Upscale Munchies

Poutine is a staple of this native Québécoise's diet. On a late night outing with friends or after a great concert, an attack of the munchies would have to be quelled by a cup of crispy fries and squeaky cheese curds bathed in thick gravy. The ubiquity of authentic poutine joints in Montreal -- like Lafleur's and La Belle Province -- made it easy to satisfy those cravings when I lived there. Toronto chefs can dish out some respectable interpretations of poutine, but I have to go a fair distance out of my way to get my hands on any of it.

Montreal chef Martin Picard has inspired me to give it a go right in my own kitchen. Picard is the chef/owner of Au Pied de Cochon -- a mecca for nose-to-tail meat lovers -- and host of The Food Network's The Wild Chef. I've had firsthand experience of the devastatingly good eats at Cochon, the most memorable of which featured foie gras. So it should come as no surprise that Picard has a recipe for Foie Gras Poutine.

Foie gras is not something one cooks with every day. It's a pricey indulgence that can't be found on the shelves of the neighborhood supermarket amongst packaged bologna and imitation crab meat. I bought my first fresh foie gras at A Taste of Quebec, allowing myself the splurge only because it was my bday. However, the price made me incredibly indecisive about what to do with it... that is until I found Picard's poutine recipe.

The seared foie gras tasted like bacon and had the texture of soft, buttery tuna belly inside. The foie gras sauce was tasty but not really necessary; I'm generally content with just a really savory, thick gravy. If only I could snack like this every time I get a case of the munchies...

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!

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.