Lactard, anyone? After dinner Phosphate? These are some of the questions we were met with upon strolling into Cole Valley's new soda fountain and ice cream shop, Ice Cream Bar on Friday night. Now I'm an ice cream gal through and through, so I've been waiting for the day when Ice Cream Bar would finally open. The time has come and I can assure you that what you'll experience once you step inside will be quite new to you.

Bustling, scooping, and smiling are the employees at Ice Cream Bar

When you walk in the doors, things actually look quite familiar: there's an ice cream menu, folks sampling their favorite flavors, and talk of sundaes and housemade cones. Another high-end ice cream shop? Not so fast. The best way to think of Ice Cream Bar is almost like two different shops. There is the ice cream half of the shop which is just that: wonderfully rich homemade ice creams served on their own, blended into thick milkshakes, or layered into classic sundaes. So let's start there, as you probably will begin there when you visit for the first time. The young gentlemen helping us with our samplings mentioned that the pistachio, butterscotch, and honey buttermilk ice creams have been the most popular so far.

The truly wonderful banana split

But we decided to go all out with the House Banana Split: a classic sundae made with three different kinds of ice cream and topped with a caramelized banana, housemade sour cherry sauce, almonds, and whipped cream. They spend time with this sundae, caramelizing the banana in front of you with a sprinkling of sugar and a blow torch. "You can kind of crack the top just like creme brulee," we were told. And the sour cherry sauce is reason enough to order the banana split. It's tart, colorful, and refreshing -- a nice change from the creepy maraschino cherries that adorn many a dish of ice cream.

Getting the lowdown at Ice Cream Bar

After our sundae, we wandered towards the back of the shop to the ice cream fountain. Here is where the magic really happens thanks to owner Juliet Pries' concept and Russell Davis' Soda Program. Davis, of Rickhouse, calls himself a "Beverage consultant, mixologist, and troubadour," and has created a soda fountain menu consisting of old-fashioned fountain drinks like fruit-based crushes, panaceas (healing tonics), egg creams, and build-your-own sodas using housemade extracts and tinctures. There are 13 syrups (including agave and chicory coffee), 24 house-made extracts (including birch, fennel seed, sassafras), and more than 75 tinctures all told and uncountable combinations for each. Enter the delight.

You'll scan the menu and see something familiar in a milkshakes or malts only to learn that even the milkshakes are a throw-back to the early 1900s when they weren't actually made with ice cream but, instead, a combination of egg, milk, ice and syrups. Nothing is expected or familiar at the soda fountain. You will ask lots of questions, you will sip something like nothing you've ever tasted, you will leave delighted with the experience, satisfied, and feeling like you'd just entered a whole new world.

Chris Simpson, bar manager, working his magic at the Soda Fountain

On the back of the soda fountain menus, Russell Davis explains:

"Soda fountains date back to the 1800s and served to replicate the 'healing' properties of the effervescent natural mineral waters that boil out of the earth. They were more like pharmacies than just places to get soda, and the soda experts were just as much healers as they were beverage crafters. We are reviving the lost art of mixing these specialty drinks, along with their ingredients."

Extracts & Solutions: How the Magic Happens

And reviving the lost art they are. Truly. At one point I saw Simpson glancing at a book with handwritten notes. Inquiring as to whether those are the recipes, he mentioned that they're his personal notes for concocting special off-menu drinks for customers who ask. We decided to go the more traditional route and opted for a root beer soda, asking him to make it with whatever extracts he thought would be really delicious. The result? A root beer soda with sassafras, wintergreen and peppermint extracts.

Extracts & Our Root Beer Soda

It was strangely refreshing and boasted a marriage of flavors I would have never thought to join. For our second foray into soda-land, we chose the Breakfast Soda, a drink with muddled fresh oranges, powdered sugar, maple syrup, and thyme extract. It was mild, pleasant, and only slightly sweet--a good starter soda for those wanting to try something but unsure how to dive right in.

The employees at Ice Cream Bar will be quick to tell you that everything is housemade, from the cones to the syrups to the marshmallows and candies. Their future plans involve rolling out savory items focusing on classic comfort food. Hot dogs and grilled cheese sandwiches are rumored to be in the mix. The delight is understandable: kids and adults alike are enjoying cones, sundaes, floats, and egg creams in a sweet, vintage-styled ice cream shop. What's not to like? The befuddlement arises from the fact that soda fountains are such a thing of the past that many of us will have little context for understanding how they were much more of a pharmacy than a dessert spot. You could tell the soda jerk what ailed you and he would fix up something to help relieve your symptoms. To most of us this invites questioning, curiosity, and an entirely new landscape of discovery. Go see for yourself.

Ice Cream Bar
815 Cole Street @ Carl, San Francisco
(415) 742-4932
Hours: 12pm-10pm Everyday
Like them on Facebook or Follow on Twitter

Many Americans tend to associate instant ramen with college dorm life, poverty and hangovers. And who hasn't had a meal of Cup-O-Noodles born out of desperation and lack of resources?

But in Japan, ramen is comfort food. It's what many consider their national dish. And after the recent Earthquake and Tsunami, ramen served as a sign of normalcy and nourishment. Ramen houses are everywhere in Japan, and it's one of the most affordable and filling meals you can get there.

These days, especially in the Bay Area, ramen is becoming somewhat of a "trend." Recently, I've also noticed more places serving up different variations of the dish, all of which are fairly common in Japan.

Here are a few ramen houses outside San Francisco that serve three distinctly different varieties of these tasty soup noodles.

Shoyu (soy sauce) Ramen w/pork and kimchi from Santa Ramen

Santa Ramen -- 1944 S. El Camino Real, San Mateo, 650-344-5918
This place serves up the classic bowl of Japanese ramen with the typical three broths to choose from: miso (soybean paste), shoyu (soy sauce), and pork. It used to be THE place for Japanese natives to get an authentic bowl of ramen, but since moving to their newer location in a strip mall, the quality has declined.

Their broth and pork slices used to both taste like they took hours to make. However, on my most recent visit, the pork was actually cold. The noodles still had their classic chewy texture, but lacked depth and flavor. I was glad I had decided to add a little corn and kimchi for extra texture and kick. It’s still a decent bowl of noodles, but the joint’s lost some of its luster.

Kuro (black garlic) Ramen from Maru Ichi

Maru Ichi -- 368 Castro St, Mountain View, 650-564-9931
I chose this place for two reasons: 1) they make their own noodles in house, 2) they're known for a specific kind of ramen called "kuro" ramen, or "black" ramen. The black color comes from the browned garlic and was a kind of ramen developed in Japan in the 1960s, as the menu describes. The black garlic oil sits on top of the pork broth like an oil spill. It looks more like a film of dirt and soot floating on top of the bowl, but thankfully it doesn't taste that way. The rich garlic flavor is distinct but didn't completely overwhelm. You do, however, have to be a fan of garlic to enjoy the rich, hearty broth.

Their housemade noodles are thinner than most, but you can taste their freshness. It's something you don’t usually get at other ramen houses. It’s worth trying just to compare the difference in texture and flavor.

Overall, Maru Ichi's kuro ramen definitely isn't your typical bowl of ramen, and it was a nice change from the usual.

Garlic Pork Ramen with corn from Dojo Ramen

Dojo Ramen -- 805 South B St, San Mateo, 650-401-6568
This place is actually in the spot where the old Santa Ramen used to be, and is owned by the same folks. But the differences are vast.

They specialize in something called "sutamina" ramen, which literally means "stamina" ramen. I'd call it "extreme" ramen because of the loads of garlic, spice and heat (which you can request to be even spicier), amount of fixings, and sheer fattiness of the broth. It’s like ramen on steroids. Everything is bolder and richer.

And don't come here if you don’t like spicy food.

The meat that comes with the Garlic Pork broth variation is impressive. There were two big thick slices of pork belly that could serve as an appetizer at a four-star restaurant. I was kicking myself for not ordering extra. It was simply wonderful; fatty and meaty, just like the broth.

And the noodles were the most impressive of any of the other places I visited. Their texture was perfectly chewy without being too firm or too soggy, and had great flavor.

So even without the "sutamina" label, Dojo's was my favorite bowl of ramen simply based on the strength of its noodles and broth, which is really the sign of a superior bowl of ramen no matter where you are.

This time of year is all about soup, what with cold season in full swing. You know how it is... you drag yourself home from work, head full of cement, and all you want is something warm and comforting to eat that will make you feel better. If you're looking for lighter soup that's nourishing and easy to digest -- as opposed to a thick, rich stew -- you might consider having a big bowl of miso soup. More interesting that your plain old chicken soup, miso is comfort food with a little international flair.

For those uninitiated in the ways of Japanese cuisine, miso is made from fermented soybeans and other grains, which are made into thick paste that is rich in protein and nutrients. While there are many different kinds of miso, the two you're most likely to find at your local grocery store are red miso and white miso. Red miso is saltier, having been fermented longer, and white miso is a little lighter in flavor. For making miso soup, you want to pick up a tub of white miso, also known as shiro miso. Note: This stuff lasts forever in the fridge. Seriously. I think my tub of miso is over a year old and it still tastes the exact same. Also, a little goes a long way, so don't buy a huge vat of miso unless you plan on willing it to your grandkids.

Another important ingredient in miso soup is dashi, or Japanese soup stock. Dashi is the base of many Japanese soups and sauces. While you can just buy dashi mix from the grocery store, I highly recommend making your own dashi -- just like chicken stock, it's way better when made from scratch! Dashi isn't vegetarian by default, but you can find veg dashi at Asian grocery stores.

Miso soup is a particularly good soup to eat when you're sick, due to its ample protein and high electrolyte content. Plus, fermented foods are easier to digest if your gut is sluggish from the virus du jour at your kid's school, so if you're just generally feeling the ick, a bowl of miso soup might be the one thing that will make you feel better.

There are several places in the Bay Area to get an incredible bowl of miso soup:

Cha-Ya Vegetarian Japanese Restaurant
1686 Shattuck Ave
Berkeley, CA 94709
(510) 981-1213
-and-
762 Valencia St
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 252-7825

Okoze Sushi
1207 Union St
San Francisco, CA 94109
(415) 567-3397

Kahoo Ramen
4330 Moorpark Ave
San Jose, CA 95129
(408) 255-8244

Gombei Japanese Restaurant
193 Jackson St
San Jose, CA 95112
(408) 279-4311

Norikonoko Japanese Restaurant
2556 Telegraph Ave
Berkeley, CA 94704
(510) 548-1274

O Chamé
1830 4th St
Berkeley, CA 94710
(510) 841-8783

Some Japanese restaurants still use a packaged dry mix, so if you're going somewhere else, I'd call ahead to make sure you're getting a quality bowl of soup made with fresh ingredients. Pre-fab miso soup is ok, but once you've had the real thing, you'll never go back.

Speaking of the real thing, why don't you try making miso soup yourself at home? It's super easy, and will be leagues better than most of the stuff you'll find in restaurants.

Homemade Miso Soup Recipe
Makes: 2 bowls of soup

Ingredients:
1 6x6-inch piece of kombu, soaked 30-minutes to overnight in 5 cups of water

3 tablespoons bonito flakes

1/2 pound silken tofu, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

3 tablespoons white miso paste

1 spring onion, sliced, for garnish

Method:
1. After the kombu has soaked overnight, bring the seaweed and its soak water into a medium-sized pot. Bring to a boil over a medium heat, then allow to simmer for 10 minutes. Add bonito flakes and remove from heat.
2. Allow soup to steep for another 10 minutes, then strain the broth into another pot. Bring to boil over a medium-low heat. Add tofu and cook for 1 minute. Remove from heat.
3. Ladle out about 1/2 cup of broth into a small bowl and mix in miso paste until it is completely dissolved and there are no lumps. Pour the miso into the rest of the broth and stir well. Place over medium heat just until the soup begins to simmer, then remove from heat and ladle into bowls. Top with sliced onion for garnish.

Still feeling sluggish? Here are a few other soups that will make you feel better. They're great if you're perfectly healthy, too:

• Homemade Chicken Soup
• Mom's Turkey Soup
• Tortilla Soup
• Vegetarian Split Pea Soup
• Gluten-Free Matzoh Ball Soup

A steaming plate of enchiladas is one of my favorite meals. I love how the depth of flavor in a good enchilada sauce wakes up the tongue; and then of course there's the added bonus of melted cheese. But the process of making enchiladas is a bit fussy. Baked while sitting rank and file, nestled against each other in a queue, they demand a tidy symmetry. The result is a row of neat and snug packages wrapped in their own corn tortillas, which is lovely on the plate, but unnecessary for a family dinner. Anyone who has gone through the process of making homemade enchiladas knows that filling each individual tortilla can be time consuming and messy; plus traditional enchilada sauce is difficult to make from scratch and it's hard to find a good one in a can or jar. It is for all these reasons that I abandoned making red sauce enchiladas at home and instead converted my recipe into a casserole. Little did I realize how good this dish would be, how inexpensive it would be to make, nor how much my family would love it.

The casserole's innate unruly character seemed like a perfect fit for enchilada's zesty ingredients. I figured I would use many of the same components -- chicken, cheese and a red sauce -- and then crossed my fingers that I would end up with something that was close to enchiladas. Yet as with so much in life, making what seemed a paltry amendment to preparation instructions ended up altering the finished product's essence. With the ingredients now added in a hodgepodge of layers, the spices and flavors were given the freedom to intermingle while chilies, sour cream and cheese were at liberty to melt into each other. And while conventional enchilada sauces are made up of dried chilies, I felt that the freewheeling nature of the casserole gave me license to be a bit more innovative. Okay, fine, I only added in tomatoes as a sauce base, but I never would have done this if I'd been making old-school enchiladas. When all was said and done, and I removed that bubbling cheesy dish from the oven, I found that enchilada casserole tastes even more luxurious than its authentic cousin.

As with enchiladas, this casserole is full of southwestern ingredients. Fresh Anaheim chili peppers cooked with chicken (or vegetables), onions, tomatoes, cumin, and Mexican oregano, not to mention a nice dose of chili powder, provides the satisfying Mexican flavors you expect but also a little more. You can also add in a jalapeno for some heat. If you want to keep this dish meat-free, just use roasted butternut or acorn squash instead of chicken (and savor the sweet earthy taste of those vegetables against the mildly picante flavors of the sauce).

Making the filling for this one-dish meal is a breeze, but assembling it is even easier. After toasting the tortillas a bit in a pan, you just layer half of them in a casserole dish, top with half the filling, some cheese and sour cream, and then add on another layer. That's it.

So if you love enchiladas, but aren't crazy about making them; or if you simply crave an easy-to-make hearty one-dish meal that will please your entire family, here is my recipe for Cheesy Enchilada Casserole. The main recipe uses chicken but I've also included a vegetarian alternative that uses butternut or acorn squash at the end. Both are great choices for an easy and hearty dinner at home.

Cheesy Chicken Enchilada Casserole

Makes: one 9 x 13 casserole

Ingredients:

12 corn tortillas
5 chicken thighs (or two cups leftover chicken)
½ cup chicken stock or water
2 large Anaheim peppers chopped
½ large onion chopped
1 Tbsp plus ½ tsp Ancho or Chipotle chili powder (regular chili powder can be subbed in, but the Ancho and Chipotle are so good they're worth seeking out)
1 tsp cumin
1 Tbsp Mexican oregano (or regular)
1 15 oz can diced tomatoes
Salt and pepper to taste
2/3 cup sour cream
¼ cup milk
1 cup shredded Monterey jack, Colby or cheddar cheese (use 1 ½ cups if not using Cotijo)
½ cup Cotijo cheese (optional)
1 Tbsp lime juice
¼ cup chopped cilantro (optional)
1 Tbsp corn or vegetable oil (or enough to thinly coat the bottom of a large pan)

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

2. If using fresh chicken, place thighs in a pan, sprinkle with salt, pepper and about ½ tsp chili powder and then cover with chicken stock or water. Cook covered for 7-10 minutes, turning over after about 4 minutes. Simmer until cooked through and then remove both chicken and broth from the pan to cool. Shred chicken and keep the broth in a separate dish.

3. Heat the same pan (now empty) to medium heat and then add in the oil, chopped Anaheim peppers and onions. If using jalapeno, add now. Sauté for 10 minutes.

4. Add in the rest of your chili powder plus your cumin and oregano. Be sure to crush the oregano in your hand first (as this releases the flavors more thoroughly into the dish). Add salt and pepper to taste.

5. Add in your shredded chicken (if using chopped leftover chicken add in now), broth, and tomatoes and stir until everything is thoroughly mixed in. Taste and then add more salt if needed. Simmer for 15 - 20 minutes on low heat.

6. Heat a medium pan (I like to use cast iron) to warm up your tortillas. I use medium high heat. Add in a little oil (must enough to barely cover the bottom of the pan) and fry each tortilla until warmed through and slightly crisp. Set aside on a plate.

7. Mix the cilantro and lime juice into your filling and stir. Taste one more time to see if you need to add any salt or pepper and then remove from heat.

8. Mix the milk into your sour cream (whisking to combine) and then set up a workspace with your 9 x 13" pan (which you should spray or line with oil), tortillas, grated cheeses, and filling.

9. Using a ladle, scoop mostly sauce (i.e., not much meat or vegetables) into the bottom of the casserole dish and then lay 6 of your heated tortillas into the bottom of the pan. Top with half your filling followed by drizzling on half your sour cream (making sure you even distribute). Set half your cheese on top of that and then repeat by laying on the remaining tortillas, filling, sour cream and cheeses.

10. Set dish in the oven for about 30 minutes (25 if using a convection oven) or until the entire casserole is warmed through and the cheese is bubbly.

11. Serve and enjoy.

Cheesy Squash Enchilada Casserole Variation
Follow the above instructions with the following alteration:

1. Instead of cooking the chicken in step 1, roast your peeled and chopped squash in the oven with some olive oil and salt until al dente.

2. In step 5 leave out the chicken (obviously) and add in ½ cup vegetable broth instead. Also, do not add in your squash yet as you don't want to overcook it. Instead just simmer your other vegetables in the tomatoes and broth.

3. Add your cubed and roasted squash in step 7.

Comfort food, gluten-free recipes and vampire prevention appeared to be peak areas of interest for BAB readers in 2010.

Here are the top thirteen stories and recipes most visited on Bay Area Bites during the year:

#1 Creamy Chicken and Rice Casserole by Denise Santoro Lincoln

"The casserole is undergoing a resurgence in popularity. After years of being maligned as a tasteless and gloppy suburban dish made with Campbell's cream of mushroom soup, it is finally coming into its own. Blame it on the economy and the rising cost of food, but high-end cuts of meat seared faultlessly and served with the perfect wine are passé in this environment: extravagant and unseemly amidst layoffs and foreclosures. Comfort foods are the new at-home gourmet chic, and there's nothing more heartening and reassuring than a chicken casserole."

#2 Giving Up Sunday Gravy: A Lost Food Tradition by Denise Santoro Lincoln

Have you ever given up a long-held family food tradition? I have. Years ago I gave up Italian Sunday Gravy, which is basically manna for Italian Americans. Although I stand by my decision, I often regret it as well.

#3 Hachiya Persimmons by Denise Santoro Lincoln

Hachiyas are the misunderstood fruit of winter: although they are sweet and wonderful when baked into cakes and puddings, many people are afraid to eat them because they are truly awful when immature. A firm Hachiya is extraordinarily astringent and inedible. I admit that taking a bite out of one is sort of like eating an unripe bitter walnut while suddenly having all the moisture sucked out of your cheeks and tongue. But there's a very simple way to avoid this: don't eat Hachiyas until they're ripe.

#4 Gluten-Free Thanksgiving Recipes by Stephanie Stiavetti

Slowly, as I learned to bake using a completely new set of rules, I discovered that gluten-free baked goods can rival their wheaty counterparts. I learned how to make a gluten-free version of Thanksgiving stuffing, a fantastic butternut squash pie, and everything else that a normal person would sit down to enjoy with their loved ones. Sure, at first my family balked at my "weird" cornbread, but once they came around, they discovered that what I was making tasted good. Actually, I'd venture to say that my from-scratch versions tasted better than a lot of the prefab, processed stuff that my family normally layed out on the table during the holidays.

#5 Caramel Cake, The Recipe. by Shuna Fish Lydon

Shuna's famous CARAMEL CAKE with Caramelized Butter Frosting

#6 Meyer Lemon Ricotta Pancakes by Kim Laidlaw

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.

#7 Froyo: How to Make Homemade Frozen Yogurt by Denise Santoro Lincoln

Frozen yogurt is going through a bit of a makeover. Soft serve that tastes like ice cream is out while creamy swirls that burst with the flavor of real yogurt are in. Shops serving cups of froyo that burst with yogurt's innate natural tartness are opening everywhere. Forget my favorite college flavor of orange, which tasted more like creamy ice cream that had been melded with baby aspirin. Today's frozen yogurt highlights sweet fruit flavors and is enticingly tangy.

#8 Vampire Pantry Preventatives by Stephanie Lucianovic

If you want to keep vampires at bay, you should stock your kitchen with the following vampire-fighting ingredients...

#9 Dacquoise & Meringue. A Detailed Instruction by Shuna Fish Lydon

Traditionally, dacquoise is defined as nut meringue. These edible architectural details can usually be found demurely hiding in between layers of buttercream as they start out crunchy but softly melt into a layer of sweet nutty unctuousness.

Easy on paper, the meringue (French, Swiss or Italian) is a component which can frustrate even the most seasoned baker. When recipes rely on egg whites or meringue as their main leavener, the workings and instructions of the recipe are very important. Few cookbooks can afford to take the time to explain thoroughly what I am about to here.

#10 Wheat Berries by Denise Santoro Lincoln

If you've never heard of wheat berries, you're not alone. When I mentioned to a few people that I wanted to write about them, I received some quizzical looks. So, for anyone not familiar with this whole grain, let me end the suspense: wheat berries are simply individual kernels of wheat. They are what King Arthur and other grain companies mill to produce baking flours, from whole wheat to cake and all-purpose. And, just as there are many different types of wheat, there are just as many types of wheat berries, with their color ranging from light tan to a reddish brown. But the most important thing about wheat berries, at least as far as this post is concerned, is that they are scrumptious.

#11 Pulled Pork Sandwiches by Denise Santoro Lincoln

Tangy barbecue sauce dripping over slow-cooked pork on a bun. Yum. I freely admit that I am a fan of all things pork. I love pork chops, bacon, and roast loin, not to mention all those sausages. But there's something astonishing about taking one of the least expensive cuts of pork you can buy and turning it into one of the tenderest and juiciest sandwiches you can eat. Ah -- the miracle of pork.

#12 Recipe: Apricot Jam by Stephanie Rosenbaum

Apricots, while more accessible, still have a certain forgotten-fruit quality to them. Just as quince gets described as apple's tough, weird older sister, so apricots are often just a placeholder for peach-lovers, something sweet and orange with a pit that will do until the real goodies come along.

But apricots are good for cooking in a way that peaches aren't, their flavor intensifying into an ineffable tangy sweetness that leans just right against a crumbly, buttery short crust or a piece of whole-grain toast, especially one spread with mild fresh chevre.

#13 Rich as Rockefeller by Michael Procopio

Today, I wanted something rich. Something that would make me feel like that big shot I will more than likely never become.

So I up and made myself a dish named for America's first billionaire-- Oysters Rockefeller.

Did you know that today is National Cheese Lover's Day? Isn't that lovely?

To commemorate this happy holiday, the Wisconsin Milk Marketing Board is launching a Macaroni & Cheese Blog which will feature a new macaroni & cheese recipe every day for thirty days. There goes that New Year's resolution (unless your resolution was to be happier in life).

I've always been partial to using gruyere and parmigiano for mac 'n' cheese, but the good people at Wisconsin Milk convinced me to give American a try. They sent me some aged Marieke Gouda and Stravecchio Parmesan from Sartori Reserve...and I was promptly inspired.

Without a question, the ultimate comfort food is macaroni and cheese. Gooey, cheesy, warm, and indulgent. The inspiration on this twist on the classic mac 'n' cheese comes from one of my favorite pasta dishes, Tortelli di Zucca (large ravioli-like pasta stuffed with a pumpkin filling).

I first sampled this taste of heaven during my year abroad living in Italy. On a visit to the charming Renaissance city of Mantova (Mantua), I was introduced to the town's signature dish of handmade ravioli stuffed with a velvety smooth puree of pumpkin, crushed almondy Amaretti cookies, and a hint of spices. The al dente pillows of precious filled pasta were bathed in a luxurious sauce of brown butter and a shower of parmigiano.

That meal has haunted me for 6 years.

And it has coaxed me into creating this Italian-American fusion of ultimate comfort, Butternut Squash Mac and Cheese with Sage and Gingersnap-Pecan Crust.

Butternut squash is one of my favorite ingredients to work with during the fall and winter because it just exudes a sweet, hearty, warmth. When it's roasted, all the sugars caramelize and the flavor of the squash is intensified.

Pair it with the other star ingredient in this dish, the aged Gouda, and we have ourselves a sweet-and-savory homerun!

The technique to making this dish is pretty standard as far as mac and cheese goes. After sautéing the onions and sage, a roux is made with flour, chicken stock, and milk.

Then the squash is added to the mix...

...and smashed in a bit to fully incorporate.

Once the sauce is made, it is added to the macaroni (since we can't all be as blessed as the Mantuans with their homemade pasta at a finger's snap).

After that, comes the magic of toppings. I loved how the nutty spice of the Amaretti cookies played with the flavor of the pumpkin in the Tortelli di Zucca. In this mac and cheese, that sweet, unexpected crunch translates as gingersnaps. I also threw in a handful of chopped pecans too because I love how their faintly maple flavor goes with sweet potatoes, and I thought...butternut squash? Sweet potato? Pretty similar, no? (At the very least, both orange.)

I may not be able to jet-set to Italy whenever I get the craving for some tortelli lovin', but that doesn't mean I can't get my fix of pumpkin and spice and everything nice! Surprise your guests with this dish this winter. The presentation is beautiful and homey, and one bite will have them coming for more.

Butternut Squash Mac and Cheese with Sage and Gingersnap-Pecan Crust

Serves: 6-8

Ingredients:
1 small butternut squash (about 1 pound), peeled, seeded, and cut into 1-inch cubes (about 3 cups)
1 lb elbow macaroni
1 small onion, diced
1 cup chicken stock
1 ½ cups nonfat milk
3 tbsp butter
2 tbsp flour
1 tablespoon fresh sage, minced
2 cups grated aged Marieke Gouda cheese
1 cup grated Stravecchio Parmesan cheese (Sartori Reserve, 2 year aged)
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
pinch of cayenne pepper
½ cup crumbled gingersnap cookies (about 8 cookies)
½ cup chopped pecans
1 tbsp olive oil
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper

Preparation:

1. Preheat the oven to 450°F. Toss the squash with olive oil, salt and pepper to season. Roast on a foil-lined baking sheet for 20-25 minutes until lightly browned. Set aside and turn the oven down to 350 degrees.

2. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add macaroni and cook until al dente according to the package instructions, about 8 minutes.

3. While the pasta cooks, heat a large pan over medium heat. Add the butter, chopped onion, and sage. Saute about 4-5 minutes until onions are translucent. Add the flour and stir to combine. Let the mixture cook for 1-2 more minutes. Whisk in stock and milk, and let come to a boil to thicken up.

4. Next, add the cheeses, mustard, nutmeg, and cayenne. Stir to combine. Then, mix in the squash. Use a whisk to mash up the squash a little. I prefer to leave a few chunky pieces of the squash in the sauce. Add salt and pepper to taste.

5. Drain the cooked pasta and return it to the pot. Pour the sauce over the pasta and combine well. Pour the mac 'n' cheese into a buttered casserole dish. Sprinkle the gingersnap cookie crumble and pecans over the top and drizzle with a little olive oil.

6. Cover with foil and bake 20 minutes. Remove foil and continue baking until lightly browned on top, about 30 minutes more.

Curried Broccoli and Greens Soup. Photo by David Rodwin

Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen!
Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!

You wouldn't necessarily want to follow Alice in Wonderland's diet (at least outside the environs of Burning Man) but Lewis Carroll had it right with this paean to the steamiest, best food of winter. And it's a good reminder that broccoli and greens, cold weather's staples, can come to the table in another guise besides the endlessly repeated cycle of steamed, steamed, stir-fried, and steamed.

Carroll doesn't mention curry powder, but he should. Yes, that old pantry staple, yellow and dependable in its plastic jar or shiny little tin. You might even be embarrassed by its ongoing presence in your spice drawer, proof that you haven't graduated to six different regional garam masalas, aromatic evidence that you're not spending these long dark nights grinding your own fenugreek.

But really, a good spice mix is always a handy thing. Even when you know your idlis from your dosas, there's something comforting about the familiarity of that standard supermarket blend. For me, the smell instantly transports me back to the gourmet takeout shops of the '80s, where I earned my college-summer paychecks by mixing up big plastic tubs of curried chicken salad, dicing an endless parade of chicken breasts, glopping in the mayonnaise and sour cream, scooping in mango chutney and raisins and then adding curry powder until the whole bowlful turned a vivid Sahara yellow.

Or you might remember M.F.K. Fisher's famous story of "Hindoo Eggs," wherein the young Mary Frances, desperate for a little exoticism to liven up her grandmother's Spartan table, tripled the amount of curry powder used to flavor a white sauce poured over hard-boiled eggs. For a palate reared on bland boiled everything, the result was inedibly fiery; still, out of stubbornness and loyalty, M.F.K. and her sister ate until blisters rose up on their lips and tongues. They finished the meal by sitting on the edge of the bathtub with their mouths full of mineral oil.

But my curry-powder favorite is adapted from yet another foolproof and delicious recipe in Laurie Colwin's second volume of food essays, More Home Cooking. Her version is so easy as to be almost laughable, and yet you could eat it any day of the week and be very happy. Potatoes, broccoli, and a garlic clove are simmered in chicken stock until tender. Curry powder and a little orange rind are added, and the whole thing is tipped into the blender and buzzed to a warming, healthy puree.

All very well, but it hardly takes any more effort to give it a little finesse. Sauteing the curry power with onion gives depth and mellowness while softening the raw bite of the spices. A squeeze of orange juice brings freshness (and vitamins). And cooking the potato almost all the way through, then adding your broccoli (and a handful of whatever greens are languishing in the fridge or winter garden) keeps your bowlful more verdant green than sludgy khaki.

Curried Broccoli and Greens Soup
This soup also keeps and freezes well.

Serves 4

Ingredients

1 large or 2 fist-sized potatoes, scrubbed and cut into chunks
4 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1 onion, peeled and sliced thinly
1 tbsp butter, olive, or vegetable oil
2 tsp curry powder, or to taste
2 cloves garlic, chopped
grated rind and juice of 1 orange
1 head broccoli, stalks peeled and chopped, flowerets broken into pieces
1 handful watercress or arugula
2 cups water, or as needed
Yogurt or sour cream for garnish

Preparation
1. In a medium saucepan, cover potato chunks with chicken broth and bring to a simmer. Cover and cook over low heat until potato is just tender.

2. While potato is cooking, saute sliced onion in butter or oil over medium heat until translucent but not browned. Add curry powder, garlic and orange rind and cook, stirring, for another minute.

3. When potato is tender, add curried onion mixture, broccoli, greens, water, and salt and pepper to taste. Let simmer until broccoli is very tender. Remove from heat and let cool slightly. Add orange juice.

4. Using a blender or immersion blender, puree mixture until smooth, adding water as necessary if soup seems too thick. Reheat to serve. Top each bowlful with a spoonful of yogurt, if desired.

So, I'm reading Nora Ephron's 1983 novel Heartburn -- I think I'm the last person in America to realize that Ephron was a foodie long before Julie & Julia -- and the book is filled with love and longing and heartbreak and food. Lots of food.

The main character, Rachel, is a cookbook writer who is dealing with the discovery that her husband has been having an affair with a mutual friend. Oh, and Rachel and her husband have a baby together and are expecting another one when the affair comes to light. Oh, and this book is a thinly-veiled portrayal of what happened between Ephron and her ex-husband Carl Bernstein (yes, THAT Bernstein), right down to Ephron being 7 months pregnant when she learned of Bernstein's affair and later going into premature labor.

Anyway, all that horribleness aside, Ephron's funny-sad novel is seeded with a bunch of quick recipes, all of which weave naturally in and out of the plot. Among others, there's Lillian Hellman's pot roast, Rachel's closely guarded vinaigrette recipe, and the Key lime pie Rachel ends up throwing at her husband's cheating face during a dinner party. However, the one I zeroed in on was her mashed potato recipe. It wasn't so much the recipe that resonated with me as it was Ephron's explanation of why mashed potatoes are so necessary to life:

Nothing like mashed potatoes when you're feeling blue. Nothing like getting into bed with a bowl of hot mashed potatoes already loaded with butter, and methodically adding a thin cold slice of butter to every forkful. The problem with mashed potatoes, though, is that they require almost as much hard work as crisp potatoes, and when you're feeling blue the last thing you feel like is hard work. Of course, you can always get someone to make the mashed potatoes for you, but let's face it: the reason you're blue is that there isn't anyone to make them for you. As a result, most people do not have nearly enough mashed potatoes in their lives, and when they do, it's almost always at the wrong time.

That whole bit reminded me of the mashed potato recipe in my Friends cookbook. (Yes, I have the Friends cookbook -- you wanna make something of it?) In that cookbook, the recipe is called "Mashed Potatoes for the Broken Hearted" and carries the note, "These fluffy, smooth potatoes (with plenty of sour cream and butter) have been known to mend even the most fractured heart."

What is it about mashed potatoes and comfort and soothing? Is it that their bland simplicity makes them non-threatening, and therefore calming, to the palate? That they are merely a vehicle for butter, salt, and/or sour cream and we crave fattening foods when at our lowest points? That they remind us of home and childhood when life was easier? I don't think I can answer these questions, but I do know that a big pile of mashed potatoes on my plate never fails to raise my spirits and warm my cockles. And on chilly grey days and dark sharp nights, mashed potatoes are one of those foods that I want to crawl into and pull up around my shoulders.

With mashed potatoes, the prep is so minor and the payoff is so huge that I've never understood why anyone would make mashed potatoes from a box. In fact, since my own mother didn't do that, I never knew they existed until I had them at a friend's house and was totally and horribly scarred by the experience. (That same mother made a kick-ass lemon chicken, so I was able to forgive her. In time.)

My own mashed potatoes are fine. They're basic, easy -- they get the job done. No garlic, no blue cheese, no bacon. I'm perfectly happy with them. However, in my lifetime I've encountered two particular mashed potato presentations so wonderfully rich and heavenly that there are times I consider rethinking my comparatively spartan recipe.

First, there's Fatemeh's "Party Potatoes" that come from her husband's "Irish-ish" grandmother and are known to contain butter, sour cream, AND cream cheese. And then there are the mashed potatoes Kim's husband Keith made for last year's Burns Night. It was my first Burns Night, my first haggis, and my first taste of Keith's potatoes.

Both of those sets of mashed potatoes? Yeah, I've decided that they're God's shaving cream.

After finishing Heartburn well after midnight last night, I went to bed feeling quite melancholy for Rachel. I didn't cheer up until the next morning when I found out that Ephron's been happily married to screenwriter Nick Pileggi for twenty years. I hope he makes her lots of mashed potatoes.

Heartburn Mashed Potatoes

For mashed potatoes: Put 1 large (or 2 small) potatoes in a large pot of salted water and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer for at least 20 minutes, until tender. Drain and place the potatoes back in the pot and shake over low heat to eliminate excess moisture. Peel. Put through a potato ricer and immediately add 1 tablespoon heavy cream and as much melted butter and salt and pepper as you feel like. Eat immediately. Serves one.

Crawfish Po' Boy with Remoulade Sauce (mind you, that's just a half order)

When I first visited New Orleans as a young and adventurous 21-year-old (with nine other young and adventurous 21-year-olds), it was under the incredible hospitality of the generous Miss Dawn. Like a good southern hostess, Miss Dawn kept us well-fed, full of hearty, delicious, filling sustenance that would provide the proper base for a night of revelry.

Two memorable meals from our time there was the epic crawfish boil she set up our first night in, and the constant supply of po' boy makings she kept on hand for 1 pm breakfasts...5 pm snacks...and 4 am nightcaps. Piles of roast beef, fresh French bread, and dressed to the nines.

As soon as I saw the menu at Yats, I was brought back to sultry nights of sucking crawfish out of the shell and feasting on the ubiquitous po' boy.

Yats, San Francisco

In case you're wondering about this order window with the sign "Yats" pointing to it, well, that's it. Yats is actually, brilliantly, located inside Jack's Club, an homage to the divey friendly bars of New Orleans.

NOLA Fries: thick-cut steak fries showered in parmesan cheese, salt and pepper

The humble establishment makes good use of its well-loved deep fryer. Cue specimen A: NOLA Fries. Thick, golden, wedges of starchy goodness, dusted in a snowfall of parmesan cheese, salt and pepper. These huge steak fries are crispy on the outside, nice and soft on the inside.

You may be overwhelmed when you see the lengthy selection of Famous Po' Boys on the menu. I don't mean to be bossy, but get the Crawfish with Remoulade, and ask for extra sauce! Succulent bits of crawfish meat, coated in a crunchy cornmeal crust, and stuffed inside a loaf of fresh French bread with a soft airy center, and crispy flaky crust. And, you should probably get the whole foot-long. Trust me.

Mac-n-Cheese

You will also want to complement your sandwich lovin' with a side of Mac-n-Cheese. Quite possibly the best in SF. Do I have any challengers? This mac-n-cheese is no joke. Creamy and rich with a little coarse-grained mustard thrown in. Pure comfort food.

Yats takes bar food to a whole new level. The only down side is that the hours are a little tricky for a weekday visit unless you work in the neighborhood. Otherwise, your Saturday afternoon may have just found a new best friend.

By the way, if it's an authentic crawfish boil you seek, Yats is celebrating its One Year Anniversary with a Crawfish Boil this Saturday, May 16th, noon - 5 pm.

Yats
(Inside Jack's Club)
2545 24th St
San Francisco, CA 94110
Map
415-282-8906
Open Mon-Thurs, 11 am - 4 pm; Fri, 11 am - 8 pm; Sat, 11 am - 6 pm

Well, now I've seen everything. As it was pointed out to me recently, voting Californians care more for the rights of chickens than they do for those of gay men and women. In my bio-degradable peanut-wrapped little world of well-educated, thoughtful, and admittedly left-leaning friends and co-workers, I had previously thought this was all but impossible.

I believed I didn't know a single person-- especially anyone close to me-- who would, by touching a button or drawing a little black line to connect an arrow in a voting booth, actively raise a finger to institutionalize discrimination against me, or my sister, or my brother who, in a very real sense, died from internalizing all the hate and ignorance, both spoken and unspoken, that surrounds gay men and women and tells us we are not as deserving of happiness as everyone else. The electorate has demanded that a chicken be allowed the freedom to fully spread its wings and, in the same breath, has seen to it that I am not allowed to fully stretch mine.

It's nothing personal against chickens. Honest.

I have been chafing at the logic that homosexuals should somehow be satisfied with domestic partnerships and not get hung up on the word "marriage." And my blood is boiling over the 1,400,000 million-vote difference between those who voted for Barak Obama and those who voted No on Proposition 8. The stench of this hypocritical difference has settled in my nostrils and killed my appetite for the past couple of days. And that's saying something.

Does anyone remember a quaint little Supreme Court decision handed down in 1896? No? Well, I've got three words for you. Since those words are unprintable, I shall give you another three:

Plessy versus Ferguson.

Oh, and here are three more words that came out of that historically painful and embarrassing decision:

Separate but equal.

Image courtesy of Jay Floyd

Yes we can? Not in California, we didn't. Not so much.

Well, I'm getting hungry again. And I need a little bit of comforting. It does help that all my straight friends have been actively giving their support, but I need a little more. I need to fill my belly with something other than burning bile. I will resist the urge to drink the blood of all the innocent children I had planned to corrupt by getting married and go for something a little more low key to satisfy my hunger. Something fried. Something bad for my arteries, but tonic for my soul.

I want Chicken-fried steak.

It strikes me as odd that I should crave something that is the unofficial dish of Texas. Or that, given the chicken's newly-found superior status over me, that I would crave something so transparently pro-poultry-life. It's not as though I'd ever encountered it in my childhood. Of course, that may very well be what makes it such a comfort. It is a dish I discovered in college-- a time when I was busy forging my own identity as an adult.

I first encountered Chicken-fried steak at (foodies, look away) Denny's. A photograph of the dish caught my attention, popping off the image-bloated and ketchup-sticky pages of the menu more dramatically than the competing Moons over My Hammy. It was too late to be up, I'd most likely been out either drinking or dancing or depressed over my not-quite-out-of-the-closet status or some combination of all three, and my body called out for something fried to soak up both my sorrow and my alcohol intake.

I sat there, staring at the menu, trying to make sense of the dish. Chicken-fried Steak. On the one hand, I immediately got it-- pounded beef, served up as one would serve fried chicken. Basically, it's a more aged version of Wienerschnitzel, but served up with biscuits and anemic-looking gravy. On the other, I was caught up in the phrasing. Chicken-fried. The immediate mental image was that of a cartoonish hen, complete with pearls and frilly apron, frying up a piece of beaten-to-death cow. The evil, self-satisfied smile on her face convinced me that this dish was somehow subversive-- that there was some clever, morbid joke behind the creation of this dish. So I ordered it, naturally.

And, oddly, I felt much better for it. And it continues to have this mystifying effect on me. It may be its ability to fill my stomach, thereby draining as much blood as possible from my over-worked brain to aid digestion. It could be the fat and cholesterol that coats and calms me into some false sense of protection. I really don't know. All I know is that, for whatever reason, it works for me and I refuse to give into too much analysis. That would ruin everything.

Chicken-fried steak has lifted me up in some of my lowest of moments. It has comforted me on my journeys home from bank-breaking college trips to Las Vegas when the only money I had left in the world was spent on gas and this menu item. It has been consumed through endless, supportive conversations with friends in times of disease and unavoidable death, and recently it has been there to help salve a mopey, broken heart.

And now, I am calling on it to fortify me through this mess.

I never intend to make it myself. I don't even want to know exactly how it is made, so I will not give a recipe, let alone look at one. It is a dish best served to me, rather than by me. Preferably by a waitress whose shoulders have been slightly hunched by the weight of trouble and too many years of taking the brutal insensitivity and orders of strangers. I need this not to feel superior to someone else in my moment of gloom. I need it because I want to look her straight in the eye as if to say, "Girl, I know exactly how you feel." But I won't say it. She may not want that kind of empathy. Or me calling her "Girl". So instead, I'll just give her everything I have in my wallet and go home, bloated and tired, but somehow fortified enough to carry on.

Until the next time.