I've just booked a trip that ensures that in less than a month, I'll be happily winging off to my home state of Minnesota. Minneapolis is where I grew up as the pickiest of eaters, eschewing nearly every vegetable aside from corn and artichokes. (Don't ask where my mother got artichokes in Minneapolis in the 70s and 80s. Or Pomegranates and avocados for that matter, but my mother was born and bred in Glendale, CA and she knew what she liked and she made sure she found it for us.)

However, on this next trip home, I will finally (FINALLY) visit the St. Paul's Farmers' Market, the jewel in Minnesota's market crown. I've done Mill City and the older Minneapolis Farmers' Market. I've also done the tiny Thursday stalls along Nicollet Avenue back when I worked downtown at my dad's law firm. Now, it's time for St. Paul, the city on the other side of the river. Capitol twin to my beloved Minneapolis.

Befitting a hardworking Midwestern state, the SPFM is only open from April 26th to November 15th. Those dates are certainly significant to any Minnesotan, because we all know that snow is no stranger to May, and I fondly remember a historic Halloween my senior year in high school when we got 33 inches of nice fluffy white stuff between 9 PM and 5 AM.

It was the first actual Snow Day of my memory. (See, we went to school even when the power went out at Jefferson Elementary and when the busses stalled. In the former, we just wore our snowsuits and in the latter, other busses came to get us.) However, Minnesota being what it is, in 1992 the roads were plowed and my dad was on his way to work by noon.

A farmers' market of some fashion has been operating in St. Paul since 1852. Back then, fresh produce was -- as it is now -- only available during the feverish and fecund summer months. However, throughout the year and even during the glacial, killing months, they had dairy, flour, cakes, and candies. Now, they also have local baked goods, cheese, poultry, buffalo, venison, beef, pork, lamb, maple syrup, eggs, honey, organic produce, flowers, plants, and shrubs.

Living in the (comparatively) warm Bay Area has definitely softened my Midwestern hide and it's also babied my palate and kitchen. I'm excited about checking out and cooking the fruits and vegetables I would have despised in my callow youth and remembering, celebrating my sturdy roots.

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.

Old friends and wedding parties and extended families have a way of creating memorable meals. Place them all in a gorgeous locale overflowing with fresh ingredients -- say the San Juan Islands on the Puget Sound during the last weeks of summer -- and even the simplest pot of soup becomes sublime.

We were gathered on the northern shore of Guemes Island. A single ferry connects locals to the mainland, and the island's one store -- Anderson's General Store -- assures shoppers that: "If we don't have it, we'll explain how you can get along without it." Guemes is a place where feeling the tides is a sixth sense, where the ebb and flow of water determines the success of work and the ease of play. Instead of a farmers market, there's a produce swap on Sunday mornings. The island's highest speed limit is 25 mph, and even at that, you could cross it from tip to tip in 10 leisurely minutes.

Everyone who lives along the shore has a boat and a couple of crab traps. Lone buoys out on the water sport duct tape with names and phone numbers. I tried throwing out a couple of the traps to catch our dinner. Having written about the crab industry, I wasn't expecting it to be easy. But let's just say that if I had to catch my own food -- let alone make a living -- with a row boat and two heavy traps, I'd be a heck of a lot skinnier than I am now.

Fortunately for us, a neighbor across the Sound stopped by and left a deep, wide bucket filled with freshly dug clams and sea water. It was waiting quietly on the beach for us. I tried to count, but stopped at 140.

The bride's mother chipped in tomatoes from her garden. The groom's father offered fresh corn; the cobs and some salmon trimmings would make a rich, sweet stock. There were bottles of wine leftover from the wedding. Butter and garlic, fortunately, always magically appear in the company of food-lovers. A loaf of bread from the wedding reception was a bit stale, making it perfect for croutons, and our cabin offered up the last requirement: a big pot generous enough to hold all the food.

No crabs, unfortunately. But where nature taketh away, she always giveth in return.

Neighborly Clams with White Wedding Wine

Soak freshly-dug clams in cornmeal for a couple of hours to help them purge all their grit. Scrub and rinse them well.

Cut off the kernels from whole corn (reserve them for making creamed corn or, even better, salmon and corn chowder for lunch the next day). If you have a sharp knife, cut the corn cobs in half or quarters. If you don't, ask one of the stronger wedding guests to break them in two. Boil them in a pot of water with any trimmings you may have: carrot, onion, celery, or just some salmon skin and belly flaps. Strain and reserve the broth.

Now the fun part: Melt some butter in a big pot. Add chopped onion and garlic and the precious last carrot; saute over a medium flame until softened. Stir in chopped tomatoes and as much of their juices as you can catch, stir a few times, and then pour in a quarter to a whole bottle of wine. Add that corn and salmon broth that you made earlier. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer for 10 to 15 minutes to meld together all the flavors and emulsify the butter. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Bring the broth back to a full boil. Add the clams and cover tightly. In about 10 minutes, give the clams a good stir and check for doneness. If you have a big batch, you'll probably need to continue cooking for another 5 to 10 minutes. If you like your clams on the rare side, take them out just as soon as they've all opened fully.

Bring the pot to the table along with all the bowls you can find in the cabin. Pass around toasted stale bread, more bottles of wine and stories of younger, greener days.

Two weeks of camping has a way of simplifying one's needs. Or, at least, it should. I must admit that I was rather taken with a supply run at REI's flagship store in Seattle. Amazing what we can schlep along with us as essential gear, but gone are the days -- thank goodness! -- of wet wool, freeze-dried food and heavy tents. And remember the taste of water after sloshing around in one of those metal canteens?

I was more than happy to wander back into civilization as we made our way home. If you're planning a trip yourself to the Pacific Northwest, here are two places worth visiting. I'll post more once I get back to San Francisco, but for now, a taste of my travels....

TOP POT DOUGHNUTS

It's only natural that a city obsessive about its coffee would develop a gourmet doughnut chain. Top Pot Doughnut already has three shops scattered in Seattle, and a few more will likely pop up soon. Known for their sleek modern take on the donut stop, Top Pot is a place for lounging as much as dunking.

Their downtown location on 5th Avenue has a spacious mezzanine, outdoor seating and an onsite coffee roasting facility. You'll need to get there early in the day for a taste of their famous pumpkin doughnuts and their much-loved, fast-moving apple fritters.

Top Pot leans toward classic interpretations of cake and old-fashioned doughnuts. I ordered a dozen and managed to take two bites of every single one in the box. I loved the chocolate topped with raspberry icing and the old-fashioned frosted, but the good, ol' jelly doughnut sprinkled with powdered sugar won my heart. And yes, the apple fritter deserves all that fuss. Selling out of their "hand-forged" doughnuts isn't a hard thing to do when they taste as good as these.

Top Pot Doughnuts
2124 5th Avenue
Seattle, WA 98121
(206) 728-1966

VOODOO DOUGHNUT

Just down the skid from my favorite bookstore in the world, Powell's "City of Books" in Portland, is my new favorite doughnut shop. If you're in the neighborhood of Burnside and 3rd Avenue, then be sure to stop in at Voodoo Doughnut for the pure glee and fun of it. Where else could you get a massive 10-inch, chocolate-covered Cock & Balls? Or a Captain Crunch Doughnut? Or the incredibly impressive Maple Bacon Bar? The decor is cheeky-grunge, the hours are 24/7, and the revolving donut display will hypnotize you with its colorful promises.

If you have time, you can get married in their wedding chapel or, like me, just settle for a soothing voodoo doll pierced through the belly with a pretzel stick. I can now assure you that biting off the head of your ex-boss is even more satisfying than sticking it with straight pins.

A special shout-out to their collection of vegan doughnuts. Honestly, the only vegan baked good I've ever recommended. As someone who's always trying to figure out how to slip an egg yolk and/or butter into my recipes, this is not a frivolous compliment.

Voodoo Doughnut
22 SW 3rd Avenue
Portland, OR 97204
(503) 241-4704

I'll be back in San Francisco in a few days. It'd be great to hear from all of you about your own favorite local sources for dunkers and sinkers. Any suggestions?

Nothing evokes special occasions like a lobster with drawn butter, but there was once a time when they were considered poverty fare. Fed to orphans, prisoners and indentured servants, lobsters from the Northern Atlantic did not appeal to early colonists.

It took the canning craze of the 1950s to spread the taste of lobster beyond New England, and since then, the red, beady-eyed crustaceans appear on casino buffets and surf-and-turf menus in every state. There's debate now about whether the lobster industry is the best it's ever been or on the verge of collapse, but Maine lobstermen are working closely with marine biologists to develop sustainable practices. It's the older, more labor-intensive, back-breaking ways of early lobstering that will save the industry.

Working on a lobster boat for one hour -- let alone one day -- will silence anyone who complains about the price of lobster.

Lobster Lingo

For those who weren't raised along the coast of Maine, here's a quick primer on lobsters:

Berries - Lobster eggs. Conscientious, law-abiding lobstermen will gently return a berried female back to the water after V-notching her tail, indicating to others that she's a valuable resource. Her 10,000 or so eggs, carried on the outside of her shell, will be released after 9 or 10 months, and of these, about 10 of them will survive. That's 1/10 of 1 percent who even have a whiff of a chance of reaching maturity.

Bugs - Newly hatched lobster larvae. More generally, an affectionate term for all lobsters, as in "Come ovah for dinner tonight for some boiled bugs."

Chicken - A one-pound lobster. It can take as long as 7 years in the cold waters of the northern Atlantic to grow to this size.

Hen - A female lobster.

Cock - A male lobster.

Snappers - Young lobsters, for their tendency to flick their tails frequently

Pistol - A lobster without claws. During molting or fighting, they may lose one or both, but will regenerate them with time.

Pot - A lobster trap, especially in great Britain. Though now more commonly made of easy-to-maintain plastic rather than wood, it still attracts lobsters through a one-way entrance. Famously inefficient, they often allow lobsters to walk away after eating. With a stoic shrug of their shoulders, lobstermen accept this as a facet of Maine's de facto aquaculture, allowing younger ones to feed, escape and breed. In the photo (from Casco Bay) you can see the low-tech bricks that weigh the traps down in the water.

Kitchen - The first chamber of a lobster trap, where the bug goes to eat.

Parlor - The inner chamber of a lobster trap. Also known as the bedroom, this is where the bug awaits the lobsterman.

Lobster cars - Crates that are kept buoyed and locked just off-shore to store trapped lobsters until they go to market.

Ghost fishing When lost nets, loose traps or fragments of other broken equipment continue to catch and kill marine life. Modern traps have escape vents constructed from biodegradable materials to allow lobsters to escape from lost traps.

Keepers Lobsters that measure between 3.25 and 5 inches from their eye sockets to the tip of their tails, the legal limits for market.

Shorts - Lobsters that fall below the legal size.

Shedder - A newly molted lobster. It has absorbed sea water into its body, and there's extra space in its soft shell. If you've ever received a gush of water when cracking open a lobster, you probably have a shedder on your plate.

Crusher - The larger, stronger claw with courser teeth. If the lobster's right claw is the crusher, it's called a "right-handed" lobster.

Ripper - The smaller claw, which has finer teeth for cutting and tearing.

"From away" - People like me who are not from Maine. Summer tourists. Well-meaning travelers and diners who triple town populations and clog up Highway 1 in search of lobster.

Where to eat lobster in the Bay Area

In November of 1920, The Manufacturer and the Builder--"A monthly journal devoted to the Advancement and Diffusement of Practical Knowledge"--reported that California received its first shipment of live lobsters from the East Coast. Layered in a crate with moist rock weed and then packed inside another, ice-lined crate, a little over half of the 600 lobsters survived the voyage.

While overnight planes have sped up the trip considerably in this century, finding a good lobster isn't as easy as you'd think. For the most part, New Englanders stranded in Northern California simply waited between visits back east to enjoy fresh, plain crustaceans, free of wasabi-panko crust or truffle oil or even chipotle butter.

For those who'd like a taste without boarding a plane, there's at least one place you can nurse your bug cravings. It's not quite the same as your favorite shack in Harpswell or Thomaston, but Old Port Lobster Shack in Redwood City boasts the closest thing to Down East eating in these parts. They have sister restaurants in North Beach and Napa, but it's the South Bay kitchen that serves up the better bugs.

A bell near the register let's the kitchen know when to throw a lobster into the pot. Behind it you can see some of the draft beers from both the east and west coasts you can try: Sea Dog, Allagash, Old Thumper, Anchor Steam, Dead Guy, and Widmer Brothers.

While the sides are not particularly noteworthy (even the dried blueberries in the cole slaw weren't really that great) the OPLS serves lobsters whole and uncracked in all their glory. You could order the lazy version, but why?

The true find are the lobster rolls, which come with the right bread (baked specially soft for the restaurant) and are packed full of handpicked meat. The "naked" version is the purist's choice; a tiny bit of melted butter and mayo arrive on the side.

Old Port Lobster Shack

Redwood City
851 Veterans Blvd
Redwood City, CA 94061
(650) 366-2400

Napa Valley
806 Fourth Street

Napa, CA 94559
(707) 258.8200

North Beach
532 Green St
San Francisco, CA 94133
(415) 829-3634

I've been in Portland, Oregon, now for about a week. Initially I was going to come here for a few days before heading up to a wedding in Seattle. I love Portland, and have since the first moment I saw this small city. But soon after I mentioned that, after two long years, I would be heading up to the Pacific Northwest, I received an inquiry asking whether I might be interested in teaching my baking classes in Portland. Yes, I immediately replied, I'd be honored to.

And so here I am, for two luxurious, long weeks. I could not be happier. Fourteen days to explore, eat, nibble, adventure, photograph, visit, suntan, bake, go to farmers' markets, stain my fingers with berry juices, talk to farmers,berry picking, make new friends, re-acquaint, stroll, drive, and just take it all in.

Some highlights of my trip so far:

A perfectly executed, seasonal, eclectic dinner at 23 Hoyt, in Northwest.
Late night tapas at Toro Bravo. Find yourself there? Get the grilled onions.
Pecan pie made with real leaf lard at Podnah's. (I'll be going back for the ribs, mark my word.)
An inspired fennel and golden raisin scone at Bakery Bar.
Perhaps some of the most amazing nectarines of my entire life at the Saturday Portland Farmers' market.
Marionberries.
Blueberries from Sauvie Island, picked by me.
Refreshing, smooth & sweet cold-steeped iced coffee at Random Order Coffee House. Their baked goods are also amazing. I have now eaten the bacon-green onion muffin twice.
Stumptown coffee.
Three spot-on, seasonal fresh fruit desserts at Blue Hour. (Jenny Raines, who was a pastry person at Chez Panisse for many years, is the pastry chef there now.)
The best French bread outside of France at Fleur de Lis Bakery in Northeast.
Succulent tacos (my favorite is their carnitas), bright agua frescas and fresh chips at Por Que No? on the hip and hopping N. Mississippi street.

With two classes and one week left I am hoping to get jumped up on some of the best tasting caffeine in North America, eat and explore what may be my future home. I love the nooks and crannies of Portland: the self-supporting neighborhoods, the community driven mentality of businesses, the effusive Portlanders who want to make sure I taste and see and go to their favorite spots. I love the trees that make wide arcs of shade, the various bridges connecting west to east, and the feeling you get when you're here. Like opening a business and buying a house are not just possibilities, but realities for someone like me.

I love living in Northern California, don't get me wrong. But Portland might well be in my future. So it's important that I sniff my way around, pay attention to the details, and have fun while I'm snooping.

Far from the golden hills of California, with endless lush stretches of forest and field, the Green Mountain State lives up to its name. My road trip continues, and this week I find myself heading toward the Northeast Kingdom. Along the way, near the shores of Lake Champlain, I've been enjoying two local treats.

Faced with the uncertain future of sugar maples, eating maple creemees whenever possible is an imperative. Sugar shacks dot the countryside, and if a sign and an arrow point the way to a creemee, I am there. Soft vanilla ice cream swirled with this year's maple syrup -- what better way to celebrate summer in Vermont?

If you're picky about such things as real ingredients (and you must be if you're reading this blog) then be sure to ask at the creemee stands if they use real maple syrup. If not, well...there's always another sugar shack further down the road.

In the village of Barre, pronounced "barry" as I was gently reminded by a local, an especially memorable variation appears in the guise of a maple sundae. At the window of Caesar's Fare, where a red siren light promises rescue from snack attacks, you can order two scoops of maple-walnut ice cream topped with maple syrup (Grade B = "Better & Bolder") and more walnuts. The bitterness of the nuts balances perfectly the sweetness of the syrup. Whipped cream and maraschino cherries complete the experience.

Another local flavor comes from a metal tin. At the other end of the sensuality spectrum, dry and crisp Common Crackers have sustained generations of Vermonters. Round, puffy and neatly halved like a French macaron, they're the New England embodiment of pragmatism. Originally purchased annually by the barrel, these crackers served as breakfast when soaked in milk, lunch when nibbled with cheddar cheese, afternoon tea when spread with jam, or dinner when served with chowder.

Common crackers are descendants of the long-lived, well-traveled hardtack much-maligned by sailors and soldiers, and their close cousins include pilot crackers, water crackers, and sea biscuits. Recently revived by the Orton family, owners of the Vermont Country Store, the crackers are still available 180 years after they were first cut and baked in Montpelier.

I've been enjoying my mini-barrel of common crackers with shards of Grafton Village's six-year cheddar cheese in between my maple creemees. Who cares about crumbs in the car or lactose intolerance with the open road ahead?

Stay tuned for an update next week from Maine. If all goes well, I'll be posting photos of freshly dug steamers and buttery lobsters.

In the meantime, please feel free to share coordinates for your favorite lobster shack along the Down East Coast!

Coming back to Missouri -- the state of my childhood -- always means returning to a double life.

While I've come to terms with my family's hyphenated existence here in the Heartland, I'm only just beginning to figure out how to balance the relentless abundance of my mother's kitchen with the city's smoky, seductive barbecue.

Asian moms take it personally when you don't eat their food, even when they make more than you can humanly consume. Leaving Kansas City without eating barbecue, though, is culinary sacrilege. I've learned how to fit five full meals into one day, and still I can't fulfill both my familial responsibilities and the extensive research ("eating") that my work demands.

The first thing greeting me at my parents' home: a basket of vegetables pulled and proudly displayed just for me. If you think that CSA box is bad, try throwing away a potato your mother dug up with her own hands.

My mother doesn't have a computer, so I can confess here: I've been known to compost whole, uncooked vegetables and dump pots of soup quickly and quietly. When she asks, I make sure to say, while checking for BBQ sauce on my shirt or under my nails, how delicious everything was.

Fortunately for me, during this visit, my parents left on a trip of their own. Yesterday, I waved good-bye to my mom at the airport and then immediately called my sister for her advice: Jack Stack's? or Oklahoma Joe's?

It's a tough call. Each place has strengths and weaknesses, and only a local can offer proper guidance. Back in my day, as they say, it was mainly Arthur Bryant (for the meat) or Gates (for the sauce). This was before national attention turned each of these KC institutions into overrated marketing machines still running on fumes. Before competition cooking turned pro. Before the Kansas City Barbecue Society was around to offer not just barbecue cooking classes but barbecue judging classes.

My sister, whose ZIP code still falls inside 'cue territory, said I had to try both. But I only had time for one expedition! Back and forth we went. Did I want burnt ends or ribs? Good fries or kick-ass coleslaw? Pulled pork from heaven or beef with integrity? I couldn't decide -- I wanted it all. But when she mentioned that Oklahoma Joe's was inside a working gas station...well, that tipped the scale. I'd cross the state line for that.

A small neon pig is the only clue that beyond the gas pumps lies a working smoke pit.

Imagine a largish convenience store in which the Icee machines have been ripped out and replaced with spare tables, a few booths, a high counter for cutting meat, and a chalkboard menu.

Of the four salads offered, one actually comes without meat. Lettuce with warm pulled pork sprinkled on top impressed even this jaded pig lover.

The ribs in all their dry rub glory.

I always get long ends. Always. For those who've never ordered ribs in Kansas City, we like to divide our ribs into long ends and short ends, and maybe, if you're lucky, rib tips. The long ends are from the thin, lean, bony front part of the rack (think about the area beneath your pecs); the short ends are from the thick, meaty, fatty half (think love handles). Rib tips are the burnt edges trimmed off the racks and served to those of us who love smoky, charred, crisp bits of meat. Menus will list different prices for long and short ends, as most people are willing to pay a couple of bucks more for the short ends. As someone who loves gnawing on bones, I'm happy to pay less for my favorite cut.

The thinly sliced brisket was amazingly tender.

This time, I was tempted by assurances from my sister's husband that the beef was dream-worthy. I usually don't order brisket when I'm out -- too many disappointments and a girl learns -- but brother-in-laws are the natural experts of barbecue, so I went with a combo plate of ribs and brisket. My sister, thankfully, ordered the pork sandwich; I'd get to taste some of that, too.

Around here, pulled pork isn't topped with cole slaw. Their spicy slaw, though, is a must-try from the sides menu. I was also lovin' the fries: moist and fluffy inside, crisp and dry outside.

Like many newer barbecue places, puns proliferate, T-shirts are for sale, and sauces come wrapped in gift boxes ready to be shipped anywhere in the world. But unlike many places old and new, at Oklahoma Joe's both the meat and the sauce hold up to the test of taste.

Sauce on the table isn't really necessary, Oklahoma Joe's meat is that good, but you can add a squirt of their "Night of the Living Sauce" if you like some extra kick in your barbecue.

I couldn't finish the ribs or the brisket, so I went back to the counter to ask for a to-go box. While I was standing there I managed to order half a chicken, a quart of smoky gumbo, some baked beans and another helping of that spicy slaw.

I'm planning to live it up while my parents were away.

Back at my parents' house, onion blossoms remind me of the garden.

Oklahoma Joe's BBQ
3002 West 47th
Kansas City, KS 66103
(913) 722-3366

I've just returned home from a week in Boca Raton, Florida, where I was visiting family. My mother's side, the New York Jews. Besides making the rounds with my aunt, meeting my cousin's 1 1/2 year old twins and visiting my 86 year old grandmother in her new little apartment at an assisted living facility, it was important to eat a few times at Way Beyond Bagels.

It was there that I had my first authentic bagel and lox outside of New York City.

Not to mention Black & White Cookies, super almond-extracty Rainbow Cake, a pure, uncut version of smoked whitefish salad, the full line of Dr. Brown sodas, including the intriguing celery pop, and a delightfully familiar, and maybe a little grating, noise of thick lower New York accents.

Like any comfort food, when we re-experience it again, it is cause for a celebration and of memories. And like all memories, their arrival is bittersweet. Memories arrive because something's been lost. Or we've moved to a place where our tribe does not band together and make what we grew up with.

Luckily I moved mere blocks from Saul's when I came to live in the East Bay a year ago. It's here I can find chopped liver almost as good as what I remember. When I want to conjure my late grandfather, Samuel Gordon, I buy a few chubs and eat them alone. Shiny and wrinkly gold, the chub arrives wrapped in white paper, with all its parts except for the guts. Smoked whole, they're slick with a distinctly fatty fishy smoky taste and scent. I've never taken part in cold herring from a jar but my legs go weak for smoked fish and I was once graced by homemade gefilte fish.

But bagels? It is my ultimate opinion that there are no real bagels in the Bay Area. I have tried and retried them all. I've been cajoled by hopeful and starry eyed non-Jews as well as other deperate New York Jews. Nope, they do not exist here. Just because bread is round does not mean it's a bagel. When a bagel is a bagel, every gram of your being knows it. It's taste and texture, the smell of your grandmother's kitchen. It's whipped butter, freshly sliced red onions, and too much cream cheese.

So, nu? I just don't eat them here. I reason to my born-again-Californian self that bagels need to be eaten in their own climate. They need to be in season, and although Northern California is home to many an agricultural delicacy, bagels just do not thrive in this soil. Bagels must be eaten where there is a predominance of kvetching weather, schvitzing heat, and other New York Yids.

And Way Beyond Bagels cures this homesick itch. Even though it's in Florida.

I have a whole carry on bag full of 2 dozen said bread product to prove it. Now it's just a matter of sharing them with those who understand the gravity of such luggage...

If you're looking to cure your Eastern European and/or New York Jewish deli food cravings, I give you this small list of places to start:

California Street Deli
Moishe's Pippic
Saul's Deli & Restaurant
Old Krakow

Or if you want to read more about what those who long for Jewish deli food do in the Bay Area, check out this article in The Berkeley Monthly written by John Harris, a man who has even gone so far as to make a movie about the lost Deli. I'm excited to say I'll be privy to a screening of the movie this Thursday!

I'm new to TV watching. But I have taken to it like a parched and thirsty fish. In the last few years it has saved me from my head, often a bad neighborhood to inhabit alone. Armed with an inherited television set equipped with an internal VCR and DVD player, this brain drug of a machine has kept me company a lot in the last few years. To this end I have joined other Americans in following a number of series' and caught up on movies that have defined my modern cultural generation.

For years I have been repeating this sentence, "Oh no, I didn't see that, I haven't heard of that, I wasn't aware of that, because I have been working."

My mother said years ago I could have made the best jury member on the OJ Simpson case, because I knew absolutely nothing about it.

A few months ago I was given an innocuous little shiny disk labeled, Escape To River Cottage, and only remember the odd tidbit about what it could be about. Good thing I did not start watching it until just the other night. A person has to have a life which includes leaving the house, making supper, taking the legs out for a stretch, and interacting with other live human beings.

If you like to eat, are interested in where your food comes, have ever entertained the idea of forsaking city living and planting a garden from which you will plan meals around, enjoy the feeling your face gets when an unplanned smile emerges, like a dash of English humor, and think a show involving cooking and eating could be something other than staged, perfect, indoors, and inane to the point of "lowest common denominator" script writing, you must get ahold of any part of these series now and watch it with someone you like!

The liner notes from TV.com:

"Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstal has decided to quit the bustle of London and take on the life of a smallholder at River Cottage, a former gamekeeper's cottage in Dorset. The aim is self-sufficiency; to grow his own vegetables and raise his own animals for food."

It is addictive in the best sense of the word!

The word on the street is that I have only just begun. A quick perusement on the www comes up with a fantastic interview with Mr. Fearnley-Whittingstal himself. Then there's the River Cottage website, complete with appropriate page links and a whole page devoted to those behind the delicious scenes. Channel 4 talks up their baby as well, and then there's the dangerous list of all the titles.

It's still winter, even in the Bay Area, go ahead, get a few disks and hole up for the weekend. But be sure to have some farmers' market snacks around. You may not be hungry for bridge mix or chips and salsa after watching an episode end with recently culled and butchered pidgeon in B'steeya, cold pike en gelee, or Hugh's first hen egg whipped up into a quick courgette souffle.

If you're one of those new fans for whom doing things halfway is not an option, you may choose to cook up some of this fellow's food right away by heading over to our own local British Gourmand, Sam, of Becks and Posh, as she has cooked up one of Mr. Fearnley-Whittingstal's recipes, from his most recent River Cottage Meat Book.

Feel free to come back to Bay Area Bites and let me know if I have steered you right!