The Kitchen Front

Mix and match

2012-02-07T12:39:00.000-08:00

When a hot summer day rolls around, nothing hits the spot quite like a crisp, fruity wheat beer. Alas, while our winter has been unseasonably unseasonable, it’s not summer yet. That’s no reason why you can’t spruce up your February cocktails with a little of that liquid sunshine.
I like whisky. And I like beer. I don’t know why it took me so long to mix them together outside of my stomach. The original recipe calls for Hoegaarden and bourbon: I used Canadian Club and Kronenburg 1664 Blanc and it worked well enough. I can’t say I really noticed the marmalade much beyond the little bits floating in the glass. The citrus in the beer gave the whole thing a nice tartness. I know I’ll be experimenting with this a bit; hopefully I’ll have it mastered by patio season.

Weissen sour

2 oz bourbon or whisky
¾ oz fresh squeezed lemon juice
¼ oz simple syrup
2 dashes of orange bitters
1 teaspoon orange marmalade
A wheat beer like a hefeweizen or witbier
Lemon twist, for garnish

Combine bourbon, lemon juice, simple syrup, bitters, and marmalade in a mixing glass.

Add ice. Shake vigorously 30 to 45 seconds. Strain over ice into a double rocks glass (also known as a bucket)

Top with beer.

Twist lemon over the drink and garnish and serve.

Heart of Darkness chili

2012-01-31T08:25:00.000-08:00

Photo source

Back when my office was a little further uptown, I’d frequently stop in at a popular local lunch spot called Delica for a sandwich and a cup of coffee. On days when it was cold, grey, wet or snowy, I’d opt for their chili, which was a rich cocoa-infused concoction full of tender chunks of stew meat that never failed to satisfy. I’ve since moved offices downtown, but the memory of that chili stayed with me. It was/is, as far as I’m concerned, the Platonic ideal of chili.

I was chuffed to see that the folks at Delica were good enough to include the recipe on their website. So I made it at home (with a few tweaks) and spent the next few days telling anyone who would listen all about the best chili ever. Just try it. It might be the last chili recipe you ever need.

Heart of Darkness Chili (adapted from Delica Kitchen)

Serves 8
1/4 cup canola oil
2 lbs bone-in beef short ribs (the short, thicker cut kind)
2 cups diced onion
¼ cup minced garlic
2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoon chili powder
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon ancho chili powder
1 tablespoon cocoa powder
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
3 tablespoons molasses
3 cups canned diced or chopped whole tomatoes
Up to 2 cups water
2 cups canned black beans, drained and rinsed

Preheat oven to 350F.

Heat 1 tablespon of oil in pot or Dutch oven and sear ribs in batches until well browned. Set aside.

Add onions and garlic and sweat for 2-3 minutes until translucent but not browned.

Stir in salt and spices and cook, stirring constantly 2 minute.

Add Worcestershire sauce, molasses, tomatoes and short ribs to the pot. Add enough water to cover and bring to a simmer.

Cover and place in oven for 1 ½ to 2 hours or until meat is very tender.

Remove ribs from pout and skim as much fat from the surface of the liquid as you can.
Remove bones from ribs and return meat to pot (you may lose some bones in the depths, so hunt them out with a pair of tongs.).

Add black beans and cook for an additional 10 minutes. Take out and let cool for 10 minutes and serve with sour cream or cheddar cheese, corn bread…

That my lunch #2

2012-01-20T11:49:00.000-08:00

Whenever I visit Tres Carnales, there is a constant debate with my lunch mates over which tacos are their best. My favourite is usually whatever kind I order that day. Today it was tacos al pastor: slow-roasted pork, radishes, salsa verde. They were especially good with their new pickled onions (not pictured).

A red sauce joint

2012-01-18T18:41:00.000-08:00

Bucatini all'amatriciana has been on my kitchen to-do list ever since I had it in Vancouver a few years ago. A simple tomato sauce where the sweetness of the tomatoes plays off the saltiness of the guanciale (cured pork jowl) and the heat of peperoncini, it's a winning dish with very few ingredients. The snag is that one of those few ingredients, guanciale, was tough to come by in my frozen corner of the world.

Fast-forward to a recent feature on chef Daniel Costa in local food mag The Tomato. Daniel shared his killer recipe (as well as a handful of others I'm keen to try), and the discovery that the helpful nugget that is the Italian Centre now stocks guanciale. I bought some within a day of reading that article. With a slab in hand (sold vacuum-packed), the only real challenge was slicing the meat as thin as it needed to be. I think I'll ask the deli to do it next time…

Bucatini all'amatriciana from The Tomato
Serves 4

450 gr bucatini
1 piece guanciale (about 350 grams)
4 cloves garlic, finely sliced
2 c canned San Marzano tomatoes, passed through a food mill
1 t hot chilies
¼ c Pecorino romano, grated
1 head Italian parsley, leaves picked
extra virgin olive oil
kosher salt

Sauce:
Heat a little olive oil in a large pan. Add the sliced guanciale and fry until golden. Add the sliced garlic and cook until it just starts to turn golden. Add the pepperoncini, followed by the tomatoes. Simmer the sauce for 10 minutes stirring frequently.

Pasta:
Add a generous handful of kosher salt (4 T) to 12 cups of water in a large pot and bring to a boil. Cook the pasta until al dente. Save 1 cup of the pasta cooking water. Drain the pasta; add to the simmering sauce. Stir the bucatini into the sauce and add the pecorino and parsley. Add a little pasta water if needed.

Serve pasta immediately. Top with a little more pecorino and pepperoncini.

Cabbage patch

2012-01-17T08:08:00.000-08:00

I should like cabbage. I’m part-German, part-Ukrainian. I should love cabbage. But I don’t. I associate cabbage with sauerkraut, cabbage rolls and kimchi, dishes I’ve never actually tasted because of the olfactory similarities to hot garbage.

Recently, though, I’ve started to realize that maybe it’s not the cabbage itself that’s the issue. Don’t hate the vegetable, hate the method. So, when half a head of Napa cabbage appeared in our fridge one day, I gave it a tentative sniff and decided to give it a shot.
I always assumed Napa cabbage was an American cabbage (as in Napa, California), but Google tells me it’s actually Chinese in origin, which makes it a natural pairing for the flavours of sesame, red pepper and soy-marinated beef. The original recipe calls for cucumbers, but I’m not a fan of those either, so I added some sliced avocado, fresh mandarin orange segments, thinly sliced peppers and chopped scallions to give it some more personality.

Asian Steak Salad with Napa Cabbage (adapted from Everyday Food)
Serves 2

2 tablespoons fresh lime juice (from 2 limes)
2 tablespoons unseasoned rice vinegar
1 tablespoons vegetable oil, such as safflower
1/2 tablespoon toasted sesame oil
1/4 teaspoon crushed red-pepper flakes
1 garlic clove, crushed through a press
250 grams striploin steak
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1/2 head Napa cabbage (1 pound), thinly sliced crosswise
1/4 cup cashews, coarsely chopped and toasted

In a small bowl, whisk together lime juice, vinegar, oils, red-pepper flakes, and garlic.

Place steak in a shallow bowl and add half the mixture (reserve the rest for dressing) along with the soy sauce and marinate for 30 minutes or overnight in the fridge.

Heat a couple of teaspoon canola or grapeseed oil a shallow pan on medium high heat.

Lift steak from marinade and fry for about three minutes each side. Let rest 5 minutes, then slice thinly across the grain.

In a large bowl, toss cabbage with dressing and whatever other toppings you desire. Top with steak slices and cashews and serve.

Market Mondays

2012-01-11T09:05:00.000-08:00

Last week, D. had a pretty brilliant idea for the seemingly impossible task of making Mondays less crummy: instead of heading home after work to cobble a meal together out of whatever is in the fridge, we would rendezvous with our friend and sort-of neighbour Jessica at the local farmer’s market and pull together a dinner from whatever we find there.

Toronto has about two dozen farmer’s markets, including a few that run all year long (I was pretty surprised to learn that a winter city like T.O. would have year-round farmer’s markets; by contrast, balmy Vancouver has none). We’re lucky that our move this fall took us from a neighbourhood with one all-year market in Dufferin Grove Park to another on Sorauren Street.

So, the first Market Monday rolled around and we trekked at dusk to the Sorauren Farmer’s Market, which is tucked up for the winter months in the tiny fieldhouse next to the park. The season being what it is, pickings were fairly slim, but we came out with some fat and spicy Berkshire pork sausages, potatoes and a loaf of crusty bread. Some kale and a bulb of fennel from the nearby supermarket later, we had the makings of our ad lib winter feast.

We tossed the potatoes, fennel and sausages in a casserole with some sliced onion, whole cloves of garlic and crumbled dry sage and let it roast over moderate eat for a good hour until the sausages were plump and crispy on the outside, the fennel and onions supple and sweet and the potatoes just crumbling. The kale was rinsed, trimmed and given a quick turn in a pan with some sliced garlic and finished off with a splash of cider vinegar until it was tender and glossy. Simple, warming and of the moment: a perfect way to open another working week. Wine was opened, and Monopoly real estate deals sharply contested. Market Mondays, I'm pleased to meet you.

Chop to it

2012-01-06T09:21:00.000-08:00

I guess I’m on a bit of a pepper kick (if two posts with dishes involving pepper can be called a kick).

I spotted the original recipe for this on Serious Eats this a day after I stumbled across the downtown location of Cumbrae Meats a week after reading about the latter in the Joe Beef cookbook. I love maple and black pepper and had been craving a good pork chop for a while, so it seemed like synchronicity at work.
The chops themselves were magnificent; thick and flavourful. The leek-maple sauce was a nice combination of sweetness, peppery heat and a hint of tartness that complimented the flavours of the pork nicely. In future, I’ll forgo the marriage of convenience here between the leeks and sauce (the leeks made it into this dish only by virtue of having been taking up room in my crisper for the last two weeks). I’d also like to try the sauce with different cuts of pork (like tenderloin) or perhaps even chicken. My leek-y version is here, but you can find a link to the original recipe below.

Pork chops with maple black pepper leeks
Adapted from Eggs on Sunday

2 bone-in, thick cut pork chops (at least 1-inch thick)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon whole black peppercorns, crushed
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 medium shallot, minced
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
2 medium leeks (white parts only), rinsed sliced
2 1/2 tablespoons cider vinegar
1/4 cup maple syrup

Preheat your oven to 200F. Season the pork chops well with 3/4 teaspoon of the salt. Pour the oil into large ovenproof skillet set over medium-high heat. Add the chops. Cook the chops until they are well browned and their temperature reaches 120F with an instant read thermometer (about 6-8 minutes per side). Set the chops on a platter and keep in the oven to keep warm.

Place turn the heat to medium. Add the shallots, thyme and leek and cook until beginning to soften.

Remove pan from heat, pour in the vinegar, and scrape the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon to dislodge any browned bits. Return to heat and simmer until vinegar is reduced. Add the maple syrup and the crushed black pepper. Return to a simmer and cook until leeks are soft and sauce is reduced to a glaze.

Return chops and juices to pan (check pork first to ensure internal temperature has increased to at least 140F), bring to a quick boil, turn chops to coat and serve.

Put some pep in your step

2012-01-04T04:42:00.000-08:00

How were everyone’s holidays? We had a lovely time. The Christmas season was filled with long walks in the park and an awful lot of good brown liquor. I also spent a fair amount of time leafing through the latest additions to my cookbook arsenal, “The Art of Living According to Joe Beef" and Thomas Keller’s “Ad Hoc at Home.” It was good.

There’s one part of the holidays that doesn’t get mentioned often and that’s the lull between Boxing Day and the day before New Year’s Eve. That’s about the time when the family you were so happy to see on December 24 start getting on your nerves, when the last crumbs of shortbread have been dusted off your shirt, and when the wonderful dinner that left you stuffed and content in the soft glow of Christmas Day is joylessly re-heated in Tupperware containers in the microwave.

In the course of fighting through such a funk myself last week, I whipped up a batch of the Roman classic cacio e pepe and in the process discovered a new favourite dish. As I worked my way through a second serving, I started to wonder: is it ridiculous that I have never made this basic four-ingredient (five, if you count water) recipe before? Have people been talking about this and leaving me out of the loop, like that one guy at the party who hasn’t watched The Wire? I feel like something this simple and tasty should be in everyone’s toolbox, even the most useless home cook.

I used the recipe from Bon Apetit which calls for a whole lot of butter and two varieties of cheese, which I understand is a bit nontraditional. I can’t complain, though my future cardiologist might have a few choice words for me.

Cacio e pepe

Kosher salt
6 oz. pasta (such as egg tagliolini, bucatini, or spaghetti)
3 Tbsp. unsalted butter, cubed, divided
1 tsp. freshly cracked black pepper
3/4 cup finely grated Grana Padano or Parmesan
1/3 cup finely grated Pecorino
Preparation

Bring 3 quarts water to a boil in a 5-qt. pot. Season with salt; add pasta and cook, stirring occasionally, until about 2 minutes before tender. Drain, reserving 3/4 cup pasta cooking water.

While that’s happening, melt 2 Tbsp. butter in a large heavy skillet over medium heat.

Add pepper and cook, swirling pan, until toasted, about 1 minute.

Add 1/2 cup reserved pasta water to skillet and bring to a simmer. Add pasta and remaining butter. Reduce heat to low and add Grana Padano, stirring and tossing with tongs until melted. Remove pan from heat; add Pecorino, stirring and tossing until cheese melts, sauce coats the pasta, and pasta is al dente. (Add more pasta water if sauce seems dry.) Transfer pasta to warm bowls and serve.

Currant events

2011-12-22T08:52:00.000-08:00

Every holiday season, I find myself asking the same question: “Why is it so hard to find recipes for cookies at this time of year?”

Ha ha.

Obviously, cookies and so forth are everywhere right now. Now, my feelings on baking in general have been well documented and last year’s efforts were less than stellar. But not having cookies on hand isn’t really an option (is it?), so I gritted my teeth and decided to try and make one of my favourite cookies from a recipe that, as it turns out, is pretty much idiot-proof. These cookies are light- and fresh-tasting, which is why you can plow through a half dozen of the little buggers while everyone else is still gnawing on their gingerbread.

Lemon Currant Cookies (from Martha Stewart)

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened, plus more for baking sheets
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup sour cream
1 large egg
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup dried currants
1 tablespoon grated lemon zest
Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Generously butter two baking sheets, or line them with parchment paper. Combine the butter and sugar in a mixing bowl; beat until light and fluffy. Beat in sour cream and egg.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Gradually beat the dry ingredients into the butter mixture until they are well combined. Stir in currants and lemon zest.

Drop heaping teaspoonfuls of dough about 1 1/2 inches apart onto prepared baking sheets. Bake until cookies are puffed and golden around the edges, about 20 minutes. Let cool 5 minutes on baking sheets before transferring cookies to wire racks to cool completely.

Kale and hearty

2011-12-20T07:58:00.000-08:00

With the Yueltide nearing (we’re not there, but you can see it from here) and with it the usual gorging on baked goods, booze, starch and meats, I thought I’d try to get one (last?) sort-of healthy meal in beforehand.
Apparently kale is a member of the cabbage family (as are Brussels sprouts, broccoli, and cauliflower). Kale, unlike its firm-headed cabbage kin, has no heart. That’s not a character assessment, though it makes sense given how tough and bitter kale can be. Still, once you get to know kale, it’s not such a bad leafy green. It’s remarkably good for you (that’s one of the reasons why I always wrote it off as hippy food; well, that and hippies really like kale) and, best of all, it’s one of the few greens that keeps fresh into the winter months even as all the lettuces and spinaches from California wilt in their sad plastic bins.

So, armed with a bunch of kale, a few chorizo and some random fridge scraps including some blanched green beans and some olives, I whipped up a warm and deeply satisfying winter salad. I’d definitely make this again, omitting the olives (they made things a bit too salty).

Warm kale salad with chorizo and almonds (inspired by Nigel Slater)

Small bunch of kale
olive oil
250g chorizo
1/4 cup skinned whole almonds
a clove of garlic, peeled and sliced
1 Tbsp good quality cider vinegar

Wash the kale thoroughly, trim stalks and chop leaves roughly.

Thickly slice the chorizo and fry in a skillet over medium heat till golden. Remove with a slotted spoon to a bowl lined with paper towel. Discard excess oil and wipe the frying pan clean.

Add the almonds and cook for 2 or 3 minutes till pale gold then lift out and add to the chorizo.

Warm some more oil in the pan, add the crushed garlic and shredded greens and cook for a couple of minutes, turning the greens over as they cook, till glossy and just starting to darken in colour.

Return the chorizo and almonds to the pan, drizzle with vinegar, season with pepper and serve.

Class dismissed

2011-12-15T08:23:00.000-08:00

Here's me, looking as exhausted as I felt/feel following my last cooking class. I burned my demi-glace, overcooked my chicken a smidge and managed to botch glazed vegetables, but I passed and now I'm freeeeeeee! Now: what do I do with the chef get up?

The Maple Leaf forever

2011-12-01T06:58:00.000-08:00

Here in the Big Smoke, the autumn is stubbornly refusing to give way to the winter snows that have started blanketing other parts of the country (even our fair west coast). It’s crispy, but the boots are still in the basement for now.

Still, the nights do get cool, so if you really need an excuse to crawl under a soft blanket on the couch, it's there if you need it. And how about a warming cocktail to complete that little tableaux?

I’m not really a mixed drink guy; the current wave of expensive fancy cocktails with hand-muddled herb concoctions and delicately sculpted ice chunks does nothing for me. Still, I see the appeal in a well-crafted libation, ideally something requiring fewer than five ingredients. Lately I’ve been dabbling a bit at home as I search for an alternative to the usual post-work/pre-dinner beer. The results — if you’ll pardon the pun — have been mixed. I think I turn out a pretty good Campari Americano, but my Manhattans and Old-Fashioneds definitely need work. But I've enjoyed some success (and I do mean enjoyed) with this take on the classic whisky sour. You can play with the proportions to suite your tastes (I like mine more on the sour side, but a one-to-one syrup to lemon juice ratio works nicely), but a good Canadian whisky (I like the woodsy sweetness of Ontario’s Collingwood) is essential, and not just to keep the drink’s nationalistic bona fides intact.

Maple Leaf Sour

2 oz whisky/bourbon
1 oz lemon juice
3/4 oz Maple Syrup
Dash of bitters (optional)

Combine all ingredients in a shaker, along with generous handful of ice cubes and shake vigorously. Strain over ice into a rocks glass and garnish with a maraschino cherry, twist of lemon or cinnamon stick.

That my lunch #1

2011-11-18T11:10:00.000-08:00

One crisp and clear mid-November day, I jumped on the subway and went up to the Black Camel for one of their delicious seared steak sandwiches with horseradish mayo, caramelized onions and arugula. After lunch I went to the park across the street and stomped through the thick carpet of golden leaves and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on my face.

Head of the class

2011-11-18T06:35:00.000-08:00

After my first day in the kitchen at cooking class, I realized I will never work in a professional kitchen.

I was exhausted, deflated, aching and demoralized. And all I made was soup.

It was the dice that did it. I'd never really thought too much about the size of my vegetable cuts. I always figured as long as they were close, no one would care. And that might have been true at home, but I knew as soon as I saw the chef's face as he surveyed the hodgepodge of carrots and onions dejectedly floating on the surface of my soup that I was in a different ballgame here.
Let me step back. A few months ago, I decided to enroll in a part-time chef training class at George Brown College. I would start with the very basics and then decide if I wanted to go on to the full program later. If nothing else, my thinking went, it would improve my skills in my own kitchen.

So for the past several weeks, I’ve been heading down to the GBC campus twice a week for one demonstration class and one hands-on lab. Unlike the many cooking class options out there for hobbyists, this class is really geared towards the would-be professional. The people in the class itself are a mix: we have some people who work in the industry looking to hone their skills and a few older types like me who are just testing the waters.

The emphasis is on classic techniques and kitchen fundamentals from knife skills to mise en place to knowing and naming your vegetable cuts (a finer art than you might expect). I’ve made stock and consommé, Caesar salad with real eggs, pommes frites and many other dishes I would never make on my own in a million years (potatoes Savoyard, anyone?). It’s also shown me that, outside the cozy confines of your own home kitchen, this cooking shit is hard.

I’m exhausted at the end of a four hour lab; an eight hour plus shift in the high-pressure environment of a real restaurant would probably kill me. Not only that, every dish is presented to the chef at the end of the night for grading; an added layer of pressure. None of this should be news to anyone who pays attention to the restaurant game, but you really need to experience the real deal (or in this case, a reasonable facsimile) to get a full appreciation of the hellish existence endured by the people who cook your food.

Besides that? It’s a lot of fun. As I said, I haven’t made anything (yet) that I would consider importing into my next dinner party, but there’s something exhilarating about the whole process of cooking under pressure, of managing three or four dishes at once. It’s an adrenaline rush every time, which serves to explain the hollowed-out feeling that I get when the last pot is dried and stacked.

There’s the camaraderie among the class. A few of us will meet after class in chef whites and checkered pants to drink pints and break down the day: how was yours?, mine was too salty, mine was undercooked. It has the feeling of being in a club or a gang, and it’s part of what makes the effort worthwhile.

As far as what I’ve learned goes, the class has driven home the importance of organization in the kitchen (would I were so organized outside it). I’m willing to bet nine out of 10 people who claim they don’t know how to cook would benefit dramatically from just getting their act together in advance. It really makes all the difference. Another lesson has been using my senses and intuition and not just relying on the recipe for timings and taste. Trust your eyes and your ears and your tastebuds (and yes, taste all the time). I'd also like to think my vegetable cutting has improved a bit.

I’m not sure I see myself going down the road of culinary school much further. I miss cooking at home as much as I did before I started this class and, frankly, I’m not sure I want to commit to spending more money on school without a clear endgame in mind. But from the inauspicious beginnings with the botched vegetable soup, I’ve grown a bit more at ease, more trusting of myself and my skills. And that’s really the most important skill you can have, in cooking and in life.

Signature move

2011-11-02T06:44:00.000-07:00

My first cookbook was the Reader’s Digest 30 Minute Cookbook. If I recall correctly, it was a gift from my sister, a way to keep me from starving after I finished college and took my first trembling steps towards becoming a grown up (a process that continues today). Truth be told, I don’t know if I’ve made more than a half dozen recipes out of it in the decade-plus it’s been in my possession, but I’ve kept it around, its unabashed plebeianism setting it apart from the Julias and Marthas on our cookbook shelf. Why?

Within those pages you’ll find the one dish I have made more than any other in my life. To be honest, I can't believe it's taken me this long to write about it. Over the years, I’ve tinkered with it, added spices and ingredients and played with the measurements to accommodate my shifting tastes (for example: early versions did not include olives; now, olives are a necessity), but in the end, the best version is only slightly tweaked from the original. I keep coming back to this because it’s quick and easy and adaptable, yet so flavourful that it’s hard to believe it can be ready in less than an hour. The inclusion of spicy chorizo and smoky paprika makes it a hearty and warming dish for fall.

Spanish style chicken and chorizo
2 tablespoons olive oil
6 boneless, skinless chicken thighs, trimmed and quartered
1 medium red onion, thinkly sliced
2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
1 red pepper and 1 yellow pepper, thinly sliced
1 can (796ml) chopped tomatoes
2⁄3 cup dry white wine
2 tablespoons smoked paprika
50 g chorizo sausage, sliced
1/4 Cup tablespoon kalamata olives, pitted and halved
Black pepper
Parsley, chopped

Heat the oil in a large ﬂameproof casserole or Dutch oven. Add the chorizo and brown, then remove to a plate with a slotted spoon*

Ad chicken bits and fry until golden brown; set aside with sausage.

Add onions, garlic and pepper and fry until they are lightly browned and slightly softened.

Return chicken, chorizo and accumulated juioces to piot and stir in the tomatoes, wine, and paprika. Bring to the boil and reduce to a simmer. Cook until chicken is cooked through (15-20 minutes).

Stir in olives and season to taste with pepper. Garnish with parsley and serve over rice or with a good loaf of crusty bread.

*you only need to do this if you're using fresh (uncooked) chorizo. If you have the proper dry cured variety, skip this step.

I, meatball

2011-10-17T06:42:00.000-07:00

This was not only probably the best tomato sauce I've ever eaten, it was probably the best thing I've had in the last month. And I didn't even make it.

This one is all D, who pulled this together on Thanksgiving long weekend, reminding me once again why I should be thankful to have such a great partner in cuisine. This recipe yields a ton, so it's also a gift that keeps on giving (this stuff always improves over time). The spaghetti squash is a nice autumnal alternative to the usual Catelli.

Homemade Meatballs in Tomato Sauce with Spaghetti Squash (adapted from Martha Stewart)

For The Spaghetti Squash
2 spaghetti squashes (about 2 pounds each), halved lengthwise and seeds removed
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

For The Sauce
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1-2 shallots, finely chopped
6 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 can (28 ounces) crushed tomatoes
1 can (28 ounces) whole tomatoes, chopped or cut up using kitchen scissors
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1-2 teaspoon of brown (or white) sugar
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried basil
¼ teaspoon fennel seeds, crushed slightly
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper

For The Meatballs
1/2 cup fresh breadcrumbs
1/2 cup grated Parmesan-Reggiano cheese, plus more for serving (optional)
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
1 large clove garlic, finely chopped
1/4 cup milk
1 pound ground beef
1 large egg
3/4 teaspoon coarse salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Directions

To prepare the spaghetti, preheat oven to 400 degrees. Drizzle cut sides of squashes with oil; season with salt and pepper. Place cut sides down on a baking sheet. Bake until soft to the touch, 1 to 1 1/4 hours.

To prepare the sauce, heat the oil in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the shallot and garlic and cook, stirring with a wooden spoon, for 1 minute. Add the tomato paste and cook, stirring, for an additional minute. Stir in the tomatoes, vinegar, sugar, oregano, basil and fennel seeds; season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, and reduce to a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened, about 30-40 minutes. Keep warm or simmering over low heat.

Prepare the meatballs. In a medium bowl, stir together the breadcrumbs, Parmesan, parsley, and garlic with a wooden spoon until combined. Add the milk, and stir until incorporated. Add the turkey, egg, salt, and pepper, and mix with your hands until well combined. Form mixture into 1 1/2-inch balls.

Heat the olive oil in a large non-stick skillet over medium-high heat. Working in 2 batches, cook the meatballs until evenly browned, turning often, about 6 minutes. Repeat with remaining meatballs. Transfer meatballs to the sauce, and simmer until cooked through, about 10 minutes.

When the squashes are cool enough to handle, scrape the flesh of each squash with a fork into strands, and place into a large bowl. Serve topped with meatballs and sauce, and sprinkled with cheese, if desired.

Rakings

2011-09-15T12:52:00.000-07:00

"Inside or Outside" by Dadu Shin

A bracing morning today. I biked to work amid fellow cyclists sporting scarves and sweaters as I shivered at the stop signs in my shorts. The first sign of fall, my favourite season. The run up to winter is going to be a busy time, between moving, school, and oh yes, cooking classes (yes, I'm taking a cooking class; more on that soon). At the same time, I'm hoping to spend more time in my own kitchen and with you, dear reader. Here's a few thoughts to savour for now.

Just in time for fall, Apartment Therapy has a primer on Dutch Ovens and a few recipes to boot. That mushroom risotto looks like a perfect dish to refuel with following some vigorous leaf-raking or a brisk walk through the foliage.
Last weekend, we went for a stroll in our soon-to-be new ‘hood and discovered that rarest of birds, the local independent new bookstore (and a happy find that was). There I nabbed a copy of the first issue of Lucky Peach, the new food quarterly from Momofuku’s David Chang and the hipsters at McSweeney’s. It’s irreverent and more than a bit too-cool-for-school, but the writing is universally sharp (the essay on authenticity by Todd Kliman is worth the price alone) and the subject matter thought-provoking (I learned more than I ever needed to know about ramen). A must have for the food-obsessed that would fit nicely on the shelf next to the criminally underhyped Fire and Knives.
Back when I was roommates with the Swedish Chef (who has been assuring me for weeks that he'll have a new post up any day now), we occasionally indulged in the ritual of "scrunch;" that is, breakfast/brunch for supper. I haven't had a good scrunch in years, so this piece from Smithsonian Magazine (!?) on the joys of eating meals out of order made me a happy camper indeed. Which reminds me: I really need to make this amazing-looking Sweet Potato-Pork Belly Hash, and soon.
HP sauce recipe changed to cut salt, Britons outraged.
D. and I have been watching and enjoying HBO Canada's The Yard, which filters elementary school through the lens of Oz or The Wire. One of the running subplots of the show is the "peanut butter racket," in which the schoolyard capos attempt to smuggle in PB&J sandwiches past the allergy-conscious teachers (or "screws") to feed their peers' ravenous appetite for the good stuff. That little storyline came to mind when we read this bit in the Globe and Mail about the ban on caffeine-laden beverages in Ontario’s school cafeterias.
Finally, McDonald's can kill you in unexpected ways.

Moving on up

2011-09-05T08:04:00.000-07:00

Those who know us will be aware that we’ve had some issues with our current apartment. It’s been decent enough first stop after a cross-country move, but there are a few things about the space and location we're not loving. So for the past few months we’ve been looking around for better digs, a search that, in this city, can be an exercise in total frustration. The horrors that people pass off as living spaces in this town and the prices they are demanding beggar description.

Then: a breakthrough. A co-worker of D’s, aware of our struggle, mentioned she and her boyfriend were moving (also to Europe; what’s up with that?) and would we like to come by and look at their place? We came. We saw. We rented.

So, as of October 1, we’re heading a few blocks west, away from the strip joints and garbage pickers, the gentrifiers and drug users, to a quiet residential neighbourhood, close to a fantastic park, and in proximity to a lively strip of restaurants, pubs, cafes, grocery stores and shops. There’s also outdoor space and a patch of dirt that, we’re told, can be ours to transform into a vegetable patch. The only downside is the kitchen which, to put it charitably, is a bit small. We’ll see how that goes. Overall, though, this is very good news

It hasn’t all been good news. This week, we said goodbye to two very dear friends, people who helped us make our transition to this new city so much easier than it would otherwise have been. For the past year they’ve been our most reliable drinking buddies and frequent (and appreciative) guests at our table. But now they’re leaving Toronto, and heading to Germany for work. We’re equal parts excited, saddened and jealous. And so, we decided to see them off with a meal to remember us by. Delicious tender chunks of pork, braised and fried to crispy perfection and served with a variety of toppings. Nothing stuffy or formal, the kind of relaxed, comforting fare that’s perfect for sharing with good pals as you face some big life changes.

Pork Carnitas (adapted from “The Sweet Life in Paris” by David Lebovitz)

Serves 6

3-4 pounds boneless pork shoulder, trimmed of excess fat and cut into 5-inch chunks,
1 tablespoon coarse sea salt
2 tablespoons canola or neutral vegetable oil
Water
1 cinnamon stick
2 teaspoons chili powder
2 bay leaves
¼ teaspoon ground cumin
3 cloves of garlic, peeled and thinly-sliced

Rub the pieces of pork shoulder all over with salt. Refrigerate for 1- to 3-days. (You can skip this step if you want. Just be sure to salt the pork before searing the meat in the next step.)

Heat the oven to 350F (180C) degrees.

Heat the oil in a roasting pan set on the stovetop. Cook the pieces of pork shoulder in a single layer until very well-browned, turning them as little as possible so they get nice and dark before flipping them around. If your cooking pot is too small to cook them in a single-layer, cook them in two batches.

Once all the pork is browned, remove them from the pot and blot away any excess fat with a paper towel. Add about a cup of water to the pan and scrape up the brown bits.

Add the pork back to the pan and add enough water so the pork pieces are 2/3rd’s submerged in liquid (don’t add too much; you can add more later if you need to). Add the cinnamon stick and stir in the chili powder, bay leaves, cumin and garlic.

Braise in the oven uncovered for 2-3 hours, turning the pork a few times during cooking, until much of the liquid is evaporated and the pork is falling apart. Remove the pan from the oven and lift the pork pieces out of the liquid and set them on a cutting board or platter.

Once the pork pieces are cool enough to handle, shred them into bite-sized pieces with a fork or chop up with a knife, discarding any obvious big chunks of fat if you wish.

Place the pan back on the stove top over medium-high heat and bring remaining liquid to a boil to reduce. Once it’s almost all gone, return the pork pieces and fry, stirring frequently, until the liquid has evaporated and the pork is crispy and caramelized.

Serve pork on corn tortillas with guacamole, pickled red onions or cabbage, cojita or feta cheese, salsa or whatever.

Housecleaning

2011-08-29T16:08:00.000-07:00

This past couple of weeks have been, even by my standards, pretty heavy on the meat and wheat-based beverages. We just came back from a weekend in Montréal and between the Blanche de Chamblay, the Fairmont Bagels, and the Schwartz's, the work week dawned with me feeling more than a little sluggish and bloated. At times like these, a brief dietary digression can go a long way to restoring the balance.

Let me be clear: I’m not talking about a cleanse. Despite the claims of noted scienticians like, say, Gwyneth Paltrow, I think the whole notion that temporary changes to your diet will have any real effect on the gunk that cleanse proponents say is building up in your body like hair in a drainpipe is, to be blunt, a total crock of shit.

Regardless of how many cheeseburgers or whisky sours you put away over the weekend, if you’re practicing a healthy lifestyle overall with a decent diet and exercise, you’re not going to need to spend a week or two “cleansing” your system. Over the past several millennia, the human body has developed a variety of complex mechanisms for eliminating unpleasant substances from the body that are more than capable of keeping things ship-shape and Bristol fashion. If your body’s regulatory, er, bodies are insufficient, you’ve got problems than cayenne and lemon juice won’t fix.

So no cleanses. I’m talking about a simple temporary dietary course correction, which probably has just the same result as a store-bought cleanse without the hours spent in the bathroom. After my indulgent spell, I found this recipe to be a perfect way of doing penance. And now I'm free to go forth and sin no more (until next time).

Green Beans with Quinoa and Tarragon (adapted from here)

2 cups green beans, trimmed and washed
¾ to 1 cup quinoa
¼ red onion or two small shallots, sliced
2 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon
½ cup hazelnuts or almonds, chopped
A handful of raisins or dried cranberries
A few crumbles of feta cheese (preferably goat feta)

For dressing:
3 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1 Tbsp maple syrup
2 tsp strong mustard
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
Pinch sea salt

Toast nuts in a small pan until fragrant and set aside.

Add quinoa to a pot with twice the amount of water, cover and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat and simmer for 15 minutes until all the water is absorbed.

In another pot, bring a small amount of water to boil below a steamer basket. Add beans and steam for 3-4 minutes until tender crisp. Remove from heat and rinse in cold water

Combine all dressing ingredients in a jar and shake vigorously until emulsified.

Toss everything together in a large bowl, season with freshly ground pepper and serve.

Western Swing

2011-08-09T09:49:00.000-07:00

The vacation I mentioned a few weeks back has come and gone. Here’s a few of the food-related highlights from our trip to Edmonton and Vancouver.

Porchetta sandwiches are all the rage these days and I doubt you'll find many better examples of the fabulous pork dish than the version above from the painfully charming Pronto Caffe in my old 'hood of Cambie Village. Moist pork, crisp crackling and a perfect bun. You can't touch this.

Speaking of sandwiches, we had to check in at much-hyped hipster sandwich shop Meat and Bread in the heart of Gastown. Front to back we have porchetta, a meatball sandwich and a braised veal breast. The verdict? Okay, I guess. For all the fuss this place is generating, I expected more.

On the other hand, my first taste of the buttermilk fried chicken at Refuel almost made me weep. I dream of it still.

It wasn't all restaurants, though. We had some decent weather and prevailed upon some our hosts to use their grills. I was pretty proud of the grilled pork ribs here (despite leaving them on the grill a touch too long-total rookie mistake-and the lack of a decent homemade sauce), but the real showstopper was the simple salad D. made from watermelon, orange, feta and garden-fresh chives. That recipe and that of the rib dry rub are below.

We may have had a few beers here and there. The Alibi Room has a fantastic selection of B.C. craft brews, including my all time favourite: Crannóg's Back Hand of God stout. Rich with burnt coffee and bitter dark chocolate flavours, it's nonetheless an easy drinking brew, equally suitable for rainy days and patio basks alike.

On the other hand, Granville Island Brewing's new Raspberry Wheat Ale tasted like goddamn cough syrup.

Long ago (okay, last year) I kvetched in this space about Vancouver's attempts to kickstart their street food culture. Well, I'm pleased to report that they seem to have sorted it out. These things are all over the place downtown. I didn't actually get a chance to try any of them, mind you, but it's still great to see. This one, an offshoot of tasty Franco-German bistro La Brasserie, serves only beer-brined rotissere chicken sandwiches. As if the weather and scenery weren't enough, this is just one more reason for us to find our way back west. Someday, someday...

***
Other highlights:

Joining the Swedish Chef et frère for dinner at Edmonton's Corso 32. The bresaola, fried short-rib and asparagus salad and bucatini with house cured pork jowl, tomato and peperoncin were fantastic.
Having a beer with Rhianna from Cream and Sugar. We talked a bit about food and a lot about our respective experiences living and eating in Edmonton, Vancouver and Toronto. Rhianna, when next you find yourself in Toronto, drop me a line and I'll cook you dinner. You can make dessert.
Noodles from the Noodle Box in Kitsilano. I'm not sure we have anything like this here in Toronto, but could we? Please?

***
Finally, the aforementioned recipes to tide you over until I can get a proper post together. Hopefully that'll be soon now that this damn heatwave seems to have subsided (touch wood).

Spicy-sweet dry rub
2 tablespoons chili powder
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon garlic powder
1 tablespoon mustard powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon black pepper

Mix ingredients in a bowl and rub all over ribs. See here for further instructions.

Watermelon, orange and feta salad
1/4 of a small (6 pound) seedless watermelon
1 large orange, peeled with pith removed
1/4 small red onion, very thinly sliced
2 ounces feta cheese, thinly sliced
Several sprigs of chives
4 teaspoons olive oil
Salt and pepper

Cut watermelon into half-inch thick pieces (rind removed) and arrange on a serving platter. Arrange orange, red onion, feta and chives on the platter. Drizzle with olive oil, and season with salt and pepper.

The Wire

2011-07-07T12:25:00.000-07:00

Still too damn hot to cook. Here’s a few links to help you beat the heat.

I would drink the hell out of these wonderful-looking Stumptown iced coffees in the stubby bottles.

Speaking of neat bottles and the Pacific Northwest, U.S. beermaker Red Hook recently gave their visual identity a makeover. The results are certainly pleasing to the eye; I can’t attest to the beer.
Punk rock chefs at Saveur. On a similar note, legendary Chicago record producer, pundit and analog recording nut Steve Albini (the Pixies, Nirvana, Fugazi) has a food blog. It’s pretty good.
Bon Appetit has tips on how to give your gas-grilled steak real barbecue taste. Please remember if you intentionally grill your steak beyond medium rare, you lose your grill privileges for life. Look, I don’t make the rules.
Gojee is a new (to me at least) recipe aggregator that allows you to seek out recipes based in part on what you have in your pantry.

The quick and the red

2011-07-05T13:15:00.000-07:00

On days when the fan is going full blast, when pants come off before the door even shuts behind you, when the cat is doing her damndest to become one with the floor: these are days where boiling a pot of water is as close to cooking as you want to get.
Penne with tomatoes, olives and ricotta (adapted from Everyday Food)
Coarse salt
8 ounces pasta (penne, fusilli)
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
10 sun-dried tomatoes in oil, drained
1 tablespoon red-wine vinegar
2 teaspoons capers, rinsed
2 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
Freshly ground pepper, to taste
1/2 cup cherry tomatoes, quartered
1/3 cup Kalamata olives, pitted and halved
1/3 cup fresh basil, torn
Fresh ricotta cheese, for serving
Directions

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Add pasta, and cook until al dente. Drain. Drizzle with just enough oil to coat. Spread on a baking sheet, and refrigerate 10 minutes.

Using a hand blender or food processor, pulse sun-dried tomatoes, vinegar, capers, and garlic. Add oil in a slow, steady stream while blitzing and process until smooth. Season with salt and pepper.

Toss together pasta, sun-dried-tomato pesto, grape tomatoes, olives, basil, and salt. Transfer to serving plates. Top with a scoop of ricotta, drizzle with oil, and sprinkle with pepper.

Little green monsters

2011-07-04T16:42:00.000-07:00

This is a strange admission for a food blogger to make, but I don’t exactly have the world’s most adventurous palette. I’m certain I’ve mentioned this little factoid before, but it’s a recurring theme in my life (and it extends to other facets of life, like music, books and film; but I digress). The pattern is usually the same. I greet new things with indifference, if not outright hostility. Eventually, I’ll cave to pressure and give the item a half-hearted sampling. Then, if I like what I taste/see/hear, I will embrace the former object of suspicion with the zeal of a convert. It has happened before, it will happen again.

A perfect example of this is the humble avocado. I couldn’t possibly tell you why I was leery of this particular fruit; perhaps it was the ugly, knobby appearance (one of my “things” is I can’t really embrace food that looks like it was designed by David Cronenberg). Or perhaps there was an association with cilantro, a herb I have tried and will never not detest. But not only has avocado skipped from one side to the other on my mental ledger of things I will and will not eat, it is one of those things, along with lemons, limes, onions and garlic, that are staples of my kitchen. One of my favourite ways to use avocado is to add it to scrambled eggs, but a close second is this simple salsa I came up with. It makes a great dip or burrito topping, but I really hit the jackpot this weekend when I topped a lime, garlic and chili marinated steak with the stuff. It was outstanding, an unexpectedly great flavour combination. Go on; give it a shot.

Avocado, corn and tomato salsa

1 medium tomato, chopped into small chunks
1 avocado, diced
¼ cup diced red onion
½ cup thawed frozen corn
1 jalapeño or red chili pepper, rinsed, seeded and chopped (or ½-1 tsp Tabasco)
1 clove garlic, minced
1 or 2 tablespoons lime juice
¼ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon black pepper

Combine all ingredients in a medium bowl and mash together with a fork and refrigerate.

Summer bummer

2011-06-29T11:17:00.000-07:00

How’s your summer going so far? As you might have noticed from the smattering of posts this month, ours has been off to a good start and shows little sign of letting up.

We’ve drank beer outside and danced in the sweltering heat of packed shows. We've met another young couple through The Stop’s Yes In My Backyard program with whom we will be developing a vegetable patch. And we’ve endured the day jobs that make all these shenanigans possible. In just a few weeks we head back west for three weeks of fun, family and friends in Edmonton, Vancouver and the Island. Busy times. However, lost by the wayside in all this activity has been time in the kitchen.
For one thing, it’s been way too hot to cook. Our apartment feels about 10 degrees hotter than the outdoors most days, so when the mercury rises to the mid-twenties, the heat (and the humidity) saps whatever will we have to stand over a hot stove top. So that's meant we've been either eating out (holla atcha Parkette) or sticking with salads and other easy and cool options, like the above proscuitto, brie, pear and walnut sammich. This was inspired by one of my all time favourite creations from Finch's Tea and Coffee House back in Vancouver (as seen recently over at Cream and Sugar). For the record, this wasn't as good as the original. Lesson: never cheap out on cured meats.

The times I have turned the stove on, the results haven't always knocked my socks off. Take this lamb ragu I adapted from Urban Italian by Andrew Carmellini and Gwen Hyman.

This kind of thing is normally right in my wheelhouse, but this one was just okay. Instead of the rich, dark sauce the recipe promised, I wound up with a thin and fairly bland concoction. I expect there was too much liquid (if I had to do it again - and I probably won't - I'd use about 1 cup less water/stock). I'm not gonna bother with the recipe, but if you're curious, check it out here.

The perils of summer cooking were highlighted when I decided to cook up my bachelor night standby of peppercorn crusted striploin, pan-seared and finished in the oven, a process that generates a hellacious amount of smoke and heat. Masochist that I am, I decided to sautée a wedge of radicchio di Chioggia (the round kind) to go along with it. Dinner was good (though the radicchio was bitter to the point where I drizzled a bit of maple syrup on it to make it edible), but kitchen and cook were a disaster: a sweltering, smokey, sweaty, oil-spattered mess. I really need a grill and a backyard to put it in.

That's all I have for now. Hopefully I'll be back again soon with some actual recipes for you.

Friday aspirational blogging: cool kitchens edition

2011-06-10T07:40:00.000-07:00

Ice, ice baby

2011-06-07T09:19:00.000-07:00

This weekend was pretty much perfect: lots of sun, lounging in the park, some park soccer, plenty of beers and this cold, refreshing treat to cap it all off.

Espresso Granita (via Bon Appetit)

2 cups hot espresso or very strong coffee
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup chilled heavy whipping cream
Bittersweet chocolate shavings

Stir espresso, 1/2 cup sugar, and vanilla in a medium bowl until sugar dissolves. Pour into a 9x9x2" metal baking pan. Freeze for 1 hour. Stir, mashing any frozen parts with the back of a fork. Cover; freeze until firm, about 2 hours. Using a fork, scrape granita vigorously to form icy flakes.

Before serving, beat cream and remaining 1 tablespoon sugar in a large bowl until peaks form. Put in fridge to cool for a bit. Later, divide granita among bowls or glasses, top with whipped cream and garnish with chocolate shavings

Hello sunshine

2011-06-06T12:29:00.000-07:00

Friday afternoon in Trinity Bellwoods Park with a 1/4 roast chicken with green bean, arugula and potato salad from Inigo and a couple of local cold ones.

Summer's off to a good start

Eat your broccoli

2011-06-05T21:26:00.000-07:00

After an extended streak of failures and disappointments in the kitchen, I figured maybe I was overextending myself and perhaps it was time to dial things back. A good place to start was one of the first recipes I learned how to make: kung pao chicken. Now I have no idea how authentic this recipe is, but it seemed that a bit of tasty nostalgia could break me out of my culinary funk. To mix things up a little (a little), I'd try my hand out at cooking gai lan (aka Chinese broccoli aka regular broccoli's sweet and leafy cousin). Gai Lan in oyster sauce has long been a favoured Chinese restaurant side dish of mine that I'd never attempted at home.

The chicken was satisfying, just like I remembered, but nothing special. The real star in this meal was the gai lan. My first taste of it had me wondering aloud, "Why haven't I cooked this before?!" Sweet, salty and crunchy, it made regular appearances on our dinner plates frequently over the next few weeks.

And lo, the streak of failures was over. Thanks broccoli.

Chinese Broccoli with Oyster Sauce (adapted from Williams-Sonoma Essentials of Asian Cooking)

2 lb Chinese broccoli

Salt

1 tbsp sugar, plus 1/4 tsp

1 tbsp oyster sauce

1 tbsp light soy sauce

1 tbsp Chinese rice wine

1 tbsp sesame oil

1/2 tsp cornstarch

1/8 tsp ground white pepper

2 tbsp canola oil

3 slices (1/4") fresh ginger, peeled and smashed

4 cloves garlic

Trim the tough ends off of the broccoli and discard any flowers. Cut the leaves off and set aside. Cut the stalks in 3" pieces and set aside separately.

In 2L boiling water, with 1 tbsp salt and 1 tbsp of the sugar, add the stems and cook for 2 min. Add the leaves and cook for another min. Plunge into ice water and pat dry.

In a small bowl, whisk together the oyster sauce, soy sauce, rice wine, sesame oil cornstarch white pepper,1/4 tsp sugar and 2 tbsp water.

In a large work or frying pan over high heat, warm the canola oil. Once hot, add the ginger and garlic and cook for about 20 sec. Add the broccoli and stir-fry until heated through, about 2 min. Add the sauce and stir-fry until the sauce thickens. Serve immediately.

Kung Pao Chicken (cribbed from a Sunset Magazine cookbook my parents used to have)

1 tbsp sherry

1 tbsp cornstarch

1/8 tbsp ground white pepper

1 1/2 lb chicken, cut into 1" pieces

4 tbsp oil

1/2 cup peanuts

1 tsp garlic

1 tsp ginger

2 green onions, sliced on the bias

Mix the sherry, cornstarch and pepper in a medium bowl. Add the chicken and stir to coat (I use my hands). Add a tbsp of the oil then let marinate for 15 minutes. Make the cooking sauce (recipe follows)

Heat a wok or large frying pan over medium high heat. Add a little of the oil and cook the peanuts until they get a bit of colour on them. Remove from pan and set aside.

Add the remaining oil to the pan, and fry the garlic and ginger for a minute. Working in two batches, add the chicken and fry until cooked through (about 6 min). Return remaining chicken and peanuts to the pan.

Add sauce and stir until thickened. Garnish with green onions and serve with rice.

Cooking sauce

3 tbsp chicken broth

2 tbsp soy sauce

2 tbsp sambal oelek

1 tbsp white wine vinegar

1 tbsp sherry

2 tsp sugar

2 tsp cornstarch

Mix all ingredients in a small bowl. I find it's helpful to mix the sherry and cornstarch first.

Basement meat report

2011-06-03T07:15:00.000-07:00

Sad news today from our experiment in charcuterie. A recent spike in temperatures resulted in our little ducks developing a unpleasent growth of mold, so we've had to bin them. Boo. We're going to try again, but I'm thinking about looking for a small used bar fridge so we can control the environment a bit better. Stay tuned.

Grill of my dreams

2011-05-30T17:47:00.000-07:00

One of the frustrating things about summer in the city for me is my inability, as an apartment dweller, to get my grill on. Without a balcony or a yard, I’m missing out on one of the best things about summer: cooking with fire.

Face it: things just taste better grilled (I recently had a taste of grilled radicchio that proved this maxim is as true for vegetables as meats). It doesn’t help that this is the time of year when every food magazine is doing its summer grilling issue. Even worse is biking around and catching the telltale scent of burgers on the grill wafting in the breeze. We do have a small, cheap, portable charcoal grill that we break out from time to time for hot dogs or burgers in the park, but it has its limits: good luck doing a brisket or ribs on that thing.

So, if you want the taste of barbeque without a barbeque, you have to get a little creative and make some sacrifices. These oven-baked ribs in a tangy-sweet sauce won’t have the distinctive charred crunch of the grill, but they stand up very well on their own.

Oven “barbeque” pork ribs (adapted from Everyday Food)
Serves 4

2 1/2 teaspoons mustard powder
2 teaspoons sweet paprika
1 teaspoon celery salt
1 teaspoon onion powder
3/4 teaspoon red-pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon celery seed
Coarse salt
2 pounds baby back ribs
Rib Sauce (see below)

In a small bowl, combine mustard powder, paprika, celery salt, onion powder, red-pepper flakes, garlic powder, celery seed, and 1 teaspoon salt. Rub slabs on both sides with the spice mixture, and refrigerate, loosely covered, for 2 hours.

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Stack slabs on a double layer of aluminum foil; tightly wrap. Place on a rack on a baking sheet. Cook until meat pulls away from the bone and is easily pierced with the tip of a sharp knife, 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

Remove ribs from oven, move oven rack to the highest position and crank up the broiler. Carefully remove ribs from foil, pouring off any liquid. Brush generously on both sides with rib sauce and return to rack. Broil until sauce starts to bubble and brown around the edges, 4 to 5 minutes per side. Serve ribs with any leftover sauce, if desired.

Rib Sauce
1 tablespoon vegetable oil, such as safflower
1 medium onion, finely chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
Coarse salt and ground pepper
1 cup ketchup
1 cup canned beef broth
3/4 cup cider vinegar
1/4 cup packed light-brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon celery salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper

In a medium saucepan, heat oil over medium. Add onion and garlic; season with salt and pepper. Cook until onion is translucent, 3 to 5 minutes. Add remaining ingredients; bring to a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, until sauce has thickened, about 30 minutes. Strain sauce into a bowl, discarding solids. Makes about 2 cups.

Stop for salad

2011-05-27T15:22:00.000-07:00

D. has recently started volunteering at The Stop Community Food Centre, one of North America’s first food banks and a vibrant community centre that comes complete with kitchen space and a good-sized working greenhouse.

The Stop’s mission is to use food as a gateway to address issues like poverty, the environment, social isolation, and health in one of Toronto’s lowest-income neighbourhoods. D.’s work with the afterschool program sees her helping kids between 8 and 12 learn about cooking, how to read food labels, with a dash of food politics thrown in. It sounds like a lot of fun, and it’s the kind of gig where I don’t mind if she brings work home with her. This salad she made with the kids on her first day, for example, was a big hit there and at home.

This thing works as an entrée, and it’s also ideal for weekday lunches. Because of the crunchy nature of the greens, you can dress it in the morning with remaining vinaigrette and it won’t get soggy before lunchtime.

Wheatberry salad with crunchy greens
serves 4 – 6

½ bunch kale
½ bunch collard greens
1 Cup wheat berries (aka wheat kernels)
¾ - 1 cup dried cranberries
1 cup chopped walnuts or pecans
2 tbsps chopped fresh mint or basil
250g feta or goat cheese

Vinaigrette:
¼ cup of lemon juice
¼ cup olive oil
¼ cup vegetable or canola oil
2 minced garlic cloves
1 tsp. of sugar
pinch or two of oregano

Wash, dry and chiffonade the kale and collard greens.

Rinse and drain wheat berries and place in a medium sauce pan with 23 cups water. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer until tender but slightly chewy (about 1 hour). Remove from the heat, drain and set aside to cool.

Combine all ingredients in a big bowl and crumble feta on top of salad. Use as much dressing as you think necessary, reserving the remainder (it will keep in the fridge for a week).

Handle the heat

2011-05-18T16:12:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I cook — usually when I’m making a big meal for company — I wonder to myself “could I do this for a living?”

I’m sure that’s a question any enthusiastic amateur chef has pondered at one point or another; for me, it comes at a stage in my life where I wouldn’t say no to a new career path. And what finer thing than to do that which you love?

Well, lots of reasons. Professional cooking is a meat grinder. After seeing this I don’t know why anyone does it. Still, there’s got to be a way to make a living in food that won’t end with one demoralized, drug-addled or dead. But then I’ll have a cooking experience in my own kitchen that's so transcendent, it gets me thinking.

Friday was a big one, folks. From cutting up two whole chickens, to whisking a pot full of polenta, to boiling and sautéing a couple of bunches of rapini, I was the kitchen Tasmanian devil splattered with cornmeal and fueled by Campari Americanos. I love these big meals, the kinetic energy that bounces me from the stove to the cutting board to the sink. The pressure of knowing any mistake will end up in the bin and not on the plates of my guests. Sweat and heat.

And then, afterwards, cleaning up and feeling bone-tired and realizing “I spent that much energy cooking for like 6 people. How in god’s name would I manage 12? Or 100? How does anyone? I would literally die.” So maybe I’m too old, or maybe I’m not good enough to make it as a pro; I don’t know. But man, if you can get that kind of buzz cooking for six, surely it’d be even better for 12 or 100.Or maybe it's best just to savour those moments and meals in your own home when they happen.

Chicken with Pancetta and Olives (via Gourmet)

2 chickens (about 3 1/2 lb each), backbones cut out and each chicken cut into 12 pieces
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 tablespoons chopped thyme
1 tablespoon chopped rosemary
1 tablespoon fine sea salt
1/2 to 1 teaspoon hot red-pepper flakes
10 garlic cloves, peeled
2 (1/4-inch-thick) slices pancetta, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 cup dry white wine
24 oil-cured black olives

Preheat oven to 450°F with rack in middle.

Toss chicken with oil, thyme, rosemary, sea salt, red-pepper flakes, and 1 tsp pepper, rubbing mixture into chicken.

Arrange chicken, skin side up, in 1 layer in a 17- by 11-inch 4-sided sheet pan. Scatter garlic and pancetta on top and roast until chicken begins to brown, about 20 minutes. Drizzle wine over chicken and roast 8 minutes more.

Scatter olives over chicken and roast until skin is golden brown and chicken is cooked through, 15 to 20 minutes more. Let stand 10 minutes.

Notes:

A few things I’ll try next time to make this less of a production.
Skip the buying and cutting up of the chicken and use an assortment of parts instead.
Downsize the amount of chicken, but use the same amount of garlic and pancetta.
I’d start things on high heat to get the chicken nice and brown for the first 20 minutes or so, then drop it down a bit and then add the pancetta.
Brine-cured kalamata olives work nicely too if you don’t like the bitterness of the black ones.

Meat me downstairs

2011-05-08T09:51:00.000-07:00

You descend slowly into the dampness of the basement, the creak of the stairs beneath your feet giving way to the crunch of gravel. You are enveloped by darkness and the palpable sense that you are not alone. There, to the left; a small crack bleeds a sick glow into the black. Behind it, you feel a presence. "Is someone there?" you call, but no voice answers. You move closer as cobwebs brush your face like a dead lover's caress. Hours - or is it days? - seem to pass as you draw closer to the light. A trembling hand finds the edge where the light leaks out; a push and a door swings open and you gasp at the twin shapes that hang bound and shrouded in the middle of the room. And from the corner behind you, a dry voice is heard...
"The cure...the cure..."
You turn as the light vanishes and the voice speaks again.
"Meat."
This little horror story comes to you courtesy of a little project I mentioned last month. I've joined forces with our friend Leila to make our own charcuterie, starting with easy (on paper, at least) duck prosciutto. The basement above is hers (though I may have exaggerated some of the more nightmarish aspects for effect) and it includes a cold room that we're pretty sure had previously been used to cure meat at some point in its 100-year or so history (that, or once belonged to a serial killer).

Here's the ingredients we're working with:

One pound of skin on duck breast.
A whole crapload of salt.
Some cheesecloth and twine.
One dank, but not too dank, basement.
A dash of hope that we don't get botulism.

Our guides through this process are "Charcuterie" by Michael Ruhlman and the informative/terrifying Wrightfood blog (the guy seems like he knows his stuff, but he makes it seem pretty intimidating and dangerous).

Leg one started this week with the purchase of the meat and covering the pieces with salt to cure for 24 hours.

Next, we rinsed 'em, dried 'em, wrapped 'em in cheesecloth and hung them down in the basement. And there they will stay for the next few days until they're all ready to eat. If we can keep these things from getting eaten by spiders or mold or giving us some fatal dose of food poisoning, this horror story may have a happy ending after all.

Comes the hour, comes the ham

2011-05-01T20:07:00.000-07:00

"Homer: Wait a minute wait a minute wait a minute: Lisa honey, are you saying you're never going to eat any animal again? What about bacon?
Lisa: No.
Homer: Ham?
Lisa: No.
Homer: Pork chops?
Lisa: Dad! Those all come from the same animal!
Homer: Yeah, right Lisa. A wonderful, magical animal."
-The Simpsons "Lisa the Vegetarian" (Season 5, Episode 7)

Everytime I opened the fridge this week, I've been confronted by the ominous foil-covered mountain that is our leftover Easter ham. It was about 12 pounds when we got it and even after serving dinner for eight (with seconds) and sending some away with guests, we still have probably a good 6-8 pounds of pig to work through. But, like the saying goes, you have to eat an elephant one bite at a time. A rich, cheesy, buttery cream sauce helps.

Pasta with Peas, Ham, and Cream (adapted from Bon Appétit) Serves 4 to 6

1 pound short, shaped pasta (shells, orecchiette, penne)
2 tablespoons butter
1 small white onion, diced, (about 1/2 cup)
3/4 cup frozen or shelled fresh peas
2 tablespoon water
4 ounces cooked ham, cut into small cubes
3/4 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and pepper to taste

Cook pasta according to package directions.

Meanwhile, warm 1 tablespoon of the butter in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. When the butter starts to bubble, add onion and cook for
3 to 4 minutes, until translucent, stirring often.

Add the peas and water to the pan and cook 3 minutes, stirring. Stir in the ham and cook 2 minutes. Add the cream; bring to a low simmer and cook 5 minutes until thickened slightly.

Drain pasta; place in large serving bowl. Stir remaining tablespoon butter into the cream mixture over low heat until just melted. Stir in the cheese and pour sauce over pasta.

Weekend jams

2011-04-15T12:56:00.000-07:00

Salad Days

2011-04-13T12:59:00.000-07:00

I go through life with a cartoon devil on each shoulder.

"Why eat one square of that Ritter Sport when you can eat the whole goddamn thing?"
"Where do you think you're going with that wine bottle, drinky?"
"Gym, shmym: what's new on Netflix?"

They're jerks.

It's a constant struggle with these guys, so balance is important. And after emerging from winter hibernation, I'm trying to makes good diet and exercise even more of a priority. I'm not about to, say, give up flour or sugar completely — and unless I'm medically required to at some point, I never will — but I’m trying to take little steps to improve my overall health and, it follows, outlook. Drinking more water and fewer wheat-based beverages, for example. Or finding new and interesting ways to make a meal out of salad. Here’s two, via the doyenne of unrealistic expectations, Martha Stewart.

Buttermilk Chicken Caesar Salad

1 1/2 cups low-fat buttermilk
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 garlic clove, pressed through a garlic press
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
coarse salt and ground pepper
2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
2 slices multigrain bread
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 cup light mayonnaise
2 medium heads lettuce, cut into pieces
1/2 small head radicchio, thinly sliced
In a medium bowl, combine buttermilk, lemon juice, garlic, and Parmesan. Season with salt and pepper.

Place chicken in shallow dish; reserving 1/2 cup for salad, pour buttermilk mixture over until well coated. Refrigerate chicken at least 15 minutes or as much as a day. In a separate bowl, stir together mayonnaise and reserved buttermilk mixture.

Meanwhile, make croutons: Place bread on prepared baking sheet. Brush both sides with oil, and season with salt and pepper. Broil until toasted, 1 to 2 minutes per side; cut into 1-inch pieces (and reserve baking sheet).

Transfer chicken to baking sheet; discard marinade. Broil until opaque throughout, 14 to 16 minutes. Let rest 5 minutes; thinly slice crosswise. Toss in a bowl with lettuce, radicchio, croutons and reserved dressing.

Chili-Avocado Dressing

1 ripe avocado, cut into a large dice
1 to 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1/4 teaspoon chili powder
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper

In a blender combine remaining one-quarter of the avocado, 1/3 cup water, lime juice, and chili powder. Blend until smooth. Season with salt and pepper.

Combine remaining avacado with some greens, cherry tomatos, poached chicken or what have you, top with dressing and toss gently to combine. Serve immediately.

Heat broiler, with rack set 4 inches from heat. Line a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil. Place bread on prepared baking sheet. Brush both sides with oil, and season with salt and pepper. Broil until toasted, 1 to 2 minutes per side; cut into 1-inch pieces (and reserve baking sheet).

Transfer chicken to baking sheet; discard marinade. Broil until opaque throughout, 14 to 16 minutes. Let rest 5 minutes; thinly slice crosswise. Add romaine, radicchio, chicken, and croutons; toss to combine. Serve immediately.

Black and white

2011-04-05T17:16:00.000-07:00

Fellow Edmontonian, illustrator, friend and sometime Risk nemesis Raymond Biesinger and his wife Elizabeth had their Montréal apartment/studio featured in popular home decor blog Design*Sponge. What a dump, hey?
Blog sisters-from-another-mister Cream and Sugar have had their site spruced up. Go check it out.
Also on the blog tip, my pal Leah has a blog about beer and healthy food.
I'm cooking up a new project I'm pretty excited about. I don't want to say too much, but I'll say this much: it involves meat.
We got a cat! Her name is Zoey and we are charmed. We think she is too, but she's playing her cards pretty close as you can see.

Salt of the earth

2011-04-04T12:38:00.000-07:00

Spring is starting to slowly shoulder winter aside and the longer days and the disappearing snows speak a promise of sunlight and crisp fresh vegetables. But we’re not there, not yet.

Last night, a grey and cool Sunday night suddenly turned ugly as torrents of sleet and rain made what should have been a pleasant, slightly tipsy bike ride into a mad, wet dash for warmth. A week ago, we got a mid-week dump of snow that had me pining for the cherry blossoms that are no doubt in full bloom back in Vancouver. Something about that reminded me of this salt-roasted potato recipe I’d been interested in trying out.
Normally, I follow Nigella Lawson’s approach to roasting potatoes: a quick tumble in some boiling water and then into a pan full of hot fat or oil until crispy. I think the point of the salt-roasting is to draw the moisture out of the skin to create a crunchy exterior. And it worked well enough — the skin was dry and crisp and the insides softy and fluffy, kind of like a baked potato — but I honestly don’t think it’s worth the effort or the wasted salt. But if you happen to have a couple of pounds of salt burning a hole in your pantry, go nuts.

Salt Roasted Potatoes
1-2 Cups Kosher salt
1-2 pounds of small new or fingerling potatoes.

Preheat oven to 350F. Rinse and scrub the potatoes, making sure they are completely dry.

Pour salt into an oven-safe dish, then arrange the potatoes on top.

Roast in the oven in the middle rack until the potatoes are tender when pierced with a fork (not a knife), about 45 minutes to an hour.

Land speed record

2011-03-22T10:46:00.000-07:00

Short of toast, you'll not find a faster meal than this latest entry in my informal fast pasta series. I guarantee you will be surprised that something that takes so little time could produce such a wonderful depth of flavour.

Wine-soaked sausage pasta
1 pound Italian sausage (the hot kind)
1/4 cup sundried tomatoes
1 cup red wine
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 pound pasta shapes
large bunch baby spinach or arugula

Heat two tablespons olive oil over medium high in a deep skillet or pot. Remove sausage casings and add meat to pot, stirring and breaking up with a fork until no longer pink. Drain fat and stir in wine and tomato paste and season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, then simmer over low heat for about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile cook pasta in a pot of boiling water until al dente. Drain, reserving a 1/4 cup water and return to pot. Add sundried tomatoes, meat sauce and stir. gently stir in spinach or arugula and serve with a dusting of parmesan cheese.

Wing ding

2011-03-15T09:13:00.000-07:00

As D.'s academic career amps up, she's getting more opportunities to travel to conferences and other academic-y things that academics do. In 2011, she's already been to conferences in three different cities, which to my second-tier-college-diploma-toting eye seems like a sure sign that she's doing something right in her chosen field. Great for her, but I fear I'm going to have to get used to cooking for one a little more often.

Saturday night, D. is away and I'm not interested in fussing about in the kitchen for my supper lest it get in the way of the important TV-watching I've planned. Lately I've taken to starting my Saturdays with a visit to my butcher, so I'm prepared with a suitably bachelor-friendly supply of chicken wings and a recipe from my old buddy Nigel.

In their simplicity of citrus and pepper, these are more sophisticated than your hot-sauce dripping bar snacks. But you can never take the humble out of the wing: any dish requiring you to attack the crisp skin and juicy flesh with bare fingers will never truly lose its proletarian sheen.

Chicken wings with lemon and black pepper (adapted from Nigel Slater's "The Kitchen Diaries")
2 lbs large free-range chicken wings
2 medium sized lemons
5 bay leaves
1 heaped tbsp black peppercorns
2 tbsp olive oil
2 tsp sea salt

Preheat oven to 425F. Put the wings into a large roasting pan (you don't want them to be crowded), halve the lemons and squeeze them over the chicken wings. Cut each of the lemon skins into quarters and add to roasting pan.

Crush peppercorns using a mortar and pestle or kitchen mallet so that they crack into small pieces. Mix with the olive oil and pour over the chicken wings .Tuck the bay leaves between the pieces of chicken and scatter the salt over the chicken. Roast for about an hour, turning when necessary to keep the skin from sticking to the pan. The chicken should be golden and sticky, the edges blackened here and there. Serve with a cold beer in front of the flickering light of the idiot box.

The Hunger

2011-03-10T11:23:00.000-08:00

"It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it… and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied… and it is all one." — M.F.K. Fisher (The Art of Eating)

One of the tragedies of the North American way of eating is the diminishment of the meal as a shared ritual. As countless generations around the world and all through history attest, there’s no better place for building the bonds of family and friendship than around the supper table.

(It should be noted the same M.F.K. Fisher who waxed so eloquently about the interconnected needs of food and love also described family dinners as “an ordeal of nervous indigestion, preceded by hidden resentment and ennui and accompanied by psychosomatic jitters.” Take of that what you will.)

I imagine it is hard enough holding onto family mealtimes today (I picture a 21st Century Norman Rockwell scene of a nuclear family gathered around their bounty, heads down not in prayer, but over their smart phones) and that it probably gets even more diluted once kids leave the nest. It’s a ritual worth preserving and promoting even for those without families of their own in the traditional sense (the gays, with their noted love of dinner parties are, as usual, on the leading edge here).

Last weekend, we had two Toronto friends over for dinner. Well, we knew them back in Edmonton, but we've really gotten to know them better once we (and they, obviously) moved out here. Dinner parties and plenty of wine palyed a big part in that. When the distance between you and your flesh and blood stretches into the hundreds of miles, you find family where you can.

In honour of a Sunday meal, I tried my hand at a Sunday ragù. (Speaking of family dinners, my Italian butchers’ eyes lit up when I told him what all the meat I was buying was for. He proceeded to give me tips on what to use and tell me how he and his brothers used to fight over the ribs from their mother’s ragù. Delightful.) This is basically a pot full of pork ribs, a chuck roast and sausages braised with wine, stock and tomatoes for three hours. Thanks to the power of corporate branding, most of us probably associate ragù with thick, tomato pasta sauce, but this was more stew-like than that. We served it with bread and salad, preceded by some homemade ricotta gnudi (like gnocchi, but bigger and uglier). If I had to do it again, I'd cut back on the liquid a bit (I ended up tossing quite a bit), but in the end, the pile of stripped bones and the sated looks in our glassy eyes testified to the reality of hunger satisfied.

Sunday Ragù (Adapted from Pasta Etcetera by Josée Distasio)

3 cups beef stock or chicken
3 sprigs of rosemary
4 tablespoons of olive oil
1 onion, diced
1 stalk celery, diced
1 carrot, diced
2-4 cloves garlic, crushed
1 lb pork back ribs (about 12 ribs)
1 lb sweet or hot Italian sausages
1 lb bone-in beef chuck roast or pork shoulder
1 cup red wine
1 28oz tin of tomatoes, diced
1 bay leaf
salt-pepper

Preheat oven to 350F.

In a large saucepan, heat 2 tablespoons tablespoons of oil and sauté gently onion, celery and carrot for 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook 2 minutes. Remove vegetables from pan and reserve.

Cut the ribs into pieces, with two ribs per piece. In casserole, heat 2 tablespoons tablespoons of oil and sear ribs, sausages and chuck. Add wine and let reduce a little.

Add tomatoes, broth, bay leaf, rosemary and reserved vegetables. Bake, covered, for two and a half to three hours, or until the meat falls off the bone.

Transfer meat to serving bowl or platter, remove the bone and roughly chop the roast. Spoon sauce over meat and serve.

Things are hoppin'

2011-02-20T10:47:00.000-08:00

I'm always up for taking on a classic. If I can combine that with trying some new kitchen activity, all the better. Adding checkmarks in each of those boxes, Hoppin' John fit the bill perfectly. This traditional Southern dish has been on my radar for a long time, but as it's traditionally served on New Years Day for luck, I never felt compelled to stray from date (who wants bad luck combined with beans?). This year, New Years Day came and went. I decided doing it a week or two late wouldn't hurt my chances for a prosperous new year too badly.

After reading up on the dish, I was a little apprehensive: there were lots of warnings of blandness and I had never cooked beans from a dried state before. Combining recipes from Gourmet and America's Test Kitchen, I threw my ham hock in a pot of water, added my overnight-soaked beans, and marvelled at how grim the greyish sluice I placed in the oven looked. Fast forward a few hours when it came time to taste it. Amazing!

In an effort to keep things within the spirit of the dish, we paired the beans with some brown rice, collard greens with bacon and onion, and fresh-baked cornbread. Dousing the lot with copious amounts of Cholula, it was a winning meal. There were leftovers for days, and I enjoyed every bit of them.

Hoppin' John
serves 6 to 8
Adapted from The Gourmet Cookbook and The America's Test Kitchen Family Cookbook

1 pound (2 1/2 cups) dried black-eyed peas, picked over and rinsed
2 meaty ham hocks (about 2 pounds total)
9 c water
2 tbsp vegetable oil
4 slices bacon, chopped coarse
2 medium onions, chopped
4 garlic cloves
1 1/2 tsp fresh thyme
2 bay leaves
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
black pepper

Soak peas in cold water to cover by 2 inches, refrigerated, for at least 8 hours. Drain in a colander and rinse well.

Combine ham hocks and water in a deep 3 1/2 – 4 quart saucepan, bring to a simmer, and simmer, uncovered, until meat is tender, about 1 1/2 – 3 hours. Transfer hocks to a cutting board and measure broth. If you have more than 6 cups: boil until reduced to 6 cups. If less, add enough water to measure 6 cups.

When hocks are cool enough to handle, remove meat, discarding skin and bones, and chop.
Adjust an oven rack to the lower-middle position and heat oven to 300 degrees. Cook the bacon in a large Dutch oven over medium heat until crisp, about 8 min. Stir in the onions and and 1 teaspoon salt and continue to cook until softened, about 5 minutes.

Stir in the garlic and thyme and cook until fragrant, about 15 seconds. Stir in the water, scraping up the browned bits. Stir in the black-eyed peas, bay leaves, red pepper flakes, and 1/4 tsp black pepper. Bring to a boil.

Cover and transfer to the oven. Bake, stirring every 30 minutes, until the peas are tender, about 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Remove the lid and stir in the ham. Continue to bake uncovered until the liquid has thickened, about 30 minutes.

Discard the bay leaves, Let the peas sit for 10 minutes. Season with salt, pepper and hot sauce.

N.B.

2011-02-16T12:50:00.000-08:00

A quick note here to point out a small change on the side bar. My blog roll was reaching ridiculous proportions, so I've decided to switch featuring a rotating cast of fine blogs instead. I'll switch it up every month or so and will even include some non-food related blogs in there just to keep things fresh. If your blog was on the old list, fear not: you're still in my heart and Google Reader.

Stout-hearted men

2011-02-16T11:14:00.000-08:00

I'm normally not one to take a gender essentialist view of food, but it's hard to think of a more butch pairing than steak and beer.

Now, breaking food down on gender lines is pretty stupid to me: who says women can't enjoy a big greasy burger, or that real men don't eat quiche? Well, society; the same society that sets the standards for men and women are to look and act also tells us how and what we eat through the way food is represented, whether we're laughing alone with salad or scarfing down coronary-inducing greasebombs from Burger King as a way of asserting our manly bona fides.

As a relatively rare entity in the foodblogosphere (a straight male food blogger), it's interesting to see these same social dynamics play out in this realm. Scan the food blog aggregators on any given day and the chances are pretty good that the majority of posts will be (a) written by a woman and (b) about dessert (reaffirming the myth of the female sweet tooth). I'll wager the gender gap is just as huge when you look at mainstream food media (in spite of the fact that restaurants and high-end cooking remain a male-dominated preserve). As a man, I can't say I've ever felt weird about my prescnce in this female realm, but then men seem to have a much easier time crossing back and forth across these barriers (membership in the patriarchy, it seems, has its privileges). Of course I'd be lying if I said all the baggage about food and masculinity did not creep into my cooking choices, and I am very conscious of my status as a bit of an anomaly in the food blog world.

What's it about? Is it simply that these gender performances are so deeply rooted as to be nigh inescapable? Or can the female dominance in food blogs be seen as part of the same reclamation and reinterpretation of traditional Suzy Homemaker tropes that has also manifested itself through knitting and other DIY crafts? If the latter, it'd be interesting to see some more politics at the dinner table, as it were. Unless, of course, I am just late to the party, this whole "new domesticity" debate having already played itself out back in 2005 or so. Ladies, if you're out there: what do you think?
...
Now then, back to the meat of the matter. This recipe takes steak and Guinness out of the meat pie at the pub and into the bistro. I had the luxury of trying it twice in the span of a few days, once using the original recipe and later adding my own interpretation, so I have a basis for comparison. The original is mighty salty, while my take is slightly sweet: one for boys and one for girls, I guess...

Steak with Stout pan sauce - adapted from Bon Appetit
4 teaspoons Dijon mustard, divided
2 12-ounce new york strip steaks
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter, room temperature
2 teaspoons all purpose flour
1 large garlic clove, minced
1/2 cup low-salt beef broth
1/2 cup Guinness
1 tablespoon (packed) dark brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon ground pepper

Spread 1 teaspoon mustard over steaks; sprinkle with salt and ground black pepper. Heat 1 teaspoon oil in large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Cook meat about 4 minutes per side for medium-rare. Transfer to plate; tent with foil and set aside to rest.

Meanwhile, mash butter and flour in small bowl and set aside. Add garlic to skillet sauté 15 to 20 seconds. Add broth; bring to boil, scraping up pan leavings. Whisk in stout, brown sugar, butter mixture, pepper and remaining mustard. Boil until slightly thickened and reduced to 2/3 cup, 2 to 3 minutes. Thinly slice steaks; divide among plates. Drizzle with sauce and serve.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained

2011-02-15T07:41:00.000-08:00

One thing I need to work on in the kitchen is keeping an even keel when things don’t go well. As D. can testify, it doesn’t take much to put me off my game; mistakes haunt me and leave me in a deep funk until well after the plates have cleared.

And I’m not even talking about big time, “Omigod, dinner is ruined!” failures, but small, often correctable errors, like accidentally doubling the amount of bacon in my bologenese sauce (sure, it was fatty and overpoweringly bacon-y, but really: who doesn’t like bacon?) My reaction to these is usually completely out of proportion to the size of the error with kitchen implements hurled into the sink and long strings of cuss words hurled into the air.

The problem is, when you try new recipes or techniques, the chances of a screw up and corresponding meltdown are that much greater. So, if I want to get better, I better learn to put the occasional failure or near-miss into perspective and basically chill the hell out. That, or avoid failure by sticking with what I know and just spend the rest of my life in a deep, smooth rut.

A recent example here. The dish: duck breast with orange gastrique. The challenge: making the caramel base for the gastrique. I get real nervous when sugar is on the stove, knowing full well how quickly it can burn, so I was filled with trepidation when I started melting the sugar, but detected the telltale smell of char, even though it remained a deep amber colour with no signs of burning. Cue the panic. I pulled the sugar off the heat and called D. over for her opinion. She decided to forge ahead, while I raged in the background. The few moments the sugar was off the heat caused it to solidify, so D. was forced to spend the next several minutes scraping and stirring to get the now crystallized sugar to dissolve into the stock. In the end, the sugar was unburned, the sauce drizzled over perfectly pink slices of duck. It was short of the thick syrup I had hoped for, but delicious all the same. Next time, I'll either use a candy thermometer or do it all in a double broiler.

Duck Breast with Orange Gastrique adapted from Martha Stewart's Cooking School

1 large duck breast
coarse salt and freshly ground pepper
1 orange, zest of one half sliced into julienne, both halves juiced
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup best quality red wine vinegar

Bring a small pot of water to a boil, add the orange zest and simmer for two minutes, then drain and set aside.

Score the skin of the duck in a cross hatch patter, cutting into the fat, but avoiding the flesh.Season both sides with salt and pepper and place skin-side down in pan on medium-low heat until pool of fat forms. Turn breast over and cook other side for one minute, then turn back over. Pour off fat and reserve for another day. Continue cooking duck until skin is browned and crisp, spooning off excess fat as you go. Turn duck so the skin side is up. Now start your gastrique while the duck cooks for another 8-10 minutes.

Heat sugar in a medium sauce pan over medium heat without stirring until melted and uniformly amber. Swirl the pan around to ensure the sugar caramelizes evenly, about five minutes more.Add the vinegar and combine with a wooden spoon, then continue simmering for 5 minutes more, until reduced.

Quick! Check the duck. It should be medium rare (the internal temperature should be between 125F and 130F). Transfer to wire rack to cool.

Add orange juice and zest to your sauce and simmer until reduced to a thick syrup, about 5 minutes longer.

Slice duck crosswise into 1/4 inch thick slices, and drizzle with sauce before serving.

I'm new here.

2011-02-11T18:36:00.000-08:00

Hiya internets.

A short while ago, The Kitchen Front kindly asked me to start contributing to this here blog with my own culinary adventures. I'd like to say I jumped at the chance but frankly, I can be a little lazy in the writing department, and Red Dead Redemption wasn't going to play itself. Anyways, here I am and I'm really excited to start posting.

A little about me: I live in Edmonton with my lovely fiancée Steph, by day I work as a graphic designer, and by night I cook, as much as I can.

At the behest of my parents, I got started cooking at home relatively early. From our early teens on, my siblings and I were expected to handle one dinner a week. At first I relied almost entirely on one-pot wonders, and I'll always have a soft spot for "classics" like tuna casserole and a ground beef stroganoff. Now I'm more likely to make an actual composed meal on a weeknight.

As far as my style in the kitchen goes, I like to experiment as I get bored easily. That just means I like to try new things: new recipes, new ingredients, new techniques. I think I've done a decent job of learning the basics but I'll be the first to admit that certain techniques, like making a good poached egg, still elude me. I've had some colossal failures in the kitchen, but that's part of the fun.

Before I get started, I must extend a big thank you to The Kitchen Front for letting me join in on the fun.

...and then there were two.

2011-02-11T18:24:00.000-08:00

I'm pleased to announce a new contributor to the Kitchen Front: the Swedish Chef.

G. and I go back a long ways. We met through mutual friends and shared a love of Britpop, indie-rock and Stella Artois. We roomed together for a stretch during which he introduced me to Mark Bittman's "How to Cook Everything" and helped push my interest in cooking forward before I met D. and took a quantum leap in that regard.

He's one of a handful of people I know who is as "into" food as I am and, though we live on opposite ends of the country, we still swap recipes and share restaurant experiences. It was after one of these exchanges that it occurred to me that he'd be a natural contributor. I'm looking forward to seeing what he brings to the table.

Love is all you knead

2011-01-30T14:11:00.000-08:00

It might not always come through, but The Kitchen Front is no one-man show. In fact, this blog and my love for cooking probably wouldn't exist at all without my partner in cuisine and life, D.

When we met, I was really rather hopeless in the kitchen. I had a handful of go-to recipes, but not much skill, imagination or, if the truth be told, really much interest in cooking. D. changed all of that. Her passion for food was infectious and her encouragment and advice kindled my love of cooking. Plus, she came with these amazing Le Crueset pots.

Now we're a team, whether its gushing over cookbooks together, talking about recipes and restaurants we want to try, or preparing meals in a kitchen pas de deux. Many of the creations you see here are as much hers as mine, and I wanted to give her the credit she deserves and thank her for the gift of the past seven years.

No-Knead Bread Adapted from Jim Lahey, Sullivan Street Bakery, via the New York Times

3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, more for dusting
¼ teaspoon instant yeast
1¼ teaspoons salt
Cornmeal or wheat bran as needed.

1. In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add 1 5/8 cups water, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 12 hours, preferably about 18, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.

2. Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.

3. Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with flour, wheat bran or cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more flour, bran or cornmeal. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.

4. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.

Yield: One 1½-pound loaf.

Fasta pasta

2011-01-24T17:42:00.000-08:00

In a near-perfect world, my evenings would unfold something like this. I'd bike or stroll home from my personally fulfilling and financially rewarding job to our spacious modern apartment. There, I'd survey the array of fine fresh and local ingredients and assemble dinner in my state-of-the-art kitchen. We would enjoy this fine repast, along with a bottle of good wine, while leisurely taking in our magnificent views from our floor-to-ceiling windows and trading bon mots over our vintage harvest table.

The reality is a bit like the bizzaro version of the above. It's from another dimension and has a goatee. In this one, I ride the crowded, hot subway from work, squeeze in an hour or so at the cramped, sweaty gym, rush home for a shower, open a beer and consider what we can scrape together from the fridge that can be both tasty and fast enough to make so as not to scupper the remainder of our evening.

I'm sure a lot of people can relate: if not, our supermarkets wouldn't be filled with horrible, and horribly over-packaged, "meals in minutes" and the multi-million dollar convenience food industry would not be seeing its profits expand with the waistlines of its customers. Still, I have a hard time sympathizing with the frozen dinner crowd. Yes, we all have busy lives, but there's simply no reason in my book to eat that kind of shit. Not when magazines and the internet are full of quick and easy recipes using fresh ingredients (and yes, it's great to eat local when you can but I'd really rather see people eating fresh produce from Mexico than, say, a roast beef that you can cook in your microwave in 15 minutes. What the hell is that?). Or when anyone with a few culinary brain cells to rub together can ad lib something edible in half an hour. That's how long it took me to pull this together, which yields taste completely disproportionate to the effort involved.

Roasted garlic and tomato pasta with goat cheese and arugula
Serves 4

2 pints grape tomatoes
4 garlic cloves, unpeeled
1 medium onion, cut into wedges
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Coarse salt and ground pepper
8 ounces shaped pasta, such as penne or shells
1/3 cup kalamata olives, pitted and halved
A lump of goat cheese (depending on how much you like goat cheese)
A couple of fistfuls of arugula or spinach

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Place tomatoes, garlic, shallots, and thyme on a rimmed baking sheet. Toss with oil and season with salt and pepper. Roast until tomatoes burst, shallots are browned, and garlic is soft, 20 to 25 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a large pot of boiling salted water, cook pasta until al dente. Reserve 1/4 cup pasta water; drain pasta and return to pot.

Peel roasted garlic and mash with the flat side of a chef's knife. Add to pasta pot, along with vegetables, olives, and pasta water. Cook over medium-high until sauce thickens, about 3 minutes. Let cool slightly, then toss with arugula.

See also: Sunday in the Pot

Lull

2011-01-14T06:34:00.000-08:00

After all the cooking I did in late December, I find myself significantly less productive in the early days of 2011. Normal life and our first real coating of snow have stifled my creative energies.

That's not to say I've been ordering pizza every night, but we've been less about planning and more about making do with the contents of the fridge and pantry. One day last week I came home and tossed a quintet of fat Italian sausages in some hot oil in the Crueset till they were nice and brown, added some garlic, sliced onions and bell peppers, some dried herbs and a splash of balsamic and then stuck the lot in a hot oven for 20 minutes next to a tray of sweet potato wedges. Done. Sunday we roasted a small supermarket chicken with some carrots. Monday was chicken sandwiches and a salad. You get my drift.

All the same, food's been much on my mind. I've been working my way through Nigel Slater's "The Kitchen Diaries" and enjoying it rather immensely. According to the man himself, it's an account of more or less everything he cooked in the course of a year, presented as an illustrated diary. I'd call it a paperback food blog. Either way, it's great, much like the rest of Slater's oeuvre. He's an engaging writer, crafting prose as workmanlike as his recipes (and I certainly don't mean that in the pejorative). His descriptions - of flavours, of textures, even of the weather - have a comforting, soporific quality; indeed, I've taken to reading an entry or two (sometimes out loud) before turning in for the night. I'm looking forward to giving some of the actual recipes a crack too: I've noted one for a frosted marmalade cake that might happen soon.

Some other thoughts: as I alluded to above, real life is being a bit of a pain in the ass at the moment, which has me back in one of my frequent "what am I doing with my life" phases. It's so unfair: generations past never had these problems. Then again, generations past were also often dead by the time they were my age, so maybe a little angst isn't that bad. Anyway, people I speak to about this seem to think I should follow my culinary inclinations into some kind of career. I'm not so sure, since I consider myself an enthusastic amateur more than anything else. All the same, it'd be pretty cool to do something with food. Food trucks are a pretty big deal these days, maybe there's an idea there. Better yet, given the quasi-miltaristic/Anglophile theme of the blog, a food tank. Anybody know where I can find a used Churchill?

Finally, maybe this is a sign I'm getting ~~old~~ more mature, but I've been listening to a fair bit of jazz this week. Somehow, slogging through piles of dirty slush is a lot more romantic when you've got Sketches of Spain on the headphones.

The Holidays Unwrapped Part Three: A Family Thing

2011-01-10T06:51:00.000-08:00

Here's the last of my 2010 holiday recap. Regular programming to resume...sometime.

Christmas is supposed to be about family, which is why I'm starting my little 2010 holiday retrospective with the only meal we shared with my own flesh and blood. Brother S. was passing through town a couple of days after marking the holidays with the rest of the clan out west and dropped in for dinner, so another festive meal was in order.

I love my one-pot dishes, and as far as I'm concerned, Beef Bourguignon is the king of stews. With Bourguignon, you taste pretty much everything that goes into the pot, so you really need to bring your game: decent wine, good quality meat and fresh ingredients are a must. This recipe borrows a bit from a few different sources, including Julia Child's from "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" (as an aside, one of the worst things about that terrible "Julie and Julia" film was how the twit Julie and her dullard boyfriend kept pronouncing "bouef" as "boof", like someone was punching them in the stomach. But I digress.) Ideally, you want to do this a day ahead, as the flavours really need time to come together.

Beef Bourguignon Serves 6

4 slices good quality smoked bacon, chopped into one-inch chunks
1 ½ pounds beef chuck cut into one-inch cubes
Coarse salt and ground pepper
1-2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
½ cup beef stock
1 large onion, chopped
3 large cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons tomato paste
4 or 5 medium carrots, cut diagonally into 3/4-inch slices
1 bottle dry red wine (3 cups)
½ teaspoon dried thyme
2 bay leaves
1 1/2 pounds small brown mushrooms, stems trimmed and halved
8 ounces (1½ cups) pearl onions, blanched and peeled
1 tablespoon olive oil
Coarse salt and ground pepper

In a large pot or Dutch oven, fry bacon until browned. With a slotted spoon, transfer bacon to a paper-towel-lined plate; set aside. Reserve bacon fat.

Season beef generously with salt and pepper and dust with flour. Add beef in batches to the fat in the pan (don’t crowd the pan) and brown for a good five to 10 minutes per batch. Take care not to burn the flour that will stick to the bottom of the pan. Transfer browned meat to a plate and set aside.

Add stock to pan and bring to a boil. Cook and scrape up brown bits on the bottom, until liquid has reduced to a few tablespoons, 2 to 3 minutes.

Add onion and garlic; cook, stirring, until slightly softened. Add tomato paste; cook 1 minute.

Add carrots, meat (with juices), wine, thyme, bay leaves and reserved bacon. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer over low, stirring occasionally, until meat is tender, but not falling apart, approximately 3 hours.

Meanwhile, toss mushrooms with onions and olive oil; season with salt and pepper. Add to a baking sheet or shallow roasting pan and roast in a 425F oven for about 30 minutes until mushrooms are brown and onions are tender.

Skim fat off surface of stew and discard. Stir in mushrooms and onions and season with salt and pepper. Serve over mashed, boiled or roasted potatoes or egg noodles.

The Holidays Unwrapped Part Two: Duck!

2011-01-06T10:44:00.000-08:00

Our first Christmas together (in the "just-the-two-of-us" sense) was, in a word, quiet. With no family commitments and few friends to distract us, it was just us, the couch, a few good books and The Trip.

Our numbers meant a traditional holiday dinner was just not practical; besides, our feelings on turkey et al have been already noted. Still, we found the spirit of the season in the rich depths of a dinner of duck, slow cooked in a heady broth of red wine, sweet onions and tomato. As the last hours of the day slipped by, we finished with an indulgent sticky toffee pudding crowned with a hazelnut caramel sauce.

Slow cooked duck pastaServes 4
1 tablespoon olive oil
4 250g duck legs, skin removed
1 pound shallots, peeled and halved
1 clove garlic, minced
2/3 cup red wine
2 cups beef stock
1/3 cup tomato paste
2 bay leaves

Preheat the oven to 325F. In a large ovenproof pot or Dutch oven, heat olive oil over medium heat and brown duck legs in batches, about 2 minutes per side. Set aside.

Add shallots to pot and cook until just starting to brown, then add garlic and cook until fragrant, about one minute. Add wine, stock, tomato paste, and bay leaves and stir to combine. Return duck to pot, cover and cook in the oven for 1 1/2 hours, or until duck comes away from the bone easily.

Remove legs from pot and strip meat off the bone with a fork. Discard bones and return meat to the pot and simmer on the stovetop until warmed through and sauce is thickened to your desired consistency.

Meanwhile, cook 400 grams of rigatone or pappardelle in a pot of boiling salted water until al dente. Drain and toss with duck sauce and serve.

p.s: Forgive the poor quality photo up top, but that's what you get when you try and take a picture by candlelight.

The Holidays Unwrapped Part One: 'twas the Night Before

2011-01-05T16:45:00.000-08:00

My seasonal spirit peaks the night before Christmas. Maybe it's the German in me, or maybe it's just that I like the build up. Or maybe I just like tourtière.

The past few years that we've spent the holidays with D's parents have seen tourtière become a Christmas Eve staple. D's first ever attempt yielded a concoction with a golden, crispy crust and a savory filling of aromatic pork. One small problem: somewhere along the way, D forgot to add the oats or breadcrumbs that act to bind the filling together. As a result, each slice of tourtière would spill its guts all over the plate the upon the touch of a fork. It didn't matter: every stray scrap was hunted down like an escaped felon, soon to meet its reward with a dash of HP sauce.

Here's a fun fact: apparently, the French Canadian meat pie gets its name from what was, once upon a time, its key ingredient: the tourte or passenger pigeon. No wonder the passenger pigeon went extinct: they must have been delicious.

Reveillon Tourtiere
adapted from The Canadian Living Christmas Book

1 tbsp vegetable oil
3 lb. ground pork
1 ½ cups beef stock or water
1 ½ cups finely chopped onions
½ - 1 cup finely chopped celery
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups sliced mushrooms
1 tsp pepper
¾ tsp salt
2 bay leaves
½ tsp dried rosemary
½ tsp cinnamon
½ tsp nutmeg
½ dried savory (I used poultry seasoning in lieu)
¼ tsp ground cloves
1 cup fresh bread crumbs or 1 cup of old-fashioned rolled oats
Pastry for TWO 9 inch double-crust pie (I used Martha Stewart’s Perfect Pie Crust)
1 egg, beaten
1 tsp water

Cook pork in large skillet over medium-high heat. Break it up with wooden spoon for 7 to 10 minutes until no longer pink. Drain off fat.

Stir in stock, onions, garlic, mushrooms, celery, salt, bay leaves, rosemary, cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper, savory, and cloves. Bring to a boil. Reduce meat to medium-low and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 35 to 45 minutes or until 2 tbsp. of liquid remain.

Stir in bread crumbs. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Cover and refrigerate until cold or for up to a day.

Prepare pastry. (You can make the pastry a day ahead and keep refrigerated in plastic wrap as small ½ inch discs of dough). Bring it to room temperature before rolling out to assemble the pies.

Spoon filling into pie shell, smoothing top. Moisten edge of pastry with water and cover with top pastry, pressing edges together to seal. Trim (a good pair of kitchen scissors are the best for this job) and flute pastry edge.

Combine egg with water; brush some over pastry. Cut decorative shapes from remaining pastry (or if you can’t be bothered slice a few vent holes with a small knife) and arrange on top; brush with egg mixture. Make sure you have some steam vents. Bake at 375ºF for 40 to 45 minutes or until golden brown. Let cool for 10 minutes. Makes 8 to 10 servings.

To Freeze: don’t cut out any shapes or vents. Wrap and freeze for up to 2 months.

Partially thaw in refrigerator for 6 hours or until pastry gives slightly when pressed. Cut steam vents and brush with glaze.

Bake in 375F oven for 1- ¼ hours or until heated through and pastry is golden, shielding edge with foil if necessary during last 30 minutes.

2010: A Look back in hunger

2011-01-01T13:40:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! I'm getting an epic post together about the holidays, but in the meantime, here's a look back at my favourite posts from The kitchen Front and my old blog from the last 12 months.

Hits and Misses

2010-12-24T13:36:00.000-08:00

As a reluctant baker, the holiday season is tough on me. This year D. and I are spending our first ever holiday season together as the two of us, so there's no pressure produce perfect festive cookies, gingerbread men, shortbread...whatever. And a good thing too, as my efforts this week have delivered mixed results at best.

First off: Bourbon Pecan Chews. I love pecan pie, like, a lot, and these cookie-like creations were billed as a pretty reasonable facsimile of pecan pie innards. Pecans and bourbon, together? What's not to like? The issue here was in the execution. Well, the first issue for me was the lack of bourbon, so I subbed in Canadian rye whisky. No big deal, I'm sure. Second, I was a bit short on pecans, but probably not enough to affect the end result. No, what tripped me up was the fact that I didn't realize there was a significant difference in types of molasses and ended up using 1/2 cup of potent tar-like blackstrap. As a result, that's pretty much all you taste. My only, defense is that most recipes I've seen involving molasses actually tell you what type of the stuff not to use, but I realize that's pretty feeble. Sure, the cookies (chews, whatever) are edible enough, but enjoyable only if you happen to enjoy the overwhelming pungency of molasses. So maybe not an out and out failure, but another one for the let down files. If anyone decides to do these using the original recipe, do let me know how they turn out, would you?
...

Next up: Lemon Squares. These very nearly ended up being another let down, as I slightly overbaked the whole works. As a result, the base is more chewy than crumbly, giving what should be a light dessert a slight heaviness. Heavy or not, they still taste good enough to eat in twos and threes.

Lemon Squares (from the New Canadian Basics Cookbook)

Base

½ Cup butter, softened

¼ Cup granulated sugar

1 Cup all-purpose flour

Topping

2 eggs

1 Cup granulated sugar

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon baking powder

¼ teaspoon salt

zest of one lemon

3 tablespoons lemon juice

Make base. Cream butter and sugar, then blend in flour until crumbly. Press mixture into the bottom of a prepared 8-inch baking pan and bake in a 350F oven for 15 minutes or until lightly browned.

Make topping. In a large bowl, beat eggs and sugar together. Stir in remaining ingredients.

Assemble. Pour mixture over base and bake for 25 minutes or until topping is set. Let cool on a rack, dust with confectioner’s sugar and cut into squares

P.S. If you're out there, dear readers, I hope you and yours have a happy and delicious Christmas.

Squash it to me

2010-12-18T12:51:00.000-08:00

As you can probably guess by the content of most of my recipes, I’m a committed and wholly unrepentant carnivore. I grew up in a meat and potatoes household and, like many North Americans, I never came close to hitting the recommended allotment of vegetables growing up. Part of it was the lack of availability of fresh vegetables at the time and a large part of it was my own extreme pickiness.

I’m a lot better at eating my veggies than I used to be. I always make sure I have something green or root-y on my plate or close to it. Sometimes — and this is a big deal — I even cook vegetarian mains. And enjoy them. Don't get me wrong: I'm not about to run off and join those pricks at PETA, but there's nothing like filling your stomach while filling yourself with a sense of smug satisfaction at the same time.

I had this recipe for a spicy, Tex-Mex style vegetable stew bookmarked in Rose Murray’s wonderful cookbook “A Taste of Canada” for a long time. It looked delicious, but seemed quite fussy for such a simple dish. Well, winter rolled in and I decided to try it, but, like Old Blue Eyes said, I did it my way. The shortcuts and additions I made didn’t seem to hurt the flavour: it’s smoky and heartwarming. A feel-good meal in every sense, one I’d make again, though I still don’t see this stuff replacing steak anytime soon.

Squash and bean stew with chipotle cream (adapted from Rose Murray’s A Taste of Canada)
Makes about 6-8 servings

2 tablespoon canola oil
1 large onion chopped
2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon salt
½ tsp ground cinnamon
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 red bell pepper, sliced thin
1 poblano pepper, seeded sliced
1 red chili, chopped
2 tablespoons chilli powder
1 butternut squash (about 2 pounds, peeled, seeded, and cut into 1 inch cubes)
1 28 ounce can of tomatoes, undrained
½ cup water
1 can black beans, drained and rinsed
¾ cup sour cream
1 tablespoon minced chipotles in adobo

Heat the oil over medium heat in a large Dutch oven or pot. Add onions and cook, stirring often, until soft and translucent.

Reduce heat and add garlic, cumin, salt, chili powder and cinnamon and cook for one minute.

Add peppers and chopped chili and cook for five minutes, stirring frequently.

Add cubed squash and stir to coat with spice mixture. Chop the tomatoes in the can with a knife or scissors, than add to pan along with their juices along with enough water to mostly cover the squash pieces. Bring to a boil over medium high heat, scraping bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon. Reduce heat, cover and cook until squash is fork tender, 25-30 minutes.

Uncover, add black beans and cook five minutes. Meanwhile, mix sour cream and chipotles in a bowl and set aside.

Season stew with salt and pepper and serve in bowls topped with a dollop of the chipotle cream.

Synchronicity

2010-12-17T07:46:00.000-08:00

This was one of those unplanned meals, the kind where you see a recipe, look at the contents of the fridge and find a match to be made.

The recipe comes from this month’s Martha Stewart Living Holiday edition and originally calls for veal and chives, not to mention a helluva lot more butter. But using turkey and less butter gives the illusion that you’re eating healthy or “heart smart” as they say. As for the parsely, well, you gotta use that stuff up somehow.

Turkey Scaloppine with Grapefruit (adapted from Martha Stewart Living)

1 Ruby red grapefruit
4 turkey cutlets
1 tablespoon canola oil
4 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon chopped flat leaf parsley

Cut peel and pith from grapefruit and remove segments from membranes. Squeeze membranes to release juices into a small bowl.

Pound turkey cutlets thin and season with salt and pepper. Heat oil in a large skillet and then add one tablespoon butter. Cook cutlets until golden brown, about 3 to 4 minutes per side. Transfer to a platter and keep warm.

Add remaining butter to pan and heat until golden brown. Reduce heat to low and swirl in reserved grapefruit juice. Return turkey to pan and heat through. Add grapefruit segments and remove from heat. Sprinkle with parsley and serve.

Sunday in the pot

2010-12-16T07:03:00.000-08:00

As a kid, I hated Sundays. Sunday meant the end of the weekend, homework and a return to the drudgery of school.

As an adult, I’ve grown to appreciate the almost melancholic tranquility of a Sunday. The Monday dread is there, but so too is pleasure in the simple things. Napping, reading: even simple chores can take on a meditative quality in the fading light of a Sunday afternoon.

When I can, I like to make Sunday dinners a production number, but sometimes time and the contents of the fridge conspire to force one's hand in a different direction. That's fine: simplicity can surprise you.
Quick Sunday Pasta (penne with spinach and bacon)

6-8 slices of bacon or pancetta, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced
Pinch of dried red pepper flakes
White wine
A large bunch of fresh spinach (about three or four cups worth) chopped
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
½ cup grated parmesan cheese
2 cups dried penne rigate

In a deep skillet or Dutch oven, sauté bacon/pancetta on medium high heat until crispy. Remove from pan with a slotted spoon and set aside to drain on paper towel.

Add garlic and red pepper flakes and cook until fragrant and garlic starts to brown (about one minute). Add a splash of wine and scrape up any bits at the bottom of the pan. Once wine has almost completely evaporated, add the spinach, cover and reduce heat to low. Cook, stirring occasionally, until spinach is wilted, about 5-10 minutes. Meanwhile, cook penne in a pot of boiling, salted water until al dente, drain and keep warm.

Once spinach is cooked to your liking, return bacon to the pan and add the balsamic vinegar. Cook until vinegar is reduced by half, add cooked penne and grated parmesan, stir and serve.

(p.s: Sorry for the lack of photos: I was stuck with my old camera on the weekend and the snaps I took just didn't turn out)

Pulling it together

2010-12-08T20:20:00.000-08:00

The upcoming Christmas holidays will be our first out here in Toronto and the first ever where it will be just the two of us celebrating it. As much as I’ll miss seeing family and friends, I’m looking forward to starting some new traditions and trying out some new foods.

This past weekend, we kicked off the countdown to Christmas in style. We rubbed shoulders with the well-to-do while shopping in Yorkville, froze our toes at the Toronto Christmas Market and decorated our apartment. After all that, we took the chill off with an easy and warming dinner of oven pulled pork.

Pulled pork is a summertime barbecue staple, but there's no reason you can't enjoy it year round. Our go-to pulled piggy recipe is this spicy carnitas-style version from Martha Stewart, but I decided to go for something a bit different. Apple juice and a hint of maple syrup in the braising liquid gives a dollop of sweetness to the meltingly moist meat, sweetness that is balanced with a tart cider-vinegar sauce. You can also reserve the cooking liquid and serve that over the pork instead, or, if you want something more evocative of summer barbecues, try a spicy-sweet tomato-based sauce. Served, of course, on a fluffy white bun with some caramelized onions.

Apple maple pulled pork (adapted from Bonnie Stern)

3-4 lbs pork shoulder (pork butt roast)
2 tbsp brown sugar
1 tbsp kosher salt
1 tsp paprika
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
2 tbsp Dijon mustard
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups water
1 cup apple juice
½ cup maple syrup
1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce

Combine brown sugar, salt, paprika, pepper, mustard and garlic. Rub into pork roast. Marinate for a few hours or overnight in the refrigerator.

Combine water, apple juice, maple syrup and Worcestershire sauce. Place pork in a Dutch oven and pour liquid over until roast is about ¾ covered (reserve and extra liquid). Cook, covered, in a 325°F oven until pork is so tender that it falls apart when pierced with a fork, about four or five hours. Turn roast a few times during cooking and add reserved liquid if necessary.

Transfer pork (carefully) to a bowl and shred meat using two forks. Skim and reserve cooking liquid.

Basic Vinegar BBQ Sauce

¼ cup water
¼ cup brown sugar
¾ cups apple cider vinegar
¼ Cup ketchup
½ tablespoon paprika
½ teaspoon cayenne
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon black pepper

Stir the brown sugar into the hot water. Continue stirring until the sugar is completely dissolved. Add the remaining ingredients and heat on low for a few minutes.

Chipotle Maple Barbecue Sauce (from Martha Stewart)

1 cup ketchup
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/4 cup dark-brown sugar
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
2 to 3 teaspoons adobo sauce (without chipotles)

In a small saucepan, whisk together ketchup, maple syrup and dark-brown sugar, Dijon mustard, and adobo sauce. Simmer, whisking occasionally, until sauce is reduced to 1 1/4 cups, 10 to 15 minutes.

On expectations

2010-11-28T11:29:00.000-08:00

In cooking, as in life, things don’t always go as planned. As any home cook knows, the margin between success and failure can sometimes be pretty narrow: a bit too much heat here, not enough of a certain ingredient there and you end up with a dried-out steak or a collapsed soufflé. Disasters are to be expected and you can’t do much more than bin the results, dust off your apron and try again.

But there’s something almost worse about those dishes that work out just fine, but simply fail to live up to expectations. These brownies are a case in point.

I’d been meaning to do a bit of baking and, while browsing foodgawker, came across a number of recipes incorporating oh-so-now pumpkin that seemed like they’d be tasty. Somehow, I settled on a Martha Stewart recipe for pumpkin swirl brownies that seemed more or less straightforward and held great promise in the taste department. I was dead wrong on both counts. As far as the first , it was a lot more complicated to execute than it seemed on paper (at one point, I was stirring melting chocolate on the stove top with one hand and mixing batter with an electric mixer with the other). As to the taste, well, it turns out that I’m not a huge fan of the pumpkin/chocolate combo as I thought I’d be. It could be that I made too much of the pumpkin batter and not enough of the chocolate. But then, I’m not wild about the chocolate part either: I think a recipe involving cocoa powder instead of real chocolate would have resulted in more brownie-like brownies. These are a more like cake in their consistency.

These things happen, lessons were learned, etc etc. Anyone need about a dozen pumpkin brownies?

Pumpkin swirl brownies (from Martha Stewart)

½ Cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, plus more for pan
6 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
½ teaspoon salt
1 ¾ cups sugar
4 large eggs
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
1 ¼ cups pumpkin puree
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 cup chopped pecans or other nuts

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-inch square baking pan or dish. Line bottom of pan with parchment paper; butter lining.
Melt chocolate and butter in a heatproof bowl set over a pan of simmering water, stirring occasionally until smooth.
Whisk together flour, baking powder, cayenne, and salt in a large bowl; set aside. Put sugar, eggs, and vanilla in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment; beat until fluffy and well combined, 3 to 5 minutes. Beat in flour mixture.
Divide batter between two medium bowls (about 2 cups per bowl). Stir chocolate mixture into one bowl. In other bowl, stir in pumpkin, oil, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Transfer half of chocolate batter to prepared pan smoothing top with a rubber spatula. Top with half of pumpkin batter. Repeat to make one more chocolate layer and one more pumpkin layer. Work quickly so batters don't set.
With a small spatula or a table knife, gently swirl the two batters to create a marbled effect. Sprinkle with nuts.
Bake until set, 40 to 45 minutes. Let cool in pan on a wire rack. Cut into 16 squares.

From the vaults

2010-11-22T16:20:00.000-08:00

Yikes. Forgive the lack of updates. Believe me, it's not for a lack of cooking either: just this past week I braised a brisket and staged a dinner for six with a (dare I say perfect) roasted prime rib as the cornerstone. Trouble is, whenever I cook event meals, I tend to be too busy, well, cooking (not to mention chatting and drinking) to bother with photos. Since I got nothin' at the moment, I thought I'd reprint one of my favourite recipes from my original tumblr blog.

Harissa and Yogurt Chicken (adapted from Nigel Slater's The Kitchen Diaries)

4 chicken thighs (bone-in and skin on)*
2 generous tablespoons thick Greek-style yogurt
2 ½ - 3 teaspoons harissa paste
3 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
1/4 cup torn mint leaves
1. Whisk the harissa into the yogurt in a bowl, then whisk in the olive oil. Season to taste with salt and pepper, then add the chicken pieces to the marinade, turning to coat. Allow to sit for at least 10 minutes, then turn and marinate for another 10.

2. Heat a broiler until very hot. Place chicken part son a rack set on a foil-covered baking sheet (believe me, this will make cleaning up a lot easier). Cook the chicken skin side up until crispy (approximately 12 minutes), then turn and cook until internal temperature is 160F, about 8-10 minutes more.

3. Remove from heat and scatter with mint leaves. Serve with a Morroccan couscous or rice pilaf.

*You could also use a couple of whole legs or breasts. Just make sure there’s skin on there, okay?

On a lighter note

2010-11-11T11:58:00.000-08:00

I felt like taking a break from my recent run of one-pot dishes with this quick and healthy (relatively, anyway) weeknight supper. It’s hard to go wrong with breaded and fried chicken, whether its classic chicken parm or its northern cousin schnitzel. In this case, the crunchy, moist chicken floats on a bed of tart greens. Crisp and sweet apples add a seasonal touch to the salad.

Chicken Parmigiana with green salad with apples
Serves 2

1 large egg
2 tbsp milk
1 cup panko breadcrumbs
1/3 cup grated Parmegiano-Reggiano cheese
Freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon all purpose flour
1 medium boneless, skinless chicken breast
Kosher salt
¼ cup all-purpose flour
A couple of large handfuls of salad greens (arugula or spinach)
One medium sized apple, cored and sliced
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp honey
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
¼ cup olive oil

Whisk together the egg and milk in a large, shallow dish. In a separate dish, mix together the panko, cheese and pepper.
Slice the chicken breast in half on its horizontal axis so that you have two thin fillets. Gently pound out the chicken breasts to an even thickness with kitchen mallet and season generously with salt and pepper. Dip each chicken breast into the flour to coat and shake off any excess, then into the egg wash, and then into the panko mixture, patting so that it adheres. Arrange the chicken breasts in a single layer on a plate and let rest for about 15 minutes.
Heat about two tablespoons of oil in a large skillet and add fry chicken until golden brown underneath, about 4-5 minutes. Turn the chicken breasts and fry another 4 to 5 minutes, or until just cooked through and golden brown. Set aside and keep warm while you prepare the salad.
Whisk mustard, honey and vinegar in a small bowl, then add olive oil in a slow stream while whisking vigorously. Arrange greens on a couple of plates, top with apple slices and drizzle with oil. Top with chicken fillets and serve with a slice of lemon.

Moroccan roll

2010-11-07T11:08:00.000-08:00

So it’s shaping up to be pretty much all comfort food all the time here on the Kitchen Front. I’m okay with that if you are.
Last time we visited Italy. This week, we head across the Mediterranean Sea for a Moroccan-inspired stew. Traditional tagines are one-pot affairs in the truest sense: everything goes in at once to cook long and slowly together. But I gave this one a bit of a French twist by working the ingredients in stages: browning the meat, softening the onions, toasting the spices and so forth. If you’re strapped for time, you could definitely do it the old fashioned way. A note on the original recipe here: I tasted it halfway through and found it to be a bit too mild: I added the cumin and coriander for a slight punch of heat and balance to the sweetness of the honey and prunes. Serve over couscous, or scooped onto flatbread.

Tagine with Prunes and Cinnamon (adapted from Gourmet)
(Serves 4)

1 lb boneless lamb shoulder or stewing beef (I used beef shanks) cut into cubes
1 medium red onion, halved and thinly sliced
2 small cinnamon sticks
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon coriander
1 pinch saffron threads
1 tablespoon water or wine
1 cup prunes
1 ½ tablespoons honey
1/2 tablespoon sesame seeds

Heat a tablespoon of oil in a Dutch oven over medium heat; dust meat with flour, salt and pepper and brown in batches, about three minutes per batch. Add extra oil as needed. Set browned meat aside.
Add onions and cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Meanwhile, toast saffron in a dry skillet until fragrant (about 30 seconds), remove from heat and crumble into a tablespoon of wine or water and let stand for a minute.
Add cinnamon stick and spices to the onions and cook until fragrant, about one minute, then add saffron mixture. Boil quickly, while scraping up the brown bits on the bottom of the pot.
Return meat and accumulated juices to pot and add enough water to just cover the meat. (about 2-2½ Cups)
Gently simmer, partially covered, stirring occasionally, 1 1/2 hours, stirring occasionally and skimming off fat as you go.
Stir in prunes and honey and simmer uncovered until meat is tender and sauce has thickened, 15 to 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, toast sesame seeds in dry small skillet over medium heat, stirring, until pale golden. Stir into stew along with salt and pepper to taste and serve.

Brrrrr...

2010-10-31T15:59:00.000-07:00

This weekend, the grey skies sent down a smattering of tiny snowflakes that spiraled to earth and melted immediately. Not much of a snowfall, but the message was clear: winter's on the way.

Fortunately, I've just the thing to stave off the chills. Hunter-style chicken (pollo alla cacciatora) is an Italian classic. In this version (more stew-like than many variations), fresh whole chicken parts are first marinated in herbs and wine, then cooked long and slow in a rich tomato and wine sauce. Worth sitting through winter for, this. Serve with a few fat slices of buttered crusty bread and a crisp salad to balance the richness of the stew (and it is rich).

Hunter's Chicken (Pollo alla cacciatora) (adapted from Jamie's Italy)
Serves 2-4

4-6 pieces of free range chicken on the bone
4 bay leaves
1 large sprig of fresh rosemary
3 cloves of garlic, peeled (1 crushed, 2 sliced)
200ml dry red wine
1 tsp flour
extra virgin olive oil
½ tsp anchovy paste
½ Cup olives (green, black or a mixture)
1 28 oz tin of tomatoes, drained and broken up with a spoon

Season the chicken pieces with salt and freshly ground black pepper and put them into a bowl. Add the bay leaves and rosemary sprigs and the crushed clove of garlic and cover with the wine. Leave to marinate for at least an hour, or preferably overnight in the fridge.
Preheat your oven to 350ºF. Remove the chicken from the bowl and reserve the marinade. Pat the chicken pieces dry with paper towel and dust the with flour and shake off any excess. Heat an deep ovenproof pan or Dutch oven, add a splash of olive oil, and fry the chicken pieces until browned lightly all over. Set aside.
Add the sliced garlic and fry until golden brown, then add the anchovies, olives, tomatoes, scraping up any brown bits on the bottom of the pa. Add the chicken pieces and reserved marinade. Bring to the boil, cover with a lid or a double thickness layer of foil and bake in the preheated oven for 1½ hours.
Remove chicken parts with tongs to a cutting board and strip meat from bones with a fork or knife (it should come away quite easily).
Skim off any oil that’s collected on top of the sauce, return chicken to pot and stir. Remove the bay leaves and rosemary sprigs and serve.

Song for a Sunday

2010-10-17T11:46:00.000-07:00

Gobble gobble

2010-10-13T17:08:00.000-07:00

Canadian Thanksgiving came and went. This year for the first time ever, we were left to our own devices with no family obligations, which also means no one to do the cooking and washing up for you. We decided to do our own holiday feast instead, complete with roast turkey, the requisite trimmings (stuffing, mashed sweet potatoes, etc.), and a few fellow holiday orphans as guests.

A note here: neither D. nor I are big fans of the big bird traditionally at the centre of Thanksgiving celebrations. They require so much work and are so easy to screw up. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t have a story or two about gathering around a platter of desiccated turkey on Thanksgiving or at Christmas. But tradition is tradition and we felt that, this year at least, we’d abide by it, just to see if we could pull it off. Next time, I’d rather do a roast.

All in all, our first crack at Thanksgiving was a success: the turkey was moist, albeit slightly flavourless-a fault of the bird or a lack of seasoning, it's hard to say-, the wine flowed freely and the pumpkin whip dessert was a big hit. Four guests and two hosts went off into the crisp October night with full bellies.

However, the next day presented a problem, one endemic to big festive meals but all the more pronounced in our situation: what to do with all these bloody leftovers? Our 12 pound turkey yielded roughly three pounds of leftover meat. Some of that ended up in a sandwich the very next day (turkey with brie, cranberries and caramelized onions if you must know). A bit more went into the chili below and the rest is going into the freezer for future chilies or curries. But the sides? I really haven’t a clue what to do with all that stuffing.

Post-Thanksgiving turkey chili

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 medium onions, finely chopped
2 large cloves garlic, minced
2 medium bell peppers (green, red or yellow) chopped
1/2 tablespoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 whole chipotle chili, diced with 1/4 tsp adobo sauce
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 tsp brown sugar
2 tsp cocoa powder
1 28 oz cans black beans, well drained
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes with their juices
2 1/2 cups leftover roast turkey
1 cup frozen corn
Salt and pepper

Heat the oil in a large, heavy pot over medium high heat. Add the onion, garlic, bell pepper. Saute until the onion is soft and golden, stirring frequently, about 10 minutes.
Add the chili powder, cumin and cinnamon and cook for a minute. Add the black beans and tomatoes with their juices, stir in cocoa powder, sugar, chipotle and turkey and bring the whole thing to a boil.
Reduce the heat and simmer for 15-20 minutes, adding the corn about halfway through.
Serve topped with grated cheddar, sour cream or (I tried this today and it was fantastic) maple syrup.

Sometimes in the fall

2010-10-01T08:22:00.000-07:00

I love the way this dish evokes the season. The rich orange of the soup echoes the tint of the autumn foilage, the crunchy bacon bits call to mind treading through piles of dried leave and the mingling of flavours-smoky and sweet with just a touch of tartness-is that of a bright, but crisp morning.
The basic idea for this soup came from this recipe from an old Gourmet. I had tried it out once before and found it merely satisfactory. I figured it would benefit greatly from the rich depth of flavour that comes from roasting. I was not wrong. The soup also went well with the last stragglers from a batch of biscuits I whipped up earlier in the week.

Autumn Roasted Vegetable Soup (Serves 6)

1 medium sized butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and chopped into cubes
4 or 5 medium sized carrots, peeled and chopped
2 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, and chopped
4 cloves of garlic, peeled
1 medium sized onion, peeled and cut into quarters
3 thyme sprigs
2 bay leaves
3 Cups reduced-sodium chicken broth
2 cups water
4 or 5 bacon slices, diced
1 teaspoon caraway seeds

Preheat the oven to 425F. Mix squash, carrots, apples, garlic and onion in a large roasting pan and toss with a generous amount of olive oil. Roast, stirring occasionally, until carrots and squash are soft and tender and onions are caramelized, about 40-45 minutes. Don't worry if the apples get mushy, but mind that your onions don't burn.
While vegetables are finishing up in the oven, heat a small drizzle of oil in a large pot and add bacon and fry until crispy. Remove bacon with a slotted spoon to drain on paper towel, then pour off all but a teaspoon or so of fat. Add caraway seeds and cook for about a minute, then add the contents of your roasting pan, the stock, water, thyme, bay leaves and salt and pepper to taste.
Bring contents of the pot to a boil over medium heat, then reduce to a simmer for 10 minutes or so. Using a hand mixer or a blender, purée the soup until smooth (or whatever consistency you prefer) and serve topped with bacon bits.

Buttermilk Biscuits with Cheddar, Tarragon and Chives (makes eight biscuits)

2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon sugar
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
¼ cup (1/2 stick) chilled butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
¼ cup to ½ cup of freshly chopped chives and tarragon
¾ Cups grated cheddar cheese
1 cup buttermilk (plus an extra tablespoon for finish)

Preheat oven to 400°F. Line 2 heavy baking sheets with parchment paper.
Whisk flour, baking powder, sugar, baking soda, salt and pepper in a large bowl. Using fingertips, rub butter into dry ingredients until coarse meal forms. Stir in the chives. Add cheese and buttermilk; stir with fork just until a sticky dough forms.
Turn dough out onto a floured surface and knead gently with floured hands. Do not over-work the dough. Form into a round, about an inch thick and cut into eight wedges. Use a pastry brush to brush on some extra buttermilk over the surface of the wedges.
Arrange wedges about 1/2 inch apart on the prepared baking sheet and bake, turning halfway through, until golden brown, about 20 minutes. Cool on a rack.

Falling over.

2010-09-28T14:15:00.000-07:00

The idea was to celebrate my birthday and the changing of the seasons with a proper fall favourite: a hearty dish combining chicken, sausages, sweet dried prunes and tart apples in a tangy sauce. The kind of thing one enjoys over buttery mashed potatoes with a salad of fall greens. While wearing a sweater.
Nature, however, had other ideas. Instead of a clean crisp fall day, my birthday was a hot and muggy, with a wild wind that blew in like a desert sirocco late in the afternoon. Windows were pulled open, fans positioned and menu revisions pondered. But I was in too deep: I had ridden all the way to Kensington for sausages.

There was no going back.

Chicken with sausage, prunes and apples (adapted from The New Basics cookbook)

¼ cup olive oil
1 pound sweet Italian sausage, cut into ½ inch slices
2 pounds chicken pieces (I’m a leg man, myself)
7 ½ tablespoons red wine vinegar
¾ cup chicken stock
¾ cup dry white wine
1 bay leaf
1 ½ teaspoons dried thyme
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1 cup pitted prunes, halved
10 cloves garlic, halved lengthwise
1 ½ tablespoons Dijon mustard
2 large Granny Smith (or other tart variety) apples, cored, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
1 tablespoon chopped fresh Italian parsley

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Heat the oil in a flameproof casserole or dutch oven, and brown sausage in small batches over medium heat. Using a slotted spoon, remove the sausage and set aside.
Brown the chicken pieces in the casserole until golden, and set them aside with the sausage. Pour off most of the fat. Add 4 1/2 tablespoons of the vinegar to the casserole, and bring to a boil over medium heat, scraping up any brown bits. Then add the stock, wine, bay leaf, thyme and salt and pepper. Cook 1 minute.
Add the prunes and garlic to the casserole, and cook 1 minute. Then return the sausage and chicken, mix them gently with the sauce, and cover the casserole. Transfer it to the oven, and bake for 40 minutes.
Using a slotted spoon, remove the chicken, sausage and prunes to a heated serving platter and keep warm. Add the mustard and the remaining 3 tablespoons vinegar to the casserole and whisk well. Add the apples and cook over medium-low heat until the apples and garlic are just tender, 5 to 7 minutes.
Return chicken and sausages to the pot and serve with parsley.

Making whoopie.

2010-09-26T18:50:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to make these ever since I first heard the name: whoopie pies. Fun, right?

I've actually been eating these tasty cookie sandwiches for years. My mom made them all the time, only we didn't call them by their rightful name (which I gather is an American thing). They were just chocolate cookie sandwiches. She'd make a big batch and freeze a bunch for later consumption: I always enjoyed them most after they had been out of the freezer a bit, but weren't yet completely thawed.
Fast forward a few dozen years and I've been seeing them crop up in magazines, food blogs and bake shop display cases. Now that we have a functioning oven, it seemed like a good time to give it a go. I dug out the recipe from an old Martha Stewart Living holiday baking issue and cut the ingredients in half. I should have also cut the serving sizes down too: these things turned out huge, like miniature cakes. So be warned, unless you happen to like eating cookies with a fork and knife.

Finally, I was planning on making them with vanilla buttercream filling, but I forgot to buy whipped cream and so I ended up trying to evoke Reese's Peanut Butter Cups with a rich, creamy peanut butter filling.

Whoopie Pies (adapted from Martha Stewart Living)

1 ¾Cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
¾ Cup unsweetened cocoa powder
½ Tablespoon baking soda
½ teaspoon baking powder
½ Cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 Cup sugar
1 large egg
1 Cup buttermilk, room temperature
1 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Sift together flour, salt, cocoa powder, baking soda, and baking powder. Set aside. Line two baking pans parchment paper.
In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs, buttermilk, and vanilla. Beat until well combined.
Slowly add dry ingredients and mix until combined.
Using a tablespoon (or something smaller), drop mix onto the pan, leaving about two inches between cookies. Bake until tops are soft, but not wet, approximately 8 to 12 minutes. Remove to a rack to cool. Repeat with remaining batter.

Salty Peanut Butter Filling

¾ Cup low-salt creamy peanut butter (or crunchy)
¾ Cup unsalted butter, room temperature
¾ Cup confectioners sugar
¼ teaspoon salt

Beat peanut butter and butter on low until creamy using a mixer. Add sugar and salt and beat on low to incorporate. Increase speed to medium and beat for about four minutes until the filling is light and fluffy.
Spread frosting generously onto half of the cookies and smoosh another cookie on top of each. Store in an airtight container for up to 3 day or freeze.

Notes from the Centre of the Universe

2010-09-25T12:26:00.000-07:00

A month later, I'm back in a kitchen. For three years in Vancouver, the kitchen was a narrow, cramped galley space with scarcely enough room to accommodate two people, making cooking a decidedly solo activity. Today, our kitchen opens up into our garishly painted living-cum-dining area. Lots more elbow room here, but getting used to a new space is tough. Nothing is where I remember it. Pots and pans and mugs are in unfamiliar spots. I open cupboards, drawers and cabinets in turn until I find what I'm after. This domestic dislocation mirrors the overall sense of confusion that comes with moving to a strange new city. In time, I'll get used to this kitchen and this new city with its unfamiliar sounds and smells and the tides of humanity that ebb and flow down its grubby streets. In time. Just not yet.

Through all this change, cooking and writing about cooking has been on the back burner. The fact that our oven didn't work when we moved in didn't help matters much at all. There have been a few successes and a couple of failures, but nothing to write home about. But I'm looking forward to getting going again, especially as we enter a new season. You see, almost immediately after we moved in, summer fled the city. Leaves are starting their fade to yellow, the days have grown blustery and the nights crisp. The season of hearty soups, stews and slow cooked one-pot meals is tantalizingly in reach. I have some ideas I can't wait to try and share.

Until then, here's a few of the new places I've discovered in my short time here in Toronto. It's a start and I'll continue to post about these things as I check them out.

Good Egg: Tucked down in bohemian Kenginston Market, Good Egg is a nifty little shop full of cookbooks and cookwares and various knicknacks, food-related and otherwise.

Sanagan's Meat Locker: Between the coating of sawdust on the floor, the hand cranked meat grinder in the corner and the Rhode Island Reds arranged in the display case, stepping into Sanagan's is like stepping into a bygone day when people not only knew their local butcher, but knew where their meat was coming from. But instead of being staffed by a crew of burly men with moustaches, Eastern European accents and blood-splattered aprons, Sanagan's is crewed by a bunch of young folks, led by Peter Sanagan, a former chef turned butcher whose eponymous shop is founded on a commitment to carrying products raised on small Ontario farms. I dig the look, feel and ethos of the place. And the product? Stay tuned.

Three Speed: My local is a faux-dive bar that attracts a crowd of mainly educated thirty-somethings with chic clothes and chunky glasses. My people, basically. One of the neat things about the place is the menu, or rather menus. One the one hand, there's the standard menu, which includes mussels, a sirloin burger, fish and a very tasty crispy fried chicken creation. On the other, there's a daily fresh sheet that features an ever-changing selection of dishes from a standard template: a sandwich, a burger, a pasta dish, a smattering of desserts. Surprisingly quality stuff and a bargain to boot, with the priciest dish clocking in at a paltry 12 bones.

Holy Oak Cafe: I've had better coffee (step right up Sam James) in Toronto, but given its location three doors down from our apartment and the welcoming family feel of the place, Holy Oak has become my home away from home. It's got a laid back, hippy vibe that extends to its eclectic selection of events (games nights, live music, poetry readings) if you're into that sort of thing. And if you're not, hey: its licensed.

Dufferin Grove Park Farmer's Market: It's not as big as some of the markets back in Vancouver (or even Edmonton), but this weekly market has a lot going for it. For one, it's close. For another, it's located in the beautiful surroundings of Dufferin Grove Park, a rare greenspace that has been taken into the hearts and care of the local community. And, most improbably given the climate, it runs year-round. I'm very excited to see what they have to offer in the fall and winter.

Moving.

2010-08-08T15:58:00.000-07:00

Posting to resume sometime in September.

Nasty bits

2010-08-07T23:49:00.000-07:00

This is an unpleasant photo. But then, pâté is an unpleasant dish, at least to make.

As far as sensory experiences in the kitchen go, making chicken liver pâté ranks well below baking fresh bread and only just above dumping a long expired carton of curdled milk down the sink on a swelteringly hot day. From the slippery, slimy feel of the bloody things in your hand as you trim the sinewy bits away, to the acrid smell that clings to your hands and anything else that they come into contact with, the experience is not for the faint of stomach.

But I expect if you are the kind of person who enjoys eating pâté, you're probably equipped with a fairly stern constitution anyway, especially when the reward is so rich and silky. And if your guests aren't the chicken liver type, the more for you. The twist with this recipe is the use of bourbon instead of the traditional brandy or congac.

Bourbon Chicken Pâté makes 1 1/2 cups

1/2 pound chicken livers, well-trimmed, rinsed, and patted dry
2 Tbsp minced shallots
2 Tbsp unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 tsp chopped fresh sage, or 1/2 teaspoon dried
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Soak the chicken livers in salted water or milk for 3 or four hours.
Sauté the shallots in 1 tablespoon butter until soft. Add the chicken livers, sage, and salt and pepper to taste. Sauté until the livers are just no longer pink inside, approximately five minutes (do not overcook).
Transfer to a container, add the remaining butter and blend using a hand mixer (alternately, you can use a food processor if you're all fancy) until smooth.
Add the bourbon and blend for another 30 seconds. Transfer to a bowl, cover, and refrigerate for at least 24 hours before serving. Serve over baguettes with mustard, cornichons and onion marmalade.

Nibbles

2010-08-04T15:03:00.000-07:00

No recipes today; here are a few links to chew on.

Street-vendor program slow to heat up, thanks to city. Oh Vancouver. It's like the "No Fun City" thing is bred so deeply in the bones of this city's political and bureaucratic classes that they end up sabotaging their own attempts at positive change.
Fat people keep growing. I'm definietly hitting the gym today.
Related: D.I.Y. Maple Bacon Doughnut.
Finally, meet The Taste Sensation. For the last couple of years, I've kept this little blog as a repository for found inmages, links and whatever random junk that catches my fancy.

Photo: Pain au chocolat at the new Coco et Olive location on Main Street

Summer jams

2010-07-30T16:00:00.000-07:00

It's a long weekend here in B.C. and elsewhere in Canada. How about some tunes?

Summer's popping off

2010-07-30T09:50:00.000-07:00

It seems frozen ice pops are the hot new thing, toppling the now-ubiquitous cupcake from the twee foodstuffs throne.

Sweet. I guess I'm an early adopter.
A few weeks back, we hosted a fantastic dinner party for six (forgive the lack of photos or recipes; I'm usually far too busy enjoying myself to ever bother whipping out the camera in front of guests) at the end of what was the first genuinely hot week of summer. Popsicles seemed like the perfect dessert: simple, fuss-free and able to be assembled well in advance.

Unfortunately, by the time dinner wrapped up and dessert drew near, things weren't looking good. Our ancient freezer was fighting an uphill battle against the weather and overcapacity. You could practically hear the little freon particles in there working overtime to keep everything cool. Eventually,though, they gave up. The temperature in the freezer climbed and my pops were reduced to granita-like blobs, green plastic sticks thrusting forlornly from the slush like Ikea tombstones. In the end, the pops were scooped out and served in bowls with some blueberries. Which was fine and tasty, but with these things, presentation is all.

This past weekend, I decided to give it another go. This time, the freezer held and we got to enjoy them in all their sweet-sour creamy glory on the stick as nature intended.

Lemon Buttermilk Pops (adapted from Bon Appetit, via Whipped)

2/3 cup sugar
5 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon grated lemon zest
1 pinch salt
1 2/3 cup buttermilk

Whisk sugar, lemon juice, lemon peel, and salt in together in a non-reactive bowl until sugar is mostly dissolved. Whisk in buttermilk.
Divide mixture among ice pop molds. Cover and freeze until firm, at least 4 hours and up to 5 days.

Pepper

2010-07-26T13:37:00.000-07:00

This variation on the Italian straccetti di manzo (steak salad) is a quick and easy supper for two that combines two intense peppery flavours: black pepper and the fresh snap of arugula. A hint of balsamic in the glaze adds sweetness, while crisp fried garlic and onions bring a bit of crunch to the proceedings.

Pepper steak salad with arugula

4 cups fresh baby arugula
1 medium size onion, thinly sliced
1 Tbsp all-purpose flour
2 large garlic cloves, sliced
1 lb sirloin steak (1 inch thick)
1 tsps coarse salt
1 Tbsps black pepper
2 Tbps balsamic vinegar
2 Tbsps red wine vinegar

Place arugula in a large salad bowl and set aside. Dump peppercorns on a cutting board, cover with foil and smash with a hammer until peppercorns are cracked. Add to a flat-bottomed bowl with a teaspoon of coarse salt.
Rinse and pat dry the steak, rubs each side with a bit of olive oil, then press each side into the bowl with the pepper and salt; set aside.
Heat one tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet on medium high heat until sizzling. Add garlic slices and cook until crisp and fragrant, about two minutes. Remove from pan and set aside.
Toss onions into pan and cook until crispy and golden brown, about 10 minutes.
Transfer onions to a bowl; add another tablespoon of oil to the pan, then add steak and cook to medium rare (about three or four minutes per side). Transfer with tongs to a cutting board and let rest, tented with foil, for about five minutes.
Combine vinegars in a small bowl and add to pan. Scrape up any bits in the pan and let vinegar boil until reduced by half. Transfer to a small bowl.
Thinly slice steak and arrange slices over arugula. Add the garlic and onions and top with reserved glaze. Toss and serve. (A few sprinkles of grated parmesan wouldn't go amiss here.)

The blues are still blue

2010-07-22T20:59:00.000-07:00

Despite the heat and ample sunshine we've been showered with so far, this summer has been tinged with sadness. In just a matter of weeks, we'll be packing up and saying goodbye to the west coast, the friends we've made and the life we've built out here to start a whole new chapter in a new city. It's hard to say goodbye, harder still to be sad when there's pie.
This streusel-topped blueberry pie (not for me elaborate lattice work crusts) has a rustic, unfussy appearance that belies the effort involved and the flavour within. I love the way the different textures came together-the flaky pastry shell, the gooey filling and the crunchy crumble topping. I think I caught this batch of blueberries at their peak, so the filling was a riot of sweetness. Alone, with vanilla ice cream or topped with whipped cream, this is a perfect coda for a summertime supper, a dessert to lift the darkest clouds from the heart.

Blueberry Pie with Crumb Topping (Adapted from Everyday Food)

Crust

1¼ Cups all-purpose flour
½ tsp salt
½ tsp sugar
1 stick (½ Cup) chilled unsalted butter, cut into pieces

Filling

5 Cups blueberries
¾ Cup granulated sugar
3 Tbsp all-purpose flour
1 Tbsp lemon juice
1/8 tsp salt

Topping

1½ Cups all-purpose flour
¾ Cup light-brown sugar
1/3 Cup granulated sugar
¼ tsp salt
¼ tsp cinnamon

1½ sticks (1¼ Cups) chilled unsalted butter, cut into pieces
Make crust. Start by mixing salt and sugar in a medium-size bowl. With a pastry blender, cut in butter, working until mixture resembles coarse meal.
Add 2 tablespoons ice water; work with hands until dough comes together. If dough is still crumbly, add more ice water a tablespoon at a time. Do not over work or over water.
Flatten dough into a disk, wrap with plastic and refrigerate for an hour.
To form the pie shell, roll the dough on a floured surface into a 14-inch round. Wrap around rolling pin and carefully unroll over a 9-inch pie plate. Fit gently into bottom and side of plate. Use kitchen shears to trim dough to a 1-inch overhang; fold under, and seal to form a rim. Crimp rim with fingertips and knuckle.
Make filling. Combine 5 cups blueberries or other fruit with 3/4 Cups granulated sugar, 3 tablespoons flour, 1 tablespoon lemon juice, and 1/8 teaspoon salt. Pour into pie shell.
Make crumble topping. In a bowl, mix flour, brown sugar, granulated sugar, and 1salt and cinnamon. Cut butter into pieces, add to flour mix and work in with your hands, until large clumps form. Divide mixture in half; spread 1 Cup worth over the pie filling and freeze rest in a plastic bag for future use.
Place pie on foil-lined baking sheet in lower third of oven; reduce heat to 350 degrees. Bake until fruit bubbles and crust browns, 1 1/2 hours. If topping begins to brown too quickly, tent with foil. Let cool overnight.

Good Livin'

2010-07-20T21:14:00.001-07:00

“Chicken fried steak /country gravy and bourbon straight
Ain’t it great? /It’s good livin’!”-The Supersuckers-“Good Livin’”

I don't think you need any special reason to have chicken and waffles on a Tuesday night.

This requires a fair amount of work and time. Not only is there the two-day process of brining, then marinating the chicken, but deep frying without an actual deep fryer can get a bit hairy, what with the constant threat of splatters, fires and scorched chicken, not to mention the amount of oil you need to go through (I have three jars of used oil sitting on my counter at the moment looking like exhibits out of an old-time cabinet of curiosities). That's why I suggest finishing the chicken in the oven.

It's not as much work as, say, Thomas Keller's Ad Hoc fried chicken, but it's a big commitment for a weeknight. But the payoff is in the crisp, spicy batter and the tender and juicy meat. I wouldn't be exaggerating much if I said this was the best fried chicken I've ever had.

On the side, the waffles came out a bit dry, but the country-style cream gravy was flat out amazing. Using the seasoned flour mix from the chicken as a base gave it a nice bite.

I don't really have a source for these recipes. I pulled a little bit of this and that from here and there, including the incredibly versatile Cajun powder D. mixed up ages ago.

Two-Day Fried Chicken - Serves 2

2 bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts or four thighs
4 Cups cold water
¼ Cup coarse salt
1½-2 Cups buttermilk
1 teaspoon Tabasco
1½ Cups all-purpose flour
1 Tablespoon Cajun seasoning or paprika
2 teaspoons coarse salt
1 teaspoon ground pepper
Vegetable oil, such as safflower or canola

In a large bowl, combine salt and cold water. Add chicken, cover and refrigerate overnight.
Combine buttermilk and tobacco in a large bowl with a pinch of salt. Remove chicken from brine (shaking off excess water first) and add to buttermilk mixture. Cover and return to the fridge for another 6-8 hours or so.
In a large bowl, mix together flour, Cajun seasoning, salt and pepper. Set 2 tablespoons of seasoned flour aside for gravy.
Lift chicken from buttermilk, allowing excess to drip off, and dredge in flour mixture (shaking off excess). Dip the coated chicken pieces once more in the marinade, then again in flour. Set aside for a spell to give the coating a chance to set. Now would be a good time to clean up and start your waffle mix.
Preheat oven to 450°F. In a large, heavy Dutch oven, heat about two inches of oil over medium heat until it reaches 350°F. Fry chicken pieces one at a time until golden brown, 4 to 5 minutes per side. Watch carefully, as the flour will start to burn if you leave it in too long.
Transfer chicken to a wire rack set on a foil covered baking sheet. Bake chicken for 5 minutes or until instant-read thermometer inserted in thickest part registers 165°F. Again, keep a close eye on things in case the chicken starts to burn. Let them sit on some paper towels for a few minutes while you get the rest of dinner together.

“Cornbread” waffles

1/2 cup corn meal
1/2 cup flour
1/2 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 to 1 tsp dried sage, crushed
A dash of cayenne pepper
1/3 cup buttermilk
1/3 cup milk
1 egg

Mix wet and dry ingredients in separate bowls, then stir wet ingredients into dry ingredients until just blended.
Pour batter into a pre-hated waffle iron, about ¼ cup at a time (or however much batter your waffle iron can comfortably hold) until golden and crispy.

And, finally, a good reason to get into the bacon fat I've been saving.
Country pepper gravy

1 Tablespoon bacon fat
1 Tablespoon of flour
¾ Cup milk
1 teaspoon of cracked black pepper*
Bit of salt to taste

Heat fat in a skillet or shallow pot. Add flour and stir until a caramel-coloured roux develops.
Slowly whisk in the dairy, making sure you get the lumps out.
Turn heat to low and continue stirring until mixture is thickened, a couple more minutes.
Add pepper and salt to taste. If gravy is too thick, thin it out with a bit of water or dairy.

*to make cracked pepper, place whole peppercorns on a cutting board, cover with foil and bash them with a hammer or the flat side of a kitchen mallet.

Eating the Emerald City

2010-07-19T18:48:00.000-07:00

Not much happening on the Kitchen Front these days, but we did just get back from an all-too brief sojourn south to Seattle. Unfortunately, I was unable to achieve my summer goal of eating at Salumi. Having neglected to check out their hours of operation, we showed Sunday up to find the place dark. Fortunately, Seattle is a city with no shortage of fine eats and drinks, so we weren't at a loss for fall back options. Below are a few of the culinary highlights of the trip.

I always make a point of getting one (or two or three) of these when I'm stateside. Turns out they are available in Canada under the name "Special Crisp," but the whimsical moniker is really half the fun (the other half being the eating).

We left Vancouver at about 10 a.m., but thanks to a interminable, two-and-a-half hour wait at the border, we didn't arrive in Seattle until around 3:30 in the afternoon. Restorative pints were needed. A sun-drenched table in front of McMenamins' Six Arms did the business.

I was hoping to hit up Dinette in Capitol Hill for dinner on Saturday, but after our pints and a short stroll just off Broadway, we happened across Oddfellows Café and decided to go for it. The décor is ye-olde-timey hipster hardware store, the staff are carefully disheveled art school type slinging classic cocktails and the clientele a mix of tattooed young 'uns and older dotcomers slumming it over fashionable homestyle fare with tallboy cans of Rainier in hand. But it's a bright and lively room and, overpowering trendiness aside, the food straight up delivers. Could do with a few less pickled onions, but the overall quality was solid for the price. Here's the gem lettuce salad. Frog's legs (battered and fried to crisp perfection) in back.

Rack of lamb with ratatouille.

Roast chicken with peas and pancetta.

Sunday started off with breakfast at celebrity chef Tom Douglas's Dahlia Lounge. No photos, but believe me when I say that the homemade doughnuts with vanilla mascarpone and jam made the wait at the border seem worthwhile.

Finally, after an afternoon spent watching soccer (come on the Hoops!) and the Salumi disappointment, we capped things off with a quick lunch at Belltown favourite Le Pichet. I was lucky to capture the last remnants of the salade verte with mustard and hazelnut vinaigrette before it vanished forever.

Where the streets have no food

2010-07-14T12:13:00.000-07:00

Back at the old place, I did a post about Vancouver's bid to promote street eats by rolling out a food cart pilot project.

Well, the results of the lottery to determine who gets a coveted license to peddle their wares on the streets of our fair city are in. And they're, well, kind of underwhelming.

At first blush, there's not a lot of variety. Sure, a heavy Asian influence was to be expected, but the lack of any South Asian/Indian options sticks out, as does the lack of innovation. I love meat on a stick, but it's not exactly a bold culinary statement.

Still, you gotta start somewhere and hopefully this project will be a big success and food carts become a permanent fixture of Vancouver's street culture.

Of salad and sunshine, and sandals and shorts

2010-07-12T13:40:00.000-07:00

I know what you’re thinking. “A salad? All the fuss of starting a new blog and you lead off with a mere salad? Where is the skill? Where is the artistry? Where, and I mean this literally, is the beef?”

If it means anything, I intended to roll out with a bigger splash. A magnificent roast with all the trimmings, perhaps? A delicate tart with neo-Gothic spires of meringue and puff pastry flying buttresses? Alas, it’s been damn hot for the last few days and the last thing I wanted to do on a sunny Sunday afternoon was stand in a sweltering kitchen just to come up with that special dish to feed my new blog baby.

In my defense, this is a really, really good salad. It’s hard to beat a combination that includes crispy bacon, fresh tomatoes and avocados and juicy roast chicken, consumed in a patch of sunlight on a July afternoon.
Quasi Cobb Salad (adapted from the Gourmet cookbook)
Serves 2

For dressing

1 ½ tablespoons red-wine vinegar
1/2 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 heaping teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 small garlic clove, minced
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon sugar
¼ teaspoon black pepper
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil

For salad

1 large chicken breast, bone in and skin on
1 large ripe avocado
4 slices of thick-cut bacon
8-10 whole cherry tomatoes
About 4 Cups of romaine or crisp green or red lettuce leaves, shredded

Combine all dressing ingredients except oil in a clean empty jar and shake to blend Add oil and shake vigorously until emulsified.
Brush chicken with oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place skin side up on a foil-covered baking sheet and bake in a 450F oven for 25-30 minutes. Meanwhile, cook the bacon in a large skillet until crisp, drain on paper towels and then chop.
Once chicken is done, remove from oven and let cool on a rack or plate for 10 minutes or so. Transfer to a cutting board, remove skin (which should be nice and crispy) and chop. Take the meat off the bone using a fork (or your fingers) and shred.
Peel, pit and chop the avocado into large chunks.
Combine chicken, avocado, bacon, tomatoes and lettuce in a large salad bowl and toss with a couple tablespoons of dressing and serve.

Opening salvo

2010-07-12T13:00:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the Kitchen Front. To those of who are here via my old blog: welcome. If you're new, allow me to give you a brief rundown about what we're all about here. Primarily, we'll be writing about cooking and recipes, but there may be diversions into dining out, food politics or even music and pop culture. But the main focus will continue to be on the output of my humble kitchen.

At the moment we (that is: myself and my lovely partner and occasional guest poster D.) live in Vancouver, B.C., birthplace of the 100 Mile Diet, one of the world’s 10 best restaurant cities (according to Food and Wine Magazine) and, thanks to a steady supply of fresh, locally produced ingredients, a home cook's paradise. Toronto, Ontario.

I should mention here (as I switch to the first person singular) that I am by no means an expert chef. At best, I am an enthusiastic amateur. I do a fair bit of writing in my professional life and have done for the better part of the last 15 years. My love of cooking on the other hand is of a much more recent vintage. Food blogging, then, is simply a nice way to use my talents and interests at the same time as keeping my tummy full. That's really all there is to it.

I hope you like it.

One other thing: the only thing better than making and eating food is talking about it, so if you have a question, comment or dissenting opinion, please drop a few lines down in the comments section.

Finally, a note about the name: The Kitchen Front was a popular wartime BBC radio broadcast dedicated to giving those on the home front advice for cooking healthy meals during a time of extreme rationing. I chose the name in part as an homage to the idea of doing more with less (simplicity being my culinary watchword), as well as a reflection of my interest in military history and my Anglophilic pop culture leanings.

This blog is not affiliated in any way with the Imperial War Museum London and its Ministry of Food exhibition (underway through January 2011), Company of Cooks and its Kitchen Front project, or the British Broadcasting Corporation. The views, opinions and recipes herein are those of the proprietor, except where otherwise indicated.