Great Balls of Fire

When I was kid, my ultimate favorite candy was the spicy hot cinnamon jawbreaker. The bigger the better. For days I would work on one, reveling in the tongue-numbing heat and getting high on the sugar. Biting or grinding it was a no-no because it would accelerate its demise.

Imagine that intense flavor and add 33% alcohol and you get Dr. McGillicuddy's Fireball Whisky from New Orleans. I picked it up on a whim the other day, drawn to it by the name, the old time labeling, the cinnamon and the price (750 ml for a mere $18.95 CAD). Ice cold shooters go down both hot and cold. It has an even balance of whisky kick, spicy punch and soothing sweetness. I normally dislike whisky but this I can grow to love.

It has fired up my creativity as well as my tongue: I can see this folded into a sauce to be drizzled over ice cream. Or poured over sponge cake, or mixed into icing to be slathered on top of carrot cake squares. Maybe it would work in a decadent brownie batter or an apple pie filling. It might be nice over pancakes with syrup or in some fruit preserves. The possibilities are endless.

Buddha Dragon Make-Over

The Ontario LCBO's free publication, "Food and Drink" magazine is a wealth of mouth-watering photos, reliable recipes and expert wine recommendations. It rivals "Food & Wine" magazine in breadth and it's free of the snobbery and inconsistencies of "Gourmet" magazine (I've had some bad experiences trying to execute their recipes, and I sincerely don't think the problem was with my level of culinary skill).

Its recent issue featured a recipe called "Miso Buddha Dragon Bowl with Lemon Grass & Rice Noodles". It's a mouthful to say and to eat! The photo appealed to me, but upon cooking, I discovered that the end result looks nothing like the photo -- the dish was delicious but it was essentially a brown, sludgy stew.

Ever the obstinate glutton, I insisted on making it again but my way.

Raw vegetables trump cooked ones any day. There's nothing like the fresh crunch of crudités. At parties, I'm the buzzard picking away at the veggie platter, eating the cauliflower and celery sticks that nobody will touch.

So I julienned a red bell pepper, some daikon radish, red onion, and celery. I also tore up some oyster mushrooms and cilantro. I couldn't find any rice noodles to my liking at the local grocery, so I settled for a bowl of rice as my base. The vegetables were arranged on top. A sauce was made separately and simply drizzled on top to preserve the brightness of the raw vegetables. Good quality sesame oil and sesame seeds finished the dish.

Here is my version of the sauce, inspired by the LCBO recipe:

1 Tbsp vegetable oil
4-5 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup coconut milk (or water and coconut powder)
2 stalks of lemongrass
2 Tbsp fresh ginger, grated or finely chopped
4 Tbsp miso paste
hot sauce, to taste

1. In a small sauce pan, heat the oil over medium heat. Sweat the minced garlic until they become fragrant.
2. Pour in the coconut milk and give it a brief stir.
   
3. Bruise the lemongrass and cut them just small enough to fit your sauce pan.
   
4. Add the lemongrass and ginger to the sauce and bring to a gentle simmer for several minutes.
5. Remove the stalks of lemongrass.
6. Add the miso paste and gently whisk it into the sauce. Bring to a simmer again and continue to heat until the sauce thickens a bit.
7. If you like a little more kick, add your favorite hot sauce.
   

Hot Chocolate

To the horror and dismay of millions, there are a few of us who are not chocoholics: I actually never crave chocolate. (After my last post about never craving pasta, I'm putting myself at risk of becoming a pariah.) More specifically, I don't yearn for sweet chocolate. My appetites fall under the salty/sour/savory flavor profiles.

Mexican chocolate is therefore a natural fit for me and a revelation. It's strong like dark chocolate but more sour. If you've ever chewed on a cacao nib, you know what I mean. Its flavors are faithful to its ingredients, not masked by chemicals or an excess of sugar. Chocolate, to me, is something that should taste earthy and it belongs with other earthy tastes and aromas like cinnamon and hot chilies.

The LCBO recently printed a recipe for Ancho Chocolate Chili that I had to try out. Lynn had given me tablets of authentic Mexican chocolate from a local farmer's market -- I've talked her ear off in the past about wanting to make true mole sauce some day and she was kind enough to indulge me. I also had lots of beautiful, dried ancho chilies in my pantry, having visited a Mexican grocery near Lynn's. The only difference between what I made (pictured above) and what the LCBO photographed is that I garnished mine with toasted hazelnuts and mint sprigs instead of peanuts and cilantro (a combo that does sound good). Oh well, can't be perfect. But the chili dish itself had a wonderful, complex palette of fragrances and textures. This recipe is definitely a keeper.

Potato Pillows

I have a turbulent, love-hate relationship with pasta. For this, I blame my brother.

When we were growing up, pasta was his tireless favorite -- one that my mother was more than happy to accommodate. Given that my father also shares this passion for the noodle family, I've had more than my fill of the yellow, wiggly stuff.

That's not to say that I don't enjoy a plate of well-made tagilatelle served with a thick, savory meat sauce or a bowl of bow-tie farfalle tossed with garlicky pesto. But given the choice between rice, bread, or pasta, I will never opt for the wiggly stuff. Sorry!

However, there is one pseudo-exception. Gnocchi -- meaning "lump", "knot" or "knuckle" -- are little pasta-like dumplings that I would gladly take the time to cook. They come in varieties like those made with bread crumbs, semolina, ricotta, and others, but my favorite is the potato gnocchi. They remind me of the German Spätzle (a scraggly, free-form egg noodle) or the Kartoffelkloess (literally, potato dumplings). There's also a vague resemblance to the Japanese mochi, which is a glutinous, chewy rice ball or dumpling that I get cravings for during cold weather.

I'm used to the idea of boiling pre-packaged gnocchi but I never tried making them. That is, until I realized how absurdly easy it is. Don't believe me? Here's the basic recipe.

Basic Gnocchi Recipe

2 big mashing potatoes -- baked, peeled, then grated
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 egg

1. Knead everything together, dusting lightly with additional flour as you go until the dough is not too sticky any more.
2. On a floured surface, roll the dough out into ropes as thick as a finger, then cut 1" pieces. (They will look like little pillows.)
3. In salted, boiling water, drop the gnocchi in batches and cook for about a minute until they come floating up.

I added some fresh herbs to my latest batch. I would imagine that lemon zest and other seasonings would make great additions too. To my dumplings, I added the following sauce of my own concoction.

Tomato Coconut Sauce

1 Tbsp olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup coconut milk
6 oz. tomato paste
2 Tbsp fresh, chopped basil

1. Warm the olive oil in a small saucepan over Medium heat. Sweat the minced garlic until lightly browned.
2. Add the coconut milk and tomato paste. Whisk together until smooth. Simmer gently until it thickens a bit.
3. Remove from heat and add the basil. Pour over gnocchi.
   

Nothing Short of Shortbread

For as long as I've had teeth, I've loved shortbread. Like a lot of people, my earliest exposure to this traditional Scottish biscuit was through the Walkers brand of delectable cookies that come in that familiar red tartan tin. They're crumbly yet buttery; crunchy yet delicate enough for a drooly baby to gnaw on with teeny teeth or just gums.

Seized by a desire to bake, I decided to concoct my own shortbread recipe. Authentic Scottish shortbread essentially consists of one part sugar, two parts butter (or shortening) and three parts flour. Ridiculously simple, isn't it? It is an unleavened cookie, which is why it doesn't need leavening agents such as baking soda or cream of tartar.

There's room to play around with the composition by varying the type of sugar, fat or flour used. Granulated sugar, caster sugar, brown sugar, demerara sugar, muscovado sugar, turbinado sugar... I'd venture that any granular sugar that doesn't dissolve or melt into a batter but also doesn't have gigantic crystals should work. Butter and shortening are best for the fats; I would guess from the oil-based biscuits I made in the past that olive oil or vegetable oil might also serve adequately, although the resulting cookie might be crunchier. Oat flour and rice flour (as I discovered during my experiments last summer) have a wonderful nutty, sandy character that brilliantly highlights baked goods that call for a sablée texture.

You can also add other ingredients like egg or milk for a softer cookie, or lemon rind, dried fruit, lavender, rosemary, caraway seeds, cinnamon, nutmeg, mint, vanilla or whatever else your imagination can dream up as long as it doesn't make the resulting dough too soggy. I happened to have some subtly fragrant orange peel powder, ground coriander and poppy seeds. The recipe is below and the resulting cookie is shown above. (If anyone is willing to be my guinea pig, I'd also like to try floral variations like lavender or rose and slightly savory combinations like lemongrass and mint, ground walnut and rosemary, or ginger and lime.)

M's Orange Coriander Shortbread
Makes 12-16 squares

50g caster (aka superfine) sugar
100g unsalted butter (or roughly one stick of butter), at room temperature
75g all-purpose flour
75g rice or oat flour
2 tsp orange peel powder (or 1 tsp grated orange rind)
1 tsp ground coriander
½ tsp poppy seeds

1. Preheat the oven to 375°F.
2. Lightly grease and line a 8" x 5-3/8" baking pan (or something approximating that size) with parchment paper; ensure that there is extra parchment hanging out of the pan so that the shortbread can later be lifted out with ease.
   
3. With a wooden spoon, cream together the sugar and butter until light and almost fluffy.
4. In another bowl, mix together the two flours, the orange peel powder, ground coriander and poppy seeds.
   
5. Gradually add the dry mixture to the sugar and butter mixture. Mix the ingredients well. The resulting dough should be very crumbly and rather dry.
6. Dump the dough into the lined pan and press it down until smooth and even.
   
7. Score the dough deeply with a sharp knife into 1¼" to 1½" squares. Those of you with an artistic bent can further decorate the shortbread with classic dimples or more intricate designs like the Scots do.
   
8. Bake for 5 minutes. Reduce the heat to 315°F and bake for another 20 minutes or just until the dough takes on a light golden color (not browned).
9. Remove the pan from the oven. Lift out the shortbread using the parchment paper and allow to cool on a rack for a few minutes. Separate the biscuits and allow to cool completely.
   

Dream of Tartar

I have a long, unfortunate history of being trapped next door to neighbors from hell. There were the party animals who left their dog abandoned at home all night long, whimpering and barking. The neurotic woman who didn't believe in curtains or blinds, complained about outside lights that prevented her from sleeping and paraded around her apartment in an ill-fitting bathing suit. The vain cougar who walked from morning to night in stiletto heels on the hardwood floors above my head then had screaming matches at 2am with her boy toys. The young, slacker couple who blasted their stereo for hours on end. The twitchy psycho who banged on his ceiling (my floor) when I dropped a sheet of paper (it was literally just a sheet of paper, folks).

So imagine my complete and utter surprise when I woke up early one snowbound morning to find my front steps and sidewalk already plowed away. The elderly gentleman who rents the basement apartment next door had done it voluntarily while also clearing our shared driveway with a shovel and snow-blower. When I thanked him, he said, "why shovel my side just for five minutes when I can do the whole thing? Anyway, I need the exercise." I hadn't told him that my previous neighbor, also blessed with a snow-blower, didn't once offer to help me even on those blizzardy days when I was out for over an hour-and-a-half with my lo-tech shovel.

Wanting to show him my gratitude, I put together a care package of organic teas, fair-trade coffee (since I wasn't sure if he was a tea or coffee drinker) and a batch of home-made scones [see photo #1]. I used a recipe from that saucy diva of scrumptious food, Nigella Lawson. Her ingredient list for "Lily's Scones" reads like a recipe for baking soda biscuits [see photo #2] except for the generous inclusion of cream of tartar.

I've long wondered what the blimey cream of tartar is or does and why we don't use more of it. For one thing, it's misleadingly in powdered form despite its name. And "tartar" refers neither to the ethnic Tartars spread across Russia, nor the ugly buildup of dental plaque on neglected teeth. In fact, cream of tartar comes from the acid salt that crystallizes and encrusts the insides of wine casks as the juice of grapes are left to ferment. The ancients called the crusty purple stuff tartar or tartre (a reference to "encrustation" or "deposit"). When it is purified, the result becomes a white, acidic powder called potassium bitartrate. The powder allegedly keeps forever -- even if it has hardened into chunks, it can be broken apart and used in recipes.

Baking powder as we know it is simply a mixture of cream of tartar (an acid) and baking soda (an alkali). As remembered from high school chemistry class, an acid combined with a base creates a neutralizing chemical reaction that yields a metal, salt and water. In baking, this causes dough to bubble and leaven. Which is why we use baking powder in a lot of cakes and breads.

The acidity of cream of tartar is also used to stabilize whipped egg whites and add volume; it's used in candy-making to prevent caramelizing sugar from crystallizing; and it helps boiled vegetables keep their color.

So now, behold again the difference between the scones made with a touch of baking soda and lots of cream of tartar vs. the baking soda biscuits using only baking soda. They're both equally easy to make and tasty. However, you can see chemistry clearly at work here: the scones are much puffier than the biscuits: lighter, creamy soft yet still spongy (not doughy). It encourages me to try more baking projects with cream of tartar.

Btw, a single batch yielded more than two dozen scones so I shipped some off to my parents and kept a few for myself. This is simple bakery at its best.