Beating the drum for breakfast in bed

09 Saturday Mar 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Breakfast & Brunch, Cooking For Your Peeps, Cooking Solo, Vegetarian

It started like any other Saturday – flip on the computer, the radio, get the Bialetti on the stove. Bored with eggs for breakfast, I tossed together a scone batter, cut it into segments and popped the pieces into the oven. Waiting for them to bake, I sat half-awake in front of my laptop, steeping in the newsreel trance that is social media.

Then I thought, Forget this. I’m going back to bed.

The timer went off, the scones came out of the oven. I shut off the computer, grabbed some coffee, a glass of juice and this month’s issues of The Walrus and Saveur and slid back under the sheets.

I bid you to not underestimate the power of breakfast in bed. It may feel lazy and backward and counter-productive (because you got your butt into gear to make breakfast, and now you’re back where you started). But it effectively breaks the routine and is a nice way to say “I like you”, to your partner, your kids and to yourself. Lounging around in a crumpled duvet with a magazine or the paper and a spread of food is, without a doubt, a prime way to start your weekend. Especially if Bill or Lou or Mulatu are accompanying you. And unlike meeting friends for brunch, you can stay comfortably unkempt, half-clothed and disheveled and bask in the glory that is breakfast sans bra. Don’t worry – Bill, Lou and Mulatu won’t mind.

Orange-scented scones – adapted and translated from Josée di Stasio

2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup cold butter, cut into cubes
2 tsp orange zest
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup 35 % cream
demerara (raw) sugar for sprinkling – optional

Directions

Preheat oven 400 ° F and cover a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Sift flour, baking powder, sugar and salt into a medium bowl. Incorporate the cold butter into the flour with your fingers (or if you have hot hands, use two knives or a pastry blender) to reduce the pieces of butter the size of peas. Add the orange zest and stir to combine.

Whisk together eggs, cream and vanilla. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and pour the wet mixture into it. Stir quickly with a fork, bringing the flour into the center. When the mixture is almost amalgamated, transfer the dough on the floured work surface and knead just to make the dough. Add a little flour if necessary.Try not to overknead.

Roll out the dough with the palm of your hand about 1 inch thick in a circle 9 inches in diameter. Cut the dough disk into 8 wedges. Place the wedges on the prepared baking sheet, leaving about 2 inches between each scone. Sprinkle the surface of the scones with raw sugar.

Bake for about 10 minutes. Serve with jam, marmalade (my personal kryptonite) and/or softened butter.

(Note: I like my scones as basic as possible, but Di Stasio suggests adding raisins or dried cranberries to hers. Feel free to incorporate half a cup of either once you’ve incorporated the butter.)

Surviving Christmas dinner

29 Saturday Dec 2012

Posted by julia chews the fat in Beverage, Cooking For Your Peeps, Lunch & Dinner, Snacking, Vegetarian

≈ 2 Comments

Christmas dinner for 10, survived. But I’m not going to lie – the day after its execution, when I first sat down to write this, I had a knocker of a headache and pretty much just stared at the screen, mouth-breathing. I’m glad to have had these couple of days to step back and regroup.

So here we are, dear readers, on December 29th; I come to you with a sense of calm and sanity that I was unable to muster three days ago when the cooking parade was over and the kitchen looked like it had the worst hangover of its life. All I wanted to do was drink coffee and nap and watch bad movies until I felt functional again.

If nothing else, it was an interesting exercise in love and motivation – from the early-morning grocery shopping marathon, to the chopping, zesting, de-seeding, roasting, whipping, cocktail-shaking and family-wrangling – I have a new-found appreciation for the people who do this every holiday. People with kids, full-time jobs, partners…extra-curriculars. People who spend days, back-to-back, confined in their kitchen cube, but still manage to look like Doris Day when they set it all out on the table, maintaining polite conversation with their guests and smiling pleasantly throughout. You guys rule. Cha-peau!

That said, when you’re doing something out of love, the hard work is worth it. You might be a little worse for wear (box-grater wounds, oil burns, mental collapse) but you’ll recover. Plus, when your grandmother eats your food, puts her hand on your shoulder and very gently calls you “Brava”, all the bad melts away.

—–

Now since it’s almost New Year’s, I thought it’d be a good idea to lay out some (simple, sanity-friendly) recipes that you might find useful for your NYE entertaining. From the menu posted here, I’ve extracted a few delicious little things that would fit an end of year schmooze – whether you’re hosting for two, or a dozen (or even if you’re home sick and entertaining a party of one) – here are some tasty treats to say “Au revoir, 2012” and “Oh well, hello there, handsome 2013”.

Satsuma & Pomegranate Campari Cocktails – serves 6-8 (adapted from Baker’s Royale)

4 parts satsuma (about 12), freshly squeezed, sieved and chilled*
2 parts pomegranate juice**, freshly pressed, sieved and chilled
2 parts Campari
1 part white vermouth
fresh ice
strands of orange zest (optional)

*I know, I know…juicing fruit seems like a lot of work. But once you get into the swing of it, it ain’t that bad. And it makes the drinks so, so much better. Trust me on this one. Put on some music and karaoke your way through it if you want to. It’ll be worth it.

**Tips to de-seed and juice a pomegranate:

1) Remove any light-coloured clothing and put on an apron – things might get a little messy (à la slasher film).

2) Cut the pomegranate in half, hold it cut-side down with both hands over a large bowl and gently press the center, lifting the sides up slightly. This will help release the seeds from the pulp.

3) Holding the pomegranate over the bowl with one hand, cut-side down, firmly whack the skin-side (facing up, towards you) with the back of a wooden spoon until all of the seeds have fallen out into your hand and the bowl. Remove any little bits of pulp that may have found their way into the bowl (there shouldn’t be many).

4) Reserve about 1/4 of the seeds for serving. Pour the remaining seeds into a food processor and liquefy. Push the juice through a sieve to dispose of the tougher bits (the actual seeds within the juice-filled pod). Chill before use.

Serving the cocktail:

1) Divide the reserved pomegranate pods and orange zest strands evenly between 6-8 glasses (martini glasses or champagne coupes are pretty dapper).

2) Fill a cocktail shaker 1/4 full with ice.

3) Pour in the juices, the Campari and the vermouth. Shake until combined.

4) Serve in the prepared glasses. Bottoms up, baby.

Persimmon and pear and caprese toasts (makes approx. 20 canapés) – adapted from Joy the Baker

1 semi-firm persimmon, sliced + each slice cut into quarters
1 medium pear (Bartlett or Anjou), sliced
4-5 small bocconcini, sliced
1 baguette, sliced thinly
1/4 cup pesto (best way to revive frozen pesto from the summer)
basalmic vinegar (the best you can afford)
olive oil for brushing
fleur de sel and freshly cracked black pepper

Directions

1) Preheat the oven to 350° F. Lay baguette slices on a pizza tray or baking sheet; brush with olive oil and bake for about 8 minutes, or until golden brown. Set aside to cool (if you want to do these ahead, conserve them in a brown paper bag until use).

2) Put pesto in a small bowl and brush onto the toasts. Next, toss the bocconcini slices into the bowl and stir to coat the cheese with pesto.

3) Arrange toasts on a serving platter and layer with a slice of persimmon, pear and bocconcini. Sprinkle with fleur de sel and cracked pepper. Finish with a gentle drizzle of balsamic vinegar*

(*if you have the time, it’s worth reducing the vinegar by heating it in a pan until it becomes a bit syrupy.)

Smoky sweet potato hummus – adapted from Blissful Eats

Makes 4 cups

1 pound sweet potatoes (about 2 medium)
1 can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 tsp chopped chipotle chili, canned in adobo sauce
1 garlic clove, chopped
2 Tbsp fresh lime juice
2 Tbsp olive oil
2 Tbsp tahini
coarse sea salt and freshly ground pepper

Directions:

Pre-heat the oven to 350° F.

Pierce potatoes several times with a fork; place on a foil lined baking sheet. Bake until tender (about 45 mins). Cool slightly, then peel and add to the bowl of a food processor. Add chickpeas, lime juice, tahini, olive oil, chipotle and garlic. Purée until smooth, adding up to 2 tablespoons of water if necessary. Season with salt and pepper. Garnish with a drizzle of olive oil and smoked paprika before serving.

Pita chips (makes about 60 chips)

2 bags of pita bread (whole wheat and/or white)
herbes de Provence
olive oil
fleur de sel

Directions

1) Preheat the oven to 350° F.

3) Place pita slices on a pizza tray or baking sheet; brush with olive oil and sprinkle with herbes de Provence and fleur de sel. Bake for about 6 minutes, or until golden brown. Allow to cool and reserve in brown paper bags. Serve with smoky sweet potato hummus.

Winter holiday

23 Sunday Dec 2012

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking For Your Peeps

≈ 10 Comments

You have no idea.

This holiday makes me lose my marbles. It causes the synapses in my brain to spew chemicals in the shape of sugar plums and sleigh-bells, as evidenced by my (cat-lady?) decor choices as of late: there are paper snowflakes and twinkle lights at the office; glass ornaments dangling off house plants; a bushy wreath on the front door and friends’ Christmas cards stringed across the doorway of my kitchen. I don’t care how un-cool it all looks.

LOVE

THIS

HOLIDAY.

In my family, Christmas insanity reaches its crescendo in the kitchen. It’s one of the genetic hazards of having Italian blood coursing through your veins. The amount of baking and cooking that goes on between the 23rd to the 26th of December is fairly ridiculous, but I can’t imagine spending a Christmas without an army of cookie sheets, a metric ton of butter, and all those bags of sugar, dark chocolate and nonpareils. It’s special. It’s magical. And despite the madness (and sweating and finger-burning and swearing), I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Over the next couple of days, I will need to remind myself of this last point – repeatedly – as I prepare to make dinner for my family on the 25th. Christmas dinner. THE dinner. It might be an epic disaster, but I’m willing to risk it for the chance to knock grandma’s socks off. Here it is, in bullet-point form:

Christmas dinner for 10

Satsuma and pomegranate Campari cocktails
Beet root chips with fennel seeds

—–

Persimmon/pear/bocconcini caprese toasts
Smoky sweet potato hummus with toasted pita chips
Panko-crusted artichokes

—–

Butternut squash and apricot soup with pistachios
Frisée & mint salad with pomegranate

—–

Turkey with rosemary butter and gravy
Herbed bread stuffing
Potato and parsnip purée
Brussel sprouts with chestnuts, leeks and bacon
Baked lemon and thyme mushrooms
Cranberry compote with orange, ginger and dates

—–

Spice cake with lemon curd filling and cloud frosting

(fingers crossed it all goes off without a hitch…)

Happy holidays, lovely readers. See you all again here soon ♥

Phobias, exposure therapy, and cream puffs

09 Sunday Dec 2012

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking For Your Peeps, Sweet Tooth, The Basics

≈ 5 Comments

Not too long ago, flipping through an old issue of Scientific American, I came across one of the most dismal terms in the medicalisation of fear – MAGEIROCOPHOBIA. The sheer idea of it floored me. Not because I don’t believe it exists – the kitchen can be a scary place for a lot of people – but because I couldn’t imagine it as a bona fide psychological condition for which someone might seek cognitive behavior therapy, or treatment in the form of serotonin reuptake inhibitors.

Pretty heavy stuff.

Like other phobias, it seems to have varying degrees of severity. And since “the fear of cooking” is rather large in scope, mageirocophobia encompasses a wide range of anxiety triggers: it can be the fear of cooking for a large crowd, or the fear of injuring oneself while cooking, or it can be the fear of complex recipes. While each of us has particular aversions in the kitchen, I find it compelling that we’ve come to dread something that has, at least traditionally, been an integral part of our social exchanges as families and communities, not to mention our basic survival. How did we come to be so apprehensive of the one thing that provides us sustenance? Is it because we’ve gotten used to having other people do it for us? Is it because frozen pizza and powdered sauces have become our steady kitchen companions?

Thinking about this phenomenon made me curious to find out what the people around me were afraid of in the kitchen. Over the course of a week, I asked friends and colleagues to submit ideas of “food that scares them”: meals or recipes they’ve wanted to make, but have avoided for fear that they are too complicated or intimidating or too time-consuming. After collecting about 30 submissions – ranging from Beef Wellington to macarons – I put them in a hat and selected one at random. I gave myself the task of making whichever recipe came out.

The winner was my friend, Kate, who submitted “cream puffs”. Kate is a very good cook and baker – and a brave one at that (the first time I made home-made ice cream was thanks to Kate’s initiative) – but cream puffs seemed arduous to her: “I hear they’re easy but I haven’t tried because it just feels like work.”

Like Kate, I thought cream puffs would be a pain to make. It turns out that they’re really no sweat – the dough comes together in few minutes, in a pot on the stove (so no finnicky kneading, chilling, rolling) and is then piped out onto baking sheets; the cream filling is fairly simple too – a handful of ingredients that come together on the stove with the help of some warm milk and a whisk. C’est tout, les amis.

You might decide to make these cream puffs, or not. Either way, I’m hoping this post will entice you to face your cooking demons, however they manifest themselves. I’m also hoping it will be somewhat therapeutic; think of it along the lines of remedial exposure therapy, where the more you do the things that scare you, the less afraid you’ll be of them.

Happy cooking, everyone x

—–

Cream Puffs = choux pastry + custard or cream filling

Pâte à choux– makes about 24 small buns – adapted from the Encyclopedia of French Cooking, 1982

1 1/4 cups water
1/2 cup butter
3/4 tsp salt
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
4 large eggs

Preheat the oven to 400° F.

Heat the water in a large pan with the butter and salt. When the butter has melted, bring the liquid to the boil and remove from the heat.

Immediately add the flour all at once, then beat vigorously with a wooden spoon. Return the pan to a low heat and continue beating until the mixture draws together and leaves the side of the pan. Do not overbeat – the dough should be smooth and shiny, but not oily.

Remove the pan from the heat, then add the eggs one at a time, beating vigorously after each addition and making sure the egg is fully incorporated before adding the next. Add the last egg a little at a time, beating to make a shiny dough that just falls from the spoon – if the dough will not absorb the last egg, then do not add it.

Fill a pastry bag fitted with a large plain tip with the warm choux mixture and pipe small (about 1-inch) dots onto a parchment-lined baking sheet. Wet your finger with cool tap water and lightly tap any peaks on the batter.

Bake in preheated oven for 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to 375° F and bake for another 10 minutes. Allow the pastries to cool before filling.

Crème pâtissière (vanilla custard) – makes about 2 cups – from the Encyclopedia of French Cooking, 1982

2 cups milk
1 vanilla bean, sliced down the center lengthwise
4 large egg yolks
1/2 cup of sugar
1/2 cup of all-purpose flour
knob of butter, to finish

Bring the milk to just below boiling point with the vanilla pod, then cover and leave to infuse for 15 minutes. Strain, then bring to the boiling point again.

Put the egg yolks in a medium bowl with the sugar and whisk together until pale and thick. Add the flour and whisk again until thoroughly incorporated, then gradually whisk in the boiling milk (do this in a slow, steady stream to avoid scrambling your eggs).

Pour the custard into a heavy-based pan and whisk over medium heat until boiling. The mixture may be lumpy, in which case, remove from the heat and whisk until smooth. Return to the heat and bring to the boil again, the simmer for 1 to 2 minutes to cook the flour, whisking constantly.

Remove custard from the heat, then rub the surface with a knob of butter to prevent a skin from forming. Once cool, either fill the dough puffs by spreading a layer of custard between two halves, or alternately, fill a pastry bag with the custard and gently insert into the dough puffs, filling them until you feel a bit of resistance.

Note: as there is no sugar in the dough, these work equally well (sans custard) along savoury dishes or on a cheese plate with other breads.

My little friend, quiche

17 Saturday Nov 2012

Posted by julia chews the fat in Breakfast & Brunch, Cooking For Your Peeps, Lunch & Dinner, Vegetarian

≈ 3 Comments

“The skies are charcoal grey,
It’s a dreary downtown day,
But at the end of my 30-foot leash,
Is my little friend Quiche” – B-52’s Quiche Lorraine

Fine. The B-52’s aren’t rhapsodising about food; this song is actually an ode to a poodle. But I like listening to it and pretending it’s about the real thing, for the simple reason that I prefer quiche to poodles (case in point: I just re-read that last word as noodles), not to mention that it’s fun to imagine Fred Schneider and Cindy Wilson singing emphatically about beaten eggs baked in a crust. Yes? Yes.

There’s something both versatile and comforting about quiche, in that it’s equally acceptable to have for breakfast as it is at a fancy dinner party or when you’re cooking for a first date. It’s just a matter of tinkering with the ingredients to match the mood. No matter the occasion, though, I fully endorse the all-butter crust – it’s light and flaky and unctuous all at the same time, the perfect vessel for a custard of egg and cheese.

The recipe here was made for a friend who had recently moved back to the city after several months away on the West Coast. Not having seen her in a long while, I’d invited her for Sunday lunch – that one time you can geek out on making delicate foodstuffs and set out your best cutlery and serving platters, without feeling like you’re overdoing it (even if it’s just the two of you). On the best of days, there’s even an attractive tablecloth in there too. The one you’ve been saving for such an occasion.

This quiche – with it’s ruffled crust and silky layers of egg, Gruyère and sautéed veg – had Sunday lady lunch written all over it. I hope this recipe inspires you to share good food with good people, surrounded by all the pretty little things you cherish most.

Sunday lady-lunch quiche (serves 6)

All-butter crust (makes 2) – from Marta Stewart

1 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup ice water
3 cups plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour, plus more for work surface
1 cup plus 5 tablespoons very cold unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pieces

Directions

In a small bowl, mix together salt and water. Place bowl over an ice bath until ready to use.

Put flour and butter in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse briefly until mixture forms large crumbs. Add the salt water mixture and continue pulsing until a dough has just formed but is not smooth. Be careful not to over-mix.

On a lightly floured work surface, evenly divide dough into two pieces. Form each piece of dough into a disk about 1 inch thick. Wrap each disk with plastic wrap and chill at least 2 hours and up to overnight.

Leek and Swiss chard quiche filling

1 small leek, white part sliced (reserve the green part for another use)
1 small bunch (about 2 cups) Swiss chard, ribs removed and leaves chopped
3/4 cup – 1 cup of grated Gruyère
1/2 cup of crème fraîche or full-fat yoghurt
6 large eggs
about 1 Tbsp fresh thyme leaves
1 Tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper

Assembly

1. On a lightly floured work surface, roll dough into a 16-inch round; fit dough into a 9” tart pan/dish (mine was 1-inch thick), gently pressing it into the sides. Flute, crimp or cut the edges.* Cover with plastic wrap; chill tart shell until firm (about 20 minutes).

2. Preheat oven to 375°

3. Line the tart dough with a sheet of parchment paper and fill with pie weights or baking beans. Transfer to oven and bake until golden (about 20 minutes – be sure to check in every once and a while to make sure that the edges aren’t browning too much). Remove weights and parchment paper and continue baking until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack; let cool.

Baking blind with pie weights and baking beans

4. While the pie crust is baking, you can get started on the filling – heat the olive oil in a deep pan; once hot, add the leeks and allow them to cook a couple of minutes until translucent. Add the thyme leaves and the chopped Swiss chard and cook for another 2-3 minutes, until chard is wilted, but not fully cooked. Remove from pan and allow to cool.

5. Whisk eggs in a medium-sized bowl. Add crème fraîche or yoghurt and mix until combined. Add salt and pepper to taste.

6. Once the chard mixture has fully cooled, spoon into the pie shell. Pour over egg mixture until the tart shell is full (depending on the size of your pie shell and your eggs, you may not need to use all of the egg mixture – if you have leftover dough, make mini-quiches!). Sprinkle the Gruyère over the top.

7. Bake 10 minutes; reduce temperature to 325 degrees, and continue baking until filling is slightly firm and crust is a deep golden brown, 20-25 minutes. Transfer quiche to a wire rack to cool until set, about 10 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature with a salad of mixed greens.

Hibernation and steak

11 Tuesday Sep 2012

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking For Your Peeps, Lunch & Dinner

≈ Leave a comment

This past weekend was one nippy, blustery bugger. Gusts of wind blew in short, but phenomenal bursts, ruffling the curtains and knocking over small household objects. Stepping outside felt both thrilling and mildly threatening. If I were a small animal, I would have burrowed into a hovel deep in the ground, and not come out until the coast was clear.

I settled for the human equivalent, spending the day doing laundry and listening to Erik Satie on repeat. A bad day for being outside turned out to be a good day for doing a final triage of summer clothes and getting reacquainted with the warmer, woolier things that will slowly make their way into the wardrobe. I felt like a squirrel counting her acorns. Except my acorns included leg warmers, thermal socks and oversized sweaters. I can’t wait for the day I decide to wear all of those items together. Ladies, hide your boyfriends.

—-

Transitioning into hibernation mode involves embracing the slow layering of mental and physical adjustments that come with cooler days and earlier nights. It’s a time when our fat-storing faculties kick in and we start to crave deeper and richer things. I don’t want to, say, drink a quart of whipping cream, but by this time of year, I start to forgo salads and ceviche and begin to daydream about steak. With mashed potatoes. And mushrooms in wine sauce.

The line-up below is one of the best ways to take cover from a windy, rainy night – bar none. Pour yourself a glass of red and you’re set.

Pan-fried steak with garlic mashed potatoes and honey-roasted carrots

(serves 2)

Note: start with setting the oven to 400°F for the carrots and prepping and boiling the potatoes before doing anything else. Carrots and potatoes should be almost done when you’re ready to start cooking the mushrooms and, at the very end, the steak.

For the carrots:

10 small French carrots (carottes de Nantes)
1 Tbsp honey
olive oil
Maldon salt or fleur de sel
freshly ground black pepper

Directions:

Set the oven to 400°F. Place whole carrots in a roasting dish with the oil, honey, salt and pepper. Put in the oven and roast for about 10-15 minutes, depending on the size of your carrots. Toss the carrots once, halfway through the cooking time. (Note: Stick a half-head of garlic in the oven when you start roasted the carrots – you will use this for the potatoes.)

For the potatoes:

4 medium-sized potatoes, chopped into rough cubes
a knob of butter
1/4 cup milk (or cream)
2-3 cloves of garlic (roasted in the oven with the carrots – see above)
sea salt
potato ricer

Directions:

Put the chopped potatoes in a large saucepan or Dutch oven and fill with enough cold water to cover the potatoes. Place on high heat until the water comes to a boil; lower the heat and allow to boil until the potatoes are soft and easily fall apart (for this recipe, about 15 minutes).

Drain potatoes and spoon into potato ricer a bit at a time, squeezing the shreds into the saucepan. Squeeze the roasted garlic through the ricer as well and mix into the potatoes with a wooden spoon. Add the knob of butter and the milk. Season with salt and stir until smooth.

For the mushroom/onion fricasée:

1 1/2 cups sliced white mushrooms
1 large onion, sliced
handful of Italian parsley, chopped
1/4 cup sweet Vermouth or red wine
olive oil
sea salt and pepper

Directions:

Heat a swig olive oil in a pan on medium-heat heat. Once the oil begins to get hot, add the onions. Cook for a couple of minutes until they are translucent; add the mushrooms and cook until mushrooms and onions are browned, stirring occasionally. Season with salt and pepper. Add the vermouth to de-glaze the pan. Toss in the parsley and give it all a stir. Keep warm until ready to serve on top of the steak.

For the steak:

2 x 200 g (7 oz) pieces of entrecôte, a.k.a rib-eye steak (note: the 250 g piece I cooked was enough for 2 people)
2 tsp steak rub (I used Montréal steak spice, but I encourage you to get creative will your mortar and pestle)
olive oil
knob of butter

Directions:

Allow steak to come to room temperature. Heat a cast iron skillet or grill pan on medium-high heat. Toss in the knob of butter and a swig of olive oil to coat the pan. While the butter melts, prepare your steak by coating it in the spice rub.

When the fat starts to smoke, pull the pan off the heat, place the steak in the pan (there should be a sizzle), and return to the heat. Grill each side between 2-2½ minutes (for medium-rare for a one-inch steak). Wrap in aluminium foil and allow to rest 5-10 minutes before serving (you can pour any accumulated juices from the steak into the mushroom fricasée and heat gently before serving.

Nonna’s Meatballs (Polpette)

22 Tuesday May 2012

Posted by julia chews the fat 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. In fact, 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.

Easter weekend + one piñata-fail

16 Monday Apr 2012

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking For Your Peeps, Lunch & Dinner

≈ 3 Comments

When it comes to holidays, I somehow always manage to romanticize my ability at crafting. In reality, though, the closest thing to crafting that I’ve ever (successfully) done is read Amy Sedaris’, “Simple Times” front to back, a half-dozen times.

Easter is particularly problematic at it seems to light up the part of my brain that believes I’m a crafter, rattling awake after a long post-Christmas dormancy period. One Easter, a couple of years ago, I was hell-bent on making homemade marshmallows, imagining all of the neat thematic shapes I would make (Chicks! Baby bunnies! Oh, how marvelous and squishy they will be!). I looked up recipes, bought a candy thermometer, and kept an eye out for bunny-shaped cookie cutters. Thankfully, I have enough Anglo-Saxon pragmatism coursing through my veins (thanks, Dad) to set me straight, reminding me that DIY projects involving boiling candy can unleash a Pandora’s box of nightmarish mishaps, especially for the uninitiated. So while my soft side was under the spell of an ambrosial marshmallow haze, my sensible side was there to remind me that getting burned by the candy thermometer and smearing of sticky, gelatinous blobs onto everything in sight, including my hair, was probably not all that great.

Notwithstanding the voice of reason, my fantasy of becoming craft-lady extraordinaire still manages to inject itself into plans that are supposed to be easy, lovely and stress-free…

…like that time I decided to make a giant piñata.

This year, right around Easter, it was my goddaughter’s 5th birthday – an occasion for which I was asked to make a piñata for the kids’ party. Being a godmother is a role I take fairly seriously, but if I’m being perfectly honest, it has never extended beyond reading a few stories, making abstract finger-paintings and letting her stay up past her bedtime. I’ve maybe braided her hair. Once. All in all, though, it’s been a pretty laid-back gig. Making her birthday-piñata felt like the next step in my godmother duties. Perhaps not as elaborate as making a horse-drawn carriage and ball gown appear out of thin air, but still.

Now, it goes without saying that I’m the furthest thing from a piñata/papier mâché expert. My mental Roladex is pretty sparse in that department. But I did my homework, consulting Youtube and Pinterest and noting down suggestions made by friends. I bought taffy and ribbon and crêpe paper and a ginormous balloon. THIS GODMOTHER WAS GOING TO MAKE THE BEST EASTER EGG-BIRTHDAY PIÑATA EVER. But I was also recovering from shoulder surgery and could barely tie my shoes. (Clearly, my Anglo-Saxon pragmatism was on holiday. Probably off on a beach, sipping a margarita.)

The details of the piñata-demise are not particularly thrilling, but long story short, the balloon deflated before all the layers had dried and the papier-mâché shell collapsed into a pathetic pile at the bottom of the bathtub. In a sorry attempt to revive it, I slipped in a second balloon and blew it up as quickly as I could. It was like trying to douse a beached whale with little sandcastle-pails filled with water – desperate and ultimately useless (to indulge in some schadenfreude, you can find a photo of it in the slideshow further below). Not wanting to flake on a promise I had made to a 5-year-old, I rushed to the party supply store 20 minutes before closing and bought a dubious-looking, ruffly paper cow with crooked eyes, made in China. Anglo-Saxon pragmatism restored, but craft-romanticism crushed.

—–

Luckily, there was Easter dinner the next day to distract me from the wreckage and restore faith in my ability to make things – at least of the culinary variety. While my brother, dad and I were in charge of salads and sides, mom was at the helm constructing a handsome lasagna, several frilly layers high. While it’s not something we typically have at Easter, the lamb seemed quite pleased to be curled up against that hot mess of béchamel and noodles.

You may want to do the same.

Mamma’s Easter Lasagna

1 package oven ready lasagna pasta (375 grams or 3/4 lb)
1 cup water
1 cup grated mozzarella
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano

Meat Sauce

3 tablespoons extra virgin oil
1 onion, finely chopped
1 carrot, finely chopped
1 celery stalk, finely chopped
2 large garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 lb minced veal
1/2 lb. minced pork
1/4 cup tomato paste
handful chopped Italian parsley
6 cups canned tomatoes (or better: Nonna’s tomatoes)
Salt and pepper to taste

Heat the oil in a skillet. Add the chopped onions and cook for about 4 minutes. Add the remaining vegetables and half of the chopped garlic. Continue to cook until golden. Stir in the pork, veal, parsley and the remaining chopped garlic. Cook the meat until it is no longer pink and the juices are absorbed, about 10-12 minutes. Stir in the tomato paste. Pour in the tomatoes and simmer until the sauce thickens (40-60 minutes).

Ricotta-Spinach filling:

1 bunch fresh spinach
1 container of ricotta (1 1/2 cups)
1 egg
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (the other 1/4 cup will be used later to sprinkle throughout the layers of lasagna)

Cook the spinach. Drain and wring out as much moisture as possible. Chop the spinach and set aside to cool.

In a bowl, whisk together the ricotta, egg, parmesan, and 1 teaspoon salt. Whisk in the chopped spinach and set aside.

Béchamel sauce:

3 cups hot milk
6 tablespoons butter
6 tablespoons flour
1 bay leaf
pinch of nutmeg
salt to taste

In a medium saucepan, melt 6 tablespoons of butter until foamy and stir in the flour with a whisk (you are making a roux). Continue to stir and allow the flour to cook for about 2 minutes. Gradually pour the hot milk into the roux while continuing to whisk, taking care to stir out any lumps. Bring to a boil. Lower the heat and continue to whisk continuously until the sauce is very smooth. Cook for 3 minutes and remove from the heat.

Assembly

Preheat oven to 375°F with rack in middle.

Spread a layer of meat sauce to cover the surface of the 9×13 inch baking pan or casserole dish. Pour in 1/2 cup of water (if using the oven ready lasagna). Lay some sheets of lasagne over the sauce; add a layer of meat sauce and a sprinkling of parmesan and mozzarella.

Place a second layer of pasta sheets. Spread some of the spinach-ricotta mixture on top of the noodles. Then add a layer of béchamel sauce.

Repeat with one more layer of pasta/meat sauce and one more layer of pasta/ricotta mixture and finish with a generous layer of béchamel and some grated parmesan. Cover pan with foil and bake 50-60 minutes. Uncover and continue to bake to allow the béchamel to become golden.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Dessert-shy

17 Saturday Mar 2012

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking For Your Peeps, Sweet Tooth

≈ 4 Comments

Desserts are definitely not my forte. Most likely because I’m not very good at sticking to a recipe. With cooking, it’s a character trait that has served me well. But with desserts, the otherwise innocuous habit of getting “creative” in the kitchen has led me down the path of the bad and the ugly more times than I’d like to admit.

Successful baking generally requires the anal-retentive precision of a scientist – someone who revels in the joys of perfect calculations and measurements. Since 10th grade calculus, I have not found numbers the least bit enticing. It’s a fetish that escapes me. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I cooked anything by following a recipe to the letter, let alone measure the quantities. I prefer eye-balling it. It makes me feel tough. Pat Benetar tough.

Unfortunately, desserts require a bit more predictability and little less tomfoolery. They LOVE precision. They adore carefully levelled cups of flour and pristine egg whites; timers and double-boilers. But sometimes even lab-coat meticulousness doesn’t guarantee success with some of the more capricious members of the dessert family. Akin to dogs, bees and small children, they can sense fear from a mile away. This is especially true of meringues, shortbread pastry and dainty little confections like French macarons. As far as I’m concerned, these are the hard-to-please sultanas of the baking empire – fussy, bitchy and unforgiving. They know when you are afraid of them and they take great pleasure in melting into a floppy mess when you treat them with quivering hands.

Knowing that many of my dessert-fails can be traced back to performance anxiety, I am making a concerted effort to make more of them – the logic being that the more comfortable I get with beating egg whites, calculating measurement conversions and shaping pastry, the less intimidated I will be with all things delicate and sweet – particularly those of the French persuasion. Starting with…

French lemon tart (adapted from Laura Calder)

2 whole eggs
4 egg yolks
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup lemon juice
2/3 cup heavy cream
zest of 1 lemon

Shortbread pastry

1 cup + 2 tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 cup butter, cut into pieces
2 tablespoons cold water

DIRECTIONS

Put the flour, salt, and sugar into the bowl of a food processor. Add the butter pieces and pulse to create a texture that resembles coarse meal.
Add ice water in a slow steady stream through feed tube of food processor with machine running. Pulse for a few seconds to incorporate the water.
Turn out into a lightly floured work surface and knead until dough comes together in a ball. Be careful not to over-work the dough.
Form dough into a disk, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate 15 minutes.
Heat the oven to 400ºF. Roll out the dough, line the tart shell and bake blind by placing a piece of parchment paper over the shell and filling it to the top with baking beans. Bake for about 15 minutes.
Remove pie shell from oven, remove baking beans (store for future use) and allow to cool.
Reduce oven temp to 325ºF. Beat together the eggs, yolks, and sugar in a bowl. Add the lemon juice. Whisk in the cream.
Pour lemon cream mixture into the shell. Bake until just set, about 30 minutes.
Remove from oven and sprinkle with lemon zest. Let cool before serving.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

V-day:

14 Tuesday Feb 2012

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking For Your Peeps

≈ 6 Comments

I am a sucker for Valentine’s Day. Attached, single, whatever – I love all the ridiculously sappy bits that come along with it. The tackier the better. Growing up, our mom used to go bananas for holidays (she still does) and Valentine’s Day was no exception. The details are bit fuzzy, but I remember there being lots of mini-heart confetti and cinnamon candies strewn all over the dinner table and bright red cloth napkins – folded accordion-style – atop each plate. There was even one year when she, my cousin, and I wore bright red lipstick to dinner along with big crêpe-paper corsages. We probably looked like a bunch of clowns, but when you grow up in a family of nerds, you don’t really notice those details.

We haven’t had one of those V-Day blow-outs in quite a while, but the sentiment has always stayed with me. Thinking back to those kitschy Valentine’s Days orchestrated by mom got me really jazzed about making mounds of pink frosting and heart-shaped cakes and cookies with shiny red sprinkles.

That, friends, was 4 days ago.

Now – on February 13th at 17 minutes past 9pm, having just arrived home, hungry, tired and achy – it’s fair to say the magical fairy dust of Valentine’s Day has lost much of its bewitching effect. The idea of buttering 2 dozen cupcake tins and facing a kitchen full of dirty dishes is not making me feel the least bit romantic. But I’ve stocked up on icing sugar and sprinkles and so I’d better make a go of it. Mom would have.

…skip to 1 hour and 42 minutes later…

So, allow me to share with you a very special rule of thumb when making the decision to bake something from scratch: never, ever, under any circumstances take on the task if you are tired, stressed, cranky, dehydrated or just generally irritable. Those feelings will inevitably find their way into your baking and wreak havoc. They have a way of attracting chaos and will hypnotize you into breaking things and injuring your extremities. Case in point: my attempt at making late-night cupcakes included one busted electric beater, 2 eggs less than required, an unruly oven and an uncooperative bag of sugar – all of which led to the demise of 48 tiny cupcakes.

After struggling at first with ingredient issues, I managed to put together a decent batter. But the first batch of 24 were soon wrecked by a temperamental oven and were unceremoniously discarded. At this point, I hadn’t given up – knowing that I still had enough batter to make another 24. I placed them in the oven, watched them vigilantly as they baked and after having taken them out, removed each one carefully from the tin like they were new-born chicks. With abandonment issues. I iced them with care, dotting every single one with a cinnamon heart, and set them aside on a platter for their photo op. Not long after, this second batch dove (icing side first) onto the kitchen floor in what could only be described as a tragically successful suicide attempt. I threw in the towel after that.

The lesson: baking projects are best left for moments when you have the time, patience and love to put into them. Otherwise, you might end up spending a disconcerting amount of time cursing and scraping pink frosting off the floor (at times simultaneously). Next time, do yourself a favour – order a pizza, pour yourself some vino and call it a night.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: