So, like other food preservationists and kitchen tinkerers, I love to dry things -- fruit slices, fruit leather, cheese, beef jerky, etc. In the heat of summer the sun does the work for me. But the other ten months of the year in Northern California, however, I usually rely on my oven on a low setting, door slightly ajar to release moisture, to do the job. And while effective, each bite contains the residual taste of enviro-guilt that comes from leaving the oven on and the heat blowing upward for several hours. The results are excellent, but I cannot help but be haunted by the fossil fuel energy loss necessary for a homemade Fruit Roll-Up.

Certainly I could buy a food dehydrator (and I still may), but my gas oven runs therms, plug-in dryers run watts, and I’m not science-geeky enough to know if they are truly more energy efficient. Plus, I thought, I already own a large piece of heating equipment that dries sopping wet clothing in record speed (also fueled by gas), that spins with convection-like capability.

The Newton’s apple (orange?) that struck me with the idea was a perfectly shriveled piece of orange peel found at the bottom of the clean laundry basket. Had I been sitting on (and ignoring) the world’s best food dehydrator next to the washing machine and not taking advantage of its power? Is it possible to more efficiently dry fruit, vegetables, and meat in the high-heat, high-motion clothes dryer in one round of Permanent Press? Sadly, at least in my scientific exploration, the answer is no.

I quickly sliced a navel orange into 1/8-inch slices. My hope was that a regular high heat setting would yield chewy, moist results. I didn’t want the fruit to touch the walls of the dryer directly, as I feared a future of sticky laundry as I scraped orange sauce from the inside of the machine’s barrel. I thought fabric assistance would help wick moisture and hold the fruit in place, so I grabbed a clean cotton dishtowel. Oh, and a knee sock. Everything’s better with knee socks.

I laid a dishtowel out into a rectangle shape and then arranged two rows of orange slices horizontally across the middle. I folded up the bottom and folded down the top, making sure fruit was tucked into towel completely. Then I folded one encased row over another to sandwich both rows of oranges together.

I used rubber bands to cinch the sides of the towels together and to keep the fruit from falling out. I had first tried this with clothespins, but they banged around too much and some of them broke. Safety pins work, too.

Then -- my genius move -- I cut the toe from an old knee sock (don’t worry, I’ll still wear it!) and wiggled the sock down like a tube over the entire length of the towel and fruit to secure it. Note that I first tried this with a polyester sock, a fiber known for keeping moisture in. Rookie error! Go with all cotton.

I moved the whole fruit-towel-sock contraption to a mesh laundry bag. If my experiment worked, my hope was that I could put several batches of fruit into the laundry bag and dry them all at once.

After 70 minutes on Permanent Press, the good news is that I managed to contain the fruit and I didn’t have to clean the machine. The bad news, however, is that the fruit was still very, very wet. I tried one more cycle but then gave up, because after two hours, it wasn’t drying nearly as quickly as it does in the oven. If you try a different method and you have any success, please let me know!

In the interim, I’ll go back to drying fruit the old-fashioned way in the oven (OK, modern old-fashioned, because true old-fashioned would be drying it over a fire).  Here’s how I usually do it.

Chewy Dried Orange Slices

Time: About 3 hours

Despite my continuous protests, my mother mails me Honeybell oranges from Florida every year. They cost her a fortune. Some of them always arrive moldy. They’re not organic. And, uh, I live in California where the oranges nearby are outrageously good. I feel bad just using them all for juice, so I dried them with just a touch of sugar to balance out the tanginess of the dried fruit. The finished results are far more complex than they appear: moist, sticky, and chewy, super tangy and super flavorful -- like a slice of the best marmalade or orange candy you’ve ever had. Eat them straight up, or use their jewel-like demeanor to stunningly top iced cookies, cupcakes, or cakes. Of course, you can also do this with navel oranges or any other sweet variety.

Ingredients
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 4 large Honeybell oranges
• 1 tsp. flaked sea salt (like Maldon)
• Crushed black pepper, to taste

Instructions
1. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees.
2. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper, and pour the sugar into a bowl or small plate.
3. Using a serrated knife, slice the rind and pith from the bottom and the top of the oranges. Stand the fruit straight up and cut off all of the skin -- first cut from top to bottom and then flip the orange over and slice from top to bottom again to remove it all. Thinly slice the well-peeled fruit into horizontal rounds about 1/8-inch thick and move them onto a clean dish towel in a single layer. Once all oranges have been cut, lay another clean towel on top and press on it gently to absorb some of the juice.
4. Dip one side of the orange into the sugar and place it onto the baking sheet sugar side down. Follow suit with all of the oranges until the tray is full -- it’s okay if the oranges touch one another, but don’t let them overlap.
5. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place them in the oven on a low rack, and leave the oven door ajar with a wooden spoon.
6. Check the oranges after about three hours. They should be tacky on top and may pool some syrup, but not fully dry. If not, check them every half hour for doneness.
7. Eat them warm or pack the oranges in a single layer separated by sheets of wax paper in an airtight container. Store refrigerated for several months.

Fruit, glorious fruit, now is your time. The farmers' market doesn't come alive until the strawberries and cherries show up, and now with stone fruit season in full, chin-dripping swing, we have months of glory ahead. Perfect timing, then, for Plum Gorgeous, by Romney Steele, subtitled Recipes and Memories from the Orchard.

These recipes are as much inspirations as instructions, of the why-didn't-I-think-of-that variety. Once you read a description like Strawberry, Nasturium, and Cucumber Salad, Heirloom Tomatoes and Peaches with Burrata, or Honey-Baked Figs with Lavender and Wine, you almost don't need to bother with the cups and teaspoons; the idea is enough. Which is how the generous, bohemian-spirited Steele wants you to cook, anyway. Get the adorable but steely-hearted Miette bakery cookbook for your Louboutin-wearing, alpha-domme gal-pal, the one with the pink KitchenAid mixer, unchippable nails and spotless counters. Plum Gorgeous is a little more messy, much more colorful and a lot more forgiving. Starting with great fruit, it would be pretty hard to screw up any of these unfussy, casually delicious dishes, both sweet and savory, all seasoned with a dash of whimsy. The chapters follow the fruit of California's seasons: winter's citrus, spring's berries, the stone fruits of summer and the figs, apples, quinces, grapes, and pears of autumn.

Strawberry, Nasturtium, and Cucumber Salad. Photo: Sara Remington

Leafing through the book, it’s impossible not to be charmed at first sight. Read it cover to cover, though, from chirpy, service-y headnotes to poetic musings, and you might see how the whole thing risks falling into the sugar-coated, envy-making genre I'd call how nice for you. In her previous book, My Nepenthe, Steele told the story of her grandparents, the founders of Big Sur's fabled restaurant Nepenthe, and her family's involvement with the place through the decades. She alluded, gracefully and with the lightest of touches, to the challenges and complications of combining business, family, and the coastal counterculturalism of the 60s and 70s. Here, though, there's almost nothing but sweetness. Not every cookbook needs to be a memoir, especially not one whose ostensible purpose is simply fruit and fun. But without revealing a real story, a backbone of truth, writing that's aiming for a romantic, color-drenched poetry of the senses can end up reading like advertising copy, breathless and aspirational.

The photographs, by Sara Remington (who also shot My Nepenthe), are absolutely gorgeous, ravishingly styled and lit to look perfectly effortless. I wanted to live in the place captured by these photographs, and I also wanted to know if the cute skirt and candy-colored wellies on page 15 came in my size, and if there was express-shipping for polka-dot red dress blowing in the breeze on page 106. Was this a cookbook, or the latest Anthropologie catalog? The more Steele pushes the poetry of the idyllic years she spent raising two children in a mountainside cottage, surrounded by fog, flowers, and fruit trees, the more the reader notices how much she's assiduously sponged out. No sharp edges, no stress, just children spooned in the same bed "warm and tender like new-rising bread." Whispers run throughout: a murmur of returning home to Big Sur both "discontent and comforted by the coziness of home," of “closeness being at once beautiful and a challenge, heartbreaking and poetic.” But what happened? How did she end up, presumably a single mother, in that tiny house? A little more heartbreak explained might have balanced all that honey.

Kumquats and Toasted Couscous with Halloumi. Photo: Sara Remington

Maybe I'm just being crabby, envious of those azure Big Sur mornings and her memories of baking tarts surrounded by the lemon-yellow walls of Henry Miller's kitchen. Or perhaps it was too many lines like this one: "By this time we were drinking wine and nibbling on the last of the kumquat and couscous salad—just photographed for the book—under the shade of a grapefruit tree in the garden as the sun went down, and lavishing spoonfuls of rose petal jam onto toast with runny cheese for dessert." Well, how nice for you. This is the sort of thing that can take a lot of Raspberry Ratafia to swallow. Honestly, I could deal with the grapefruit tree, the sunset, even the kumquats. But did the jam really have to be "lavished?" Wasn’t a spoonful enough?

Of course, no one’s buying cookbook-memoirs called My Trip to Safeway for Another Box of Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies. Every book like this, however based in real experience, is packaging a fantasy where the grapefruit trees are shady, the jam lavishly spread, and the kumquat salad always ready for its close-up. So enjoy the view, whip up the Rhubarb Mustard, Buttermilk Panna Cotta with Moscato Apricots, Plum Blackberry Sorbet, or Tomato-Grape Ricotta Flatbread, and imagine you’re in a cottage overlooking Big Sur. Now where I can find that perfect polka-dot dress?

Plum Blackberry Sorbet. Photo: Sara Remington

It's that time of year again -- the grills are uncovered, fireworks stands [used to] start popping up near busy intersections, and everyone and their mother is digging through cookbooks in search of Fourth of July recipes. This week, kids will be running around with sparklers while mom and dad solidify plans for their annual Independence Day barbecue.

While grilled goodies are usually at the top of everyone's mind on July 4th, there's still the all-important matter of dessert. It seems like every year, someone makes the traditional sheet cake that looks like the American flag. You know the style: It's huge and white with a square of blueberries for the star portion of the flag, and row upon row of strawberries and frosting dollops to make up the stripes. It's a good cake, one that I've eaten and enjoyed countless times. Yes, I said countless. Which means I'm really, really bored with the same old flag cake, which I've been eating for 30-something years.

This year I decided to shake it up a little. I eschewed the white cake for something richer (chocolate! ganache!). Since it's Independence Day I decided to keep the red, white and blue decorations, but I sat down and thought about the best way to go about using these colors without recreating the hackneyed flag design (to you lovers of the flag cake, really, no offense). After a few days of pondering I decided to create a layer cake for a more interesting look, with half of the fruit on the inside of the cake, peeking out the sides.

I think you'll like the end result: A rich, smokey cake with light, colorful accents of summer fruit and whipped cream. Kids will love the headiness of the chocolate, and adults will appreciate the departure from the norm.

A Tower of Chocolate: The Three-Layer Fourth of July Chocolate Cake
Makes: One really thick 9" cake, which will be cut into three layers servings
Prep time: 60 minutes, including decorating
Cook time: 50 minutes

While making this cake, I decided to go the lazy route and used a 9-inch cake pan that's 3-inches deep. I poured all of the batter into one pan and then sliced it into three thinner layers with a cake leveler. There is also a gluten-free version of this Fourth of July cake.

Ingredients

For cake:

• 2 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate chopped
• 2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped
• 6 tablespoons hot coffee
• 1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
• 1 1/2 cup sugar, divided
• 4 large egg yolks
• 2 cups flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup buttermilk, at room temperature
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 4 large egg whites

For decorating:

• 4 cups of whipped cream
• 1 carton fresh strawberries, cleaned, cored, and sliced in half
• 1 handful each of fresh blueberries
• 1 handful each of fresh raspberries
• 1/2 cup chocolate ganache, warmed and ready to pour

Instructions

To bake the cake:
1. Butter single 3-inch deep, 9-inch cake pan, lining the bottom with a round of parchment or wax paper (trust me, this will make your life much easier). Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
2. Over a double boiler, melt both kinds of chocolates together with the 6 tablespoons of coffee. Stir until smooth, then set aside until the chocolate reaches room temperature.
3. With an electric mixer, beat the butter and 1 1/4 cup of the sugar until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes. While beating, slowly drizzle in the melted chocolate, following with the egg yolks one at a time.
4. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt.
5. Mix half of the sifted dry ingredients into the creamed butter, then add the buttermilk and vanilla. Follow with the rest of the dry ingredients.
6. In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites until they hold soft peaks. Add the remaining 1/4 cup of sugar and continue beating until stiff peaks form.
7. Fold half of the egg whites into the cake batter to lighten it up a bit, then fold in the rest, stopping just when there's no trace of egg white visible. Do not overbeat or you will flatten the batter.
8. Pour the batter into the prepared cake pan with a parchment round in the bottom. Smooth the top of the batter with your finger and bake for about 50 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.
9. Cool cake completely before decorating.

To decorate the cake
Note: If you're going to slice your cake horizontally, I'd recommend putting it in the refrigerator overnight (or at least a few hours) to firm up before slicing. The firmness of the cake will allow for more effective slicing. I highly recommend the use of a cake leveler, though a serrated knife will work in a pinch.

1. Level your cake by removing the rounded top where it rose in the oven. You can either use a long serrated knife or a cake leveler. I use the leveler, because it's a cheap tool that does the job very well, and it's a lot easier to make straight layers by walking the leveler in a sawing motion, instead of making crooked layers with a serrated knife.
2. If you poured all of your batter into a single 9" pan, cut it into three layers of equal thickness.
3. Place your base layer of cake onto a lazy Susan or other turnable decorating surface. Trust me, this will make your life easier.
4. Scoop whipped cream into a pastry bag, and using a large star tip of your choice, pipe a series of swirls around the edge of the cake, with a large swirl in the middle. It should look like this:

   

5. Decorate each dab of whipped cream by adding a piece of fruit into the middle. Do not add any fruit to the large swirl of whipped cream in the middle.
6. Using the pastry bag, add a small dab of whipped cream between each larger swirl. Top each dab with a blueberry. When you're done, it should look something like this:

   

7. If you have three layers, gently place the middle layer of cake on top of the decorated layer, making sure it's straight. Decorate with whipped cream as you did the first layer, so that they look the same.
8. Place final layer of cake on top of decorated layer. Pour 1/2 cup ganache into the center of the cake, and using an icing spatula gently push the ganache to the edges, allowing it to artfully dribble over the sides. NOTE: You don't want a lot of ganache flowing all over the place. You just want a few drips down the side as an accent.
9. Set the cake in the refrigerator for 20 minutes to solidify the ganache.
10. Decorate the top of the cake with more whipped cream and fruit, like you did the other layers. You can be as creative as you want here, so go all out! When you're done, push more fruit into the visible whipped cream between the layers where it needs a little color. You should have something similar to the photo below.
11. This cake should be put in the fridge overnight to tighten up the whipped cream, which may droop and run in hot weather. Refrigerator until about an hour before serving. If it's especially hot that day, leave it in the fridge until just before you cut it.

Lafitte's Russell Jackson inhales the scent of Niitaka pears

Credit for all photos: Tamara Palmer

As important as growing and selecting produce is to a healthy diet and life, it's pretty stunning how few of us really know how to pick the best fruits and vegetables when shopping. Sure, we might have heard about certain items we're supposed to thump or squeeze, and we know to look out for obvious cosmetic flaws, but too much more beyond that is a big mystery for many.

We got up too early on a recent Saturday morning to find a number of San Francisco's notable chefs shopping for winter produce at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market. It was fascinating not only to see what everyone was buying and placing on their big-wheeled carts, but to watch their gears turning while dreaming up new ways to use these high quality ingredients. After several conversations, we came away confident that our local farmers do a lot to pre-select the best produce before they bring it to a market, which is why so many of the chefs are confident to purchase large boxes of ingredients on the spot. But we also got some good tips on how to select for maximum flavor and longevity.

Kristie Knoll of Knoll Farms and Annie Somerville of Greens

We think of Annie Somerville, proprietor of the legendary vegetarian restaurant Greens, as a true goddess of produce here in the Bay Area, so we met her first. She suggested we convene at the Knoll Farms stand, a biodynamic farm from Brentwood where we'd see all kinds of chefs lurking throughout the morning.

Somerville was thrilled to see the beginnings of green garlic there ("I am so happy!" she exclaimed), something she says proprietor Rick Knoll actually pioneered and is typically found after the winter. When asked what to look for, she said,

"Look for it to look just like that! Just really fresh and nice, the point is that it is the young stalks, the shoots. As they get more mature, they get longer and at the end there they start to bulb up and [wilt] and at some point you probably want to let it go. We use the shoots for sautéing. All the applications of fresh garlic, use your green garlic instead. Put it in any dish. All the tops can go into soup stock."

Green garlic

She finds it a wonderfully versatile ingredient, but seemed most excited about her plans to add it to mashed potatoes. One of Kristie Knoll's favorite preparations, meanwhile, is to cut the stalks into "knuckles" and brown them.

Horseradish root

While at the Knoll stand, we stumbled into Michael Tusk, chef/owner of Quince and Cotogna restaurants, selecting some horseradish. He says to look for pieces that aren't dried out. And, in this case of this root, size matters.

"I personally like the bigger pieces; they're easier to grate," he said. "We use it in a salad with smoked eel and with beef, but I usually I just find stuff and then I decide what to do. It's good to have inspiration around, especially at this time of year, so I try to find as many fun things as possible."

When we caught up with David Bazirgan, the new executive chef of Fifth Floor, he was hoisting up a giant bag of stinging nettles from Marin Roots Farm and explaining that he ingeniously uses them in place of spinach for a side dish of creamed nettles to accompany his new menu item, a dry aged New York steak also served with salt baked potatoes, roasted mushrooms, and red wine sauce. (He Thermo-mixes them so they don't sting.) Since this isn't an item eaten raw, picking them is a lot easier than other ingredients, but Bazirgan still suggests carefully looking through them for a vibrant, consistent color and no holes.

David Bazirgan of Fifth Floor selects chicories.

Bazirgan also uses color cues when picking various chicories at Marin Roots, selecting the most vibrant leaves; look for the whites as well as the colors to be bright. He is currently using various heirloom varieties of chicories in a salad, dressed raw with compressed persimmon, Pt. Reyes blue cheese, hazelnuts, pomegranate, vadouvan, and Chardonnay vinaigrette.

For Mark Richardson, the executive chef of Seasons Restaurant at Four Seasons Hotel San Francisco, Brussels sprouts are a winter produce staple.

"Look for the sprouts with tight-fitting leaves, with no browning or yellowing," he advised. "If you can find the sprouts still on the stalk, they will be the freshest."

His preparation for them is minimal: After blanching, he caramelizes the sprouts in a pan with some olive oil and then seasons with salt, fresh cracked pepper, and chili flakes. If you can't make it to Ferry Plaza, Richardson also suggests buying them at Mollie Stone's or Whole Foods locations.

Hoss Zaré of Zaré at Fly Trap examines white carrots.

Hoss Zaré of Zaré at Fly Trap truly shocked us when we met him to scout out white carrots. We gravitated towards the biggest ones, but Zaré said that was actually not the best strategy.

"The bigger ones are woodier and less juicy," he cautions. "Too small, and they're not going to have much flavor. You have to get the medium-sized ones so you get a lot of juice and flavor. Big ones are good for braising -- chop them up and caramelize them, but the smaller ones are juicier."

His favorite current use for white carrots is to lightly peel, blanch, pan roast until lightly caramelized, and then stack with slices of braised lamb tongue.

As we were about to leave Ferry Plaza full of new ideas and new produce specimens to experiment on, we grabbed Russell Jackson, chef/owner of Lafitte, just steps up the Embarcadero from Ferry Plaza. He was checking out the produce at Hamada Farms, the Kingburg grower whose citrus and pears seem to be the secret weapon of the chefs who shop at Ferry Plaza.

"Which kind of pear do I want today?" he asked.

"Niitaka!" came the answer from two people behind the counter, in unison. Jackson leapt over to the box and started smelling.

"Surface indication really isn't anything," he said, pointing out some visible flaws on a Niitaka. "It's really about the texture, firmness, and I'm really looking for that aromatic quality to it. You don't want something heavily bruised, but [some flaws] are just from tree hang, or where it faces the sun, or whether it's been scratched by a branch."

Right now, he's roasting pears to make a demi-glace for roasted sweetbreads and also using them raw in a salad with persimmons, chicories or radicchio, walnuts and Banyuls vinaigrette.

Where many households across the nation turn to canned goods in the winter, we have these staples and so much more ripe for the picking.

Peach season is (almost here) and I am chomping at the bit to sink my near-perfect set of choppers (thanks, Dad*) into my first ripe one. This morning, I even eyed an old t-shirt I thought would be perfect to wear for the occasion, since I fully intend to let the juice dribble down my forearm and wipe it on my chest.

It's a sensory thing, you know.

Over the weekend, I found myself at the Sebastopol farmer's market with some old friends. As I was dragged along by my goddaughter, who was intent on spending her allotted dollar on honey sticks (one for her, one for mommy, and one for me *sniff*), the pile of white peaches at the adjoining stall caught my eye.

I needed to have them, and I needed to have them immediately. Sadly, they were hard as bocce balls, but they looked so beautiful that I bought two pounds of the little dears and stuffed them into my bag, hoping that they might somehow become perfectly ripe when I pulled them out later.

Of course, they didn't.

When I returned home, I set them gingerly in a bowl and stared at them a moment in the seemingly endless and confusing twilight of early summer. I rested my chin on the cool edge of my granite counter and focused my eyes on my treasure. I smiled at them, I tilted my head a bit to see them at a differing and possibly more flattering angle. These were photogenic peaches. I remained in that position for some time until I remembered hearing somewhere that a watched peach never ripens or something to that effect. Frustrated, I called out to them:

"Hurry up and ripen, peaches, for I'll most likely eat you in the morning."

If you didn't know already, I live alone. You can say whatever you want to produce when there is no one else there to bother you or threaten to move out if he sees you talking to things on the kitchen counter. And the best thing is that you can do it in an accent. I chose Kiwi, but that is another fruit for another time.

Unfortunately for me, these were stubborn peaches. They were simply not ready to give it up for me. I wanted to write about peaches, damn it. I had a deadline to meet. So I did what anyone in a rush to eat stone fruit would do.

I hastened their untimely death. I decided to poach them.

To purists, I imagine poaching a peach might seem like celebrating the 4th of July on the 30th of June. If you just hold tight and go about your business, the proper time will come.

If you're as impatient as I am however, poaching is still a wonderful way to treat a peach-- especially a stubborn one.

White Peaches in Ginger-Vanilla Syrup

I've always been a ginger fan-- it's a little bit zingy, a little hot, and it adds a certain "oomph" to anything it touches. Of course, there's something to be said for vanilla, too-- it's homey, approachable, familiar. I sometimes like to give them equal time.

Now, if I can only find just the right Mrs. Howell ingredient, I'd be all set.

Serves 4

Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups cold water

1 cup white wine (if anything, this is the Mrs. Howell touch)

3/4 cup sugar

2 tablespoons honey (or, if you happen to have a honey stick left over, drop that in.)

A three inch piece of ginger (not capitalized because I intend for you to use ginger root and not a piece of aging flesh from a still-alive actress. I do not advocate such things on this blog.), peeled and sliced.

1 vanilla bean, sliced lengthwise

4 under-ripe white peaches, skin on and cut in half. (If the pit remains stubbornly in one half of your peach, remove it with a melon baller-- works like a charm.)

Preparation:

1. Combine all ingredients except the peaches in a heavy-bottomed, medium saucepan or dutch oven. Bring to a boil, making sure that the sugar and honey have dissolved. Remove from heat, remove vanilla bean, and scrape the seeds from it. Return the battered bean to the pot as well as the emancipated seeds. Return pot to the stove and bring contents to a simmer. Let it do its thing for about 5 minutes.

2. Add peaches to the simmering liquid, cut side down. Gently simmer in this manner for 8 minutes, then flip them over and give them another 8 minutes. The time needed for poaching is directly related to the ripeness and size of your peaches, so yours might need a little more or less. The peaches are fully poached when they are easily pierced with a gentle poke of a knife's tip.

3. When peaches are ready, remove them with a slotted spoon to a bowl or baking pan wide enough to accommodate them all in a single layer. Let them cool slightly and then remove their skins. Since this particular post is about my impatience with the fruit, I should caution you to exercise a little bit of restraint and wait for them to cool sufficiently. It's unpleasant to burn one's fingers with hot syrup-soaked hot peaches. Keep the liquid on the heat.

4. When the remaining poaching liquid has reduced by half, strain out the ginger and vanilla bean and pour the hot syrup over the peaches. And wear shoes.

5. Let cool a bit, cover, and place in the refrigerator to chill out. Of course, you may or may not have the patience to do this either, but it's much, much better this way. Trust me.

6. To serve, eat the peach halves by scooping them out with your fingers and pop them into your mouth, one by one, being careful to let the syrup run down your hands. Wipe hands on the front of an old t-shirt you "happen" to be wearing. When you reach the point where you suddenly feel all hollow inside because you couldn't wait for the real thing, place two peach halves in a serving dish, top with vanilla ice cream, and drizzle on as much of the syrup as you like.

* Father, if you didn't know, is a dentist. Thank G-d.

The best summer desserts are simple to make, portable for picnics, and highlight the season's sweet, luscious fruit. Trifle would be at the top of my own list.

While its name might lead you to think that this dish is of little consequence, it belongs in the pantheon of fantastic frugal food, along with panzanella (another wonderful summer dish) and pain perdue (good anytime of the year or day). Back when little bits of bread or cake were far too valuable to toss away, even if stale as a board, cooks invented ingenious ways to use up every last crumb. Dry cake has a way of soaking up endless flavor and, in the process, transforming itself into a silken gift.

A recent pile of cake trimmings, a bit too much creme fraiche in my refrigerator, and a few overripe peaches, combined with favorite pantry staples, Knob Creek Bourbon and Sonoma Syrup, melted together into a most heavenly dessert. Sherry, amaretto, Cointreau, or even orange juice could have stood in for the simple syrup and booze, but do keep in mind that the English call this Tipsy Cake for good reason.

While trifle properly appears in a glass-footed, straight-sided bowl, making it in a portable container means you can bring this dessert to a picnic to share its goodness.

Following its humble, serendipitous origins, I think it best to avoid recipes when making trifle, as no two will be the same. (Otherwise, you've actually gone out to buy all the ingredients rather than looking around your kitchen for odds and ends to use up.) A quick run to the corner store is fine for one or two, but if you're ticking off every ingredient on the list while at a grocery store, then you've kinda, sorta lost the heart of this dish.

MAKING SUMMER TRIFLE

What you'll need:

1. Enough stale cake or cookies to fill 1/3 of your container.

2. Enough fresh, summer fruit to fill another 1/3. If you don't have enough, good-quality jam is good, too.

3. Enough yogurt, whipped cream, mascarpone, creme fraiche or similar creamy ingredient to fill the final 1/3.

4. Booze or juice sweetened gently with simple syrup or sugar or jam.

5. If desired, flavorful gilding such as vanilla, citrus zest, fresh herbs or cocoa powder.

Like a lasagna, it's all about layering and eyeballing. The most important steps are making sure the cake gets brushed with plenty of liquid and that it's in direct contact with the creamy diary. That's how it will melt into lusciousness. If you're fancy, you can take extra time to arrange the fruit into colorful layers, like those sand-filled souvenirs you see at truck stops.

Finish by smoothing the top with a creamy layer. You can reserve a few pieces of fruit for garnish later, or enjoy -- like I do -- that lovely expanse of white that magically hides so many layers beneath.

Now comes the tough part: waiting. The trifle needs its beauty rest just like we do. A four-hour nap in the fridge will bring together the ingredients, but eight hours is what it really needs, if not a full-on, twelve- to twenty-four hour deep sleep. After that, a few serving bowls and spoons are all you need to serve and enjoy.

"splat"
"splat"
"splat"

Every night, for the past week, we've been awakened by the sound of fat, juicy plums plummeting from the trees in our backyard to the ground. We pick them as fast as we can, but some are simply out of reach, and others just sneak up on us, ripening suddenly and then hurling themselves out of the tree.

We somehow managed to pick about six pounds of plums before I decided that something must be done.

So, as I did last year, I decided to make plum jam.

A few things have changed, though, since I last made jam. First of all, I moved. Last year's plums were harvested in the heart of the Mission: small yellow plums that were subtle and pleasantly sweet-tart. We managed to spin those into many jars of jam and chutney before we moved.

Secondly, I realized that over the past year I've learned a bit about pectin. The jam we made last year, while delicious, was a bit thin and watery. I wasn't about to make that mistake again. Pectin causes jams and jellies to gel, and some fruits have more and some have less. Apples, it turns out, have a lot of pectin. So when you are trying to make jam with fruits that are low in pectin, like berries or plums, it's a good idea to use an apple, peel and all (trust me, you will never know it's even in the jam). Also, you need the right balance of pectin, acid, and sugar with the fruit to make it all balance and gel correctly.

Anyway, here in our new house we have not only one, or two, but four different plum trees. Lucky for the trees that I love plum jam too, since they've been somewhat neglected over the years (we unfortunately moved just after the plum harvest last year and missed the whole thing). And lucky for me that my husband is tall and can reach all those rogue plums, even though we still wake up every morning to a smattering of plums.

Plumalicious Jam

Makes: 13 half-pint jars

Ingredients:
About 12 cups (about 6 lbs) pitted and roughly chopped plums
1 or 2 green apples
Juice of 1 lemon or lime
2 lbs granulated sugar
2 small plates in the freezer

Preparation:
1. Cut up all the plums and put them into a heavy, 5-quart stockpot.

2. Grate the apple, skin and all (but not the core), on a box shredder-grater. Add the apples, lemon or lime juice, and sugar to the plums.

3. Stir the plum mixture thoroughly, place over medium-high heat, and bring to a boil.

4. Lower the heat to medium and let boil, skimming the foam occasionally and smashing the fruit as it cooks. Boil for about 20 minutes.

5. When the jam starts to look thickened, start testing it by spooning a small amount onto one of the chilled plates. This will chill it quickly and let you see how thick it is. Keep testing it until the jam is thick enough, but don't cook it longer than about 30-35 minutes. If it's not thick enough for your liking, next time add an extra apple. Don’t worry, the jam will still be great.

6. Once the jam has thickened, get your clean jars set up. You can re-use the glass jars, but you should get new lids and rings each time. If you have a canning funnel, it makes your life a lot easier for filling jars.

7. Fill each jar to about 1/2 inch from the top, leaving a little breathing room. Screw on the lid, but not too tight.

8. Turn the jars over at once so they stand upside down on their lids and let them cool to room temperature. This should seal the lids. If the lids are sealed, the top will be indented. You can store the jam in a cool dark place for up to a year. If not, store in the refrigerator and use within about 1 month.

Teaching kids to eat and drink healthfully requires much more than admonitions. After carting away the vending machines and abolishing the Big Gulps, we can't leave the kids empty-handed. Rachelle Boucher from Generation Chefs is working hard to fill the void. From the popular Pizza Smack-Downs at COPIA to her weekly cooking classes (free to high school students) in the beautifully outfitted kitchen at the Marin Youth Center (MYC a.k.a. "Mike") she's bringing fresh, whole, homemade food generously flavored with reaffirming messages and lots of common sense to a wide and diverse group of kids.


A visit to one of her cooking classes reveals her consummate skill in converting teens to the cause of healthy eating. Endowed with humor, warmth, and endless energy, she's a master of choreographing 25 wary bundles of apathy and hormones into productive teams of excited, skilled, fruit-and vegetable-loving cooks.

Rachelle hefts up 20 pounds of refined sugar so the kids can see how much the average American teenager consumes every six weeks.

Her class this past week highlighted our favorite fruit of the season--strawberries--along with one very shiny, red bike blender. The lesson for the day involved putting down sugary drinks and sipping fruit smoothies instead. In addition to fresh strawberries, melons, and bananas, the teen chefs could choose from a colorful array of juices, frozen fruit, yogurts, and natural flavorings. Most importantly, they learned that not a single grain of added sugar was needed to create a delicious drink.

A rainbow of sweet goodness just before the pedal action.

Mike Graham-Squire from the Youth Leadership Institute joined the class to show the teens how to select ingredients, calculate food costs, determine servings sizes and overall yield, and--most importantly of all--operate the bike blender. As representatives of schools and local community organizations, the kids were also learning how smoothies can be a healthful, interactive, and effective fundraising tool at large events.

From the Country of Marin's Nutrition Wellness Program, nutritionist Ellen Szakal taught the class how to read product labels to determine the number of teaspoons of sugar in each serving. A chart listing their favorite snacks and a hands--on exercise counting out a disconcertingly large pile of sugar cubes helped them understand just how much unnecessary sugar they were consuming each day.

It's a skill adults could use, too.

Calculating How Much Sugar Is In A Container
Looking at the Nutrition Facts label on the side of the package, find the number of grams of sugar. Then divide that number by 4. For example, ingesting 65 grams of sugar in a 20-ounce drink bottle (considered 1 serving) means swallowing 17 individual teaspoons of sugar.

So much youthful energy, it takes extra hands to hold the jar still.

Berkeley-based Juice Peddler sells kits for retrofitting bikes to become human-powered blenders. From the first-generation's endearingly clunky tricycle platform and antique hand-drill to the fifth-generation's sleek, high-density polyethylene design, the company has been at the forefront of DIY bike blender technology.

The kids took turns pedaling their fruit concoctions and proudly shared tastes of their icy treats with other teams. Lined up for judging, the smoothies created a rainbow of delicious fun: Monkey Melons, Fruit-A-Palooza, Pink Panther, Go Mango, Fruit-A-Licious, and Pink-A-Licous Strawberry.

I'm glad I didn't have to judge, as it would have been a tough call to pick just one winner.

Sammy and Brittney confer on the formulation of their team's smoothie.

Pinkalicious Strawberry Smoothie
The members of Team Pinkalicious decided to celebrate the happy coincidence of their clothing colors with an appropriately hued smoothie.

Serves: 6

Ingredients
10 ounces strawberries, hulled
1 banana, chopped
1 cup frozen berry medley
1/2 cup yogurt
1/4 cup orange mango juice concentrate

Preparation
1. Place all ingredients in the jar of a blender.
2. Blend until completely mixed.
3. Serve immediately.

Minted Strawberry Agua Fresca
Another excellent recipe from Generation Chefs that highlights the current season's bumper crop.

Serves: 6

Ingredients
2 cups ice cubes
3 cups strawberries, hulled
2 small mint leaves, optional
1 1/2 cups cold water
1 1/2 tablespoons fresh lime or lemon juice
3 tablespoons sugar, or to taste
6 whole strawberries, split 3/4 up from the point, for garnish
6 mint sprigs, for garnish

Preparation
1. Place all ingredients in a blender in the order listed.
2. Blend until completely mixed. Taste and adjust for sweetness or tartness as desired.
3. Pour into chilled glasses, garnish with mint sprigs, and slide a berry onto the rim of each glass.

If you love produce as much as I do you know that living in the East Bay is better than living in San Francisco. I realize I could start a riot here, but I've lived in 3 out of four directions of the peninsula, in various neighborhoods and cities, and no matter where I was, no matter if I was in possession of a drivers license or not, I made it to Berkeley Bowl and Monterey Market, and/ or the Berkeley Farmers' Markets, because there was more to see, smell, taste, touch and procure in these markets.

And until I moved to North Berkeley myself, I was a tried and true Berkeley Bowl Trooper, from the old school-- back when it started in the old bowling alley. I still love to get there when I have my list in Excel spreadsheet form and the time is early enough before rush hour clogs the insane parking lot and creates lines worse than LA traffic.

But now I have been seduced by Monterey Market. I used to laugh at its size, comparable to Rainbow Grocery but tiny compared to Berkeley Bowl. But then. But then I found its buried treasure. One day two summers ago I stopped by for a few things and bought an entire flat of the best boysenberries I have ever seen, smelled or tasted! I went home and ate about four baskets, made pie with a few more and froze the rest. Returning just a day or two later I found that I had bought something which would not be back again until the following year... Sad...but also something to look forward to.

You can go to the same place day after day, year after year, and find everything ok, get what you need for the price you like and shrug shoulders at the prospect of change.

Until. Until one day you pick the best looking toad you can find for toad soup and when you get through checkout you realize your bag is exploding with a Prince and your car has been moved closer to the horizon, where a pretty sunset awaits you.

A few days ago is a perfect example. I needed some citrus and butter and cranberries. I like to stock up on cranberries before they disappear so I can whip up a batch of my favorite walnut-cranberry-orange bread, which I love to toast and smother with butter. (It really can be whipped up-- it's a one bowl and wooden spoon recipe!)

I'm in love with citrus and I always look at what's going on. Scratch and sniff is the best way to learn about new citrus. Both blossom and skin will tell you what unique flavor and perfume are awaiting you. While scanning high bins of yellow and green and orange globes my eyes did a double-take on a gnarly looking fruit.

YUZU! Fresh, California grown Yuzu were staring at me. Like a collector at a yard sale discovering a priceless chair, I monitored my breathing and tried not to look around frantically. I bit my tongue when I wanted to jump up and down and yell, "Hey?! Do you see what I see?! Look! It's fresh Yuzu, here, in Berkeley, California, yours for the having!! Can you believe such a thing? It's so wonderful!!!!!"

But instead I kept walking and went back nonchalantly, looking puzzled on the outside and then hunkered in and bought at least 5 pounds.

Yuzu is a fruit I only saw one of once, while living in Napa. A famous chef I knew had smuggled one in from a recent trip to Japan. Like Bergamot, it's an ugly mottled fruit, but it's exquisite perfume and flavor lives in every molecule of its being.

Monterey Market is a cold market, mostly outside and seemingly unkempt. But it's a facade, truly, because you never know what you will find there. Bill Fujimoto buys small and large shipments directly from farmers single and corporate. The back room, unseen by the average consumer, is a carefully organized chaos of fruit and vegetable back-stock/ cases, available to restaurants, chefs and caterers who want to buy direct and avoid (or amend as the case may be) produce companies or farmers' markets.

And if I haven't sold you yet, I beg of you to rent or buy Eat At Bill's, a lovingly made documentary about Monterey Market and its beloved workers. Watch it just to see the massive pumpkins, which get brought in on elephant transport trucks and the joy so many people share about cherry season, and one particular cherry in particular.

When we talk about shopping and eating local we often overlook our markets with rooftops. But Monterey Market, Berkeley Bowl, The Food Mill, Rainbow Grocery, Bi Rite market, Farmer Joe's and so many more in the Bay Area are all about shopping locally. These businesses are still independent, many of them family and/or co-operatively owned. If you can't get to the farmers' market, find your CSA box lacking this week or next month, or just want to see that there are a dozen kinds of sweet potatoes, countless citrus varietals, far out and funky shaped mushrooms, head over to a new market for countless fruit and veggie adventures. They await you in one corner of the bay or the other...

Sometimes, the best of intentions go awry. Fortunately, there's always frozen puff pastry.

Emergency desserts during the summer are easy -- who needs to gild perfect berries? -- but as autumn settles in, it's more of a challenge to impress VIP guests, say, eight culinary experts called for a special meeting. And you're supposed to make dessert. No pressure.

When your beautiful pears are still hard and you don't have a single hour more to ripen them in that handy paper bag, it's time for poaching.

Make a simple syrup by mixing together in a saucepan 1 part water, 1 part sugar, ribbons of lemon peel, and a few knobs of ginger. Crush the ginger to relieve stress and release flavor.

Peel your pears and cut them in half. Use a small spoon or melon baller to scoop out the core, and then plop the fruit into the poaching liquid.

Bring to a simmer over medium-high, and then lower the heat to maintain a gentle simmer. Press a round of parchment up against the pears to keep them moist all around and to help cook them evenly. (Remember this tip for matzo balls and red-cooked pork, too.) Make the round just a tad bit smaller than the diameter of the pan, and cut a venting hole at the center. If you don't have parchment paper, use a smaller pot lid or a flat saucer to keep the pears immersed, but be careful not to press dents into the softening fruit.

They're ready when the tip of a paring knife cuts easily to the center, 20 minutes for some pears, 40 for others.

For tiny tartlets that will be served on a buffet, cut the pears in quarters and then slice thinly. If you're making one big tart for friends or family, just make parallel slices almost to the stem ends and then fan open each pear half.

Make a frangipane filling by throwing a cup of blanched or slivered almonds into your food processor. (If you don't have a food processor, buy almond meal from the nut vendors at the farmers market or visit the baking aisle at your local Trader Joe's.) Follow with a couple of eggs, 3/4 stick of soft butter (though I've been known to use the cold, hard stuff) and 1/4 to 1/2 cup sugar. Flavor with a pinch of salt and a good dash of vanilla. Buzz until a smooth, thick but spreadable mixture forms. Set this aside.

Now for the crust...

Dufour is my favorite, but Trader Joe's also sells a good all-butter puff pastry that's worth keeping in your freezer.

Thaw the pastry as directed on the package label. Most call for a few hours in the refrigerator, followed by a few minutes at room temperature. You'll need to work quickly to prevent the butter layers from melting into each other, so gather all your cutters, pans, fillings and glazes before you take the pastry out of the refrigerator.

Make an egg wash by mixing together 1 egg and 1 tablespoon water just until foam begins to form.

For small tartlets, you'll need to roll the pastry pretty thin, say 1/8 inch. If you're making one large tart, you can stop at 1/4 inch, but don't leave it too thick, or your layers will rise so high they'll deform and spill your filling. Those who were good at Tetris should be able to squeeze 18 to 24 tartlets, each 1-1/2 inch across, out of one sheet of puff pastry.

Be sure to use a sharp knife or pastry round to cut cleanly through the dough. Pressing the rim of a glass or a dull, plastic cutter into your pastry will simply seal together all those lovely layers. Use a small amount of flour as need to prevent sticking, but don't overdo it. Fastidious bakers will keep a soft brush handy to flick away excess flour.

Cut twice as many rounds as you'll need. Switch to a smaller cutter to punch out the centers of half of the rounds to form rings. Brush the bases lightly but evenly with egg wash, then press the ring onto each large round to make a lip for the filling.

If you don't have pastry rounds, cut small squares with a sharp knife, then cut thin strips to press around the edges. Square tarts are easy, yet look très elegant.

Prick the bottom crust once or twice with a fork.

If you have time, freeze the crusts for 15 to 30 minutes before baking. Preheat the oven to 425 F (or whatever the package says) and bake the crusts for 10 to 15 minutes, depending on their size. Remove them when they are puffed but do not let them take on color. Reduce the oven to 375 F.

Spread a thin layer of the nut filling into the center of the crusts. Top with the sliced fruit. I like to arrange the fruit with a bit of height for some drama on the buffet.

Bake the tartlet's again for about 20 minutes, or until the filling is golden brown.

For a more casual affair, one big tart is fine. It'll need to be baked for a longer amount of time, say 30 to 40 minutes, but it's a lot less fuss upfront.

Let the tarts cool on a rack for maximum crispness. For this batch of tartlets, I reduced the poaching liquid to a thick syrup, and then brushed the pear slices with it for a nice, finishing sheen. You can melt a clear, pale jelly such as apple or white wine-thyme. Or you can just use honey.

The tarts can be frozen at several points: after rolling and cutting, after the first baking and before filling, or after baking completely. Like with roasting chickens, it doesn't that much more time to make two rather than one, so go ahead and make extra. Frozen tartlets take only 15 minutes at 275 F to warm up.

Extra poached pears make an excellent topping for pancakes, waffles or French toast. Slice and rewarm in butter and brown sugar.

Finally, just as doughnut holes are among my favorite treats, the centers of the tartlet rounds end up becoming even more fun to eat then the tarts themselves. Brush with egg wash, sprinkle with fleur de sel and cumin seeds, bake for 10 minutes, and enjoy while still warm with a slice of cheese, a glass of wine and a huge sigh of relief.