Deep-mustard and aquamarine tiles line the walls, bordering burgundy bookcases adorned with Mexican folk art and objects: a well-worn metate, a nativity scene, dancing skeleton figurines. Thick handmade corn tortillas arrive piping-hot in floral-patterned napkins in a straw basket, and fragrant black beans simmer tableside in terra-cotta pots. Each tortilla, with its rough-hewn edges and grooves, is perfect for sopping up my preferred guisado, mole verde de puerco: tender braised pork in a rich and earthy pumpkin-seed mole.

El Buen Comer’s hearty, affordable portions make it ideal for groups and families. Though I generally stay on-menu, you do have the option of letting Isabel feed you her way, with a chef’s tasting priced at $40. I like to visit with my friends who have children, and see their little ones savor a key part of every San Franciscan’s diet: fresh, soulful Mexican food. The Ferry Building Farmers Market is the best-known market of the bunch, serving as the living blueprint for the Bay Area’s love of all things organic, local, and seasonal.

Breakfast cereal as a thing can be attributed to Dr. John Harvey Kellogg who ran the Battle Creek Sanitarium, an acclaimed Seventh-Day Adventist health and wellness resort in Michigan. “If you were upper-middle class and above, it was a fashionable place to go get treated for a variety of maladies, or just to go for your general health,” says Lohman. Kellogg, a staunch vegetarian who was especially interested in bowel movements, advocated eating everything from seaweed to yogurt to nuts and grains—a radical turn from America’s meat-centric diet. Of course, most of us know the Kellogg name from Corn Flakes, which, the story goes, were first invented at “The San” after some dough turned stale and they tried to bake it anyway.

That same year, Dr. Kellogg and his brother Will began experimenting with various ready-to-eat grain flakes, and packaging them for sale. A box of Granose Flakes from 1898 simply stated “ENRICH THE BLOOD,” a reference to the nutritional benefits the Kelloggs attributed to a vegetarian, grain-filled diet. This message was central to early cereal packaging, when brands were fighting not just for shelf space, but to convince the average American to do away with that traditional, meat-laden six-course breakfast.

Chances are, it’s never struck you as particularly odd that there’s an entire supermarket aisle devoted to nothing but cereal. For most of us, cereal is the ultimate convenient breakfast, and even the most sugary of varieties claim to offer nutritional benefits and a balanced start to your day. Every brand is trying to convince you it’s something different, something better, and there’s probably at least one you’re buying into. The “kids only” sugar bombs boast whole grains, and Special K comes studded with chocolate bits and sweet yogurt clusters.

But it wasn’t always that way. Cereal’s position as America’s default breakfast food is a remarkable feat, not of flavor or culture, but of marketing and packaging design. It’s a century-long history of advertising, a brilliant campaign that capitalized on the intersection of industrialization, health-consciousness, and changing class attitudes that completely upended the way Americans ate. And it all began at a moment when products were primed to transcend regional tastes through the rise of mass-marketing.

We’re starting to hear those discussions around corned beef egg roll purveyors, too. As with the later generations of Detroit pizza makers, you’ll find chefs’ unique imprints on the dish at different spots throughout the area. In some restaurants, they’re referred to as “Reuben” or “Irish” egg rolls. One example of the latter, at McShane’s Irish Pub, includes potato. It’s a minor addition, and it’s still a corned beef egg roll at its core, but it’s clearly a McShane’s roll. And that sort of evolution is a sign that Detroit’s own egg roll is growing into something more than just a beloved local delicacy—it’s well on its way to becoming southeast Michigan’s next regional dish. Cereal as Health Food
“America at the turn of the century was just as vast and varied as it is now,” explains historic gastronomist Sarah Lohman. “Fannie Farmer’s The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book, from 1906, which I think is a decent judge of what the average, multi-generational, Midwestern or New England American family is eating or aspiring to eat, is showing a meal that includes: fruit; hot cereal like Quaker oats or hominy; a substantial meat like beefsteak, ‘warmed over lamb,’ or broiled halibut; potatoes, toast, or muffins; or, of course, coffee.” In other words, a breakfast of just hominy or porridge was considered a nutritionally unbalanced poor family’s breakfast—not exactly something you’d aspire to. Cereal changed all of that.

Mr. Lee nearly shouts when I ask if the corned beef egg roll could be southeast Michigan’s next staple. “As big as the coney dog! It will be up there and beyond, no doubt about it, no question about it! This is big stuff. I’ve got people coming in and they’ll order five, 10, 15 at a time.”

To determine whether his prediction may come true, it helps to take a look at Detroit’s other iconic foodstuffs. As brilliant as the invention of the coney dog was, it wasn’t until a number of establishments had replicated it that it became a regional delicacy, one that’s since become a point of pride among Detroiters—something over which we don’t just agree, but bond.

The corned beef egg roll is not yet a Great Uniter. Instead, its current stage of development invites comparisons to Detroit-style pizza, which was invented just after World War II at Buddy’s Pizza, a former speakeasy turned dive bar/pizzeria. In an appropriately Detroit move, chefs at Buddy’s baked the pizzas in repurposed blue steel utility trays designed for parts storage at local auto factories. The best pizzerias in the city today are directly or indirectly linked to that shop, and still use those trays. As a Buddy’s corporate manager once told me, “Detroit-style pizza is actually Buddy’s pizza.”

But over the decades, the more ambitious chefs and managers from Buddy’s struck out on their own, launching formidable spots like Loui’s in the early ‘70s. Those kitchens are breeding still more chefs, and even national brands, such as Jet’s, offer a fast-food take on Detroit-style pizza. Some argue that the second-generation shops, like Loui’s, are superior due to their more liberal application of Wisconsin Brick cheese, and the fact that it’s cubed instead of shredded, which results in a better melt. Loui’s customers also point out that the dough is lighter, more focaccia-like, but simultaneously thick and sturdy enough as a base to support a pound of cheese. Some say Loui’s is superior because its owners chose not to expand, while the quality of Buddy’s pizza suffered when it grew into a local chain. Though this isn’t the forum for a discussion of which pizza is the best, the ongoing debate over the relative merits and demerits of different incarnations of Detroit-style pizza is the kind that one hears only around a significant regional dish.

Asian Corned Beef’s rolls are thick-shelled, and the cheese plays a relatively minor role compared with the rolls sold in other shops, like Mr. Fo-Fo’s, which also serves some of the best in Detroit. For some insight into the finer points involved, Mr. Fo-Fo’s co-owner Otis Lee, who goes by Mr. Lee, recently provided me with a demo of corned beef egg roll assembly. To stress the importance of clean grease, he pulled a roll out of the fryer and cut it open, noting the air pocket between the filling and the top of the casing. If the grease were dirty, he said, the shell would collapse, and the whole thing would end up soggy and heavy. When fried correctly, Mr. Lee told me, the casings are light, crisp, and surprisingly un-greasy to the touch. Indeed, his sample egg roll, for having just been pulled out of boiling oil, felt unexpectedly dry to me, almost like it was covered in peach fuzz. Mr. Fo-Fo’s laces the meat with more shredded cheese than most shops, which, along with the generous beef portions, make these the biggest rolls in Detroit—though they’re also slightly more expensive, at $4 each. Because of their size, Mr. Fo-Fo’s doesn’t label them “egg rolls”—instead, they’re “fried grinders” or sandwiches, because “that’s more what they are,” Mr. Lee’s son, Keith, explained.

“How many fish markets is it reasonable to visit on our honeymoon?” I asked my husband-to-be. “Three or four,” he answered, and I nodded. “A day,” he continued. This is why I married him. It’s also why we spent the first morning of our honeymoon, a mere 36 hours after our wedding, wandering the fish souk in Dubai.

Fish markets make an exciting travel stop for food lovers because they offer a glimpse into the local food culture and a peek at the everyday routines of the local food industry. If you have a strangely-timed layover (there’s not much else to do at six in the morning) or a weird case of jetlag (still awake at 5:15 a.m.?), the market’s early-morning hours may actually be convenient.

With the exception of Tsukiji in Tokyo, Tekka Center in Singapore, and more consumer-oriented fish markets such as Seattle’s Pike Place Market, few fish markets are huge tourist draws. In Dubai, the vendors are friendly and excited that you are interested in their fish, even if you’re more likely to snap a photo than to purchase any actual seafood.

At 5:15 a.m., when we arrived, most of the indoor stalls were set up, but an endless parade of fresh fish on ice was still being unloaded from vans, sorted, auctioned, and set up for display. Arriving this early is not a necessity (certainly, you’d get a great view of what’s going on arriving an hour later), but it’s interesting to catch the bustle and behind-the-scenes bargaining that goes on before the fish make it to the stalls.

These informal outdoor areas, like the indoor areas, were mostly pristinely clean. Men in spotless uniforms sold shimmeringly fresh fish, and the only thing conspicuously absent was the sort of smell one associates with fish. Each outdoor fish sale resulted in a mess of discarded fish parts, but uniformed cleaning people were close behind. Both indoors and out, though, the floors were wet with the quickly-melting ice on which hundreds of pounds of tuna, barracuda, and red snapper rested—wearing flip flops is highly recommended. Feet can be easily cleaned at the hotel; the canvas on your TOMS is more difficult.

When you arrive, the first order of business is to caffeinate. The best way to find a morning beverage is to ask someone who seems to be really enjoying whatever they are drinking. A man weighing out fish that bore a striking resemblance to Gill from Finding Nemo directed us to the (oh so creatively-named) Fish Market Cafeteria. The tea, the beverage of choice here, was murky and milky, warm, and oddly comforting despite the creeping heat of a soon-to-be 95 degree day.

The wild gender imbalance of the market’s workers and shoppers stood out most prominently in the dense crowd of the cafe. We were at the market for a full hour before I saw another female—a pair of ladies shopping and another tourist. While a bit jarring, the lack of women around did not seem to have any effect on how I, as a female, was looked at or treated.

If you’re like me, even all this raw fish will whet the appetite. Outside the market, on the northeast corner, is an outbuilding holding the most important part of an early morning fish market tour: breakfast. Grill & Shark Restaurant may or may not have a menu, and it may or may not grill food that may or may not include sharks. Our point-and-look hopeful methods yielded a “fish” (squid) curry and a “vegetable” (chickpea) curry, accompanied by rounds of light, flaky paratha.

In total, a visit to Dubai’s fish market will take you about an hour including breakfast. If you’re jet-lagged, you’ll probably be ready for a nap, and if you’re on a layover, this may help you sleep the rest of the way. And if you’re sticking around Dubai and have a kitchen, don’t forget to buy some of the bounty of sea creatures for a meal later—after 6:30 a.m. (once most of the wholesalers are long gone) the market is open for anyone to shop.

The market, though stuffed to the gills with blue crabs and yellow-striped fish, king prawns and sweet lobsters, is not very large. The parking lots on either side are teeming with pre-market fish sales. The west end is busier, and on the southwest corner is the Fish Market Cafeteria. The south side of the building is a fruit and vegetable market, very little of which is open this early. There are more outdoor vendors running along the northern, water-facing edge of the market, while inside row after row of fish vendor sells their wares.

The vendors kept busy straightening rows and stacks of fish, and, when they saw us passing, trying to come up with ways to get us to stop and chat. Usually this involved handing us a recently-deceased sea creature to hold.

But the most exciting interactions were when nobody was paying attention to us: negotiations between vendors, greetings to old customers, the act of weighing out fish—old school, using a basket of big metal weights to counter the fish in the opposing basket.

In the northeast corner of the souk, there’s a small section devoted to a mind-boggling array of dried fish products. There are tiny dried shrimp smaller than a fingernail all the way up to massive sheets of ochre fish the size of my entire lower body, all hung in the sun and stacked or piled high in a barrel. Whole fish, fillets, just the heads, tails, and some ground to a powder; it’s all here.

At the east end of the market, there is a fish cleaning station where rows of men stand, carefully and incredibly quickly zipping off scales and rinsing out fish innards. (This side of the market also holds butchers—goat heads or lamb brains, anyone?)

Our menu takes advantage of abundant summer produce and will introduce your pantry to a few ingredients that may not be familiar to you now, but that you’ll definitely want to keep around. For this dinner party, you can still stay close to the grill but you’ll end up with a meal that’s bursting with freshness and intriguing new flavors.

Here are our choices for a summer cookout that boasts Middle-Eastern flavor in every dish, from appetizer to dessert.

Rather than shy away from the camera or grumble about your being in the way of paying customers, the fish souk vendors here volunteer—even request—to pose for your camera with their wares, straightening the shrimp tails and thrusting dead sharks and octopi into your hands to make the best possible photograph for you.

The sun rising over the fish souk’s seaside location bathes it in a golden light as vendors start unpacking. These folks work in the shadows of the early morning, mostly selling fish to middlemen who then resell it to consumers, whether at a store or restaurant.

At this point in the summer, I’m ready to move beyond the basic hamburger (delicious, but almost too much of a grill staple) to something a little more exotic. So this week on Serious Entertaining, we’re adding a little spice to the classic summer feast and cooking our way to the Middle East.

Beef Wellington
Turkey Ismet Saz who introduced Beef Wellington, this will make calls in the mastery of flavor and dedicates Wednesday evening by The Beef Wellington, Steeve. For those who love or wonder about the delicious taste of Beef Wellington, The Steeve brings this delicious taste to your table with a wonderful presentation.
All materials used in The Steeve are brought exclusively from where they are best grown. Among the ingredients preferred by the chef are coriander, anise, juniper, cardamom, saffron, ginger, celery stalk, mango, pineapple, avocado. Bread is specially made with 10-year-old sourdough. Chef İsmet Saz reveals his assertion by interpreting all the flavors in the menu with innovative cooking techniques and quality local ingredients. Crab is specially brought from Dalyan, Shrimp Iskendur, Mersin, Oyster from France. The Steeve with its new decoration
The decoration of The Steeve, whose brand and space design was made by “kitchen-ist”, was renewed like its menu. The tattoo designs of Chef İsmet Saz, consisting of Aztec patterns, were reflected in The Steeve’s decoration. In The Steeve, where the patterns representing the Aztec pyramids are embroidered on the walls, the products used in the tables are carefully selected in the simple, peaceful but extremely elegant decoration. While Paşabahçe Nude is preferred for glasses and Jumbo for cutlery, the ceramics are specially produced by Çanakkale Seramik. The plates drawn by Chef İsmet Saz belong to ceramic artists Defne Samman and Keramikos.

Soak the peppers. Soak the peppers in super hot water to rehydrate them. If you want to be extra, you can toast them over a low flame to coax out some extra flavor before soaking.
Season the meat. While the peppers are soaking, season your meat generously with salt and freshly ground pepper.
Make the marinade. Grab your blender and blend together the peppers, garlic, oregano, cumin, beef stock, and vinegar.
Marinate overnight. Marinate as long as you can, or for at least 2 hours so the beef can get super flavorful. Don’t forget to season your beef with salt and pepper first.
Make the stew. Sweat the onions to build up caramelization and sweetness, add the beef (you can sear it if you want, but we’re aiming for soft and tender meat) along with all the marinade, then top it off with extra beef stock, bay leaves, and cloves. Done.

Saute the onions over med-high in a deep stockpot, then add the rest of the ingredients. Cover slightly ajar and turn down to a bare simmer for 4-6 hours, until the beef is tender and shreddable. Keep an eye on the liquid level by checking back every hour or so, adding more beef broth as necessary.
Crockpot barbacoa
Saute the onions first on high heat, then add the rest of the ingredients and set to low heat for 4-6 hours, until the beef is tender and shreddable.
Warm the tortillas. You need warm tortillas for the best taco experience. Soft and pliable tacos are where it’s at. We like using a tortilla warmer but you can just wrap your tortillas up in slightly damp paper towels and pop them in the microwave for 30 seconds. You can also char them on the stove for some crispy edges or lightly frying them on a nonstick skillet.
Fill the tacos. Be generous and top up your tacos with beef and a little drizzle of the consomé that the beef cooked in.
Top it up. Finish off your tacos with some toppings. Classic is chopped cilantro and onions, but you can go with anything you like. We added some pickled onions and sliced jalapeños. Don’t forget the hot sauce!

For barbacoa de res, the meat is beef. It’s traditionally beef brisket, aka the best cut of beef ever, but you can choose any kind you like. Because it’s a stew, you want a cheaper cut that has some connective tissue and a little fat. It’s probably best not to use beef tenderloin here. The best cuts of beef that are ideal for stewing are: chuck, brisket, shank, cheek, and short ribs. For simplicity’s sake, the recipe specifies just one cut, but you can do a combination too!

Instant Pot Barbacoa
This recipe is primarily aimed at the Instant Pot because it’s the best way to make shredded beef. It’s easy, fast, and it locks in flavor like nothing else. Those yummy smells you get when you slow cook in a crockpot or on the stove? That’s lost flavor. But, you don’t just need to go out and buy an instant pot. You can also make this on the stovetop or in the oven too.

Ingredients

1 tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
1 small onion diced
2 cloves garlic minced
1/2 lb ground pork
1/2 lb ground beef
1 can crushed tomatoes 15 ounce
3 ounces tomato paste
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 bay leaf
salt and freshly ground pepper
3 packages shirataki noodles of choice I used the tofu fettuccini
parmesan to finish

Instructions
Heat the butter and oil over medium heat in a deep skillet or pot. When hot, add the onion and garlic. Cook, stirring, until soft, but not brown.
Add the meat to the pot and cook, breaking up and browning.
Stir in the crushed tomatoes, tomato paste, cream, and bay leaf. Simmer until slightly thickened, about 20 minutes. Give the sauce a stir, then season with salt and pepper as needed.
Pour the shirataki noodles into a strainer to drain, rinse off throughly with running water.
I enjoyed this with my favorite shirataki noodles, the fettuccini ones. They really look like pasta and I ate a huge bowl and was super satisfied. Use a mix of ground pork and ground beef if you can. The mix of meats makes it so much more satisfying that just one. The pork adds a nice meat-y umami sweetness and pairs well with the deep flavors of beef. Plus ground pork tends to be a bit fattier than ground beef. Oh, and use as much parmesan as you want. That is the best part of keto after all: the copious amounts of cheese!

This easy keto friendly low-carb beef and broccoli stir fry is for all my peeps who are trying to enjoy life while still cutting down on carbs. Savory juicy beef and tender green broccoli in an addictive sauce. Super tasty and quick. Meal prep it for the week (double the batch) and you’re golden!
If you’ve been a long time reader, you might be wondering why there are a bunch of keto recipes all of a sudden. Believe me, it was surprising to me too. I mean, I LOVE carbs with a passion. I even have a sweatshirt with “Carb Enthusiast” on the front of it. But, even though I love carbs, they don’t love me. I was starting to get a little too fluffy from all the fluffy pancakes (SO GOOD). For a long time I was kind of frustrated but didn’t know what to do about it, but I don’t know, finally something inside me just clicked and that really old (kinda offensive) Kate Moss saying came to me: nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

The best cut of beef for bò xả ớt is a bit of a contentious debate. My mom would say triple AAA USDA prime ribeye. The internet says flank or skirt steak. I say, you are overcooking the heck out of this, it won’t matter. Get the cheapest steak you would like to get.

Chill your beef thoroughly before slicing, and don’t be afraid to pop it back in halfway through if it gets warm. You want fairly thin slices, 1/8″ or less. If you are buying from a butcher or a good grocery store with a meat department, they might do it for you.

I would love to say that this recipe came from my mom, but it would only be a half-truth. When I was younger, I asked her how to make this and got the usual “a little of this and a little of that.” I’ve since refined it into the recipe below over the years. It’s informed and inspired by the taste of my mom’s version, and tastes very similar, but modernized. Honestly, I like my version better for its ease, simplicity, and reproducibility by anyone-ness. I can’t deny that my mom’s version will always be nostalgic for me, but this new version is my go-to, although maybe it’s time to invite my parents over for lunch with a big case of out-of-retirement pre-marinated meat and experience the nostalgia all over again.

Note: this recipe is for the vermicelli noodle bowl version because that’s how people know it, but my family would just family-style all the components around a tabletop grill and roll everything into salad rolls at the table.

Ingredients

1 lb beef eg cheap sirloin, thinly sliced 1/8″ thickness
3 tbsp sugar
1″ ginger minced, about 30g/2 tbsp
6 cloves garlic crushed
2 stalks lemongrass minced, about 30g/2 tbsp
8 Thai chilies sliced, or other red chili of choice
3 tbsp fish sauce see note
1 tbsp oyster sauce
1 tbsp oil

Combine with the thinly sliced beef, along with 1 tablespoon each of fish sauce, oyster sauce, and oil. Mix well, then cover and store in the fridge.
Optional Components for the Noodle Bowl
4 portions vermicelli
1/4 English cucumber thinly sliced
1/4 cup lettuce or cabbage thinly sliced
4 wedges lime
1/4 cup cilantro roughly chopped
1/4 cup mint roughly chopped
1/4 cup fried shallots commercially available

Instructions
At least 1 hour before (overnight is better), marinate the beef: crush 1 tablespoon of sugar, half the ginger, 2 cloves of garlic, half the lemongrass, and 1 Thai chili in a mortar and pestle. Combine with the thinly sliced beef, along with 1 tablespoon each of fish sauce, oyster sauce, and oil. Mix well, then cover and store in the fridge.

The lemongrass beef noodle bowl you never knew you loved.
My family is from the deep, deep countryside of Vietnam – a tiny fishing village along the coast where no tourists ever visited. My mom kept baby ducks and baby pigs as pets and forebade my grandma from killing them for dinner. Like in France and anywhere else, countryside-folk and seaside-folk take food far more seriously than city-dwellers do.
In her part of the world, my mom is famous for this dish. When she was younger, it’s what she would make for dinner parties and celebrations. A few years back, she visited some old friends in Melbourne. They invited a large bunch of people who all came from the same little village, and, you guessed it, asked her to make it for them.

Steph doesn’t really know it, but it was even a housewarming gift my mom gave us when we moved in together: a 5lb brick of the chicken version of this stuff to be kept in the freezer and made as-needed. Steph always asked for more, but it never happened because my mom essentially retired from cooking.

Sauté the onions – cook the onions until just soft in a bit of butter.
Mix the meatballs – throughly mix together ground pork, ground beef, eggs, panko, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and the cooked onions.
Make the meatballs – shape into 1 inch meatballs, tightly rolling so they are nice and round.
Cook the meatballs – melt a bit of butter in a non-stick pan and add the meatballs, cooking in batches, making sure to shake the pan so the meatballs stay round.
Make the sauce – in the same pan as you cooked the meatballs, melt a bit of butter and stir in some flour. Whisk in beef stock and cream and simmer until slightly thick. Season with a dash of soy sauce (it’s traditional!), salt and pepper.
Enjoy! – make a meatball plate with the meatballs, gravy, mashed potatoes, thinly sliced cucumbers, and lingonberry sauce.
Swedish meatballs have some pretty standard ingredients: diced onions, ground pork, ground beef, eggs, panko, salt, and pepper, and nutmeg.