When ceramic breaks, crack out the grates

A cracked cook top does not a meal make.  Or at least, it doesn’t bloody well make the meal you want.  Seriously.  Try making spaghetti and homemade sauce in a time-efficient manner when you only have one element to work with.

Bit of background here: I love my ceramic cook top.  The halogen elements deliver close-to-gas rapidity of heat deliverance, but without the guilt of burning fossil fuels, or having to deal with the additional kitchen exhaust, which can only be scraped off the cupboards with a metal blade, a strong de-greaser, and a bushel of well placed cuss words.  You may private message me for some of my personal favourites.

Up above the shining black ceramic sea of cookery happinesses, above the gleam of the control dials, the blink of the LED clock, and the ever-beckoning allure of the Self-Clean button, I would store my salt and pepper.  The former in a green ceramic cube with rounded edges obtained in the curious French Protectorate of St. Pierre, the latter in a sturdy brass Turkish pepper mill, proudly haggled for in the Egyptian Spice Market in Istanbul.

As ornaments they are lovely. 

As functioning parts of the machine of my kitchen they are integral.

As weapons of ceramic-shattering mass destruction they are unparalleled.

And so it was on that fateful day when, like the mighty walls of Jericho (or undergarments of any number of celebrities), a-tumblin down came the army of vessels.  Like an assault of kamikaze condiments.

Perhaps I’m giving my S&P too much credit.  It may not have been a malicious act, but rather a suicide of seasonings.  Either way, it broke my damned range!

So this weeks post takes advantage of two of my new best friends: the oven and the barbeque.

Smoked Sundried Tomatoes

I started out with 4 plastic clamshell containers of on-the-vine grape tomatoes.  Next, I plunged a skewer through each one to allow moisture to escape without the tomatoes having to explode to do so.

Lay ‘em out on a sheet, which will allow for maximum air flow (note the broiler trays in the photo), and pop them into an oven at 200° or slightly less.  Ignore for about an hour.  They should be somewhat collapsed at this point.  You can rotate them and continue for another hour or so, but I preferred to smoke them first, as there will be a certain level of further collapsing/caramelizing/drying they will do on the bbq.  You want the tomatoes to be soft and somewhat chewy.  Not crispy.

Prepare a smoke box for the BBQ.  If you don’t have a premade fancy one, just watch what this guy does.  Honestly, it works better than most of the commercial variants available.   

Once prepared, place the smoke box under the cooking grate, as close as possible to the burner you are using.  Turn the burner on med-high, and when the chips start to smoke (5-15 minutes) reduce the heat, and place the tomatoes (still on the sheets) on the surface of the bbq AWAY from the heat.  You want to capture the smoke indirectly, not cook the tomatoes further.

I let them hang out for about 4-6 hours.  Check on them every hour or so.  Not too, often, because every time you open the lid you lose all the smoke.  Rotate them on the sheets during your hourly visitations, and remove the ones that seem done.

If you feel they’ve absorbed enough of the smoke flavour, but still want them a bit drier, return them to the 200° oven until they conform to your textural expectations. 

If not eating immediately, place in jars, pour in vegetable or sunflower oil to cover, and pop into the fridge.  Don’t use olive oil, as it has enough of its own flavour that it will defeat the sweet smokiness you’ve instilled in the tomatoes.

I initially had these while at Terre a Terre restaurant in Brighton.  They used large tomatoes, and I don’t see why you couldn’t do the same.  They would be amazing in a sandwich in place of meat.  I just wanted something that could be served as a little vegan-friendly alternative to charcuterie at a recent gathering.  

Smoked tomatoes at right.  Photo courtesy of Manuela Tiefenbach

Since I’m all about giving credit where credit is due, I have to say my attempt at these isn’t as good as the ones Terre a Terre makes, but they’re still pretty incredible.  That tells you just how good theirs are!

Now here’s something you don’t hear often anymore: Everyone go start smoking!!!

Told ya so!

I’ll admit that todays entry is a rehash of a previous entry, but I’m a bit of a bastard when it comes to the usage of “I told you so”, so I’ll proceed.

Once again, we’re visiting the land of pasta and sauce.  Nothing caps off a hot summer day like a big bowl of carb-loading, right?  Okay, so it wasn’t the wisest choice, but it was bloody tasty, and I didn’t get any complaints from the other half.

Anyblah, a few days ago I’d picked up a bundle of fresh wild mushroom ravioli from First Ravioli on a rather autumn looking day, and then the sun broke through, compelling me to retire the pasta to the fridge and crack out a salad for dinner instead.  Well, the sun stuck around for a couple days, and suddenly it was do-or-die as far as the raviolis shelf life was concerned.

Why yes, that is my beer

So, to prove my point (the “I told you so” factor) on the dexterity of the béchamel mentioned in the post from days of yore, I channeled this incarnation:

1 batch basic béchamel

Handful broccoli florets chopped

3 peeled cloves garlic

¼ to ½ cup shredded cheddar

small handful chopped parsley

cooked pasta

Start out by bringing water to the boil in a small saucepan.  When it has hit the boil, toss in the broccoli and garlic*.  After about 30 seconds, fish the garlic out with a fork, and place on a cutting board.  Another minute or two yet for the broccoli.  When it has softened, remove from heat and drain.

*(you could skip blanching the garlic in boiling water if you want a stronger garlic presence.  The garlic I happened to have on hand was REALLY strong, and I wanted something a bit subtler)

Using the broad side of a knife crush the garlic, and chop, using a pinch of salt if you wish.

To your already prepared béchamel add the cooked broccoli, garlic, and cheddar.  Stir thoroughly, returning the sauce to medium heat if the cheese needs extra heat to melt.

Yeah, the shredder was dirty, so I just busted the cheese into chunks.

When the cheese has melted, toss in the parsley, adjust salt and pepper and pour over your pasta.

Pretty much a no-brainer as far as meal options go (or post writing, for that matter).  The broccoli gave some balls to the sauce, as well as paying compliment to the cheddar.  The blanching of the garlic ensured the more delicate flavours of the wild mushroom ravioli weren’t overpowered. 

Steamy, saucy love

The bucket of pepper I doused on top wasn’t so forgiving.

Hot pot hankerin'

Well, I didn’t get this post up Thursday day as I’d originally intended.  As some of you may know Vancouver was a disaster zone in the wake of the Stanley Cup loss on Wednesday evening.  My initial plan to write this post was rapidly put to the sidelines as I (and 99% of the rest of the population of the city) watched in horror as our downtown core was ripped apart and set ablaze.

To those friends who were there, and are expressing regrets about not having “done something” please know that the fact that you’re still here to have those regrets is thanks enough.  The city can be rebuilt (both physically and emotionally).  You cannot.

Also, to those citizens who took to the streets the day after to voluntarily clean up: THANK YOU!  As much as everyone is saying that this kind of selflessness is what Vancouver is all about, it is also what basic human decency and goodness is all about, and my dears, you’ve displayed it in spades!  Thank you, thank you, thank you!  I am proud to call you my neighbours.

Now, where was I?  Oh right.  I blab about food here.  Best get blabbing.

Some years ago I was working for a company which would on occasion make the job seem almost worthwhile by treating the staff to lunches.  One of my favourites was when we’d get taken to a local, somewhat higher-end Chinese restaurant.  I was introduced to an absolutely stunning eggplant hot pot which, when I ordered it, the senior partner wielding the credit card for the meal would lean over to the wait staff and whisper “the OLD way”.  I didn’t dare argue, and it always came out incredible.  Soft, spongy, sweet eggplant snuggled in with minced pork, conducting their forbidden coitus on a bed of noodles bathed in sauce.

I ordered out from them on a few occasions, and even went independent of my coworkers, ordered the eggplant “the old way”, and it wasn’t the same.  I can’t even put my finger on it.  Yet, I’d return with my employers and entourage, and the partner would once again endeavor to place the whispered addendum on my order.  The waiter would give her a knowing wink and nod, and the hot pot would arrive brilliant once more.

Even though to this day I don’t know what exactly it was that was different, or why I got ripped off when I tried to act like I was in the know, I’m pleased to say that I came up with something which is delightfully close.  It’s not a hot pot.  In fact, it’s just a fully loaded stir fry, but I no longer feel the need to go pleading on hands and knees for my old job back purely for the sake of getting my hot-pot done the right way.  The OLD way.

Eggplant Hot Stir Pot Fry

1 package ground turkey (or chicken, or pork…)

Vegetable oil

¼ - ½ tsp 5 spice powder (I suspect what I thought was 5 spice was actually just cinnamon.  Turned out good, though)

1 tsp ginger (I used dried since my “fresh” ginger was withered like the old guy in the Metallica “Enter Sandman” video)

½ red onion - diced

6 (approx) shitake mushrooms – remove stems and discard, slice heads

½ red pepper - sliced

1 Japanese eggplant – cut into “French fries”

1 handful snow peas – ends cut off, and weird string thing removed (I didn’t bother)

2-3 heads baby bok choy – separated into leaves and stems.  White stems cut into crescents, leaves torn into bite sized pieces

1 package steam-fried Chinese noodles – cooked, drained, set aside

Hoisin Sauce to taste (expect 4 – 6 tbsp)

Heat a large skillet (god bless my flat-bottomed wok), and precook the meat in a splash of oil until cooked through, adding a pinch of salt and the 5 spice powder.  When no signs of pink remain remove and set aside.

Fry the onion slightly, adding the ginger after a minute or two.  You know what?  I think I added a clove or two of minced garlic at this point.  It was an afterthought then, it’s an afterthought now.  Consistency!

Next I tossed in the eggplant, adding oil as required, and tossing thoroughly.  When evenly coated add the peppers, bok choi crescents, and mushrooms.

Again: toss toss toss.  Stir and fry, one might say.

At this point I returned the meat to the pan, and about 3 tbsp of Hoisin sauce, stirring to coat.  The snow peas and bok choi leaves got tossed in next.  You could add the peas earlier with the peppers and other veggies, but I really like them having their crunch more intact.

Add a splash of water (about ¼ cup), and cover lightly, allowing the snow peas to soften slightly.

Finally, add the reserved noodles, mixing thoroughly, and adding more Hoisin sauce to taste.

Serve.

What meal doesn't need to be capped off with a dessert?  For that, sally on over to Crass Cuisine and check out how she channeled her frustrations with the hockey aftermath.

Enjoy!

Earning the right to eat

I’ve flirted with vegetarianism.  Given veganism my number.  Even had a steamy, tawdry affair with raw foods.  I do keep coming back to meat, though.  In different degrees, and based on an intuitive sense of what I can bring myself to consume.  I expect I’ll repeat the foray into meatlessness again at several points in the future.

Sometimes it was based on a certain guilt about consuming other creatures.  At others it was an issue of the quality of the products (non-organic, medicated, living conditions, processing techniques, ethics, etc).  Yet, something always brings me back to the land of the meat devourers.  Usually bacon.  Smoky, salty, sultry seductress…

I’ve set a few guidelines for myself as well, or rather, the guidelines have revealed themselves as personal truths.

For starters, I can’t bring myself to eat anything I’ve had as a pet.  Aside from the obvious dogs and cats, which can breathe a sigh of relief at this stay of execution, this also includes ducks and rabbits.

Technically we had chickens growing up, too, but they never responded to me (cold, distant snots) so apparently I’m fine to consign them to a roasted-until-golden gallows.

Personally, I think we should be made aware of food processing.  Even (no, especially) if it involves horrible, traumatizing, graphic visuals.  If you can see these things, and reconcile them with your own ethics and acceptability, then congratulations, you’ve earned the right to eat it!  Meat doesn’t grow in shrink-wrapped trays in the back of the grocery store.

On my recent time spent in Morocco this was blaringly displayed in the food markets where your meat is often freshly killed for you.  We had enrolled in a cooking course, which included shopping for the meal ingredients.  Knowing that I can’t bear witness to the carnage, I voted to go for the beef dish, as we didn’t have to make eye contact with our meal beforehand.  Only to reconcile the pieces being cut from the hanging carcass.

Yes, this was a wuss-out on my part.  I mean, it still came from SOMEwhere.  I’d just prefer my food to not have any memory of having seen me.

It’s easy enough to disassociate oneself when on unfamiliar territory, though.  Even back on the home front, however, this was brought into crisp focus when, on a trip to the JN&Z Deli on Commercial Drive, they were loading the pre-processed pigs into the store.  I watched as passerby quickened their step, averted their eyes, and generally pretended not to witness the offloading.

Photos courtesy of Michael C.

We like end results, and prefer ignorance to process.

I don’t claim to have achieved any sort of resolution within this post.  I don’t expect to do so until I have either a) become a complete devout vegetarian, or b) become a disconnected sociopath with no value for other creatures.

I do, however, allow these reflections to influence my/our eating habits.  There is an INSANE amount of time and thought put into sourcing the ingredients with which I cook.  At times, yes, it would be far easier to buy the warehouse pack of chicken pieces, or pre-seasoned miscellaneous meat appetizers.  Yet, if I am to wield totalitarian control within my kitchen, then I also need the same absolute control of what enters it. 

Simple.

A concerned parent wouldn’t enroll their child in a school without at least having some clue of the reputation of the teachers.  And so it is for me.

Now, I'm not quiiite as bad as these two... yet.  Give me time.

What is this "cooking" thing you speak of?

Ahh, dearest readers I apologise for my silence.  I was actually on vacation for a bit, and the posts I had all ready to go in my absence I geniously forgot to set up to post.  Now reading them I see some improvements I’d like to make before they see the light of day.  They’ll be worth it, I promise.

If you didn’t notice my absence… ouch.

So yes, vacation.  Spain and Morocco.  Almost a month of sampling other foods, having other people cook for me, and being able to sit back and enjoy the fruits of others’ culinary labours.  Food tourism has become one of my favourite things.  As much as I’m all about getting great pictures of landmarks, landscapes, and the outlandish (and I have almost 4500 photos from this trip alone to prove it) there’s something far more soul-satisfying when you get under the skin of the food of a culture.  It stays with you in a way that a blurry picture of the Mona Lisa obscured by a busload of Japanese tourists never could.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I think it also does the same for the stomach.  As much as I love trying new things there’s something to be said for finding oneself amongst familiar foods.  Even the most trashy of foods can be of great comfort to the homesick.  For example, one evening it just felt like too much effort to even attempt to order in rudimentary Spanish, so we found ourselves back in the hotel room cramming our faces with potato chips, chocolate bars and cola.  Now THAT is self catering at it’s finest!

But now back home, and staring at pots, pans, utensils and basic ingredients and trying to figure out what the hell to do with it all.  My head is crammed with new ideas, but actually executing them feels like a daunting task.  I’ve gotten away with a few nights of take out, but now it’s time to dive back in.  Smack the kitchen around, call it dirty names, forget to call it the next day.  You get the picture.

I’m reluctant to completely let go of the vacation experience, and as such my intent is to pay an homage to Morocco.

So tonight I made a simple chermoula to marinate 2 gorgeous wodges of halibut.

Basically, according to Wikipedia a chermoula “is often made of a mixture of herbs, oil, lemon juice, pickled lemons, garlic, cumin, and salt. It may also include onion fresh coriander, ground chili peppers, black pepper, or saffron.”  Since I was making do with my post-holiday limited resources I scaled it back to the simplest possible variation.

2 cloves garlic finely minced

small handful parsley

about ½ tsp cumin

olive oil (enough to make a paste)

Salt & pepper

You could take the easy route and blitz these in a food processor, bash them together with a mortar and pestle, or give them a martini-esque shaking with a Jamie Oliver Flavour Shaker as I did.

Then the halibut got basted in the above mixture, and ignored for a while.

For the veggies:

½ red onion, chopped

1 small eggplant, peeled and cut into large cubes

about a dozen cherry or grape tomatoes halved

Next up, I cracked out the tagine I bought from one of the food souks in Marrakech.  Onto the stovetop it went on its maiden voyage.  Half a red onion (chopped) got tossed into the base, along with a dollop of oil. 

When the onions had lost the bulk of their crunch I added the eggplant pieces, as well as another splosh of oil (eggplants are thirsty bastards), thoroughly mixed, covered, and let the eggplant and onion get hot and heavy for a bit.

When the veggies had softened and absorbed the oil, as well as the liquid they’d sweat out, I pushed them to the side and placed the halibut on the bottom of the tagine.  The veggies then got replaced, scattering the tomatoes over the top as well.

A quick splash of freshly boiled water (enough to come about half way up the fish.  Hot stock would’ve been fine, too), a re-sprinkle of salt, cover popped back on, and this was about 10-15 minutes from completion.  

It’s okay to peek while cooking, a) you’ll need to check if the fish is cooked through, and b) you want to be certain the pan hasn’t gone dry before the fish is cooked.  Add more water if necessary.

You’ll note I don’t have a photo of the finished product.  That would have something to do with a jet-lag related brain fart, as well as the fact that I was so ravenously hungry at this point that taking additional photos was the very last thing on my mind.  Seriously, when hunger AND the need for sleep tag team in this body it is one discombobulated mess.