Plow is not new. But there are some spots in the city that warrant constant discussion well after opening day; Plow is one such place. In April 2010, Joel Bleskacek and Maxine Siu, ex-Oliveto folks, decided to take the plunge and open a small restaurant in their Potrero Hill neighborhood. It is a warm, bustling spot at the base of the hill with a handsome bar, a number of cozy tables and tons of natural light. The wait can be long on a Saturday or Sunday but the staff is upbeat and attentive and they do an amazing job of making everyone feel at home.

I visited Plow on a recent Saturday with a few friends. We dutifully put our names on the list, were told the wait would be an hour-and-a-half, and took a seat on one of the outdoor benches to catch up. When it seemed liked we were just at the hunger-breaking-point, our names were called and we headed inside to claim a table. The food at Plow is decidedly simple; most of the ingredients are sourced from local farms and it's the kind of menu that you curse at first because it makes deciding on just one dish incredibly difficult. From the French toast with poached pears and mascarpone to the lemon ricotta pancakes or cider-brined pork chop -- it's a very tough call. I say start with some Equator coffee and then leave the French toast and pancakes for one of Plow's remarkable egg dishes.

Soft Scrambled Eggs and Crispy Potatoes

Plow does eggs well. Really, really well. And after reading Ruth Reichl's piece in Gilt Taste on How to Make Better Scrambled Eggs, eggs have been on my mind lately. While I was truthfully shocked at the amount of butter Ruth Reichl describes (1 stick of butter/4 eggs), I have a hunch Plow's eggs follow suit. They are light and fluffy, the kind of scrambled eggs you know you just can't replicate at home.

Savory Bread Pudding with Kale and Leeks

The savory bread pudding has a little warning that it's only available "until it's gone." You know what that means: get there early to snag a piece because they do often sell out. And I can see why. Packed with kale and leeks and a touch of Gruyere, it's hearty but not in a cumbersome, soporific way. Instead, it's actually quite light and really celebrates the vegetables and cheese while avoiding a common mistake of adding too much salt or over-baking. We opted for crispy potatoes instead of the side salad that it's usually served with. Pleasantly salty and, true to their name, crispy as heck these are some of the best breakfast potatoes I've had in quite some time. There's nothing worse than waiting well over an hour in the San Francisco winter wind for a plate of soggy potatoes. That won't be the case here.

Eggs Benedict with Spinach and Mushrooms

And then we come to the ultimate in egg celebration: the Eggs Benedict with fennel pollen Hollandaise sauce. While the eggs are poached perfectly here, I did find the English Muffin to be a little spongy for my taste. But everything is thoughtfully done at Plow, from the finely chopped chives sprinkled on top of the eggs to the variety of mushrooms or the attentive coffee refills and warm service. And have I mentioned those crispy potatoes?

So in short, there are a lot of spots to get brunch in the city. There are the classics, like Brenda's, Foreign Cinema and Absinthe. And then quieter show-stoppers like 15 Romolo or Southern favorite Farmer Brown. But trust me when I tell you: if you're looking for some very special eggs in a very special atmosphere, Plow is where it's at.

Plow
1299 18th street
(between Mississippi St & Texas St)
San Francisco, CA 94107
(415) 821-7569
Hours: Tues-Fri 7am - 2pm; Sat-Sun 8am - 2pm

It's summertime, and we might just be the one place in the country actually enjoying itself, rather than wilting under an onslaught of brain-melting heat and humidity. So get out of the house! Some of our favorite bloggers have already told you where to eat outside this summer. Still, maybe you'd like to find yourself some green, rather than spending it. Forget the food trucks for a minute; let's go hang out with the farmers!

Getting on the electronic mailing list for Marin Organic, promoters and advocates for sustainable agriculture in Marin, is a great way to keep on top of tours, talks, and special events happening just across the bridge. Coming up next month are a dairy tour of Straus Family Creamery, an orchard walk through the olive groves of McEvoy Ranch, and a discussion with bakers Chad Robertson (Tartine Bread), Celine Underwood (Brickmaiden Bakery), and David Muller (Outerlands) about their adventures in sourdough. You can also go to Sonoma Farm Trails to downloads maps and farm guides and plan your own tour of that area's rich agricultural offerings.

CUESA, the Center for Urban Education about Sustainable Agriculture, is best known for running the San Francisco Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market, but they also organize periodic tours of local farms and producers. On August 10, you can join CUESA for an Organic Greens & Blue Cheese Tour featuring County Line Harvest, growers of excellent lettuces, strawberries, and more, and the family-run Point Reyes Farmstead Cheese Company.

Chez Panisse is planning a series of pricey fundraisers for the Edible Schoolyard in conjunction with its 40th birthday next month, but there is one free, family-friendly OPENeducation event happening on August 27 at the Berkeley Art Museum. (Tickets are free but must be reserved in advance.) The day is planned as a series of "interactive cooking installations" between museum-goers and a posse of farmers, educators, and artists, using corn, beans, and squash planted in the outdoor spaces of the museum.

And speaking of family fun, devoted Bay Area Bites readers may know Devil's Gulch Ranch as one of our favorite sources for locally produced rabbit, but they're more than just bunnies. They also host a ranch camp for kids, with three more weeklong sessions remaining.

Apples in August? For anyone born and bred on the East Coast, where apples mean autumn, the idea of this can seem a little bizarre. However, our California-grown heirloom apple, the Gravenstein, is a early ripener, ready for pie by mid-August. Celebrate its yellow-and-red striped delights at Sebastopol's down-home Gravenstein Apple Fair on August 13 and 14. You can even go up against this one-time grand champion in the Apple Pie Contest.

Most small producers have their hands full just getting their day-to-day chores done, especially when there are animals in the mix--which means your favorite cheesemaker or farmer is rarely available for drop-in visits. On August 7, Bay Area Green Tours is planning a daylong "Tomatoes, Peaches, Corn, and More" tour of Brentwood, with stops at Frog Hollow Farm, Dwelley Farm, and Smith Family Farm. (Don't forget your sunscreen and sun hat, as Brentwood bakes in the summertime. Good for the peaches and tomatoes, a little shocking to fog-dwelling San Franciscans.) On August 18, take a One Valley, Three Milks tour and get a behind-the-scenes peek of Bellwether Farms (sheep), Two Rock Valley Cheese (goat), and Valley Ford Cheese Company (cow).

You can also sign up (for free) as a member of Weirauch Farm, a small sheep dairy and creamery, and save the date for their next members-only tour on Aug. 13. The setting, in the rolling hills of Petaluma, is beautiful, and the sheep (pictured above) are as friendly and inquisitive as puppies. While owners Joel and Carleen Weirauch finish up their sheep-milking parlor (they're hoping to have it completed in time for next spring's milking season), they're making some delectable cows' milk cheeses, available after the tour for tasting and purchase.

But what if you want to stay closer to home, enjoying the flavor of local farms without getting mud on your shoes? Then head over to Potrero Hill's sweet, sunny Plow. Look for the metal pig hanging outside, or the many happy diners inside, all grooving on lemon-ricotta pancakes or (my favorite) dreamy French toast gobbed with mascarpone and topped with thick wedges of brown sugar-and-butter roasted Summer Zee peaches from Blossom Bluff Orchards.

The menu shifts daily, but a recent meal included breakfast and lunch offerings like a soft scramble with lambs quarter greens, mushrooms, and goat cheese; housemade yogurt and granola with fruit and Potrero Hill honey; cucumber-buttermilk gazpacho; green bean and Sungold tomato salad with purslane and fresh mozzarella; and a BLT stacked with Nueske bacon and glowing, gorgeous heirloom tomato slices. Farms, orchards, ranchers, bakers, and producers are thanked in four lines of small type at the bottom of the menu, name-checking all the purveyors we know from markets around the Bay Area: Mariquita Farms, Dirty Girl Produce, County Line Harvest, Hamada Farms, Frog Hollow, Straus Family Creamery, Marin Sun Farms, Acme Bread, and more. Happy summer!

M. Wells, Long Island City

I'm guilty of outer-borough-itis: fear or reluctance of traveling out of Manhattan (also see "laziness").

Over the 4 years I lived in New York, I could probably count on one hand the number of times I traveled out of borough to hang out. But what about all the amazing food in Brooklyn! The killer Chinese in Flushing?! Indian in Jackson Heights??! I know…I'm ashamed I didn't take full advantage of how close I was to so many ethnic enclaves, rich with culture and good eats. On my last visit to NYC, I decided to make up for my younger self's shortcomings and said yes to waking up early (gasp, the horror) and trekking out to Long Island City (that is in Queens, people) for brunch at M. Wells.

All's well at M. Wells

If the 7 train is running normally, it's actually a pretty straightforward shot from the city -- the Hunters Point stop lets you out right at the corner where the diner is. However, if you're dealing with an abnormal weekend service schedule, and not paying attention because you're too busy yammering away with an old friend…it may take you a bit longer to get to your destination. A few detours and a shuttle bus ride later, we arrived at M. Wells, a gleaming "gastrodiner" that is swiftly curing Manhattanites of outer-borough-itis with its quirky charm and food so good not even threat of a burning building could tear New York Times restaurant critic Sam Sifton away from his plate of Escargot & Bone Marrow.

The "M" in M. Wells stands for magasin, which means "store" in French. Wells is the middle name of co-owner Sarah Obraitis.

Hugue Dufour is the man behind creative gourmet comfort dishes like Seafood Cobbler with bechamel, gruyere, and biscuits, Pickled Pork Tongue, and soup du jour served with foie gras. Prior to opening M. Wells with his wife, Sarah Obraitis, Dufour cooked at Au Pied de Cochon in Montreal. His food reflects an influence of Québécois cuisine…and a love of flavorful animal fat.

M. Wells Diner

The vibe of the place is foodie-hipster meets the Peach Pit. The food is homey and full of soul.

Biscuit and Rhubarb Jam

We started with a side of homemade Biscuits slathered with sweet-tart Rhubarb Jam. The buttery biscuits tasted like someone's Southern grandma made them that morning.

Egg-Sausage Sandwich

We had a hard time deciding what to get -- everything sounded so good. Our server sold us on the Egg-Sausage Sandwich, topped with cheddar, tomato, and house-pickled jalapeno, all squished inside a fatty English muffin. The sausage had some nice seasoning it, but the English muffin was a bit dense. Next time, I'd try one of the more out-there items on the menu.

Gravlax Pie

The Gravlax Pie on the other hand…total WIN. A flaky, butter-rich pot pie filled with cubes of roasted potatoes, draped with a thick blanket of gravlax and smothered in crème fraiche. Spoonfuls of salmon roe sat glittering on top, spilling over into gorgeous pools of salmon-ness around the plate. An artful drizzle of pale green parsley oil, bits of dill, and pretty purple chive blossoms decorated the dish.

Banana Cream Pie

Mercifully devoid of any hint of Jell-O Pudding, the Banana Cream Pie was sweet and simple. Slices of ripe banana, freshly whipped cream, and homemade crust. While were waiting for our table, we actually watched the pie crusts being made. Based on the insanely mouthwatering scent of baking butter coming out of that oven, we had high expectations for the pie. We wished the crust was as divine as that of the pastry from the Gravlax Pie…alas, not so. It was on the tough side, and oddly, didn't have that rich butter flavor we were expecting. Sad times.

5 Pointz, Queens

After our meal, we decided to make the most of our field trip and swung by 5 Pointz, which is just a few blocks away (down the street from MoMA PS1). If you haven't been there before, 5 Pointz is absolutely worth checking out. It's a 200,000 square foot warehouse that has been turned into a legal graffiti building/outdoor art space. Street artist from around the world have painted the walls here. It's a cool scene, especially on a nice day when you can watch artists doing their thing and maybe even stage an early 80's style hip hop photo shoot of your own.

M. Wells
21-17 49th Ave
Long Island City, NY 11101
(718) 425-6917

5 Pointz
46-23 Crane Street
Long Island City, NY 11101

Can vegans, vegetarians and carnivores really share a foodie-worthy meal at the same table? They certainly can at Gather in Berkeley. And that's just the way Esquire Magazine's 2010 Chef of the Year, and Gather's Executive Chef, Sean Baker, likes it.

"We want to show the same enthusiasm for every dietary preference, whether it's lactose intolerance, gluten-free, or veganism. We want to make sure they all get to have the same experience."

Chef Baker may be a classically trained chef who graduated from Le Cordon Bleu, but he's always been personally interested in being meat-free, even becoming vegan for a time, before he went to culinary school. Now with his fiancee being vegan, he's even more personally invested in making dishes everyone can enjoy.

"It's frustrating," he says. "We eat out a lot and sometimes she can't have the same experience that I can. Veganism is not an eating style that is embraced by a lot of culinary folks." Fortunately, Chef Baker says that thinking of a 50/50 vegan/meat menu comes to him quite naturally these days. Must be from his previous stints at Millennium Restaurant, San Francisco’s premier high-end vegan restaurant, and Gabriella Café in Santa Cruz, where he oversaw a meat-heavy menu that sometimes offered offal options.

Sean Baker. Photo: Andrew Weeks Photography

Chef Baker says, "I read obsessively, eat out obsessively, and I cook obsessively. I love what I do. It's never a struggle to come up with menus that appeal to everyone."

But that doesn't mean it requires less work.

He says, "Vegan food is much more labor intensive in the kitchen, but you can do a lot of great culinary techniques when preparing it. We spend hours and hours doing vegetable stocks. We smoke our tomatoes and caramelize our onions until they can't be caramelized anymore. We blanch our cardoons and then sous vide them for six hours until they come out perfect. We're always messing around with things to improve the flavor of food and improve our craft."

Chef Baker believes in offering comfort food in unpretentious surroundings that are not only beautiful, but eco-friendly. For example, they filter all of the water in the restaurant themselves, used recycled pickle barrels to create the back bar and cabinetry in the open kitchen, and even re-used old leather belts to make the seat cushions in the banquettes.

But this is no tree-hugging, alfalfa-loving hippy eatery. The menu here is inventive, surprising, and worthy of a four-star chef.

On a recent visit for brunch with some friends, we had the Egg Sandwich with bacon and mushrooms; the Acme Walnut French Toast with blood orange confit, cranberries and walnut sauce; and the Burrata with chicories, walnuts, anchovy and bruschetta.

We loved the Egg Sandwich with its fresh torpedo Acme roll, smoky salty bacon and those fabulous braised Portobello mushrooms! Apparently they’d been cooked with red onions, smoked chopped tomatoes, their own veggie stock and something they call "tomato condiment" which is like a housemade ketchup. It’s the basis for many dishes and the Chef was nice enough to offer up the recipe below.

We also ordered two pizzas for the table, including the vegan Spicy Tomato with capers, olives, cashew garlic puree and herbs; and the Farm Egg Pizza with bacon and caramelized onions.

The vegan Spicy Tomato pie was the highlight of our entire meal, and I say that surprisingly because we were a table of hearty meat-eaters. We were skeptical that any vegan dish could satisfy, let alone surprise us, the way this pizza did. The flavor combination of the salty capers and olives with the zesty sauce and creamy nut puree made for a winning combination. And texturally, the crust on both pizzas was stellar. It was thin and crispy on the bottom, and the dough around the edges was soft and tender, like the perfect breadstick.

Each and every dish was fresh, bright and alive with flavor, thanks to all the produce from the folks at Lindencroft Farms. And it's not just high quality ingredients we tasted, it's the obvious care in preparation.

"I don't want the vegetarians to know they're eating vegetarian food. I want you to feel like you're eating something that tastes like steak," says Chef Baker. "My goal when cooking is for people to try a whole new array of flavors every time they come in and make it fun for everyone at the table."

Gather Restaurant
Address: Map
2200 Oxford Street
Berkeley, CA 94704
Phone: 510-809-0400
Hours: Dinner 5pm-10pm, Weekday Lunch 11:30am-2pm, Weekend Brunch 10am-2:30pm
Twitter: @GatherBerkeley
Facebook: Gather

Rosie's Cafe, a Tahoe City institution

Lake Tahoe is, for many a Bay Area resident, a beloved vacation spot. A mere few hours in the car and you trade the traffic (kind of) and gridlock of day to day life for clean air, endless trees, the sound of boat motors in the distance, and an inviting (albeit rather cold) crystal blue lake. My family's been coming up to Lake Tahoe ever since I was three years old. We have a modest cabin on the North Shore where, growing up, my sisters and I and made Log Cabin Ice Cream, Kings Beach, the Mini Golf Course and 7-11 (best slurpee in town) our home throughout the summer months. Today, my sisters and I are grown adults and rarely all get up there at the same time. The house has been renovated recently and is much less modest. And of course, our priorities have changed. No longer do we jump at the chance to go mini-golfing or score a cone of blue bubblegum ice cream. Nowadays, there is a lot of beach lounging, novel reading, hiking, and late breakfasts.

Last weekend, I drove up to the cabin to spend some time with my dad. We barbecued, took the boat out, did a lot of dock-sitting, and went to breakfast. As the years have passed, our favorite breakfast spots change and revolve like new gym shoes. But the current favorite (for the last few years now) is Rosie's in Tahoe City. I was actually first introduced to Rosie's by a few of my students when I was teaching college composition in--of all places--Boston. I'd assigned an essay where students were asked to write about the one place they felt truly at home. Two students wrote about Rosie's: a breakfast spot all the way across the country that their family had been going to since they were little. It turns out Rosie's was a mere fifteen minute drive from my family's cabin and I'd never even been. How could this be? I asked each student to elaborate: what was so great? What's your favorite thing to order? The resounding answers to the latter were the pancakes: the fluffiest they'd ever had. Hands down.

So next time I was up at the cabin, over a year later, I was training for a marathon. After a grueling 18-mile run, I came back starving and suggested we all head out for breakfast. Rosie's popped into my mind. And because I'd run for virtually three hours that morning, I ordered two breakfasts. I haven't looked back since.

My students were right. The pancakes basically rock. Rosie's specializes in Swedish Oatmeal Pancakes topped with applesauce, imported lingonberries and sour cream. They also do very traditional buttermilk pancakes. While you may be tempted to go the Swedish route (as was I), I'm here to advise you to go traditional this time around. I found the Swedish pancakes to be quite flat, a bit soggy, and rather flavorless. They're a little too gloppy for their own good. But the buttermilk pancakes are another tale altogether: they're uber-light and fluffy yet substantial enough to hold large pats of butter and long pours of syrup. If you're coming to Rosie's for the first time and you're a pancake person, this is your order.

Now, if you tend more towards the egg side of life, the Green Eggs and Ham is one of my favorites. It's a scramble with spinach, avocado, green onions and jack cheese served with a side of ham. Everything's in proportion, there's not too much cheese and the eggs are cooked perfectly (often my complaint with scrambles). The Eggs Benecado is another favorite: a benedict with an english muffin, sliced tomato, guacamole, and poached eggs.

Eggs Benecado at Rosie's Cafe

I always order the Florentine sauce on the side; they can be a little heavy-handed here. And last, the Breakfast Burrito. I wasn't the one to order a breakfast burrito because, well, I usually hate them. I find that they're rarely hot all the way though and often the eggs can be a little runny. But my dad loves the Breakfast Burrito at Rosie's and he's made me an almost-convert. I'll admit it: it's good. Really good. There's really nothing that remarkable about the ingredients. We're talking eggs, beans, bacon, chives, and cheese. But it's thoughtfully put together and cooked perfectly. Those things are important when we're talking about a big jumble of breakfast ingredients.

And a review of Rosie's wouldn't be complete without a mention of the Chicken Fried Steak. Again, this has never been my first choice but my sister swears by it.

Chicken Fried Steak at Rosie's Cafe

It's a stick-to-your-ribs breakfast and according to our neighbors on the lake, this is the locals spot for chicken fried steak. With traditional country gravy, fluffy eggs, and crispy hashbrowns--this has been a faithful hangover breakfast in my family in the case that the previous night got a little too raucous.

So, thanks to my students who wrote essays on Rosie's. Thanks to the owners who have maintained the likeable vintage decor (everything from antique bikes and ski equipment to elk horn chandeliers) since they purchased it in 1989, and thanks to the bad diner coffee and good dependable food--we return each year. It's come to signify mornings when all of us are, miraculously, together at the same table up at the lake.

Rosie's Cafe
571 North Lake Boulevard Map
Tahoe City, CA 96145
(530) 583-8504
Hours: Open daily, 7:30am-9pm (although the bar will stay open later if there are folks drinking)

Other Favorite Breakfast Spots Around the Lake
Maybe you've had one too many Rosie's pancakes. Maybe you're just passing through Truckee. Maybe you're looking for something new. If so, here are a few other suggestions of tried-and-true breakfast spots I frequent often when I'm up at the lake:

Tahoe House Bakery: Okay, so it's not technically a breakfast spot--this is definitely more of a bakery. But they do a mean, strong Americano and really lovely pastries. I always get a few raspberry pockets for later in the afternoon, a homemade granola bar for breakfast the next morning, and my morning treat of choice remains the Swiss chocolate croissant. They also have a nice selection of take-out picnic items.

The Old Post Office Cafe: A charming former post office converted into one heck of a busy breakfast spot. Really good coffee, probable waits on the weekends, great build-your-own scrambles and biscuits and gravy.

Fire Sign Cafe: It's been around since the 1970s and in the summer the wait can be pretty long, but it's worth it. I absolutely love their buckwheat pancakes and the salmon omelet. Order the coffeecake of the day and share it with your tablemates (the fresh blueberry is incredible).

Squeeze In: Ah, Truckee. Quaint Victorian houses, surprisingly good restaurants, fun antiques...and a really fine breakfast. Squeeze In is known for their omelets: last time I was there I believe they had 58 to choose from. This makes for a bit of indecision so have one of their strong Bloody Mary's to loosen up first.

Grass-fed Steak Tartare: with raw egg, caperberries, chives, lavender sea salt, and toast

I love brunch. With an intense passion. In fact, it may just be my favorite pastime. When else are you given full license to sleep in late, ease into a leisurely day with a light cocktail, and indulge a little, because after all, you are eating through two meals. Why not have something sweet to go with that savory?

The girl & the fig in Sonoma has perfected brunch. And that is no hyperbole. It's my newest happy place (too bad it isn't closer).

Sunday Brunch

The restaurant is ridiculously charming with a Frenchy-bistro-meets-wine-country vibe that extends from the décor to the menu. I couldn't stop oohing and ahhing over all the cute little touches, and virtually everything on the menu was calling my name.

Salon de Fromage

The salon area well accommodates those waiting to be seated, with a "Salon de Fromage" station where you can sample some artisan cheese and house-made charcuterie, floating servers who can help you get started with a tasty drink, and even a gift shop selling all sorts of figgy goods (both edible, like Ficoco, a fig and cocoa spread, and home/bath products, like Fig & Orange Blossom Body Butter).

Balsamic Bloody Mary

My drink of choice on this joyful morning? The Balsamic Bloody Mary, a phenomenal twist on the classic, made with house-made Bloody Mary mix and a splash of balsamic vinegar, garnished with a briny caperberry, green olive, and celery stalk. All the vegetables I really need on a Sunday.

For our starter, the Grass-fed Steak Tartare caught my eye. When it arrived, the presentation was almost too pretty to eat. And yes, I just called raw beef "pretty." The steak was succulent and sweet, and even more sumptuous with the egg mixed in. The flavor of the caperberries carried over nicely from the Bloody, and cut through the richness of the meat. The shower of chives brought a splash of color and touch of onion, and the lavender sea salt bloomed when sprinkled over each bite. The dish was well-conceived, well-constructed, and fun to dig into.

Duck Confit & Potato Hash: with poached eggs, applewood smoked bacon, and mixed greens

Next up, Duck Confit & Potato Hash with a side of fresh mixed salad greens. It wasn't quite what we were expecting, which was larger pieces of duck confit over potato hash. Rather, it was a hash made of duck confit, applewood smoked bacon, and potato. The duck was overshadowed by the bacon, but nevertheless, it was satisfyingly savory and crispy. And the eggs were poached precisely, with luxurious yolk flowing out as we cut into it.

Stuffed Brioche French Toast: with sweetened Bellwether Farms fromage blanc, meyer lemon and huckleberry compote

And, the crowning jewel, a gigantic piece of Brioche French Toast stuffed with sweetened, meyer lemon fromage blanc (from Bellwether Farms) and huckleberry compote. Gorgeous. Sweet and tart, full of bright citrus-berry notes, creamy and decadent, but incredibly light at the same time.

The girl & the fig, it's as if you've dived into my soul and materialized every brunch wish and want I've ever dreamed. Now if only you could do something about teleportation…

the girl & the fig
110 W Spain St
Sonoma, CA 95476
(707) 938-3634
Sunday Brunch: 10 am - 3 pm

Eggs in a dish at Readers Books in Sonoma. Photo by Laiko Bahrs

I love the smell of Paas and vinegar in the morning! Really, who knew those little tablets, so ubiquitous at this time of year, were invented by a savvy colorful-egg-lover in Newark, New Jersey in 1880?

So happy Easter, all, and here's to the rituals celebrating birth, rebirth, resurrection and the arrival of spring. The chicks are pecking, the lambs are frolicking, and in my house, the return of warmth and sunshine (in between the April showers) means gathering friends and family for brunch.

And brunch, of course, means eggs. Now, you could serve your meal at one p.m. and call it Easter dinner, bring out the ham and peas, salmon and hollandaise, leg of lamb with electric-green mint jelly, with a basket of soft white rolls alongside and strawberries to follow. All perfectly lovely food that I've enjoyed at my mother's family's table many a time, and all dishes that any edition of The Joy of Cooking could tell you how to make in neat and foolproof detail.

Eggs and Easter, however, are inextricably linked, and since you'll be getting a dozen for dyeing, why not get a few more for eating, too? If eggs are going to be the centerpiece of your meal (not just the decorative center of your tablescape), this is the moment to splurge a little and get the good ones, from happy chickens that scratched and flapped and ate a poultry-happy omnivorous diet of worms and bugs as well as veggies and chicken feed.

In Italy, the term for egg yolk was il rosso, the red of the egg. The first time I cracked an egg in my kitchen in Bologna, I understood: the egg yolk was a brilliant, glowing deep orange, thanks to a rich and varied diet. Besides color, the texture of the egg can tell you a lot about its vigor and freshness. A fresh, hearty egg will have a plump stand-up deep yellow yolk ringed with a thick, clear, almost jellylike white. This is the egg that will scramble up like a dream, make a silky créme brûlée and a lavishly puffed soufflé. A slack yolk and a watery white—both indicative of weeks-old eggs, unhappy hen husbandry, or both—won't taste like much, and won't rise to any kind of glory.

Good eggs will cost a bit more, sometimes a lot more. But still, the price only seems high in comparison to the supermarket price we've gotten used to. Seven or eight dollars will get you one Mason-jar glass of wine at Heart, a little plate of roasted-beet salad at Frances, two cappuccinos at Four Barrel. Or a dozen happy eggs from Marin Sun, Clark Summit, Eatwell, or Soul Food Farm. That's about 60 or 65 cents an egg, a buck twenty for two over easy.

That is, if you haven't already made trading friends with your latest hen-keeping neighbor. Up in Marin, my best friend recently added 4 chicks to her husband-two-kids-and-a-dog household. Dubbed Honey, Duck, Athena, and Medea, they are impossibly fluffy and cute, and I can't wait to start trading jam and gardening help for their fresh eggs.

Egg cartons on the counter at Omnivore Books in San Francisco

Until then, I'm getting the next best thing, eggs from my friend Celia's neighbors near Dillon Beach in Tomales, which she sells over the counter at her wonderful Noe Valley cookbook shop, Omnivore Books. In fact, it was a proscuitto-and-spinach soufflé served by Celia and her partner Paula at a Christmas brunch 10 years ago that inspired this Easter recipe. (Meanwhile, there must be some kind of chicken/book connection; at Readers' Books in Sonoma, a chicken-keeping customer supplies the shop with eggs in exchange for books. And yes, the eggs in that top photo came in those colors straight from the chicken. Specialty breeds like the Araucana and the Ameraucana lay blue, green, and amber-shelled eggs, ready for Easter every day.)

The nicest part about this soufflé recipe is that it has never failed me. Forget whatever unfounded soufflé fear you may have picked up like a bad habit over the years. As long as you are gentle in your folding, and don't open the oven door while it's baking, you will be rewarded with a supremely impressive golden puff and a deliciously moist and fluffy plateful of sunshiny goodness.

Green & Pink Soufflé for Spring
Serve this alongside a nice green salad dressed in a mustardy French vinaigrette, and pour a pretty pink rosé. A tip: you'll get the most volume out of room-temperature eggs. To take off the chill, put fridge-cold whole eggs in a bowl and cover them with warm water for 5 minutes before cracking and separating.

Serves 4 dainty eaters or 2 greedy ones (with a little left over for later)

Ingredients:
3 tbsp butter, divided, plus extra for greasing
1 tbsp or so of minced green garlic, scallions, or shallots
2 big handfuls of tender greens, such as spinach, nettles, or chard (stems and any hard ribs removed)
2 1/2 tbsp flour
1 cup whole milk, warmed
4 extra-large eggs, separated, at room temperature
1 egg white
4 tbsp grated Swiss or Gruyere cheese
2 to 3 oz proscuitto, cut into strips
Salt, freshly ground pepper, and freshly grated nutmeg, to taste

Preparation:
1. Butter an 8-inch straight-sided ceramic souffle dish. Preheat oven to 375F.

2. Over low heat, melt 1 tbsp butter in a saute pan. Add green garlic and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Add greens and cook, stirring, until collapsed and tender. Remove from heat. When cool enough to handle, squeeze out excess liquid and chop finely. Season to taste with salt, pepper, and a little nutmeg. Set aside.

3. In a smallish, heavy pot, melt remaining 2 tbsp butter. Add the flour and whisk like crazy, letting it cook until it looks smooth and thick and smells slightly biscuity but doesn't color, about 2 minutes. Dump in the milk and whisk madly as it bubbles up and thickens, 2-3 minutes. Take off the heat and let it cool for a few minutes.

4. Whisk in the egg yolks one at a time. Stir in the grated cheese, greens, and sliced proscuitto. Add pepper to taste; the cheese and proscuitto will probably make it salty enough. Set aside.

5. In a large bowl using a clean whisk or hand-held electric mixer, beat your 5 egg whites until they form soft, droopy peaks when the beater is lifted.

6. Fold a scoop of whites into the cheese mixture to lighten it, then fold the rest in quickly and lightly. It doesn't have to be uniform; leaving some visible streaks of egg white is just fine. The egg whites are what will give your soufflé its fluff, so don't deflate them by over-mixing. Pour into the prepared dish and pop into the oven.

7. NO PEEKING! Let it cook for at least 30 minutes. Then check; it should be well golden-browned and beautifully puffy. Shake it gently; the center should be a bit jiggly without being soupy. Serve immediately, as it will begin to sigh and collapse shortly after being removed from the oven.

This is a family of winter squash, including jack be little pumpkins, delicata and sweet dumplings, carnival, kuri, baby bear pumpkins, butternut, spaghetti squash and a cinderella pumpkin.
Photo by Julia Wiley of Mariquita Farm

Just in case you're wondering: no, you can't recycle last night's only-slightly-scorched jack o' lantern into this morning's pumpkin muffins. Sorry, greenies, into the compost bin it goes.

Why? Well, for starters, it wouldn't taste very good. Pumpkins bred to be big, beautiful, and able to sit on the porch without rotting for weeks on end are not going to be yummy, too. There are only so many characteristics that you can highlight on a gene string, and as far as it goes with pumpkins, you can find a fabulously chunky orange canvas, or you can have one that's dainty and edible. But not both. If it's big enough to carve a vampire face on, it's probably also going to be bland, stringy, and watery. Roast the seeds, yes, but put the rest to rest in your big green bin.

The baker's secret, however, is that even those cute little pumpkins, often sold under the names Sugar Pie or Sugar Pumpkin, are just not all that delicious. Compared to that supermarket workhorse, the beige-skinned butternut, even the cutest pumpkin is all bark, no bite. The butternut is dense and rich-fleshed, wonderful roasted and pureed into soups with apple and sage or a little curry powder and coconut milk. Mashed butternut is what I use for homemade pumpkin pies, pumpkin bread, and pumpkin cookies, and the only difference is how much better it tastes than actual pumpkin.

All these hard-shelled winter squashes are in the same family of cucurbits, anyway, under the same umbrella that shelters melons, cucumbers, summer squash and zucchini. Winter squash get their name not from their growing season (they need 100+ days of warm weather, ripening just at the tail end of summer and then curing on the vines for a few more weeks into early fall) but from their usefulness as a winter staple. Once cured--that is, left in the field or in a cool, airy place for a few weeks--their skin hardens, their curvy stem (a peduncle, for those botantically inclined) dries to almost wood-like firmness, and they can be stored in a cool, dry place with little loss of flavor or texture for months on end. Their only real enemies are warmth and moisture.

But good as butternuts are, there's no reason to stop there. Right now the markets are lavishly stocked with every size and crazy streaked-and-spotted shape of winter squash. There's the delicate delicata, ivory-skinned with green stripes and orange flecks over a pale yellow-peach flesh. You can slice it into narrow half-moons, massage lightly with olive oil and bake until tender. The thin skin is edible to all but the most fastidious. For those folks, cut the squash in half lengthwise, scrape out the seeds and strings, and fill with an autumnal bread or wild-rice stuffing. Bake until squash is fork-tender and filling has browned and crisped.

There are other variations on the delicata, like the dumpling squash, shaped like an oversized popover and perfect for stuffing.

The squarish, dark green buttercup squash is for those who like their squash dry and nutty, tasting like a cross between roasted chestnuts and baked sweet potato. In their Ladybug newsletters, Andy and Julia of Mariquita Farm have sung the praises of two big beige squash, the plump, round-cheeked Long Island cheese pumpkin and the deeply grooved, deep-orange fleshed Musquee de Provence squash, also called the Fairytale pumpkin for its Cinderella-coach shape.

Although, if I were a mouse looking for glamor, I'd hitch myself to a Rouge Vif d'Etampes pumpkin and wait for the fairy godmother to descend. This is the most glamorous squash of all, vivid orange-red, huge and elegantly grooved. If you've ever wanted to make a pumpkin soup and serve it in a pumpkin, this is the one you want. Not surprisingly, given its shape and its tongue-twisting French name, it's often called the Cinderella pumpkin. Carved out, it also makes a striking ice bucket for an autumn brunch.

But my favorite remains a tricky-to-find recent hybrid, the Sunshine kabocha. Bright orange skinned, it's easy to confuse with the Red Kuri, but once tasted, it can't be mistaken for anything but its amazingly delectable self. Oh, all right, I'll admit it: roasted, it tastes like chicken. Or, even better, like the incredibly savory drippings left at the bottom of the pan after you roast a chicken. Trust me: if you think you don't like squash because you've only ever eaten those bland and pasty little baked acorn squash, you owe it your tastebuds to seek out--or grow--a Sunshine kabocha. A plain old kabocha is pretty good, too, sweet and nutty, but the Sunshine variety is just nubbly orange heaven.

Once you've done something virtuously savory with your roasted squash--soup, a suave puree--then it's time for a few treats. Squash, like applesauce, adds moisture without fat to baked goods, and it seems everyone turns out a loaf or two of low-fat pumpkin bread this time of year.

Then again, we are moving into hibernation weather and a holiday mood. At least once this month, follow the lead of Alameda home baker Steven Mounce and get every Peter Pumpkin Eater at your table moaning with pleasure over this lush pumpkin bread pudding. Trust Mounce: a man with the word "homemade" tattooed on his knuckles knows what you want.

Pumpkin Bread Pudding
Serves 6-8
Did you know that canned pumpkin is rarely actual pumpkin, but rather butternut or other winter squash? Whatever you call it, plain canned pumpkin is always a handy staple, since it can be used in both sweet and savory dishes. Of course, you can also roast and mash your own for this gorgeously warming centerpiece for brunch or dessert.

Ingredients:
4 eggs
2 cups half and half
15 oz can pumpkin (not pumpkin pie filling) , or 1 3/4 cups roasted, mashed butternut or kabocha squash
¾ cup brown sugar
3 tablespoons dark molasses
¼ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
¼ teaspoon ground ginger
1 large loaf of French bread, cut into 2" cubes
½ cup walnuts, roughly chopped
¼ cup raisins or dried cranberries
3 tablespoons butter, softened
3 tablespoons brown sugar

Preparation:
1. In a large bowl, whisk eggs, half and half, pumpkin, brown sugar, molasses, salt, and spices together. Add bread cubes to bowl in batches, stirring well between each batch. Add only enough bread to soak up liquid mixture; you may not need all the bread. Let mixture rest for 15 minutes.

2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Fill a kettle or pitcher with hot water, and set aside. Lightly grease an 8"x8" glass baking dish. Stir nuts and raisins into bread mixture. Spoon mixtures loosely into baking dish. Do not pack bread mixture into dish. Mound lightly above edge of the dish if necessary.

3. Place glass baking dish into a 13"x9" baking pan. Place both dishes on the center rack of the oven. Pour hot water into larger baking pan to come up halfway on the glass pan. Bake for 30 minutes, until top is golden brown and center is set. While bread pudding is baking, stir together butter and 3 tablespoons brown sugar, and set aside.

4. When pudding is baked, remove glass pan from oven and set on a rack. (Wait to remove water-filled pan until oven has cooled.) Dot with brown sugar mixture, which will melt into a gooey caramel sauce, mmm. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Got a fabulous pumpkin recipe to share? Enter Omnivore Books' pumpkin cooking contest. Everything from soup to muffins considered, as long as the main ingredient is pumpkin. Sat. Nov. 21, 4-5pm.

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

When it came to food, my grandfather prized quantity. Maybe it was something about being a kid during the Depression and then an adult during World War II rationing, but he relished, like little else, walking into the dining room of a second-rate hotel restaurant, and seeing brunch laid out: a legion of steaming metal tubs on tables in rows, like shining shields, their handles swathed in white cloth napkins. There'd be a d.i.y waffle station to the left, a man shaking omelets to the right. Cascades of silly, under-ripe fruit would pile on circular tables here and there. There'd be a roast beef carving counter, little sausage links, pancakes, scrambled eggs, and lunch-like dishes -- baked chicken-y things, bad salads, mysterious gratins -- no one ever seemed to actually eat. He loved brunch, specifically buffets, because he could eat anything he wanted, in whatever sequence and amounts he desired. Brunch was freedom in the form of phony opulence. It reminded him of the cruises he adored, I think, an earthly manifestation of those magical floating worlds where dedicated gluttons could dine four times a day and hop freely from one bastardized culinary tradition to another.

In San Francisco, buffets are more luxurious than those I knew in Kentucky as a kid. On Sunday mornings, from 10:30 a.m. until 1:30 p.m., you can enjoy $68 worth of omelets made to order, sushi and sashimi, pasta, dim sum, crepes, breads, pastries, and desserts -- along with posh digs and about 800 tourists -- at the Court Garden of the Palace Hotel on the corner of Market and New Mongomery. The most trumpeted neighborhood brunch spots, typically buffet-less, are usually no less packed with locals. Brunch isn't breakfast. Breakfast happens on a walk from BART to work, right after a stop at Specialty's, or at a diner in the middle of Wyoming at 5 a.m. You eat breakfast because you're hungry. More than sustenance, brunch is a time to linger, a special occasion you get used to, even if you're having it around the corner from your apartment.

The ultimate slow feed originated in Britain, close to the end of the 1800s. Since the dawn of civilization, the privileged and wealthy had enjoyed leisurely, pleasurable meals at an expense of money and time unsustainable for poorer people. Brunch was a trendy expression of this long-running culinary tradition. While the meal itself would gain great popularity in the United States well after the turn-of-the-century, the name was coined in 1895 by Hunter's Weekly contributor Guy Beringer. In an article entitled "Brunch: A Plea", Beringer advocated the adoption of a new meal, offered around noon, to replace early Sunday dinner, that daunting afternoon ritual of gravy-sauced roasts and meat pastries Beringer found unduly rough on a booze-imbued stomach. "Brunch is cheerful, sociable and inciting," Beringer wrote, thinking of good toast, fine jams, and languorous mugs of coffee to precede heartier indulgences. "It is talk-compelling. It puts you in a good temper, it makes you satisfied with yourself and your fellow beings, it sweeps away the worries and cobwebs of the week."

Over a hundred years later, in his career-making 2001 book "Kitchen Confidential", celebrity face-stuffer Anthony Bourdain (I'd like to leave him be but he keeps popping up like a Whac-A-Mole at the county fair) notoriously took brunch's modern, evolved form to task:

"Brunch menus are an open invitation to the cost-conscious chef, a dumping ground for the odd bits left over from Friday and Saturday nights. How about hollandaise sauce? Not for me. Bacteria love hollandaise. And nobody I know has ever made hollandaise to order. And how long has that Canadian bacon been festering in the walk-in? Remember, brunch is only served once a week -- on the weekends. Cooks hate brunch. Brunch is punishment block for the B-Team cooks, or where the farm team of recent dishwashers learn their chops."

From outside the kitchen, the view is still a little bleak, or significantly brighter -- depending on where you stand. Stale bread breakfast casseroles, hash, and whatever-with-eggs may be unabashed second chances for unpopular dinner specials, leftovers slopped together by the bored, hung-over chefs inhabiting Bourdain's tableau. Yet the brunching masses greet them with enthusiasm all the same, dropping dinner-sized wads on scrambles, stacks, and the odd strata. For some urban professionals, a Sunday morning wouldn't be quite right without lingering al fresco at some cafe over granola, crumbly biscuits, vegan gravy, and a bottomless mimosa. For others, weekend mornings and early afternoons are times for errands and exercise. On their paths to such less idle pursuits, they worm their ways through throngs of shades-wearing folks holding out for coveted tables, seemingly with nothing better to do save wait. Brunch isn't just a meal, an enduring dining convention white people like -- along with modern furniture, Apple products, and other stuff. Today, it's a state of mind, and a polarizing one at that. Brunch-positive people work hard and play hard. They see brunch as a soothing extension of the partying they did the night before, a necessary putting back together of things that were dislodged -- a ritual well worth the inflated price of pancakes and a lengthy wait. Brunch-negative people think waiting for food they could make at home for a fraction of the cost is a waste of a day's best hours. There are two sides, and San Francisco's boutique-lined streets -- Haight, Church, Valencia -- are divided between them.

The blogger (Andrew on right) captured in a rare moment of brunch-positivity. Photo by Rich Good.

Last Tuesday, S.F. Chronicle writer Trey Bundy tackled brunch-positivity in his People Meter column, opening with the following salvo:

"San Franciscans are a vocal lot when it comes to waiting on Muni, but apparently don't mind waiting half the morning to order breakfast."

He'd sidled up to crowds of hopeful patrons at Boogaloos and Dottie's True Blue Cafe two days prior, and peppered them with the sorts of questions brunch-negative people often contemplate posing: How long are you willing to wait for this brunch? What makes waiting for so long worthwhile? What would you do with more free time, assuming you spent less of it waiting for brunch?

Reading the responses, I was surprised to find that the waits were even longer than I'd imagined, and the reasons for doing so seriously non-compelling. The great Millie Jackson once sang that "anything worth having is worth waiting on." She wasn't talking about the green gravy with carrot chunks at Boogaloos. This substance is not one of Sam-I-Am's less successful forays into the culinary world; to a few of the quoted, it's a real treat deserving of an hour-long dally on the sidewalk. I've had it, and though it is reasonably palatable, it is, unlike a pig roast, a trip to Hog Island, or a mammoth fish fry, not a food around which to plan a day.

Thankfully, brunch-positives are not waiting for food at all. The soft, crunchy, creamy, salty, and sweet kinds of food enjoyed at brunch are signifiers of the desired experience, not the whole of it. At such a time, when Beringer's cobwebs droop low, whether from a hangover as wicked as the cook's or the queasy dregs of a tough week at work, the waiting to eat is probably as valued as the eating itself, not to mention the obvious habit-shaped act of sitting down, ordering, getting coffee, passing the paper, observing other tables, and conversing with your companions. You're supposed to wait. Brunch is satisfying because you know what you're waiting for and what to expect. There are no surprises. The cafe is loud, swollen with chatter and the clatter of a hundred plates. Water is slow to arrive, and when it does, you finish it quickly and want more. Your head throbs, but help is on the way. Godot is a criminally-overpriced mess of eggs, nothing more, but if you order him, he really will come, and everything else will fall into place -- while the rest of the world whizzes by.