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.

Cuppa Heaven

Japan has always been ahead of the bell curve when it comes to pre-packaged instant food. Instant noodles like cup ramen was invented in Japan by Nissin Foods in 1958. Food giant Ajinomoto was founded in 1909 after they patented MSG, which is used in all manner of processed foods ranging from bouillon cubes, canned goods to salad dressings. Glico (of Pocky fame) is now marketing single serving curry sauce travel packs among its many other instant creations. Other peers have figured out how to make packets of powdered, instant miso soup, vacuum packs of congee (or okayu, as the Japanese call it), instant sushi mixes, bricks of beef stew roux and so much more.

The latest marvel of invention to come out of Japan is the freeze dried packet of instant amazake (甘酒) from the clever folks at Morinaga. Wikipedia will tell you that amazake is "a traditional sweet, low-alcoholic Japanese drink made from fermented rice". The old school method of making this lovely beverage requires cooking rice, cooling it down, and adding some kōji, which is the same beneficial mold added to rice to make sake. The alcohol content in amazake is generally so low that it is a family-friendly drink. But there are definite similarities in appearance, aroma and taste between amazake and its step-sister, the stronger nigorizake (which is an unfiltered sake which acquires its cloudy appearance from rice sediments).

I gave the instant amazake a whirl and was pleasantly surprised. The freeze-dried mix looks like a brittle block of Styrofoam when you pull it out of its wrapper. Boiled or cold water may be added to it; I opted for heat. The block immediately dissolved into a milky white liquid with small, soft grains of rice floating at the top. The sake aroma was unmistakable -- sweet and inviting. It went down very smoothly, helped by occasional stirs of the spoon to keep the rice grains from settling at the bottom.

I used to ridicule the Japanese (especially since I am one) for coming up with such innovations to cater to their overall laziness. After sampling this beauty (and Morinaga's other amazing instant drinks like oshiruko, matcha adzuki, and lemon ginger brew) I really can't complain. There's no better drink to enjoy on a chilly winter evening.

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!

Favorites: Colombien Supremo Brun

There are probably more varieties of coffee beans than there are hairs on a cat, but I think I can confidently say that my favorite brew is the Colombien Supremo Brun from La Pâtisserie de Gascogne in Montreal.

The Gascogne shops look like French bistros, in keeping with their tradition of importing classic French delicacies to the discriminating connoisseurs of Montreal. They have a good selection of breads, extravagant cakes and pastries, gourmet frozen meals, preserves, candies, chocolates, as well as the fine selection of coffees.

Ohhh the coffees. They are all pretty damned good, but the Colombien Supremo Brun is smooth like a Barry White album. It's mild, so it's not meant for those groggy mornings when you need a jolt of caffeine to slap you awake. But on a slow weekend morning, it is a rich indulgence to breathe in the faintly sweet, almost chocolatey aromas and enjoy the silky beverage with a shot of milk.

Favorites: Apple Mustard

As I've written before, I can't resist a farmer's market. It has an energy and color that stirs my culinary imagination.

My first market visit of the season led me to the Brantview Farms stall. The farm (or I should say "orchard"), located in St. George, Ontario, specializes in a wide variety of beautifully grown apples and apple products. A friend pointed out their English Style Apple Mustard.

It was love at first taste. There is a nice hit of spicy, tangy, and sweet flavors. It is firm, but not overpowering. I've had it as a dip with pretzel sticks and pepperettes, I've used it in sandwiches, I've had it with pork sausages... It's only been two weeks but I am already halfway through the jar. Most mustard containers take me a long time to finish. I have a feeling I'll be back at the market for more.

The good-humored Brantview folks will be at Nathan Phillips Square every Wednesday from June until Thanksgiving. Their other market appearances around Ontario are posted online.