When the Everyman and I were in Chicago recently, we went to a restaurant called The Publican for dinner that we’d heard amazing things about.

One of the items they had on their menu that I absolutely had to order was a chilled beet and burrata salad, because a girl can never have too much burrata.

Imagine my dismay when the plate set before me was covered with daubs of ricotta cheese instead (and I like ricotta!)

Receiving no explanation as to why there was no burrata, I half-heartedly ate my salad, all the while inwardly sulking over the missing cheese.  Had the place been less packed and frantic, I would have said something about it, but it hardly seemed worth the fuss at the time.

Since then, I’ve been unable to get that combination off my mind.  So, after a trip to Cheese Boutique this week, I decided to recreate it myself.

Multicoloured beets from my garden were matched with grilled figs, the outer shell of the burrata, some white balsamic and a healthy dose of fleur de sel and freshly cracked pepper.

Rather than satiate my desire for this salad, this delectable combination further stoked my yen for all things crispy, creamy and sweet.

Thank goodness there’s still half a ball of burrata left!

As a bonus, I can also tell you that chopped watermelon, fruity olive oil, burrata and fleur de sel make an amazing post-dinner dessert, too.

Foodie’s Beet, Fig and Burrata Good Time

4 beets, gently boiled, skinned and cooled

4 figs

0.5 ball of burrata or in a pinch fior di latte

crusty bread

olive oil

white balsamic vinegar

Using a mandolin, slice beets into thin rounds and set aside.  Meanwhile, grill slices of crusty bread drizzled with olive oil until smoky and char marked.  During the last few minutes of grilling, add figs, turning until all sides are well marked and the fruit is almost soft enough to burst.  Remove figs and bread from grill and set aside.  To assemble, layer slices of beet in a pave on a large serving platter, cut the grilled figs into quarters and scatter on top, tearing chunks of burrata “skin” over top of that.  Dress lightly with a sprinkle of white balsamic, a drizzle of olive oil and hearty pinches of fine sea salt and freshly cracked black pepper.

Serves 2 heartily with sides of crusty grilled bread.

Until next time…

Our garden this year has been somewhat of a bust.

While the weather has been continuously warm and sunny all summer long, only the hot peppers, beets, chard and sunchokes have deemed it permissible to come on in full force for 2010.

So, I’m sure you can understand how green with (familial) jealousy I was when the Everyman’s sister in law presented us with 3 monstrous specimens from this year’s Greek Freak crop.

If you can’t see it clearly from that photo, that tomato clocks in at 2 pounds, 2 1/8 ounces.  Yowza!  It’s 2 accompanying brothers, while smaller, still helped tip the scale to over 4 pounds total.

Let’s just say with the piddly crop we’ve got on our roof, I was only too grateful to have something this magnificent put into my hand (and sandwich).

Now, all I have to do is save some of it’s seeds for next year!

Until next time…

It’s been a while, I know.

Which is why I thought it was high time to pass along some poorly lit food porn photos.

You see, last week I had the opportunity to dine at Alinea in Chicago.

I’m not going to let all the goodies out of the bag yet, but I had to share this photo of one of the (more visible) sweeter courses on our tasting menu.

The reddish disc in the background was called a raspberry transparency, which was a lot like a fancy stained glass fruit roll-up.  The tube in the foreground was filled with hibiscus jam, vanilla creme fraiche and bubblegum flavoured tapioca pearls and to eat it, you grabbed the tube and sucked it back in one big gulp, before it started shooting out the opposite end.

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a meal so full of laughter and wonder as I did here.  More than just cheap parlour tricks, as soon as we entered the restaurant, you understand that nothing is quite as it seems.

It was so entertaining I’m seriously considering a season’s pass to his upcoming restaurant Next, slated to open in November.

More to come soon.

Until next time…

One of the neat things about being a novice gardener is that I am constantly filled with wonder at the simplest things.

This pea plant us just one such instance.

As you can see, it has 4 separate blooms near the top, but for some odd reason (which you may not be able to clearly discern from the photo) the blooms themselves are several not all the same colour.  One of the blooms is fuchsia pink, while another is a royal purple, and yet a third is a light lilac.

For some reason this intrigues me to no end.  Here, a close up look at the lilac bloom.

Until next time…

Quite possibly the strangest and most beautiful bean flowers I’ve ever seen.  It’s rare to see true black in nature, but this here is it.

Until next time…

Though I’d heard of the middle eastern spice mix za’atar many times before, it wasn’t until earlier this year that I truly started to see its potential.

Za’atar is a blend of spices generally comprised of sumac, toasted sesame seeds, thyme, cumin and salt, though recipes differ depending on where in the middle east they come from. Back when I was reviewing Good Food For All for Taste T.O. one of the dishes I sampled was a za’atar-spiked chicken burger, which (incidentally was fantastic) left me with a cupful of the blend to continue using afterwards.

But as much as I enjoyed using za’atar in western preparations, it wasn’t until a Lebanese friend educated me about her culture and food that I learned some of the ways that they would use it traditionally.  One afternoon when we ordered food from a Lebanese restaurant, I fell head over heels in love with a flatbread-like object called manakeesh.  Slathered with labneh and sprinkled with za’atar, it was a doughy delight unlike any I’d ever tasted before, sort of like a cross between a pizza and a toasted bagel slathered with cream cheese.  Ever since that moment I have craved these za’atar and labneh manakeesh on nearly a weekly basis, but the restaurant is a fair distance from my house.

But on Meatless Monday this week I decided I wanted to make something to accompany our asparagus, fig and parmagiano salad, and I happened to have a ball of my frozen pizza dough on hand, so I thawed it out and stretched it into a large round.  It didn’t take long to connect the dots and add the strained yogurt that I normally eat for breakfast and a liberal amount of za’atar to the unbaked pie.  A quick rest in the oven was all it took for it to get puffy and golden brown.  It wasn’t a purist’s manakeesh by any stretch of the imagination, but man, it was still freakin’ gold.

I think Rana would be proud.

Until next time…

When I was out the other day buying that ridiculously overpriced ice pop maker, I also happened to be in the neighbourhood of The Cookbook Store which was coincidentally just the place where I had a birthday gift certificate from my mother in law burning a hole in my wallet.

Knowing my habits fairly well, I have never allowed myself to set foot inside their store before.  Since I already own several hundred cookbooks (and counting) going here even semi-regularly would just be a really bad idea.  But, I had the gift certificate and I was in the area so I figured I might as well kill 2 birds with 1 stone, right?

Just as I suspected, The Cookbook Store was a beautifully curated room devoted to nothing but books on epicurean delights.  It was pure heaven for a food/print nerd like me.  After perusing the store languidly for nearly half an hour, I was in the unenviable position of finding way too many books to take home with me.  Standing firm, I decided that I would only choose 1.  Of course, I couldn’t decide which one it should be, so I put down the whole pile and begrudgingly prepared to leave.

Out of the corner of my eye I spied this colourful tome sitting atop a stacked table and hesitated.  After quickly paging through The Flavour Thesaurus I immediately knew that this was the book for me.  Aside from the vibrant colour wheel on the cover and the fuchsia-tinged pages, the concept of the book resonated with me.  Since I don’t often cook from actual recipes, being able to easily identify clever flavour pairings is right up my alley especially when they’re collected all in one handy reference place!

Author Niki Segnit divides the book into 16 central flavour profiles, such as woodland, marine, bramble & hedge, sulfurous, etc and then divides each group into several pertinent subsections (i.e. sulfurous contains cabbage, brussels sprouts, eggs, etc).  Each subsection then lists ingredients that pair well with the highlighted base foods in a manner reminiscent of a textbook entry.  Some suggestions, such as artichoke and lemon or broccoli and cheese will come as no surprise to even the most casual reader, but more subtle pairings such as anise and rhubarb and parsnip and banana definitely intrigued me.  Proving that the book is also on the pulse of the culinary world, the au courant chocolate bacon marriage gets a nod, too.

At times it does remind me of The Flavour Bible by Karen Page but I find I much prefer the layout of this Thesaurus, not to mention its smaller and more compact form immediately renders the book that much less intimidating.  It’s not the kind of book I’d recommend reading cover to cover (unless you like that sort of thing) but its reference qualities easily earned it a place on my overstuffed bookshelf regardless.

It also happens to make fascinating light bedtime reading for food geeks like me.  Anyone from the newest of new cooks to well-established professionals could find merit within these rosy pink pages; I guarantee no matter what your skill level, if you open a page, you will learn something new.

Until next time…

It’s been hot in Toronto recently.

Not just h-o-t hot, either.  More like h-a-w-t exclamation point hot.  With the humidex, most days last week were hovering in the mid 40′s, which when I did a conversion for an American co-worker turned out to be about 109* F.  This is generally much warmer than we’re used to around here, so please excuse me while I bitch and moan about it a wee bit.

Anyway, all of that heat percolating around us demanded that I find a touch of sweet relief.  At first that meant hauling out the ice cream maker for a few churns (lemon blueberry and fig ice creams were the frosty scoops du jour) but after a few days something a little different was on my mind.

A while back I’d read a product review on Serious Eats for the Zoku Quick Pop Maker and at the time (I’ll be honest) the idea of it did nothing for me.  But, thanks to The Atlantic’s food channel and its spate of ice pop-related stories, the idea of crafting artisanal ice pops began to pervade my subconscious and gain a fair amount of traction.

Before I knew it, I was asking the Everyman (by way of justifying its potential existence in my already overstocked kitchen) if a machine that freezes ice pops in only 7 minutes was an unnecessary extravagance.  I should have known the answer before I even asked the question (in case you’re wondering, it was that may be the very definition of unnecessary extravagance) but after mulling it over for a few more days, I ended up buying one anyway.  They can be had by visiting your local Williams-Sonoma, though if you’re in Canada I would suggest hopping across the border to get one, because the exchange markup  is brutal.  Alternatively, you could just buy the old fashioned frozen pop makers, since they clearly also get the job done.

Once the base of the machine has been frozen for 24 hours, it’s only 7-9 minutes to any kind of frozen flavour combo that your heart desires.  After a few test runs I found that juice freezes really well, but ice cream base with alcohol less so (achieving nothing firmer than soft serve even after nearly 15 minutes) and that there really are endless variations to be had.

Next on the docket will be a choco-banana filled fudge bar, some hibiscus and green tea snacks and possibly a frozen agua fresca.  The Everyman is even getting in on the fun and has expressed interest in cherry pops, pineapple and a little bit of lemonade for starters.  As we develop interesting recipes, I’ll be sure to pass them along.

See?  I promised I’d still come with the neat stuff during my time off!

Until next time…

Hello, gentle readers of the internest!

As the primary contributor to Foodie and the Everyman, I wanted to inform you that I will be taking some much needed time off this summer to focus on gardening, reading and other things unrelated to either writing or food, and also just to generally try and sharpen my focus.

Occasional updates may still occur, but they likely won’t happen nearly as often as you’ve become accustomed to.  But trust me, when I have things to share, they will be good, I promise.

I might only be off for a few weeks, or I might hold out until the beginning of September.  Either way, just know that I will be coming back to check in on all of you soon.

Take care and enjoy your own summer vacations!

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…

Now that I know how to make real croissants, the bakeries in my area may become obsolete.

Having never been to Paris before, I really had no idea how different a full butter, freshly baked croissant would taste, but having sampled my fair share now (and probably your fair share, too) I can honestly say they’re like night and day in comparison.  So much of what I’ve had to date has been greasy with a faintly bitter aftertaste.  I now know that’s probably because they were made with something colloquially known as rolling fat instead of good old fashioned butter.  Nothing says delicious like the words rolling fat, you know?

At the top are a tray of crescent shaped plain butter croissants, which I’ve been told (but have been unable to verify) in France that shape denotes an inferior product made with rolling fat instead of butter.  I guess they take their croissants pretty seriously over there.  Mine were just crescent shaped because I thought it was pretty.

Next we have a box of chocolate croissants, and then a tray of almond paste and sprinkled croissants below.  There were also cinnamon croissants, but cinnamon unfortunately has a tendency to singe in a hot oven, so they ended up semi-burnt but still perfectly edible.

I will most definitely be making a batch again, but not too soon.  Decadence like this must be savoured in small quantities, I think.

Until next time…

I don’t like to see good food go to waste.

So whenever I buy some from my local farmer’s market or get a delivery from our farmshare, I’m always hyper aware of the imaginary ticking timer that hovers above all of our food.  Each and every time I open the fridge is a reminder to use it or lose it, which is probably as much a holdover from my hungry years as a desire not to be flippant with my finances.

Recently while shelling a few quarts of peas I thought it seemed like such a shame to throw away close to 80% of the veg (the pod) and thus decided to explore ways to repurpose them.

But the bag full of cleaned empty pods sat in the crisper of our fridge for a few days while I tried to work something out, taunting me with the possibility of spoilage daily.

And then it hit me… if I just steamed the empty pods a little, their fibrousness would break down enough to make friends with my high powered blender.

So that’s just what I did.

Once the pods were soft and bright green, it was an easy mental hop, skip and jump to turning them into a light and nutless pesto.

Not bad for something that would have been compost fodder otherwise, don’t you think?

Foodie’s Pea Pod Pesto

Clean, empty pods from 1 quart of shell peas, strings and stems removed

1 oz parmagiano reggiano

3 cloves garlic

Olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Steam the empty pea pods for 3-5 minutes over simmering water until softened and bright green, set aside.  In the bowl of a blender or food processor, combine steamed pods, cheese, garlic and olive oil and pulverize until a smooth and paste-like consistency has been achieved.  Add olive oil or water as necessary to thin the pesto if desired.  Season with salt and pepper to taste and use anywhere you would use traditional pesto, or freeze in ice cube trays for a fresh and welcome blast of spring come wintertime.

Makes approximately 1 cup of pesto.

Until next time…

These pictures are now about a week old (whole lifetimes ago in garden time), but I’m posting them as part of a time lapse retrospective of this year’s garden.

In the west elevation above is the row of pea and bean plants, reaching for the sky.

The southern elevation plays host to my mixed potato and sunchoke garbage can, a large planter of baby lettuces, a fledgling pot of rainbow chard and myriad colourful beets.

On the east side, we have my newest fig tree, a pot of leeks and shallots that has yet to take off, a massive plant I thought was leftover strawberry runners (but am now unsure what it is) and a pot of various types of hot peppers. My heirloom tomato plants are smaller than I would have liked due to the later planting date as well as having to replant a bunch once we came back from Aruba.  They have been potted into their kiddie pools for nearly a month now, and will hopefully start blossoming for me soon.

We’ve had a fair amount of heavy rain this month, so certain plants have not shot up as quickly as I’d like them to, but this is one of the parts of the gardening season that I love the most.  Because I have been growing most of these plants indoors since early March, I feel like the season has been on for so long that they’ll never set fruit before the warmth draws to a close.  But then reality sets in and I remember that it is only June and there are at least 2 more months of warm weather to go.

Here’s hoping for a bountiful harvest this year!

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…

Lately it’s felt like the season of cakes around these parts.

Above, these scrumptious cinnamon and struesel-topped praline buns were an addictive favourite of mine.  You can top pretty much anything with struesel and I think I would eat it, though.

There was also this Bath, England-born Sally Lunn cake.  It had a texture similar to poundcake, but an airier crumb and a dusting of sugar on top.  This one was spectacular with whipped cream and jam.

This nut-free currant-studded version of a kugelhopf was also a crowd pleaser, though not being a fan of currants I was more than happy to send it to work with the Everyman posthaste.  Traditionally kugelhopf would be baked in a pan covered in sliced almonds, but for obvious reasons I opted not to go there.  I think it’s actually kind of pretty and brain-shaped without the nuts, anyway.

But, as the weather continues to get hotter I think I will be winding down my baking for a while, or at least until I learn how to bake things on the barbecue.  Perhaps it’s time to return to my summertime obsession; making ice cream!

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…