Tres Leches

In a fit of mommy-guilt, I once spent twelve hours constructing an edible tableaux of the pyramids at Giza for my son's fifth birthday--layer upon layer of homemade yellow cake and chocolate butter cream. It was a masterpiece, complete with brown sugar sand, plastic palm trees and camels. Even better, it tasted divine.

He, of course, hated it.

Okay, that's not really fair. He actually remembers it rather fondly. But at the time, we both knew he would have been much happier digging into a store-bought cake with fluorescent green frosting an a plastic Mutant Turtle on top.

I had felt the need to save his little untrained palate from certain disappointment. I had failed.

Such is the fate of parenthood. Homemade cakes give way to semi-homemade cakes, which give way to store-bought monstrosities so laden with shortening and sugar that the actual cake seems an afterthought. Maybe it's just hiding in shame.

But there is salvation to be found, and it's name is tres leches. Well-known to the fiesta-set, this creamy, dreamy, milk-laden cake is a homemade(ish) antidote to industrialized desserts.

The recipe goes like this--a pan of sponge cake gets jabbed and poked within an inch of its life, then doused with a mixture of evaporated and condensed milk, along with heavy cream (three milks=tres leches). Let soak, then cloak the whole thing in a n inch of whipped cream. Purists prefer their cake unadorned, though I think adding a layer of fruit makes for a better party.

The cakes ends up a bit like a thoroughly soused rum cake, minus the rum: Sweet, spongy and insanely moist--sometimes almost wet. The whipped cream frosting is rich, but goes down a lot better than heavy buttercream or (shudder) shortening-based frosting. !Ole!

No one's quite sure where this confectionery marvel got its start, although popular belief places its origins in Central America. More specifically, it's thought to have come from a recipe on the side of a sweetened or condensed milk can somewhere in Nicaragua--not such a wild theory due in part to the prevalence of canned milk in hot climates (where the fresh stuff doesn't last long).

The recipe remains popular in Latin American countries and, like flan and dulce de leche, has kindly infiltrated US food culture. You'll find it everywhere from local Mexican bakeries to the dessert menus of upscale restaurants (Cindy's Backstreet Kitchen in St. Helena frequently has it on the menu.)

Don't expect to walk up and get a slice, however. Cakes usually need to be ordered in advance from local Mexican bakeries (as BiteClub found out the hard way), but high-traffic spots like Lola's Market and (BiteClub's fave) Pasteles Fiesta usually have a selection on hand for walk-ins. Pasteles also has slices available with or without fruit for dabblers and lunch-breakers.

And yes, you can even get them decorated with green frosting, pink flowers and nifty toys. Making everyone happy.

If you go: Pasteles Fiesta offers a variety of authentic Mexican cakes, along with tasty individual-sized flans. A small tres leches cake will set you back about $20; the mini flans are just $2. 443 Dutton Ave, #1, Dutton Plaza, Santa Rosa, 707.568.7051.

If you want to make Tres Leches cake yourself (you ambitious cook, you) can check out the recipe that got me all inspired in the first place, courtesy of Alton Brown and the Food

Trisha's Lumpia House

Lunch started like a bad Abbot and Costello skit.

"Let's get halo halo," my friend said.
"Yeah, uh, hi there." Sometimes I mumble. Maybe she didn't hear my earlier salutations.
"No, halo-halo," she said.
"Hellooooooooo," I say again, thinking, sheesh Mel, get a hearing aid.
"No, they have halo-halo!"
"Uh, okay."
"It's like a milkshake. You'll like it," she laughs.

Mmmmm. Milkshake. BiteClub enjoys milkshakes.

On cue, Karen, our bubbly cruise director of Filipino cuisine/waitress sashays over. She has a giant smile, a wiggly, giggly way about her, and describes everything on the menu at Trisha's Lumpia House as "Really Good!" But aside from the fact that halo halo is really good, I'm not really following too much else she's telling me. She does seem a little dubious about us actually drinking the stuff.

"Halo halo!" arrives. Karen stands and watches Meloni and I look at the milkshake imposter like the cautious Midwestern girls we actually are."You like?" I'm pretty sure she's making fun of us.

Hmmm. Okay. Yes, it does look kind of like a milkshake. Except with a whole lot of ice on top and floaties swimming around at the foot of the glass. What else can we do but dive in and pull out the slimy treasure? Yum. Sweet ice cream, crunchy ice, mangoes, coconut and...crunch...uh, is that a garbanzo bean?

"You like it?" Karen's smiling and giggling again as Mel and I pick through the Filipino milkshake like archaeologists. We pull out and identify the shaved ice, diced mangos, strings of coconut meat, sweet red beans, garbanzos, ice cream and sweet gelatinous blobs of kaong (also called sugar palm fruit). Yes, we do like it. Minus the beans. Extra kaong. Karen is happy.

Going Pinoy is the name of the game at Trisha's Lumpia House, Sonoma County's first (as far as anyone we talked to knows) Filipino restaurant. Hidden in Petaluma's G&G Shopping Center, Karen tells us that much of the clientele are curious, um, obviously non-Filipino eaters like us and she's always happy to walk folks through the menu. She locks us onto Pork Adobo, lumpia (think fried spring rolls), pancit noodles (think Pad Thai or chowmein) and Sitaw at Kalabasa (long beans and squash in coconut milk).

It doesn't take long for the newly initiated to figure out who's contributed to the mash-up of flavors from these steamy Pacific Islands: China, Indonesia and Spain--mostly. So, like any good food adventurer, you'll want to dive right in. Start off with lumpia, ($3.25) crispy egg rolls similar to those you'd find at any Chinese restaurant, served with sweet chili dipping sauce. Pork adobo ($8.95) is a must-have dish, marinated in soy sauce, garlic and vinegar. It's the unofficial national dish of the Philippines and one of the first things kids learn to cool (kind of like your five year old making peanut butter and jelly).

Keep going with House Pancit,($.7.95) rice sticks and bean threads (clear, thin noodles) tossed with veggies and meat with a squeeze of lime. The restaurant also offers tradition Filipino plates of Bistek (Filipino beef steak), Afritada (a tomato-based pork and vegetable dish), oxtail in peanut sauce, and soup-based dishes like Nilaga, Sinigang Baboy and Hipon. Party trays of most dishes, as well as menudo and pork belly are also available. Oh, and yes, there is a Trisha. She just didn't happen to be there when we visited.

The tiny restaurant, with only a few tables and the obviously casual staff can be a bit intimidating at first, but when Karen's around, the place warms up quickly, with everyone chatting between tables. Check out what your neighbors are eating and ask lots of questions. Just don't fill up, because it's worth saving room for dessert. Karen's proud of the biko she frequently makes (she only rarely has kitchen duties), a sweet sticky rice in coconut syrup, along with flan and, of course, a nice big glass of halo-halo. With beans or without.

Trisha's Lumpia House, 701 Sonoma Mountain Parkway next to G&G Market, Petaluma,707.778.3845. Open for dine in or take out daily from 11am to 8:30pm.