Bittersweet, the chocolate cafe with locations in San Francisco and Oakland, now sells ki’Xocolatl chocolate bars from Belgian chocolatier l’Amandine. The ki’Xocolatl line celebrates the ancient Mayan chocolate tradition while using modern European chocolate-making techniques. Ki’Xocolatl chocolate is made of organic criollo beans grown in Mexico.

I tried the ki’Xocolatl dark chocolate with red pepper and spices. The bar is 72% cacao solids with crunchy bits of cacao interspersed throughout. The bar has strong notes of coffee, followed by cardamom and vanilla, with a growing aftertaste of red pepper. The warmth of the pepper deepens the cacao flavor while balancing the sweetness of the chocolate. The cacao bits add texture, making the bar fun to chew, but also make the bar a bit crumbly and less smooth.

My only real gripe with this tasty bar is the packaging. The bar is hermetically sealed in cellophane that is exceedingly difficult to open without the help of teeth or kitchen sheers. I managed to mangle open the packaging in time to satisfy my chocolate jonesing. There should be an international standard for chocolate bar packaging stiuplating the maximum time required to open it. If X is the time it takes to open a chocolate bar, and Y is the deliciousness of the chocolate, Z is the level of withdrawal the chocoholic experiences in the interim. The following totally scientifically derived graph illustrates this fundamental principle of chocolate statistics.

Due to its deliciousness, the Ko’Xocolatl bittersweet bar with red pepper and spices falls somewhere between “Grr…” and “Argh!!!” levels. Nonetheless, this is a spicy, earthy bar. If you like spice in your chocolate, this is your bar.

ki’Xocolatl chocolate bars
Bittersweet Cafe
5427 College Avenue
Oakland, CA
(510) 654-7159

This Thursday in San Francisco, the Commonwealth Club presents a panel discussion on proposed changes to the National Food Policy and its affects on the hungry in America. Food activists such as Michael Pollan and Alice Waters have passionately lobbied to change U.S. food policy. Certainly, our food industry could use some change: who can forget the all too recent peanut butter recalls, or the tomato, spinach and pet food scares? The American food chain is very broken, and it could use some fixing. But will the proposed repairs serve those who need them most?

Thursday, April 23, 2009: A New National Food Policy - But What About the Hungry?

This panel examines the future of food in our country and state – and the impact reforms may have on the 150,000 people in San Francisco (including one in every four children) who are unsure where their next meal is coming from. How can we create a food system that is good, clean and fair for all?

A.G. Kawamura, Secretary, California Department of Food and Agriculture
Paul Ash, Executive Director, San Francisco Food Bank
Paula Jones, Director of Food Systems, San Francisco Department of Public Health
Michael Dimock, President, Roots of Change
Amy Sherman, Food Blogger & Author - Moderator

Location: PG&E Theatre, 245 Market St. (at Beale St.), San Francisco (Note: event is NOT at the Commonwealth Club)
Time: 6 p.m. check-in, 6:30 p.m. program
Cost: $8 Commonwealth Club members, $15 non-members, $7 students

Tickets: Available online at the Commonwealth Club web site, or call 415-597-6700

The Fancy Food Show is a city of food. A state of food. A continent. A planet. Entering this wonderland of food at Moscone Center is overwhelming, to say the least. If you’re going as a wholesaler, retailer, or producer, you might pretty well know what you’re looking for. If you’re going as a journalist or blogger, the first thing you need to do is narrow your scope. I decided to look for high quality foods made in relatively small batches. In particular, I looked for foods that stand out.

One of the foods I discovered was Jade Chocolates. Based in San Francisco, Jade Chocolates blends Asian spices and flavors with a variety of high quality chocolates to create unique bars and confections. The Dragon’s Breath bar has sesame seeds, “notes of smoked tea” and red chili while the Orient Espresso blends bittersweet and milk chocolates with “oak roasted espresso perfumed with the warmth and floral scent of cardamom.” Each bar is wrapped in handmade lokta paper–a traditional, environmentally friendly paper made by a family business in Nepal. Jade Chocolates is a small operation as well, owner Mindy Fong uses the kitchen at the Jewish Community Center to formulate, test and produce her chocolates.

A former architectural designer, Ms. Fong decided on a new career path with the birth of her daughter. When asked why she focused on chocolate in particular, Fong replied that the chocolate business is “recession proof.” True, but Fong’s experience in design gives her a nuanced perspective on flavor and balance:

One aspect of architecture is that the designer should create habitable spaces that flow well. The transition between a living room, the adjacent kitchen and dining room has a great impact for its users. A great flow between spaces means that you have a well thought out floor plan. And a great recipe for chocolate means that there is an ease of flow between flavors.

An easy flow of flavors is an apt description of Jade chocolate bars. The spices in a Jade bar blend easily with the flavor of the chocolate itself. The oaky notes of the Orient Espresso bar deepen the flavor of the chocolate itself while cardamom offers a sweet, spicy lift.

The Dragon’s Breath bar is both earthy and spicy. Roasted sesame seeds and lapsang souchang tea warm the palate with their floral, woodsy smokiness, segueing into a pleasant sting of red chili. Rather than obscuring the flavor of the chocolate itself with too much heat, the chili punctuates the bar with subtle spice.

Genmai is a grown-up version of a Nestlé Crunch bar, with crispy brown rice, jasmine and green teas enrobed in milk chocolate.

Jade Chocolates also produces “chocolate fans” and “mango orchids,” or fan-shapped chocolates on a whole wheat crust topped with nuts and spices, and chocolate-dipped dried mango “petals” on a bamboo “stem,” respectively.

Jade Chocolates can be found in a number of shops throughout the Bay Area and California, as well as locations in Georgia, Maine, Michigan and Pennsylvania. Jade Chocolates also operates an online store (though no international shipping is offered yet).

Jade Chocolates
3200 California St
San Francisco,  CA  94118

Being a Bay Area resident, food enthusiast, and foodblogger, I consider attending Slow Food Nation a civic duty. This was the first big Slow Food-organized event that did not necessitate an expensive trans-Atlantic flight and a hotel stay. So, I coughed up the $65 for a ticket to the last four-hour shift at the Taste Pavilion in San Francisco’s Fort Mason. (Good thing I bought my ticket when I did, as they were sold out by the time I asked a friend to join me the next day.)

The purpose of the Taste Pavilion is to “showcase an amazing array of products from across the country” while offering samples of fine American charcuterie, cheeses, wines, spirits, coffee, chocolate, bread, and naturally fermented and pickled foods. To me, the Taste Pavilion should be an opportunity to broaden one’s palette by becoming acquainted with food producers beyond the Bay Area who use traditional methods to produce delicious food. The Pavilion should allow visitors to support these artisans by eating their food and purchasing it, or at least learn more about where to purchase said foodstuffs.

What I found at the Taste Pavilion is not quite what I had imagined. Full disclosure: I have had disappointing experiences with Slow Food in the past, and this time was no different.

A brief timeline:

2006: I am a member of Slow Food. Although I enjoy their annual publication—which includes fascinating articles and scholarly pieces by a variety of people the world over—I find that I can seldom afford any of the events at my local presidia. I justify my membership fee as a donation to a worthy cause that helps poor farmers.

2006: I finally attend an affordable Slow Food event in my area—a one-day movie festival with snacks and drinks. The festival ends less than mid-way through when the organizer announces that the film screening guy has accidentally locked himself out of the projection room and it seems that nobody has the keys. All attendees are promised a follow-up event at which the remaining movies will be screened.

The event never happens, or if it does, nobody tells me about it. I am never reimbursed.

2007: Tired of receiving e-mails about Slow Food events I can’t afford to attend alone, let alone with my husband, I decide to let my Slow Food membership lapse. I love the work that Slow Food does internationally, but I don’t appreciate the seemingly knee-jerk assumption that all San Francisco Bay Area presidia members have wads of cash which they are glad to throw at every Slow Food event. My membership is itself a donation. I don’t feel the need to donate additional small fortunes for every expensive presidium-sponsored event.

In 2008, little has changed. I arrive at Fort Mason via public transit, as instructed by the Slow Food Nation website. There are no signs or instructions directing people to the Fort Mason Center buildings. Along with a number of other Slow Food attendees, I trek up the hill to the top of Fort Mason only to find that the Pavilion is down below. Everyone takes the stairs down the hill and begin walking towards the mass of people crowded around one particular building.

Reaching the Slow Food Nation information booth, I show my ticket and ask whether the long line is for those who have pre-purchased their tickets. It is. The line snakes around several buildings. I estimate it is about two blocks long. It’s hot outside, the line is long, and I’m parched. As I walk toward the end of the line, a smiling baker hands out fresh bread sticks to the people at the front of the line. I wonder whether there’s a big bottle of water baked into each of those bread sticks. (Probably not, as this is a bottle-free event.)

Some twenty to thirty minutes later, I arrive at the front of the line. My ticket is taken by a volunteer and another volunteer gives me a funny money bill called “Slow Dough.” She explains that this bill “pays” for the foods I am about to sample inside. The bill has twenty circles on it. I am to present the bill at each booth where the circles will be marked with permanent pen to indicate my “payment” for each sample I eat. I am told that I can receive another bill when this one is used up by simply returning to the entrance and presenting my used Slow Dough bill. Fair enough. Another volunteer hands me a pamphlet, and yet another gives me a thin book about food producers and a schedule of Slow Food Nation events. Nobody gives me a receipt for my ticket or a hand stamp, and I wonder vaguely whether this careless form of crowd control is effective. I enter the Taste Pavilion area and notice that the first outdoor booth on my left has an enormous, disorganized line. The booth is serving bread and pizza. I skip it and continue on to the booths indoors.

Inside, I find a well-organized pavilion of booths that is easy to navigate. Large signs clearly mark which booths serve meat, cheese, fish, chutney, chocolate, and so on. The booths are beautifully and cleverly built using recycled materials. One of my favorite setups is the fermented and pickled food area, which features a lovely backdrop made of mason jars and lids decorated with names of pickle makers and other food producers. The canopy of mason jar lids that seem to float below the ceiling is breathtaking.

I get on the charcuterie line, which seems less painful than the bread and pizza line outside. It’s a bit of a wait, but I get my bits of beef jerky and a tiny half slice of sausage. The prosciutto serving plate, however, is empty. Everyone in line waits another ten minutes for the chef to slice up enough to refill the plate, then portion out a slice. This costs three check marks. The meats are very tasty.

Next, I go to the chocolate booth. Again, the decorations are lovely, using recycled materials and emphasizing the process of cacao production. The tasting line seems to stretch everywhere, vertically back towards the entrance of the booth and horizontally along the lengthy table where several vendors provide tastes. The woman in front of me is annoyed as she informs me that a large group has just cut ahead in line. I continue waiting when I look down and realize that I’ve lost my Slow Dough billet. I must have held the bill between the brochure and book, or perhaps beneath the wax paper that held the prosciutto. At any rate, it is gone. I retrace my steps back to the entrance but someone has probably found my bill by now or tossed it into one of the many recycling bins.

I approach one of the volunteers at the entrance and explain my quandary. I am told I must wait for a woman named Lakesha*. I ask whether I may be given a single new bill instead of receiving an additional bill by turning in my old one. The volunteer explains that this is impossible, because I need to hand in my old ticket before receiving a replacement. I ask whether it would help to show my ID so as to verify that I have paid for my ticket. She says no. Furthermore, she explains that she is just a volunteer and has no idea how any of this works and that I must wait for Lakesha. I ask whether Lakesha may be reached by cell phone or other communication device. Apparently, she cannot. “You can wait there,” she says, motioning to a spot under the hot sun right next to her shady, covered volunteer booth. With my SF farmers’ market bag, Slow Food brochures, and used potato-plastic fork, I assume that my appearance must be strikingly similar to some clever fiend who makes a living sneaking into expensive food festivals and eating a whole lot of stolen food.

Lakesha never arrives, but Hal* the volunteer coordinator does. He introduces himself with a smile and asks what the problem is. I explain that I was waiting in line at the chocolate booth when I realized that my Slow Dough bill was nowhere to be found. I must have lost it somewhere and would like to replace it. Hal assures me that the billet will be replaced as soon as I remove my sunglasses so that he can see my eyes as I promise him that I really did lose my bill. “Are you kidding me?” I ask with a bemused grin. Hal apologizes, and explains that the organizers have had some trouble with people entering the event without paying, under the guise of being vendor employees. I sympathize, and offer alternative solutions such as a computerized entrance system in which the bar codes on tickets are scanned and entered into a database. This way, mishaps such as mine can be handled by simply matching a person’s driver’s license with their name in the database. Jim explains that they have a database, but that this sort of system is too expensive. He sympathizes with my frustration and provides me with a new billet.

I go back into the indoor pavilion and try to plan the rest of my time. I cannot handle caffeine, so coffee and tea are out. I must avoid seafood for health reasons, and I’m not in the mood for dealing with the large and likely tipsy crowds at the wine, beer and spirit booths. That leaves jam and honey, chocolate, cheese, ice cream, olive oil, pickles, and maybe the bread and pizza booth if I want to wait in line for fifteen minutes. I go to the chocolate booth and taste some of the most delicious and unique quality chocolates I’ve ever tried, as well as one of the worst. The honeys are pleasant enough, with a coffee-infused version that intrigues. The pumpkin preserve is quite tasty, and I appreciate the freshly-baked roll that goes with it (served directly from the oven at the bread booth). The cheese line snakes out the door, and the queue itself appears to move very slowly. I skip it entirely, although I regret not getting to taste any of the cheeses. The ice creams are tasty and creamy. My favorites are pistachio and pawpaw. I try a lemon-flavored fermented milk drink on my way back out to the bread booth. It is refreshing, tangy, and delicious, though a bit sweet. The pickle and chutney line seems to have grown by leaps and bounds, so I skip it as well.

The bread line outdoors is ridiculous. When I finally reach the front of the line, I get some rolls and a slice of pizza. I still have ten circles left on my Slow Dough bill, so I ask about using all my check marks for one small pie. The pizza baker kindly explains that this is impossible, as they had earlier handed out large orders in exchange for more Slow Dough marks. Consequently, they are now running low. No problem, one slice it is.

I go back into the indoor part of the pavilion, determined to spend my remaining marks. Some of the honey people are handing out miniature cupcakes with rosewater honey frosting. They have plenty to spare, and agree to give me several of their tiny treats in exchange for most of my remaining marks. I gladly take a small plateful of little cakes as the woman behind me in line gives me a look that would wilt oregano.

As I make my way among the various food purveyors, I try to buy take-home versions of the products I enjoy. Nobody actually has anything to sell. Some people have a card which they give out when asked. Some have no additional information at all. Some vendors note that their products are not for sale in the Bay Area. One vendor directs me to the Slow Food Nation website, informing me that Slow Food has promised to post a list of vendors by Wednesday. (As of Wednesday, I have not found a list of vendors on the Slow Food Nation website, other than the haphazard partial list of vendors in each food category. The partial lists include no links to vendor sites.) There is no market place where visitors may buy packaged versions of the foods at the Taste Pavilion. It strikes me that this is a huge waste of a financial and marketing opportunity. Slow Food could have profited by charging a small percentage for the bulk of items sold by each vendor. Vendors could have made a profit by selling their wares to the thousands of people who visited the pavilion. It’s all about promoting the food producers. Shouldn’t easing the process of buying their foods be a top priority? How many people will actually ask for vendor business cards or write down vendor names and track down their websites after the event?

On my way out of the Taste Pavilion, a lone volunteer offers to stamp people’s hands so that they can re-enter the Pavilion later. “How useful that stamp might’ve been earlier,” I think.

* Names have been changed for the purposes of anonymity.

Self-Compiled Partial Linked List of Slow Food Nation Taste Pavilion Vendors

• Mockingbird Meadows
• De Vries Chocolate
• Patric Chocolate
• Benton’s Smoky Hams
• Gelato Naia
• San Francisco Gelato
  

Lest you thought Oakland was merely San Francisco’s little step-sister, here’s a brief update on good eats across the bay.

Water

A new restaurant called Water Lounge + Raw Bar has replaced the recently closed Pearl Oyster Bar and Restaurant. Externally, nothing seems to have changed save for the name of the restaurant. The menu posted outside looks fairly similar to Pearl’s menu, focusing on the fruits of the sea. Only Pearl’s oyster selection is missing. I rather liked Pearl before it shut down, and was mystified by the negative reviews that preceded its demise. Will Water live up to its predecessor?

Water
5634 College Avenue
Oakland, CA 94612
(510) 654-5426

OB’s Coffee Café
In my never-ending search for the perfect fried chicken, I checked out OB’s Coffee Café. The fried chicken is indeed very good, and very crisp. OB’s serves up breakfast and lunch. The menu includes classics such as grits, hash browns, smothered potatoes, sausages, bacon and eggs and good, strong coffee. The food is straight-forward and honestly prepared, and the whole place is a remarkable one-man operation with the tiniest professional kitchen you ever saw. Been here once, definitely plan to go back.

OB’s Coffee Café
729 Washington St
Oakland, CA 94620
(510) 268-9696

Green Papaya Deli
This little neighborhood eatery is a gem. Green Papaya specializes in regional Lao cuisine, and has recently expanded its menu to include classic Thai dishes. Every dish I’ve eaten here has been carefully executed of fresh ingredients, creating a true delight for the senses. My current favorites include Sai Oaw, a salty, spicy, earthy sausage served with cucumber slices or cabbage; the tangy, spicy, garlicky Lao chicken soup with cherry tomatoes and lemongrass; the cilantro-laden Larb Gai (chicken salad); Som Moo, a tasty pickled pork sausage which would likely go very well with beer; and the spicy, creamy heaven that is Kao Poont (Lao chicken curry with noodles). Dining companion extraordinaire, A., has stated unequivocally that Green Papaya’s Pad Thai is the best he’s ever eaten. The service at this family-run establishment is friendly and efficient. For unbeatable Lao food, Green Papaya is well worth a trip to the East Lake neighborhood.

Green Papaya Deli
207 International Blvd.
Oakland, CA 94606
(510) 836-5337

Farmer Brown is a restaurant and bar that showcases the produce of local African-American farmers. The menu consists of riffs on American Southern food, such as greens, macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, poor boy sandwiches. The goal of Farmer Brown is to bring to city folk produce grown by African-American farmers, while celebrating African-American culinary heritage. The idea is a good one. I’m excited by the idea of businesses and diners supporting the small farms that are all but disappearing, and moreso by supporting and highlighting this tiny sub-group of small farms. There are few African-American owned farms in California. Farmer Brown intends to bolster those few farms, and perhaps encourage new farms.

Upon entering Farmer Brown, we were greeted by a pleasant hostess who immediately sat us at a table although we had no reservations. I enjoyed the decor, best described as industrial-agricultural-country-sophisticated. The walls are sheathed by rusty metal panels with dull copper at the edges. Small art prints decorate the metal-covered walls, held in place by small round magnets. A large painting depicts a woman’s head surrounded by hairspray cans labeled “Emancipate your soul from mental slavery.” The familiar Bob Marley refrain played in my head throughout dinner.

Farmer Brown is touted for its cocktails, although we didn’t have any. Depending on when you arrive for dinner, the music changes from blues to louder music more befitting a bar atmosphere. (The San Francisco Chronicle recently published a piece on noisy restaurants, in which Farmer Brown featured as an example. I wasn’t bothered by the level of noise, but some people might be, depending on the time of day.)

We began our meal with mini corn muffins and a butter-like spread, served on the house in a pretty wooden bowl. The corn muffins were warm, sweet and soft. The spread left something to be desired, as it tasted of margarine. We ordered homemade lemonade, which is served with half a lemon in the glass, and spicy ginger beer. Both were refreshing and delicious.

Our first course was watermelon salad with ricotta salata, arugula and mint oil. It was perfection. Bite-sized chunks of red and yellow watermelon are piled on a plate along with arugula and shavings of ricotta salata. The salad is drizzled over and encircled by mint-infused oil. The classic combination of salty cheese and sweet watermelon has been traditionally enjoyed in the Mediterranean. Arugula adds a grassy, spicy note to the sweet and salty dish while the freshness of mint oil rounds it all out. The salad arrived on two plates, so as to more easily share it (a thoughtful gesture from the kitchen). My only reservation about the salad was that the ricotta salata shavings are too mild on the palate. Cubes of cheese would have lent a more powerful salty flavor and toothsome texture, which in turn would have provided a stronger foil for the watermelon. Still, the salad was thoroughly enjoyable.

After the salad, we continued on to fried chicken and a pulled pork sandwich, respectively. The chicken comes with greens and macaroni and cheese, while the pulled pork sandwich comes with barbecue sauce and homemade potato chips. The greens were a tasty quick-cooked combination of seasonal greens such as chard. I had been expecting slow-cooked collard greens with bits of smoked ham hock, so this was a departure. Nonetheless, the greens were juicy and well-seasoned, yet still had a bit of bite. The mac and cheese were more like macaroni with an orange béchamel sauce. The sauce, while creamy enough, tasted a bit of flour and paprika, and not very much of the Tillamook cheddar
cheese advertised on the menu. The macaroni was, however, al dente so it stood up to the sauce quite well. I honestly would have preferred a more traditional baked mac and cheese, prepared with a tastier and sharper cheddar such as those found at the farmers’ market or specialty stores.

The fried chicken was well seasoned and fried to a golden crisp without being at all greasy. However, the fried coating was not uniform. Parts of the drumstick, for example, were bare and a bit dry. The fried breast was well-coated with crisp golden batter. The meat, while on the bone, was rather dry and difficult to eat. This was not surprising, as breast meat tends to be dry when it comes from a typically raised chicken. The fried chicken is described on the menu as “Rocky chicken.” I applaud the restaurant’s selection of more “natural” poultry than the typical supermarket variety. But given a choice, I’d opt for a cage-free, pastured, farm-raised bird, such as those sold by African-American farmer Aurthur Davis at the Berkeley farmers’ market. Pastured chicken meat must be handled differently from its supermarket counterpart. But its flavor and even texture are vastly superior to the ordinary supermarket bird, in my experience.

Chicken from Davis’ Ludwig Avenue Farm is always a treat. I was therefore baffled by the omission of Ludwig Avenue Farm chickens from Farmer Brown’s menu. You may as well get your fried chicken at Chicken n’ Waffles or the Lake Merritt Diner in Oakland. Farmer Brown’s fried chicken would be more distinguished by an improvement in frying technique and a change in poultry source. That said, the fried chicken plate at Farmer Brown is quite generous, including a wing, leg and breast.

My companion had better luck with his pulled pork sandwich. The meat itself was soft and juicy, the bun substantial and pleasantly chewy. The barbecue sauce was sweet and slightly spicy, with warm tangy undertones. I could have eaten the whole tub. I only wish the house honey jalapeño hot sauce was as good. (Sadly, it was a bit too much honey and not enough jalapeño.) The chips were crisp and tasty without being greasy.

Finally, we moved on to dessert: pecan pie and strawberry shortcake. The menu claimed the shortcake to be dolloped with “soft whipped cream.” Instead, my shortcake arrived topped by a huge firm scoop of what appeared, at first glance, to be chalky looking ice cream. In fact, it was overly whipped cream. The cream was fresh and tasty enough, but it was flecked with tiny bits of butter that interrupted the smoothness of the whipped cream. Even if the cream had been whipped properly, there was far too much of it to actually eat. I took a few bites and pushed the rest aside.

The shortcake itself was tasty. It consisted of a flat, nearly unsweetened biscuit sliced in half and filled with ruby red strawberries and rhubarb in a sort of brown sugar syrupy sauce. I was very pleased to eat a rhubarb dessert in which the rhubarb slices were still a bit crunchy and firm (instead of stringy and mushy). The rhubarb lent a much-needed sourness to the overly sweetened strawberries. The bottom half of the biscuit soaked up the sauce from the filling, making it soft and sweet like cake. The top half remained crisp, almost like shortbread. The shortcake would have hit the spot with much less sugar in the berry rhubarb filling. Alternatively, the fruit filling could remain as is, if the biscuit were thick and fluffy enough to offset the powerfully sweet filling.

The pecan pie was fairly tasty, but fell short of the ideal. The pecan filling was much less sweet than I had expected—a pleasant surprise to my salty sweet palate. The crust, however, was a bit tough, not at all flaky, and tasted of margarine. This was a disappointment. Pie should be a triumphant ending to a meal, a celebration of flaky, rich buttery (or lardy) crust. This was not.

Our bill was reasonable, but I honestly expect a little more effort from a restaurant with such lofty ideals. Much like the country style decor that permeates the restaurant—the ladies’ room includes such decorative pieces as an old wooden ironing board and a rusty old bike with quaint baskets—the menu should be a little more informed by the bounty of local African-American growers. Their food ought to be celebrated just a little better for the gems they are.

This was my first visit to Farmer Brown.

Have you ever gone out for dim sum and wondered what to order? So have I. Here’s a short overview of a few items I ordered recently at my favorite neighborhood Chinese place, Happy Valley’s in Oakland.

You might have noticed that this is a departure from your regularly scheduled post. I’m new to vlogging, so do let me know what you think!

If you’d like to learn more about dim sum, here are some useful links:

• Dim sum on Wikipedia
• What is Dim Sum? at the World Foodie Guide
• Chopstick Etiquette at the World Foodie Guide
• How to Eat Chinese Food at the World Foodie Guide

Happy Valley’s
400 East 12th St.
Oakland, CA
(510) 451-0218

Like a bell to a dog, the very mention of the name Scharffen Berger tends to induce instant salivation among chocolate lovers. The Berkeley-based chocolate company is one of the few “bean to bar” chocolate manufacturers in the United States. Unlike most chocolate companies in the U.S., Scharffen Berger works with cacao farmers all over the world, selecting their own beans, roasting them, and combining them to produce a variety of chocolate products.

John Scharffenberger recently gave a chocolate making demonstration and lecture at Sur La Table in San Francisco. How could I not attend? Scharffenberger is a charming and eloquent speaker who really knows his chocolate. He covered both chocolate history and certain aspects of its biology.

Some salient facts from the presentation:

• The pulp surrounding cacao beans tastes like “nectarine sorbet.” Cacao was originally used to make alcohol, the bitter beans were discarded. Whole cacao fruits can sometimes be found in specialty markets in Florida and New York City.
• The original xocolātl was more like a porridge, including corn masa and other grains.
• The Spaniards were the first Europeans to find chocolate in the new world. They kept it secret from the rest of Europe. The secret was discovered when a Jewish royal chef, expelled from Spain in 1492, escaped to the Medici court. The chef combined a bit of cacao and some meat with a strange fruit that had just arrived from the new world—tomato—to make what is now the classic sugo.
• Chocolate was quite possibly the first widely consumed stimulant in Europe.
• The term “devil’s food” in reference to chocolate cake is a holdover from the American Pilgrim era. The Pilgrims, being religious zealots, referred to chocolate as “devil’s food” as it was often consumed in chocolate houses and social clubs. Invigorated by theobromine and sugar, “devil’s food” consumers were much too lively for sedate Pilgrims.

Scharffenberger also demonstrated how to make chocolate in the home kitchen. It’s easier than one might imagine. In fact, many rural South Americans still make their own chocolate with a metate y mano, a traditional Aztec and Mayan kitchen utensil similar to a mortar and pestle. Cacao pods are still highly prized and used for special occasions. In order to celebrate, families roast their cacao beans in a skillet, then peel and pound them in a metate. The liquefied cacao mass is formed into a hockey puck shape and left to dry. The dry chocolate is scraped into boiling water with sugar and spices such as cinnamon, or even black and red pepper. The water is then poured from one container to another and back until it froths. Preparation takes around thirty minutes, and produces a rich, fresh chocolate with a unique flavor.

Even without a metate, you can make your own chocolate at home. A spice or coffee grinder takes the place of the traditional method of preparation, with a simple mortar and pestle to smooth the chocolate mass. Cacao beans are generally hard to find at the local market, but cacao nibs—broken bits of the shelled cacao beans—are becoming more common. The resulting homemade chocolate is rich and creamy, perfect for frosting a cake.

John Scharffenberger’s Homemade Chocolate

This recipe makes chocolate with 80% cacao solids. You can make chocolate with 66% cacao solids by doubling the amount of sweetener. John Scharffenberger recommends using white cane sugar as a sweetener. I tried this recipe with white cane sugar, brown sugar, and honey, using no spices except a bit of ground vanilla bean. Each chocolate was delicious, although I admit I prefer the one made with ordinary sugar as it doesn’t compete with the complex cacao flavors.

8 parts good quality cacao nibs (such as Scharffen Berger or Dagoba)
2 parts white cane sugar
any mix of spices you like, such as cinnamon, cardamom, allspice, nutmeg, even chile (John recommends using only a tiny amount of chile as it tends to overpower the chocolate flavor)
Cacao butter, palm oil, lecithin or butter (optional)

1. In a coffee or spice grinder, combine the ingredients.
2. Pulse for 5 minutes, stopping every minute to scrape down the sides.
3. Transfer the mixture to a mortar and pestle and pound until smooth.
4. Optionally, add a little cacao butter, palm oil, lecithin or even butter for a smoother chocolate.

For more information on chocolate, see the following links:

• The History of Chocolate at allchocolate.com
• The National Confectioners’ Association what’s happening today in the world of chocolate
• Manufacturing Chocolate, an interactive presentation at the Field Museum
• Xocoatl.org everything you could possibly want to know about chocolate all in one spot, collected by an avid enthusiast and chocolate expert

Classes at Sur La Table:
77 Maiden Lane
San Francisco, CA 94108
(415) 732-7900

Bittersweet, the self-described chocolate café of Oakland and San Francisco, is one of my favorite places to get a chocolate fix. Whether you’re looking for a good dark chocolate bar such as Hachez 88%, a steamy cup of probably the best vegan hot chocolate around, or some nice pain au chocolat, Bittersweet probably has what you’re after. Bittersweet goes far beyond the typical supermarket varieties of Lindt and Cote d’Or chocolates. This is the place to go for a fairly expansive selection of high quality chocolate, whether dark, milk, or that strange little hybrid called white chocolate.

Of late, Bittersweet has begun selling chocolate covered nuts in small eight ounce bags. I recently tried a bag of dark chocolate chipotle almonds. These are salted, roasted almonds with “dried chilies” all covered in dark chocolate. The idea of smoked chilies with sweetened chocolate appeals to me not only because this seemingly odd combination might evoke the flavors of ancient xocolatl, but also because I like a little salt with my sweets. If salty sweets please the palate, how much more so might salty, spicy, smoky sweets? That corn syrup is one of the ingredients in this confection gave me pause. Do I disregard the documented dangers of corn syrup for a moment of pleasure? The insatiable glutton in me said “absolutely!” while the virtuous health nut said “certainly not!” They duked it out for all of ten seconds, until the glutton said “Dude, it’s chocolate with chipotle. Chocolate with chipotle!” I grabbed the bag while the poor health nut grumbled and ate some hemp.

The verdict?

These are a fun little snack. The almonds are nicely roasted, and their saltiness is a pleasant counterbalance to the sweetness of the surrounding dark chocolate. The ratio of salty to sweet is pretty much perfect. The chipotle chile flavor, however, isn’t quite powerful enough. In about eighty percent of the nuts in the bag, whatever smoky flavor I could taste was overpowered by chocolate, while my palate detected only a hint of spiciness. The glutton was a little disappointed, and the health nut… well, she was too busy sitting in the lotus position looking smug.

“Now hold on you two,” I told them. “Let me finish the rest of the bag.”

Sure enough, I was right. The remaining chocolate covered almonds were just what I had been expecting. They were assertively spicy and smokier, the hot chile sting lingering on the tongue long after the dark chocolate had melted away. Now this was a fun snack. If Bittersweet can get the whole bag of nuts to taste like the bangup ones at the bottom, they’d have themselves some chocolate covered nuts that are far more exciting than the ones people steal from the bins at the supermarket. If they covered them in chipotle infused ganache and then rolled them in cocoa powder, they’d have a sophisticated dragée/truffle that would send my little glutton into paroxysms of delight. (Quiet, you. This is a family publication.)

The health nut hopes Bittersweet replaces the corn syrup with something a little less processed, like simple syrup. The glutton wants to try the chocolate covered pistachios, and, well, everything else. Me? I’m with the glutton.

Nobody writes obituaries for restaurants, except for those brief little blips you might see in the restaurant gossip column of the Chronicle. But those by the by tidbits are so dry and business-like. Such and such restaurant closed, chef so and so to relocate. Sometimes it’s just “[insert name of vaguely known but not quite well enough eatery] to close”–no forwarding address, no word of the chef’s plans. Does she retire? Does he sous-chef at someone else’s restaurant? Do they find a VC and start again? Unless you’re closely acquainted with the culinary industry, you seldom find out what happens to the people who made the food you enjoyed at the little restaurant you so liked to eat at.

Someone needs to write restaurant obits, if only to comfort the grieving customers of the recently departed. When you find one of your homey local favorites has closed its doors for good, there’s a crestfallen feeling–like a stone sinking to the pit of your hollow stomach. It’s hunger, yes, but sadness and a little guilt too.

“If only we’d eaten there more often, maybe… ”

“Ah, but the location was bad. It’s off to the side, behind the burger place. How could anyone see it?”

“Maybe they had a hard time competing with the fancier places up the road.”

“Oh, but it was such fun eating there. And the chef was so nice! He always came by for a chat.”

“…”

“I’ll miss them.”

“Me too.”

Perhaps the saddest part is when you regularly write about restaurants, and in two years of dining neglect to write something about the cute Asian fusion place you’re so fond of that’s just around the corner.

Luckily, Jonathan Kauffman–writing for the East Bay Express–had some nice things to say about Cuvae:

“…the restaurant’s simple food is fresh and comfortable.

One slim row of tables lines the front wall, spectator distance from the semi-open kitchen, and further from the chill is the windowless back room. It’s the color of fresh butter, with sleek wood tables and architectural collages.

Despite the slick ambiance, Cuvae still has a mom-and-pop feel. Perhaps it’s because the young waiters, casual but not sloppy, almost twitch with their eagerness to please….

Cuvae’s guileless Asian-American cuisine is meant to be eaten, not contemplated. There are no witty cultural collisions to ponder, no novel preparations. It’s just simple Chinese-Japanese-Hawaiian food married with simple bistro food. What the marriage could use is a little more romance.”

Guileless, fresh, and comfortable. That’s exactly what Cuvae was. Could it have used a little romance? Maybe. But I’ll miss it, just the way it was.

Cuvae–Closed
Yelp reviews
Photo by mohey51