With SFIAAF 2008 in full swing, I've managed to munch popcorn with yeast for dinner more times than I care to admit during the past few days. And with another week of films ahead, it looks like I'm going to need to restock my supply of dental floss.

Fortunately, it's been worth it. Over the weekend, two titles that food and film lovers should add to their list were screened to sold-out crowds.

THE KILLING OF A CHINESE COOKIE

Who among us can resist opening a fortune cookie? No matter how jaded or snobby, no matter how much you may hate that dry, tasteless joke of a dessert that sits on your bill after a meal at the Golden Imperial Jade Wok Garden, I dare you to leave behind, unopened and unread, that little strip of paper and its peek into your future.

Like many things we touch in daily life, the beginnings of the humble fortune cookie are murky, but in his documentary, The Killing of a Chinese Cookie, director Derek Shimoda doggedly follows the complex maze of historic claims and counterclaims. Best of all, he collects the amazing stories of thoroughly lovable individuals. Third-generation confectioners and visual artists, judges and lawyers, historians and entrepreneurs, master chefs and hack writers--everyone has an opinion about the fortune cookie. Among the highlights are recollections of the mock trial held in 1983 at the San Francisco Court of Historical Review. Instead of settling the dispute, though, the arguments seemed to have only stirred up the controversy even more.

More recently, The New York Times covered the long-standing debate in a feature about the origins of the ubiquitous cookie. Among the many representing Northern California's interests are the descendants of Suyeichi Okamura, who in 1906 opened the Benkyodo Company, a confectionary in San Francisco Japantown where you can still buy handmade moochi, sembei and other traditional sweets.

One of the Suyeichi Okamura's grandsons shows how hot cookies were once slipped into this wooden rack to cool slightly before a fortune was hidden within its crisp folds.

I can't remember the last time I laughed so much during a documentary while learning about the secrets of the past. With great affection, Shimoda tracks the cookie's influence from Japan's sembei treats to Golden Gate Park's Japanese Tea Garden, though World War II and the rise of Chinatown restaurants, to erotic art and lucky lottery numbers. I won't reveal any more about the film or the cookie's history, since I highly recommend this film. The fun of it will be in watching the story unfold for yourself.

A manager at a Los Angeles factory showing an old tin of fortune cookies that he's resisted opening for posterity's sake.

The Killing of a Chinese Cookie
Directed by Derek Shimoda
Sunday, March 23
12:00 Noon
Camera Cinemas 12 Downtown
201 South Second Street
San Jose, CA 95113
(408) 998-3300

You can still buy tickets for this weekend's screening of the film at San Jose's Camera Cinemas 12. Until then, you can read the memorable fortunes submitted by NTY readers.

I'M A CYBORG, BUT THAT'S OKAY

Many of us have been waiting to see Park Chan-Wook's latest film on the big screen. If you've survived his infamous films, Oldboy and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, then you'll already know that Park's work is not for everyone. But those who love his intense, over-the-top vision or who can't get enough of Korea's boundary-breaking films, his latest should not be missed.

I'm a Cyborg, But That's Okay reveals a new tack in his filmmaking: romantic comedy. In Park's world, though, this means telling the story of how two psychotics in an insane asylum find love across the distance of alternative realities, group therapy and padded rooms.

Im Su-jeong plays Young-goon, a pale and skittish young woman who refuses to swallow even a single grain of rice, since cyborgs like her cannot digest food. She licks batteries to help recharge her energy, talks to vending machines and flickering lights, and mourns the loss of her daikon-nibbling grandmother. Superstar singer Rain plays a scruffy kleptomaniac, Il-sun, who invents and (in one of my favorite scenes in the film) installs a tiny machine called the Rice Megatron--with lifetime service guaranteed--inside Young-goon to help her survive the rigors of reality.

Any further attempt to explain the plot or introduce the cast of characters will fail miserably.

Viewers who nearly died from cuteness overdose during Jean-Pierre Jeunet's Le Fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain or Michel Gondry's La Science des Rêves might think twice about seeing this film. You'll find a bit of relief from romantic sweetness during a few crazed killer-bot scenes, but don't expect the endless blood or deep anger of Park's earlier films.

I'm a Cyborg is the ultimate film, however, for fans of surrealism on the screen, well-intentioned massacres, hope flickering in a chaotic world, and uncertain non-endings.

For those who love both poetry and pork, the recitation and the recipe, Dongpo Rou's silken layers hold a potent blend of both. This famous dish of Hangzhou, a city tucked near where the Qiantang River spills into the Yangtze Delta of eastern China, is named for its creator, the celebrated Chinese poet, Su Shi. Also known as Su Dongpo, he gave his name to the much-loved dish.

Stories are still told of how he forgot his simmering pork while playing chess or of the misunderstanding among his servants when he called for pork with wine. He was thinking a nice cup of spirits; they were thinking boozy stew. I like to think that while the pork belly simmered gently in wine and soy sauce and spices, the poet composed and ink-brushed and recited an afternoon's worth of verse.

Nicole Mones has written a lovely essay about the lingering ties between the poetry and the pork. Since this is Bay Area Bites and not Bay Area Chapbook, I will let other sites cover Chinese poetry. The recipe, however, is most definitely within our domain.

While teaching a writing class several years ago, I had the pleasure of having two students who were in the middle of their own dongpo rou studies. Class discussions about literary metaphors and run-on sentences quickly gave way to debates about judging slabs of pork belly and the precise ratio of wine to soy sauce and which spices should absolutely not be omitted. A friend's father generously walked me through his own recipe a year later. And then this year, after listening to Martin Yan, Olivia Wu, Albert Cheng, Nicole Mones, and Alex Ong rhapsodize about the dish during a panel discussion at the Chinese Culture Center, I realized it was time to embark on my own journey.

Many a Chinese food lover will name dongpo rou among the finest, most difficult, most sublime and most purely enjoyable of classic dishes. I know cooks who have dedicated years to perfecting it in their own kitchens and still bemoan the challenge of coaxing that alchemical melting of the pork's layers of fat and lean, meat and skin. My own explorations have just begun, but like any still-fresh convert, I can't stop talking about my newfound joy. It's like eating pork custard that melts on your tongue. It's like swallowing savory silk. It's what pork will taste like in heaven. (And now you know why I'm not a poet.)

I can't claim native expertise, nor can I say I have settled on my own final, best recipe. But, damn, this stuff is good!

DONGPO ROU

Ingredients
• 2 to 3 pounds of finest quality pork belly
• Half a stick of Chinese golden sugar, or 2 tablespoons brown sugar
• 4 scallions, white part only
• 3 thick slices ginger
• 6 whole star anise
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 1 teaspoon fennel seeds
• 2 to 3 cups chinese wine (I use Shaoxing rice wine aged 8 years)
• 1/2 to 1 cup stock or water
• 3 to 4 tablespoons light soy sauce, plus more if needed

Preparation
1. Check the skin of the pork belly to be sure all hairs are removed. Tweezers are good for this. Cut cubes that are 2-1/2 by 2-1/2 inches and tie with fresh straw or kitchen string. Blanch in boiling water for 2 minutes; drain.

2. In a heavy pot big enough to hold the pork in a single layer, skin-side up, combine the pork packets, sugar, fresh aromatics and dried spices. Pour in enough rice wine to come up two-thirds on the sides of the pork, then add enough stock or water to just cover the skin. Drizzle in soy sauce.

3. Bring to a gentle simmer, reduce heat until the liquid ripples with a bare shiver, cover tightly and then leave the kitchen for a few hours. Stay close, though, to check that the liquid never boils. Taste one or twice to adjust sweet and salty flavors, but otherwise, it's a matter of trusting the magical effects of time and moisture on the pork and its flavorings. I like to float a round of parchment paper on the surface of the liquid to help cover the meat and fat evenly. If you're in a hurry, you can stop the cooking at 1 1/2 hours, but it won't be as good as when you have waited for 4 hours.

4. Remove the pan from the heat and let the pork cool in its liquid. For the best results, I like to refrigerate overnight to remove excess fat that floats to the top. If done well, though, you'll be surprised by how little fat comes off into the sauce.

5. Set up a steamer over your wok, or place a shallow dish in a large pot. Arrange the pork in a bowl or deep platter with its liquid, which after refrigerating has become a deeply colored, sparkling pork aspic. Steam for one hour. If desired, reduce the sauce by boiling it separately.

6. Serve the pork cubes in small, individual bowls with the sauce spooned over and accompanied with lots of white rice.

I get the feeling that parts of Australia are a bit like the Bay Area--an abundance of top quality produce and cuisine influenced by Europe and Asian settlers. There is also a lack of orthodoxy, a flexibility and willingness to experiment when it comes to food. All of this can be found in the cookbooks written by Kylie Kwong. Kylie Kwong is a television personality, celebrity chef and restaurateur in Australia of Chinese descent. While I've never seen any of her television shows, or dined in her restaurants, I am a big fan of her recipes and her style.

The first book of hers I became acquainted with was Simple Chinese Cooking. Like all of her books the photography is excellent, the recipes straightforward and the writing clear. But what really impressed me was her choice of recipes. There were some very traditional ones like Hot and Sour Soup and Dry Fried Sichuan Beef, but there were also salads! Not just Chinese Chicken Salad, but Eggplant Salad, Soy-Dipped Radish Salad, and Tofu and Celery Salad. This is simple stuff that could be done on a weeknight but is exciting and filled with vibrant flavors. And she isn't afraid to tweak the classics either, like adding a salad layer of iceberg lettuce to a "mapo" style dish of ground pork and tofu.

My favorite Kylie Kwong book of all might be Heart and Soul. Knowing the title probably tells you everything you need to know. These are the recipes the author loves the most. When you are passionate about something, anything, it shows. The book features gorgeous photos and great recipes but this time they are not just Chinese recipes, although they sometimes have a Chinese sensibility like the Roast Cinnamon Chicken with Lemon and Cider Vinegar Dressing. A more French style of roasting a bird is employed with pepperberry butter smeared under the skin but the tangy lemon and vinegar adds piquancy to the dish that feels somehow Chinese. There is also Braised Moroccan Style Baby Lamb Shanks, Italian Mushroom Ragout and some recipes using decidedly Australian ingredients like Fresh Mud Crab Salad and Crispy Skin Duck with Blood Plum Sauce.

The third Kylie Kwong book in my collection is called Kylie Kwong: Recipes and Stories. While it's actually the first book in publishing order, it's the third book I read and it's the most personal of the lot. It's all about Kylie Kwong's extended family and their recipes, so many of the recipes come with a story or two. It reads a bit like a memoir and having already been intrigued by her other books and recipes, I wanted to savor every page. It's particularly fun to see how each of her siblings approach a similar recipe like chicken wings. I also enjoyed seeing her mothers recipes, because we are all influenced by our parents cooking in one way or another, right? The recipes for Chris's Spicy Dry Fried Green Beans, Mum's Bread and Butter Pudding and Goong Goong's Homemade Pickles are favorites of mine from this book. With her easy style, enthusiasm for great ingredients and focus on basic techniques you are bound to find your own favorite recipes in each of her books.

(photo by Kevin Rosseel)

The San Francisco Professional Food Society, the Asia Society and the Chinese Culture Center have all joined forces to tackle a question that lingers, like a greasy smog, over Chinese restaurants:

Why is Chinese food so bad in the US?

Four experts will discuss the topic this coming week in an event geared toward saavy travelers, frustrated diners and nostalgic expats alike. Nicole Mones, author of the novels Lost in Translation as well as the more recent and relevant The Last Chinese Chef, will join Martin Yan, that infamous TV chef, who is now atoning for his can-cook approach by establishing an eponymous Culinary Arts Center in the Middle Kingdom itself. He hopes to teach American chefs how to cook real Chinese food. Rounding out the panel are Albert Cheng, former president of the Chinese Culture Center, and Alexander Ong, chef at Betelnut Restaurant. Olivia Wu will moderate what promises to be a lively discussion.

New York diners have already considered the question more deeply than we easy-going West Coasters. Nina and Tim Zagat's opinion piece in the New York Times listed access to ingredients and immigration policies as key factors. Mones herself compared Eastern and Western culinary preferences, recipes included, in her attempt to soften the question of why Chinese food in America is still in such a sorry state. Continuing the debate, the New York Daily News suggested that a thriving economy and well-heeled diners in China means chefs can enjoy a better living by staying in their homeland rather than sweating it out. How many creative chefs want to leave their families to sling kung pao and mu shu and yet another order of potstickers when their compatriots appreciate innovative flavors and, more importantly, are willing to pay for them?

If you can't make the event but would like to taste a bit of the controversy for yourself, visit the SFPFS event announcement: they list several restaurants in San Francisco Chinatown recommended by the speakers.

The Future of Chinese Cuisine in the U.S.
Wednesday, January 23
6:00-8:30 pm
Chinese Culture Center of San Francisco
750 Kearny Street, between Clay and Washington
Third floor, San Francisco Financial District Hilton Hotel
$25 Members (SFPFS or Asia Society)
$35 Guests

Visit the SFPFS website for details and registration.

The most important meal of the day is too often ignored, lost amidst the grooming and rushing, a mere afterthought to caffeine. It takes hungry, curious children to remind us to slow down (acorn pancakes!) or friends visiting from afar to convince us to unearth our skillets.

As someone who grew up slurping big bowls of soup before heading off to school, I still haven't learned how to enjoy cold cereal or dry toast. Give me some leftover rice and a runny fried egg, though, and I'm ready for anything that Monday wants to throw at me.

You'd think that in the Bay Area, we'd be able to find breakfasts from around the world more easily: a plate of Turkish cheese and olives with some sourdough bread, spoonfuls of soft pongal or tender idli, even a bowl of pho or mohinga before 11 am. I imagine, though, that in the quiet of our kitchens, on all sides of the Bay, folks are preparing breakfast far outside the confines of frosted flakes. It's our most private meal, the one most dependent on comfort, habit and home.

The Irish and Filipinos, hearty eaters, have no problems sharing their breakfasts with a paying public. Nor do the Chinese, whether you're in the mood for a soothing bowl of jook or a parade of dim sum.

To get you thinking about morning meals....

Jon Huck's photographic study of breakfast is elegant and inspirational (via Mister Starfish).

And for a quick tour around the world, you can taste...

BLACK PUDDING

Not for the faint of heart, a traditional Irish breakfast covers all the important categories of meat: sausage, bacon and egg. Don't forget the Batchelors beans, a tomato, and both black and white pudding. Brew lots of strong Irish tea to wash it all down.

Durty Nelly's
2328 Irving Street
San Francisco, CA 94122
(415) 664-2555

Blarney Stone
5625 Geary Blvd
San Francisco, CA, 94121
(415) 386-9914

GARLIC FRIED RICE

Although the range of Pinoy breakfast is impressive, the default in Daly City has long been a mound of fried garlic-flecked rice served alongside Spanish-style longaniza sausage and a generous pile of sweet tocino, Southeast Asia's answer to bacon. Like the Irish, Filipinos like to round out their meal with a fried egg and a bright spot of tomato.

RSM Oriental Food Mart
1500 Sycamore Ave
Hercules, CA 94547

Sinugba
2055 Gellert Blvd, #5
Daly City, CA 94015
(650) 878-3591

Mercury Appetizer Bar
1434 Lombard Street
San Francisco, CA 94123
(415) 922-1434

JOOK

Hot and filling, easy to make and even easier to eat, this soup appears in pretty much every Asian country. Even its translation has nuances of flavor: congee, cream of rice soup, rice porridge, rice gruel. It's an innocent base upon which anything can be built. My own favorites are thinly slices of fish and freshly shucked clams. My husband's family serves it with pickles. My mom makes it with duck bones, while every year, during the last week of November, there's a flood of turkey versions across the country. Fortunately, jook restaurants abound, and their menus are long. Be sure to order a plate of you tiao "fried ghosts" crullers on the side.

Gum Kuo Restaurant
388 9th St
Oakland, CA 94607
(510) 268-1288

Hing Lung
674 Broadway
San Francisco, CA 94133
(415) 398-8838

Joy Luck Place
88 E 4th Ave
San Mateo, CA 94401
(650) 343-6988