All Dressed Up. Nowhere to Go.

This time of year being what it is my email inbox gets flooded with newsletters of various recipes for holiday cooking, baking, decorating, et al.  To the point that I get overwhelemed, and start to rebel against all of it.  I’ll make a few of my tried and true favourites instead, and try to politely sidestep the new “twists” on old classics.  Usually it involves somehow incorporating anise or chipotle into something.

As part of my rebellion, I’m choosing not to post a recipe this week.  I AM overwhelmed by all the holiday recipes, and even though I have a few dishes made, photographed and waiting in the wings for posting, they’re not entirely festive.  Besides, I'm sure you already have your own favourites ready to go, as well as the more volatile, stress-inducing holiday experiments you're about to unleash on friends and family.

I want to somewhat embrace the essence of the season, but without resorting to gingerbread, anise-scented hams, or quirky shortbread variations which might be better suited for skeet shooting.

Our home is devoid of Christmas decorations this year.  Not from any sort of Scroogieness, but if last year can be viewed as an experiment, then it’s safe to say that to decorate again would be plain stupid. 

One of our cats does not deal with change well, and as such proceeds to puke and poop in all places but the litter box.

Another one LOVED the Christmas tree, and proceeded to assimilate it into her already high-energy gymnastics antics.  Bulbs were smashed, the tree itself toppled, and the angel at the top suddenly seemed to have a pleading look on her face like a Jane Doe from Law and Order SVU.

The Christmas cards have found their place strung along the mantel, but there is no garland to accentuate their papery greetings.  Two words: tinsel shit.

The other cat generally adapts, but ends up with her usual sleeping places usurped, and instead finds new territory to spread the shed.  I wore out two lint rollers last year.

I feel bad not having decorations up.  Not that I’m generally one of the most “Spirit of the Season” individuals, with a Santa hat, ugly-battery-powered-flashing reindeer vest, and omnipresent cup of egg nog.  I am however, something of a stickler for tradition(s) and a certain sense of decorum.  I worry this is dying, and I fear my non-participation contributes to its slow death.

One need only glance on the street and see the number of people sporting track pants and yoga gear as day wear to observe the swan-dive into mannerless oblivion taking place all around us.

I can’t help but get a certain twinge of longing when watching certain TV shows (ie: Masterpiece Theatre) where the people would dress up for dinner IN THEIR OWN HOME!

This wasn’t because company was over. 

It wasn’t even necessarily because it was a particularly special occasion. 

It was just because that was what you did. 

It was proper. 

It was an observation of respect.

Is being all dressed up with nowhere to go such a bad thing?

So this year, Dear Reader, in an aim to placate the nagging guilt (which inevitably comes from my mother), I encourage us all to wear the season.  Whether in the form of full proper dress-up, or absurd sweater.  Whether for a quiet dinner with a loved one, a full barrage of family, or reheated frozen lasagne for one. I personally won’t be heading out to buy batteries to power-up some insipid Rudolph hat’s nose, however. 

I wish you all the best over these next few weeks, whatever you choose to celebrate, or even if you don’t.

Oh, and if you DO choose to wear yoga pants while eating dinner in front of the TV, at least be watching Masterpiece Theatre.

Update: A confession of sorts.  I did end up embracing a certain aspect of Christmas tackiness, but in the best way ever.  This was my Christmas Day shirt: 

Jealous?  You know you are.  But you don't need to be.  Check out Tees.ca for tonnes of brilliant and fun shirts for holidays and otherwise!

Grabbing Life by the Grapes (and Sausage)

“Ask and ye shall receive”

Or procrastinate long enough and something close to your initial request is likely to show up.

The latter was clearly the case today.  I was about to put an appeal out to you good people to suggest something different to try for dinner tonight, when I got an email from my cousin on Prince Edward Island recommending this recipe.  Roasted sausages with grapes.

I can already sense the raised eyebrows, and lips puckered in a sneer akin to “is that poo on my lip?!”  There are some meat purists out there who insist that fruit and meat should never cross paths.  They will never know the joy of prosciutto-wrapped cantaloupe, or salami and figs, and most likely, they’ve stopped reading by now because they’re unwilling to try sausage with grapes.

There is a glimmer of hope, though.  An enticement, if you will.  Now, my cousin is married to a lovely fellow who is a born and raised potato farmer, and is about as meat-and-potatoes of an individual as you could ever hope to meet. The fact that this recipe survived the trial, and his spud-insistent palate is all the proof I require to allow this meal through to the next round.

Congratulations, Sausage with Grapes, you’re still in the running towards becoming my Next Experimental Dinner.

Now, I feel the need to disclose that although I served it as a main dish, I think it’s probably better suited to being a party food.  Served on a plate, hot and sizzling, with toothpicks to harpoon the sausages and grapes with, and maybe some sort of gorgeous bread alongside for mopping up the juices. 

5 Italian sausages

2 cups seedless grapes (stems removed… obviously)

2-3 Tbsp butter or oil

4-6 Tbsp red wine

¼ - ½ tsp hot paprika or cayenne (optional)

1 tsp dried savory or oregano (optional)

3 Tbsp balsamic vinegar

Preheat oven to 450°

Start by pre-boiling the sausages for about 6 or 7 minutes, piercing the skins to let some of the fat out.

Heat oil (med-high heat) in a large roasting pan or Dutch oven on the stovetop.  Add the grapes and stir until coated with the oil.  Add red wine, paprika and savory, stirring until the liquid is reduced by half.

Remove sausages from water, and cut into rounds of equal length to the diameter of the sausage (*note: you could just leave them whole, but I like to increase the surface area to be browned up in the oven). 

Add sausage to grapes and mix thoroughly.  You may add a bit more red wine at this point if you want.

Pop into oven, and roast for about 25 minutes, stirring on occasion for even browning of the sausage.

Place roasting pan back on to stovetop, and (over med-high heat) add balsamic vinegar.  Stir until vinegar reduces slightly and juices thicken into a syrup.

Pour onto a platter and serve.

As I mentioned up top, I'm uncertain what to pair this with to serve it as a main course.  I'm totally open to suggestions, though.  This dish was too good to be relegated to the land of novelty, but just far enough off the beaten path to confuse me.  Ideas, anyone?

As always, feel free to like me on Facebook, too!

Give Me Banana Bread or Give Me Death

...although I'd prefer the bread.

In fact, I've chosen banana bread over death in the past.

Apparently the best banana bread to be had is available from Julia's Best Banana Bread on Maui in a tiny village off one of the most perilous and nerve-wracking stretches of road anywhere in the world.  We got surprisingly close to the village once, but the final stretch of road before getting there raised enough red flags to get us to turn back.  A narrow, one-lane road, with blind hair-pin turns along the edge of a cliff with a sheer drop-off on one side, and a soaring rock wall on the other.  The VW at the bottom of the cliff sitting as an explicit testament to the potential severity of the situation.  Since we were in a rental car we figured it may be most prudent to actually be able to return the vehicle.

Still Julia's beckons.  One day, little bread, one day...

In the meanwhile, in my quest to get as close to the best loaf possible without risking life or violation of an automobile rental contract, I stumbled across this blog.  The recipe seemed simple enough, boasts as being "the best banana bread ever" (Hear that?  EVER!!!), so I gave it a whirl.

I don't doubt the superiority of Julia's bread, but until I have tangible proof, I have to say this stuff is currently sitting in first place.

Still curious?  I direct you now to the Foodess for what I'm titling "Possibly the best banana bread ever but then again I've valued my life over adventure in the past and haven't tried Julia's yet".  You may amend the title as you see fit.

www.foodess.com/2010/09/the-best-banana-bread-ever/

Bisque Rip-Off

Going out to restaurants is something of a double edged sword.  One side of the blade indicates I don’t have to cook (YAY!), and the other allows me a way of peeking into what other people are doing in the kitchen.  Perfect fodder for shamelessly stealing inspiring new recipes.

Also, it can sometimes be the most unlikely item which ends up making the most pointed impression. (See post on mashed potatoes)

For example, while recently on vacation on Maui, the hubby and I went to Mama’s Fish House.  For those unfamiliar with the genius of this place, let me say a) it’s pricey, and b) it’s totally worth it!  (Gin lovers take note: Their Pau Hana cocktail has become one of my needful things)

Anyways, they often serve a small amuse bouche.  Usually a shotglass of a soup not found on the menu.  When we visited them it was a fish stock-based corn bisque.

*Digression:  how much do I love the French?  “Amuse bouche”?! “Bisque”?!  Damn!  They know how to market an otherwise uninteresting something to full effect!  Technically, an amuse bouche is little more than a trial sample, and a bisque is soup blitzed beyond recognition in a blender.  Somehow saying “Would you like a sample of blendered corn soup?” doesn’t incite the same “je ne sais quoi”.  And there they go again…

Digression over, and now back to the task at hand. 

So yes, one of the stars of the experience was the bisque.  Amidst a cornucopia of macadamia-crusted albacores, passionfruit-sauced cephalopods, and coconut-rolled crustaceans it was blender soup which stole the limelight.

Corn Bisque

·      1 carrot, diced

·      1 leek, pale green & white bit only.  Cut into rings and soak to remove dirt. Drain.

·      1 stalk celery, diced

·      3 ears corn, kernels sliced off cob.  Or about 3-4 cups frozen corn

·      4 cups fish stock (I totally went with a store-bought frozen version)

·      1 small sprig fresh rosemary.  Only have dried?  Don’t bother.

·      3-4 tablespoons olive oil or butter

·      Salt & pepper

Heat oil or butter in a heavy pot over medium-high heat.  When melted, toss in first three veggies and a pinch of salt.  Stir to coat thoroughly, and sauté for about 4 or 5 minutes.

Add corn and rosemary, and sauté for an additional 3 minutes or so.  Don’t worry if the veggies are still firm.  Next we cook the crap out of them with the stock.

Add stock and cook the crap out of the veggies.  By which I mean bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low, and cook at a simmer for about half an hour.

Remove any woody stalks from the rosemary, and puree the soup in a blender (in small batches if needed) until smooth and creamy.  

Return soup to pot and heat through. 

Adjust salt and pepper to taste, and serve.

As you can see in the picture up top I garnished with a sprinkle of paprika and a sprig of parsley.  To be honest I only did it for the sake of this pic.  I then poured it out of the fancy bowl, and back into the un-fancy small cauldrons which hold substantially more slop.

Unlike many of my other attempts at recreating other recipes, this one was surprisingly close to the original, or at least made a strong enough good impression to not simply be a pale reminder of the original.  As I’ve said before, if you have a good stock, then it’s hard to screw up a soup.  Consider that a challenge if you like.

Cauliflower Fritters

It finally happened.  

I found a way to cook cauliflower that doesn’t involve drowning it in sauce.  My usual approach would be a cheese sauce, or even a curry.  It’s not that I don’t like cauliflower, but to be honest, it bores the living hell out of me.  It’s like broccoli called and told you his albino cousin was coming over, then the cousin shows up and has no pop-culture knowledge, and proceeds to sit in the other room, make it smell like farts, and watches reruns of ‘This Old House’.

My friend Dan was talking about these the other day.  The recipe itself comes from Malta, and more specifically Dan got it from the lovely Liz on Youtube, who puts aside the BS and pomp for the sake of making REAL food, REAL good.  The proper name of it is something along the lines of frituli ta pastard, but I can’t seem to find anything online to allow me to confirm or deny that.  Unfortunately I was unable to come up with a suitable Shakespearean pun a la “hoisted with his own pastard” by the time of posting.  But I know, dear reader, that you’ll see that the thought was there, and hopefully come to a puntastic ending of your own accord.

Oh, and parents take note: This just may be the way to get cauliflower down your kid’s throat without wooden wedges and a catapult.  Umm… you’re welcome.

There’s definitely room for add-ins in this recipe.  Bacon, potato, spinach, etc.   I suspect a handful of sharp cheddar would be pretty brilliant, as well.  Of course, I heard bacon and decided “I’m making THAT!”

Makes 5-6 patties

1 head cauliflower, florets cut off

1 large clove garlic, minced

3-4 Tbsp fresh parsley

6 strips bacon, cut into bits (optional)

1 egg

Semolina or cornmeal (NOT flour)

Salt & Pepper

Olive oil for frying

Bring a pot of water to a boil.  Add the cauliflower florets and cook until tender.  Drain, and set aside to cool.

Meanwhile, cook bacon, drain excess fat on paper towels, and set aside.

When the cauliflower is cool, mash thoroughly with a potato masher.  Note: a potato ricer is damned near useless.  Yes, I tried.  It squeezed water out quite nicely, but didn’t actually “mash” per se.  You aren’t going to achieve the same smoothness as mashed potato, so just mash until the pieces are small, crumbly and of uniform size.

Using a sieve, press as much of the liquid out of the mashed cauliflower as you can.  Alternatively, you could squeeze it out handful by handful, discarding the liquid as you go.  Don’t worry too much about pressing every last drop out.

Add in egg, parsley, garlic, bacon, salt & pepper to taste, and mix well.

Form handfuls of the mix into small patties and dust with the semolina.  In the video Liz explains how this is the key to a proper, crispy crust.

Heat a small amount of oil (1-2tsp) in a skillet over med-high heat, and fry patties until golden, flip em, and fry again.

One of the great things about these bronzed beauties is they don’t require a sauce or condiment.  I have it on good authority that they work well as a cold snack, too, but I can’t imagine they’ll ever be hanging out long enough in my house to find that out.

Minus the bacon, these have the potential to be a great, low-fat, and tasty side dish or appetizer. 

My qualms with the cauliflower as a somewhat somnolent ingredient have been put aside.  We’ve found something new in common.

Which just goes to show: if a relationship isn’t working, you CAN change the other party, and your bliss shall be complete.

Squash: so much more than a weird sport

Tis the season for members of the Marrow family to start showing up in the grocery stores.  Acorn, spaghetti, butternut, Turk's Turban, pumpkin, and gourds out the wazoo.  I often find myself stocking up on various squash with the best of intentions, but more often than not they become ornamentals.  Condemned to become the centerpiece of a rotting, impromptu cornucopia amongst appliances and unopened mail on the counter.

This year will be different, I swear.

I solemnly vow to buy squash as needed only.  I shall purchase with purposeful intent, and a recipe in mind.  I shall not say “Oooo, that’s pretty!” and bring a miscellaneous weird gourd home and permit it to decompose on a random surface in the kitchen.

In this moment I grow.

I recently picked up the book ‘Moro East’ by Sam and Sam Clark.  I’ve ogled their books often in the past.  Their recipes celebrate Mediterranean foods, with particular focus on the Moorish influences. 

‘Moro East’ also reads as something of a requiem.  The Clarks were part of a gardening community on one of the garden allotments in London’s East End.  Sadly, despite the fact that the land had been bequeathed to East End families “in perpetuity” back in 1900, they were bulldozed in 2007 to become part of the lands used for the 2012 Olympics.

So much for perpetuity.

You can read more about the loss of these properties, as well as the displacement of an entire community here.

Within the pages of ‘Moro East’ there’re recipes based on ingredients harvested from the garden allotments, the people of varied ethnic backgrounds who contributed to the community, as well as people the Clarks have met on their travels.

This past week I zeroed in on two recipes in particular.  Pumpkin Pisto, and Roast Chicken with Sumac.  I’ll focus on the Pisto, though, as it was by FAR the scene-stealer!

As per usual, I made several significant alterations and additions to the recipe.  Since this was to be the only accompanying dish to the chicken, I wanted there to be more veggie variety, so I added carrots, yam, tomatoes and eggplant.  Here’s the recipe as I made it, with a strong nod to the original in ‘Moro East’.

 Harvest Veggie Pisto

·      About 6 tbsp Olive oil, more as needed

·      1 onion, diced

·      1 red pepper, seeded and diced

·      2 cloves garlic, sliced thin

·      1 acorn squash, peeled, seeded and cut into chunks

·      1 large carrot, peeled and cut into large chunks

·      1 yam or sweet potato, peeled and cut into chunks

·      1 eggplant, peeled and cut into chunks*

·      1 -1 ½ tsp finely chopped fresh rosemary

·      1 or 2 bayleaves

·      1 tbsp oregano (preferably fresh, but I used dried)

·      About 1 ½ cups tomatoes, diced

·      ½ -1 tsp ground cumin

·      A few grates nutmeg (teeny pinch)

·      Handful (total) chopped cilantro and parsley

·      1 tbsp balsamic vinegar

·      Salt & pepper

In a large saucepan (I used the base of my Ikea tagine) over medium heat, sauté the onion with a pinch of salt in olive oil for about 15-20 minutes.  Stir and cook until beginning to caramelize. 

Add the red pepper, and continue to cook for another 10 minutes or so. 

Add carrot, yam or sweet potato, garlic, bay leaves, and rosemary, cooking and stirring for a few minutes until all ingredients are evenly mixed.

Next, add the squash, reduce the heat and cover.  Allow to simmer about 10 minutes, before adding the tomatoes, eggplant, oregano, cumin and nutmeg.  Mix well, cover and allow to cook a further 10 minutes until the veggies have softened.

Toss the cilantro and parsley over the vegetables, sprinkle the balsamic vinegar over and stir gently until evenly dispersed throughout.

Adjust seasoning as desired, and serve.

*Often eggplant can be somewhat bitter, and it’s recommended to sprinkle cut eggplant with salt and allow the bitter juices to be drawn out.  I didn’t find that was necessary with this recipe, as the sweetness from the other ingredients defeated any bitterness which may have tried to rear its head.

Getting Over "Under-the-Weather"

Wow, I ought to consider turning pro at posting about not posting.

This past week had its challenges.  Our cat (the part-Siamese who sometimes shows up in the background of my photos) became seriously ill, and my world came to a screeching halt.  Making meals fell by the wayside, which was just as well because I had no appetite.

Umpteen taxi trips to the vet later, and she's back at home, wide awake, demanding of both food and attention, and generally back to the Divine Incarnation of Feline Loveliness which we know and adore.

Some would say "It's just a cat", but I don't buy that at all.  All of the beasts who take up residence with me do become family.  It's like with anything, really: if you say "It's just..." then obviously it's meaningless to you, and you're better off without it.

I tend to take the same approach with food.  I know I've mentioned before how insane I may be about sourcing out the best ingredients I can find, but it's because I DO care.  About myself, my husband, and repercussions to the world around me based on my own choices.

In the midst of my cat's convalescence, my friend Manuela sent me a link to this article about accommodating both sides of this "argument" when it comes to food.  The brilliant minds of New York-based food clique Studiofeast conjured up a dining experience which observes both sides of this "duality".  The vegetarian diner gets their meal representing their own dietary belief system, and the carnivore gets their carnage, yet the meals look the same.

If only all the worlds problems could be solved with such an act of compromise...

Leftover Hangover

So, I've been a bit of a slug lately as far as the kitchen activity goes.  My motivations have skipped between the painfully lazy to the barely edible.  I won't pretend I've made anything of consequence, or try and sell you on some experimental recipe that is better left to line a litter box.

However, when last we chatted, I was in the middle of trying to reconcile my attitude towards birthdays.  My own, specifically.

This year I took matters into my own hands and put the invite out to a few friends to come over, eat, drink, be merry, etc.  I foolishly said "It's caaaaasuaaaaaalll.  Great if you can make it, no woooorrriiiiies if you can't..."

I now know those words are stupidity incarnate.  Not because I blame any friends who weren't able to join (they were only following instructions, after all), but because I'm a complete over-preparing psychopath, who, without any set numbers, prepared enough food as if EVERYONE were attending.

Wrong.

Yes, I ended up with a Pharaoh's tomb worth of leftover food in the aftermath.  What does one do when one has buckets of chorizo and enough cheese to constipate a polar bear?  Mac and cheese, of course.

Once again, I direct you to Fine Cooking for their classic/basic recipe.  There's so much room for add-ins and substitutions that it's the ideal way to clean out your fridge when one finds oneself with a small Parisian marketplace worth of cheese and meat on hand. 

Oh, and the breadcrumb crust?  Not optional.  So good!

Unbirthday

Today may or may not be my birthday.

I haven’t decided yet.

I’m not generally known to be the most gracious about these things, but at the moment I’m not in my usual habit of finding the mossiest rock to crawl under and hide for the day.  I may even leave my cell phone on and the landline plugged in.  Progress.

My usual loathing of birthdays isn’t some vainglorious mourning of the passing of youth, an emo-esque reflection of the inevitable decay of age, or any such self-indulgent dribble (I save THAT for this blog).  Believe it or not, I don’t like attention.  Particularly unwarranted.  It was my mother that did all the work, so generally if accolades are to be handed out I think she should be getting the lionesses share of them.  Does this mean she gets a card from me on my birthday?  Hell no.  I don’t do cards.

Also this wasn’t some sort of spontaneous revelation at a ridiculously petty age (like say, 19) that I had gotten “old”.  I dreaded the birthday parties of my childhood equally, even though I wasn’t necessarily in possession of the tools to identify the “why”.

My “why” is somewhat clearer, and so is the realization that there’s a certain amount of “suck it up, princess” that goes a long way in these matters.

So, in true birthday fashion, I’m taking liberties today because it’s convenient to do so.  There’s no full-on new recipe being shared today, but rather a simple premise, and a callback to an earlier post.

My friend Tony had mentioned going to a potluck dinner and taking along…wait for it… ganache covered Rice Krispie treats!  Have you ever?!  I hadn’t.  Although I haven’t yet made them, it hardly seems a stretch of the imagination that they’ll be nothing short of orgasmic and coma-inducing.

If you don’t know how to make Rice Krispie treats (*tsk tsk tsk*), the first thing you want to do is go out and buy a box of the cereal, and a bag of marshmallows, and then follow the recipe that’s on the cereal box.

Now, I recommend you go here and scroll down for the ganache recipe.  

A few options are before you at this point.

You could:

a)    place cut squares of krispie treats on a cooling rack and drizzle them lightly with the ganache.

b)   Dip one end of squares into the ganache for more coverage

c)    Before cutting the squares, pour the ganache over the top, creating an ‘icing’ layer (not sure how well this one would stick, but I just like having three options)

As I said, I haven’t made these yet, but I do plan on making them for a few friends who are coming over on the weekend.  There was no point in making up a batch and having them just hanging out for a few days.  They are to be my treat on the weekend, not my guilt through the week.

I haven’t decided on the Drizzle, Dip, or Dump option, yet, but there will be photos to follow, so you'll find out which path was taken.

Just as my Mom is deserving of the credit for my birthday, it’s fair to say that Tony is to credit for introducing me to these.  So, Happy Unbirthday to the three of us!

All Hail the Queen!

The first book of hers I owned.  Life changing.

They say pasta originated in China and was brought back to Italy by Marco Polo’s expeditions.  Can you imagine if that restless Venetian had chosen to go west instead?  What would he have brought back?  Boiled mutton from England?  Hardly inspirational.

What did result from the introduction of pasta to the Italians can only be described as history-changing.  Hearty plates of high-piled noodles, infused with the aromas of garlic, peppers, cheeses, and of course, tomatoes.

Unfortunately later restless souls “discovered” the New World, settled here, and some centuries later saw fit to bastardize those holy pasta traditions.  (Seriously: noodles in a can?  Oy!)

As a child I would often wake early.  I would grab my box of Lego, and plonk myself in front of the TV, waiting for the morning cartoons to kick in.  I would find myself watching “Biba’s Italian Kitchen”, and even though I didn’t understand many of the ingredients, I just knew I wanted to be in that kitchen.

Biba Caggiano became the Italian mother I never had, and a role model for this then-budding foodie.  She upped the game completely.  Suddenly I knew there was a world beyond canned tomato-based spaghetti sauces.  Italian food meant so much more than pizza.  I know how trite that sounds, but for the limited ingredients available to our small town at that time, Biba’s show was like the arrival of a fantastic new Messiah. 

Except for when she cooked with rabbit.  Never could wrap my brain around that.  Poor Thumper.

So, today’s post is a shameless plug for all things Biba.  I’m certain I’ll be writing about one of her recipes on here in the future, but for now I think it’s only fair to just endorse the whole shebang.

I will however give a quick nod to one recipe which seemed completely unlikely, and yet turned out to be one of the most incredible things my kitchen has ever turned out.  Risotto with scallops, porcini mushrooms and saffron (pgs 103-104 in the above pictured bible...I mean book).  Did you think of putting those together?  I hadn’t.

Biba’s food is food to impress.  Yet, despite the intricacy of some of the recipes, it always comes through as unpretentious.  Italian soul-food, as it were.

I don’t know that Marco Polo would’ve had any inkling as to just how incredible the legacy of pasta would become to his own people.  With chefs and cooks like Biba, though, even though they are creating what are now time-honoured dishes within their culture, they come across as whole new worlds.  I don’t mean new worlds as in WRONG worlds, as in a certain contemporary who claims to be reintroducing Italian foods, yet cranks out heresy in the form of “hot dog salad”.  I kid you not…

Be real.

Be well fed.

Be satisfied.

Be Biba.

Chapters

Amazon US

(no, I don't get a kickback from recommending these)

Or if you happen to be in Sacramento, go to the source!

A dumpling by any other name...

I’m usually the first to admit that things are just better deep-fried.  Is it a healthy option?  Uuuuuhhh… no.  But it IS a damned tasty one.

Meat.  Wrapped in pastry.  Deep-fried.  Served with sauce.  Of course I’m referring to the gem of the Asian dim-sum repertoire: won-tons.

I can usually ply myself with a plate of these suckers until I collapse with repletion, a trail of sweet and sour sauce oozing down my shirt, with little more than the sound of my arteries hardening as a soundtrack.

I chose to run in a slightly more responsible direction with it this time, though.  Oh, they’re still deep-fried, alright!  But rather than the “weight” of meat as the filling, I embraced a lighter, nutritious, and (dare I say?) ethical option.

I used Yves Veggie Ground Round but you could just bulk up on the mushroom content, or even break up some firm tofu into bitty chunks (up the soy sauce and other seasonings as desired if using tofu).  Ooooor, yeah, you could use ground beef, or pork, or a mix of the two.  However, I’ve gone through the trouble of titling these VEGETARIAN, so I think it would behoove us all to stick with the veggie options, non?  Oui.

Vegetarian Won-tons

1 package wonton wrappers

340g package Yves Veggie Ground Round (or equivalent in tofu)

6-8 shitake mushrooms (finely chopped)

2 green onions (finely chopped)

1 medium carrot (finely grated)

2 cloves garlic (minced)

1 inch cube ginger (finely grated)

A pinch Chinese 5 spice powder (optional)

About 1 tsp ground black pepper

1 egg (optional)

1-2 Tbsp Soy sauce

1 egg (optional) see below*

Oil for frying 

 

Combine the Ground Round with your chopped and minced veggies, tossing in the black pepper as well as the 5 spice powder if you’re using it. 

Sprinkle soy sauce to taste over the veggies and mix well.

If using egg, crack it in and mix thoroughly.

Refrigerate mix for at least an hour, but it may be made up several hours in advance.

Now comes the fun part (keep in mind “fun” sometimes means “tedious”).  Have a small bowl of water on hand, as well as a baking sheet or large plate lightly dusted with flour.

Working one wonton wrapper at a time, place about 1Tbsp filling onto the center of the wrapper.  Moisten two edges towards one corner (as eloquently displayed by the cutting-edge graphics in the diagram below) of the wrapper, and fold the far corner over the filling, and press along the moistened edge.  

Next, moisten the three points and fold slightly over themselves.  Place folded wonton on floured baking sheet or plate, and repeat a squillion times, or at least until you run out of wrappers and/or filling.

Heat oil in deep-sided pot until bubbles rise easily around a chopstick pressed to the bottom (350-375°).  Drop the won-tons in a few at a time, so as not to crowd the oil.  Fry until golden (a minute or two), flipping and bronzing the other side, as well.

Remove to a bowl lined with absorbent towel, and place in a warm oven while you fry up the rest.

Serve with a dipping sauce of your own choosing.  Sweet and sour, Thai sweet chili, etc.  Surprisingly, French dressing is kinda kick-ass as a dip, too!  In this instance I had shitake-miso gravy, as well as the sauce from the bok choy and oyster sauce I served it with.

Technically, you aren’t obligated to fry these.  I just had a craving for crispiness, and you, dear reader, got caught in the crossfire.  You could pan-fry them, gyoza-style.  Drop them into boiling broth with some green onion slivers for a won-ton soup.  Maybe you just felt like making them, but don’t feel like eating them: freeze uncooked won-ton on floured baking sheet.  When solid, drop into a freezer bag or other airtight container, and save for when the craving does arise.  …and it will…  oooohhhh, but it will…

*Egg can be used for several reasons, and in several different ways here.  It can be a great binding agent for the other ingredients, making the mix easier to work with, as well as holding the filling together while cooking.  In the past I’ve also pre-cooked the egg (as a thin omelette), chopped into shreds and added to the mix.  It has more of a presence this way, but of course, does nothing to hold it together.

I didn’t actually use any egg in this particular recipe, as I was aiming to make a vegan version.  I thought I was successful until I read the ingredients on the wonton wrappers.  Yup.  Egg.

A post without a post

Allo all,

Technically, I'm already overdue for a post for this week.  To be honest, I have nothing to report.  I managed to tweak my neck and shoulder somehow, and as a result haven't been cranking anything of interest out of the kitchen.  Never mind the fact that sitting and typing for any extended period of time is a pale shade of hellish misery.

Rather than insult you with half-assed tales of "How to Make Dinner from Cheese and Crackers", or "Mr. Noodles.  Friend or Foe?" I'll just concede defeat for now, and join you again next week.

Here're a couple things which I hope to be attacking soon, though:

1) Vegetarian won-tons
2) A collaboration with a local chef, tweaking the aromatics of dishes to create new "fusion" concoctions.

A brilliant long weekend to all! XX

…and a little light S&M for dessert

Pardon me whilst I wax nostalgic for a moment.  I have very fond memories of pretty much living on the beach during the summers of my childhood.  My grandparents lived on the waterfront, and my brother and I would spend every chance we possibly could running around on the sandbar which was revealed at low tide, building sandcastles, terrorizing the living crap out of every piece of sea life we came across, and drinking buckets full of lukewarm Tang which my Gramma would bring down in a plastic pitcher.

There are so many smells that I associate with those long lazy days, that it’s hard to choose a favourite.  Even the stranger ones seem to hit a happy place in my brain: the aforementioned tang of Tang, the saline waft of hot sun on rocks, the sweatiness of creosote on the pilings which lined the front of my grandparents yard, an occasional lilt of wild tea roses, and the omnipresent mingling of dry tree needles, moss and sun-scorched grass.  Then, at this time of summer, there would be the Dominator/trix of all the other smells: The ripening blackberries.

My brother and I would scour the beach for the best, most untouched patches of the blackberries, cramming our faces until our cheeks and chins were stained crimson, and we pooped purple for a week.  We took few precautions towards the thorns, and barely noticed the shred marks, which made our skin look like we’d tangled with a herd of particularly temperamental felines.

So, you can imagine my delight the other day while walking home with my groceries, and that familiar sweetness plucked at my nose.  Baskets of fresh local blackberries had made it to one of my local markets.

Needless to say, I picked some up, and brought them home to mingle with some fresh-from-the-yard blueberries which were just waiting for a purpose.

Thus S&M Crisp was on the dessert menu for that evening.  So titled because the berries were black and blue, and also as a small homage to those summer days long since past when my brother and I would endure excruciating pain for those moments of blissful berry-induced nirvana.

S&M Crisp

Preheat oven to 375°

Filling:

·      Blueberries and blackberries.  Yeah, ummm…I really don’t know a specific quantity. I conferred with my Mom on this one, and she’s in agreement that it's up to you.  You could use enough berries to make up anywhere between 2 and 4 cups.  Depending on the pan you use, and how thick you want the fruit layer.

·      1-2 Tbsp cornstarch

·      2 Tbsp sugar.  You may need more sugar depending on the sweetness of the fruit.

 Toss the fruit with cornstarch to coat, and then 2 Tbsp sugar.  

Crust:

·      3/4 c brown sugar

·      3/4 c flour

·      3/4 c oats

·      1/4 c softened butter (maybe a Tbsp or so more for blendability)

Smoosh crust ingredients together in bowl until blended.  I just use my hands.  Way easier to knead it together than have a brain aneurism with a spoon or spatula.

Bursting berries, ochred oats and failed photo focus

Sprinkle pieces of crust mix on top of prepared fruit, and chuck into preheated oven for 30-40 minutes.  Remove when crust is handsomely golden.  It’s also a good idea to place a cookie sheet underneath if you're using a shallow pan, as the fruit juices can blurp over the sides.

 

Okay, so I took the easy way out and bought the berries rather than put myself through the iron maiden of a blackberry patch.  However, this is my mothers recipe, and since I haven't given her credit for it until now, I think that's enough of an exercise in potential masochism to make up for it.

My friend Manuela was on hand to partake in the devouring of this little pan full of happiness.  She later recreated this at home, creating a vegan version by substituting a soy butter for the real butter.  I think the bible speaks of butter omission as one of the greater sins, but for vegans and/or the lactose intolerant I guess it's good you have non-cramping options.

Photo and vegan alternative courtesy of Manuela

Insert random fig pun here: ___________

Appeasing the sugar-craving dessert demons, as well as maintaining variety can be a juggling act.  It’s usually best to stick with the tried and true rather than chance “mixing it up” and end up being disappointed, and sending your already overtired husband out to pick up a Twix or Haagen Daaz (I’ve heard stories about this happening).

While flipping through Nigella’s “Forever Summer”, and contemplating writing a West Coast version (working title options: “Barely Summer”, “Never Summer”, “It Still Ain’t REALLY Summer, but Screw it, I’m Gonna Cook Like it is!”), I came across her recipe for “Figs for a Thousand and One Nights”

I was intrigued.  Not so much by the title (although lovely), or the preparation (although simple), but rather by the fact that I had a container of figs in the fridge which I’d purchased in one of those spur of the moment “Oooo!  Fresh figs!” instances.  Had it not been for Madame Lawson, and the timely stumbling upon of the recipe, I’m quite certain the plastic clamshell holding the figs would’ve soon proven to be their coffin.

Additional interest was piqued by the presence of orange flower water in the recipe.  Few things put me in mind of Morocco quite so completely.  Okay, maybe standing in a sauna with exhaust blowing in my face while being harassed to “Come in!  Just browse!” would place as a close second, but since the sauna seems to be on the fritz these days I’ll just stick with the flower water.

As you probably guessed, I didn’t follow the recipe quite to the prescribed letter.  Primarily due to the fact that I didn’t have the EXACT ingredients on hand, so I ad libbed.  C’mon, I had orange flower water.  I deserve points for that alone!

Here’re the two ingredient listings, so you can compare how completely unprepared to properly make this I truly was.  Please note I admit to my shortcomings at the end, but not a moment before.

Nigella’s Recipe

·      12 black figs

·      50g unsalted butter

·      1 tsp ground cinnamon

·      1 Tbsp vanilla sugar

·      1 ½ tsp rosewater

·      1 ½ tsp orange flower water

      To garnish

·      500 g mascarpone cheese

·      100 g slivered pistachios

My recipe (not that I’m in disagreement with Nigella.  This is just what I had on hand)

·      8 green Calmyrna figs

·      3 tbsp butter

·      ½ tsp cinnamon

·      what the hell is vanilla sugar?  I used 1 Tbsp sugar with about ¼ tsp vanilla extract

·      2 tsp orange flower water

      To garnish (mixed in a bowl)

·      ¼ cup cream cheese

·      ½ tsp icing sugar

·      few drops Grand Marnier

Nigella said to preheat a grill or oven to the highest it will go.  I wasn’t quite ready to bring the house temperature up, so I just turned on the broiler.

Start out by cutting the figs into quarters, but not all the way through.  Open and place in a baking pan.

Over low heat, melt the butter and add the cinnamon, vanilla, sugar, and flower water.  Stir and pour over the prepared figs.

Nigella says to “blister under the hot grill for a few minutes and then serve” a couple figs per person, with a dollop of mascarpone (fancied-up cream cheese), a drizzle of the syrup from the pan, and the pistachios (errrr… I put a sprig of lavender in the picture.  That counts, right?!)

Admission of Defeat?

No.  FAR from defeated.  End result: it truly does taste incredible, and completely reminiscent of repasts taken in the cool shade of our riad's balcony. However, I found there to be some textural issues.  This is most likely to do with my own choice of alterations to the recipe.  Things I would do different in future are as follows:

           I.     I would be more inclined to try and cook the butter & sugar mix into more of a syrup before being drizzled over the figs.  It didn’t pan out so well in my instance, but it could well have been because of the additional moisture and alcohol of the vanilla extract.

         II.     A hot oven is probably better than under the broiler.  The tips were browning long before the rest of the figs seemed to be affected.  Also the syrup really hadn’t had a chance to carmelize (see point I).

Just buy some damned pistachios, or toast up some almond slivers.  The little extra some-sorta-sumthin that the presence of either nut would’ve lent the dessert can’t be overstated.