Wait! You don’t need that intro again. You don’t need to hear me wax poetic about books in the trees, or Jo March, or the Bobbsey Twin’s Luau.  You just need to know that today we’re revisiting Great Reads for Culinary Kids, and that we’ve added marvelous reader suggestions to the list, and have plenty of room for more.

Here’s the original list Josie and I compiled, plus a new selection from our readers. They run from picture books to young adult (or 42-year old adult). Do you have a favorite food read, or a great food scene you never forgot? Add yours to the list. Happy (and Hungry) Reading.

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Fanny at Chez Panisse Alice Waters, 1997

Truly charming story-plus-cookbook by a culinary royal. Alice Waters describes how her young daughter, Fanny, spends her days at mom’s famous Berkeley restaurant, sorting tiny eggplants, hiding in stock pots and watching chefs at work.

Bread and Jam for Frances Russell Hoban, 1964

Frances will only eat bread and jam, so her mother gives it to her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I would like to reenact this as “Deep Dish Pizza for Marilyn.”

Blueberries for Sal Robert McCloskey, 1948

The classic picture book of blueberry picking, a bear cub, mothers and life in Maine.

Amelia Bedelia Peggy Parish, 1963

I always liked the many good qualities of free-spirited Amelia Bedelia: she was a tall, skinny smiler, and she cheerfully screwed up everything. I particularly admired the way she could neutralize any angry person by feeding them lemon meringue pie.

In the Night Kitchen Maurice Sendak, 1970

Though there was controversy over the depiction of a nearly baked-in-a-cake naked boy, all I saw was a fantastical look at how a bakery worked overnight. Sendak’s illustrated world – especially with flour and sugar – never fails to stop me in my tracks.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar Eric Carle, 1969

The classic caterpillar eats every food in sight, until he finds all he really needs is one plain and perfect green leaf. Truth? I didn’t want him to eat the leaf. I wanted him to keep eating salami and ice cream.

Eloise in Paris Kay Thompson, 1957

I was lucky to inherit a stack of 60’s-era Eloise books, and Paris was my favorite. Her champagne cork necklace! Baguettes! Dinner at Maxim’s! It was all rawther delicious.

Little House in the Big Woods Laura Ingalls Wilder, 1932

I could blog every day for a year about the Ingalls family and how they rest in the mind of most every woman I know – but for now I’ll just serve highlights: maple syrup snow, sideboard of pies, sour pickles, a crackling pig’s tail. Onion wreaths in the root cellar. So memorable were Laura’s food passages that they eventually filled The Little House Cookbook, as noted in this lovely post by Paige Smith Orloff.

Strega Nona Tomie DePaola, 1979

A wise Italian witch with the power to conjure up pasta. What’s not to love?

Heidi Johanna Spyri, 1880

One of my all-time favorites, the story of a Swiss girl and her grandfather in the Alps is really about toasting golden cheese, curing sausages, warm goat’s milk, and soft white bakery rolls. Do not be fooled by the jacket copy. It’s all about the food.

Anatole Eve Titus, 1956

And here is where Simmer readers fall down. Yes indeed, I love a book about a mouse, a mouse who wears a beret and tastes cheese in the cheese factory. When I first read it – decades before the pear incident – I was dazzled by his little scarf, and all those Bries and bleus.

Strawberry Girl Lois Lenski, 1945

A terrific book I never forgot – Lois Lenski’s story of hard living for rural Florida “crackers,” a detailed, often sad picture of Birdie Boyer and the tough world around her. Strawberries are everywhere, all about growing them, picking them, eating them. A classic for 9-12 readers.

James and the Giant Peach Roald Dahl, 1961

This book made me dream of waking up, rolling over and eating chunks of peach from the wall. Enough said.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone J.K. Rowling, 1997

Oh sure, there’s dueling and wands and danger, but what thrills me at Hogwarts is dessert. I mean, Dumbledore claps his hands and profiteroles fill the hall. Magic, or what?

Suggested by readers and family, the additions:

Farmer Boy Laura Ingalls Wilder, 1933

Both my 13-year-old daughter Josie and the full-grown Merrill Stubbs from food52 added another Laura Ingalls Wilder classic, Farmer Boy. The story of Almanzo Wilder – young Laura’s future husband – is possibly the most food-rich “Little House” book of all. And that’s certainly due to the prosperity of the New York State Wilders, who were always ready to feast: flapjacks and eggnog, braided donuts and candy, roast pork and golden pumpkins.

Dim Sum for Everyone! Grace Lin, 2001

Reader Julie Whitehorn suggested great books like Frank Asch’s Moonbear and Karen Wallace’s Scarlett Beane, but the one that caught my dumpling-loving eye was Grace Lin’s Dim Sum For Everyone! A girl visits a dim sum restaurant with her family and chooses treats to share from the rolling trolleys: cakes, buns, tarts and – of course – dumplings.

All-of-a-Kind Family Sydney Taylor, 1951

Both blogging singer Emma Wallace and my super-reader cousin Robin noted one of Josie’s all-time favorites, the All-of-a-Kind Family series. The books tell the story of a Jewish family living on New York’s Lower East Side in the early 1900’s – wonderful characters, but what everyone seems to remember is the food: penny candy varieties like chocolate babies, chicken corn, lemon-snap and ginger; stuffed sour cream blintzes and pickles, and descriptions of “chick peas! fine, hot chickpeas!”

A Girl of the Limberlost Gene Stratton Porter, 1909

Savour Fare’s Kate suggested this unusual classic, the story of Elnora Comstock, a poor rural girl who catches rare moths to put herself through high school. In one remarkable scene, Elnora opens her lunch box: “She scarcely could believe her senses. Half the bread compartment was filled with dainty sandwiches of bread and butter sprinkled with the yolk of egg and the remainder with three large slices of the most fragrant spice cake imaginable. The meat dish contained shaved cold ham, of which she knew the quality, the salad was tomatoes and celery, and the cup held preserved pear, clear as amber.”

A Book Buffet from Pinot and Prose:

As a serious cook and former librarian now in children’s publishing, blogger Laura Lutz knows her way around “foodie kid lit.” Laura’s recommendations:

“I can’t say enough about Kitchen Dance by Maurie Manning  – it captures not just the joy of food but the kitchen as well.”

“The Adventurous Chef: Alexis Soyer by Ann Arnold also gives kids some culinary history info – I found out a lot that I didn’t know. Also on culinary history, Bring Me Some Apples and I’ll Make You a Pie (the story of chef Edna Lewis) by Robbin Gourley is particularly well-written.”

“For older readers, I loved Dear Julia by Amy Bronwen Zemser – this is appropriate for tweens even though the characters are older. I also ADORED Madame Pamplemousse and her Incredible Edibles, by Rupert Kingfisher. It’s super short but holds so much magic in such a tiny package.”

“For teenagers, The Sweet Life of Stella Madison by Lara M. Zeises is really wonderful. Great characters, fantastic food descriptions.”

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Sara at Culinerapy – and countless others – reminded me about Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs by Judi and Ron Barrett.  Sara particularly loves “its pea soup fog and Cream of Wheat snow banks.”  Erin Nichols recalled great food scenes from Beverly Cleary’s Ramona Quimby, Age 8 including “the infamous egg-bashing on head incident, and the yogurt-marinated chicken dinner that she and Beezus make for their parents.” Finally, Beach House’s Jane notes that both Alice in Wonderland and Babar feature plenty of incredible eats.

Your turn! Add your own favorite read for culinary kids (and this now-very-hungry adult).

* Print the whole list? Why not. Click here for a PDF.

I like everything about fondue.

In the early 90’s Greg and I would go to Geja’s Cafe, the fondue institution in Chicago’s Lincoln Park, a subterranean place with stucco, flamenco tunes and delightfully curtained booths. Called “Chicago’s Most Romantic Restaurant,” it features a massive fondue menu with cheese, beef, lobster, scallops, flaming chocolate. You drink wine for two hours while you wait. You drink wine with four fondue courses, watch wine blaze your dessert, clink champagne. Then, if you are me, you pass out on the table in cheese-wine coma and, for an encore, fall out of a taxi and hurl.

Still, I like everything about fondue.

I like going to buy the cheese, and griping about the cost. Oh well, I always say, handing the cashier our mortgage, it’s only once a year. I love that it’s a one-pot meal, and prying open Sterno, and piling tart apples in bowls and drinking wine while I stir in the wine. I like forks flying, diving, and tangling under cheese. Enough tangled dipping and someone’s bound to drop an apple, or lose their bread. When that happens, tradition dictates that you kiss the person to your right…

…especially if that person is a Josie-loving Lab.  Now break out that set – you know, up in the high cabinet, in the back. Pour, stir, bubble and smooch: enjoy your own fondue night.

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Traditional Swiss Fondue

adapted from The Book of Fondues

1 garlic clove, peeled and halved
1 cup dry white wine
1 teaspoon lemon juice
2 cups (8 oz.) shredded Gruyère cheese
2 cups (8 oz.) shredded Emmentaler cheese
2 teaspoons cornstarch
2 tablespoons Kirschwasser (cherry brandy)
dash white pepper
pinch grated nutmeg

crusty French bread, cut in cubes
1 – 2 tart, firm apples (I prefer Granny Smith) cut in chunks

Rub inside of fondue pot with cut garlic clove.

Pour in wine and lemon juice; cook over medium heat until bubbling. Turn heat to low and gradually stir in cheese with wooden spoon or, for easier cleanup, a heatproof silicone spatula. Cheese will melt, but cheese and wine will appear separated.

In a small bowl blend cornstarch with Kirschwasser. Add to melted cheese mixture and continue to cook, stirring for 2 – 3 minutes, until mixture comes smoothly together. Watch carefully and do not allow fondue to boil. Season with white pepper and nutmeg, and serve immediately.

Serves 4 as a first course; double recipe to serve as main course.

A word about heat: whatever your fondue heat source, it’s a balancing act. You want it high enough to keep fondue melted, and low enough not to burn. Despite best efforts, you’ll nearly always find a small patch of burnt cheese on the bottom. French-speakers and true fondue fans love this treasure and call it “la religeuse,” the nun. I call it holy good snacking.

Silly illustration, above, from several years ago. Finally, a place to put it!

This is not new. If given a deliberately vague task I freeze and wait for purpose, which often doesn’t show but finally did, when I carved a mission from this meme-me-me: I’d share seven foods from my past, each with a small story. You, dear reader, pick the one you like – or the least boring, whichever comes first – and the most-voted food gets cooked and blogged here on Simmer, recipe, story and all. Thank you, Susan for your too-kind words and, indirectly, the gift of one blogging day made a little less random.

S’mores Tarts Baking at an upscale Chicago pastry shop, I was expected to devise new desserts for the case. New desserts that would please both customers and our novelty-driven boss who, if he sensed a trend, would have sold chocolate-dipped pig ears and motorized cake. I came up with S’mores tarts, novel in 1995, composed of graham tart shells, milk chocolate ganache and fluffy house-made marshmallows which we would – big finish – set ablaze in front of the crowd. Seemed like a winner, and all went great until we actually blew out flames, and a lady in the window shrieked heavenward that she’d seen our spit hit the tarts. So much for blaze theater.

Curried Mushroom Soup In high school Behavioral Science class, we had a semester-long project in which we’d be pretend-married to another student, and live on a budget, and work out issues, and all types of situations designed for maximum teen discomfort. One assignment required hosting a dinner party with other “couples,” and after planting my pink Converse Hi-Tops at mom’s stove to make Curried Mushroom Soup – a mature-sounding dish from her files – I served it in our dining room to twitchy, bickering pairs who’d rather be somewhere else. Dabbing soup off my ripped jeans, I considered that this might be how adults spent their days.

Stuffed Leg of Lamb In a combined young-bride and young-chef disaster, I once pounded, stuffed and rolled a boneless leg of lamb to entertain Greg’s law firm colleagues. The evening started with our crotch-sniffing Dalmatian and a clogged sink, continued with undercooked, untied lamb and finished with a wailing fire alarm. In truth, the mustard-garlic-whatever stuffing was delicious – but who among you would ask me to do it again?

Tortelloni with Gorgonzola Sauce In the post-college summer of 1990, Greg and I backpacked around Italy. One night in Bologna we splurged on a real restaurant, a place called The Black Cat, set on a square with flickering jar candles, wrought-iron tables and people in clean clothes. After slurping cheap red wine we ate carpaccio with parmigiana, lemon and capers, fat cheese-filled tortelloni in Gorgonzola sauce, and tiramisu. It may be the wine, the summer or the fact that an argument caused me to leave, walk away and come back, but it is still, many dinners later, the best I ever had.

Linzer Torte The classic Austrian dessert is just fruit jam under latticed almond crust, but the buttery dough is tricky, melting, fragile. Especially if you’re rolling dough in a small city bakery in July, and daft owner lady won’t pay for air conditioning, and still takes orders for Linzer Torte. You might get heat stroke and threaten to quit, right there over the breaking dough. Yes you might. But you’d never blame a torte this good.

Marjolaine When I ran a catering company, The Happy Ending, I supplied restaurants with Valentine’s Day desserts. One year I filled an order for 300 pieces of Marjolaine, a labor-intensive classic made with hazelnut meringue, genoise, and two buttercreams. At the time I worked out of my house, and with no catering staff and a sleeping toddler, it was just me and Marjolaine in the all-night kitchen. For hours I baked, whipped, stirred, threw spatulas and wept. All the while I Love Lucy played on my tiny kitchen TV, the Scotland episode where Lucy dreams it all. I know this because I saw it three times; I was at my table so long that Nick at Nite ran it three full times before sunrise. Three. If you vote for Marjolaine, rest assured it will be well-planned. One cake, no Lucy and Simmer off to bed.

Spaghetti Carbonara When I returned home on college breaks and my sister was in high school, we liked to whip up this spaghetti-bacon-egg bonanza late at night – and for a short obsessive time, every night. When I picture the bubbling cream and parmigiana and yolks it boggles my mind, a mystery how I made it through those snack years without total stomach collapse, or gaining 500 pounds. Because that would surely happen now if, at 42, I began lounging with midnight TV, two-liter Diet Cokes and pasta straight-from the-pot. Iris was my Carbonara ringleader, insisting the more cheese, more spaghetti, more talk shows the better. Our parents were asleep, we had metabolism on our side and to flop down and share one blue bowl again, even a few strands, my stomach would gladly say yes.

So. One of these memories gets cooked. If it’s Marjolaine or lamb, please give me plenty of notice so I can prepare, respectively, with extra sleep and string.

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Update 1/28: WINNER! S’mores Tarts it is, announced here. Voting over, but if you wish to leave a request – like lamb, oh you people – feel free. And thanks for playing along.

Apologies for my absence. Simmering away and back soon, with more than a few words.

And…beer. Did I mention the beer? Like an amber line on the map, beer, serious bier, trailed us all through Bavaria. Beer is somehow beautiful over there; all hefty steins and tradition and frosty hopped-up light. That, or I was just on vacation. Either way me and beer, we’ve not always been friends. As an eager college drinker I’d throw up – Greg’s hair-holding skills sealed our deal – and later, a moderation-minded adult, I’d try excellent “artisan” beers and my nervous stomach would think it ate three loaves of bread. An uneasy truce, at best.

On this trip we traveled with my brother-in-law Stephen and his wife, Moa, a native Swede whose sociable, even-handed beer skills could put most European men to shame. She was happy. Greg and Stephen were deliriously happy. They were all three happy to explore the sudsy maze of cafes, cellars and stubes. And me? Come follow the amber line:

In Salzburg we visit Zum Fidelen Affen, which we thought meant something about a loyal monkey, but a waiter reveals it’s The Funky Monkey. Actually, the waiter says, it’s “funny” monkey, but “I just like to call it funky.”

In this friendly, wood-beamed room I discover the joys of rotwein gespritzt - red wine spritzer – and also free, fresh-baked pretzels. I will find out fast in other places that free pretzels don’t always mean good pretzels – but here they are both free and good. I suddenly feel great loyalty to The Funky Monkey, and resolve to become a great Austrian beer drinker, and get more pretzels.

I overdo it at The Monkey. At Gasthaus Somethingplatz I start ordering bottles of plain wasser, and by late afternoon in Mozartplatz, at a place possibly called Mozartbar, I start drinking peppermint tea. I am traveling, and careful. I am boring, and this annoys me. So I down a tall Pils, get twitchy, and then go back to sipping tea.

In Munich we visit a true temple of bier, the Hofbrauhaus, founded in 1592. Here, servers (some in traditional, half-laced St. Pauli girl-garb) rush liter beer steins, sometimes eight in each hand, to long wooden tables stuffed with locals, tourists, yuppies and grandmas. They eat weisswursts and clink glasses and have a marvelous time. I am about to succumb to the liter – an optimistic move, at best  – when I discover the Radler. Part beer, part lemonade, it’s similar to the English Shandy and a great beer compromise for me, or, as Greg concludes, “a tasty little kid’s beer.” I love the Radler, hoist it with two hands and drink every drop. Greg and Stephen are amused. Now if they only put coffee in beer, I tell them, then you’d see some drinking.

And speaking of drinking, the Hofbrauhaus sees a lot of it. Most don’t get drunk, exactly  – a higher tolerance than weak Americans – but the group right behind us, the big table of young, super-buff Italian guys? They gave their best impression of trying to drink all the beer in Germany.

They got more excitable round after round, yelling toasts and smashing heavy steins together. They broke into drinking songs, pounding beers, fists and cameras on the table, and each time they pounded, the beers jumped. Our table mates were Russian, the rowdy boys were Italian and the old ladies at the next table over were German, tut-tutting the rowdies. It was all very cavernous and beamed, cozy and sloshing. I slurped my Radler, smiled at my husband, read the beer-soaked carved initials lining wood planks. We shared another salty pretzel, smelled amber and lemon and hops, and I let that Bavarian afternoon drift away.

Maybe it’s all the extra change I’ve fed the Lawrence parking meters. All accidental, true, but still, paying it forward, no? Or maybe a tolerance reward, for that man next to me on the plane from Dusseldorf, the one who cheerfully interrogated my life’s history, who performed backbend yoga in the aisle, who veered in and out of nausea and ate all my ginger candies.

I don’t know. But whatever I did to deserve apple strudel and snowball-sized whipped cream in my coffee, I’m grateful. And I’ll take it.

Tomorrow we leave this beautiful city, Vienna, and train down to Salzburg. Oh sure, it’s Mozart’s hometown, but it’s also the first place I ever saw in Europe, back in 1990, when I was younger, less brave, and afraid to taste the city. That trip’s highlights: sleeping atop my padlocked backpack, throwing up alone on a mountain and, courtesy of a near-consumptive cold, eating only Fisherman’s Friend cough drops for two days. I promised Greg I wouldn’t trip too hard down memory lane this time in Salzburg; but I didn’t promise you. A few stories to come along with reports on wiener schnitzel, hot wine and enough Palatschinken to feed us all. Happy Holidays with love, from your Simmering correspondent in Austria. It’s professional dessert research, and someone’s got to do it.

* extra credit and a virtual slice of Sachertorte: What does the post title have in common with Salzburg? Hint: jam, bread, and one hot captain with seven children.

For my part, I spent some time over the year exploring the full landscape of food blogs. I examined them all and eventually came to read success fast, to immediately sniff out where and why a blog had it going on.  Clearly food blog readers throng to sites with recipes, scads of recipes, preferably daily recipes.  It seemed that I should get Simmer to act like a real food blog – as in smile, Simmer, don’t you want everyone to like you?

I attended a huge Chicago-area high school with nearly five thousand students, 1,200 in my graduating class alone.  A place where freshmen might consider popularity for a month, then throw up their hands and do their own thing. You could drown in that ocean or you could shake out your dozen good friends, and share awful pizza in the lunch room, and put your laughing heads together against the crowd.

No, I would not make Simmer dress like a real food blog. It’s crowded, these voice-filled corners on the web. Why be anyone else?  When we tell Josie “be yourself” we mean it, and what’s more she believes it; it seems I should follow and let Simmer grow its own quiet way.

With that I give you the ten top-viewed posts of 2009. Of course numbers don’t tell the whole story; I’d like to think every post has a few friends, cookie bakers, dog lovers, people who don’t mind rambling. Something you enjoyed didn’t make the cut? Wave its flag in the comments and thank you, kind readers, for hanging around another year. You’re a loyal, compassionate bunch of true individuals, and I’m so pleased to share at your table.

1. Retriever Retriever, Pumpkin Eater A staggering number of people tuned into the year’s top post, in which Cleo’s upset stomach leads to pumpkin-brown rice flour biscuits.

2. Upside-Down Tomato Basil Bread In which unlikely sticky-bun logic worked magic on bread and summer tomatoes.

3. Sweet and Low: Caramelized Banana French Toast Josie’s oral surgery, a sweet reason to share this challah-soft treat.

4. French Onion Cider Soup: Take Care Technically from December, 2008, this soup brought warmth home after my father’s funeral, and readers kept it gathering steam all year.

5. Two-Bite Jam Tarts: By Any Other Name Are they tarts, or are they cookies? Munching flaky cream cheese dough and marmalade, it doesn’t really matter.

6. Ginger Peach Pandowdy The tale of one messed-up peach dessert leading to another, plus the word “pandowdy” and how it rings like Kansas.

7. The Secret Life of Oven Mitty I say goodbye to a trusty oven mitt, and kitchen puppetry ensues.

8. Shallot Surprise: Raspberry Basil Caprese The shallot that looked like a mouse, and a surprisingly good salad.

9. The Baker’s Alphabet Words and pictures started way back for baby Josie get completed for an expectant friend.

10. Moms Will Be Moms, But Judy is Forever I was happy to see a not-quite-food-post make the list – a personal favorite, it’s the story of a forbidden book, a drunken divorcee, and Wiener Wraps.

How could this velvet bowl hate the camera? And what’s with those bits? Like lucky ocean gems at the table, up close they just look squidly, or naughty, or like a cook’s lost thumb. That’s already more words than I wanted on this soup, which seems destined to stay vivid in memory but die on film. What does this color suggest to you? Tell me all about it – in ten words.

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Oh, bisque.

In person, so lovely

On film, Lobster-Bismol.

Uncle Walt must think I’m not getting enough magic, because my laptop refuses to connect to their Interwebs. Thus the first-ever Simmer report from my iPhone, short, sweet and hoping this thing works.

Wherever you are, I hope you enjoyed a marvelous holiday with people you love and food you adore. And since I missed a proper stuffed, basted and cranberried feast, feel free to recap yours! From sunny, surreal, frizzy-haired Florida, wishing you and yours the best.