…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.

Croutons. So much more than garnish.

Sometimes it’s the simplest thing that makes all the difference in the world.  The barista getting your latte just right.  Finding the bag of crackers you’ve bought has perfectly toasted edges on every single one (happened to me recently, and my toes are still wiggling).  A plate of French fries served to just your particular liking (I like ‘em crispy, FYI).

A couple years ago while out with friends we’d ordered a large Caesar salad to share around the table.  Don’t get me wrong, the salad itself was lovely, but it was the croutons which stole the show.  Perfectly golden (hm, seems I have a toasting fetish), crisp on the outside with a delightful squish of chewiness inside (insert Duncan Hines “Crispy Chewy” jingle here).  This became a long-standing staple of our visits to this particular venue.

Recently we returned to the restaurant, ordered the salad, casting glances to one another and whispering “Ooooooooh, the crooooutons!”  Salad arrived.  The croutons looked…different, somehow.

The croutons tasted different, somehow.

Somehow, the croutons were different.

And not as good.

So yes, the task fell to myself to replicate the celebrated croutons of yore. 

God may be in the details, but a wicked crouton is all in the bread.  After much experimenting (okay, so I only did it twice) I found that using stale bread, as most recipes advise, actually produced a less than perfect crouton.

Start out with a good loaf of bread, or even some buns.  Don’t go for one of those grocery store loaves of French bread which have a consistency closer to cotton candy than bread.  Get a good, dense, crusty loaf.  Even though you’ll most likely be cutting the crusts off, I have a theory that there’s some sort of genius that takes place in the baking of the bread.  If it’s got a good crust then it’s most likely sealed in a bunch of the moisture which would be otherwise evaporated in the cooling of the bread.  Seems to make sense.  Right…?

My best results were with a trio of Portuguese buns which I’d cut the crusts off of.  They were only a day old, and I repeated the recipe with the same buns a day later, but they’d already lost too much moisture.  The latter batch were unappealing, explode-in-your-mouth, shards of dessicated shrapnel.  Oh, they were tasty shrapnel, for sure, but texture is everything.

This makes enough for one large salad, with some extras left over for munching on whenever you walk through the kitchen.

Croutons

• 3 Portuguese buns, crusts off and cubed, or enough bread to equal about 3 cups cubes
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 Tbsp olive oil
• 2 Tbsp butter
• Salt and pepper 

*Note the tea towel handwoven by my cousin.  Jealous?  Yeah y'are.

Preheat over to 400°

In a large skillet, or even a deep pot (I use my wok) melt the butter in the olive oil over med-high heat.

When butter is melted, add the garlic and fry gently for a minute or so. 

Add a pinch of pepper, stir in, then tumble the cubes of bread into the pan, quickly stirring and tossing to coat evenly.  You’ll probably notice that it’s almost impossible to get the oil mixture on everything, but that’s fine.  When you bake them in the oven it will allow the bread more time to distribute the oil throughout.

Next, adjust seasoning, tosstosstoss, then dump the oil-coated bread onto a baking sheet.  Use a couple cubes of bread to wipe the skillet/pot/wok/whatever clean of any remaining oil and garlic.

Set the sheet on the middle rack of your preheated oven for 8-10 minutes.  About half way through the baking time give them a quick toss/sheet-shake to allow even browning, and oil absorption.

When handsomely bronzed, remove from the oven, and drain on paper towel to remove any excess surface oil.

Serve with salad, soup, or by the bowlful while writing a blog… just an idea…

Eating the crumbs is expected, but not mandatory.

Hope you enjoy!

*Hey!  Have you liked me on Facebook?  Click it…  go ooooooon…

Lasatouille? Moussagne? Ratataka?

It all boils (or bakes) down to the same thing: a veggie lasagne, of sorts.

Years ago while travelling, a friend in Germany made a simple dish of eggplant fried in olive oil, then layered with tomatoes and slices of bocconcini cheese.  It was then baked until the eggplant had sopped up the juices from the tomatoes, and the bocconcini was an oozing puddle, binding it all together.

I’ve replicated that dish, and it’s every bit as lovely as my memory of that fall day in Bonn. 

This isn’t that recipe, though. 

As you’ve probably noticed, my masochistic nature is such as to make things far more complicated for myself.  This hasn’t been without positive results.  An occasional meltdown or tantrum in the kitchen?  Most definitely.

When it gets to this time of year the local produce departments, and farmers markets turn into a torrid orgy of bright, fresh, local veggies that just beg to come home with me.  It’s an agricultural red-light district, and I’m the unscrupulous tourist.  Hence it would be foolish to restrain myself, and attempt to keep things simple.

Veggie hedonism ahoy!

2 small zucchini, cut lengthwise (approx 6 six strips at about ½cm thick each)

2 Japanese (long) eggplant, cut same as zukes

2-3 large tomatoes, sliced thin

½ onion, chopped fine

2 cloves garlic, minced

about a dozen large mushrooms, chopped (I definitely recommend reconstituting some dried porcini mushrooms and adding them to this)

a good handful fresh basil leaves (about 2 dozen leaves)

1 ½ c chopped cooked spinach, liquid squeezed out

Mozzarella, about 2-3 cups, shredded*

I started out by pre-grilling the zucchini and eggplant (lightly basted with olive oil) on the BBQ.  You could skip this, though.  Just be sure you slice the zucchini as thin as possible if you do.  Set aside.

Gently fry the onion in olive oil until slightly soft.  Add the minced garlic and chopped mushrooms.  Cook until the mushrooms have softened, adjust salt and pepper to taste, then set aside.

In a 9x13 in pan begin layering your veggies.  A wise person would start with the eggplant slices, as they’ll absorb the juices from the other constituents as they fall to the bottom of the pan.  I was not wise, and used the zucchini first.  I wasn’t thinking.

Continue layering the veggies, adding desired handfuls of shredded cheese between select layers.  Although the particular order isn’t critical, it can be useful to alternate the larger pieces with layers of the less substantial items (mushrooms & spinach).

Here’s my suggestion from the bottom to the top of the pan, respectively:

Eggplant

Spinach

Mozza

Basil leaves

Zucchini

Mozza

Mushrooms

Tomatoes

Whole lotta mozza

Now you may look at the photo below and think there’s something wrong with my mozzarella.  You would be correct.  That would be because it’s partially cheddar.  I ended up buying one of those dainty globules of imported mozzarella, which turned out to be almost half the size of most domestic packages.  Although gorgeous, it proved to be a little bit insubstantial in volume.  So, the nubbin of cheddar in the fridge rapidly found itself called in to flesh out the cast.  You could also add a sprinkling of parmigiano, grana padano, or even an asiago as one of the layers, or mixed in on top.

Back to the mechanics of it: place the pan onto a large baking sheet (if you’re concerned about the juices spilling over and setting off fire alarms), and pop it into a 400° oven, and set the timer for about 45 minutes.  It may require less time than that, however, so definitely take a peek at 5 minute intervals after half an hour has passed.

Once the cheese has bronzed, and the veggies juices are burbling happily in the pan, remove from the oven, and allow to sit for about 10 minutes.  Trust me.  This stuff holds its temperature in ways which would make enriched uranium jealous.

It’s true that the quantity of cheese in this particular version doesn’t exactly make this a “light” meal.  However, since there’re no noodles, as in conventional lasagne,  one may feel inclined to serve it with garlic bread or any crusty bread for the upping of the carb factor.  And you should.

*most local vegans are aware of this stuff already, but feel free to substitute Daiya "cheese" in place of the mozzarella.  They've nailed it as far as cheese substitutes go!

Do what you love... just make sure it's easy.

There’s a lot to be said for doing/creating what you love.  Whether as a career, as a hobby, or even in what you prepare in the kitchen, that sense of joy which only comes from willing purpose or accomplishment is key.

Trust me on this one.  As one who possesses a disastrous attention span, yet a creative spirit which has been said to be in a state of perpetual overdrive, I can safely attest to this.  The fact that you’re reading these words is my testimony to this sentiment.  Do I make money from this?  No.  Am I a professional?  No.  My love for all things food-related, as well as the written word are what compel me to put fingertip to keystroke, and a hope that maybe someone somewhere will glean something from my prattle.

Accomplishment doesn’t need to be synonymous with elaborate.  In fact, the simplest, almost seemingly stupid efforts can often yield the greatest accolades.  Don’t believe me?  Remember that school project you busted your ass on?  You stayed up late at night perfecting your diorama, sugar-cube castle, potato-powered lightbulb, and the kid who got all the attention was the one who rubbed a balloon on his head and stuck it to a wall.  Meanwhile your potato did little more than ooze starch and attract flies.  Or as I mentioned in the previous post: kids who play with the box the expensive toy came in.

Which brings us to todays post.

On occasion my husband takes treats in for his coworkers.  Usually it’s as a form of enticement to lure people into one of his teaching sessions.  He would often be up, late at night, scouring through recipe books, and would then disappear in a dense cloud of flour and icing sugar.  Emerging only sometime after midnight, with a pan of sugary bribery cooling on the counter. 

He got great reviews, but as with all things, there were the naysayers: “I could do this better…” “Oh yeah, well I make a _____ which is amazing…”

The gauntlet was thrown down.  A friendly bake-off was suggested, and my hubby promptly found himself in a very distracted room of inattentive, tittering, scheming would-be bakers.

Cut to the night before said bake-off.  Hubber was tired, and uninspired.  Every recipe in the “dress to impress” repertoire required a few hours of time which would inevitably cut in on the precious downtime of the eve.

I threw this little suggestion his way as a saviour of sanity, sleep and effort.

Hello Dolly Bars

½ cup butter

1 cup graham crumbs

2 cups chocolate chips

1 cup coconut

1 cup walnuts

1 can sweetened condensed milk

First of all you’ll want to make a crust.  The butter and graham crumbs listed above are for making a quick graham crust.  If you’re feeling somewhat ambitious, I’d recommend making a shortbread base instead, and partially baking it before adding the other toppings (as shown here).

*patpatpatpatpat*

If proceeding with the graham version, melt the butter, mix with graham crumbs and pat into a 9x13 inch baking pan.

Next scatter the chocolate, coconut and nuts over the base.  Most recipes encourage you to do it in layers, but I like to mix them together in a bowl first, and add the condensed milk to the mixture.  If you prefer the layer option, simply do so, then pour the condensed milk evenly over the top.

Bake at 350° for about 25 minutes, or until the condensed milk has bronzed itself into caramel.

Please also note that there is absolute flexibility in these ingredients.  Pecans often replace the walnuts.  Sometimes butterscotch chips make up about half the chip ratio.  Just have a good quantity of your fillers on hand and it’s kinda hard to go wrong.

By the way, he won.  Which I take as “WE won”.  Credit where credit is due, after all.

Ad-libbing in absentia (aka: Stove, I miss thee!)

As I write this, my stove is in the process of being repaired.  At last my new glass cooktop came in, and my repair guy (ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Ken) is tinkering away in the kitchen as I try and figure out what the hell I’m putting on the table tonight. 

A quick perusal of the cupboards, an assessment of the stove situation (which basically entailed me leering behind Ken asking “So, uhhhh…WHEN exactly are you done with that thing?”) revealed that a) there was nothing in the house to be made since I wasn’t able to get groceries today, due to waiting for the illustrious Ken to show up, and b) neither I nor Ken knew when I’d be getting my kitchen back.  The Fascist’s kitchen is an occupied territory.  I am not okay with this.

It also turns out that none of my regular delivery places are actually delivering today.  So the 20 minutes I spent trying to rack my sushi order up to meet the $30 minimum were all for naught.  “Go out for sushi, then!” hear some of you suggest.  Not an option.  Read the previous post for my explanation why.

I don’t want to resort to pizza, but sometimes options are limited.

Thanks a lot, Ken.

So instead, here’s a lil sumthin I threw together last weekend when guests came over… on the bbq.

Flame roasted tomatoes with peas and herbs

*

*The above photo is admittedly a bit misleading.  There is no garlic in this recipe.  I hit the Vancouver Farmers Market and scored the ingredients for this, though, and this garlic was just too damn pretty NOT to have its photo taken.  Note the amazing zebra tomatoes.  You'll also note that the peas are absent from the photo, but I shucked 'em myself!

Cherry tomatoes to equal about 3-4 cups, halved

4-5 Large basil leaves, chopped

2 Large mint leaves, chopped

About 2 cups peas (preferably fresh)

1-2 Tbsp olive oil

salt

First of all, you’re going to need a basket for the grill which allows you to cook the tomatoes.  Something like the CharBroil wok topper basket.  If you don’t have something which will allow you to cook the tomatoes on a grill you could try roasting them in a high-heat oven, on a baking sheet.  Be sure to check on them regularly, and move ‘em around.

In a large bowl toss the halved tomatoes with olive oil, herbs and a pinch of salt (reserving a bit of the basil for later).

Over medium-high heat roast the tomatoes in the basket, turning frequently to allow to caramelize.

Meanwhile, make a foil pouch out of aluminum foil to put the peas in.  Add about ¼ cup water, and seal.  That is, close it up.  Don’t add seal meat.  That’s for dessert.

Place the pea-pouch on the grill.  When you hear the water inside boiling, allow to do so for a minute or two, then remove from the heat, and drain off any remaining water.  The peas are best when they retain that certain “pop” capacity.  Don’t allow them to boil down to an unrecognizable mush.  This is summer barbeque food, not dinner at the old folks home.

When the tomatoes have softened, and retained a bit of an umber scorch in places, transfer to a bowl, pour the peas over, add remaining basil, toss gently to combine, and adjust seasoning.

Pic courtesy of Mike C's iPhone

Despite the fact that I had made a seared, marinated pork tenderloin, as well as a from-scratch poutine, these tomatoes were the highlight of the meal.  Kind of like getting a kid a robot for his birthday and he plays with the box.  Oh well.  Noted.  Sometimes the quick and easy dish can be the scene-stealer, I suppose.

Sushi Sanctimony

I recall a day, not so very long ago, where eating sushi was a novelty.  Bordering even on the strange.  To have a California roll was to be adventurous.  Raw salmon was unthinkable.

I remember my first experience with sushi on the way back from the city with a couple friends (circa 1992).  We decided to venture into the unknown, went into a Japanese restaurant, declared ourselves as newbies, and placed our nervous selves at the mercy of the chef.  Of course he knew what to expect from us and therefore played it safe, serving us the ubiquitous California roll, miso soup, and most likely a tempura of some sort.

Aside from the new flavour palate, and moment of folly where I underestimated the potency of wasabi, it was uneventful.  I survived the unknown.  I now had a new thing to call my own (relatively).

I arrived back home, and told my family about what I had tried.  My Mom was wide-eyed, and somewhat disgusted, regardless of the fact that I assured her everything I had tried was cooked.  My Dad was slightly less surprised, but then we didn’t understand each other much at all back then.  I could’ve come home with a tap-dancing camel and his reaction would’ve been the same: “Why would you feel the need…?” I was encouraged to get checked for intestinal worms by both of them.

Later on, sushi and Japanese food in general would become comfort food.  My roommate at the time and I would go out for a home-cooked meal, brought to us by adorable, but completely non-Anglophonic staff.  The adventure continued, as we were often brought whatever the waitress felt like.  We would accept graciously, and tip absurdly.

There was a vibe to Japanese restaurants.  It was a place where the young and/or adventurous could be found, quietly but enthusiastically noshing on a variety of raw seafood, and miscellaneous tofu-based creations.

Time passes.  Perceptions change.  Friends tell friends.  Children tell their parents.  The once adventurous youth now have children of their own, and suddenly sushi restaurants are the Denny’s of the next generation.

Gone are the days of Bohemian solitude over a platter of thick slices of wild sockeye.  Now it’s a miracle to even have your chopsticks out of their wrapper before a strange child has managed to lob a piece of a cucumber roll onto your table.

I’m of two minds on this.  Well, three really.  

First: it’s exciting that the next generation has both the availability of a wide variety of foods, and that their parents are bringing them up to embrace it.  

Second: I really do miss the days of having a quiet sushi dinner.  My restaurant selection has become based upon previous experiences of roll-lobbing and screaming.  Really, some of these restaurants have become a ball-pit shy of being Chuck-E-Cheese.

And lastly, most importantly, yet briefly (because this IS a rant worthy of a post of its own): what happened to public etiquette?  When my brother and I were little and were taken out to a restaurant we were on our best behaviour.  Sure that sometimes meant we would rip the house to shreds afterwards, having kept all our brattiness inside for too long, but we understood what was expected of us.  Running over to someone else’s table to stare at their dinner, bellow across the restaurant “Mommy?  WHAT’S THIS?”, or climb around under tables was not an option.

What we’ve gained in broadness of thinking we seem to have sacrificed in manners.

I kinda want my quiet sushi joint back.