From the produce section, with love

When my brother and I were growing up, I do not remember having an option when it came to vegetables. Wait, I should clarify. It was not that there was a lack of variety in the vegetables placed before us, it was that we were never really given the option of trying them or not – we just did. We ate everything.

I’ll admit my Mother may be the better resource on this, but I do not remember there ever being a vegetable my brother or I would simply not eat (sure, there were ones that were not favourites). I recall being aghast when watching television and witnessing kid surreptitiously hide some Brussels sprouts in a napkin.

The thought had never dawned on me – I mean, why would anyone not want to eat a Brussels sprout? It was a completely foreign concept to my 7-year-old brain. Admittedly, our cocker spaniel did love corn, so he would have probably appreciated any scraps had we been willing to part with them.

We were lucky to be exposed to a wide array of vegetables, from a young age. We happily gobbled up steamed broccoli, curried cauliflower, peas in our aloo (potato) subsi, okra, spinach, beans of all sort, along with pulses and lentils. We even knew the three sides to one of our favourites — a vegetable that could be an aubergine when my grandmother was cooking, then transform itself into eggplant parmigiana at our neighbour’s house, and still be called baigan and brinjal when my Mom or Dad made Indian food.

My love for vegetables has carried me to adulthood, as I’ve expanded my repertoire to include new preparations and cooking methods. Nothing is better come springtime than roasted asparagus, more welcomed in summer than marinated salads, or more comforting in winter than braised leeks served alongside grilled meats.

S, on the other hand has not always been keen on our leafy and tuberous friends. Up until a few years ago, I could not even convince him that the noble onion was something that should pass his lips now and again. Luckily for me, a sojourn in some far-off lands opened up his culinary horizons and he is now my willing taste-tester. Though I’ll admit, I’ve not yet heard him say he ‘craved’ a vegetable – but I’m sure we’re on our way.

The many-named eggplant has been a perennial favourite, so when it came to deciding on what to make this past weekend, it was the obvious choice. Roasted in the oven, then used to top crunchy layers of puff pastry and a silky, rich filling of onions and herbed chèvre, the flavours were pronouncedly fall and the balance of textures exactly what I was looking for.

I sent one of these tarts to my parents this week; I hope they consider it a small thank you for all those years of ‘forcing’ me to eat my vegetables.

Roasted eggplant tart, with caramelized onions and chèvre

1 large globe eggplant
1 sheet puff pastry, thawed as per package instructions
2 small onions, halved and then sliced finely
100 g (3 oz) chèvre, softened and divided
100 g (3 oz) cream cheese, softened
2 tablespoons mixed fresh herbs (or more to taste), I used chives, parsley and thyme
5-10 cloves garlic, roasted and crushed into a paste
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Olive oil

Preheat oven to 425º F (220º C).

Slice eggplant into 1/2" rounds. Toss with olive oil, salt and pepper. Place in a single layer on a baking sheet and roast for 12 minutes. Turn the slices and roast for another 12 minutes, until lightly golden and soft. Alternatively, you can sauté the slices over medium heat. Set aside.

Reduce oven temperature to 400ºF (200º C).

On a floured surface, roll out the puff pastry to16”by 10”, trim any edges to form a neat rectangle. With a paring knife, score a 1” border around the edge of the pastry. Place on baking sheet. Prick (dock) the interior of the rectangle all over with a fork, to prevent excessive rising. Bake for 15 minutes, or until an even pale golden brown. Depending on your oven, you may need to rotate the pan halfway through the baking. Set aside on rack to cool (do not remove from baking sheet).

Meanwhile in a small saucepan with a tight-fitting lid, sauté the onions along with 1 teaspoon of salt. After the onions have become translucent cover and continue to cook, stirring frequently, for 15 minutes or until caramelized. Remove from heat, uncover and allow to cool.

In a small bowl, blend together half the chèvre, all the cream cheese and the herbs. Depending on the type used, you may need to loosen the mixture with a teaspoon of olive oil. You are looking for a lightly whipped, spreadable consistency. Season with salt and pepper, and set aside.

Being careful not to crush the pastry, spread the garlic paste over the crust. Top with the cheese mixture, followed by the caramelized onions. Arrange roasted eggplant over the onions and top with the reserved chèvre. Drizzle with a bit of olive oil, if desired.

Bake for 10 minutes, or until cheese starts to brown and the eggplant is warmed through. Can be eaten warm or at room temperature.

Serves 4.

Notes:
• For the ruffled effect shown with the puff pastry, I used a removable-bottomed tart pan with a fluted edge.
• Lemon zest and/or juice are welcome additions to the herbed cheese mixture.
• Any roasted vegetable would be excellent with this combination; tomatoes, zucchini or mushrooms are all suitable.
• Omit the chèvre and substitute an equal amount of a blue cheese for the filling.

Taste to Go: Kozlik's Canadian Mustard, Balsamic Figs & Dates

“Taste to Go” entries feature foodstuffs from my favourite purveyors and products of interest.

This past weekend, I had one of those leisurely Sundays – the type where if someone asked you what you did to spend each minute of every hour, you’d have no clue. All you know is that you had a lovely day. Graciously invited out by the ladies of S’s family, we headed to the always picturesque town of Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario, for a “Girl’s Day.”

For those not familiar with the area, Niagara-on-the-Lake (NOTL) is a small town located at the juncture of the Niagara River and Lake Ontario, across the Canada/U.S. border from Youngstown, N.Y.

Historically the town has figured heavily in the founding of Canada. A freshly-named Niagara was the capital of Upper Canada in 1792, but due to concerns of proximity to the States the city soon lost the title to York (now Toronto).

The town was the backdrop for much of the drama of the War of 1812, with the nearby battle of Queenston Heights a definitive point in Canadian history. Niagara was burned to the ground during occupation by American forces, but the British rebuilt. The city adopted its present moniker of NOTL in the 1880s to clarify its distinction from Niagara Falls. Today the town maintains much of its historical charm, albeit with a sometimes overly-glossy veneer of a booming tourist industry.

Home to not only meticulously restored historic sites, NOTL is well placed in Niagara’s Wine Country and caters towards a diverse clientele. Gracious spa hotels do flex their influence, but quaint B&Bs abound, as do a variety of restaurants and speciality shops.

We enjoyed a sumptuous brunch at one of the larger hotels in the area; a meal that stretched out for hours as we gossiped and laughed over everything and anything. Is it not a wonderful thing to have the opportunity to get together for some fabulous food and frivolous conversation?

After the meal, we descended upon the bustling shops of Queen Street, the town’s centre. We had no specific plans, choosing instead to flit from shop to shop and stopping whenever something caught our eye. Such was the case with our visit to Greaves Jams and Marmalades. Established in 1927, Greaves Jams is a fixture in NOTL, offering up their luscious jams, jellies and chutneys.

They have expanded their selection to include some choice gourmet and local products, including Kozliks Canadian Mustard. Intrigued by the Balsamic, Figs and Dates variety, I happily added a bottle to my already groaning shopping bags.

Heading home I pondered the combination of mustard seed, balsamic and sweet fruit. As mentioned before I have a bit of a collection of mustards at home, finding it to be one of the most versatile of condiments – adding depth to sauces, emulsifying vinaigrettes and dressing up a summer’s hotdog with its iconic yellow lashing. With an established love for Dijon, fiery English-style, sweet-sour German and hearty whole grain, this new variety would have a happy home.

The Kozliks Balsamic, Fig and Dates has an assertive pungency upon opening the bottle. The piquancy of mustard seed is there, set off by the astringent tang of balsamic. Tasting the gorgeously thick brown sauce you first experience the high notes of vinegar, followed by a base of sweet fig. The label suggests use with game and pork, and I do believe it would be an excellent basis for a crust for pork tenderloin or duck. With its depth and spice though, I enjoy it paired with lamb (as pictured) and could see it as a flavoursome addition to North African dishes and tagines. Further experimentation is definitely warranted.

Anton Kozliks Canadian Mustards
www.mustardmaker.com

Greaves Jams and Marmalades
www.greavesjams.com

We all have our quirks

As much as I espouse an easygoing approach to all things food related and try to promote creativity and substitutions whenever possible, I have to admit this tendency does not carry over to all aspects of my lifestyle – or even to all my views on things culinary. In fact, there are certain things about which I’m downright pernickety.

For instance, I adore having the right tool for a job. Even though I know that there are a million and one ways to zest a lemon, having the proper tool suited for the end result is a joy. A good chef's knife is your best friend. A well-shaped olive wood spoon makes stirring risotto a pleasure. The same holds true for servingware - you must admit that your gorgeous soba noodle soup is all the more stunning when served in a bowl shaped for optimal slurping. We have shelves in our basement devoted to my inability to say no to the “perfect” vessel.

I am a sucker for organization. Send me to a kitchen store, a craft store or even a stationer; I will happily troll the aisles for containers and caddies, labels and all things compartmentalized. I’ve actually spent time imaging all the things I could organize if I had the proper space and resources – oh how gorgeous my closets could be. I have even been known to have a moment of excitement over a new size of Tupperware. I can’t help it; it’s an obsession.

These two compulsions bring me to the granddaddy of them all — my love of lists. S has had to come to accept and respect my incessant hording of tiny slips of paper, each covered in cryptic notes and itemized records that usually only make sense to me. Maybe this harkens back to my childhood need to overachieve (gold stars were like ambrosia to me), but going through an orderly list and checking off items as they are completed gives me an incomparable sense of accomplishment.

I have lists for everything; for grocery lists, for errands, for Christmas presents, for correspondence, for books to read or topics to research … even the margins of my day planner are not safe from my scribbles.

I could go on, but I’m starting to scare myself.

As of late, I’ve been thinking about two lists in particular. One I’ve had for years, and is added to rather frequently. This list contains names like The French Laundry and Babbo, Fat Duck and El Bulli … and items referring to Chubby Hubby’s dear wife S and her gorgeous dumplings, finding the perfect baguette, and most recently an entry devoted to the idea of convincing Melissa and Clement that a macaron tasting tour of Paris with Michèle is exceedingly necessary. This list chronicles my food fantasies – dishes I want to try, places I long to visit and people I would adore the opportunity to meet.

The second list is much more tailored to my own little kitchen. This one details 50 or so items that make up my running tally of dishes I believe I should attempt to make at least once in my life, or recipes to master. Some are dishes I consider classics, while others are ones that have piqued my interest. Examples include:

8. Bake a quintessential yellow cake with chocolate frosting – think of what Wally and the Beave would have had with a cold glass of milk after school.
17. Make puff pastry and croissant dough from scratch.
21. Perfect my roast chicken recipe.
35. Invite Mom and Dad over for an Indian meal that knocks their socks off.
46. Make French fries at home, and decide once and for all where I stand on the “skinny frites vs. fat chips debate.”

This weekend I decided that #46 was due to be checked off my list. Not only would I tackle an age-old question of taste, but I would also continue my quest to conquer my innate fear of deep-frying. With a Saturday stretching before me, and an eager panel of tasters, I julienned and soaked, dried and fried (doubly, of course) and produced two batches of fries for their highly-scientific consideration. In the left corner, we have what I consider to be an example of the skinny frites tradition, destined for garlicky aiöli. In the other corner, we have the fat chip contender, the perfect partner to deep fried fish and the proper vehicle for gravy and cheese curds for Poutine.

After deliberation, the panel had two votes for skinny and one undecided. Both S and his dear father favoured the more assertively crispy fry, while I was still torn. I appreciated the snap of the exterior of the skinny fry, but could not totally discount the comfort of the baked-potato-reminiscent floury-ness of the chip style.

Each has its place at my table. I may be compulsive, but I can’t seem to play favourites. So #46 remains, but I still think these deserve a gold star.

Definitive fries  
I use a hybrid of tips, taken mostly from Tony Bourdain’s Les Halles Cookbook and Alton Brown’s I’m Just Here for the Food. Both employ a double-fry method; first poaching the potatoes at a lower heat, then frying a second time at a higher heat to ensure a crispy exterior. The draining station detailed is that of Alton Brown – it keeps oil droplets from collecting on the grates of the draining rack and helps to prevent soggy fries.

4 large baking potatoes, russets are good
Oil for frying
Salt

For the skinny fries, peel the potatoes (if desired) and cut each one lengthwise into slices 1/3 inch thick. Cut the slices lengthwise into sticks 1/3 inch thick. For the fat chips, prepare as above but slice the potatoes into 1/2 batons. Soak the potatoes in bowls of ice water for at least 30 minutes (as long as overnight) to release the excess starch.

In a deep fat fryer or a heavy bottomed pot, preheat 3 inches of oil (or follow manufacturer’s recommendations) to 300ºF.

Rinse potatoes in a few courses of clean water. Drain, then lay them out on a kitchen towel or paper towel and pat dry. Removing excess moisture at this stage will help reduce the oil from splattering when the potatoes hit the fat.

Assemble your draining station. Take a baking rack and invert it so that the legs are pointing upwards. Place this on top of a few layers of newsprint.

Fry the potatoes, in small batches until translucent and just starting to turn pale gold (approximately 6-8 minutes for the skinny fries, 8-10 for the thick ones). Do not overload the oil, or the temperature will drop too quickly and the potatoes will be uneven. Cooking times will depend on the size of batch and how well you can maintain the oil temperature. Using a spider, basket or tongs remove the first batch to the draining rack. Proceed with remaining potatoes until done. Allow to stand for at least 10 minutes, or up to 2 hours.

When ready to serve, raise the heat of the oil to 375ºF.

Again working in batches, fry the potatoes until golden and crisp, about 2-3 minutes for the skinny and 3-4 for the thick. Remove to the draining rack (lined with fresh paper) for a moment to cool then transfer to a large bowl. Season liberally with salt and toss the fries to coat. Serve immediately.

Serves 4, generously.

Notes:
• A good sprinkling of Maldon salt was all the adornment we needed, but smoked paprika, finely minced garlic and parsley or cumin and turmeric all make great seasonings.
• The aiöli from Laura Washburn makes a perfect accompaniment.

A season of thanks

I must sheepishly admit, there are certain things I take for granted. I do not mean to do so, it just sort of … happens.

From the reliability of routines to the seasonal wonders of the landscape around me, there are things I forget to be thankful for as often as I should. And while the list is probably too lengthy to comprehend now, I have recently rekindled an appreciation for one of the most basic elements of my day-to-day life – home cooking.

Getting over a recent bout of the flu, complete with trips to the emergency room and the requisite nastiness of nausea, I could not fathom the idea of making (let alone consuming) anything more than the customary diet of dry toast and flat ginger ale.

Even when my dear S was kind enough to prop me up on the couch, tucked up to the neck with blankets and my feet swaddled in the fuzziest of slippers, I could not bring myself to watch the library of cooking shows waiting patiently on our digital recorder. Food and I had parted company – the kitchen remained empty and the fridge was virtually cleaned out (save for the beloved ginger ale).

Prompted by some idle flicking through the glossy pages of food magazines, it was only over the last few days that I have ventured back into the kitchen. I was drawn back into the simple choreography of making dinner – and immediately realized how very much I had missed it. I was not at a stage where I felt confident enough to tackle anything new or at all exotic, so the tried-and-true meals from my everyday repertoire were a godsend; comforting and familiar all at once.

These meals are truly the ones that resonate the most with me. They rarely require recipes, and more often than not are variations on a theme rather than replicas of meals past. It is the most spontaneous of my cooking, where I improvise depending on the mood I am in, or what there is to be had from the pantry.

We often take the value of these meals for granted. All too frequently lavishing attention onto those aforementioned magazines and recipe books; feeling as though these “humble” meals are somehow inferior, even though they are what sustain us on an every day basis.

Maybe I’ve been slowed down because I am still a bit sick, or maybe this little hiatus has made me more appreciative, but these most recent meals have been particularly enjoyed. I have taken the moment to savour the smells wafting up from the pan, the textures of each ingredient and the taste of the final product.

With this appreciation in mind I raise my spoon to tonight’s feast, “never-made-the-same-way-twice” chili and cornbread muffins. I cannot offer a recipe because there isn’t one; I simply follow the method and combination of flavours that appeals to us.

It is a meal that I hope will one day conjure up memories of a fall evening, and coming home to warmth and welcome.

Is there really anything more for which we could ask?

Though the chilli has no set recipe, I can at least tell you that the cornbread muffins are a variantion on the Chipotle Corn Bread with Cheddar Cheese and Green Onions from Williams-Sonoma.

How to end a week

My apologies on the delay, as some happenings have prevented me from posting. The full write up will be up soon, but please enjoy the recipe!

Arborio rice pudding with Calvados and cinnamon caramel
A lovely, comforting treat, which boasts a risotto-like consistency but requires minimal effort.

3 1/2 cups milk/cream mixture (I used 2 3/4 cups milk and 3/4 cups 10% cream, but use whatever is on hand or what suits your tastes)
1/2 cup Arborio or other short-grain white rice
1 vanilla bean
1/3 cup granulated sugar
2 teaspoons Calvados
1/4 cup heavy cream (optional)
Cinnamon caramel sauce (recipe follows)

Combine the milk and cream (if using) and rice in a heavy-bottomed medium saucepan. Split the vanilla bean in half and scrape in the seeds into the liquid, drop in the pod as well. Bring the milk to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium. Simmer until the rice is tender, stirring frequently, about 20-25 minutes. Discard the vanilla bean. Add the sugar, Calvados and heavy cream (if using), stirring well to dissolve. Cook until the mixture thickens to your desired consistency, about 5 to 10 minutes longer.

Spoon the rice pudding into bowls. Cover and refrigerate until cold (preferably overnight if you can wait that long, but 3-4 hours should suffice). Serve with the warm caramel sauce.

Cinnamon caramel sauce

Caramel sauce
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon (or to taste)

Reduce the vanilla in the recipe to 1/2 teaspoon. Make the sauce as per instructions, adding the cinnamon at the same stage as the vanilla. If the cinnamon is added too soon, the heat from the caramel will toast the spice, adding a slightly bitter note.

Notes:
• Alternatively, omit the caramel sauce entirely and simply sprinkle the pudding with a bit of cinnamon sugar (Demerara works especially well here). To gild the lily so to speak, you can lightly torch the cinnamon sugar for a brûléed effect – I love the contrast between the crisp spiced sugar and the almost custard-like pudding below.
• Other flavour and spice combinations work well in the method, such as Grand Marnier and ginger.
• To prevent a skin from forming while chilling, make sure to press down a layer of cling film against the top of the rice pudding.