Eggbeater

the sound of wind picks up
but softly
because all leaves can't fall on the ground at once.

school boys whisper
ties are crisp
shoes shined
corduroy in straight lines.
texture at attention.

when september arrives
school has begun
summer has ended
searsucker hangs forlorn on wooden hanger.

close your eyes
almost
because the light shifts in whispers
and the lightest touch
becomes loud
as september progresses.

click
a girl in a dress.
click
a girl in a suit.

when september arrives
sails taut
water chills
picnic tables lay bare
until Indian Summer arrives
     and fools us all for a minute.

autumn is on the way
when september arrives.

quietly
tiptoeing in
like faeries painting sleeping dust
gilting leaves, and crisping their edges
slow and low.

wind is bellowing, or picking up the speed to do so.
we are in tomatoes and strawberries and even figs for a spell
but it's tomfoolery by pixies united.
because when september arrives
     there's no going back
to suntan lotion and easy flirtations
to watermelon and corn on the cob and water fights.

we straighten ourselves in september.
get back to work.
starch shirts and
pull out our last bits and bobs from the garden.

thinking about summer, just a few days ago, is lovely still.
I left the house without a jacket even when I knew I would return home at night,
I stepped out of the shower and let the air dry me
I walked the dogs only when dusk fell.

summer is gone
when september arrives.
almost.
we are betwixt and between in

September.

Our eyes are at work but thoughts are elsewhere. On the shore. Rowing. Swimming.
Catching fireflies.

when september arrives it's like taking a train ride for the first time.
everything is new and big and solid
and yet we have to get on to leave somewhere
we feel we've been forever.
we wave goodbye to those on the platform who appear to stand stock still
as we edge away a chug & a groan at a time
and then trees and green and blue and water are fleeting past us,
and depending on how we refocus,
we can see a bit at a time

glance, a bird in the marsh
glance, balloon stuck in branch
whoosh
glance, a partial stone wall going up
over the hill
flat sky

hand against glass.
     au revoir.

when september arrives
hands unclasp
she tells you one thing but means another
you know it and think she does too
but she's stayed behind on the platform, looking at the train leaving. blank.

the wind picks up now
and whips around papery leaves
clumpfuls missing from full canopies like tears in an umbrella.

I can see the sky peeking through and it's gone from deep indigo to cerulean or washed out royal.

when september arrives,

don't let it fool you.
it's not goodbye or farewell
it neither here nor there
and it's absolutely solid.

september is the orange blush of a new season.
butterfly kiss.
is demure tease
and a tie tied just so.
palms, flat as seagull feet, smooth down skirt,
eyes meet horizon,
where our sun has shifted just a bit.

if the sun meets your gaze, turn around
and see your geography cast aglow with cooler yellows, fall tinges
and a month of summer memories knitted into what's to come!

O September

thank you for allowing me one month to both remember summer, and look forward to autumn.

happy SEPTEMBER!

You have had a great day volunteering at Slow Food Nation's inventive Slow On the Go when,

you stay the whole day when your shift ends at 2.
you work with Scott Peacock and Heritage Foods!!
you work with some of the best ham around.
you meet and work right alongside the people who raise the Berkshire pigs!
you see and serve and smile at and chat with
     chefs, writers, pastry chefs, restaurant owners, charcuterie makers, and many more who are your heroes and heroines
from all over the map
but no one is more famous than the next anyone

because we're all volunteering and eating and baking and buttering and grilling and
big gusts of wind are taking paper plates dolloped with jam
and one of those bursts of wind
lifted up a full parchment sheet of paper thin sliced meat
and hit you in the face with it. and you laughed, and said thanks to your g-d who has a sense of humour.

you watch biscuits being made and rolled and docked and cut out
for hours and hours, with no break, and you never tire of it.
you know you are serving one of the best plates in all of the Civic Center.
you split apart freshly baked biscuits
made with Fatted Calf fresh rendered lard
and butter them generously with Strauss butter
someone quickly sears thinly sliced American "Serrano"
and you sandwich it between buttered biscuit top and bottom.
two biscuit sandwiches share a plate with fresh Georgia berry jam. (strawberry, blackberry or raspberry)

you see many of your old bosses. you smile at them regardless.
you work fast and furious and you constantly separate garbage so that nothing that does not belong in the SF compost container gets in there.
you wish Slow Food Nation could educate everyone, including all of the vendors, about how most everything can be composted from the event:
plates, napkins, utensils, parchment paper-- basically everything that is not aluminum foil & plastic wrap.

you come home with a tense back and locked knees and fingernails filled with butter and jam and pork fat.

and

even though you are not signed up to volunteer there tomorrow,
{because Sunday morning from 3:30 am - 9:30 am you will be making and rolling and cutting and proofing and frying and glazing donuts},

you say yes

when Scott Peacock asks you so demurely, so politely, so graciously

you could melt,
like lard in his beautiful hands.

See you soon?

The other morning I walked out of a rental kitchen just as half a dozen cooks from all over the United States were entering it to begin prepping for the Slow Food Nation onslaught. I ran into people I have worked with but have not seen in many years, and I met new ones.

All over San Francisco restaurants are receiving quadruple orders of produce, meat, dairy and dry good supplies in preparation for an influx of 60,000 International food-interested folks, over the course of the next 3 days.

And then there are the people who have no idea it's happening. Slow Food? What's that?

For the uninformed I just remind them not to drive into San Francisco this weekend.

I keep thinking about the people who will avoid it altogether. I get it, of course, because events like this tend to make me so overwhelmed I can barely function normally. It's inspiration at coliseum level volume. It's deliciousness to the point of painful. It's gorgeous and too much, all at the same time.

How come everything has to happen in three days and not spaced out over 365?

But I want to leave you with this thought.

When an event comes to your attention, and you leaf through it, noticing there's nothing on offer for you, please consider the possibility that you may have something to offer the event. By being absent you refuse to learn and receive, but also to give and share and teach.

Much of this weekend will be not about spending money, but about supporting those people who, in lieu of the big business of creating more and more unhealthful food "choices," are choosing to create artisinal foods in slower, less mechanical ways.

Said very well by my comrades at Emporio Rulli:

"ABOUT SLOW FOOD:  Slow Food is a non-profit, eco-gastronomic member-supported organization founded by Carlo Petrini, an Italian, to counteract fast food and fast life, the disappearance of local food traditions and people’s dwindling interest in the food they eat, where it comes from, how it tastes and how our food choices affect the rest of the world."

When you choose, if you have the financial means to do so, to eat food that harms the people, animals, eco-systems, soil, cultures and local economies from whence it is produced, as little as is possible, {in this day and age}, you are performing a radical, infectious act.

This weekend please think about giving back, even if the event this weekend gives nothing to you.

I've had Slow Food Nation marked on my calendar for quite some time. Even still I have little idea of what I will actually be doing this weekend. I realized at some point, many months ago, that the best way to get a clear picture of what it's all about, would be to volunteer. I had no idea where they'd use me and what I'd see and smell and taste and hear and experience, but I knew at least it would force me to get focused on something specific within the Word Fair-ness that Slow Food Nation is proving itself to seem like.

I agree with much of the negative commentary because the website is impossible to navigate and few people can say why such an event is about to happen, but I always get a better, more personalized view of a massive event when I can somehow be of service.

If nothing else, it will be an adventure.

And I, Shuna fish Lydon, love adventures. Especially ones I can sink my teeth and mind into.

This weekend, along with 59, 999 other people, you might be able to find me:

Friday August 29th, from 5-10 pm in the Taste Hall, at Fort Mason, somewhere.
Saturday August 30, 10 am - 2 pm with Slow On The Go (a catchy name, you have to agree, no?) in San Francisco's Civic Center.

On Sunday, starting @ 3:30 am I'll be making donuts, going home for a nap near 10 am and waking up to start making dessert for Leif's dinner the next day at Serpentine.

If it looks like I've disappeared from eggbeater it's because I'm juggling a number of different jobs and extremely early hours. Slow Food Nation looks to be absolutely amazing and insanely overwhelming. I hope you get to go or at least read some of the live-blogging and so forth. I'm hoping to be able to catch up with my day to day on Monday. Until then, be well, eat deliciously and rejoice in end of summer's last produce hurrah!

When people ask me what I do and I say I'm a pastry chef, they barely let me finish "...-ef," before asking, excitedly, "O Where?! Where do you work?"

It's taken me a long time to come up with something I can be proud of. A refrain, a response, an answer that satisfies them and me. To find it, I had to look under a lot of rocks.

"I'm 'At-Large.' Which is like being On The Lam, but different."

For some this means I am no one. For others, I am unemployed. Most people are just confused, or bemused. Some chefs are jealous, others feel sorry for me. Not having another name on my white jacket besides my own is, to other professional cooks, like having a sickness with few visible side affects. People want to walk away but they're not exactly sure why.

But at a certain time, whether it be age or one's own fork in road, a chef must reinvent. Butcher the rabbit differently so it comes out of the hat as fricassee maybe. Try something new. Do what one has always done, but with a slightly, or drastically, new perspective. One cannot make $12 an hour for the rest of one's life, especially not without health insurance.

                   As is the case with "cheating," many will argue the affair came before the break-up, but others will later admit the affair happened in order to induce a split.

What it means to be an independent contractor is not a definition I can write alone. Each person pieces together their living differently. Each person fashions a stage the way they envision themselves in their own play, or the way it happens naturally when they get hired here and there.

Who am I?

      Yeah, I might be answering that for the rest of my long legged life.

But right now, all of a sudden, it's become interesting.

This past Saturday I woke up @ 7 am and sold veggies with one of my favorite farmers at the Berkeley Farmers' Market from 8:30 am-1:15 pm. At 1:45 I got on a shuttle that took a number of front and back of house people to an event in Sonoma overlooking an expansive valley. I helped feed 300 people delicious food savoury and sweet, even getting my hands into the floury mess that is fritto misto fried to order. Mmmm squid tentacles and fennel! There were also warm canapes I "hot-boxed" in a rhythmic dance with 4 other cooks serving a total of @1800 tiny one bite tastes over the course of two hours.

I got home this morning just after midnight, went to sleep, or took a nap, depending on how you would view it, until 3:15 am and drove to SF alongside very few other vehicles, and helped make @ 600 yeasty donuts from 4:30 am until 9:30 this morning.

So you could say I was unemployed, if you still want to translate Pastry Chef Independent Contractor as such, but to me this is pretty busy, and using the word working as an action verb.

When it rains, it pours, and then floods.

It looks like I might be selling veggies, helping to feed thousands of people, and playing with Excel and donuts for the next few weeks. Four to be exact, in fact. And then something happens.

Another giant fork, a la Woody Allen's Sleeper, will arrive, {hopefully tines down!}, from an expansive sky. Me and Wall-E will explore and see what it's all about.

I do miss having one kitchen be my home. *But,

Consulting expands my mind, taps all my experiences and let's me help others clarify their visions and businesses. Teaching has innumerable rewards and challenges great and small. Catering is a fantastic way to work with dozens of amazing chefs and cooks I would never know if I stayed in one station, under the roof of one house, day after day. And Writing? Well writing is just plain wonderful. Words are as delicious as desserts and sentences can be savored every day without overindulging. Adjectives are a reason for living and grammar need not be mere dusty libraries or cane-bearing authoritarians. Photography was my least expected renewed love. A suspect of digital, I have now been converted, although of course I miss film and its sensual subtleties. But not the chemicals, its toxicity to me and everything else, and the grand expense.

When a cook runs head first into that random utensil poking out of her/his path, said cook may choose to rub head, get a beer and sit a while, staring at the fork they are trying to ignore or get around.

Or,

Said cook can grab a beer and sit down and stare at that giant fork; and attempt to see what else that fork's reflection can do with his/her tool kit of well worn knives and mastered crafts.

I don't know about you but I want to keep learning. I'd rather stay clear of my comfort zone for a spell to see what I can learn in the risky, challenge strewn, messy heartbreaking gravity-less foreign land that is barbed and mined with fear, fright, I-don't-know, "I can't," and all those other embarrassing and awkward bewildering moments.

O abyss of the unknown, take me unto you. I am yours. O Great Fork, please pick me up and pair me with the delicious next. I have salt in one pocket, and an open heart.

and p.s., I can trade you some hot and freshly glazed doughnuts.

{PPS: *Sometimes pastry chefs start their own sweet, and even savoury businesses too.} Just a few off the top of my head: Pierre Herme, Iacopo Falai, Claudia Fleming, Maury Rubin, Sara Spearin, Jacques Torres, Elizabeth Falkner, Pichet Ong, Rachel Leising, Sam Mason, Mary Canales, Chika Tillman, Heather Carlucci Rodriguez, Anne Walker, Francois Payard, Kelli Bernard... Who am I forgetting?

actually, 4:10:58 AM.

find out why, soon enough.

/suffice to say it's the earliest I have ever risen, to bake.

For a short time, between 2005 - 2006, I worked downtown, in the financial district of San Francisco. Much to the amazement of everyone who knew me, and many who didn't, I worked for the Apple store.

The most difficult aspect of working downtown was that, besides all sorts of fast food, there were very few choices for places to eat. There was a deluge of expensive tourist-attracting restaurants, soup-salad-sandwich factories and mediocre cafes.

Every day, on my hour (!) meal break, I scoured the area for fresh food.

Many a lunch establishment in the area sported huge lines, and I'm sure they did booming business, but I was having difficulty eating well day after day. I did make a lot of food at home and pack lunch like a good little cook on vacation from working in restaurants; but on those days I did not have my brown paper bag, and neatly stacked tupperware, I looked for a good lunch, and the options were dismal.

If you work in downtown San Francisco, near the Montgomery BART station, you now have one of the best take-out lunch options I have ever seen and tasted, in any city I have ever worked in.

The Sentinel

is a smidge of a place we all wish we'd thought of first.

Dennis Leary, of miniature restaurant fame, works quickly and steadily as The Sentinel line around the block sighs and heaves. How can he own two teency places and still be the only major cook in the kitchen?

He is a chef-owner with extreme single focus, vision and steadfastness. And stealth.

I went yesterday for the first time and you can be sure I'll be back. Whenever my feets find me in downtown San Francisco Monday - Friday 7:30 am - 2:30 pm.

If I had to describe The Sentinel's menu in a few words or less, paying homage to its diminutive square footage, I would say getting lunch here is like eating restaurant food without all the pomp & circumstance. Dennis Leary has made a name for himself with honest fare and quiet finesse. Not to mention that he's possibly one of the best bread bakers in San Francisco. Shhhh, that one's a secret.

The Sentinel

37 Montgomery Street

M- F 7:30 a - 2:30 p

~ for more photos on Flickr, check 'em out here ~

p.s. if you live in the area and are thinking about going to the Slow Dinner with Serpentine & The SF Green Schoolyard Alliance on Monday September 1st, where I will be creating the dessert for Chef Leif Hedendal's menu, it is almost sold out.

about a month ago, on the anniversary of a death in my life, i took a trip to see a river i'd never met. not that i knew of, at any rate. it was the Yuba River and it startled and awed me.

today, with my same friend, we are adventuring to see and swim in another river. no anniversary today, just a day between things, catching summer before it ends.

if you are visiting eggbeater for the first time from TuttiFoodie, welcome! please make yourself at home-- there's lots to see and taste, and any number of the links will take you to see others for whom i have great respect and admiration.

thanks for visiting!

I need your collective help. An old colleague of mine is looking for a chocolate cake recipe like no other. He will stop at nothing. Cost is no object to him. The very best couveture. Exquisite butter.

Here is his request, just so you have a picture of what he wants,

"I want to make the perfect chocolate cake, moist and preferably creamy in the center, rich, addicting. I want to bake them in 4oz tins, pop ‘em out and simply dust them with powdered sugar, a cake so blessed by chocolate bliss that doing anything else would be an abomination of such severity that it would force you to serve the remainder of your sentence in the “special needs” yard at Corcoran when word got out.

I also want them to be as fantastic as they are when they come out of the oven as they are sitting in the ‘fridge overnight. I want gods and devils to war over them for the right to claim their divine influence was what made possible such and opus to come into humans unworthy mitts. I have had best results so far with simply butter/callebaut 55%/powdered sugar and flour; but they have are best when warm, straight from the oven, and the next day they are simply rich brownies.

How to make something so simple as chocolate cake but to an untouchable level! The gloves are off…"

Please leave links to your favorite recipes in the comments section. Not sure how to cut and paste a URL in your comments so we can all read and hyperlink our way gracefully? Read a little instruction here.

Just think... After all is said and done, we may very well be able to cooperatively create The Perfect Chocolate Cake. And you can say your were There and Took Part, and were One of The Ones.

Sure I have some ideas of my own, but I knew I couldn't do this alone. Tag, you're it.

Has stolen my heart.

Takes my breath away.
Blends so smoothly, so silkily.
Has a big cord.
Is really, really tall.
Makes an impression.
Is one of the best gifts ever.
Is the first blender the treehouse has seen and housed.
Makes a deep whirring sound.
Can blend ice and nuts and doesn't need too much liquid to do so.
Is powerful.
Lives on top of my refrigerator.

Thank you Connie!
I likey my new friend and cohort.
Mmmmm smooth liquids.

Dale Chihuly is a glass artist, glass craftsman and visionary. His work is delightful, playful, grand, bright, fantastic, fluid, outrageous, spectacular, dynamic and inspired by the natural world as well as fantasy.

When I was at CCAC he came to work in our glass department for 3 full days-- 72 hours non-stop glass blowing. He drew and sketched and barked and thought and watched; and his crew spun, molded, blew, sweated, lifted and swung, and on the last day pieces were finished, and also destroyed.

Glass is a lot like sugar.

And going to museums feeds and inspires me in a way I will never be able to describe.

If you have the time, inclination, desire and curiosity, I strongly suggest going to this show. If for no other reason than to take in the de Young in all its amazing architecture.

Chihuly at the de Young

June 14 - September 28

~ Directions to the de Young & other information.

This past week, "the economy" "took the life" of one of San Francisco's most venerable restaurants, Rubicon. The SF Chronicle reported on its closing party yesterday.

You might wonder why I don't report on the world's goings on as often as my blogging cohorts. And you might not believe the reason. Media affects me so powerfully that I have to travel inward to digest what I've read. It can take me months to allow how I feel to come through. Call me too sensitive. You wouldn't, and you won't, be the first. Or last.

The industry I work for is a luxury product. When people argue about how grapes are grown in Napa, all I can think about is the fact that wine is not sustenance. And the people who make your swirling, sniffing, tasting, arguing, musing, price-comparing, decadent auctioning, possible might never have the rights (many of) your pets have in this wealthy country.

People often ask me, "What do you do?"

"I'm in the pleasure business." I reply. Yes, mostly because I'm an upstart, but also because it's true.

I make sweet things.

I craft pleasure. I spin tales with sugar. I sear with caramel and sooth with iced cream. I taste of salt and season with sweet. I conjure, coax, and evoke. Come with me and I'll take you somewhere

else.

But is it art? Or craft? And is it important? Necessary?

We get all up in arms in the Bay Area protecting what we feel are our rights. We have a wealth of choices here, in all things food and liquid, soil and sun, weather and geography. We? Well a loud voiced we at any rate.

And then there's the "Purity Factor." We in Northern California like to challenge anything, look at it closely, and tear it apart; constructively or otherwise (ahh the delightful taste of passive aggression), to prove that it's not as pure as it says it is. You say you're a Locavore? Do you know where you're black peppercorns come from? Salt? Dish soap? Have you recently chose to become vegan? Do you eat honey? How about naturally occurring yeasted/fermented things? When you say you're a vegan because you want to preserve the life of animals, do you think of humans as animals too?

Think you care more than most people about Organic food? Do you know who owns the company that owns the people who plant and harvest your precious, perfect produce? Do you know who owns the water? Have you seen the list of acceptable pesticides and fungicides for Organic fruits & vegetables lately? Would you feed them to your children, straight?

No one is pure enough. Not even Slow Food Nation. You'd think Monsanto was setting up camp from the way a lot of "food people" are reacting. So what if they're a little disorganized? Or a lot. You try organizing 50,000 people with 2000 volunteers. No. Corporate. Sponsorship.* Gay Pride can't even say that.

     *This in from Jen Maiser: "From [SFN's] site FAQ's:
     "Slow Food Nation is funded by ticket sales (20% of revenue), corporate sponsors (50% of revenue),    foundations (25% of revenue) and philanthropists (5% of revenue)." For More Information, check out the FAQ portion of the SFN website.

My point? Yes, I have one.

I met with a friend yesterday. She's been in the business longer than me, totaling 20+ years. We talked about our options. Made vague references to who was courting us and what we hoped would be different about our next jobs. We talked about how many pastry chefs are out of work. We spoke of failed restaurants, recent Bauer reviews, the cost of delicious fruit as brought to us by wholesalers, working with the new breed of staff who expect to work less for more pay than we ever dreamed possible at "their age," the insanely high cost of living in the Bay Area, how 'having a life' outside of the kitchen was nearly impossible with a pastry chef job, and so much more.

All Doom & Gloom? No, but close.

We each have reached 40. Neither of us are married nor own the places we inhabit. Neither of us have a 401K. Both of us pay for our own health insurance. We've taught, owned, managed, struggled, learned, given, opened, closed and now we're thinking. A lot. Our minds could be a dangerous place.

But instead we supported. Heard each other out. Dished. Nodded heads. Shared industry secrets. Laughed because we knew. And then we did something else.

We thought of what the other person could do, besides. Instead of. I wrote some notes. We gave each other feedback, and received. We expanded our minds beyond the jail bars of this industry. We fought 'the voice.'

I'm going to say it. Move to a screen with a kitties now if you can't handle it.

My industry is not sustainable. Restaurants are not sustainable. Not for the employees. Or most employers.

Yes, we can buy seafood that's not as bad as some other seafood. We can know the name of the pig we eat and kill it our self. We can buy direct from the farmer and put her name on our menu. We can build our restaurants with re-claimed wood. We can burn only beeswax candles. We can sell our fryer oil to the biodiesel people.

If it weren't for unions rioting for years and years, and many a person dying, our employers might not have to give us days off or a minimum wage. The eight hour day would never exist without there having been years and years of bloody fighting.

And everyone knows the 8 hour day/40 hour week is for bankers, not cooks.

Not sustainable.

I can hear you gearing up for an argument. Good. Roll up your sleeves and get in line.

Then why have certain restaurants lasted for years and years? How come thousands of people sign checks every year over to schools that are going to give them an unflattering polyester outfit and a tall paper hat in exchange for what could pass as a mortgage payment in most American States? How come Top Chef is such a big hit? And everyone keeps opening restaurants? Even when the world's food crises is starving people in every nation and the cost of petroleum is doubling on every other breath?

Rubicon closed a few days ago. I remember when it opened. It's backers are major players, and savvy business people. The restaurant sat in the Financial District. It was elegant and quiet, private and charming. Rubicon's kitchen was dedicated to promoting great chefs to greater greatness, and no one who's cheffed in SF longer than a minute hasn't cooked with someone who worked there. Rubicon closed. No one is safe.

The economy sucks, you say? I'm just bitter because I was laid off at the beginning of the year?

Hey, it doesn't mean I'm gonna stop cooking. Or cease making sweet things. Or hang up my coat forever. It doesn't mean there's no reason for living.

I'm not saying anything other cooks and chefs and restaurant owners don't know. And there are chefs who make serious money. In America everyone is given the same opportunity to exploit or treat fairly. Work hard and you can make something of yourself. Step or jump out of your class. Your choice.

As employees we can fight for our rights if we want to know them. Whether you work for American Express or Burger King, if you are an American citizen, and you do not have the ability to hire and fire, you are covered by all of the same Federal Labor Laws, many of which were decided by or before 1920.

Cooking professionally is not sustainable. Selling food that people cook in real time is not sustainable. Not sustainable based on 5 days a week, 8 hours a day, year round. Not based on paying all food producers a market value living wage. Not based on treating soil and mountains and air and the water table the way we would if we really wanted to keep it viable for future peoples, not just "first world" peoples, in the future.

Radical? Me? Nah.

Just trying to face facts. And move on. And get my head out of the sand.

Not that my compost pile isn't worth something. Or my belief that fruit desserts should be made with seasonal, ripe fruit is going to go out the window. I'm not going to eat factory pork if I can help it. I'm not going to go work for Phillip Morris or order swordfish or stop eating out or start drinking or take up cutting or start telling all y'all how to be more pure.

Remember who made 'being pure' infamous?

What would we feel like if we lived in a country who displayed their unfair, corrupt, despotism with more transparency? Would we still be mad at Whole Foods for eliminating their bulk section?

What would we be grateful for if every time we got something, we weren't expecting more?

Who would we be if we gave up a part of our paycheck every week not at the bar, but gave it directly to the dishwasher at our favorite restaurant?

When will we be satisfied?

I'm not saying there's nothing left to fight for. I'm not saying 'Give up.' I'm not laying down with this knowledge. I hope to see what I look like at 50. I'm interested in seeing how I can Zelig as the economy continues to dip and I am definitely interested in getting a new president elected who says he wants change.

And, o yes, I want to make desserts in a restaurant again. I want to teach and learn. Crazy? Yes. I love doughnuts. I think the perfect croissant eaten in the most romantic city will change my life. My hopeless romanticism will not be evicted.

I think one day all of us speed induced (we want everything yesterday), technologically drugged, "choice" motivated whores (you know, the people who tell you it's their right and choice to smoke cigarettes and ___________ fill in the blank of whatever you judge "them" for), will stop. And see that if we continue on the way we have been, things we can never replace are really disappearing. Forever.

Please challenge me. Bring it on. Lift me up and carry me high so I can see the horizon. Tell me how to make it work.Tell me you think it can work. Even in small towns. In little corners of your world. I'm writing down what I know. What I see. What I've seen. But I'm not everyone everywhere doing everything.

That's what y'all are for.

The question is this: How Serious Can You Get About Pie?

Pie Off 2008 answer: Very.

The results are in. Pies totaling 38 showed up. Some pies were not pies at all and were DisQualified (DQ for short.) Rules were Challenged and upheld. Forks were given and discussions by judges were had and heated. Children ate. People laughed. Pie plates were emptied. Pie Rukus turned into Pie Mirth and people left full and happy.

For the re-cap, follow the pie trail to KQED where Bay Area Bites has my story.

Flickr has the photos. Whew. {Viewing them as a fast slide show might be your best bet.}

And the overall results:

3rd Place:  "Knickerbocker Delight" (Pie - peaches w/ blueberries; Baker - CeeCee)

2nd Place:  "Pie in the Box" (Pie - apple; Bakers - Sanj & PK)

1st Place:  "Billie Jean" (Pie - lime meringue; Bakers - The Wisnosky Sisters)

This just in today from The Pie Off Steering Committee:

special thanks to this year's judges:  rubes, shuna, daniel, tracy, ascia, becky fresh, nancy, carolina, ellen, christopher, and brandi.

thanks go as well to liz for facilitating (and reminding me about) the baker's choice award balloting.

extra sweet sugar to frankus, our host (pie off would be mere fancy without you, frank!!!); and to rachel joy for set up help.

see everyone next year, and perhaps even sooner (nyc...keep your fingers crossed).

much sweetness to all.

I have often said that I was born in the wrong era. Old-fashioned is what I am. I still believe in courting, although I will admit to giving flowers to all genders of people. I hold doors open and like them opened for me. I still dress up for dates, even if subtly. Shaking hands is something we should all be good at and I love when a meeting starts with a satisfying one, and ends on a strong one as well.

But one characteristic separating me from many of my Bay Arean peers is that I am a loyal serial-monogamist. And I don't merely mean in romance. Dancing with more than one partner feels like an impossibly heavy juggling ball. I can do it, but it's uncomfortable.

And, like attempting to keep more than one baseball made of lead up in the air, above my head, out of sight, it's not only an uncomfortable proposition, but it feels like a duplicitous one.

Of course we all have to do it sometimes, though. Not everyone can know all, right?

I used to tell my friend azo all the time that I was invisible. He always corrected me, like the exceptional little editor that he is, saying gently, "No. The word you mean is transparent."

Suffice to say you can say you didn't hear it here first. Because there was nothing to hear. Or see.

Because according to the way it looks on the outside my life is interminably boring: I'm barely working, almost never baking, staying close to home, being courted by no one I've ever met in person, eating only at my favorite joints, dating no one, selling the odd vegetable and fruit at the Berkeley Farmers' Market and enjoying the perfect weather. O, and trying to wrap my head around *Slow Food Nation.

This summer will be marked by neither spike, drought, nor gape; but rather tagged with a feeling like one might have if one found oneself in a desert with a broken compass and only the wind to speak or listen to. I've been advised to listen to the silence and it is from there the answer will come.

Until then, find me on the dancefloor, looking hopefully down a long line of dance partners, waltzing with those stepping forth, song after song; but gazing longingly into each person's eyes, silently asking the question my outmoded self sounds like a faraway foghorn in deep night, are you the one?

*p.s. This news just in: I will be creating the dessert for Chef Leif Hedendal & his Slow Dinner with Serpentine & The SF Green Schoolyard Alliance.

So.
PIE OFF is tomorrow.

Will you make the pie today and serve it tomorrow?
Will you blind bake?
Will you use butter or vegetable shortening or leaf lard? Or all 3?
Will you render your own lard?
Will you use duck fat or bear fat or no fat?
Will you crimp or score or pinch or flout?

Looking for pie dough recipes? Feel free to peruse what Food Blog Search has for you.

Need an all butter Pie Dough Tutorial? Check it.
In that how-to make pie dough are the HOWS as well as the WHYS. You know you want it.

O, and the filling!
Mustn't forget the filling at home.
Yes, that would be such a shame.
Empty pie. So sad.

The filling, I leave up to your imagination, and The Rules.

See you soon?

It's not every day you get an email whose Subject line reads, PIELEBRITY.

You say yes. Yes to Pielebrity status. Even it means eating more than your weight in pie, while attempting to judge... oy.

But you think to yourself, "Zow, that's Pielific. Muy Pietriguing."

You scratch your head and remember that a certain kooky friend of yours did, in fact, tell you about PIE OFF once, in a galaxy far far away, when he first appeared in your life.

But because PIE OFF never came to Pieition, you passed PIE OFF as Piesay.

Lucky for you, and you, and you and you and you and even YOU, yes YOU, over there, with your face to the wall--

PIE OFF

is back.
Coming to the East Bay, California USA this
Sunday August 10th 2 - 9 pm.

Pie Mayhem, yo.

Think you can bake a pie?
Roll a mean crust?
Fire shoot from your fingertips as that rolling pin is guided by g-d? See voices and hear snakes when held by the power of flaky crustiness?

Press your suit. Shine your shoes. Find your phat laces. Pick out your 'fro. Floss. Paint your nails. Sharpen the straight razor and tilt your neck back extra. Get a few more winks. Do your push ups. Tighten those suspenders. Slowly garters into perfect thigh position. Tighten your belt. Take an extra swig. Splash on a lil' extra Bay Rum. Take all the time you need with black eyeliner. Stand up straight.

Get Ready.

Because PIE OFF is a serious affair. Word.

I can only share a few details with you. If I share more I fear you may never see me again.
---->If you are serious about attending Sunday email me and I'll share the secret location...<---

Wanna Judge?
CHECK IT:
the committee has issued an RFQ for judges.  please direct any and all candidates to pieoff@gmail.com

Here's what you need to know:

Two people (a team) may enter one pie. Teams or individuals may enter more than one pie.

FOR A FEW APPLES MORE: Fruit-based dessert pies only
Entries must arrive in a pie plate, at least 9 inches in diameter, and must have a bottom, homemade crust.

There are five kinds of pie in this world...
1. stone fruit (peach, nectarine, cherry, plum, apricot)
2. Tree fruit (apple, pear)
3. berry (strawberry, blueberry, cranberry)
4. Caneberry (raspberry, blackberry, boysenberry, marionberry)
5. citrus/tropical (lemon, key lime, banana, mango, etc.)

- two dollar entry fee per pie
- each pie must be accompanied by a placard, A PIE SERVER AND a completed entry form.

Pies will be judged on integrity of crust, creativity of filling, and overall effectiveness and tastiness of the entire baked good.

1st, 2nd & 3rd prizes will be awarded. Each participant will also be allowed to cast one bakers choice ballot.

* sunday, august 10 * doors open at 2pm * judging begins at 3:30pm *

kids romper room will be open from 2:15 to 5:00pm.

kids cranky-time, sugar-crash, how-do-i-unstick-my-face-from-the-rug room open from 5:05 to 6:30pm

a word about multiple-fruit filling combinations...

"the combo rule is one of preponderance. bakers/teams are allowed to enter combo pies. the choice of category should be based on whichever fruit is the preponderant ingredient in the filling. if different fruits share equal representation in the filling, then bakers/teams are allowed to make a game-time decision, submitting their pie into one of the appropriate categories."

pie off does not provide any beverages or food other than pie.  draw your own conclusions.

***********************

Dear Bakers,

As you have no doubt heard, the Pie Off Steering Committee and International Sisterhood/ Brotherhood/ Sockpuppethood of Pie Bakers, Iron Ship Builders and Boilermakers, PIE-TCB have been embroiled in a summer-long dispute over banned substances appearing in award-winning filling throughout the ten-year lifespan of Pie Off, Pie Off East, and all related Pie Off events.

I am happy to report that these disputes and allegations have been resolved in their entirety, and thankfully without much media fanfare. And while I am not at liberty to discuss any settlement terms or amounts, suffice it to say that you will most likely see the value of gourds, tomatoes, and lamb suffer a rather steep decline in the coming months.

Pie Off 2008 specs and entry form attached.   

************ NEEDED FORMS ***************
PIE ENTRY FORM PIE OFF 2008
Name of the Baker(s):

Name of the Pie:

Category (preponderant fruit in filling):

Describe your pie (list the ingredients that you feel
comfortable revealing to the public; explain your
inspiration, the history of the recipe, etc.):

********************************************

Bring the ruckus.

Do you have pie making cojones? Think you know good pie better than anyone? Have wild and woolly way with pie dough? Flaky crust in your blood? Know how to roll up your sleeves and get down to the task of eating more than your weight in pie?

STAY TUNED.

More to come. Details to follow this afternoon.

Same Pie Time.    Same Pie Channel.

Come One. COME ALL. Come Hungry To PIE.

yo.

I field all sorts of requests. This one came in the form of a cryptic desperate email from a New York friend who lived in Oakland forever and has just moved to Boston for Rabbinical school. She fears she will waste away into nothing if she can't find delicious Boston food soon.

Help me keep her propped up?
Leave your suggestions, favorites, secrets in the comments section-- we'll send her a care package of ideas in a few days...

Mine first:
Flour Bakery & Cafe.

The secret: I've never been but I want to.
If you go to Flour Bakery and Cafe, please report back here.
Or send me something in the mail.
Or smuggle my mouth in your carry-on.

xo