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.