Cross My Heart, Miso

12 Saturday Nov 2016

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

≈ 11 Comments

I am the kind of person that will buy a tub of miso, then leave it in the refrigerator door for an interminable length of time, under the naïve assumption that it will (eventually) find its way into a recipe. If you’re like me, you know that this moment rarely, if ever, comes. You also know that it leaves you with bad feelings when you do a deep clean of the fridge and realise it’s been there for a small eternity, opened, but with only one spoonful scooped out from the top. You ask yourself the following questions: Is it still good? How do I know it’s still good? Do I need to throw it out? Then concede to the following affirmations: Online message boards about expiration dates cannot be trusted. I’m going to need to throw this out. I am a horrible human being for throwing this out.

It’s a vicious cycle.

I’m not quite sure what happens in the ark of purchasing the miso, bringing it home, then, months later, scraping it into the bin. It’s confounding. Not to mention a heinous act of food waste. (especially considering that miso paste could probably out-live you and me and I’ve just been overly cautious about its perishability). And so, I’ve decided that from this day forward, I will never throw out another container of miso. Cross my heart and hope to die.

I come to you today with proof of my penance – two recipes made recently with the stash of miso paste in my fridge, both having helped put a considerable dent in my supply, all while broadening my miso repertoire (did you know you can use it in savoury and sweet dishes? And not just in miso soup?). I feel that this is the beginning of a new relationship.

One is a carrot soup with ginger, spiced with coriander and curry. The miso works nicely in the background, adding a bit of depth to a soup that might otherwise be ho-hum. The other is a recipe for banana bread (or cake, depending on your sensibilities), where the saltiness of the miso balances out the sweetness of the banana. I brought a loaf to my friends Marko and Marilou as part of a care package the week after their daughter was born and received a text from them the next day saying they’d polished it off, the last couple of slices served up for breakfast, toasted and slathered in butter.

I hope you’ll do the same x

Miso Banana Bread – from Amelia Morris of Bon Appetempt

5 medium overripe bananas
1 cup all-purpose flour*
½cup whole-wheat flour
¼ cup of ground flax seeds
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
1 stick unsalted butter, softened
1 cup sugar
¼ cup white (or yellow) miso
½ whole-milk plain yogurt
2 large eggs

*If you prefer, you can replace the whole-wheat flour and ground flax seeds with all-purpose flour (so 1¾ cups of all-purpose flour total)

Directions

1) Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter a loaf pan, dust with a light coating of flour and set aside.

2) Mash 4 of the bananas in a bowl. Set aside

3) Mix all the dry ingredients (except the sugar) in a separate bowl. Set aside.

4) In the bowl of a stand mixer (or, simply, another bowl). Combine the softened butter, miso. Beat until light and fluffy (about 5 mins). Add the sugar and beat until combined. Add the yogurt, then one egg at a time, beating between additions. Beat in mashed bananas. Then mix in the dry ingredients until just combined.

5) Transfer batter to prepared loaf pan. Slice remaining banana lengthwise and place on top of the batter. Bake for about 45 minutes (or until a skewer inserted in the centre comes out clean). Let cool on a baking rack for 20-30 minutes before serving.

Miso banana bread // © julia chews the fat

—–

Miso Carrot Soup – adapted from Wholehearted Eats

Serves 4-6

1 yellow onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, chopped
1 Tbsp. olive oil
8 large carrots, peeled and chopped (about 5 cups)
1 Tbsp curry powder (optional)
½ tsp. dried coriander
2-inch piece of ginger, peeled and minced
6-7 cups stock, vegetable or chicken
3 Tbsp. white miso paste
1 tsp. tamari
garnishes: lemon wedges, cilantro, sesame seeds

Directions

1) Heat a medium pot to low and add the oil and onion. Sweat the onion until soft, translucent and golden. Add the garlic, dried coriander, curry (if using) and the minced ginger. Sauté for a couple of minutes until fragrant, stirring occasionally. Add the chopped carrots and sauté cook for few more minutes.

2) Next add 5 cups of the stock and bring the mixture to a simmer. Once it begins to simmer, cover with lid slightly ajar, and let it cook until the carrots and onions are very tender (about 3o minutes).

3) Take the soup off the heat and puree it in a blender or hand blender, until smooth. Bring the remaining 1-2 cups stock (if you like a thicker or thinner soup) to a boil, take it off the heat, and stir in the miso and tamari until combined. Add this mixture to the soup and stir to combine. To serve, add a squeeze of lemon, some sesame seeds and fresh cilantro.

Snack-Time Salvation

02 Monday May 2016

Posted by julia chews the fat in Snacking, Sweet Tooth, Vegetarian

≈ 2 Comments

A little while ago, I started buying Bounty bars from the second-floor vending machine at work. It might have been a relatively infrequent excursion, but as any office worker knows, when you sit in front of a computer for several hours on end, you start to crave bad stuff – usually something with high-fructose corn syrup and palm oil – around 3pm. And when you don’t have access to something healthy and sustaining, you sometimes end up scouring your desk drawer for pocket change to plunk into an old vending machine for something that will satisfy your primal brain.

In my case (and to make matters worse), I also had an accomplice. My friend and office mate – we’ll protect her identity by calling her “M” – also loved Bounty bars and, like me, was really good at reducing her dissonance. We agreed that splitting a candy bar between us wasn’t as bad as eating the whole thing by ourselves, and if we didn’t read the spooky list of ingredients and enjoyed it alongside a cup of herbal tea, it didn’t seem like such an unsensible thing to do.

But then “M” went on an eight-month work transfer out of town, and I was still getting Bountry bars out of the machine. One a month became two, then three, then I realised that it had become an almost-weekly habit. No bueno.

The obvious solution was to come equipped to work with snacks. Good snacks. Snacks that would make my mom and your mom proud that they had raised well-adjusted, responsible adults. That’s when I came across a recipe, from French food writer Clotilde Dusoulier, for homemade energy bars. A mixture of dates, nuts, cinnamon and cocoa, they’re sweet and chocolately, and filled with things that aren’t palm oil or high-fructose corn syrup (they’re actually filled with vitamin A, fibre, iron, calcium, antioxidants, and potassium. Thank you, dates!). I rolled mine in shredded coconut for the “Bounty bar effect”, but if you don’t have any in the pantry, they’re swell without it too.

Here’s to better snacking in front of our computers. Have a good week, everyone x

Date-Coconut Energy Bites – adapted from Chocolate and Zucchini

50 grams date paste*, diced
100 grams mixed, unsalted nuts (Brazil nuts, pistachios, almonds, hazelnuts…)
2 green cardamom pods, seeds only
100 grams Medjool or fresh dates (about 4), pitted
3 Tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 Tbsp cacao nibs
1/4 cup unsweetened, shredded coconut (for rolling)
a good pinch salt

*Date paste can be found at natural foods stores, or in North African or Middle Eastern shops. It comes as a solid block, so if it seems dry and hard, cut it into slices and soak for an hour in a little cold water to soften. Drain well before using (save the date water – you can freeze it too – to use in smoothies).

Directions

1) In a food processor, combine the diced date paste, nuts, and cardamom, and process in short pulses until the nuts are chopped to small bits and blended with the paste. Add the rest of the ingredients and process in short pulses until the mixture comes together.

2) Pour the shredded coconut into a plate; scoop a teaspoon of the date-nut into your hands and form into balls between your palms. Then roll them in the shredded coconut.

3) Lay the date-coconut balls in a airtight container, with parchment paper between each layer to prevent sticking. Transfer to the fridge to set for a few hours or preferably overnight. They will keep in the refrigerator, covered, for about a week.

Muffin PSA

18 Friday Mar 2016

Posted by julia chews the fat in Breakfast & Brunch, Snacking, Sweet Tooth, Vegetarian

≈ 4 Comments

I’ve long held the belief that muffins are more or less just cake disguised as breakfast food. Most muffins I’ve come across in bakeries and cafés have an ultra-sweet crumb, studded with the usual flecks of fruit and nut, but more often than not, chocolate too (in different variations of the same theme – chocolate/banana, double chocolate and chocolate chip are the first ones to come to mind). The most confusing kinds have things like “cheesecake” centres, or grainy strusel toppings that are ninety-nine percent sugar. In a lot of ways, muffins have become the antithesis of sensible eating. Because if something like this can be called a muffin, clearly we’ve derailed somewhere along the way.

When I think of the ideal breakfast muffin – the Platonic ideal – it has to have a bit of brawn, something nutritious that will sustain me for the better part of the morning when paired with whatever fruit is in the fruit bowl. The Platonic Muffin incorporates a type of flour that has some substance, some oumf (whole wheat, for instance) and a few octogenarian-approved ingredients like oat bran and dried fruit. The crumb shouldn’t be too sweet, and while nuts are welcome, chocolate and candy are not invited to the party. In other words, I want the kind of muffin that will lift me in the morning, when my eyes are half-mast in front of the computer, and the synapses in my brain aren’t yet at full throttle; I want it to give me a boost and make me feel productive; I want a muffin I can rely on.

Flipping through my cookbooks a few weekends ago, I came across Sara Forte’s Multigrain Muffin – a simple, but sturdy-looking thing that combines carrot, dates and buttermilk into the batter (ding ding ding!), along with different types of flour (ding ding ding!). Her cookbook, The Sprouted Kitchen: A Tastier Take on Whole Foods, is what I would call a book of healthy recipes – for the better part vegetarian, some raw, and (as laid out explicity in the title) all containing whole, unprocessed ingredients. Now, while I can get behind all of that, I sometimes have concerns about baked goods being labelled “healthy”, because it often means they taste like cardboard and have a mouthfeel akin to dry soil. But thankfully, this isn’t the case with these muffins- the use of different flours results in a balanced texture, the carrots and dates add sweetness without it tasting saccharine, and the buttermilk makes the whole thing moist and melt-in-your-mouth. It’s the kind of breakfast food that pushes all the right buttons.

This post isn’t sponsored by Sara or her cookbook; it’s just that since these muffins have been on heavy rotation at our house over the last little while, I felt it was my duty – as keeper of this blog – to share them with you instead of keeping them all to myself.

You can see this as a muffin PSA, from your local food nerd.

I hope you’ll give them a whirl.

Multigrain Buttermilk Muffins with Carrot and Dates
Adapted from The Sprouted Kitchen: A Tastier Take on Whole Foods
Makes 12 muffins

1 cup buttermilk*
1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup finely chopped, pitted Medjool (or fresh) dates
1 1/2 cups loosely packed grated carrots**
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
3/4 cup oat bran
1/2 cup almond meal
1/2 cup muscovado sugar (I used raw sugar)
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon salt

* to make 1 cup of buttermilk, simply pour whole milk almost to one cup, topping up with about 1/2 Tbsp white vinegar. Let sit for a minute (it will curdle a bit), then it’s ready to be used in your baking.

**use the smaller holes of your box grater for this; the carrot will blend better into the batter.

Directions

Preheat oven to 350F.

In a large bowl whisk together the first four ingredients. Add the dates and carrots and stir until combined. In another mixing bowl whisk together the remaining ingredients. Add the carrot-date mixture into the dry and stir until combined. Let the batter sit for 5 minutes to poof up a bit.

Line muffin pan with baking papers. Fill the papers 3/4 way up with batter. Bake for 20 minutes or until toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Remove the pan from the oven and transfer muffins to a cooling rack. Can be stored for 3-4 days in an airtight container.

One-Bowl Wonder

21 Sunday Feb 2016

Posted by julia chews the fat in Snacking, Sweet Tooth, The Basics

≈ 7 Comments

I have been dutifully plugging away at a post about “the myth of easy cooking” in the twenty minutes each morning before work, from the time I stumble out of bed (or tumble, depending) to the time I finish my coffee. But for some reason, the things (important, opinion-laden things!) I’d like to tell you just. aren’t. coming. There’s been a lot of typing, deleting, typing, deleting. So I’ve put that one aside for a little while, in the hopes that with a little time to percolate, the words might come more easily.

In the meantime, there’s the backlog of stuff I’ve wanted to share with you, one of them being the chocolate chip cookie recipe I recently discovered from Christina Tosi’s cookbook, Milk Bar Life: Recipes and Stories. If you haven’t heard of her, Tosi is the wonder-woman behind NYC’s Milkbar, the sister bakery of David Chang’s Momofuku restaurant empire. If you’ve seen her segments on The Mind of a Chef, you’ll know that she is a mensch in the world of sweets; if there is anyone I would trust with a recipe for cake or cookies or pie, it’s certainly this lady.

Now, chocolate chip cookies might seem fairly straightforward, but as any amateur baker can tell you, they can still be capricious little buggers. A slight imbalance in gluten, sugar and fat can turn them into a liquefied mess or make them as hard as stone (or, lord forbid, cakey, fluffy cookies). I always thought that the key to the perfect chocolate chip cookie was extensive chilling and the use of fancy gear (the stand-mixer being the most coveted piece of machinery), but it turns out I’ve (we’ve?) just been overthinking things. Tosi’s recipe doesn’t require any special gadgetry or preternatural baking skills; the whole thing is done the old-fashioned way – in one bowl, with a wooden spoon (and no overnight chilling). With this recipe, there is nothing esoteric or complex to contend with; there is simply no mucking about.

What you end up with is the Platonic ideal of the chocolate chip cookie – chewy in the centre, golden and crispy around the edges, and a not-too-sweet, buttery flavour where chocolate reigns supreme. While I hesitate using superlatives when it comes to recipes, this might just be the perfect chocolate chip cookie.

I hope you’ll give it a whirl.

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Special mention: I’d like to thank my cousin Liza for the handmade, Roisin Fagen tea towel that serves as the saucy backdrop to these photos. Along with these cookies, it’s one of my new favourite things.

Chocolate Chip Cookies – lightly adapted from Milk Bar Life: Recipes and Stories by Christina Tosi
Makes about 15 cookies

Before we get started…

The recipe calls for quite a bit of chocolate (a whole 12 ounces! This woman means business!), but it’s all part of the perfect balance, so don’t be tempted to skimp.
The only ingredient that is a bit novel is the non-fat milk powder, but you can find this at most run-of-the-mill grocery stores. The powder deepens the flavour and lends to their chewy texture, so best not to skip it. If you’re worried that the rest of the bag is going to slowly perish in your cupboard until next year’s spring cleaning, rest assured that you’ll be making these cookies more than once, and before you know it, you’ll have successfully chipped away at that bag of milk powder. These cookies freeze really well too, so tripling or quadrupling the recipe is not a bad idea either.
Instead of using dark chocolate chips, I used a mix of dark chocolate and white chocolate pastilles, which I chopped into pieces, because that’s what I had on hand.

Ingredients

½ pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted and just warm to the touch
¾ cup packed light brown sugar
½ cup granulated sugar
1 egg
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 ¾ cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons nonfat milk powder
1 ¼ teaspoons kosher salt
½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
12 ounces chcolate (I used a mix of 70% dark + white chocolate), roughly chopped

Instructions

1) Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Prepare a baking sheet with parchment paper.

2) With a wooden spoon, mix the sugars together in a large bowl and add the melted butter. Stir vigorously for about a minute or more. Mix the egg and vanilla in the measuring cup you used for the sugar and add to the mixture. Stir until the mix has a glossy sheen, about one more minute.

3) Mix in the flour, milk powder, salt, baking powder, and baking soda until just combined. Stir in the chocolate chips and mix until evenly distributed.

4) Lightly form dough into balls about the size of a golf ball (or if you have a mini ice-cream scoop, you can use that for a more uniform result) and place on the baking sheet lined with parchment paper about 2 to 3 inches apart. Bake for 9-11 minutes or until golden brown around the edges but still soft in the middle. The cookies will fall as they cool. Transfer to a cooling rack to cool completely.

January’s Refrain

15 Friday Jan 2016

Posted by julia chews the fat in Holidays, Sweet Tooth, The Basics, Vegetarian

≈ 5 Comments

After the debauchery comes le détox.

I ate so much. It’s awful. Salads from now on.

This a common refrain in January, one that we seem to come across just about everywhere – magazine articles, ads, blogs, the Lifestyle section of newspapers, and even the water cooler at work. It seems that everyone is in “detox”* mode, eliminating and abstaining after The Great Big Binge; groaning, biting their lower lips and confessing about just how bad they’ve been.

Fifty Shades of Fruitcake.

(*I have very strong opinions about the word “detox” as it applies to diet, which is why I’m putting it in quotations. Unless it’s being used to describe the process of someone coming off hard drugs or being treated for mercury poisoning, the word “detox” is a unicorn word – pretty, but imaginary.)

I think it’s fascinating how much we link food to guilt. Ingredients are compartmentalized into strict categories of “good” and “bad”, so that when we’ve had a slice of cake we’ve been naughty, but if we drink nothing but juice for ten days straight, we’re suddenly very, very good. Schedule in that colonic and you’re well on your way to sainthood.

With the turn of the calendar on January 1st, there comes reflection, regret, and the goal of redemption. How do I undo all the bad things I’ve done? How do I wipe the slate clean? The terms detox, clean eating and carb-free – the Holy Trinity of Orthorexia – have cemented themselves into the language we use to talk about healthy eating, especially around the time everyone’s making resolutions they won’t keep. And frankly, it

drives

mental.

I can understand the desire for self-improvement. I can get behind the idea of not eating in excess and limiting the intake highly processed foods. But I don’t think we’re doing ourselves any favours by adopting attitudes of excessive food guilt; nor do I think that a handful of gummy bears is the difference between living a virtuous life or a debased one.

There was an article I read recently about the French approach to food (we’re using wide-sweeping generalisations about the French here, but still…), making the argument that food and pleasure can and should co-exist. I think there’s something to be said for the this model of eating, which not only allows for pleasure, but encourages it. You want a piece of cheese? Have it. A glass of wine. Yes. You eat your vegetables too – not because you have to, but because they’re vibrant and exciting and delicious and they too will make you feel good. I recognise that, especially in the last decade or so, the French have also adopted some of the same health trends as North Americans (after all, sans gluten shops have been popping up in Paris and both BBC Travel and The New York Times posted articles about the demise of the baguette in France), but I still think that the French take their food very seriously, in that it’s supposed to be enjoyed, savoured, appreciated, not admonished on the basis of calories or the fact that it doesn’t abide to the diet du jour.

Which brings me to galette des rois.

In January, while half of North America is suffering through Gwyneth-esque cleanses, the French are celebrating. In anticipation of the Epiphany, on January 6th, bakeries start to fill their vitrines with large, round cakes with scored tops called galette des rois – two layers of puff pastry, with crème d’amande (almond cream) in between. A fève (bean) is hidden inside the galette before baking and whomever gets the slice with the fève becomes “king” or “queen” for the day and gets to wear a nifty paper crown. Many bakeries in Montreal offer them through the month of January, but on a whim, I decided to try making one this year (with mixed results, see more below).

It’s celebratory food. It’s January food. It’s the food that we cherish because it’s special and because we don’t eat it everyday. And for those reasons, it’s meant to be enjoyed with gusto, not the guilt we’ve been trained to carry with us each time we raise a forkful of cake to our mouths.

So, I invite you – to pull up a chair, a plate, and dig in.

Galette des rois (serves 8) – from Clotilde Dusoulier’s site Chocolate and Zucchini

Note: in true French fashion, these measurements are in grams, allowing for more accuracy. If you don’t already have a kitchen scale, consider buying one – they come in different price ranges. I bought an electric one for 20$ a few years ago and it’s one of the best kitchen gadgets I own.

500 grams (17 2/3 ounces) all-butter puff pastry, thawed if frozen
For the crème d’amande:
125 grams unsalted butter, softened
125 grams granulated sugar
130 grams almond flour (i.e. almond meal or finely ground
almonds)
8 grams corn starch
a good pinch sea salt
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon rum (or Grand Marnier)
For the eggwash and glaze:
1 egg yolk
Accessories:
1 porcelain trinket or dried bean
1 paper crown

Directions*:

(*what you see below might seem like a daunting list of directions, but I promise – especially since you’re using bought puff pastry – it’s a pretty simple recipe.)

1) Prepare the crème d’amande: Beat the butter until creamy, but avoid incorporating air into it. In a separate bowl, combine the sugar, almonds, corn starch, and salt. Stir with a whisk to remove any lumps. Add to the almond mixture to the creamed butter and mix until smooth. Add the rum, then the eggs, one at a time, mixing well between each addition. Cover and refrigerate for an hour or overnight.

2) Roll out the puff pastry: Divide the puff pastry in 2 equal pieces, and roll each one out to form a rough circle a little larger than 12 inches in diameter. Use a sharp knife and an upturned plate of the right dimension to cut a neat 12-inch circle out of one, and a slightly larger one with the other, adding about 1/4 inch all around the edge of the plate.

3) Assemble the galette: Place the smaller of the two circles on a piece of parchment paper or a silicone baking mat. In a small bowl, combine the egg yolk with a tablespoon water (or milk, if you have it handy) until smooth. Using a pastry brush, brush the outer rim of the dough lightly with the eggwash by a width of about 1 inch. Make sure not to wet the actual edge of the dough, or it will impede its rise. Pour the crème d’amande in the center and spread it out inside the eggwash ring with a spatula. Place a porcelain fève, a dried bean, or the trinket of your choice in the crème d’amande. Press it down gently to bury it. Transfer the second round of dough precisely on top of the first, smooth it out gently over the crème d’amande to remove any air pockets, and press it down all around the sides to seal.

4) Score the galette: Using the back of the tip of your knife (i.e. the dull side), draw a decorative pattern on top of the galette, using just enough pressure to score the dough without piercing it (skip to 7:30 of this video for an example of scoring design) (I free-styled it!). Brush the top of the galette lightly with the egg wash: again, make sure it doesn’t drip over the edges, or the egg wash will seal the layers of the puff pastry in this spot and it won’t rise as well. Using the tip of your knife, pierce 5 holes in the top dough – one in the centre, and four around the sides – to ensure an even rise. Transfer to a rimmed baking sheet lined with parchment paper (or silicone baking sheet, like a Silpat) and refrigerate for 1 hour. (Alternatively, you can place the galette in the freezer at this point, on the baking sheet, and bake it the next day).

5) Bake the galette: Preheat the oven to 360°F; if the galette was in the freezer, take it out while the oven preheats. Insert the galette in the middle of the oven and bake for 30 minutes (35 if it was frozen), until puffy and golden brown. Place on a rack to cool completely and serve at room temperature (or, if you prefer, rewarm slightly in the oven before serving).

***WORD TO THE WISE: don’t attempt to slice the sides of the puff pastry after you’ve laid one layer on top of the other, as I did (I tried to make a more symetrical circle). Doing so will cause the crème d’amande to spill out in a dramatic fashion…

That said, most things are fixable, especially when it comes to “rustic” home cooking…

(and it turns out that the baked filling is delicious on its own.)

Real Christmas

01 Friday Jan 2016

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

≈ 3 Comments

“I can’t believe it’s already over.” – Mom, on the drive home after Christmas dinner

This holiday is charged with so much expectation, emotion and excitement that when it’s over and done – after only a few short days of feasting, hugging and imbibing – it’s hard to believe it ever really happened. Christmas sometimes feels like one big blur of flour and sugar, sloppy two-cheeked kisses, chest colds, Burl Ives, and glitter (bits of which we’ll be finding in our apartment til March.)

The funny thing is, despite the rushing around, the prep, the chaos, the outbursts, the kitchen meltdowns, the set-up, the clean-up, the mountains of dishes, I can’t imagine having it any other way. It’s bacchanal, it’s over-the-top, it’s insane. But it’s Christmas. Not the idyllic, gilded Christmases of the glossy magazines, or of Martha Stewart, or of people we come across on the Internet with seemingly perfect lives. It’s real. It’s messy. It’s exhausting. It’s emotional. But in between the messy bits comes lots of love and togetherness, laughter and gratitude. When we lost power on Christmas Eve – right before the seven-fish dinner was ready for the oven – we managed to pretend we weren’t worried, ignoring the three dozen shrimp quietly defrosting on the counter, opting instead to drink bubbly and eat crackers, while my (ever-optimistic, buoyant) brother shucked oysters by lamplight.

Things certainly could have been worse.

When the power came back on, about an hour later, everyone cheered and kissed and toasted. It was like the final scene in It’s a Wonderful Life. Dinner was back on schedule, the wine flowed freely, and soon enough, the twelve of us gathered around the table for a feast fit for kings.

Once the last fork was laid down and the plates were cleared, Nonna pulled out her reading glasses, mom plated cookies and After Eights and we played Tombola, calling out the numbers in English, Italian, German, and French, so that everyone around the table could put their chips on the right spot. It didn’t feel good beating Grandma at Tombola three times in a row (it just instigated a fit of guilt-ridden, nervous laughter), but it did help me forget about my chest cold, as did learning – on Christmas Eve, no less – that the number 11 in German is both spelled and pronounced “elf”.

Family time aside, the thing I relished most this Christmas – the thing that ended up being the most restorative part of this whole holiday – was the baking. Not because the results were particularly successful (deflated meringues, chewy crackers, and lacklustre cioffe were among the flops), but because I had the chance to do most of it on my own – quietly and leisurely, in crumpled pyjamas. With the year winding down, I came to realise just how much that time on my own – especially in the kitchen – has been (was, is) a subtle luxury. When I used to hear food people say that baking was “meditative”, I’d roll my eyes, thinking Ugh, how cheesy… But it turns out they were right. When you bake on your own, it’s just you, the dough, and nothing else. The rest of it – the distractions and concerns, decisions and regrets – can stay suspended for awhile.

Somewhere between batches of madeleines and biscotti, shortbread cut-outs and these ginger cookies, I found that respite from an unquiet mind can come from nothing more than a little butter, sugar, flour and a rolling pin.

Who knew.

Here’s to making room for doing more of the things we love in the coming year. Wishing you all a bright and welcoming 2016 and looking forward to having you here again soon xx

—–

Orange Spice Madeleines – adapted from Port and Fin
Makes 16

Ingredients

2 large eggs, beaten
⅔ cup sugar
1 cup + 1 Tbsp all-purpose flour
½ cup + 1 Tbsp unsalted butter
¼ tsp salt
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 large navel orange, zest
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp ground cloves
¼ tsp ground cardamom

Directions

1) Melt the butter in a saucepan until it comes lightly browned and has a nutty fragrance (careful not to over-brown it – butter tends to burn rather easily). Set aside to cool slightly.

2) In a medium bowl, mix one cup of the flour, sugar, cinnamon, cloves and cardamom and set aside.

3) In a separate bowl, whisk the two eggs with the vanilla and salt until the eggs are frothy.

4) Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and, with a spatula, stir until just combined. Take care not to over-stir.

5) Add the cooled melted butter and the orange zest and stir. It may take a minute for the butter to blend into the mixture. Again, take extra care not to over-mix.

6) Cover the bowl and place in the refrigerator to rest at least one hour and up to overnight.

7) Prepare a madeleine tin by brushing the moulds with the extra tablespoon of butter and lightly dusting them with flour, tapping off any excess. Place the pans in the freezer for at least an hour.

8) Preheat the oven to 350°F. Remove the batter from the refrigerator and the pan from the freezer. Fill each mould with approximately one tablespoon of batter.

9) Bake the madeleines for 10-15 minutes until the edges are browning and the middle is puffed up slightly. Using your forefinger, press lightly on the center hump – the madeleines are finished baking when they spring back at your touch. Remove the madeleines from the oven and let cool for 2 minutes. Then gently loosen the madeleines from their moulds and arrange onto a cooling rack. Dust with icing sugar (optional) and serve.

—–

Hazelnut Biscotti with Orange Zest – from Canadian Living’s Christmas
Makes about 24

Ingredients

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
3/4 cup whole hazelnuts, skin-on, toasted*
2 eggs
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup butter, melted
2 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 tsp grated orange rind
1 egg white, lightly beaten
1/4 cup dark chocolate, melted, for drizzling (optional)

*to toast hazelnuts, simply lay them out on a baking sheet and bake at 300°F for about 6-8 minutes, or until fragrant.

Directions

1) To measure flour accurately, lightly spoon flour into dry measure, without tapping, until cup is heaping; level off with blunt edge of knife. In large bowl, combine flour, baking powder and toasted hazelnuts.

2) In a separate bowl, whisk together eggs, sugar, butter, vanilla, almond extract and grated orange rind; stir into flour mixture until soft sticky dough forms. Transfer to lightly floured surface; form into smooth ball.

3) Divide dough in half, roll each into 12-inch long log. Transfer to ungreased baking sheet.

4) Brush tops with egg white; bake in 350°F oven for 20 minutes.

5) Remove from oven and let cool on pan on rack for 5 minutes. Transfer each log to cutting board; cut diagonally into 3/4-inch thick slices.

6) Stand cookies upright on baking sheet; bake for 20 to 25 minutes longer or until golden. Transfer to rack and let cool.

7) If you choose to add a drizzle of chocolate to your biscotti: wait until they’ve cooled; then collect a teaspoon of the melted chocolate in a teaspoon and sway it back and forth over the biscotti. Allow the chocolate to set at room temperature before storing.

Note: Biscotti can be stored in airtight container for up to 2 weeks.

—–

Hazelnut Shortbread – adapted from Bakers Royale
Makes about 40 cookies

Ingredients

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup granulated sugar
12 Tbsp unsalted butter, slightly softened
1 large egg yolk
2 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups toasted hazelnut, coarsely chopped
1 cup coarse sugar
8 oz. dark chocolate (for dipping)

Directions

To prepare and refrigerate the dough:

1) Sift flour and salt into a bowl; set aside. With a hand beater, cream the butter on medium-low speed until smooth, about 1-2 minutes. Add in the sugar and beat until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes.

2) Add in the egg and vanilla, beat until blended. Reduce the mixer speed low and in the dry ingredients in three additions. Turn off the beater and fold in the nuts with a wooden spoon or spatula.

3) Portion the dough in half and shape each half into 15x3x1 inch rectangular logs. Press coarse sugar into each side. Cover with plastic wrap and push both ends with your hand toward the centre to tighten the dough. Chill prepared dough for at least 3 hours.

When ready to bake:

4) Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Remove chilled dough and slice cookies to ½ inch thickness. Place each cookie 1 inch apart on a parchment-lined baking sheet.

5) Bake until cookies are lightly browned, about 18-20 minutes. Transfer cookies to a wire rack to cool completely.

6) Melt chocolate on the stove-top by making a bain-marie; stir occasionally. Dip one corner of cookie into melted chocolate and place on parchment paper to set. (you can also sprinkle a bit of flaked salt over the chocolate before it sets.) Serve or store in an airtight container for up to one week.

—–

Toasted Almond Meringues – from mom’s repertoire

Makes about 40

But first, a few notes on meringue…

Theoretically, meringue is supposed to be simple – whip egg whites into soft peaks, add sugar, whip into stiff peaks, bake. But in practice, there are a few key things to keep in mind: 1) if the weather is humid, your egg whites might not rise enough, causing the meringue to deflate and become chewy. 2) It’s important that the equipment you’re using be extremely clean (bowl, beaters). Any trace of grease or fat (say, from a stray egg yolk that makes it into the bowl) can compromise the results. 3) Overbeating can also be a problem, causing the meringue to become more like taffy in consistency. (If you’re looking for more tips, Martha’s actually got some good ones here .)

This time around, my meringues deflated when they were pulled from the oven (see final photo below), on account of the fact that I made them on an unseasonably balmy/humid day and probably overbeat them. To see what these meringues should actually look like, you can find some photos here from my mom’s archive.

To all you meringue newbies – I hope none of this scares you off making meringue. With practice, you start to get a sense of its quirks and soon you’ll be able to whip some up with your eyes closed. At that point you’ll discover that pulling a perfect batch of meringues from the oven can be obscenely satisfying…

Ingredients

2 egg whites (or 1/4 cup thawed eggs whites)
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp almond extract
1 cup sliced almonds, toasted*

*to toast the sliced almonds, simply lay them out on a baking sheet and bake at 300°F for about 4-5 minutes, or until golden.

Directions

Preheat the oven to 300º F .

In a bowl, beat egg whites with the cream of tartar until soft peaks start to form. Gradually add the the brown sugar until stiff peaks form. Fold in the vanilla, almond extract and sliced almonds.

Spoon teaspoonfuls onto a cookie tray which has been lined with parchment paper. Bake in a 300º F oven for 30 minutes. Remove from baking sheet and allow to cool on a metal rack.

Note: these meringues will appear a little more “toasted” than regular meringue – that’s ok. It’s because it calls for brown sugar instead of white.

Care Package

27 Friday Nov 2015

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

≈ 1 Comment

A friend of mine had a little boy just a over two weeks ago now – a beautiful little chicken of a baby, with soft cheeks, delicate fingers and the requisite new-baby smell. He is definitely a sight to behold, with his miniature yawns and peach-fuzz hair. Regardless of a few nicks from his sharp newborn nails – and a few surprise vibrations from his diaper – he charmed me through and through, in that way that babies are preternaturally good at, without even trying.

With the mini baby boom happening in my circle of friends right now, the one thing I’ve come to understand is just how precious the resources of time and energy are to new moms and dads. Squeezing in a shower or running an errand are rare opportunities that are seized with an acute sense appreciation, if not urgency. Other activities, namely, making a full meal, are easily relegated to the back-burner (sorry for the pun). I’ve heard that a banana and a box of crackers will suffice when you’ve been on four-hour sleep cycles – at best! – and have a little person who needs you in a way that no one else has before.

Knowing that my friend and her husband were busy acclimatising to their new unit of three (diapers, feedings, and all the rest of it), I thought I should come equipped with couple of homemade treats – things that could be frozen or eaten as-is, without any prep, aside from a quick re-heating. In fact, it’s also the kind of food any non-parent would want in the fridge or freezer on those frantically busy days when they don’t have one more ounce to give.

Parent or non-parent, this soup and this cake are my virtual gifts to you. Enjoy xx

Turkish Lentil Soup – makes 4-6 servings

225 grams red lentils (approx 1 1/8 cups)
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 stalk celery, finely chopped
1 carrot, finely chopped
3-4 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced in half lengthwise
2 Tbsp tomato paste
1-2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1.5 litres vegetable stock (plus 1-2 cups more, as needed)
1 small piece ginger, grated
2 tsp ground cumin
2 tsp curry powder
1-2 tsp paprika
1 tsp mustard seeds
Fresh mint (or cilantro) and lemon to serve
Salt and pepper

Directions

1) Set the vegetable stock in a pot on medium heat to warm up.

2) Heat the olive oil in a large pot, and sauté the vegetables with the garlic cloves, for about 10 minutes. Add tomato paste, spices and grated ginger, and cook for a few more minutes. Add lentils, washed and drained, and cover with hot vegetable stock.

3) Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer with the lid on for about 30 or 40 minutes, until the lentils begin to fall apart. Add more stock if they look a bit dry (just remember it should be a soup-like consistency). Season with salt and pepper, to taste.

4) Set aside two or three ladles of soup, and puree the rest in a blender (optional).

5) Serve with chopped fresh mint (or cilantro) and lemon juice. Do not skip this – it’s what makes all the difference!

—–

Date-Walnut Banana Cake with Coconut
Lightly adapted from Lunch Lady’s Black Gold Banana Cake
Makes one 9x5x3″ loaf

4 medium overripe bananas
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (I used 1 cup white +1/2 cup whole-wheat)
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
pinch of salt
1/2 cup raw caster sugar
2/3 cup coconut oil, melted
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup Medjool dates, chopped
1/4 cup walnuts, chopped
1/4 cup unsweetened shredded coconut

Directions

1) Preheat the oven to 350˚F.
2) Place the overripe bananas into a mixing bowl and beat until puréed. Add the vanilla, coconut oil, and sugar, and beat again until combined.
3) Fold in the flour, raising agents, salt, and walnuts until thoroughly combined.
4) Fold in the chopped Medjool dates and shredded coconut; pour the batter into a loaf tin lined with parchment paper.
5) Bake for 45 mins to an hour, or until skewer comes out clean, cool on wire rack.

The Merits of Normalcy and Apple Pie

30 Friday Oct 2015

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

≈ 5 Comments

Many moons ago – twenty three years-worth to be exact – I spent a summer at ballet camp. It wasn’t your regular, run-of-the-mill summer camp, though. This one required an audition, in a big theatre, with throngs of people, and a long line of evaluators holding clipboards. This definitely wasn’t sleepover camp, à la Wet Hot American Summer.

I was ten at the time, and it was my dance teacher, Miranda, who had first suggested it. The National Ballet of Canada is coming to Montreal for summer camp auditions. Is that something you’d like to try? It was a conversation she had with my parents and I in her sunny office facing the studio, where Guy, the in-house pianist, made the room resonate with Chopin. I really think you’d have a chance of getting in. You should go! She’d known me since I was three and knew how much I loved dancing. I’d practically grown up at her studio, spending Saturdays and after-school hours spinning around on point, or clicking across the floor in character shoes. It was the place where I’d memorised dozens of choreographies; where I’d learned how to fondue, pas-de-chat, arabesque, and spin round and round on one spot without getting dizzy.

My memory of what followed that conversation in Miranda’s office isn’t crystal clear; I just remember saying “yes” to the proposal, having a geeky photo of myself taken in the local newspaper, and going to the audition, where dozens of chignoned girls milled around with numbers pinned to the front and back of their leotards. The room crackled with excitement; girls giggled and practised their pirouettes. A few others stood nervously, gnawing at their cuticles. After each round, the judges deliberated for an little while, trading notes, glances, murmurs. After some time, I was called back to the table to be told, with bright, toothy smiles, Congratulations! We would like to invite you to our summer camp at The National Ballet School!

I’d never seen strangers so ecstatic for me.

A few weeks later, our family unit of four packed into the Corolla and made the six-hour trip to Toronto, so they could help me get settled in. I shared a dorm room with a girl named Jocelyn – an effervescent, bright kid from BC who had big, blue, friendly eyes. Hi! I’m Jocelyn! Welcome to our room! We became instant friends – the kind you make when you’re in new, unfamiliar territory and you mutually decide that you’re going to stick together like glue. As far as ephemeral camp-friendships go, Jocelyn was maybe the closest thing I had to a best friend. She shared her sour candies with me, along with my quiet uneasiness about Ms. Yovanovitch, the frostiest of all our teachers, who always wore black and didn’t seem very fond of children. It wasn’t long before we gave her a secret nickname – one that rhymed easily with Yovanovitch and was, well…more accurate.

Without even knowing it, Jocelyn made being there seem normal, like the whole thing was no big deal. We worked hard and did as we were told, but when class was over, we didn’t think much about our successes or failures in the studio. Other girls did extra work in the hallways after class, practising choreographies or perfecting their form; some cried at night, worried they weren’t talented enough, or that the teachers didn’t like them. Jocelyn and I had more important preoccupations, like trying to find secret (haunted?) rooms in the school’s hidden corners, or practising party tricks, like reaching our chin with our tongue, in an attempt to mimic the tall gangly girl in the grade above us who could do it with great finesse. (She also happened to be able to stretch both her legs behind her head and walk around on her hands, but that surpassed our (very limited) acrobatic talents.)

As a ten year-old who had always danced for fun, I learned very quickly that camp at The National Ballet is work. You’re there to be disciplined, focused, engaged; your main tasks are to listen, learn, and practice practice practice. Even if you’re not a professional yet, you’re there to be – and behave like – a capital B Ballerina. Yes, it’s exciting and yes there’s downtime, but ultimately you’re there to put in a full day of dancing and to push your body as far as it will go. And in that sense, your body isn’t really your own, but rather an extension of the work. Your feet get bloody and blistered; you wrap them in gauze and tape, then stuff the ends of your point shoes with wads of cotton to cushion the blow. Your limbs and midriff are poked and squeezed and stretched by your instructors – Tight tight tight! Tuck in your belly! Lower your ribs! Head up! Not too far up! Looong necks! Point those toes! Point point point! Hands! Light hands! All of it is done with smiles and good doses of encouragement – Good good good! Beeeautiful! Yes! Comme ça! Oui! – but at times the constant instruction could be dizzying. Miranda might have been a rigorous teacher (she was, in fact, a former National Ballet dancer), but at her studio, dancing was still ultimately about having a good time; about movement and expression. There were no clipboards, no evaluations, no physiotherapists telling us we had abnormalities to “fix”. Prior to ballet camp, I’d never been told that my back had an irregular curvature, or that the arches of my feet weren’t, well, arched enough; I’d never had to stick my feet into stretching devices or undergo back-straightening exercises in a physiotherapy clinic.

This was all weird, new stuff to me; it created a new awareness of my body – both in terms of its potential and its limitations. Since our bodies were under the microscope every single day, it was preoccupation that was palpable, inside the studio, as well as outside of it. During breaks or in the evenings when we’d be getting ready for bed, girls talked about their bellies, their legs, their arms. They compared themselves to others constantly. There were rumours that a couple of the older girls threw up. Before ballet camp, I’d never heard of binging or purging or abstaining from food. And while no one really talked about it explicitly, it was clear that food was treated as fuel or, more nefariously, as an evil temptation. We met with a nutritionist every week who noted our food consumption on her hand-held chart. What did you eat this morning before class? And after class? My mom seems to recall that this was to prevent eating disorders (which in all fairness, it probably was), but I remember thinking it was weird that someone was asking me what I’d had for breakfast. (I never told them that I sometimes complemented my breakfast with a handful of Sour Patch Kids. I pat my ten-year-old self on the back for that one.)

Luckily, none of this had any lasting detrimental effects, due to the fact that I was a pretty naïve kid (as far as I was concerned, I was at summer camp. For FUN!), and that I had incredibly supportive, level-headed parents who were the exact opposite of stage parents – they encouraged my interest in dance, but never made it feel like an obligation, or like my life depended on it. And for those reasons, I don’t have bad or traumatic memories of my time at The National Ballet. Overall, I remember it as an exciting time that was full of new, interesting, fun things. It’s frankly only when I look at it through the lens of an adult that things seem a bit less romantic.

—–

This adult lens was in full focus last month, as I sat in a dark corner of the parterre at Place des arts, watching The National Ballet of Canada perform a highly-anticipated three-part show. It was an incredible performance – the dancers glided and spun across the stage with effortless power and grace – but I was distracted; my mind kept drifting to what-if thoughts. What if I had stayed? What if I’d said “yes” instead of “no when they invited me back? It was an odd thing to consider. I couldn’t fathom how different my life would have been. In that moment, the bodies that moved across the stage seemed surreal – the men looked like Greek sculptures, the women like tall, slender cranes. They looked like other-worldly beings – ones that live, eat and breathe very different things than I do.

From ballet to bodies to diet, I started to think about how staying with the National Ballet (for however long it would have lasted…maybe until puberty?) would have undoubtedly affected my relationship with food. I thought about how my interest in food would have diverged considerably; how I would probably hesitate before eating a piece of cake or a slice of cheese, after doing a mental cost-benefit analysis of the caloric intake.

When I think back to that time, that brief summer when my body wasn’t really my own, it makes me that much more appreciative of the place I find myself in now. It’s a place where I don’t have to worry about my body determining my success; where I don’t have to push my feet into stretching devices or tell a nutritionist what I had for breakfast. It’s a place where I can still dance for fun and where I can make an apple pie for my family and enjoy it with them, without thinking twice.

Amen to that.

Classic Apple-Pie with Lattice Crust – crust adapted from Laura Calder; filling adapted from Apt 2B

For the Crust

2 ¼ cups flour
½ tsp salt
2 Tbsp sugar
1 cup butter, cut into pieces
‎ ⅓ cup ice-cold water

Put the flour, salt and sugar in the bowl of a food processor; then add the pieces of butter. Pulse until you reach a coarse crumb texture. Keep pulsing while slowly adding the cold water through the feed tube until the dough starts to come together (if you don’t have a food processor, you can also do this with your hands.)

Turn out the dough onto a floured work space and work it gently until it comes together, being careful not to overwork it. Flatten into two equal-sized discs and refrigerate for about 20 minutes.

For the Filling

4-5 large apples (about 3 lbs) – I like Cortland, Spartan or Honeycrisp
zest and juice of one lemon
zest and juice of half of an orange
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon allspice
1/8 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 tsp vanilla extract
1Tbsp bourbon
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons butter

Peel the apples and cut them into 1/2” chunks. Place the apples in a large bowl then add lemon and orange juices and zests, stir gently to combine. Add the rest of the filling ingredients (except the butter) and stir gently to combine.

For the Topping

1 egg, beaten
a few teaspoons of coarse sugar (like turbinado or light demerara)

Directions

Preheat oven to 400ºF

1) Remove one piece of the dough from the fridge. On a lightly floured surface, roll it out into a 12” circle 1/4” thick and place it into a 9 or 10 inch pie pan. Place in the fridge while you prepare the rest of the pie.

2) Fill the prepared pie shell with the apple mixture, dot with the 2 tablespoons butter. Remove the second crust from the fridge, roll it out to the same size as the pie dish and cut into long strips (between 1 ½-2”). Criss-cross them in a lattice-top pattern (Bon Appétit has a great little video here), trim the edges so there is about ½” of overhang, then crimp the edges.

3) If the crust seems soft or warm, slide the whole pie into the fridge or freezer for about 15 mins before you bake it. When you are ready to bake brush the top of the pie with a beaten egg and sprinkle with a good dose of coarse sugar.

4) Put the pie on a baking sheet to catch any drips and bake for 15 minutes on the lowest rack of your oven, then lower the oven temp to 350º and bake for 40-50 minutes or until the crust is deep golden brown and the apple juices bubble.

A Good Place to Start

30 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by julia chews the fat in Breakfast & Brunch, Snacking, Sweet Tooth, Vegetarian

≈ 3 Comments

My younger brother and I grew up in a large split-level bungalow in the suburbs outside of Montreal. It didn’t have a white picket fence, but it was flanked by tall weeping birches, big swaths of grass and a cherry tree that bore bright red fruit right around mid-July. From the time we were born, until the time we each turned eighteen, it was the one and only house we’d ever lived in – the one with the family room fireplace and the secret cedar closet disguised as a bookshelf; the one with the damp-ish basement that always gave us the creeps and the “GARDE AU CHIEN” sign on the garage door left by the previous owner (which we kept, despite never owning a dog).

A few short years after we’d flown the coop, my parents decided to sell the split-level bungalow for the same reason most empty-nesters do – too much space for too few people. It was a process that I’d been largely removed from, having just moved in with my college boyfriend at the same time that I’d started my first desk job out of university. But we did come back to the house from time to time, for dinners and birthdays and for the occasional dip in the pool. Once the house went on the market, though, it suddenly became a very different place to be in. This space that was once ours would soon belong to another family, with new sets of feet padding the floors, new laughter, new smells. It was an odd thing to consider, but it was something that would float into my thoughts with every visit, when I’d sink my toes into the grey carpet of my old bedroom, or hear the antique clock chime in the dining room with that deep, guttural bong, bong, bong – both familiar and foreboding.

The house stayed on the market for several months. I want to say that it was close to a year, but my recollection of the exact time frame is a bit fuzzy. I do remember there being a pyrite problem that was discovered late in the game, changing the terms of the sale and the balance in negotiations. I remember that it was a year in favour of buyers, not sellers. I remember that the first real estate agent was a total nightmare and that there were times when the sale of the house felt like it would be in perpetual limbo. But I also remember that, throughout the highs and lows of the house-selling process, my mother baked. And baked. And baked. Before every open house, she’d have something sweet rising in the oven – a lemon loaf, a coffee cake, a pan of blueberry muffins. Initially, I thought it was mom just being mom – the ultimate hostess – but as it tuns out, her objective was strategic. By her logic, filling the house with the warm aroma of baked goods would encourage prospective buyers to – at least subconsciously – feel at home.

It was quite the trick.

The house did eventually sell – to a young family with two kids, a boy and a girl, mirroring our own family unit of four. And while there’s no way of knowing if their choice was influenced by the scent of buttered scones or a batch of oatmeal cookies crisping up in the oven, I suspect it couldn’t have hurt.

—–

All this came to mind a couple of weeks ago, when I was staring slack-jawed at all the boxes on the floor of our new apartment, overcome by that uneasy, post-move feeling where no place feels like home. I knew that if I was going to wrap my head (and my heart) around this new space, I had to take a cue from my mother and – for lack of a better word – “trick” myself into making it feel like home. And so, one quiet evening after work, I plunked my purse onto the floor, flipped on the radio, threw on an apron, and started fiddling in the cupboard for some flour, sugar, walnuts and dried figs – the few ingredients that had made the trip from the old apartment. I also happened to have a Goliath-sized zucchini on hand, recently excavated from Sophie‘s garden; that got shredded and tossed into a bowl alongside two eggs, some yogurt and a bit of brown sugar. The batter was stirred together and scooped into a greased loaf pan, then slid into the oven, where it baked low and slow for the better part of an hour. As the apartment gradually filled with the heady scent of sugar caramelising in the oven, things started to feel a little more familiar and a little less alien. Having something ticking away in there made everything inside these four walls feel more like home. My home. Our home.

There might still be dozens of books on the dining room floor and old wine boxes filled with miscellaneous cooking gear. But we’re getting there. And the kitchen turned out to be a good place to start.

Fig Zucchini Walnut Bread (makes 1 loaf) – adapted from A Brown Table

Ingredients

- 1 lb zucchini
- 1 cup dried figs, chopped
- 2 large eggs
- 1/4 cup minus 1 tablespoon olive oil*
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 3/4 cup brown sugar
- 1/4 cup plain Greek yogurt
- 4 1/4 ounces all-purpose flour
- 4 1/4 ounces whole wheat flour
- 1/2 teaspoon dried ginger powder
- 1/8 tsp nutmeg (optional)
- 1/4 teaspoon kosher sea salt
- 1 teaspoon baking soda
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- 1/2 cup chopped walnuts
- 6 whole figs dried, thinly sliced across their length

*1 tablespoon olive oil + a little all-purpose flour for coating the loaf pan

Directions

1) Place a wire rack in the middle of the oven and preheat to 350°F. Coat a 8 1/2″ x 4 1/2″ loaf pan with a little oil and dust with a little flour.

2) Trim the ends off the zucchini and grate them into fine shreds. Transfer the zucchini into a larger strainer lined with cheesecloth or muslin (or, my personal favourite – a Du-Rag!). Bring the ends of the cheesecloth together and squeeze the zucchini to release as much as liquid as possible. Discard the liquid (or freeze in an ice-cube tray for later use in a vegetable stock) and place the shredded zucchini in a large mixing bowl.

3) Add the chopped dried figs to the zucchini along with the eggs, oil, vanilla, sugar and yogurt. Mix with a wooden spoon until combined.

4) In a separate bowl, whisk the flours, ginger powder, nutmeg, salt, baking soda, and baking powder. Gradually combine the flour mixture into the wet ingredients. Fold the walnuts into the batter and then transfer the batter into the prepared loaf pan. Place the thinly sliced whole figs in a single center row on top of the batter in the pan.

5) Bake for about 45-50 minutes, rotating once during the baking process. To test for doneness, stick a knife in the centre – if it comes out clean (with a few crumbs), it’s done. Allow the bread to cool for 10 minutes in the pan and the run the edges of a knife around the cake. Remove and allow the bread to cool on a wire rack. Keeps for 3-4 days at room temperature.

Getting to Cake

14 Thursday May 2015

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

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I’ve fixated on these photos and this blank page for longer than I’m proud to admit. It’s been an uncomfortable dance – coming back to the page at least a half dozen times, starting, stopping, flipping sentences, deleting whole paragraphs, trying the whole thing over from scratch. At one point, I even poured myself a glass of bourbon, thinking that if nothing else was helping, it might. (It didn’t. I got heartburn instead). At that point, I started wishing I had a typewriter – not because I thought it would solve my writing issues, but because I fantasized about ripping the page from the machine’s roller, crumpling it into a ball, and tossing it unceremoniously into the trash can, along with my frustrations. A bit of visceral, paper-crunching therapy would be nice right now. Somehow, pressing down aggressively on the backspace button isn’t half as satisfying. But, this is real life, not a smoky film noir, so I’ll have to content myself with the sticky backspace button on my I’m-old-and-I-almost-died-but-haha-I’m-not-dead-yet-so-you’re-still-stuck-with-me-you-cheap-bastard! laptop. My only solace is knowing that we’re this much closer to getting to cake. Just a few more words and we’re there…

In the simplest of terms, what I’d like to tell you about this cake is this:

1) It’s drop-dead delicious
2) It’s absurdly easy to make
3) Everyone who tastes it, without fault, will ask for seconds (or thirds, depending)

I think these three points form a pretty solid endorsement, especially when it comes to baked sweets, which often get a bad rap for being fussy. It’s a fail-proof, fool-proof dessert, capable of making anybody’s palate swoon. The batter bakes up fluffy and light, and the blueberries become nice and syrupy, crowning the top in a smooth, indigo-tinged layer. You’ll be grateful to know about this cake the moment you get invited to a last-minute dinner party, or picnic, or office gathering, and you’re asked to bring the dessert!! when really you were hoping they’d ask you to bring the wine and cheese. It’s a cake that comes together really quickly and without much mess, whether you’re a dessert-making novice or a baking pro who’s just feeling a little lazy that day. Once you lay that beautiful thing in front of your dining companions, the pieces will glide effortlessly, one by one, off the serving plate until all that’s left are a smattering of crumbs, blue-tinged lips and happy bellies.

—–

Quick note on the recipe: I’m still using frozen blueberries right now, since we’re not in blueberry season in Quebec yet, but the recipe works with either – fresh or frozen. It’s entirely up to you.

Quick note on the pictures: for the final result, you’ll have to use your imagination – the cake got flipped, berry-side up, onto a serving plate much later in the day and the camera wasn’t nearby. Which is ok, because darting for the camera might have ruined the moment. To give you an idea, it will more or less look like this. When you flip the cake, remember to be bold – lay a serving plate on top of the pan, keep one hand on the plate and one hand on the bottom of the cake pan, and flip, confidently and swiftly, in one go. If you’re worried about the berries sticking to the bottom of the pan, don’t fret – the butter at the bottom of the pan will ensure that the cake slips out of the pan without incident.

Now go forth and make cake!

Blueberry Upside Down Cake – adapted from Canadian Living Magazine

¼ cup melted butter
½ cup brown sugar
2 cups blueberries (fresh or frozen)
1 Tbsp lemon juice
½ cup butter
¾ cup granulated sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 ⅓ cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
¼ tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon (optional)
¾ cup milk

1) Preheat the oven to 350°F.

2) In 9-inch square cake pan, combine melted butter and brown sugar; spread evenly on bottom. Spread blueberries evenly over top. Sprinkle with lemon juice.

3) Cream butter; gradually add sugar, beating until light. Beat in egg and vanilla. Sift or mix together flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon if using. Add dry ingredients alternately with milk to creamed mixture.

4) Spread batter evenly over blueberry layer.

5) Bake in preheated oven for 45 to 50 minutes or until toothpick inserted in centre comes out clean. Let cool 10 minutes in pan, then turn out on to large flat plate.