ONE Pumpkin, Ah Ah Ah!!!

Continuing my new tradition started last year after buying my first house, I carved a Jack O'Lantern for Halloween. This year, I chose to sculpt Count von Count, the beloved arithmomanic vampire from Sesame Street.

I wanted to carve either a zombie or a vampire since both creatures are big in entertainment these days. However, a zombie on a pumpkin just looks like a person with a bad skin condition -- if you think about it, zombies look like the undead because of the shades of grey (dead flesh) and blood on their faces, neither of which are colors that can be reproduced on a pumpkin -- so I went with the vampire idea.

I thought I was saving myself some time this year by choosing a muppet instead of a human subject, but it took me just as long as last year's carving of Jack from "The Shining". Chiseling the monocle was especially difficult! Anyway, I think the end result is not bad. If you were a kid trolling for candy, would this lantern entice you to my house?

Heston!

I've been starved for chef Heston Blumenthal's presence on TV since the end of his last BBC series, "In Search of Perfection". Imagine my excitement when I saw that Blumenthal is returning to the Food Network Canada tomorrow night with a new program, "Big Chef Takes on Little Chef".

At first, I thought the show looked like a copy of Gordon Ramsay's "Kitchen Nightmares" but it's quite distinct in its format. Instead of revamping a different restaurant every week, Blumenthal will be trying to revitalize a dwindling chain of roadside diners in the UK called Little Chef. I suppose the Canadian equivalent would be rescuing Tim Horton's if it had gone into decline. Little Chef was a childhood favorite of Blumenthal's. In its heyday it was ubiquitous and well known among the the Brits; today it is disappearing into obscurity and its cuisine has much left to be desired. See here the intro to the new series, in which Blumenthal samples the latest that Little Chef has to offer:

Big Chef takes on Little Chef from Neil Pollock on Vimeo.

It's Easy Being Green

Najmieh Batmanglij's cookbook, "New Food of Life", continues to be one of my favorite sources of inspiration. There doesn't seem to be enough I can learn about Persian or Iranian cuisine, it's just so rife with color, aroma and flavor.

In a fit of ambition, I recently attempted to make Fresh Herb Khoresh (Khoresh-e qormeh sabzi). I've been told by a close Iranian friend that qormeh sabzi (or ghormeh sabji -- it's spelled in a myriad of ways) is one of the most quintessential of Persian comfort foods. Wikipedia indicates that this stew is said to be the Iranian national dish.

Which is fascinating because India, Pakistan, Uzbekistan, Afghanistan and other regions once ruled by the Persian Empire also boast localized versions of the sabzi or sabji stew. Depending where you are, sabzi could mean "green", "vegetable", "carrot" or other similarly vegetal terms.

Despite my dedication to authenticity, it's not always easy for me to get a hold of all the ingredients I need for cuisines yet unfamiliar to me. Fresh fenugreek and dried Persian limes weren't at my local No Frills, and so I had to improvise.

I bought fenugreek seeds which I bundled in cheesecloth and dropped into the pot. To sub for dried Persian limes, I had leftover liquid from my last jar of lime pickles, which I had made ages ago using a Nigella Lawson recipe from her "How to Be a Domestic Goddess" cookbook.

If you're wondering why I bundled the fenugreek seeds, this is an ounce of wisdom I earned the hard way. First, let me point out that fenugreek seeds are hard as stone. I once made the horrendous mistake of sprinkling fenugreek seeds into a soup, thinking they would soften and blend in. After hours and hours of simmering, the seeds finally got soft enough to chew. And then I bit into one. I puckered up and cringed -- it was unspeakably bitter with an acetone aftertaste. The only good thing to come out of that kitchen disaster was the discovery that fenugreek yields a mouth-watering aroma. So, steep it but don't keep it.

The stew gets its green from the 6-7 cups' worth of herbs (parsley, chives/scallions, coriander, and fresh fenugreek if you got it) that are finely chopped and sauteed before mixed in with everything else. I normally find myself in the predicament of buying a massive bundle of parsley only to use a sprig or two in a recipe; this recipe used the entire bundle of everything green I had. I must have been chopping for 10-15 minutes. No complaints -- I found it cathartic, whacking away at a heap of herbs with my biggest knives.

The recipe called for about 2.5 hours of simmering, but I let it go for 4 hours. When it was done, the meat of the lamb chops I threw in were falling off the bones. I really can't say if the taste was genuine, but I certainly couldn't get enough of it. Can't wait to try it again, maybe next time with the proper Persian groceries. If you know of any Persian/Iranian shops in the central GTA area, let me know!

Meshuggah About Rugelach

My friend with the ailing relative has informed me that they no longer follow the restricted diet I've been experimenting with on their behalf. The illness has reached the point where the patient might as well be allowed to enjoy whatever food his heart desires in the time he has left.

And so, it was with a mixture of sadness and glee that I turned my attention to decadent sweets.

A recipe for Chocolate Prune Rugelach caught my roving eye. It was in the Holiday 2007 issue of the LCBO's Food & Drink magazine -- a FREE (gasp!) publication that I think is on par with the more glamorous Food & Wine.

This "cookie" is chef Anna Olson's delectable creation. Olson -- for those of you who haven't been initiated -- is the Martha Stewart-esque doyenne of sweet confections. She is probably best known among Canadians as the host of "Sugar" on the Food Network.

The rugelach is a traditional Jewish pastry whose name you might have trouble recalling, but you've probably eaten one before. Doing some Googling, I've found that "rugelach" means "creeping vine" or "little twists" in Yiddish or Hebrew. It's a rolled up pastry with sweet filling that looks somewhat like a Danish except the rugelach has no yeast in its dough. A lot of Jewish American recipes rely on cream cheese instead to give the dough its soft, dense texture, and that seems to have become the de facto standard.

I've never made cookie dough like this, which was remarkably idiot-proof, both in the mixing and in the baking. So often the amateur baker learns too late that he's over-kneaded the dough (making it too tough), or she has rolled it out too thick (preventing the insides from baking), or he has over-baked it (tastes like charcoal). The resulting cookie dough was both flaky and yet moist.

The addictiveness of this cookie has all to do with the filling: chocolate chips, prunes (!), some sugar and cinnamon, all processed together to a chunky paste. For people who think "old people food" when they hear "prunes", it will come as a revelation that chocolate pairs decadently well with prunes. When they bake together in the cookie, the result is a smooth, chewy, chocolatey filling.

The recipe yielded a monstrously huge batch, so I gave a bunch to my friend and brought the rest to work. They were met with positive reactions and people coming back for seconds, even thirds.

I'd love to find other ways to use cream cheese dough and other variations on the chocolate/prune paste idea. Cream cheese pastry balls with red bean filling? Chocolate prune apple tarts? Stay tuned.

In the Night Kitchen

Some might argue that I have never really grown up, but I certainly regressed further this past weekend upon seeing Where the Wild Things Are -- the big screen, live action adaptation of the beloved 1963 children's book by Maurice Sendak. It instantly brought back fond memories and a feeling of wonderment.

Since this is a cooking blog, it seems appropriate to flash back to Sendak's "In the Night Kitchen" (1970):

Only a Turkey Would Forget Thanksgiving

I've been getting friendly nudges from people who have noticed that it's been a very long time since I've posted on the blog. Sorry about that... it's been very busy and I can't seem to get around to the blog until midnight or later. Like now. Me sleepy.

Anyway, I realize I should post this one ASAP before people run out of leftover turkey: the theme is Canadian Thanksgiving (Oct 12 this year). If there are any American readers, you can certainly use the following as inspiration for your own Thanksgiving on Nov 26.

Lynn, my very good friend and occasional collaborator on this site (lady, you need to post more) kindly invited me to her house to join her family and some friends for Thanksgiving dinner. Lynn is one of those natural, effortless chefs who cooks amazing food at quantities that would feed an army, then says "that was nothing"... and you believe her.

The pièce de résistance was a whopping 20 lb, organically-raised turkey. I wanted to call her Big Bertha, but Lynn thought it was weird to give a name to a creature we were going to eat. I think the bird roasted au naturel for about 6 hours in the oven, roasting to a golden crisp. With patient, consistent basting, the meat turned out juicy and moist.

For the privilege of partaking in this feast, guests brought some side dishes. Our friend Ireen brought a fragrant and savory Chunky Apple and Onion Soup, featured in the Autumn 2009 issue of the LCBO's Food & Drink magazine. It featured apples, herbs, sweet potato and caramelized onions, reminiscent of French onion soup but with a little extra sweetness and hearty texture.

After this tasty starter, Lynn brought out the turkey and all the fixin's. Heavenly gravy (from the turkey drippings), cooked peas and greens, cranberry sauce, cooked carrots, fluffy mashed potatoes, and mashed buttercup squash (prepared by her younger son). If you want recipes from Lynn, post your comments right here!

My offering for the evening was Savoury Wild and Brown Rice Stuffing, also from Food & Drink, the August 2006 issue. I had made it before for another Thanksgiving with Lynn and was asked to make it again. Instead of stuffing the turkey with it like last time, we opted to cook it separately. Baking it in a dish gave it a light, crunchy crust that was quite pleasant.

Sadly, I couldn't find any fresh tarragon, and also had to resort to a sack of pre-mixed brown and wild rice instead of choosing the proportions myself. If it were up to me, I would make the dish heavy on the wild rice and cut back on the brown rice so that the stuffing doesn't get too mushy. I don't know about you, but I think stuffing should be a little toothy, not soggy like oatmeal. This is a nice alternative to traditional bread-based (and carb-heavy) stuffings.

We were ready to be rolled home by this stage, lulled to contentment by the tryptophan and wine.

But of course, the evening was not complete without dessert. Not one but two pies were presented: a store-bought apple pie (awesome) and a home-made Raw Vegan Superfood Mousse Au Chocolat Tarte (incredible).

Lynn and her younger son had made the latter, using a recipe from Gourmet Vegan Chef Patricia Ganswind. The dessert was shockingly devoid of any refined sugars. The mousse consisted primarily of dates, stevia, cocoa powder and avocados. Yes, avocados. I've made Chocolate Zucchini Cupcakes before but never a dessert using avocados. And yet after hearing this it seemed to make perfect sense, given the velvety, creamy texture of mashed, ripe avocados. This would make a fantastic dish for anyone who is diabetic, lactose-intolerant or gluten-intolerant. It is decadent yet guilt-free -- what more could anybody want?

FYI, the title for this post comes from a church billboard near Lynn's house. I was stuffed to the gills and waiting for my bus ride home when the sign caught my eye.

Tastes Like Chicken Pt. 2

My fascination with foods that look different but taste exactly the same continues with the glorious summer squash. More precisely, it's called the pattypan squash. Pattypans look like the mutant lovechild of citrus and zucchini squished into a mini-tart mold. And they taste just like zucchini.

I had some recently at the Jamie Kennedy Wine Bar, served with some ridiculously juicy pork sausages. I fell in love with their shape (I'm already a fan of zucchini so it follows that I was already in love with their taste). To my delight, the farmer's market had some in yellow and green.

My favorite thing about the yellow pattypan is that nub of green at the tip, plus when you slice into them, they have a faint tinge of green amidst the yellow flesh. It's such a gorgeous color that I wish I could wear it. As you can see, even one of my cats was drawn them as I tried to take a picture.

Also like a zucchini, they don't lose their color when you cook them. Through the heat, they keep their lemon/lime brightness as the bitterness softens and becomes more mellow.

Garlic seemed like a perfect complement. And the color made me want to include some lime juice. I had some fresh kale on hand (from the garden of my occasional co-contributor, Lynn). Everything just fell into place and the end result was the salad below.

Pretty Pattypan Salad
Serves 4

1 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp olive oil
4 cloves garlic (more if you're a garlic fiend like I am), minced
1 quart pattypan squashes, halved or quartered if very large
6-8 large kale leaves, coarsely chopped
lime wedges
salt and pepper to taste

1. Heat the butter and oil over medium heat in a large skillet.
2. Sweat the minced garlic until just starting to brown.
3. Add the pattypans and kale. Sauté until softened and lightly seared.
4. Squeeze some lime juice over the salad and season with salt and pepper to taste.
   

Tastes Like Chicken

I'm a little flustered to learn that it has been over 3 weeks since my last post and just over 3 months before my unofficial deadline for publication. It's not a "real" deadline because I don't have any publishers banging on my door to get it done. I just know what an incorrigible procrastinator I am without a fire lit under my ass.

So it's time to get back to work. Or play... Cooking and photographing for this blog really doesn't feel like work. Despite the fact that I was far too busy, ill or distracted to post anything in weeks, it doesn't mean I haven't been messing about in the kitchen. If anything, I'm daunted by the sheer volume of pictures and recipes that are now backlogged.

One of my favorite photos is probably this one: rainbow radishes purchased from the local farmer's market. They look like gumballs or jawbreakers. They're just begging to be mixed with other colors and eaten raw (boiling them would drain them of their sprightly color and rob them of their fresh crunch).

Of course they don't taste like candy. If anything, they taste exactly like the regular radishes that most people carve up to use as garnishes. It tastes the same... it "tastes like chicken", which is the generic thing people say when describing most meats.

Some of you pragmatic people may be wondering why anyone would bother growing or eating rainbow radishes. Why spend an extra few pennies to buy something that tastes exactly the same as boring ol' red radishes?

My answers to that are (1) inspiration and (2) fun. It's not often that radishes get the star treatment in a dish, but looking at these orbs of color, I knew a radish salad was in order.

Better yet, the farmer's market was selling the bunch with the leaves and stems still attached. I honestly don't understand why anybody chops off the stems of most vegetables. Asians eat pretty much the entire plant, from root to leafy tip. In some cases the stems and greens are even tastier than the vegetable.

Whole (Rainbow) Radish Salad
Serves 2

a handful of radishes (about ½ cup or less), thinly sliced with leaves washed separately
2 oranges, segmented and the remaining membrane reserved
4 Tbsp good quality olive oil
a handful of crumbled blue cheese
salt to taste

1. Lightly stir fry the radish leaves for a minute or two until wilted but not turned to mush.
2. Toss the radish slices, radish leaves, and orange segments together in a bowl.
3. Squeeze out the orange juice from the reserved membrane.
   
4. Whisk together no more than 2 Tbsp of the orange juice and olive oil then drizzle over the salad.
5. Sprinkle the crumbled cheese and salt on top, then serve.

Note: I would add chopped cilantro if available, or perhaps replace the blue cheese with some goat cheese. Adding ½ tsp of Dijon mustard to the dressing would add an interesting complexity to the flavors.

This recipe is quite spare so if you have ideas for more ingredients, let me know!

Paralyzed By Choices

I recently left a job that I had held for 4.5 years. To my great astonishment, my colleagues presented me with a gift certificate for Williams-Sonoma as a parting gift. Everybody knows how much I like to cook and eat, so it was apparently the most obvious choice.

In these lean economic times, gift certificates are much appreciated. Trouble is, I become paralyzed by the number of options available to me in spending it. Do you buy a whole bunch of little things, or do you put it towards the cost of a single, expensive item? Do you get something you really need or do you get something frivolous that you would never have bought on your own dime?

My initial thought was that I'd like a meat grinder. I don't mean the electric kind, but a really old-fashioned, hand-cranked grinder (see the squeaky, unattractive grinding process in the video below). Not very sexy, but I find that I can't always get my hands on the ground meats I want. If I can grind my own poultry, or make a mixed grind, that would save me a lot of trouble.



Sadly, Williams-Sonoma only has the electric kind and they ain't cheap.

So what do I do with $80 CAD? Pretty much anything would make me happy because kitchen gadgets to me are like toys to a toddler. One caveat: I can't get any large, hefty gear because my kitchen is tiny and I am all out of storage/counter space. I'd like to hear YOUR ideas.

What the World Eats

Time magazine has published a thought-provoking photo essay titled, "What the World Eats". It is an excerpt from a book called "Hungry Planet" by Peter Menzel and Faith D'Aluisio. Each photograph depicts a family along with the foods they have consumed in one week.

The Ukita family from Kodaira City, Japan (shown above) spends around $317.25 USD eating a lot of fish, but also a lot of processed, packaged, or instant foods. In sharp contrast, the Aboubakar family from Darfur spends a paltry $1.23 USD in a refugee camp in Chad to feed six. The Revis family from North Carolina goes through a stunning $341.98 USD on one week, predictably on a lot of junk food. Probably the most wholesome-looking diet is maintained by the Namgay family of Shingkhey Village, Bhutan: for $5.03, this family of 13 feeds on a generous amount of vegetables, grains, some fruit and a very modest amount of meat. Not a bottle of pop or bag of potato chips in sight.

There's no judgment here -- this is just how things are in different parts of the world. I think the closer people are to the earth and the animals they eat, the less they need to spend on packaged food and groceries in general. I also find the photo essay endearing in its list of family favorites. The Polish family's favorite is pig's knuckles with root vegetables. Mutton seems to be a favorite in Egypt and Mongolia. Coca Cola seems to be the universal favorite among soda drinkers (except for the Italians); as a Pepsi-hater, I approve! It makes me laugh to see Kellogg brand cereal among the staples of the families from Kuwait and Italy.

When I first moved out on my own, I made a third of what I do today. I was extremely frugal and also very health-conscious, having lost a quarter of my body weight through rigorous exercise and calorie management. I learned very quickly that meat and packaged foods are the fastest way to blow a budget; fresh produce gives the most bang for the buck. I did my $40 CAD groceries once every 2 weeks and rarely ate out. I have no memories of feeling deprived or limited in any way.

It is said that people who make more spend more, and I have to concede that it's true. $40 is now my minimum weekly food budget, not including birthday dinners and parties which can average $40-80 per head.

For sustainability and ethical farming reasons, I'm starting to go back to my frugal ways. I treat meat and animal products as a luxury and buy no more than one cut of meat per week for myself. Two if I'm cooking for someone else. At that rate, it is possible (and sensible) to expend the extra dollars on ethically and organically raised meat. I load up on fruits and vegetables weekly, if not twice a week. The weekly farmer's market held next door to my office is now part of my regular ritual. I have the occasional weakness for wine or Diet Coke, but I don't bring junk food into my home and toss out all take-out flyers for recycling.

What do you do to spend less for better health (yours and the environment's)?

Bollito Misto

For the past month or so, I have been crippled by a severe case of allergic contact dermatitis -- first on my shins, later spreading to the rest of my body, irritating every available patch of skin below my face. It was a bitter comedy of errors, with each course of treatment resulting in worse and worse outcomes until a specialist finally determined that I was violently allergic to a common over-the-counter ointment. Funny how sometimes the cure is far worse than the illness.

The last two weeks were supposed to be my first vacation this year. Much to my chagrin, I spent almost every minute of that time house-bound and incapacitated. One of the tragedies of losing that rare "me" time was that I was unable to do cooking of any sort, nor could I write, eat out, or take the time to explore farmer's markets. I have only just started the road to recovery, so bear with me as I try to catch up.

I admire both the technical sophistication of haute cuisine and the rustic comforts of simple home cooking. My book is focused on the latter, which is why I was delighted to come across the Italian tradition of bollito misto. The literal translation is "boiled mixed", called thus because it is quite literally a boiled mixture of whatever you want for dinner.

I first heard of it on Gourmet magazine's Diary of a Foodie show, in episode 28 titled "Bovine Rhapsody". The program featured a Tuscan family that raises Maremmana cattle the old-fashioned way. They put their home-grown beef into a pot of water, along with whole tomatoes, whole onions, basil and parsley. The mixture simmered for two hours until the meat was tender. That's bollito. The meat was removed from the broth and served with salsa verde, home-made mayonnaise and boiled, peeled potatoes. Simple, slow food.

If you consult the recipes of top chefs, you will encounter far more exotic variations. Giada De Laurentiis's recipe adds celery, bay leaf, carrots, beef stock and calls for a Gorgonzola sauce as an extra condiment. Iron Chef Mario Batali's recipe incorporates an arsenal of meats such as calf's tongue, veal shank, beef cheeks, beef sausages, capon and turkey breasts on top of the beef brisket. It is said that King Vittorio Emanuele II used to sneak away from the royal court with his friends to grab a bite of bollito; it is likely that his Highness was addicted to the seven-meat version like Batali's. Impressive, but the humble farmer's version is far more appealing to me.

Here is my version.

Bollito Misto
Serves 4-6

1 lb beef brisket (or any other kind of meat for stewing), whole or cubed
1 large tomato, whole
1 large onion, coarsely chopped into large chunks
1-2 celery stalks, coarsely chopped
1 cup baby carrots
4 cups of water
a couple of sprigs each of basil, parsley
salt, to taste

1. Put all ingredients except for the salt into a large pot and bring to a boil.
2. Reduce heat to a simmer.
3. Skim off any impurities (i.e. scum) that rise to the surface. Continue until the broth is reasonably clear.
   
4. Add more water if necessary to ensure that all the ingredients are submerged.
5. Simmer for 2 hours.
6. Add salt to taste. (1 tsp was appropriate for me.)
7. Serve the meat and vegetables with or without the broth. (I personally liked the broth a lot.)
   

If you have time to make the aforementioned salsa verde, mayo or boiled potatoes as accompaniments, feel free to do so.

Much Ado About Salad

I have a long history of killing plants. Not from neglect. In fact, I am so attentive to them that I smother them with too much affection. I water them too much, give them too much sun, feed them too much and get too zealous in driving pests away.

However, I do take instruction well. Now that I am a home owner, with space to grow things, I've started educating myself through books and friends whose own gardens are like Eden itself.

Lo and behold, I have grown something that I can actually eat. I grew two rows of organic Lettuce Rouge D'Hiver (Lactuca sativa) from seed this season. It is a French lettuce similar to Romaine, with shades of red like its name suggests, and a light, peppery aftertaste. It took a very long time to get big and leafy due to the lacklustre summer weather. Once or twice it even wilted a bit due to some freak heat spells. But it is a hardy plant that springs right back with a bit of water and sun. It's also a gift that keeps on giving: I trim only what I need and the rest goes on growing.

Also from seed, I grew a flower pot full of lemon basil. My fingers smell like lemons or lemongrass every time I touch the delicate little leaves. Unlike other sweeter varieties of basil, the leaves of the lemon basil are narrow and petite. It has a lot of applications in Asian cuisine, particularly in curries.

However, to celebrate my first harvest -- can't believe I'm actually using that word! -- I decided to make a simple vinaigrette using good quality olive oil, balsamic vinegar and finely chopped lemon basil. I would like to emphasize "good quality" because cheap oils are tasteless and supermarket vinegars are sharp and acrid. When you allow yourself to splurge even just a bit on these things, you quickly learn how they are supposed to taste: smooth, rounded with fruity notes. I used to hate balsamic vinegar until someone bought me the fancy stuff... now I can't go back.

I chopped my red lettuce, cut strips of orange and yellow bell peppers that I had roasted and peeled, tossed everything together with the vinaigrette, and sprinkled some freshly ground pepper and fleur de sel. Some crumbled feta cheese or goat cheese would have been a nice addition.

I finally understand why gardeners become so infatuated with sticking seeds in soil, getting dirt under their fingernails, duking it out with unwanted pests, and rejoicing whenever it rains. It's the same reason why cooks like to make things from scratch, fussing over high quality ingredients, kitchen equipment and culinary techniques.

So it looks like the black thumb is going away, hopefully to be replaced by a green thumb. I can't wait until next year to start growing more ambitious edibles. Send me your suggestions!

A Meal for a Song

One Ring Zero, a quirky pop band from New York, have asked their favorite chefs for recipes then turned those recipes into songs. "The Recipe Project" includes recipes... er, lyrics by Iron Chefs such as Mario Batali and Michael Symon as well as Chris Cosentino (often seen on the Food Network). You can listen to some samples here. The ingredient recitations alone are hilarious.

Band member Michael Hearst also has a solo project called "Songs for Ice Cream Trucks". The album is a sugary, twinkling confection that will give you an ice cream craving and a cavity. If you have kids or if you are a kid, you'll love it. Give it a listen.

Christmas in July

There's a lovely song by The 6ths called "Winter in July" and I'm going to invoke the same idea here by talking about Xmas five months too early. In December 2008, I talked about chef Heston Blumenthal's TV special called "The Perfect Christmas". At the time, all I could offer to you was a teaser trailer. Well, someone has since posted the entire episode online so now you can witness for yourself why I was swooning after watching it last winter.

Bean Brownies Part Two

About a month ago, I wrote about my Azuki Raspberry "Brownies" recipe: a brownie-like confection that uses Azuki beans instead of chocolate to get its flavor. Just to follow up, I wanted to mention that I tried other variations of this theme.

I made Black Bean Blackberry "Brownies" and Azuki Blueberry "Brownies" for a party. Not much was changed from the original recipe except for the choice of bean and/or fruit.

I used plain beans this time without any additives at all, which required the addition of several tablespoons of honey. Agave nectar, jam, jellies, maple syrup or brown sugar (if you're allowed to have it) would have also been acceptable as sweetening agents. My advice would be to under-sweeten it a bit, remembering that the natural fruit sugars will be contributing to the overall flavor.

My final opinion? The seeds of the blackberries were a bit of a nuisance -- getting a little pit stuck in your teeth while biting into what should be soft, gooey "brownie" is not especially pleasant. And while a lot of choco-alternative recipes endorse the use of black beans, I didn't find that it made the batter any darker than the Azuki, nor did I find the taste as refined. The blueberry was great from a texture point of view, but given the choice, I would opt for the raspberry + azuki combo every time. They just naturally seem to complement each other. It just surprises me that I got it right the first try.

Drunken Tomatoes

I was invited to a BBQ/house-warming party and wanted to bring something fun to eat. Obviously the stars of the BBQ were going to be the meats. I was pretty sure that our hosts had that covered more than adequately, so I opted for an appetizer.

Gourmet magazine recently featured editor-in-chief Ruth Reichl's favorite recipes of the month. One of them was a recipe for Vodka-Spiked Cherry Tomatoes with Pepper Salt. I was instantly enamoured with the photo of colorful, peeled cherry tomatoes dredged in coarsely ground black pepper and kosher salt. Plus they were described as follows:

"These tender, potent little orbs make a splendid Bloody Mary–esque addition to a beach-blanket picnic or a fancy cocktail party, and they tend to disappear in no time flat."

Peeling the tomatoes took some time but it was not at all difficult to do after blanching them. They were well-received at the party and I think by the end of the evening, only a couple were left in the bowl.

Someone asked me if the tomatoes I used were campari. (Under the influence of the party buzz, the only thing that popped into my head was the Campari aperitif, which I enjoy on the rocks. So, my response was an informative "duh, I don't know".) I looked up the website of the Ontario grower -- Mastronardi/Sunset Produce -- that my tomatoes came from. It looks like their "Tomato Medley" package is a mix of their specialty varieties: campari, champagne cocktail, grape, heirloom, etc. They certainly make a strong case for locally grown produce.

Z is for Chocolate

I was invited to a baby shower recently. We were all to bring some food and/or drink, so I asked the mum-to-be if she had any particular food cravings. "Greens!" she replied. Given that she starts her mornings with power shakes made of all kinds of healthy plant matter, this was not an unexpected answer.

My immediate thought was, "chocolate zucchini".

To anyone familiar with carrot cake, this is not such a strange combination. The vegetal flavors fade into the batter -- the result doesn't taste like a salad -- and you are rewarded with cakes that have density and moisture. That said, I have never actually made any zucchini cakes before, nor did I have any recipes on hand. With Google as my guide, I went on a prowl.

Rejected were the recipes that demanded far too many ingredients or ingredients that were too elusive or expensive to obtain. I wasn't enthralled by the cakes that looked too spongy or airy, or the cakes that relied on heavy icing or chocolate chips for most of its flavor.

Somewhat predictably, I landed on the Chocolate Zucchini Cupcakes Recipe from one of my favorite cooking sites, 101 Cookbooks (already listed among my favorite links on this blog). This recipe predates my discovery of the blog, but I had a strong inkling that Heidi Swanson, the author, would have tackled such a recipe already.

The recipe was ridiculously easy to prepare. I opted to bake it in a mini cupcake pan, which reduced the baking time to 10 min. I was a little heavy-handed in the quantity of zucchini, chocolate chips, allspice and cinnamon, feeling confident that the outcome would not suffer as a result. The cupcakes were dark, spicy, molten chocolate bites -- exactly what I was aiming for. They were deadly good at any temperature: hot, cold or room temp. It helps to use good quality chocolate and pure vanilla extract (not that artificial crap, ptoui! ptoui!).

Cuckoo for Kuku

My Amazon order for a Persian cookbook called "New Food of Life: Ancient Persian and Modern Iranian Cooking and Ceremonies" finally arrived -- thanks for the gift certificate Min! -- and I dove into the recipes immediately.

The friend who presented me with a cooking challenge recently unloaded several pounds' worth of dried beans on me. It seemed appropriate, therefore, to look up some Persian dishes using beans.

One of the simplest recipes I found was for kuku, which is a type of Iranian dish resembling the Italian frittata or the omelet. According to the cookbook author, Najmieh Batmanglij, "a good kuku is thick and rather fluffy."

There are over a dozen variations on the kuku in the book. I can't post Batmanglij's recipes here without her permission, but I can generalize it for you here. [Note to AP: This is an Option #2 recipe.]

Basic Kuku Recipe
Serves 8

1. All the kuku recipes begin with chopped onions (or shallots or chives or scallions) and minced garlic being softened, not browned, in a skillet with oil or butter.
   
2. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
   
3. Remove the skillet from heat and add your preferred fillings -- cooked lima beans and chopped fresh dill in this instance -- and the entire mixture is transferred to a baking dish. (I like using a round pie plate for this recipe.)
   
4. In a separate bowl, lightly whisk together 3-4 eggs, a dab of yogurt and salt & pepper to taste.
   
5. Pour the egg mixture over the first mixture in the baking dish. Gently give it a brief stir to distribute the eggs because they will bind everything together.
   
6. Bake in a 350°F oven for 30 min, brush the top with oil, then bake another 30 min or until the top is golden like a quiche.

Favorites: Apricots

Summer brings a glorious bounty of fresh fruit. I thoroughly enjoy all of them, but I have a particular affinity for stone fruit, or drupes. Perhaps their scarcity in the colder months increases their cachet. Canadian winters, after all, are longer than all other seasons combined. White peaches appeal to me, with their soft perfume, sensual textures and delicate sweetness -- it's no accident that many writers make lusty associations with that fruit. The same goes for cherries, mangoes, nectarines and plums.

Hence, I am not saying that I enjoy apricots more than all of those fruits. But from a cooking standpoint, I think the apricot offers a versatility that I don't think is matched by its peers within the same genus of plants. Apart from tarts, jams and other typical applications of fruit, the apricot gets used in complex mains such as soups, stews and stuffed meats (the Sweet and Sour Stuffed Chicken recipe, for example). And it seems to cross multiple cultural boundaries, turning up in cuisines ranging from Finnish to Persian.

Apricots transform beautifully in the oven or on the grill. Some of its tartness goes away. The sight of its caramelized edges and dripping juices makes me salivate.

I recently put apricot halves under the broiler (I know, I know, I need to get with the program and get me a badass BBQ grill). I glazed the fruit with some gorgeous white wine jelly that a friend recently gave me. Any other light-colored jam, jelly or marmalade would have worked just as well. While still warm, I piled some of those glazed, roasted apricots over a bowl of good quality vanilla ice cream. Like a hot fudge sundae, it was ok, if not desirable, to have some of the ice cream melt from the heat of the toppings. Yum.

My ultimate goal for cooking with apricots is to find or invent the ultimate recipe for the pastry you see on the left. Au Pain Doré calls it the Abricotine, likely named after the Swiss apricot liqueur of the same name. Not long ago, I found another version of it in a kosher grocery. It is probably my most favorite dessert pastry in the world. The beauty of it is in the pristine presentation of the apricot halves -- shiny with glaze, made to look like raw egg yolks. There is an eggy custard at the bottom. The pastry needs to be light and flaky. A lot of mediocre bakeries allow them to get soggy from the fillings, which is a big no-no. If you have a great recipe for it, please share!

Made in China

I'm not a fan of Westernized Chinese take-out fare. Dishes like General Tao's (or Tso's) Chicken are really American/Canadian inventions. The real General Tso's own descendants have never even heard of the dish, let alone tasted it. I'm not offended so much by the lack of "authenticity" as I am by how bad these foods are for my arteries and waistline.

That said, I do resort to eating Chinese Canadian fast food on occasion, mostly when I am dying for some rice. (I go through serious withdrawals if I go without rice for more than a day.)

Recently, I had lunch at Made in China, located in downtown Toronto. It's a popular venue that blends North American chic with Communist kitsch. Most of the clientele is Asian, which is its biggest claim to credibility.

I ordered a beef brisket and radish stew -- which came with rice, of course. Much to my amazement, it had deep flavors and a "gravy" that I ended up sopping up with every last grain of rice on my plate. I wondered if I could emulate the dish at home.

Sadly, my neighborhood supermarket has a lousy selection of meat and produce. Instead of beef brisket, I ended up with pork loin. Not having beef meant that I could not produce a brown gravy. The radish in the stew was supposed to be daikon, but all I could find were the small, red, "Cherry Belle" radishes. Nevertheless, the result was quite tasty.

Note: I braised everything in the oven, but next time, I think I will start it on the stove top to skim off any impurities from the meat, then move it into the oven for a long braise. The result willl look more attractive that way.

General M's Braised Pork Loin and Radish
Serves 6-8

6-8 strips of pork loin cut close to the ribs (or fillet a top loin/tenderloin into strips the thickness of ribs)
1 bunch of Cherry Belle red radishes, radishes sliced and its leaves coarsely chopped
3-4 cups of vegetable stock (homemade is best)
¼ cup sake
1 Tbsp mirin
6 ¼-inch slices of ginger
8 scallions cut into ¼ length pieces
4 cloves garlic
1 cinnamon stick
2 whole star anise
¼ tsp red pepper flakes (more if you like it spicy)
salt, to taste
sesame oil, to serve
chopped cilantro, for garnish

1. Preheat the oven to 400°F.
2. In a deep roasting pan, add all of the ingredients except for the salt, sesame oil and cilantro.
3. Put the pan in the oven for 1-2 hours. Turn over the meat periodically. Remove the pan from the oven when the meat reaches the desired doneness and color. Add salt to taste.
   
4. To serve, cut up the pork strips in to bite-size pieces, spoon the other ingredients over the meat, drizzle some sesame oil and garnish with the chopped cilantro.
   

Gimme Kimchi

You know the second half of "Cannibal Ferox" in which the cannibal tribe of the Amazon exacts their terrible, sadistic, gory revenge on the white men and women who enslaved and murdered their people? No? Doesn't matter, as long as you understand that my week at work has been worse than that.

Which means I haven't had much opportunity to cook this week. However, I have tried to stay in touch with my passions: watching some Food Network and also catching an episode of Gourmet magazine's Diary of a Foodie. This time it was an episode titled "Korea: Ancient Food, Modern World". (Click on the link to watch the whole episode online.)

I thoroughly enjoy Korean cuisine, but I've never been instructed on the differences between Northern and Southern dishes, nor have I heard of Korean royal court cuisine (vaguely similar to Japanese kaiseki cuisine) before seeing this program. Last but not least, I had no idea that there was so much more to kimchi than just Chinese cabbage and red chili paste. Did you know that there are 187 recognized varieties of kimchi? Watch Inja Yoo -- a certified royal court chef -- prepare some extraordinary dishes, including bossam kimchi, which is a gorgeous stuffed/rolled cabbage filled with seafood.

Sweet and Sour Stuffed Chicken

As I was reading Persian cookbook reviews on Amazon, I was struck by one post that complained about chefs who overplay the exoticism of their ethnic cuisine by adding far too many obscure ingredients and making a recipe more difficult (and thereby inaccessible) than necessary. It's a kind of cultural snobbery to keep foreigners at bay. This complaint was from an Iranian who insisted that his/her family makes traditional dishes using simple grocery store items that should be available pretty much anywhere.

I was grateful for that feedback because I wouldn't know what makes a Persian dish "authentic". However, I can say that the same complaint applies to the glut of Japanese cookbooks out there. If a Japanese Canadian who knows her way around Asian groceries can't get her hands on a certain ingredient, then what is the point of even publishing such a book?

I adapted the Persian Sweet and Sour Stuffed Chicken recipe posted at the Mage Publishers site to accommodate the restricted diet I'm following. Apart from some minor changes, there wasn't much I needed to do to simplify the recipe. It takes a bit of time to prepare because of the number of things that need chopping or filleting, but it is not at all difficult.

Sweet and Sour Stuffed Chicken
Serves 6-8

6-8 chicken breasts, boneless, skinless
1 Tbsp light olive oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 cup prunes, pitted and finely chopped
1 cup dried apricots, finely chopped
1 baking apple, diced
¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper
¼ tsp saffron, steeped in 2 Tbsp of hot water
1 tsp honey
juice of 2 oranges

1. Butterfly and pound each breast to an even thickness.
2. In a large pot, heat the olive oil at medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, prunes, apricots, and apple. Don't allow anything to sear; just heat through gently.
3. Add the pepper, saffron with water, honey and the juice of one orange. Lower the temperature and allow the mixture to soak up the moist ingredients for about 10-15 min.
4. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
5. Place a ¼ to ½ cup of the stuffing mixture in the middle of each chicken fillet and wrap the meat around it. To hold it together, truss the the stuffed breasts with kitchen twine as shown above.
6. Place the stuffed breasts in a roasting pan and pour the remaining orange juice over them.
7. Bake for 1½ hours or until the chicken meat has reached at least 180°F. Baste the breasts frequently with the juices that have run off and mixed with the orange juice.
   
8. To serve, remove the twine and slice into cross sections.
   

Chilled Cucumber Soup

Persian cuisine is relatively new territory for me -- one that I am excited to learn more about. Having an Iranian friend who cooks her native dishes effortlessly and intuitively is a good way to start. However, I can't keep imposing on her for information, so I went on a hunt for a good online resources.

The good peeps at Mage Publishers -- an indie publisher of Persian literature and cultural books -- have generously posted a few recipes from Najmieh Batmanglij's "New Food of Life" and her other cookbooks in the Mage catalogue. (Note: "New Food of Life" was described by some reviewers on Amazon as being the best English cookbook on Persian cuisine, so I promptly ordered it today.)

By coincidence, the first recipe on the Mage page is for a Yogurt and Cucumber Dip/Soup (Mast-o khiar) which is ridiculously similar to a Scandinavian recipe for a chilled cucumber soup that I wanted to try. It just goes to show you that we all live in a tiny global village.

I modified a couple of ingredients to suit the restricted diet I've been following. I also have the good fortune to have successfully grown herbs from seed, including dill, sweet marjoram, basil, and lemon basil. This may not sound like a big deal to you, but I am the grim reaper of plants and the fact that any greenery has lived under my care is a miracle of biblical proportions. Anyway, the fresh dill was a great addition to this dish. [Note to AP: This is an Option #1 recipe.]

Chilled Cucumber Soup
Serves 4

¼ cup shallots, coarsely chopped
1 English cucumber, peeled, seeded and diced
2-3 cups plain yogurt (depends how thick you like it)
1 Tbsp fresh mint leaves
1-2 Tbsp fresh sprigs of dill
salt and pepper to taste
3 Tbsp walnuts, chopped *optional for garnish
½ cup raisins, soaked and drained *optional for garnish

1. In a large bowl, combine the shallots, cucumber, yogurt and herbs.
2. Puree the mixture until relatively smooth. (Note: the cucumber flesh will give it a porridge-like texture, which is what you should be aiming for.)
3. Season with salt and pepper.
4. Chill until ready to serve. Garnish with walnuts or raisins if desired.

Note: the mint will turn black if not eaten right away. This doesn't impact the flavor too badly, but it isn't as pretty as when it is green. If this is a concern, add chopped mint only at serving time.

An Alphabet for Gourmets (1949)

It is with great regret that I confess total ignorance of M.F.K. Fisher (1908 - 1992) and her body of work up until today. She was not so much a "food writer" as a writer who thought a lot about food through essays and short stories. She published over twenty books and two volumes of journals and letters written in her unique style that led many readers to believe for a while that she was a man.

Fisher even produced a translation of Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin's "The Physiology of Taste" in 1949. I've been reading the 1970 translation by Anne Drayton, which is perfectly competent but I wonder now what Fisher's interpretation must be like.

Gourmet magazine has republished a series of her essays online called "An Alphabet for Gourmets" -- a collection later printed as a book.

By chance, I stumbled upon her "S is for Sad..." segment. If you want to know what my book is about, I encourage you to read Fisher's take on the inextricable link between death, food and appetite.

"...underneath the anguish of death and pain and ugliness, hunger and unquenchable life are facts, shining, peaceful. It is as if our bodies, wiser than we who wear them, call out for encouragement and strength and, in spite of us and of the patterns of proper behavior we have learned, compel us to answer, and to eat."

Japanese-Style Curry

Before anyone starts lecturing me that curry is Indian in origin, let me reassure you that I know that. The word itself originates from the Tamil word "kari". The spice mixes that we know as "curry" are South Indian inventions.

The fact that a spice-averse culture such as Japan has adapted its own version of the curry sauce is a testament to the dish's immense appeal and undeniable deliciousness. In fact, the Brits have done the same. Of course, only the Japanese would find a need to tone it down a bit, making a mild or sweet version to suit their own delicate palates.

Every Japanese kid has had the curry that comes in the Glico box (yes, that's the same Glico company that makes the world famous Pocky sticks -- now offered in more than a dozen flavors). You just heat up some onion, chicken, carrots, potato and water in a pot then throw in the cubes of Glico curry roux, and you magically end up with a thick, creamy stew that tastes brilliant with a bowl of white rice.

For decades I have made Japanese-style curry in this way, never realizing how absurdly easy it is to make my own "karee" (カレー) roux, even under certain dietary restrictions. Better yet, this means I can also have fun customizing the flavors.

[Note to AP: This is an Option #2 recipe.]

Japanese-Style Curry
Serves 6-8

2½ Tbsp curry powder
½ cup oat flour
4-6 Tbsp light olive oil

2 chicken breasts, skinned, deboned and cubed
1 medium onion, sliced
2 small carrots, coarsely chopped in rounds
2 cups okra, stem caps removed
1 tsp grated fresh ginger
1 tsp minced garlic
2½ cups vegetable or chicken stock
½ Tbsp curry powder
½ tsp garam masala

1. In a skillet, lightly heat the 2½ Tbsp of curry powder and oat flour over medium heat for about a minute.
2. Add the olive oil and rapidly stir it into the dry ingredients. If necessary, add more oil only until just enough to yield a brown paste. Heat the paste through, stirring constantly to avoid burning. After a minute or two of stirring, remove from heat. Set aside.
3. Throw into a large pot the chicken, onion, carrots, okra, ginger, garlic and stock. Bring to a boil and immediately lower the heat to a simmer.
   
4. As the pot simmers, skim off any foamy scum that forms at the surface and discard. The scum consists of impurities -- mostly from the chicken -- that have floated up. Don't let the scum get mixed back into the liquid because it will impact the taste.
5. Add the remaining curry powder and the garam masala to the pot.
6. Mix in the paste from the skillet and gently stir the pot.
   
7. Continue simmering until the stew becomes thick and creamy, at least 30 min, or longer to allow the flavors to infuse. Check that the chicken has cooked through.
8. Serve with rice.
   

Blueberry Yogurt Tartlets

Oddly enough, it started with chicken pot pie.

Still following the rules of a strict diet, I tried to devise a recipe for chicken pot pie without cream, butter, shortening, puff pastry, or any wheat-based flours. The filling was fairly intuitive to figure out. But the flaky, golden pie crust was going to be a bit of a challenge.

Pie crust is basically flour, salt and/or sugar, butter / shortening / lard (i.e. fat), and ice cold water. While I'm not an expert baker, I have made enough pies in my lifetime to have attained a modest mastery of the pie crust. And if there's anything I know about pie crusts is that you don't muck around with the fundamentals. Baking is a science -- getting the chemistry wrong makes the difference between light pastry and rock-hard dough.

As I've said before, non-wheat flours are relatively new to me. I've come to like oat flour in particular because of its nutty taste and grainy, crumbly texture like in shortbread. I decided that a sablée ("sandy") crust would be a palatable alternative to the flaky crust.

However, I wasn't sure if substituting light olive oil for butter would work. So I needed to test it out first in a simpler recipe.

I had seen the Yogurt Tartlets recipe posted on 101 Cookbooks and appreciated the fact that the custard was made of (light) yogurt and eggs -- ingredients that are allowed in the diet -- and yet somehow still turns out creamy even in the absence of heavy cream. Heidi's recipe uses maple syrup as a sweetening agent, but I replaced that with mild honey. I couldn't use her crust recipe because it is full of banned ingredients, so what better occasion to test out the oat flour crust I had in mind?

[Note to AP: This is an Option #2 recipe.]

Oat Flour Pie Crust
Makes 1 large pie crust or 7-8 tartlet crusts

1¼ cups oat flour
¼ tsp sea salt
2 Tbsp light olive oil
4-8 Tbsp chilled water

1. In a large bowl, combine the oat flour and salt.
2. Add the olive oil and stir it in a little.
3. Add one tablespoon of chilled water at a time until all of the dry mixture is clumpy and moistened. The dough should be able to hold its shape when pressed into the shape of a ball. If it feels very sticky or runny then you have added too much water; compensate by adding a small amount of oat flour. If it is too crumbly to form a ball, then add a bit more water.
   
4. Cover the dough with plastic wrap and chill it in the freezer for about 10-15 min. Chilled dough is always easier to roll out.
5. With a rolling pin, roll out the dough on a flat surface until approximately twice the thickness of your pie tin, say the thickness of a dish rag. There's no need to flour the surface, as with conventional pie dough, but you will find that the dough is very crumbly and uneven. Don't worry about tears or holes because you can easily patch them by pressing down or smoothing some dough over the gaps.
6. With a wide knife or a scraper, lift up what you can of the dough and lower it into your pie tin(s). Gently press down the dough into every corner of the tin and cut off the excess from the rim. Patch any holes. You can skip Step 5 and opt instead to press a wad of dough into the tin and smoothing it out by hand. However, this could yield a crust of uneven thickness, so beware.
   
7. Refrigerate the crusts until ready to fill.

Blueberry Yogurt Tartlets
Fills 5-6 tartlets (I know this is inconvenient, like getting a package of 10 hot dogs with a package of 8 hot dog buns. I will try to adjust the quantities in the next version of this recipe.)

2 eggs
1 cup plain Greek (or Balkan-style) yogurt
¼ cup honey
zest of 1 lemon
1 Tbsp ginger juice (grate a ginger root then squeeze/strain out the juice)
5-6 Oat Flour Pie Crusts (see above) in tartlet tins
1 pint of fresh blueberries (or go wild and try other types of fruit)

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
   
2. In a large bowl, lightly beat the eggs.
3. Add the yogurt, honey, lemon zest, and ginger juice. Whisk thoroughly until well combined.
4. Fill the pie crusts no more than ¾ to the top. The custard will rise a bit during baking.
5. Bake 20-30 min or until the crusts look dry and the custard doesn't jiggle too much.
6. Allow the tartlets to cool.
7. When ready to serve, top the tartlets with blueberries.