Fresh Cut Cook

Fresh Cut Cook Makes Fresh Start...At Small Packages!

2011-01-15T10:15:00.000-08:00

Where have I been, you ask? In the land of limbo, between having a computer and having that computer die on me. It's been nice, taking a break from blogging and the endless photographing of meals and the pressure to post on a semi-regular basis.

And in that time, my lovely husband bought me a new computer, and I decided to start a new blog, with a new name, and the aim to include even more bits of my life, like my crafty, creative side, or keeping track of books, music and movies I'm loving.

I've called my new blog 'Small Packages', because that's how all the good things come, right? So hopefully, you'll follow me there...

http://www.mysmallpackages.blogspot.com/

Oh Canada, And A Coconut-Noodle Soup

2010-11-02T05:52:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I went to a private school for a few years. My parents thought I'd have a better education, but I feel that it may have retarded me socially, having had no contact with boys the first four years of my scholastic life. We belonged to the lesser-known "Not Poor But Not Rich" income bracket, which was mystifying and mind-boggling to those of my peers who had everything: maids, nannies, drivers, cooks (but rarely actual parents.)

At one of my birthday parties, held in our lovely, cozy home that had been purchased for a song, gutted and entirely rebuilt by my father and grandfather, one of my little classmates entered the house, looked around with an imperious air and said "But where is the rest of your house?" My parents forever after joked about the location of the 'east wing.'

Besides God and money, the school was incredibly proud of its diversity, and liked celebrating its multiculturalism. One day, we were told we'd be having an "International Cuisine" lunch, where everyone was to bring a food item or dish that was native to their cultural heritage. I was in something of a quandary; like many born and raised Canadians, I was just 'white,' not really any one ethnicity more than another.

Something of a European mongrel, I had more countries in my blood than the United Nations. My father's side of the family had Irish and Scottish ancestry, but that was about 5 or 6 generations ago. And my mother was something of an ethnic mystery to me. Born in Romania to Hungarian parents, she actually grew up in Israel and identified herself as Israeli, until she came to Canada. Then she was a Canadian, and if you asked her about her unusual accent, you'd be treated with a rather cold stare. "I am from here," she would say. "I am Canadian."

For a fourth-grader, this was a bit too complex a cultural minefield to navigate. I was Canadian. But what food is particularly Canadian? Back bacon? Maple syrup? I didn't know.

And so I brought Shredded Wheat cereal. Yes. I did.

Because the wheat was grown in Canada, it said so on the box, and you surely cannot fault a fourth-grader for being so literal. So amidst the samosas and spring rolls and shock-value haggis lay my wax papered packet of Shredded Wheat, totally unpalatable without the softening effect of hot water, the creamy coolness of milk and the sweetening effect of a 1/2 inch of brown sugar on top.

Years later, I am still stymied by what constitutes our national cuisine. I find myself cooking meals that are Mediterranean or Southeast Asian-inspired, but perhaps with my clumsy Canadian touch to them - not too spicy, not too exotic, ever so slightly inauthentic. Like this Vietnamese-style soup I made/modified and have virtually no decent photographs of. I found the recipe in Fine Cooking a few months ago and clipped it out for future use. It was so ridiculously tasty, you must try and make it for yourself.

As far as cultural identity goes, I don't know what to tell you. Maybe it boils down to where you were born. Maybe it's where your parents were born, or their parents before them. But given the lives my mother and father lived across the world from each other during the war; dramatic, colourful, often tragic lives that eventually intersected here, in Toronto, Ontario, where they started their family and found love and great happiness, maybe where you're from is the wrong question.

Maybe it's all about where you end up.

Coconut Noodle Soup, From Fine Cooking Magazine May Issue (?) 2010, adapted by me.

2 14 oz cans coconut milk
1 tbsp red curry paste
6 cups lower-salt chicken broth
3 stalks lemongrass, lightly smashed
8 1/4 inch slices of fresh ginger
1/4 cup fresh lime juice
2 tbsp fish sauce
1 tsp sugar
2 cups oyster mushrooms (you can use any mushrooms; I used oyster and cremini) trimmed and cut into 1/4 inch thick slices
1 cup chopped tomato
1 cup baby corn (optional but delicious)
Vermicelli noodles, soaked in room temperature water for 30-60 minutes in a large pot.
Fresh cilantro

*The original recipe calls for tea-smoked shrimp and instructs you on the whole process; I think you can find it on their website if you're interested.

Directions:

1. In a 4 quart pot, simmer 1/2 cup coconut milk over medium heat, stirring often till it reduces by half and thickens, about 1-2 minutes. Whisk in the curry paste until dissolved, about 1 minute. Add the remaining coconut milk, chicken broth, lemongrass and ginger. Raise the heat to medium high, bring to a boil and then reduce to a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes.

2. Strain out the lemongrass stalks and ginger pieces. Stir in the lime juice, fish sauce, sugar and a bit of salt. Season to taste. Add the mushrooms, tomato and baby corn, and cook for another 10 minutes, till the mushrooms have softened.

3. To assemble, bring the soaked vermicelli noodles to a boil for a couple of minutes, then drain well. Add noodles to bowls first, then pour soup over top, and garnish with fresh cilantro.

Let's Do Lunch Again And Again, And A Spinach-Blue Cheese-Leek Tart

2010-10-29T06:28:00.000-07:00

It's a funny thing, but when you get married or otherwise commit yourself to another human being because of love, you not only commit to their lovable habits, but also the ones that kind of drive you nuts. I've always been wary of being "that" women - you know; the one who screeches at her husband like a fishwife, nagging incessantly about trivial things like socks on the floor, porn watching, not being a mind-reader. So by and large, I don't screech. But there are a few things Husband does that I find confounding and on occasion, incredibly irksome.

1. The fan.

I don't know if he's always needed it, but in order to go to sleep, we have to turn on a big fan because the whooshing noise comforts him. I say 'we.' It's somehow my job to turn it on before climbing into bed because he always goes to bed before me. Sometimes I'll forget on purpose because I like listening to the city as it goes to sleep, but he'll actually wake up and ask if I can turn on the fan. He does this thing where he pretends he's dying and makes his voice all dry and weak and makes me promise to turn it on. He never tires of it.

2. The Encyclo-dictionary.

Oh. My. Lanta. The number of times we debate something, no matter how inane, whether it's the pronunciation of 'archipelago', or the what year Koko, the signing gorilla, was born, and he says to me, eyebrows raised with disbelief "Are you sure?" and then wields that yellow-paged, leather-bound juggernaut of know-it-all-itis at me, just to prove me wrong...

3. The piles.

Piles. Everywhere. Piles of comic books, piles of unopened mail. Piles of clothes. And the very special one we call the 'melted Cameron' pile, because it is quite literally a pile composed of pants, underpants and shirt, stacked Russian nesting doll-style and piled next to his side of the bed, so in the morning, he just needs to put on the shirt and step back into the underpants and pants and poof! He's ready for the day.

But I don't screech. I don't want to be a fishwife, and really, these aren't such big issues. Besides, I'm not perfect. There are things about me that must just drive him mental. Like the Purple Bathrobe which I live in when I'm at home. I know he's sick of seeing it. Or my pea-sized bladder on driving trips. I'm willing to bet that drives him absolutely bonkers.

Wow. You know what? I couldn't think of anything else that I do that annoys him. It was really hard even just coming up with the bathrobe and the bladder. Maybe I'm not as annoying as I think he thinks I can be?

(Or maybe he's just holding it all in.)

Because I do plenty of things that annoy myself. I worry incessantly about dumb things. I read too much celebrity gossip. And I seem to be incapable of making food that doesn't belong on a lunch/brunch menu. Muffins, scones, loaves. Savory tarts and quiches. Pizzas and salads. I'm obsessed. And this meal I made the other day is no exception. I can't help myself.

When I saw these leeks;

And bathed the spinach in a Christmas-light reflected pool in the sink;

And baked a rustic-looking crust that practically begged me to make a blue-cheese custardy filling to go along with the spinach and leeks, resulting in this;

well, I guess I just have to accept that adventure is not what I'm looking for in cooking. And I think I'm okay with that. I may never try to master Julia Child. I probably won't make handmade pasta. There is a very good chance that I'll never get past the brunch/lunch menu.

But as long as I am still dazzled by the humble beauty you'll find in vegetables if you look closely; as long as I am seduced by the fatty magic of cheese and am able to produce food that tastes really good, good enough for me to take a minute to absorb that I made it that way, well, I reckon I'm probably doing things just right.

And if ever I'm in doubt, all I need to do is check the Encyclo-Dictionary.

Spinach-Blue Cheese-Leek Tart (pastry from Everyday Food November 2010 issue)

1 bunch of spinach, well rinsed and squeezed dry

1 leek, split lengthwise, then cut into 1/4 pieces, rinsed well

1/4 cup white wine

2 tbsp olive oil

1/3 cup blue cheese, crumbled

1/3 cup cream (I used half and half, but you can use buttermilk or 2% milk as well)

3 eggs

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Heat olive oil and white wine over medium heat in pan. Add the spinach and wilt it; then add the leeks. Cook till everything is soft and fragrant and the wine has mostly been cooked off. Set aside.

2. In a blender or food processor, combine the blue cheese, cream and eggs and puree till well mixed.

3. Put the veggies in the pre-baked pie crust (see below for recipe) and then pour the cheese mixture over top. Bake for about 20-25 minutes, or until the middle of the tart is set.

Pastry/Crust:

In a food processor, pulse 1 1/4 cups all purpose flour and 1/2 tsp coarse salt to combine. Add 1/2 cup cold, unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 inch pieces; pulse until mixture resembles coarse meal with a few pea sized pieces of butter remaining. Sprinkle with 2 tbsp ice water, pulse until dough is crumbly but holds together when squeezed. (I had to add two more tbsp of water to achieve this) Form dough into a 1 inch thick circle, wrap tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate until firm; 1 hour (or up to 3 days).

When ready to use, thaw to room temperature and roll it out to fit an 8-9 inch pie pan. Pre-bake to prevent sogginess at 350 degrees F for about 20 minutes or till lightly golden. Use a fork to pierce the bottom to create steam holes, and weigh down the crust with beans or pie weights to prevent the crust from puffing up.

Technical Difficulties - Please Stand By

2010-10-23T08:52:00.001-07:00

If you're wondering where I am, well, I'm still here. I'm just computerless at the moment, save for the precious minutes I steal on Husband's computer. My piece of crap Dell (never, ever buy a Dell computer) has been slowly dying on me; first the sound went, and now I can't even open Internet Explorer.

Sigh. We're working on it. I'll have a post up in the next few days, so check back! I miss you!

Better Luck Next Time, And A George Hamilton Loaf

2010-10-13T06:14:00.001-07:00

Blame my mother-in-law. And my brother-in-law. If it weren't for these two making so much amazing food over the Thanksgiving weekend, I'd have had a new post up by now. If they hadn't sent me home with enough Tupperwared leftovers to feed me for a week, I'd be cooking up a storm.

And with all the pumpkin pie, carrots, sweet potatoes and squash I've eaten lately, I'm think I'm in serious danger of turning into George Hamilton.

(He's this shade of orange because of all the beta carotene he gets, right?)

Thanksgiving was lovely, it really was. I enjoyed seeing my family and in-laws, my adorable nieces and nephews, and there was more wonderful food than you could imagine. There is still an entire pumpkin pie sitting in my fridge, and for some reason, I decided this morning to bake a pumpkin loaf. Clearly, I am not in my right mind.

I am attributing my wrong-mindedness to stress. Readers, I am stressed. Like, really, really stressed. I hate my job with a capital HATE. Yesterday was Tuesday, so in accordance with the 'Friendliness To Monika' schedule, I was due for some kind words or at least a bit less hostility than the usual Monday-Wednesday-Thursday variety from Grumpy Co-Worker and Veterinarian.

"Unless..." Husband speculated, "unless because of Monday being a holiday, then Tuesday is the new Monday this week?"

Fark. And don't you know it, he was right. Tuesday was the new Monday, and I came home angry and sobbing.

Maybe I'm being greedy. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you can't have it all, at the same time; a wonderful family, some great friends, an awesome husband AND a job that isn't awful? Perhaps the life I'm living right now is balanced - good and bad, happy and crazy-making?

After all, I know there are so many people out there stuck in jobs they hate. And they stay, because they have families to feed, or because there simply aren't any other jobs out there. Or because, worst of all, they don't think they deserve anything better...

So I decided to bake a pumpkin spice loaf. Because when I'm not in my right mind, baking, with all its directions and processes and structure, makes me feel normal and calm.

I opened the tin of pumpkin puree because I am not one of those people who will roast their own pumpkin. I'm just not. And here is what happens every single time I use the can opener, regardless of the what's in the can...

Big, you're descended from desert hunters. How do you not smell that this isn't meat? Stop looking at me like that.

I used my favourite thing ever, Chatsworth honey, made by real Ontarian bees, in place of some of the white sugar that was called for,

I mixed all the wet ingredients,

I added it to the dry ingredients and 50 minutes later, out came a delicious, tender/not dry/m-word loaf that is not overly sweet like cake, but spicy and would be lovely with a drizzle of maple syrup or cinnamon butter.

As I sat in the basement lunchroom at work, eating my slices of pumpkin loaf and happy to be away from the misery upstairs, I decided that I'd reached my wall of endurance and would start looking for a new job. Because I don't have a family to feed just yet. And I do believe there is a better job out there for me.

And best of all, I actually believe that I deserve to be happy.

George Hamilton Loaf, aka Pumpkin Spice Loaf, adapted from the Fannie Farmer Cookbook:

1 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp pumpkin pie spice
1/4 cup honey
1 cup pumpkin puree
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 eggs, beaten

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Sift together the flours, salt, sugar, baking soda and pumpkin pie spice.

2. In separate bowl, whisk the honey, pumpkin puree, veg oil and eggs till combined. Add to the dry ingredients and mix till just combined. Pour into a buttered loaf pan and bake for 50-60 minutes, till tester knife comes out clean.

Kitchen Scraps, And A 'Just Make Me' Broccoli Salad

2010-10-07T20:03:00.000-07:00

You know, for all those times I think deep, profoundly interesting things, there are perhaps an equivalent, or maybe even greater number of blanks being fired aimlessly in my think-box.

Like how much I hate our low-flow toilet. No matter how many times I flush the cat droppings down the toilet, one little renegade nugget always bobs back up into the bowl. Every time.

Or like how my bangs are at that stage where I need to make a definitive decision: Do I suffer the agony of growing them out and having hair in my eyes for the next 4 months, or do I cut them short again? Is there too much real estate on my forehead to not have bangs? Are foreheads the new nipple?

Pumpkin curry - is that something?

It sounds like our coat rack is threatening to break away from the wall under the weight of our 17 different kinds of jackets, sweaters, windbreakers and raincoats. The weather has been so all over the place, neither of us know how to dress when we leave the hous..........

Oh. WOW. Did that put you to sleep too?

I'm sorry. You're totally getting my 'D' material. I'm tired, and it's been a difficult work week, which, if you've been following this blog lately, will elicit the question "When isn't it a difficult work week?" I don't mean to make it sound all bad. There are definite pluses. Like the 7 cats I work around all day; for example, there's Pickle, my attention-starved lunchroom companion, or Diesel, the whopping 32-pounder who thinks he's a dog and looks quite like an ottoman. For a few hours a day, I am almost a cat person.

Or wearing scrubs to work, which leads people on the subway to believe I am someone with medical training, toiling weird hours in the most noble of vocations, when in actual fact, I am but a glorified cockblocker between you and the appointment you really wanted with your medical professional. (wow. Tired Moni is a bit crude. Apologies.)

But the other night, just before we closed the clinic, I was called upon to perform beyond my basic receptionist skills. A woman came in with her dead cat who'd just been hit by a car. She was beside herself with grief. I'd never seen a dead pet before, and it looked just like it was sleeping. I didn't know what to say; I was so scared of saying the wrong thing. There are so many cliched responses to grief, but they are inoffensive and safe and still show support, so you use them. But somehow, I felt it was worth the risk to be a bit more personal.

So we talked, about our pets, about our husbands, about life. And I feel like in some tiny way, maybe I helped. I didn't make her tragedy less tragic. But considering how pet death is a regular part of my workplace, causing me to have nervous stomach aches every day, I think the risk paid off. Because what resulted wasn't client-receptionist platitudes. It was just two people, a dead cat, and a very human connection.

And the thing is, in that moment when that inner voice that you've been harbouring since childhood is begging you to run fast and far, telling you, a depressive with a terminally ill parent, that you're not fit to deal with any more grief and sadness; it's too much to bear - well, that's when something truly extraordinary happens. That's when you realize that you're not falling apart like you thought you would. You are coping, enduring. And maybe even with a little bit of grace too.

So I haven't much to offer in the way of a challenging meal. This is a simple thing I threw together so as not to waste food sitting in my fridge, and it turned out incredibly delicious. I'd make this over and over again, no joke, and the possibilities for adaptation are endless. So Just Make This, and have a fantastic Thanksgiving weekend, if you're in Canada. I, for one, have a great many things to be thankful for.

And I'll probably think a great deal about them, in between all those aimlessly fired blanks.

Roasted Broccoli-Potato-Sausage Salad With Maple-Chili Vinaigrette:

1 large head of broccoli, cut into smallish florets
3 large potatoes, cubed
3 sausages; I used spicy pork sausage, but you can use any kind, even veggie ones.
3 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp chili powder

Vinaigrette:

2 tbsp maple syrup (table syrup is just fine)
1 tbsp apple cider vinegar
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp sambal oelek, or other spicy chili sauce

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350-400 degrees F. In a large bowl combine the chopped broccoli and potatoes with the olive oil and chili pepper and put in roasting pan. Roast till soft, about 40 minutes.

2. While the veggies are roasting, cook up your sausages. Make the dressing too, just combine all the ingredients in a small mason jar and shake well till combined (or just use a fork to whisk)

3. When veggies are ready, place in a serving bowl with the cooked sausage, cut into 1/2 inch pieces, and cool for about 10 minutes. Add the vinaigrette and stir to coat everything. Serve immediately with some lovely, grainy bread and butter!

I Will Never Wear Hemp Pants, And Accidentally Ethical Salmon Cakes

2010-10-05T05:32:00.000-07:00

I never thought I would be the sort of person to purchase a $7 tin of salmon. I've walked past these tins before in the grocery store and as I'd reach past them to get to my $1.09 mercury-laden, Thailand-produced, environmentally cruel tuna, I would think to myself "What kind of sucker buys this stuff?"

And now I am one of them.

My sister has been swearing up and down that this brand of canned fish is really worth the extra money. And I, now working and having some coins in my pocket, was itching to make some salmon cakes and decided to quell my curiosity. So I went to the bulk food/health store at the end of my street to buy a tin.

My choice of store was deliberate. Because the place I could most readily buy this type of salmon, a local, independent, family-owned grocery store, is one of my least favourite places to shop. I am sure I am a terrible person because of this. This grocery store places an emphasis on local produce, on environmentally sustainable food, on organic and fair trade and free range. And yet, I can't stand shopping there because of a specific type of shopper they attract. I call them the Middle Class Eco-Worriers.

These are people who splash their political beliefs all over their bodies. They wear their bike helmets in the store as they shop, so that you can be sure they didn't drive there; their carbon footprint is immaculate. They debate the superior health merits of alpaca milk versus common goats milk with the other parents in the Alternative Milks aisle; 'If you read the nutritional analysis, it's practically cow's milk!' they exclaim. Their kids wear garments made from reconstituted plastic bags woven under equitable circumstances by women in developing nations. They have bumper stickers on their hybrid vehicles that read "My other car is a bike", or "We support war resisters."

My bumper sticker, if we had a car that didn't blow up on the highway for the third time this past weekend, would read "Does my fat ass make my fat ass look fat in these jeans?"

Of course, I am exaggerating; these are truly decent people. They love their families and the environment and have figured out how to take up activism in their daily lives. But there is something smug, something unattainable about this kind of lifestyle, like only people with money can make a truly significant dent on the environmental crisis. What about people like me, who can't afford solar panels or free-range eggs? Who shop at Wal-Mart in those glasses with the fake nose and mustache attached, so no one will recognize me and look down on me?

So I went to the bulk/health food store instead, so I wouldn't have to deal with my Apathy guilt. And I bought my $7 tin of salmon, not because it was environmentally sustainable but because my sister said it tasted really great. I took it home, gave a little bit of the juice in the can to my cat, and put the salmon in a bowl. I flaked it, added some breadcrumbs, green onion and cayenne pepper;

Then I cracked an egg into the bowl, added a few generous dashes of sambal oelek sauce and mushed everything together with my hands, forming a few patties;

Which I then fried in some oil and listened to them sizzle and pop until golden brown;

And I ate them up so fast, I totally forgot to take pictures of the finished product. I couldn't help myself. They were so amazing; really spicy, with that lovely smoked flavour peaking through; crisp and hot. I truly outdid myself.

And I attempted to make peace with myself and my way of life. Maybe my version of activism is a bit more muted, more personal. I try to focus more on being a good person to the people who are immediately in my life; family, friends, clients at my work, the old lady on the bus who needs a seat. I'll donate $50 to the latest tsunami or hurricane relief effort, even though I feel like it's a drop in a bucket with a very large hole. And I'll keep buying the occasional $7 tin of salmon, if it means those salmon got to enjoy their short-lived freedom before making their way to the smokehouse.

And I'll hope that for now, it is enough.

Accidentally Ethical Salmon Cakes:

1 can salmon, preferably smoked, flaked
2 green onions, finely chopped
3/4 cup breadcrumbs
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper (more or less, to your taste)
2-3 large dashes of sambal oelek sauce
1 egg

Directions:

1. In medium size bowl, combine the flaked salmon, green onions, breadcrumbs, cayenne pepper, sambal oelek sauce and egg. Mash together with hands to form patties.

2. Heat oil over medium-high temperature; fry patties till golden brown on both sides; about 7-10 minutes total. Drain on paper towels if you like and serve immediately!

Just Make Me: A 'You Only Like Me On Fridays' Baked Pasta

2010-10-01T19:04:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the newest feature of Fresh Cut Cook. It's called "Just Make Me", which is a more succinct and cleverer (does misspelling 'clever' invalidate its meaning?) way of saying "My Shizzle Was Lay-zizzle And Didn't Feel Like Taking Pictures While Preparing This Awesome Meal." It may make an appearance on the blog once every week or two, because I won't lie to you; there are times when I feel like cooking minus the song and dance that comes with food blogging.

In this feature, you will find a yummy recipe without me yammering on about things, like how it's so peculiar that one of my co-workers only seems to like me on Tuesdays and Fridays, while being openly hostile the rest of the week.

(That IS peculiar, right? I mean, I know I can't be everyone's cup of tea, but I've never really worked with anyone who has so openly disliked/been enervated by/eye rolled me before, so this is new and bumpy terrain.)

But thanks to inspiration from Emeril Lagasse via my Everyday Food magazine, I decided to heal yet another rotten work week with baked pasta, Monika-style. Which means way more cheese than is called for. So, without further ado, Just Make This. It is everything you want from baked pasta; salty, cheesy and filling, punctuated by these lovely, juicy bursts of tomato, and a more subtle basil flavour. I promise to entertain the socks off of you with my usual full-length musings on life when I return from our third, (3rd!!!!) attempt to get Heidi The Jetta to haul us to Sauble Beach without going Kaboom! on the highway.

'You Only Like Me On Fridays' Baked Pasta, inspired by baked pastas everywhere...

2 - 2 1/2 cups penne or other small shaped pasta, prepared according to package instructions
1 can evaporated milk (12 ounces)
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups crumbled goat cheese
3/4 cups crumbled feta cheese
1 tsp dried oregano
1/2-1 tsp red pepper flakes
fresh ground pepper, to your taste
1/2 cup fresh basil, coarsely chopped
1 tomato, chopped
1 1/2 cups spinach

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Cook pasta according to package directions. While you're waiting for it to boil, combine the evaporated milk (no less than 2% milk fat; don't bother with the no-fat stuff) with the eggs, both cheeses, oregano, red pepper flakes, fresh ground pepper, fresh basil, tomato and spinach in a large bowl.

2. Add pasta to the bowl and mix everything till well combined. Pour into a 8 - 9 inch square pan or equivalent round baking dish, and bake for about 25 minutes or until the pasta looks 'set' in the middle and is golden brown on top. Let cool about 5 minutes, then serve!

Word Nerdery, And Peach-Cardamom Loaf

2010-09-27T05:42:00.001-07:00

You know, for a positive, optimistic person, I certainly have a long list of things I don't like. Bananas (texture issues.) Kevin Costner (wooden acting abilities.) Bus rides during rush hour (overwhelming people musk, rudeness, confined spaces.) Also: seafood, irony, jodhpurs, elevators, indigestion, Mel Gibson, crowds, multi-tasking and eggplants.

In addition to things I don't like, I have a fairly strong aversion to particular words. It seems that the arrangement of certain letters creates unpleasant sounds or associations in my mind, and I am embarrassed to say them. Pantaloons. Bloomers. The word 'wiener' used in earnest; also, frankfurter. Panties. Macaroni. Pumping. Pumpernickel.

But the ultimate offender?

Moist.
(cringe.)

The fact that this word is used so often when describing baked goods troubles me deeply. Because there is NO alternative. In a world virtually clogged with choice, there is no other option for describing moistness. Believe me, I've tried. But saying a muffin is tender, juicy, damp-in-a-good-way, wet-ish, soft, undry, uncrumbly just doesn't work.

So I don't really have a good adjective for the texture of this Peach Cardamom loaf. Because despite all the luscious peaches involved, it fell somewhere in between the 'M' word and dry. I adapted the recipe from Whole Living magazine, and all I can surmise is that there was simply not enough fat or liquid in the batter. Where else could I have gone wrong?

I started off here:

Then did this:

Then I got down to business, mixed the dry ingredients with the wet, and ended up with this:

Which then went here:

And ended up like this:

It all looks so promising, no? And yet...decidedly not as juicy/undry/tender as I'd anticipated. But lest you get the wrong impression, I've eaten almost the entire thing. I sneak slivers while I'm waiting for my toast to pop, or cut large hunks off for lunch. I've eaten it plain and with butter. I've eaten it warm and cold. And the fact remains that this loaf is actually good and totally worth perfecting.

Let's just say it's still a word in progress.

Peach-Cardamom Loaf, adapted from Whole Living Magazine, September 2010:

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cardamom
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground ginger
6 tbsp butter (use 1/2 cup! Trust me)
6 tbsp brown sugar
1/4 cup honey (next time I'll use a 1/2 cup and cut down on the brown sugar.)
2 large eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 cup applesauce
4-5 ripe peaches, cut into smallish cubes

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Butter and flour a 9 inch loaf pan. In medium bowl, whisk together all the dry ingredients.

2. Using an electric mixer, beat together the butter and brown sugar till fluffy, about 4 minutes. Add the honey and beat till combined. Add eggs, 1 at a time, and the vanilla extract and beat till incorporated.

3. With the mixer on low, add half the flour mixture and beat till just combined. Beat in the applesauce and remaining flour mixture till just combined. Fold in the cubed peaches and transfer the batter to the loaf pan. Bake till testing knife comes out clean, approximately 50-60 minutes, depending on your oven. Transfer to wire rack and let cool completely. Then slice and serve.

The 'Middle Child" Of Meals, And Scallion-Spicy Cheese Scones

2010-09-22T05:10:00.001-07:00

I'm sure there are people out there who love lunch. Who can't wait for that internal noonday bell to ring, the one that signals hunger and a break in the day, so they can crack open their Tupperwared leftovers, their brown paper bagged sandwiches, their styrofoamed take-out soup with plastic packages of crackers. They'll find a spot on a parkette bench and gossip with co-workers, gripe about bosses or discuss their favourite television shows. They'll laugh when a gust of wind blows away their napkins, and giggle when a firetruck drives by, unhurried and open for admiration and one of these lunch lovers will inevitably say "What IS it with firemen?" and everyone will nod and talk about the sex appeal of danger and men in uniforms. It IS a funny thing about firemen, isn't it! I mean, even though the heroic men who come to save your life will likely look something like this...(and I mean absolutely NO disrespect to these fine gentlemen)

...we somehow persist in thinking they'll look rather more like this...

Though I truly hope I never find out which is more accurate.

Breakfast, I adore you. You're the easiest one to get right, health wise. Dinner, you're my social meal, the one I share with family and friends and eat with childlike abandon. But lunch, you are utilitarian and lonely. Your primary function is shutting up my hunger in an insufficient amount of time. You're often accompanied with indigestion from eating too fast, or sleepiness from eating too much, or utter boredom, if you're on day 3 of leftovers and, like me, have only an attention starved cat named Pickle to keep you company in the staff lunchroom.

My memories of lunch as a kid are equally fraught with dissatisfaction. In junior school, I didn't have any friends, so I would eat in the institution-mint coloured bathroom on the ground floor and pretend to read if anyone came in, like I'd made a measured choice to be there. High school, I fared a bit better socially, but lunch had little to do with food, and me and my friends would sit in Tea Masters sipping bottomless hot drinks and eating Rice Krispie Squares well past the 'end of lunch' bell ringing. And as an adult, working primarily in retail jobs, well, you didn't get much of a lunch break, often eating bites between serving customers and swallowing larger portions of hunger-induced rage towards people for interrupting you.

So clearly, my lunch memories have little to do with the act of preparing and enjoying a noonday meal. Now that I'm working again, I'm struggling anew to figure out what to make for this troublesome meal. The other week, Husband and I had been at No Frills, where, despite my list and best intentions, I always end of being seduced by sale prices and buy things I don't need. There was a special on bricks of cheese for $2.99. $2.99 cheese! So I bought a hunk of Jalapeno Monterey Jack. But I didn't really know what to do with it after the initial 5 uninventive cheese sandwiches I made. So I found a good recipe for savory scones, courtesy of Canadian Living, and decided to make a bunch and freeze them, so I could take scones to work for lunch.

I combined the dry ingredients in my trusty metal bowl:

I grated a bunch of Jalapeno Monterey Jack cheese. Hahaha! Look at my giant hands! (hopefully, that will distract viewers from how near my boobs are to my elbows. Way to go, unsupportive undergarment.)

Then, like the recipe renegade I am, I chopped up WAY more scallions than were called for. Whoops!

Everyone jumped in the pool of flour and mingled:

A shaggy dough was formed when the wet ingredients were added, and I had that mild panic I always get when my fingers get sticky. I don't know, is that an actual phobia? I washed the sticky off and formed the dough, cutting it into these pale, triangular beauties:

And about 20 minutes later, I had the perfect, golden, salty, creamy, spicy, flaky accompaniment to eat in the staff lunchroom alongside my daily apple and fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt.

With a side of Pickle.

Scallion-Spicy Cheese Scones, adapted slightly from Canadian Living:

2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 cup cold butter,cubed
1 cup shredded Jalapeno Moneterey Jack Cheese (smoked cheddar would be lovely too!)
1/2 cup scallions, finely chopped
1 egg
1 cup milk (I'm a 2% gal)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350-400 degrees F, depending on your oven. Combine the flours, salt and cayenne in a large mixing bowl and stir till well combined. Add the cubed butter, and using your fingers, rub the butter into the flour mixture till it resembles pea sized crumbles. I love that part. Conversely, you can freeze the butter ahead of time and grate it on a cheese grater, saving yourself a lot of bother. Add the grated cheese and scallions and stir to combine.

2. In a measuring cup, lightly beat the egg, then add the milk. Pour into the dry ingredients and stir with a fork to make a ragged dough. With lightly floured hands, press dough into a ball.

3. Turn onto a lightly floured surface and knead lightly, about 10 times. Don't overwork the dough if you can help it. Roll it out into a rough circular shape about 1/2 inch thick, and cut into 8 pieces. Place on a lightly floured baking sheet and bake for 15-20 minutes, till golden brown around the edges. Let cool slightly, then eat!

When The Universe Speaks In Riddles, And Good Luck, Godspeed Pizza

2010-09-14T05:54:00.001-07:00

It all started on Friday night. Husband had come by my work to pick me up and the plan was that we were going to drive up to Sauble Beach for a much needed break. Husband had worked about eleventeen hundred hours of overtime and I was recovering from a week of working on my own at the front desk, hopelessly untrained and at the mercy of nervous pet owners. With my new job, our work schedules are now completely opposite. He comes home right when I'm leaving and by the time I get home, he's ready to go to bed. To say it's an adjustment is an understatement.

Fast forward to an hour outside of Toronto, a bit north of Vaughn which, as a non-driver, means nothing to me, but perhaps you know where that is. It felt like the middle of nowhere, except that there was a pit stop with a Tim Hortons to our right, which meant something to me because Tim Hortons is kind of like an Inukshuk for city people who feel entirely lost in the highway limbo that lies between city and cottage country; a gentle, doughnutty reassurance that we are indeed somewhere man has been before.

It was about here that it happened.
Husband: What's that noise? Is that the engine?

Me: What noise? (while being totally aware of the weird knocking noise that has suddenly come from our vehicle)

Husband: That one. There. Oh no. Shit. (clutter, sputter, knock, knock, whirrrrrrrr. Ka-CHUNK!) Okay. There goes the transmission. It's blown! Double-you The Eff!

We lurched violently forward as Heidi the Jetta shut down. With a deftness only a seasoned video gamer could demonstrate, Husband navigated the now-defunct Heidi over to the right shoulder of the highway and we absorbed in silence what had happened. It didn't take long though, because we already knew our weekend at Sauble Beach was done for. Eventually, the tow truck came, and we even managed a few laughs when my dear, sweet father came to pick us up in the backroads of sketchy Rexdale and joked about us having to wear bullet proof vests in case of shootings, which is probably all kinds of politically incorrect, but oh well.

We tried our best to salvage our weekend. But by Sunday, it was not to be. I, in full possession of a raging case of PMS, couldn't shake the feeling that the universe didn't want me to be happy. Husband and I went on a walk to get some candy at the bulk store, and just as I was starting to come out of my dark mood, just as I was noticing the sun-dappled trees and the delicate breeze and the honeybees, a cat ran out into the street in front of us and got hit by a car.

I screamed. It happened in slow motion. I could hear the sound of Cat making contact with Car. I covered my eyes and my legs turned to jelly. Miraculously, the cat sprung up and ran off, one of its 9 lives clearly used up, but the other 8 just waiting to get back to the catfight that had been taking place several moments earlier. My dark mood returned, full force. Somewhere between Heidi the Jetta, Reckless Cat and Hormone Fluctuation, I gave up on a relaxing weekend.

Husband had been making jokes earlier about being able to read braille on my forehead because of the rather alarming smattering of pimples that had settled on my face. I mused that if these had been freckles rather than pimples, I would be adorable. I was reminded of that old 'beauty trick' I used to see in Seventeen magazine:

"Got a pimple? Why not try dotting it with some brown eye pencil and turning it into a beauty spot?"

Genius!

The beautiful girl demonstrating this tip always seemed to have her fake pimple right above her lip, to the side, like Marilyn Monroe, or Cindy Crawford. It looked sexy. So I decided to give it a try.

Hmm. I'm not sold on it.

Some days are like this. Some days can't be saved no matter how hard you try to see the silver lining. Some days, you'll come home from working at a job you're not sure you like, and you'll be so glad to see your dog and cat, your furniture, your purple bathrobe. You'll also be so glad that you had the presence of mind to make pizza dough the night before, so now, all you have to do is a tiny bit of prep with these; some chopping and slicing and grating...

And then you get to release some pent-up frustration by punching the dough:

Satisfying. Then you'll spread it out on a baking sheet dusted with cornmeal that, in a certain light, looks like stars thrown across a night sky (like the ones we should have seen in Sauble Beach) and brush some olive oil on top. A gentle dusting of red pepper flakes and fresh ground pepper, and the lightest toss of coarse grain salt is all you need for the base:

Finally, you layer the grated, unnervingly orange cheese, apple slices, tomatoes and several basil leaves and you pop it in the oven for half an hour during which time you'll imbibe a beer or glass of wine...

And when it comes out, golden crusted and perfectly delicious, perhaps the best you've ever made, and you have a week's worth of Coronation Street waiting for you on the computer, then and only then will you realize that despite Heidi the Jetta, Reckless Cat and Hormone Fluctuations, there is still sweetness in this life. A dog and cat who gravitate towards me like I'm their North Star wherever I am; a family that will come and help me, no matter how old I am or how far away I may be; a Husband who puts toothpaste on my toothbrush for me each and every night - this is who and what I live for.

Okay, Universe. Message received, loud and clear.

Good Luck And Godspeed Pizza:

Basic Pizza Dough, from Martha Stewart's 'Fresh Flavour Fast '(and the BEST dough I've ever eaten)

1 1/2 cups warm water (115 degrees F)
2 packets active dry yeast (or 4 1/2 tsp, if using the jar)
1/4 cup olive oil, plus more for brushing
2 tbsp sugar
2 tsp salt
4 cups all purpose flour (I used half whole-wheat)
a pinch each of dried basil, oregano and rosemary (my addition!)

Directions:

1. Place warm water in large bowl; sprinkle with yeast. Let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes. Brush another large bowl with oil.

2. Whisk sugar, oil, salt and dried herbs into yeast mixture, then stir flour with a wooden spoon until a sticky dough forms. Transfer to oiled bowl, brush top with olive oil and cover with plastic wrap; let stand in a warm spot till dough doubles in size, about 1 hour.

3. Turn dough onto a well-floured surface. With floured hands, knead until smooth, about 15 seconds and divide into two equal balls. If only using one, freeze the other; it keeps up to 3 months in the freezer, just let it thaw overnight in the fridge in an oiled bowl when ready to use.

Pizza toppings:

1 cup grated old cheddar
1/2 large apple, sliced thinly into half-crescents
a handful of fresh basil leaves, coarsely torn
2 small tomatoes, thinly sliced

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Sprinkle a baking sheet with cornmeal. Spread the dough onto the sheet in a long, oval shape. Rub some olive oil onto the top of the dough and sprinkle with red pepper flakes, fresh ground pepper, and some coarse salt, if you have it.

2. Sprinkle the cheddar evenly over the dough. Add the slices of apple and tomato; top with the torn basil leaves. Bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes, or until cheese is all melted and crust is golden brown. Let sit for 5 minutes, then serve!

It's As Plain As Toast, And A Brown Bread Recipe

2010-09-09T04:26:00.000-07:00

Every time I go over to my dad's house, I end up rummaging around the cookbook shelf. My mother came to Canada in the 1970's a relative non-cook. So when she married my father, she purchased a bunch of cookbooks to help her learn some basic recipes and pad out a repertoire of good, humble, hearty dishes. These books mean so much to me now because in those batter-splattered, stuck-together, yellowing pages, she made measurement conversions and left comments about recipes she tried and recipes that failed. Exclamation points seemed to work on a system much like Michelin Stars; to receive three exclamation points meant it was a cracker of a recipe that would likely be repeated.

My mother favoured the simple and tasty. She enjoyed good food but was not prone to trends or showiness. All those aspic jellies and fancy appetizers like vol au vents were never to make an appearance at our table, and those recipe pages in the books go unmarked, unstained, ignored. She did make a mean meatloaf that resembled a ham and cheese jelly roll, and a life-changing filet mignon with a mushroom-sherry cream sauce. And on a recent pillage, I uncovered her hand-written cheesecake recipe; the cake that ushered in new years, birthdays, graduations, just-becauses. The cake that served as both dessert and breakfast the morning after. I will one day make that cheesecake. Anyways, that last pillage also yielded me this;

A 1973 copy of the classic 'Beard On Bread.' I was so excited to find this! Have I mentioned that it is one of my goals in life to be able to make decent homemade bread? However, I do take issue with the name of this book. I realize that 'Beard' is James Beard's last name. And I'm aware of the almost delicious wordplay of the title. But may I just say that every time I look at the title, all that comes up is a rather unfortunate visualization of a beard hanging out on a loaf of bread? And the alternates I came up with don't help much: 'Beard Bears Bread', 'Beard Bakes Bread', 'Beard's Bread' - all of them make me think, quite literally, of an improbably animate beard involved in the complex process of bread making.

But the recipe I selected, entitled 'Myrtle Allen's Brown Bread' is actually the easiest, best-tasting loaf I've ever made. A precursor to the now famous 'No Knead' bread that made the rounds on all the food blogs, this loaf requires minimal handling and only 1 rising period, and can be likened to the delicate tartness and density of a rye bread.

You start off by dissolving the yeast in warm water and molasses and let it get puffy. I was not all that fond of the creepy face that looked up at me. That was not in the recipe book.

The other neat thing about this recipe is that you warm up the flour in the oven before hand. I have no idea what this does, but I'm sure it's entirely scientific and therefore well above my understanding. So after it comes out of the oven, you combine the flour with the creepy yeast face and gently form a shaggy dough:

Why yes, that IS a springform pan instead of a loaf pan! I didn't have a big enough loaf pan so I improvised. And then I let it sit longer than Myrtle recommended. Way longer. About 12 hours longer. Because I'd read somewhere that the rising time is what imparts the flavour, and I was determined not to make another pretty, tasteless loaf. And may I just say that baking a loaf right before going to bed is the best possible smell to go to sleep to? And also the best thing to wake up to, because in the morning, breakfast is a foregone conclusion:

Plain, simple, humble toast with peanut butter and honey. Served with fresh coffee, a great book and a quiet morning stretched out in front of me. Heaven. And can I just tell you that I did something I've been wanting to do for a while now? I disabled my StatCounter. I decided that while it totally excited me to see where all my readers come from and how long they were visiting my blog, I didn't actually need to know. It started altering the magic of food blogging for me, because when I started this blog, I said what probably every blogger says: "If only 1 person reads this, I'll be happy." So I'd like to get back to that principle; that I'm doing this for the love of it, for good food, for my handful of dear readers and for myself. And that's enough for me.

Myrtle Allen's Brown Bread, from 'Beard On Bread' (Recipe Rating: !!!)

3 3/4 cups whole wheat flour, preferably stone ground (nope, didn't have that, used regular)
1 1/2 packages active dry yeast (about 2 1/2 tsp yeast if you have a jar instead of packages)
2 cups warm water, 100 - 115 degrees F. approximately
2 tbsp molasses
1 tbsp salt (I'm going to try using a bit less next time)

Directions:

1. Put the whole wheat flour in a large mixing bowl and put in a warm oven (set as low as possible) Both the flour and the bowl should be warm when you make the bread.

2. Dissolve the yeast in 1/2 cup of warm water and blend in the molasses. Let proof. Add another 1/2 cup of water. Combine the flour, yeast mixture, and salt. Add enough warm water to make a wet, sticky dough (about 1 cup or more, according to the flour.)

3. Pour directly into a buttered 9x5x3 inch bread tin. Cover and set in a warm spot, allowing the bread to rise by 1/3 its original size. Preheat the oven and bake at 450 degrees F for 50 minutes, or until the loaf sounds hollow when tapped. Remove from the pan and leave on the rack in the turned-off oven for 20 more minutes to give a crustier finish.

Good News! And A Carrot Salad With Honey-Masala Dressing

2010-09-03T07:42:00.001-07:00

Guess who has a new job! Yes friends, I am now working at an animal hospital and am still getting used to being at work when I've been unemployed for a rather long spell. Consequently, I'm pretty tired these days as I'm adjusting to my new schedule. So this is going to be a very no-frills post, simply a recipe, but I'm already mentally composing my next post, so I'll have a story for you in a couple of days.

You know, every two weeks, almost without fail, I get a bag of carrots with my Good Food Box. And I always have the best of intentions to use them up, but the fact is, there's only so much I'm inspired to do with carrots. Frankly, I'm sick of them. So out of sheer necessity, to rid my fridge of the three bags of gently aging carrots that have amassed on the veg shelf, I decided to make this salad.

I chopped up a bunch of carrots and look! They naturally composed themselves like this on the cutting board! As if I would waste precious time doing this myself. Please.

Then I roasted the bejeesus out of them with some chopped up potatoes. Yes, I dared to turn on the oven in this stifling humidity. Then I let them cool in a bowl with some green onions and lemon zest.

I whizzed up a dressing inspired by a President's Choice hummus I'd had with masala and honey in it, and poured it over the salad.

And can I just say Ding Dong?!! This salad has been feeding me for two days now, and it's so humbly delicious, ringing with a fragrantly sweet flavour and is surprisingly filling. I've been crumbling a bit of goat cheese on it and as a result, carrots have bought themselves a bit more time and love in my heart.

Carrot Salad With Honey-Masala Dressing:

A bunch of carrots, maybe about 3-4 large ones, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
3 regular sized potatoes, cut into smallish cubes
2 green onions, finely chopped
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lemon
2 tbsp olive oil
1 1/2 tbsp honey
1 tsp garam masala
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350-400 degrees F. Toss the carrots and potatoes with generous splash of olive oil, salt and pepper and pour into a roasting pan. Roast for about 40 minutes, or until you can't stand the heat in your kitchen anymore because there's a heat wave outside. Take veggies out, pour into a large serving bowl. Add the green onions and lemon zest and allow to come to room temperature before dressing.

2. Assemble the dressing by whisking together the lemon juice, olive oil, honey and garam masala. Adjust ingredients to your taste and add salt and pepper if you like. Pour over cooled veggies and serve, topped with crumbled goat cheese.

Flap Your Premature Bingo Wings With Pride, And A Tomato Sauce Recipe

2010-08-30T03:59:00.000-07:00

A little while ago, I was reminiscing about our time in the Netherlands with our Dutch friends, Gaby and Ron. We'd met them while staying at their flat in Amsterdam, and they took it upon themselves to gift us with a drive through Northern Holland one fine afternoon. We spent the day picnicking by tulip fields, having poffertjes (mini Dutch pancakes) and looking for hidden treasures of vintage furniture in 'Rommel Paradises', which is basically the name for overpriced antique shops in the countryside (I still keep calling it 'Rommel's Paradise' by mistake, which makes Husband snicker at the idea of the Nazi officer taking in the country air while antiquing.)

Somewhere in this 3 day span of knowing Gaby and Ron, I'd gotten it into my head that we were dear friends. I'd conveniently forgotten that much of our time spent together was in silence, given the language barrier, the age gap and the general differences in lifestyle. It's safe to say that crickets were heard chirping in both Dutch and English during those long silences. Anyways, I'd sent them updates about our wedding, thinking they cared, and had imagined apartment shares where they'd come stay with us and we'd go stay with them and when our babies were born, we'd send them pictures and a lifelong friendship had been built. So I'd mentioned them fondly again a few weeks ago when Husband broke my illusion by saying "I didn't think they actually liked us that much. I think they thought we were boring."

I was crushed. Boring? Us? Our identity as a couple was thrown into immediate crisis. How could we be boring? We love doing stuff! Husband is hilarious! And I'm delightful...? But all this came into rather serious doubt. Maybe being boring is like being crazy; everyone but you knows it.

I started to think about us as a couple. We do like sitting out on our back deck having beers and talking, or eating at home, preferably in front of a movie or TV on DVD. But we don't like going out to bars, cafes, house parties, concerts, theatre productions, art shows, street fairs or anywhere with crowds or a disproportionate number of hipsters and ironically fashion clad youth. We do like hanging out with other couples or friends one-on-one, but we also start to get tired, fussy and ready for bed at about 10pm. On our honeymoon, we'd spent lots of time mooning over each other, yes, but we'd also spent a considerable amount of time trying to complete jigsaw puzzles and listening to old time radio like 'Fibber McGee and Molly' on the computer.

So it's official then. We're either exceptionally boring, old-before-their-time thirtysomethings, or we're exceptionally youthful, attractive and fun octogenarians.

But it's okay. You know, once you fully embrace the facts, once the light of truth has shone in your eyes, a certain level of acceptance overtakes you. Like, so what if we're boring to other people? We have so much fun together! Like when Husband bought us Yahtzee yesterday;

And I, suffering from a very bad cold, got that very bad cold very drunk on wine and we listened to Bobby Bland and Sam Cooke and played a high-stakes, competitive round. Yahtzee, it seems, brings out my reckless streak, and I threw down boldly, brashly with the devil in the dice. We played until dinnertime, both of us excited for dessert because we'd bought two NEW flavours of ice cream to try. I mean, I ask you. Would a boring couple do all this?

For my dinner, I'd decided to make pasta with a zesty tomato sauce based loosely on a puttanesca. I excitingly chopped up some tomatoes:

I'd daringly cut up a red chili and some green onion and added them all in a bowl:

Thrillingly, I'd cut up some green and black olives and some white onion and softened them in some olive oil and balsamic vinegar, though next time, I'd use red wine instead:

Then, with a spectacular vigor, I combined the tomato-chili-onion mixture to the olives:

And once it cooked down to the consistency I wanted, I made some pasta and poured lavish amounts of sauce on the noodles and crumbled some salty feta on top. Oh, it was so divinely good, I had to soak up all the remainders of sauce with the fresh Portuguese bread we'd bought. We watched some Friday Night Lights as we ate and I really, truly didn't care whether we were boring or predictable or a few steps away from taking up shuffleboard.

Because there's something to be said for knowing that you are going through life with someone whose company never fails to delight, challenge or comfort you. There's something grand about being able to talk to your partner about digestive issues and heartaches with equal candor and lack of embarrassment. And there's a great freedom in not caring about being 'cool' anymore, and finding pure joy in just sitting together.

Even if only to watch the grass grow.

Simple, Zesty Tomato Sauce:

6 large tomatoes, chopped
1 red chili, finely chopped
2 green onions, finely chopped
1 small white onion, finely chopped
a handful of green and black olives each, chopped, (about 3/4 cup total)
juice and zest of one lemon
1/2 to 1 tsp red pepper flakes, depending on your taste
a handful of fresh basil leaves, chopped coarsely
1/4 cup feta, crumbled
salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Cook pasta according to package instructions. Combine the chopped tomatoes, green onions and red chili in a large bowl and set aside.

2. Heat about 2 tbsp olive oil and a hearty splash of either red wine or balsamic vinegar over medium heat in a large stock pot or skillet. Add the chopped white onion and the juice of the lemon and cook till softened, about 5-7 minutes. Add the mixed olives and cook for about 5 more minutes.

3. Add the tomato mixture to the olives and stir till well combined. Add the red pepper flakes, some salt and fresh ground pepper and cook down till a sauce-like consistency, about 20-30 minutes, over medium-low heat. Once cooked, remove from heat and add the lemon zest and chopped basil. Pour over prepared pasta and sprinkle with the crumbled feta.

Neither Rain, Sleet, Hail Nor Snow, And Coconut-Peanut Tofu With Veg

2010-08-24T05:40:00.000-07:00

Do you see this? Do you see what lengths I will go to in order to bring you some good food? This is a picture of a really great dinner I made the other night. Only I was so desperate to photograph this meal without flash, my kitchen being filled with the overcast grey light of the rainstorm occurring outside, that I decided to photograph my dinner outside, in a rainstorm. That is rain in the background, mere inches away from my plate.

Sometimes the stars just won't align. The pictures of food ingredients don't really inspire ooh's and aah's, the natural light is uncooperative, or non-existent. A charming story to attach to the recipe fails to present itself. And the blogger is impatiently hungry but refuses to settle for a sandwich or a bowl of cereal instead of making a three-step meal. So I pour myself a beer, put 'Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme' on the kitchen stereo and struggle to grasp why Garfunkle is dressed so contemporary when Simon, in his ridiculous man-blouse, looks like he's about to hold court with Louis XIV.

I cut up some extra-firm tofu, having rediscovered my love for its pale, blank adaptability, and toss it in a mixture of flour, cayenne pepper and ginger.

I quickly pan-fry it in some veg oil, sesame oil, a hearty pinch of red pepper flakes and a dash of soy sauce, till it turns out like this:

Then some carrots are shredded, a tin of peas opened and a tomato gutted and robbed of almost all likeness to a tomato. It is the only way I can contemplate eating tomatoes.

These ingredients are then pan-fried in some oil and soy sauce till softened, and taken outside into the rainstorm to be photographed. The old man sitting under his grapevine structure next door must think I'm bonkers. But really, he's the one who randomly blows a whistle hanging around his neck and then falls asleep, face first, on the picnic table in the middle of the day, so I figure the Pot really shouldn't be calling the Kettle anything.

I make some rice. A delicious sauce from a pictureless cookbook called 'Quick-fix vegetarian' that I'd bought several years ago is whizzed up in the food processor; a coconut-peanut sauce that is sweet and salty and spicy and highly addictive.

A big plate is dished up and I settle into Husband's tatty, cat-scratched armchair, where I embark on a Coronation Street marathon via CBC online. The food tastes amazing. I can hear the rain pounding on the rooftops outside; the dog and cat have hunkered down to keep me company in Husband's absence. And as I fret over why I am feeling sorry for evil murderer Tony Gordon and continue to intensely dislike Molly Dobbs, I realize I am so, so cozy and warmed from within. I'm exactly where I want to be.

Tofu And Veg With Coconut-Peanut Sauce, adapted from 'Quick-Fix Vegetarian' by Robin Robertson:

1 package of extra firm tofu, pressed of any extra liquid and cut into 1" cubes
2 tbsp flour
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp ground ginger
1 tbsp neutral flavoured oil (veg, canola)
a few drops of sesame oil
a few dashes of soy sauce
a pinch of red pepper flakes
2 large carrots, peeled and grated
1/2 cup of peas, fresh, canned or frozen
1 tomato, chopped
A large handful of fresh cilantro leaves, rinsed and torn

Directions:

1. Put on the rice according to package instructions. Toss cubed tofu in large bowl with the flour, cayenne and ground ginger till well coated. Heat the oils, soy sauce and pepper flakes in a pan over medium heat, then shake the excess flour mix from tofu cubes and toss into the pan. Stir often and cook the cubes till browned. Set aside in large serving bowl.

2. In same pan, heat up some oil and a dash of soy sauce and quickly pan fry the carrots, peas and tomato till softened, about 5-7 minutes. Add to the tofu cubes in serving bowl. Rice now ready, put some on a plate, top with the tofu and veggies, and pour a generous serving of the Coconut Peanut sauce (recipe below) on top. Garnish with the cilantro and salt and pepper if you like. Eat immediately!

Coconut-Peanut Sauce:

1/3 cup creamy peanut butter
3 scallions, chopped (I used 2; 3 seemed excessive)
2 tsp fresh minced ginger
1 tsp minced garlic
3/4 cup light unsweetened coconut milk
1 tbsp freshly squeezed lime juice
1 tsp light brown sugar
1/4 tsp cayenne
1 tbsp tamari or soy sauce

Directions:

1. In food processor, combine all ingredients and process till smooth, adjusting ingredients to your taste.

The State Of Affairs, And Tomato-Pesto Pockets

2010-08-20T05:06:00.000-07:00

This is the current state of my kitchen. Maybe yours is worse and you're thinking: Lady, get a grip, it's not that bad! But this is bad for me. Because once I reach a certain level of plate piles, empty beer cans, used coffee filters and crumbs, something odd happens to me. I start accepting the mess. And once I've accepted it, I lose that sense of urgency that says I need to deal with it. Suddenly, I'm washing single items for use instead of just washing the whole lot. Next thing I know, I'm eating off of napkins and cutting boards to stave off the need for clean plates. Then, a bit later, if I'm feeling industrious, I may attempt to design new piles out of the old piles to make them look smaller and less demanding of my immediate attention. The piles will consume me, yes, but at this stage, nothing will compel me to actually get rid of them.

It's a popular idea that the state of your living space can be related to the state of your mind. My need for simplicity and fresh ideas and positivity has been buried under the hundreds of haphazardly built piles of worry; is my Dad okay? am I driving Husband crazy? is this skin irritation on my lips a flesh-eating virus? will I find a job ever/soon? And then of course there are the piles devoted to fretting over the external world woes, like the floods in Pakistan, the BP oil spill, the alarming amount of attention being spent on the 'cougar' phenomenon...

And when you've come home from your first-ever funeral, where you are but a breath away from real grief, the kind where you can practically taste the salt of all the tears shed, hear the rapid beating of saddened hearts and feel that peculiar fullness of emptiness, dishes mean even less to you.

But sometimes, even underneath the mental clutter, I'm still able to find a golden idea or two. Like this:

This is a pocket full of wonder. This is one of the simplest meals I've come up with in a long time, adding to the already abundant amount of deep fondness I feel for ready-made puff pastry sheets. This is the meal you make when there's virtually no free counter space in your kitchen and you are one straw away from the last straw. You simply clear a corner for yourself, step around the maze of cat and dog and the three pairs of shoes that have mysteriously migrated and settled under the kitchen table. Then you throw some things in a mini-chopper;

...give it a blast and end up with pesto! Then you chop up the last of the heirloom tomatoes with some green onion and let them drain a bit in a colander;

Next comes unfolding the puff pastry and cutting into 4 sections, so you can spoon some of the pesto and tomato mixture onto it;

Fold them quick, if you can, because once the pastry comes to room temperature, it's a nightmare of stickiness to get the filled triangles off the cutting board and onto the baking sheet. In fact, don't do this at all; unroll the pastry sheet on some parchment paper and save yourself a lot of bother! Once you manage this simple task, you are 15 baking minutes away from the kind of delicious meal that makes you forget your multitude of worries.

And the entirely new pile of dishes you've just made making dinner.

Tomato-Pesto Pockets:

1 puff pastry sheet, thawed (keep refrigerated till you need it)
a handful of mixed heirloom tomatoes, or about 2 regular sized tomatoes, cut into smallish cubes
1 green onion, finely chopped
Pesto (either store-bought, or homemade; see recipe below)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Once pesto is made, and veggies are prepped, do what I didn't and unroll the puff pastry sheet on some parchment paper and cut into four pieces. Place a dollop of the pesto in the bottom half, topped with a spoonful of tomatoes on top (as in picture) Fold the top right corner over to the bottom left corner to form a pastry triangle. Do this for all four.

2. Place the triangles on a baking sheet (if you've used parchment paper, this is easy) and bake for 15 minutes, or until pastry is golden brown and crisp. Serve immediately.

A Different Sort Of Pesto Recipe:

1/8 cup pine nuts
1/4-1/3 cup of basil leaves
2-3 tbsp olive oil
Zest of 1/2 a lemon
Juice of whole lemon
1 green onion, chopped
1/4-1/3 cup feta cheese
salt, pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Combine all ingredients in a mini-chopper or food processor, or I suppose you could mortar and pestle it too. Pulse till well combined and on the thick side, not as runny as a traditional pesto. Adjust ingredients to your taste.

If Wishes Were Horses, Then Beggars Would Ride, And Apple Cake With Sad Bowl #15

2010-08-16T19:08:00.000-07:00

As I was going through the mental list of all the careers I've tried on for size, all the dreams, both youthful and current, ridiculous and plausible, I came across a dusty old memory, filed under the category "Warning: Blush-Inducing." So of course, I had to open it up.

It was a ritual of ours, my sister, mother and I, that every winter Olympics, we'd sit down and watch the ice dancing together after dinner. Watching with my mother was always a tense affair; she would get so entirely invested in the competitors' successes and failures, you could feel her holding her breath as they leaped backwards into their spins. Those few seconds before knowing whether they'd land those jumps or not were excruciating for her. And when they fell?

"Ohmygod! Ohmygod!" She'd verbally and physically clench. We would tease her for getting so vexed about the jumps. But she still did it, every single time.

Despite the mental toll my mother's exuberant dismay took on us, we were still bewitched by the athletic excellence we'd just seen. My sister and I would go to our rooms after the program ended and shut the doors. Both of us (and I'm sorry sister, but I'm taking you down with me) would be harbouring dreams of being one of those ice dancers with tight, sequined costumes, extreme, mask-like makeup and the kind of crazy that makes you think it's normal to do gymnastics on ice wearing the equivalent of butter knives strapped to each foot. The music would be playing in our fanciful imaginations, we'd be blinded by (make-believe) flashbulbs and the energy of the (non-existent) crowds and, caught in the moment, an attempt at a triple sow cow would be made next to our beds.

Sometimes, we'd land those (half-single sow cow) jumps. And sometimes... "CLANG!" We'd hit a limb or some extremity on the low-hanging Ikea metal lamps we had in the center of our rooms and the scarlett tidal wave of embarrassment would rush in almost immediately. Because I knew what she was doing and she knew what I was doing. Our clumsiness (and lack of ice rink, ice dancing talent or skill) had betrayed the private lunacy occurring in our heads and rooms.

Years later, my floaty, intangible wants are a bit more attainable, and with less chance of injury to my person and dignity. Things that once seemed too hard, like starting a food blog and blundering around with HTML code, are now real. I can find recipes, like the Plum Skillet Cake Only With Apples Instead, from Martha Stewart Living, and make them taste good. Here, try some for yourself:

And when I dream up a recipe based on what I have in the fridge, most times, it turns out the way I'd hoped, sometimes even better, like this corn, pepper and sausage version of Sad Bowl.

Cutting fresh corn off cobs and chopping a small pile of red and green peppers? Easy!

Frying it all in some olive oil with green onions, preparing a couple of spicy Italian sausages and cooking some whole wheat couscous to make it more filling - nothing to it. And topping it off with a maple vinaigrette that is sweetly spicy is practically child's play. The result? A delicious, if rather less than stunning (I added the peppers on top to pretty up the weird porridgey colour) meal:

The wonderful thing about getting older is that wishes can either be realized for the delusions that they are, or brought down to earth and made real. Whether my hair will ever look like I've brushed it or whether I'll ever be a working writer; whether I'll ever launch into my jewellery design business or whether I'll ever be free from the self-critical monster inside my head has yet to be seen. But I do know that wishful thinking is a luxury item anyone can and should afford. Those cobwebbed memories of childhood embarrassments are entirely worth revisiting, if only to remind you of a time when everything felt limitless and possible.

And I feel fairly certain, nay, positive, that if there had been an Olympic category for 'Synchronized Fake Ice Dancing In A Confined Space While In Separate Rooms,' my sister and I would have brought home the gold. Or at least a bronze.

Plum Skillet Cake, From Martha Stewart Living, August 2010 Issue:

4 tbsp unsalted butter at room temperature
1 cup all purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp cinnamon (if using apples)
1/4 tsp nutmeg (if using apples)
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 tsp pure vanilla extract (my addition)
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 medium ripe plums, or you can use apples, berries, peaches, just about any fruit you like.

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350-375 degrees F. Butter an 8" skillet or square cake pan and dust with flour, tapping out the excess. Slice up your plums or apples and set aside.

2. Whisk together the flour, baking powder and soda, salt and spices if using. In a mixing bowl, beat the butter and sugar on medium speed til pale and fluffy. Beat in the egg. Add the flour mixture in 3 additions, alternating with the buttermilk.

3. Pour batter into prepared skillet or pan and smooth top with spatula. Fan the plum or apple slices on the top and sprinkle with sugar. Bake until golden brown and tester toothpick/knife comes out clean, about 30-40 minutes. Let cool slightly.

Sad Bowl # 15:

2 green onions, finely chopped
1/2 a red and green pepper, finely diced
2 cobs of fresh corn, shaved naked of their kernels
2 tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper
1/2-3/4 tsp red pepper flakes
2 spicy Italian sausages
1 ripe avocado, cut into smallish cubes
Maple Vinaigrette (see below)

Directions:

1. In a medium sized skillet, heat the olive oil over med-high heat. Add the veggies, red pepper flakes, a pinch of salt and a hearty shake of fresh ground pepper and saute, stirring often, so they don't burn. Soften them, about 10 minutes.

2. In a separate pan, fry up the two sausages till well cooked. Slice them into half-moons and set aside.

3. Make whole wheat couscous, using about 1/2 cup dry to 1 cup of boiling water. Fluff with a fork and let cool a bit.

4. Assemble everything in a bowl and once it's all cooled down a bit, add the dressing and avocado, stir till well combined and eat immediately.

Maple Vinaigrette, inspired by Martha:

2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp cider vinegar
1 1/2 tbsp maple syrup
2 tbsp grainy Dijon mustard
a small pinch of cayenne, approx. 1/8 tsp
1/4-1/2 tsp chili powder

Directions: Assemble all ingredients in a small glass or jar and whisk till well combined. Taste and adjust ingredients to your taste.

When Life And Used Car Salesmen Give You Lemons, And A Tomato-Corn Pie

2010-08-10T09:25:00.000-07:00

Okay. Seriously. I have not gone off blogging, I swear. In fact, I really missed sharing food with you. This last absence from posting was totally not my fault. I'm not even sure who to blame. Our 1997 Jetta with 'Party Mix' patterned seats, or the shyster who sold Husband a faulty vehicle.

There we were, Husband and I, driving back to the city from our long weekend in Sauble Beach. Sauble Beach, with all its humble charms, is my version of heaven on earth. Yes, I know. There are hundreds of gorgeous European towns or tropical islands that could fight Sauble and easily win the title of "Paradise" in the hearts and minds of most folks. But Sauble Beach has always been that place that slows me way down and gets me quiet and still inside; that place where even the most everyday sort of experience gets honeyed. A box of fresh, hot fries from Dobson's, where Husband used to work as a surly, noodly pre-teen. The dense sound of crickets at night, as numerous as the stars visible in the night skies draped over all those pitch black country roads and majestic pines. The endless stretches of beach that almost entice a non-swimmer like me to play in the water like a kid. And the feel of sand under my feet.

Apparently though, the magic of the Beach has rather limited boundaries. Once outside the perimeters of Paradise, the simple traveller is entirely vulnerable to the cruel hands of Fate, who obviously drives a much higher status vehicle than our lowly VW Jetta. Because it was in Owen Sound that the transmission took its last stand against Husband's gentle and then not-so gentle cajoling and refused to switch gears as we tried to ascend a rather steep hill. The car rolled backwards. "EEEEeep!" I screeched, digging my nails into poor Husband's arm. He fought the stubborn transmission one more time, and again, we rolled backwards, down the hill. I nearly peed myself. Husband, much calmer than me, or in a weird state of calm rage, manoeuvred us into someone's driveway, where we sat, and let life's unfairness wash over us.

I am not as good as I thought in a crisis. In fact, I was embarrassingly helpless in this crisis. Thankfully, Husband's lovely family stepped in and rescued us with various acts of simple yet deeply felt acts of kindness. And I learned that, for one, don't underestimate the cliches of used car salesmen. I'm sure there are loads of really decent, honest ones out there, but for every one of them, there are, I fear, schools of corrupted dealers who couldn't care less about you once the cheque is written. I also learned not to underestimate the importance of family, because they are there when Luck and Good Fortune go out for a pack of smokes and take a long time coming home.

Barring car trouble, we did have a lovely stay in the country. We lazed on the beach. We read and played Yahtzee a lot. We took a few long walks with the dog. We did some shopping at local food stands, buying potatoes, green beans, eggs, green onions, peppers, vegetables with the soil and roots still attached. We ate and ate and then ate some more of these:

Husband's father had told us that the cookie-making factory, the one that makes the really good Speculaas cookies, had burned down. And there were no more being made until a new factory was built. So we stockpiled. And ate them accordingly, only to find out a few days later that the new factory had in fact already been built, and our gluttony was in vain. I think if I'm to have any fondness for Speculaas cookies ever again, I must take a break from their spicy, crumbly, crispy goodness.

We'd picked up some fresh sweet corn from a roadside stand, so I knew I wanted to do something with it. I had also been delighting in the photos of heirloom tomatoes in my Eating Well magazine, so when we finally got back to the city, I went out and bought some, and photographed their gorgeous little guts. I think I even had an American Beauty 'plastic bag' moment with these brightly coloured gems. They were so beautiful, I almost couldn't stand it.

When I was cutting the corn off the cobs to pan fry them with some green onion, I tried valiantly to pluck every last strand of corn silk off the kernels until I realized the ridiculousness of what I was doing. Is the editor of Bon Appetit coming over to sample my pie? Is anyone but me going to be picking corn silk out of their teeth?

So I stopped.

I whipped up the custard-like filling and after pre-baking the crust, layered the ingredients and poured the custard over top. It baked up perfectly, although it's still a slog trying to make a light, buttery pastry, so the crust was just the tiniest bit too crusty. But it tasted wonderful. The tomatoes were slightly tart, the corn just sweet enough and I was surprised at how little salt it needed! A chronic over-salter, I reigned myself in this time and it was just perfect.

With Husband's chemical accident, the car bellying up, and the various other little irritations and insanities I have no control over carving chips into my shoulders, it's so lovely and restorative to get back to my kitchen, where I am the reigning monarch. In my domain, wonderful food accidents and mistakes and triumphs mingle with solitude, thoughts, sunlight. Lemons, both real and metaphorical are turned into lemonade. And I imagine that somewhere out there, that corrupt used car salesman will sit next to Bad Luck and Misfortune, and get paid his dues.

Tomato-Corn Tart, inspired by/adapted from Eating Well Magazine, August 2010:

Crust:

3/4 cups whole wheat pastry flour (I only had regular whole wheat flour, so that's what I used)
3/4 cups all purpose flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp freshly ground pepper
1/3 cup olive oil
5 tbsp cold water

Directions:

1. Combine flours, salt and pepper in a large bowl. Make a well in the center, add the oil and water and gradually stir them together to form a soft dough. Wrap the dough in plastic and chill for 15 minutes.

2. Preheat the oven to 350/400 degrees F, depending on your oven. Roll the dough into a 12 inch circle on a lightly floured surface. Transfer (they make this sound easy) to a 9 inch pie pan, preferably deep-dish, and press into bottom and up sides. Line the dough with parchment paper large enough to lift out easily and fill evenly with pie weights or dry beans. Bake for 20 minutes. Remove the beans and parchment paper and let cool for at least 15 minutes, or up to 1 hour.

Filling:

3 large eggs
1 cup buttermilk (I had this on hand, but you can use regular milk)
1/3 cup goat cheese (the recipe calls for sharp cheddar, so whatever you prefer)
a hearty pinch of dried basil
a hearty pinch of dried oregano
1-2 cobs of corn, kernels shaved off
1 large green onion
2 medium tomatoes, or an assortment of heirloom tomatoes, thinly sliced
coarse salt

Directions:

1. In a blender, combine the eggs, buttermilk and goat cheese, dried basil and oregano. Pulse till well combined and set aside.

2. Heat some olive oil in a skillet and saute the corn and green onion over medium-high heat for about 4-5 minutes, stirring constantly. You just want to soften them a bit.

3. Pour the corn-onion mixture over the crust bottom. Pour in the custard filling and layer the tomatoes over top (there may be some extra liquid left over) Take a small pinch of coarse salt and sprinkle it over the unbaked pie; there's not much salt in this recipe, so you can indulge in a few lovely grains of it with each bite.

4. Bake the pie for about 40-50 minutes, or until the custard has set. Let cool for about 15 minutes before serving.

On Disorganization, And A 'Danger! Danger! High Voltage' Curry

2010-08-02T18:57:00.000-07:00

Recently, I came across the now-vintage Better Homes And Gardens cookbook that my mom used all the time when entertaining. It had this picture on the back, illustrating two different sorts of hostesses. My sister and I used to look at it and ponder which sort of hostess we would be, based on whose outfit and kitchen we liked better.

Exhibit A:

"An organized hostess who is prepared when guests arrive."

Look at her. She's a vision. Cocktails ready to go, salad being gently tossed for equal distribution of vegetables per serving, immaculate kitchen. How she can even stand upright with that tiny waist is a miracle. And that calm, almost smug smile on her face, because she knows her husband Paul has picked up the laundry and probably some fresh flowers for her, because he's that kind of guy, and her son has rehearsed 'Au Claire Du La Lune' on his recorder so she can delight her guests with the accomplished and musical child she's reared. She's not even bothered that Jennifer, whose husband is taking her on a deluxe fall cruise for their anniversary and won't let anyone forget it, is coming. Even though Paul hasn't taken her anywhere for the last 5 years except on a rather long car ride to Buffalo to visit his old college friend, Roger, where he got exceptionally drunk and confessed to having had an affair with her sister.

And then there's Exhibit B:

"An unorganized hostess who should have done some planning."

I want to reach into this picture and move that tendril out of her face because it's probably annoying her. Look at her. She has what appears to be empty toilet paper rolls in her hair and the cat is probably driving her mad because it wants to be fed or just took a big poop and won't leave her alone and she's one step away from hitting it with the saucepan but she's counting to ten. And she's wondering if she should bother finishing with that pie crust she's rolling out, or if she should just feign a migraine, cancel the dinner party and crack open the Merlot and call Paul, even though she knows damn well he's never going to leave her sister.

As someone who is often incapable of making a meal in under 30 minutes due to kitchen dawdling, and as a cat owner frequently counting to ten, I've always felt an affinity with the disorganized hostess.

I'm willing to bet she'd take an inordinate amount of time cutting up and arranging the tofu cubes in pleasing checkerboard patterns.

Or snapping herself rinsing canned peas, even though the recipe calls for fresh shelled...

And then there was the whole 'measuring cumin seeds' thing; she'd get sidetracked by that, for sure.

And as a side note, can I get a 'Hallelujah' for finally, after 4 grocery stores and 10 fruit and veg markets, on an all too blisteringly hot day to be biking down to Roncesvalles, finding these farking chilies?

Disorganized Hostess and I would put everything together and let it simmer in the pan. We'd start to notice the time elapsing and panic a bit...

And when our friend came over for dinner, we'd wash a ball of cilantro for the garnish and wipe the sweat from our brows...

And we'd marvel, her and I, at the miracle of getting a meal together before company arrived. And not because we'd mise en place-ed, but because knowing ourselves like we do, we'd started preparing this meal a good three hours before our friends' arrival.

An organized hostess would never try out a new recipe on a friend. But, with me not being an organized hostess, I did. And while this curry was tasty, I'm sure, I couldn't actually tell since my insides were burning because of that one searingly hot Serrano chili pepper, seeds and all, that had been simmering in the pan, dispersing its volcanically hot heat among the tomatoes and peas. Our eyes watered, our noses ran, and the dollops of cooling yogurt got bigger and heartier in our bowls.

An organized hostess might call the inflaming of internal organs due to an overly spicy curry an unmitigated disaster and go to bed with an intense personal shame. But I, being who I am, would prefer to take an antacid, wrap my hair in empty toilet paper rolls and dream about that deluxe fall cruise instead.

Paneer/Tofu Curry With Peas, from Bon Appetit magazine, April 2010 issue:

2 tbsp all purpose flour
1 pound paneer or firm tofu, cut into 3/4 - 1 inch cubes
5 tbsp ghee (I used olive oil)
1 large onion, cut into 1-2 inch pieces
1 tsp cumin seeds
2 tbsp minced, peeled fresh ginger
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 tsp ground coriander
1 Serrano chili, minced with seeds (Seriously, either halve the chili amount or take out the seeds)
1 28 ounce can of crushed tomatoes with added puree (I used about 1/3 cup tomato paste)
1/2 cup water
1 tsp turmeric
1 1/2 cups shelled fresh peas or frozen
1 tsp garam masala
1/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro
Steamed basmati rice

Directions:

1. Place flour in medium bowl. Add paneer or tofu and toss to lightly coat with flour. Heat 2 tbsp of the ghee or oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat, shake the excess flour from the paneer/tofu and cook till browning in spots, turning occasionally, about 4-8 minutes. Transfer to plate and set aside.

2. Place onion pieces in a food processor and pulse till finely chopped but not watery. Heat the remaining 3 tbsp ghee or oil in the same skillet as before, over medium heat. Add the cumin seeds and cook for 1 minute, stirring often. Add the chopped onion and cook till it begins to brown, about 10 minutes. Add the minced ginger, garlic, ground coriander and minced Serrano chili with seeds (I warn you!) and stir for 1 minute. Add the crushed tomatoes with the puree, 1/2 cup water and turmeric; bring to a simmer. Reduce heat to medium low and simmer until mixture thickens, stirring occasionally; about 15 minutes.

3. Add the peas and the cooked paneer/tofu; gently fold to incorporate and cook over medium-low heat, till peas are tender and the paneer/tofu is warmed through. Fold in the garam masala and the cilantro, season with salt and pepper and serve with the basmati rice.

Man Down, And More Coming Soon...

2010-08-02T05:29:00.001-07:00

Forgive me, readers, it's been almost a week since my last blog post.

Husband had a nasty work accident on Friday, whereby he got harsh chemicals splashed in his face, specifically his eye. (As someone who is extremely squeamish about eye-related things, I won't go into specifics, in case you are squeamish too.) Anyways, due to his injuries, we've been hanging out at home, reading, sitting on our deck till all hours with friends and burgers and beers, and I've totally fallen off the cooking wagon.

In this unplanned time off from the blog, I've thought long and hard about what direction I want to take it. And I've come to the conclusion that I'd like to incorporate a little more food and a little less 'me' in my posts. I'm fascinating and all, but it's occured to me that I'm awfully long-winded about things and maybe I should work on my brevity, my getting to the point quicker. I think this will help me post more frequently too.

So I've got some recipes bookmarked for this week, and now I'm off to have a beer and catch up on some Coronation street; a simple recipe for contentment.

Everything's Coming Up Morgenstern, And Fragrant Chicken.

2010-07-27T05:02:00.000-07:00

It's something Husband noticed the other day about me, when I was feeling tender and full of uncertainty about my future due to the Situation I Will No Longer Talk About (rhymes with shmoblessness.) Something I didn't even notice about myself. It seems that when I'm thinking heavily about my mother, I break out my "As Time Goes By" DVDs and watch them obsessively, because Dame Judi Dench looks exactly like my mother, and Lionel Palmer is so much like my father. And when I'm feeling nervous about life and unsettled about myself, I tend to gravitate towards my 'Best Of Rhoda' VHS tapes, or my newest Rhoda treasure, Season 1 on DVD.

Rhoda Morgenstern. Patron saint of needless insecurity. Famed wearer of headscarves and often-questionable polyester garments. Wild hand gesticulator. Wisecracker with perfect delivery. A woman with such a hefty guilt complex, she actually felt responsible for World War II.

A woman after my own heart.

Why Rhoda? What is it about her that I find so reassuring in times of personal crisis? Perhaps it's seeing this woman, so beautiful, firecrackery and independent still working out the demons of a chubby childhood and a freakishly overbearing but loving mother. Maybe it's seeing someone who is so openly neurotic and still loving her so completely; something you don't see on television much anymore. I watch her and I see someone fighting herself and I breathe a deep breath of relief because here, at last, is someone I can relate to. She reminds me that it's okay to be unsure, but that you have to keep going, regardless of whether you feel capable of it. And you can't lose heart.

Watching Rhoda also reminds me that the 1970's was the most awesome decade ever. Woodstock and bra-lessness. (I would kill to go bra-less) Annie Hall and Kris Kristofferson. A man on the moon! But the foundation of my crush on the seventies is built primarily on its fashions - Gypsy tops and peasant blouses, sundresses and stacked heel boots . And my fondness for bellbottoms goes unabated; not only are they figure-flattering, but they offer the opportunity to wear an ankle holster, so you can hold up a convenient store in total comfort and inconspicuousness. Or, if you're not a thug, you could put some breath mints or your house keys in the holster, thus eliminating the need for a purse. Which is an ongoing goal in my life because I am missing the 'I buy good purses' gene and instead rely heavily on my sister's generosity with her good taste.

Another ongoing goal in my life? Simple food. A chronic over-complicator, I am still doing battle with my impulse to add another flavour, another layer, to any recipe. In aid of my affliction, I purchased a tiny cookbook that I'd flipped through at my sister's house, called "Just 10 Minutes", by Carol Wilson. Although the '10 minutes' claim makes me laugh - clearly this woman isn't a food blogger who stops to take photos and strategically arrange foodstuffs every 3 minutes - the recipes are clear and innovative. (And I was attracted to the book because its cover is a gorgeous metallic teal colour and I am in some ways perpetually 12 years old and drawn to sparkly, shiny things.)

I'd settled on a recipe called Fragrant Chicken. To me, chicken is the versatile meat. It is the little black dress of the animal-protein world. There is nothing simpler than making chicken taste good (other than over-cooking it and making it taste awful.) And on a day where I went through yet another awful job interview (seriously, asking me when I plan on having babies is NONE of your business, Potential Employer!) all I wanted was to make something tasty that wouldn't ask too much of me.

The recipe called for 1 fresh red chili. Fact: fresh red chilies are virtually impossible to find in Bloorcourt village. I've now been to over 7 grocery stores and fruit markets, and it's like searching for the vegetable Polkaroo. Where are they?!? Anyone?

So instead, I stocked up on some jalapenos; I fell in love with the sunset colour of this one:

I was also supposed to cut a knob of ginger in wafer thin slices, but after an attempt that left me with too-thick pieces and fearing for my fingertips, I decided to dice them finely instead.

I used pine nuts for the first time ever. These pale, creamy beauties aren't cheap! But then I looked them up on Wikipedia and apparently, in the United States, they are primarily harvested by Native American tribes, and so I hope with all my naivety that they receive a fair share of the profits.

I pan fried the chicken slices, then added the chili/jalapeno-spice mixture and the smell! Fragrant indeed! I was in for a good dinner.

Husband was out at band practice, so I had the house to myself. I poured a glass of wine, curled up on the couch with my dog and what was indeed a freaking delicious dinner and watched the movie "Sunshine Cleaning". During one bittersweet scene, I found myself choked up and started crying a little. And it dawned on me that this, my sensitivity, my resistance to becoming a hard person when life has handed me one or two reasons to be, is something rare and valuable, something essentially good in me. And perhaps that's all I truly need to get by in life; an undamaged heart.

And maybe a headscarf.

Fragrant Chicken, from "Just 10 Minutes" by Carol Wilson:

1 fresh red chili, seeded and finely chopped (or a jalapeno if, like me, you can't find red chilies)
1-2 garlic cloves, finely chopped ( I left these out, as usual)
2 scallions, finely chopped
1/2 inch piece of ginger, peeled and cut into wafer thin slices (I finely chopped mine)
1 tsp ground coriander
1 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
3 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp pine nuts, lightly crushed
salt and pepper
2 skinless, boneless chicken breasts, cut into thin slices
1 tbsp chopped cilantro
avocado, for garnish, if desired

Directions:

1. Combine the chili/jalapeno, garlic, scallions, ginger, ground cumin and coriander, 2 tbsp of oil and the pine nuts in a bowl and season with salt and pepper.

2. Heat the remaining oil in a wok or large skillet and when it's very hot, add the chicken slices. Cook over high heat for about 4 minutes, or until the chicken is browned on both sides, stirring frequently.

3. Add the chili/jalapeno mixture and cook for 4-5 minutes, or until the chicken is completely cooked.

4. Stir in the fresh cilantro and avocado, if using and serve immediately, on a bed of basmati rice, or you could use this as a pita or tortilla wrap filling.

Northern Underexposure, And Corn Salad With Zucchini Bread

2010-07-23T04:39:00.000-07:00

I do this thing that drives Husband crazy, and not in a good way. Whenever we're driving out of town, I'll usually find myself saying something like "Let's go visit a local dairy!" with the hopes of picking up some freshly churned ice cream, or a few pint glass bottles full of local milk that came from long lashed cows named Bitsy and Dotty Jo, milked by kindly-dispositioned farmers sitting on wooden stools. I think I'm labouring under the misapprehension that there are dairies and creameries dotting the province's northern landscape like stars in the night sky, just waiting for wide-eyed city folk like me to come by. Husband usually rolls his eyes and does this deep exhalation thing, "Hhhhaaaaa", and I'm left to contemplate why my fairytale vision of rural Ontario is so ridiculously out of touch with reality.

There's a part of me that's sure it's not like this at all. I'm quite confident the Rockwellian version of farming I've internalized through movies and fiction is all wrong, is just another faraway idea I've built in my head to escape to when city life sometimes loses its lustre. But even more so, I think at heart I romanticize because I want to forge some kind of connection with the food that's grown here, in our country. I want to believe that the produce, the meats, the milks and cheeses and grains I buy have been lovingly tended, produced and sold by the folks who yielded them. I want to rinse my imagination of the realities of industrial-sized farms, unnaturally fattened animals in cages, hormone-injected meat, pesticide run-offs.

So I suppose for someone like me who eschews what is for what should be, getting my Good Food Box is the perfect compromise. I get mostly local produce to play with, the farmers get a fair deal and Husband gets to keep his sanity on road trips. (Actually, he doesn't. I don't foresee a point in the future where I don't ask about local dairies. I can't help myself.)

So with last week's box and a lunch date with my best friend, I decided to make a corn and zucchini salad and some zucchini bread. I want to note that this was NOT the most awesome corn I've ever eaten. While I'm a firm believer that fresh is always better than frozen or canned, I don't think we're yet in the heart of corn season, and these cobs were a little ornery, a little stingy with the flavour. These cobs had been woken up too early and were fighting deliciousness all the way.

I pan-fried the corn kernels I'd sliced off with some chopped up zucchinis in some olive oil and a dash of oregano, just until everything was a bit softened. I set it aside to cool while I made the zingy dressing;

I put it together with some avocados, a bit of tomato, a mountain of fresh cilantro and green onions and set it aside. While the flavours sat around getting to know each other, I got the zucchini bread ready with some arm-aching grating;

My KitchenAid mixer in Cobalt Blue was a flurry of motion;

And after a spell in the oven (who's been behaving quite well indeed lately, necessitating, for now, the removal of the descriptor "Demonic") out came a lovely little loaf with flecks of the green zucchini and a tasty texture that hovered between muffin and cake;

I packed everything up and biked over to my best friend's workplace, now ravenous from my morning's industriousness; a hunger that makes food taste like a miracle when you finally sit down to eat. And I realized that the life cycle of a meal - from raw ingredients and recipe, to preparing, to cooking and eating with a beloved friend - was perhaps the most heartfelt connection I could make with my food.

Corn And Zucchini Salad With Zingy Dressing:

2-3 ears of corn, kernels shaved off the cob
1 large zucchini, diced
1-2 tbsp olive oil
A healthy pinch of oregano
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tomato cut into small pieces (if you like tomato, use more! I only had a half.)
1 ripe avocado, diced
2 green onions, thinly sliced
1/2 cup packed cilantro leaves, finely chopped
salt and pepper, to taste

Directions:

1. In a large skillet over medium heat, warm up the olive oil. Add the corn and zucchini, oregano and cayenne and stir frequently till the corn and zucchini are softened but not too broken down. Set aside to come to room temperature.

2. Once cooled, add the rest of the ingredients and top with the dressing. It's best to let this sit a few hours, and is even better the next day.

Zingy Dressing:

2-3 tbsp olive oil
juice and zest of 1 lime
dash of honey
1/4-1/2 tsp red pepper flakes (more or less, to your taste)
1/2 tsp chili powder
salt and pepper to taste

Combine all ingredients. Whisk till well mixed and pour over salad.

Zucchini Bread, from Joy Of Baking: (I didn't use the nuts or frosting that was part of the original recipe, but I bet they'd taste amazing with this loaf)

1 cup zucchini, grated
1/2 cup apple, peeled and grated
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 cup vegetable, safflower, corn or canola oil
1 cup white sugar (I cut it down to 3/4 cup and it was great)
2 large eggs
1 tsp pure vanilla extract

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a regular sized loaf pan. In a large bowl, combine all the dry ingredients; from the flour to the nutmeg.

2. In stand mixer, or with a hand mixer, beat the oil, sugar, eggs and vanilla until well blended, about 2 minutes. Add the grated zucchini and apple; then the flour mixture, beating till just combined. Pour batter into loaf pan and bake for approximately 50-60 minutes, or until a tester knife comes out clean. Let cool properly before slicing.

My 12-Step Recovery Program, And Pumpkin Tortilla Soup With Scallion Cornbread.

2010-07-19T09:01:00.000-07:00

Things to do when you have a rampant case of unemployment:

1.) Stay in bed with the covers over your head. Brood. Feel like crap and let everyone know it, especially your significant other. Let yourself get stinky, shed any and all sex appeal and see how long you can stand it. (Or how long your significant other can stand it.)

2.) Talk to your animals, they have big eyes and sweet faces and if you give them cookies, they will stick around to listen. Make them understand in great detail how crummy and jobless you feel. They may be supportive. Or, cookies now eaten, they may roll over and pretend to die of boredom, hoping you'll stop talking about yourself.

3.) Resist the urge to eat large amounts of inappropriate foodstuffs to the point of personal injury. It will not make you feel better.

4.) Get some fresh air. Even if it means going out onto the deck in your pajamas with a large cocktail and a good book. Even if it means pretending to read so you can drink and listen to your neighbours' conversations without feeling like a complete wiener.

5.) When you are feeling a little bit better, or a little bit drunk, whichever comes first, find a recipe and make something good for dinner. Like Tortilla Soup with Scallion Cornbread muffins. Get to work. Slice up some tortillas;

6.) Open up some tins of colourful things and be cheered - a little bit, not too much. You don't want to rush happiness.

7.) Chop up a bunch of onions, scallions and cilantro and accidentally benefit from some aromatherapy. It's like springtime in a bowl. Start cooking them down and adding the broth and getting the soup going.

8.) Time to start the scallion cornbread. Waste about 10 minutes photographing the scallions because the light is hitting them 'just so' and it makes you feel arty.

9.) Measure out your ingredients, like the cornmeal. Get a batter together and pop those muffins in the oven.

10.) While the muffins are baking, if you have the desire to make some guacamole, don't fight it. Add some tomatoes, lime juice and zest, red pepper flakes, cilantro, whatever you want in there. It will make those muffins sing.

11.) The soup should now be ready. Pour yourself a big, warm bowl and take one of the hot muffins and slather it with the guacamole. Find a seat, maybe at your large kitchen table. Turn on some music, put away the computer, books, the gazillion to-do lists you make for yourself and sit still. Taste your food. Shut up about the joblessness. Stop 'managing' your feelings. Just sit still and eat and be okay with where you are in life, even though it's nowhere near where you'd like to be.

12.) And finally, if all else fails, make sure you spend some time with someone who makes you laugh. It will fix what's broken, even if only for a moment.

Scallion Cornbread Muffins, from Everyday Food Magazine, with additions from me:

1/2 cup yellow cornmeal
1/2 cup all purpose flour
2 tbsp sugar
3/4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp coarse salt
1/2 tsp smoked paprika (my add-in)
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes (my add-in)
1/2 cup + 2 tbsp buttermilk
2 tbsp oil
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/4 cup chopped scallions
1/2 cup corn, canned or fresh or frozen (my add-in)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. (I only heated mine to 350) Lightly grease 6 cups of a regular sized muffin pan with vegetable oil or butter. In a large bowl, combine the cornmeal, flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, smoke paprika and red pepper flakes. Make a well in the center.

2. Stir in the buttermilk, oil, egg, scallions and corn till well combined. Fill the muffin cups 2/3 full (I made mine completely full and had one less muffin. ) Bake till tester knife comes out clean, about 12-15 minutes, depending on your oven.

Pumpkin Tortilla Soup, adapted from The Kitchn:

3 small corn tortillas, sliced and cut into smallish squares
3-4 tbsp olive oil
1 medium white onion
2 garlic cloves (I didn't use these)
2 large scallions, finely chopped (my add-in)
1 cup finely chopped cilantro
1 tsp ground cumin
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
3 tsp chipotle pepper in adobo sauce (to your taste, really)
1 1/2 cups pumpkin puree or canned pumpkin
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes
3/4 cup corn, canned or frozen
1/2 - 1 cup medium-spicy salsa, like Herdez (my add-in)
5 cups unsalted vegetable stock (I only used 3 cups - it seemed to make a LARGE amount of soup)
1/2 tsp salt

Directions:

1. Heat the olive oil over medium-low heat in a large saucepan or soup pot. Add onions, garlic, scallions, cilantro, chopped tortillas and cook, stirring frequently until onion is cooked.

2. Add the cumin and cayenne and cook for another minute, stirring constantly. Add the chipotle pepper in sauce, the pumpkin, diced tomatoes, corn, salsa and the veg stock. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat and simmer for one hour. Let stand for a few minutes and serve hot, with tortilla chips and cilantro for garnish.

Kitchen Crime # 6: Back Away From The Condiments.

2010-07-15T14:27:00.000-07:00

Maybe this is normal. Maybe everyone has four different kinds of hot sauces to go along with the four different kinds of mustards they have in the fridge, which complements so nicely the ketchup, the relish, the mayo, the tahini and the seventeen different kinds of jams in there too.

Oh, no? It's just me? Terrific.

I suppose if you're one of those people who knows how to use them in moderation, a condiment adds a subtle nuance, a whisper of flavour. But if you're like me, a condiment is nothing if not the promise of an improvement to a mediocre meal; a ketchupy camouflage to a bland burger, a tahini-ish beard to an uninspired rice pilaf, a jammy knight on a white horse to a dry, failed scone.

This collection is actually the sparest I've ever had in my fridge and cupboards. I've been trying to ease my reliance on sauces and spreads, so I'll remember what food actually tastes like, on it's own, or with the sort of seasoning that enhances flavour instead of masking it. But I still have moments where I can't help myself. Where I'm making something, sans recipe, and I'm uncertain of what I'm making and the impulse to drown out the doubt with the addition of more condiments gets ever stronger.

I figure it's a sign of my enduring optimism; my belief that things can always get better. And if they can't, just add a dash more sugar.

When Your Eyes Are Bigger Than Your Wallet, And A Roasted Broccoli Salad

2010-07-12T04:41:00.000-07:00

I think it's fair to say that about 37% of my student loan was spent buying vintage clothing online. E.bay and various independent sellers profited from my pursuit of education far more than my brain ever did. The sad fact is that many of those clothes are gone; some donated because they didn't fit, some of them unspeakably ugly and never even worn. An amateur to vintage style, I fell prey to the assumption that if it looked good on the model, who'd been styled to bohemian perfection, it would look good on me too. Despite having an entirely different body type. Despite not having a designer haircut that implied insouciance and a lifestyle that included trips to Prague and frequent attendance at gallery openings. Despite not living in an enchanted forest.

(side note: seriously, why did so many online vintage shops have forests as their showcasing backdrop? What looks normal in a forest among tall pines and bluebirds often looks quite batty in a city, amidst 'office casual' and a strong impatience for whimsy. Like capes. Or Victorian collars.)

Is this a look we should bring back?

There were also the unfortunate online spending sprees at Forever 21 that I embarked on while at a really boring job. These occurred when, having read through my lengthy 'blogs-I-love' list and checking my email and Facebook profile 17 times, I was near tears at the 4-plus hours that remained of my workday.

Oh Forever 21. Why you? Why you, when I didn't much enjoy being 21 the first time around, and would never, ever willingly sign up to repeat that age in perpetuity?

Here again, money, time and hope was wasted on impulsively bought clothing that really should have been tried on. It's easy to dismiss this wastage when it's a $12 polyester top; you just cut your losses. But when you are without a job and down to your last few dollars, as I currently find myself, waste of anything takes on a whole new significance. It becomes a personal shame.

In taking quick stock of what was in my fridge a few days ago, I was alarmed at the amount of food that had been forgotten about. An ear of corn. A foil-wrapped packet of crumbled old cheddar. Sagging Swiss chard. An entire head of lettuce. How could I let this happen? But I knew how. In my foodie enthusiasm, I kept trying new recipes that required me to buy little bits of this and that, and the actual contents of my fridge were being cast aside.

Determined to stop my wasteful ways, I decided to work with what near-perishing produce I had on hand for dinner last night. I wanted something light and filling, so I cut up some apples,

Rinsed off some broccoli,

And pondered whether I was dangerously nerdy or only endearingly nerdy for finding some beauty in backlit bacon.

I cobbled together some kind of roasted salad with toasted cubes of time-ripened baguette and a honey-Dijon vinaigrette. It was a pretty delicious creation actually, considering its headlining ingredients were creeping towards their winter years.

'Waste not, want not' has surely been one of my life's most important lessons. It's taught me how to stretch a dollar well beyond its elastic limits. And just think; all I had to do was go to college, drop out of college and cripple myself with debt to learn it.

Hmm. Maybe I should reconsider being 21 again.

Moni's Roasted Apple and Broccoli Salad With Bacon And Croutons:

4 small apples, cut into smallish cubes
3 small heads/1 smallish bunch of broccoli
8 thin slices of double smoked bacon (deli counter)
1/4 baguette, cut into small cubes
1/2 tsp chili powder

Honey-Dijon Vinaigrette:

2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp white balsamic vinegar (could also use apple cider vinegar)
2 tbsp grainy Dijon mustard
1 tbsp honey (could also use pure maple syrup)
salt and pepper to taste
a few dashes of hot sauce (I used a chipotle hot sauce to give a bit of smokiness)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Toss apples and broccoli with a few splashes of neutral flavoured oil (vegetable, canola) and roast till softened and browned, about 40 minutes.

2. In the meantime, assemble the dressing, whisking all the ingredients till well combined. In a large skillet, lay out the bacon strips with a splash of water (helps bacon cook more evenly) and cook till well done and easily crumbled. Drain on paper towels, and if you want to be really decadent, pour the bacon fat onto the roasting broccoli and apples. Oh yes. I. Did.

3. Toss the bread cubes into a frying pan with a touch of oil and dust with chili powder. Toast them till lightly browned, watching carefully that they don't burn.

4. When apples and broccoli are ready, pour into serving bowl and add crumbled bacon. Add as much dressing as you like and then add the croutons, mixing lightly so everything is combined. Serve immediately!!

This Town Is Too Hot, And A Grilled Pizza Non-Recipe

2010-07-07T11:18:00.000-07:00

What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance. ~Jane Austen

Despite the ongoing irritability, the near-constant sweat mustache I'm sporting, the lethargy and the raging cabin fever I'm getting from not being able to go on walks with my dog, I actually don't hate heat waves as much as I should. Because they remind me of that time, many, many years ago (actually only 7 years) when I went backpacking through the south of France and up to Paris with my best friend. It was during one of the hottest summers ever recorded in Europe, particularly in France. My mother, a world traveller herself, afflicted with lifelong wanderlust, had wanted me to get away and see some of the world, so she paid for my whole trip.

We stayed at hostels housed in rundown villas, walked for miles with our cumbersome knapsacks in well-worn flip flops and drank rosé on the beach every day. We ate Salade Niçoise and fresh fruit, paninis and chocolate with roasted hazelnuts and all kinds of local cheeses. We even sunbathed in scandalous near-nudity, and did very little that could be classified as cultural or educational. I'd only really learned several new French phrases over the course of that summer, one of them being "I'd like to buy a packet of Lucky Strikes". I was 25 years old, tanned, fit and making terrible decisions about the men I chose to be seduced by; I didn't think about things like sunstroke, dehydration or carcinogenic melanomas. I was too preoccupied trying to be the French version of myself.

But being sweaty in Europe seems inherently more sexy than it is at home in downtown Toronto. It is not natural or sexy when gnats adhere themselves to my damp body as I'm riding my bike and die their undignified little deaths by drowning in my perspiration. Nor is it earthily attractive having my hair plastered hotly and wetly to my head within ten minutes of being outdoors.

So today, I felt like cooking but I didn't feel like turning on a single kitchen appliance. I took a pizza dough I had made, using this recipe and frozen a month or two ago and defrosted it on the kitchen counter. I decided I'd roast some tomatoes on the barbeque, wilt a bit of Swiss chard and add some barbequed sausage and goat cheese to my dough for a grilled pizza dinner. Husband came home, took off his shirt and started drinking refreshingly cold beers while watching Germany and Spain duke it out on the soccer field. I stared dreamily at the frosty glasses filled with Asian Sling cocktails on the cover of the newest issue of Food and Drink he'd gotten for me at the liquor store and got to work slicing some tomatoes;

And washing some Swiss chard;

Then I cooked them with the sausages on the grill and assembled the pizza, which took very little time to cook. It was gluttonously heaped with toppings. This was a full assault of dominant flavours. This was not a shrinking violet pizza. This was an aggressive, salty, juicy pie. Oh, and my brilliant plan to barbeque instead of heating up the kitchen? Well, I forgot about one important fact - that I'd have to be outside in a heatwave with a 500 degree heat source. Fark.

It was worth it though. I took my dinner to the cool bedroom and started watching a movie. A little bit later, Husband came in, furious and full of swears, and hugged me tightly. He told me he'd read the resulting comments of this blog I'd had a bit of a skirmish with a few days ago, and he couldn't believe how mean they were to me. Of course, I had to go and read them for myself.

I couldn't believe that my one little comment caused such a defensive reaction. It was even addressed in the newest post! Oh, there were some nasty things said about me and my blog. Here's the thing though; I don't expect to be everyone's cup of tea and it's okay if you don't like what I do here. But grow up. Seriously. We're not in high school anymore. And there's enough cruelty in the world without adding to it.

Let's move on, shall we?

The Pod People, And A Fresh Pea Tart.

2010-07-04T16:04:00.000-07:00

A lot of people say that when folks start coupling off, they tend to stop socializing as much with their friends. They become more insular, happy to shrink their universe down to two. Well, there are lots of ways to be a couple, I suppose, and none of them are wrong. Husband and I have never really subscribed to the universe-shrinking practice, though. We have some separate friends and interests and we don't really believe we've become 'one mind, one heart' or morphed into a singular organism now that we're married. We've always been keen to maintain not just a tiny sense of personal autonomy within our relationship, but a small sense of belonging to the world beyond the 'Us'.

But as expansive as this makes our lives seem, we're curiously underactive when it comes to socializing with others. It's not out of lack of want. It's just that miraculously, two lone wolves found each other and formed a pack, where the love of one's own company was no longer a personality flaw or social disorder. It was a trait indicative of an independent streak and an imagination vivid enough to cure any fever of boredom. So our default location is home. And our default company is our own.

For Canada Day, we had a plan to go and hang out with some acquaintances of Husband's whom he'd known over the years through a mutual love of music. One of them was in a band that was playing a free concert at a park in the east end. The day before, we'd surprised ourselves by accepting the invitation, a preventative action taken to avoid becoming Crashing Bores Who Never Do Anything. We'd both been looking forward to it, but as the hour of departure approached, I found myself doing that thing, that "I'm tired, and my stomach feels funny...maybe we should just stay in?" thing. That I do every time there's a social engagement, because I'm shy and can't help getting nervous.

But somehow, we found ourselves in the car, driving on a road that seemed designed for car commercials, with canopies of tall trees overhead and smooth asphalt curves to glide around. We arrived at the house of the musician friend, only in time to drink half a beer and head over to the park; the band was going on shortly.

A brief walk later and we were there. And wouldn't you know it; the Lone Wolves separated from everyone else. We found a spot near the bandstand and sat on the damp grass, taking in our surroundings as the country music started. Teenagers walked several paces ahead of their parents, the girls flipping their hair incessantly and tugging their tops down over their midriffs, wondering if anyone was noticing them. A group of toddlers held hands with each other and jumped up and down to the music, unbearably endearing in their pure expressions of delight. The smell of hot dogs, burnt sugar and fried dough mingled with the fresh air as the setting sun gilded everything in its wake.

I was near-drunk on the wholesomeness, the beauty, the innocence of it all. I felt weepy with joy.

We left shortly after; Husband was getting cold and Home, Home as always, beckoned us back. But the best had yet to come. After a dinner of hot dogs and beer, we stood out on our balcony watching the neighbourhood fireworks, our heads turning this way and that, trying not to miss any of the colourful sneezes being fired from all different directions. And then, suddenly, as we looked to our left, there it was. A clear view of the professional fireworks show down by the lakeshore; a half hour spell of the most spectacular explosions the night sky could hold. Husband put his arms around me, and we felt like kids again, oohing and ahhing at the magnificent display. It was a night I suspect will forever linger around the edges of my memory.

In the spirit of finding myself one of the two peas in a rather content little pod, (and also, for getting a huge pile of fresh peas in my Good Food Box) I decided to make a pea tart from a recipe I found here at 101 Cookbooks, with a few additions and changes of my own.

I wasn't as adept at shelling those peas as I thought I'd be. It took a while. And peeling the skins off canned chickpeas? Never. Again. When I whirred the peas and green onions, chickpeas and pistachios together in the food processor and poured the mixture out into a bowl with a light dusting of cayenne, well, I discovered something:

Blue, you've been bumped as my favourite colour. Green has stolen my heart away from you.

I used puff pastry for the first time ever. I asked myself why it was the first time ever. It's so easy! You just thaw and unroll a sheet, singular! No bumbling about with a billion delicate layers, butter and damp towels! (that means you, phyllo) I grated a generous handful of Parmesan and Swiss cheese, smoothed the pea mixture out onto the dough and surveyed my handiwork...Not bad.

Despite sweltering temperatures inside the apartment, I popped the tart in Demonic Oven and sipped a glass of white wine as I waited. And what came out was a sublime taste combination of flaky, buttery crust and a salty, earthy, nutty filling with a tiny bit of heat. I loved every bite. As I dusted the pastry flakes off my chin and top and skirt, I wondered whether there were lots of other homebodies out there like me. I wondered if I'd be able to pick you out on the street, from a tentative smile, or maybe a radiant sort of quietness.

I think I could. And I bet I'd like you.

Fresh Pea Tart, from 101 Cookbooks, with some adaptation from me:

Approximately 1 1/2 cups of fresh shelled peas
Approximately 3/4 cup of chickpeas (I used canned, rinsed and skinned)
2-3 green onions, finely chopped
1/3 cup pistachios
zest of 1/2 a lemon
juice of 1 lemon
2 tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper
a pinch of cayenne pepper
loads of fresh ground pepper, a touch of salt to taste
1 egg, lightly beaten
1/2 cup finely grates Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup grated Swiss, Emmenthal or Gruyere cheese
1 sheet of thawed puff pastry

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Bring a saucepan of water to boil. Add the peas and boil for about 30 seconds - they'll all start floating to the top of the pan. Remove from heat and drain. Put in the food processor with the chopped green onions and the juice of 1/2 a lemon and pulse till well combined. Add the pistachios and pulse till they're in small pieces. Add the juice of the other half lemon, along with the olive oil and pulse till the mixture is smooth. Turn out into a bowl.

2. In the food processor, pulse the chickpeas till they're coarsely chopped. Add them to the bowl and stir till well combined. Add the cayenne pepper, salt and fresh ground pepper and taste. When it's seasoned to your liking, add the egg and stir till combined. Then put in the Parmesan cheese.

3. Unroll the sheet of pastry and place gently on a lightly oiled baking sheet. Fold the edges up a bit, so they make a bit of a barrier for the filling. Smooth the pea mixture onto the pastry and top with the Gruyere cheese. Bake for about 25-30 minutes, or until the filling is firm and the pastry is golden brown. Remove from oven, top with more cheese and a few pieces of chopped green onion if you like. Allow to cool for a few minutes, then serve!

Are We There Yet? And A Carrot Salad

2010-06-30T06:01:00.000-07:00

My new issue of 'Whole Living' magazine, formerly known as 'Body + Soul' came in the mail yesterday. I made myself some tea, ate a slice of the banana bread I'd made in the morning, and flipped through it, feasting on the gorgeous photography and of course, those seductively simple recipes.

The odd thing is that what I love about the magazine is also what kind of bothers me about it. The cool, crisp, balanced lifestyle, the endless tips on being greener, happier, more organized, more present in your daily life are all things I crave and aspire to. I want to learn about the best ways to keep fresh herbs thriving in my sunny windowsill, and how to curb my rampant addiction to sugar. I'd love to tone my core without crunches and be able to meditate. And I am entirely humbled by people who dedicate their sense of goodness and justice to making the world a healthier, lovelier, more sustainable place. But here's my question, the one that's been lingering in my head for days now:

When are we ever good enough, just as we are? Do we constantly have to chase our better selves?

Isn't it even a little bit okay to be flawed, shy, unbalanced, stressed? When do I get to feel okay about myself for not being able to afford the organic vegetables and the humanely raised eggs, for shopping on that rare occasion at Walmart or for getting it spectacularly wrong sometimes when I'm angry? Do I have to be everything, have everything? Maybe I'm alone in this, but I feel like sometimes the dreams of having and of wanting and of being are all the more moving and glorious than the tangibles that embody them.

In pursuit of some clarity, I cleaned out my fridge of leftover scraps, some too old to be salvaged. I wanted to see empty space in there; the visual clutter was bothering me. I happened upon these multi-coloured carrots I'd got with my last Good Food Box, and their prettiness inspired me - a salad idea formed in my mind. I peeled them and chopped the ends off; their magical insides revealed:

I sliced them up as thin as I could make them;

I chopped up a lonesome little half of a jalapeno I'd found with the Nigella mezzluna my sister had given me as a present for no other reason than because she thought I'd get lots of use out of it. She is the best, gentlest, kindest person on earth and I will think of her each and every time I use it. Me and my now-unharmed fingertips are forever in her debt.

I zested some orange, lemon and lime and delighted in their abstract, colourful tangle:

All the ingredients went in a bowl and got mixed up with a heap of cooled couscous, left just warm enough to soften the carrots a little:

The dressing was made and poured over everything. I put it in the fridge and left all the flavours to mingle for a while. Husband came home and called me sweet names. We sat out in the brilliant late-afternoon sun chatting, and in the conversational pauses, I dreamed of trees swaying in the breeze, crowded gardens grown lush and wild, a chill on my skin, the dimpled cheeks of my true love. I didn't need to open my eyes though. Because it was all real and it was all around me.

Carrot Salad, by Moni:

1-2 cups cooked couscous, mostly cooled
3 large carrots, multi-coloured if you can find them, thinly sliced
3 green onions, finely chopped
1/2 a jalapeno pepper, finely chopped
zest of 1/2 an orange and lemon, finely chopped
zest of 1 lime, finely chopped
1/2 tsp chili flakes
juice of 1/2 an orange and lemon
juice of 1 lime
2 tbsp olive oil
splash of white balsamic vinegar
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp chili powder
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Prepare about 1 cup of couscous as per package instructions (I use a 1:2 ratio of couscous to water)

2. Combine in a large bowl the chopped carrots, green onions, jalapeno, zest of the lime, orange and lemon and the chili flakes. Set aside.

3. Make the dressing by combining the lemon, lime and orange juices, the oil and vinegar, the cayenne and chili powders and salt and pepper to taste.

4. Pour the couscous ( I used about 1 1/2 cups cooked - put in as much or little as you like) into the veggie bowl and stir till well combined. Pour dressing over it, stir till everything is coated and set aside for 30 minutes or longer.

ConFusion Cuisine, And A Naanwich.

2010-06-27T07:43:00.000-07:00

I'd like to think I err on the side of being a starry-eyed, dreamy sort of person. I've got a relatively romantic world view and somehow, I've managed to hold on to some of my childhood assumptions about life; that people are inherently good, nature is worth gazing at appreciatively, and love is just about all you need, next to a steady paycheck.

But there is a pragmatic side to me as well that often launches spitballs at the Romantic Me. Pragmatic Me can see that the world, for all its sherbet-coloured sunsets and Jane Goodalls, is still filled with bad ideas and volatile combinations. Like Iran and uranium stockpiling. G20 protesters and a legitimate space for protesting. Cocaine and just about anyone. Keanu Reeves and a dramatic script.

And who could forget about this travesty - the Sneaker-Heel:

(Side note: I'm sorry if any of you have a pair of these and feel attractive and whimsical in them. I don't want to take that away from you.)

But I understand why mistakes are made. Because figuring out magical combinations is just so hard and subject to grave errors in judgement! It's why pencils come with erasers. It's why marriages have pre-nuptial agreements. And it's why cooks, amateur and professional alike, have compost bins. But what do you do when you're cursed with a roaming, reckless, creative nature? How do you limit yourself to the confines of a recipe?

Well, you turn to fusion cooking. While controversial for its cultural appropriation and its toying with the idea of regional authenticity, fusion cooking can be the saving grace of new, overstimulated cooks like myself. It provides a 'politically correct-free' zone in which to play with international cuisines. And make the many mistakes that need to be made before one feels truly competent in the kitchen, as long as you're unafraid to make them.

Since purchasing my Madhur Jaffrey cookbook, I'd been wanting to make some naan bread. I read and re-read the recipe; for so few ingredients, it sure seemed like a complicated process. But I'd bookmarked it and I was feeling adventurous enough, so I rolled up my sleeves, forgot to put on my apron, and set to work.

The recipe called for hand kneading. But why would I do that when I have my trusty KitchenAid Stand Mixer in Cobalt Blue? It also called for a rather intensive session with a skillet; I decided instead to use the barbeque to grill the naans. Already, I feared I'd compromised authenticity. But I stopped really caring, after I'd dusted all the flour off my shirt and shorts and stood out in the thunderstorm, grilling and praying that the lightning wouldn't use my metal barbeque flipper as a conductor. It was working, my way.

But after the success of grilling the naans, here was a new challenge. What do I do with them? I didn't actually feel like making a curry or anything remotely Spice Trail-ish to go with them. I spent a long time worrying about my food matching abilities. So long, in fact, that I started getting irritably hungry. So I took a leap. I cut up some deliciously ripe avocado;

And added it to a bowl of chopped green pepper and green onions, with a heap of mint and cilantro and a smoky, spicy vinaigrette.

I cooked up some chicken bacon and cut a few slices of old cheddar;

Then I grilled the whole thing in my George Forman. And my naanwich was born.

Who cares if its cultural origins are blurred!?! Isn't food one of the loveliest ways to bridge the racial and regional divides between us, within our multicultural societies? Whatever the answers, this was without a doubt one of the most sublime-tasting risks I've ever taken in the kitchen. Several piles of napkins later, (it was rather messy to eat - the sign of a great sandwich) I settled into my reading chair with a book and mused that I knew of far more winning combinations than faulty ones. A mug of coffee taken with the dawn. Chocolate and peanut butter. A glass of wine on the back deck and my husband. A rainy night with a duvet and a foreign film. My mother and father - a love that has spanned time and tragedy.

Pragmatic Me was humbled, and momentarily ceased with the spitballs.

Naan Bread, from Madhur Jaffrey's cookbook 'From Curries To Kebabs; Recipes From The Indian Spice Trail':

About 5 cups of all purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp sugar
2 tbsp plain yogurt
1 cup milk
1 egg
1 tbsp melted butter, plus more melted butter or oil for brushing the bread prior to grilling
1 cup water

Directions: (Using stand mixer - this can also be made with a wooden spoon and a strong arm)

1. Sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a bowl.

2. Put the sugar and yogurt in the mixing bowl and beat. Add the milk and 1 cup of water and continue beating. Now beat in about 2 cups of flour, a little at a time - if using a stand mixer, change the whisk attachment to the dough hook. Beat thoroughly, to encourage gluten to work (about a hundred strokes, if using a wooden spoon) The batter should be a little pasty. Add the egg and 1 tbsp melted butter and continue beating. Now slowly add another 2-3 cups of flour, still continuing to beat. By the end of this, you should have a very elastic dough - if not, add a bit more flour till you do.

3. Empty the dough onto a floured board and knead briefly with oiled hands. Divide the dough into 8 balls. Dust a baking tray (I had to use several) with flour and place the dough balls on it, spaced well apart. Press down on each ball to flatten, cover in plastic wrap and set aside for 30 minutes or longer.

4. If using a barbeque, heat it up and get a cookie sheet or a cooling rack and place on top of the grill. Close the lid and let it get really hot.

5. Get the dough balls and shape them into longer flatbread shapes - you may need to flour your hands; they'll be sticky. Brush melted butter on one side and place it, butter side down, on the cooling rack or cookie sheet. Do this with as many as you can fit on at one time. Cook them till bubbles start forming on top of the naans; then brush with more butter and flip over, cooking till firm. At this stage, you can place them directly on the grill of the barbeque for char marks. Once all of them have been cooked, keep them warm in some foil till ready to serve.

Moni's Naanwich filling: (enough for 2 naanwiches)

1/2 ripe avocado, chopped
1/2 green pepper, chopped finely
2 green onions, chopped finely
a heap of fresh mint, finely chopped
a heap of fresh cilantro, finely chopped
zest of 1 lime, finely chopped
salt and pepper to taste

Dressing:

1 1/2 tbsp olive oil
juice of 1 lime
splash of white balsamic vinegar
1/4 tsp smoked paprika
1/4 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp chili flakes

Directions: Combine all the vegetables in one bowl. Assemble the dressing, whisk till well combined, then pour over veggies till well coated.

Paging Dr. Google, And Tacos Du Poisson

2010-06-22T04:30:00.000-07:00

It's almost a relief that my computer is dying. Because this computer, along with the search engine that found me my dog, my Husband and my apartment, has also enabled me to circumvent the normal channels most people take when they have a health concern. You know, like going to see their doctor.

What I do is I make appointments to go see my doctor. Then I Google my symptoms, find conditions that match these symptoms, alarm myself with the usually terminal prognosis and decide that if I'm going to die, I don't want to know about it. So I cancel the appointment.

The flip side to this rather silly practice is that I allow myself to live like a hedonist for a day or two; after all, a health scare reminds you how fragile life really is, and how you're supposed to live each day like it's your last. Although if I'm honest, that's a bit too 'Bucket List' a life philosophy for me. A bit too "Oprah called, she said to dance like nobody's watching." Am I right?

Instead, I prefer to drink and enjoy the drama in other people's lives. This weekend, after cancelling my doctor's appointment, I treated myself to Bon Appetit and some face time with Liz Taylor and Richard Burton's stormy, fromage-filled romance. ( Hahaha, I just realized their celebrity couple name would be LizArd.)

To go along with my magazines, I decided to make myself a cocktail. I wanted to give it a pithy name, like The Bland Blond, channeling an imaginary socialite famous for Daddy's money, who fears calories, black people and clothes from Smart Set. However, I'm not a mixologist, and the drink actually was really bland. The more stuff I kept adding to it to 'improve' it, the worse it tasted. It ended up a sickly-sweet pink mess.

So I switched to beer.

Bolstered by liquid courage, I decided to use our new barbeque to cook the lovely piece of rainbow trout I'd bought to go along with the latest incarnation of potato salad I'd made the night before. This was a big deal for me, as I've always been afraid to light barbeques. In my head, I push a button and the whole thing explodes. Blame stories like this. Or this. Anyways, Husband had given me a tutorial, so I felt sort of confident enough. I got my fish ready in it's foil packet.

I used limes, onions and scallions and bathed it in olive oil and lime juice, with a hearty dose of fresh ground pepper and salt. The barbeque ignition went off without explosion. And while the fish cooked away, I sat in the kitchen and read, listening to the birds chirp and looking up every now and then to marvel at the magic hour of dusk creeping in on tiptoe.

The fish came out perfectly. How is it that fish looks as lovely cooked as it does raw?

I ate the whole thing, along with a huge pile of potato salad. I wondered if this was technically a meal sized for two people. It tasted so fresh, so good, I didn't much care.

The next day, one of my dear friends was coming over for dinner. I had planned on making a large vat of sangria, fish tacos and berry custard tarts. I Googled a recipe for buttermilk custard for the tart filling, found one that sounded simple enough and made it. Oh dear. Moni, you really must learn to read and follow recipes. The 'custard' was more like a pudding and once topped with berries and baked, it turned into a hard, mean ball of rubber. As I struggled to pry the tart failures out of the baking pan, a couple of blueberries jumped out, suicidally, onto the floor. I guess they knew the tarts were awful too.

I stuffed them back in for the photo. We must all suffer for our arts.

I'd mentioned to Husband that I was planning on making fish tacos. And what I got as a response was decidedly...adolescent.

Him: "Tee hee! Say it again!"
Me: "Fish Tacos?"
Him, barely able to contain glee: "Do you know what "fish tacos" mean?"
Me, suspicious, bracing myself: "Nooooo...what does it mean?"

And he told me. For my sophisticated readers, I'll spare you the verbatim answer. Suffice it to say, it was something rather crude, and I will hereafter refer to this dish as Tacos Du Poisson to avoid the now-permanent disturbing word association.

I got the recipe from Martha's 'Great Food Fast' cookbook, and made a few changes, as per usual. I assembled the ingredients and oohed and aahed over my little army of green...

I cooked up the fish, but I must stress here that if you can, use fresh fish. I used frozen, and it just doesn't cook up the same; too watery. We ate our dinner outside and talked and got tipsy on the boozy fruit in the sangria. And when she went home, I tidied up and got into bed with a book, waiting up for Husband to get home from working a late shift. After a pretty awful week, a weekend of sun, good food and friends was just what the doctor would have ordered.

Had I kept my appointment.

Tacos Du Poisson, from Martha Stewart's 'Great Food Fast' Cookbook:

1/4 cup sour cream or plain yogurt
2 tbsp lime juice
zest of 1 lime, finely chopped (my addition)
Salt and pepper to taste
1/4 small red cabbage, thinly shredded (I used iceberg lettuce instead)
4 scallions, thinly sliced
1 jalapeno chili, halved lengthwise, seeded and one half minced
2 tbsp olive oil
juice of 1/2 lemon (my addition)
1/2 - 1 tsp chili flakes, or to your liking (my addition)
1 pound tilapia fillets, or other firm white fish, cut into strips
6 inch flour tortillas
1/2 cup fresh cilantro leaves, torn or chopped coarsely

Directions:

1. In large bowl, combine the sour cream/yogurt, lime juice and zest, salt and pepper. Set aside half of the mixture and toss the scallions, minced jalapeno and lettuce, or cabbage if using, with the rest. Season again with salt and pepper.

2. In large non-stick skillet, heat the oil, lemon juice and remaining jalapeno half over medium-high heat. Season the fish on both sides with salt, pepper and chili flakes, and cook the fish until golden brown on both sides; about 5-8 minutes. Discard the jalapeno.

3. Meanwhile, warm the tortillas in the oven. To make the tacos, fill with tortillas with the slaw, fish and fresh cilantro. Set under the broiler for a few minutes to brown the tortillas. Drizzle with the reserved sour cream/yogurt mixture and eat!

Recession Fever and The Reviled Vegetable Bowl

2010-06-17T04:35:00.000-07:00

Question: Who goes to a vintage clothing shop and gets more excited about the used cookbooks than the clothing?

Um...Hopefully more people than just myself?

Last week, a friend and I went out to browse the vintage shops along Bloor and Lansdowne. We went to Vintage 69, a multi-level collective of preloved goodies with a gorgeous, airy and bright feel to it. We made our way upstairs and I eyed several pretty sundresses that I knew wouldn't fit me. I didn't try them on; I figured it was better to picture myself in them, in my mind, rather than actually disappointing myself in 3D.

We got to chatting with the saleslady, who was obviously very keen to make a sale. I noticed a purse hanging up; it had a lovely embroidery which had caught my eye.

"Oh," she said, noticing my interest, "that's a vintage Fendi. My friend got it for me, and she doesn't do knock-offs, that's the real thing. I'll give it to you for $40."

I took it into the other room to look at it carefully. Now, I'm no expert in bags, in fact, up until I was in my early 20's, I used an old, stained liquor store tote as a 'purse'. So maybe I'm wrong here, but I'm pretty sure Fendi didn't go through a 'pleather' period. The stitching inside was coming out and I felt in my gut that if I were in the presence of a vintage Fendi, if I was about to be gifted with the kind of shopping horseshoe our sartorial urban legends thrive on, I'd know, right?

Anyways, I DID find this fantastic cookbook by Madhur Jaffrey, who is a renowned author of Indian and Far East cuisine. Score. We then went to eat at Nazareth, an Ethiopian restaurant that is one of the hidden gems of Bloorcourt Village. It more than lived up to its reputation for incredibly tasty food, served in massive quantities for very few dollars.

And speaking of massive quantities, guess what I got in my CSA food box yesterday? And guess for how much? No, seriously, guess, because you won't believe that this horn-a-plenty of fruit and veggies only costs me $12 every two weeks. I still, after almost a year of getting a food box, cannot believe that such a system exists, where I pay my $12 and get a heap of local-grown food bought directly from the farmers. It's like a produce Costco with a conscience.

If I seem obsessed with money and not spending large amounts of it, it's because I am. I have no job, no prospects and the one freelance job I was doing went atomic on me last night. Husband is having to pay for just about everything right now, and honestly, I will never be comfortable with that. I had read all about the recession and understood that it happened to 'other people'. I just didn't think it would reach me too. But here I am, contemplating the fact that I'm not owed anything by life, not job stability or even decent wages. And I'm going to have to just suck it up.

So, in my efforts to not waste either money or food, I decided to use up the cauliflower that was sitting in my fridge. I found a recipe for Cauliflower Bhaji in my new, used cookbook. It's a funny vegetable. Everyone seems to hate it. In fact, I did a Google search using the words 'Cauliflower' and 'Hate' together, and it came up with over 2 million hits. There is even a "Cauliflower Haters" Facebook group. Crazy.

Well, for such a widely despised vegetable, it sure is pretty. I cut it up and threw it into the colander for a rinse, and the stalks turned this incandescent sort of green, like it had stored up the daylight and was glowing just for me.

And finally! A use for the insanely hot dried chilies I'd bought a big bag of, thinking I could crush them with mortar and pestle and use them instead of ready-made chili flakes! Only to realize they're so hot, it's instantaneous evacuation of your nasal cavities and vaporizing of your taste buds! Get me some milk, please! Quick!

It was a really easy recipe to follow, and without a picture of the finished product prepared by the talented Jaffrey to daunt me, there was no pressure, no expectation of the end result. Oh sweet Lord, it was good. Yes, it was really spicy - there is, after all, 1/2 tsp of cayenne pepper and 2 Insane-o dried chilies; if you make this yourself, you may want to adjust the amounts. But it was also incredibly tasty and, served on some basmati rice, or with a naan bread (my next project from the cookbook) and tzatziki or baba ganoush, it is just the thing to warm the belly and sweat out your recession blues.

Cauliflower Bhaji, with a couple of add-ins by me, by Madhur Jaffrey a la From Curries To Kebabs:

1 tsp ground coriander
1 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp ground cardamon (my addition)
1/2 tsp ground turmeric
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp mustard powder (my addition due to lack of mustard seeds)
3/4 tsp salt
3 tbsp corn, peanut or olive oil
1/2 tsp mustard seeds (I didn't have them, so I used fennel seeds instead)
1/2 tsp whole cumin seeds
2 whole dried hot red chilies
1-inch piece of ginger, first cut into thin slices, then stacked and cut into thin slivers
1 cauliflower head, cut into smallish florets, about 1 1/2 inches wide.
1/2 cup peeled and finely chopped tomatoes
1/2 peas (my addition)

Directions:

1. Combine the coriander, cumin, turmeric, cardamon, cayenne, mustard powder (if using) and salt in a bowl. Add 4 tbsp water and mix. Set aside.

2. Pour the oil into a large pot or pan with a lid and set over medium-high heat. When oil is hot, add the mustard seeds (if using) cumin seeds and chilies. Once the seeds start to pop, which doesn't take long, put in the ginger, stir and then the cauliflower. Fry the cauliflower till it starts browning, stirring continuously, about 5 minutes. Reduce the heat to low and stir in the spice paste; cover and let simmer over low heat for about 5-10 minutes.

3. Stir in the tomatoes and peas, replace the lid and cook for another 6-10 minutes, or until cauliflower is tender. Serve with a large dollop of plain yogurt and salt and pepper to taste.

'Tempest In A Teapot' Potato Salad

2010-06-14T05:13:00.000-07:00

Ceiling Status: Still in pre-operative damage; repair as yet unscheduled.
Mental Status: In critical condition.
Marital Status: Stable, resting comfortably.
Hangover Status: Obliterated.

I'm not much of a drinker. My first serious experience with alcohol was not with a training drink like a wine cooler or a Bacardi Breezer. It was with about ten fingers of whisky poured into a pop bottle, with some coke thrown in for colour; a drink prepared specially for me by my friends on my 16th birthday. It ended in a comically awful fashion (see: vomiting on pool table while in use; falling down a flight of stairs and passing out; waking up in hospital with mother standing by bedside, a look of acute disappointment on her face.) The few other times I've drank with abandon have ended in migraines that debilitate me for a whole day. It's taken me a few years, but now I'm quite sure that uncontrolled drinking and I are incompatible bed mates and we tend to stay away from one another.

But yesterday I awoke, after a lovely night of food and (too much) wine with friends, feeling like a hangover storm had settled inside me. I'd come down with that unwinning combination of headache, stomach upset and moodiness. I tried to fight it; I drank some dark coffee, made a pile of buttered toast, pet my dog, but nothing would help. Added to this, our upstairs neighbour, affectionately nicknamed Clompy McClomp, on account of her rather heavy footfall, had her overseas boyfriend staying with her, a man whom we discerned, through their conversations falling from the hole in our ceiling, to be abundant in boobery and lacking in smarts.

And so me and my storm got into a fight with Husband. It was a doozy. There were lots of hand gestures, some not polite. There was yelling and curse words. There was even an unfortunate bout of 'ugly crying' - mine, not his. Are you familiar with the ugly cry? Basically, it's the exact opposite of a television actress cry. Picture January Jones as Betty Draper, crying. Lovely, right? Tears glistening down milky white skin, a faint tremble of the chin. You want to go to her with a Kleenex box and stroke her back. With an ugly cry, your audience, no matter how angry they are at you, wants to look away. Perhaps out of mercy. Perhaps out of self-preservation. No one wants an ugly cry branded in their memory.

Whoops!
Dawson! What are you doing here?

But unlike the fights of our youth, where break-ups were threatened and it felt like the sky was caving in, we managed to sort it out and put things right; one of the innumerable perks of getting older and faintly wiser. We'd decided to salvage our Sunday by having dinner together and watching the original version of The Italian Job.

Oh, have you met our newest addition to the house? Another treasure, thanks to the wedding...

I'd decided to make a potato salad; Husband was in charge of christening the new barbeque with burgers. I still had some asparagus, green beans and green onions to finish, so I chopped them up:

And threw them together with some baby red and white potatoes:

And I added some oil and dried rosemary and basil, then roasted the bejeesus out of them.

We ate our dinner on the deck under a grey Toronto sky, exhausted and hungry. The new barbeque worked like a dream, and we wolfed down our burgers in relative silence. My potato salad was the most delicious, most hangover-curing thing I could have wished for. It wasn't too saucy, no one flavour overpowered the others. It was damn awesome. After the movie (Exciting! Action-packed!) was over, we crawled into bed and curled up together, survivors of the storm. And just like that, everything was right with the world again.

Tempest In A Teapot Potato Salad, by Monika:

A smallish bunch of asparagus, cut into two-inch pieces
3 green onions, cut into two-inch pieces
A large handful of green beans, cut into two-inch pieces
Approximately 10 each of baby red and baby white potatoes, cut into halves and thirds (depending on size)
2-3 tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper
a healthy pinch of dried basil and dried rosemary
1 ripe avocado, chopped into smallish cubes
Several pickles or gherkins, cut into smallish pieces
A handful of fresh oregano, chopped finely
juice of 1/2 a lemon
3 tbsp grainy Dijon mustard (mine had horseradish in it; highly recommended)
1 tbsp mayonnaise
1 tbsp white balsamic or white wine vinegar
salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Toss chopped asparagus, green beans and green onions in a large bowl with olive oil, salt and pepper, dried basil and rosemary. Roast till potatoes are cooked; approx. 35-40 minutes. Place on fresh baking sheet and lay out to cool to room temperature.

2. In a small bowl, combine the Dijon mustard, mayonnaise and vinegar and whisk till well blended. Place the now-cooled vegetables into serving bowl, add the pickles, fresh oregano and avocado and squeeze lemon juice over the top. (this will help keep the avocado from browning as well) Pour the dressing over it all and stir gently with wooden spoon till well coated. Serve and season with salt and pepper to your taste.

Comfort Cooking While The Heavens Open

2010-06-08T05:10:00.000-07:00

This is a photo of our living room ceiling, in it's current state. We've had a few torrential downpours and winds over the past few weeks, and as a result, part of our roof was ripped off and our ceiling leaked. A lot. We didn't use a bucket to collect the water; we used a 40 gallon ice box, which had to be emptied several times a night. Just so you get the idea.

This is a photo of a man standing outside my kitchen window as I puttered around making my morning coffee. At 7 am. I am presuming he is one of the roofers, otherwise, holy f**k, POLICE, there's a MAN on my neighbour's roof looking into my kitchen!

Can I be candid with you? I've been going through a bit of a rough patch. Newly married, I'd returned from the honeymoon like a woman reborn. Two weeks of bliss had erased all the worries and cares from my mind, and I'd convinced myself that I could maintain that state of relaxation, here, in the city. How foolish of me. Because the fact remains that I still urgently need to find a job, and after three months of not being able to, of the constant rejections, I'm actually a little bit blue about the whole thing. I find myself wishing my blog would be discovered, like a gawky teen at the mall, so I could write for a living. Or I could find work being one of the members of those crisp-looking families in the Ikea catalogue; I feel I could be happy living in the Swedish calm of an Ektorp living room, even if only for a few false minutes.

With all this going on and living in what feels like an approximation of a crack den (hyperbole alert); with all the furniture turned over and the ceiling opened up like the surgery patient in the game 'Operation', my head and my heart feel chaotic. I haven't been writing or doing stained glass; laundry's been piling up. I've felt like eating beans on toast or anything that can be microwaved, made from a box or otherwise conjured up instantly, as if by magic or voodoo. I have simply not felt like cooking. For the past two days, I've been feasting on the kindness of our landlords; a large piece of 'Apologies For The Inconvenience' cake, and last night, an 'Apology, Part 2' cream cheese and lox bagel. I might be able to milk this situation for a four course meal if I'm clever with the doe eyes...

But this morning, with the roof being ripped off with a sound akin to God unleashing Hell's chariots from their fiery depths over my head, I decided I wanted - no, needed, to do some comfort cooking. With the dog and cat cowering in terror in the bedroom, it looked like I'd have the kitchen all to myself this morning. I decided upon some Cranberry-Pistachio scones for breakfast with my coffee. I found a basic recipe here and put them together. I used a little trick I'd read in my Best Of Chef At Home cookbook, and used a stick of frozen butter, which I then grated for an even dispersion of the butter in the dough. Genius.

The scones, once cooled slightly were divine. I don't know if this is because freshly baked anything tastes good out of the oven, but I'd put just the right amount of pistachios and cranberries in and the texture was a sublime cross between bread and a croissant.

On a baking high, I scanned my cookbooks and magazines for inspiration and decided to make an asparagus and green onion tart with a goat cheese custard filling for dinner. I used Martha's basic pastry crust, which came together easily once I ignored the rather confusing instructions and did it my way. I let the crust chill in the fridge and reckoned I needed a break from all the construction overhead, so I leashed up my dog and went for a walk. As she sniffed and peed happily, I fretted over money while counting my blessings. I wondered what my mother would tell me to do. I marvelled at the green-gold glow of all the leaves, backlit by the sun. I thought about Husband and warmed inside. I wished for a new sofa. I felt bittersweet.

Later, back at home, I poured myself a glass of wine and set to chopping my vegetables and making the filling. It took me forever; I wasn't as organized as I usually am, but I didn't really care; I was too busy taking in the prettiness of my ingredients.

Lovely, sunny, lemony curlicues...

A small heap of oregano for good measure

Finally, it came together and went in the oven. What came out was even better than I'd hoped for.

I cut myself a large slice of tart and made a salad, which I ate up in mere minutes; it was that kind of good . The roofers had gone home; the noise finally stopped. And I believed that just as surely as there were days like these, where I felt fragile and unsettled, there would be jobs and fixed ceilings and renewed optimism. And the spaces in between happiness wouldn't seem quite so laboured. Or long.

Cranberry Pistachio Scones, via Joy Of Baking:

2 cups all purpose flour
1/4 cup white sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1/3 cup dried cranberries, coarsely chopped
1/3 cup shelled pistachios, coarsely chopped
Zest of one orange, finely chopped
1 stick (1/2 cup) of frozen butter, grated on the larger side of a box grater
3/4 cup buttermilk
1 tsp vanilla

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a large bowl, combine the dry ingredients and stir till well mixed. Add the grated butter and mix with a wooden spoon, separating any clumps.

2. Add the buttermilk and vanilla and stir till just combined and a dough is forming. Be careful not to over-mix, don't worry if you don't get all the dry ingredients wet yet. Transfer the dough to a lightly floured surface and knead gently till you can form a circle, approximately 1" in thickness. Cut into 6-8 pieces (I cut 6) and place on a lightly greased baking sheet. Brush tops with a bit of buttermilk and bake for 20 or so minutes, or until tops are lightly golden. Allow to cool slightly before eating.

Asparagus-Scallion Tart, adapted from and inspired by several recipes, all Martha Stewart publications:

1 Basic Pastry Crust - see below for recipe
8-10 stalks of asparagus, cut into two inch pieces
4-5 scallions, cut into two inch pieces
1/3 cup buttermilk
3 eggs
2/3 cup goat cheese
zest of one lemon, finely chopped
A handful of fresh oregano leaves, washed and chopped roughly

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a skillet, heat up some olive oil and add the asparagus with some salt and pepper. Saute till softened, about 10 minutes or so. Set aside.

2. In blender, combine the buttermilk, eggs, goat cheese and lemon zest and pulse till well combined. Throw in the oregano and pulse till combined. Set aside.

3. Sprinkle the scallions and asparagus over the pastry crust. Pour the buttermilk mixture over top till everything is covered. (You may have a bit left over) Bake in the oven for 20-30 minutes, or until the custard is set; keep checking it! Brown the top under the broiler for 1-2 minutes, watching closely that it doesn't burn. Once done, allow to cool for 10 minutes, then cut to serve.

Martha Stewart's Basic Pastry Crust, with my instructions:

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp sugar
1 stick of unsalted butter, cut into pieces
3 tbsp ice water

Directions:

1. In food processor, combine the flour, salt and sugar. Pulse to mix. Add the butter pieces and pulse till the mixture looks crumbly with pea-sized bits in it.

2. Add the water and pulse till it looks like it's coming together; this takes only a few seconds or so, don't overdo it!

3. Turn mixture out into a springform pan or pie dish and gently pat down the crumbs into the bottom of the pan and up the sides a bit. Using a fork, prick two or three steam vents in the bottom. Chill in the fridge for 15 minutes, up to several hours.

4. Before using the crust, you'll want to pre-bake it in a 350 degree F oven for about 10-15 minutes, or until it turns a light golden brown. It's a good idea to weigh down the raw crust with some dried beans or something of similar heft so the bottom doesn't rise up when baking and crack. After the pre-bake, you're ready to add the filling!

'Thailand From A Distance' Bowl.

2010-06-03T17:22:00.000-07:00

I've always had a rather active imagination. I credit this in part to my parents, who didn't allow my sister and I to watch television during the school week. Books were the lifeblood of my entertainment, and as such, I developed the spot in my brain that coaxes strong visual images out of words into a lean, high-performance muscle. I could picture just about anything with dazzling technicolour clarity, and stranger still, I could place myself, physically and emotionally, in the midst of whatever fairytale was playing behind my eyes. And for a long time, that was all I needed.

Until I started seeing movies.

I'm absolute crap at remembering plots. Husband seem to have this elephantine ability to remember specific lines from just about any movie, and will quote these lines freely for months on end.( I lived with recitations of various 'Anchorman' gems for a loooong time: "The human torch was denied a bank loan. ") But me, I remember characters, looks and gestures, colours, the way the movie made me feel. I don't just absorb a compelling story. I inhabit it.

Remember seeing 'Pretty Woman' for the first time? Did you not kind of want to be a hooker, even just for an hour or so? If it meant making out with Richard Gere (before his Buddhism and all that gerbil-and-bum nonsense) well yes, I DID want to be a hooker for an hour or so. Also, I wanted to be a mermaid after watching 'Splash' (side note: as a child forced to have short hair for much of her young life, Daryl Hannah's hair was the follicular Holy Grail) and the white girl in 'Dances With Wolves' who grew up with the Sioux people of the Dakotas, and Watts in 'Some Kind Of Wonderful' because I loved Eric Stoltz in the 80's.

But there's also a bit of a downside to this kind of immersion in a film. When I saw those brief, few illegal seconds of 'Poltergeist' through half-covered eyes (we weren't allowed to watch scary movies either) I couldn't look into a mirror for days. 'Silence Of The Lambs' made lotion disturbing. And 'Brokedown Palace', a based-on-a-true-story movie about an accidental drug smuggling into Thailand and its extremely unforgiving penal system, smothered any enthusiasm I may have kindled for future travel plans to mainland Southeast Asia.

I am, of course, hyperbolizing. But my Pan Asian cultural exploration has, for the time being, been limited to the regional cuisines. I don't know that I've ever had authentic Thai food. I've suffered through several take-out mounds of greasy Pad Thai, but the exploration stopped there. Which is terrible, because the flavours that populate traditional Thai cuisine positively sing to me . Mangoes, lemongrass, chilies, cilantro, kaffir limes; the contrasts of sour and sweet and spicy and fresh are so enticing and seemingly error-proof. So a recipe that incorporated some of these elements, like the one I found in a Martha Stewart Everyday Food magazine, was a sure thing. Which was important considering my best friend and the very person who got me into cooking was coming over for dinner.

The salad was supposed to have a base of green mango, but I could only find ripe ones at the market, so that's what I used. I added heaps of mint and cilantro, lime juice and zest, chicken pieces that had been stewing in a spicy lime-and-chili-spice-mix marinade prior to pan frying.

Hello, naked limes...they look like little sea creatures, don't they?

The meal turned out fragrant, light and tasty, each ingredient playing out its part to perfection, from the creaminess of the avocado, to the crunch of the peanuts sprinkled on top. And no imagination was needed to be transported, for a few minutes or hours, to a place where the wine was chilled and the company was dear.

Because I was already there.

My Adaptation of Martha Stewart Everyday Food Green Mango Salad:

2 skinless, boneless chicken breasts, cut into smallish cubes (about 1 inch)
2 tbsp vegetable oil
2 tbsp chili spice mix (see below)
A small knob of ginger, peeled and finely chopped
2-3 green onions, finely chopped
2 tbsp fresh lime juice, plus more to taste
2 tbsp fish sauce, plus more to taste (Holy Sodium, Batman! I used soy sauce instead)
1 tsp sugar, plus more to taste
2 green or ripe mangoes, peeled, sliced and cut into thin strips
1/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves, roughly torn
1/4 cup fresh mint leaves, roughly chopped
1 ripe avocado, chopped in smallish cubes
2 tbsp chopped peanuts
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes

Chili Spice Mix, via Closet Cooking:

1 tbsp chili powder
1/2 tsp paprika (hot)
1//4 tsp cayenne
2 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp oregano
1/4 tsp garlic powder (I didn't use this)
1 tsp salt
1 tsp pepper

Mix everything well.

Directions:

1. Put chopped chicken in medium bowl with 2 tbsp vegetable oil, 2 tbsp of spice mix and juice and zest of 1 lime. Cover and let sit in fridge for 15 minutes and up to 1 hour.

2. In large bowl, combine the lime juice, fish sauce or soy sauce and sugar and mix till sugar is dissolved. Add sliced mangoes, cilantro and mint and toss to coat.

3. Heat up a small bit of vegetable oil over medium heat. Add ginger and green onions and stir constantly till softened, about 5 minutes. Add the marinated chicken and cook till meat is lightly browned and no longer pink inside, about 10 minutes. Let meat cool to room temperature.

4. When ready to eat, place mango-cilantro-mint mixture in a bowl, on top of some cut up romaine lettuce if desired. Then add chicken cubes, avocado, peanuts and chili flakes and dig in!

Ode To Pizza (and a pizza recipe)

2010-05-30T10:27:00.000-07:00

This may be the dumbest thing I've ever said. But I feel I need to say it to help you make sense of what will be the rather frequent appearance of this dish on this blog, so here goes:

I have a very special relationship with pizza.

May I explain?

Pizza has always been the culinary equivalent to an old friend who's seen me through the bitter and the sweet of growing up - the unrequited loves (frequent), academic successes (rare), acne (moderate-but-persistent), family dinners when my mom didn't feel like cooking (lovely), snot bubbles, farts and all the other things you shouldn't really exhibit or do in front of other people. Pizza restored a sense of normality in me when life felt too crazy or incomprehensible, much like the comfort of a mother's hug, or Frasier reruns on Fox, back when they were still analog.

I can remember countless birthday celebrations at Pizza Hut where, after dinner and several games of I Spy and Spelling Words Backwards, the waiters would bring out a cake with candles and a sparkler (always a sparkler) and everyone would loudly sing Happy Birthday to the Birthday Person. And my father would then offer all the other patrons a slice of cake. I was so embarrassed at the time, only to years later think the whole thing was ridiculously sweet, and be reminded of what a gentle and lovely man my father is.

There was the pizza-and-pool party at middle school; I recall sitting next to Viktor, the boy I had a crush on, who I'd realized that afternoon liked me back. I remember sharply the feeling I had in my stomach, like agitated butterflies mixed with indigestion, and the awkward glances we stole at each other with shy smiles, their exuberance restrained by tight lips. He was making fun of me for picking off all my pepperoni pieces and eating them first, then taking off all the cheese and eating that, then and only then eating the crust, on it's own. All told, it took me at least half an hour to eat one slice of pizza.

And of course, there was that night many years ago with my best friend, which we now refer to as 'that night we ate the pizza.' We'd piled the homemade dough with what could easily be described as a family-sized vegetable garden, complete with a well stocked cheese emporium sprinkled on top. I've never had such a stomach ache in all my life. We still laugh about it.

So, with all this history and heady nostalgia for the sweetness of my youth, is it any surprise that I make pizza as much as I do? Consequently, I've become rather good at it, even boasting of my dough-making prowess to my friends. And so, as was bound to happen, a dear friend of mine who was coming over to dinner asked me to make her pizza. I was pretty excited, as this was the perfect chance to christen my new KitchenAid Mixer in cobalt blue. I hoped I could live up to my own hype.

I used my go-to dough recipe, from here, put all the ingredients in the mixer and turned it on to speed # 2. The mixer made this deep Whhhhhhirrrrrrrr noise, rhythmic and purposeful. The dough was having the absolute shit knocked out of it. I watched, in complete awe, and clapped with delight. I was about to call Husband into the kitchen to share my excitement when I realized I was having what we call a 'sunglasses moment.' (This is where you catch sight of yourself in the reflection of your companion's sunglasses and see yourself doing something really goofy and are suddenly flooded with shame and/or reminded of the usefulness of vanity.) I decided to keep it to myself.

The pizza itself was really simple; I used a store-bought sundried tomato pesto as the base, then spinach, grape tomatoes and green onions, and finally, big chunks of herbed goat cheese on top. Still on my vegetable kick, I made a salad with carrots, apples, chives and green pepper with a balsamic vinaigrette.

My friend came over in the evening, armed with wine and tarts from Clafouti (that I failed to photograph before eating.) Dinner was delicious; the meal was light, fresh and just right for a sweaty-hot day. We talked and drank and sat out on my deck when the sun went down and the air had caught a lovely coolness. Somewhere down the way, neighbours were having a barbeque and the strains of music on a radio drifted towards us like a breeze. And I reckoned this was another bit of magic to be put away in the pizza archives.

Simple Pizza Dough via Everybody Likes Sandwiches:

1 envelope active dry yeast
1 1/4 cups warm water
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour (I tend to use a mix of all purpose and whole wheat flour)
2 Tbsp olive oil
2 tsp assorted dried herbs (I used oregano and basil, but I'm sure lots of different ones will work)
1/2 tsp salt
cornmeal (I've never used this, but I'm sure it's lovely)

Directions:

1. By hand: In large bowl, combine yeast with 1 cup of the warm water. Stir in flour, salt and olive oil and mix with wooden spoon till sticky dough starts to form. Add the rest of the warm water and shape the dough into a ball with your hands - you may need to flour your hands a bit if the dough is too sticky to handle with ease. Knead the dough for about 5 minutes. Get in there! Get it nice and elastic.
By mixer: Proof yeast in 1/4 cup of warm with a tsp of sugar; wait ten minutes till it gets foamy. Add to the mixer bowl with the rest of the flour, water, herbs, olive oil and salt and turn on speed # 2 and watch it to see that it firms up and gets elastic, about 5-10 minutes. You may need to add more flour, as I did, if your dough is still sticky. I ended up using about 3 cups.

2. Oil up another bowl and place the dough inside. Cover it with plastic wrap and set it in a warmish place and allow to sit for 2 hours. It should double in size. If using, sprinkle some cornmeal on your work surface along with a bit of flour and set the dough on top of it. Cut the dough in half - this recipe makes enough for 2 pizzas. You can either use both doughs now or do what I do and freeze the other half - it freezes really well and just needs to be thawed in the fridge for a few hours. You can also keep it covered in the oiled bowl in the fridge for a couple of days if you want to make another pizza during the week.

3. If you have a rolling pin, I'm sure that would make life a lot easier, but I've never had one, so I've just stretched out the dough to about a 1/2 inch thickness, placed it on a greased baking sheet and then added my toppings. Bake at 350-400 degrees for about 15-20 minutes, keeping an eye on it so the crust doesn't burn. Allow to cool for 5 minutes, then cut and devour!

The A(pple)-B(acon)-C(heese, bleu) Overdose, and a Salad.

2010-05-26T05:19:00.000-07:00

Hello dear blog and readers! How I've missed you! I'm back now, married and relaxed and ready to start messing around again in my kitchen. Especially with the addition of this:

and a hearty stack of these:

People keep asking me if it feels different, being married. And the short answer is 'no'. I feel much the same, because I didn't feel like we needed to change anything by getting married. It was really just a chance to get all dressed up and have a big party with all our loved ones. But amidst that 'no' is nestled a tiny qualifier, one which compels me to say that it does feel different not being engaged anymore. Because engagement is kind of like a relationship holding pattern. A near-constant state of anticipation and preparation that everyone seems to participate in and celebrate with you. And there comes a moment when the hoopla is over, and along with that bittersweet thought of 'what now?' there's a sense of relief, of forward motion. Love can stop being held in place and life can go on.

We honeymooned at Husband's parents' trailer in Sauble Beach, followed by a week at a friend's cottage in the Muskokas. It was heaven. We read, we drank, we ate, we sat around and talked. It amazed me the way I was suddenly so aware of my environment - the sound of the birds in the tall pines around us; the sun dripping through the branches and trickling onto my upturned face. The sound of the wind, of the water lapping the shore, even the insects and small creatures rustling in the leaves. I've never been so relaxed, so happy to sit still.

So, what did I eat on our honeymoon? Apart from Burgers, Burgers, Burgers? Well, let's just say that I took 'variations on a theme' to the next level. You know, one of the things I love about vacation is the simplicity it enforces. When you pack, you throw in two pairs of pants, a couple of dresses, some sweaters, and out of this, you fashion a wardrobe that will tide you over for the next week or two. And for the most part, I'm always happy having less choices. I remind myself to pare down my closet when I get home and live like this, with a few great pieces on heavy rotation. But I forget; clothing and food are two entirely different creatures.

And so, armed with a package of bacon, a bagful of apples from Meaford (the apple capital of Ontario) and a hunk of Danish blue cheese, I imagined and re-imagined, then recycled and re-recycled this flavour triumvirate into two weeks worth of meals. I feel I am qualified in saying that I have fully exhausted this taste combination for perhaps another year. Maybe longer. And after a long spate of daily wedding cake leftovers, burgers, sausage and chicken, I came home not only with about 5 extra pounds of body weight, but a strong craving for vegetables and fish.

I went to the grocery store yesterday to fill my barren fridge and it was almost too much, seeing all the gorgeous produce, colourful, gleaming, promising vitamins and antioxidants and properly functioning intestines; I had to close my eyes for a minute and compose myself. I got home and started putting together my salad, based on this recipe and decided to pair it with a big honking salmon steak. I used some of this:

and some of this:

and a dash of these, even though they were supposed to be peanuts:

I sliced, diced and zested and put the salad together. It looked like a bowl of 'refreshing.'

Then I pan-fried my massive salmon steak and put it on a plate and attempted to photograph it, only a ghostly predator lurked at my feet, making movement treacherous...

I managed to get my plate to safety and settled down to eat. The salad was delicious, brimming with flavours and textures, and the salmon was like butter at first, but then I realized I was eating the skin and got kind of grossed out by that (eeeuuwww, eating skin) so I skipped it and devoured the rest.

It's a funny thing, this 'getting married' stuff. It's not that I gained a Husband, because frankly, he was my Forever Person before we even got engaged. But I seem to have gained this precious insight into my life, almost like looking at it from outside a window. And what's there, what's in front of me is all I've ever wanted.

My adaptation of Asian Slaw with Roasted Peanuts, via Ezra Pound Cake:

2 carrots, really finely sliced
1/2 a green pepper, finely chopped
a handful of chives, finely chopped
3-4 leaves of romaine lettuce, chopped
a large handful of baby spinach, sliced into ribbons
1/2 avocado, chopped into smallish pieces
zest of one lime, finely grated
1/4 cup of pistachios, chopped coarsely (I'm trying not to be too repetitive with my chopping adjectives)

Directions:

Chop up ingredients and put them in a large bowl. Dress and top with nuts just before serving.

Dressing:

1/8 cup vegetable oil
1 1/2 tbsp rice wine vinegar
Juice of 1/2-1 lime, depending on size
1 tbsp sesame oil
1 tsp ground ginger (I didn't have fresh...would have been awesome)
1 tbsp brown sugar
a glug or two of soy sauce

Directions:

Combine all ingredients in small jar or bowl and whisk till well combined. Adjust amounts as you see fit.

2010-05-10T04:44:00.000-07:00

Hello Folks! After a blissful wedding on Saturday, we're now off to the wilds of Northern Ontario, also known as Cottage Country. I'll be back in my kitchen in 2 weeks and will see you then.

P.S. I have a wonderful new appliance just begging for christening that my nearest and dearest lovelies bought me - you may have heard of it; the KitchenAid Stand Mixer? (In cobalt blue) There will be pastry doughs and breads and all sorts of goodies coming soon!

See you soon!

'Praise The Lard' Potato Salad (and Zucchini Pancakes)

2010-05-04T09:28:00.000-07:00

As a kid, I was skinny. Like knock-kneed, gangly, beanpole skinny. People used to comment on it all the time. And those comments were, for the most part, heavily tinged with envy. I picked up on that even at a young age. So I started to think that my skinniness held some magical value - I had something other people wished they had. And as you can imagine, I eventually developed a complex about it. I was afraid that if I gained weight and stopped being skinny, I'd lose that value.

And like most teenagers, well, I did gain some weight. Not a lot. But enough to cover the skinniness and create a strange inner tension between me and my food. It's a permeating tension that overtakes common sense and logic. The messy love triangle it creates between women, food and their weight is almost always at the table. Have you noticed how often a group of women can get together for any sort of occasion and the conversation will somehow find it's way to body image?

Luckily, I never delved into eating disorders. No, I'd say I was just unhealthily aware of my weight. It lasted for years and years, quietly, under the surface. And the resulting side effect was that it created an alarming awareness of other women's food issues. I love to make fun of the celebrities who swear they eat vats of bacon fat and ice cream and still stay skinny, but the truth is, it's sad. It's so very sad that something as gorgeous and layered with sensuality as food and cooking and the socializing that goes with it, is distilled to fat and calorie breakdowns; carbs vs. protein, 'good' foods and 'bad' foods, diets and punishment. And it's not just vapid movie stars who are guilty of this; it's us, it's me, the self-identified sensible, media-savvy ones.

But you know what's been my saving grace? Food blogs. When I discovered them last year while trying to relieve my boredom at my super-boring job, I discovered a universe where food took centre stage, minus the issues attached. I noticed people being more concerned with the production and quality of their food and the artistry and delight of cooking. And it inspired me, wholeheartedly. And slowly, slowly, over the past year, I've noticed a gradual shedding of worry, a loosening of that tension as I slipped over to the other side of the computer screen and starting writing about my own experiences with food.

I find myself making fewer and fewer substitutions in recipes to make them less caloric, not that there's ANYTHING wrong with doing that, I don't mean to sound judgemental, but for me, it's symbolic of a return to health and a rejection of a certain kind of food crazy foisted on and absorbed by women. Show me cheese, show me bacon, show me cream. These are not my foes anymore.

So what better recipe to feature than one of my more unphotogenic models, a potato salad? Long loathed as a catastrophically mushy combination of mayonnaise and potato, this Michael Smith recipe uses both those ingredients in a magical way, with the addition of bacon and pickles and grainy mustard. I paired it with Zucchini Pancakes, from here, which I am unsure of in terms of food combinations, but don't care all that much if it's wrong, because it was so, so delicious! The potato salad was even better the next day with a slice of fresh bread and some really good cheese.

It's funny, isn't it? In the process of losing my fear of the Fat, I found a lovely new piece of myself.

Roasted Potato Bacon Salad, from Michael Smith's The Best Of Chef At Home:

4-5 thick slices of bacon
20 or so baby red potatoes (I used about 8 regular white potatoes, cubed smallish)
sea salt and freshly ground pepper
a handful of flat leaf parsley (I hate parsley, so I used fresh oregano)
a few pickles, diced small
1 tbsp of grainy mustard (I used a really big spoonful)
1 tbsp of mayonnaise (I used another really big spoonful - I like sauciness)
a splash of red wine vinegar

Directions:

1. Stack the bacon slices on top of each other and cut them in thin pieces. Toss them in a large saute pan, add a splash of water (this helps it cook more evenly) and begin heating it over medium-high heat. Strain and reserve the fat; set aside the bacon.

2. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Cut the potatoes in half or in smallish cubes if using regular sized ones, and toss them in the reserved bacon fat, adding salt and pepper. Roast them till they're golden brown, about 40 minutes. Cool to room temperature.

3. Toss the potatoes with the bacon pieces, parsley, pickles, mustard, mayonnaise and vinegar and eat or save for later!

Zucchini Pancakes, via The Wednesday Chef, via New York Times Dining Section:

3 medium zucchini, shredded
salt and freshly ground pepper
3 large eggs, beaten
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 cup crumbled feta cheese
3 scallions, thinly sliced
1-2 tbsp finely shredded fresh mint (I used dill instead because I love dill and feta together)
1 tsp baking powder
vegetable oil for frying

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Place zucchini in a colander over a bowl, and mix with 1/2 teaspoon salt. Allow to drain for five minutes. Transfer to a cloth kitchen towel, and squeeze hard to extract as much moisture as possible. Squeeze a second time; volume will shrink to about half the original.

2. In a large mixing bowl, combine zucchini and eggs. Using a fork, mix well. Add flour, 1/2 teaspoon salt, olive oil, feta, scallions, mint/dill and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper. Mix well, add baking powder, if using, and mix again.

3. Place a cast iron skillet or other heavy skillet over medium heat. Add 2 tablespoons vegetable oil and heat until shimmering. Place heaping tablespoons of zucchini batter in pan several inches apart, allowing room to spread. Flatten them with a spatula if necessary; pancakes should be about 3/8 inch thick and about 3 inches in diameter. Fry until golden on one side, then turn and fry again until golden on other side. Repeat once or twice, frying about 5 to 6 minutes total, so pancakes get quite crisp. Transfer to a plate lined with paper towels, and keep warm in oven. Continue frying remaining batter, adding more oil to pan as needed. Serve hot, with a dollop of sour cream if you're feeling indulgent.

A Surreal Loaf

2010-04-28T12:00:00.000-07:00

Oh dear. What have we here?

It looks like Salvador Dali baked a loaf of bread.

It's as if this loaf of bread is wearing a military beret.

It's a loaf of bread with the 'scene' hair of an emo kid.

I found this Country Loaf recipe in my "Best Of Chef At Home" cookbook. It promised the most delicious loaf of bread with time acting as the magic element rather than athletic kneading. I'd awoken the other morning, after the dough's lengthy overnight rise, with dreams of that impossibly enchanting 'fresh bread' baking smell, thick slices just cut, still steaming, slashes of butter melting on top.

I've never been a confident baker. Everything I make has the taste of 'amateur.' But the idea of making bread has long been a culinary daydream of mine. When I think of bread making, I have these impossibly romantic images of Italian kitchens, high up on the hillsides, flooded with melted-butter sun. You can see flour particles dancing in the beams of light that stream through the open shutter windows while some dark eyed Italian goddess kneads the dough, calmly, expertly, on the sort of harvest table I covet, fantasizing about Giancarlo in the next village as her husband tends the olive groves.

Yet the experience I had, in my kitchen in downtown Toronto, wasn't quite so cinematic. Nervous and flour-spattered, I consulted the rather simple recipe obsessively. Michael Smith said to knead the dough for 'moments' after the overnight rise; Was he equating moments with minutes? Or seconds? I spent the entirety of the second rise pondering my possible mistakes.

When Almost Husband and I were in Brugges last year, we stayed at this gorgeous bed and breakfast, where the landlady baked fresh breads and rolls every morning. Using only the most natural ingredients and getting her flour directly from a local grain miller, I fancied her to be something of an expert in the art of bread making. I asked her one morning what secrets she could part with to making a good bread. Her response was not the one I was expecting. There were no assertions of following recipes with a scientific precision. She simply experimented. "Some days, I get it wrong, " she said. "You just have to try different things and not be scared to experiment."

So maybe, then, all this time, I've had the wrong idea. Maybe focusing on "doing it right" won't actually yield a delicious bread. Maybe the expectation - 'if you follow the rules, everything will turn out perfectly' - isn't realistic enough a principle to embrace in baking.

By the time the dough completed it's second rise and Demonic Oven was ready to work its voodoo, I could tell this wouldn't be a beautiful loaf. It had waterfall-ed over the side of the too small pan, and the dough seemed a bit too light and airy.

So I ended up with a ridiculous looking loaf. And I had to laugh. Because as someone who is at times fixated on reaching perfection, this was as far from it as I could get. This loaf was a big "F**k you" to my perfectionism. And in a way, this loaf was a representation of myself. A little unbalanced. Gritty, at times. And with a story underneath that explains all the hopefully delightful flaws.

So bread making, it would seem, isn't simply about yielding bread. It's analogous with life itself.

Country Loaf, via Michael Smith's "Best Of Chef At Home":

3 cups all-purpose or bread flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup of any multi-grain mix (I used Red River Cereal)
1/2 heaping tsp dry active yeast
2 tsp salt
2 1/4 cups warm water

Directions:

1. In large bowl, combine all the dry ingredients and mix well. Add the warm water and stir with the handle of a wooden spoon until a moist dough forms. Continue stirring vigorously until all the loose flour is incorporated into the dough, 1-2 minutes.

2. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let rest in a warm place for 12-14 hours. The dough should double in size and bubble.

3. Dust the dough lightly and oil your hands a bit, to gather the dough from the outside edges to the middle. Knock it down into a loose ball. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead for a few moments until a tight ball forms. Put the ball back in the bowl and lightly coat it with a splash of oil, turning to evenly cover.

4. Gently roll the dough into a thick log that fits end to end in a lightly oiled 9" x 5" (2L) loaf pan and, without covering, rest it a second time. In 2-3 hours, it will again double in size. At this time, preheat the oven to 425 degrees F, and when the dough is ready, bake for approx. 45 minutes. Allow to cool completely before slicing (not that I did.)

Kitchen Bitching and Penance Pasta

2010-04-22T10:21:00.001-07:00

This is not the meal I was going to post about.

The day before this pasta came to be, Almost Husband and I decided to make dinner together. He was going to barbeque burgers and I was going to try making an approximation of the home fries we used to eat at the Fran's at Yonge and Eglinton (that no longer exists) back in our high school days.

Oh Fran's. I remember sitting in those booths, having those intense relationship conversations that teenagers have, many of them beginning with "We need to talk" and ending with a dramatic exit, aching heart and tear-stained face. Oh Fran's. Where I famously tried to impress Almost Husband with my knowledge of world history and embarrassingly stated that Lenin was the Russian equivalent to Hitler. I believe I had Lenin confused with Stalin, as he pointed out, and even then, I didn't really know what I was talking about. I'd read one Dostoevsky book, which I found criminally long winded, and suddenly I was an expert on Russian politics. Cringe.

Anyways, I decided to make chicken burgers for myself, because I haven't fully crossed over to the red meat camp. It may never happen, actually, but I keep fronting like it will. I found an intriguing recipe in Bon Appetit magazine that seemed easy enough. Almost Husband said his burgers would take no time at all on the barbeque, and could he help me with the potatoes? So I said yes, and turned my back, and let him peel and wash the potatoes while I fussed with the ground chicken.

"How do you want them cut?" he asked me. I turned around. "Oh, " I said, "maybe a little bit smaller than that...like - this big?" I used my fingers to illustrate. I went back to my burgers, which were not very well explained in the magazine. Every so often, I'd look over to his work space to see how the potatoes were progressing. I don't know what possessed me, maybe tiredness, maybe PMS or stress from job searching, but I'm not lying when I tell you that I harped on just about every single thing he did with those potatoes. For example:

*He boiled them for too long. I informed him he was incorrect in his assumption that one can never boil potatoes for too long. "They'll get mushy, and then I won't be able to roll them in the flour!" He may have internally eye-rolled, I'll never know, but he took them off the heat anyway and offered to finish preparing them.

*Instead of rolling the individual potato cubes into the flour, then egg, then breadcrumb mixture, he used his hands and sort of mushed everything all about in the flour. "No, No NO!" I said, "You're manhandling them too much!" We often joke about his freakish strength and I sometimes teasingly call him Lenny from 'Of Mice And Men' when he's handling delicate things. This time, neither of us were laughing. He silently obliged me and used a fork.

*He ran out of breadcrumbs. Not his fault. At all. He asked me if I could make some more. I marched over, took his fork from him and said "Here, let me." Then, a silence, ripe with irritation. And with that, he was dismissed from my kitchen. He apologized for messing up the potatoes, made a heartbreakingly sad face at me and slunk out of the kitchen.

I felt awful. And it hit me, as I joylessly shaped chicken patties in my hands: Maybe I am incapable of sharing my kitchen. Maybe I can't cook with other people, because I want to do it all myself, accepting all the blame for a failure and all the glory for a success. I sat down for a minute. He was only trying to help me and I'd talked to him like some paddle-wielding eastern European schoolmarm.

Well. I got what I deserved. The potatoes were disgusting and my chicken burger had been pan fried within an inch of its life, charred and tasteless. Our hibachi, on its last legs, made a mess of his burgers. I'd already apologized by this point, but it was too late; we were both ravenous with only crappy food to sate us. We were officially in a Bad Mood.

So the next day, after Almost Husband had absolved me from my Kitchen Fascist guilt, I decided that with the remaining uncooked burgers, I'd change my kitchen karma and make a different meal out of them altogether. I grabbed the last of the Swiss Chard and leeks out of the fridge, threw some things together in a pan and hoped for the best. I ended up with a lovely pasta dinner for myself, which I ate cheerily, curled up with Almost Husband on the couch.

I don't know if being a nice person has much to do with making good food; I imagine cooking with Martha would be a terrifying experience, and I've seldom worked at restaurants with chefs I would describe as pleasant or sweet. But for me, being a bitch in the kitchen kind of takes away from the love of food and the joy of preparing it.

And that, surely, is the best part to share with someone else, isn't it?

Penance Pasta, by Monika:

Pasta, enough for two people, cooked according to package instructions
1tbsp olive oil
1 glug of dry white wine
1 small onion, finely diced
about 1/2 cup of leeks, washed and finely chopped (I only used these because I had leftovers on hand, they aren't necessary)
1 tsp dried oregano
2 tbsp chopped fresh basil
1/2-1 tsp red pepper flakes (or to your taste - I used a lot)
1/4-1/2 lb ground chicken
salt and pepper (easy on the salt, generous on the pepper)
1/3 bunch of Swiss Chard, rinsed and cut into ribbons
1-1 1/2 cup marinara sauce (I used store-bought)
A pile of grated Parmesan cheese
breadcrumbs (optional)

Directions:

1. Cook pasta according to package. Set aside.

2. In pan, heat up oil and wine. Add diced onion and leeks if using, and cook till softened, about 3-5 minutes, stirring often. Add the oregano, 1 tbsp of the chopped fresh basil and red pepper flakes, stir around for 1 minute, then add the ground chicken and stir till no longer pink. Add the Swiss Chard and cook till it's wilted and softening, about 5-7 minutes.

3. Add the marinara sauce and cook till heated. Add the pasta to the pan and get everything well coated. Season again with salt and pepper, spoon into bowl and top with some of the remaining basil, a generous sprinkle of Parmesan, and a spoonful of breadcrumbs - I like the little bit of crunch they give.

Strata + Frittata = Strattata

2010-04-18T17:28:00.000-07:00

When I was a teenager, they had this wine commercial that showed a bunch of 30-something yuppies on a cottage getaway, "disconnecting" from the craziness of urban life. One woman even threw her cell phone in the lake to demonstrate her commitment to cutting loose as her friends looked at each other with incredulous admiration. Untethered by technology and the demands of being Important People, they probably ate BBQ on the deck of their rented lodge and discussed the merits of gentrification or perhaps weighed in on the 'Filipino nanny vs. European Au pair' debate. And thus with this group of upwardly mobile friends, we were ushered into their Zinfandel Years, with the belief that this could well be us.

I bought into this ideal; not the yuppiness or the waste of a perfectly good cellphone that, frankly, you may need in case you run into a bear. No, I bought into the idea that in my early 30's, I'd have some things figured out. I'd have a well-paying job and a home and maybe a couple of kids. I'd be okay with all my character flaws, accepting of my body, educated and well-rounded. I wouldn't be contemplating minimum wage jobs again, or the soundness of incurring further student loan debt instead of being crippled by my incomplete college diploma. Zinfandel Years? These are more like my Wonder Years - I'm still waiting to come of age, and beginning to suspect that it may never happen.

Being unemployed right now, I have a lot of time to mull these things over...

How fitting then, to make an uncertain meal for such uncertain times. I had no idea how it would turn out. I loosely followed the principles of the frittata and the strata, reckoning the only real difference is perhaps the inclusion of torn up bread. I used whatever ingredients I had on hand; some leftover scallions, swiss chard, mushrooms and chicken sausage, as well as a hunk of old bread that had gone pretty stale.

There were some mishaps, like using a springform pan which then leaked into Demonic Oven and replaced the lovely baking smell with a burnt, charring smell that smoked up the kitchen and made my eyes water. And the chicken sausages I used were so goddamn salty, I probably would opt for a lower-sodium option, or would leave them out altogether next time. But overall, this ended up as another check on my Awesome list, and was even delightful the next day. And the day after that, eaten cold (is that gross?)

As for the big life questions, well, they likely won't be answered soon. But that's okay. In my teens, I never figured I'd marry my high school sweetheart. Nor did I reckon I'd ever think I was pretty enough or clever enough, which I do now, and if I'm not exactly accomplished, well at least I'm capable, which is actually just as good. If I could have foreseen who I'd become in my thirties, what would happen to my mother, or how grace and family could arise from the ashes of that crying shame, I wouldn't have believed it. I wouldn't have believed we'd get through it. So okay, maybe I'm not where I thought I would be at the tender age of 32.

But I'm starting to think I'm headed somewhere even better.

Monika's Recipe for Strattata: (I am using approximations as I didn't really measure anything)

1 tbsp Olive oil
A large splash of dry white wine
3 scallions/green onions, sliced once lengthwise, then finely chopped
2 pinches of dried oregano, rubbed between fingers when adding to pan
2 pinches of dried basil, rubbed between fingers when adding to pan
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes (adjust amount to your liking)
a package of white or cremini mushrooms, sliced (1 lb? I'm not sure)
Half a bunch of Swiss Chard, washed, dried and cut into bite size pieces
2 chicken sausages (optional; could use regular sausage or cooked chicken pieces or leave out)
2 tbsp cream cheese or goat cheese, softened
1-1 1/2 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
lots of fresh ground pepper
5 eggs, lightly beaten
1/4-1/2 loaf of stale bread, torn into medium sized pieces

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cook the sausages in a pan over medium heat; once cooked through, cut into smallish pieces.

2. Get a medium/large sized round pan or casserole dish and grease it; set aside. Heat the oil and white wine in a large skillet and add the green onions, red pepper flakes, oregano and basil, stirring constantly till softened and fragrant, about 3-5 minutes. Careful that you don't burn the onions. Then add the mushrooms and swiss chard and cook down till soft and the extra moisture has cooked off. Add the cooked sausages and a hearty dose of fresh ground pepper and set aside.

3. In the microwave, heat the cream cheese or goat cheese till well softened. Put it in a large bowl and add the buttermilk, stirring well to incorporate them into each other (there will still be lumps, don't worry.) Add the lightly beaten eggs and the Parmesan cheese and mix well by hand till sort of a loose custard.

4. In the greased pan/dish, put the bread pieces in the bottom. Pour in the cooked veggies and sausage mixture, spreading evenly over the bread. Then pour over the egg mixture and put it in the oven, baking for about 30-35 minutes, or until set. Put it under the broiler for a minute or two to brown the top. Let it cool for 5 minutes, then slice and eat!

Another Kitchen Confessional, and Asian Salmon Patties

2010-04-14T13:30:00.000-07:00

My mother had a very exciting, glamourous life, in my opinion. She had several career changes before finding her calling as a photographer, including a long stint working for the Israeli embassy, both in Israel and in Washington. In the photo above (wasn't she beautiful!) she is seated next to Yitzhak Rabin, who would later become prime minister. (And even later, in 1995, assassinated.)

But my mother's working life first began when she became a microbiologist (My grandmother once told me that my mother had worked on cancer research.) And while her scientific career at some point came to an end, her training and knowledge in the area of bacteria was revisited often in her lifetime, particularly as a parent.

The spectres of Bad Bacteria/ Fear Of Food Poisoning loomed large in the lives of my sister and I. Food that was stored longer than 3 days in the fridge was deemed "unsafe", hands had to be washed the second we got in the door from being outside. It took me two decades before I was able to eat food outside my home that contained mayonnaise - I was convinced no one but us knew how to store it properly. My mother wasn't a germophobe, in fact the manner with which she schooled us in Bad Bacteria was done lovingly and in a rather matter-of-fact sort of way.

And yet, and I say this with love in my heart, what happened to me and my sister is that we became uncommonly, and dare I say unhealthily aware of the dangers of Bad Bacteria/Fear Of Food Poisoning. Now adults, we will frequently call each other to question the safety of foodstuffs that maybe were left out of the fridge longer than the recommended two hours or ponder whether that week-old, half empty jar of applesauce is still good. And each time, after we've exhausted our cautious speculations, we quote back to each other our mother's Food Safety philosophy:

"If you're not sure, throw it out."

As you can imagine, a lot of food is thrown out. What can I say? If you have to ask, you're clearly not sure, right? So out it goes. Almost Husband thinks I'm certifiable. I am not allowed to throw out his questionable foodstuffs. He is not afflicted with The Fear.

Anyways, the other day, when I'd bookmarked Martha's Asian Salmon Patties, I took some salmon fillets out of the freezer and left them in the fridge to thaw overnight, only I didn't cook them the next day. And so, two days later, there it was. The panic. Was the fish okay to use? Had I let it languish too long? People can get really sick eating bad fish, and I'm not one of those people who can distinguish between an 'ocean-fresh' fish smell and a 'fishy' fish smell. It's fish, people. It all smells fishy to me. And can I just tell you how many times I washed my hands when preparing the raw patties? Forget about it! Ridiculous!

Side note: I'm unclear as to why these patties are called Asian. Is it because they're salmon, and everyone thinks all Asian people eat is fish? Is it because there's ginger in them? Because if eating fish and ginger is the criteria, well, I believe I might be Asian too.

I paired them with Sweet Potato fries, which I've tried to make a bunch of times and they never turn out crispy. So this time, I made a bit of a marinade that included cornstarch, which I remember reading somewhere encouraged crispiness. I have to say these were the best sweet potato fries I've ever made. I think the cornstarch did actually help.

I had one of those rare, mystical kitchen experiences when preparing all this - I just knew everything would taste extremely awesome. Even the lime-tinged dipping sauce I made was awesome. I know the final picture, taken without the gorgeous natural light of early evening doesn't do it justice. But I will be making this meal again and again. While taking extreme care to wash my hands repeatedly and decontaminate my work surfaces.

My mother would be proud.

Asian Salmon Patties, Martha Stewart "Fresh Flavour Fast", with a few changes by me:

1 lb skinless, boneless salmon fillets, finely chopped (you can use fresh, I used frozen)
3 green onions, finely chopped
1/3 cup (or thereabouts) of leeks, rinsed well and finely chopped
2 tbsp ginger, finely chopped
1/2-3/4 tsp of red pepper flakes, depending on your heat tolerance
1 large egg, lightly beaten
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper
Lime wedges for serving

Directions:

1. In large bowl, gently combine salmon, onions, leeks, ginger, red pepper flakes, egg, 1 tsp salt and however much pepper you like. Form the mixture into 8 patties, about 1" thick (my portion made 9 patties) packing each firmly. Freeze or refrigerate (I refrigerated because you can't re-freeze thawed fish) patties till just firm, about 20 minutes or so.

2. Heat some oil in a pan over medium heat. Cook the salmon patties, in batches if needed, till browned on both sides and cooked all the way through. Fish should be opaque. Eat immediately, dousing generously with lime juice.

Lime-Tinged dipping sauce a la Me: (this is enough for one person)

1 big spoonful of plain yogurt
1 big spoonful of mayo
finely chopped zest and the juice of 1/2 a lime
1/4 tsp red pepper flakes (or more, to your taste)
Fresh ground pepper and salt to taste

1. Combine everything till well mixed.

Oven-Baked Sweet Potato Fries a la Me: (this is enough for one person)

1 sweet potato, halved lengthwise and then sliced into smaller slivers (approx. 1/2" thick)
1/2 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp cornstarch
1-2 tbsp olive oil
Fresh ground pepper and coarse salt

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees (Demonic Oven operated at 350 degrees) In a small bowl or jar, mix the cumin, chili powder, cornstarch, olive oil and pepper, stirring vigorously till well combined.

2. In a large bowl, combine the sweet potato with the marinade mixture and stir till the potato slices are well coated. Lay them out in a single layer on a baking sheet or roasting pan and sprinkle more ground pepper and some coarse salt over them. Bake for 40 minutes, taking them out at the halfway mark to turn them over and sprinkle with more pepper before returning them to the oven.

'A Lesson In Patience' Tart

2010-04-11T07:16:00.001-07:00

Can I tell you something that might blow your mind? I can't eat garlic. You may have noticed the auspicious absence of it from any of my cooking endeavors, because my stomach will not allow it to be processed gently. I know. Really, I know what stinking hard luck it is, because garlic is in just about everything; it's a flavour powerhouse. And there's really nothing that can compare to it or substitute for it.

That being said, my new favourite things are green onions and leeks. Powerhouses in their own way, I find if I use enough of them, I don't really miss the distinctive layer of garlic. And they're soooo pretty to look at, especially you, cut-up leeks!

I'd kind of made this resolution recently to work my way through my cookbooks one at a time, because I keep buying them and they sit attractively on their display shelf and I use food blog recipes instead, which makes little to no sense. So I took down one of my Martha's ("Fresh Flavour Fast") which Almost Husband sweetly bought for me, and stumbled upon this recipe for a goat cheese and leek tart. How fortuitous! Just the day before, a bunch of leeks had somehow found their way into my grocery basket! I had pretty much everything I needed, so I rolled up my sleeves, put on a radio play I found on the BBC radio 4 website and set to work. I of course used more cheese than was called for. There are things I just can't seem to use in moderation. Cheese is one of them.

The recipe for the Basic Pie Crust looked really promising; Martha made it sound so easy to make. And there were, like, 4 ingredients. But the commandment "Do Not Overmix" sort of frightened me - in my limited experience with dough making, you only ever really find out after the fact that you pounded the bejesus out of it, rendering a pastry as tough as boot leather.

So I kind of went to the opposite extreme, and barely touched it once I'd pulsed the ingredients to the desired consistency. And after I'd been mincing around with it for a while, I started to panic that I was working it too much anyways, while it wasn't actually even coming together in any sort of semblance of a dough. So I bashed it around a bit more and chilled it, only nowhere does it say in the cookbook that you have to let it come to room temperature after chilling, otherwise you can't roll it out. (In hindsight, this is actually pure common sense. But oh well.)

After what felt like hours (but was probably less than one hour total) I finally got the dough thawed and rolled out, spread the cheese mixture over it and covered it in leeks. It looked pretty great. I felt hopeful again. I popped it in Demonic Oven who, as per usual, singed/burnt the tops of the leeks just to stick it to me, but it didn't matter because the tart still looked rustically charming. And tasted amazing.

Go forth and make this.

Goat Cheese-Leek Tart, via Martha Stewart's 'Fresh Flavour Fast':

1 bunch of leeks, white and green parts only, thinly sliced into half-moons, about 2 cups, washed well and dried (trim the root ends and dark leafy tops, halve the leeks lengthwise, then thinly slice crosswise into half-moons. Wash well in several changes of cold water to remove any hidden grit, dry on paper towel)
1 tbsp olive oil
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper
6 ounces of fresh goat cheese, softened
2 ounces of cream cheese, softened
2 tbsp milk
3 large egg yolks
1 tsp finely chopped fresh thyme (or 1/4 tsp dried - I used 1/2 tsp dried)
1 tbsp water
1 Basic Pie Crust (see below) or store-bought refrigerated dough for 9" pie
All purpose flour for dusting

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In bowl, toss leeks with oil and season with the salt and pepper.

2. Whisk together goat cheese, cream cheese, milk, 2 egg yolks and thyme; season with salt and pepper. In another bowl, lightly beat remaining egg yolk with the water, for egg wash.

3. Roll out dough to a 13" round - about 1/8" thickness, on a lightly floured work surface (or unroll store bought dough) Place on a baking sheet. Spread goat cheese mixture on crust, leaving a 2" border. Sprinkle leeks evenly on top. Fold edge of dough over filling, pinching folds together to seal. Brush dough with egg wash.

4. Bake, rotating sheet halfway through, until crust is golden brown and filling is browned in spots, about 1 hour. (In Demonic Oven, this took me about 45-50 minutes) Let cool completely, then cut into wedges.

Basic Pie Dough:

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces (whoops, I used salted butter, but just left out the 1/2 tsp salt called for)
2-4 tbsp ice water

Directions:

1. In a food processor, briefly pulse flour, salt and sugar to combine. Add butter; pulse till mixture resembles coarse meal with a few pea-sized pieces of butter remaining. Add 2 tbsp ice water, pulse till dough is crumbly but holds together when squeezed (if necessary, add up to 2 tbsp more water) Do not overmix!

2. Turn out dough onto large piece of plastic wrap. Fold plastic wrap over dough and press to shape into a 1" thick disk. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate until firm, at least 1 hour (or up to 3 days) or freeze for up to 3 months.

It's Not A Computer Bag

2010-04-06T11:12:00.000-07:00

You know what I'm not good at? Opening presents in front of people, particularly the people who gifted me the present. It always feels like a performance is necessary. I tend to overdo it and act like the present is the most awesome thing I've ever seen and how did they know I wanted it? I can't help myself. When I see the gifter's face light up with the delight at having found the right present, it sort of pushes me to keep going, further and further, till I'm pushing the limits of psychotic glee.

Almost Husband knows I do this. In fact, he's seen me do it so many times that now, when he gives me a present, he has to check with me;

"Wait - do you really like it? Or are you doing that thing where you act like you love it but you secretly hate it?"

It was a somewhat pivotal moment in our mutual gift-giving, the time he gave me a computer bag. I was in school at the time, just bordering on dropping out, and I had this crummy laptop that I took to school with me once, maybe twice, only to realize it refused to link up to the school's free WiFi. So I stopped taking it with me. Besides which, it was a school. Every room had computers. Almost Husband didn't know these details. He knew I'd taken the computer to school and assumed I'd been frustrated by the inconvenience of carrying it, and so, on my Christmas/Birthday celebration (they're very near each other) he gave me a computer bag.

"Oh...oh. (deep breath) Okay," I said when I opened the wrapped parcel. Words failed me. It was, without a doubt, the most practical gift he'd ever given me. I knew he was looking at me expectantly, hopefully. But I just...couldn't. I couldn't hide the look on my face, equal parts 'oh no' and 'oh shit'. I felt terrible, he felt terrible. I struggled to do my 'I love it' routine, but it was too late. He knew. I dropped out of college a few months later, and the bag lived behind my bookcase collecting dust, only to be donated to the Goodwill this past January, when we moved.

Ever since, Almost Husband's been nervous when getting me anything. Even when I drop bomb-like hints, he's nervous. I'd traumatized him. So this past Christmas/Birthday, he got me a slow cooker, which I'd been wanting/hinting at for months. When I opened it, I didn't have to act; I was genuinely delighted. I ordered some cookbooks on Amazon specifically for slow cookers; I made sure to tell him every chance I got that I loved it and couldn't wait to use it, I made sure he overheard me telling friends he'd gotten me the best gift ever. I needed to move past the Bag. Still, he was guarded, unsure. We were knee deep in the process of moving, so I decided to keep it in the box for convenience. We moved. We unpacked. The slow cooker stayed in its cupboard under the counter. A couple of months passed. And then, Almost Husband happened upon it a couple of weeks ago when getting out its neighbour, the rice cooker.

"Oh no, " he said, making a heartbreakingly worried face, "Did I get you another Computer Bag?"

And so, in an effort to put to rest his sweet worry, I finally dug out the slow cooker and one of my cookbooks and made the most delicious and healthy recipe for Indian Spiced Beans. I probably overdid my displays of enthusiasm with bubbly proclamations of ease and convenience. I reminded myself of that horrible infomercial for one of those micro-food processors where an older couple is making "Salsa In Seconds!!!" for their odd assortment of relatives ('Chubby Oaf Son-In-Law', 'Wide-Eyed With Disbelief Grandma' etc.)

After the quick prep and the four hours of gurgling and bubbling and simmering that happened in that wondrous machine, I ended up with 4 quarts of awesome that I've been eating every day since.

So maybe now we can finally put the Computer Bag behind us.

Indian Spiced Beans, via 125 Best Vegetarian Slow Cooker Recipes by Judith Finlayson:

2 tsp each cumin and coriander seeds (I used already ground cumin and coriander)
1 tbsp vegetable oil
2 cups finely chopped onions
1 tbsp each minced garlic and ginger root
1 tsp turmeric
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cracked black peppercorns
1/2 tsp cardamom
2 bay leaves (I skipped these)
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes, including juice
1 cup vegetable stock
3 cups black beans or red kidney beans, rinsed and drained (I used a combination of both)
I bunch of kale or other dark leafy green, rinsed and coarsely chopped (not in original recipe)
1 cup plain yogurt (optional)
cilantro to garnish (optional)

Directions:

1. If using cumin and coriander seeds instead of ground, toast them in a large skillet till fragrant. Careful not to burn them! Transfer to a mortar or spice grinder and coarsely grind. Set aside.

2. In same skillet, heat oil over medium heat. Add onions and cook, stirring often, until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and ginger root, cumin and coriander, turmeric, salt, peppercorns and cardamom and cook, stirring for 1 minute. Add bay leaves, tomatoes and juice, vegetable stock and bring to a boil. Place beans in the slow cooker and cover with the tomato mixture. This is when I added the kale too.

3. Cover and cook on Low for 8-10 hours, or High for 4-5 hours, until beans are tender. Stir in yogurt and cilantro for garnish, if using. Serve alone, or on a mountain of the cooked grain of your choice (I used couscous cooked in vegetable stock)

Simple Pizza.

2010-04-01T06:29:00.001-07:00

You know, sometimes, I don't feel like writing a huge preamble to a recipe. Sometimes, the thought of creating a story based on a memory related to food feels formulaic and not at all what I want to write about.

I'd rather tell you about the other afternoon, when I was preparing to make this pizza in an effort to catch an hour or two of silence, away from the wedding planning, away from the emailing and the phone ringing and the dog mooching and the cat being a total dink. How on that afternoon, I put on Vivaldi's violin concerto in D Major, and it took my breath away. I pulled a chair up right in front of the stereo speakers and closed my eyes and felt something like elation, a funny, soaring kind of feeling in my stomach. The sunlight filled the kitchen and I had one of those transcendent moments that was absolutely perfect in its simplicity.

What better food to be making than a sort of Margherita Pizza? Could anything be simpler than thawing a ball of frozen herbed dough I'd made a little while ago and topping it with broken-down tomatoes tinged with balsamic vinegar and some mozzarella and basil?

I listened to the rest of the cd and got my ingredients ready, blissfully absorbed in what I was doing. I readied it for baking, covered it and put it in the fridge. Almost Husband came home an hour or so later with a bottle of wine, poured me a glass and a beer for himself, and we sat on our deck and talked, soaking in the dusk. I want to remember days like these, where nothing really happens, there's no real drama, but everything is bathed in a golden calm, and I recognize that I am as close to touching happiness as I'll ever get.

Simple Pizza Dough via Everybody Likes Sandwiches:

1 envelope active dry yeast
1 1/4 cups warm water
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour (I tend to use a mix of all purpose and whole wheat flour)
2 Tbsp olive oil
2 tsp assorted dried herbs (I used oregano and basil, but I'm sure lots of different ones will work)
1/2 tsp salt
cornmeal (I've never used this, but I'm sure it's lovely)

Directions:

1. In large bowl, combine yeast with 1 cup of the warm water. Stir in flour, salt and olive oil and mix with wooden spoon till sticky dough starts to form. Add the rest of the warm water and shape the dough into a ball with your hands - you may need to flour your hands a bit if the dough is too sticky to handle with ease. Knead the dough for about 5 minutes. Get in there! Get it nice and elastic.

2. Oil up another bowl and place the dough inside. Cover it with plastic wrap and set it in a warmish place and allow to sit for 2 hours. It should double in size. If using, sprinkle some cornmeal on your work surface along with a bit of flour and set the dough on top of it. Cut the dough in half - this recipe makes enough for 2 pizzas. You can either use both doughs now or do what I do and freeze the other half - it freezes really well and just needs to be thawed in the fridge for a few hours. You can also keep it covered in the oiled bowl in the fridge for a couple of days if you want to make another pizza during the week.

3. If you have a rolling pin, I'm sure that would make life a lot easier, but I've never had one, so I've just stretched out the dough to about a 1/2 inch thickness, placed it on a greased baking sheet and then added my toppings. Bake at 350-400 degrees for about 15-20 minutes, keeping an eye on it so the crust doesn't burn. Allow to cool for 5 minutes, then cut and devour!

Margherita Pizza, sort of...

A bunch of small tomatoes - I used organic grape tomatoes, about 10-12., washed and chopped
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp dried oregano
A generous drizzle of balsamic vinegar
1/2 tsp or more of dried red pepper flakes, depending on how spicy you like it
salt and pepper to taste
A bunch of fresh basil, ripped into small pieces
About half a ball of mozzarella (1/2 cup?) cut into small cubes
1/2 cup whole milk mozzarella, cut into cubes

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350-400 degrees. In frying pan, heat up the olive oil on medium setting. Add the chopped tomatoes and oregano and cook till they are softened and breaking down, about 5-10 minutes. Add drizzle of balsamic and cook further for about 5 minutes. Remove from heat, add the pepper flakes and salt and pepper and set aside.

2. Combine the cheese cubes and the basil in a bowl. Place the cheese and basil mixture over the readied pizza dough. Add the tomato mixture over top, allowing for some of the cheese to peek through. Bake for about 15-20 minutes. Once cooked, allow to cool for about 5 minutes. Garnish with additional basil leaves.

Enchiladas, Revisited.

2010-03-28T11:55:00.000-07:00

The other day, I had lunch with my father, after which we went book store browsing in the Annex. My father lovingly proceeded to buy me a stack of books that had been on my Amazon wish list for ages (Thanks, Dad!) I put them by my bedroom window so that I can look at them when I wake up in the morning. If this sounds odd, then you aren't a book lover. I love having books around me, I love their presence, their smell, the way new worlds are only a few pages away from me at any given moment. Seeing them waiting for me in their haphazard pile compels me to make the time to curl up with a mug of tea and meet the characters who will fill my head for the next few weeks.

I've always had this weird aversion to re-reading books I've loved. I guess I'd always felt that there were gazillions of great stories to read, why waste time on one you'd already gotten through? I'd had the same resistance with movies and recipes too. With so many creative possibilities out there, my restless nature had always itched for the undiscovered. Recently though, I've been questioning the soundness of this logic. Is this a healthy thirst for new experiences? Or is it simply impatience, a 'been there, done that' sort of attitude?

Why go back to something a second time? Because maybe sometimes, the second or third or even fourth time around can be sublime. I only need look at Almost Husband and me, in the throes of our 5th or 6th love affair, to know that some things truly do get better with age. With books, you cast a different eye on the story because your maturity level has changed, or your day-to-day life makes the content more personal or relevant. And with recipes, you get a chance to tweak the original and put your own stamp on it, or enjoy it exactly the way it was because it was just right the first time. Without revisiting things in the past, nothing would stand out. Nothing would be exceptional or memorable. Nothing would hold any value. I can't imagine such a life.

The other night, I was running low on groceries and I thought back to these awesome Pumpkin Enchiladas I'd made with a friend a couple of weeks back, from Martha's 'Great Food Fast' book (of course, who else? I'm obsessed with her lately.) They were really good and I had most of the ingredients on hand. I made a few changes to the original recipe, substituting the pumpkin with oven-roasted tomatoes and adding black beans and corn to the chicken filling.

Then I assembled the tortillas, doused them in the tomato sauce and baked them in Demonic Oven till the cheese was all melty.

And the finished product, while extremely unphotogenic (hence the pictures of them uncooked) was well worth it - slightly spicy and tangy, and oh so comforting on a cold, rainy night. And you know what? I'll be making a variation of these again and again, because they're awesome.

And because it's never a waste of time going back to something you love.

Variation on Martha Stewart's Pumpkin Enchiladas From "Great Food Fast"

3 large ripe tomatoes
1 onion (I'd recommend using scallions instead; much nicer flavour with this - you'd need about 5-6)
1 tbsp oil
2 cooked chicken breasts
1 cup canned black beans
1 cup canned or frozen corn
2 tbsp olive oil
zest and juice of 2 limes
1-1/2 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp smoked paprika
a pinch of cayenne pepper
1 jalapeno pepper, core and seeds taken out, cut into 4 pieces
5-6 tortillas (I could only fit 5 in my roasting pan)
1 1/2 cups of shredded mozzarella and cheddar

1. Preheat oven to 350-375 degrees, depending on your oven. Cut the tomatoes in halves, cut the onion in half and slice into rings. Add both tomatoes and onions to roasting pan and drizzle with the oil. Roast till softened, about 20 minutes.

2. While the tomatoes are roasting, cook the chicken breasts over medium heat, if using raw - this should take about 20-25 minutes (alternately, you could use a rotisserie chicken to save time) Put the rinsed black beans and the corn and the rest of the onion, coarsely chopped, into a bowl. Once the chicken is cooked, cut it into smallish pieces and add to the bowl. Set aside.

3. In a small bowl or glass jar, combine the olive oil, lime juice and zest, chili powder, smoked paprika and cayenne. Shake/mix till well combined. Add this to the chicken-corn-bean filling and stir till everything is well coated.

4. Once the tomatoes are roasted, pull out your blender and dump the tomatoes and onions in, along with the jalapeno pepper and blend till well mixed. Add salt and pepper to taste, if you like.

5. In large rectangular roasting pan or glass dish, pour half the tomato sauce over the bottom. Assemble the tortillas, one by one, putting in a medium amount of the chicken-corn-bean mixture and topping it with a bit of cheese. Place the rolled tortillas seam side down in the roasting pan on top of the tomato sauce. When you've finished rolling all the tortillas, pour the remainder of tomato sauce over them and sprinkle with the rest of the cheese.

6. Bake for about 25-30 minutes. Let cool for about 5 minutes, then eat!

Probably Of Interest Only To Me...

2010-03-28T11:28:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of my Yucca plant. We had bought some house plants for our new place back in January. I'd researched the heartiest house plants and went for some ivies and ficus, things that didn't need an awful lot of bother because, despite being able to take care of a cat and a dog, I've never been able to keep plants going. My vegetation efforts have been, at best, inconsistent.

Anyways, while we were paying for our plants, I noticed this lonely, sad looking Yucca plant, discounted by 50% because it was clearly dying. I felt so awful for it; here was a once-glorious tropical plant spending its last days in the lower level of a dimly lit Loblaws garden department in the middle of a Canadian winter. Sigh. It HAD to come home with us. The cashier, after giving it to us for a mere $4, assured us that as long as it had greenery on it, it was still alive and still worth hoping for.

Over the past few months, I've been checking on it regularly, watering it once the soil is dry, and trying to get it as much natural light as possible. I've even been talking to it. Don't laugh. And then, a couple of days ago, as I was cleaning the kitchen, I noticed something...it was sprouting new shoots! I couldn't believe it! My thumbs are definitely getting greener! And I'm kind of looking at it as a sign; nothing is ever hopeless.