Monthly Archives: May 2012

Wanderlust + the contents of my fridge

30 Wednesday May 2012

Posted by in Lunch & Dinner

≈ 4 Comments

In a couple of days, I’ll be flitting off to Barcelona for a week. Being a bit of a nerd about trip-planning, I’d assembled a laundry list of things that needed to be taken care of pre-voyage: Sunscreen? Check. Spanish/Catalan phrasebook? Check. EU adaptor plug? Check. Pickpocket-proof fanny pack? Check. That’s right – fanny pack. A beige one, no less. Yes, I am severely aware that my travel gear is more Angela Landsbury than Gisèle Bunschen. But I’m sure my travel companion (one, younger brother) will appreciate that I left the PG-13 bathing suit at home. Besides, I’m just looking forward to hanging out with baby brother, surrounded by tapas, Gaudi mosaics and the effortless “th” sound that makes “zapatas” sound like “thapatas”.

But before any of that can happen, there are still a few things that need to be tended to before the fanny pack even makes its way into the suitcase. Ranking high on the trip prep list has been the task of figuring out what to do with the contents of my fridge. Being a consummate over-shopper when it comes to food (see the full confession here), this week I’ve had to deal with a fridge that’s been stocked for a family of six – which is a problem because the inhabitants of this apartment consist of me and my plants: Edgar, Lucinda, Phyllis, Thelonius III and Mike, and they, like waif supermodels, survive off water.

Over the last few days, I’ve had to get serious about the perishable foodstuffs in my kitchen to avoid coming home to a family of rotting bananas and a flock of fruit flies. So, dear readers, the recipe below is one of the many meals this week inspired by my need to make use of the veg and dairy and meat in my fridge before getting on the airplane and making my way through the earmarked pages of my Spanish phrasebook.

Looking forward to finding you here again upon my return from the Iberian Peninsula – the place that brought us flamenco, chorizo and Antonio Bandaras. Muchas grathias for all three.

Roast Chicken with Fennel Gratin

For the chicken:

  • 3 lb whole chicken (better: organic or free range), giblets removed
  • 1 lemon, cut in half
  • 3 cloves of garlic, peeled and crushed
  • 1 tbsp butter
  • 4 sprigs of fresh thyme, chopped (+ 3 sprigs extra, intact)
  • 2 sprigs of fresh rosemary, chopped (+ 1 sprig extra, intact)
  • Sea salt and pepper

Rinse the chicken under cold water and pat dry. Insert garlic, lemon and sprigs of thyme and rosemary in the cavity of the bird. If you have kitchen twine, tie the legs together to prevent the lot from falling out and to keep the leg meat moist. Give the bird a little massage of butter. Sprinkle the chopped herbs all over the bird, and add a generous amount of salt and freshly ground pepper. Let chicken sit out, covered, until it reaches room temperature (about 40 minutes).

Preheat the oven to 450°F. Keep yourself occupied for a little while, to let the oven heat up properly.

Place the bird in a roasting pan. Immediately reduce oven temperature to 350°F and roast in the oven for about an hour or until a meat thermometer reads 165°F when inserted into the breast of the chicken and the juices run clear.

*Note: a good rule of thumb to gauge cooking time for poultry is 20 minutes per pound at 350°F.

For the gratin (adapted from Saveur):

Serves 2-3 as a side-dish

  • 1 small fennel bulb, sliced; some frilly green bits reserved
  • 1 large onion, sliced
  • 1/2 cup of cream (15% or 35%)
  • 1/3 cup Gruyère, grated
  • 1/4 cup white wine or vermouth
  • 1 tbsp butter
  • 1 tbsp flour
  • freshly grated nutmeg, to taste
  • olive oil
  • sea salt and pepper

Toss onion and fennel (including frilly bits) in a small baking dish with a pinch of salt and pepper.

Place in the oven alongside the chicken and let bake for about 15 minutes, until lightly browned. Remove from oven and set aside.

When you’ve removed the chicken from the oven, set the oven to broil.

Heat butter in a small saucepan over medium-high heat until it starts to foam. Add flour, and cook, stirring, for about 1 minute. Pour in the wine, then the cream and cook, stirring, until thickened (about 2 minutes). Season with salt, pepper, and grated nutmeg.

Pour the sauce over the onions and fennel and grate a thin layer of Gruyère over the top. Place in the oven and broil for about 2 minutes.

Nonna’s Meatballs (Polpette)

22 Tuesday May 2012

Posted by in Cooking For Your Peeps, Cooking with Nonna, Lunch & Dinner

≈ 4 Comments

When my cousin returned to North America after spending several years away in Taiwan, she was asked what she’d like to have at her repatriation dinner. Without skipping a beat, she uttered: “Grandma’s meatballs. I want Grandma’s meatballs.”

It made sense. Anyone who’s had them knows the effect that they can have on people. I’ve even known vegetarians to try them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d secretly trade their first-born for one.

Like virtually everything that has come out of Nonna’s kitchen, her meatballs are straightforward and to-the-point; the recipe never changes and you can almost count the number of ingredients on one hand. These meatballs don’t mess around, people. I recommend that you respond in kind, resisting the urge to mess around with them by adding or subtracting components. This is not your opportunity to, say, make foie gras or quinoa-ball concoctions. Any attempt to get inventive would result in a polite, yet firm, “tsk” from Nonna, reminding you that some recipes are better left intact.

Like any good family recipe, this one has a secret weapon. I’d love to tell you that it’s the amore that’s put in it or that there’s some special, ancient rolling technique involved. But really, it’s the veal. It’s all about the veal. Forget everything you learnt about meatballs containing beef. Beef does not belong in this meatball. Trust me.

It’s worth mentioning that the recipe included here is actually a variation of Nonna’s decades-old recipe. Her version requires that the meatballs be cooked slowly in homemade tomato sauce. But on this given day, circumstances (and more specifically, time) dictated that we bake them in the oven. They are not identical to Nonna’s*, but they still contain the traditional ingredients and be absolutely delicious, the only real difference being that they will have a crispy exterior.

(*if you want them to be exactly like Nonna’s, add the raw meatballs to a simmering pot of tomato sauce to cook them through – gently and slowly. Cooking time will vary depending on the size of the meatballs.)

Polpette

  • 1/2 kg minced pork
  • 1 kg minced veal
  • 4 cloves of garlic, minced
  • a handful of parsley, minced
  • 3/4 cup of breadcrumbs
  • 3 eggs, beaten
  • 1 1/2 tsp salt + 1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

Directions

Preheat oven to 375°F. Place meat in a large bowl. Add garlic, parsley, salt & pepper; mix into meat. Add breadcrumbs and eggs; mix until combined and until ingredients are evenly distributed. Roll into golf ball-sized portions.

Arrange on a parchment-lined cookie sheet and place in the preheated oven. Bake for about 10-12 minutes, or until cooked through, turning them once halfway through the cooking process.

Note: these delightful little things freeze really well. Simply place cooked meatballs on a parchment-lined cookie sheet and freeze, later placing them in freezer bags or airtight containers equipped for the freezer.

Breakfast tofu

12 Saturday May 2012

Posted by in Breakfast & Brunch, Vegetarian

≈ 9 Comments

It has become quite apparent in the last few months that I am a compulsive food shopper. Not in the way you might imagine, though. Despite being a food nerd, I’m not particularly interested in obtaining obscure ingredients like pink salt from the Himalayas or white alba truffles, or pretty much anything that’s sold with the promise that it’s been aged in a dragon’s den or transported across the desert by galloping unicorns.

No, my compulsive food shopping does not revolve around sourcing exotic products. Instead, it involves hoarding things that go on sale. It goes something like this: “Ooh, tomato paste is on sale. I should buy 10 cans.” Then weeks later, when I tidy up the pantry, I come upon those same 10 tins of tomato paste, plus an inordinate amount of canned beans, dried mushrooms, baking powder, and a sedentary army of Asian sauce enhancers that I barely know how to use. More and more, my food-shopping M.O has become: “It’s on sale – get it.”

Aside from amassing ridiculous quantities of canned goods and hoisin sauce, there are also a few items picked up during a binge-shopping spree that end up residing in my fridge for a longer period of time than expected. Without fail, tofu consistently wins the prize for “item-neglected-the-longest”. It’s the one thing that I stare at blankly when I open the fridge door; the one item I have a hard time getting excited about. And once I’m distracted by something more immediately gratifying, say, a chunk of Gruyère or a bowl of leftover noodles, I catch myself making the same guilt-ridden promise to poor ol’ tofu: “Tomorrow. I will make you tomorrow.” The problem is that eventually “tomorrow” becomes the expiration date and, whether you like it or not, you have to deal with that chunk of soy bean curd sitting in the lonely spot on the top shelf next to the jam.

I don’t really know why I neglect the tofu in my fridge. I like tofu. It’s texturally interesting, it’s substantial, and it helps to balance out the omnivore’s diet. But I suppose what throws me off is how anaemic it looks, especially under that thin film of plastic that it comes in. To me, tofu straight out of the package is the aesthetic equivalent of bare legs that haven’t seen a lick of sun all winter – not the ugliest thing you’ve seen in your life, but also not the prettiest. And not the most inspiring thing to look at when you’re hungry after a long day and just want to tuck into a plate of something handsome.

But today it was me, the tofu and the expiration date. It also happened to be 8am on a Saturday. This is when not being finicky about strict definitions of “breakfast food” can be a blessing. If, however, you find the idea of having tofu before 11am a little unsettling, you can always toss in a few of the usuals (i.e. an egg, some toast and a little fruit) and Bob’s your uncle.

Breakfast tofu (serves 2-3)

Marinade:

  • 2 cloves garlic, minced
  • a thumb-sized piece of ginger, minced
  • 4 tbsp canola oil
  • 1 tbsp sesame oil
  • 1 tbsp tamari sauce
  • 1 tbsp mirin sauce
  • 1/2 tbsp rice vinegar

—-

  • 1 package firm tofu, drained
  • Wafu sauce (to serve)

Mix all the marinade ingredients in a bowl. Adjust quantities to your liking. Slice the tofu into uniform rectangles, each about 1/4″ thick. Place slices in a casserole dish and pour the marinade over the tofu. Let it bathe in the fridge for about 30 mins to an hour, turning once. (you can also let marinate overnight).

Remove from the fridge and allow the tofu to come to room temperature. Remove the garlic and ginger pieces. Put a grill pan on medium-high heat; when hot, place a few slices of tofu in the pan. Working in batches, continue to grill all the pieces, 2 minutes on each side, keeping the previous ones warm in the oven. For an improvised breakfast, this version was served with Wafu sauce, a scrambled egg, toast with cashew butter and some broiled mango.

A true lady – and duck

03 Thursday May 2012

Posted by in Lunch & Dinner, The Basics

≈ 7 Comments

It started with the realisation that I’d spent half the day with my watch on upside down. And the secondary realisation that I had probably consulted it a few times since putting it on. These are moments when I feel lucky not to have the responsibility of taking care of pets and small children. I can easily imagine my morning starting with a dog in a diaper or a child frolicking in the garden on a leash.

I’m not generally a scatterbrain, but I’ve been abnormally distracted these past few days, because this week marks a milestone birthday – one that both petrifies and thrills me. And while a true lady never divulges her age, I can tell you that the week I was born, the number one country music hit in Canada was “Same Ole Me” by George Jones.

Did you really just look that up? Impressive. You win a big, fat plate of duck.

There’s something vaguely regal about duck. It’s got pomp. It’s got sass. And it’s the kind of thing I pick up when I’m feeling a bit posh. If I’m feeling EXTRA posh, I’ll also pick up a bottle of port to accompany my duck, in the spirit of “one splash for the pot, and one splash for me”. On birthdays, a dish of duck and port is a good way to highlight another year that has passed – and to usher in all the ones to come. *Cin cin*

Birthday Duck (serves 2)

  • 2 duck legs (thighs)
  • 1/2 cup chicken stock
  • 1/2 cup of port
  • one carrot, diced
  • one stalk of celery, diced
  • one small onion, diced
  • 3 cloves of garlic, chopped
  • one bay leaf
  • sea salt & black pepper

Directions

Heat the oven to 325°F. Put a cast-iron pan on the stove on medium-high heat. While that’s heating up, prepare your duck by patting it dry with paper towel and seasoning liberally with sea salt and freshly ground pepper. When the skillet is hot, place duck legs in the pan and sear for about 5 minutes on each side. Remove from pan and place in an oven-proof casserole dish. Pour off most of the fat, leaving behind about a tablespoon in the pan.

With the pan on medium heat, add the onion, garlic, carrot and celery. Sauté a couple of minutes until softened, then add the port. Allow to reduce for about 5 minutes, then add the stock and bay leaf. Reduce again for about 10 minutes.

Pour the port mixture over the duck and cover loosely with foil. Allow to braise for 30-45 minutes, checking from time to time to make sure that there’s still braising liquid in the dish. The duck is ready when the meat can be easily pulled away from the bone.