There are a lot of things I don’t remember about my childhood.

The names of favourite candies, toys, friends and places, etc elude me, owing (I assume) to me having blocked out a fair number of memories after my parents got divorced.  Or maybe they just weren’t worth remembering… who can say?

At any rate, one thing I do remember is learning to make galette.  The provenance of said recipe is debatable depending on whether you ask me or my dad.  I seem to recall being gifted with it after going on one of those super boring but educational field trips that are all too common during your formative years; the ones where you learn how pioneers darned socks and churned butter, etc.  My dad, on the other hand, seems to think this recipe came about during the years I was in Brownies (the Canadian equivalent of the Girl Scouts and younger feeder group for the Girl Guides of Canada).  Both stories are plausible, but where the recipe comes from doesn’t really matter.

In either case, once my dad got hold of the recipe, it became a tradition in our small household, one that he also recalls from when he was a boy and my grandmother would make galette for her 12 hungry children.

Every Saturday morning hence, my dad would get up, put on his stovetop espresso pot and start to work on making galette.  The quick bread ingredients were all tossed together in a zippered plastic bag and then water was added to moisten them, then the bag was sealed and passed off to me for a good bit of kneading.  Once he thought the ingredients were suitably combined, the bag was turned inside out and the contents mooshed onto a foil lined cookie sheet.  After 20 minutes or so of me impatiently peering into the oven, he’d deem them to be ready, and I’d eagerly split mine apart, not minding that I was burning the tips of my fingers.  I’d generously cover both sides with margarine (the only thing my dad would keep in the house) or occasionally jam and then dig in until my belly was contented and full.

It’s been a long time since I tasted one of dad’s homemade galettes, but recently I felt the need for this culinary stroll down memory lane so I emailed him and asked for the recipe.  The only thing I’ve changed is the type of fat used, because while the original recipe called for shortening or lard, dad always used margarine and I prefer to use butter.  Use whatever fat you like, just make sure to eat these when they’re steaming hot!

Foodie’s Favourite Breakfast Galette

1 c. flour

2 tsp baking powder

0.5 tsp salt

1 tbsp butter, melted

0.5 c. water

Preheat the oven to 375*.  Combine dry ingredients in a bowl, stirring to blend.  Add the melted butter and water and mix until a dough forms.  Knead lightly until the dough comes together, then divide in 2 and press onto a foil lined cookie sheet.  If you’re like my dad and enjoy the contrast of textures, mess around with the dough a bit so that little tufts form which will become burnished and crunchy in the oven.  Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until golden brown.  Split in half and slather with butter, jam, cream cheese or whatever your heart desires, then devour quickly before they have a chance to get cold.

Makes 2 galette.

Until next time…

A favourite girlfriend from my office is in the middle of rather exuberantly expecting her first child right now.

And while I am sad that she will be leaving us at the end of this month, I was more than willing to use her departure as an excuse to shower her with well wishes and presents from the lot of us.  But man, keeping all of those bits and pieces in the air but still a secret for a few weeks sure was a ton of work!

Because she is special to me, I wanted to make sure that everything about the shower was just perfect, right down to the sugary confection I was planning to serve.  Not knowing her to be much of a dessert person though, I had to enlist the help of another kindly coworker to do a little low level industrial espionage in order to ascertain her preferences without sending up red flags.

The combination he reported back to me was cheesecake and pudding and I’ll admit, when he first ran it by me I was a little concerned about pregnancy cravings gone awry.  But, the more I thought about it, the more it started to come together into some semblance of a plan.

Since it’s summer, I decided not to do a traditional cheesecake, which is typically heavy (albeit creamily orgasmic) and a bit of a downer for a party scheduled right after lunch.  Instead I opted to make a Japanese (cotton) cheesecake, which is kind of like cheesecake and angel food’s awesome lovechild.  It’s puffy, light and airy, with a soft crumb and a pleasant hint of cream cheese that I envisioned would be well matched with a few of my homemade compote/jams.  To top it all off, I remembered a bottle of raspberry chocolate truffle creme that the Everyman had bought me around Mother’s Day that coincidentally had a texture similar to pudding, and thought that would make the guest of honor’s cheesecake complete.

After one hot, sweaty night baking batches of mini cheesecakes in a water bathed oven, I had a few dozen slightly homely looking specimens and a whole lot of hope.  Concerned that I wouldn’t have enough, I’d forgone sampling first and spent the rest of the night crossing my fingers and toes that they would taste good.

When I unveiled them the next day, I needn’t have worried.  All of my coworkers were absolutely blown away by the treat, and some even took it upon themselves to have seconds and thirds – generally a huge compliment to the chef, but in this case necessary because many people I’d anticipated for the party were out of the office.

I’m still going to miss my dear girlfriend, but whenever I make these cheesecakes from now on, I will always think of the surprised look on her face!

Foodie’s Vanilla Cotton Cheesecake

320 g. cream cheese

50 g. butter

240 g. heavy cream

80 g. flour

60 g. cornstarch

7 eggs, divided

0.25 tsp cream of tartar

140 g. sugar

pinch of salt

1 tsp vanilla powder

Preheat oven to 325* and line a muffin tin with 24 cupcake liners.  Melt the cream cheese, butter and cream in a bowl over a double boiler, stirring until thick and creamy; set aside.  Add flour, cornstarch and egg yolks to the cream cheese mixture and blend well to combine.  In the bowl of a stand mixer, whip the egg whites with the cream of tartar, sugar, pinch of salt and vanilla powder until soft peaks form.  Gently fold the egg white fluff into the cream cheese mixture, taking care not to deflate their loft.  Carefully spoon the batter into the prepared cups and bake in a water bath pan for 35-45 minutes, or until pale golden and set.  When done, remove from cups from the pan immediately to cool on a rack.  Serve with fruit, compote or a generous dollop of jam.  This can also be baked in 2 springform pans, though it will take slightly longer to bake.

Makes 24 mini cheesecakes.

Until next time…

Though it didn’t start out that way, this week’s Meatless Monday dinner ended up being an incongruous amalgamation of several ideas and recipes.

Firstly, I wanted something relatively quick that wouldn’t heat up the kitchen too much.  That immediately put my original plan of revisiting last week’s awesome potato salad out of the running because the spuds needed to be oven roasted.

Next, I considered peas because I’d spent all that time shucking 2 quarts of them on Sunday, so I might as well use them before they went bad.

From there my mind wandered to risotto, and initially settled on a light spring pea and parmagiano version.

But before long I started to recall the delightfully nutty braised fennel I’d made courtesy of a Serious Eats recipe (initially sampled for a pared down version of the pizza minus anisette cream, which by the way makes one outstanding pie!).

The dish began shaping up into a pea and braised fennel risotto with shavings of parmagiano.  But then I realized I’d need stock or broth to cook the risotto, but the most recent batch of veggie stock I’d made was much too rich and dark for such a delicately flavoured dish.

Which is about when I serendipitously recalled the quarts of frozen tomato water the Everyman had lovingly prepared for us last fall.  I knew the water was all I would need to round out the meal.  If you’ve never tried tomato water before, it’s like the purest, cleanest, faintly tinged essence of tomato, without all of those messy skins and seeds.

With a clear direction formulated in my mind, I began braising the sliced fennel bulb in a small amount of olive oil and veggie stock.  Meanwhile, I sweat onion and garlic in another pan with more olive oil, then added the arborio and stirred to coat.  Slowly I ladled alternating scoops of tomato water and regular water into the pot of rice and kept stirring until the liquid was absorbed.  Once the risotto was just about ready I poured in a shower of raw peas and stirred until they were well incorporated, but also slightly cooked by the heat of the risotto.  The braised fennel went in next, along with some seasoning by way of parmagiano and peppercorns.

It might not have been the idea I’d started with, but this faintly rose tinged risotto was just what I was looking for.

Foodie’s Tomato, Pea And Fennel Risotto

1 onion, finely chopped

4 cloves garlic

3 c. tomato water*

3 c. water

2 c. arborio rice

1 fennel bulb, sliced

1 c. peas, shelled

0.25 c. vegetable stock

parmagiano

olive oil

pepper

In a hot pan, lightly saute the sliced fennel in a little olive oil until it begins to caramelize, shaking occasionally to brown all sides.  After 7-8 minutes, add the vegetable stock to the pan and cover with a lid, then lower heat to medium low and cook for an additional 7-10 minutes or until the fennel has absorbed the stock and softened completely, then remove from heat.  In a medium pot add a splash of olive oil and heat until shimmering.  Add the chopped onion and garlic and stir frequently.  Once translucent, add the arborio rice to the pot and stir to coat the grains with oil, reducing heat to medium.  Working with about a half cup at a time, add alternating ladles of warmed tomato water and stock to the pan, stirring until each ladle of liquid is absorbed.  After approximately 20 minutes, the risotto should be nearly done, so gently stir in the shelled peas and incorporate the braised fennel.  Shave generous amounts of parmagiano and crack profuse amounts of pepper over top, then serve immediately.

Makes 6-8 hearty servings.

*Tomato water is made by pureeing whole tomatoes in a blender, then straining the resulting clear liquid through a cheesecloth lined chinois or colander.

Until next time…

It was a long weekend.

Between attending 2 separate (and unequivocally delicious) food festivals, on top of our usual weekendly chores, by Sunday night I was looking for a little liquid refreshment and a well deserved wind down.

While sitting at the dinner table shucking the 2 quarts of shell peas that I’d forgotten about in the fridge and enduring the sweltering heat from a pan of oven roasted veggies destined for stock, the Everyman offered to fix me a drink that would be good for what ailed me.  I didn’t know what I was in the mood for, so I just asked him to surprise me, something I’ve come to realize he is quite adept at.

The resulting cocktail was delicious, even if it did slightly look like I was drinking a mud puddle.  Honestly, I think that might be part of the appeal, though.

Moreover, I’m really quite starting to like this Domaine de Canton stuff.  Here’s hoping that the LCBO doesn’t delist it too soon.

The Mud Puddle

1 oz Domaine De Canton ginger liqueur

1 oz Godiva chocolate liqueur

elderflower sparkling water to fill

ice

Combine all ingredients in a short glass over ice, swizzling gently to blend.

Until next time…

For Meatless Monday this week, the Everyman was out of town on business, but flying home late that night.

I promised him I would set a plate aside for him, so the obvious question became what could I make that would keep relatively well for an indeterminate period of time?

After pondering for a little bit, I recalled 2 things.  One was the warm potato salad that we both loved at last year’s Outstanding In The Field dinner and the other was a potato and bean salad that I tested while reviewing Earth To Table.  I couldn’t remember much about either, except that a) they were warm, b) they both contained potatoes and c) they came with light, yet creamy dressings.

Given that I was in no mood to excavate my way through the stacks of cookbooks in my house to find Earth To Table (you know you have too many books, when…) I decided to improvise.

Both dishes used fingerlings but I didn’t have any, so instead I cubed a few yukon golds and quartered some shallots and tossed them in some coffee olive oil, then roasted in the oven for an hour.  When they were getting close to being done I melted a little high milkfat artisan butter in a pan until it foamed, then quickly sauteed half a pound of chopped asparagus until it turned emerald, then left it to get slightly blistered and browned.  Removing the pan from the heat, I sprinkled close to half a cup of freshly shelled peas in and let the residual heat of the pan turn them bright green, too.  Next I combined all the veggies in a bowl and tossed with a simple white wine dijon vinaigrette made puckery tart by the addition of a splash of barley vinegar.

By this time the Everyman had arrived home, begging off on the offer of much dinner because of his flight related loss of appetite.

And then he ate 3 bowls of this salad.  Kids, I think we have a winner.

Until next time…

It occurred to me the other day that despite the fact that I’ve spent several years perfecting my doubles technique, I’ve never really given much thought to the condiment that fits so naturally with a double; the chutney.

For a long time, chutney was just a saccharine sauce to compliment curries, top a roast or become a sticky compote on which to rest a chunk of cheese.  So, after my most recent dinner of double-y goodness, I began to consider the idea of crafting my own chutney.  Not being a huge fan of mangoes though, I knew it would not be a chutney in the traditional sense, but rather a more interpretive version.

After much thought, what I came up with was a melding of the exotic and the everyday, combining the traditional mangoes with some spring rhubarb, a spare banana and several hibiscus flowers in syrup.

It might be light years away from what any self respecting Indian would consider chutney, but I think it suits my purposes perfectly.

Foodie’s Kitchen Sink Chutney

2 c. rhubarb, chopped

1.5 c. mango, peeled and chopped

1 banana, chopped

0.5 c. raisins

1 lime, peeled and chopped

1 lemon, peeled and chopped

0.5 c. shallots, chopped

1 c. cider vinegar

1 c. brown sugar

4 cloves garlic, chopped

0.25 c. candied ginger, chopped

1 chili pepper, chopped

0.5 c. water

3-4 hibiscus flowers

0.25 tsp cloves

1 tbsp mustard seeds

1 cinnamon stick

1 tsp pepper flakes

Combine all ingredients in a medium sized pot and gently boil for 20-25 minutes, or until fruit has softened and thickened to a jam-like consistency.  Spoon into sterilized canners and process for 10 minutes.

Makes 5 cups.

And now, to take it home, let’s all enjoy a little bit of Weebl’s chutney!

Until next time…

This past Friday brought the first of a summer’s worth of shortened afternoons at my company.

One marked improvement over my past place of employment is the option of banking 2.5 hours during the week in order to leave 2.5 hours early each and every Friday June through September.  But since the Everyman and I commute together, last year I spent most of my afternoons off shopping, running errands or checking out the local farmer’s market until he finished work.

The first one this year was true to form.  After hightailing it over to the closest passport office to get myself renewed for an upcoming trip, I strolled back to the mall and made a pit stop at the LCBO.  I relish a trip to our province’s liquor control board as much as I do my rare jaunts to the grocery store.  Wandering aimlessly from aisle to aisle taking in the newest trends in libations, I often find myself getting inspired.  Since months can go by without a visit to the liquor store, nearly every time I go I find something new.

This time was no different.  Just north of the Vintages section in the cabinet full of premium spirits I found an interesting and new blend called Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur.  Encased in a stylized frosted bottle reminiscent of a thick stalk of bamboo, the spicy sweet liqueur was too unique to pass up.  I’m pretty sure Canton has been sold in the US for some time, but this is the first I’d ever seen or heard of it north of the border.  It didn’t take me long to decide that it should come home with me too, though it squeezed out the purchase of a bottle of 3 Olives Rootbeer Vodka due to space and upper body constraints.

Once home, the Everyman and I collaborated on a drink I’ve christened The Gin-zing because the ginger-based bevy has an unexpectedly flavourful kick.

The Gin-zing

1 oz ginger liqueur

1 oz pear vodka

sparkling lemonade to top

ice

In a short glass combine ginger liqueur and pear vodka over ice.  Top with sparkling lemonade and stir gently with a spoon or a straw.  Serve.

Until next time…

This past weekend while I was out and about, I happened to notice a wall of posters announcing the return of one of my favourite mixing tequilas to the Ontario liquor market.

Hornitos, which is made by the giant Sauza conglomerate is a better than average tequila that I fell in love with during my early 20′s.  Unfortunately, several years ago the LCBO delisted it, so the only way I’ve been able to stock our bar has been to bring a few bottles back whenever we go on vacation.  In a strange but unrelated coincidence, when we bought our condo back in 2007 our real estate agent (knowing I liked tequila) presented us with a bottle of Hornitos when we closed, though he’d had no clue what a fan I was of that particular variety.  I also brought some back from duty free when we were in Aruba, but I’m excited to know that I’m free to bring back some of the other stuff I’ve been after (the elderflower flavoured St Germain, for instance) when we go to the US this summer.

Since I didn’t have to be as cautious with rationing the Hornitos anymore, when the Everyman asked me if I would like him to fix me a drink yesterday, I asked him to see what he could cobble together using the Hornitos and some pomegranate elderflower sparkling water he’d purchased for me the other day.  The resultant cocktail is the faintly tinged, headily perfumed drink you see above.  It’s a silent but deadly mix that is just the ticket for sipping on a swelteringly hot day in the sun.  Be careful though, since they go down easy before you know it you could be dancing on a table.

The Prickled Pink

1.5 oz Hornitos tequila

4-5 oz pomegranate elderflower sparkling water (Bottlegreen UK was the brand we used)

splash of creme de cacao

ice

In a rocks glass or other 8-10 ounce vessel, add 3 or 4 cubes of ice and pour tequila over top to chill.  Top with sparkling water to taste,  then add a splash of creme de cacao.  Gently swirl the ice to speed cooling and aid incorporation, then serve.  This would also work well with Bottlegreen’s William’s Pear and elderflower water, but that would be a drink of an entirely different name.

Until next time…

Around this time last year I vaguely recall coming across Annemarie Conte’s glowing description of something called white barbecue sauce over on The NY Times Diner’s Journal that apparently “transforms chicken”.

I am nothing if not an equal opportunity barbecue fanatic, so at the time I eagerly filed it away under the yummy recipes bookmark folder I keep, and then proceeded to forget all about it for the next 9 months.

On Thursday morning, I was trying to decide what I wanted the Everyman to make for our weekly dinner ritual (having already mentioned the possibility of chicken when he asked me the day before) and for whatever reason, I woke up thinking about this white barbecue sauce.  I don’t know why; honestly, I hadn’t given the recipe even a passing thought since I read it last year, but all of a sudden, only the promise of white barbecued chicken would do.  I floated the idea by the Everyman and he seemed game, so I went about retrieving the recipe.

Of course, oddly enough when I went back to the bookmark, the see additional recipe section (which contained the actual white barbecue sauce recipe) was inexplicably missing.  The only recipe I had was for the brine the chicken soaks in, while the hyperlinks to the barbecue sauce recipe had completely disappeared.  Immediately, my heart sank.  After nearly half an hour dejectedly sifting through Google, I finally came across a cached version of the recipe, followed by the discovery of several other variations on the theme.  It was then that I learned that white barbecue is a regional style characteristic of Alabama, one that is distinctly different from the ketchup, mustard or vinegar-based barbecue sauces that people are generally more familiar with from regions of their own around the south.  Sensing that there was no one true recipe, I decided to amalgamate several recipes that looked good into one and hope for the best once it was all done.

That night, the Everyman soaked a package of meaty chicken legs in Conte’s suggested brine, while I offered to tinker with the sauce.  After a few additions and taste tests, I arrived at a white sauce that was rich, tangy, creamy and fairly spicy that was unlike anything I’d ever tasted before.  At that point I knew we were on to something.  After our meat had marinated a bit, the Everyman threw the brined legs on the barbecue and cooked them until they achieved a nicely crisped and crackled crust.  Pulling the chicken legs off the heat, I immediately dunked them into the white sauce and went in for the taste test.

True to the description, this white barbecue sauce definitely transformed our chicken.  It was somewhere between a ranch dressing and a barbecue sauce, with a rich, tingly flavour and a gentle background heat that sneaks up on you, and despite the ingredient list it was creamy but thin, coating the meat without glomming up the surface.  The Everyman thought it might’ve been a little heavy on the horseradish, but even it can be tweaked to suit your tastes.  Overall I was impressed with this newfound barbecue sauce and would definitely make it again.  I see other uses in its future too, but that will be the subject of another post.

Foodie’s Whiteish Barbecue Sauce

0.5 c. mayonnaise

7 tbsp vinegar

1.5 tbsp prepared horseradish

1 tbsp dijon mustard

1 tsp salt

1 tsp pepper

1 tsp sugar

2 cloves garlic, minced

Combine all ingredients in a bowl and whisk until smooth, thinning with water if necessary.  Dip grilled meat into the barbecue sauce until thoroughly coated, then serve.

Until next time…

Last year during grilling season we discussed the extent of my stupidity when it comes to writing shit down.

And last year I also failed to experiment with recreating the magical spice blend because I was so distraught over the whole ridiculous matter.

But, this year I decided it was high time to jump back on the horse and try again.  And because occasionally I do learn from my mistakes, I also took the liberty of writing it all down.

It’s not quite the same, but it’s definitely a step in the right direction.  A sniff test next to a sample of the original does come closer than anything else I imagined, though after re-reading some other posts from last year I’m convinced there is no celery seed but ajowan instead, and that the thyme should really be epazote.  I added a few new things to the blend this time too, like the chicory and roasted paprika and I think they may account for the variance.

Foodie’s BBQ Rub (The Second)

2 pieces dried porcini mushroom

3 birdseye chillies

1.5 tsp chicory (the original didn’t have any of this, because I just started buying it recently)

1 tsp celery seed

1 tsp jalapeno flakes

1 tsp garlic powder

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp cayenne

2 tsp mustard seeds

2 tsp onion flakes or powder

2 tsp thyme

3 tbsp pimenton

1 tbsp salt

1.5 tsp roasted paprika

1 tsp parsley

1 tsp marash pepper

Combine all ingredients in a spice grinder and pulse into a fine powder.  Apply to chicken, beef, pork or tofu and grill, baby, grill!

Until next time…

Ah, ramps.

What has this year been debated as one of foraging’s most overrated bounties are nonetheless one of my most cherished harbingers of spring.

There’s no doubt that I also adore other seasonal offerings like fiddleheads and asparagus, but in my overall stratosphere they aren’t really locally accessible just yet.  Ramps typically come first, signalling my springtime appetite to perk itself up a bit.

And so, I continue to content myself with ramps until others come along, their pungent edible bulbs so funkily sweet and tender.

As I mentioned on Monday, my first ramp preparation of the year was a fragrant ramp butter mixed into a batch of saltwater potatoes.  Delicious as it was, I was confident that even better dishes were yet to come, I just wasn’t certain what those dishes would be yet.

One such dish was last night’s sweet potato and ramp biscuits.  Using the Beta Pro sweet potato flour I’d picked up at Provenance Regional Cuisine on Sunday, I blended some chopped up ramps into a buttermilk biscuit dough to create the soft and springy biscuits seen above.  Though not possessing the same texture as a traditional biscuit, this scone-like pastry had a wonderfully nutty, toasted flavour that worked amazingly well with the smoky black bean soup that I made to accompany them.  And though my shoddy photography skills do nothing to highlight it, these crumbly treats were a beautifully burnished rusty brown speckled with the raw green and luminous pink of several ramp bulbs.  Not just a delicious dish, but one that also presented the glorious tableau that is spring.

Good enough to merit making again, next time I would use a slightly lower percentage of sweet potato to hard white flour (this time I used 1:1) for the sake of improving the consistency, not to mention the potential visual benefits of such.  The flour itself has almost limitless potential and I can hardly wait to play around with it further.

Thus, we’re still 2 for 2 in the 2010 ramp-off.  Additional experiments to follow…

Foodie’s Sweet Potato Ramp Biscuits

0.75 c. buttermilk

0.75 c. chopped ramps

0.5 c. sweet potato flour

1 c. white flour

2 tsp baking powder

salt

pepper

6 tbsp butter, chilled

1 egg

Preheat the oven to 425*.  In a small bowl combine buttermilk and ramps and allow to steep for 15 minutes while you prepare the dry ingredients.  In a larger bowl blend the flours, baking powder and salt and pepper to taste until smooth.  Cut in the chilled butter cubes until the mixture resembles fine crumbs.  Add the buttermilk and ramps to the dry ingredients and stir to combine.  Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and gently press it into a 1/2″ thick sheet.  Cut out the biscuits and place the rounds on a parchment lined baking sheet.  Gather the scraps and press them together to form additional dough.  Once all the biscuits are cut out, brush the tops with egg and bake for 20-25 minutes, or until the biscuits are a thoroughly bronzed.  Serve warm with pats of butter.

Makes 8 biscuits.

Until next time…

Until about 6 months ago, I never really understood all of the hoopla about granola.

Granola bars are alright I suppose, but even they aren’t something I ever get a craving for.  Granola always seems too sweet, too greasy, too dry or too flavourless to merit any time in my mouth, not to mention that I’ve often associated it with old people, specifically my dad.  For lack of a better explanation, it just reeks of aging hippies crunching on tofu, muesli and bean sprouts, which I know is a very stereotypical thing to say, but the mind thinks what it wants.

But, about 6 months ago, Pierre Lamielle (of Kitchen Scraps fame) changed all of that.

You see, I was reviewing his cookbook during my stint at Taste T.O. and one of the recipes I opted to test was his granola ratio.  Once I got over the concept of granola having a set recipe, I freed myself up to start making a concoction I could actually enjoy.  Since then, I’ve been making a batch of granola every 2-3 weeks to keep the Everyman and myself in crunchy breakfast heaven.  In my case, it’s served over a thick, strained whole yogurt, but the Everyman prefers to eat his nut-free version plain.  Our versions are nearly identical, but in his the omission of nuts is replaced by extra raisins and the occasional bittersweet chocolate chip.

This gorp is so hunger-inspiring that you might even want to try making some yourself.  My version (replete with alterations and substitutions) is detailed below, but you can also find the original in the Kitchen Scraps cookbook.

Foodie’s Groovy Gorp-Gorp

3 c. porridge oats (a blend with oats, seeds, wheat germ, etc made by Rogers)

1.125 c. whole, raw almonds

5 scoops vanilla or chocolate protein powder

5 tbsp shredded coconut

3 tbsp flax seeds

1 tbsp ground ginger

1 tbsp Saigon cinnamon

1.125 c. pomegranate juice

8 tbsp honey

0.25 c. goji berries

0.25 c. dried blueberries

0.25 c. dried cherries

0.25 c. dried strawberries

0.25 c. dried cranberries

0.25 c. dried figs

Preheat the oven to 300*.  Combine first 7 ingredients in a bowl and stir well to blend.  Add pomegranate juice and honey, stirring until mixture is moderately clumpy.  Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and spread the wet clumps out on it with a rubber spatula.  Bake the tray of granola in the oven for 80 minutes, breaking up large clumps with a stirring motion every 20 minutes or so.  At the end of the baking time, turn off the oven but do not open the door or remove the tray; just allow the granola to cool down inside.  Several hours later you can remove the cooled granola from the oven and combine it with the dried fruit.  Store in a sealed mason jar or ziploc bag, but trust me, it won’t last long.

Makes 18-20 servings.

Until next time…

My mother in law is the queen of the newspaper recipe.

Because they often have 3 of the 4 local papers in the house, it’s not unusual to find her kitchen at home or at the cottage littered with clippings of recipes she is longing to try.  She’s pretty open minded, but definitely has a soft spot for Lucy Waverman’s weekly column.  Generally speaking, I don’t usually find recipes for my kind of food in the paper (with the exception of Bittman, that is) so you can imagine my surprise when we all (myself included) immediately fell in love with a dip she’d cribbed from the paper over Christmas.

If I’m not mistaken, the original recipe was also a Waverman, but I can’t confirm because I’ve been unable to find it online.  The recipe in question was for a rather festive roasted red pepper and artichoke tapenade, made unique by the fact that it didn’t actually contain any olives.  I know, it’s technically not a tapenade without them, but I kind of think of it along the same lines as the universe basterdizing hummus.  At any rate, this tapenade was SO good that all of us spending Christmas at the cottage were hooked and slurping it up like crack.  Since then, I’ve regularly made it twice a month in 3 cup batches and find it as a welcome addition to a lunch basket.

However, while recently peeling and turning a 5 pound bag of carrots into sticks, I started to wonder what would happen if I started messing around with the proportions of veg in the recipe.  Before I knew it, I was steaming a handful of carrot sticks and collecting the rest of the ingredients I wanted to play with on the counter.  By the time I was done, the recipe bore little resemblance to the original, but still had the same raw, sweetly pungent bite that the roasted pepper variety had.  The lovely thing about the dip is that it gets better and better the longer it sits, as the flavours have time to meld.

Foodie’s Roasted Carrot Dip

0.75 c. carrots, steamed or roasted

0.75 c. artichoke hearts

0.5 c. parsley

2 oz hard cheese like parmagiano (I used what we had in the house, which was 1608)

1 tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp mustard oil

4 garlic cloves

2 tsp roasted paprika (but smoked aka pimenton would work too)

Combine all ingredients in the bowl of a food processor and blend until creamy and smooth.  Season with salt and pepper to taste, then refrigerate until ready to use or serve immediately.

Makes approximately 2.5 cups.

Until next time…

Several months ago, the Everyman and I took a shine to a British cooking show called Come Dine With Me.

Come Dine With Me’s premise is to get 4-5 strangers together and let each of them host a dinner party over the course of a week to compete for a $1000 prize.  The guests at each dinner party secretly vote on how each other has done once the parties are over, and whomever’s party has the highest score at the end of the week is the winner.  As you can imagine, hilarity often ensues.

One of the segments of the show that occurs with some regularity is the wandering around the house bit.  While the host is busy assembling appetizers, the guests are typically left to roam free around their house, being nosy and poking into private things.  It was during one such segment that the Everyman and I saw a guest pull an Elvis cookbook off one of the host’s shelves.  I’m not sure what it was about the book that captivated him so much, but the Everyman was absolutely enthralled by it.  At that moment I secretly took it upon myself to try and find him a copy.

After a few weeks, I managed to surreptitiously find Fit For A King in England (it’s long since been out of print) and presented it to him on a recent weekend.  Little did I know at the time of purchase that he had no intention of actually cooking from the book, but rather thought it was an interesting coffee table curiosity.  Generally speaking, I didn’t intend to cook anything from it either, being that Elvis wasn’t exactly known for his healthful lifestyle.  Then, one day when the Everyman was paging through the book reading me tidbits of various recipes, he came across one for peanut butter buttermilk bread.  I was immediately intrigued by the idea, and filed it away in the back of my mind for later.

This past weekend I decided to revisit the idea, but instead of baking it as a bread I opted to make a dozen mini cakes.

But to make them King-lier, I added some mashed bananas, and a sprinkling of chocolate chips to the top.  I didn’t want them to be a cupcake per se, so the chocolate chips made an acceptable stand in for the cloyingness of frosting.

Once they had a chance to cool, the Everyman and I both took a taste.  Peanut buttery, tangy, fruity and with just a hint of chocolate, the cakes were moist and delicious.  The only thing that could have made them more King-like would be if I’d somehow worked bacon fat into it.

Perhaps I’ll have to give this Elvis cookbook another try.

Foodie’s King Cakes

2 mashed ripe bananas

0.5 c. buttermilk

1 c. flour

0.5 tsp baking soda

0.125 tsp baking powder

0.125 tsp salt

4 tbsp peanut butter

2 tbsp butter

0.75 c. sugar

1 egg

1.5 tsp vanilla

0.5 c. chocolate chips.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Combine the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt in a bowl and set aside.  In a separate bowl combine the mashed bananas and buttermilk and stir until incorporated.  In a stand mixer, cream the peanut butter, butter and sugar together until light and creamy.  Add the buttermilk mixture and flour mixture to the mixer in alternating fashion until they have both been completely incorporated.  Add the egg and vanilla and continue to beat until smooth.  Divide batter between 12 cupcake liners, then bake for 18 minutes.  Remove tray from the oven and sprinkle about a tbsp of chocolate chips on the middle of the top of each cake, then return to the oven for another 7 minutes.  Check for doneness with a toothpick, then turn the oven off and leave the cakes inside.

Makes 12 cakes.

Until next time…

It’s been unseasonably warm here in Toronto during the last 7 days, with temperatures ranging from 14 to 19 throughout the week.

It’s been so warm in fact, that it’s had many people decrying the arrival of spring.  I for one am sceptical on that front.  Not that it matters much to me anyway, since I’ll be departing on a tropical vacation soon.  Nonetheless, it’s certainly not enough to get me planting out of doors or packing away the winter boots just yet.

One thing it was able to inspire me to do though, was to create a pot pie.  Even if winter might not be quite over, it’s pretty clear that we’re getting to the tail end of it, which means heavier, heartier fare is becoming less and less desired or appropriate as each week moves on.  That being said, as far as I could remember, I don’t think I had ever made a pot pie before, though I’ve certainly made my fair share of chicken stews with dumplings, which are pretty much just pot pie filling without the vessel.  It seemed almost ludicrous to me that I had never bothered to make one, since chicken pot pie rates up there as one of my most favourite foods, but also one I don’t eat very often.  For the record, I can’t even recall the last time I had one before this, which seemed like reason enough to follow through with it.  Fortuitously, I’d received an email recipe from Chow recently that sounded like just the ticket, so I planned to work on it when I got home that night.

Of course, as I read through the recipe I realized I was missing several things; peas and pre-roasted chicken being the most noticeable exceptions.  I wasn’t ready to let go of the idea though, so I went rogue.  Instead of adding the peas, I just increased the carrots, celery and potato all to a cup.  For the chicken I opted to take the liquid that you’re supposed to simmer the chicken in, substitute buttermilk into it so that it would keep the meat moist and tender and poach boneless, skinless chicken thighs in it until they were cooked through.  Once everything was cooked and creamy, I assembled the pie as directed and topped it with a yummy puff pastry lid.  45 minutes later, I was in pot pie heaven.

The Everyman was so fond of the pot pie that he went back for thirds that night, and then proceeded to request it in his lunch bag every single day until it was all gone.  I’d say it was a winner.  Unfortunately, since he also asked me to keep this one in the regular rotation, I imagine it’s possible that I’ll be in the kitchen sweating my arse off over some pot pie filling this summer.

Ah well.  Some things are just worth the effort.  Like the Everyman.  And chicken pot pie.

Foodie’s Adaptational Chicken Pot Pie In The Sky

2 tbsp butter

1 c. red pearl onions, peeled (boil for 1 minute and they will slip off easily)

1 c. white pearl onions, peeled (boil for 1 minute and they will slip off easily)

1 tbsp fresh sage, chopped

1 tbsp fresh thyme, stripped from stems

1 c. potato, chopped

1 c. celery, chopped

1 c. carrots, chopped

0.25 c. fresh parsley, chopped

1 lb boneless, skinless chicken thighs

4 tbsp butter

0.33 c. flour

2 c. vegetable stock

1 c. buttermilk

1 tbsp fresh rosemary or savoury, chopped

1 egg

0.5 package of puff pastry

Preheat oven to 400*.  Melt 2 tbsp butter over medium heat until foaming.  Add onions, sage and thyme and sauté until fragrant.  Meanwhile, melt 4 tbsp butter in another skillet and sprinkle with flour once the butter is foaming.  Whisk constantly until flour gently starts to brown, 1-2 minutes.  Slowly pour in stock and whisk continuously to keep it smooth.  Once all the stock is incorporated, add the buttermilk and rosemary or savoury, and continue to stir as it might look curdled for a few minutes.  Let the liquid thicken slightly for several minutes, then nestle the chicken thighs in, cover and simmer until the thighs are completely cooked through, 15 to 18 minutes.  Once cooked, shred the meat with 2 forks and season with plenty of salt and fresh cracked pepper, then set aside.  While the chicken is simmering, return to the onions, add the potato, celery and carrots to the pan and cook until the vegetables have softened, 6-8 minutes.  Remove from the heat and stir in parsley, then combine the veggie mixture with the creamy chicken mixture in your baking dish, stirring well to incorporate, adding additional salt and pepper to taste.  Roll puff pastry out to a thickness and shape that will fit your baking dish, then carefully apply it over the top, gently pressing to seal the edges.  Extra dough can be used to create decorative shapes for a topping if desired.  Combine the egg with a small amount of water and whisk together, then apply to the pastry with a brush.  Cut several slits along the top of the shell to allow steam to escape, then bake for 35-40 minutes, removing once crust has risen and browned significantly.  Let rest 10 minutes before serving.

Makes 8-10 servings.

Until next time…

As I’ve surely mentioned here many times before, I’m a huge fan of breakfast.

Unfortunately, the Everyman is not, and mostly prefers to eat his first meal of the day around noon-ish on the weekend, which typically leaves us at a frustratingly inedible impasse.  Due to our differing opinions on the matter we don’t go out for brunch all that often, either.  Our first few visits to The Hoof Cafe when it opened were a noticeable exception, but that was mainly because the Everyman trusts Grant and also knew he could get un-breakfasty items if it came down to it (and it often does).  After we went to Cowbell brunch for my birthday, the Everyman was visibly smitten with the Rusty and Jerome I ‘d ordered (pictured above in its combo plate of apple pear compote-topped waffle, meatloaf, beans and sausage, bacon, toast and eggy glory) and beermosas too, but the simple fact is no matter how good the food is (and it IS fan-freakin-tastic) some days you just don’t want to travel across town to eat.  We’ve returned for brunch several times since then, but I still occasionally get intolerable cravings for breakfast that won’t quit in the interim.

One such yen hit me with full force just the other day.  Being that it was the middle of the week, it was unlikely that I would have the chance to go out for brunch the following day, so I contemplated the next best option; breakfast for dinner!  Growing up, I had a friend whose dad would make breakfast for dinner one day a week, and whether it was pancakes, waffles or eggs I always loved eating dinner at their house on that day.  We never really did anything like that in my home, so dinnerfast felt a little bit foreign and strangely like luxury.

After rummaging around in the fridge and finding the remnants of a carton of buttermilk, I began searching the internest for a decent buttermilk pancake recipe.  My gaze immediately gravitated towards this, but was also enticed by this, too.  Knowing the Everyman as well as I do, I was certain that if he chose the buttermilk pear option I’d have to find a suitable side dish to go with it to counter the sweetness, since he’s not a great lover of sweet breakfasts especially.  As I wracked my brain over possible complements, out of nowhere an idea came to me.  Why not make a salty hash with his favourite meat (prosciutto)?

Once I ran the options by him, he immediately began salivating over the potential of what we began referring to as who hash (a la The Grinch).  When we arrived home from work I mixed up the pear pancake batter so that it could rest, and began grating potatoes and onions and dicing prosciutto.  The whole meal came together quickly, and before I knew it I was serving up a beautiful puffy pancake that resembled an upside down cake with a side of crispy, crusty prosciutto speckled hash.

As the Everyman said, and I quote “Porsh, you’ve just made the Rusty and Jerome (which up until now was his favourite breakfast) obsolete”.  In fact, he liked it so much that I didn’t even get a chance to take a picture, because after helping himself to thirds, it was all gone.  Incidentally, the pear pancake was delicious too, and I would definitely make it again – particularly to pair with the hash.

The only problem I have now is if I’ve made the R&J obsolete, who is going to make me breakfast???  While I ponder that, I’ll leave you with a photo of what was left of the hash… precious little, indeed.

Foodie’s ‘Sciutto Hash

4 potatoes, grated and squeezed dry

2 onions, grated

4 oz butt end prosciutto, diced

butter

olive oil

Melt a tablespoon or so of butter in a large skillet.  Once foaming, add a pour of olive oil to the pan as well, and swirl around to coat the bottom and sides evenly (amount will vary based on size of pan).  Combine the potato and onion shreds in a bowl and mix well, seasoning with salt and pepper to taste.  Spread the mixture in a thin layer in the skillet, and cook on medium high until a crust begins to form on the bottom, 5-7 minutes.  Stir the hash around to brown the top and insides, adding in the diced prosciutto to crisp.  Continue flipping and stirring until you achieve your desired consistency (we like ours fairly dark, so it cooked for close to 25 minutes) and serve immediately.

Makes 4 side servings.

Until next time…

During the past few months I’ve become increasingly entranced by the idea of making my own pasta.

While achieving ribbony, hand cut noodles has been a work in progress, I’ve slowly but surely become more proficient, bit by flour-covered bit.

As such, I’ve been on the market for some form of pasta machine, but ever since my snafu with the stand mixer pasta attachment, I haven’t been in much of a hurry.  I’ve also been told they can be quite expensive, so I didn’t want to plunk down any cold, hard cash until I was absolutely certain it wasn’t just a passing fancy.  In the interim, pastas have been made with some regularity in our household by using the old fashioned method of rolling pin plus sharp knife.  Rustic for sure, but still extremely satisfying when compared next to your standard out of the box fare.

So, while the Everyman and I were out shopping for our upcoming trip, it occurred to me to stop into a housewares store to check if they happened to sell pasta makers.  In the first store I was out of luck, but ducking into the second as we headed towards the exit, not only did I find a pasta maker, but it was the last one, and a floor model at that, so for all intents and purposes it was a steal.  The only catch was that it didn’t come packaged, which meant that a) there was no manual, and b) it took the clerk 20 minutes to try and figure out what the SKU was so they could enter it into the cash register.  But, for a mere $20 I certainly wasn’t complaining.

Once I got my new toy home, I immediately began considering what the first pasta should be.  It didn’t take me long to decide on an all semolina dough made with a combination of whole eggs and egg yolks.  After stirring it together to form a shaggy dough, I kneaded it until it formed a cohesive ball.  Formed into a loose disc, I patted a sheet of plastic wrap around it and tossed it in the fridge to rest.

Meanwhile, I began to realize that a floor model pasta machine probably had numerous opportunities to get dirty and germy, so I decided that the machine should take a good hot bath before its maiden voyage.  Big mistake!  Of course, that probably would have been a much better idea 6-8 hours before I intended to roll out the pasta, rather than half an hour beforehand.  Even after repeatedly shaking stray droplets from the machine with all of my might, the dough still managed to become moist and tacky from being pressed through the damp apparatus.  Applying additional flour to the dough after each pass made a negligible difference, but after a few tries I finally had a fairly thin and golden sheet of pasta to be tinkered with.

Next I had to choose how I wanted the sheets to be cut, and at first I selected the thinnest angel hair press (without thinking it through).  What with the dough being as sticky as it was, it passed through the die cutters and formed one big, glutinous blob.  I rolled the gummy bits and pieces back into a disc and turned back to rolling out the second half of the pasta dough.  Once it was also papery thin, I ran it through the linguine cutter with much greater success.  This hand cranked pasta making is not nearly as easy as it looks, you know!

The last step before it became dinner was to throw together a quick sauce to properly dress the beautiful, fresh noodles.  I sautéed a chicken breast cut into strips with some chopped leeks and a lone parsnip, deglazed with some white wine and lemon juice, then thickened with a dollop of creme fraiche.  After dipping the noodles into a quick, salty bath, everything was tossed together until the sauce completely slicked the linguine.  Finished with a generous crackling of pepper, it was all I could do not to wolf down a bowl while standing over the steamy hot sink.

Probably the best compliment was when the Everyman commented that the chicken seemed almost superfluous in the dish.  I may still have a long way to go to perfect my pasta making abilities, but I must be on to something if he was willing to eat a vegetarian dish, not to mention one with a fair amount of parsnips.  I also marvelled at how much more professional my pasta appeared simply because of its uniformity.

Foodie’s Parsnileeky Pasta

4 oz eggs (about 1 yolk and 2 whole eggs)

6 oz semolina flour

1 tsp salt

1 chicken breast, sliced into strips

1 parsnip, peeled and chopped

1 leek, chopped

0.5 c. white wine

juice of 1 lemon

2 tbsp creme fraiche

Combine the first 3 ingredients in a bowl and knead until smooth and pliable.  Shape dough into a disc, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least a half hour before rolling out.  Meanwhile, sauté the chicken breast in a pan (with whatever fat you desire) until golden brown and mostly cooked through.  Add the parsnips and leeks and continue to cook until softened.  Once the vegetables have cooked, deglaze the pan with the wine and lemon juice, stirring to scrape up the browned bits.  Once the wine and juice have nearly evaporated, add the creme fraiche and reduce heat to a low simmer.  Retrieve the pasta dough from the fridge and roll out into whatever shape you please.  Let air dry for 5 to 10 minutes, then cook briefly in a heavily salted pot of water at a rolling boil for 1-2 minutes maximum.  Toss the drained pasta with the simmering sauce, a crack of fresh pepper and serve.

Makes 4 servings.

Now, all I have to do is figure out how the heck you clean this thing without getting it wet again.  Anyone out there have any suggestions?

Until next time…

Sometimes I come across strange recipes on the internet that I just can’t help but test out in my own kitchen.  I become inordinately fascinated by these culinary oddities, with a fixation that won’t be satisfied until I taste them for myself.  Of course, in order to get the Everyman to try many of them, I generally have to leave out certain salient details that might give him pause.

Case in point would be when this particular recipe popped up in my RSS, gleaned from the Serious Eats column The Crisper Whisperer.  I’m sure that by the time he finishes reading this post I will have received a call or an email about this particular cake and his personal thoughts on it, but when he asked me what it was last night I simply uttered “spice cake”.

Over the years we’ve all come to acknowledge carrot cake, sweet potato pie and zucchini muffins as relatively commonplace dessert-type offerings, but up until this point I’d never seen or heard of a parsnip cake before.  Between the fact that I was vaguely intrigued and disgusted by its very existence, and the fact that I had a half bag of parsnips lounging around our crisper not getting any younger, I decided it had to be done.

The recipe began simply, calling for all the usual suspects that come to a batter party (flour, sugar, eggs) but I immediately began making changes and substitutions.  Where there was once flour I replaced it with spelt, and a cupful of allergenic walnuts became a measure of porridge oats, while white sugar was traded for brown.  Then, just because I felt the guilt of attempting something healthy (yes, I suffer from the opposite form of guilt, not for eating badly, but from trying to eat too good) I threw in a small handful of dark chocolate chips – just because.

As quick as the cake was to put together, the longest part of the process was grating the cursed parsnips.  3 ‘nips later, I was left with a huge mound of damp flesh that could’ve been mistaken for shredded coconut or parmagiano by any number of people.  Once it was all mixed together, it was baked in the oven for the better part of an hour until it came out brown and roasty toasty (as above).

As far as taste goes, it’s certainly unique.  Not being much of a fan of frosting, I wasn’t keen on serving it with the proscribed ginger cream cheese, which was all the more reason to add chocolate chips if you ask me.  It wouldn’t necessarily be at the top of my wish list of cakes I absolutely have to eat before I die, but it did offer a rather pleasant change of pace without tasting overbearingly of parsnip.  I’d say that’s a rather formidable accomplishment, don’t you think?

Foodie’s Oatmeal Parsnip Spice Cake

1.5 c. spelt flour

0.5 c. porridge oats

1 c. brown sugar, packed

2 tsp baking powder

1 tbsp ground ginger

1.5 tsp ground cinnamon

0.75 tsp ground nutmeg

0.75 tsp ground cloves

0.75 tsp salt

3 eggs

0.5 c. canola oil

0.5 c. milk

1 tsp vanilla

2 c. peeled, shredded parsnips, packed (about 3-4 large parsnips)

0.25 c. chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350*.  Combine the first 9 ingredients in a bowl, blend well and set aside.  Combine the next 5 ingredients in another bowl, then fold the wet into the dry until just incorporated.  Stir in the chocolate chips, then pour into a square cake pan.  Bake for 45-50 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted in the centre comes out clean.  Cool completely before serving.

Makes 16 servings.

Until next time…

When I was younger, comfort food took on many forms.

Being half Trinidadian, if my mom was cooking it often meant some sort of roti and curry preparation to warm our hearts and bellies.  After my parents split and my dad took over the cooking for our household, it was a Sunday roast chicken redolent with paprika, garlic, onion and pepper with a side of fluffy stuffing.  Once I was considered old enough to cook on my own, my foods of choice were often plain, bland and white, including tall glasses of cold milk, hot buttered rice and large piles of creamy mashed potatoes – clearly my love of starchy white carbs was cultivated at a young age.

These days comfort food in our household usually means homemade macaroni and cheese (prepared with creme fraiche, parmagiano, manchego and chevre instead of nuclear cheese food), baked panko crusted sriracha nuggets or my aunt’s Christmas morning poached chicken salad that the Everyman fell in love with while we were there for the holidays.  While the spirit of the dishes remains the same, the ingredients and methods have certainly gone more upmarket to account for our more refined tastes and preferences than what we would have settled for as kids.

The one comfort food genre that I’ve never really dabbled much in was Southern food.  I like cornbread, fried chicken, BBQ and all the other stereotypical fare as much as the next person, but I generally don’t make much of it at home.  But between this article about Hank’s new Southern dinner menu and the return of more wintry weather recently, I was suddenly craving something heartier and more rib-sticking than normal. Over the years I’ve enjoyed all of the components of the dish I made last night separately, but I never bothered to put them all together as one before.  It’s far from authentic Southern or Caribbean fare but dang, it does taste good.

To begin I soaked half a pound of red beans overnight, then simmered them in several inches of water until they were mostly tender.  In the meantime, I sautéed several links of a homemade spicy poblano sausage I had in the freezer with some chopped celery, onion, thyme, cumin and cayenne until the whole upper level of our house was nose-tinglingly fragrant.  Once the sausage and veggies were well browned, I added a handful of frozen stock cubes and scraped the bottom of the pan with a spoon.  At this point I put on water to boil for a pot of brown rice.  Draining the beans in a colander, I added them back to their pan with the remaining sausage/veggie/broth mixture as well as a few fresh bay leaves, then covered and simmered again.  In the interim I mixed up a cornbread batter and slid it into a preheated blackened frying pan.  Once the cornbread was mostly cooked through I grated a large dusting of peppered pecorino on top of it and returned it to the oven to brown.  When everything was ready I served the sausage and bean mixture atop a mountain of brown rice with a wedge of crispy cornbread on the side.

By no means is this comfort food a 30 minute meal (since some of it requires advance planning) but in a pinch you could prepare it with canned red beans and make the whole thing in one day (assuming you rinsed the beans well before starting).  Personally, I think it works better if you let it rest overnight, because then the flavours have more time to meld, and the liquid and pork fat meld into a more gelatinous gravy.  Yum!

Foodie’s Southern(ish) Comfort

1 c. brown rice, dry

0.5 lb red beans, dried

3-4 links of spicy sausage of choice, chopped into 1″ chunks

8 cloves garlic, minced

6 stalks celery, chopped

2 onions, chopped

2 c. stock

cumin

thyme

cayenne

2-3 bay leaves

1 c. cornmeal

0.5 c. flour

1 tsp salt

1tbsp baking powder

0.5 tsp baking soda

1 tsp sugar

4-6 tbsp lard, plus extra to grease the pan

1.5 c. buttermilk

1 egg

fresh cracked pepper

0.25 c. grated cheese (any pungent hard cheese will do)

Soak beans overnight in a bowl of cold water.  The next day rinse the beans and add them covered by several inches of water to a dutch oven and let simmer with the lid ajar for half an hour.  In a separate pot bring 3 cups of water to a boil with a few pinches of salt, then add brown rice and reduce to a simmer, cooking until fluffy and softened, then set aside.  Sauté sausage, garlic, celery and onion in a pan until well browned, then add spices to taste (I started with several teaspoons each of thyme and cumin and just under a teaspoon of cayenne).  Stir until you can smell the spices toasting, then add stock to deglaze the pan.  Drain the cooked beans and combine them with the sausage and broth mixture back into the dutch oven, plus bay leaves.  Let simmer covered for an additional 30 minutes while you prepare the cornbread.  Preheat oven to 450*, then combine cornmeal, flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda, sugar and lard until smooth and incorporated.  Stir in buttermilk and egg until a lumpy batter forms.  Preheat a skillet on the stovetop until very hot, then add a small knob of lard and melt it to coat the entire pan.  Pour the batter into the skillet and cook on the stovetop for several minutes until you can smell the crust of the cornbread developing.  Crack a bit of fresh pepper on top, then remove to bake in the oven for 30-40 minutes.  During the last few minutes of cooking sprinkle the grated cheese on top (or you could mix it into the batter if you like). Serve warmed rice with a spoonful of beans and sausage in gravy, with a warm chunk of cornbread on the side.

Makes 6-8 servings.

Until next time…

Last night when I got home from work I was itching for a spectacular batch of cookies.

You see, the Everyman and I visited Sweet Flour Bake Shop on the weekend to make customized cookies, but the ones I made for myself just didn’t satisfy my cookie craving.  There was nothing wrong with them per se, I just didn’t figure out that they weren’t what I wanted until after we’d already left, negating my ability to correct my mistake with more cookies.

Since then I’ve understandably had cookies on the brain.  But, I had a very particular cookie in mind.  I wanted something akin to what I remember the Chewy Chips Ahoy from my childhood to be like, only not full of preservatives and trans fats.

Surprisingly, I don’t often (read: never) make plain chocolate chip cookies, so I was a bit stymied by the prospect of finding a place to start.  Usually I am seduced by wonderful additives like oatmeal and peanut butter, etc and never make it to the good old fashioned triple C (chocolate chip cookie).

But last night nothing else would do, so I hauled out all of my recipes and cookie books and started poring over my options.

After a while I found that an old (2001) printout of a recipe for big, fat, chewy 3c’s from All Recipes was the only chocolate chip cookie recipe I owned.  Perusing the ingredients list, I decided a few substitutions were in order and got to mixing.  Halfway through the beating process, I accidentally dropped a stainless steel measuring cup into the spinning stand mixer only to have it (and the half cup of flour it contained) come flying back at me, bent and confetti-like.  Luckily, (aside from the mess) it, the dough and the mixing machine seemed none the worse for wear, so I continued on.  Once the dough was combined, I stirred in what seemed like a ludicrous amount of chocolate chips (even after reducing the recipe’s 2 cup requirement by 25%) and started dropping dough by the heaped tablespoonful onto prepared cookie sheets.  By the time I’d formed the last cookie, there was close to half a cup of chocolate chips left on the bottom of the bowl, so I think the second cup of chips in the original recipe borders on superfluous and have thus edited it out.

20 minutes later, I had the piece de resistance.  Warm from the oven the cookies were sinfully delicious and meltingly tender, but even once they’d cooled they still maintained the chewy softness that is the hallmark of any triple c worth its salt.

Not noticing as I inhaled my cookie, the Everyman asked how long the cookies had to cool before he could have one.  Ha ha, sucker!  After doing a double take to catch me mid-bite, he finally helped himself to a cookie of his own and by the time he was done all he could ask was why I hadn’t made them sooner.

Honestly, I don’t know.  I feel I’ve cheated myself out of 9 years of awesome chocolate chip cookies by not trying this recipe until now.

Now that I have it though… watch out!  For those who are interested in the original recipe, it can be found at the link above, but here is the recipe after I got finished with it.

Foodie’s Fantabulous Triple C (Chocolate Chip Cookie)

1.5 c. flour

0.5 c. whole wheat flour

0.5 tsp baking soda

0.5 tsp salt

0.75 c. butter, melted

1 c. brown sugar, packed

0.5 c. sugar

1 tbsp vanilla extract

1 tsp vanilla powder

1 egg

1 egg yolk

1 c. chocolate chips, chunks, etc

Preheat the oven to 325*.  Line cookie sheets with parchment paper.  Cream together melted butter and sugars until smooth.  Beat in vanilla extract and powder, egg and yolk until light and creamy.  Slowly add flours, salt and baking soda to the bowl and stir until blended.  Add chocolate chips and stir to combine.  Drop dough by heaped tablespoon onto prepared cookie sheets, leaving 2-3 inches to separate each cookie.  Bake for 17-20 minutes, or until lightly browned around the edges.

Makes 18 cookies.

Until next time…