The first thing that struck me about The Beekman 1802 Heirloom Cookbook, written by Brent Ridge and Josh Kilmer-Purcell with Sandy Gluck, is the very first page. There's a smartly designed book-plate that reads:

First Generation to Own This Book: ____________

I think the very first page of the book says a great deal about the mission and ethos behind the project, the recipes, and the vision. Brent and Josh have a 200-year old farm outside of tiny Sharon Springs, New York where they produce goat's milk soap, cheeses, and other artisanal products along with hosting dinners and events. After deciding they firmly believed in capturing the work that was happening on the farm, preserving the food traditions they were introducing, and celebrating the small community surrounding them, a cookbook seemed like the next logical step.

Now the Beekman boys will be the first to ask the question, "does the world really need another cookbook?" This fall, especially, seems to be a banner season for new releases including The Family Meal, Bi-Rite's Eat Good Food, Essential Pepin, Ruhlman's Twenty and The Food 52 Cookbook among many others. So what sets this one apart? Sure, it's organized by seasons and focuses on feel-good recipes with a sense of history. But a lot of cookbooks do this. I think the true thing that sets the Beekman Boys' book apart is the definitive aesthetic and design (highly visual, quirky, a little bit irreverent), the approachable and inspired recipes appropriate for novice and more experienced cooks alike, and their push for generational cooking. I like this last part a lot. It's why I'm really sold on this book.

The photography by Paulette Tavormina captures the almost-down-home nature of the recipes beautifully. Most dishes are basic comfort food with a twist, and the photos really convey a warm, lived-in quality that make you want to pull up a chair and settle right into an evening meal at the farm. As far as the recipes are concerned, there are some that stand out right away for me. I've bookmarked Pea Pod Risotto, Meatloaf Burgers, Buttery Peach Cake, and Rosemary Spiced Nuts. The recipes range from simple salads and soups to more substantial entrees, side dishes and desserts. In addition, they do profiles of ingredients (raspberries, green beans, onions) and little "how-to" (yogurt cheese) sections that make the reader feel even closer to farm life. The headnotes for each recipe are approachable and become quite formulaic: the Beekman boys spell out why they're drawn to the recipe and then give a tip on preparation or shopping. For example, with the Broccoli Cheddar Soup recipe, they discuss using the broccoli stalks and florets and why each is useful.

But we really can't discuss the recipes without exploring the question: what exactly is a "heritage recipe"? In their introduction, Brent and Josh note that "heirlooms [are] recipes that we will make every year, recipes that we pass along to friends and family on scraps of paper. They are now as much a part of the story and life of Beekman 1802 Farms as are the house, the barn and the land." Later they go on to note that "heirlooms" of any kind are often irreplaceable and are, therefore, cherished. So they seem to have a two-fold mission: first, to publish recipes that have become important to them in living and creating a meaningful life on the farm and second, to encourage others to make these recipes a part of their own family traditions. There is a little "Notes" box next to each recipe to encourage readers to jot down what they liked, didn't like, or would change. They also supply sturdy note cards to jot down adaptations you might make with a certain recipe. Then, after doing so, Brent and Josh encourage readers to go to Beekman1802 to chronicle the changes. This way, each recipe will grow, change, and live on. For generations? Who knows. Time will tell, I suppose.

Is the book romanticizing their "newly bucolic [country] lives?" Sure. Absolutely. Regardless, the emphasis on family and the importance of traditions is especially relevant this time of year, especially as we tip-toe into fall and start to peek towards Thanksgiving. And that is why I so wanted to try out their Sweet Potato Pie recipe that appears towards the back of the book.

The Beekman Boys have given Bay Area Bites permission to reprint the recipe and I can tell you that it's already been decided that Sweet Potato is taking down Pumpkin this Thanksgiving at our house. This recipe is special largely because of its simplicity, attention to detail (uses two distinct kinds of sweet potato) and the addition of brown butter at the end. It's, in all honesty, a pie I was talking about for a good three days afterwards. I think you will, too. While the recipe doesn't delineate the timing, I've done so here below. I've also split the paragraphs up into numbered steps. Last, when making your pie dough, if lard isn't your thing, Martha Stewart's pate brisee is a perfectly lovely and reliable pie dough so go that route instead.

Sweet Potato Pie
To get a sweet potato pie that isn't overly sweet, we use two kinds of sweet potatoes: Japanese sweet potatoes, which are a little drier in texture and mildly sweet, and deep-orange garnet potatoes, which are moist and quite sweet. If the pie develops a crack in the center as it cooks, which many do, simply top with sweetened whipped cream, sour cream, or yogurt.

Prep Time: 25 minutes (to make dough)
Cook Time: 1 hour
Total Time: 1 hour, 25 minutes

Ingredients:
Basic Pie Dough *
1 cup packed light brown sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, grated
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup sour cream
3 large eggs
1 large egg yolk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 cups pureed cooked sweet potatoes (from about 1 1/2 pounds)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter

Instructions:
1. On a lightly floured work surface, roll out the dough to a 12-inch round. Roll the dough around the rolling pin, and then fit it into a 9-inch deep-dish plate without stretching it.
2. Press the dough into the bottom and sides of the pan. With a pair of scissors or a paring knife, trim the edges of the dough to form a 1-inch overhand. Fold the overhand over to form a high edge, and with your fingers, crimp the dough all around. Refrigerate.
3. Preheat the oven to 350 F.
4. In a large bowl, whisk together the brown sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt until well combined. Whisk in the milk, sour cream, whole eggs, egg yolk, and vanilla. Whisk in the mashed sweet potatoes.
5. In a small saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Cook until the butter foams; them continue cooking until the foam subsides and the butter turns a rich brown.
6. Immediately pour the browned butter into the sweet potato mixture and whisk until incorporated.
7. Place the pie plate on a rimmed baking sheet and pour the mixture into it. Bake for 1 hour, or until the pie is set with a slightly wobbly center.
8. Cool on a rack. Serve chilled or at room temperature.

*Basic Pie Dough
Ingredients:
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into bits
4 tablespoons cold lard, cut into bits
3-4 tablespoons ice water

Instructions: (note that there are two methods described below)
1. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, and salt. With a pastry blender or two knives used scissors fashion, cut in the butter and the lard until pea-size lumps remain.
2. Gradually add the ice water until the dough begins to come together but doesn't clean the sides of the bowl. Add just enough of the ice water so the mixture holds together when pinched between two fingers.

1. Alternatively, in a food processor, pulse together the flour, sugar, and salt.
2. Add the butter and lard and pulse 10 times or until large pea-size lumps are formed. With the motor running, gradually add the ice water until the dough begins to come together but doesn't clean the sides of the bowl.
3. Add just enough of the ice water so the mixture holds together when pinched between two fingers.
4. Shape into a disk, wrap in wax paper and refrigerate for at least 1 hour and up to 2 days.

Buy the book on Amazon, $13

I'm biased. I'll come right out and say it. Even if this was the worst cookbook known to man (which it's so, so not), I probably wouldn't say so. You see, I have a long relationship with Flour Bakery. When you're a graduate student in English literature who sits inside and reads all day in a city that suffers an impossibly long winter, bakeries are your second home. And for me, Flour was it. If you ask me the top three things I miss about Boston, Joanne Chang's lovely bakery would be in there somewhere. And that's why I was thrilled to receive a review copy of her brand new cookbook, Flour: Spectacular Recipes from Boston's Bakery and Cafe.

Treats at Flour Bakery on a cold February day

In addition to the recipes which I'll discuss in a moment, the cookbook is a keeper for many other reasons. In the introduction, Chang describes how she went from Harvard student to consultant to small-time local cookie purveyor to doing stints at local and international restaurants and eventually opening the bakery. It's a story of both luck and passion and a healthy dose of hard work--the story of someone who took a circuitous route and eventually came around to doing what they love. And that love shines through from the moment you step into the bakery and from the moment you turn to page 1 of the book. First, the photographs by Keller + Keller truly capture the classic, nostalgic, and equally playful nature of many of Chang's desserts. The organization of the book is logical which is not always the case with cookbooks. She begins with "Joanne's Top 12 Baking Tips" which are helpful but, truthfully, don't contain any groundbreaking information if you bake much at home (she covers temperature of ingredients, freezing dough, and over whipping). However, the "Techniques" chapter is absolutely fabulous. In your day-to-day baking cookbook, these tips are rarely covered: it's here that Chang talks about blind baking, how to do a crumb coat on a cake, cooking perfect sugar, and filling a pastry bag. For some, these may be simple, but for others, Chang's precise explanation will make you feel as though she's standing right beside you in the kitchen.

Now, the recipes: Chang keeps it simple with Chapter titles such as "Breakfast Treats," "Cookies," and "Cakes." And for anyone who has been to Flour Bakery, the book is especially exciting because the pages contain all the typical customer favorites such as Pop-Tarts, Double Chocolate Cookies, Sticky Buns, that incredible Banana Bread, and those devilishly chocolaty Chocolate Cupcakes. I'm in pastry cookbook heaven. I don't really know where to start, so I begin where any self-respecting baker would: Homemade Oreos.

Homemade Oreos!

Now I've made a few different Oreos in my day, so I ended up tweaking Joanne's recipe a bit to suit my own tastes. I changed the chocolate profile slightly, preferring a bit more cocoa powder than chocolate chips. I also found Joanne's 'log and cut' method difficult with this particular dough so I use a 'roll and cut' method here, and a different filling. I know lard and vegetable shortening are a tad bit controversial in some circles, but I find that the filling is much better with it. My coworkers will tell you--they're the best thing they've had in a long time. And we eat a lot of pastries. So next time you're in Boston you know where to go. And until then, you've got a few "Oreos" to tide you over.

Homemade Oreos
Adapted from: Flour
For this recipe, the type of chocolate you're buying really matters. I only use Valrhona chocolate. It's certainly more expensive, but if you just visually compare it to other cocoa powders on the market, it's so much darker and the flavor is unbeatable. A good rule of thumb for any recipe where chocolate is really the star: use the best chocolate you can afford. Do so here.

Ingredients:
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
3/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips, melted and cooled slightly
1 egg, room temperature
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda

Filling: (Adapted from Smitten Kitchen's recipe)
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
1/4 cup lard or vegetable shortening
1 1/2 cups sifted confectioners sugar
1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon vanilla

Method:
1. In a medium bowl, whisk together the butter and granulated sugar until well combined. You may also use a stand mixer with a paddle attachment. Mix in the vanilla and chocolate until just combined, and add the egg, continuing to mix until thoroughly incorporated.
2. In another medium bowl, stir together the flour, cocoa powder, salt, and baking soda until well mixed. Using a spatula, stir the flour mixture into the chocolate mixture. The dough will start to seem pretty floury, so you can just mix with your hands if that's easier. It should have the consistency of Play-Doh.
3. Divide the dough in half and wrap each disk in plastic wrap. Chill in the refrigerator for one hour.
4. Preheat the oven to 325 F.
5. Remove the disks from the refrigerator and let sit at room temperature for 5-8 minutes to make them easier to work with. Using a rolling pin roll out each disk to about 1/4-inch thickness.
6. Using a 3-inch cookie cutter, cut out as many circles as you can out of the dough. Quickly bring it back together and re-roll the scraps, repeating the process of cutting out the circles. If it become tacky or difficult to work with, place back in refrigerator for ten minutes to firm back up. Repeat with second disk.
7. Transfer the dough to parchment-lined cookie sheets. Bake for 20-22 minutes or until the cookies are firm to the touch. Check them frequently after 18 minutes. Unfortunately, you can't judge by color because they're already black. Allow to cool completely on baking sheet before you fill.
8. To make the filling: place the butter and shortening in a medium bowl and mix at low speed until combined. Gradually add the sugar and vanilla and beat on high for 2-3 minutes until nice and fluffy.
9. Assemble the cookies: use a pastry bag fitted with a 1/2 inch round tip or simply use a teaspoon to scoop out about 1 rounded tablespoon of filling onto one cookie. Place another cookie right on top to spread the filling towards the edges. Repeat until all cookies are filled.

Makes: 16-18 sandwich cookies

Tartine Bread Cookbook

Living in San Francisco, you're bound to have a love/hate relationship with Tartine Bakery. Love for all of the obvious reasons: most amazing morning bun, fabulous fruit tarts, and decadent chocolate desserts. Anything lemon. Almond croissants to rival Parisian patisseries. Strong coffee. So what's to hate? Weekend crowds and tourists--the fact that it's tough to squeeze in for that morning bun on a Sunday in any kind of sane manner.

Thankfully then, for weekend mornings when you can't muster the energy to elbow your way through the lines, we have the Tartine cookbooks (the first of which is aptly named Tartine). Now I very rarely write to publishers directly asking for a review copy of a book, but I did for Tartine's newest cookbook, Tartine Bread. I'd been awaiting its arrival ever since I heard that co-owner and bread master, Chad Robertson, was working on it. Chronicle Books was kind enough to send over a copy, and I stayed up and read it from cover to cover that evening. It's absolutely lovely. It's informative, it's inspiring, it's visually stunning. Chad gives you step-by-step instructions, guiding you (in pedestrian terminology) through the process of making his Basic Country Bread and Eric Wolfinger (who used to bake bread at the bakery) walks you through each step with his almost tactile, moving photos. It is as I knew it would be: a very special book.

From the get-go, Chad knew that the photos would be a critical part of the book because "traditional, intuitive bread making does not lend itself naturally to a written recipe." In addition to written instructions, someone needed to show readers how to make the bread--Eric Wolfinger has succeeded ten times over. Of the visual nature of the book, Chad notes, "Learning a craft is as much about copying as it is about understanding, as much visual as it is intellectual." From a quick glance at the cover of the book, you're already in Eric's world and as you flip to the first page, Chad takes your hand. You're now ready to bake bread.

The first 87 pages are devoted to a brief history of the bakery, the evolution of making and selling bread, and the detailed recipe for Chad's Basic Country Bread. In broad terms, he notes that "the goal of making bread with a satisfying depth of flavor, a good crust, and a moist, supple crumb is a constant." In more specific terms, the recipe for the Country Bread begins with a natural yeast starter, often called sourdough, although Chad promotes using a "younger" leaven which gives the bread much more of a subtle flavor. He explains that the concept dates back to before the 1930's when French bakers would use natural leaven in their baked goods--before the days of commercial yeast. Now if you tend to be one of those bakers who feel yeasted breads are a big enough leap and can't imagine making your own leaven, heed Chad's words: "The substantial gains in savor, keeping qualities, and versatile uses with the natural leaven justify the time it takes to build and care for one."

And he should know. Chad spent over two decades apprenticing with artisan bakers in France and in the United States, and experimented with his own ovens out in West Marin and in Mill Valley. In 2002, he moved to San Francisco with his wife (and other half at Tartine Bakery), Elizabeth Pruitt, to create the legend that is now Tartine Bakery. The rest is history. And readers get a glimpse into that history with each page of Tartine Bread. After Chad's basic bread recipe, the book branches off into interesting variations (olive bread, walnut bread, pizzas). And the last half delves into other recipes mainly using day-old breads such as French Onion Soup, Meatball Sandwiches, and Tartine's Baked French Toast. While I haven't yet had time to make Chad's Basic Country Bread, I wanted to dive right in, so I made the Panade using rustic bread I had lying around the house.

If you're not familiar with Panade, the headnotes for the recipe explain that it's a basic french preparation similar to the Spanish sopa seca, or "dry soup." Or if you're familiar with the Italian ribollita--same thing. The foundation is always dry bread moistened with water or stock and any combination of vegetables, greens, and cheese you have on hand. While it sounds a lot like bread pudding, the recipe doesn't call for any eggs so it's actually best after setting and retaining its shape two or even three days after it's made. You slice it in wedges to serve and reheat it.

Making Panade from Tartine Bread

The Panade recipe is straightforward and relatively quick to put together. I've reprinted it here with permission from Chad Robertson and the folks at Chronicle Books. At the end of the recipe, you'll find a few personal notes and words of advice for a successful panade. Next time I want to make it with Chad's bread--that is, if there are any day-old slices remaining. Which, somehow, I doubt.

Slice of Panade

Panade
Ingredients:
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 leeks, white parts only, finely chopped
6 cups whole milk
salt
4 slices day-old Basic Country Bread, cut about 1-inch thick
1 small butternut squash (about 1 pound), peeled, seeded, and cut into slices 1/4 inch thick
1 bunch black kale, stems removed
1 head cauliflower (about 1 1/2 pounds), trimmed and cut into 1/2 inch slices
1/2 pound fontina cheese, thinly slices
Heavy Cream (for reheating), optional

Method
Preheat the oven to 375 F. Melt 1 tablespoon of the butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Add the leeks and saute until softened, about 5 minutes. Add 2 cups of the milk, the remaining 5 tablespoons butter, and 2 teaspoons salt. Bring to a boil and them remove from the heat.

Cover the bottom of a deep, heavy, 5-quart pot with 2 or more slices of the bread. Arrange the squash slices in an even layer on top of the bread and pour in 2 cups of the hot milk mixture. Top with remaining 2 bread slices and then with the kale. Arrange the cauliflower slices over the kale. Press the ingredients down to compact them if they don't quite fit in the pot.

Pour the remaining 4 cups milk mixture over the vegetables and bread. Stop adding the milk when the level is almost to the rim. Season with salt. Cover the pot with the lid or aluminum foil. Bake for 30 minutes. Uncover and arrange the cheese over the top. Cover, return to the oven, and bake until the liquid is absorbed and reduced, and the cheese has melted and browned, about 20 minutes. When the panade has cooled, it should appear dry.

Serve immediately or let cool and refrigerate for up to 3 days. To reheat, cut the panade into wedges and put on individual ovenproof plates. Pour 1/4 cup cream over the top of each wedge and bake for 15 to 20 minutes in an oven preheated to 375 F.

Serves 4-6

My notes: I used a bit more bread than the recipe called for just to cover the width of my pan. I also found that the panade needed an extra 15 minutes in the oven and I ended up taking off the lid for the last 30 minutes. I found this helped the top crisp up nicely.

I received Janie Hibler's book, The Berry Bible, in the mail recently. I was excited to check out a book that focused on preserving, putting up, baking and cooking with the dozens and dozens of different kinds of berries in the markets these days. Plus, Hibler's work is rock-solid. She's a contributing writer for Gourmet, Food and Wine and Bon Appetit and grew up in my neck of the woods (Arcata, CA) which immediately gives her a little clout in my book.

So I sat down with a glass of iced tea and started reading. To be fair, The Berry Bible isn't really a book that you'd sit down with a glass of iced tea and read from front to back. It's more of a reference with an A-Z Berry Enclyopedia that profiles berries and berrylike fruits--many of which I guarantee you've never heard of (mountain ash berry, anyone?). Then the book moves on to discuss Berry Basics, a section devoted to information such as freezing berries and making your own purees. Hibler raises the important point that so many berries are available year round now, but they're often not the best quality. She advises buying up good berries when they're in season or from the farmer's market and freezing them to preserve them throughout the year. The easiest way? Rinse, pour onto a baking sheet lined with a paper towel, pat dry, freeze on the sheet and then bag up in plastic bags or airtight containers. And then, of course, there are the 175 recipes spanning everything from spicy blackberry brandy to almond gooseberry cream pie. Many of the recipes are adapted from some of Hibler's favorites that she's gathered from friends, bakeries, and cookbooks spanning the country.

Prepping for one of Hibler's recipes: Buttermilk Berry Muffins

Hibler's obsession with berries began early. In the Introduction, she details growing up in Northern California and picking berries along the trails there. I can relate. I have vivid memories of wild berries growing in schoolyards, along major highways, and by the beach. I didn't realize how lucky we were. As a young adult, Hibler moved to Portland, OR where her love for berries turned more towards obsession. She made a point to learn all about the berries of the Pacific Northwest. She ran a cooking school and when visiting chefs would come to teach, she'd most look forward to some down time so she could drive them out to the berry fields. Her passion for cooking and baking with berries shines through each page, and the little tidbits of berry history and quotes about berries are usually endearing (some of the literary berry quotes start to feel a bit onerous at times).

For me, the highlight of the book is the Bread chapter. This is obviously because I'm much more of a baker than a cook. And I'm an occasional canner at best. But even for non-bakers, the Bread chapter is exciting in its variety and approach to baking with berries. From Dutch Pancakes with Cranberry Butter and Mrs. Roger's Bucket Dumpling to Ginger Scones with Lemon Blueberry Filling, Hibler includes old fashioned and contemporary recipes alike. I decided to try the Raspberry Buttermilk Biscuits. They're quick to put together and are a great way to use up leftover buttermilk.

Muffins ready to go into the oven!

I found them to be incredibly light and not too sweet--they're quite low on sugar; much of the sweetness comes from the berries themselves. They're a simple muffin without any complex spice profiles or long list of ingredients, but they're beautifully studded with warm oozing berries and bits of oats. A pretty and healthy celebration of the season.

25 Minutes later...they're ready

Berry Buttermilk Muffins
I adapted Jane's recipe by using 1/2 whole wheat flour and sprinkling oats on top.

Makes: 12 3-inch muffins or 9 jumbo muffins

Ingredients:
Ground cinnamon for sprinkling
1/2 cups sugar, plus sugar for sprinkling
oats for sprinkling
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 tsp. coarse salt
6 Tbsp. cold unsalted butter
1 large egg
1 cup buttermilk
1/2 pint (1 cup) frozen raspberries, blueberries, and/or blackberries

Preparation:
1. Preheat the oven to 400 F. Grease a muffin tin.
2. Sift together 1 3/4 cups of the flour, the sugar, salt, and baking powder. Cut in the butter with 2 knives or a pastry blender.
3. In a small bowl, whisk together the egg and buttermilk and pour into the dry ingredients. Stir together until just combined. It will be lumpy.
4. Toss the berries in the remaining 1/4 cup flour and fold very gently into the batter. Fill the muffin cup to the top and sprinkle generously with sugar, cinnamon, and oats.
5. Bake for 20-25 minutes or until a knife comes out clean. Serve warm.

It all started with pancakes. As many great things do. Kim Boyce, former pastry chef at Spago and Campanile, left the industry to settle down and have a family. At home, she was inspired to bake but wanted to create healthy options for her kids without spending all day in the kitchen. While shopping at the market, Boyce picked up a small sack of Bob's Red Mill 10 Grain Pancake Mix. Later in the day, her young daughter was hungry and there wasn't an immediate plan for meal-time, so Boyce grabbed the flour and added in apples, pureed beets, milk, eggs and butter and had some darn fine (and unique) pancakes on her hands. This began her interest in cooking with whole grains. And I'm so, so thankful that this interest turned into a minor obsession and a very real talent, yielding her special cookbook, Good to the Grain.

I'm much more of a baker than a cook, and I often experiment with whole wheat flours in certain recipes--thinking I'm making a cake or cookie recipe that much healthier. It makes me feel somehow o.k. when I go back for a second (or third) portion. But Boyce makes a point that this book isn't just about substituting a whole grain flour in place of white flour. She's spent time getting to know the flavor profile of each type of grain and the texture that each lends to baked goods. In her Introduction, Boyce notes:

"Baking with whole-grain flours is about balance, about figuring out how to get the right combination of structure and flavor from flours that don’t act the same way as regular white flour.”

And the recipes are truly original and insanely appealing. From strawberry barley scones to muscovado sugar cake to ginger peach muffins -- morning and evening treats are included and photographed beautifully by Quentin Bacon. Bacon knows how to photograph rustic desserts, capturing the simplicity of a scene, the slight dimness of morning light, and evocative shots of half-eaten desserts. This book has been on my bedside for the past two weeks and I look forward to crawling into bed and climbing into Boyce and Bacon's world each night. Actually, it's a world I'd prefer never to leave.

The book itself is organized logically, with twelve different grains/flours covered and each chapter donated to one of them. For example, Boyce begins with a chapter on whole wheat flour and ends with spelt. Somewhere in between you'll find recipes that include amaranth, teff, rye, kamut, buckwheat--and so on. There are 74 recipes total, and Boyce gives a great list of online sources to order some of the grains (page 200). After all, not all of us are lucky enough to have Rainbow Grocery or other natural foods stores with great bulk sections in our backyard.

Now generally with a book review worth its weight, the author will have cooked or baked from the book and will perhaps include a recipe for readers to try. I have done neither of those things. You see, this interesting thing has happened where a few friends and a coworkers have brought me treats made from Boyce's book. That's actually how I first learned of it. So while I haven't exactly baked from it myself, I've tried her chocolate chip cookies (and they're absolutely fantastic: chewy yet sturdy and studded with hand-chopped chocolate), the gingersnaps and the chocolate babka. We're not talking healthy deprivation here. We're talking pure joy and indulgence. That being said, I understand some of you may be seeking out a bit more information and authority on Boyce's recipes. So here are a few of my food-blogging colleagues and friends who have detailed their hands-on experiences with the book:

• Figgy Buckwheat Scones from 101 Cookbooks
• Carrot Spelt Muffins from Pithy and Cleaver
• Honey Amaranth Waffles from Fake Food Free
• Olive Oil Cake from the Wednesday Chef
• Muesli from 5 Second Rule

To close, I'm moving again. More on that later. But as you all know, moving has a way of forcing you to purge things you're not using and packing up the things you want to hold onto. I have trouble letting go of cookbooks, but I did donate a few this time around to make room for some new ones and to make life just a little easier come moving day. But I know for a fact that Good to the Grain isn't going anywhere. I've never been so excited to read, absorb each word and tip, and bake and bake and bake from a book. While I hope this move will be almost the last for a very long time, I know that Boyce's book will make it into any U-Haul that crosses my path for many years to come.

In the forward to the book, Nancy Silverton notes,

My first impulse when I’m tasting a dish or a baked good I’ve never had before is to think about how I would do it differently, how I would improve upon it. I love it when I come across something and think ‘This is perfect! I wouldn’t change a thing!’"

I agree. Wholeheartedly.

We're all fortunate here in the Bay Area because Kim Boyce is speaking at Omnivore Books tonight. Come and pick up a book and meet my new baking legend in person. Here are the details:

Monday, May 24th at Omnivore Books: 6-7 p.m.
3885 Cesar Chavez Street
San Francisco, CA 94131
(415) 282-4712

What I've been up to lately

First I'll begin by saying I've never been one to eat out at restaurants alone. I know there are people out there who are unphased by that sort of thing, but I'm not one of them. Now coffee or lunch is one thing--but sitting at a restaurant for a solo dinner isn't my cup of tea. One summer when I was finishing up graduate school in Boston, I decided to treat myself to a week at a Bed and Breakfast on the Cape. It was going to be my solo, independent adventure--and during the day, it was. I lounged on the beach reading book after book, strolled the different little towns looking in antique stores and eating ice cream cones, and rented a cruiser bike to explore the marshy trails. And then the sun set and the anxiety kicked in: what to do for dinner? What to do that night? I couldn't possibly go out by myself.

A friend gave me a little perspective, telling me not to be so taken with myself: you really think people are even noticing you or the fact that you're by yourself. Everyone has to eat. No one cares if you're doing it alone. In fact, no one in the restaurant cares about you period. Ouch. But she had a point. I was thinking that people would stare or wonder or feel sorry for me when, in fact, they were just enjoying their fish and chips like everyone else. So that helped. But still--I enjoy sharing a meal with someone else. Period. This goes for eating out in restaurants, but I've recently discovered it also goes for preparing meals at home.

And this brings me to the present moment--the moment in which I tell you that my relationship of twelve years recently ended. I'm thirty-one, so that was essentially my entire adult life. Suffice it to say, I've never really lived by myself for any extended period of time and here I find myself in a new apartment in San Francisco alone. Not exactly what I'd planned, but I suppose that's how those things usually work. So once again I remain quite busy during the day, but then I arrive home and stare into the fridge. I've been getting creative with bagged salads, chicken sausages, soup, or pasta. Breakfast for dinner has been a winner lately as are quesadillas with heaps of homemade guacamole. And ice cream, of course. Oh, and peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat bread. I've discovered it's kind of magical if you make it into a warm panino.

So when I wrote about the difficulties of cooking for one on my own blog recently, many of my readers chimed in with menu ideas, book suggestions, and general encouragement. These are the moments I cherish the time I spend on the blog--it truly is a little community. After seriously considering each comment, I decided to take their advice, checked out some of the books from the library and even purchased one that I really came to love. For this week's post, I thought I'd share with you the ins and outs of some solo eating and cooking books so, in the case that you should find yourself alone in your painfully over-priced apartment, you won’t be staring at an empty fridge or relying solely on Trader Joe's taquitos. Those can get old after awhile.

"Dinner alone is one of life's pleasures. Certainly cooking for oneself reveals man at his weirdest. People lie when you ask them what they eat when they are alone. A salad, they tell you. But when you persist, they confess to peanut butter and bacon sandwiches deep fried and eaten with hot sauce, or spaghetti with butter and grape jam" –Laurie Colwin, "Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant" from Home Cooking

Solo Suppers: Simple Delicious Meals to Cook for Yourself by Joyce Goldstein
This book was recommended to me by my blogging friend Janet Gardner of Pretty Green Girl, and it's downright likeable. Goldstein doesn't lament the fact that you're eating alone. In fact, the premise is simple: singles represent the fasted-growing segment of the U.S. population (7) yet there are few cookbooks geared towards actual gourmet recipes for one. We see many books geared towards young singles cooking on a budget, but Goldstein wanted to talk about sauces, and Sicilian swordfish, and risotto with mushrooms and peas. Leafing through the book, I found many dishes I wanted to try. And the ingredient list made perfect sense: the quantities were small; I didn't have to sit down with my calculator and cut the recipe down by 2/3 (and often recipes don't reduce all that precisely). Her section on Stocking the Pantry is useful and I loved her Sauce Chapter (Romesco, Peanut Sauce, Mango chutney…). She also mentions ways to recreate each meal into a "New Creation" using leftovers. This seemed a little too planned out and a bit depressing to me for some reason, but I get the idea. It's just, how many days a week can a girl eat pork loin used in different ways? I giggled while reading her suggestions on looking for smaller bottles of wine. Really? Isn't this a time when we should all be drinking more? Much more? While I'll admit that my spinach sometimes will go bad, my wine never does. But all in all, this is a useful and relatively timeless book to add to the collection.

Going Solo in the Kitchen by Jane Doerfer
This book was written in 1995 and lets be honest: in many ways, you can tell. While there aren't any photos and while there's a lot of "fluff" at the beginning of the book (Selecting a Market, Dealing with the Butcher), it is a good basic primer for someone who is looking for quite simple, approachable recipes. Doerfer was also ahead of her time in that the focus of the book is on seasonally available recipes using good fats. She's written an incredible Salad chapter with options ranging from Greek Salad to a Couscous and Sweet Potato Salad. And she also has nice entrée ideas that I have yet to see parceled out for just one--dishes like Turkey Pot Pie and Crab Cakes.

In her introduction, Jane notes, "We may begin solo cooking for different reasons, but we end up with the same reality: Nothing tastes quite as good as a meal you've thought about and taken the time to prepare and enjoy." Again, I like the fact that she doesn't judge or lament or become too emotionally invested in the fact that her readers are in a situation where they're eating alone. Instead, she cuts to the chase. She does do the whole leftover rigmarole, too on recycling meals over and over. Not only does this seem like a bummer but it's confusing: if you're using smaller proportions to cook for one, why would you have so much leftover in the first place?

Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone edited by Jenni Ferrari-Adler
This book was recommended to me by my blogging friend Denise over at Chez Danisse, and it differs from the previous two books I've discussed in that it's much more literary and much less a How-To Guide or Cookbook. Sure there are a few recipes scattered throughout, but what Ferrari-Adler's done here is invite and solicit writers and food personalities to contribute to a collection dealing with the theme of eating alone. The back-story? Ferrari-Adler found herself living alone for the first time at twenty-seven while in the MFA program at the University of Michigan. She started cultivating a life of eating odd meals. Alone. But as she so quickly points out, "alone and lonely are not synonymous" (14). So in putting together the book, she notes: "Maybe I could break the silence and help men and women everywhere be less alone together" (8).

And I have to say, it's worked. The essays are all quite different in subject and scope and there is a nice grouping of men and women of various ages. The collection starts with Laurie Colwin’s well-known essay, "Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant," originally published in her book, Home Cooking. If you haven't read the essay, Colwin details life in her tiny NY apartment with a kitchen that consisted of a hot plate, a metal counter, and a kids-sized small fridge. Colwin began adjusting to cooking with two burners (soup, spaghetti, and eggplant were big hits). Ferrari-Adler also includes one of my favorite food writers, Amanda Hesser, and her piece entitled "Single Cuisine." In it, Hesser writes about her last night home alone as a married woman and gives her recipe for truffled egg toast. There are lovely pieces by Dan Chaon and Steve Almond and a great essay by Haruki Murakami on "The Year of Spaghetti." As an English nerd and a fan of many of these writers, this compilation was a treat. In a few short pieces, you get a glimpse into each writer's personality, domestic space, and approach to food. A rich opportunity.

What we eat when we eat alone by Deborah Madison and Patrick McFarlin
I was most excited to check out this book. I'm a big Deborah Madison fan and I'd heard it was lovingly illustrated (by McFarlin) with quirky pictures instead of traditionally photographed. I dove right in and with each flip of the page, was more and more disappointed. They begin by explaining what Patrick in particular began to discover as he spoke to people about their solo eating habits: "a portrait of human behavior sprung free from conventions, a secret life of consumption born out of the temporary freedom--or burden, for some--of being alone" (10). Hmm. Why did this passage leave a bad taste in my mouth? A secret life of consumption? Why so secret? It turns out the entire book is colored by this tinge of minor shame or embarrassment regarding eating alone--the last thing I want to read right now. There are odd tangents on gender differences: linguistically, apparently men use more active/violent verbs to describe cooking than women and women are more self-deprecating when talking about eating alone. OK, so what's the point?

Patrick McFarlin's illustrations

The book seems to struggle for a unified personality of purpose. Along with the gender digressions, there is a really odd collection of recipes--many of which I found to be completely uninspired. Bachelor Tofu Sandwiches? How about Breakfast Burrito for Day and Night? Then as much as I wanted to like the illustrations, many of them were of men in their boxer shorts or slippers haphazardly preparing a meal or staring into the fridge. Again, kind of makes me want to throw in the towel and head out to get some take-out--not what Madison was shooting for, I'm guessing. There are even anecdotes on Eating in Bed and Negotiating Eating on the Couch with a Cat. Seriously? For a book with a presumed audience of many solo eaters, I can't say that Madison or McFarlin have enticed us with recipes, the illustrations, or sentiment.

The Pleasures of Cooking For One by Judith Jones
And then, Judith Jones brings home the bacon. This book is sweet and substantial. It's a keeper. She doesn’t judge (although she does use the word "live alones" which kind of makes me want to slit my wrists. Yikes. When did I become a live alone?). She doesn't demean with lame watered down recipes. And that's probably because the premise of the book comes from such a genuine place of experience. Jones' husband passed away in 1996 and after his death, she's struggled with cooking alone. Like Goldstein, she begins with numbers: 51% of New Yorkers live alone, yet stores packages everything large and restaurants don't cater to single eaters (vii). Thus, her book was born.

Judith Jones' perfect blend of apt recipes, general kitchen advice, and genuine sentiment

Like many of the other authors, she discusses stocking your cupboards (sugars, flour, broth, canned tomatoes), your freezer (pesto, cream sauce, pastry dough) and your refrigerator (butter, eggs, mustard, sausage, jams). While I mentioned above that I'm not drawn to discussions on ways to recreate leftovers, Jones does have a likeable segment on the Nine Lives of a Turkey, detailing ways to recreate leftovers (turkey tetrazzini, waldorf salad). But what I really loved about this book are the substantial, inspiring, and challenging recipes along with the lovely photographs and her encouraging and precise tone. You won't find breakfast burritos here although you will find Beef Bourguignon, Red Flannel Pork Hash or a Filet of Fish in Parchment Paper. Now that's the kind of cooking I'm talking about.

To close, I've taken the advice of my family, friends, and readers and decided not to be too hard on myself. Cereal for dinner? Fine. Now's not the time to put the pressure on myself to make elaborate meals unless it feels right. But I'm also making a huge effort not to get too caught up in that anxious feeling I first met on a night in July in Provincetown when the sun began to set and I realized I was alone and hadn't yet eaten dinner. Let's just say I'm getting used to that feeling. In the introduction to her book, Judith Jones notes, "If you like good food, why not honor yourself enough to make a pleasing meal and relish every mouthful? (ix)" I'll raise a glass to that.

If the way to a man's heart is truly through his stomach, Giulia Melucci has tried every trick in the book.

Or, at least in her book, I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti. As the title might imply, she's still looking for the right stomach.

In her memoir of loves won and lost, Melucci takes us on a culinary tour of her love life-- from the loss of her virginity to the near regaining of it, with several interesting but ultimately wrong-for-her men showing up in between-- the notable ones being given their own chapters, as they were, in fact, chapters in the author's own life.

Though none of the men may have lead her down the aisle, Melucci's natural instincts lead her into the kitchen with excellent results: the recipes woven into the chapters read like a kind of food diary and are alarmingly accurate indicators of the author's state of mind-- or heart, as the case may be.

For example, in the chapter "The Ethan Binder School of Cooking," Melucci's Seder menu and the time devoted to its preparation read as serious commitment. To anyone who understands the meaning that often lay beneath cooking beyond the need for basic sustenance, the meal says "I love you and want to be part of your life" more clearly than any love letter. By substituting Broccoli di Rape for bitter herbs, the Brooklyn-born Italian-American author subtly injects her own identity into the menu, suggesting a desire to share her life with Ethan rather than totally sublimate it.

In the following chapter, "Mitch Smith Licked the Plate," there are few recipes and those that are speak of disappointment and compromise (Italian Grilled Cheese for Teenage WASPs, String Bean and Potato Salad for Gringos). What else can be expected when writing about a man who could only go as far as admitting that he was "deeply drawn" to Melucci, but could never mention the word love?

Oh, and the F***-You Cakes (yellow cake, of course) that follow the break up of another relationship are priceless.

I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti, is alternately amusing, frustrating, heartbreaking, and hopeful. It would have lost me, had the author chosen to blame her marital status woes solely on the shoulders of her lovers. Fortunately, she doesn't:

...I had a remarkable ability for turning any picture into the picture I wanted to see: me with a husband. My imagination had the flexibility of a thirteen-year-old Chinese gymnast.

I found myself rooting for Melucci, but cringing a bit with each new chapter thanks to the giveaway in the title of the book-- that each new relationship would ultimately end. For anyone who has ever loved and lost, and who loves good food, I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti is worth a read.

Even if it's just for the F***-You Cakes.

Meet Giulia Melucci to discuss her book in person at Omnivore Books Saturday, July 11th from 3 to 4 pm.

Omnivore Books on Food
3885a Cesar Chavez Street (at Church)
San Francisco, CA 94131
415.282.4712

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?