There is a green grocer near my apartment that goes by the name of Bob. Bob and I have a long, if disjointed, history. I first met him twelve years ago, when I was living with my college boyfriend in Mile-End, three streets over from his shop. In that year and a half, most of our groceries were done at Bob’s. Sometimes we’d order a samosa from the display counter on our way out, sharing bites on our walk home until all that was left were the oily remnants of a brown paper bag and grease-slicked fingers. If I did groceries on my own, it meant that I had the whole samosa to myself, which was even better.

When that relationship came to end, I moved to the opposite end of the city, only to return to the neighbourhood two years later, renting out a tiny 2 1/2 sandwiched between a used book store and a Greek restaurant on Parc Avenue, one short block away from Bob’s. He greeted my first visit back with a “Hey you – long time no see! How’ve you been?“, and we picked up where we left off, as though no time had passed.

I’d pop into the shop on my way home from work to pick up bananas, or leafy greens, or some cheese with a container of olives, scooped from a briny vat at the back of the store. The cheese and olives were something I usually reserved for Fridays, when I could crack open a bottle of wine and make myself a little plate to eat cross-legged on the couch while I made plans for the night. It was a civilised touch to an apartment that had barely any natural light and where the living room-slash-kitchen could be crossed with one purposeful leap. The building also housed an Arcade Fire-wannabe band that liked to have late-night jam sessions (trombone included), and a sketchy pot-dealer who lived just below the rickety stairs of the fire escape, which happened to lead to my equally rickety bedroom window.

But it was the night the ceiling of the building’s entrance collapsed, sending chunks of gyprock to shatter (quite spectacularly) onto the marble floor below, that I decided it was finally time to move. Again.

In what now seems like a strange, cyclical pattern, I came back to the neighbourhood after two years away, renting out the apartment I’m currently in – which, mercifully, has sturdy ceilings, well-groomed interiors, and good neighbours. Perhaps more importantly, it shares a three-block radius with Bob’s shop, whose proximity I now see as my reward for being a creature of habit, boomeranging back to the neighbourhood like a stubborn stray dog.

When Bob saw me come into the store after another prolonged absence, he smiled:

“Back again?”

“Yep, back again, Bob.”

“Nice to see you. How’ve you been?”

And we picked up where we left off, as though no time had passed.

Aside from one expansion into the neighbouring building that opened up a second wing to the store, nothing much has changed; in the mornings you can still find Bob manning the cash, or more likely, at the back in the produce section, trimming herbs and stacking produce into Tetris-style layers and rows. There is no other shop I know that does this as expertly as him. Even after all these years, I still find it to be a beautiful feat of engineering.

When I pass through, we exchange hellos; he asks me how I’m doing, and I ask the same. Sometimes we trade ideas for recipes. If he notices a bruised fruit in my groceries, he’ll remove it and swap it for a better one. When I show interest in a new product, he’ll sometimes toss it in for free. And if I happen to be missing some change when he rings up the total, he tells me to pay him the next time.

None of these things are reserved specially for me – Bob is like this with all his clients, especially his regulars. He looks out for us, and makes us feel welcome, making him more than a purveyor of produce; he is a purveyor of community, a vital layer to this tight-knit, melting pot of a neighbourhood, where anglophones, francophones, Hasidic families, and hipsters walk through his door on the daily. His connection to his neighbours and patrons is a big part of the reason I keep coming back to his shop, twelve years after that first bite of samosa. When I get pulled back to the neighbourhood year after year, I’m glad to know Bob is there, at the centre of it all, keeping the pulse of the community beating.

While the store is open seven days a week, and I come by to do my shopping all year-round, springtime is when Bob’s begins to blossom in earnest. Come April, the big green outdoor awning gets unfurled, stretching over stacks of produce – both local and imported. This week I’ve been stocking up on the more ephemeral, seasonal stuff from Quebec and Ontario, like his beautiful fava beans – buttery and toothsome – and his first batches of delicate, purple-tinged asparagus, that need nothing more than a quick steam to become sweet and tender. Next week I might stock up on fiddleheads, which have just started to make an appearance in his outside market space, along with green and yellow string beans that you can grab in fistfuls, right out of the box.

Bob’s fresh herbs are nice too, though sometimes I buy too much at once, and they start to wilt in the Mason-jar vases that I keep on the counter (don’t do this; clean your herbs, pat them dry and store in the fridge. They will last much, much longer).

The recipe below is something I like to make with the mix of herbs I usually pick up at his shop, even the ones that end up a bit wilty on the countertop. It’s a simple sheet-pan chicken recipe where you blitz herbs, shallot, garlic, and red wine vinegar until you have a grassy paste that you spread over the chicken after it’s been roasted. There are a few chili flakes in there too, which adds a nice pinch, along with the vinegar that cuts the rich chicken schmaltz really nicely.

Next time I see Bob, I’m going to tell him about this recipe. Maybe he’ll trade it for one of his recipes, or at least tell me where he gets his samosas.

Bob’s shop:
Fruiterie Mile-End
5686 Av Du Parc (corner Bernard)
Montreal, Québec H2V 4H1
514-278-5576

Chicken Smothered in Herbs (Serves 4) – adapted from Alexandra’s Kitchen

Ingredients

• 1 whole chicken (about 4 lbs), quartered and backbone removed, room temperature (keep the chicken pieces bone-in, skin-on)
• 1 Tbsp olive oil
• salt and freshly ground pepper
• 2 Tbsp red wine vinegar
• 1/2 cup packed parsley
• 1/4 cup dill
• 1/4 cup mint*
• 2 cloves garlic, peeled
• 1 shallot, peeled
• 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes (or to taste)

Note: there’s no need to use these measurements as a steadfast rule. Any nice mixture of herbs will do (e.g. basil in the summertime).  I usually go easy on mint and dill as they tend to overpower, but the idea is to use any fresh herbs you have on hand, adjusting to taste.

Directions

1) An hour before baking, remove the chicken pieces from the fridge and let it rest on the rimmed sheet pan you will use to roast it on.

2) Preheat oven to 450°F. Pat chicken dry really well with paper towels, then rub with 1 Tbsp of the olive oil. Season liberally with salt and pepper, making sure to season the undersides too. Arrange chicken pieces skin-side up, and roast until golden, about 30 minutes.

3) Meanwhile, make the sauce: in a food processor, pulse the herbs with the garlic, shallot, red pepper flakes, and red wine vinegar until you get a sort of chunky paste. Season with salt.

4) When the chicken is almost finished roasting, and crispy on the outside, remove from oven and onto a plate. Scrape the pan juices and crispy bits into the food processor with the herb mixture. Whizz it up to combine, then return the chicken pieces to the roasting pan, spooning over some herb mixture on each piece. Put the chicken back in the oven for another 2-3 minutes to let the flavours meld. Remove the chicken from the oven and let rest on the pan for about 10 minutes before serving.

It isn’t always easy finding a way to write about a recipe. I have a stock pile of photos fermenting on my computer’s hard drive as we speak – dozens of things that I’ve wanted to share with you, but haven’t quite found the words to wrap around them.

Truthfully, I’m a little out of steam these days. That dreary arc of November to December saps my energy reserves in a way that I might never get used to, no matter how many winters I’ve lived this far above the equator. When mornings and late afternoons are the same shade of midnight, early winter has a way of siphoning your stamina in a steady, slow, undetectable kind of way. Like carbon monoxide poisoning. Except you’re still alive – just with a brain that feels like jelly, and eyes that hover half-mast, like Garfield’s.

On weeknights I find it hard to muster the energy to make dinner after a slushy, sloppy commute from the office, usually reaching for something that doesn’t require much thought or skill or focus: beans sautéed in onion and swiss chard, with toast; quinoa, a fried egg and some arugula; spaghetti carbonara, minus the bacon (that would be an extra step). In other words, meals that can be made practically blindfolded. The ones you want to have around when you’re tired and cranky and hungry, staring slack-jawed into the fridge on a dark, cold Wednesday night.

There’s one in particular that I’ve made on repeat over the last few weeks – an improvised version of something my friend Anne made a little while back when we got together for Friday night dinner. The ease of this meal is its superpower – no intensive chopping, sautéeing, or mucking about. All you do is: marinate some salmon filets in a slurry of soy sauce, brown sugar, and a few other things from your refrigerator door; bake slices of acorn squash with a sprinkle of salt and five spice (which will make the house smell like Christmas), then cook up a pot of brown rice while the fish is in the oven. It’s dead simple, but because you’ve got all those nice spices and saucy-things working their way into the fish, the squash, the rice, there isn’t a dull bite to be had.

Here’s to the winter solstice and to the longer (brighter!) days before us. x

Anne’s Soy Sauce Salmon with Brown Rice and Five-Spice Squash (with a few tweaks)
Serves 4

FOR THE FISH:

• 1 large salmon fillet (about 1.5-2 lbs. Makes good leftovers, if you don’t serve it all.)
• 1/3 cup tamari (soy) sauce
• 1/2 Tbsp brown sugar
• 1 Tbsp rice wine vinegar
• 1/2 Tbsp sesame oil
• 1/2 tsp fish sauce (optional)

(Note: I don’t usually measure when making a marinade, so I suggest using this as a guide, but tasting and adjusting as you go)

FOR THE RICE:

• 1 ½ cups brown, short-grain rice
• salt
• about 2 Tbsp toasted sesame seeds
• shichimi togarashi (Japanese 7 spice) (optional)

FOR THE SQUASH:

• 1 acorn squash
• five-spice
• salt
• olive oil
• raw pumpkin seeds (optional)
• black sesame seeds (optional)

Directions

Note: since the squash cooks at 400°F and the fish at 350°F, I like to cook the squash first, then reheat it during the last 5 minutes or so that the fish is in the oven. The steps below might seem like a lot, but it really isn’t a hassle. I promise. And after doing it once, you’ll be able to wing it without a recipe, adjusting things to your taste as you go along.

1) Start by marinating the fish – an hour or two before serving, mix together the soy sauce, brown sugar, rice vinegar, sesame oil and fish sauce in a bowl or measuring cup. Slice the salmon fillet into sections (about 3 inches wide) . Lay the salmon sections in a shallow baking dish and pour the marinade over top. Cover and allow to marinate in the fridge for 30 minutes to an hour, depending on how much time you have.

2) Prep the squash – while the fish marinates, cut the squash lengthwise (leaving the skin on). Scoop out the seeds and filaments. Slice each half of the squash into half-moons, about 1 inch thick. Place on a baking sheet and drizzle with the olive oil. Sprinkle the five spice and salt over top, then toss the squash slices with your hands to coat all sides.

3) Cook the rice like pasta (approx. 35 mins)– rince the rice until the water runs clear. Allow to drain. Fill a medium saucepan 3/4 full with cold water, adding about 1/2 tsp salt. Put on high heat, covered. When the water begins to boil, add the rice. Bring back to the boil, give it a stir, then reduce the heat to medium-low and allow to simmer (lid ajar) for about 35 minutes (or until rice is cooked, but retains a bite). Strain the water and return the rice to the pot, allowing it to rest, off the heat, covered.

4) Cook the squash (approx. 25 mins) – while the rice is cooking, remove the fish from the fridge. Preheat the oven to 400°F. When it reaches temp, slide in the baking sheet with your prepared squash. Cook for about 25 minutes until golden brown, turning the slices halfway through, adding a few pumpkin and sesame seeds during the last few minutes of cooking. Remove from oven and reduce the heat to 350°F.

5) Cook the fish (approx. 15 mins) – put the baking dish with the fish and its marinade in the preheated 350°F oven. Cook for about 15 minutes, or until the centre is still slightly undercooked. Remove from the oven, cover it, and slip the squash back in for 5-10 minutes to warm up. (at this point, your rice should already be drained and resting, covered and warm.)

6) Serve – add the toasted sesame seeds and a sprinkle of togarashi (if using) to the rice and stir to combine. Plate the rice with a piece of fish and some squash. Drizzle with warm marinade from the baking dish.

Today I bring to you a recipe from Mandy Lee’s site, Lady and Pups. It’s one of my favourite places to procrastinate on the Web, especially when I should be doing more constructive things, like organising my taxes or folding laundry or emailing the landlady. It’s easy to fall under the spell of Mandy’s moody photos and acerbic prose. Her recipes too – as they always sound absurdly good, in that no-holds-barred, debauched, lick-your-fingers-clean kind of way. Take a look at this recipe for hot rice noodles, or the one for this magnificent thing. Couldn’t you see yourself happily staining your face and all your clothes with either of those cradled in your hands?

Of course you can.

But, there is one caveat –

If you’ve ever followed a Mandy Lee recipe, you’ll know that they’re not for the weak. They’re not from the dinner-in-minutes-Rachel-Ray school of cooking; they are from the school of hard knocks.(this is, after all, the woman who convinced me – through those moody photos and that acerbic prose – to make ramen soup from scratch with 30 cloves of peeled garlic). This aggressive caveat isn’t meant to dissuade you; I’m just saying that if you’re looking for an easy, breezy, work-week meal that you can throw together right after the pants come off and the wide-stretch leggings go on, this one’s not for you. In fact, it’s the antithesis of that. Making a Mandy Lee recipe is a commitment. There is usually a long list of ingredients and and even longer list of instructions, generally with bits in FULL CAPS so that you don’t screw anything up.

I just want to be clear about that.

Are you still there?

Good. I’m glad! Because like any worthwhile, long-term commitment, Mandy’s recipes will always reward you in spades. Her recipes might look insane, spanning longer than most newspaper articles. But there is a method to her madness.

Breathe deep and just trust it.

A note on the recipe: below is Mandy’s Turmeric Butter Chicken Rice (with a few small tweaks from me). What’s brilliant about this recipe is that 1) she has you cook the rice in the oven with chicken broth and coconut milk, infusing every grain with luscious, rich flavours; and 2) she has you cook the chicken ABOVE the rice, balanced on a baking rack (I used a metal cookie-cooling rack) over the baking dish. This means that, as the chicken cooks, it’s precious juices and fat drip down into the rice, making it even more delicious. The process itself is a sight to behold – I spent a good minute or so watching the magic happen through the oven door, completely entranced.

A few more liner notes:

1- Mandy Lee has the chicken marinate between 2-6 hours, so keep that in mind time-wise (I didn’t do this, because I’m notoriously bad at following recipes and I missed that piece of instruction. (And it was a Tuesday night. After work. Hahahaha let’s find MORE reasons to make a long day longer!). All said, it worked out fine without marination, but I imagine it would be even better had I followed her advice.)

2- There are three major components here: Consider prepping the chicken and the coconut sauce in advance – the chicken will have time to marinate and the sauce can easily be reheated as soon as you’re ready to use it.

3- Since you’re dealing with raw chicken, it’s best to get all your ingredients and appliances ready before you begin. For instance, not having the skewers ready when you’re done wrangling a raw, buttery chicken is not a pleasant experience. I speak from experience. Have everything ready at your fingertips and I promise that things will go much more smoothly. (This might be another reason why prepping the chicken in advance might be worth it – getting that part out of the way is half the work.)

4 – I re-worked the instructions a little so that it (hopefully) is a little easier to follow.

Ok. Have at it.

Turmeric Butter Chicken Rice – lightly adapted from Mandy Lee’s recipe on Lady and Pups, inspired by Zak Pelaccio’s recipe in “Eat With Your Hands”

SPICY COCONUT SAUCE:

• 1 ½ cup coconut milk (usually 1 can)
• ½ lemongrass stalk, white part only
• 2 small red chilis
• 1 green onion
• 1 tsp apple cider vinegar (I used this to replace the 2 tsp of yellow mustard in the original recipe, which happens to be the one condiment I never have on hand)
• 2 tsp fish sauce
• ¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper
• 1 Tbsp (14 grams) unsalted butter
• 2 Tbsp chopped fresh cilantro

TURMERIC BUTTER CHICKEN RICE:

• 1 whole chicken (about 3 lbs)
• 5 cloves garlic, smashed
• 1 ½” ginger, cut into chunks
• 3 small red chilis
• 3 Tbsp fish sauce
• 1 ½ tsp ground turmeric
• ½ tsp ground coriander
• ½ tsp freshly ground black pepper
• 4 Tbsp (57 grams) unsalted butter
• 2 cups jasmine rice
• 1 ½ cup coconut milk (usually 1 can)
• 1 ½ cup chicken stock
• 2 stalks lemongrass, white part only, smashed and cut into segments
• pinch of salt and black pepper to season

Directions

MAKE THE SPICY COCONUT SAUCE: In a food-processor, blend everything under “Spicy Coconut Sauce”, except for the butter and fresh cilantro, until puréed. Add the butter, then bring the mixture to a gentle boil, and cook for about 20 mins until reduced by 1/3. Take off the heat and add the fresh chopped cilantro. Set aside until needed.

MAKE THE TURMERIC BUTTER CHICKEN RICE:

Step 1 – prepping the chicken

1) Rinse and clean out the cavity of the chicken, then pat dry and set aside. In a food-processor, purée garlic, ginger, red chilis, fish sauce, ground turmeric, ground coriander and ground black pepper until smooth. Take out about 2 tbsp of this turmeric-mixture and set aside. Then add the butter to the rest of the mixture and run the processor again until evenly incorporated (this is your “turmeric butter”). Reserve 1 tbsp of the turmeric butter for cooking the rice.

2) With the remaining turmeric butter: Gently insert your hands in-between the flesh and skin of the chicken from the neck-opening at the top of the breasts, separating the two layers to make space for stuffing the turmeric butter. Work slowly and gently so you do not puncture the skin, and make sure you do it all the way to the back-thighs that are attached to the back-bone, evenly distributing under the skin of the whole chicken.

3) Place ½ of the smashed lemongrass stalk inside the cavity, then with toothpicks, sew/seal the skins around BOTH the opening of the cavity and the neck. Now, rub the reserved turmeric-mixture WITHOUT BUTTER, evenly over the whole chicken. Let marinate for anywhere from 2-6 hours.

Step 2 – prepping the rice/cooking the chicken and rice

4) Preheat the oven on 420F. Put the jasmine rice in a sieve, then rinse and gently swish under running water to remove excess starch. Drain well and set aside. In a large, shallow baking-dish (a shallow dish will allow the rice cook evenly), melt the reserved 1 tbsp of turmeric butter over medium-high heat, then cook the rice in it for about 3 mins. Add the coconut milk and chicken stock, then scatter the lemongrass on the top. Bring the liquid to a simmer and cook for 3 min without stirring.

5) Now, place a baking-rack over the baking-dish, and set the chicken on top, breast-side down first (this gives the thighs a head start and prevents the breasts from overcooking). Place the whole thing in the middle-rack of the oven and roast for 15 min, then gently turn the chicken over so the breast-side now faces up, and roast for another 30-35 min until the chicken is browned. Remove the baking-rack with the chicken on top, and let rest for 10 min. Leave the rice in the oven during this time so it can finish cooking.

Step 3 – serving the chicken and rice with the coconut sauce

6) Remove all the lemongrass from the rice. The best way to cut the chicken is with a scissors, and make sure that you do it right over the rice so it can catch all the precious juice/butter that comes out of the chicken. Remove the lemongrass from inside the cavity, then serve immediately with the spicy coconut sauce (reheated gently over low heat).

Cooking has been fairly perfunctory these days. I’ve lacked that that little kick, that jolt of inspiration I usually get when I see something new – a recipe, an article, a video – that makes me want to roll up my sleeves and get to it. This means that my stovetop has seen a a lot of greens and beans on rotation (roma beans with kale, lima beans with rapini, black eyed peas with spinach…you get the idea), in other words, a mix-and-match troupe of dishes so simple that you could make them even if you’d been lobotomized; I can stand there, mouth-breathing over a pan of frying shallots and beans, letting my mind drift off to wherever it may go, and have a (more or less) wholesome dinner ready within 4 and half minutes. To make it a little more well-rounded, I’ll maybe add a wedge of toast and some canned tuna. But not always.

These are not necessarily the most satisfying of meals – creatively, spiritually, aesthetically – but hey, they do the job.

It’s easy to fall into a cooking funk when your overall motivation feels floppy, sluggish, unharnessed. It usually starts when you catch yourself buying the identical set of groceries week in and week out, then replicating the same meals from the week before (hellooooo roast chicken #578). Greens and beans aside, my fall-back funk foods – aside from the usual bag of tortilla chips and full-fat yogurt (in which to dip them) – include the aforementioned chicken and some type of white fish, usually cod or halibut, which usually gets tossed into the oven with a layer of seasoned breadcrumbs I keep in the freezer, and a drizzle of olive oil.

Now, roast chicken and panko-crusted cod are great back-pocket dishes. They truly are. But after you’ve had them day in and day out, without so much as a flourish to distinguish them, they start to feel a tad repetitive. So, a little while ago, I gave myself a nudge to break the pattern. In allegiance to the funk (Woah. James Brown, can you hear me?), I still bought a whole chicken and filet of cod. But this time I wanted – no, needed – to make them look, feel and taste like something outside the repertoire I’d started to cling to. I needed something that was more vibrant than softened pinto beans, lost in a tangle of wilted arugula; more jazzy than a plain, roasted chicken.

I’m happy to report that I found two recipes to lift me out of my cooking slump – the first being a fragrant, anise-clementine chicken recipe from Ottolenghi that is sticky, jammy, crispy and sweet, with a subtle tinge of liquorice flavour from the Pernod; the second being a dish of lemon-scented cod, studded with olives and poached in white wine, then topped with fresh parsley. Both are handsome and delicious and, while definitely an upgrade from beans and greens, they too could be made post-lobotomy if you had to. All you need to do is stick everything in a pan, anoint it with booze* and toss it in the oven. Thankfully, it figures out the rest on its own.

(*it might go without saying, but one of the perks of cooking with booze is that here is usually a little leftover as a “job-well-done” libation for the cook. You might want to bookmark that thought.)

Pernod-Clementine Chicken – adapted from Ottolenghi’s Jerusalem
Serves 4-6

Ingredients

• 5 Tbsp Pernod (or Arak, or Ouzo)
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 3 Tbsp freshly squeezed orange (or clementine) juice
• 3 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
• 2 Tbsp grainy mustard
• 3 Tbsp light brown sugar or honey
• 1 tsp sea salt
• freshly ground pepper
• 8 bone-in, skin-on chicken pieces (thighs and drumsticks)
• 4 clementines (washed but unpeeled) sliced thin
• a few sprigs of thyme
• 3 medium onions (and/or fennel bulbs) cut lengthwise and then into quarters
• 2 tsp fennel seeds

Directions

1) In a large mixing bowl, whisk together Pernod, oil, orange and lemon juices, mustard, brown sugar and salt. Season with pepper, to taste.

2) Place chicken skin side up in large roasting pan with clementine slices, thyme sprigs, onion pieces (and/or fennel wedges) and fennel seeds. Pour sauce over top and gently toss everything together with your hands. (alternately, you can prep in advance and marinate: place chicken with clementine slices, thyme sprigs, onion/fennel wedges, and fennel seeds in a large mixing bowl or ziplock bag. Turn several times to coat. Marinate chicken for several hours or overnight.)

3) Preheat oven to 475°F. After 30 minutes, turn the oven down to 400ºF and continue roasting until the skin is brown and crisp, about 20 to 25 minutes longer. Remove pan from the oven.

4) Transfer chicken and clementines and onion pieces with juices to a serving platter. Let rest 5 to 10 minutes before serving. Pairs well with a crisp salad and a knob of bread to soak up the juices.

—–

Slow-Baked Cod with Lemon, Olives and White Wine – adapted from Real Simple
Serves 4

Ingredients

• 2 lb cod fillets (or halibut)
• ¾ cup dry white wine
• ½ cup Kalamata olives
• zest from 1 lemon, cut into strips
• 1 Tbsp olive oil
• salt and pepper, to season
• ¼ tsp red pepper flakes
• ¼ cup fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Directions

Heat oven to 400° F.

Place the fish in a small roasting pan. Add the wine – it should reach about halfway up the sides of the fish. Scatter the olives and lemon zest around the fish. Drizzle with the oil and season with salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes.

Roast until the fish is cooked through and flakes easily with a fork, about 15-20 minutes. Remove from oven and sprinkle with the parsley. Divide the fish among individual plates and spoon the olives and wine sauce over the top.