I have a friend who MUST eat oatmeal for breakfast every day. Every single day. Rain or shine. At home or at work. Even on vacation. If, for some strange reason, oatmeal could not be had, she’d end up in a funk and the day, for her and anyone around her, would be a total loss. I, on the other hand, am a creature of no habits. I don’t have a routine — morning, evening or otherwise. I don’t like to do, let alone eat, the same thing two days in a row. Unless, of course, it’s chocolate, which, to me, is not so much a food as an element crucial to sustaining life, like water or air. But usually when asked what my favorite food, or even what my favorite flavor of a food is, I balk. I dunno, I say. It depends on my mood, the season, the time of day. But there are those occasions when I get on a kick. It’s not often, but it happens. For a while I HAD to have orange juice blended with a banana every day. I was as bad as my oatmeal-fiend of a friend. And there was the time I ate a chicken baja burrito from Baja Fresh every day for a week. Don’t ask me why. I’ve been on another kick lately and it involves salt. I made plain old Toll House chocolate chip cookies but added twice the amount of salt — on purpose. Mmmm … salty, sweet and scrumptious! Although my husband thought otherwise. Then I made granola and added a few extra pinches of salt, too. The simple blend of oatmeal, sesame seeds, pumpkin seeds, walnuts and honey became an addictive sweet/salty treat. Forget stirring it into yogurt. My daughter and I snacked on it straight out of the bag. My husband, again, said it was too salty. Well, that’s a strange complaint coming from a salt hound with an underdeveloped sweet tooth. I thought he’d love my new concoctions. It turns out he just needed time to get accustomed to them. They just weren’t usual. After a day or two, he scarfed up the cookies, took a handful of granola and pronounced it all delicious. Sometimes we need to get out of our ruts, or, in my case, get into one.
– Danielle Centoni

So my daughter comes to the office begging for my car keys, looks at my desk and the random bits of stuff stacked around and tells me I’m a hoarder.

“Look! Don’t you ever give anything away?”

As a matter of fact, I do — unless it’s especially tasty, helpful or interesting to me.

As she stood there accusingly, I handed off an opened bottle of sugar-free cookie dough flavored syrup. I threw away some paste I was supposed to mix with blueberries (to top a cheesecake) last summer and I anted up a Coke, a sparkling juice, and a container of Mexican chocolate.

I am not a hoarder, I say, defensively. Doesn’t she understand that if I give everything away, it would be like giving away hunks of my memory? How will I ever remember visiting the almond orchards in the Central Valley if I give up my Blue Diamond Almond beanie guy? How will I remember to drink my sample of Tea’s Tea if I don’t have the hat sitting there? How will I recall how much I hate that Pop Secret Kettle Corn if I don’t wear the 99-cent sunglasses they sent?

Seriously, I’m thinking I should stop “hoarding” altogether. I should sit that girl down and pour her a nice tall glass of Starburst milk, all 500 calories-worth. I’d follow that up with a few mouthfuls of Vegio, a delightful green powder that promises to keep scurvy away. Then maybe I’d open my book “The Idiot’s Guide to Fibromyalgia” and read for at least an hour. If that doesn’t do it, I’ll just use my 1,269,900 Brush Picks to clean her teeth better than any hygenist could ever do. After that, I think I’ll just start to share on a much more regular basis. I bet she will be thrilled.
– Jolene Thym

Every foodie knows that going to any theme park is like entering a wasteland when it comes to food. Unless you’re up for greasy fast food with little flavor and even less nutrition, you are probably going to either go hungry or hike out of the park for something to eat.

Thankfully, a few parks have added healthy options such as smoothies and salads. But leave it to the Disney company to trump the competition, opening a bonafide fine dining restaurant in the middle of its new California Adventure theme park. Located between California Screamin’ and Bug’s Island is a somewhat loud, but very nice Italian style restaurant, Wine Country Trattoria. The restaurant serves up minestrone ($4.99), big, hearty dinner salads ($10-$11), panini sandwiches ($10) and plates of saucy lasagna ($12.59) that, while not exactly perfect, are a huge improvement on any theme park food I’ve had anywhere. On the night we visited, the salads were fresh and cold, perfect for a hot day in Anaheim. The lasagnas, made of homemade noodles, were nicely flavored, but the noodles were slightly undercooked. Watching the clock and anxious to get back to the rides, we couldn’t resist dessert; tiramisu ($4.99) and chocolate creme ($4.99). The chocolate dessert was stellar, as good as any I’ve had in the finest San Francisco restaurants.

Wine Country Trattoria has an interesting wine list, including lots of Robert Mondavi wines, plus selections from MacMurray Ranch, Rancho Zabacho, Flora Springs and Clay Station. Wines are $5.50 to $7.50 per glass. The restaurant is packed at the dinner hour, so reservations are a good idea. Those who arrive in the area early can enjoy wine tasting at the bar, visit the Golden Vine Winery presentation presented by Robert Mondavi, or take tours and try samples at the Mission Bell Tortilla and Boudin Bakery exhibits across the way.

Slightly more upscale, and located above the trattoria is the Vineyard Room, where dinners are about $30 per person. More fine dining options in the Disney park can be found at the hotels, and outside the park at the Downtown Disney area, which is accessible without a ticket. For more information about Wine Country Trattoria or Disney’s California Adventure, go to www.disneyland.disney.go or call (714) 781-3463.

–Jolene Thym

We’ve started a tradition here at AYCEHQ (that’s All You Can Eat Headquarters, for those of you not yet down with the lingo).

It’s called Grilled Cheese Friday.

Every Friday, hard-working folks from the image desk (the founders of G.C.F.), graphics department, editorial department and anyone else who happens to be walking by, get sucked into the super-cheesy vortex that is Grilled Cheese Friday.

We go to the local fast food joint (yeah, I know, we’d love to make them here but all we have is a toaster) and order them, 10 to 20 at a time. Ok, perhaps that’s an exaggeration, I think today we only ordered eight. But that’s not the point. The point is this:

After the cacophonous rustling of paper wrappers a heavy silence settles over the newsroom. It is the Moment of Melt — the time when the delectable ooze of semi-processed cheese coats the mouth, slows the tongue and makes time halt. What is it about a grilled cheese sandwich (American on white) that is so soothing, so comforting, so darned delicious? None of us question it, we just eat.

And, of course, in a few bites it’s over. The phone rings, the pages need to be proofed, the PC crashes for the 15th time — the Moment of Melt is over. But for those few savored bites, those few gooey minutes, there is peace. At least in this newsroom.

Not bad for a sandwich.

– Jenny Slafkosky.

If G.C.F. continues we might just start making our own grilled cheese. Anyone got a favorite grilled cheese combo? (Gruyere & rye? Fontina on wheat?) Or perhaps someone has an extra panini press lying around that they’d like to donate? Comment!

As a food lover and part-time caterer specializing in Mexican food, when I get the urge to “test” a recipe, nothing can stop me.

Usually, I get the urge to test when I’m going to be around other people, because I want to get the instant feedback from someone other than myself.

On Tuesday I was planning to watch the A’s game with my friend Mary, at her house. Neither of us felt like cooking, so I said I’d pick up some burritos on the way over.

Earlier in the day, I’d had a hankering for some guacamole with roasted garlic. My idea was to roast a head of garlic for 30 minutes, then add it to two mashed avocados, with a pinch of salt and the juice of half a lime.

I had to stop at the store to pick up the goods. I spent five minutes going over lots of unripened avocados before finding them, at $2 a pop. After picking up the burritos, it was off to test.

“Turn on your oven,” I asked/told Mary.

“Why, I thought we weren’t cooking?” she said.

“I’m going to roast the garlic and make the guacamole with it.”

Mary’s a guacamole and garlic lover, like me, and she didn’t want to wait.

“How long will it take?” she asked.

“Thirty minutes,” I told her.

It was worth the wait. I cut off the top of the roasted head of garlic and squeezed out gooey glob and quickly mixed it in with the mashed avocado, along with the salt and lime juice.

It was divine, very flavorful but not spicy. I’ve made guacamole perhaps 10 different ways, and this was easily the simplest method I’ve done.

- Doug Mead

It’s been more than a week, but I am still thinking about the final episode of “Hell’s Kitchen,” the reality television show featuring Gordon Ramsay. I loved watching the final competitors as they worked with their former competitors to serve the deciding meal. I loved that the show was a study of human nature, a study that proved that none of us is perfect, especially under pressure. When the winner was announced, I was thoroughly satisfied, because the 27-year-old, tattooed Michael was the one chef who always worked hard, always delivered and never complained. He admitted his mistakes and didn’t step on others to get to the top. He’s the chef I would hire, the one I would want in the kitchen. But like a whole lot of other people out there, I was puzzled with the last 5 minutes of the show, in which Ramsay seemingly yanked the prize, the promise of a restaurant — free and clear — out of the deal. It seemed he gave Chef Michael no real time to weigh the options, but forced him to accept the opportunity of becoming Ramsay’s protege in exchange for what might have been his only chance at owning a restaurant of his own. Even if he learns more from Chef Ramsay as he works alongside him in London, will he ever be in a position to foot the bill for a restaurant of his own? It seems unlikely. I blame the Fox network for what some might call an unexpected twist in the plot. I say it was an underhanded bait and switch. What will they do at the end of the next episode of “Hell’s Kitchen”? Swap a restaurant for a set of pots and pans? Or maybe a free meal with Ramsay? I just might have to watch to see how low Fox will go.
– Jolene Thym

A couple of weeks ago I decided I wanted an avocado and tomato sandwich for lunch. Not just ANY avocado and tomato sandwich, MY avocado and tomato sandwich.

You see, as a general rule, I am not a fan of sandwiches. I find them too condiment-heavy, too soggy, too squishy, too bland, too blah. Since most sandwich shops fail to please me, I have to make my own. And for the “Avo-Tom” sandwich the ingredients have got to be good: slices of juicy tomato atop a layer of smoky-rich avocado (mashed! I insist!) held together by slices of toasted bread drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil and sprinkled with oregano, salt, pepper and cayenne. This is the ultimate _ the sandwich I dream of during the summer. On occasion I will add sliced cucumber, maybe even onion, but it’s not necessary. Only the avocados and tomatoes matter.

Since my most recent craving for an “Avo-Tom” struck while I was at work, I had to improvise. I headed to the local “fine foods” market and secured a decent sourdough roll and an avocado that had just the right amount of give when I pressed it with my thumb.

But what about the tomatoes? There were Romas, vine-ripened and cherry, but none of them seemed right. I needed a REAL tomato, something with body and sweetness, complexity and personality. Then I found it, the heirloom of my dreams. It was a deep purplish-red and heavy with juice, giving slightly to the touch — an indicator of extreme ripeness. Without even thinking about it, I put it in my basket and checked out.

But standing in the parking lot I did a double-take — my four-item grocery list totaled more than $7! Between a 79 cent roll, and a drink and avocado that were each under $2, the culprit had to be the tomato. My delicious tomato, the tomato of my dreams, had totaled a whopping $3.37 — WAY more than I wanted to spend on a piece of fruit.

Shamed by my outlandish produce purchase, I grumbled all the way to the car.

But later as I sat in the park feasting on my extravagant “Avo-Tom” I had to admit, it was $3 well-spent.

– Jenny Slafkosky

Put it in the cupholder, we’ll eat it in the car!

Ahhh chicken. From nuggets to fingers and “popcorn” to wings, fast food chains have championed the movement to make this versatile bird into as many sizes and shapes as possible.

The most recent leader in this trend is Burger King which just released BK Chicken Fries — French fry-shaped strips of white meat chicken served in a portable cup-holder-friendly container with a built-in sauce well.

While I’m all about eating chicken in my car (who isn’t?), and the packaging is pretty nifty, it wasn’t until I saw BK’s marketing campaign that I decided to make a b-line to BK…actually, it might have been the free coupon.

But really, the marketing campaign is pretty impressive. If in your world “impressive” is synonymous with “vaguely unappetizing.” With the help of famed music video director Paul Hunter (who has worked with Madonna, Eminem and Marilyn Manson) Burger King’s marketing department has created the hard-hitting, feather-flying, heavy-metal chicken band Coq Roq — whose singular goal is to convince people that tender strips of crispy chicken do indeed ROCK.

Complete with sexy, chicken-guzzling dancing girls, the videos feature the black-clad Coq Roq screaming and thrashing about onstage to an audience of really excited BK-eating fans. Band members wear headdresses that look like giant feather-and-leather-bedecked chicken skulls — think 1978 KISS meets Slipknot — which, in a way, seems like a PETA-esque commentary on the source of Chicken Fries:

“Look kids! See how many chickens died for you to eat at Burger King! But don’t worry, these chickens are back from the dead, and they’re ready to ROCK!”

My guess is this was not the actual intent of the BK marketing team, but who knows? Anyway, for those of you who like to rock out chicken-style, there are two full-length music videos (which are really commercials) by Coq Roq and even downloadable ringtones and MP3’s here.

Clearly plenty of time, money and talent has gone into this marketing campaign, which is a shame because the product itself is, well, not that great. BK Chicken Fries are by no means terrible, at least in fast food terms, but they’re also not GOOD. They’re just semi-dry, semi-processed strips of chewy chicken in a peppery crust. Unlike what the commercials suggest, I was in no way compelled to dance around, or to tear off my shirt and show my own “nuggets” to the crowd after eating them.

Don’t get me wrong, I ate all of them. And I LOVE the packaging. If they start serving French fries like this I might have to change my tune, and my shirt.

But as lead singer Fowl Mouth shouts the chorus of Coq Roq anthem “Bob Your Head” at me over the Internet, the only only response I can muster is “Where have all the nuggets gone?”

– Jenny Slafkosky
– Photo by Michael Lucia

When I cook, I like to layer flavors. I take an ingredient and think about how I can pump up the flavor with sauce, with caramelized vegetables, with spice and herbs. This takes extra effort, but I’ve always believed the result of great cooking should be a dish that is greater than the sum of its parts.

A few weeks ago, I unwrapped a beautiful piece of ultra-fresh salmon and started rustling through the depths of the fridge to find some fish-cooking options.
I discovered some very old leeks, desperately needing attention, and a few half-used onions. Still not sure what I should cook, I cleaned and chopped the leeks, threw them in a pan with oil and turned the burner on medium. As the leeks cooked, I noticed a stash of three-day-old chicken bones that I meant to turn into stock, so I dumped them in a pan, added some onions, some whole carrots and put them on for a long boil.

Still wondering what I would serve for dinner, my houseguest from France returned home and jumped into the kitchen with glee, peering into the pots. “I LOVE that!” she said, peering at the leeks. I apologized that they were just leeks. I didn’t know what to do with them. She smiled and sneaked a bite straight from the pot.
Next, she lifted the lid on the pot of boiling chicken bones. “What is this?”
“Stock,” I answered.

She did not understand. She grabbed a fork and stirred until she happened upon a boiled onion, which she forked immediately. “This! This is so good! This is my favorite.”

Puzzled, I asked her how I should cook the fish. She suggested I grill it. I did. I asked what she wanted with it. “Just this!” she responded, incredulous that I would think it wasn’t enough.

About 20 minutes later, we sat down to lovely plates of salmon topped with leeks. She added a bowl of boiled onions to her repast.

My first bite of fish and leeks seemed plain. But with the second bite, I noticed how sweet the leeks tasted, and how they paired so nicely with the fresh salmon. The third bite made me realize that sometimes food needs the freedom to be its own delicious self. Leeks don’t always need to be caramelized, salted or turned into soup or sauce.

Fresh salmon doesn’t need dill, miso or spice rub, and boiled onions are about as simple, sweet and delicious as a food can be.
As our French guest and I enjoyed our delightfully simple meal, she shared with me this story about onion soup:

“In France, this is what we eat when people get married. Always. After the wedding and the food and the cake and the dancing, after the couple goes to the hotel to sleep, the friends chop onions and make onion soup. Just onions. Then they take the soup to the couple. They wake them up and make them eat the soup with them.”
It is, she says, a simple celebration of the simple pleasures in life.
– Jolene Thym

Picture this:

You walk into the elegantly minimal foyer of an expensive San Francisco restaurant. A well-dressed hostess appears to greet you, a beautiful, sincere smile on her glowing face. She leads you into the cozy, hushed dining room where the decor is at once serene and stylish. The ultra-plush carpet muffles your footsteps while golden light bathes the dozen or so tables of sophisticated gourmands. Feeling as though you’ve been invited to join an exclusive club, you sink into your well-appointed seat, and eagerly await the evening’s repast.

The table opposite you, directly in your line of sight, is occupied by a quartet of stylish, monied individuals. Your eyes glance over the the broad-shouldered, silver-haired gentleman. You take in his dapper, well-tailored suit and luxurious silk tie. To his right is a stunning brunette looking for all the world like a glamorous European actress circa 1960. Her glossy dark hair is pulled back into a tight chignon, revealing heavy-lidded eyes lined in kohl and framed with impossibly long, thick lashes. Her face, porcelain white, is set off by a pout of flaming red lips. You can’t help but think, “I wonder what it would be like to be her — to be one of the beautiful people.”

But you don’t feel jealous. Instead, you feel comforted knowing that for once you’re in rarified company. This is the realm of the rich and powerful. Nothing can go wrong here. There will be no botched orders, no unfilled glasses, no screaming children. You’re among the elite, after all, from diners to servers.

Then you hear a cackling guffaw as a woman loudly blurts, “Shut the f**k up!” You look up, startled, to find Miss Glamorous is the culprit.

And so it begins, a night of haute cuisine murdered by haute impropriety. For every beautifully composed morsel you’re served, there is a raucous round of repartee from the next table to spoil it. There is talk of sex toys, a few ego-indulging tales, attention-seeking banter with the waitstaff and inane chatter punctuated by profanity. All, of course, spoken in the loudest of tones. Miss G and her cohorts might as well have stood up and declared: “I’m rich, important and spoiled rotten, and I want you all to know it.”

You’re served six courses of food, but it has become just that _ food. Any culinary brilliance the chef might have been displaying is overshadowed by the appetite-spoiling foursome. The flavors have faded. And the evening — at one of San Francisco’s swankiest of restaurants — is something to endure rather than enjoy.

– Danielle Centoni