Cook, Snap, Repeat

Fresh pineapple cake

2012-02-09T15:25:00.002-06:00

Every weekday morning almost always starts the same: my husband wakes me up, I ask him what time it is, and I fall back asleep, knowing that 5 minutes later my little snooze alarm will tiptoe up to my side of the bed and say, "Hi Mommy. I'm going to brush my teeth and then I'll see you downstairs, okay?"

It wasn't always like this. There was a long stretch of time when my alarm clock really was an alarm clock, purposely placed far away from my bed so that I wouldn't use the snooze button. Then came a time when my alarm clock was the crying of an infant, wanting to be fed or changed or cuddled ... and then the cooing of a wide-eyed baby at the colourful mobile floating above his crib ... and then the smiling face of a little monkey of a toddler who couldn't wait to start his day and had hoisted himself over the rails of his crib. (Actually, that last version was a tad too effective as a wake up call, and definitely not the way I would recommend discovering that your child is ready for a bed!)

I've always thrived on routine, and being a parent has presented me with the constant challenge of finding routine in a life that is changing all the time.

I should have said, then, that every weekday morning almost always starts the same, for now. I find my way downstairs, in the dark. It's still winter, but already I feel that spring must be right around the corner. When I looked outside the kitchen window today, I could see the outline of the trees and bushes in our backyard. A few weeks ago I would look out the kitchen window and see darkness, with very little besides: only faint patches of light from kitchen windows of other houses, mostly those with school-age children dwelling within ... in the stillness of the early morning, the neighbouring lit windows prompting a fleeting quiet thought that all over the world so many of us start our days tending to our little ones.

Then it begins. Breakfast is laid out for the second grader: always a glass of milk and some fresh fruit, and then, often plain yogurt, sometimes toast, other times cheese. He eats while I pack lunches, each of us keeping the other company until we are both finally fully awake.

Some nights ago, before going to bed, he told me that they had reached a milestone in school: 100 days of school, done! And to that he added, "That means that I went 100 days without eating a school lunch. You've made 100 lunches for me this year." The next morning, he found a slice of pineapple cake waiting for him for breakfast: a treat. A hundred days of school for him, a hundred days of routine for me. It was time for something a little - just a little - different.

Fresh Pineapple Cake

Adapted from Baking for All Occasions

The original recipe is actually "Fresh Pineapple Crumble Cake" - basically the cake pictured above, but with bigger chunks of pineapple, and topped with streusel. I skip the streusel, and we love the cake anyway. Without the streusel, the crust that forms on top is slightly thick, similar to the crust you would encounter in banana bread or pound cake, and the cake itself is slightly sweet and nutty, not at all dry, with little bursts of juicy pineapple that have become just a tiny bit chewy from the heat of the oven. (The batter is thick so the fruit doesn't all sink to the bottom, although it may seem that way from the pictures).

This recipe first caught my eye because it calls for a cup and a half of pineapple - most pineapple cake recipes use just a quarter cup, or a half cup of the fruit, and I find it's hardly worth calling a cake "pineapple cake" if there is barely any pineapple in it. This one, on the other hand, does have a good amount in it - definitely enough to merit its name!

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Butter, flour, and line a 9"x2" round cake pan.

Cut into chunks, and then set on paper towels to absorb some of the juice:

9.5 ounces fresh pineapple

(to yield 1½ cups, or 38 medium-sized chunks, or many ½" chunks)

Finely grind:

3 ounces (½ cup + 2 Tbsp) whole hazelnuts

(to yield 1 cup finely ground hazelnuts)

Sift together:

6.75 ounces (1½ cups) all purpose flour

1 tsp baking powder

¼ tsp salt

Add the ground hazelnuts to the flour mixture.

In another bowl, beat on medium speed with an electric mixer until smooth and creamy:

8 ounces (1 cup) unsalted butter

While beating, add in a slow, steady stream and continue to beat until fluffy (2-3 minutes):

7 ounces (1 cup) granulated sugar

Meanwhile, in a separate bowl, lightly beat with a fork:

3 large eggs

Slowly add the lightly beaten eggs into the butter, about 3 tablespoons at a time, beating well after each addition.

Add:

1 tsp vanilla extract

Adjust the mixer speed to the lowest setting and gradually add the flour/nut mixture, beating until just incorporated.

At this point, I fold in the small pineapple chunks, using a rubber spatula, and then I scoop the batter into the cake pan. (The original recipe does it differently - place half the batter in the pan, scatter half the pineapple chunks over it, spoon the remaining batter over the pineapple, and press the remaining half of the pineapple chunks over that.)

Bake the cake until it is golden on top, springs back when gently pressed in the centre, and a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean. The recipe indicates a baking time of 43-45 minutes; in my oven in takes around 55 minutes.

Transfer to a wire rack and cool for 10 minutes. Remove cake from pan and place directly on wire rack to cool completely.

This cake freezes well. Let it come to room temperature before serving.

Tuiles

2012-01-31T17:54:00.000-06:00

I tried something new yesterday: I made cigarettes! Noooooo, not those cigaretttes ... these cigarettes:

I've always been fascinated by this kind of cookie. It starts out as a spreadable batter that is baked for only a few minutes. The resulting cookie is very soft when hot, but quickly cools to a crisp. It's very malleable straight out of the oven, and can be draped over a cylinder to form a Pringle-like wafer, or over a bowl to form a, well, a bowl. It can also be rolled into a tube.

I think this type of cookie is most commonly known as a tuile. Tuile is the French word for tile, and the cookies are so named because in their classic form they resemble the terra cotta roof tiles seen in the south of France (and elsewhere).

They are not terribly hard to make, but you do need to put your speedy hat on. Because the cookies cool quite quickly and can only be shaped while still hot, it's wise to make only a few (6 to 9) at a time. Also, while not absolutely necessary, I think it helps to have what my husband calls "asbestos hands", or hands that can tolerate heat.

The cookies taste very elegant, somehow. I sit up straighter when I'm having them: they have a refined air about them, like they're something you would have alongside a cup of tea, with a dainty little napkin to lightly dab the corner of your mouth. ... not that you need a cup of tea or anything fancy to enjoy them! They are light as air, almost, but not so delicate that they would shatter at the slightest touch. In fact, I accidentally dropped one on the floor and it didn't break (so much for being all elegant and refined). You get the point.

Would I make them again? Definitely. We love them, although my son would prefer them dipped in chocolate. He has a point. I'll keep that in mind next time.

Tuiles

Adapted from The Joy of Cooking

To facilitate your baking, you will need at least 2 cookie sheets, lined with parchment or a silicone baking mat. An offset spatula or two also come in handy. To shape the cookies consistently, I created a stencil for a 3" circle out of a plastic lid. The shaping can also be done freehand, if you're not into X-acto knife projects.

Preheat oven to 350ºF and set the rack in the upper third of the oven.

Warm, stirring constantly, over very low heat until very soft but not thin and runny:

5 Tbsp unsalted butter

Whisk together until very frothy (I used an electric mixer on medium high speed):

2 large egg whites

⅛ tsp salt

⅓ cup plus 1 Tbsp sugar

¼ tsp almond extract

¼ tsp vanilla

(I think you could safely omit the almond extract and double the vanilla, if you want)

If using an electric mixer, reduce speed to medium low. Gradually whisk in:

½ cup sifted cake flour

Slowly whisk in the softened butter until the mixture is well blended and smooth.

Using a stencil for a 3" circle (I made one by cutting a circle out of a plastic lid), spread the batter with an offset spatula onto a silicone baking mat or a sheet of parchment. I would recommend baking 6 to 8 circles at a time.

Alternatively, drop the batter by spoonfuls of about half a tablespoon onto the sheets, spacing about 3 inches apart. (The original recipe warns that the wafers spread a great deal, but I did not see that happening.) Using the tip of a knife and working in a circular motion, spread each portion into a 3" round.

If desired, sprinkle the rounds with:

½ to ⅔ cup sliced almonds, coarsely chopped

Bake 1 sheet at a time until the wafers are rimmed with half an inch of golden brown, 6 to 9 minutes. Rotate the sheet halfway through for even browning. (While one sheet is baking, prepare the next)

Remove the sheet to a rack and let stand for a few seconds. As soon as the wafers can be lifted without tearing, loosen them with a thin-bladed wide metal spatula and slide them, bottom side down, onto rolling pins or bottles to form tuiles, or roll them around a thin dowel (or pencil, or wooden spoon handle) to form tubes.

As soon as the tuiles are firm, transfer to racks to cool.

Makes about 3 dozen 3" cookies.

Helpful notes:

Remove the wafers one at a time, so the others remain warm and pliable.

If some of the wafers cool too quickly to shape on the rolling pins, you can return the sheet to the oven briefly to warm and soften them. Or, you can keep them flat. That works too.

Make sure your sheets are cool before placing the batter on them.

Tortellini trials

2012-01-20T18:47:00.001-06:00

I was doing some blog housekeeping and found some pictures on my Flickr photostream that I never ended up writing about.

More than a year ago, back in 2010 (like I wondered last time: where did 2011 go?!) I made tortellini. From scratch. Yes, I am crazy.

They almost made me cry. I probably didn't tell you about them because I was so traumatized. I have a lot of patience for cooking, but wow. Italian grandmothers, I salute you.

I do remember telling my husband that I'd probably tackle them again, one day. Maybe it'll get easier, the more often I make them. Ha! Homemade tortellini isn't going to be making a weekly appearance on our dinner table any time soon. Homemade pasta's already a regular, but these individually stuffed and shaped nuggets of delightfulness are a whole different beast altogether.

The pictures above show the shaping process (clockwise from top left). Multiply that by maybe 300. (I'm guesstimating here ... after all, they're tortellini, not tortelloni). At any rate, there were very, very many of them, each one barely three quarters of an inch across when done. Less than 2cm, each one. GAH! I feel a sudden urge to climb under a table, curl up into a ball, and whimper.

I'd made gyoza and potstickers and dumplings many times before, so when I thought of making tortellini I didn't expect much trouble. "Just like a potsticker, but smaller," I told myself. Well. What started out as a frolic in the meadows of HomemadeLand very quickly turned into an epic ordeal. Dinner was at least an hour and a half late that night, and although the boys said it was very good, I wanted none of it. Too much bonding already done with the little suckers.

Knowing myself though, I'll be trying these again. One day I'll conquer tortellini! Just not today.

Pear sorbet

2012-01-16T17:42:00.000-06:00

January seems to be a month of atonement for December's excesses, and if I were at all strategic about my posts I'd be telling you about some super magic cleanse right about now ... but here I am with pear sorbet.

I'd actually been waiting months to make this. When I went to Montreal last summer, my friend Taleen (of the guacamole fame) had me over for dinner. You already know that I would eat anything Taleen makes, without hesitation, so it comes as no surprise that everything on her table that evening was fa.bu.lous. However, I'm honing in on the pear sorbet, because I'm not terribly partial to pears or sorbet, but Taleen scooped exactly that into a little bowl, served it with a très élégante spoon and somehow got me crazy for it.

I grew up in the Philippines, on mangoes and bananas and pineapples and guava, so munching on apples and pears and peaches doesn't come naturally to me. I've come to appreciate a crisp apple and a ripe peach ... but grainy pears, not so much. While I haven't quite made peace with a pear in hand, this sorbet is definitely a big step in that direction.

And so I tell myself again: don't be afraid to try new things or re-try old things. Sometimes you may think you don't like something, but maybe you just haven't had the fortune of trying a well-made version of it. (Maybe you need to meet Taleen!)

My plan was to make this pear sorbet last summer, when I got back home. As it always seems to happen though, life got in the way and before I knew it, it was ... not summer anymore. Don't you just hate when that happens? I still don't know where 2011 went, but that's not the point. At any rate, pears are a fall/winter fruit so at least the timing was still right, right?

Back to the sorbet. It's not heavy the way ice cream sometimes is, and it's not at all grainy the way pears almost always are. It's very simple to make - 3 ingredients (4, if you count water) - although you do need a blender and an ice cream maker. The hardest thing about making this sorbet is peeling the pears, so we're talking easy peasy here.

A magic cleanse, this isn't. But at least it's fruit. And there are no egg yolks and heavy cream involved! Forgive me?

Pear Sorbet
Adaped from Making Artisan Gelato

Place in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat:
1 ¼ cups water
1 cup (200 g) sugar

Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring occasionally until the sugar is completely dissolved. Allow it to boil for an additional minute, then remove from heat and set aside to cool for at least 1 hour.

When the sugar syrup has cooled, peel, core and dice:
2 lbs (900 g) extremely ripe pears (juicy varieties like Bartlett work well here)

Place in a blender and purée until smooth:

2 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice, strained (plus additional, to taste)

the cooled syrup, prepared above
the diced pears, prepared above

Taste purée for sweetness; add additional lemon juice in ½ tsp increments until the desired level of sweetness is achieved. Pour into a clean container, cover with a lid or plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 8 hours or overnight.

Churn cooled pear purée in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. Transfer to container and freeze, allowing to fully harden before serving.

Makes approximately 1½ quarts/litres.

Roasted broccoli

2011-10-23T17:06:00.001-05:00

I was going to put together something totally different today, but while we were at church this morning, something happened that got me thinking ... and it still has me thinking now. An elderly lady collapsed in the middle of Mass, and regardless of how discreet people try to be while at church, that sort of thing inevitably gets a bit of show-stopping attention ... especially when the priest walks over to the pew and paramedics roll a stretcher down the center aisle. She seemed alright when they took her out - weak, but alright - with the pipe organ playing sort-of-quietly in the background and an entire congregation's prayers accompanying her.

Years of Sundays, and this was the first time I ever saw something like that happen. It got me thinking about the obvious (life and mortality) and recalling the personal (my son saw 911 paramedics taking my dad to the hospital twice, a couple of summers ago). And I guess the following is on a bit of a tangent, but you know, people gawk all the time, at lots of things. We gawk at accidents that we drive by, at the news, at someone making a scene, at turtles crossing the road ... at practically anything. But it's kind of hard to gawk in a place of worship, and so this morning I think a lot of us present found that the most appropriate thing to do was pray.

After the excitement was over, I wondered: what if we pondered more and gawked less? We'd probably be a lot more effective. Every day we find something to be curious about: some things worthwhile, but most things not at all. On an every day level - because let's face it, we can't all be Socrates - a bit less nosiness (on the street, in Facebook, or anywhere else) allows us more time for what really matters: a prayer for someone who needs it, attention to something that needs to be done, time for the people we encounter, a quiet moment for ourselves to regroup. I'm not the first person to come up with that idea, but wouldn't that be nice?

Roasted Broccoli
Adaped from Barefoot Contessa: Back to Basics

If you don't like broccoli, roasting it will change your mind. I thought I hated broccoli until I tried this. Three of us can put away close to 2 pounds of broccoli in one sitting, when it's roasted. Leftovers are easy to deal with: toss with some chicken or sausage in pasta, or use in almost any recipe that calls for cooked broccoli (just add it close to the very end).

The original recipe serves 6. I've halved the recipe below.

Preheat the oven to 425ºF.

Place in a sheet pan large enough to hold the broccoli in a single layer:
about 2 lbs/1 kg broccoli

Scatter over the broccoli:
2 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced (you can skip this if you don't like garlic)

Drizzle with:
extra virgin olive oli
3/4 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp pepper

Roast for 20-25 minutes, until crisp-tender and some tips are browned.

Sometimes we stop at this point - the broccoli is already delicious like this. But you can also combine:
1 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tsp lemon zest
1 1/2 Tbsp toasted pine nuts
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1 Tbsp julienned basil leaves
3/4 Tbsp olive oil

Toss the broccoli with the dressing above. Serve hot.

Another summer come and gone

2011-09-30T14:46:00.002-05:00

That's it. Moving and I are OVER. For some people, 8 addresses in less than 15 years is nothing, but for yours truly, it's 7 too many!

I love our new home, though. It definitely was worth the wait. Plus, for the first time, I have my very own outside space. Knowing my relationship with cooking, it's probably no surprise that our inaugural purchase was a grill! To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what we were more excited about - that we could finally, finally, finally grill in our own backyard, or that we could finally, finally, finally use our grill set.

Let me explain. Eight years ago my husband and I were on the 5th floor of La Baie when we saw the Mother of All Grill Sets (see above). Naive apartment dwellers that we were, within 2 minutes of seeing the display, we absolutely-beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt convinced ourselves that we were going to get tons of mileage out of pictured arsenal. It was stainless steel, shiny, awesome ... and it came in its very own stainless steel, shiny, awesome briefcase.

Equipped with such sophisticated tools, we had visions of grilling daily on our balcony, turning out one perfectly cross-hatched dinner after another. Never mind that we weren't really allowed to grill on our balcony. And that we didn't even have a grill. Naive apartment dwellers tend to overlook such details.

So, eight years, three homes, and one child after purchasing the stainless steel, shiny, awesome Mother of All Grill Sets, we finally put it to work this summer. Rain or shine, whether it was 45º (Celsius) or 15, I was outside grilling dinner almost every day. I didn't care if my neighbours thought I was crazy. I also tried not to care so much when the darn brush started losing its bristles within its first 10 seconds of contact with the grill grates. I can't even blame the manufacturer, because, well, grill brushes probably aren't meant to stay locked up for 8 years. (Who is?)

It wasn't just the grill that kept me busy: we also bought a smoker. Woo hoo!

Webers aside, we did a lot of driving this summer ... road trips from Kansas to the edge of Missouri and back (twice), from eastern Kansas to almost-central Kansas and back, from Kansas to Ohio, from Ohio to Canada and back. We saw lots of highways this summer. 5653.625 kilometres of highway, to be approximately exact. As it turns out, not only am I the Lunatic Next Door Who Can't Stop Grilling, I am also the Lunatic Next Door Who Drives 3500+ Miles in a Yaris. (I do love my Yaris, though. You can't imagine how much can fit in that tiny vehicle. Yes folks, believe it or not, It's a Car!)

We also welcomed our first houseguests and were thrilled that we finally had enough room in the house for everyone to be comfortable under the same roof. Mamy and Tante (my husband's Mom and Aunt) spent a couple of weeks with us and we explored our new city together. They were very gracious and turned a blind eye to the chaos of unopened boxes and misplaced furniture. They even baked for us. They were great.

What else? Well, as I mentioned way up there, we now have our very own outside space. In the majority of cases, outside space means living green things, and I don't mean martians ... although a garden is just about as alien, for someone as plant-challenged as I am. It really freaked me out - I mean, having one indoor cactus die under our watch years ago was one thing; witnessing an entire garden slowly succumb to evil weeds is a whole other matter. So I spent the better part of the summer getting to know plants. Gardening sure requires a lot of patience, which I have for the kitchen but pretty much for nothing else! It's a work in progress ... developing patience, I mean. Oh, yeah. The garden is a work in progress too.

We've managed to resuscitate all but 2 of the plants that came with the garden and have the most spectacular Autumn Joys in all the neighbourhood, if I may say so myself. Never mind that Autumn Joys apparently thrive on neglect. Also, my daylilies are still blooming. It's almost October, which means that the daylilies are performing well, according to the friend my mom likes to call "Googles". One of the pathetic rose bushes thanked me with a flower after I fed it some Miracle-Gro and a banana. Did you know rose bushes like bananas? I kid you not. Thanks for the tip, Mom. Next year: vegetables and herbs. Maybe.

I'm happy to report that I can now identify more than just sunflowers, roses and dandelions. I thought my limited plant vocabulary was genetically inherited - my dad calls every flower a hydrangea - but I'm doing the whole getting-to-know-you thing with plants. I even went to the nursery and bought 2 peonies (we fondly call them Tweedledum and Tweedledee), 4 mums (Eenie, Meenie, Miney, and Mo), and a rhododendron (Chuck). We planted them a few weeks ago and since then I've been watching them ~~desperately~~ vigilantly, hoping they will reward us by still being alive next spring.

I spent so much time in the garden that Tante, a seriously-green green thumb, actually thought I was qualified to take care of an orchid and gifted me with one. Six weeks and it's still alive. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Like Tante, my mom is another true gardener and I'm trying to convince her to come visit us in the spring so that she can teach me some Horticulture 101 ... okay, okay, Gardening for Dummies would probably be more appropriate for someone like me. Humph. At least I'm willing to learn! The topic of plants now dominates most of our conversations. Mom hasn't said it, but she probably thinks the same thing my neighbours think when they see me puttering outside early in the morning and late in the afternoon: that Lunatic Who Obssesses about Her Garden is at it again!

All this to say that I'm back. I'm still all kinds of crazy: there are still boxes to unpack, chores to attend to, work to report to, plants to keep alive, but I'm back. It's nice to be back.

April, already?

2011-04-02T17:47:00.005-05:00

Good gracious, it's April. Our clocks have jumped an hour ahead, birds are waking us up in the morning (a novelty this time of year that, admittedly, wears off very quickly), and we're having longer and longer stretches of shorts-worthy weather.

Since we last met up over here, I almost, almost made steak for dinner on Ash Wednesday (we had tuna casserole instead), I skyrocketed to SuperCool status in my son's eyes by saving a virtual home from onslaughts of zombies (don't ask; personally I prefer connecting pipes to direct steam), and I have eaten more chocolate than I would like to admit (in the name of research! Research! Actually, I blame stress). And outside of my little bubble, bigger things have happened and are still happening. I'm ready for spring.

Well, I didn't just botch menus and contribute to app store profits and sample chocolate. We also went to Chicago for a few days, and we had a very special guest with us for spring break - Nonno, a.k.a. Papo, a.k.a. my husband's dad.

Have I told you how much I love my husband's family? Our families don't even feel comfortable calling each other in-laws, because it makes us feel like we're suggesting some badness lurking there, and there isn't. Anyway, I do. I even cry when it's time to say goodbye. If we all lived next door to each other I obviously wouldn't dole out tear-filled adieus ... but I'm sure we'd all still love each other just the same. Perhaps less enthusiastically? Who knows.

Love fests aside, we had a great time with Nonno. We found ourselves on Italian time, espresso in the morning, nap in the afternoon, leisurely outing before dinner, and dinner way past our regular bedtime. This may be part of why I cry when it's all over. Just kidding. It wasn't all tra-la-la: I did have to go to work too, you know.

Papo is also a fabulous cook. Every time he comes to visit he teaches me a couple of new dishes, and when I can get my act together I'll tell you all about it - but not yet, because I took absolutely no pictures and I'd also like to try the recipes out on my own to make sure I learned them right. As part of one of our meals I put together some quick-puff pastry, and it seemed to impress “Lo Chef” quite a bit - so yes folks, it does work and it really is that easy.

I do have something to share with you today, though. It's not sweep-you-off-your-feet-mediterranean, but it's taken over our home and we've been having it every day for a few weeks now, as our after-dinner indulgence. As my son says, "Wait for it ... wait for it ..." Granola. Yup, granola!

I've never really been a granola person, but while we were in Chicago we went out for breakfast with Papo one morning and I didn't feel quite right ordering a steak-and-eggs sort of deal while he sipped an elegant cappuccino. So I ordered yogurt with granola and berries instead. It was good, but mighty expensive, and with each spoonful I became more and more convinced that we could have this at home, better and for much less than seven-freaking-bucks a pop.

Speaking of seven-freaking-bucks, I spent less than that a few months ago on Nigella's book Feast, which I found on sale at a local bookstore, and it just so happens that Nigella offers a mighty good granola in that book. I wish I could say that I was pioneering the endorsement of her recipe, but being the share-worthy recipe that it is, other people have beat me to it.

At any rate, we love to have it at home in what we jokingly call our c'est parfait parfait (anglicized French accent and all): layered, parfait-style, with very lightly sweetened plain yogurt, studded with frozen, wild blueberries, a couple of dried tart cherries, and toasted coconut flakes. Have you heard all that blah-blah about how the best dishes are those that offer a mixture of textures and flavours? Well, blah-blah or not, this parfait rocks 'em all - crunchy, smooth, chewy ... tart, sweet ... balanced.

This granola is made with applesauce, something I don't think I've ever seen in a crunchy, non-bar granola recipe, and it seems that there is a tad more sweetener than other recipes, but it is really not too sweet at all, probably because of the cinnamon and ginger. Five or ten minutes of easy prep time, a bit more than half an hour in the oven plus some time to cool, at the end of which you will have the crunchiest, most toothsome granola to nibble on.

Nigella, who got this recipe from a certain Andy Rolleri of Fairfield, Connecticut, says that it is the best granola she's tasted; my husband, who has more granola experience than I, agrees. I'm no granola expert, but I like it a lot, which is more than what I can say for other granolas out there.

Best granola or not, this one seems to be just right for this time of year, especially with yogurt: comforting and cozy, refreshing and light: it may be just right for any time of the year. Or maybe I'm just turning into a granola person.

P.S. On a housekeeping note, I may not be able to check in here as regularly as I'd like during the next couple of months. We're in the process of moving states, and there's been a lot of packing and planning going on. I'll do my best to post as much as I can, though!

Andy's Fairfield Granola

Adapted from Nigella Lawson's Feast

The recipe can also be found here. When I make this granola at home, I omit the sesame seeds and the raisins. We like it with a few dried tart cherries and toasted coconut, added to plain yogurt right before serving. Dried cranberries or craisins work, too.

Mix together in a large mixing bowl:
⅓ cup golden syrup
¼ cup honey

¾ cup applesauce

  ¾ cup light brown sugar
  2 Tbsp sunflower oil (I used hazelnut oil)
  2 tsp ground cinnamon
  1 tsp ground ginger
  1 tsp sea salt

Toss in and mix until well-coated:
  5 cups rolled oats
   (I don't recommend instant, quick cooking oats as those flakes are a bit too tiny and broken up)
  2 cups whole raw almonds
  1 cup sunflower seeds

Spread this mixture out on 2 half-sheet baking sheets. Bake at 300ºF for 40 minutes, rotating the pans front to back and top to bottom about halfway through baking time. I also take a large spatula and redistribute the granola at 10 minute intervals, so that it will cook evenly. If you are tempted to try it right out of the oven, do not worry, the granola will crisp as it cools.

If desired, once the granola has cooled, mix in:
  2 cups raisins

Makes about 10 cups. Store in an airtight container, at room temperature. I'm not sure how long it keeps, because we motor through our stash at an alarming rate, but I can tell you that it stays good and crisp for at least a week.

Cold oven pound cake

2011-03-03T20:06:00.004-06:00

Last week we celebrated two birthdays - on the same day, two generations and a time zone apart.

Seven and a half years ago, when I told my dad that the due date was just 3 days before his birthday, he predicted that his first grandchild would wait out the 3 extra days and come out just in time for "Grampy's birthday". I rolled my eyes and told him he was dreaming.

My due date came and went, and I couldn't believe it when the first grandchild was indeed born 3 days later, just as my dad had wanted. (Now, if only he could have similar premonitions for upcoming lottery numbers...)

They don't always get to celebrate their birthday together, but they sing to each other every year - the annual, very special happy birthday duet featuring both ends in my line of the family, the oldest and the youngest, partners in crime (and dominoes).

As I was looking through my photo archives, searching for pictures of the birthday boys, I came across this pound cake. I made it months ago and completely forgot to tell you about it. It's our favourite standard pound cake, and I would probably have it a few times a week for breakfast, snack AND dessert if it wasn't for fear of pesky things like blood sugar, high cholesterol, and weight gain.

It's a cold oven pound cake, meaning that no preheating is necessary. The batter is mixed and poured into the prepared pan, and then placed in a stone cold oven. Apparently there was a time when recipes starting off with a cold oven were used to promote gas ovens as being economical, and I'm glad this was one of them, because no other pound cake recipe I've tried is able to produce a crust as phenomenally, addictively crisp as this one's.

I do make it a few times each year, sometimes when a craving hits, sometimes when company is coming, sometimes when a piccolo pensiero is needed. When I make it just for us, I slice it up as soon as it is cool enough, and then I wrap and freeze three quarters of it. This way we aren't tempted to eat it all, because let me tell you - when a slice of this pound cake meets summer's berries, or spring's homemade apricot jam, or winter's hot chocolate, it's very, very hard to resist reaching for more.

Cold Oven Pound Cake

The recipe I follow can be found here. The only change I make is that I replace the shortening with an equal amount of butter. As I was typing this recipe out I realized that it uses up more bowls than usual - you will need 3 bowls and a measuring cup. I apologize in advance for your filled-up sink ... but it's worth it. Also, there is a lot of butter and sugar involved, but know that this recipe makes quite a large cake: the original recipe says that it serves 12, but I get about 2 dozen generous slices out of this.

Grease and flour a 12-cup Bundt or tube pan.

Whisk in a medium bowl:
  3 cups unbleached all purpose flour
  ½ tsp salt

In a 2-cup measuring cup, whisk together:
  1 cup milk (skim or 1%; any richer and the cake will be too heavy)
  5 large egg yolks
  1 tsp vanilla

In another bowl, beat to soft peaks using an electric mixer on medium-high speed:
  5 large egg whites

Finally, in yet another bowl, the largest of the 3 that you pulled out for this recipe, beat on medium-high speed for about 2 minutes, until fluffy:
  1½ cups butter
  3 cups sugar

Reduce the speed to low and add the flour mixture and the milk mixture, alternating in 2 batches. Beat until combined. Fold in the egg whites using a rubber spatula.

Transfer the batter into the tube pan and place on the middle rack of your cold, cold oven.

Heat the oven to 300ºF. Bake for 45 minutes. Increase the heat to 325ºF and bake another 45 minutes. A toothpick inserted in the center will come out clean.

Allow the cake to cool in the pan for 20 minutes, then turn it out on to a rack. Let it cool completely before serving, at least 1 hour.

This cake freezes well for a couple of months. It stands very well on its own, but it makes a fine base for berries or jam.

Stir-fried beef and broccoli

2011-02-16T20:31:00.004-06:00

I don't know if it's just me, but I find Chinese cuisine to be one of the most elusive out there... searching for ingredients can sometimes be a whole adventure on its own, and once that's done and the meal is ready, there is often an "oomph" missing, which sometimes makes me wonder if Chinese food can only be made in a restaurant or by a Chinese mother. And so, for the past few years, every time I've come across a recipe that tastes right, I've made sure to place it in the Keeper file.

Recently I took a look at my precious list of Attempted Chinese Recipes That We Liked, and there was one thing they had in common: Grace Young. Five or six years ago I bought her book, "The Breath of a Wok", and all the recipes I've tried from it have worked. I also have her latest book, "Stir-Frying to the Sky's Edge", which is proving to be as promising as its predecessor. Both books contain a treasure trove of recipes and provide a most fascinating education on woks - how to select one, how to care for it, how to use it.

Earlier this month Grace made an appearance on the Martha Stewart show for Chinese New Year. She cooked two recipes from Stir-Frying to the Sky's Edge, using her very own trusty 20-year old wok. I should admit that up until that point I had been stir-frying in a skillet, but seeing Grace's wok with its beautiful patina and glorious sheen, I was struck with sudden wok envy (or maybe it was inspiration?) and the very next day I had purchased and seasoned a wok of my own. It's years away from acquiring the depth of a long-loved wok, but it's a start.

I've used my infant wok a number of times now, and I am still amazed at how quickly everything comes together. Once all the prep work is done - which takes just a few minutes - I heat up the wok and the dish is usually ready to be served within 10 minutes or so. Ten minutes! I was never able to do that when attempting stir-fries in a skillet.

Oh, and back to Grace Young's books: it gets even better. Aside from sharing reliable recipes and imparting precious, well-researched knowledge on the art of the wok, Grace's masterpieces also demistify the Chinese pantry by providing pictures of various ingredients and recommending tried-and-true brands. The last time I went to the Chinese supermarket to replenish my supplies, I decided to bring my beloved signed copy of Stir-Frying to the Sky's Edge to facilitate my journey down the sauce aisle. I enlisted the help of my husband and son, who actually enjoyed scouring the shelves since they had images to compare against.

To tell you the truth, I felt slightly self-conscious at the store ... I mean, when was the last time you saw anyone consulting a book while grocery shopping? But I guess I was on to something, because a fellow shopper, bewilderdly wandering from aisle to aisle, bumped into us and asked if she could refer to our book as well! And, in true Kansas-friendly style, we started chatting and I found out that she had also seen Grace on Martha Stewart's show and was actually shopping for ingredients so that she could try some of Grace's recipes! Small world, eh?

Speaking of small worlds, last year I actually got to meet the Wok Ambassador herself. My aunt, Tita Nancy, was involved in the production/design of Stir-Frying to the Sky's Edge, and she introduced us to each other. We've never actually met in person, but we have corresponded by email and spoken on the phone. Soon after we made each other's acquaintance, she encouraged me to start a blog. A few people had been trying to convince me to start one - including my husband who had been trying for more than a year - but the final push came from Grace. For that, and for making Chinese food attainable in my home kitchen, I will be always grateful to Grace.

Stir-Fried Beef and Broccoli

Adapted from Stir-Frying to the Sky's Edge

This recipe (as it appears in the book) can also be found here

You can also see Grace Young "in action" on the Martha Stewart show, where she cooked

Chicken Lo Mein with Ginger Mushrooms and Classic Dry-Fried Pepper and Salt Shrimp

Don't be discouraged by the length of the recipe below - I just broke it up into different components, and they all come together very quickly. You do need to make sure that you prepare all the ingredients ahead of time, because once you start stir-frying you will have no time to futz about. Have everything prepped and laid out near your stove, so that as soon as the wok heats up all you'll need to do is transfer the ingredients to the wok and stir-fry.

When I first read this recipe I thought that the ingredient list was long, and noticed that the quantities were small - a teaspoon here, a tablespoon there. However, when I am trying to learn how to cook a dish, I don't take many liberties - maybe when I am more confident with Chinese flavours I will also become more inclined to substitute or tweak, to cook by instinct. At any rate, I've always found Grace's recipes to be perfectly balanced, so if she says to add 2 teaspoons of dark soy sauce, I'll add 2 teaspoons of dark soy sauce. The way I see it, the author hasn't won 3 IACP awards for nothing ... and so I trust and I learn.

One thing I didn't use was the fermented black beans - I forgot to buy them. The finished dish sans black beans was wonderful just the same. Also, I'm not sure how many cooks out there have 2 tablespoons of chicken broth readily available, or would be willing to open a package for just 2 tablespoons. I used chicken broth, because I usually have it on hand. If I were to find myself without it, I might try substituting water with maybe a touch of soy sauce or a sliver of a bouillion cube.

Slice and marinate the meat
Cut with the grain into 2"-wide strips, then cut each strip across the grain into ¼" thick slices:
12 ounces lean flank steak

Place the meat in a medium bowl and mix just until combined:
1 Tbsp minced ginger
2 tsp soy sauce
2 tsp Shao Hsing rice wine or dry sherry
1½ tsp cornstarch
½ tsp salt
⅛ tsp freshly ground pepper

Then stir in:
1 teaspoon sesame oil

Set the meat aside.

Prepare the sauce
In a small bowl, combine:
2 Tbsp chicken broth
2 Tbsp oyster sauce
2 tsp dark soy sauce
1 Tbsp Shao Hsing rice wine or dry sherry

Set this sauce aside.

Blanch the broccoli
Bring to boil in a medium saucepan:
1 quart of water

Add and cook for 1 minute:
12 ounces (about 5 cups) broccoli florets cut into bite-size pieces
(if including broccoli stems, slice those ¼" thick

The broccoli will turn a bright, vibrant green. Drain in a colander and make sure to shake out any excess water. Set the broccoli aside.

Prepare the other ingredients
Slice thinly and set aside:
1 small onion, to yield ¾ cup

Rinse, mash, and set aside:
1 Tbsp fermented black beans

Mince:
a few garlic cloves to yield 1 Tbsp when minced

Start your stir-fry engines!
Heat a 14" flat-bottomed wok or 12-inch skillet over high heat until a bead of water vaporizes within 1 to 2 seconds of contact. Swirl in (pour around the sides, letting the oil drip down to the base of the wok):
1 Tbsp peanut oil or vegetable oil

Add:
the garlic you minced (1 Tbsp)
the fermented black beans that you rinsed and mashed (1 Tbsp)

Push the garlic mixture to the sides of the wok, and carefully add:
the beef slices (12 ounces)

Spread the slices evenly in one layer in the wok. Allow to cook undisturbed 1 minute, letting the beef begin to sear. Take a moment to listen - you should hear it sizzling. Then stir-fry 1 minute, or until the beef is lightly browned but not cooked through. Transfer the beef to a plate.

Swirl into the now-empty wok:
1 Tbsp peanut oil or vegetable oil

Add and stir-fry about 30 seconds, or until the onions are just translucent:
the onions that you sliced (¾ cup)

Add and stir-fry 15 seconds or until just combined with the onions:
the broccoli that you blanched and drained (12 ounces)

Return the beef with any juices that have accumulated to the wok, and swirl in:
the oyster sauce mixture

Stir-fry about 30 seconds or until the beef is just cooked through.

Serve immediately. We had ours with steamed white rice on the side, and found that it was enough to serve 6.

Chocolate soufflé

2011-02-12T21:04:00.004-06:00

The first soufflé I ever had was a chocolate one, at a restaurant, when I was maybe seven or eight. My mom was crazy for soufflés, especially savoury ones like spinach and cheese, and she knew which restaurants made the good ones. I think she also wanted to introduce her kids to refined meals like that, so she and my dad took us with them to experience just how delicious air can be. While she probably didn't have any worries about my older sister (who always knew how to appreciate good food), she had to be creative with me (who, shamefully, had a palate only for bread and butter): that's probably why my first soufflé encounter involved chocolate and not spinach.

The first time they took me to try the stuff, I remember being quite skeptical upon hearing her order some chocolate soufflé for my dessert - what was that, anyway, and was it going to be any good? But, as always, mothers just know: "Trust me," she said, "You're going to like it." Of course I ended up loving it, and wanting more.

For the longest time I thought that soufflé was strictly restaurant fare, that it couldn't possibly be made at home. I reckon many people don't think they could ever whip up a soufflé in their own kitchen, but guess what? It's actually one of the simplest, easiest dishes to prepare. If you can melt chocolate and whip egg whites, you can make chocolate soufflé. Seriously.

If you've read my previous posts you're probably well aware at how often I use melted chocolate. It can be done in the microwave, in a glass measuring cup, using 10-second bursts, but for this recipe the chocolate is melted in a bain-marie: chunks of chocolate in a heat proof bowl suspended over a pot of barely simmering water. As long as the water doesn't touch the bottom of the bowl and doesn't splatter into the bowl, you'll have silky melted chocolate in a matter of a few minutes.

And whipping egg whites? Well, thanks to modern appliances you no longer need enviable arm strength to whip whites to a voluminous cloud. With a hand mixer or a stand mixer, the problem actually lies in over-whipping ... so don't leave the mixer, and if in doubt, stop and check. You can hand-whip the whites on the home stretch if you're scared that you might let your electric mixer go overboard.

A couple of other things to keep in mind with making soufflés at home, sweet or savoury: when preparing the vessel(s), don't skip the part that instructs you to butter each ramekin and coat it with flour or sugar. The egg mixture needs something to grab on to as it rises, and that's what the flour or sugar is for.

Also, when you fold the egg whites in, be quick and gentle: fold only until combined, and use a light hand. I did a quick search and this video is pretty informative, if you are not sure how to fold (1:13 into the video is around the time that the technique part starts).

This recipe for chocolate soufflé can actually be made a couple of days before serving: that is to say, you can prepare the batter and pour it into the ramekins, cover and refrigerate for up to two days, and bake straight out of the fridge, which makes it a very convenient dessert to prepare for a dinner party. Or a romantic weeknight dinner.

Intensely Bittersweet Soufflés

Adapted from Bittersweet

The title doesn't lie: somehow, magically, this recipe is able to deliver all the richness of chocolate without the decadent heaviness usually associated with chocolate desserts ... it's how I imagine a chocolate cloud would taste. Use the very best quality chocolate: if you don't like how the chocolate tastes on its own, don't use it for this.

I think soufflés are usually made in straight-sided vessels, but I tried making some in angled ramekins (pictured above), and it worked out just as well. If you don't have individual ramekins, I think you could use those little Pyrex bowls (apparently they're called custard cups) or something similar.

Serve these immediately. Not surprisingly, they will deflate soon after they emerge from the oven, but don't worry: they won't shrink to pathetic nothingness. The first picture above shows the soufflés at their lowest point, and as you can see they are still quite handsome.

If you are baking the soufflés right away, preheat the oven to 375ºF and place a rack on the lower third position. Butter 8 ramekins and coat with sugar. I use a brush to coat each ramekin with softened butter, then I take a ramekin, dump in a generous spoonful of sugar, slosh it around, and pour out any sugar that didn't stick into the next ramekin.

Place in a large heatproof bowl set over a pot of barely simmering water:
  8 ounces bittersweet chocolate (60%-70%), chopped
  1 Tbsp unsalted butter
  ⅓ cup milk (I used 1%)

Stir until the chocolate is melted and the mixture is glossy and smooth. Remove the bowl from the heat and whisk in:
  3 egg yolks

Set this aside.

In another bowl that is spotlessly clean and dry (it needs to be this way because if there is any trace of grease in the bowl, the egg whites will not rise), beat with an electric mixer (or very strong arms) at medium speed until soft peaks form:
  4 egg whites, at room temperature
  ⅛ tsp cream of tartar

Gradually sprinkle in, a few teaspoons at a time, and beat at high speed until the whites are stiff and glossy, but not dry:
  ⅓ cup sugar

Stir a quarter of the puffy egg white cloud into the chocolate mixture to loosen it up. Then, using a rubber spatula, fold in the remaining egg whites.

Divide the mixture evenly into the prepared ramekins. Fill each about three-quarters full.

At this point, you can either go right to baking, or you can cover the ramekins with plastic wrap and refrigerate them for up to two days (bake them straight out of the fridge if you go this route).

Bake in your preheated 375ºF oven for about 14 minutes (perhaps a minute longer if the soufflés have been refrigerated). They will rise and crack.

Serve immediately. Sift some powdered sugar over the top, if desired.

Serves 8.

Lechon kawali

2011-02-08T20:45:00.001-06:00

Predictable. That's what I am. When on a plane I will always ask for a glass of half ginger ale, half orange juice. Bring up graphing calculators and I will say how I am completely against allowing those lazy-brain-inducing gadgets into high school classrooms, even university classrooms. Plan a restaurant outing with me and I will always let you pick the place. As soon as my son steps out the front door during cold weather months I will, like clockwork, tell him to put on his tuque or his hood. Put a bowl of Kansas City baked beans in front of me and I will be completely unable to resist it. Plop me on a treadmill or an elliptical and I will think of nothing else but food: what to cook and bake, when, how, and for whom.

On that last point: it's hopeless. I think my time spent exercising may actually be counterproductive, because the longer I spend on those machines the more elaborate my food-related plans become. What I really need to figure out is how to get some piezo energy harvesting action in my kitchen - you know, turn me into a gerbil on wheel, hooked up to some kind of battery that can power my oven and countertop appliances. Then at least my efforts will go someplace useful.

But until that happens, there is this:

I was actually doing a pretty good job of rejecting/postponing my elliptical-inspired lechon kawali ideas - I stayed strong for at least a couple of months, and I'm pretty sure I would have succeeded in holding out even longer, had it not been for my friend Nerissa, who recently made some and then showed me a picture of her beautiful, glistening creation. That did it. I totally caved.

And so here we are. What is lechon kawali anyway, you ask?

Lechon kawali is a Filipino ~~obsession~~ dish that's made with skin-on pork belly, the same cut used for bacon. In the Philippines, the word lechon typically refers to a roasted suckling pig - yes, the whole pig. Lechon kawali, a cousin of lechon, is pork belly cooked in a kawali, a frying pan, which results in succulent meat gilded with crispy skin.

Some people actually bake their lechon kawali in the oven, but traditionally the slab is boiled with aromatics until tender, drained and left to dry for a few hours, and then fried so that the skin blisters, puffs up and becomes addictively crunchy. It is celebration food, party food, special occasion food ... it is undeniably rich. This is where heroic moderation comes in handy; unfortunately, nothing dispels heroic moderation more effectively than a plate of lechon kawali. Even my fat-fearing husband loves it.

Mind you, ever since my family left the Philippines some 18 years ago, I've had lechon kawali fewer than 5 times. That's a pretty good track record, health-wise anyway. I love lechon but I love being alive more ... but I considered this particular breach of dietary guidelines to be an opportunity for some cultural exposure: after all, my son is half Filipino, and one can't claim to be a real "Pinoy" without knowing lechon kawali. Yeah, suuuuure, it was my duty as a mother to make it. Uh-huh.

And so my cycle of predictability continues: after this crazy indulgence, of course I have been hauling my, um, guilty self, over to the gym. And of course that has given me ample opportunity to think of what to make next. Well, whatever it is, it's bound to be healthier.

Lechon Kawali

When purchasing meat for lechon kawali, there are 2 important things to remember: first, the pork belly has to have skin; second, choose slab(s) that have as much meat on them as possible. Unfortunately I don't have a foolproof way to determine if the inner part has as much meat as what the layers show on the outside, but your butcher might know - or if you do, please share!

For the boiling part, I used a pressure cooker. If you do not have a pressure cooker you can boil your pork belly in a regular pot - it will take longer, at least double the time, but it will work just as well.

Also, this is a 2-day affair. The skin needs time to dry thoroughly; if it doesn't the finished crunchiness of the skin may be compromised.

Place in a large pot:
  1 kg pork belly, whole and skin-on (I had 2 slabs that measured about 6" square)
  1 onion, quartered
  6 garlic cloves, lightly smashed
  3 Tbsp kosher salt
  1 Tbsp whole black peppercorns
  3 bay leaves

Pour enough water into the pot to cover the meat by about an inch.

Bring the water to a boil. If using a pressure cooker, as soon as the pot reaches pressure start timing 30 minutes. If using a regular pot, adjust the heat so that the water stays at a busy simmer, and continue until the meat is fork-tender, at least 1 hour. The meat is ready when you can poke a toothpick right through it with hardly any effort.

Remove the meat from the pot and pat it dry with paper towels. Lay it on a rack, skin side up. Set the rack over a plate or tray, and place it in a cool place to dry, uncovered, for at least 4 hours. 24 hours is even better. A refrigerator is a good place.

After this waiting period you have a few choices. You can either fry the pork belly whole, or, with the skin side up, you can slice it into 1" or 1½" strips, or you can cut it into cubes - always cutting perpendicular to the skin so that each piece of meat has skin on top. Smaller pieces will end up more crunchy, but keep in mind that the meat will also dry out faster this way.

Heat oil in a Dutch oven, heavy skillet, or deep fryer to 375ºF. You will need at least an inch (or two, if you can manage it) of vegetable oil. Fry the pieces, a few at a time and turning if necessary, until golden brown and crisp, about 10 minutes.

Place over paper towels to absorb excess oil. Let sit for a couple of minutes, then slice into cubes and serve.

Lechon kawali is most often enjoyed with lots of steamed white rice, and a dipping sauce like vinegar with hot chilis, garlic and pepper, or Mang Tomas (a commercial, bottled version of Filipino-style liver gravy, although the Mang Tomas sold in North America doesn't contain liver).

Lacy coconut-topped brownies

2011-02-03T22:06:00.005-06:00

So ... it's definitely winter. Snow.

Snow.

Cold.

And more snow. It may be sparkly, but it's still snow.

You know what? It's time for brownies.

Coconut brownies! Oh, I mean, Lacy Coconut-Topped Brownies (excusez-moi). Tropical chewiness on chocolate fudginess. It may be cold outside and we may have been assaulted by an onslaught of snow days, but these little things make everything better. Especially when teamed up with a warm cozy blanket and a glass of cold milk or a cup of hot cocoa.

If you aren't crazy for coconut, know that the brownie base can stand very well on its own. Just thought I'd mention it.

I've linked this up to Lisa's Sweets for a Saturday linky party. There are tons of sweets over there, all made by bloggers just this past week. Thanks for the invite, Lisa!

Lacy Coconut-Topped Brownies

Adapted from Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Melt-in-Your-Mouth Cookies

These brownies appear in the "Chewy" section of Ms. Medrich's book. I found that the chewiness came mostly from the coconut topping, but as mentioned above, the brownie part is great even alone. Using a 9" pan will result in thin brownies, so if you prefer yours thicker I'd suggest using an 8" pan. You may need to add a couple of minutes to the cooking time.

Prepare the coconut macaroon topping. Combine the following ingredients in a medium heatproof mixing bowl:

1 large egg white

3 ounces (1 cup) sweeteened dried shredded coconut

1.75 ounces (¼ cup) sugar

¾ tsp vanilla extract

generous pinch salt

Set the bowl in a skillet of barely simmering water and stir the mixture constantly. Scrape the bottom to prevent scorching. Do this until the egg whites have thickened and turned opaque, which will take about 5 minutes. Remove the bowl from the skillet and set aside for about 30 minutes to allow the coconut to cool and absorb the melted sugar/egg white. Don't put the skillet away yet - you'll need it for the brownie part later.

Line a 9" square baking pan with parchment or foil. After the coconut has cooled for about 15 minutes, preheat the oven to 350ºF and position a rack in the lower third of the oven.

Prepare the brownie layer. Place in another medium bowl and set it in the skillet (water barely simmering):

6.5 ounces 70% bittersweet chocolate

3.5 ounces (7 Tbsp or ½ cup minus 1 Tbsp) butter

Stir frequently until the chocolate and butter have melted into a smoo-oooth sauce.

Remove the bowl from the water and stir in, using a wooden spoon or sturdy spatula:

6.125 ounces (¾ cup plus 2 Tbsp) sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

¼ tsp salt

The mixture might look grainy - do not worry. Add one at a time, mixing well after each addition:

2 large eggs, cold

Stir in and beat vigorously until the batter is smooth and glossy:

3.5 ounces (½ cup) unbleached all-purpose flour

Scrape the batter into a parchment or foil-lined 9" square pan. Spread the brownie batter evenly and drop spoonfuls of the coconut topping over the batter. Gently spread out the coconut to cover the batter. (Alternatively, use your fingers to drop the macaroon mixture over the brownie batter).

Bake for about 25 minutes. The brownies will puff at the edges. The coconut shreds will be crusty and deep golden brown.

Let the brownies cool completely in the pan set over a rack. Once cool, remove from pan and cut into squares.

Makes 25 squares (or 24 rectangles) - your pick. These keep well for 3 days. We like them best when they are fully cooled, but some people might enjoy them warm.

Filipino adobo

2011-01-30T11:11:00.003-06:00

This is probably the peskiest blog post I've ever tried to write. Picture a person scribbling on a pad of paper, frowning, ripping the top sheet off, crumpling it into a wad, and throwing it at (not into) an overflowing garbage can. That's how I feel, except I keep typing and deleting, walking away and coming back.

I've been wanting to post this for days now, since the beginning of the week, and this is all I could come up with: basically, nothing. Yup, nothing! GAH!

You see, I do have a dish to tell you about, but I've been hitting some roadblocks. First of all, it was impossible to take a tantalizing picture of it. It looked perfectly presentable in person, honest, but it was not photogenic. At all. I wanted to have a good picture to show you because food photos can be very convincing, and for some people, this dish in particular may need lots of convincing. Don't get me wrong: it's absolutely delicious, and it's one of the flagships of Filipino cuisine, but there is a lot of vinegar involved, and vinegar scares some people.

As you can see, I'm having some real difficulty selling this recipe: "Delicious"? Really? That was the best description I could come up with? And "vinegar scares people"? Words are truly failing me here, hence all the obsessing about a nice picture, or lack thereof.

The other problem is that there are about as many recipes for this dish - adobo - as there are Filipino households all over the world. It starts off simply enough: meat, most commonly pork or chicken, marinated and cooked in vinegar, garlic, black pepper, and bay leaf. Proportions and cooking methods vary wildly. Other ingredients are hotly debated: what some cooks shun as bastardizations of the "authentic" recipe, others consider essential.

I've had all kinds of adobo - even great adobo - but for me, the step from eating great adobo to making great adobo was more epic journey than step: I've been trying to make my own adobo for more than a decade, and never made the right one until the other day.

Of course, when I say "right", all I really mean is that it made me (and the boys) perfectly content: the meat was tender, but not meltingly so, and it was full of flavour, but not overwhelmingly so. The vinegar and garlic mellowed, and their lengthy simmering left behind just enough perky sauce to spoon over the requisite side of steamed white rice.

I made this a day before we ate it - adobo is a great make-ahead dish because it tastes even better a day or two later. Same-day-repeats are a rare occurrence in our household, but we had this adobo for lunch and again for dinner that same day. And there were absolutely no leftovers to enjoy the next day. Adobo victory!

I think it took me this long to hit the my-own-adobo jackpot because of the "too many cooks in the kitchen" problem. You know what's worse than too many cooks in your kitchen? Too many cooks in your head while you're alone in the kitchen. Every time I make adobo, to compound my already severe insecurity, I invite into my kitchen all my Filipino cookbooks and every cook who has ever given me tips and advice on adobo.

A peek into my head, housing every adobo cook and their uncle: "Use only vinegar! Lots of vinegar, but not too much! What kind? Palm vinegar, cider vinegar, white vinegar, rice vinegar! Absolutely no soy sauce! Coconut milk! Are you kidding, no coconut milk! Hot peppers! What are you talking about, no hot peppers! Garlic! How much? Lots! Crushed garlic, smooshed garlic, only very lightly smacked garlic! Black peppers! whole, cracked, ground! Cook it until dry and crispy! No, make sure it stays saucy! Don't forget the bay leaf!!!! And the salt! It has to be salty! It has to be sour, salty, and a tiny bit sweet - but don't add sugar - everything has to be balanced, no one flavour overwhelming another!" Good gracious.

Maybe this is why I couldn't write this blog post. All those voices are still echoing in my head. The good news is that I finally have my own adobo recipe, and I'm sticking with it. So the next time I make adobo - which will be very soon, believe me - I will be able to make it calmly, without being anxious about the result, and peacefully, without having to shush the adobo voices in my head. I can't wait.

Baby Back Ribs Adobo

Adapted from Memories of Philippine Kitchens, Filipino Cuisine: Recipes from the Islands, and my Mom

Filipino adobo is a very personal matter. This is the recipe that works for us, but you might very well want to tweak it - more or less vinegar, soy sauce, garlic, salt, pepper. I think most people go about finding their own recipe for adobo by starting off with a recipe, and then adjusting it until they're happy. If you don't get it the first time, don't lose heart and don't give up!

This recipe uses baby back ribs. I think it would work equally well with pork shoulder. Some people make their adobo with chicken, or a mixture of chicken and pork. Some make it with fish, but I've never tried making that at home.

Combine in a small bowl:
  1 cup apple cider vinegar
  1 Tbsp soy sauce (I'm sorry Mom, but I used soy sauce. Just a tiny bit, though!)
  3 small bay leaves
  1½ tsp rock salt (or 2 tsp kosher salt)
  2 tsp very finely minced garlic, almost paste-like (4-6 garlic cloves)
  black peppercorn, coarsely cracked or left whole (to taste - be generous)

Place in a nonreactive vessel (like a pyrex dish):
  2 lbs/1 kg baby back ribs (1 side), cut into 1-rib portions

Pour the vinegar mixture over the ribs and toss to coat. Allow to marinate for at least one hour. Some people do this overnight, but I haven't tried an overnight soak in vinegar yet - I'll let you know if/when I do! I imagine that the meat would become very, very tender if left to marinate overnight.

Transfer the ribs and all the marinade to a thick skillet. If you have an enameled cast iron pot/pan with a wide base, use that. Bring to a boil over medium high heat, then reduce the heat to medium low (more low than medium), cover slightly (leave a tiny bit of room for some steam to escape), and let simmer for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

After 45 minutes, if there is a lot of liquid in the pot, uncover it. Let it simmer for another 45-60 minutes, until the meat is tender. If in doubt, this is one dish where it's better to go "low and slow" - don't rush it.

Transfer the ribs to a plate. If the sauce is too thin and/or too much for your liking, increase the heat and let it simmer for a few minutes, until reduced. Pour the remaining sauce into a bowl (straining it, if you wish). Set the sauce aside.

At this point, you have a few options. You can do nothing more and go straight to serving, or if you want your meat to have a crispy, brown surface, you can either:
  broil the ribs on both sides for a few minutes in your oven, OR
  brown them in the now-empty skillet, in 2 Tbsp vegetable oil

Serve the meat with the sauce on the side, or pour the sauce back over the browned meat.

If you plan ahead, prepare this a day or two before you plan to eat it. Serve with steamed white rice, and salted tomatoes (or tomatoes tossed in a bit of fish sauce).

Makes 4-6 portions.

Cucumber salad

2011-01-20T18:47:00.003-06:00

I wonder if there is a condition akin to a midlife crisis, for bloggers ... a point where nagging doubts creep in and uncomfortable questions come up - "where is this going?" and "why did I start doing this in the first place?" and "what is all this for?"

I'm no expert, but I have this notion that a decade ago - even giving or taking 5 years - blogs were more diary-like: accounts of people's ho-hum-everyday, maybe with a slant or a creative spin ... and fame, if any, probably resulted largely from word of mouth or the like. I'm sure that many, many blogs today are still like that, but the difference is that there are a GA-zillion blogs out there now, and in that gigantic pool there are a select number of old-timer-blog-behemoths, a handful almost-overnight-blog-sensations, and everyone else. It's easy to feel lost in the Caverns of Everyone Else.

Blogging today is also very closely tied to social media ... everyone has their own preferences and pet peeves, but let me tell you, I'm really not so sold on this Twitter deal. Am I the only person who cringes at the thought of having "followers" and being a "follower"? How in the world did all the angst of highschool find a way to go viral?

It totally freaks me out, because let's face it: a hard-core engineering firm is not the place where social butterflies are groomed, and hopping on Twitter is like having to work the crowd in a noisy disco bar. Are you seeing the personality incompatibilities here?

Anyway, lately I've been doing a lot of thinking about this blog and where I want to go with it. Do I want it to get crazy-big? If so, how? How much time do I really want to spend marketing it? If by some crazy twist of fate my hobby turns into a job, will I still enjoy it?

And amidst all that wondering and pondering, ever-present are: What's for dinner? Will there be leftovers for lunch? Is homework all done? Do I have time to exercise? Am I going to meet my work deadlines? What extracurriculars and appointments do we have this week?

All those questions in my mind, strangely, add up to an answer for me that is good enough for now: life isn't going to stop, keep plugging away. I started this blog to give our families and friends a window into our memories and our life here in Kansas, to share recipes for dishes that we like and that we think are worth passing on, and to develop skills not normally exercised in my field of work.

I'm not good at small talk, but I value meaningful conversations. The thought of self-promotion makes me queasy, and I believe in being judged on merit. So maybe my blog hasn't broken away from the pack, and perhaps it never really will. But five year plans and real conversations and growth in writing or photographing or baking: these things all take time. And patience. My therapist (who is also my husband) and I figure that as long as my blog stays true to its identity, the rest will find a place.

And in that spirit, you know, keepin' it real as some dawgs might say, here's what else happened this week: homemade cheesecake, barely out of the oven, SPLAT on the floor - a first never to be repeated; a much anticipated chewy-chewy chocolate cookie recipe that gave us tasty-not-chewy cookies; second round of the Babka Quest, not there yet but one step closer to the dream. Our "food disappointments" stats may have been a bit higher this week, but there was solace in cucumber salad. Weird, I know.

I'm not sure if many people consider cucumber salad to be comforting, but I do. It's probably due to the intangible nostalgia factor - a flavour from back home, happy memories of impromptu meals with one of my best friends, Aileen, and sunny lunches at the lakehouse. But there really isn't anything fancy about this salad, not even the vinegar. When I was growing up I don't think we had any je ne sais quois vinegars in our pantry and I've never had a fancy-dancy vinegar in cucumber salad, so when I make these I instinctively reach for the plainest vinegar there is - distilled white - even if my cupboard now contains more sophisticated offerings.

To be even less glamorous, this time I had them with whole wheat toast and scrambled eggs. I'm afraid to check that combination against the Flavor Bible. But this salad was just right for the moment, somehow, crisp and sour-sweet. I had so many helpings that I feared for my stomach lining. For the record, nothing bad happened.

So there you have it: cucumbers in vinegar, in the middle of winter. Sometimes we get all fancy and mostly we try to stay in season. But life isn't always so polished and organized, and there's no point in trying to hide that reality in a blog. This is our life. And besides, the recipe is worth sharing.

Cucumber Salad ~ Ensaladang Pipino

Adapted from Allrecipes

To tell you the truth I used to just eyeball the vinegar and sugar mix for the cucumbers, but it was a sort of hit-and-miss thing. Last summer my friend Nerissa shared the recipe linked above, and I found that it struck the sweet-sour balance just right.

Make sure your cucumbers and onion are sliced before you start working on the vinegar: according to the original recipe, "the vinegar solution [must] be hot to ensure proper flavoring".

You can skip the onion, but really, I think it's worth trying. Add just a few slivers if you are hesitant - the onion loses all of its harshness but stays crunchy, especially if left in the solution overnight.

Toss together in a large bowl and set aside:

6-8 mini cucumbers or 3-4 cucumbers, thinly sliced

1 small white onion, thinly sliced

In a saucepan over medium-high heat, bring to a boil:

1 cup white vinegar

½ cup water

¾ cup white sugar

Immediately pour the vinegar mixture over the sliced cucumbers and onions, and stir in:

1 Tbsp dried dill, or a handful fresh dill (optional, to taste)

grated fresh ginger (optional, to taste)

Cover and refrigerate for at least one hour. Overnight is even better. Serve cold or at room temperature (I like it cold), with grilled or fried food.

I've always found that the cucumbers stay crunchy for a good 3 days or so.

Tzatziki

2011-01-12T21:32:00.002-06:00

Okay, so a sculptor I am not.

Although, for a first-ever snowman made with the fluffiest, most powdery snow, he's not too shabby, eh? It's hard to believe that I lived in snowy Montréal for almost 10 years and never built a snowman, but it's true. I couldn't get enough of snow during my first winter there, but by the time the next winter came along, snow and I were over.

Well, except for the crunch-crunch of boots on fresh snow, particularly on clear quiet evenings, when it's cold outside but not frigid. Appropriate winter attire (tuque, gloves, scarf) mandatory, significant other (husband with a coat pocket to house wife's gloved hand) mandatory as well. That part of winter, I don't mind staying friends with.

Here in Kansas we usually don't get very much snow, and that's totally fine by me. When we happen to get a few inches - like, four - school gets cancelled, presumably so that kids can frolic in the precious few snowflakes on the ground and parents can scramble to request last-minute time off from work. And also so that mothers can build snowmen for their children who have the mistaken notion that pressing the bejeezus out of dry snow will create the much-desired Frosty.

Parenthood is a strange, strange thing, because even if all I really wanted was to stay inside ... in my PJs ... under a warm blanket, what I didn't get didn't matter when I saw my son reveling in the snow he had been earnestly praying for since the beginning of December.

When I was single-digit-old I remember pestering my mom to write something in my little scribbling book, and after a couple of days she returned my notebook with the following in her trademark script: "My only real happiness is knowing that you are happy". I remember reading it and thinking, "Huh? That's it? I waited all this time for that?" I was expecting a manuscript, pages and pages of stuff, but all I got was a measly sentence, signed "Mama". I committed it to memory (good thing there were only 10 words) because it was a note that my Mommy wrote to me and only me. I totally didn't get it, but I memorized it anyway. Now that I'm a mom myself I understand exactly what she meant.

I don't have that little notebook anymore, but I do remember it was divided into sections by coloured pages - pink, blue, yellow, green - and in the last section, the green one, I had written down a recipe for a dip for potato chips. That memory, along with the snack-inducing cold, got me thinking of chips and dip. But I couldn't in good conscience, not so soon after the holidays (a.k.a. cookie fest) ... so I made tzatziki instead. With no fat Greek yogurt*. To go with grilled skinless lemon-oregano chicken breast. And none of us at home regretted it one bit.

*I'm not usually a low-fat, no-fat kind of gal, but FAGE no fat Greek-style yogurt is suprisingly good.

Tzatziki

I've been making this recipe for years, but I don't know where I got it. It's very similar to this recipe, but I make mine with double the cucumber and lemon instead of vinegar. Feel free to use only half a cucumber if you prefer a less chunky tzatziki.

When I was in Montréal, I remember hearing from a Greek acquaintance that sour cream in tzatziki is a cheater's shortcut, and so I've always used Greek-style yogurt or yogurt cheese (made by straining plain yogurt overnight, to thicken it. Place yogurt in a cheesecloth-lined colander over a bowl to catch the liquid; keep refrigerated).

Some people like their tzatziki really garlicky, as in, enough to scare vampires. If you are of that camp, use more garlic. I would recommend starting off with one clove, tasting, and then adding as desired. Keep in mind that the garlic flavour becomes stronger as the tzatziki sits, so if you are making this a day ahead, you might consider being less aggressive.

Coarsely grate:

1 12" cucumber, peeled

Sprinkle over the grated cucumber and toss together:

about ½ tsp kosher salt

Place the cucumber shreds on a strainer and set the strainer over a bowl. Let it drain for about an hour (at room temperature is fine). Squeeze the cucumber with your hands, or press the cucumber firmly with the back of a spoon while still in the strainer, to release as much liquid as possible. Discard the liquid.

Mix the cucumber with:

2½ cups Greek-style yogurt or yogurt cheese
1-3 cloves garlic, minced finely
1 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 Tbsp lemon
a generous pinch kosher salt (taste)
a few grinds of fresh black pepper

If possible, let this sit in the fridge for a few hours or even overnight to let all the flavours come together. Serve alongside grilled meats, or with pita chips. You can also smear it over toasted bread, a habit I acquired in Montréal.

Quickest puff pastry

2011-01-04T19:22:00.011-06:00

Happy New Year!

Did you have a good holiday? We had a great Christmas - different this year, but great. I didn't quite know what to expect, because December for us is usually a flurry of the pre-vacation work rush followed by travel, sniffles, and familial chaos, suitcases packed and unpacked, presents wrapped and unwrapped. We usually stumble into the new year happily shellshocked, dazed from the holiday long in coming but quick in going, hearts full with the healthy dose of family and friends, eager to settle back into routine ... and tired. Oh, so tired.

This time was different, because for once we neither traveled nor hosted: it was a very cozy Christmas season, just us three and a couple of parties and play dates, enough to make us feel less-hermit/more-festive. There was still work - it seems that vacation time is always lacking, slipping like sand through open fingers - but what a difference can be made by a few extra days off tacked on to weekends!

For once, there were actually enough hours in the day for cookie making and bread baking, movies and skating, reading and napping, Creationary and card games ... it was simply wonderful. A little off topic here, but let me tell you, nothing kills the competitive fire like holding a +4 wildcard that can't be dumped on a 6-year-old who is already losing ... we want to teach him to win graciously and lose courageously, but it's a tad too early to be leaving him in the dust. Parenthood scores again.

So, 2011. I was going to start the year off on a healthy note, what with all the cookies of late, and in that spirit I had planned to bring up farro. Oh, how we love farro. I've been meaning to talk farro for months now, but things keep coming up, and anyway, we keep eating it all before I can take a picture. Note the wistful participles and past perfects and present perfect continuous-es, and I say "wistful" because instead of farro I have for you something on the opposite end of the spectrum, equally delightful but probably not so good for new year's resolutions. But you know, Epiphany is just around the corner, and for some people that means galette des rois, and for me that means the Christmas season isn't over yet ... so I can slide this in before the holiday door slams shut.

Besides, when is it not a good time for puff pasty, right? WAIT! I know you think I'm crazy - normal people don't make homemade puff pastry. And I'll give you that: it does take a special kind of crazy to make puff pastry or puff dough, and while I might immensely enjoy making it the 'traditional' way, I will admit that it takes time and a bit of patience. But this puff pastry is different, and that's why I threw all farro to the wind (figuratively, of course) and decided to share this marvel with you instead.

It's made in the food processor! There, I said it. Can you believe it? In the food processor! Believe it! You blitz it, pat it into a rectangle, roll it out, fold it, and roll it up like you would a sleeping bag. Then you flatten it, let it chillax in the fridge, and it's ready to go. Seriously! Impossibly flaky and shatteringly crisp, it is way better than the puff pastry in your grocer's freezer case, and it is so easy that you could make it on a weeknight - okay, two weeknights if you don't get home until just before dinner - but my point is that this puff pastry, Nick Malgieri's puff pastry, requires marginally more work than any other homemade crust, and that, my friends, is what I would call sheer geeee-niiiii-uuuuus.

It's also what one might call "Bye Bye, New Year's Resolution to ... ahem" ... but that's really only if you were to make and eat this sort of thing regularly, right? Once in a while, for a nice treat or a special occasion, I think it's great that it's actually possible to nonchalantly whip up a batch of homemade puff.

Oh, and if this discovery weren't already exciting enough on its own, I also found out recently that I won another DMBLGIT award for my candied orange peel photo! Thank you to the DMBLGIT judges and to Erica for hosting. What an awesome way to start the year.

Quickest Puff Pastry

It must be my lucky day: the recipe I followed
was posted just today (!) on Nick Malgieri's site.

The amount of butter in any puff pastry frightens me, so the only modification I made to the recipe is that I used 1 stick (½ cup) butter for each cup of flour. It worked perfectly.

Remember to keep your dough nice and cool. When working with puff pastry it is especially important to trim the edges, and to do so when the dough is cold, to ensure maximum "puff capabilities". (If the edges are sealed shut or pinched together, the pastry's expansion will be inhibited).

If you have a TV-oven (and by that I mean an oven with a "window"), it is extremely fascinating to watch the dough as it cooks ... it starts out relatively flat, and a few minutes into baking the layers start to lift and the pastry poooofs to, like, 6 times its original height. Maybe even more. It's crazy cool! Okay. I should stop now.

Nick Magieri has also written about this technique here.

Sugar cookies

2010-12-23T19:22:00.001-06:00

I meant to post this earlier, honest, but I kind of got caught in a whirlwind of Christmas frenzy which spared no one here at home ... least of all our kitchen.

A while back I said I would try a new sugar cookie recipe, hopefully before Christmas. If this isn't cutting it close, I don't know what is! Actually, I baked these last week. More accurately, I baked these last week and then again this week. That's how happy we are with them.

I've been wanting to make pastel-coloured Christmas cookies since I saw them on Martha Stewart's special issue on Holiday Cookies nine years ago, and finally did them this year. So really, it's quite a feat that I'm here a mere week after making them, and two days before Christmas, even!

Last year, my younger sister and I had a cookie decorating fest during which we had planned to try the Martha Stewart look, but I messed up the tinting and we ended up with baby-room pastel instead of the elegant-holiday chic we were aiming for. So we went for bold Christmas reds and greens, with the help of some toothpicks:

I learned from last year's heavy-handed tinting and got the colours right this time. More importantly, I actually found a recipe for a sugar cookie worth eating ... from the Joy of Cooking, which I've had on my bookshelf for at least a decade. Yup, I've had it with me all this time, and only thought to try it after I had already endured at least half a dozen disappointments.

Better late than never? Yeah. Let's go with that.

Sugar Cookies

Adapted from The 1997 Joy of Cooking

These sugar cookies expand a teeny-tiny bit due to the baking powder. Cookies without baking powder will not spread, but they also bake up crisper. Since I like a softer sugar cookie and the leavener seems to pull that off, I'm okay with the slight spreading that occurs. I do make sure to chill the dough thoroughly after cutting and before baking, which helps the cookies hold their shape.

The original recipe uses only vanilla. However, my friend Kerri once mentioned that she puts almond extract her sugar cookies, and her sugar cookies are awesome - so I've replaced some of the vanilla with almond extract.

Whisk together to break up any lumps:

16.25 ounces (3¼ cups) all purpose flour

1½ tsp baking powder

½ tsp salt

Beat on medium speed until light and fluffy (3-4 minutes):

10 ounces (20 Tbsp; 2½ sticks) unsalted butter, softened

7 ounces (1 cup) sugar

Add and beat until well combined:

1 egg

1 Tbsp heavy cream (the original recipe uses milk)

1½ tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp almond extract

On stir speed, gently stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, just until combined.

Divide the dough in half and roll out to ¼" thick. It helps to roll out the dough between 2 sheets of parchment paper. Refrigerate the rolled out dough for about half an hour to let it firm up. (I leave the dough between the parchment papers, place it on a cookie sheet, and refrigerate it that way).

When the dough is chilled, remove it from the fridge, peel of the parchment, and cut out the desired shapes. Transfer the cutouts to another sheet and return to the refrigerator for at least another half hour.

Preheat oven to 350°F with rack set on the middle position. Bake 1 sheet at a time until the cookies are very, very lightly coloured and slightly puffed - don't worry, they will mostly-flatten upon cooling. Depending on the size of your cookies, this could take anywhere from 9 to 15 minutes.

Leave the cookies on the sheet for about 10 minutes. When they have firmed up, transfer them to a wire rack to cool completely. They must be completely cool before frosting is applied. (To tell you the truth, while these are great with royal icing, I like them best plain or with some jam or dulce de leche smeared on top.)

Double chocolate peppermint crunch cookies

2010-12-18T14:47:00.003-06:00

In two words I can summarize my son's outlook on gift giving and cartoon watching: Spoiler Fest.

He is still honing his storytelling skills, but sit down with him to watch a show he has already seen and you will quickly realize that he has a knack for picking out the most essential aspects of a plot ... and revealing them to you at least two minutes before they actually occur. Spoiler Fest.

The other day when I picked him up after school, he was positively brimming with excitement: last day of school for the year, and a Christmas present for Mommy and Papà! He paused long enough for me to thank him and then he spilled the beans. "Can you unwrap it now? I made it myself! It's an ornament with my picture in it!" Spoiler Fest.

There are times when it's great to find out things in advance - think recipes. I'm sure I'm not alone in wanting to know if a recipe is worth making, worth eating, worth sharing. Over the years I've gotten better at discerning the good ones just by reading, but there are still times when I'm not completely sure. I know part of the adventure is not knowing, but I'm not big on throwing food away and I'm not big on choking down unpleasant-but-edibles ... so you can imagine how my "adventures" are usually very deliberately embarked upon.

A few weeks ago I spotted some very fetching cookies of the peppermint-and-chocolate kind, just in time for the Christmas season. I wanted to make them so very very badly, but there were so many unknowns. Would the chocolate flavour shine or be washed out? Two kinds of chocolate and espresso powder were good indicators of success, but sometimes even those don't do the trick. Would they be flat or chunky? Chunky in the picture does not guarantee chunky in your cookie jar. Plus, why oh why doesn't everyone - and a very respectable source - bake by weight? And a cookie recipe that doesn't specify yield? Things like that unsettle me. Where's a spoiler when I need one?

For the past month whenever I teetered on the edge of making these cookies I would instead scour my cookbooks for similar recipes to get an idea if the ingredient proportions were reasonable, or snoop into other people's kitchens to see if this particular recipe worked out for them. I'm weird that way (and in many other ways too). It's a wonder how I get any new-recipe-cooking done. Finally I couldn't take it anymore: bake or get off the bookshelf. Choosing to live dangerously, I baked.

I needn't have fretted. In fact, this has made it to the keeper pile. If you're the kind of person who appreciates baking spoilers, this is a very straightforward recipe that leads to a very pretty offering on your dessert tray. The cookie base packs a real chocolate punch that can stand even on its own, but big chunks of candy canes or peppermints make these otherwise-plain-janes festive and eye catching. Personally I like the red-and-whites more for their visual appeal because my teeth are not accustomed to the shattering of hard candy, but some people like the contrast between the soft (not chewy) cookie and the crunchy minty bits. I considered pulverizing the candy canes, but I went for looks instead.

Oh, and another spoiler? These will disappear quickly. So make sure you have one before you set others loose on 'em.

Double Chocolate Peppermint Crunch Cookies

Adapted from Bon Appétit, December 2010

I like baking by weight so I've converted the volume measurements to ounces/grams. I've also changed the procedure a bit, particularly the first part where the chocolate is melted: since chocolate chips come in different sizes I just wanted a bit more control on how much of it really went into the cookie batter. These cookies have a hint of mint in them. If you are not too taken by the mint-chocolate combo, I think you could safely substitute the mint with vanilla.

Melt in a double boiler or in the microwave (using short bursts of 15 seconds), then set aside to cool slightly:

6 ounces (170 grams; about 1 cup) bittersweet chocolate chips

In another bowl, whisk thoroughly to break up any lumps, then set aside:

7.5 ounces (212 grams; 1½ cups) unbleached all purpose flour

0.75 ounces (21 grams; ¼ cup) natural cocoa powder

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp instant espresso

½ tsp salt

In a large bowl, beat until light and fluffy - this could take 3-4 minutes on medium speed:

4 ounces (113 grams; ½ cup) butter

7 ounces granulated sugar

Add:

2 eggs

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp peppermint extract (or additional vanilla extract)

Beat in the melted chocolate. Lower the mixing speed to the slowest possible setting and add the dry ingredients. Stop mixing as soon as the dry ingredients have been incorporated.

Stir in:

3 ounces (85 grams; ½ cup) bittersweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 375°F and set rack to middle position.

Measure 1½ tablespoons dough (#40 disher) and roll between your palms to form a ball. Place on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Depending on how large your baking sheets are, you'll need 2 or 3 sheets. Repeat with remaining dough, spacing cookies about 1½ inches apart.

Bake cookies at 375°F until the tops are cracked, 10-12 minutes. Cool cookies on the baking sheet for at least 5 minutes - they will be very soft and fragile, but they will set nicely once cooled. Transfer to racks and let cool completely.

Once the cookies have cooled completely, decorate them if you wish.

Melt:

3 ounces (85 grams; ½ cup) bittersweet chocolate chips

(The original recipe calls for double this amount, but I found that 3 ounces was enough. If you want to be really generous with your chocolate zig-zags then use 6 ounces).

Crush into chunks (¼" pieces or larger seem to make more of a statement, but go with whatever size you prefer):

4 candy canes or 16 hard peppermint candies

Working one at a time, zig-zag melted chocolate over each cookie and sprinkle crushed candy canes over the chocolate so that they adhere. (I tried spirals of chocolate, but zig-zags were nicer).

Chill until the chocolate sets, about 20 minutes.

These cookies are best within a day or two of baking. They can be frozen for about 3 weeks.

Makes around 24 cookies.

Chocolate crinkles, or moonrock cookies

2010-12-08T22:29:00.004-06:00

It's no secret that I was a terrible child. Fortunately for me (but maybe not so much for my parents at the time) kids don't come in a box that can be sent back marked "Return to Sender" in bold, black ink. And so my family was subjected to a life-changing years-long adventure called Cookie's Childhood, whose protagonist - more like an antagonist, really - was a stubborn, pesky, talkative, annoying little sister with a knack for breaking things, getting injured, and making her big sister cry.

I vividly recall wasp stings, encounters with fiery red ants, busted appliances, dog bites, hair on fire, collapsing bookcases ... and that was just when I was playing on my own. Things got so much more exciting when I had playmates around, including my sister, who ended up with my tagging along much more often than she would have liked.

My parents knew better than to send me to a corner, or to my room, or outside: I could cause trouble anywhere I was. There was no point in taking away TV or videogame privileges, because we were already hardly ever allowed to watch TV or play videogames anyway. Talk and reason? I could go into screensaver mode before screensavers even existed. And - dare I even mention it - the menacing wooden spoon? I didn't fear it, not one bit.

Name it, they tried it, and I proved that it didn't work. Parents, though, are usually wiser and more resilient than their children (or so I would like to think, now that I am a parent myself) and however bleak my situation may have been, my folks were, at the very least, one step ahead of me. They finally discovered a very highly effective cure for my bad behaviour, which, after being administered a handful of times, had the effect of whipping me into shape: Dessert Deprivation.

Yup, that was how I got grounded, and how I eventually learned. Bad behaviour took me to a very, very lonely place: no desserts and sweets for a whole week (maybe even two).

I think what finally did it were the chocolate crinkles. You know, those fudgy cookies with crackled tops prettied up by a snowy coating of powdered sugar? For my sister and me, chocolate crinkles were a very rare treat - the kind that made an appearance only on special occasions, all the more hyped by an anticipation-filled drive to the bakery. We were allowed only one each, and our encounters with chocolate crinkles were very few and far between.

Now I don't recall the specifics, but I do remember the essentials: a bakery-worthy special occasion happened to come up during one such period of deprivation and misery in my life. In the car I was hopeful that my parents would have a change of heart and temporarily lift the ban they had imposed on me, but that was only because I had no idea how skilled they were in the Tough Love department. So there I was, in my favourite of all places, nose and hands pressed against the glass case, absolutely aching for a chocolate crinkle. That I didn't get.

Of course my sister got hers. She has never had a mean bone in her body but I swear she flaunted that cookie with gleeful sisterly spite. I don't remember ever being grounded again ... no, I didn't do a 180 - the punishment was effective, not miraculous - but from then on I think I got smart enough to stop just shy of being grounded, until I eventually (thankfully) grew out of my bad child phase.

I probably held a grudge against my sister for a while, but she unknowingly obliterated any chance of bitterness rehashed when she clipped out a recipe from the Vancouver Sun and snail mailed it to me, many winters ago. "The World's Best Cookie", they said it was, or Thomas Haas' Chocolate Sparkle Cookie.

New recipe! Cookie! Chocolate! Of course I had to try it. The first time I made these cookies I rolled them in granulated sugar as instructed, but upon tasting them I was instantly reminded of chocolate crinkles, so ever since then I've coated them in powdered sugar.

Faintly chewy, meltingly truffle-like, deeply chocolatey, these cookies are crinkles turned sophisticated. Almond flour is used instead of all purpose flour, and very good quality chocolate is a must, because there isn't much else that goes in. The recipe is a bit of a diva, requiring an electric mixer to beat the eggs to a cloud-like consistency, an overnight stay in the fridge to firm up the batter, and tedious hand-rolling to shape and coat each cookie, but I play along because I know that my efforts will not be thwarted: this is, after all, the recipe that ended my search for those childhood chocolate crinkles (which, incidentally, my husband insists should be renamed "moonrock cookies").

My days of mischief are long gone and sometimes sorely missed, but being a grown-up does have its perks: dessert deprivation, if ever it happens, is now completely by choice, and chocolate crinkles, many of them, can make their way into the cookie tin and beyond, on special occasions or any time at all.

Chocolate Crinkles, or Moonrock Cookies

Adapted from Thomas Haas' Chocolate Sparkle Cookies,
featured in The Vancouver Sun some time around 2003

It's actually not that hard to make these cookies, but you will need to plan ahead since an overnight stay in the fridge is required. You'll also need an electric mixer, unless you have superhero arms for whisking. When scooping out the dough, I find that it helps to take the bowl out of the fridge and let it sit out on the counter for a few minutes to let the dough soften a bit. Using a disher (ice cream scoop) makes it a bit easier to portion out the dough, but be warned that it will be quite stiff so your disher needs to be sturdy enough or else it will likely break. Work quickly when rolling so that the chocolate doesn't melt.

Combine in a small bowl:

2.75 ounces (¾ cup) ground almonds

2 tsp cocoa powder

pinch salt

Place another bowl (heatproof) over a pot that has a small amount of steaming water, making sure that the water shouldn't touch the bottom of the bowl. In the bowl, add:

½ lb bittersweet chocolate, chopped into chunks

(I like the 60% range of Valrhona, or Callebaut, or Felchlin)

Stir the chocolate occasionally. When it has melted, remove from heat and stir in:

3 Tbsp butter, at room temperature

Set aside.

In another bowl, beat using an electric mixer on medium speed until frothy:

2 eggs

Increase the speed to high and gradually add:

1 Tbsp honey

2.5 ounces (⅓ cup) sugar

Continue beating on high speed until light in colour and very, very fluffy - this could take up to 10 minutes.

Fold the eggs into the melted chocolate, then gently stir in the nut mixture. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

Preheat oven to 325ºF, with the rack in the middle position.

Scoop out small portions of dough (I used a #60 disher), enough to make 1-inch balls. Roll into balls, then into granulated sugar (you'll need just a few tablespoons).

If desired, roll also in confectioner’s sugar.

Place the dough balls about 2 inches apart on a parchment lined sheet. If you feel that the dough has softened too much, place the cookie sheet back in the fridge for a few minutes.

Bake at 325º for 12 minutes. The cookies will form crackly tops, and their centres will be moist but not wet.

Allow them to cool directly on the pan, set over a rack.

Makes about 30 cookies.

Hachis parmentier

2010-12-01T21:28:00.004-06:00

I seem to be in a perpetual state of incredulity at how fast time flies, but weren't we just complaining about the sweltering summer heat and celebrating Christmas '09? Now it's December, and up until yesterday I was convinced that there were still at least FIVE weeks to go in November.

I'm still in summer mode, if not longing for days stretched with sun then dreaming of escape. I want to be back here.

Or here.

And there.

I'm already looking forward to having more of this...

... but that's still half a year way. Anticipation is exciting, though there is something to be said for learning how to appreciate the here and now.

Here and now is home and work, the comfort and fatigue of routine. Family life, first grade school work, extracurriculars to rush to, fresh air breathed in every chance we can get, conversations at the dinner table, bedtime stories so very captivating thanks to D'Aulaires.

And a quiet - a very quiet - office fills my days, tap-tap-tapping on the keyboard, not words for people but words for machines ... if/else statements and pass/fail determinations, sometimes exciting, sometimes not so much.

A few weeks ago I had a small joy to look forward to during my daily drive to work: a short stretch on the highway where small pockets of sunflowers grew, a few here, a few there. Every morning I would look at them and dread a bit less the day ahead of me, regret a bit less the separation from home, think a bit less of everything else I would rather have been doing. Maybe it's because they were reminiscent of the endless sunflower fields I saw a few years ago at the height of summer, on another highway, in another country, when I wasn't in the driver's seat, free to marvel at them as much as I wanted without fear of an accident.

My little patch of roadside Kansas sunflowers retired recently, and now the onus is back on NPR to keep me company while I shuttle myself to and from work. Sometimes I feel that I'm hearing different versions of the same sad stories - the war, the other war, the economic downturn, the oil spill. But other times, there are happy endings, challenges utterly fascinating, commentaries foreign to me but entertaining nonetheless. And sometimes, sometimes, they broadcast some of the sounds most soothing to me, sounds of the kitchen - a knife blade against a chopping board, the sizzle of onions on a stovetop, stew stirred with a wooden spoon.

Here and now is hachis parmentier, sheperd's pie, a lot like how my mom makes it, but with Dorie's addition of broth, pure genius. Simple, comforting ... especially when it's cold and blustery and dark outside, and even more so when I don't feel like cooking or eating adventurously. It's one of the dishes where ground meat is happiest ... a new home for leftovers, a destination for the lonely last carrots and the assorted hunks of cheese languishing in the fridge. It's perfect for my here and now.

Hachis Parmentier ~ Shepherd's Pie

Dorie Greenspan's Recipe from Around My French Table is here
Below is how I made the shepherd's pie pictured above,
which was adapted from Dorie's quick hachis parmentier

My Mom always made shepherd's pie with carrots and peas, and I like the idea of eating more vegetables, so I do the same. My son is generally not partial to cooked carrots, but strangely enough he loves them in this dish. Feel free to omit the vegetables if you're not a fan.

Heat in a skillet:
1½ Tbsp olive oil

When the oil is hot and shimmery, add:

  1 small onion (about 1 cup, finely diced)
  2 garlic cloves, minced
  1 cup to 1½ cups diced carrots (optional)

Sauté until the onion softens and becomes translucent, then add:
  1½ lbs ground beef or
   1 lb ground beef and ½ lb sausage, sweet or spicy, removed from casings if necessary

When the beef has started to brown, add:
  1 tsp tomato paste
  salt and pepper

Give it all a good stir then pour in:
  1 cup beef broth

Let the meat simmer in the broth for about 15 minutes. If most of the liquid has evaporated or if you want your meat filling to be a bit more saucy, you may want to add another cup or so of beef broth. Also, if you want a thicker sauce (we do), feel free to mix in a tablespoon or two of flour (gravy flour, the kind that is very finely ground and that is less prone to forming lumps, works best here). Allow the meat to simmer for a few more minutes, then add:

handful of chopped fresh parsley

pinch dried thyme, or a Tbsp or so of minced fresh thyme

  a couple of handfuls of peas (optional)

Preheat oven to 400°F and set the rack to the middle position.

Pour the meat filling into a deep, ovenproof casserole dish (2 quart capacity). Alternatively, you can spoon the filling into individual serving-size ovenproof ramekins (each with a 6- or 8-ounce capacity, depending on how large you want your portions to be).

Top with a generous layer of mashed potatoes (this is a great way to use up leftover mashed potatoes - how much you use is really up to you, but you'll probably need some 3-4 cups' worth of mashed potatoes) and then sprinkle with:
  ½ cup coarsely grated Gruyère + ¼ cup coarsely grated Parmigiano Reggiano
   or any combination of your favourite melting cheese

Bake at 400°F for 30 minutes, or until the filling is bubbling steadily and the topping has browned. Remove from oven, let sit for 5 minutes or so, and serve.

This reheats very well (even in the microwave), although the topping will lose a bit of its crunch.

Makes about 6 servings.

Happy Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T21:55:00.006-06:00

A couple of weeks ago my husband and I agreed that we were going to stay home this Thanksgiving (we usually travel) and we also both agreed that we would have a nice rib roast for lunch. It sounded like a great plan.

Two days ago my son found out that we wouldn't be having turkey on Thanksgiving. "WHAT?!! But then how are we going to have a Thanksgiving FEAST????" With all this talk he'd been hearing at school about the upcoming turkey day, I shouldn't have been surprised. I should have homeschooled him. Too late for that.

And that is how I ended up planning a Thanksgiving Feast for Three. Yesterday.

We had homemade cranberry sauce, with fresh cranberries and cognac and candied ginger and orange zest.

Of course there had to be mashed potatoes, Yukon Golds whipped fluffy, and green bean casserole, not quite like my Tita Nancy's but close enough.

The requisite turkey appeared as a roulade, inspired by Mamy, our family's turkey roulade expert. My son and I went to the grocery yesterday afternoon and I snagged the last turkey breast. Phew. Actually, he wanted a whole turkey but I put my foot down on that one because, c'mon, even pushovers have limits.

And then, my oh my, we had roasted sweet potatoes. It was a last-minute addition. So impromptu, in fact, that I went to get the tubers just this morning. The trip was well worth it: I still cannot believe that I waited all these years before roasting sweet potatoes. We'll have these again, many times, before the next Thanksgiving feast. My son very candidly remarked, "Mommy, these really don't look very good, but I love them best of all." Amen to that.

Dessert? Pecan tassies. These are very welcome guests at our table every year around Christmas, but I thought that they would suit the occasion since, you know, we were having a FEAST and all. We made them last night and we were very glad we did.

And so ended our Thanksgiving Feast. The boy was very pleased, and very thankful. I think that from now on we will be celebrating Thanksgiving twice each year - with our fellow Canadians in October, and with our American friends in November. After all, this is our home now, and there is much to be thankful for.

Roasted Sweet Potatoes

Adapted from More Best Recipes, from the Editors of Cook's Illustrated

There is not much else but sweet potatoes in this recipe, but we don't ever feel like there's anything lacking. Roasting time is about an hour and a quarter (no preheating necessary) and the potatoes need to be pulled in and placed back in the oven a couple of times but it's not labour-intensive so don't be intimidated!

Peel, trim, and cut crosswise into ¾" thick discs:

3 pounds sweet potatoes (about 4 medium)

Toss the sweet potato discs in a large bowl with:

2 Tbsp vegetable oil

1 tsp salt

ground black pepper

Line a rimmed baking sheet with foil and spray with oil cooking spray. Arrange the potatoes on the sheet in a single layer. Cover the baking sheet tightly with foil.

Place the sheets on the middle rack of the (not preheated) oven and turn it on to 425°F.

Let the potatoes stay in the gradually-heating-up oven for 30 minutes.

Pull the sheet out of the oven, remove the foil cover from the baking sheet, return the sheet to the oven and let the potatoes continue to cook for about 20 minutes. The bottom edges of the potatoes will be golden brown.

Once again pull the sheet out, and with a thin metal spatula turn each potato disc over so that the browned bottom is up. Return to the oven and roast for about another 20 minutes.

Let the potatoes cool 5-10 minutes before serving.

Candied orange peel

2010-11-21T14:21:00.002-06:00

I don't remember the first time I ever tried a candied orange peel, but I think it's safe to say that I didn't like it, because for quite a long time I harboured quite a distaste for it. To me, candied orange peels were synonymous with bitter, leathery ick.

My husband, however, always loved the stuff. (And imagine, we got married anyway. I guess some differences are reconcilable). He grew up with the good stuff from Italian pasticcerie and hadn't been scarred like I had been, I guess. Of course it was only a matter of time before I found myself in my kitchen labouring over a potful of orange peels, hoping that they would not disappoint.

This was probably eight years or so ago, shortly after we had gotten married, when I had but a handful of cookbooks. Naturally I consulted the only cookbook I really trusted at the time: The Joy of Cooking. I followed the recipe for Candied Citrus Peel to the letter and the candied peels turned out beautifully, to both my delight and my husband's. But man: though I have never been a potty mouth, I very vividly recall thinking that the blasted recipe was going to change my no-swearing ways.

Now don't get me wrong: I've learned an incredible lot from the Joy of Cooking and actually have two editions on my bookshelf which I use on a regular basis. But making that candied citrus peel was, um, not a pleasant experience. I halved half a dozen oranges and scraped out the pulp, simmered the orange peel 'bowls' twice, scraped out the remaining pulp, sliced the suckers, and simmered them again, this time in syrup. And that wasn't even the hard part. After an overnight soak in its syrupy bath, the peels needed yet another simmering, and then they had to be rolled in sugar and allowed to dry. It sounds easy, but somehow the peels ended up clumping together, and I spent a good chunk of my morning peeling individual strips off and laying each one on a sheet to dry. Six oranges, sliced into quarter-inch thin strips. High maintenance? Tedious? Infuriating? I swore I would never make them again.

Until the other day.

Fine Cooking featured candied citrus peel in its current issue and as I read through the recipe I was struck by how simple it seemed compared to how I had made it years ago. The peels are sliced into strips right at the beginning, and no overnight rest is required (although three 5-minute blanchings are called for, to draw out the bitterness). And when that's done, the peels just need to be tossed in a bowl of sugar. It sounded easy enough.

So after work last Thursday, while catching up on some DVR-ed TV shows, I tried making candied citrus peels again. I used the Joy of Cooking recipe but Fine Cooking's technique, and was blown away by how painless it was. Homemade citrus peel is miles better than pre-made - even the kind from good French and Italian shops - and now that I've discovered that it's actually possible to make them after work on a weeknight while watching television without uttering a single cuss word, I will definitely be making candied peels again.

Candied Orange (Citrus) Peel

Adapted from The Joy of Cooking, the Fine Cooking way

Using a sharp paring knife, cut lengthwise into eighths:

4 or 5 oranges (or 2 large grapefruit, or 8 lemons)

Separate the pulp from the peel. There should be a layer of white pith left attached to the zest. All you'll be needing for this recipe is the peel, so go ahead use the inside of the fruit however you wish - we just had ours for dessert.

Slice the peels into ¼" strips and place them in a heavy duty saucepan with a capacity of at least 3 quarts. Cover with cold water. Bring to a boil, uncovered, over high heat and blanch for 5 minutes. Drain the peels, cover them again with fresh water, bring to a boil, and blanch for 5 minutes. Repeat, for a total of 3 blanchings.

After the third blanching, leave the peels in your strainer or colander. Using the same saucepan, combine over medium-high heat:
  1 cup sugar
  3 Tbsp light corn syrup
  ¾ cup water

When the sugar has dissolved, add the peels and reduce the heat to low. Simmer very gently (there should only be a few bubbles). Stir occasionally. There may not be enough syrup to cover all the peels, but don't worry - just stir the peels every few minutes.

This simmering in syrup should take no longer than an hour. Taste a bit of peel after about 30 minutes. If it is still a bit tough, allow it to continue cooking a bit more. The peels will be translucent and tender when they are ready.

Drain the peels. There will be a bit of leftover syrup, which you can save for another use (brush over cake? orange hot chocolate? hmmm).

In a bowl, place:
  1 cup granulated sugar

Transfer the peels to the bowl with granulated sugar, and toss to coat the peels. You can shake them in a sieve to remove the excess. We like the extra crunch so I just leave them as they are.

Spread the coated peels in a single layer on a rack. Let dry for 5 or 6 hours. The longer you leave them out, the chewier they get. Once fully dry, store the candied peels in an airtight container in a cool, dry place for up to 1 month (or in the refrigerator for up to 4 months).

Orange peel? Don't throw it away!

2010-11-18T23:04:00.001-06:00

Oooooh, how I wish you could smell this right now!

Stay tuned for Part II of the Orange Peel Saga.

My husband adds, "Same bat time, same bat channel." He is grinning.

My eyebrows seem to have frozen in their raised state. I'm turning my attention back to these lovelies.

Brown Butter Pumpkin Layer Cake

2010-11-14T15:05:00.002-06:00

Boy oh boy, have I got a cake for you.

If you're not a pumpkin fan or if you're a pumpkin-fence-sitter, this cake will grab hold of you and plant you right smack in pumpkin-loving territory. I say this because I had really never warmed up to pumpkin desserts, and this is the cake that changed my mind.

Every year when fall rolls along I bake some pumpkin goodies, mostly because my husband and son are crazy for this very popular fall staple. I didn't really understand the appeal, but watching them swoon over pumpkin chiffon pies and pumpkin Bundt cakes and pumpkin cheesecakes convinced me that there had to be a pumpkin-something-or-other out there for me.

A few weeks ago my friend Nerissa hosted a Halloween party and served up a pumpkin bread pudding cake from a local bakery. It was moist, slightly dense, spicy, slightly sweet, and it inspired me to search for a recipe so that I could try baking it at home. Unfortunately I couldn't find one that had me rushing to the kitchen so I shelved that idea and "settled" instead for the pumpkin cake on Fine Cooking's cover.

Well. "Settle", ho ho! This brown butter pumpkin layer cake is moist, slightly dense, not at all heavy, unmistakably pumpkin-y but not overwhelmingly so, with just the right sweet-spicy balance, dressed up with a brown sugar cream cheese frosting and brought over the top with bits of candied ginger and caramelized pecans. It lives up to its fancy name in taste and presentation, but don't be intimidated if you think it'll be too complicated to tackle at home: it's surprisingly easy to make - you don't even need an electric mixer for the batter (though the frosting does benefit from a mixer's fast and furious beating). There isn't anything complicated about it, but it does help to prepare its components in stages.

The cake itself can stand on its own; in fact I've been toying with the idea of making it in loaf form, like pumpkin bread. Well look at that: I'm actually daydreaming about pumpkins. I guess I can now say that I've finally found my very own pumpkin-something-or-other.

Brown Butter Pumpkin Layer Cake

Adapted from Fine Cooking

This cake has three components: the cake itself, the frosting, and the topping. I made the cake in the evening and left it at room temperature, covering it after it had cooled completely. The following morning I made the topping. Once the topping cooled I prepared the frosting and assembled the cake right after that. Also, the original recipe starts off with fresh pumpkin, but I opted for canned instead.

Pumpkin Cake

With parchment paper, line 2 9" round cake pans that are 1½"-2" high. Butter and flour the bottom and sides of the pans. Preheat oven to 350°F and set the rack to the middle position.

Melt in a small, heavy-duty saucepan over medium heat:

6 ounces (¾ cup) unsalted butter

Once the butter has melted, keep it over the heat and swirl the pan occasionally. After 5 or so minutes (watch it carefully), the butter will start to turn brown. At this point remove the pan from the heat to stop the cooking and pour the butter into a small bowl, scraping the bottom to get all the bits. Set the butter aside to cool.

In another bowl, whisk together and set aside:

9 ounces (2 cups) unbleached all-purpose flour

1½ tsp baking soda

1½ tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp ground ginger

¾ tsp table salt

¼ tsp ground cloves

In (yet) another bowl - a large one this time - whisk together thoroughly:

1½ cups pumpkin purée*

10.5 ounces (1½ cups) granulated sugar

4.75 ounces (⅔ cup) firmly packed light brown sugar

2 large eggs

⅓ cup buttermilk

Using a rubber spatula, gently fold the flour mixture into the pumpkin mixture. Carefully whisk in the melted brown butter until it is fully incorporated.

Pour the batter into the 2 prepared pans, dividing evenly. Bake at 350°F on the middle rack for 28-30 minutes. A toothpick inserted in the centre will come out clean.

Let the cakes cool in the pans for 10 minutes, then turn them out onto lightly greased racks. Peel off the parchment and turn them over again to cool completely.

*I actually used a 15oz can of purée, which yields more than a cup and a half, but I didn't want to have to deal with ¼ cup of leftover pumpkin. It worked out just fine.

Ginger-Pecan Topping

Melt in a heavy-duty 12" nonstick skillet over medium heat:

1½ Tbsp unsalted butter

Add and cook until slightly brown, around 2 minutes:

1⅓ cup pecans*

Stir in:

2 Tbsp firmly packed light brown sugar

¼ tsp table salt

Keep stirring until the sugar melts and coats the nuts.

Remove from the heat and stir in:

1½ Tbsp chopped candied or crystallized ginger

Let the mixture cool in the skillet. The nuts will crisp up as they cool.

*The original recipe calls for a mixture of pecans and pepitas. I couldn't find pepitas so I just increased the pecans to the quantity above.

Brown Sugar Cream Cheese Frosting

Using a handheld electric mixer, beat together on high speed for 4-5 minutes (or, if using a stand mixer, beat on medium-high speed):

4 ounces (½ cup) unsalted butter, at room temperature

8 ounces (1 cup) cream cheese, at room temperature

¼ cup firmly packed light brown sugar

5 ounces (1¼ cups) confectioners’ sugar

The frosting should become quite light and fluffy.

Assemble the cake

If desired, coarsely chop the candied nuts. Set one cake layer on your cake plate. Spread about a third of the frosting over it and sprinkle a couple of handfuls of the nuts mixture over that. Place the second cake layer. Frost the top and sides of the cake and arrange the rest of the candied nuts on top.

Serve at room temperature. You can also serve it slightly cold (a few minutes out of the refrigerator), but the cake will have a denser texture that way. Yields 12 generous slices.

Easy weeknight pasta

2010-11-09T21:55:00.005-06:00

The first eggplant parmesan I ever had was in Rome, made by Rossella. Her melanzane alla parmigiana was a revelation: sliced eggplant layered with homemade tomato sauce, dotted with chunks of fresh mozzarella and polpettine (tiny meatballs), with some hard boiled egg slices hidden here and there, baked until bubbly. That version is a distant cousin to the ubiquitous North American eggplant "par-may-zhan", and even then only by a very far stretch of the imagination.

Melanzane alla parmigiana is easy enough make it at home but it does require a chunk of time, and for that reason I don't get to make it quite as often as I would like. Before I go any further I should say now that while I'm not going to be sharing a recipe for it today, I do have a worthy stand-in to offer.

For those of us without an authentic Italian nonna to teach us the ways of the kitchen, Marcella Hazan is the answer. In her book Marcella Says ... she shares a recipe for eggplant, tomato, and mozzarella pasta sauce that is a riff on melanzane alla parmigiana. Although it isn't quite as luxurious as the dish that inspired it, this pasta sauce requires significantly less effort and is a great vehicle for eggplant enjoyment. And it's easy and quick enough to prepare for a weekday dinner. In my home, we call that a keeper.

Eggplant, Tomato, and Mozzarella Pasta Sauce

Sugo di Melanzana, Pomodoro, e Mozzarella

Adapted from Marcella Says ...

While it is often recommended that eggplant be salted and allowed to drain for a while to draw out the bitterness, for this recipe Marcella points out that the eggplant does not need to steep in salt.

Peel and cut into ½" cubes:

1 medium eggplant (I used about 1¼ pounds)

Heat in a 10" skillet on medium-high heat:

3 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil

Once the oil has heated, add the eggplant cubes and cook for about 5 minutes, turning frequently.

Add to the eggplant:

1 15-ounce can diced tomatoes

(preferably San Marzano, but it's not the end of the world

if you use regular Italian tomatoes)

up to 1 tsp dried red chili pepper, according to your heat preference

(I used less than ¼ tsp)

Turn the heat to low and cook at a very gentle simmer for about 20 minutes. The sauce will thicken and the olive oil will float free from the sauce when it is ready. Sprinkle with:

a pinch salt, to taste

Cook in boiling salted water until al dente:

¾ lb short, tubular pasta (like penne or rigatoni)

When the pasta is almost done, add to the eggplant/tomato sauce:

¼ lb fresh mozzarella, cut into small cubes

Stir the sauce thoroughly until the mozzarella dissolves. It will become almost frighteningly stringy, but do not fear. The sauce will sort itself out when you add the pasta.

As soon as the pasta is ready, drain it and toss it thoroughly with the sauce.

Serve immediately, with a handful of torn basil leaves if you have some, and definitely a generous sprinkle of grated cheese. Marcella recommends Fiore Sardo, Pecorino Romano, or other hard sheep's milk cheese. We just used Parmigiano Reggiano, which is what we have at home.

Caramel popcorn

2010-11-03T18:18:00.005-05:00

When I was in elementary school I remember hearing the song Take Me Out to the Ball Game and wondering what in the world a Cracker Jack was. This is probably something that most American kids take for granted, but I didn't grow up in the United States, the grown-ups around me didn't know what it was, the term "Cracker Jack" did not appear in the encyclopedia, and Google didn't yet exist, so my 8-year-old self probably just shrugged and ran off to amuse herself with other things.

The answer to my long-forgotten question came only a few years ago when I was watching an episode of Unwrapped on the Food Network. A snack of caramel-coated popcorn and peanuts that came with a toy, Cracker Jack made its debut more than a hundred years ago and is still around today. Even after getting to the bottom of my Cracker Jack mystery, and in spite of my seemingly insatiable sweet tooth, I never actually got up to get me some Cracker Jacks. The combination of caramel and popcorn didn't really appeal to me, and truth be told, my sweet tooth may be insatiable but it's also a bit picky.

In fact, I probably would have been perfectly content living my whole life with nary a taste of caramel popcorn had it not been for a book called DamGoodSweet and its mesmerizing photograph of deep-golden kernels peeking out from slender white paper cones, boldly introduced with the guarantee that "if you make it once, you'll make it again".

Although tempted, I didn't try the recipe until almost my entire family came to spend Christmas with us last year. None of us were caramel popcorn fans, but I figured there was strength in numbers, meaning that if it turned out comme ci comme ça, I wouldn't have to finish it off all by myself. What I didn't account for, though, was that if it turned out great (which it did), there were a lot more people around to share it with!

My first-ever batch of homemade Cracker Jacks had barely cooled down before it was all gone, devoured by my family of caramel popcorn converts. My mom and I sneaked a taste right from the tray and raved so earnestly and convincingly - which in greedy hindsight we probably shouldn't have done, because before we knew it everyone had gathered around the tray and was punctuating mouthfuls of the caramelized munchies with variants of "Mmmm ... ". There wasn't even time to transfer those charming little nuggets into a serving bowl.

Luckily, it was so easy to make, so I was able to make a second batch that very same day. This recipe actually should have come with a warning, not a guarantee: "These are addictively delicious and ridiculously easy to make - do not allow yourself to be left alone with a batch of this caramel popcorn. Consider yourself warned."

Sweet but not cloying, crunchy but not hard, I've since made these little nibbles many times, and they are always received with the same enthusiasm by kids and grown-ups alike. I still haven't tasted the original Cracker Jack - and I must admit that with this recipe I don't feel the need to - but those Rueckheim brothers sure were on to something when they introduced their idea more than a hundred years ago! My picky sweet tooth stands corrected.

Caramel Popcorn

Adapted from DamGoodSweet: Desserts to Satisfy Your Sweet Tooth, New Orleans Style

Pop according to the package instructions:

1 package plain microwave popcorn (2.9 - 3.5 ounces)*

Coat a large bowl with nonstick cooking spray. Transfer the popped corn into the bowl, pick out the unpopped kernels, and add:

1 cup salted peanuts, roughly chopped

or 1 cup sliced almonds (I prefer almonds)

Set this bowl aside. Preheat your oven to 250°F.

Whisk in a pot and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat:

1 cup packed light brown sugar

¼ cup light corn syrup

6 Tbsp unsalted butter

¼ tsp salt

2 Tbsp water

Stir the mixture often until it reads 250°F on a digital thermometer. This may take 3-4 minutes or longer, depending on how strong you have set your heat.

Turn off the heat and immediately and quickly whisk in:

½ tsp bakig soda

2 tsp vanilla extract

Immediately pour this mixture over the popcorn and nuts. Using a rubber spatula, very gently fold in the caramel until everything is coated relatively evenly (don't worry if not all the kernels are fully coated).

Transfer the mixture to a parchment-lined baking sheet (measuring around 17"x12") in an even layer and bake for 1 hour at 250°F, stirring at 20 minute intervals. You may be tempted to skip this step, but don't. The caramel softens in the oven and stirring helps coat the kernels and nuts better.

Remove and place on a cooling rack. Let cool for at least 20 minutes. This cooling time allows the popcorn and nuts and caramel to crisp up. Gently break up any large clumps. Serve immediately. This will keep for up to 5 days in an airtight container.

Makes about 10 cups.

*If you prefer non-microwaved popcorn, you will need to start off with ½ cup unpopped kernels

Halloween candy bark

2010-10-24T20:52:00.004-05:00

Halloween is just around the corner ... and my chocolate is dressing up as Frankenstein. Hm. That didn't sound too enticing, did it?

This recipe was touted as a "20-minute Halloween treat", and given our crazy fall schedule it was just the thing I was looking for: quick kitchen "experiment" guaranteed to delight a six-year-old.

Actually I think it's more than just that - it's a great way to taste lots of candy without going overboard. "A bite of this and a nibble of that" is way better than the other, more common practice this time of year... You know the one I'm talking about - there's no use pretending that you don't! Does "rip through entire candy bars (mini or not) and then feel sick and guilty afterwards" ring any bells?

If you have kids - or even if you don't - this project will propel you right into Willy Wonka status. Not a bad return on investment, especially since all you need to do is chop up some candy bars and melt some chocolate. This is really an idea more than it is a recipe, so you can mix your candy choices to suit your taste, and you can also scale the quantities without too much apprehension. My son and I made roughly a quarter of the recipe, enough for a few dessert portions.

Halloween Candy Bark

Adapted from Bon Appétit October 2010

The original recipe calls for Butterfinger, Heath/Skor and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, along with honey-roasted peanuts and peanut M&M's, on bittersweet chocolate. I was tempted to try it with Twix, Turtles, and maybe Milk Duds and Whoppers instead, but I had a bunch of peanut butter cups and milk chocolate, so I decided to go the peanut route on milk chocolate. I've provided the quantities called for in the original recipe, although I think that this really isn't an exact science and you can alter the amounts without much fear of messing up!

Cut into irregular ¾" pieces:
  3 2.1-ounce Butterfinger candy bars
  3 1.4-ounce Skor or Heath toffee candy bars

Cut into 8 wedges each:
  8 0.55-ounce peanut butter cups

Set the chopped up candy aside.

Line a baking sheet with foil.

Melt (in a double boiler or in the microwave):

1 pound bittersweet or milk chocolate, chopped

Pour chocolate onto foil and spread to ¼" thickness (aim for a 12x10-inch rectangle). While the chocolate is still soft, sprinkle with the chopped up candy and, if desired:
¼ cup honey-roasted peanuts

You shouldn't need to press the candy onto the chocolate, but all pieces should touch the melted chocolate to adhere.

Melt:
3 ounces white chocolate

Dip spoon into the melted white chocolate and wave the spoon over the bark to create zigzags of white chocolate.

Finally, scatter over the bark:
Reese's Pieces and/or yellow and orange peanut M&M's

Chill finished bark until firm, about 30 minutes. Peel off the foil and cut bark into irregular pieces (or rectangles, if you're like me and have issues with serving non-uniform pieces). It's a lot easier to cut when the chocolate isn't completely cold. If you find yourself struggling to make "clean" cuts, let the bark sit at room temperature for 10-15 minutes, after which point it should become a lot easier to cut.

This makes about 2 pounds, or 30 two-inch pieces.

Lessons learned

2010-10-17T17:02:00.003-05:00

I've been away a while, haven't I? It's been ages since I was last here ... a week and a half in human time feels like an eternity in blog time.

It's been crazier than usual around here these past few days, and we were out of town for part of it. I'm exhausted, but I've learned a lot.

For instance, on our way to New York/New Jersey for my cousin's bat mitzvah, I learned that I have a very high tolerance for plane cretins. But really, parents of 9 month old children, please realize that you can't expect your child to sit quietly on your lap, doing absolutely nothing else, for 3 hours. Your child needs entertainment on the plane - a stuffed toy, a chewable/squishy book, something, anything - and that neither your poor child nor your unfortunate fellow passengers enjoy hearing you growl "NO!" and "STOP IT!" every two minutes on a three hour flight. Oh, and also, your 9 month old may not know that constantly pounding on the seat in front of him is unacceptable, but you should. Worst. Plane ride. Ever.

On a happier note, during our trip I learned that although Porchetta NYC's porchetta sandwich doesn't quite taste like one you would get in Rome, it is nevertheless a ticket to hog heaven.

I also learned that Brussels sprouts can be beautiful. Mind you, I haven't yet learned that they can be delicious, although I do have a couple of recipes in my "to try" pile that promise to change my mind.

Upon our return, I learned that after a full day of work, it's not possible to cook, keep the kitchen clean, conquer mountains of laundry, fold, iron, catch up on chores, exercise, have family time, respond to emails, do any Facebook-ing, and get to bed at a decent time, all in one evening. Not even if your husband does his darnedest to help. To be completely honest, I have to re-learn this lesson almost every day.

The other day I learned that when a six-year-old says that he wants to be a ghost for Halloween, he is most definitely not giving you permission to throw a white sheet over him and call it done. This brings us to the next thing I learned, which is that you must choose your battles, and no matter what people say, thank goodness for Wal-Mart, a.k.a. Your Source for Cheap Halloween Costumes. In an ideal world I would have made his costume (which I actually did do when he was younger - but I wasn't working outside of home then).

I also learned to let go of my crazy idea that last week was the time to recreate last year's Halloween cookies. However, I'm still learning to accept that last year's Halloween's cookies might possibly not have a chance to make an encore appearance at all this year. Boo. There just isn't enough time to do everything I want to do! I've been meaning to try a new sugar cookie recipe, because I'm not completely happy with the ones I've used so far. When I get around to doing that - hopefully before Christmas comes along - I'll let you know. And in the meantime, if you have a favourite sugar cookie recipe you'd like to share, please send it to me!

I haven't yet learned how to stretch the number of hours in a day, but I don't think anyone else has, either. The good news is that I think we're almost back to normal here at home again, and I got some sort-of-blog-worthy cooking done this weekend, so this coming week's posts will have some recipes for you.

Crostata

2010-10-06T22:57:00.007-05:00

Who says that tops on pies and tarts should be latticed?

To tell you the whole truth, this is actually the first time I've made crostata without the lattice top (how very rebellious of me), but this is not the first time that cut-outs have ever dethroned the woven-checkered-deal. If you take a look at some cookbooks or look online, you'll find that other people have done this sort of thing before ... which pretty much means that not only was I lazy, I was also not very original! Ha!

As my brother says, "Whatevs!" The point is that these crostate* looked coo-chi-coo adorable and they tasted right. I always think of Mamy (my husband's Mom) when we have crostata, because she was the one who introduced me to this Italian dessert, which is really nothing more than jam slathered over pâte sablée (a sweet, crisp crust reminiscent of shortbread) and baked. It doesn't sound very exciting, but it's terribly addictive.

Crostata has been a dessert in regular rotation at Mamy's home for decades. When I was still in university, I remember her bringing her apricot crostata to the table one weekend lunch, so casually, as if it were some generic dessert picked up at a corner store instead of the completely-homemade-all-from-scratch confection prepared that morning. She told me it was so easy (she isn't the complicated-cook type), and it actually is, but I had never made a tart before, and I remember being in total awe, thinking, "Wow. When I grow up, I'm going make crostate just like this."

I don't know why I never learned how to make Mamy's crostata crust, because as far as I can recall I've used other crust recipes that weren't hers. It's strange because she shares all her recipes with me, without holding secrets back - you know how some people, mothers-in-law included, do that? She doesn't ... in fact, there really isn't anything in-lawish about her, which is why I don't refer to her that way. Anyway, I've settled on Dorie Greenspan's crust recipe, which is comparable to Mamy's - firm enough to hold its shape, crisp and a bit crumbly, pleasantly sweet.

If you decide to try this, make it with the best-quality jam you can get your hands on - any jam you like will work, although I've most often seen it with apricot, tart cherry, or raspberry. If you happen to have homemade jam, all the better.

*crostata - singular; crostate - plural

Pâte Sablée / Crostata

Crust Adapted from Baking: From My Home to Yours

(I also use this recipe for Frangipane Tarts)

In the bowl of a food processor, pulse 5-10 times to combine:

7.5 ounces (1½) cups all purpose flour

½ cup confectioner's sugar

¼ tsp salt

With the food processor bowl uncovered, scatter over the flour mixture:

½ cup very cold unsalted butter, cut into ½" cubes

Pulse until the butter is cut in. This shouldn't take too many 1-second pulses. You are aiming for pea-sized, flour-coated bits of butter.

Once again with the food processor bowl uncovered, pour over the flour mixture:

1 large egg yolk, lightly beaten

1 Tbsp cream or water (optional - the original recipe doesn't include this,

but I find that it makes rolling easier)

Pulse again, this time with longer pulses (about 5 seconds each), until the dough starts to form clumps. Do not let the dough come together into a large ball - this will overwork the dough and will result in a tough crust.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured working surface. Set aside a small portion of dough (maybe a sixth or so). At this point, you have two options:

1) Press the remaining dough into a 9" or 9½" fluted tart pan with a removable bottom, with a border that rises about half an inch high, then freeze for at least 30 minutes (I aim for 1 hour).

OR:

2) Use your hands to very lightly gather all the pieces together into a ball. Wrap it with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least one hour, or even overnight. After that rest period, roll out the dough, then lay it over a 9" or 9½" fluted tart pan with a removable bottom, with a border that rises about half an inch high. Freeze this rolled out crust for at least 30 minutes (I aim for 1 hour).

Either way (pressing the crust in the pan or rolling it out), you will likely end up with dough-trimmings. Use these, in addition to the small amount of dough that you had set aside, to adorn the top of your crostata: flatten (or roll) it out and cut out shapes. Lay the cutouts on a flat sheet, cover and refrigerate along with the crust.

Preheat the oven to 375ºF, with the rack on the lower third.

After the freezer rest time, dock the dough (poke it all over with a fork).

With a spoon or an offset spatula, spread over the crust to just a bit over ⅛" thick - don't make it too thick or else it will turn out to be terribly sweet:
roughly ¾ cups jam of your choosing
(apricot, tart cherry, raspberry are some possibilities)

Carefully arrange your cutouts over the jam.

Bake the crostata at 375ºF for 35 minutes. The crust will brown, the cutouts will turn golden, and the jam will thicken. Serve barely warm or at room temperature. This is best served the day it's made, but it will still be good for a couple of days after (just a tiny bit less crisp).

Fig frangipane tart

2010-10-03T18:41:00.003-05:00

Figs are here!

We've been having them fresh and unadorned (and, in my husband's case, peeled), and really they are perfect just as they are. But they were calling out to me - "Bake me! Bake me!" - so I set some aside and considered some options.

Fig ice cream? Preserves? Galette? With ricotta or mascarpone and honey? All great possibilities, but for some reason, none of those were clamoring to be baked this time. So off I went to consult the Flavor Bible (of course) and it said:

Figs, Fresh

ALMONDS

...

I didn't have to read any further (although I did). Figs. Almonds. Figs. Almonds. Gears turning in my head: fig frangipane tart! Ding ding ding ding ding! Our favourite pear frangipane tart, but with figs instead of pears! Now that prospect had a voice, and it was singing ever so sweetly. I thought I was so clever, like Culinary-Hall-of-Fame-Genius clever. Yeah. Google and its 18,800 results burst that bubble in all of 0.35 seconds, but oh well. I made it anyway, the way I had originally planned. It may not have been as revolutionary as I thought, but my boys thought it was genius, which was reward enough for me.

As mentioned earlier, one of our favourite desserts is pear frangipane tart. I make a few each year, right about this time. Yesterday we discovered that fresh figs work just as well as pears. Something about late summer/early fall welcomes this kind of dessert: cozier than summer's fruit tarts and lighter than autumn's pumpkin pies, a frangipane tart steps gracefully into the changing of the seasons.

This tart is very easy to put together - yes, easy: even the crust, which is usually the most daunting component. Easy, however, does not mean quick. Impatience sometimes puts a damper on baking, and rushing the process along really sucks all the enjoyment and satisfaction out of it. When making tarts or pies, it helps to keep in mind that a lot of crusts need to be given time - not a lot of hands-on time, mind you, but a lot of "resting time": it only takes a few minutes to make, but you need to budget for at least an hour of rest time before rolling, plus another hour or so after that. Even pat-in-the-pan crusts sometimes call for some time in the fridge before filling and baking. Some crusts, like this one, require blind baking as well: 20-25 minutes of baking just the crust, before the filling is added.

I often ease the blow for myself by making the crust in the evening - then it can rest overnight in the fridge. The following morning, it's all set: I roll it out, lay it on the pan, put it back in the fridge or freezer, and prepare the filling in the meantime. It doesn't seem to be as much of a time sink that way. You know what, though? Time-consuming or not, this tart is worth it.

Fig Frangipane Tart
Crust Adapted from Baking: From My Home to Yours
Filling Adapted from Pie & Tart (Williams-Sonoma)

In the bowl of a food processor, pulse 5-10 times to combine:

7.5 ounces (1½) cups all purpose flour

(or, 6.25 ounces (1¼ cups) all purpose flour + 1.5 ounces (¼ cup) ground almonds)

½ cup confectioner's sugar

¼ tsp salt

With the food processor bowl uncovered, scatter over the flour mixture:

½ cup very cold unsalted butter, cut into ½" cubes

Pulse until the butter is cut in. This shouldn't take too many 1-second pulses. You are aiming for pea-sized, flour-coated bits of butter.

Once again with the food processor bowl uncovered, pour over the flour mixture:

1 large egg yolk, lightly beaten

1 Tbsp cream or water (optional - the original recipe doesn't include this,

but I find that it makes rolling easier)

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured working surface. At this point, you have two options:

1) Press the dough into a 9" or 9½" fluted tart pan with a removable bottom (or 5 mini 4¾" tart pans), then freeze for at least 30 minutes (I aim for 1 hour).

OR:

After the freezer rest time, partially bake the crust, covered lightly with aluminum foil, in a preheated 375ºF oven, on the middle rack. (Dorie Greenspan says that you do not need to use weights since the crust was frozen, and she is right.) It will take 20-25 minutes.

Remove the crust from the oven, but leave the oven on. Carefully remove the foil. The crust is now ready to be filled.

While the crust is blind baking, prepare the filling. Over medium heat, in a small saucepan, melt and cook until golden brown:

2 Tbsp unsalted butter

Remove from heat and set aside.

Combine in a bowl:

8 ounces finely ground almonds

(if you are starting off with whole almonds and measuring by volume,

you will need 1½ cups whole almonds)

5 ounces (⅔ cup) sugar

2 large eggs

½ tsp almond extract

1 tsp vanilla extract

2 Tbsp dark rum

¼ tsp salt

1 tsp finely grated lemon zest

Stir in the melted butter.

Spread the filling evenly over the tart shell(s), almost, but not quite, to the top. Do not overfill; otherwise it will overflow once you add the fruit.

Slice lengthwise into quarters:

10 fresh figs (all together, mine weighed just under a pound)

Arrange the fig quarters, skin side down, over the filling, There is no need to push them in as they will slowly settle into the filling.

Bake (still at 375ºF) until the filling is firm to the touch and slightly golden. A 9" or 9½" tart will take 40-45 minutes. 4¾" tarts will take 30 minutes.

Serve warm or at room temperature. To me, this tart tastes so much better after 24 hours. My husband loves it unconditionally.

Your patience will be rewarded

2010-09-30T20:36:00.001-05:00

I feel sorry for caramelized onions. Like bacon-wrapped dates, prosciutto with melon or figs, and individual molten lava cakes, this gastronomic revelation has turned into a tired restaurant menu offering, a hoity-toity-wannabe cliché. Ubiquity has tarnished its charm.

It's unfortunate, really, because ... well ... have you ever tasted well-executed caramelized onions? I think it's something that everyone should try at least once, not at a restaurant, but at home. It's therapeutic from start to finish: you can have a good cry while slicing, you can ponder the mysteries of life while cooking (which, in this case, is really just the same as waiting), and then you can experience a bit of tummy nirvana while eating.

The best part, the secret you might choose to keep to yourself while your dinner companions are praising your tremendous kitchen prowess, is that it really doesn't require any mad skills or special ingredients – just some thinly sliced onions, butter or olive oil, maybe some thyme. And patience. Lots of it.

Whenever I think of caramelization - that long process that transforms onions from crisp, sharp, harsh and tear-inducing to meltingly soft, sweet, mellow ... and still tear-inducing, but in a good way this time - I liken it to how the passing decades have morphed my mom from being the stern force in my childhood into an approachable, (mostly) easygoing figure with whom I can actually get along!

Oh Mommy, you know I'm just yanking your chain! I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. Ha! I know, I know: the real mystery is how you stayed sane, with five crazy kids, and with one in particular (whom we will leave unnamed) who, as a child, tormented you on school days, kicking and screaming in protest, and as a teen, vexed you every single Sunday morning, showing up downstairs a few minutes before church "garbed" in a ratty black T-shirt and loose army green pants.

So now that I've playfully taken a swipe at my dear mother, and survived (the miles between us are courage-bolstering), back to onions.

Knowing how to caramelize onions is a kitchen skill worth acquiring. Perhaps you aren't convinced by the thought of caramelized onions generously layered over a crisp short crust or puff pastry in an onion tart, or smeared over rustic bread and topped with Gruyère and another slice of bread in a fantasic grilled panino, or mixed with some sour cream as a dip, or dotted over a pizza. Perhaps you aren't keen on tossing it with pasta, possibly with capers and anchovies, the way it's done in northern Italy. You'd still need to know how to caramelize onions if you wanted to make a soulful French onion soup, or if you wanted to make a hearty stew like Belgian carbonnade, or if you wanted to top a juicy grilled steak along with some sautéed mushrooms*. Or how about if you wanted to sneak some into your home burgers?

Caramelized onions, bacon-wrapped dates, prosciutto with melon or figs, lava cakes. Restaurants may have given them a bad name, and they may be passé, but when made well at home, I still like them all just the same.

*Nerissa, that steak was awesome!

Caramelized Onions

Sometimes I make just enough for a meal or two, but since it takes just about the same effort to make a large batch, more often than not I start off with maybe 5 or 6 pounds of onions. It sounds like a lot, but onions wilt incredibly. I've found that I can successfully freeze caramelized onions in small containers for a couple of months - it's very convenient to just defrost and use them as needed.

In a thick-bottomed skillet, heat:

1½ Tbsp butter or mild olive oil

Add:

3 lbs yellow onions, sliced very thinly (a sharp knife comes in very handy for tasks like this)

a pinch of salt

The onion slices will sizzle when they hit the pan. Toss the onions with a wooden spoon or spatula to coat with oil or butter. After a couple of minutes, lower the heat to medium low. Give it a good stir every few minutes. Watch carefully and lower the heat if things start to stick to the pan or get dark too quickly. If the onions start to get too dry (this doesn't always happen, though), pour in a quarter cup of water to moisten them up a bit, scraping the bottom of the pan so that you don't end up with a burnt layer at the end.

When the onions begin to soften, you may add in:

a couple of sprigs fresh thyme, or a pinch dried thyme (optional)

Most books say that the whole process takes 10 or 15 minutes, but I've had much better luck lowering the heat and going for a longer period of time - more like 30 to 40 minutes. The onions will first become translucent, then they will soften, then they will sort of slump over each other, then they will take on a pale colour, and finally they will start browning, browning, browning.

Once they start becoming golden, you can stop pretty much any time you wish. Flavours will be deeper the darker you go. Depending on how dark the finished product is, you'll end up with a half or maybe a third of the volume you started off with.

Serve warm. Freeze leftovers portioned in small containers (for easy access) for two months or so.

A drop in the bucket

2010-09-28T20:55:00.001-05:00

Once a month my church hosts lunch at a local food kitchen downtown. Volunteers sign up each month to prepare food or to help serve the meal.

Sometimes people encounter opportunities to do great things, newsworthy things, heroic things. But sometimes, all we can do is bake some dessert - not for ourselves, or our families, or our friends, but for complete strangers.

If all of us would put some love into a cookie destined for a stranger - if all of us could put some love into something destined for someone outside of ourselves and our circles - I'm fairly certain that we won't end up in the news or be awarded anything special ... but I'd like to think that there would be a lot less evil in the world.

Discovering soft pretzels

2010-09-26T14:24:00.003-05:00

The other night we were having some evening quiet/reading time. My son and I were on his bed: him at the foot with a baker's dozen compilation of Dr. Seuss, me at the head with Baking Illustrated and La Cucina Italiana. My husband, with The Economist, was relegated to a chair: there wasn't any space in our prime reading spot, and besides, who curls up in bed reading The Economist?

Every once in a while the silence was broken. "MommyPapa'?" This is how the child addresses us when he is posing a generic question deemed answerable by either of us. "How come this kid can get ALL those hotdogs for his birthday? And look, why is this guy tiptoeing? And what is a poop deck?" (If you want to know, you'll need to read Happy Birthday to You!). Or, "Ha! Cooks, listen to what this person thinks about Silvio Berlusconi." (No further explanation needed; when it comes to this subject, it's not a mystery what anyone thinks). Or, "Hey!" - to no one in particular - "A recipe for soft pretzels!" (Now we're talking, eh?)

Actually, I'm not a big fan of pretzels soft or crunchy, but my son is. He rarely has the pleasure of "feasting" on soft pretzels since the stars have to align for him to get one: first, it must be on a day when he happens to need a lunch at school, and second, soft pretzels must be on the menu that very day. I believe this happened only once last year, so you can imagine how thrilled he was to hear that I had found a recipe. In fact, he almost fell off the bed. I'm not kidding, he seriously almost fell right off.

We all know that once words come out they can't be taken back: this is never more true than when one exclaims, "A recipe for soft pretzels!" and catches a six year old before he tips over the edge of his bed from the excitement of it all. So of course we know what happened the following morning:

Surprisingly, my husband and I enjoyed these quite a bit. Our in-house pretzel connoisseur approved heartily, regretfully remarking right before bedtime that if he hadn't yet brushed his teeth he would've liked to sneak another one into his tummy.

We made salty and sweet versions, and particularly enjoyed the latter. These pretzels were about the size of an adult's palm (human, not Godzilla), which, I think, was just right. They were shiny and chewy and soft, in the way that only soft pretzels are, but they were also toothsome, in the way that many soft pretzels aren't.

After this, I'm sure the little guy would love to hear me say, "Hey, a recipe for Cheetos!" Dream on, kiddo. For now, how about you count your lucky stars and enjoy your soft pretzels?

Soft Pretzels
Adapted from Baking Illustrated

The original recipe calls for instant yeast. If using instant yeast, measure out only 1 tsp of it, and mix the water, honey and yeast all together with the flour and salt. There will also be no need for the 10 minute waiting time for proofing at the beginning.

Combine in a 2-cup liquid measuring cup and set aside for 10 minutes (it will become bubbly):
  1 cup warm water (110°F-115°F)
  1¼ tsp active dry yeast

After 10 minutes, add to the yeasted mixture and stir to combine:
  ¼ cup honey

In the bowl of a standing mixer with the dough hook attached, mix together:
  16½ ounces (3 cups) bread flour
  1 tsp salt

With the mixer running on low speed, slowly pour in the honey-yeast liquid. Knead on low speed for 5-7 minutes: the dough will start off very shaggy but it will gradually gather into a smooth ball.

Lightly oil a large bowl or container and transfer the kneaded dough into it. Roll the ball of dough around a bit to oil its surface. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let rise at room temperature until doubled in size, 1 to 1½ hours.

Press the dough down to deflate it, then cover it again and give it another 30-40 minutes for a second rise. It will just about double in size again.

When the dough is almost done with its second rise, do the following 3 things:
  Preheat the oven to 450°F with the rack at the centre position.
  Line a half-size baking sheet (roughly 12⅞" x 17¾") with aluminum foil and oil it generously.
  Prepare a "boiling bath" for your pretzels. Stir together in a 12" skillet:
   6 cups water
   3 Tbsp baking soda

Bring the water/baking soda mixture to a boil, preferably while keeping the skillet covered. While waiting for the water to boil, divide the dough into 12 pieces. They will weigh about 2 ounces each (maybe a tiny bit more).

Roll each piece into a thin rope about 20" long and shape each into a pretzel. (Martha Stewart explains this technique well, so I'll let her do the explaining). When shaping, moisten the dough tips well and press them firmly to the rounded base so that the dough will stick together.

Working in batches of 3 or 4, gently place the shaped pretzels into the boiling water in a single layer, top side down, and boil for 30 seconds. Use tongs or a slotted spoon/skimmer to turn the pretzels over and boil for another 30 seconds. Transfer them onto the prepared baking sheet. Repeat with the remaining pretzels. The pretzels will not rise very much in the oven , so you should be able to fit all 12 pretzels into a half-size baking sheet.

If making salty pretzels, sprinkle the boiled pretzels with coarse salt or kosher salt. (Skip this step if making sweet pretzels)

Bake for 12-16 minutes, until the pretzels are well-browned.

If making sweet pretzels, once the pretzels come out of the oven, brush the top with melted butter and dip the buttered top into a mixture of cinnamon and ground sugar. You will need about 2 Tbsp melted butter for brushing, and ¼ cup granulated sugar plus a heaping ¼ tsp cinnamon for dipping/dredging.

Serve warm or at room temperature. These are best on the day they are baked, but apparently they can be frozen for 2 weeks. If freezing the sweet version, I would recommend that you freeze the pretzels plain and then butter and sugar them only when you're ready to have them.

Chasing dreams ... and saging saba

2010-09-21T21:02:00.003-05:00

Have you ever been in a dream so wonderful and real that it left you smiling and, for a moment after waking, believing that you were still in it?

I had a dream just like that last night. I resented my silly alarm clock more than usual this morning, and I actually tried to pretend that I hadn't woken up, to fool my dream into coming back. It didn't work. Chasing dreams of that sort is an exercise in futility, or at least I think so.

Now that I'm awake I don't remember much about it, but I'm pretty sure that my university friends Montse, Lucie, and Aileen were in it, and we were doing something very important, AND. I. Had. Flawless. Skin. Flawless. Laugh at me for being so unbelievably superficial, but if you saw these three gals, you'd want a naturally airbrushed face too.

Anyway, I think a waking-world equivalent to chasing dreams is chasing a taste memory. It's not quite an exercise in futility, but it sure can be frustrating. You've been there before: you taste something that enchants you - haunts you - but even if you happened to score the recipe, no matter what you do you can't replicate it. Or you are able to make it, but it just doesn't taste the same because the people and places you associate with it are absent. Or you simply don't have access to the key ingredients.

... which brings me to saging saba. It's a type of banana that we have in the Philippines, about 5 inches long, fat as far as bananas go, thick skinned and absolutely inedible raw, even when ripe. But once cooked, this banana turns into a delicacy, firm enough to retain its shape but once in your mouth it is meltingly soft, intense in flavour. I don't know how to describe it, but it's as if a bite of saging saba gives you a taste of the Essence of a Banana ... its soul, if it had one. You may think I've gone off my rocker, waxing poetic about banana souls, but believe you me, this banana is the dream that countless Filipino expats chase, because outside the country it seems almost impossible to acquire these fresh, and it doesn't help that we don't even really know what to call it in English: 'saging' means banana, but what about 'saba'? It's not plantain, but is it cardava? Musa? It's anyone's guess.

The last time I had saging saba must've been some 18 years ago, when my family left the Philippines to live in Vancouver, BC, Canada. Eighteen years is a very long time to drool over a taste memory. So when I saw these at the Oriental store last week, I had to snag them.

I wasn't sure if they were really saging saba, because they were a bit more slender than I think they should have been, but they were stubby enough to look like close cousins to the saba. They were right by the plantains but scribbled on the sign was some strange name like 'bubba' or 'buka' or something like that. (And the cashier mistakenly rang them up as plantains, so checking my receipt for a name was not very helpful.)

At any rate, I waited a week for them to ripen, every day giving them a little squeeze to check, every day wondering if they would disappoint, almost every day asking my mom (over the phone!) if she thought they would be good. They were finally ready the other day: I peeled their tough skin off, sliced the firm flesh of each lengthwise into quarters, melted a tablespoon of salted butter in a skillet, browned both sides of each strip, and tried not to salivate while waiting.

Prepared this way and dipped in a little mound of granulated sugar, saging saba makes for a great snack, but we had it the way I remember it being served when I was a child: for dinner, still with the little mound of sugar, but also alongside a simple meal of ground meat sautéed in sofrito (in Filipino cooking, this usually means a trio of onion, garlic, and tomato), with white rice and a fried egg. Ideally, each mouthful should contain a bit of everything: meat, rice, egg, banana, sugar.

I know it sounds a bit funky, but the flavours and textures just click: savoury, sweet, soft, crunchy. To be convinced, you may need to find yourself a Filipino friend. When you're invited over for dinner one day, ask for this instead of lumpia and adobo, the apparent flagships of Filipino cuisine. Some families far from home actually do use plantains as a substitute, so you might luck out. Filipinos love to eat and love to feed, and love people who love to eat. That was a lot of love there, but it's true: ask for it, and they'll gladly prepare it for you, and you won't be disappointed.

And these bananas? They tasted just like I remember. Now, if only I could buy me some flawless skin at the Oriental market ...

Cook in style, and with good habits ... and start young

2010-09-18T17:37:00.003-05:00

While exploring breakfast options this morning, my son kindly gave me permission to make pancakes: "We could have yogurt or cheese, Mommy, but I'll let you make pancakes instead. What do you think?" He says things like this once in a while, without any malice at all. I mean, he truly is convinced he's doing me a favour.

I asked if he wanted to help, and he enthusiastically agreed. Maybe he just needed an excuse to wear his Star Wars apron. Can you blame him?

For me, the highlight of this early-morning activity came when I prompted him to measure out a cup of flour. Immediately requiring clarification he asked, "How much does a cup of flour weigh, Mommy, so that I know what numbers to watch out for on the scale?"

My six year old knows to measure flour by weight, not volume! I must be doing something right.

Rösti: probably not authentic, but good anyway

2010-09-16T21:09:00.001-05:00

Thanks to my summer excesses there is now a bit more of me to love, which my clothes have been most unwilling to accommodate graciously. I can't take it against my wardrobe, though, because I certainly don't love the more of me that has appeared, either.

Oh to be in my teens and early twenties again, when I could eat with almost reckless abandon without ever worrying about any of it hanging around like a guest overstaying her welcome. Years ago, while lamenting pounds and inches that stubbornly refused to be shed, my great-friend-almost-sister Aileen warned me about the phenomenon that lay before me. I can still hear the foreboding in her voice: "Ooooh Cooooookie, just wait until you turn 25. It's downhill from there." We both laughed, but she wasn't kidding. When did 25 ever become the new 40, you ask? You obviously haven’t hit it yet. Just wait until you turn 25.

In my defense I'm not a habitually excessive eater and my diet is mostly balanced, but I definitely don't exercise enough. It doesn't help that we moved from a city where we walked and bussed everywhere to one where cars are practically indispensable. What I'm really saying, then, is that I'll hit the treadmill and elliptical with a vengeance and suffer through Pilates V-sits with heroic resolve before making any drastic changes in the kitchen.

I figured it would be better to clarify that right now, in case you were starting to get excited about the prospect of seeing less bacon and more low-fat desserts around here. I'm sorry if I gave you a moment of false hope.

My personal strategy for now is exercise, portion control, and wider spacing of yum-yums. Of course, now that I've said that, I'm going to turn around and make myself look like a total hypocrite by sharing rösti with you. Please don't take it against me. We've been having meat and potatoes weather lately, and I have 10 lbs of potatoes in my cupboard. Thanks a lot, Costco! I roll my eyes only half heartedly because 1) I really do love Costco, and 2) I was the one who decided to buy a truckload of spuds in the first place. (But hey, I’ll take 10 lbs of potatoes over 10 lbs of dried chickpeas any day!)

When the mood strikes for something in the potato-pancake family, I usually make latkes, but this time I decided to make rösti, which is a little less labour-intensive (if you decide to cheat like I did, that is). Plus, we were having sausages for dinner, and my husband would pen an ode on the delights of rösti with sausages, if he could. I'm not sure that this is anywhere near the real deal - in fact Mme Hardcore Swiss Farmer might very well snort, huff, and turn her nose up at it - but the rösti on our table had a crisp golden shell around a buttery fluff of potato shreds, each strand soft but still distinct. Authentic or not, our sausages couldn't have asked for more.

Now if you will excuse me, the elliptical is calling.

(Probably Not Authentic) Rösti

I don't really follow a recipe for this, and I find that it is simple enough that it allows the cook quite a bit of wiggle room. One very important thing to realize is that this calls for nothing more than potatoes, butter, and salt, so it is of utmost importance to use excellent potatoes and delicious butter. You already know that your dishes will only be as good as the ingredients you put in, but perhaps sometimes you've gotten away with masking a so-so ingredient or two ... in this case, however, there is absolutely nothing to hide behind: your rösti will suck if your potatoes suck or if your butter tastes off.

Grate coarsely using the large holes of a box grater or the coarse grating attachment of your food processor:
  3 large starchy potatoes (russet or Yukon Gold), about 2½ pounds

Transfer to a bowl and toss in:
  2 Tbsp butter, melted
  a very generous pinch salt

Meanwhile, heat a 10" nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add:
  1 Tbsp butter

When the butter has melted, transfer your grated potato mixture into the skillet. You'll hear a nice crackly sound as you do it. With a spatula, spread the potatoes evenly over the entire surface of the skillet, pressing down slightly.

Lower the heat to medium. You will need to let it cook, mostly undisturbed, for 15-20 minutes. Every few minutes, use your spatula to lift the edges very gently so that you can see how it's browning underneath. Lower the heat a notch if it's browning too fast. Remember that your potatoes were raw to begin with, and they need time to cook.

Once the bottom is golden and no earlier than 15 minutes from when you started, place a plate upside down, snugly and directly over the rösti. Hold the skillet handle with your dominant hand and place your other hand firmly over the plate. Lift the skillet and flip it over, all the while pressing the plate against the skillet. Place the skillet back over the heat and set the plate aside (the rösti should be browned-side up).

To the skillet, add:
  another small dab of butter

Slide the rösti back into the skillet, browned-side up, and let it cook for another 15 minutes.

When the bottom has browned and the potatoes are fully cooked, transfer to a large, flat dish and serve immediately.

Serves 6 very generously.

A cold, lots of bacon, and an immersion blender

2010-09-12T20:24:00.003-05:00

I'm battling a cold and getting high on cough drops. My tastebuds are shot. I'm not complaining, though, because I've felt worse and at least this time I don't feel like there's a brick in my lungs ... and now that I've said that, I may no longer be the only one who's lost her appetite, eh? Sorry.

Anyway. Since I am unable to offer you a life-changing recipe for cough drops, or any kind of cough drop recipe for that matter, I'll have to come up with something else to say. We don't feel like eating anyway, right?

So ... I was reading some of my previous posts and noticed two things. One, I seem to like sharing recipes that call for bacon or pancetta. You must think we have bacon every day! I'm sorry to say that we don't. I do try to keep a pack of bacon stashed away in my freezer, but pancetta is more of a special-occasion guest in our home since it's not quite as ubiquitous over here as bacon is.

When Papo came to visit he consoled us by saying pacetta is just "beh-con" (bacon with an Italian accent) ... not quite - pancetta isn't smoked - but we've gotten into the habit of pronouncing it that way whenever we use it as a substitute for pancetta. It's amazing how far your mind can go in convincing your stomach to believe certain things!

The second thing I observed is that I use my immersion blender quite a bit, and I'm not at all sorry to say that it's absolutely true. If I wore a kitchen toolbelt, I'd place my blender on my right side and brandish it every chance I could get.

If you're thinking of pimping your kitchen with this nifty little thing, try to find one that has a metal wand. This way you can puree hot stuff right in the pot, without worrying about melting or staining any plastic.

Mine is a KitchenAid* and it has not let me down. It boasts 9 speeds and can blend merrily along for 15-20 minutes. It gets pretty hot when it goes for that long (how I know that is a whole other story) so I try not to push it past a few minutes. Be kind to your tools and they will serve you well.

And that, my friends, is the best I can do for now. I promise that next time there will be no mention of cough drops.

*KitchenAid does not sponsor me or this blog in any way (too bad, because if I were into the habit of getting tatoos I'd probably have my arm marked with their logo ... in a heart ... with thorns ... or something).

Post-Labour Day Observations

2010-09-08T20:53:00.007-05:00

A couple of weeks ago the early morning air began to whisper with a refreshing hint of coolness. It has since progressed to the "unmistakably chilly" stage - at least that's how it is when I leave for work, usually some time between 6:30 and 7:00am, before the sun has had a chance to establish its presence.

When we went to the lakehouse this past weekend, the breeze was perfect, perfect, perfect. But, as the brave souls who jumped into the lake described it, the water was "invigorating" and "brisk". We all know what they really meant, don't we?

I noticed that it was dark by 8:00pm the other day and wished just a little for a rewind button to relive June's long days, although September's cool evenings do allow us to enjoy dinners al fresco.

And if there were any lingering doubts about summer's imminent demise, my weekly appointments with Neal Caffrey ended last night, with a cliffhanger at that. Yup, it's definitely that time of year again, when those of us on the north side of the globe pack up the grill and pull out the Dutch oven.

Honestly, I don't know where summer went. I haven't even had a chance to talk with you yet about apricot jam, and peach bellini, and Filipino barbeque, and summer night markets. But no matter. That just means I'll have to stick around until next year rolls along. For now, how about some meatballs?

Turkey (and Bacon) Meatballs

Adapted from Martha Stewart's Dinner at Home

The original recipe calls for 1 ounce of pancetta, but since it isn't always convenient for me to get a hold of pancetta, I use bacon instead. This recipe doesn't go overboard with the bacon, using just enough to keep the meatballs from drying out while adding a slight smoky flavour.

Mix together in a large bowl:
  ¾ cup finely chopped onion (start off with half an onion)
  1 garlic clove, minced
  ¾ cup breadcrumbs
  2 large eggs
  1 Tbsp finely chopped fresh sage
  1 tsp finely grated lemon zest

1 tsp kosher salt

pinch pepper

Gently combine into the mixture above:

1 ¼ lb ground turkey (7% fat is preferable)

2 slices bacon, finely diced

Form into 1" meatballs. I used a #40 disher to portion them out.

Heat in a large, heavy skillet over medium high heat:

2 Tbsp olive oil

Cook the meatballs in two batches, in a single layer. Turn them as needed, cooking until browned on all sides. It will take 7-8 minutes for each batch. Transfer the meatballs to a plate and cover lightly until all the meatballs are ready.

Serve hot. These are great on their own, or with a salad on the side, or on top of a plate of pasta with pesto.

Makes about 40 meatballs, which can serve 6 quite generously.

Meatballs are hard to photograph. I tried putting them in all sorts of "poses", including the one above which was modeled after the picture that appears in Martha Stewart's book.

Tiny fish in the ocean

2010-09-02T22:05:00.003-05:00

I was a kindergarten dropout. People think I'm kidding when I say this, but really, I'm dead serious.

I vividly remember my little self wailing while being dressed for school, refusing to leave the house, grappling for something - anything - to hang on to so that I could not be wrestled into the car. After at least two adults managed to shove me in, I would then make my wrath known the entire duration of the ride to school, at the end of which I would grab on to the seat belt, then the car door, then the school gate, then the pillar at the entrace ... I was a small child, but strong, and, unfortunately for my parents and nanny, blessed with a great set of lungs.

I had no real concept of time then, but I do remember that at some point I stopped going to kindergarten. I guess I thought I was done and freeeeeee, without quite realizing that the rest of my class actually stayed on. I was talking about this with my mom just a few weeks ago and she said, "Cookie, we tried everything. It just wasn't worth it. We couldn't any more." More than two decades later, she still sounded exhausted.

Fortunately I grew out of it in a few months, because I did enter first grade at the right age. There was no weeping and gnashing of teeth, and the highlight of my first year of school was treating my posse to recess snacks at the cafeteria, and putting it on my mom's tab. I would strut up to the cafeteria ladies and tell them that we would all be having something and that my mom would take care of it, thank you very much. This stopped very soon after Mom got wind of it, but it was great while it lasted.

I don't remember learning anything when I was in first grade. Honestly, I don't think I even knew how to read by the end of it. I remember participating once: raising up my hand in the middle of class, and when called upon, asking my teacher if I could please leave for another recess. The funny thing is that on the last day of school, we had an all-school awards ceremony (from grade 1 all the way through to high school), and I actually believed with all my heart that I would be called up to stage for a medal. They started with the first graders and moved their way up, and even as they announced the final high school award, I was convinced that my name would be called out for My Medal.

Why I was certain that I deserved to be awarded anything at all is still a mystery even to me, but after that heartbreaking, awful, devastating letdown, by golly I learned to read. And everything else. I got my high school diploma and moved on to post-secondary studies, and I managed to pull it off alright. I guess it was an early life lesson: like it or not, hard work is what's going to get you to where you want to be.

Fast forward to last year, when I started food blog hopping and discovered that there is a universe of food blogs out there, some proudly displaying badges and banners of awards well-deserved. And I thought: Wow. If I start a blog, will anyone ever give me a banner? Small fish in a big pond? Tiny fish in the ocean, that's what I am.

So imagine my absolute delight when I read Laure Sophie's comment this morning, congratulating me on a win. I had no inkling at all! Having my picture chosen as the overall winner for the August 2010 edition of DMBLGIT, hosted by Jeanne of Cook Sister!, was a completely unexpected surprise. It's been some 25 years since that first awards ceremony that scarred me for life, and this time around, I'm still not sure how I could deserve to be awarded anything at all ... but it sure felt nice to have my name called out.

The other day we asked our little first grader what his favourite subject at school was. Without skipping a beat he impishly declared, "Recess." My husband was mortified, but I smiled, unperturbed. There's hope for him yet.