(photo by Kevin Rosseel)

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

Why is Chinese food so bad in the US?

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

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

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

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

Visit the SFPFS website for details and registration.

This Thursday, InsideStoryTime will kick off its 2008 series of literary readings with a food-themed evening. Yours truly will join four other local writers: Julia Flynn Siler, Ron Saxen, Cameron Heffernan and my ramen king friend, Andy Raskin.

Stop by Delirium and make your way to the back room to listen to our stories about the weird, beautiful ways food flavors our lives.

Until then, here's a taste of what I'll be sharing:

Egg

You will hear a chick’s first cries long before you see it. Exactly 21 days after being laid, while still tightly curled within its shell, the chick begins to voice its unhappiness. Its last reserves of food have been absorbed; its protective shell is now cramped and dry. The first peeps rise from the egg weakly, intermittently, then through the day they grow more frequent and insistent. The egg flicks ever so slightly from side to side as the bird within struggles to stretch its wings. Hours later, a crack appears, the first sign of external pipping. Then the crack becomes a breathing hole, the breathing hole becomes a window, and the window opens wide enough for a head to push through. Finally, the shell cracks in half.

If all goes well -- if the temperature never varies from 100 degrees, if the humidity is not less than 65 percent, if the egg is not touched or moved, if the chick’s head is positioned correctly at the large end and not at the small, if it has enough energy, and if other chicks nearby cry out enough reassurance and motivation -- a wet, limp creature falls out. The entire process requires twenty-four hours, though the progress appears in idiosyncratic spurts. Each chick decides for itself if it wants to wait quietly before bursting forth in a few spectacular minutes. Or if it prefers a steady, plodding pace of birth.

Some chicks, of course, do not survive the stress of emerging from their shell. It’s hard work, and no one else can help. Its mother can only sit quietly above, keeping it warm. Humans must resist the urge to peel back a tip of shell or to turn the egg, with the best of intentions, so the poor chick can see the world upright. One must not assist except in the most dire circumstances, difficult to judge when wetness and blood and destruction are natural elements of the hatching. Some hatchers are able to look away as the chick dies, insisting that if it can’t fight its way out of its own shell, it won’t be strong enough for the rigors of life ahead....

(Photo by Mark Miller)

Frog Hunting

Once the summer sun has set, my mother can begin catching frogs. Standing next to her kitchen door, she pulls on thick socks and heavy-soled clogs. In one hand she grasps a flashlight, and with the other, she pulls a long, narrow, transparently blue plastic bag saved from the morning’s delivery of the Kansas City Star. Outside her home, a few hundred paces to the south, she arrives at her pond. Stepping softly along its muddy banks, she listens for the deep, throaty calls of the bullfrogs. Jug-o-rum, jug-o-rum, jug-o-rum. They will continue their chorus throughout the night, filling the humid air with their reassuring vibrations and the occasional, watery plop! of surprise.

To kill a frog, like the killing of any animal, is routine for those who live next to their food, though perhaps unimaginable for those who call their meat by another name. One fearless swipe of the cleaver will sever head immediately from body. Two quick nicks trim the fingers and toes down past their webbing, and a final slash along the backbone readies the skin for removal. Here, a cloth or a pair of pliers is useful: catch a firm grip on the edge of the skin and pull back toward the legs in one firm, smooth rip. Like a diver from a scuba suit, the frog’s lean, muscular body emerges pale and shimmering....

InsideStoryTime
Thursday, January 17, 2008
7 - 9 pm
Delirium
3139 16th Street (btwn Valencia & Guerrero)
San Francisco, CA 94103
(415) 552-5525
view map

What do you do when the rain won't relent, when those gorgeous bay windows welcome in the wind, and when staying home in your pajamas is not only comfortable but life-saving?

Why, make soup, of course!

Soup of the Day

Yesterday's soup highlighted a lucky pantry find -- a forgotten can of Italian white beans. First into the pot went a lonely though generously proportioned carrot, two stalks of celery, a tight-skinned onion, and the final sprigs of holiday herbs: oregano, thyme, rosemary, and parsley. After these were sauteed to fragrant softness, in followed chicken stock, hand-torn plum tomatoes plus their juices, and those toothsome white beans.

I let the pot simmer for as long as it took to read a few chapters from The Ladies No. 1 Detective Agency. For an extra chapter, I tossed in some leftover roasted potatoes, the last of the red wine jus from the New Year's rib roast, then any and all dark greens hiding out in the fridge. That meant, for this pot, some slightly wilted mustard and a wedge of ever hardy cabbage.

Sense a theme here? A simmering soup pot is the best way to clean out your kitchen while steaming up your windows. Slice some bread, pull out the biggest mugs you have, and -- voila! -- the best food ever for curling up on the couch.

Mandu Soup

Around now, the first of the year, is also the time to enjoy ddeok mandu guk, Korean dumplings served in a simple broth. My friend Jineui invited me over to her brand-spanking-new kitchen in Sacramento to celebrate the start of a delicious 2008. Her promise to make mandu was all I needed to hop in the car.

Some dedicated cooks still make their mandu dough by hand, but many just buy thick, round prepared potsticker wrappers. (Be sure to look for “potsticker” on the label; “gyoza” or “wonton” wrappers are too thin for the distinctively chewy mandu texture.)

Jineui’s filling starts with ground beef and tofu that's been crushed finely between her fingers. She blanches bean sprouts then chops them. She adds minced cabbage, salt, pepper, and not much else. No sesame oil for her (“makes them taste funny”), but she does take time to squeeze moisture out of the vegetables. An egg wash helps seal the half-moons, and then the dumplings go into bamboo steamers lined with cabbage leaves.

(Photo by Jasmine Lee)

Serve the first batch of mandu straight from the steamer with dipping sauce. Serve the next few batches in bowls of clear stock with a light sprinkling of green onions and maybe some nori or egg strips if you're wanting to be fancy. Freeze the other few hundred or so mandu to eat through the rest of the winter. (I have one friend blessed with a mother who visits once a year and leaves about 2,000 or so homemade dumplings in their garage freezer before heading back across the Pacific.)

You can read how different families ring in the new year with mandu at the Kimchi Mamas. The Asia Society posted a simple recipe from the Korean National Tourism Organization, about as official as it gets for a humble dumpling, but a much more detailed recipe with helpful technique shots and lessons learned from past mistakes appears at My Korean Kitchen.

Oxtail Soup

Another Korean treat, ox-tail soup, is as easy as they come: Dump a few pounds of bones in a pot, add water plus a healthy pinch of salt, and then simmer for six hours, three if you're in a hurry. Jineui, always going the extra mile, likes to blanche her bones first for a clearer stock. During their long simmering, the bones give off their milky white goodness into a supremely flavorful broth. Serve with a spicy sesame seed dipping sauce. For those of us who live on the edge (fault lines and BSE be damned!) a bowl of liquified marrow manages to be both comforting and decadent at the same time.

What happens if you leave the pot over the wok burner instead of the special, low-flamed simmer burner? Umm...add more water and know that a few crispy brown bits floating around just means more flavor.

Vietnamese Crab Soup

On the more labor intensive side of soups comes one of my favorite Vietnamese dishes. Few restaurants even attempt to offer bun rieu, and a mere handful get it close to right. After feasting on Dungeness, I make broth with crab shells, shrimp shells and pork bones. Tomatoes add brightness, fried tofu offers some chewiness and, for old-school folks like me, cubes of freshly coagulated blood punctuate with silky richness. There's a raft of crab and shrimp bound with egg that hovers over rice noodles. And, finally, there are platters at the table piled high with sprigs of fresh mint and rau ram, chiffonade of cabbage and banana blossom, wedges of lime, tiny but fearless bird eye's chiles, and a dollop or two of shrimp paste to provide those layers of flavor that make Vietnamese food so distinctly fresh and complex.

So...what if you don't want to spend a day at the stove? Then head over to Pho King in East Oakland for a proper bowl. Di Da, one of my favorite Vietnamese restaurants in San Jose, an excellent establishment that happens to be vegetarian, also offers a wonderful, satisfying interpretation of bun rieu.

Pho King
638 International Boulevard, Oakland
(510) 444-0448

Di Da
2597 Senter Road, San Jose
(408) 998-8826

Soupsong

In my last love note to soups, I'm pointing you to the best resource ever for recipes celebratory and everyday, favorite and obscure. I fell hard for Pat Solley the "Soup Lady" a decade ago, while we were trapped in a car among the hills of West Virginia. Her job at the J. Edgar Hoover Building kinda, sorta freaked me out, but her dedication to all things brothy tugged at my heart. Of course, my stomach was never in doubt -- Pat knows more about soup history, traditions, tales, jokes and, of course, recipes from around the world than anyone else I've met. It's rare to find someone who can quote Herodotus and Bob Dylan in the same breath while cooking with all four burners going at once. She's now ensconced far away in Paris, but fortunately I keep warm with her Soupsong website and her excellent book An Exaltation of Soups.

(Illustration by D.C. Bloom)

Chef Sanjay Thumma is my current favorite time suck.

It's refreshing to watch someone demonstrate mouth-watering dishes with uninhibited joy, a matter-of-fact globalism and minimal make-up. It helps that I love so many cuisines in India, but what immediately appealed to me is his stance as a teacher. It's a very different experience to learn about traditional foods from someone who assumes, from the beginning, that his audience is not comprised of outsiders. Like a student whose teacher sets high expectations, viewers and home cooks rise to the challenge.

His balance of expert advice with friendly reassurance is neither oversimplified nor condescending. He's a professional who knows his stuff, yet he doesn't gleam with that over-polished, over-packaged look of television. Each video, from 2 to 10 minutes, covers one specific dish -- just enough for a mouth-watering work break if not dinner inspiration.

Don't expect super-high production value. Two still cameras and a complete lack of location shots does not a sexy food show make. But what Thumma's demos lack in glamour, he more than makes up with passionate enthusiasm (a taste of Hydrabadi mutton biryani literally brings him to tears), humor and generosity. Both veg and non-veg recipes appear in his demos, and he discusses the food of diverse communities across India.

Thumma seamlessly blends traditional techniques and modern adaptations. His simple yet brilliant two-step rice cooking for biryani ensures perfectly cooked basmati throughout the pot. His secret ingredient for butter chicken reveals the wonderful ways that food crisscrosses the oceans. Mentioning Indian restaurant cooks in the U.S. and England, Thumma holds up a bottle of "tomato ketchup" and squirts some into his sauce to finish it with just the right texture and tangy flavor.

While cooks already familiar with basic Indian spices will have a headstart, the demonstrations are geared to beginners, whether you're mixing your first raita, simmering a batch of comforting chana masala, making your own herb-infused paneer or--for the ambitious--rolling and stretching roomali roti to serve with kebabs.

There are many, many cooks demonstrating recipes on YouTube. I'm looking forward to watching the better ones emerge as new stars of the wide, wild culinary world.

My friend Ed works crazy long hours making sure people are fed well. Fortunately, he also knows how to party. More to the point, he knows how to throw down one hell of a spread and mixes generous, powerful drinks.

Thus, I blame him for my momentary lapse of politics. It's been roughly a year since I gave up shrimp, confused and frustrated and devastated. Then, at a recent bash, Ed laid out platters piled high with buttery, herby, perfectly poached shrimp. My powers of resistance were strong for a good half hour, then slowly, steadily, the other guests' swoons of delight and the potency of sangria convinced me to try one...just one....

Two dozen plump prawns later, I remembered my boycott. I ate another dozen while contemplating their deadly deliciousness. I convinced at least two other guests to consider not eating shrimp while finishing my last plate. And when I got home, I emailed Ed for the recipe.

He obliged me with his secrets, which I offer now verbatim for anyone looking for easy holiday party food:

Ed's Party Shrimp

• I filled a stock pot with water and about enough salt for it to taste like the sea (about 1/2 to 3/4 cup).
• I added about 3 cups of dry vermouth. (It's what I had left over after a night of martinis).
• I then threw in one tin of the fish rub that I found in the spice rack at the grocery store. If you are morally opposed to using pre-packaged fish rub then I suppose you could substitute with about 1/2 cup of the following chopped/ground and combined: rosemary, thyme, sage, marjoram, parsley, onion, garlic, pepper, celery seed, oregano, basil (basically a mystery basket of cupboard spices)
• I quartered 2 lemons, squeezed the juice into the broth..and then threw in the rinds too.
• Here's the secret.....two sticks of butter (sshhh!). Just throw it in too.
• Bring to a boil...then simmer for 15 minutes.
• I used frozen shrimp. Cook the shrimp in the simmering liquid in small batches for about 3 minutes each.

Voila! Yummy...BUTTERY shrimp!

THE DARKER SIDE OF SHRIMP

As someone raised happily on my mother's spring rolls, black pepper shrimp, caramelized shrimp, shrimp dumpling soup, shrimp fried rice, and just plain ol' spicy stir-fried shrimp, giving them up has been one of the most difficult diet changes I've tried to make. They're so succulent and versatile and easy to cook. And they're everywhere -- which is, unfortunately part of the problem.

It was during one of my early trips back to Vietnam that I first realized the devastating effect on my homeland as rice farmers and fishermen moved to the lucrative, fast, easy promises of shrimp farming. I could hardly blame war-torn, embargo-crippled families for trying to make a living. Through the 90s, though, shrimp and prawns became a standard item on every restaurant menu, and as Southeast Asian food became popular, so did one of its staples. Jumbo shrimp became gourmet rather than simply an oxymoronic joke. They became affordable and, for the home cook, approachable.

However, that popularity came at a steep price. Nearly 40 percent of the world's mangroves, crucial to the health of the oceans, has been destroyed because of shrimp farming along coastal areas. In Thailand, it takes roughly three years for a shrimp farm to ruin the local ecosystem; many farms simply pick up operations and move further along the coast, hopscotching until there's no clean coast available.

Inland ponds require heavy use of chemicals to clean the water and kill the viral invasions endemic to intensive farming. The European Union bars all shrimp from China, where carcinogenic chemicals appears frequently in farmed shrimp; the U.S. still imports it.

Another heavy impact comes hidden in the shrimp's feed: while in the wild they scavenge, on farms they're fed fish much higher on the food chain.

THE SILVER LINING

Fortunately, there's a tiny tiny bit of light for shrimp lovers.

The strongest among us have already become vegetarians, but for others like me, with weaker wills tied more directly to emotional and sensual cravings, searching out good shrimp is possible.

The Monterey Bay Aquarium's Seafood Watch lists a few options for those who still crave a taste of shrimp now and then. Currently best on the list are wild-caught prawns and spot shrimp from British Columbia, and wild-caught ocean or cocktail shrimp from Oregon. Small, cold-water shrimp are the most sustainable. True, they're not as sexy as those big, lusty, warm-water prawns. However, anyone even remotely worried about the future of our planet should avoid these oversized, striped crustaceans.

Wild-caught is no guarantee, as by-catch is always a problem, but look for those from domestic companies. Small pink or white shrimp are generally -- very generally -- a safer bet for the conscientious eater than large, brown, imported shrimp.

Sustainable shrimp farming is still in its infancy. That said, Ecuador has surpassed other countries in developing organic, nonpolluting shrimp farms. EcoFish imports it under the name "Henry & Lisa's Natural Shrimp." Look for their bags of cooked or raw shrimp in the freezer section of naturally-minded, full-service markets.

I was dreading lunar new year without my family's recipe for spring rolls. The tofu version is fine the rest of the year, but it never inspires me to heights of celebration. So, I'm very glad to know that, come February, I'll be able to make my mom's cha gio.

MORE INFO

Some links for those interested in learning more:

• NASA's Earth Observatory shows before and after Landsat images of shrimp farming effects along the Pacific Coast of Honduras, one of the largest importers of the crustaceans to the U.S.

• The Environmental Justice Foundation created a short film about shrimp farming along the eastern coast of Brazil.

• Shrimp News International offers a detailed description of shrimp farming. Food wonks immune to industry spin might like scrolling down to see the charts and illustrations showing the life cycle of shrimp (missionary position!) or how El Nino affects the supply of larvae . Be forewarned: the text is a strong reminder that shrimp are, after all, just swimming insects.

• The Chefs Collaborative's communique with recommendations for sustainable shrimp was directed at restaurants, but the home cook can also use their excellent information.

• The White Boot Brigade, based in New Orleans, is a nonprofit dedicated to developing a sustainable shrimp industry in Louisiana. They work to educate businesses and consumers about the economic, environmental and social benefits of supporting small family fleets that harvest shrimp from the Gulf.

• And, finally, what's the difference between a shrimp and a prawn? In the U.S., nothing. Though there's sometimes a vague sense of "specialness" about prawns, the two words appear in menus and markets interchangeably. Australians, however, apparently make a point of remembering that prawns have evenly overlapping abdominal segments and that their females release eggs to currents rather than brooding them. For them, Americans are silly and confusing for calling shrimp prawns and vice versa.

The documentary film, Chez Schwartz, enjoyed a quiet if savory U.S. premier at the Berkeley Richmond Jewish Community Center earlier this week. It has yet to be picked up for wider distribution, but keep an eye out for it. Or, if you can't wait, order a DVD and see for yourself why this little "Charcuterie Hebraique" is the place to eat in Montréal.

Garry Beitel, a Montréal-based documentary filmmaker, recorded the day-to-day rhythms of Schwartz's Deli over the course of an entire year. He managed to whittle his footage down to a poetic study of its workers. As one season melts into another, Beitel teases out the stories of the diverse men — from the dishwasher in the back of the house to the waiters in the front, from the general manager down to the gentlemanly panhandlers. They each describe their unique role in the extended family anchored by this tiny, 75-year-old restaurant. Through their stories, we see how years slip into decades and how one long-lived business adapts to a changing world.

Unusual in a film about ethnic food, there's an "overcast" feel throughout the documentary. In the end we wonder what happens to individuals such as newly promoted Alex or sweet, ailing Ryan. (Anyone interested in degrees of separation and ground-breaking animation should watch this award-winning short about Ryan.) The power of Chez Schwartz lies in Beitel's understated directing, Marc Gadoury's intimate camera, André Boisvert's amazingly natural sound, Robert Marcel Lepage's music and — ultimately — the simple, direct oral history of the workers themselves.

At the head of the line, hungry pilgrims can catch glimpses of smoked meat, freshly sliced by hand and ready to go at the sandwich counter. Joao (Johnny) Gonçalves, meat cutter, prepares some without the usual bright yellow mustard.

I remember the first time I bit into smoked meat at Schwartz's. Everyone does. In the film, two women gasp in rapture while sharing their first sandwich right there at the counter, and another diner is struck speechless while remembering his own first taste as a teenager. It may seem strange, perhaps even laughable to the uninitiated. But like any religion, only the converted truly understand.

During my year of exile in Vermont, I drove across the border every month to eat in Montréal. While dinner restaurants varied — rilettes at l'Express with my own jar of cornichons or maybe noodles in Chinatown — I always started with an early lunch at Schwartz's.

The neighborhood surrounding the deli draws immigrants from around the world. Historically the heart of Montréal's Jewish community, the road on which the deli sits has also been the symbolic division between the city's east and west streets, its French and English languages.

After five years as the busboy, Alexandre "007" Lebel gets promoted to waiter. To help with the stress of a fast-paced deli, he composes poems on clean paper place mats during precious down time.

If you arrive at 3895 Boulevard St. Laurent anywhere near the middle of the day, you'll stand in line on the sidewalk with a couple of dozen other meat lovers, separated by mere glass from stacks and stacks of brisket still warm from the massive steamer. You'll be able to smell the smoky, salt-tinged meat and listen to the same order over and over again in two different languages: a "medium" with fries, cole slaw, fresh pickle and black cherry soda. Around 400 to 500 other diners a day will order a steak from Peter at the grill; it arrives accompanied by a slice of calf liver and two diminutive sausages. The grill is a relic of the past: open flame right in the dining room, arm's length from innocent diners.

Grill man Peter Christianis (left) has been searing steaks and calf livers at the same station for 40 years, while waiter Mike Nelli has been a member of the Chez Schwartz family going on 7 years now.

Upstairs in the marinating bins and inside the smoker in the back are where the magic happens. The very secret recipe results in über-meat that's juicy and tender, savory and smoky, fatty and flavorful. It's not quite pastrami (there's a dry rather than wet cure) and it's way beyond corned beef (behold that spice-flocked, smoke-lacquered exterior). So everyone just calls it for what it is: smoked meat.

Frank Silva, general manager, knows the business inside and out. He's hefted and sliced so many briskets during his twenty years at the deli that his arm is starting to give out.

Schwartz's sandwiches have no need to rise to Carnegie heights nor does the owner, Hy Diamond, feel pressure to expand the menu beyond one type of meat sandwich, a steak and a few sides. As Peter Levitt and Karen Adelman, co-owners of Saul's Deli in Berkeley know well, this is a rare and precious thing.

After the film's screening on Thursday night, the two moderated an enlightening discussion about the future of Jewish delicatessens in the U.S. How does a meat-centered restaurant survive in a health-conscious, politically aware, option-filled world? How does Saul's modest amount of Niman Ranch beef compete with super-stacked, industrially raised pastrami from tourist-driven, New York delis? And how does a younger generation begin transforming a cuisine frozen in time into a meaningful, relevant, profitable business?

It's not about the size: Saul's uses "clean meat" from Niman Ranch in its pastrami sandwiches.

Anyone who hangs around chefs knows that, generally, they survive on the razor's edge of profit margins and see the cloud behind every silver lining. Peter and Karen were refreshingly honest about the challenges of running the deli, from the need to cater to the economics of not smoking your own meat to the impossibility of guaranteeing a kosher establishment. (People want milk with their coffee, after all, and don't even think about getting rid of the Reuben!)

They named their own favorite delis: Langer's in LA, Katz's in NYC, and Manny's in Chicago all made the short list. Most intriguing, though, were hints of a possible "Jewish bistro" in their future. The two hope to reinterpret and reinvent the vernacular of Jewish food with dishes from around the world using local, seasonal, organic ingredients.

For the time being, I'll continue enjoying my favorites at Saul's. From personal experience, I can vouch for the chopped liver (on both rye and matzo with plenty of mustard), the chicken soup and the pastrami sandwich. I also enjoyed more than my fair share of half-sour pickles and, of course, a bottle of Cel-Ray to wash everything down.

SAUL'S RESTAURANT & DELICATESSEN
1475 Shattuck Ave
Berkeley, CA 94709
(510) 848-3354

When I was in college, in the dark days before email and Facebook, my roommates and I passed our time with more mundane matters. Like food. From Juli, I learned about Japanese-style curry. Rie taught me how to blanche green beans perfectly, while Ed opened my palate to an entire pantheon of slow-simmered soups. Pierrette's trick with tuna and egg salad--grating onion into the mayonnaise--still perks up my sandwiches.

From Maria, though, I learned the most important lessons: cooking with my senses.

While I watched, Maria made tortillas with handfuls of flour and finger-lengths of shortening. Growing up in Texas, she had to wake up early every morning to make the family's tortillas, forty on an average day and maybe a hundred or so for special Sundays. She grabbed an empty wine bottle whenever she needed to roll out dough, and from only two pans she made incredible feasts for our house. None of us would admit to being homesick, but listening to Maria talk about her food and then eating her meals made all of us feel like we actually belonged in that drafty, tumble-down, New England house.

I don't have any of her recipes, because she never wrote them down, but like stories and memories, I can recite them just as she did.

"In San Antonio, where my family lives, you can find bags of masa dough in the markets. My mother doesn't need to make her own anymore. We use Crisco now, but if you want, you can use lard or butter. Even oil. But I would never use oil. Why make tamales with oil? If you don't have chicken stock, some water from the tap is good. Just remember to add salt then."

"Be sure to open the middle of the husks when you soak them and put a plate on top, so they can get wet equally. Save the biggest ones for wrapping. The smaller ones, just tear like this into ribbons for tying."

"Mix together a six handfuls of masa, two handfuls of Crisco, the same amount of stock and some salt. Blend them together really well. We use a mixer at home. You can tell when you have the right combination when a little ball of the dough floats in water."

"You can fill them with anything really. We use pork that my mother cooks, but here at school I put all kinds of things in them. Today, I took some of the sweet potatoes from the cafeteria." [In the photo, you can see a dollop of chipotle sauce that I now like to add to my sweet potato tamales, plus a sprinkling of kosher salt. After sweet potatoes or yams are roasted whole, their peels slip right off; mash with a fork.]

"Spread a little bit of the dough on the corn leaf, enough to cover a third of it. When you put the filling on, be sure to leave a little of the dough peeking around the edges, so that it will close up well." [In this recent version, I topped the sweet potatoes with some grated pepper jack cheese tossed with sliced scallions.]

"Fold the leaf in thirds, like a letter, then bend up the end. Tie it, if you want. Or, if you are making a lot, you can just put them down close together and they will keep each other closed. You need to steam them for a long time, longer than you really want. Open one and try it to see if it's done. They like it if you put a towel over them while they steam. [Chinese bamboo or metal stackable steamers are perfect for steaming tamales in single layers. Small tamales require 40 minutes and larger ones up to 1 1/2 or 2 hours to cook through.]

As someone who keeps containers of bacon fat, duck fat, chicken fat, lard and butter along with rank-and-file bottles of olive oil, sesame oil, chile oil, grape seed oil and good ol' peanut oil always handy by her stove, I was delighted to learn a new term this week: FOG.

No, not the lovely mist that sweeps over our city from the sea.

Fats
Oils
Grease

Unfortunately, in addition to carrying flavor and adding texture, these staples of the kitchen can be as bad for our sewer system as our bodies. Multiply thousands of restaurants by dozens of gallons of FOG and very quickly, the mess builds up.

A program launched this past month by San Francisco's Public Utilities Commission, SFGreasecycle, will attempt to alleviate the headache of FOG disposal while linking to Gavin Newsom's mandate to use 20% biodiesel in all city vehicles by the end of the year. There are still a few weeks for us to reach our goal.

Around the world, the dumping of FOG into sewer systems has become a serious problem. New landfill regulations prohibiting the burying of liquid fats and municipal directives on hazardous waste, animal by-products and waste oils make FOG disposal increasingly complex and expensive for restaurants and catering companies (not to mention the much larger amounts from abattoirs and food processing plants). An entire industry has risen up to separate, collect, store, treat, transport, buy, sell and dispose of FOG. The next time you wonder how pet food gets its calories and flavors, well, just remember the deliciousness of french fries and potato chips.

SFGreasecycle hopes, through education and incentives (like free pick-up) to reduce the amount of FOG flowing into the city's pipes. Reusing it as fuel for its fleet of municipal vehicles is another excellent benefit. Will it cut down on emissions? Well...that depends....

Grease Goddesses' hatchback.

Bumper stickers aside, the heated debate about whether the use of biodiesel results in a positive impact or a negative one overall confuses most of us. There's an abundance of mind-numbing technical reports, polarized rhetoric and big-business greenwashing. Much of it comes down to what you measure and how. Another point of argument occurs between those who believe any minimization of petroleum helps slow our current self-destructive spiral and those who, reminding us that gas motors still equal emissions, believe bikes and solar panels are the better answer.

To help you sort out the issues and how they relate to your cooking and eating and driving pleasures, visit these websites:

• Learn more about the SFGreasecycle program, including a participating restaurant list, FOG facts, before and after photos of fat-clogged sewers, and lots of links to sites on climate change, biodiesel facts and supporting organizations. The sound effects of the homepage alone are worth a click. My favorite, though, is the FOG map, showing hotspots in San Francisco where food-service establishments caused the most "multiple grease blockages" over the last two years. (But please, enough with the un-readable, un-typeable web-o-matic compound names!)

• From the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality comes a useful list of ways to reduce FOG in your own home or apartment.

• Scott Gregory, who combines his work from atmospheric science and engineering, offers an admirable summary of diesel history, climate impact and one of the EPA's studies on biodiesel emissions. His website offers my two favorite sentences in all my reading on the issue: 1) Inventor Rudolf Diesel's warning, circa 1911, that "The use of vegetable oils for engine fuels may seem insignificant today. But such oils may become in course of time as important as petroleum and the coal tar products of the present time," and 2) Gregory's own pithy conclusion, "There are good reasons to use biodiesel, but emissions improvement is not the most compelling argument. I prefer the 'thumb your nose' at the oil industry argument."

• The environmental journalists at Seattle-based Grist gathered three experts to offer their views on the biodiesel controversy: Ana Unruh Cohen, director of environmental policy at the Center for American Progress; David Morris of the Institute for Local Reliance; and Number One Biodiesel Skeptic, David Pimentel, professor emeritus of entomology at Cornell University.

• Here's the recent story in SFGate describing the Public Utilities Commission's launch of the program. In addition to General Manager Susan Leal's colorful descriptions of the problem of fats in the sewer system ("It's sort of like a heart attack in our sewers," Leal said. "It's like a blocked artery.") there's blood-pressure-raising reading in the comments section that illustrates much of the confusion and polarization around biodiesel.

• The crew of the Unifried Bus have put together a friendly, informative website about how they outfitted their engines for oil. In addition to photos that clearly convey the "Julia Butterfly-Burning Man" aesthetic of their approach, there's a plain language comparison of Biodiesel Emissions compared to Other Fuels Fuel Types that takes into consideration the entire fuel cycle, or a "well-to-wheel" analysis. They also offer tips for other biodiesel drivers from their own experiences.

• For a view from the industry itself, here is an explanation from the official site of the National Biodiesel Board. Their membership includes state, national and international feedstock and feedstock processor organizations, biodiesel suppliers, fuel marketers and distributors, and technology providers.

• And, finally, for the hard-core, here is the 118-page Comprehensive Analysis of Biodiesel Impacts on Exhaust Emissions (Draft Technical Report) that was conducted at Harvard with Ford Motors as part of the EPA's Biodiesel Emissions Analysis Program.

And you thought your arteries were clogged.

The guests are gone, the dishes done, and there's yet another couple of days before Monday. I can't help staring out my window at all the lovely parking available in our quiet, turkey-sedated city, but I'm avoiding the shops for now. The weekend after Thanksgiving is one my favorite times to stay in my pajamas and catch up on my reading. Forget award-winning novels or the latest treatise about the end of the world, though. For now, it's all about fun and fantasy while browsing lifestyle porn rags like I.D. magazine, blogs like bLavish and the websites of local companies such as rose and radish.

For those of you still putting off your holiday shopping binge, here's a short list of gifts for the lucky foodie in your life...

Drinks in Hand

Designer Jean-Marie Massaud created this ingenious, portable bar for the leather company, Poltrona Frau. Modeled after a classic steam trunk, the portable mixing station stands only 46 inches high and has discrete wheels, saddle leather exterior (your choice of 90 colors), walnut-veneer folding shelves, and enough chrome and glass to make it glitter beneath the chandeliers. Call one of the showrooms in New York, Miami or Washington, D.C. to order. $10,400.

Global Service

Munich-based Nymphenburg commissioned English designer Barnaby Barford for limited-edition, signed tableware to add to their 2007 line-up. His Global Service collection consists of 14 porcelain plates, each showing a different section of the globe. Available in three soft hues: turquoise, green and beige. Dandelion on Potrero Avenue might be able to reserve a set of the dinner plates for you, though they probably won't arrive from Germany before the year's end. $10,350 for the complete set.

My Coffee Maker's Bigger Than Yours

From Dacor in South San Francisco, you can get your very own automatic coffee system to install in your kitchen wall. Once it's hooked up to your plumbing system and programmed to your hot beverage specifications, it'll grind, brew, steam, froth, and dispense upon command. It even makes tea and hot chocolate, but my favorite part is the integrated storage for keeping cups and saucers warm. Siemens also offers a built-in, fully programmable coffee system. Both companies request that you contact them for prices.

Grill Alert

Melding high-tech with the high life, Oregon Scientific came up with a gadget that geeky grill masters of the world can use with pride: a remote wireless temperature probe to signal meat doneness. It speaks in five languages, can sense up to 572 degrees F before passing out and can be programmed for all the basic animals: beef, lamb, veal, hamburger, pork, turkey, chicken and fish. As long as you don't wander more than 330 feet away from your grill, you'll be able to hear its verbal alerts of almost ready, ready or overcooked. Batteries not included. $60.

Braising with Bling

This premium quality, gem-studded pan from Fissler made an exclusive appearance last month at Harrod's in London. The handles weigh in at just under one pound of solid gold and the diamonds number over 200. Your limited-edition pan will come complete with a high-class box made of rootwood and a document certifying exclusive quality. Fissler has already sent an application to the Guinness World Records' office for the "most precious pot in the world." $203,000.

Sinking into Style

To help take the edge off kitchen chores, install one of these laser-cut drain covers in your sink. Brazilian-Isreali designer, Joana Meroz of Ornamented Life appropriates flowered lace patterns to help evoke love and romance while you scrape and rinse. While you're at it, get a nipple-shaped plug to cover your new, pretty drain. $86.

The Ultimate Dinner Cruise

There's a listing right now on Classic Yachts for the Sierra Rose, a 2005 Finney yacht on Lake Tahoe. Though it measures a modest 86 feet, the architects were able to fit in a helicopter landing pad and an on-deck hot tub. You'll be able to zip away from work and relax with comfort and ease. Of course, while you're at the lake, you won't need to sacrifice a good meal: "The Kitchen is a gourmet cook's dream with granite countertops, three ovens, 4-burner Viking range with griddle, four under counter SubZero refrigerator and freezer drawers, ice maker, and two under-counter dishwashers...Storage is provided throughout the kitchen with mahogany-stained, raised-panel cabinets. Entertainment continues at the Stern, where a granite countertop extends from the kitchen through a large pass-through window to the Rear Terrace." Call for a private viewing. Asking $7,000,000.

What's on your fantasy foodie wish list?

When an old friend from high school picked me up yesterday in her sparkling rental car, we were still trying to decide between taking in a museum or heading toward some fun shops. And when she finally nixed an afternoon of art and culture, I was more than happy to direct her to one of my favorites, Flight 001 on Hayes.

While she lost herself among their beautiful bags, a smaller but equally enticing travel gadget section kept me busy "researching." Some things weren't worth the box they came in -- a portable pasta drainer?! -- but one item caught my eye. Collapsible chopsticks.

Over the years, I've tried my share of portable, reusable chopsticks. My solid metal ones from Korea, engraved with gorgeous birds and encased in silk, are too heavy, too fancy and too difficult to use (note to self: thin metal sticks + noodle soup = stained shirt). All those cute, little plastic ones from Japan aren't any easier to use and don't collapse. On the other hand, my lovely white ones obtained from that cult in Macau are simply a pain in the ass to assemble.

So, I was intrigued by the petite size and grown-up look of this set from the folks at Kikkerland (who brought us Moleskine notebooks and Pieter Woudt's space-bending Spy Clock). These are my favorite travel chopsticks right now for their elegance, lightness of weight, ease of use while actually eating and relatively low price ($12). The plastic case is slim enough to slip into the smallest pocket and offers a protective covering in case you aren't able to wash your chopsticks until later. I highly recommend a pair of your own, especially if you travel frequently in Asia or if you're trying to cut back on your use of disposable wooden chopsticks here at home.

For those who'd like to more about waribashi, those disposable chopsticks invented and much loved by the Japanese, here are some quick facts and interesting links exploring the business, art and environmental impact of the ubiquitous, not-so-innocuous little sticks:

• The Waribashi Project is a collaboration between Berkeley artist Donna Ozawa of Berkeley and the Japanese Community & Cultural Center of Northern California. Collecting and washing discarded chopsticks, Ozawa has created art installations in both Japan and California. For one piece, she gathered 15,000 pairs of chopsticks from 11 noodle shops over a period of 12 days.

• The Green Chopsticks Project's reading room includes a few basic articles. It's a simple website but a decent start for someone just beginning to explore the issue.

• China, the major producer of waribashi, exports the equivalent of 25 million trees annually so that we can slurp noodles conveniently and swallow sushi hygienically. While bamboo makes up a small number of high-end disposable chopsticks (the bigger, longer ones) most of the break-apart versions come from birch, aspen or poplar trees. Since 2001, universities and entire cities in China have increasingly banned the use of disposable chopsticks. Demand from abroad, however, continues to grow. Last spring, in an effort to slow the deforestation of its country, Beijing imposed a 5% tax on the handy little chopsticks. Japanese businesses, ever adaptive, are now looking to Vietnam and Indonesia for new sources of wood.

• Voice of America takes a softer view of the controversy.

• Ping Mag, an online design magazine based in Tokyo, has an entry on chopsticks with lots of fun photos. NotCot has a great blog entry specifically covering modern versions of portable chopsticks.

• Kim Moser's color-coded collection of waribashi wrappers offers an aesthetic appreciation for the art of the disposable.