Hello, Winter.

01 Sunday Dec 2013

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

Well, this is awkward. The last post I left you with involved a late-autumn frolic through the orchard and some apples. And now there’s somehow a solid layer of snow on the ground.

Hm. Funny how that happens.

If it’s any consolation, you haven’t missed much in the kitchen department – I haven’t been cooking a whole lot these days and even when I have, the results have been nothing to cry home about. And with Taste MTL happening earlier in the month, I was busy stuffing my gob here and here for my work with The Main, plus here because I was told it was fantastic (which it was).

Then health stuff made the last couple of weeks feel icky and prompted a lot of early nights, boiled artichoke dinners and zero computer screens after 7pm. It hasn’t exactly been girl-gone-wild around here.

With that unpleasantness out of the way (and with a bit more time on my hands), I’ve been catching up on winter recipe collecting, fattening up my Pinterest board and bookmarking my Ottolenghi and Bernard Clayton cookbooks, all of which has gotten me really jazzed about cooking through the colder months. There’s also the fact that there are ONLY 24 MORE SLEEPS ‘TIL CHRISTMAS, which means I’ve started to daydream about truffles, caramels, shortbreads, fig tarts, ginger cookies, pannetone, paneforte, torrone, clementines, pomegranates, almonds, chestnuts, lemons, persimmons, cinnamon, rosemary, sage, thyme, bourbon…and all the other usual suspects that I’m keen to share with friends and family and you!

While that stuff is in the works, I’d like to leave you with a recipe I made the other day that hit all the right (wintery) buttons. It’s essentially a caramelized, aromatic eggplant filled with pearly Israeli couscous, tangy yogurt and crunchy almonds. You’ll see that the recipe calls for sumac. If you haven’t already used this in your cooking, I highly encourage you to get your hands on some (barter or beg if you have to). Used mostly in Middle Eastern cuisine, it’s a fine, burgundy-coloured spice that has a lemony kick – good for sprinkling over salads, pilafs, roasted potatoes and grilled meats.

Thanks for checking in. See you here again soon, lovelies.

Spiced Eggplant with Herbed Israeli Couscous – serves 2 as a main, or 4 as a side
(adapted from Souvlaki for the Soul)

Ingredients

– 2 baby (Italian) eggplants, cut into 1cm slices
– ½ tsp turmeric
– ½ tsp ground coriander
– ½ tsp ground cumin
– ¼ tsp ground cinnamon
– ½ cup cooked Israeli couscous
– a handful of chopped flat-leaf parsley
– a handful chopped coriander (cilantro)
– ¼ cup slivered (or chopped) almonds, skin-on (or not)
– olive oil
– lemon juice
– salt and pepper
– Greek yogurt to serve
– sumac for garnish (optional)

Directions:

Pre-heat the oven to 350° F. Combine the ground turmeric, coriander, cinnamon and cumin in a bowl.

Drizzle the eggplants with some olive oil and and rub each with some of the spice mixture. Cook in the oven till eggplants have softened (approx 30-35 mins).

Combine the cooked couscous, herbs and almonds along with a drizzle of olive oil and a squeeze of lemon juice. Stir to combine.

Spoon the couscous mixture into each eggplant piece, adding a dollop of yogurt and a sprinkle of sumac to each. Serve straight away.

Orchard tale, apple tart

26 Saturday Oct 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Breakfast & Brunch, Cooking For Your Peeps, Food Away From Home, Sweet Tooth, Vegetarian

≈ 4 Comments

It was mid-October when Shane, Margaux and I went apple picking in Oka. We walked through dewy grass, relishing the cool, fresh air that smelled of earth and leaves. Everything was misty and moody and gorgeously still.

It being late in the season, and drizzling, meant that we were the only three people in a large, rolling orchard surrounded by flame-coloured trees. We wandered through the rows, plucking apples, some as dark as plums and others as large as grapefruit. From time to time, geese flew overhead in squawking, V-shaped strings.

We carried our bounty back to the house to be weighed, where our host served hot cups of carrot-apple soup. Our plans to go for a short hike were overheard. “You can reach the National Park through the orchard, you know.”

Grateful for the advice, we followed the long path through the orchard to the point where it met the Park, stepping into a tree-filled landscape dotted with yellow leaves that fell to the forest floor like snowflakes.

On the edge of the forest came a clearing, leading us to a look-out over the River of Two Mountains. In a miraculous change of weather, the cloudy mist had given way to full sunshine, beaming and hot.

—–

The only consolation for leaving this enchanting place was the batch of round, red beauties we got to take home with us – four kinds, each with a personality of their own.

While all were delicious, I had a soft spot for the crunchy, plum-coloured Empire, which were used in this tart. I wasn’t sure they would survive the heat of the oven, but they held their shape, fanning out elegantly along the crust and bejewelling the top of the custard with their beautiful, dark skins. It sounds chic, but it’s actually very simple. And a nice way to pay homage to the familiar flavours of apple, vanilla and butter. If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the orchard.

French Apple Tart – makes enough for one large tart + one small

Shortbread pastry – adapted from a Laura Calder recipe

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 a disc and refrigerate for about 20 minutes.

Filling – adapted from The Encyclopedia of French Cooking, 1982

juice of one lemon
1 ½ lbs crisp apples
⅓ cup milk
⅓ cup heavy cream
2 eggs, beaten
¼ cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract (or ½ tsp fresh vanilla, from the pod)

Pour the lemon juice into a large bowl. Cut and core the apples one by one, slicing them thinly (about 1 cm thick) and adding them to the bowl of lemon juice, stirring to prevent discoloration.

Preheat the oven to 450°F.

Remove the dough from the fridge and roll it out on a floured surface into a circle large enough to line the base and sides of a tart pan (preferably with a removable base). Roll the rolling pin over the top to remove the access dough off the sides.

Arrange the apple slices in a tart pan in a circular pattern, working from the edge of the dish inwards, and overlapping the slices slightly. Bake in the preheated oven for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, put the remaining filling ingredients in a bowl and whisk together.

After the 10 minutes, remove the tart pan from the oven and reduce the oven to 375ºF. Pour the egg mixture over the apple slices. Return to the oven and continue baking for an additional 30 minutes at 375º F. Serve warm.

Verger écologique d’Oka
445 Rang de l’Annonciation
Oka, QC J0N 1E0
(450) 479-6464
www.vergerbrabantvincent.wordpress.com

(Orchard photos by Shane, Margaux and me)

Recipes in absentia – almonds and artichokes

07 Monday Oct 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking For Your Peeps, Snacking, Vegetarian

≈ 2 Comments

Those of you who don’t see me in my day-to-day have politely inquired if I’m still alive, if I’ve been suffering from a physical ailment or if I’ve escaped to a cabin in the woods without access to electricity or other humans.

While these are all very inventive deductions, none of them (fortunately?) reflect reality. I didn’t fall into a bottomless pit or knock my head and get amnesia. The truth is much more boring. The truth is, I’ve just been…

busy.

There are times when things hit you full throttle, all at once, and you end up spreading yourself a little too thin. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing (except for the spreading too thin part – that, as it happens, leads to migraines). It just means you have to reassess your free time so that you don’t completely lose your marbles. In my case, that means evenings and week-ends have been gobbled up by a variety of commitments, most of them in the realm of food – some involving menu-planning and cooking, some involving writing and research, and some involving an intersection of both – and all of which (unlike this blog) have been tightly connected to other people’s scheduling, all of it having to be done outside of the hours of my full-time day job. (which itself has a lovely by-product in the form of a 2-hour daily commute.) (bless all you people who do this with children. You are forces of nature.)

In the few sporadic lulls, I haven’t had the juice (nor physical, nor mental) to put down words on this page, opting instead for some catch up of these and these and reading this and listening to this, usually during those 20 gorgeous minutes before bed, or the relentless commute to and from work (I like my job, but that bus+subway+bus commute is a total soul-sucker). In the few quiet moments, I’ve stuck to things I know will be a guaranteed good time and, most importantly, far, far, far, faaaar removed from anything having to do with food.

—–

The first two weeks in October are stacking up to be a bit bonkers too, but I’m taking advantage of this Monday night respite to bring to you two recipes, both of which were made for a cocktail gathering organised by a photographer friend for a low-key shoot. I think you’ll like them – the almonds are smoky, salty and sweet, and partner up well with a pre-dinner drink (beer! bourbon! vermouth!); the artichoke bites come from a recipe I stole from my mom, who stole it from my grandma (thieves, the lot of us…). Mom’s is a much lighter version, as it uses panko instead of traditional breadcrumbs, which tend to get heavy and bit stodgy. I like to serve them warm with a lemon aïoli and some raw veg, like fennel or radish. Both recipes are highly addictive and tend to make a splash at parties – make them for friends and/or anyone you are trying to seduce. You’re bound to make the right impression.

—–

A final note: if I disappear again for a little bit, know that I’m likely still kicking around somewhere – perhaps invisible, but not far – and thinking about the next tasty concoction I’m eager to share with you.

Until next time, be well. Eat well.

Spiced Almonds – adapted from Laura Calder (makes about 3 cups)

1 cup whole, unsalted almonds (with their skins)
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 teaspoon hot paprika
2 teaspoons chopped fresh rosemary
2 teaspoons brown sugar
2 teaspoons olive oil
fleur de sel (or sea salt)

Directions

Heat the oven to 400°F. Spread the almonds on a baking sheet and toast until darkened and fragrant (about 8 minutes). Remove and spill into a sauté pan, placed on medium heat. Add the cumin, cumin seeds, hot paprika, rosemary, and sugar. Drizzle with the oil and toss over the heat to coat (shaking the pan to coat them evenly works best). Add the fleur de sel and spill onto a baking sheet to cool. Once cooled, serve or store in a jar.

—–

Breaded Artichoke Bites – makes approx. 30

2 cans (about 13oz each) artichoke hearts – in water, not oil
4 eggs, beaten
1/2 cup flour
1 cup panko breadcrumbs
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tsp salt
2 tsp parsley, finely chopped
1/3 cup grated parmesan
1/2 cup sunflower or vegetable oil

(*Note: the flavourings can be adjusted to suit your taste, so feel free to play around with the quantities of garlic, parsley, cheese and salt by tasting the breadcrumb mixture as you go)

Directions

1) Strain artichokes and cut into 3-4 pieces (depending on the size you want); place on paper-towel or dish-towel and set aside.

2) Mix together panko breadcrumbs, garlic, salt, parsley and parmesan.

3) Set up the flour, beaten egg and panko mixture in separate bowls.

4) Working in batches, place a few artichoke pieces in the flour and, working with two forks, dip into the beaten egg mixture, then the breadcrumbs, tossing lightly to coat.

5) Place finished pieces on a plate while you finish up the others.

6) Place a frying pan on medium-high heat and add the oil to the pan.

7) Once the oil is hot (but not smoking), reduce the heat to medium and fry the artichokes in batches, turning them once the bottoms are barely-golden and cooking them until the coating is evenly golden. Repeat in batches (try not to overcrowd the pan)*.

8) Transfer cooked artichokes to a paper towel-lined tray.

9) Serve warm or refrigerate (2 days max) and reheat on a parchment-lined baking sheet at 350°F for 8-10 minutes, turning once halfway through.

(*Note: if at some point the oil seems to be “dirty” with lots of darkened bits of breadcrumb, discard the hot oil in a tin and start the next few batches with fresh oil).

Lemon Aïoli – makes about 1 cup

1 large egg yolk (the best you can afford)
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
3/4 cup olive oil (the best you can afford)
lemon zest from 1/2 lemon
lemon juice from 1/2 lemon
1/4 tsp salt

Directions

In a small bowl, whisk together the egg yolk and mustard. Whisking constantly, add the oil in a slow, steady stream. The aïoli should be quite thick. Whisk in the lemon juice and salt. Serve chilled, alongside artichoke bites.

—–

How to survive a tomato massacre

08 Sunday Sep 2013

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

≈ 1 Comment

Nine hours of my day yesterday were spent hauling, sorting, washing, blanching, peeling, squeezing, cutting and stirring tomatoes, then ladling their hot flesh into Mason jars, all while giving and taking instructions in a bastardized mix of three languages within the confines of a steamy kitchen splattered with tomato juice.

I do this every year. And every year it feels like the trading floor of the New York Stock Exchange. I wouldn’t change it for the world, but sometimes it’s enough to make you want to scream into a well-feathered cushion.

So here we are, the morning after, and I’m still not running on all cylinders (one major clue being that I washed my face with hair conditioner). I’m hoping this cup of coffee will be the miracle cure, to avoid any other bleary-eyed mix ups and to help me regain some sense of focus. Fingers crossed – very tightly.

Since things are not making much sense this morning, I won’t attempt to write a poetically long piece here. I’d rather just get straight to the point – which is this:

CRISPY SALT AND PEPPER FRENCH TOAST

I bring it up here and now as a small ode to the hearty, carb-filled breakfast that got me through yesterday’s 9-hour tomato massacre. This is the humble food I am always grateful for. And I suspect that, no matter what your day has in store, you will be grateful for it too.

CRISPY SALT & PEPPER FRENCH TOAST – serves 2 (adapted from Food 52)

– 2-3 eggs
– a splash of milk (or cream)
– 1/8 tsp salt
– 1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
– 1/2 green onion, finely chopped
– a few sprigs of cilantro, finely chopped
– butter
– 4 slices day-old bread

In a bowl, beat together eggs, salt, pepper, green onion, cilantro and a splash of milk (or cream).

Heat a frying pan over medium-high heat. Melt a knob of butter over the surface until it’s thoroughly covered.

Dip the bread into the egg batter, drain off any excess, and place straight into the hot pan. Fry for 2 to 3 minutes on each side, until golden-brown and crispy. Serve warm with a drizzle of maple syrup or something tangy/spicy like sriracha sauce.

Relishing the peach days

17 Saturday Aug 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Breakfast & Brunch, Lunch & Dinner, Vegetarian

≈ 7 Comments

Oh hello there. It’s been a while. How are you? How’s your summer been?

I’ve neglected this space lately, it having taken a back seat to some other things – namely, attending this beautiful tear-jerker in Roscommon, Ireland (that groom is my baby brother, looking swank in a white suit)…

…and soaking up this scenery:

…and visiting this rad place:

…and stuffing my face along the way:

And, well, it being summer, the idea of a picnic blanket and a book – or a beer on a patio – has been a lot more enticing than interacting with the Internet. So if I’m here, bathing in the glow of my computer screen, it’s because there’s something worth sharing.

The timing of this entry is also important, as the MVP of this recipe (the peach) is nearing the end of it’s season in Ontario, meaning that availability in Québec is becoming slimmer as we move through the month of August. If you live in the same climate zone as me, over the next few days you’ll likely be binging on the last of the berries and melons and stone-fruit before they’re all gone for another year. And if you haven’t had this impulse, remember: we’re talking A WHOLE YEAR here. Imagine how depressed you’ll feel in late November when you realize you never ate one fresh strawberry, one blueberry, one peach all summer, while you’re eating your fifth rutabaga of the week. You’ll want sort this one out before the summer’s over; you’ll need the memory of plump berries and orchard harvests fresh in your head to help get you through the icy, blustery months of November through March. The salad below will provide a nice memory you can look back to when you’re waiting for the bus in 20 inches of snow.

This recipe puts the peach up front and centre, without any frills or unnecessary distractions; its simplicity ends up being its strongest asset. The fruit is cut open and grilled, then tossed onto vinegary salad leaves with shreds of buffalo mozzarella. Bits of fresh chives and peppery onion slivers are mixed in, adding a nice hum to the whole thing.

Find a day to eat this lovely mess of a salad, sitting on a blanket in the grass. With your hands, if you prefer. Lick the bowl. Lick your fingers. But most importantly, relish the moment. Summer will appreciate the earnest send-off.

Grilled Peach Salad – serves two as a light main (adapted from Farmhouse Table)

3 peaches* (or 4 nectarines), cut in half and pitted
flaked salt (like Fleur de sel or Maldon salt)
2 large handfuls of mixed greens, washed and dried
1/2 small red onion (or one shallot), finely sliced
2-3 oz. buffalo mozarella, torn into bite-size pieces

*Note: for the love of god, DON’T punish your peaches by putting them in the fridge. Doing so will make them hard and acidic. Leave them on the counter and consume over the next few days. If you’re worried about fruit flies, cover them with a plate or something like it.

For the dressing:

2 Tbs. white balsamic vinegar (or cider vinegar)
1 tsp. honey
1 tsp. whole grain mustard
approx. 1 Tbs. minced chives
1/4 cup (or 4 Tbsp) olive oil

Lightly salt the cut sides of the peaches, drizzle very lightly with olive oil and place cut side down on a hot grill*. When the peaches are charred and have begun to soften, remove them to a platter and set aside.

To make the dressing, place vinegar, honey, mustard and chives in a small bowl. While whisking constantly, slowly drizzle in olive oil until emulsified. Toss salad leaves and onion with vinaigrette and place in a serving dish. Spread peaches and mozzarella on top of the greens and drizzle with a little more dressing. Serve straight away.

*If you (like me) don’t have a BBQ, you can toss the peaches into a preheated grill pan – not exactly the same result as putting it on an outdoor grill, but you still get those nifty charred marks.

Learning to grin and bear it

30 Thursday May 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking For Your Peeps, Food Away From Home, Sweet Tooth, The Basics, Vegetarian

≈ 11 Comments

“One of the secrets, and pleasures, of cooking is to learn to correct something if it goes awry; and one of the lessons is to grin and bear it if it cannot be fixed.” – Julia Child

A couple of weeks back, I took a short viennoiserie class with the lovely people at La Cuisine Paris, where pastry chef Guillemette guided half a dozen of us through the different techniques and steps required to make croissants, amandines and chocolatines. It was a bit of a surreal experience (pastry class, in Paris, in the springtime – pinch me), and despite not really being in my element, I ploughed away and left the class with a palpable sense of accomplishment. However minimal that accomplishment may actually be in grand scheme of things…still…I MADE CROISSANT. High five.

Arriving back in Montreal, I knew that if the information was left to hang out in the dusty recesses of my brain, I was sure to forget the details and subtleties that Guillemette had imparted to us. Not wanting to waste the potential of the experience, I stocked up on supplies and found the first available weekend to make a go of it. To my surprise, I also had volunteers willing to roll up their sleeves and do it with me – which was perfect, because not only would I have additional man-power, but I’d also have (other) inexperienced people to blame if it all went to hell.

Just kidding ♥

—–

The start was promising – I had my yeast from the baker, my electronic scale, my mise en place. The whole set-up was disturbingly perfect. Even the starter dough, the thing I was most worried about, seemed to look and feel like it should when I tucked it into the fridge to rest overnight. I began to feel a little like Maria in that scene from the Sound of Music.

But soon, I was brought back to the reality of my amateurism. And things got ugly. Fast.

On the second turn (folding) of my puff pastry dough, the underside was showing signs of tearing. At first, it was just one tear, which I quickly (sloppily) patched up. But then the more I rolled, the more the dough started to look like it was suffering from third degree burns. The butter began to ooze out from air pockets that had formed during rolling, resulting in a pot-marked dough that looked nothing like the one I had made in class. Family was in the room, so I restrained from swearing aloud, but in my head there was a foul-mouthed sailor blaspheming on repeat.

Distracted by my ugly, ugly dough, I forgot to add a slick of egg wash to the first batch of croissants, which may explain why they turned out more like overcooked dinner rolls. My ~~guinea pigs~~ taste-testers assured me they were good, but I’m pretty sure I heard someone compare them to the kind that come in the blue tube – you know, the one with that freakishly upbeat, miniature weirdo made of dough. With that as the barometer, I can’t say the croissants came close to the real deal. But while you wouldn’t pay good money for them, you’d probably eat them if they were hanging out on your aunt’s brunch table…and you were bored.

Then came the amandines, which looked promising before going into the oven, but then for some reason, decided to get their freak on: as they baked, the almond paste flowed liberally off the pastry, causing these pretty little “baskets” and “pinwheels” to morph into nondescript blobs, some of them binding together and making Siamese twins (I blame this not on the recipe, but rather my decision to make the almond flour from scratch. Bad move…).

The saving grace in this whole process were the chocolatines. They (miraculously) turned out flaky and delicious and even looked normal. Not perfect, not the best…but good. The taste-testers even took seconds, which is usually a good sign. Right at the moment when my faith in this experiment was sinking, the chocolatines bolstered my confidence and gave me hope that it is possible to make good croissant at home.

Phew.

—–

I suppose the bigger lesson in all this is that sometimes our expectations in the kitchen are shot down; sometimes the bread hasn’t risen or the cake has stuck to the tin or, in the words of Ms.Child, “the cat has fallen into the stew”. C’est la vie, mes amis. What would be more tragic is if these kinds of experiences turned us off from ever trying these things in the first place…

…ultimately causing us to miss out on moments like these:

Because, let’s be honest – an afternoon in the company of apron-clad men is time well spent.

On that note, I whole-heartedly encourage you to try making your own croissant. Here are a few things I learned (the hard way) and that you might want to keep in mind:

1) Give yourself plenty of time. No matter what recipe you end up using, all of them will require you to rest the starter dough (minimum 6 hours for mine) and the rolled dough between “turns” (folds).

2) If the dough seems warm or sticky or springs back a lot when rolling, put it back in the fridge. Along the lines of the point above, you’re better to err on the side of caution and rest your dough, even if it’s for a longer period of time than the recipe suggests.

3) When rolling the dough, be firm but gentle. The final result you’re aiming for is a light, flaky croissant that has several airy layers. It won’t reach it’s potential if you start getting rough with it – you’ll end up tearing the dough and making holes in the layers. NO BUENO.

4) Chill out. You are not a pastry chef, nor trying to be one. If things start to look scary, step away for a minute and take a deep breath. The Earth will not stop turning if your croissants aren’t perfect. Even if they’re inedible, you get a gajillion food-nerd points just for trying.

—-

One last thing: Guillemette has kindly allowed me to share her almond cream recipe with you (merci Guillemette!). It’s traditionally used as a filling for almond croissant (amandines), but it’s also wicked in coffee cake and probably most places you would normally use marzipan.

Almond Cream (makes about 2 cups) – from La Cuisine Paris

55g sugar
55g softened butter
1 egg (also about 55g)
55g almond flour
15 g all-purpose flour
almond extract or rhum (to taste)

Combine butter and sugar in mixing bowl and mixwith a wooden spoon until creamy. Add egg and mix until completely combined. Add the almond flour and all-purpose flour and mix well. Add flavoring and stir to combine. Cover and place in fridge 10-15 minutes before adding to amandines (can be kept in the fridge for up to 4 days or frozen and defrosted in the fridge).

Lone wolf-ing it

29 Monday Apr 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking Solo, Lunch & Dinner, The Basics, Vegetarian

≈ 4 Comments

I will admit that eating alone, and actually enjoying it, is somewhat of an acquired taste. Cooking just for yourself can be severely unmotivating because a) you know that you don’t need to impress/take care of anyone else; b) no one will reproach you for eating crackers for dinner or plucking something directly out of the jar with the fridge door wide open; and c) after a day of working, commuting, running errands, and overall hustling, it’s hard to muster the courage to dive head first into the kitchen to construct a meal. Once you get home after navigating through bursts of people and cars and buses and potholes, that popcorn and half-empty bottle of Perrier start to look like the best thing you’ve seen all day. In other words, when we’re tired and we know we’ll be dining solo, we usually gravitate towards things that are easy to grab and immediately gratifying (helloooo pickles), ultimately leading us to spoil our appetite for anything more substantial.

But I’m here to tell you that there’s is a better way. Even if you’re feeling capital “L” LAAAZY. Put down the box of Triscuits and allow me to introduce me to your new best friend: Cacio e pepe.

This is one of my go-to meals when I’m feeling completely bagged and uninspired. It takes under 10 minutes to make, it’s warm and comforting and home-made and a gentle reminder of how lone wolfing-it can be, well…nice.

Cacio e pepe (serves 1)

¼ lb good-quality* dried spaghetti, linguini or bucatini
¼ cup (plus 1 Tbsp) very finely grated good-quality parmesan**
freshly ground black pepper
sea salt

*given the simplicity of this recipe, the quality of the ingredients is paramount. Don’t cheap out. You’ll regret it.

**for dishes like this, grating cheese on a microplane or the smallest holes of your box grater works best – that way the cheese melts as soon as it hits the hot pasta, resulting in a oozy, luscious plate of goodness.

Directions:

Cook the spaghetti in a large pot of boiling salted water until al dente.

Put a medium pot of fresh water to boil; once the water has reached a rolling boil, season with salt and add the pasta.

While the pasta is cooking, fill a deep glass or ceramic dish with hot water and submerge your favourite pasta bowl or plate in the water to warm it up before serving.

Once the pasta is cooked al dente, reserve ¼ cup of the cooking water, and then drain the pasta in a colander. Do not shake off the excess water. Transfer back to the pot, off the heat, and sprinkle with ¼ cup of the cheese and about 1 Tbsp of the cooking water. Mix to combine. Add a little more cooking water if you think the pasta looks dry.

Remove the pasta bowl from the warm water (without drying it) and place the pasta into it. Finish with some freshly ground black pepper and a sprinkling of the remaining cheese. Serve straight away with simple steamed greens or a salad (if desired).

Croissant speed-dating

21 Sunday Apr 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Breakfast & Brunch, Snacking, The Basics, Vegetarian

≈ 6 Comments

As I sit here and write these words, the scent of butter is emanating from by being. This is not a metaphor, or a poetic musing. I just straight up smell like butter. It might seem like an odd thing to confess, but these days, smelling like butter makes me feel like I’m doing something right.

Here’s why.

In 2 weeks and 2 days I’ll be heading to Paris (!) for the first time (!!). While I’ve already mapped out the standard Paris virgin’s itinerary (one that includes that little tower and little museum), I’ve also made room for a few other things, including a viennoiserie class in the 4th arrondissement where I’ll be learning how to make croissants, amandines and chocolatines. With a French pastry chef. BY THE SEINE.

Pinch me.

By total coincidence, April 20th happened to be “La Fête du croissant” in Montreal, which means that over a dozen bakeries in the city were showcasing their version of the iconic French crescent and offering them at reduced prices. Under the guise of “research” for my upcoming class, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to ~~eat an obscene amount of pastry~~ take some notes. I enlisted a few friends to do some bakery-hopping with me to help determine what made a good croissant, and what made a not-so-good croissant, assessments based on the holy Parisian tenets of:

appearance
layers/texture
sound/smell
taste

4 friends, 4 bakeries, all within a 4-block radius of my apartment. Voici les observations:

9:25am – with Julie at Monsieur Pinchot’s

Overall look: flat; floppy; not really crescent-shaped; the way someone’s eyes look after a long cry
Layers/texture: layers? what layers?; cakey interior; greasy
Sound/smell: no crunch (thus no sound); sweet, buttery smell
Taste: surprisingly nice taste…if it wasn’t pretending to be a croissant (Julie says, “Oueh…pas les meilleurs.”)

—–

9:50am – with Simon at Co’Pains d’abord

(*Note: due to large demand, they were out of regular croissant, hence the chocolatine)

Overall look: pleasantly plump; toasty-coloured exterior
Layers/texture: visible layers; airy; rises back up after you bite into it
Sound/smell: crispy shell that crackles nicely; scent of butter
Taste: pleasantly buttery; lightly yeasty (in a good way) (N.B I discovered that Simon likes to eat the crispy exterior in its entirety before the soft interior. He gets points for adorability.)

—–

10:30am – with Marko & Marie-Lou, breakfast with croissants from Le Grain de blé

Overall look: perfect crescent shape (Marie-Lou says, “It looks like a crab.”)
Layers/texture: uniformly toasted exterior; heavier than they appear; dense; overcooked ends
Sound/smell: slight crunch when squeezed; no memorable scent
Taste: underwhelming; we ended up making ham & cheese sandwiches with them (Marko says, “Yeah, these suck.”)

—–

11:55am – Fous Desserts, with yours truly

Overall look: relaxed crescent shape; golden exterior; lightly glossy; sexy
Layers/texture: visible, delicate layers; easy to pull apart; crispy exterior; airy, soft interior
Sound/smell: exterior had a satisfying crunch; scent of wheat and butter
Taste: rich butter taste that hits the tongue and melts; very lightly yeasty; nicely balanced in sugar and salt

—-

Of the four, Fous Desserts knocked it out of the park. Their croissant is epic. From now on, there is no need for me to go anywhere else in my neighborhood. This is croissant that slays all others.

If you live in Montreal, or are visiting, here’s where you can find them:

Fous Desserts
809 Av. Laurier Est
Montréal H2J 1J2 [Qc] Canada
Tel: +1.514.273.9335
http://www.fousdesserts.com/acceuil.html

Thanks again to Julie, Simon, Marko & Marie-Lou xx

A riot of pink

09 Tuesday Apr 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Lunch & Dinner, Soups, Vegetarian

≈ Leave a comment

If per chance, you plan on spending time with a group of 6-year-old girls (and, like me, do not have the experience of being a parent) know this:

1) Despite seeming level-headed and charming, they are complete maniacs. I don’t even feel bad about saying that. They’re mental. Especially when grouped together for an afternoon birthday party, with sustained access to sugar and chocolate. In their presence, you will bear witness to a level of shrieking that will be equal parts astounding and frightening. You will stand around with the only other adult in the room, wide-eyed and helpless, while drawing air circles with your index finger around your temple, silently mouthing the words “THIS IS FUCKING CRAZY”. Right from the start, your body will switch on to full alert, your heart will start racing and you will develop a slow, but sharp headache right between the eyes. You will seriously contemplate your ability to make it through the next three hours, possibly even the next three minutes.

…also, little girls:

2) Wear a TON of pink. They love it. They covet it. They want everything in it. They might’ve gone through a phase where they liked blue or yellow, and as they grow up, they’ll likely come to appreciate the whole spectrum of colours. But right now, their brain only acknowledges one colour: PINK. It’s a force to be reckoned with. Observe the evidence:

Coincidently, these two observations found their way into the recipe below. Beets help lower your blood-pressure (to recover from little-girl-freak-outs) AND they have the magical property of turning bright magenta when blended with liquids. Ultimately, this soup will make everyone happy – the adults get to restablize, and the miniature raving lunatics get their pink soup. Win-win.

Warm beet and fennel soup (serves 4) – adapted from Bon Appétit

2 Tbsp olive oil
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup chopped fennel bulb
1 1/2 tsp fennel seeds
2 large beets, peeled, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
2 cups chicken broth (or vegetable stock)
1 cup soup cream
additional sour cream for decorating (optional)
fennel fronds, for garnish (optional)

Directions:

Heat olive oil in large saucepan over medium heat. Add chopped onion, chopped fennel, and fennel seeds. Sauté until vegetables soften, about 5 minutes.

Add cubed beets and stir to coat. Add chicken broth and bring to boil. Cover; reduce heat to medium-low. Cook until beets are tender, 18 to 20 minutes.

Purée soup in batches in a blender (or with a hand blender). Return to the same saucepan season soup with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Add the sour cream* to the soup in the saucepan and rewarm gently. Ladle soup into bowls. Drizzle with additional sour cream and garnish with fennel fronds, if desired.

*If your sour cream is straight out of the fridge: place 1 cup sour cream in a bowl, then add one small ladleful of soup, stirring to combine. Repeat twice more until the sour cream is tempered – this will help avoid the curdling that can happen when cold dairy hits hot soup.

Greek jigsaw puzzle

21 Thursday Mar 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Lunch & Dinner, The Basics, Vegetarian

≈ 4 Comments

Sometimes the decision to make one meal over another comes down to what’s hanging out in the fridge. It’s not romantic. Or intellectual. It just, is.

But that’s ok, because I think a lot of us are predisposed to rifling through the fridge (and pantry), rounding up what’s there and assessing our options. If there’s something missing, I might excavate something from the freezer (pesto, rapini, cooked canelli beans…) or head to the store to fill in the blanks. It might not be the most exciting way to pull together a meal, but the act of selecting and matching disparate items from your kitchen and making something delicious can be pretty satisfying – like watching a jigsaw puzzle come together. And this nerd LOVES a good jigsaw puzzle. Like this one, for instance.

It’s a Tuesday night, and I have exactly six things in my fridge aside from condiments, some butter and a sad-looking yellow pepper: phyllo, eggs, spinach, green onion, feta, cream – a Greek sextet that cleanly spell out:

SPA-NA-KO-PITA

The missing piece here is the dill, for which I will have to make an excursion through the remnants of a 30cm snowfall. But the dill is crucial, so I suck it up and suit up.

—–

A little while later, laying eyes on the final product – a flaky confection of souffléed eggs speckled with bright green spinach and soft feta – I am consoled that it was worth every slushy step.

Spanakopita (makes about 4 servings for a meal)

(Note: This recipe is one that my mom was given by a friend via a Greek woman in the 70s – in other words, this recipe has total Greek cred. It was a staple at dinner parties, when mom would fold them into bite-size triangles and serve them around the room while guests drank cocktails – a notion that conjures up images of people in brightly-colored florals, walking around holding a spinach pastry in one hand and a Harvey Wallbanger in the other. Everyone smoking indoors. It’s probably not exactly how things went down, but that’s how I like to imagine it. Growing up in the 80s, I just remember them being an exciting feature at family gatherings…and also being the first thing to vanish off the buffet table.)

Ingredients:

1 lb. (1 package) fresh phyllo dough
1/2 cup melted butter
16 oz fresh spinach
4 green onions
large handful fresh dill (about 1/2 cup finely chopped)
1/4 cup finely chopped parsley
1 cup crumbled feta cheese
4 eggs well beaten
1/2 cup 35% cream
pinch of salt
pinch of pepper

Directions:

In a small amount of boiling water, cook the spinach leaves just until wilted. Transfer to a bowl of ice water until completely cooled. Drain the spinach, wring with your hands to remove the moisture and set aside. In a food processor, finely chop the green onions and set aside. Put the dill and parsley in the bowl of the food processor, finely chop and set aside. Pulse the cooked spinach a few times in the food processor.

Heat about 2 tablespoons of butter in a frying pan and cook the green onions on medium heat for 1 minute until translucent. Add the dill and parsley, season with the salt and pepper, and continue cooking an additional minute, until soft. Remove from the heat and combine with the spinach. In a separate bowl, beat the eggs and whisk in the cream. Add the spinach mixture and the crumbled feta cheese to the eggs. Set aside.

Preheat the oven to 375°F

Brush the bottom of an 8×8 inch baking pan with butter. Place one sheet of phyllo in the pan and brush with butter. Repeat until you have 6 layers. Place the spinach mixture on top of the phyllo and spread evenly.

Now, you have 2 options:

1) Take the edges of the phyllo that are spilling over the pan and fold them over the top and brush with butter.

2) Trim the edges and add another 6 layers of phyllo dough, each brushed with butter.

Place the pan in the oven and bake at 375°F for 25-30 minutes or until golden brown. Serve with a simple green salad.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: