Beer for breakfast. It wasn’t foremost in my mind when we planned a Sunday trip to Brotzeit Lokal. Nor do I advocate it as a daily indulgence. But we arrived around 1 p.m., so we’re really talking brunch. Also, I was having knackwurst with my scrambled eggs (poached not offered), home fries and toast ($10), and doesn’t a German pork sausage (flavored with juniper) just beg for a beer? Moreover, it was still October, so a pint of Ayinger Oktober Fest-Märzen ($6)—one of 16 rotating German, American and (a few) Belgian brews on tap here ($4.50–$8.50)—seemed perfectly appropriate.

Mention “European bread” or “the breads of Europe,” and what comes to mind? The fluffy stuff. The stretchy stuff. The soft stuff. The spongey stuff. Those golden-crusted rounds, braids, bars, and baguettes that, torn asunder, yield pillowy white poufs perforated with countless air pockets, all of them exhaling the sunny, floury perfumes that make you think of Paris, say. Or Rome, or Mykonos.

While the East Bay has gained the recognition it deserves as a foodie mecca, usually only a handful of names are dropped on its behalf: Alice Waters, Charlie Hallowell, Russell Moore, Allison Hopelain, Alison Barakat. But there’s a new cat in town, Chris Pastena, who spent his youth in Manhattan and New Jersey and has no ties to Waters. He has his eyes set on etching his name into Oakland lore, and he’s got a good start with Chop Bar, a homey favorite in Jack London Square; Lungomare, a refined Italian dining establishment in downtown Oakland; and the Tribune Tavern, a chic eatery in a historic landmark. Despite his being spread so thin—we haven’t even mentioned Labna, a Mexican restaurant he has in the works—we caught up with Pastena, who’s 42 “but feels 24,” to talk shop.

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Chunky Pig’s Candied Bacon Caramel Corn has a hypnotizing quality. The first bite tastes like a savory breakfast rich with pork. The second, like sweet breakfast. On the third, the eyes glaze over, transfixed by a stupor-inducing mix of pork fat and maple sugar. One might need to be dragged away from the bag.

Mention “European bread” or “the breads of Europe,” and what comes to mind? The fluffy stuff. The stretchy stuff. The soft stuff. The spongey stuff. Those golden-crusted rounds, braids, bars, and baguettes that, torn asunder, yield pillowy white poufs perforated with countless air pockets, all of them exhaling the sunny, floury perfumes that make you think of Paris, say. Or Rome, or Mykonos.

For a town that’s best known for Creedence Clearwater Revival’s lyrical languishing at their misfortune to be stuck in Lodi (again), it’s no surprise to find an underdog undercurrent running through the vineyards and into downtown Lodi. Over the years, Lodi has watched Napa command the wine spotlight, all the while supplying many Sonoma Valley wineries with grapes. These days, you’re more likely to see Lodi printed on a Sonoma Valley wine label. While the Central Valley residents are pleased that their hard work is finally being recognized, they aren’t afraid to remind you that the recognition is decades late in arriving. Today, outsiders are finally discovering this small town and the charm it’s held onto while thriving in Napa’s shadow.

Beer for breakfast. It wasn’t foremost in my mind when we planned a Sunday trip to Brotzeit Lokal. Nor do I advocate it as a daily indulgence. But we arrived around 1 p.m., so we’re really talking brunch. Also, I was having knackwurst with my scrambled eggs (poached not offered), home fries and toast ($10), and doesn’t a German pork sausage (flavored with juniper) just beg for a beer? Moreover, it was still October, so a pint of Ayinger Oktober Fest-Märzen ($6)—one of 16 rotating German, American and (a few) Belgian brews on tap here ($4.50–$8.50)—seemed perfectly appropriate.

You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone as passionate about ice cream as Scott Whidden, the Oakland born and raised masterblender at Fentons Creamery and Restaurant. He’s talking about cream; he’s talking about dairy. He’s talking about layers: of flavor, of contrast, of crunch versus creamy, and of bitter versus sweet.

Born and raised in Abruzzo, Italy, Chef Giuseppe Naccarelli, formerly vice president of kitchen operations for Il Fornaio restaurants, opens his very own slice of Italy—Trabocco, named for a fishing pier along the Adriatic coast of his hometown.