Born and raised in the United States, I am used to American desserts — puddings, pies, cakes and cookies of every size and shape. Cookies are my hands-down favorite, but only if they’re made with butter and very fresh. Imagine how happy I was to open a box of goodies from Split Bean Coffee in Van Nuys to discover a little pastry box filled with powdered sugar-covered sandwich cookies! I took one out of the box and tasted immediately. It was not overly sweet, and the center was not American caramel, but dulce de leche. I didn’t love them, but I really enjoyed reading about the history of the delicate Spanish cookies, called Alfajores. The recipe for the cookies can be traced back to the late 1800s, to Peru, Bolivia and Ecuador. The cookies, which can be filled with everything from peanut butter to preserves, are $11.95 per dozen when made with butter. Cookies made with margarine are $2 less per dozen.

Also in the box was a really unusual toffee candy, not sweet and buttery like American style brittle. This was a surprisingly dark brittle; not bitter, but so dark that you could picture the candy maker pulling it off the burner just before it scorched. It tasted almost like it was flavored with coffee, but it’s not. The toffee was topped with almonds. It sells for $12.95 per pound.

After the toffee, I opened the small bag of soft, square marshmallows and worked my way through the bag, tasting one of each color. Some, like the coconut-covered ones, were great. Others, I could live without. The marshmallows are $12.95 per pound. If you would like to take your own taste-tour of South America, you can check out the entire line of Split Bean Coffee products at www.splitbeancoffee.com.
–Jolene Thym

It’s been three weeks now and I can still picture the gorgeous basket of breads a representative from Panera Bread brought in on the day the store opened here in Fremont. There were cheesy breads and sourdough breads, cookies and fruit-filled pastries, baguettes, ciabattas and dark loaves dotted with sunflower seeds. As the representative talked about the new store, I tried to listen, but really I just wanted him to leave so I could dive in. Here in Fremont, we don’t have the access to great bread that so many of you do. The intoxicating fragrance of the bread must have caused my eyes to glaze over, because the bread-carrying man finally invited me to taste as he spoke. I accepted the invitation, and invited others to join me. We tasted through the samples, then re-tasted and re-tasted throughout the day, just to make sure the bread was good.

Panera’s bread might not win in a competition with the Bay Area’s best _ Acme Bread and The Cheeseboard in Berkeley, or Grace Baking in Albany, but the bread is good, and a welcome addition to Fremont’s bread options. Besides basic bread, Panera also serves up a reasonably priced, healthy lunch. Panera breads vary in price, starting at about $2.29 per loaf. A 3-pound loaf is $5.59. The Fremont store is located at 2650 Mowry Blvd., in the same parking lot as Washington Hospital. Call (510) 742-1200. (Secret: A second Panera store is opening in Pacific Commons, the South end of Fremont, in October.)
– Jolene Thym

We ate dinner at the gas station the other night. Well, actually, it used to be a gas station. Now it’s a cute little restaurant in downtown San Rafael named Sol Food. They serve up Puerto Rican cuisine, with an organic accent.

While we stood in line waiting to order at the counter, we heard they were out of a few items. No matter.

We both got the Pollo Al Horno, three flavorful portions of free-range chicken thighs baked with oregano and garlic, accompanied by rice, beans, organic salad and maduros, which I now know are sweet fried yellow plantains.

When the waiter handed me the plate of food, it was actually heavy. All for $8.95. Fill ‘er up.

– Jodie Chase

Usually when you go out to eat, you know what you’re eating: steak, pasta, mu shu pork. But when you venture out to a fancy restaurant, all bets are off. Between the menus littered with French words such as concasse and the artfully arranged dished splashed with all manner of colorful sauces and garnishes, it’s hard to know what exactly what you’re putting in your mouth — however tasty it might be.

While dining at the posh Masa’s in San Francisco, I enjoyed an elegant nibble topped with a sprinkling of exquisitely tiny greens. As I chewed, I detected bursts of minty anise flavors from the greens, livening up what would otherwise have been a bit boring. I asked the waiter the greens were. “Mache,” he replied. “Hmmm….,” I said, perplexed. “They don’t look like baby mache leaves. And mache doesn’t have a minty anise flavor.” So he asked the chef and came back with another surprising answer: basil.

Basil! I took another bite. Yes! That’s exactly it. All of a sudden the flavor of the greens registered in my mouth as that old familiar flavor I know and love. But what interested me the most was how my mouth, without any preconceived notions, broke down the flavor of basil into something more elemental. I had never really thought about what basil really tasted like. It was just basil. It’s like trying to describe the color orange. It’s orange, what else can you say?

Well, food and wine critics make a living out of breaking down flavors and putting words to them. And I’ve always envied that ability. I’ve gone to wine tastings and heard experts raving about essences of peat, creme brulee or toast in wines while I sip and come up with brilliant observations like “Hmmm… tastes good. Tastes like good wine.”

But now I know the secret to detecting nuances and flavors like a pro. The problem is, I’ll probably have to start eating and drinking with my eyes shut.

– Danielle Centoni

Standing at a stoplight on my way back from a Samuel Adams beer tasting at a steak house on Sutter Street, I found myself staring at an unsightly, rectangular restaurant sign for several minutes before I even registered the words: Fleur de Lys.

“The Fleur de Lys?” I wondered out loud.

As I waited for the little green man to give me permission to cross the street, I ran through my mind all that I knew about the restaurant, a French institution in San Francisco. The bites of Fleur de Lys food I’ve had at various events have been standout. Chef Hubert Keller does a stellar job, and the restaurant enjoys a great reputation.

But as I looked at the building that is Fleur de Lys, it was hard to fathom. There was no beauty on the outside of this restaurant, and the only evidice that there might be a business inside was this unappealing yellow sign, as ugly as a Motel 6 sign. Actually uglier because of the color.

I say that sign has to go. It needs to be plucked off the side of the building and chucked into the nearest dumpster. No sign would be an improvement. And while they’re at it, I think they need to jackhammer a window in the side of the building. Sure, that would make for some decorating problems inside the glitzy dining room. But I’m just sure that a lot more people would want to go to a light, cheery restaurant filled with natural light instead into an unsightly cave.

–Jolene Thym

A few months back, I sampled some of Harry’s Fresh Foods, a line of healthy, pre-made dishes that were all very good, except for the soup. I shared my tasting experience in print, including the fact that the two-year-old who tried the soup was not impressed.

About four weeks later, a surprise package arrived in the mail. Inside were four containers of soup and a note asking if I might try the reformulated version of Harry’s Roasted Vegetable Tuscan Soup. Apparently, the soup kitchen agreed with our assessment and changed the recipe.

As I opened the new version of the soup, I stifled a giggle. It was pureed–was this to please our tot-aged taster? I’m not sure, but the soup did taste better. It still has a consistency problem, though. It’s too thick, but not in a natural way. It’s almost gelatinous. I can say it’s not bad, but not quite good enough for the Picky Eater column.

The day after I got the reformulated soup, I received a sample of Dreyer’s new Li’l Dibs, an absolutely charming and delicious container of ice cream balls dipped in Nestle’s chocolate. As I melted a ball in my mouth, I read the ingredients. Stop! The L’il Dibs have hydrogenated fat in the coating, which is unacceptable. I refuse to aid in wrecking the health of my readers, and, I reasoned, if Harry’s would reformulate its soup, then why wouldn’t Dreyer’s change their recipe as well!

I called. They reported that they are in the process of taking the trans fats out–not because I said so, but because they know it’s the right direction for their company. Either way, I figure, I win. I can’t wait to try the reformulated L’il Dibs, which are coming out in chocolate with a chocolate coating for serious chocolate lovers.
– Jolene Thym

In our house, there’s always bread. Usually, we rely on sliced whole wheat, toasting and smearing it with jam in the morning, making sandwiches at noon, buttering it at night. But this month, when we welcomed a French student into our home, we were obliged to bag the brown bread in favor of French bread, the bread that is clearly de rigeur in our student’s home.

Contrary to what I read in “French Women Don’t Get Fat,” French women do not start their days with plain yogurt. At least our young Frenchwoman does not. She starts her day with a little bread and some “confiture,” otherwise known as jelly or jam. The bread can be a baguette or a boule, a bun or a brioche. The type of bread isn’t critical, as long as it’s made with white flour.

But even more important — critical in fact — is how you treat the bread. You must not, she says, turn the loaf upside down, sideways or rest it on its crumb. You must not rip the bread, drop the bread, or huck the bread across the kitchen. And “never, never, never put the bread in the bin (trash)!!!”

Why? “Because it was the bread that saved France. So we respect the bread!” she says emphatically. “During the war, there was rationing, and each family recieved nothing but a single loaf of bread. ” It is because of this that the French are taught to “respect the bread.”
Those of you who are looking at a loaf of moldy bread may be wondering right about now how you can respect moldy bread. You can. “It is permitted to feed the bread to the birds or to the dog. Just NOT the bin.”

Our student will leave us in another week, and we are already sad. She has shared so much, and taught us so much. Before she goes, we will promise her that in our house, we will respect the bread.
– Jolene Thym

If you have not yet made it to the Hayward Area Historical Society’s food show, it’s time to clear your schedule and go, before the month is up. It won’t take long, and it’s a lot of fun to get the facts behind the bites, as it were.

If you take the time to actually read through the panels, you’ll discover tidbits of information that are just irresistible. Check out “The Wonder Book,” a recipe booklet from 1934 filled with
recipes and ideas for eating Wonder Bread. Learn about Smith College Fudge, a favorite of college women in the 1800s (Personally, I didn’t know there were any college women in the 1800s.)

My companion, who isn’t exactly proficient in English, loved the photographs of people working in bakeries and canneries, producing food to feed America’s appetite for ready-made everything.

As part of the show, the curators put together an informal cookbook of handwritten recipes, as a record of sorts of the way people cook, both now and in decades past. I can’t wait to try the gorgonzola sauce.

Here’s a recipe from one of the owners of Boyden’s Honey, a company that sold honey from 1936 to 1941 in Alameda:

Honey Cake
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup honey
1 cup sour milk
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup chopped raisins
1 cup chopped dates
1 teaspoon soda
2 1/2 cups flour
Spices may be added. Mix and bake in 350 degree oven.

How long to bake it, what order to mix the ingredients and all other details are apparently up to the individual baker. Bon Appetit!

Those who like to engage all of their senses when they learn about a topic will want to go to the show on Thursday night so they can taste some of the ethnic foods the museum is offering up free as part of the show.

The Hayward Area Historical Society is located at 22701 Main St., Hayward. Hours are 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday and 7 to 9 p.m. Thursdays in July. Call (510) 581-0223.

–Jolene Thym

Samuel Adams is on the cutting edge. Which is a surprise considering the company, according to one local beer expert, is the Starbucks of beer _ a corporation whose product is unnervingly consistent, has mass appeal, and available almost everywhere.

But the company has been quietly working on a new brew that challenges the very notion of what beer is. It’s in a category all by itself, and it’s a category so new no one has yet been able to name it.

The beer in question, if you can call it a beer, is Samuel Adams Utopias. Considered an “extreme beer” at a whopping 25 percent alcohol by volume (this is more than fortified wines like port), it is brewed in very small batches and aged, according to the company’s Web site, in Bourbon, Scotch, port and Cognac casks for up to 10 months.

Last week I sampled Utopias in a blind tasting held at the C&L Steakhouse in San Francisco (formerly Charles Nob Hill). It was served in a brandy glass along with a glass of port and a glass of cognac. None of the glasses were labeled and we had to decide what was what. Well the port, with its deep garnet color, was obvious. The cognac, with its alcohol fumes rising up from the glass, was also obvious. But I thought for sure the glass of Utopias was sherry. It had the same deep amber color of an oloroso sherry, as well as the nutty, sweet flavor. It was absolutely delicious.

Although the company likes to tout Utopias as the “Cognac” of beers, to me, it’s really more like sherry. It’s even aged in a way similar to the solera system for sherry. (Don’t worry I won’t go into technical details. I barely understand them myself). The point is, the stuff is good — an after-dinner-style drink that’s uncarbonated, rich and sweet with tones of oak, vanilla, caramel and maple syrup. It’s also expensive. Utopias is released in a limited edition of 8,500 bottles, which retail for $100. Personally, I’d rather spend half that on a bottle of good sherry, but beer aficionados will probably think it’s unusual and delicious enough to warrent the high pricetag. For more information about it, visit www.samueladams.com.

– Danielle Centoni

At my desk, slaving away for the food section (cue melodramatic violins) I often don’t have the chance to go out for lunch. (Yes, I know I should pack a lunch but, well, I don’t. So drop it. Thanks.) If I happen to miss lunch, as many of my co-workers will attest, I get a tad grumpy. I think “demonic” is the adjective a companion once used when describing me when I’ve skipped a meal.

So to assuage the hunger-demon I keep a stash of foodstuffs under my desk for appetite-related emergencies. I’ve accumulated a strange assortment of items over the past couple of years and yet, like a fashionista with a closet-full of last year’s Prada, I am constantly complaining to whoever will listen that there’s nothing to eat.

Here is a partial list of what is under my desk right now:
4 packets of Lemon Ice Kool-Aid, 2 packets of Arctic Green Apple Kool-Aid, half-used bottle of Tapatio, McCann’s Instant Irish Oatmeal (Variety pack), jumbo box of Emergen-C Tangerine, Sun Maid Golden Raisins and Sun Main Zante Currants, Trader Joe’s Punjab Choley, peanut butter-filled pretzels, a carved bamboo-shaped cylinder filled with lychee-flavored tea.

If only I could get the cast of Iron Chef to come by and whip something up for me. Oh the wonders they would create!

Perhaps some Lemon Ice Oatmeal with Punjab Choley-Currant Sauce? Or maybe a Lychee Tea Granita topped with Emergen-C-soaked Golden Raisins and Crushed Pretzel Crunch? How about Arctic Green Apple Soup with Spicy Tapatio Swirl?

Hmmm. Maybe not. Perhaps my under-desk assortment is too varied, even for the talents of Iron Chef.

So, dear reader, do you have a stash of something good to eat under your desk? If so, post it in the comments section, maybe we can trade. My Punjab Choley for your tomato soup? And hurry up, I’m starving here.
–Jenny Slafkosky