Black Gold

In cuisine as in fashion, everything old eventually becomes new again. While platform shoes and mullets are probably best left in the past, black garlic is an ancient Asian food that has suddenly become all the rage across North America in the last two years.

Fermentation at high heat turns ordinary garlic bulbs into gift-wrapped packages of soft, sweet, black cloves. The acrid intensity of raw garlic is replaced by a soothing flavor that evokes hints of molasses, soy sauce and faint mushroomy notes. Perhaps my description fails to do it justice. Let me just add that I had a strong (happy) vocal reaction to the taste even though I was alone in the kitchen at the time!

The brand I bought was of the Toronto based Just a Pinch variety. Their black garlic comes in a small foil pouch -- the size of a packet of cat treats. There were two whole bulbs inside, just waiting to be peeled.

The confluence of several recent developments led to my first recipe invention involving black garlic. First, on the occasion of my birthday, Lynn and a group of wonderful friends treated me to a fantastic dinner at Torito Tapas Bar. One of the dishes we ordered was a richly flavorful and comforting stew of juicy chorizo and potatoes in a red sauce that tasted of red bell peppers and paprika (which is readily used in a lot of Spanish cuisine). The potato and sauce combination is called patatas brabas or patatas bravas. The smokiness of paprika in both the chorizo and the sauce triggers my taste buds like in a Pavlovian dog.

Second, I stumbled across some Portuguese chourico spiced with my favorite piri piri hot sauce at my normally disappointing neighborhood supermarket. I thought perhaps chourico was a relative of the chorizo, so I decided to give it a shot. (Read the informative essay by food writer David Leite on the battle for supremacy between chourico and chorizo.)

Third, I found the black garlic at the upscale Longo's near my work.

Fourth, a friend who recently returned from a trip across various African countries brought me some pure palm oil.

Fifth, I got into a hunger-inducing discussion with my brother about gourmetizing our beloved street meat, the humble hot dog. I envisioned some kind of chili dog made with black garlic and something crunchy and fried sprinkled on top of it, like fried onion or fried potato bits.

Thus, my concept for the following recipe was born:

Chourico Black Garlic Ragout with Potato Galettes

For the Ragout
1-2 pats of butter
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
2 links of chourico (or chorizo), diced
1 whole can (796 ml) of San Marzano tomatoes, crushed
4-5 cloves of black garlic, chopped or minced
1 bay leaf

For the Galettes
1 medium potato (I used a white potato here)
3-4 tsp oil (this is where the palm oil came into play)

1. Heat a large skillet over medium heat. Melt the butter.
2. Sweat the onion in the butter until translucent or even lightly browned.
3. Add the sausage to the pan and heat through for a minute or two.
4. Pour in the crushed tomatoes and their juices.
5. Add the black garlic and bay leaf and allow to simmer for 15-20 minutes.
6. While the ragout is cooking, coarsely grate the potato.
7. Heat half of the oil in a non-stick pan over medium-high heat.
8. For each galette, pinch a generous amount of the shredded potato and drop it onto the hot pan. Press down with a spatula and lightly shape it so that it is flat and roughly the size of a regular cookie. When it feels like each galette is holding its shape, flip it over until the potato has fried to a golden brown (or orange-brown in the case of the palm oil). You can probably fry a few at a time, depending on the size of your pan. If the pan seems dry between batches, add the rest of the oil.
9. When firm and crispy, remove the galettes from the pan and drain them on paper towels.
10. To serve, spoon out the ragout into a bowl. Place one or two galettes on top.

Next on the menu: I have to try out the recipe for Baked Banans with Black Garlic!

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.
   

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.
   

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!

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!

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.

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.
   

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.
   

Salmon Chowder

The restricted diet that I am following does not allow for any clams or milk. Nevertheless, I was determined to make a seafood chowder. The clams were easily replaced by cubes of salmon. Replacing the dairy was a sketchy proposition, as it is a key component of any chowder.

I never liked milk substitutes and refused to drink them, despite being lactose intolerant. Soy milk puts me off with its cloying sweetness. Rice milk is thin like water. Fortunately, Natrel makes a brilliant lactose-free milk that actually tastes like milk. However, I've never tried to cook with the milk alternatives, and this was a good opportunity to experiment.

The result was a reasonable approximation to the lighter chowder soups. It could be thickened by pureeing some of the potato in the recipe. [Note to AP: This is an Option #1 dish.]

Salmon Chowder
serves 6

1 large fillet of salmon (roughly 3 portions), skinned and cubed
1 Tbsp light olive oil
1 cup of shallots, sliced
6 small red potatoes (the red potatoes look nicer, but I think white potatoes have a better, smoother texture which is appropriate for this dish), cubed
1 cup of fresh or frozen corn
½ tsp dried thyme
1 bay leaf
⅛ tsp red pepper flakes
½ tsp (or less) sea salt
¼ tsp ground black pepper
3-4 cups of rice milk
2 tsp lemon juice

1. Boil the salmon cubes in water for 8-10 min or until cooked through. Drain and set aside.
   
2. In a large pot, heat the oil at medium heat. Add the shallots and allow them to soften.
3. Add the potatoes to the pot until heated through.
4. Add the remaining ingredients to the pot and bring to a boil. Before it reaches a full, rolling boil, lower the temperature to allow the pot to simmer gently.
5. Simmer an hour (or longer, if desired) to allow the flavors to infuse and the liquid to reduce.
6. Serve with a wedge of lemon.
   

Mini Lemon Poppy Muffins

The following is a recipe for Lemon Poppy Muffins that I adapted from a regular muffin recipe, replacing the flour and sugar with oat flour and honey. If you use "uncontaminated" oat flour (i.e. without any trace of gluten) and baking powder, this can be a gluten-free recipe. Make sure to use a mild honey so that the aromas don't overwhelm the light citrus fragrance. This can also work well with lime instead of lemons.

You can make these as regular-sized muffins, but personally I like mini muffins because they're bite-sized and cute. [AP: This is an Option #2 recipe.]

Mini Lemon Poppy Muffins
Makes 24

½ cup oat flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
¼ tsp baking soda
pinch sea salt
3 eggs
¼ cup honey
¼ cup light olive oil
1 Tbsp lemon (or lime) zest
1 Tbsp lemon (or lime) juice (optional)
1 Tbsp poppy seeds

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
   
2. In a large bowl, combine the oat flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt.
3. In a smaller bowl, whisk together the eggs, honey, olive oil, citrus zest and juice (optional).
4. Add the wet mixture to the dry and mix together until a smooth batter forms.
5. Stir in the poppy seeds.
6. Fill the muffin cups until slightly below the rim.
7. Bake in the oven for 8-10 min or until puffed up and golden.
   

Easy Veggie Chili

Here is a meatless chili recipe I devised for the restricted diet. It tastes better the longer you let it simmer. For those days when you have the time but don't want to expend too much effort...

Easy Veggie Chili
serves 6-8
[Note to AP: This is an Option #1 recipe]

½ cup olive oil
4-5 shallots, sliced
1 green bell pepper, seeded and diced
1 red bell pepper, seeded and diced
1 zucchini, seeded and diced
1 can (32 oz) can chickpeas, rinsed and drained
2 large tomatoes, seeded and diced
1½ cups tomato juice
2 Tbsp chili powder
1 Tbsp fresh oregano or ½ tsp dried oregano
1 Tbsp fresh basil or ½ tsp dried basil
1 tsp ground cumin
2 Tbsp fresh cilantro, coarsely chopped
sea salt, black pepper and cayenne to taste

1. In a large pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat.
   
2. Add the shallots and heat until softened (but not browned).
3. Add the bell peppers, zucchini and chickpeas until just heated through.
4. Add the tomatoes, tomato juice, chili powder, oregano, basil, and cumin and stir until everything is evenly mixed.
5. Lower the temperature, cover the pot, and allow to simmer gently for at least 30 min. Stir occasionally. I let it simmer for a couple of hours, which infused the flavors more intensely.
   
6. Remove the chili from heat and add the cilantro and seasonings.

My Shu Mai

Not long ago, I was watching Episode 36 of "Diary of a Foodie" which focused on "Fine Fast Food", i.e. cheap, quick eats across the globe that are good enough even for serious gourmands despite their pedestrian origins. One of stops included a Hong Kong noodle shop known for its wonton. In fact, its recipe is considered to be the perfect wonton.

My brother is the one in the family with an affinity for wonton, but I still found myself desperately yearning for some wonton of my own.

The hitch is, I am still following the rigid rules of a restricted diet, not so much for my own benefit, but to force myself to think more creatively in the kitchen. The diet doesn't let me combine meat with any forms of rice or wheat. Wonton or potsticker wrappers are of course made of rice or wheat flour.

My solution was to use collard greens as wrappers. The leaves are broad enough to wrap around a reasonably-sized dumpling. They are thick and hardy -- able to withstand a lot of handling and heat. When roasted, they caramelize a bit and yield a slightly sweet, mildly seaweed-like flavor.

My initial thought was to call them "Wanton Wontons" until I realized that my wrapper substitution would work better (and look better) in the form of shu mai. So here is the recipe for "My Shu Mai". If you come up with a better, cheekier name, please share!

My Shu Mai
Makes 24 dumplings
[AP: This is an Option #2 recipe]

1 package (approx 350-500g) ground turkey or chicken
1 egg
2 scallions
1 tsp rice vinegar
½ tsp sesame oil
¼ tsp sea salt
¼ tsp ground black pepper
2-3 Tbsp plain yogurt
⅓ cup rolled oats, ground up coarsely
6-12 large leaves of collard greens, stalks removed

NOTE: You will need a mini-muffin pan, which will help the leaves keep shape and are the perfect size for shu mai.

1. In a large bowl, combine the ground meat, egg, rice vinegar, sesame oil, sea salt, and black pepper.
2. In a smaller bowl, mix the yogurt and oats until it has the consistency of thick oatmeal. If too dry or crumbly, add more yogurt one spoonful at a time. If too liquid, add more oats a small amount at a time. This is the restricted diet's version of a panade: normally a paste made of milk and bread which is added to hamburgers, meat loaves, and meat balls so that they turn out tender and juicy.
   
3. While the mixtures in the two bowls sit and marinate, cut round wrappers (approx 3" in diameter) out of the leaves of the collard greens. A small ramekin worked for me; you may have cookie cutters, cups or other round objects that you can trace around with a paring knife. Avoid the thick central veins of the leaves because it will be difficult to bend or fold around the dumpling fillings. Cut out 24 wrappers.
4. Add the oat mixture to the meat mixture and blend until all ingredients are uniformly distributed.
5. Preheat the oven to 375°F.
6. If your mini-muffin pan isn't sufficiently non-stick, then lightly grease each slot with oil, butter, or whatever you prefer.
   
7. In each slot of a mini-muffin pan, push in a collard green wrapper, and fill it with about 1 Tbsp of the mixed ingredients. Don't be concerned if a wrapper doesn't stay in its slot on its own; the weight of the filling will press it down. Don't stuff the filling past the edges of the wrapper.
   
8. Put the pan in the oven and bake 20-30 min, or until the interior temperature of the dumplings reach at least 170°F.

Serve on their own or with chicken broth and vegetables (such as mushrooms, herbs, etc.).

Life Without Chocolate

This is Week 2 of my culinary challenge. One of the food items banned from the prescribed diet is chocolate. I know, I know... so many of us are drooling choco-holics who become choco-gasmic over a thick wedge of flourless chocolate torte, or a fragrant piece of Belgian chocolate truffle. The idea of being sentenced to an existence without chocolate borders on the cruel and inhumane.

To add salt to the wound so to speak, sugars -- both brown and white -- are also banned from the diet. How on earth does one still enjoy life without at least one sliver of sweetness?

That's when I remembered my very own Azuki "Brownie" Cheesecake recipe. It's a "brownie" without chocolate. It's the first semi-elaborate dessert recipe that was entirely my own creation and it was delicious to boot. Those who know me realize that I am the last person to toot my own horn, especially about my culinary abilities. For me to flaunt this success is an indicator of my absolute confidence in its delights.

If you stop to think about the root of chocolate (cacao) it begins with a bean. While the cacao bean is rather bitter -- biting into one is like gnawing on coffee grinds -- there are plenty of other bean varieties that are naturally sweet. Black beans are often used in the West as an alternative to chocolate in dairy-free dessert recipes, especially since it imparts a chocolate brown color when mashed. However, the sweet bean that is a staple across Asian kitchens is the azuki (or adzuki, or aduki) bean. It is a red bean that, IMHO, is equal to chocolate in its depth of flavor and versatility.

The cream cheese layer from my previous recipe had to be omitted due to further restrictions in the diet. Which left me with a rather dense, if lonely-looking layer of "brownie". It seemed necessary to add something bright to the mix. Raspberries were the first thing that came to mind, and so in they went. Walnuts would have been the ideal accompaniment to the azuki flavor, but the diet doesn't allow me to combine the two in the same dish. So I settled for almonds.

Azuki Raspberry "Brownies"
Yields 16 squares

1 can (approx. 520 g) Azuki beans*, mashed coarsely
½ tsp sea salt (unrefined) or less if preferable
½ cup oat flour, sifted
1 Tbsp baking powder
½ cup almonds, chopped or crushed
1 cup (½ pint) fresh raspberries, or thaw out frozen ones if necessary

*Note: some canned Azuki beans in Asian groceries have sugar and/or corn syrup added to them. If you are watching your sugar intake, check the label and pick a can that has the least amount of additives in the ingredient list, or use plain beans and control how much sweetener you add to it. However, my personal preference is to use the canned, "light" versions of the sweetened, whole (not mashed) Azuki beans. They are called Ogura-an (小倉餡) or Tsubu-an (粒餡).

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F.

2. Mix everything but the raspberries in a large bowl until well-combined.

3. Gently fold the raspberries into the batter, trying not to squash any of them.

4. Line a 9" square baking pan with parchment paper. Let about an inch of the paper to overhang from the edges of the pan -- this will make it easier for you to lift the cake out of the pan when it is ready.

5. Pour the batter into the pan.

6. Bake for 30 min or longer, depending on how soft you like your brownies. Note that as with any brownie recipe, there is a tendency for the cake along the rim of the pan to become spongey and bread-like in texture, whereas the middle pieces will tend to be more gooey like fudge. There's no right or wrong to this: it is entirely up to you. If you don't like a fudgey brownie, then jiggle or tilt the pan to see if the centre is still soft. If it is, the batter hasn't set, so leave it in the oven for another few minutes before you check it again.

7. Allow the cake to cool on a rack before trying to remove it from the parchment or trying to cut it.

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

Poached Chicken and Wild Rice Salad

Someone I know is dealing with a restricted diet that, incredibly, restricts almost all kinds of meats except for white chicken meat, white turkey meat, and pheasant/quail. Given that the latter are not readily available at the neighborhood supermarket, it boils down to the first two choices.

Another painful restriction is the banning of any kind of frying. With the early days of summer upon us, it's hard to imagine not BBQ-ing or at least frying meat. (My apologies to vegetarians and vegans everywhere.)

The solutions that came to mind were to poach, braise or stew those meats. Poached chicken -- if done right -- can be a delightful component of a summer lunch. Unfortunately, too many people make the mistake of over-cooking the meat, ending up with a rubbery, tough, and unpalatable piece of crap. So, my recipe instructions below leverage some of the research I've done regarding poaching techniques.

Poached Chicken and Wild Rice (or Quinoa) Salad
Serves 4-6

1 cup wild rice [Note to AP: I noticed after the fact that this should have been quinoa to make it a purely Option #2 recipe... OOPS]
2-3 chicken breast fillets, boneless and skinless (the number depends on the size of the fillets)
2 lemons
1 can (19 fl. oz.) red beans, drained and rinsed
2 green onions, chopped
½ cup almonds (raw or lightly dry roasted, as desired)
1 cup baby spinach (optional)
1 cup Almost Mayo Sauce

1. Add the wild rice (or quinoa) to a pot with the amount of water recommended on the package. Bring to a boil then lower the temperature to a simmer. Cover the pot with a lid and cook for the recommended length of time.
2. Slice one of the lemons into thick rounds. In a wide pot or skillet, lay down a single layer of the lemon slices. Place the chicken breast fillets on top of the lemon slices. Add just enough water to submerge the chicken. Weigh down the chicken with the lid of a smaller pot. Bring the water to a boil, then lower the temperature to a simmer. Cook until the internal temperature of the meat reaches at least 165°F (73°C), or until the interior is no longer pink. This may take anywhere from 5-20 minutes. The lemon slices keep the meat from overheating at the bottom. Shallow poaching (as opposed to poaching in lots of liquid) prevents the meat from losing flavor or moisture.
3. Either shred the meat by hand or chop them into thick slices. Place the meat in a large bowl. Add the red beans, chopped green onions, the zest of the remaining lemon, 1 Tbsp of the lemon's juice, and almonds (optionally the baby spinach too). When the wild rice (or quinoa) is ready, add to the bowl and mix all the ingredients gently.
4. To serve, provide the Almost Mayo Sauce on the side or drizzled on top.

Easy Lemon Daikon

I'm one of those people who likes fresh, raw radishes of every kind. Some find the peppery taste too overpowering, which is understandable. That's why I've been messing around with cooked radishes.

Sometimes I will boil radishes (and other root vegetables) in a soup or broth. But the weather in Canada is finally starting to warm up and the idea of slurping a steaming bowl of soup is about as appealing now as wearing a parka in a Bikram Yoga class.

So I simply cut my fresh daikon crosswise into rounds and seared them on a pan of well-heated sesame oil until browned. The rounds were quartered. A sprinkling of freshly squeezed lemon juice (yuzu would have been ideal), fleur de sel, ground pepper, and chopped green onions finished the side dish. It was delicious with a bowl of jasmine rice.

Frying or roasting has a way of sweetening root vegetables as well as softening them. I like how the daikon rounds browned, creating a wheel-like pattern that nicely contrasts the soft, white interior. The citrus gives it a teeny shot of vibrancy. I was thinking of rolling the rounds in cornmeal next time to increase the exterior crunch.

What's Up, Wasabi

I was in the mood for a simple, cool salad using hard-boiled eggs. All I had in my crisper to accompany it were green onions and tomatoes. So it was up to the dressing to "dress up" the meal. A straightforward vinaigrette would have been ok, but I wanted something creamy to complement the eggs. Yet it needed to be astringent to go with the tomatoes.

Limes and a tube of wasabi paste came to mind. That's how this Creamy Wasabi Lime Dressing came to be:

• 1/4 to 1/2 tsp wasabi paste, to taste
• 1 heaping Tbsp of mayonnaise (regular or light)
• grated rind of 1 lime
• juice of 1/2 a lime (less if you don't like it too tart)

Whisk everything together until smooth. Drizzle over salad.