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Bay Area Bites

Culinary Rants & Raves from Bay Area Foodies and Professionals

• The Sweetest Holiday

  Posted by Megan Gordon

  on Feb 08, 2010

  
  Some of the Valentine's treats available at SusieCakes.

  Now I don't know about you, but I think the negative vibes towards Valentine's Day are kind of laughable. We've all heard it before. Perhaps some of you are guilty of shouting it out on a yearly basis: "Urgh, I can't wait for the day to be over--it's not like I have anyone to spend it with." That sort of thing. But what could be better than a day during the dead of winter where pinks and reds abound in all the shops and where chocolate is pushed, pedaled, and procured? I mean, c'mon. Who needs a sweetie to enjoy a jaunt through See's or Recchiuti? Or, as I learned earlier this week: SusieCakes.

  
  SusieCakes welcoming storefront

  Los Angeles-based SusieCakes has been open about a month in the Bon Air Shopping Center in Marin, and I've been meaning to visit with each passing day. I was doing errands in the area the other day and decided to stop in and see what all the fuss was about. I'd heard about their "frosting-filled cupcakes" and I thought it was a genius idea for all of us who use the cupcake as a socially acceptable excuse to eat frosting. And lots of it. What I didn't expect to find was the huge celebration of Valentine's Day in full effect--from sweet little cookies to festive whoopie pies. I took some photos (for you), I chatted with the gals to see what was good and what was flying out the door, and then--of course--I took some things home.

  
  The "Love Shack," a special Valentine's Gingerbread House, and the adorable Conversation Heart Cookies

  So let's talk about those frosting-filled cupcakes. Now I'm not sure how they do it. There's literally a dip or a groove in the top of the cupcake where a nice little shot of extra frosting lays. It's pure magic. I love their almost haphazard way of frosting each cupcake as well. It's not perfectly even and looks rather homemade, but in a generous, abundant sort-of way.

  
  The genius that is SusieCakes' signature frosting-filled cupcakes

  I tried the Peanut Butter, Chocolate, Red Velvet and the Sugar and Spice (February Special) cupcakes. You'll notice there aren't any photos of the Peanut Butter. That's because, like an eager and grubby-handed child, I ate it in the car. I just couldn't wait. Each flavor I tried was unbelievably soft and moist although I must say that I?m a bit of a Red Velvet snob, and I couldn't taste the cocoa in theirs. But the chocolate was rich in cocoa, and the Sugar & Spice cupcake had a lovely, light vanilla-sugar flavor. I made a big batch of snickerdoodles recently and the Sugar and Space tastes a lot like the classic cookie. You just look at these cupcakes and want to bring them to someone you love, or like, or appreciate, or want to make smile. They're happiness in a box, really.

  I didn't try some of the other treats, although I'll be back in town this week and plan on swinging by for a whoopie pie (or a "Makin' Whoopie Pie," their current take on the old-school dessert). And while there's certainly a glut of cupcake spots in the Bay Area and while some people I know are excusing cupcakes altogether as a retired trend, there?s something special about SusieCakes. It's evident in the regulars who were strolling in before 11 a.m. on a weekday to pick up a few treats. And it's evident in their attention to homemade, old-fashioned desserts (think along the lines of Magnolia Bakery in New York but before the Sex in the City madness) with banana and butterscotch puddings, classic pies and stacked cakes. They're not trying to be anything they?re not with wacky and original flavors, but they're doing the classics incredibly well.

  
  A good motto to live by, and a great daily selection of cupcakes

  So for a little shop with a big sign deeming "Eat Cake," I don't think it much matters if you have a sweetheart or not this year. Those are words we can all take to heart.

  SusieCakes
  310 Bon Air Center
  Bon Air Shopping Center
  Greenbrae, CA 94904
  Map
  (415) 461-2253

  Hours: Mon.-Sat. 10am-7pm; Closed Sunday (although they will be open Sunday February 14th for Valentines Day).

  Twitter: @Susiecakes

  
  

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• Countdown to Valentine's Day

  Posted by Stephanie Rosenbaum

  on Feb 07, 2010

  

  Cupid's arrows hit Bernal Heights hard this week. Along Cortland Avenue, every storefront from the card store to the cafe to the taqueria is emblazoned with huge red and pink hearts and flowers. What's so romantic about a quesadilla or a double nonfat mocha with whip? Well, anything's romantic when you're sharing it with your honey. Or maybe Bernal just loves window dressing.

  

  Still, the holiday is nearly upon us, and if you've got a sweetheart, you're probably wondering, with eagerness or dread, what to do about it. Personally, I don't ascribe to the fancy-jewelry, table-for-two view of Feb. 14. If you asked me to name my most romantic gifts or moments I've had, I'd remember the poem by Sappho an old girlfriend inscribed for me in gold ink on pink rose petals, one word per petal. Or being picked up from work on Valentine's Day by another date, who whisked me across the Golden Gate Bridge to the Headlands, where we sat on the hood of the car, looking out over the bay and eating take-out shrimp dumplings boxed up from my very favorite dim sum dive. (He knew me well enough to know that heaven, for me, is an endless supply of shrimp dumplings.)

  

  The most romantic notion is the most personal, the gift that makes you feel truly seen. So, what does your husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend secretly like best? At home or in the company of like-minded sensualists, this week offers dozens of ways to tease and titillate your valentine.

  Popping the cork on a bottle of good champagne may work for me, but for plenty of people, beer's the drink of choice. And conveniently enough, it's Beer Week in San Francisco now through the 14th, with dozens of bars offering many delectable suds, along with brewmaster meet-and-greets. And who says beer and chocolate aren't a perfect match? Serious Eats has an exhaustive guide to pairing the two. Although many of their picks are geared towards East Coast brands like Jacques Torres, the flavor profiles can certainly apply to your favorite Bay Area treats.

  Or you can head to Humphry Slocombe and bring home a pint or two of their this-week-only beer ice creams, made with local brews. Beer ice cream! I think someone out there is just waiting to plant a big wet Homer Simpson m'waaah on you for thinking of this, and better yet, bringing it home, stripping down to your underwear, and grabbing a couple of spoons. Especially if you add a side order of Slocombe's cult-favorite caramels (made with Boccalone lard, and much better, and more bacony, than they sound).

  In fact, caramel is breathing hard down chocolate's neck this year, a happy development for those less inclined towards the bean. Bi-Rite Market has a particularly fetching selection right now, from the tamarind-spiked treats made by local Indian baker and confectioner Spice Vice to Happy Goat's vanilla-speckled softies, enriched with caramelized goat's milk. Local Charles Chocolates offers the best of both worlds: fleur de sel caramels covered in chocolate, arranged in an edible, flower-printed chocolate box.

  Prefer to play with your food? Check out this list of chocolate spa treatments for two. Get rubbed down (or revved up) with a chocolate-espresso scrub, let yourselves be macerated in rose petals or painted with cocoa butter and chocolate oil, all while enjoying truffles and bubbly. Remember that goofy Axe chocolate man commercial? Like that, only pricier (and presumably, much more pleasing to the nose).

  

  Can't quite swing that spontaneous weekend in Paris this year? Happily, in our European-minded city, there will always be croissants to wake up to (I may be Bernal-biased, but the delicate, extra-flaky ones at Sandbox Bakery are worth the trip up the hill) and pastel macarons in more flavors than Hermès has scarves. People who love macarons really, really love them, and while Miette has its fans, the latest buzz is about the stylishly packaged dainties at Paulette in Hayes Valley, the first NorCal branch of a popular shop in Beverly Hills. Or you can dream of escaping to the French countryside, à la Juliette Binoche in Chocolat, as you melt and roll your own ravishing truffles at La Cocina's chocolate-making class on Feb. 10.

  Got a honey who's more salty than sweet? Well, take it from the Fatted Calf: the couple that grinds together, stays together. Head over to the Calf's headquarters in the Oxbow Public Market in Napa for their I Heart Sausage class on Feb. 13th, and get busy making it all: fresh, smoked, poached, and, for all you vampires out there, boudin noir, the infamous (and delectable) blood sausage. Or pencil in a plan for Whole Hog Butchery, Part 1, upcoming on Feb. 27.

  To go with your sausage-fest, pick up a bloomy Heart's Desire cheese. Molded in the shape of a heart, it's named after a charming beach along Tomales Bay and made by Cowgirl Creamery this month only. Out of town? You can order it online in a gift pack along with Jasper Hill Farm's Constant Bliss and Redwood Hill's Camillia cheeses, plus a selection of Tcho chocolates.

  Then again, what about dinner? Just about every restaurant in the city will be angling for your V-Day dollar with passion-fruit mousse and hearts of palm salad. Still, I'd like to imagine that all kinds of polyamorous, four- or more-some wake-ups will be happening the morning after the Wild Kitchen's Valentine's Day Dinner. That secret Mission location, those candlelit communal tables full of curious couples, those shared platters of candycap mushrooms and foraged mussels...how can they not inspire more than just gustatory exploration?

  As an appetizer, the two (or more) of you can tango down to the Ferry Building on Feb. 12, from 5 to 8pm, for the annual Food from the Heart. After the food-court tourists have gone home, the elegant main promenade will be transformed into a place to sip, nibble, flirt, and perhaps even dance. Local restaurants and wineries will have tables set up offering drinks and small plates for tasting, $2-$4. The money goes towards sending one lucky Ferry Plaza Farmers Market seller to Slow Food's Terra Madre event in Italy this fall.

  
  

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• A Quesadilla to Make You Cry

  Posted by Michael Procopio

  on Feb 05, 2010

  A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to fill out a questionnaire about food and my relationship to it. What did I think about the latest food trends? Why is food important? Do I consider myself a "foodie"? (Answer: Eww, no.)

  For the most part, the questions were easy for me to answer, save one:

  "What is the best meal you've ever had (or made) and why?"

  I had to walk away from the computer for a little while after I read that. The best meal ever? Ev-er? How the hell am I supposed to choose one meal out of the 43,000 or so meals I've eaten in my lifetime? There isn't one best meal. There are several.

  I've already written about some of them: dining in a rain-soaked Paris with the most charming man on the planet; eating al fresco in a rose-scented garden with good friends; brunching and game-playing on a Sunday afternoon on the Isle of Alameda. Choosing a favorite among them would be like having to single out your favorite child. And there are so many others.

  As I was struggling to single out one to discuss, I suddenly thought of one of the simplest meals I've ever eaten and one taken mostly in solitude-- a quesadilla that made me cry.

  I had been out the night before with the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes upon and who, conveniently, doubled as my boyfriend. He was an actor who made his monthly rent by bartending at a swank restaurant by night and posing for greeting cards by day when he wasn't busy playing sailors with one line to speak on Murphy Brown and other, popular television shows of the day. He was old. Thirty. And charming. Very. What on earth he was doing with a twenty-two year-old with a flair for the dramatic was beyond me. Maybe it was an actor thing. Drama is as drama does.

  Apparently, his being with me was rather beyond him as well, because that evening, after the depressing, excruciatingly unwatchable Derek Jarman film we'd just seen, he said the magic words that every love-struck person loves to hear:

  "I'm sorry, but this just isn't really working for me. I think you're a nice guy and all..." And so on.

  It was an early night.

  I returned home to find my roommate Craig sitting on the couch in our living room, watching television. I withered into the cushion next to him. He didn't have to ask what was wrong, because he knew I was going to tell him everything. So he just poured me a drink and let me do it. I shall spare you the details.

  The next morning, I awoke to a timid knock on my bedroom door. "Mike? You up?" Craig opened the door with his free hand. In the other was a tray. The guy had made me breakfast in bed. I sat up in my bed and took the tray from him. "I thought this might make you feel a bit better," he said.

  No one had ever made me breakfast in bed.

  On the tray were a cup of tea, a little glass of orange juice, and a quesadilla. A quesadilla for breakfast? Now that I think of it, that's a rather odd choice for breakfast, but the man's from San Diego, so there you have it. He sat on the edge of the bed for a minute or two and chatted with me, then suddenly sat up and told me that I should eat because my breakfast was getting cold. With that, he left the room.

  I sat there staring into my quesadilla for a moment and thought how sweet it was of my best friend to make me breakfast like that. Why couldn't my boyfriend do things like that for me? And then, of course, I remembered that I no longer had a boyfriend. Depressed, I tucked into the quesadilla.

  It was still warm and creamy on the tongue. He'd used the cambozola cheese we'd bought. We were coming out of our "brie-is-fancy" stage of cheese awareness and were now branching out into the bleu-veined ones.

  

  But there was something else tucked into that crispy tortilla which made my tongue heated up. A lot. He threw in peppers. Scotch Bonnet peppers. Craig and his girlfriend Shannon had just started dating and were trying to out-macho each other on the Scoville scale. As an occasional participant in their bizarre, heat-related courtship ritual, I considered myself a wimp when it came to such things, but I continued to eat. My eyes burned, my nose began to run. After a couple of bites, I was in discomfort; after a couple more, I was in pain.

  The gulping of hot tea did nothing to help. The swishing of orange juice around my gums only seemed to spread the heat everywhere. I had never eaten anything so hot in my life. It was horrible, yet oddly delicious. And then something unexpected happened.

  I cried. I sat there in bed, balancing the tray of food on my knees and cried, which was something rather foreign and forbidden to young men. I hadn't allowed myself to do it in years. The heat from those damned peppers so filled my eyes with tears that there was nothing else I could do, so I just went with it.

  I wept and sobbed and moaned as quietly as possible, but it went on and on. And on. Had I been standing, I would have lost my balance and fallen into a heap. It was uncontrollable. I felt inconsolable. All the disappointment and hurt I'd been storing inside me for years just poured out of me and onto my t-shirt and the breakfast tray. I can't remember how long I went on like that. I was grateful that Craig was thorough enough to provide a napkin.

  "Well, that was weird," I thought. I was puffy and tear-stained and my tongue was still a but numb, but I felt incredibly, wonderfully light.

  What was so awful? So I got dumped. I was disappointed, but I had to admit that the fellow who did the dumping did so honestly and with concern. He was (and I am sure still is) a thoroughly decent fellow. Rather than concentrate on a man I didn't have anymore, I thought about one that I lived with, thanks to some quirk of fate and good timing, for the past four years and realized just how lucky I was. I got out of bed, wandered into the kitchen, and thanked him. I should have given him a big bear hug and told him that, despite the pain of that meal, I'd never felt better after eating anything in my life. I should have told him that I loved him, but I was twenty-two and felt weird about telling anyone I loved them.

  Fortunately, a lot has changed since then. I can handle heat, I can cry unaided by painful food stuffs, I can tell the people who are important in my life that I love them.

  And then there are some things that haven't changed. Craig's still there after twenty years. When I begin to mope and whine about all the things I don't have in my life, I check myself by thinking about all the great things I do. And Craig, his wife Shannon, and their wonderful/crazy children are always at the top of that list. So, since I'm here and all, I might as well say it.

  Thanks for always being there, Craig. I love you, man.

  

  Cambozola Quesadilla

  Serves 1

  Fortunately, I've grown to the point where I no longer need the help of chile peppers to make me cry. I can do that on my own, thank you very much. As a result, I am sparing with their use. If you still need such aid, I would suggest going overboard with them. It's your quesadilla, you can cry if you want to.

  I've substituted habañero chiles for Scotch Bonnets in this recipe because they are easily available and hover in the same heat category (100,000 to 350,000) on the Scoville scale.

  Quesadillas are incredibly versatile-- you can put just about anything in them, so long as the ingredients won't crack a tooth. I mean, Craig did. Add whatever you like.

  Ingredients:

  1 large flour tortilla

  Cambozola cheese (rinds removed or not-- your choice), sliced into thin wedges.

  Olive oil or butter for cooking

  1 to 2 habañero chiles, finely chopped. Or Scotch Bonnets. Or, if you really need help, Law Enforcement Grade Pepper Spray (5,ooo,ooo+ Scoville rating). Or just skip making the quesadilla altogether and try intensive psychotherapy.

  Preparation:

  1. Heat a heavy-bottomed skillet, preferable cast iron (or, if you have one, a comal) with about a half-dollar-sized amount of butter or olive oil. Add tortilla and cook gently until little air pockets form.

  2. Arrange cheese on one half of the tortilla. Sprinkle as much chopped chile as you dare, keeping the heat on low. Fold the empty side of the tortilla onto the one covered in cheese and chiles.

  3. Wash hands thoroughly with soap and water. When living with Craig, I used a cutting board that had just been used to chop habañeros. Neither of us washed our hands, but merely rinsed them off quickly. I made the mistake of touching my eye. Craig made the greater mistake of going to the bathroom. We both retired to our respective bedrooms and writhed in pain in privacy.

  4. Return to the quesadilla, increasing the heat slightly. Flip it every twenty seconds or so until both sides are browned and crisp and the insides melted.

  5. Remove quesadilla from the skillet and cut into wedges. Serve with sour cream or Mexican crema, or whatever you like. Or just slide it onto a plate, crawl into bed, and prepare yourself for a good, long weep.

  
  

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