I love Kim Boyce. I went to see her at Omnivore Books and basically told her as much. I wrote a review about the cookbook, and I've featured a fabulous cookie recipe from it on my blog. I've convinced four friends to buy the book and I occasionally stalk Kim on Facebook and twitter. I did a little soul searching to try and identify the cause of my almost-obsession. After all, I own a heap of cookbooks--many of which inspire me daily. But Good to the Grain opens up a whole new world for those of us who love to bake and are also interested in whole grain flours, but have been stuck at the whole-wheat sign post, afraid to move on. Kim tested these recipes within an inch of their life and gave a tremendous amount of thought to which particular spices, fruits, and flavors would compliment each flour. The recipes are like jewels, really.

And that brings me to these scones. Ironically, after going on and on about Good to the Grain and the tried and true recipes, I'm going to go ahead and do something odd. Change the recipe. And not because the original printed recipe for Strawberry Barley Scones isn't absolutely heavenly--because it is. I didn't make huge changes. The flour and butter ratios remain the same. But I wanted a little crunch so I toasted hazelnuts and added them in, and I love the flavor of cherry and hazelnut so I used black cherry jam instead of strawberry. Last, I used turbinado sugar on the top more for aesthetic reasons than anything--it browns up beautifully and leaves the top of each scone especially rustic looking.

Spreading black cherry jam onto the bottom layer

If you've never worked with barley flour before, get ready for a treat. It's a light, rather fine flour that lends a certain nutty, almost creaminess that would be otherwise impossible using 100% all-purpose or whole wheat flour. The bits of butter make the scones nice and crumbly, and the jam baked into the center practically caramelizes around the edges. They're lovely to look at and even lovelier to eat. With coffee. With tea. Alone. With friends. At midnight. You get the picture.

Sprinkling toasted hazelnuts, buttering the top, slicing, and baking

Another thing I admire about Kim Boyce is her absolute excitement about each grain, but also the encouraging way she asks you to experiment on your own. This isn't natural for bakers: we tend to be big measurers and followers. So while I think you need to get to know how the flours work first (each works well with a certain amount of liquid and a certain proportion of another kind of flour to balance its gluten content), have some fun. As Kim says, "Once you are comfortable with the recipes, use them as your guide. Be creative. Experiment." So that I did. And Kim (and I) would encourage you to the same.

Black Cherry and Hazelnut Scones
Adapted from: Good to the Grain
Kim likes kosher salt in baked goods. It truly brings out the flavor. While you may find the quantity a bit more than you're used to, jump on the bandwagon. These scones are best right out of the oven or eaten the same day. Store in an air-tight container if you plan to keep them until the next morning.

Ingredients
Dry Mix:
1 cup plus 2 Tbsp. barley flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup dark brown sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1 1/4 tsp. kosher salt

Wet Mix:
4 ounces (1 stick) cold unsalted butter
1/2 cup buttermilk
1 egg

To Finish:
1/2 cup black cherry jam (or any jam of your choosing)
1 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted
1/2 cup hazelnuts, toasted and chopped
1 Tbsp. turbinado (or raw) sugar

Preparation
1. Preheat the oven to 350 F. Place a rack in the center of the oven. Spray baking sheet with non-stick spray or rub lightly with butter.
2. Sift the dry ingredients into a bowl. Pour back into the bowl any bits remaining in the sifter.
3. On a separate baking sheet (not the one you buttered for the scones), toast the hazelnuts for ten minutes or until fragrant. Let cool and slough off majority of skin. Place in plastic bag; crush with a mallet or back end of a metal spoon until they're in small pieces.
4. Cut the butter into 1/2-inch pieces and add them to the dry mixture. Use your hands to rub the butter between your fingers and the dry mixture, breaking it into smaller bits. Continue this until the butter is in sizes ranging from rice grains to small peas. Work quickly so the butter doesn't warm (important to this recipes).
5. In a small bowl, whisk buttermilk and egg, adding to dry mixture and mixing until barely combined.
6. Transfer the dough onto a well-floured surface. If the dough's too sticky to handle, dust with flour and fold a few more times.
7. Flour your hands, divide dough into two pieces, and pat each piece into a disk 3/4 inch thick and 7-8 inches in diameter.
8. Cover one disk with jam, then sprinkle toasted hazelnuts on top of this layer. Top the spread with the other disk, and press down gently so the dough settles onto the jam.
9. Brush the dough lightly with the melted butter and sprinkle the turbinado sugar on top. Use a sharp knife to slice into 8 triangular wedges and place on a baking sheet leaving a few inches between each.
10. Bake for 22-26 minutes, rotating the sheet halfway through. The scones are ready when they're golden brown on top and some of the jam is bubbling through the center. Let cool on a baking rack.

Makes: 8 scones

Arizmendi San Rafael finally opened April 6th!

I've been looking forward to this bakery opening for months. Seasons, actually. You see, it's not that we don't have Arizmendi in the city. We do. And it's fantastic--although on the opposite end of town from where I live. But my mom is a quick hop from the new location in San Rafael and I find myself at her house often because a) she's cool, b) she cooks for me and c) she has much better cable and cute dogs. So when I heard that Arizmendi had finally opened this week, I made a point to cruise on over and check it out. All in the name of research.

If you're not familiar with Arizmendi, they're not only an incredible bakery but they use a very cool worker cooperative business model. Over thirty years ago now, Berkeley's worker-owned, Cheeseboard cooperative opened. The model was so succesful that they helped open another bakery in Oakland that year--Arizmendi on Lakeshore Avenue was born. The rest is history. So without going into too much detail on the ins and outs of cooperatives (although it's quite fascinating), in short everyone weighs in on decisions ranging from opening hours to new pizza flavors.

Part of their mission statement reads:

Acting on the belief that beneficial change can come through collective action, we are a worker-owned and democratically-operated bakery cooperative. We make decisions by consensus and we share all of the business tasks, responsibilities, benefits, and risks, while being accountable to each other.

Call me crazy but this sense of care and ownership shines through in the product. Without a doubt. In the San Rafael store, this passion is immediately detectable. While I was expecting a more watered-down Arizmendi experience that would possibly cater to a different, more suburban clientele, I was pleasantly surprised.

Here's a peek at what I found:

Arizemndi bakers preparing loaves of multi-grain bread



Customers. Many, many happy customers

When I was chatting with the bakers, they mentioned that the San Rafael store's opening day was Arizmendi's biggest ever (they have East Bay and San Francisco locations as well). It was apparent on my first visit that the excitment had yet to wane.

You'll see all of your Arizmendi favorites, including the english muffin and corn cherry scone!


And a new discovery for me--intrigued by the name, I had to try one:

"The Chocolate Thing," a simple, yeasted breakfast bun generously studded with chocolate

So while I visited the San Rafael shop for a few breakfast treats, there's a lot more going on at Arizmendi. They do incredible pizzas--you can check online for their pizza of the day and pop in to buy a slice or a light-baked pie to finish baking at home. They also do artisan breads, simple cookies, and coffee drinks using Equator beans. The San Rafael location has a spacious eating area to lounge and catch up with a good book or just people watch from of their huge street-side location. And if, much like me, you can never have too many morning pastries, here are a few additional suggestions. I can attest to their greatness:

• Corn Cherry scone: a simple, delightful combination. Crumbly. A little bit savory, a little bit sweet.
• Homemade english muffin. Enough said.
• Pecan Roll: This is a nice one to share with your breakfast buddy. Light yeasty dough, nuts, caramel flavor.
• Chocolate Chip Cookies: This is not a fluffy, airy cookie. It's rather flat, dense, and generously strewn with chunks of chocolate. One of my favorite chocolate chip cookies around. And yes, I realize for most people this wouldn't be considered a morning pastry...

Generally speaking, each Arizmendi location will have a few specialties that they only do at that location. I chatted with the bakers to see what would be uniquely San Rafael and they said it was just too early to tell at this point. They wanted to start with the standard, successful line of Arizmendi products and give themselves some time to get to know the customers, the location, and what's really popular. As of now, the pizza has been a huge hit (after all, where can you grab a quick lunch right downtown?) and the morning pastry crowd is growing each day. They hinted that there's a good chance you may see them rockin' the Marin Farmer's Market in the coming months, too. So there's a lot to look forward to. But it's safe to say I'm satisfied with the here and now: they're open, they've got the best scone in town, and I've got a pizza in my fridge waiting to be baked off.

Arizmendi San Rafael
(See their website for other Bay Area locations)
1002 Fourth St.
San Rafael, CA 94901
(415) 456-4093
Hours: Closed Mon.; Tues.-Fri: 7am-7pm; Sat. 8am-7pm; Sun. 8am-4pm
Twitter: @Arizmendi_SR

Cibo on a rainy Sausalito day

Most people wouldn't expect that I'd end up at Cibo (pronounced "chee-bo"). First, I live in the city and there are certainly treats to be had in my own neighborhood. Second, my immediate family, after waiting a good five minutes for a drip-to-order coffee, vowed never to come again. My mom just doesn't get the concept, and while I try to explain how much better it tastes, she tells me to call someone else when I want to go to Cibo. OK, so there's that. Then there are my friends who are confused as to why I'd brave Sausalito cyclist-hell to get my hands on a pop-tart and a perfect cappuccino.

Lingering at Cibo on a quiet Friday morning

So given these few hiccups, why do I go? It's a fair question. First, between working part-time in Sausalito during the week and visiting family in San Rafael and Larkspur--I'm in Marin a lot. And many of you may be familiar with the rather grim (although getting better each day) cafe scene there. So when Cibo opened, I raced right over. And while I'm often alone (thanks, mom and co.) let's clear up the cyclist myth once and for all: yes, it can get a little hairy on a sunny Sunday, but for the most part the cafe is a great locals spot--a modern, airy space where folks meet up with friends, bring in their laptops to get a little work done, and have quick meetings over the best coffee in town. The space itself, a 120-year old brick building, has concrete floors, massive windows, and exposed brick walls. It honestly just feels good in there. It's conducive for coming in off the busy street and taking a legitimate break. I bring in a book and find that all of a sudden I've read fifty pages without the urge to check my iphone. For me, that's huge.

While not necessarily speedy, Cibo baristas make a mean latte using Blue Bottle espresso

The infamous homemade Pop-Tart

Now on to the food. I've only been to Cibo once for lunch, and tried that infamous wild mushroom panini. It's worth every penny and stands up to the hype. But for me, the real draw are the pastries and sweets that Tera bakes each day for the cafe. The pop-tart has been a standard item from almost the very beginning. It's a relatively thin, crispy treat made with polenta so it has a delightful golden color and simultaneously flirts with both sweet and savory. Tera plays around with different fillings, but lately they've been doing apricot--the perfect antidote to a strong Americano. I tell you, your day will improve the second you bite into one of these. They do sell out though. I've come in a few hours too late on numerous occasions and, with hopes dashed, have had to settle on something else. Which is always a blessing in disguise as it's led me to the cinnamon-sugar muffin (or some of the locals call it the donut muffin). It's a small, light, airy little muffin doused, dusted, and rolled in cinnamon and sugar. It tastes, quite literally, like childhood--the most comforting little breakfast morsel around.

To celebrate spring, pastry chef Tera Ancona brought back the sticky bun!

Then a few days ago, I noticed a new item: a small sticky bun studded with nuts and strewn with layers of cinnamon inside. While I had just planned on getting a cup of coffee and finishing the paper, I was sucked in. The thing I really appreciate about all of Tera's treats are their size. Nothing is huge, overly sweet, or doused with frosting. When I spoke with her last week, she mentioned that there are a million places you can go to get a one-pound pastry if that's what you're looking for. Cibo isn't that. Instead, Tera wanted to create more of an opportunity for people to try a few sweets without feeling too committal or guilty about it. The size is also conducive to try a little something in conjunction with breakfast or lunch or take a few treats home for later. It's all about ease and pleasure: Tera and her husband Alfredo (of Angelino's fame) truly want for people to slow down, taste the options at Cibo, and treat themselves without feeling like it needs to be a major decision. And for me, it never is. I order freely and happily (albeit alone), cyclists or not.

Cibo
1201 Bridgeway (corner of Pine and Bridgeway)
Sausalito, CA 94965
Map
(415) 331-2426 (CIBO)
Hours: 7 days a week, 7 am-5 pm
(415) 331-CIBO (2426)

Many of you probably saw 7x7’s recent issue with 100 Things to Eat Before You Die. While I think some of their choices were a bit repetitive this year, it's a fun issue and always gives me a nudge towards spots I've been meaning to try and dishes I need to get my hands on. While studying their inclusions, I noticed a serious omission. For those of you who have had the pleasure of eating the homemade English muffin breakfast sandwich at Mission Beach Café, you know what I'm talking about. This may be up there with my top three favorite things to eat for breakfast in the city--with or without a glossy endorsement.

Warming up to the morning at Mission Beach Café

This place rocks on weekday mornings. It's relatively quiet, there are folks reading the paper, and neighborhood locals wander in to grab a cup of coffee and a pastry. They're pulling off quaint neighborhood eatery remarkably well. It's spacious. It's comfortable. The service is laid-back but attentive. And dear god, that sandwich. Essentially, it's a fried egg with melted cheddar, caramelized onions, and mushrooms wedged in between a satisfying homemade English muffin. The nooks and crannies catch the slightly runny egg perfectly, but there's also more of a delightful heft to the English muffins here than your typical store-bought variety.

The Breakfast Sandwich on a homemade English muffin at Mission Beach Café.

A few weeks ago, I brought two friends to Mission Beach Café. We were all catching up with each other until the waitress brought out our breakfast. I kept getting distracted and interrupting: you guys have got to try this; I wonder if you can make these English muffins at home?; do you think you have to use yeast to make English muffins? My friends loved their food, but could've used a little less talk of yeast and a little more talk of weekend plans. But the second I got home, I started researching recipes online and found one from a blog called Tracey's Culinary Adventures (a lot of food bloggers have played with this recipe by famed bread master Peter Reinhart so it must be the real deal). It seemed to be a relatively easy foray into the big, bad world of yeast (I'm a quick bread kinda' gal myself), so I set out to buy the ingredients and managed to have a whole lot of luck. I ended up adapting the recipe slightly myself, adding a little more sugar because I'd heard the sugar helps the yeast rise (and I didn’t have much luck with that the first go-around).

In under a minute you'll have a warm, fragrant ball of dough.

My mom claims this is the best thing I've ever made. I'm not so sure about that, but they were easy (albeit a little time consuming: my yeast took a bit longer than the recipe dictated, so allow a good few hours just in case) and have proven to be quite addicting. I quickly learned that there's a difference between instant yeast and active dry yeast. I'm not going to lie. I still don't completely know the territory I just entered, and I definitely had to toss my first ball of dough. But there's something thrilling about kneading buttermilk, flour, and yeast and watching it rise and form into magic breakfast (or lunch, or late night) treats.

Letting the dough rise, forming balls, quickly cooking each side, and popping them in the oven: done!

I didn't try to emulate the breakfast sandwich at Mission Beach Café (not yet, anyway), but I have been slicing halves, toasting them, and eating them with just about every jam in my kitchen. And a quick note: the only time-consuming part of this recipe is letting the dough rise. You won’t be slaving away in the kitchen. Pick up a good book or get caught up with old friends on the phone and they’ll be done before you know it.

I'll never buy Thomas' again!

English Muffins

Adapted from Tracey's Culinary Adventures -- original recipe from The Bread Baker's Apprentice by Peter Reinhart

Ingredients:
2 1/4 cups bread flour
2 tsp. sugar
3/4 tsp. salt
1 1/4 tsp. instant yeast
1 tbsp. shortening or unsalted butter, at room temperature
3/4-1 cup milk or buttermilk, at room temperature
Cornmeal, for sprinkling

Makes: 6 English Muffins

Preparation:

1. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the flour, sugar, salt and yeast. Mix in the butter (or shortening) and 3/4 cup of milk (or buttermilk). If the dry ingredients are not yet fully incorporated, add enough of the remaining milk so a dough forms. Stop mixing right when this occurs: don't over mix!

2. Sprinkle flour on a dry surface and turn the dough out of the mixer, and knead by hand for about 9-10 minutes. The dough should be tacky (but not sticky), and register 77 to 81 F. Transfer to a lightly oiled bowl and roll the ball of dough around the bowl to coat. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise for at least an hour, or until the dough doubles in size. It helps to keep the dough (in terms of rising) in a relatively warm place--away from cold, drafty windows or open doors.

3. Divide the dough into 6 equal pieces and shape into small balls. Lay parchment paper on a baking sheet and spray lightly with oil. Sprinkle with cornmeal.

4. Move the dough balls to the baking sheet, spacing them evenly with enough room to rise and double in size. Mist them lightly with oil and sprinkle with cornmeal then cover the pan loosely with plastic wrap and allow to rise another hour, or until the rolls are nearly double in size.

5. Preheat the oven to 350 F. Heat a flat griddle to medium (350 F) (you can also use a skillet on the stove top if you don't have a griddle). Brush the griddle lightly with oil and gently transfer the dough balls to the griddle. Allow them to cook for 5-8 minutes or until the bottoms are a rich golden brown color. Be careful not to burn. Carefully flip and cook the other side for the same amount of time. They should flatten as they cook.

6. Remove the muffins from the skillet and transfer them to a parchment- or silpat-lined baking sheet. Bake in the preheated oven for 6-8 minutes.

7. Transfer the baked muffins to a cooling rack and let cool at least 30 minutes before slicing or serving.

A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to fill out a questionnaire about food and my relationship to it. What did I think about the latest food trends? Why is food important? Do I consider myself a "foodie"? (Answer: Eww, no.)

For the most part, the questions were easy for me to answer, save one:

"What is the best meal you've ever had (or made) and why?"

I had to walk away from the computer for a little while after I read that. The best meal ever? Ev-er? How the hell am I supposed to choose one meal out of the 43,000 or so meals I've eaten in my lifetime? There isn't one best meal. There are several.

I've already written about some of them: dining in a rain-soaked Paris with the most charming man on the planet; eating al fresco in a rose-scented garden with good friends; brunching and game-playing on a Sunday afternoon on the Isle of Alameda. Choosing a favorite among them would be like having to single out your favorite child. And there are so many others.

As I was struggling to single out one to discuss, I suddenly thought of one of the simplest meals I've ever eaten and one taken mostly in solitude-- a quesadilla that made me cry.

I had been out the night before with the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes upon and who, conveniently, doubled as my boyfriend. He was an actor who made his monthly rent by bartending at a swank restaurant by night and posing for greeting cards by day when he wasn't busy playing sailors with one line to speak on Murphy Brown and other, popular television shows of the day. He was old. Thirty. And charming. Very. What on earth he was doing with a twenty-two year-old with a flair for the dramatic was beyond me. Maybe it was an actor thing. Drama is as drama does.

Apparently, his being with me was rather beyond him as well, because that evening, after the depressing, excruciatingly unwatchable Derek Jarman film we'd just seen, he said the magic words that every love-struck person loves to hear:

"I'm sorry, but this just isn't really working for me. I think you're a nice guy and all..." And so on.

It was an early night.

I returned home to find my roommate Craig sitting on the couch in our living room, watching television. I withered into the cushion next to him. He didn't have to ask what was wrong, because he knew I was going to tell him everything. So he just poured me a drink and let me do it. I shall spare you the details.

The next morning, I awoke to a timid knock on my bedroom door. "Mike? You up?" Craig opened the door with his free hand. In the other was a tray. The guy had made me breakfast in bed. I sat up in my bed and took the tray from him. "I thought this might make you feel a bit better," he said.

No one had ever made me breakfast in bed.

On the tray were a cup of tea, a little glass of orange juice, and a quesadilla. A quesadilla for breakfast? Now that I think of it, that's a rather odd choice for breakfast, but the man's from San Diego, so there you have it. He sat on the edge of the bed for a minute or two and chatted with me, then suddenly sat up and told me that I should eat because my breakfast was getting cold. With that, he left the room.

I sat there staring into my quesadilla for a moment and thought how sweet it was of my best friend to make me breakfast like that. Why couldn't my boyfriend do things like that for me? And then, of course, I remembered that I no longer had a boyfriend. Depressed, I tucked into the quesadilla.

It was still warm and creamy on the tongue. He'd used the cambozola cheese we'd bought. We were coming out of our "brie-is-fancy" stage of cheese awareness and were now branching out into the bleu-veined ones.

But there was something else tucked into that crispy tortilla which made my tongue heated up. A lot. He threw in peppers. Scotch Bonnet peppers. Craig and his girlfriend Shannon had just started dating and were trying to out-macho each other on the Scoville scale. As an occasional participant in their bizarre, heat-related courtship ritual, I considered myself a wimp when it came to such things, but I continued to eat. My eyes burned, my nose began to run. After a couple of bites, I was in discomfort; after a couple more, I was in pain.

The gulping of hot tea did nothing to help. The swishing of orange juice around my gums only seemed to spread the heat everywhere. I had never eaten anything so hot in my life. It was horrible, yet oddly delicious. And then something unexpected happened.

I cried. I sat there in bed, balancing the tray of food on my knees and cried, which was something rather foreign and forbidden to young men. I hadn't allowed myself to do it in years. The heat from those damned peppers so filled my eyes with tears that there was nothing else I could do, so I just went with it.

I wept and sobbed and moaned as quietly as possible, but it went on and on. And on. Had I been standing, I would have lost my balance and fallen into a heap. It was uncontrollable. I felt inconsolable. All the disappointment and hurt I'd been storing inside me for years just poured out of me and onto my t-shirt and the breakfast tray. I can't remember how long I went on like that. I was grateful that Craig was thorough enough to provide a napkin.

"Well, that was weird," I thought. I was puffy and tear-stained and my tongue was still a but numb, but I felt incredibly, wonderfully light.

What was so awful? So I got dumped. I was disappointed, but I had to admit that the fellow who did the dumping did so honestly and with concern. He was (and I am sure still is) a thoroughly decent fellow. Rather than concentrate on a man I didn't have anymore, I thought about one that I lived with, thanks to some quirk of fate and good timing, for the past four years and realized just how lucky I was. I got out of bed, wandered into the kitchen, and thanked him. I should have given him a big bear hug and told him that, despite the pain of that meal, I'd never felt better after eating anything in my life. I should have told him that I loved him, but I was twenty-two and felt weird about telling anyone I loved them.

Fortunately, a lot has changed since then. I can handle heat, I can cry unaided by painful food stuffs, I can tell the people who are important in my life that I love them.

And then there are some things that haven't changed. Craig's still there after twenty years. When I begin to mope and whine about all the things I don't have in my life, I check myself by thinking about all the great things I do. And Craig, his wife Shannon, and their wonderful/crazy children are always at the top of that list. So, since I'm here and all, I might as well say it.

Thanks for always being there, Craig. I love you, man.

Cambozola Quesadilla

Serves 1

Fortunately, I've grown to the point where I no longer need the help of chile peppers to make me cry. I can do that on my own, thank you very much. As a result, I am sparing with their use. If you still need such aid, I would suggest going overboard with them. It's your quesadilla, you can cry if you want to.

I've substituted habañero chiles for Scotch Bonnets in this recipe because they are easily available and hover in the same heat category (100,000 to 350,000) on the Scoville scale.

Quesadillas are incredibly versatile-- you can put just about anything in them, so long as the ingredients won't crack a tooth. I mean, Craig did. Add whatever you like.

Ingredients:

1 large flour tortilla

Cambozola cheese (rinds removed or not-- your choice), sliced into thin wedges.

Olive oil or butter for cooking

1 to 2 habañero chiles, finely chopped. Or Scotch Bonnets. Or, if you really need help, Law Enforcement Grade Pepper Spray (5,ooo,ooo+ Scoville rating). Or just skip making the quesadilla altogether and try intensive psychotherapy.

Preparation:

1. Heat a heavy-bottomed skillet, preferable cast iron (or, if you have one, a comal) with about a half-dollar-sized amount of butter or olive oil. Add tortilla and cook gently until little air pockets form.

2. Arrange cheese on one half of the tortilla. Sprinkle as much chopped chile as you dare, keeping the heat on low. Fold the empty side of the tortilla onto the one covered in cheese and chiles.

3. Wash hands thoroughly with soap and water. When living with Craig, I used a cutting board that had just been used to chop habañeros. Neither of us washed our hands, but merely rinsed them off quickly. I made the mistake of touching my eye. Craig made the greater mistake of going to the bathroom. We both retired to our respective bedrooms and writhed in pain in privacy.

4. Return to the quesadilla, increasing the heat slightly. Flip it every twenty seconds or so until both sides are browned and crisp and the insides melted.

5. Remove quesadilla from the skillet and cut into wedges. Serve with sour cream or Mexican crema, or whatever you like. Or just slide it onto a plate, crawl into bed, and prepare yourself for a good, long weep.

The Pancake Breakfast Cupcake at Cups and Cakes Bakery

If your family is anything like mine, Christmas brings about time spent together, slightly annoying and repetitive Christmas music, cookie baking, festive cocktails, and lots of treats. There are meals out, and time to meet up with old friends and extended family. And of course: the fudge and requisite boxes of See's Candy. So on the Monday following Christmas weekend, the last thing you may want to read about is a post highlighting more sweets and treats. But I couldn't resist. I discovered something that warmed my sugar-loving heart last week and I'm dying to share it with you. Here, my friends, is a really good, somewhat socially acceptable excuse to eat cupcakes for breakfast.

Now, San Francisco has its fair share of cupcake spots and most folks have already established their favorites. Whether it’s Kara's, That Takes the Cake, or the minis over at DeLessio Market and Bakery, a variety of shapes and flavors abound. However, Jennifer Emerson’s new SOMA cupcake shop, Cups and Cakes, is shaking things up a bit.

The charming and hard-to-miss pink exterior

With innovative flavors like the Art House (a ginger-beet cake with ginger cream cheese frosting and candied ginger) or the Pucker-up Pink Lemonade (tart pink lemonade cake with pink lemonade butter cream and rainbow sprinkles), there's something to inspire even the most staunch cupcake skeptic. Now often when people try and get creative with an already-good thing, the product isn't always successful. Not so with Cups and Cakes. The cupcakes are uber-moist, the cream cheese frosting is perfectly creamy and slightly tart, and the shop is cute as a button. The pink exterior lights up the rather industrial stretch of SOMA's 9th St., and inside you'll step into a bustling, pastel workshop.

Inside the open-kitchen at Cups and Cakes

But the reason I made the trip was for the Pancake Breakfast Cupcake I'd been hearing so much about. First things first: the cupcake has bacon baked right into it. That's right: you heard me correctly. I'm not talking about a mere topper; there are strips of perfectly cooked bacon throughout the actual cupcake.

Check out the small strips of bacon throughout the cupcake itself!

Technically, it's made of a maple bacon cake with a maple butter cream and topped with bits of crisp bacon. Now while I'm not so certain Jennifer designed it to actually be eaten for breakfast, I say go at it. We all have a few days yet until New Year's resolutions start and people begin flocking back to the gym and dusting off their bikes.

If you're not down with bacon in your cupcake, Jennifer stocks vanilla, chocolate and red velvet each day along with at least three additional flavors and a vegan and gluten free choice. She also uses local and organic eggs, butter, sugar, flour, and produce. Check out her menu of flavor offerings and specialty choices. And if you don't love any of the choices online (and I challenge you to not find something that strikes your fancy), Jennifer is happy to customize something to fit your personal tastes).

Cups and Cakes Bakery
451 9th Street
San Francisco, CA 94103
(415) 437-CUPS (2877)
Hours: Mon., Wed.-Fri. 10am-6:30pm; closed Tuesday; Sat.-Sun: 12 pm-5pm
Twitter: @CupsCakesBakery

Note: Check website for special holiday and New Years hours.

At Los Jarritos, the Reyes Padilla family's sit-down eatery on the corner of South Van Ness and 20th, components of the restaurant's fantastic chilaquiles remo are reminiscent of canonized comfort foods from other cultures.

Like noodles in a day-old lasagne, the quarters of fried corn tortilla are pasta-like, smothered in tomato sauce, congealed, pinioned under an oozing crown of cheese.  Nestled amongst the bits of tortilla, the long-simmered strands of chicken taste as if they have been lifted from a huffing stockpot of soup.  Scrambled eggs are there too, slippery and elusive, binding everything into a velvety mass further enriched and enlivened by a pour of crema.  As the crema melts and disappears, the effect is smooth:  none of the comforting elements stand out unless they're deliberately eaten apart from the others; taken together, the flavors are big and familiar, yet invigorating and, to the uninitiated, new.

Sometimes, the homiest dishes -- foods without pretense or artifice -- are most revealing about the cultures from which they spring, and inspire the most debate amongst their devotees.  However, from countless regional Mexican renditions -- like white sauces in Sinaloa and Guadalajara's polenta-like cazuela cook-downs -- to American adaptations that echo Tex-Mex migas, all chilaquiles aim to soothe -- regardless of a particular variation's provenance and claims to authenticity.

The other weekend, hungover and exhausted from a morning of pick-up basketball, I was looking for comfort in sustenance.  I found it easily, several thousand calories' worth:  two distinct and excellent versions of chilaquiles served up at two very different Mission District establishments.

The chilaquiles at Los Jarritos aren't particularly spicy, merely salty and luxurious.  Cranberry-colored and riddled with ice, a pitcher-sized glass column of agua fresca de jamaica -- a refreshing tea-like infusion of dried hibiscus flowers -- compliments the richness with tart notes as well as sweetness.

Furthermore, you need not make a breakfast of chilaquiles alone.  The "Mexicano" side of the divided desayunos menu -- the one from which you should be ordering -- is rife with other enticing offerings, like machaca, a melange of flank steak, scrambled eggs, onions, tomatoes, and peppers, and huevos divorciados.  The latter boasts tender pork cubes in two sauces -- a red, oily chile colorado and a spicy, slightly sour chile verde -- kept separate and served atop two runny fried egg rounds.  The basket of pillowy, sweating tortillas comes in handy here. Strips of the thick discs are good for sopping sauce and scooping up errant morsels, but, nibbled unadorned, they also offer a welcome respite from the heavy assault of pig and eggs.

Interestingly, there are huevos con amor as well, but they are not as delicious and, surprisingly, no less expensive.

Inside, Los Jarritos looks as bold as its food tastes, like a typically kitschy roadside diner wonderfully lost in translation.  A chalkboard announces specials like birria and menudo.  The tabletops are a lively turquoise; sombreros swing from hooks high up on the walls alongside toy guitars in pastel hues and large black-and-white photographs.  A miniature plastic marlin peers down blankly from a lower perch.  Tiny painted drinking mugs -- the restaurant's namesake -- hang in bunches between the windows.
 
By comparison, the interior of the four-year-old Los Pastores is demure:  a floor tiled in matte brown squares, a beige back counter, and peach walls dotted with a few faded reviews in simple frames.  If the inside of the restaurant is austere, the outside is barely visible at all, even from just across the street -- a narrow storefront at the foot of Bernal Hill, right where Cortland runs into Mission.

Chilaquiles con huevos from Los Pastores. Photo by Bucko W.

Here, the chilaquiles con huevos barely resemble their chicken-laden counterparts at Los Jarritos. Tortilla triangles are fried until they are brittle and brown around the edges, and arranged over a shallow pool of thin green sauce shot through with citrus and chile heat.  Cojita-studded crema tops the chips, darting out in little rivulets from under a trio of overlapping fried eggs that leak yolk at the slightest twist of a fork.  When the big plate arrives, the individual parts are distinct, uncombined, but their sum emerges gradually over the course of eating.  The first few bites contain crisp tortilla, a little sauce, and a sliver or two of egg.  Pour the bowlful of extra sauce over the eggs, and let it soak in.  Once the sauce has done its work, and the broken yolks from the eggs have been swirled in, the tortilla chips will be soft, with just a pleasurable hint of the old crunch remaining.  You can order chilaquiles with steak in lieu of eggs but either way, skip coffee, and instead slurp a pineapple agua fresca -- ultra-sweet, extremely cold, and topped with pale froth like a soda jerk's quaffable confection.

Because chef, owner, and server Irma Calderon does all the work herself, service at Los Pastores is fastest when the room is empty -- early on a weekend morning.  Bustling Los Jarritos is a more polished operation, but a server still sidles up and cracks, "time's up!" five minutes after the menus have been opened -- not that you really care.

Visit either restaurant on a Saturday at any time, order up some chilaquiles, and indulge in a self-satisfied smirk as you contemplate the mornings many neighborhood brunchers are putting themselves through:  forty-five minute waits on crammed sidewalks for mediocore food they'll end up scarfing in a 20-minute frenzy.  

Oh, you might be waiting too, but at least you'll be at a table, comforted by the chilaquiles in your near future, sipping an agua fresca, and enjoying good fellowship -- ingredients of which great morning meals are made.

San Francisco is a brunch town through and through. And I'm always down for a nice eggs benedict or a stack of blueberry pancakes. But everyday can't be Sunday. Most of us have day jobs and can't lounge around cafes late into the afternoon hours. So here are a few of my favorite spots for quick, creative, inspiring breakfasts around the city. One is a bit gluttonous, the other earnestly healthy, and the last sloppy but satisfying. So while dining trends will always come and go, breakfast is staying put. Sometimes mom knew what she was talking about: it is the most important meal of the day.

The Good: Fraîche
I first stumbled across Fraîche while wandering around downtown Palo Alto. This was around the same time when frozen yogurt shops were opening on (seemingly) every street corner in San Francisco, and I’ll admit, I was one of the people in those long lines. But if you're like me, you're a little burned out on the tart treat and the neon décor. Fraîche is different. Trust me. The frozen yogurt has more of a creamy, subtly tart flavor than other competitors, they use organic Clover milk, and owner Patama Gur spent a long time perfecting her special blend of probiotic cultures--and it shows.

In addition to frozen yogurt, Fraîche also does a thick, housemade unfrozen 2% yogurt. When I first visited the shop on Fillmore recently, I ordered the frozen yogurt with pureed apricots and my friend opted for the unfrozen version with raspberries and peaches. I have to say, I had entrée envy. While mine was delicious, the unfrozen yogurt is unlike anything I've ever had. Think Greek yogurt on steroids. As we were leaving, I noticed the breakfast menu and their early morning hours, and vowed to come back for a quick and healthy breakfast before work.

You can get breakfast to eat-in or take-out. The menu is simple and centered around the unfrozen yogurt, fresh fruits, housemade granola, and steel-cut oats. I tried the Toasted Nut and Berry Sundae: yogurt with fresh berries, housemade granola, toasted almonds, and local wildflower honey ($5.50). The nice guy constructing my lovely "sundae" mentioned that the SF Chronicle Special has been the most popular, with steel-cut oatmeal and a choice of fresh yogurt and fruit and nut toppings ($5.95). And these aren't your average toppings. From bright pureed fruits and local honeys to shaved Callebaut chocolate to-order, the toppings are as conscious as the yogurt itself.

So after finishing the Nike Marathon recently and being told by many friends that I’d have to try and taper my ravenous appetite to account for the decrease in physical activity, I've tried to opt for breakfasts that don't include numerous pieces of toast or stacks of pancakes. And for that, Fraîche is here for me. With a cup of Blue Bottle coffee (they start serving the premium coffee next week) and a seat at one of the sleek wooden tables, experience morning the way it should be experienced: simple and thoughtful.

Fraîche
1910 Fillmore Street
San Francisco, CA 94115
(415) 674-6876
Hours: Mon.-Thurs. 7am-11 pm; Fri. 7am-12am;
Sat. 8:30am-12am; Sun. 8:30am-11pm

The "Bad": Dynamo Donuts
Nestled amongst the Mexican grocery stores and panaderia's on 24th St., sits Sara Spearin’s sweet little donut shop. It’s "bad" in the best possible way. There are a few critics who scoff at charging $3 for one donut. But the truth is, I'd pay $3 over and over for what Spearin and crew are doing in the Dynamo kitchen. It’s something that San Francisco has yet to see--an artisan, organic, awesome donut.

Before getting to the donuts, a quick aside: I was a vegetarian for almost fifteen years. About a year ago now, I started eating meat again. Once I decided to go for the gusto, something strange happened: I couldn't get enough bacon. And this was certainly fine timing, as bacon has become rather trendy in the last year or so. From bacon potato chips to bacon chocolate confections, it seems like the much-loved pork product is everywhere these days. So while I understand many folks are over the bacon-in-everything trend, I'm still on a bacon high.

I had my first bacon maple donut at Voodoo Doughnut in Portland, Or. I thought they were pretty good: the donut was light and airy (albeit quite large), the maple glaze rocked, and they put strips of real bacon on top. The bacon itself was a little weird and greasy, but I figured all bacon donuts were that way. Then, a few weeks ago, I went to Dynamo for the first time. Now I know: all bacon maple donuts are not created equal.

While it looks like a simple donut window from the street, there is an entrance leading to a huge open kitchen and a quaint seating area where couples sit with steaming cups of Four Barrel coffee and a donut or two. The buzz from the open kitchen is infectious: five women with cute vintage aprons are busily pumping out donuts while laughing and telling stories. They seem genuinely psyched to be there--and it shows in the product. The donuts themselves are special. For the most part, they’re cakey and have a bit of heft (think old-fashioned donuts of your childhood). I tried the chocolate saffron, which has a very light hint of citrus and a subtle warmth from the saffron. Next I moved on to the caramel del sel, flavored with nutmeg and topped with a caramel glaze and fleur de sel. Then I picked up a few of the apple bacon maple donuts to bring in to work. Unlike the one at Voodoo, the bacon was in small bits sprinkled on top of the donut and wasn’t at all greasy. And the little bits of apple are actually sautéed in bacon fat, resulting in a fabulous salty and sweet flavor. It really is the perfect donut. So with a motto of "EVERYDAY is bacon donut day!" there's not a place I'd rather frequent more at the moment. And even if you’re not a recovering vegetarian with a constant hankering for salty meats, there are many other well-crafted donuts to choose from.

Dynamo Donut
Twitter: @dynamodonut
2760 24th Street
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 920-1978
Hours: Tues.-Sat. 7am-5pm; Sun. 9am-4pm; closed Mon.

The Ugly: Hazel's Kitchen
Hazel's Kitchen is very Potrero Hill. For those of you familiar with the neighborhood, I know you feel me. For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, they do a lot of things right, but one of them isn’t necessarily speedy or efficient customer service. It's laid back, it’s independent, and they scoff a little if you try to pay with a credit card. Much like Farley's Coffee next door, I often get blank stares or confused looks when I ask a simple question.

But Hazel's is much loved as a little neighborhood lunch counter with great sandwiches and soups. And that they are. While they’re generally booming at lunch, not as many folks know that they do a really great breakfast burrito. Now I know some of you may be ready to stop reading right about now. I know--I get it. I have a strained relationship with the breakfast burrito as well. Sometimes they're not hot all the way through; sometimes they're soggy. There's nothing like cold, watery eggs to get you going in the morning. But Hazel's burritos are none of those things.

What Hazel's burritos are--the thing that places them in the ugly category--is deliciously messy. It's not a good choice for eating while walking to work or chowing down in the car. You must sit down with a stack of napkins (and a fork would be preferable) to enjoy a Hazels' breakfast burrito. Messiness aside, the nice thing about Hazel’s is the simplicity. The breakfast burrito has eggs, cheese, avocado, salsa and a choice of chorizo, ham, bacon or tofu ($6.95). The ratio of ingredients is perfect: not too much cheese or salsa--where many breakfast burritos fail. And I'm not sure how they get the burrito so delightfully hot without losing the integrity of the avocado, but after seventeen years in business, they obviously know what they’re doing.

Can you find a cheaper breakfast burrito over in the Mission? Sure. Can you find a more authentic, Mexican breakfast burrito? Absolutely. But I can't guarantee that it won’t be soggy, hot all the way through, or busting with fresh ingredients. You just can't help but fall a little bit in love with Hazel's pastel, vintage kitsch and the messy morning madness of the breakfast burrito. Dig in.

Hazel's Kitchen
1319 18th Street
San Francisco, CA 94107
(415) 647-7941
Hours: Mon.-Sat. 8 am-4 pm; Sun. 8:30 am-4 pm

Featured Recipe: Fraîche's Spiced Yogurt Muffin
Owner Patama Gur says they bake these muffins each morning as they really typify what Fraîche does: provide customers healthy, delicious that don't sacrifice on taste. These muffins were developed for Fraîche by Batter Bakery, and use Fraîche's low-fat unfrozen yogurt and applesauce instead of a lot of butter and oils to create an amazing treat that is less than 100 calories.

Ingredients:
2 cups flour
1 cup brown sugar
1 Tbsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. allspice
1 tsp. nutmeg
1 tsp. cloves
2 large eggs, at room temperature
1 ½ cups. yogurt, room temperature
4 Tbsp. melted butter
1/4 cups unsweetened applesauce
1 tsp. vanilla
(For the topping: 2 Tbsp. sugar + ¼ tsp. nutmeg)

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
2. Line 8 large or 14 to 16 standard muffin pans with paper muffin cups.
3. Whisk together dry ingredients in a large bowl until well combined.
4. In another small bowl, whisk eggs, yogurt, butter, applesauce, and vanilla. Add to flour mixture and mix together until just combined.
5. Scoop evenly into muffin cups and sprinkle with sugar nutmeg mixture.
6. Bake 18-20 minutes or until tester comes out clean.
Serve warm.

Makes: 8 large or 14 standard-sized muffins

There's nothing I love more than weekend brunch. It is the ultimate luxury. Waking up late, taking my time, and leisurely starting my day with some form of eggs and bacon or sausage, and a mug of hot coffee. Back in New York, brunch was sometimes a full-day affair, especially if Bloody Mary's were involved. Here in the Bay Area, people tend to be earlier risers, hitting the farmer's market, going to yoga class, or training for marathons/triathlons/any other –ons I'll likely never take part in.

No matter, I don't need to people watch to enjoy a good brunch. Brunch at home in PJs is just as satisfying...especially since I've cracked the recipe to these Chorizo Sausage Patties from my favorite brunch spot back east.

They take some prep time, but make them on a lazy day and keep a stash in your freezer for weekends to come. These are also a great make-ahead dish for group brunches -- just form the patties a day ahead, cover in plastic wrap, and store in the fridge. On party day, bring them to room temp and fire up the skillet!

Chorizo Sausage Patties

Makes: approximately 18 (3-inch) patties

Ingredients:
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 lb. chorizo (alternatives: Trader Joe's chicken chorizo works really well, or you can also use spicy Italian sausage removed from casings)
1 lb. sweet Italian sausage (removed from casings)
1/2 c. breadcrumbs
2 cloves garlic
2 Tbsp. milk
2 tsp. salt
1 Tbsp. brown sugar
1/4 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp curry powder (or garam masala if you have it)
1/8 tsp. ground cloves
1 tsp. finely chopped fresh thyme
1 tsp. finely chopped fresh sage
2 large egg yolks

Preparation:
1. Lightly caramelize onion over moderately low heat, 8 to 10 minutes. Cool 10 minutes.

2. While onions are cooling, stir together breadcrumbs and milk in a large bowl and let stand until crumbs absorb milk. Add onions and remaining ingredients to crumb mixture and stir with a fork until blended well.

3. Preheat oven to 250 degrees F.

4. Form sausage mixture into 3-inch patties (about 1/2 inch thick) with dampened hands and arrange on a wax-paper lined tray.

5. Heat a little vegetable oil in 12-inch heavy skillet over moderately high heat until hot but not smoking. Cook patties in 3 batches, turning once, until browned and just cooked through, 4 to 6 minutes per batch.

6. Drain patties briefly on paper towels as cooked, then transfer to shallow baking pan and keep warm, covered with foil, in oven while cooking remaining batches.

While they are still plentiful, make everything you can with Meyer lemons. One of my favorite citrus fruits--hell, one of my favorite fruits--Meyer lemons are at the top of their game right now, but they won't be around forever.

I've been using Meyers steadily throughout the season, just as I'd use a regular lemon, but it wasn't until recently when we were down in L.A. and (finally) had a meal at Pizzeria Mozza (a la Mario Batali, Nancy Silverton, and Joseph Bastianich), that I because truly inspired. Mozza was heaven with its mouth-watering antipasti and superb Napoli-style pizzas, but that's not what this post is about. It was their Meyer Lemon Gelato Pie with Champagne Vinegar Syrup that got me back on the Meyer train.

Of course, now that I was in full Meyer lemon mode, immediately upon my return, I made a batch of my much-loved Meyer Lemon Ice Cream.

But that was hardly enough. On Sunday mornings, especially when the weather is rainy and cold and grey, I love to make a decadent breakfast, like brown butter waffles, a full English, or, one of my all-time favorites: delicate, soufflé-like ricotta pancakes. The first time I ate them was at the much beloved neighborhood restaurant, Rockridge Café, located on College Avenue in Oakland. I was hooked immediately.

So, with a bowlful of Meyer lemons, I decided to make some extra-lemony fluffy ricotta pancakes. You can make these for breakfast but they're also perfect for dessert. We had a few extra pancakes so one night I decided to reheat them in a frying pan with a little butter and then served them with a scoop of the aforementioned Meyer lemon ice cream. Heaven.

Meyer Lemon Ricotta Pancakes

Makes: About 12 small pancakes

Ingredients:
3 eggs, separated
3 tablespoons sugar
1 pinch kosher salt
Finely grated zest of 1 large Meyer lemon
1 cup homemade ricotta (store-bought works fine)
1/2 cup flour
Jam and/or maple syrup, for serving

Preparation:
1. In a bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, sugar, salt, lemon zest, ricotta, and flour.

2. In another bowl, using an electric mixer on medium-high speed or a whisk, beat the egg whites to medium-stiff peaks. Gently fold the egg whites into the ricotta mixture.

3. Heat 2 non-stick or well-seasoned frying pans over medium heat. Add a bit of butter to the pans, enough to coat the bottom.

4. Dollop heaping tablespoonfuls of the pancake batter into the pans, leaving a bit of space in between each pancake. You should be able to fit 3 or 4 pancakes into each pan, depending upon how large your pan is.

5. Cook for about 1 minute, until the bottom is golden brown. Carefully flip the pancake to brown the other side, and cook until the pancake is cooked throughout, another minute or so.

6. Serve at once on warm plates with jam or maple syrup.