Introducing my son to culinary delights

I decide to take my son, Jared, to San Francisco for a few days. He is off from school and has never been anywhere. Considering that San Francisco is my favorite food city, it seems like a great way to share my food passion with him. We catch a very early flight, thinking it will allow us to spend an extra day in the city. Arriving in the early afternoon, we hit the streets. Our first stop is crowded Chinatown. We walk for miles past huge produce markets displaying piles of fresh Asian vegetables. Baby bok choy, Chinese broccoli and bright green beans, 2 feet long. Store fronts are piled high with dried ingredients ranging from shellfish to beans, whole sides of fish, strange berries and leaves, all contributing pungent aromas -- not all of them pleasing. We pass Chinese apothecaries loaded with preserved roots, dried bark and ancient cures for any ailment. Large glass jars full of ginseng roots look like dancing figurines. Windows filled with hanging squid, duck and every other kind of creature abound, and every one of our senses is assaulted. I can tell Jared is astounded. I don't know if it is the new sights or because I know my way around so well. I think he has a new respect for me, and it becomes a bonding experience. Our next stop: Union Square. He is in sneaker heaven, and I am happy that it has stopped raining. We take a cable car to Fisherman's Wharf and watch the street life. Bobbing wooden barges filled with noisy sea lions are great entertainment. They live here full time. I take Jared past all the Dungeness crab shuckers. We watch as giant crabs are drawn from tremendous steamers with wire baskets and served to people lined up on the street. In another line, large round sourdough bread bowls, called boudin, are filled with steaming clam chowder. Not much vegetarian food on Fisherman's Wharf. We catch an English-style double-decker bus, sitting up top, hoping the rain holds off. We play tourists and when it rains again, we throw plastic bags over our heads, and it becomes part of the fun. That evening we end up in North Beach, the Italian section. We have the best hand-formed pizza we ever ate. The oblong cracker-thin crust is 2 feet long. Made with three cheeses and almost no sauce, it is baked and then piled with arugula and roasted peppers. Next day, I want to give Jared a food experience that he has never had, so I take him to an authentic Indonesian restaurant. We order Ristaffelâ, meaning rice table. A product of the Dutch involvement in Indonesia, it is a tapas of sorts. Rice is always served in the center of dozens of small plates. The restaurant has vegetarian and nonvegetarian dishes, all totally new to the American palate. One of my favorites is the steamed vegetable and tofu salad called Gado Gado. It is served as an appetizer, but is a meal in itself. A plate brimming with fresh-steamed vegetables, hard-boiled eggs and tofu lightly tossed in spicy peanut sauce, it is classically garnished with krupuk, which are fried shrimp chips that look like brightly colored potato chips. You can omit these when making this dish at home. I coerce the waiter into getting the recipe from the chef so I can offer you my version. We cap the night with strong espresso and a dreamy chocolate ricotta torte. Jared looks at me after three days of feasting and says, "Dad, I can't believe this is what you do for a living." Neither can I. Steve Petusevsky is the author of The Whole Foods Market Cookbook