Ice Cream Isolation

‘Sheltering in place’ gives me time to do useful things like watch videos on Instagram. A Frenchman in a pirate shirt basting asparagus catches my attention, then someone’s thumb shaping orecchiette pasta. The ‘stories’ roll on until I see Mimi Thorrison’s daughter holding a bowl of saffron ice cream. I wonder if I can get through lockdown without my own tub. I can’t. I put an ice cream maker into my Amazon cart then tack on a pasta roller. 

A masked man pushes a box onto our doorstep. I yell, "the ice cream maker is here!" The children clamber over the box and my son cheers, “let’s make Mint Chip!” My daughter counters, “no, Bubblegum!” The little one presses buttons off and on. I say we’ll make them all, but first, Saffron. The recipe, adapted from Sweet Middle East by Anissa Helou, uses cornstarch instead of an egg custard base. It comes out silky-smooth and is much easier to make than the custard sort. The saffron flavour is delicate and addictive. This is a lovely ice cream. My daughter says it tastes like cardboard but that’s because she’s not sophisticated like Mimi’s children.

She plans to open an ice cream stand serving flavors like ‘Unicorn Party’ and ‘Unicorn’s Garden’ this summer. I tell her it sounds like a lot of work. She assures me she doesn’t mind. I’m eager to try a recipe for cucumber sorbet from one of my favourite cookbooks, British Columbia from Scratch by Denise Marchessault. My enthusiasm has everything to do with her suggestion to dump gin over the top.  

Saffron Ice Cream - recipe adapted from Sweet Middle East by Anissa Helou

• 2 tablespoons cornstarch

• 2 cups whole milk

• Teaspoon saffron threads

• Pinch of sea salt

• 3/4 cup sugar

• 1/4 cup sour cream

• 1/4 cup heavy cream

• 1 teaspoon orange blossom water or rose water

• 1/3 cup pistachios (optional)

Directions:

1. In a small bowl, whisk cornstarch with 1/2 cup milk. Pour 1/4 cup milk into a small saucepan and heat until very warm but not boiling. Crush saffron threads between fingers and put into warm milk along with salt and let sit for 20 minutes.

2. Pour remaining 1 1/4 cup milk into saucepan and heat over medium-high heat. Whisk in cornstarch mixture. Continue whisking until mixture boils and thickens. Reduce heat to medium-low. Add sugar and whisk until completely dissolved - about 8 minutes.

3. Remove mixture form heat and transfer to bowl. Whisk in sour cream, heavy cream and rose water (I made my own rose water from dried petals I had and found 1.5 teaspoons was right. Concentration of flavour can vary so start small and taste test).

4. Cover with tea towel and let cool completely, whisking every 5 minutes or so so skin doesn’t form on the top.

5. Once cooled cover with plastic wrap, pressing the wrap directly onto the mixture. Place in fridge to chill completely - at least 3 hours.

6. Transfer mixture to ice cream maker and process according to manufacturer’s instructions. Transfer to airtight container and put in the freezer to harden. Serve with chopped pistachios if you like.

Lazy Fisherman's Stew

It's Spring! Or is it? If you looked out the window to check you probably found Old Man Winter spitting on your lawn. He refuses to F off. 

Dreary weather makes me want to eat braised meats, stews and soups. It also makes me incredibly lazy. This stew doesn't bother with anything in shells or with bones. They're just more to fiddle with and clean up. The caramelizing of the tomato paste and onions, deglazed with a whole cup of wine, quickly develops a rich broth. All you have to do is add some fresh fish and a few things from a can or the freezer. 

I serve this with fresh homemade bread. Don't worry - it's lazy bread. This recipe from Alexandra Stafford is no-knead and so quick and easy. You can mix it up in a few minutes and have it rise while you make the stew. There is nothing better than warm homemade bread smeared with a big slab of butter. My four-year old agrees. 

Maybe if I invited in Old W for a bowl of soup he'd warm up and head off to New Zealand. Good riddance.

Lazy Fisherman's Stew

3 Tbsp olive oil
2 Tbsp butter
1 large onion, finely minced
3 cloves garlic, crushed
1 Tbsp smoked paprika
1 pinch saffron threads
2 Tbsp tomato paste
1 bay leaf
1 cup dry white wine
14 oz crushed San Marzano tomatoes
2 1/2 cups fish stock or clam nectar
1.5 lbs firm fresh fish like cod, cut into cubes
1 can crab law meat
1 can clams
1/2 pound jumbo prawns, shelled and devained (frozen is fine)
chopped parsley
salt and pepper

Heat oil and butter in heavy bottomed dutch oven or large pot. Cook onion for a couple minutes until soft. Add smoked paprika and tomato paste and cook over medium heat for about 8 minutes until quite dark and caramelized, stirring frequently.

Add the garlic and saffron threads, give it a quick stir then pour in wine and pick up any stuck bits with a wooden spoon. Boil to reduce for about 3 minutes. Add fish stock or clam nectar, crushed tomatoes and bay leaf. Bring to a boil then reduce heat to a gentle simmer and cook uncovered for 15 minutes.

Add fish and prawns and cook, covered, for 5-7 minutes until prawns are pink and fish cooked through. Add crab meat and clams and stir to heat through. Test the broth and salt and pepper to taste. It will probably need a bit of salt but how much will depend on how salty your stock and seafood were.  

Garnish with chopped parsley and serve right away. 

Why Paris Let me Down

I wrote my final university exams and weighed a summer in Paris against launching my career – whatever that might be. The choice was clear: I raided my mom’s silk scarves, filled half my suitcase with high heels and glided onto French soil a week before convocation. I’d grapple with real life later; this was Paris(!) after all.

I went to French classes in the mornings and learned enough to argue with Parisian taxi drivers and banter with bartenders. I resumed a smoking habit and drank too much. Those were the good parts. I sipped bottles of rosé after class and blew smoke across restaurant tables and NOBODY was outraged. It was great.

That summer was unseasonably damp. Old cities washed in warm rain are gross (I know, smoking is gross too). Centuries of grime splashed over my feet as I walked to the language school. I put my heels on a bookshelf and wore closed-toe flats instead. The Metro smelled of metal, sewage and sweat, ripened with rain and overcrowding. The train carried me swiftly around the city so I tolerated the smell for convenience.

I walked a lot and scanned passing silhouettes for the celebrated Paris street fashion. Only I couldn’t find any. Running shoes, t-shirts and jeans were standard. I asked a saleswoman where the fashionable French were and she said, “culture Américain” with an exasperated shrug. America was ruining the world, one cotton t-shirt at a time (typical). Maybe I’d just buy a French Vogue.

Aside from updating my fashion notes, I planned to eat fabulous French cuisine. I ate meals at restaurants, cafes and boulangeries and not one lived up to Paris’ reputation for outstanding food. Some restaurants were financially prohibitive and there was no Yelp app, so maybe I got unlucky. Maybe not. On occasions when the sun did shine, I preferred a picnic with cheese, saucisson, baguette and an inexpensive Côtes du Rhône.

I went to Lyon for a vacation from my vacation and all the food was excellent. I said this to my French teacher in Paris who said, “Yes, of course. The food in Paris is not good”. She turned down her mouth and stuck out her tongue in disdain. The best meal I ate in Paris was a falafel plate with braised cabbage, roasted eggplant and hummus in the Marais district. It really was fantastic.

By August I had visited the Sacre Couer and the Musee d’Orsay – both impressive – but the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre were still on my ‘must-see’ list. I walked to the base of the Eiffel Tower three times but the lines were either outrageous or the views obscured by fog. I gave it up as a bad job. But I wouldn’t leave Paris without seeing The Louvre.

The pleasure of art, for me, comes from the emotion and thought it conjures. It’s personal. The Louvre was too immense for intimacy. I got lost. I wandered in circles, peering over throngs of tourists at art I wanted to enjoy. I chucked my floor map and headed outside and into lashing rain. Rain streamed down the Metro stairs, which quickly filled with people. I walked home. Still dripping, I called Air Canada to move up my flight home.

I know Paris can’t be blamed for my lack of direction or the weather. There were sunny days where the grass at Tuileries garden was so green against ancient buildings. And I saw the fabled rooftops of Paris from the Ferris wheel at Place de la Concorde. I also met some great people. But Paris has flaws – many of which are more serious than the ones mentioned here – so I can’t understand how every account of Paris I’ve heard has been, “Fabulous!” Is it because that’s what you’re supposed to say? Or did I just not get it? Here’s what I say: the emperor has no clothes and his royal feast is falafel.

Ottolenghi’s Falafel

Just in case that made you hungry, here is Ottolenghi’s recipe for falafel from Jerusalem. Served with braised or pickled cabbage, zhoug, roasted eggplant, hummus and mint yogurt sauce, this plate is a flavour mecca. 

I oven fried these at 475° on two baking sheets lined with 4-5 tbsp of neutral oil. Heat pans with oil for a few minutes then cook falafel for 4.5 minutes then flip and cook for another 4.5 minutes. Still delicious but if you want the real deal, you gotta deep fry. The original recipe is below. 

1 1/4 cups dried chickpeas
1/2 medium onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 tbsp finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
2 tbsp finely chopped cilantro
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp ground coriander
1/4 tsp ground cardamom
1/2 tsp baking powder
3 tbsp water
1 1/2 tbsp all purpose flour
about 3 cups sunflower oil for frying
1/2 tsp sesame seeds for coating
salt

Soak chickpeas overnight, covering them with water at least twice their volume.

The next day, drain chickpeas well and combine them with the onion garlic, parsley and cilantro. Blitz the mix in batches in a food processor, pulsing each for 30-40 seconds, until finely chopped but not mushy and holds together.

Once processed, add the spices, baking powder, 3/4 tsp salt, flour and water. Mix well by hand until smooth and uniform. Cover mixture and leave in fridge for at least one hour.

Fill deep, heavy-bottomed saucepan with enough oil to come 2 3/4 inches up the sides of the pan. Heat the oil to 350°F. With wet hands, press one Tbsp of mixture in the palm of your hand to form a patty or ball the size of a small walnut.

Sprinkle the balls with sesame seeds and deep-fry in batches for 4 minutes, until well browned and cooked through. Drain on paper towels and serve at once.

Afternoon Tea with Gingery Ginger Cake

On a visit to London I had a steady buzz from the gallons of tea we drank. My hosts woke up and said, “I’ll put the tea on”. We got dressed and someone said, “Let’s have a cup of tea before we pop out”. We visited neighbours and relations who lowered trays of tea and biscuits and said, “Cup of tea, dear? Then we headed home … for tea. Every meal was punctuated with tea. And who can sleep without a cup of tea?!

It was relentless but I did become fond of tea and cake around 3pm. Story has it that Anna Russell, Duchess of Bedford, founded the custom of afternoon tea. In the 1800’s only a light luncheon was served between breakfast and a very late dinner. Without a bite all afternoon Lady Bedford got a “sinking” feeling around 4pm (Amen, sister!). This trailblazer took tea and small sandwiches or cakes in her rooms and invited friends. The British practice of afternoon tea or ‘low tea’ was born. ‘High tea’ is actually an evening meal associated with the working classes, eaten between 5pm and 7pm. So when I eat macaroni and cheese with my kids at 5:30pm we’re having high tea. It sounds more civilized than it looks.

An un-iced bundt cake is the perfect accompaniment to a pot of tea and an afternoon lull. This Chocolate Zuchinni Cake is a gem as is this Gingery Ginger Cake. That’s right, it requires ginger twice in the title because of the deep flavour. Hot tea and a spiced cake is like a warm hug in a winter that refuses to end.

Gingery Ginger Cake
Source: Canadian Living

3 cups all-purpose flour
1 tbsp cinnamon
2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp ground cloves
1 tsp ground ginger
3/4 tsp salt
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1 cup each vegetable oil and fancy molasses
2 eggs
1/2 cup water
2 tbsp minced gingerroot
1/2 cup chopped crystallized ginger
1 tbsp incing sugar

Grease and flour 10-inch Bundt pan: set aside.

In a bowl, whisk together flour, cinnamon, baking soda, cloves, ground ginger, and salt. In large bowl whisk together sugar, oil, molasses, eggs, water, and gingerroot. Stir in flour mixture a third at a time. Stir in crystallized ginger. Pour into prepared pan.

Bake in centre of 350 degree oven for about 1 hour or until cake tester inserted in centre comes out clean. Let cool in pan on rack for 30 minutes. Remove from pan: let cool completely on rack. Dust with icing sugar.

Waffling

Breakfast isn’t my thing. I prefer to suck back a latte and let hunger strike mid-morning when I’m hopelessly far from food.  It must be genetic because the children push away perfectly poached eggs and toast then demand SNACKS! when we arrive at the park. I  dig through a bag of mismatched socks, receipts and general garbage and come up empty handed because being prepared clearly isn’t my thing either.

Sometimes we stay in and eat breakfast at 10am when everyone is good and hungry. They are the most satisfying breakfasts, if the least productive days. Last week I pulled out the mini waffle iron Lila got at Christmas to make ‘old fashioned’ waffles with yeast. It took two attempts for the yeast to bloom, then 30 minutes for the batter to rest.  They were spongy, fluffy and very tasty with just confectioners sugar. On successive waffle mornings I put together a recipe with marmalade for depth and baking soda for speed (sometimes you need to leave the house before 3pm). These waffles are perfectly crisp, fluffy and delicious.

Slow Life Waffles

1 3/4 cup cake flour
1/4 cup corn starch
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
2 tbsp sugar
3 eggs, divided
1 3/4 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup whole milk
1/2 cup vegetable oil
dash of salt
2 tbsp marmalade (Optional. The marmalade gives a depth of flavour without tasting orange-y and makes them extra crispy because of the added sugar)

Whisk flour, corn starch, baking soda, baking powder, sugar and salt in large bowl.

Whisk egg yolks, oil, buttermilk, marmalade in separate bowl.

Beat egg whites to firm peaks in separate bowl.

Whisk wet ingredients into dry until you have a mostly smooth batter. Fold in egg whites.

Follow directions for waffle iron and cook until desired crispiness and toasting.

To Three or not to Three?

I consider the question while stirring risotto.

I want a third child … I think. But there is so much to consider. Do I have the patience? Can I endure more sleep deprivation? Am I too old? Can my marriage handle it? Will the baby be healthy? Will one child be left out? Do I really want this?  The questions are endless and after a lot of consideration, there are no answers. Just nagging want. Is that enough? The questions continue.

My husband doesn’t want another. Our first was colicky and never slept more than 30 minutes at a time. The second cried less, but kept us awake for a couple years. Most babies do that, despite what advice books tell you. The best advice I can give is to throw them in the trash (the books, not the babies … as tempting as it can be). Our marriage suffered. We had different parenting styles and argued bitterly at 3am about what to do with the screaming baby. We were tired. We were grumpy. We weren’t ourselves. But then miraculously they both started sleeping and we found the people we lost in the desperation and piles of laundry. We made it, albeit, a little frayed.

This summer my husband and I were getting dressed for a friend’s wedding. I wasn’t pregnant and the kids were old enough to hang with Grammy for the night. I put on a slinky black dress and we were going to drink highballs, dance to hip hop, and hit McDonald’s on the way home. Old school.

“We have a boy and a girl!”, I answered while dancing to Rihanna  when a divorced dad of twin boys asked if we had kids.

“The kid jackpot!”, he yelled over the too-loud music and continued dancing alone on the shiny country club floor.

So why rip up a winning ticket? That, I can answer. I love my kids so much that there aren’t enough of them. I want two more hands splashing in the bath and another giggle at the dinner table. I want more hilarious one-liners only two year-olds can deliver and a tiny hot body, almost indistinguishable from my own, sleeping on my tummy.

Is three the tipping point? People have four, five, six kids. Couldn’t we manage three? Do I value my independence too much to sign up for two (or more) all-consuming years? Will I be regretful if I don’t? Will Shane ever come around? The unanswered questions rage on.

But limbo has it’s merits. I enjoy the kids with a rested mind that is creative, fun and able to weather their emotional storms. I can also make risotto. Risotto is a dish that is impossible to make with a baby. So tonight I’ll pour a glass of pregnancy contraband, cook risotto and toast to sleep and the unknown.

Risotto with preserved lemon and caraway seeds

The preserved lemons give this risotto a deep lemon flavour and the caraway perks it up. I’ve served it with prawns but would be good on its own or with any meat.

1 1/2 cups Aborio rice
3 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp butter
1/2 tsp caraway seeds
1 large shallot
1 clove garlic, crushed
1/4 preserved lemon, chopped
1/2 cup dry white wine
6 cups homemade chicken stock (store bought really isn’t the same)
large squeeze fresh lemon
1/4 cup mascarpone cheese
1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, grated
Salt and pepper to taste

Bring the stock to a simmer in a medium saucepan. Toast the caraway seeds in large saucepan on medium heat for about a minute. Pour into bowl and set aside.

Heat oil and butter in the same saucepan. Saute shallot until soft. Add the garlic, preserved lemon, caraway seeds and rice. Stir, coating the rice in the onion mixture and cooking for a couple minutes until slightly translucent.

Add wine and stir until almost all is absorbed. Add stock, one ladleful at a time and stir until almost absorbed until adding the next. Continue until rice is tender but al dente. stir in Parmesan, mascarpone, squeeze with fresh lemon and salt and pepper to taste.

Curried Lentil Salad

The rent to live at my parents’ house while attending University was cooking one dinner a week for the family. My sister and I happily signed the lease. I hadn’t much experience and was frantic trying to cook a whole meal while reading a recipe. Dinner was always late and vegetables often dropped from the menu. Techniques like ‘folding in’ and ‘blanching’ were mysterious and nothing was intuitive. I’d dirty every dish in the kitchen and turn out meals that were eaten out of politeness. Crumbly fishcakes, watery clam sauce that refused to cling to linguine, and mushy stir-frys are some failures I remember. There were more.

With time and practice (sometimes) came success. I felt proud when a dutiful mouth took a bite then relaxed into a smile and reported, “Mmm, good” or something to that effect. My dad is not inclined to lie for the sake of niceties so you knew you had a dud when his end of the table was silent. These days he’ll just tell you if he doesn’t like it. We appreciate his candour … most of the time.

The best purchase I made during these first years of cooking was The Complete Canadian Living Cookbook. The 350 recipes are tested extensively and every one I’ve made is very good. What’s more, the techniques are easy, ingredients accessible and most recipes can be executed in 30 minutes or made ahead. this is still my favourite, most reliable cookbook and as a parent, I cherish it.

All this to say, I wanted to share one of the most thumbed recipes in this book: Curried Lentil, Wild Rice and Orzo Salad. I often serve it for company and alongside fish on a weeknight. Kids love it too.

Curried Lentil, Wild Rice and Orzo Salad

* The original recipe (below) calls for currants and slivered almonds but I often substitute flaked unsweetened coconut for the almonds. I’ve also used barberries instead of currants which are fairly sour and only slightly sweet. They work well if (like me) you don’t like much sweetness in your dinner. 

1/2 cup wild rice
2/3 cup green or brown lentils (I use one small can)
1/2 cup orzo pasta
1/2 cup currants
1/4 finely chopped red onion
1/3 cup slivered almonds, toasted

Dressing:

1/4 cup cup white wine vinegar
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp dijon mustard
1/2 tsp each granulated sugar, salt and ground corriander
1/4 tsp each tumeric, paprika, nutmeg, ground cardamom
Pinch each cinnamon, ground cloves and cayenne
1/3 cup vegetable oil

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cover and cook wild rice for 35 minutes or until tender. In a separate saucepan of boiling salted water, cover and cook lentils for about 25 minutes. In third saucepan of boiling salted water, cook orzo for about 5 minutes or until just tender.

Drain rice, lentils and orzo; transfer to large bowl. Add currents and onion; set aside.

*To cut down on dishes, I cook the rice then put in large bowl to cool slightly then use the same pot to cook the orzo, rinse a can of lentils and put everything into the bowl with the rice

DRESSING: In a small bowl whisk together vinegar with mustard, sugar, salt and spices. Whisk in oil. Pour over rice mixture and toss gently.

Let salad cool completely; cover and refrigerate for 4 hours. (Make-ahead: refridgerate for up to 2 days.) To serve, sprinkle with almonds.

*While it does taste better after it sits a while, it still tastes great right away so if you don’t have time to let it sit, don’t sweat it. 

Birthday Season and Chocolate Fudge Cake

Our family has seven birthdays from the beginning of September to November. It’s a lot of celebrating and a lot of cake. This year I hosted a party for my husband and sister who share a birthday. We served cardamom fried chicken, BBQ ribs, curried lentil salad and and this excellent Ottolenghi lemon semolina cake.

I forgot to curate a music playlist and began youtubing music videos on TV. Thankfully, a musician guest spared everyone my lurching mash-up and ducked out for his turntables and spun the party into the night. I drank more than a host ought to and dishes were smashed. In other words, a roaring success.

My daughter’s 4th birthday was a few days later and I made our favourite meal, macaroni and cheese. She requested a pineapple cake and I botched it. The cake was dry as biscuit and my coconut icing separated. I tried to make it look appetizing by piping on a pineapple, but it melted into a yellow blob that I topped haphazardly with green sprinkles. Four year olds are forgiving. Lila saw it and asked, “Is that a pineapple? How did you do that!?” She blew out the candles and I held my breath as she took the first bite. She looked at me and said, “This is a good recipe, isn’t it mommy?” My heart welled and I gave her a big hug. “Yes it is”, I said.  

I planned to roll my son’s birthday into Thanksgiving by putting a candle in the pumpkin pie and singing happy birthday after turkey. He won’t remember. He’s two! Alas, we got a last minute invitation to my aunt’s for dinner and I thought sticking candles in her pie might be rude so we ordered sushi and I made sticky toffee pudding. He played with his new paw patrol basketball hoop and blew out two candles like a pro.

My dad turned 77 years old this year, but hasn’t aged for the last 20. He and I are purists when it comes to birthday cake. It must be “the chocolate cake” as it is known in our family. My mom scored the recipe from an episode of Julia Child: Cooking with Master Chefs in the ’80s. I baked it for my dad and my mom cooked pan fried steak and asparagus with Bearnaise sauce. I wanted to eat the sauce with a spoon just like my son. Too bad as an adult I had to pretend I wanted more asparagus. We washed it down with dueling Bordeauxs, but no one could remember which one they were drinking or which they liked better.

My mom’s birthday was a big one. Sixty. We popped a few bottles of the good stuff because they don’t call her Champagne Cindy for nothing. My grandmother’s maiden name is Champagne and the women in our family hold that lineage dear.

I made caviar canapes, corn blinis with guacamole, beet salad and Osso Bucco. My sister made a six-layer sponge cake with homemade jam and buttercream with a lavender flower crafted on top. The moment the cake was unveiled I realized she should’ve been charged with Lila’s pineapple. We ate and drank and celebrated the matriarch of our family who has become stronger (I mean this literally. She’ll move a couch down a flight of stairs) and more chic with age.

My family will gather around the table tomorrow, sing happy birthday to me and eat cake to mark the end of this year’s birthday season. I’m tempted to say don’t bother since we have eaten eight cakes in as many weeks. But no one turns down the chocolate cake.

Chocolate Buttermilk Cake with Fudge Frosting  

My mom was reluctant to share this recipe since it has become a family treasure. I assured her that few people read this blog and even fewer make the recipes so she conceded. So if you want it, the secret is yours. 

Cake

1/2 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup butter
5 large eggs
1/3 cup cocoa
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup cake flour

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Butter two 8″ cake pans. Line the pans with parchments paper and butter the paper. Dust with flour.

Warm the buttermilk and butter together in the microwave or in a small pot until butter is just melted.

Separate the eggs.

Stir in a large bowl the 1/3 c. cocoa, the 1/2 cup sugar and the 1 tsp baking soda. Add the buttermilk mixture and stir.

Beat the egg whites on high until frothy. Gradually add 1/2 cup sugar and whip until firm peaks form.

To the cocoa mix, add the 1 tsp vanilla and the egg yokes. Sift the 1 cup cake flour into the cocoa mix and stir. Fold egg whites into cocoa mixture.

Divide the mixture into the 2 pans and gently rock to level. Bake for 30 minutes until toothpick comes out clean. Cool in pans for 5 minutes and then turn out onto rack. Leave paper on until ready to assemble.

Fudge Frosting

1 1/3 cup water
1 1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup light corn syrup
4 oz bittersweet chocolate
I cup unsalted butter, cold, cut into pieces
1 tsp vanilla

Put water, sugar and corn syrup into a pot on high heat. Stir until sugar is dissolved. Using a candy thermometer, boil until 235 degrees F (soft ball stage)

Meanwhile, gently melt chocolate (2 min on med-low in microwave or over hot water).

Put syrup mixture into mixing bowl and gradually add butter pieces. Add melted chocolate and vanilla.

Chill in fridge until firm. 3 hours or overnight. Then whip with electric mixer.

To assemble, cut each cake in half, making 4 layers and spread frosting evenly over layers.

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Creamy Stovetop Mac & Cheese

My favourite meal is macaroni and cheese. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) I don’t eat it often because my husband is not a fan so I rarely make it for dinner. The evenings can be long if I’m on my own with the kids, but I always find solace in a giant pot of macaroni and cheese.

I recently whipped up a batch without baking it to speed things up. I used the leftover bits and bobs of cheese in the fridge, which included some mascarpone. The result was a creamy, cheesy sauce that hadn’t absorbed into the noodles too much. I shoveled down a couple bowls and decided I’m done with baking my mac n’ cheese.

This recipe could be doubled if you’re serving a large family.

Creamy stovetop mac n’ cheese

2 tbsp butter
1.5 tbsp flour
1/4 cup cream
1.5 cup whole milk
1 cup grated old cheddar
1/2 cup mascarpone cheese
1/4 cup blue cheese
couple dashes Tabasco
2 cups macaroni
salt and pepper

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil and cook macaroni for 8-10 minutes or until al dente. Drain.

Meanwhile, melt the butter over med-high heat. Add the flour and cook for a minute or 2 until slightly golden. Turn heat down to medium and slowly add the cream and then the milk a bit at a time, whisking to thicken it evenly (too fast and the macaroni will have a grainy texture). Bring to a boil. The white sauce is done when you see it coats the back of a wooden spoon.

Remove white sauce from heat and add the salt, pepper Tabasco and all the cheese. Stir until everything is melted and add the cooked macaroni. Heat over medium until hot through. Serve.

Panko Fried Fish

A friend of mine had the brilliant idea to take our kids to Horseshoe Bay for a picnic dinner of fish and chips. The drive is the best part: 30 minutes with children restrained, radio up and gorgeous views. We ordered a two-piece meal from the Troll’s takeout window and watched the kids climb on a whale statue. The fish and chips were crispy, greasy and delicious. The kids ate ketchup and tartar sauce with the odd french fry. With no dishes and a sunset on the drive home, I considered it a successful evening. Unfortunately, it left me with a touch of guilt and more than a touch of a stomach ache.

I’ve tried to make a crispy, lighter alternative to battered fish at home and failed. The coating either resembles soggy cardboard or falls off in crumbs. As it turns out the secret to crispy fish is simplicity. My mom picked up this recipe from her friend, Suzanne, who elegantly uses tongs to coat a cod fillet in egg, then panko and into the frying pan. That’s it. No flour, no batter, no mess. And it’s perfect.  

I usually make tartar sauce to accompany the fish, but since I’m super lazy, I decided to make coleslaw with a tartar-style dressing to eliminate a step. I don’t think the meal suffers for it and kids are more likely to eat their vegetables.

I still love a Horseshoe Bay picnic, but now we stick to pasta bowls.    

Panko Fish
Serves 4

2 lbs cod or firm white fish cut into 6 pieces, 1-1.5 inches thick (salmon can be used as an alternative, but cod has a better texture)
2 eggs
100 grams panko crumbs
Salt and pepper for seasoning
Oil for frying

Preheat oven to 300 degrees fahrenheit and place cookie sheet in oven with rack on top. 

Pour panko onto a plate and beat the eggs lightly with a fork in a wide bowl. Pat fish dry and season liberally with salt and pepper.

Heat about 3-4 tablespoons of oil in a non-stick pan on med-high heat. One at a time coat the fish in the egg then dip in the panko, pressing on crumbs so it is covered evenly. Fry in two batches for about 3 minutes a side, depending on thickness. Check it and adjust heat if panko begins to brown too quickly.

Place on rack in oven for 5 minutes to finish cooking while you start the next batch. Plate the first batch while the second is in the oven then serve with a squeeze of lemon and tartar slaw.

Tartar Slaw

½ head of green or purple cabbage, shredded
3 carrots, grated
5 green onions, chopped
2 tbsp capers, drained and chopped
6 mini cornichons, minced
½ scant cup mayonnaise
3 tbsp white wine vinegar
1 tbsp dijon mustard

Place shredded cabbage in a colander and sprinkle with about 2 tsp salt and let sit for 30-45 minutes. Press down with clean tea towel or paper towels to remove extra moisture (you can skip this step if you’re running short on time). Place cabbage, carrots and green onion in a bowl. Mix all other ingredients together for the dressing then toss with cabbage mixture. 

Veronica's Green Curry

As a girl in 1960’s India, my mother-in-law Veronica slept on the floor with six brothers and sisters, as was customary for children. In the morning they rolled away sleeping mats to free their living space and ate a traditional crepe with a chutney of coconut, chili and lime. Rice and moong beans were ground on stone and fermented daily by servants to make these dosai. This was before automatic grinders and blenders were commonplace and meal preparation was labourious. School lunches were cooked mid-morning and collected by a dabbawala who piled stainless steel boxes of rice, lentils and stewed vegetables on her head and walked them to school. Once lunch was eaten, the boxes were gathered and returned to each student’s residence. The logistics were complicated, yet expertly executed. Spices were freshly ground with a pestle and mortar in the evening to make vegetable-based curries for dinner. Meat, such as goat and lamb, was enjoyed once a week as were prawns or fish that were bicycled in from the coast and local rivers. All of this might be washed down with a glass of milk collected from the neighbour’s cow.

Families of even average wealth employed servants to help with cooking and housework. Like the dabbawalas, they were women contributing to their family’s income. They ground spices and prepared meals under the direction of Veronica’s mother, who decided the menu and provided ingredients and instruction. Once a month she fed her seven children their dinner by hand from a communal plate. This custom connected the family through a meal the way we might convene over a Sunday roast. In later, leaner years her mother cooked every meal and Veronica began the arduous task of grinding flour for the morning dosai. When she was 18, a boy attending a nearby mechanic school tried to win her affections. He would sit and talk to her while she worked smoothing grains of rice against the stone of an aattukkal. Three years later they would emigrate to Canada together.

It wasn’t until I was pregnant with Lila that both Shane and I tried her green curry for the first time. It was deliciously tart and spicy. Unlike most of Veronica’s cooking which is learned from her husband’s family or out of Canadian cookbooks, this is her mother’s recipe. The name ‘curry’ may be misleading as the only spices are a dash of tumeric and black pepper, but the flavour is robust and distinctly South Indian. I ask Veronica to make it every time she visits and I’ve made it enough times that my husband can’t tell a difference between chefs (or so he says). It’s a fairly simple dish so a good place to start exploring Indian cooking, which is like learning another language. If only I had the same zeal and work ethic it takes to pulverize rice and beans by hand, I’d be fluent in no time. But Veronica is cut from tougher cloth than me.

Veronica’s Green Curry

3 tbsp oil
1 1/2 lb tougher cut beef like flank steak or round cut into small strips. Could also substitute any lean meat like venison or pork loin
3 waxy potatoes like yukon gold sliced into rounds
1 1/2 tbsp vinegar
½ cup water
1 1/2 inch ginger chopped into bits
1 hot green chili
2 large green peppers
4 cloves garlic
1 yellow onion
½ tsp turmeric
¼ cup cilantro, packed
1 ½ tsp pepper
Salt to taste

Season meat generously with salt and pepper. Keep 1 tsp pepper aside.

Heat oil on medium high heat in dutch oven and brown the meat. Meanwhile put green peppers, onion, garlic, ginger, chili and cilantro in blender and blend until smooth. Once the meat is browned, dump the contents of the blender into the pot. Rinse out blender with the water and add to the pot. Bring to a boil and simmer covered for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally and adding small amounts of water at a time if sauce becomes too dry.

Season to taste with salt. It requires a fair amount. Add turmeric and stir. Add potatoes and cover to simmer for an additional 20 minutes or until tender and bitterness of turmeric is gone. Add vinegar and reserved pepper and cook for another minute or 2. Serve with rice and raita (recipe follows).

Raita

*This raita only has 3 ingredients but is delicious. Sometimes the simplest things are the best.

1 medium yellow, finely minced
2 cups 6% yogurt
Generous amount of salt to taste. It starts to take on a bit of a sweet flavour when enough salt has been added. Start with 1 tsp.

Mix ingredients together and let sit for 30 minutes before serving

San Fran Fried Chicken

The taste of freedom and cardamom fried chicken lingers after a weekend in San Francisco, so I’m in the kitchen dredging drumsticks.

My husband had a short work engagement in the city and I tagged along. We clunked plastic cups of Bloody Marys together as we climbed to 30,000 feet and the kids settled in for a sleepover at Grammy’s. The apartment we rented was more “engineer flop house” than “romantic retreat”, but it was quiet and clean and you never know when a Playstation or ergonomic desk chair might come in handy. We toured the city in a haphazard, unplanned way which you can only do as free agents. We meandered through fisherman’s wharf, took in views from coit tower and visited the haunting Sutro baths. We also ate fantastic food.

On the recommendation of friends we had made reservations at Foreign Cinema. The outside terrace is canopied by strings of lights and bordered by a large white wall where old movies are projected after dark. The images of Gigi flickered behind us while we enjoyed flights of wine, oysters and cardamom-scented fried chicken. We had one (or two) nightcaps, talked and laughed, then slept until nine the next morning. It was like stealing a slice of time from a decade ago.

A couple weeks later I invited the extended family over for a Friday of fried chicken and wine to bring a little of San Francisco north. It was perfectly crisp and moist with hints of fragrant cardamom. Not so romantic, but delicious all the same.

Cardamom fried chicken

*A little research revealed some tips for excellent fried chicken every time:
1. Soaking overnight in buttermilk results in reliably moist chicken
2. Adding cornstarch keeps your crust crisp without being rock hard
3. Peanut oil has a high smoking point and best flavour for frying
4. When you drop cold chicken into hot oil, the oil cools around the chicken so keep it moving every few minutes so it is constantly exposed to hot oil.

Ingredients:

1 fryer chicken cut into 10 pieces
Peanut oil for frying

Marinade:
500 ml buttermilk
2 tsp salt
1 tsp pepper
1 tsp ground cardamom
1 tsp curry powder

Dredging flour:
3 cups flour
¼ cup cornstarch
2 tsp salt
1 tsp ground cardamom
1 tsp curry powder

Combine ingredients for marinade and cover chicken to refrigerate overnight. Take out of fridge 30-45 minutes before frying. Combine all ingredients for the dredging flour and set aside. Prepare a sheet pan with rack on top.

Fill a cast iron pan or pot with enough oil that it comes up at least half way on chicken pieces. Using a thermometer, heat the oil to 350 degrees on medium high heat.

Working with a few pieces at a time, dredge the chicken in the flour mixture, pressing it on. Place them in the oil and flip every few minutes for about 14 minutes (slightly less for wings, slightly more for large breast or thigh pieces). Keep an eye on the thermometer and keep the oil between 300 – 325 while the chicken is cooking and bring it back up to 350 before adding your next pieces.

Place finished chicken on rack to cool and rest. It doesn’t need to be served hot so don’t worry about going in batches.

Homecoming Lamb Lasagna

My husband went away and our house was a well oiled machine. Laundry was done, beds were made, tv time was regimented and everyone was asleep early. I loved the efficiency. Naturally, I assumed my husband was the dead weight, holding us back from a spartan utopia. But that’s wrong. He plays with the kids, picks up most of our groceries, teams up on dinner prep, dishes, bedtime, and takes turns getting up with the early riser. Sure, he leaves his socks on the floor and never makes the bed but he’s generally helping. So what gives?

For one, I don’t cook when he’s away. ‘Dinner’ on Thursday was a can of beans thrown in a pot with leftover chicken and rice. I ate hovered over the counter and scrubbed the stove while the children picked at their plates. That’s how I ate every meal. After bedtime I did laundry. I was up early so I did chores and drank coffee as I ran around the house getting everyone ready. I mentally gave myself a high five on our way to preschool EARLY.

Unfortunately, the self satisfaction wore off around day three. I was exhausted, bored and didn’t give a shit if the laundry hamper was empty. I realized that moments gained cleaning dishes and folding laundry were moments lost sharing a morning coffee or lingering over wine at dinner. Housework needs to get done but I’m not making memories scrubbing a toilet.

My husband returned and I was happy to get back to our non-routine. I had a long shower, we all went to the park and the kids spent much of the afternoon watching tv in a living room littered with toys and discarded snacks. We talked, drank wine and I made lasagna. The casserole dish soaked in the sink for a day and I tried not to let it bother me …. but it did.

Homecoming Lamb Lasagna 
*I’m partial to saucy lasagna and decided to use lamb to make a rich meat sauce. The occasion called for it and didn’t disappoint. Layered with bechamel, fresh noodles and just enough gooey cheese, it was perfect.

Meat Sauce:

1 lb ground lamb
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp butter
1 large onion, minced
2 ribs celery, finely chopped
1 large carrot, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbsp fresh oregano, finely chopped
1/2 of 5.5 oz can tomato paste
1 cup red wine
28 oz can san marzano tomatoes, pureed
14 oz water
S&P to taste

Bechamel:

1/4 cup butter
3 tbsp flour
2 cups whole milk
1 tsp nutmeg
S&P to taste

200 grams Parmesan, grated
1 lb mozzarella, grated
1 package fresh lasagna noodles

Meat Sauce:

Heat oil and butter and saute onion, celery and carrot until softened. Add tomato paste. Turn up heat and cook until paste is sticking to the pan. Add lamb, stirring to pick up the tomato paste and browning. Add wine, garlic and oregano and reduce until mostly absorbed. Add tomatoes and rinse out can with the water and pour in. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer covered for 30 minutes. Stir and check occasionally. The sauce should be a bit more liquidy than you’d have on pasta. If it’s not liquidy enough, add a bit more water. Salt and pepper to taste

Bechamel:

Heat butter in medium saucepan over medium heat and add flour. Cook until golden, about 2-3 minutes. Add milk slowly, bringing to a boil and thicken until it coats the back of a wooden spoon. Stir in nutmeg and salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.

Assembly:

You can treat the noodles one of 3 ways. Boil for a few minutes as directed on the package, soak in hot water, or put in raw. I’ve tried all 3 and honestly cannot tell a difference so my vote is the easiest option: put them in raw. Cut them to fit a 9×13 baking pan, with a little room to expand.

Spread a little of the sauce on the bottom, cover with noodles, spread one third of the sauce followed by bechamel and both cheeses. Repeat, creating 3-4 layers and ending with the cheese. Bake covered with foil in 375 degree oven for 30 minutes. Uncover and bake for another 15 minutes or until cheese is golden and lasagna is bubbling.

Cooking with Flowers

My mom took Lila to the plant store then dropped her off with a flat of pansies. I almost let them die, but on a sunny-ish afternoon I saw their bowing red and yellow heads and took pity on them. Lila and I dug up dead pot plants, planted the pansies and scrubbed BBQ soot and dead leaves from the deck. In a few hours we had a nice spot to sit and enjoy the sun. Some pansies needed deadheading and I wanted to use the flowers to decorate a dessert. I never got around to it, but I started thinking about cooking and baking with flowers. I love lavender ice cream and rose tea, but what other flowers can you eat?

On a rainy-day visit to the library I browsed the cookbooks after reading Where’s Spot? repeatedly to my 18 month old, Adam. I picked up Cooking with Flowers and liked its unambiguous title. I signed it out (along with Spot) and pushed Adam home in a downpour.

The book has beautiful photography and is sectioned by flower type so you can find something to make with flowers you have. I decided to host a ladies’ lunch in my mom’s garden and try a few recipes. The orchid beef salad and a tulip martini looked promising. My excitement wilted when I read you can’t eat commercial flowers because they are sprayed with fungicide. Organic orchids sounded pricey and my mom (selfishly) wouldn’t let me crush her tulips into vodka. That left me with the pansies in my planter and dandelions. Admittedly less elegant, I decided on dandelion muffins and pansy tea sandwiches which looked pretty. I would make my own cocktail using rose water. Not dirt to mouth (or whatever you call it) but sometimes you need to make things easy.

Dandelion collection provided an afternoon activity for the kids … twice. I let the first batch die. They loved it and my friend was happy to have us weed her lawn. The petals added a splash of sunshine to the muffin batter. Unfortunately, the muffins themselves were tough and tasteless. I wasn’t off to a good start. With one dud on the menu I decided to add a spring salad. I found a small container of edible flowers at Whole Foods for about $4 and plucked the blue blooms that were covering my mom’s rosemary bush for the salad.

I made a cocktail from gin, muddled cucumber and rose water and it tasted like spring.  Oddly, I was the only person eager to drink a cup of gin at 1pm. I sampled the the pansy petals and edible flowers as I assembled the food and was disappointed to find them bland. The rosemary flowers were slightly sweet and herbaceous and the best of the bunch. All the flowers, however, beautifully dressed up the food. The pansy tea sandwiches were dainty and the salad was vibrant with colour. Everything tasted as good as it looked and with generous slabs of butter, everyone choked back a couple dandelion muffins.

Perhaps I was seeing things through rose-tinted martini glasses, but it was the prettiest lunch I’ve ever tasted.

The best of lunch ….

Cucumber rose martini
* I like a classic gin martini (AKA strong). This is lighter but not by much so not for the faint of heart.

2.5 oz gin, chilled
1/4 oz rose water
1/4 oz simple syrup
1.5 inch piece of cucumber, chopped

Place all ingredients in a martini shaker with a handful of ice. Shake or stir and strain into martini glass. Garnish with rose petal and cucumber slice.

Flower spring salad

1/2 head red leaf lettuce
1 cup arugula
1 cup pea shoots
half of one papaya, sliced or scooped into small pieces
1/3 cup rosemary flowers
1 package edible flowers
8 radishes sliced and pickled

For pickling liquid:

1/3 cup whit wine vinegar
3 tbsp water
1 tbsp salt
1.5 tbsp sugar
2 tbsp chopped mint

For dressing:

1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup white wine vinegar
1.5 tsp dijon mustard
2 tbsp chopped mint

Put radishes in pickling liquid. Cover and put in fridge for at least 6 hours. Place all salad ingredients into a large salad bowl with the flowers on top. Whisk together dressing and drizzle over top. Salt to taste and serve.

Banana Cake

Sweets never appealed to me much. As a teenager I worked in a bakery and never ate anything aside from bread. Then I became pregnant and all I wanted was cake cake cake. When my husband and I bought groceries, I’d linger over the dessert displays until we both ended up with treats. His picks were invariably better even when I was certain I had selected the best cake. A true gentleman, he would trade but insist that I listen to his advice next time as he’d been in the sweet game much longer than I had. We were living in Portland and one of his discoveries was the New Seasons banana cake. Layers of fluffy cake were separated by thinly sliced banana and cream frosting that was (seemingly) light as air. My walks always somehow landed me at New Seasons and off home with a tidy white box tied with string. It was the great indulgence of my pregnancy.

We moved back to Vancouver when my daughter was 6 weeks old and I said goodbye to banana cake and affordable housing. My sweet tooth stuck. I make desserts regularly, though I feel I have a bit of catching up to do.  Some new cake favourites include a dense orange as rich as marmalade and my mom’s chocolate, but the perfect banana cake recipe has proved elusive. After countless variations, especially during my second pregnancy, I gave up. I couldn’t accomplish the fluffy texture of the cake and maintain a deep banana flavour, or get a sturdy topping that was as airy as cream.

Recently, the dreary weather nudged me back into the banana cake project. This winter was so rainy that my daughter and I have been baking a LOT. Morning after morning I’ve woken up to a dark, wet sky and wondered how I would fill another day that seemed longer than my patience. One very wet day, Lila and I lit a fire and played the ukulele, then leafed through the Joy of Cooking to find the banana cake recipe. The cake, though not as fluffy as I was looking for, was tasty and we perfected the frosting with some flaked coconut. I’d like to tidily end here, eating cake by the fire with rain pelting the windows. But life isn’t tidy and banana cake obsessions die hard.

Two cakes and one week later, research revealed the original New Seasons recipe was from the now-closed bakery Kienow’s, and people have been raving about this cake for years! Luckily the recipe is available online. I couldn’t wait to find out if it was as fluffy as I remembered so I broke half of it open and ate it over the cooling rack. Not tidy but perfect.

Kienow’s Banana Cake
Serves 12 to 16

For the banana cake:

2 cups cake flour
1 1/4 cup vanilla sugar (or regular sugar and add an extra tsp of vanilla)
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup corn or other neutral oil
1 cup mashed very ripe bananas (approximately 3 bananas)
2 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
1/3 cup buttermilk
2 eggs, separated
1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar
1/4 cup granulated sugar

Whipped cream and mascarpone frosting (you’ll have extra):

3/4 cup confectioners’ sugar
3 cups heavy whipping cream
3/4 cup mascarpone
1 teaspoon vanilla
3 bananas, thinly sliced
1 1/3 cups sweetened flaked coconut (optional)

Preheat oven to 350° F. In a large bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer, whisk together sifted cake flour, vanilla sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt until just combined. Add corn oil, mashed bananas, and vanilla. Beat for 1 minute until just combined, then add the buttermilk and egg yolks and beat for 1 additional minute. Set aside to make the meringue.

In a separate bowl, with clean beaters, beat egg whites on medium speed. While continuing to beat, add cream of tartar, then 1/4 cup sugar gradually. Beat on high until stiff peaks form. Fold the meringue gently into the cake batter until the streaks just fade.

Prepare two 8 inch cake pans. Butter the edges, then line it with parchment paper and flour it. Pour the batter in and place it into the oven. Bake for about 30-35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes in the pan then on a cooling rack.

To make the frosting, sift confectioners’ sugar into a bowl and set aside. In a large chilled bowl, whip the cream and mascarpone together, gradually adding the confectioners’ sugar and vanilla. Whip until firm peaks.

To assemble the cake, slice each cake in two so you have 4 cakes. Place one layer on a plate. Spread frosting, add single layer of banana slices and sprinkle 1/3 cup of coconut if including. Spread a little more frosting to ‘glue’ the next layer on. Place another layer of cake on top and repeat with the third and fourth layer, finishing with just frosting and coconut on top.  Refrigerate—this cake tastes best after it rests in the fridge for a few hours, or even overnight. Serve.