Just a few food-related favorites from a recent trip to San Francisco, where I was doing research for my third book (spring 2011!).

- peaches and pastries from Frog Hollow (Ferry Building)

- oysters and the absolute best clam chowder ever at Hog Island Oyster Co. (Ferry Building)

- strawberry-balsamic ice cream at the Bi-Rite Creamery

- simple, perfect dinner at the legendary Chez Panisse

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz

The Easter Parade by Richard Yates 

The Fortune Cookie Chronicles by Jennifer 8. Lee
(I reviewed this book in the Chicago Tribune.) 

I'm teaching Cathy Day's The Circus in Winter this fall, and rereading it has felt a little like falling in love all over again--with Day's luminous, precise language and the way she creates radiant, and often tragic,  lives that radiate in and out of the circus town of Lima, Indiana (based on the real-life Peru, Indiana). This gorgeous novel-within-stories stands as an incredible example of how to craft character and setting. Day's innovations with form and voice feel natural, necessary; her insights on family, obligation, and desire startle and move. The book asks: are you "town people" or "circus people"? If you're not sure, or even if you know,  The Circus in Winter will make you think about where you're from, where you live, and where you want to be.

 P.S. Day's next book, Comeback Season (a memoir) will be out in January 2008. It's a riveting, funny, and unflinching account of her adventures in online dating.

As much as I’ve admired Pringles (and still do for their shape alone, plus their distinctive unnatural flavor), for years my favorite potato chip has been Zapp’s Spicy Cajun Crawtators. I first found them at Zingerman’s when I was an undergrad at the University of Michigan. Crawtators, fried in a little chippery in Gramercy, Louisiana, are satisfyingly spicy, with a deep crunch and deep potatoey taste.

But recently, while in London, I became obsessed with Tyrrells. The people behind this company are all about true potato chip goodness. They grow and harvest their potatoes on a farm in Herefordshire, then fry them by hand to ensure maximum freshness. The inventive flavors, some only available seasonally, are instantly addictive. So far I’ve only had the chance to try Spicy Jalapeno Chilli & Lemon, Mature Cheddar & Chives, and Sweet Chilli & Red Pepper (the latter is particularly sublime). I’d love to get my hands on the Thai Curry & Coriander, Ludlow Sausage & Wholegrain Mustard, Asparagus & Crushed Black Pepper, and the Game Chips with Duck, Orange & Ginger.

Update: if you're in the Chicago area you can sometimes find Tyrells at Fox & Obel and Trotter's To Go.

While on book tour for the hardcover of Stealing Buddha's Dinner I had the chance to check out some wonderful restaurants and shops, including Bouley Bakery in New York, Tartine in San Francisco, and the legendary Chez Panisse in Berkeley. The Bay Area offers endless charms, but one of my favorites has to be Citizen Cake’s version of the classic Hostess chocolate cupcake. The ratio of icing to cake—the chocolate weight, richness—the supple textures—the sense of play channeled through a serious patisserie—all created a moment so perfect that I was overcome with sadness, knowing that I soon would have to leave it behind. With all due respect to Magnolia Bakery et al, Citizen takes the cake. (Note from July 08: this does not apply to the separate Citizen Cupcake store.)

Lately, a number of people have been asking me about my favorite candies. Back in the 80s, I adored Lemonheads, Nerds, and Sprees—candies that could be saved and savored, and parceled out over many hours. Such candies are particularly good choices for the frugal-minded, or for kids who need to scrounge around for soda pop cans to take to the bottle return (one of the best parts about growing up in Michigan: the 10-cent deposits). Today, I lean toward the gummy/i world, though not indiscriminately. A good gummi bear should have an appropriate balance of chew and give—not too soft and never tough. It should not be oversized, which would sacrifice taste and texture. It should provide distinct color-flavor notes (my favorites are raspberry-red, pineapple-white, and strawberry (not lime) green). And it should be fresh, for a stale gummi is no joy. My choice: Haribo Gold-Bears, petite and al-dente, with etchings on their stomachs to represent, I guess, bear fur. Haribo is a German company that has been making gummi bears since 1922. They also turn out lovely gummi twin cherries and sour cherries.

Recent discovery update: Bissinger's Pomegranate White Tea pandas! A refreshing new take on the gummy. In Chicago, available at the Lakeview Whole Foods and sometimes at Sam's Wine store.

Read:
Michael Pollan, The Omnivore’s Dilemma
Cows are naturally grass-eating animals. Why, then, in the American industrial cattle industry, are they fed grain? What are the consequences of this? The disturbing answers to these questions, and much more, can be found in Pollan’s lucid and important exploration of why we eat what we eat—and what it means for agriculture, our bodies, and the environment. He also investigates the “organic industrial” market (hello Earthbound Farm), literally hunts and gathers a meal, and explains why nowadays we Americans are mostly corn.

Reread:
Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem
Clarity is the word that comes to mind whenever I reread this collection of essays. Didion brilliantly examines 1960s culture and counter-culture, a time when “the center will not hold,” with the kind of seeming effortlessness that can only emerge from a gaze of amazing precision. Her portraits of California and its icons continue to tug at this Midwesterner’s desire to go westward and then look back, in the way Didion does, in “Goodbye to All That.” That last essay, my favorite in the book, is an enduring paragon of style and true feeling.

When I was a kid, I sometimes read Little Women as a kind of fantasy-fulfillment. The Marches were the picture of an ideal American family, with their cozy fireplace and earnest lessons and kindly neighbors. It was all so wonderful that I became resentful. They were relentlessly moral, I grumbled, and Marmee relentlessly wise. Plus, they wouldn’t even serve champagne at Meg’s wedding. I would come away from the book feeling either reverent or rebellious. Yet I always returned. I may have been drawn to the descriptions of blanc-mange and lobster salad, sure, but I also began to understand that these “little women” were doing what they could to protect themselves against the world outside—the troubling realities of wartime and poverty, vanity and unrest. Maybe that’s why one of my favorite chapters in the book is the second one. It’s Christmas, Mr. March is away in the war, and the girls have contrived pretty gifts for Marmee. They look forward to a breakfast of cream and muffins, but end up giving it all to a poor German family. Then the girls lark about, putting on a play, and find an unexpected treat: bon-bons, cake, fruit, ice cream, and flowers, sent over by Mr. Laurence next door. The chapter ends with Beth saying, “I’m afraid [father] isn’t having such a merry Christmas as we are.” Such worry and danger are hardly ever admitted into the household, but as a reader, I clung to them. They made the Marches seem less of an impenetrable fairy tale and more of a real family.

P.S. Geraldine Brooks’ stunning Pulitzer Prize-winning novel March imagines Mr. March’s story, from his courtship of Marmee to his devastating experiences as a Union chaplain in the Civil War.

Last summer, during a quick cherry tour of northern Michigan, my husband and I spotted a little shop called The Grocer’s Daughter in the town of Empire, just outside Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. The shop owner, Mimi, was making chocolates in the kitchen area behind the glass counter. (Mimi is indeed a grocer's daughter; her mother, whose image is part of the chocolate shop's logo, ran a village store in rural Denmark.) She offered us samples of her truffles, and we chatted about her recent research trip to Ecuador. I wish I remembered more of our conversation, but I was completely distracted by the smoothness and subtlety of the single-origin chocolates, infused with liqueurs or with lavender and herbs from her garden. I like Vosges, particularly their Black Pearl truffle, but the Grocer's Daughter's creations taste even more wonderfully real. They're literally handmade, yet like nothing I could make myself.

Instead of maintaining a regular blog (which I'm probably not diligent enough to do), I'm going to post periodic "Favorites" that focus mainly on books, food, and culture.

I'm going to begin with my favorite Dickens novel: Great Expectations. I love the book's portraits of loneliness--Pip's yearnings; Magwitch's life of crime and injustice; Miss Havisham's rotted, almost-wedding banquet; Estella's terrifying beauty. Yet there are also raucous drunks, endearing eccentrics, and the sweet and dependable Joe Gargery. I talk with my students about how writers can create worlds through their fiction; nobody shows this better than Dickens.

Suggested editions: Norton and Oxford.