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 Lunar New Year, or Tet as my peeps call it, brings with it many favorite dishes. Fatty pork and sugar dominate the holiday table, harking back to a time when ingredients fat and sweet were much more difficult to obtain, precious to use, and delightfully rare to enjoy.

While I can now buy a 10-pound bag of sugar and an equal amount of meat for less money than a couple of movie tickets, the most traditional new year's dishes are still special for one resource that does remain valuable: time.

Soi Nuoc is one of those meditative, celebratory foods for me. It means, literally, Sticky Rice in Water. Unlike the Chinese, the Vietnamese can be rather literal and unromantic when naming their food. No matter. Who needs fancy language when you have in your hands a beautiful bowl with pale, round balls of chewiness floating in spicy-sweet ginger syrup? Inside hides a spoonful of rich filling: black sesame seeds or red bean paste or golden mung beans bound with lard. (These days, butter or oil makes a fine substitute for those of us watching our pork intake.)

Each perfect dumpling evokes purity and completeness. It celebrates the return of the festive, fertile full moon. It embodies the richness and sweetness of life. The sweet rice dumpling even inspire poets, such as the famed Ho Xuan Huong, an 18th-century Vietnamese woman famous for her intimate, elegant verses:

My body is white and my destiny round,
I float and sink, water and mountain.
Hard or soft, I depend on the skills of
the person who kneads me.
Despite everything, I always keep
a consistent heart.

In China, where they're known as yuan xiao or tang yuan, the dumplings are traditionally served during the Lantern Festival, which falls on the 15th day of the 1st lunar month. During an especially important season, the festival comes on the first full moon of the new year and marks the end of the new year festivities. Here in San Francisco, this is typically the time when the Chinese New Year parade winds its way up the streets of Chinatown. The dumplings are also enjoyed throughout the year at many dessert houses throughout the Bay Area. Look for them on menus at your favorite Chinese restaurant or boba tea house.

The recipe for soi nuoc is very simple. You can buy finely ground glutinous rice at nearly all Asian markets (look for California's own Blue Star Mochiko, produced by the Koda family in the San Joaquin Valley since the late 1940s). You'll need just a handful of other basic ingredients, a friend or two to help roll, several more to eat, and -- most importantly -- a break in your routine to enjoy the simple, sweet things in life.

GINGER SYRUP

1 1/2 cups sugar
2 cups boiling water
3 inches ginger root, peeled and crushed

In a small, heavy pot, melt the sugar over medium-high heat. Swirl for even melting, but do not stir to avoid crystallization. When the sugar is a dark amber, remove from heat and pour in the water -- take care, as it may splatter. Stir to melt the sugar completely. Add the ginger, return to low heat, and simmer for 10 minutes.

Alternatively, dissolve dark brown sugar in water and simmer with the ginger for 10 minutes. Don't tell your mom.

Remove the chunks of ginger and set the sauce aside.

SESAME FILLINGS

1/2 cup white sesame seeds
1/2 cup black sesame seeds
6 tablespoons lard or melted butter, divided
4 tablespoons sugar, divided
Salt

Toast the sesame seeds separately, taking care not to scorch them. In a mortar or pestle, blender or mini food processor, combine the white sesame seeds with 3 tablespoons butter, 2 tablespoons sugar and a pinch of salt. Puree to a thick, coarse paste. Transfer to a small bowl. Repeat with the black sesame seeds. Set both aside.

SWEET RICE DUMPLINGS

2 1/4 cups glutinous rice, plus more for kneading
1 cup very hot water

To make the dough: Place the rice in a large bowl and make dimples all over the surface with your fingers to encourage faster incorporation of the water. Pour the water evenly over the surface of the rice in a spiral, then immediately stir with a wooden spoon to mix into a shaggy dough. Transfer to a clean surface and knead for about 5 minutes to obtain a smooth, soft dough. Sprinkle lightly with additional rice flour, if needed, to prevent sticking to your hands or to the work surface. Roll the dough into a long log, cut into 24 pieces, and set aside, covered with a moist cloth.

To form the dumplings: Roll each piece of dough into a ball, flatten slightly, and then pinch up the outer edge to create a small bowl. Place about 1/2 teaspoon of sesame filling into the center, then gather up the side and pinch together to seal tightly. Roll again between your palms, pressing gently, to create a smooth ball. Continue with 18 of the pieces. Cut the remaining 6 pieces of dough into 4 smaller pieces, then roll each of those into a compact ball with no filling.

To cook the dumplings: Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the large, filled dumplings and boil for about 5 minutes. Add the small, unfilled dumplings and continue boiling for another 2 to 3 minutes. The dumplings will float to the surface of the water as they cook. Turn occasionally to keep them moist and evenly cooked.

Remove them from the water with a slotted spoon, place in a bowl of cold water to rinse away excess starch, and then transfer to the ginger syrup. Serve in individual bowls, mixing large dumplings with small ones and drizzling generously with the syrup.

Watch This Week in Northern California tonight, Friday February 26 at 8pm to see Leslie Sbrocco, host of Check, Please! Bay Area in a new segment on local food and wine trends. This week, a conversation about celebrating the food and traditions of the Chinese New Year with Bay Area Bites bloggers, Thy Tran and Stephanie Im.

I really only have one requirement for ginger beer. I have to feel it.

To wit: "...the ginger beer has to sting, burn, and fire up the back of your throat. You have to feel it in your nose and down your gullet."

I found such a ginger beer in Boston -- made by Goya -- and we used it in all our Black Gosling Dark and Stormys. It was spicy, opaque perfection. Once we moved out here and couldn't find hide nor hair of Goya, I quested for the perfect ginger beer. Nothing served. Not Bundaberg, not Blenheim, not anything you can possibly name. Believe me. I've tried them. ALL of them.

In Andronico's British food section, I finally found a ginger beer made by Belvoir, and it was good. It burned my nose and tingled my throat, and I was so happy with that sought-after sensation that I ignored the slight tinge of chlorine in the taste that became decidedly pronounced the more I drank.

When I met Tim Warilow of Fever-Tree to sample his newest flavors, I pestered him about ginger beer. Fever-Tree, I argued, was the ideal company to make my favorite type of ginger beer. (Because it's all about me, right?) Tim just smiled and talked up the merits of their ginger ale. (And, as I've noted before, he ain't just whistling dixie on that one. Fever-Tree makes a killer ginger ale.)

However, a year later, Fever-Tree is now making ginger beer. I got two precious sample bottles in the mail and chilled them both immediately. One I drank as soon as it was cold, but the other is in safekeeping for another month.

In order to best appreciate it, I sipped it neat and not as a mixer. I've come to realize that the best mixers are the ones that can be fully enjoyed without alcohol or other things tarting it up. Fever-Tree's ginger beer is perfection. With each luscious swallow, I feel it trace a satisfyingly fiery path up my nose and down my throat.

And the flavor? Well, it was just ginger. I'm not denigrating the flavor with my "just," there, I'm elevating it. That's the flavor, "just ginger," which is as it should be. There was no chlorine aftertaste, no overt sweetness detracting from what ended up being pure ginger in liquid form.

Fever-Tree's ginger beer mixes two kinds of ginger: hot Nigerian ginger and fresh green Ecuadorian ginger. Just like all their other products, Fever-Tree's ginger beer is all natural, which explains the slightly cloudy appearance. For me, that cloudy, opaque look is key when layering up that most perfect of New England summer sips, the Dark and Stormy.

Oh, right -- guess what that reserved sample bottle is for? That's right. As soon as I'm allowed, post-delivery, that cold little bottle is going onto my deck and into my first decent Dark and Stormy in years.

I am an absolute freak for ginger. Anytime you see me, I will have one or two different ginger candies on hand and love trying out new types of candies. I personally love the taste, and find that it helps if I am feeling motion sickness on public transportation or in a car. Ginger is used in Chinese medicine and is recognized for multiple health benefits including increased circulation and help with digestive problems.

But even if ginger didn't make me feel better, I just like the taste and flavor.

There are a lot of types of ginger candies available in Bay Area stores, and I have tried quite a few of them. Below are some of the most popular types, but I would love to hear if there are any that you like which I have missed -- leave your notes in the comments. As you'll see, I don't love them all. To me, a great ginger candy has a very strong ginger flavor and little else. Texture is important, and I eschew candies that are too soft or don't last very long.

MY FAVORITES

Chimes Ginger Chews
Where to find: Cost Plus World Market

I first tried Chimes Ginger Chews from Powell's Sweet Shoppe. They come individually wrapped in a lovely little tin that is perfect for carrying in a purse. The chews are on the hard side in texture -- kind of like a taffy. The flavor is strong and pure. My suggestion is to find the tin if you can, and then purchase the more affordable bags of chews from Cost Plus to refill it. The chews come in plain flavor, peanut butter flavor, and peppermint flavor. I am addicted to the plain, but let me know if you've tried any of the others.

Plain Crystallized Ginger
Where to find: Ginger People, Reed's, Rainbow Grocery, various bulk sections

Plain crystallized ginger is easy to find, and satisfying in flavor. It's a solid piece of ginger that usually has a sugar coating. I look for the ginger that is as hard as possible, as I like to chew on it. I have tried packaged crystallized ginger in the past (from Reed's and Ginger People) and have found it to be too soft. I now purchase organic crystallized ginger from Rainbow Grocery's bulk section (in the back refrigerated bulk area) because it's fresh, strong, and hard in texture.

OTHER CANDIES I'VE TRIED

GoNaturally Ginger Organic Hard Candy
Where to find: Sweet Dish on Chestnut Street, San Francisco

I appreciate that these are hard candies, but the ginger flavor is not strong enough, and there is an off flavor that I can't identify. If I didn't read the package saying that the flavor is ginger, I wouldn't have known from the taste.

Ginger People Ginger Chews
Where to find: Trader Joe's

These are probably the most popular type of ginger candy. They're widely available at Trader Joe's and many people I know eat them. I find them to be too chewy and sticky in texture, but the flavor is nice.

Ginger People Gin Gins Boost
Where to find: Sweet Dish on Chestnut Street, San Francisco

Another candy from Ginger People, this is a small, lozenge-like candy that has a milky look to it. The ginger flavor was there, but not as strong as what I find in my favorites. I might buy them again if in a pinch, but they didn't leave much of an impression on me.

What have I missed? Are there any great ginger candies that I must try?