter

A few sprigs of fresh thyme

Salt and pepper to taste

For the rest of the sandwich:

12 slices of bacon (your choice), cooked

A few leaves of arugula (my choice) or any lettuce of your choice if you're going to be a stickler about thing and insist upon sticking with the "l" word. In this particular case, the "l" word being "lettuce."

Mayonnaise for spreading on:

8 slices of toasted bread (your pick, pal)

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 375ºF

2. Rinse tomatoes in a colander. Shake dry.

3. Arrange tomatoes in an even(-ish) layer in a medium sized cast iron skillet, or cake pan, or whatever you feel like roasting the little dears in, so long as it is non-reactive. dot with butter, toss on the thyme sprigs, and sprinkle with a little salt and pepper. Throw in oven. Roast for about 45 minutes, stirring them up occasionally to make them pop and release their juices. They may be declared "done" when most (but not all) of the liquid has evaporated and the tomatoes have slightly shriveled.

4. Remove tomatoes from oven and let cool.

5. To assemble sandwich (I feel like a fool for even explaining this, because I am quite certain you know how to put together a damned sandwich), spread the inside of your bottom piece of toast with roasted cherry tomatoes, lay three slices of bacon on top, then cover those in a layer of lettuce or arugula or some other green. Slather your top layer of toast with mayonnaise (or aioli or whatever you feel like, really) and close.

6. Repeat until you have fed everyone within reach who eats bacon.

7. Go outside. It's nice out.

... under the circumstances.*

Today marks the Opening Ceremonies of the XXI Winter Olympics in Vancouver, British Columbia, if you haven't been paying attention. In its honor or, more correctly, honour, I've decided to make a real Canadian breakfast to express my love for all things Canadian and, more specifically, Vancouvery.

The only problem was that, apart from a big bowl of Weetabix, I came up totally blank, which isn't an unusual state for me first thing in the morning. Since I was introduced to the cereal by Canadians in Vancouver, of all places, I naturally assumed it was a proudly Canadian product. I was wrong-- it's English.

There I was, disappointed, hungry, and without a clue as to what I could make today in order to show my affection for our northern neighbours. So I did a little research.

And I do mean little. I began to wonder:

Do Canadians eat anything that is distinctly Canadian? What, if anything, defines Canadian cuisine, let alone Canadian breakfast? Poutine? No, that's Quebecois, which simply won't do since, Olympically speaking, it smacks of Montréal and is therefore too 1976 for my tastes. I cornered a Vancouverite the other evening at work, asking her if she could help me think of anything that was distinctly Canadian and, more specifically, British Columbian I could prepare. All she could come up with were Nanaimo bars. At least it was something. I decided to stop asking questions when her boyfriend suggested Hawai'ian pizza might do, since it had Canadian bacon on it. Even though he was being a complete smart ass, he at least put one item on my mental Canadian grocery list. And it's something salty, which always puts me in a good mood.

Another thing that came to mind, of course, was maple syrup. One can't get much more symbolically Canadian than the maple. Just look at their flag, for God's sake. I was fortunate enough to have been gifted a perfect little bottle of Canadian maple syrup. Granted, it was given to me in Paris, but by a Canadian from Vancouver, no less, so I'm not quibbling. It's just been sitting in my kitchen acting pretty. It was time to make proper use of the stuff.

So there I was again standing in my kitchen with a sauce and a side dish, but no main event. In my opinion, that's akin to a Winter Olympics with plenty of Moguls and Biathalon action, but no Women's Figure Skating. I needed a main event. I needed my Elizabeth Manley.

What I wound up with is as natively Canadian and plucky as the 1988 silver medalist who out-charmed everyone else on the ice that year. I decided to make Bannock. It might be native and plucky, but it's not exactly as light on its blade-pointed toes as Miss Manley. It's manly, alright, just without that little "e" between the "l" and "y."

Sadly, not even the Canadians I asked knew what Bannock was. I had come up with a "Salute to Canada" breakfast that would have even the most flag waving among them scratching their heads.

I was hoping to start a trend, but I somehow doubt that fry bread is going to sweep the nation of Canada, let alone the city of Vancouver, by storm. They're too busy either enjoying their Olympic fever or fretting over the projected $2 billion loss that it will most likely bring them. Or how the government can see fit to finance a $486 million retractable stadium roof yet can't seem to come up with the $47 million needed to fund the Arts, which the government has said is the "second pillar of the Olympics."

That piece of news sits in my stomach as heavily as a piece of Bannock.

Bannock and Bacon

Bannock is one of those things that just makes plain old Canadian sense. Though the word is derived from the Latin word panicium, or baked goods, it is tradition of both the Scots and the First Nations of Canada-- and there are a lot of both, heritage-wise, in British Columbia. Call it fry bread, call it scone-y, it's dense, nourishing, hearty fare-- the perfect breakfast food to ingest before ski jumping, ice dancing, or protesting Gordon Campbell's cuts in Arts funding.

Adding a few slices of Canadian bacon adds a much-needed bit of saltiness and protein to the breakfast and plays well with maple syrup. Canadians, by the way, do not call Canadian Bacon "Canadian Bacon." They call it back bacon. Lean, and ham-like, it's much less fatty than the belly-derived bacon that Americans are used. Unless, of course, one is eating an Egg McMuffin.

Makes about 12 Bannock cakes

Ingredients:

2 cups whole wheat flour

2 cups oatmeal flour (not, my friends, oatmeal)

4 tablespoons melted butter

About 1 1/4 cups water

1/2 cup brown sugar

1 teaspoon salt

4 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 or more (a handful or two) of dried currants, raisins, or, if you happen to have some on hand, Saskatoon berries.

Lard, vegetable oil, or butter for frying.

In addition to the bannock ingredients, you will need:

As many sliced of Canadian bacon as you like

Maple syrup. I won't tell on you if you use American syrup.

Preparation:

1.Combine all ingredients except the dried fruit and water in a mixing bowl. Add water a little at a time until a stiff dough has formed.

2. Knead dough for approximately 10 minutes. Fold in fruit while kneading.

3. Form dough into flatten discs, as small or as large as you like, but about 1/3" thick. Cover them with a slightly dampened cloth.

4. Heat a small amount of your cooking fat in a large cast iron pan. Add sliced Canadian bacon and cook until lightly (or darkly-- it's up to you) browned on both sides on medium heat. Reserve in a warm oven.

5. Lowering the heat under your skillet, add as many Bannock cakes as you can fit without over-crowding. Cook them gently, until browned on both sides-- about 4 to 5 minutes per side.

6. Serve Bannock cakes and bacon together, with a liberal drizzle of maple syrup. Drink tea in a brotherly gesture to our Northern friends.

7. Sit back and muster as much enthusiasm as you can for the Olympics as you can.

*Years ago, the Canadian periodical McClean's ran a contest in which readers were asked to complete the phrase "As Canadian as..." as some sort of northerly response to "As American as apple pie." The winning response? "As Canadian as possible under the circumstances."

And that, despite their lack of famous cuisine, is one of the many reasons I love Canadians.

Walnut Date Cups with Blue Cheese and Candied Bacon

These fancy little walnut date cups are the perfect savory-sweet treat for a special holiday brunch or cocktail party. It's a prettier take on one of my favorite easy appetizers, a nut and blue cheese-stuffed date wrapped in bacon and broiled until crispy and caramelized.

For this dressed up version, the walnut and dates are ground together and combined to form the heart of this delightful bite. The mellow, nutty flavor of the walnuts is brought out by the natural sweetness of the dates, and the orange adds a bright, floral note to the mix. The blue cheese is just pungent enough to bring some depth to the flavors, the candied bacon is pure indulgence, and the phyllo cup is a crispy, edible vessel for it all!

I did have some trouble getting the candied bacon as crispy as I wanted it (I was shooting for a brittle texture that I could snap into shards). Any consummate bacon confectioners out there who can shed some light?

Crispy Nutty Date Cups meet Candied Bacon

Walnut Date Cups with Blue Cheese and Candied Bacon

Servings: 24 pieces

Ingredients:
1 cup walnuts, toasted
12 ounces Medjool dates, pitted
1 teaspoon orange zest
2 tablespoons fresh orange juice
4 (18"x12") sheets frozen phyllo dough, thawed and brought to room temperature
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
½ cup blue cheese, crumbled (Recommended: Point Reyes original blue)
Candied Bacon

Special Equipment:
24-count mini muffin pan
2 baking sheets
Microplane or grater
Parchment paper

Preparation:
1. Make Candied Bacon (see recipe below) and set aside to cool.
2. Place an oven rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 375 degrees F.
3. In a food processor, pulse together the walnuts, dates, orange zest, and orange juice until a coarse, nutty spread is formed. I prefer my filling on the chunky side, but evenly combined.
4. Place a sheet of phyllo dough on a work surface. Brush the dough with melted butter. Place another sheet of dough on top and brush with melted butter. Repeat until you have 4 sheets of dough stacked.
5. Using a sharp knife, cut the dough into 24 (3-inch) square pieces.
6. Gently press each piece of dough into the muffin pan. Spoon the walnut and date filling into the cups.
7. Bake for 12 to 14 minutes until the pastry is golden. Remove from the oven and let the phyllo cups cool for 10 minutes.
8. Using a small spoon, remove the phyllo cups from the pan. Arrange the cups on a platter, top each one with a little blue cheese and garnish with a piece of candied bacon. Serve immediately.

Candied Bacon
Recipe adapted from Alex Guarnaschelli

Ingredients:
3 slices bacon, about 1/4-inch thick (or more, for fun)
1/4 cup brown sugar

Preparation:
1. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F.
2. Sprinkle the bacon with the brown sugar, coating both sides.
3. Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper and arrange the bacon in a single layer on top. Place a second piece of parchment paper on top, and cover with another baking sheet. The baking sheet will keep the bacon from curling up as it cooks.
4. Place the tray in the center of the oven and bake for 20 minutes. If it is not golden brown and crispy, bake it for another 10 to 15 minutes.
5. Transfer the bacon to a wire rack (not paper towels because the sugar will make it stick) and let it harden up a bit more. Break each strip into small shards. Set aside for garnishing.

Farm Fresh Asparagus

The markets have been flooded with bundles of bright green, fresh and crisp asparagus for weeks now. Jumbo, pencil-thin, white...I've seen every iteration of these luscious spears overflowing from stands across the city.

If you haven't been tempted yet to pick up a bunch of these springtime beauties, maybe this recipe will push you over the edge.

Balsamic Grilled Asparagus

Grilled asparagus kissed with balsamic vinegar, served with a fried egg, crumbled bacon, and lemon aioli. A kind of deconstructed modern carbonara if you will.

It takes a bit of work with the different components, but it's worth it! Perfect for a fancy brunch or served as a starter, this dish is full of smooth richness, mellow sweetness, a little tang, and crunch.

Balsamic Grilled Asparagus

Serves: 3-4

Ingredients:
1 pound asparagus, washed with ends of the stems trimmed
8 cups chicken stock
1 bowl ice water
½ pound bacon, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

Aïoli:
1 clove garlic
2 large egg yolks
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons orange juice
½ teaspoon salt
¼ cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano
½ cup extra virgin olive oil

Preparation:
1. Lemon Aïoli
Place the garlic, egg yolks, mustard, lemon juice, orange juice, salt, and grated cheese into a food processor and blend until smooth. Slowly add the olive oil while the processor is running. Prepare a double boiler, making sure the bowl on top is not touching the simmering water beneath. Place the sauce in the bowl and whisk until the sauce becomes a thick, smooth consistency (about 5 minutes).

2. Asparagus
Bring the chicken stock to a boil. Add the asparagus to the boiling stock, uncovered, for approximately 2 minutes. Drain and immediately place the spears into ice water to stop cooking. Drain again and pat dry.

3. Bacon
In a large skillet cook the bacon over high heat until crispy and brown. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the bacon pieces to a plate lined with paper towels. Pour off most of the bacon grease, leaving just enough to coat the bottom of the pan. Heat the pan over medium-high heat, place the asparagus in the pan, and season with a pinch of salt and pepper. Add balsamic vinegar and stir to coat the asparagus. Sear on each side for 2-3 minutes.

4. Fried Egg
In a separate pan fry an egg sunny side up. When the white is mostly cooked, add a few tablespoons of water into the pan and cover for a minute or two. The result will be a yolk that is soft but not too raw. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

5. Plate the asparagus with the egg, crumbled bacon, and garnish with sauce.

Tip: You will have a lot of aioli leftover. Save it in an airtight container -- it makes a wonderful sandwich spread or chip/veggie dip.

I've had chowder on the brain ever since I attended a rally a couple of weeks ago at which I mistook the crowd's chant of "Louder! Louder!" as-- thanks to people blowing horns into my ears-- "Chowder! Chowder!" I was teased about it by a friend of mine (the proud owner of two hearing aids, no less) who leaned over to me afterward to say, "All this heat and talk of marriage is making me crave a hot, milk-based soup."

Sometimes, we hear what we want to hear.

I've been craving it ever since. Chowder, not marriage, I mean. Popping around the corner to Swan's Oyster Depot is easier said than done, thanks to the usual line several eaters-deep on any given day. And I don't want it from a can-- that's just too single-man-living-alone pathetic. And I'd hate to have anyone find the can in my garbage, because I have a reputation to protect. Since no one has offered me a steaming bowl of the stuff lately, nor is anyone on the horizon likely to, I knew I would have to make it myself.

But what kind?

There are any number of chowders to choose from. New England, Manhattan or Shrimp Chowder from the Gulf Coast? There are chowders made with oysters, with clams, lobster, crab, fish, and even corn. Thin and milky, or thick and creamy? There are as many types of chowder as there are people who make it. No two chowders are the same. There is not one particular recipe that defines the word, no matter what you might hear to the contrary. I have the feeling one could put Rice Krispies in a bowl with some potato, salt pork, and milk, heat it up and still get away with calling it a chowder, however the people of the North Atlantic Coast of this continent might complain.

The word "chowder" is most likely derived from the chaudière, the three-legged pot or cauldron in which it was cooked, in various forms, all along the Atlantic Coast of France in the centuries prior to European colonization of America.. Others might claim that the word is the bastard child of the Old English jowter, or fishmonger. I vote for chaudière, because I am, at heart, a francophile.

Coincidentally, Atlantic Seaboard-residing, pre-Columbian Native Americans made their own form of chowder which the early English colonists were initially hesitant to latch onto, since they seemed as mistrustful of shellfish as they were of just about everything else. Preferring bivalves to starvation, early settlers added their old standbys of ship biscuit and salt pork to the pot. The rest is, I believe, history.

Corn and Clam Chowder with Bacon

Since just about anything is fair game, in terms of chowder-making, I decided to combine two of my favorites, just to see how things went. A lobster chowder sounded wonderful, but too expensive. Crab, which was local, was at about $30.00 per pound. No thank you. I found some lovely Manila clams, which were not exactly local, but neither were they from Manila. The price was good, so I took them home in a little net bag with the thought of steaming them to death in the near future.

I love corn chowders, too, and anything with bacon it. I thought I'd throw all of these things in my own, legless chaudière and see what happened. The results were excellent. Nothing earth- shattering but, then again, I have no plans to change the world by virtue of my chowder-making. Still, I am pleased.

The various amounts of ingredients are approximate, since I was just letting both the creative and clam juices flow. I neglected to write everything down.

Serves 4

Ingredients:

2 lbs. Manila clams, rinsed clean

1 stalk celery, coarsely chopped

1 medium-sized carrot, likewise chopped

1 yellow onion, peeled and diced.

1 bay leaf

3 stalks of thyme

several black peppercorns

1/4 lb salt pork, diced

3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced

3/4 pound ( five or six) red or other waxy potatoes, cut into 1/2" cubes

2 cups fresh or canned yellow corn kernels, depending upon the season.

1 cup half and half

pinch of pimenton, or cayenne pepper

4 thick slabs of bacon, diced

salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:

1. In a saucepan large enough to accommodate them, lay the clams in with enough water to cover the bottom of the pan about 1 inch. Steam them until they are dead and have released their juice. Remove any unopened clams and give them a proper burial. Remove clam meat from shells. You may either discard the shells at this point or save them for a future crafts project. Set meat aside.
2. Add four cups cold water to the clam liquid, along with carrots, celery, peppercorns, thyme, and bayleaf. To make even clammier, you may add bottled clam juice to this mix. I did not. Cover and simmer on low heat for 45 minutes to one hour. Strain stock through a fine mesh sieve. Return to the same pot and reduce by half.
3. To the chaudière of your choosing, add bacon and fry slowly, rendering as much of the fat as possible. Do so until pieces are crisp. Remove and drain. To the hot bacon fat, add diced salt pork, and sauté over medium-low heat until likewise crisp. Drain and remove.
4. Add onions and garlic to the hot, double pig fat. Cook over low heat until soft, about 20 minutes.
5. Add onion mixture to the clam stock, along with the potatoes, salt pork, and corn. Simmer for about 10 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender. Stir in clams, a pinch of pimenton or cayenne pepper, and half and half. Do not boil, or you will regret it, deeply. Simmer for another 3 to 5 mintues.
6. Ladle into warm bowls and garnish with thyme and crispy bacon which you have not let anyone eat prior to serving. Eat with beer and oyster crackers, unless you have found clam crackers, which I have never in my life heard of. If you have, please send me some.

Happy Thanksgiving! This is my favorite holiday of the year (ok, I love Christmas too) because it's a time when I get together with my friends and prepare a delicious feast (always a good thing in my book), and look back over the past year and think about how lucky and grateful I am for everything I have in my life. So, without getting too mushy because I'm a big sap, I want to wish everyone out there a cozy, warm, and festive holiday.

If you're anything like me, you made way too much (or you are in the process of making way too much) for Thanksgiving. And in the days that follow, you will be looking for ways to not waste that delicious food you spent hours preparing.

When it comes to Thanksgiving leftovers, I'm always looking for something new and different. Something more than just reheating the turkey and stuffing and eating it again and again with cranberry sauce. I find that making it into a whole other dish, something that doesn't even resemble Thanksgiving, and adding spices that give it a new lease on life, gets me excited all over again.

Cheesy Turkey Quesadillas with Spinach and Mushrooms

Quesadillas are one of the yummiest ways, besides a frittata, to use up your leftovers. You can add all kinds of vegetables, like peppers, spinach, zucchini, or mushrooms and/or cooked meats like pork tenderloin, sliced steak, shredded chicken, or even bacon. Sandwiched together with gooey melted cheese, quesadillas are simple, quick, and deeeeeelicious. This recipe makes about 4 small quesadillas,

Small pat of butter
About 5 cremini mushrooms, sliced
Salt and freshly ground pepper
About 1/2 cup cooked chopped spinach, squeezed dry (I just dry saute fresh spinach in a pan)
Light olive oil or vegetable oil
8 small (about 4-5") corn tortillas
About 1 cup shredded Monterey Jack, pepper jack, cheddar or other mild cheese
About 1/2 cup shredded turkey
Guacamole, for serving
Salsa, for serving
Crema, sour cream, or yogurt, for serving

In a large frying pan, melt the butter, add the mushrooms, and season with salt and pepper. Saute until tender. Remove from the pan and add to the spinach; stir to combine. Lightly brush one side of 4 of the tortillas with oil and place oil-side-down into the frying pan (or use two pans if you can't comfortably fit all four tortillas in the pan without overlapping). Sprinkle the tortillas with half of the cheese, dividing it evenly between the four tortillas. Divide the spinach-mushroom mixture evenly between the tortillas, adding it in an even layer over the cheese. Divide the turkey evenly between the tortillas, adding it in an even layer over the spinach-mushroom mixture. Sprinkle the tortillas with the remaining half of the cheese, dividing it evenly between the four tortillas. Place the remaining four tortillas on top, and brush the tops lightly with oil.

Fry the tortillas over medium heat, turning once, until crisp and brown, and the cheese is melted. Serve, cut into quarters, with guacamole, salsa, and crema.

Turkey Pie

Who doesn't love a good pot pie? I mean, come on...have you ever had a homemade one? Well, maybe it's time. This is a really delicious way to use the rest of your turkey, or a roast chicken, or a bit of beef or lamb stew. Really, you could put any kind of stew in a pot pie, top it with pastry or biscuits or mashed potatoes and you'd be in heaven. Plus, this is the ultimate comfort food. This makes four or five individual pies.

4 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 small carrots, peeled and diced
1 medium leek, halved, cleaned, and thinly sliced
1 teaspoon fresh thyme, minced
1 cup shredded turkey
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
About 2 cups chicken stock
2/3 cup milk
1/4 cup dry white wine
1/3 cup frozen baby peas
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 cups mashed potatoes (good way to use up leftovers!)

Preheat the oven to 400F. In a deep saute pan, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter. Add the carrot, leek, and thyme and saute just until tender, about 4 minutes. Season with salt and pepper, and transfer to a bowl. Add the shredded turkey to the vegetables and set aside.

In the same pan, melt the remaining 3 Tablespoons butter. Add the flour and cook, stirring, until the mixture starts to brown. Slowly add the broth, whisking constantly, then the milk. Whisk until smooth and let simmer until the sauce thickens, about 2 minutes. Whisk in the wine, and season to taste with salt and pepper.

Pour the sauce into the bowl with the turkey and vegetables. Add the peas, and stir to combine. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Divide the mixture between four or five 1-cup ramekins. Top with dollops of mashed potatoes and bake until the potatoes are golden on top and mixture is bubbling, about 25 minutes.

Spicy Yammy Bacon Soup

The amount of soup you make will depend upon what you have leftover from your feast. You can use yams, sweet potatoes, butternut squash, pumpkin, or any other winter squash, assuming you have one of those traditional side dishes on your Thanksgiving table. Granted, each of these will impart a slightly different flavor to the finished soup, but that's part of the fun. A word to the wise, if you are going to use these in a soup, and sweet Aunt Bea brought her yam surprise to the potluck, be sure to scrape those melted marshmallows off the top. This soup works best with simple roasted or pureed yams or winter squash that haven't been doused with loads of sugar.

The recipe that follows is based on one from Nigel Slater, one of my favorite British food writers. It is good for maybe 4 people, so double, triple, or quadruple it depending upon how many yams you have leftover. My own personal soup philosophy is that you can never make enough soup because it freezes really well and then you have yummy warm homemade soup one cold, rainy night when you are too tired to move.

2 slices bacon, chopped into small pieces
1/2 small onion, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 to 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
About 2 cups yam puree or other pureed winter squash (if it's not pureed, just stick it in your food processor and let 'er whirl)
About 2 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1/4 cup whipping cream
Whipping cream, creme fraiche, or plain yogurt for drizzling
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

In a large saucepan, saute the bacon until crisp. Remove to a paper towel with a slotted spoon and discard all but 1 teaspoon of the fat. Add the onion and saute until translucent. Add the cumin, coriander, and red pepper flakes. Stir until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the yam puree, stock, and cream. Depending on how you prepared your yams to begin with, you might need more or less stock to thin the yams to soup consistency. Add the soup to a food processor or blender and puree until smooth. Pour back into the saucepan and heat gently over medium heat. Taste and season with salt and pepper. Serve in shallow bowls, drizzled with cream and sprinkled with bacon.

Last week Tutti Foodie, Scharffen Berger, and Marcia Gagliardi of Tablehopper joined forces and unveiled The Chocolate Adventure Recipe Contest with a number of events at local restaurants featuring pastry chefs and chocolate. On Monday August 13 I went to Campton Place to see what Boris Portnoy {pastry chef of Campton Place, the restaurant) might make and talk about. An innovative and forward thinking chef, Boris's desserts guarantee a challenge to the palate as well as mind.

Much to my delight there was more in store than the same old chocolate thang I, and other pastry chefs, often find ourselves at. The afternoon at Campton Place was spent in a small private room on the second floor with some of California's most dynamic food writers, bloggers, bakers and movers and shakers in the local chocolate scene.

Before we set about eating the arranged chocolate on our plates, John Scharffenberger gave a short but thorough history of cacao and chocolate. If you work for a school, or just love chocolate, give this semi-retired chocolate maker a call! His talk was engaging, funny, compassionate and delicious in every sense of the word. While leading us through the earth's best rain forests for cacao growing, harvesting and fermenting, he directed us to eat the disparate chocolate shapes on our plates, in the order his lesson informed.

Much to the surprise of many of our virgin mouths, we tasted a number of chocolate examples which were not chocolate in the truest sense of the word. We learned that when tasting chocolate in its pure form, tongues met with acidity and tannins most commonly found in wine and bitter edges associated with dark-roasted coffees.

After eating 8-9 versions of cacao and chocolate we listened to Boris talk excitedly about his love for cacao nibs; their texture, flavor and versatility tantalized his sweet imagination. And discovering how to make his own chocolate in a food processor appeared to have changed his life! Yes, he encouraged, go and try this at home. After a short demonstration he motioned with a regal flourish, and quiet waiters appeared with a three component cacao nib-themed plated dessert.

You'd think after three hours of smelling, tasting, eating, talking, inquiring, and listening to chocolate I would have left the hotel without a desire to ponder the chocolate contest... But the truth is that my friend and I discussed what we would do if we could enter the contest. {I cannot, but he can.}

I thought I would share a bit of our conversation. Think of these word formations the way you would poetry, a game, an interpretive dance or maybe like you were sitting near us on BART, overhearing our chocolate-meal fueled crazytalk.

Theme: Bacon & Chocolate

Render bacon fat brunoise or dice, caramelize crispy pork fat cubes and make chocolate with this in food processor with cacao nibs.
Pork cracklins (like the snack food found at gas stations) enrobed in bittersweet chocolate.
Bacon lardons half dipped in chocolate.
Fatback chocolate with quince paste.
Pork belly & rosemary infused chocolate pot de creme, quince paste (?) & sea salt garnish.

Don't worry, these ideas won't end up on a dessert of mine.....

The Chocolate Adventure Recipe Contest website. "You. Dark Chocolate. And A Special Ingredient."

The Rules are simple: pair a list of innovative/ aromatic spices and flavors with any of Scharffen Berger's exquisite dark chocolates. The prizes include both money and fame. If you don't want the Bacon & Chocolate dessert to win, enter soon.

And, as Jen Maiser said aptly, "What could be better than the opportunity to create an interesting recipe using chocolate?"

Related Links:
The Art of Tasting Chocolate
Jalapeno Girl
Ladle and Whisk

We each need a good food buddy or two. Mine is a petite Filipina who can eat anyone under the table. Cindy modestly claims it's all about the pacing, but those of us who've had the pleasure of dining with her know that it's really 1) her absolute love of anything sweet, sour, spicy or savory, and 2) a secret second stomach.

So, yesterday, when I found her picnic spot in Golden Gate Park, I wasn't surprised to see that more blankets were dedicated to the spread of food than to her widening circle of guests. It was like a sprawling landscape of culinary discoveries. Others are content with plastic containers of potato salad or some Italian sausages or maybe a hamburger patty or two. Not Cindy. She was already passing around plates of steak with chimichurri sauce, paper thin slices of headcheese, and expertly tied bacon bites.

The best things about a true food buddy is an openness to tasting anything and the gusto of enjoying everything. Whether it's her own cupcakes with chocolate ganache or Nutter Butters topped with June Taylor plum conserve, she relishes all food to the very last plate-scrape and finger-lick.

We ate nonstop for 5 hours.

Fig and Nectarine Bacon Bites

These are simple to make yet very, very good. Bring bacon bites for your next potluck picnic and see how many new friends you make.

1. Trim off the stem tips of fresh figs and slice nectarines into thick wedges. Cut each strip of bacon lengthwise into two thinner strips.

2. Wrap each piece of fruit carefully with a ribbon of fatty goodnes.

3. Sear the bacon bites at the edge of the grill, where it's not quite so hot, or wait until the coals are dying down at the end of the picnic.

Serve over baby arugula leaves as a salad or nibble as is, hot and glistening, for dessert. I think they would be lovely over vanilla or caramel ice cream.