A taste of the past

This is my entry for the "Childhood Memories Meme", fulfilling my obligation to both my dear friend Michele of Oswego Tea and the utterly creative Caryn of the engaging Delicious Delicious.

When I was tagged for this meme, I was surprisingly stumped for ideas. It was not because I was at a loss for material, because goodness knows my love of food started early on in life, but because I realized that I have taken for granted many of the flavours and culinary adventures that brought me to where I am today. In the end, this has been an interesting exercise, forcing me to take stock of those memories — and reminding me of how lucky I have been.

My father’s sandwiches
My father is a man of precision. He is a man that is always busy, always working and puzzling the best way to solve a problem or the next task at had. I have not always appreciated this drive (especially through my lazy teenage years), but the results were never a disappointment – whether it be a dollhouse, or a bridge for our backyard stream or his famous sandwiches. My father’s attention to detail was especially evident in the latter; he is known in our family as the designated sandwich maker, with staunch philosophies on fats (butter or mayonnaise), condiments (we had an armada of mustards in our fridge), proper seasoning (salt and cracked black pepper) not to mention breads, vegetables and accompaniments … the list went on and on, dependent on the time of year and the specific fillings in question. Every layer was pondered over, each addition placed just so, and in an order for optimal blending of flavours. Indeed, the phrase “this is the best sandwich ever” was an often-heard refrain around our house and through our extended family.

My brother and I still carry on his traditions, becoming sandwich-maker designates in our own homes and with our own burgeoning armies of mustard jars in the fridge. A few years ago, I beamed with pride when my father, fresh from the garden where he was working on a new project, sat at my parents’ kitchen table, leaned back and asked “Tara, can you make me a sandwich?”

Scalloped potatoes
I did not discover scalloped potatoes until I was probably around six or so. And when I first ate a spoonful of that creamy, buttery, wonderfully comforting mass, I was immediately lost. To me, they were culinary perfection; studded with chives and with a brown crust on top, this was elegance personified and so much more chic than boring old mashed potatoes. I was in such raptures that I seem to remember eating them for days straight afterwards - sitting with a soup bowl, filled to the brim with scalloped potatoes, a tablespoon in my hand and a grin on my face.

Burger King’s Bacon Double Cheeseburgers
I do not even like Burger King, but as a child this was the holy grail of hamburgers. Having an older brother, I was the typical thorn in his existence who wanted to do what he did, and eat what he ate. Easily swayed by the fanfare of mid-80s advertising, the advent of the Bacon Double Cheeseburger seemed a gastronomic epiphany. My brother, a bacon lover, was allowed to have them on the rare occasions we went out for food. I, on the other hand, was relegated to the children’s meal cheeseburger, which I deemed vastly inferior. In his charity (or I may have stolen a bite) I first tasted the ambrosia that was the grand burger. Ironically enough, my brother is now a vegetarian, and I do not believe I have had one since.

My mother’s stuffing
Growing up, festive occasions meant one thing, and one thing alone – my mother’s potato stuffing. In high school at a friend’s house for Thanksgiving, I was taken aback at the idea of bread stuffing. It had never occurred to me to have a different type of stuffing, because who would want anything other than the crusty, savoury delight of my childhood? With a mix of chunked and mashed potatoes, filled with onions, bacon, liver, and confidently seasoned, it was the highlight of the holiday table, the most coveted of the leftovers. As you may have guessed, I am a big fan of comfort food, and in my mind you cannot get more classic than this.

My grandmother’s scrambled eggs, pictured
It was through my maternal grandmother’s Anglo-Indian background that we were taught the merits of a hearty shepherd’s pie, the wonders of a proper roast with Yorkshire puddings and the melting lusciousness of ghee-soaked chapattis. Thoughts of her food inspire instant nostalgia, and her eggs are no exception. Stirred patiently over a low heat or a double boiler, they are closer to the texture of curdled cream than to their diner counterparts. She swears by the last-minute addition of butter, insisting it ensures a tender result.

My grandmother’s scrambled eggs
Truth be told, I have never measured an ingredient when making these eggs. These are just guidelines, but truly, this is a recipe that falls into the “pinch of this, a splash of that” category.

2 eggs
1/4 – 1/3 cup of milk (or cream, if preferred)
Salt and pepper to taste
2 teaspoons butter, divided
1/4 cup of finely minced onion
2 teaspoons torn cilantro (or parsley, if preferred)

In a bowl, whisk together eggs, milk and salt and pepper. Set aside.

In a medium non-stick frying pan over medium heat melt one teaspoon of butter and sweat onion for about 2-3 minutes, until translucent and soft but without colour. Pour in eggs, swirling pan to distribute evenly. Cook for 30 seconds or so, until edges are starting to set. Using a silicone spatula or wooden spoon, pull edges of cooked egg towards the centre, forming curds. Continue stirring slowly, repeating process until the eggs are starting to set – it will resemble lumpy custard. At this point, beat in remaining 1 teaspoon butter and torn cilantro. Continue to stir, until eggs are almost finished, similar to the texture of a soft ricotta.

Serves 1.

Notes:
• If I'm feel patient, I'll cook over medium-low for more control.
• Snipped chives can also be used in place of the cilantro, or use a mix of whatever herbs you like.
• I adore these eggs on a grilled ciabatta bun (as pictured). The soft interior of the bread the perfect match for the soft eggs, and the crust provides the right amount of chewiness.

As this meme is getting a trifle old, I’m only going to tag three participants – who hopefully are still untagged.
Chubby Hubby
The Domestic Goddess
Delicious Days

Bistro at home

The continuation of an exploration of some of my cookbooks, featuring Laura Washburn's Bistro.

I must admit I started out with a somewhat prejudiced view of French cuisine. Growing up, I was only really exposed to the stereotypical view of haute cuisine – I’m sure some of you will recall Donna Martin spitting out calves brains on Beverly Hills, 90210.

Luckily for me, somewhere along the way I realized that I should not learn my culinary lessons from Aaron Spelling, and I ventured out into the wonderful world of cooking — mainly through my mother’s cookbooks. I was 12, and did not have many opportunities for gastronomic safaris.

It was through these books that I began not only to learn names like Auguste Escoffier and Antoine Carême, but also about mother sauces, demi glace and, my greatest discovery, French home and country cooking. It was this food of the hearth, dishes like boeuf bourguignon and terrines, I found most inspiring; featuring deceptively simple flavours and complex results.

This fixation continued, bringing about my obession with a good baguette, and my frequent patronage of bistros and brasseries. Give me a good steak frites, and I’m set; a long-simmered shank with a robust reduction, and I do not know how to be closer to heaven.

I was in one of these moods when I came across the book Bistro, by Laura Washburn. Hungry and waiting for S in a bookstore (he should know better than to keep me waiting in a place with cookbooks nearby), I was idly leafing through their selection when my eyes fell upon a mouth-watering goat’s cheese tart pictured on the back of a book. Turning it over, I was greeted with a bowl of tempting French onion soup, perfectly presented with a cap of blistered gruyère. The book came home with me that night, and very rarely is far from at hand.

Washburn recalls holidays in France from her childhood, with a nostalgic patina of romance and discovery. The book features both classic recipes, from the ideal crème caramel to the venerable cassoulet, and personal creations like a cumin-scented chick pea salad.

She encourages substutions when necessary, but never loses sight of traditional preparations. It is this respect for the culinary history, while not putting limits on your experience of the food, which spoke to me of her affection for these flavours; she evidently wants to share these tastes and stories.

Le grand aïoli
From Bistro, by Laura Washburn.

Salt cod and snails are traditional ingredients in this Provençal dish, but salmon and shrimp are easier to come by for most people. Be sure to use very good oil; despite great quantities of garlic, the flavour base of the aiöli comes from the oil, so it is worth investing in something special. Serve for a crowd, with everything freshly cooked and warmish, or at room temperature. Wash it all down with a chilled white or rosé from Provence.

Ingredients
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 salmon steaks
8 oz. unpeeled shrimp tails
10 oz. small new potatoes
12 oz. asparagus tips
8 oz. small green beans
1 fresh bay leaf
6 baby carrots, sliced lengthwise
1 cauliflower, broken into florets
1 broccoli, broken into florets
8 oz. baby zucchini, halved lengthwise
6 eggs
6 oz. cherry tomatoes
4 cooked beets
Coarse sea salt

Aiöli
2 egg yolks
About 1 2/3 cups best-quality extra virgin olive oil
6 large garlic cloves
Fine sea salt

Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a large non-stick skillet, add the salmon, and cook for about 3 minutes on each side, or until just cooked through. Season with salt and set aside. Add another 1 tablespoon of the oil to the pan. When hot, add the shrimp and cook until pink and firm, 3-5 minutes. Do not overcook or they will be tough. Season and set aside.

Put the potatoes in a saucepan with cold water to cover and bring to a boil. When the water boils, add slat and cook until tender, 15-20 minutes. Drain and set aside. Meanwhile, cook the asparagus tips and beans in boiling salted water until just tender, about 3 minutes.

Bring a saucepan of water to a boil with the bay leaf. When it boils, add the carrots and cook until al dente, 3-4 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside. Return the water to a boil, add the cauliflower florets, and cook until just tender, about 5 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon. Return the water to a boil, add the broccoli, and cook until just tender, 3-4 minutes.

Rub the zucchini all over with the remaining oil. Heat a ridged stovetop grill pan. When hot, add the zucchini pieces and cook, about 4 minutes per side. Alternatively, cook the same way in a non-stick skillet. Remove and season.

Put the eggs in a saucepan with cold water to cover. Bring to a boil and cook for 6 minutes from boiling point. Drain, cool under running water, then peel and slice.

To make the aiöli, put the egg yolks in a small, deep bowl. Beat well, and then gradually beat in the oil, adding it bit by bit and beating vigorously, until the mixture is as thick as mayonnaise. Stir in the garlic and season to taste.

Arrange all the vegetables and fish on a single platter, or on several platters. Serve, passing the aiöli separately.

Serves 6

Notes
• While I love this dish in its full-blown glory on the weekends, for the weeknight it is not always the most sensible. For the photograph above, I prepared my fallback version; potatoes, salmon, asparagus and beans, all oven-roasted and served with the aioli.
• For those adverse to using raw egg yolks, there are pasteurized egg products on the market which can be substituted. Check the packaging for how much to use to replace each yolk, as producers may vary.

The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day ... that turned into a week

Title with thanks to Judith Viorst.

Monday started out with me slipping in a mud puddle. Tuesday introduced impossible deadlines to be met – and was a day that did not seem to have enough hours in it. Wednesday, well, I forget Wednesday, I’m sure it happened but I have no recollection of it. I think it was so traumatic that I blocked it from my memory.Thursday brought misunderstandings of seemingly endless proportions. And now it is Friday, and it’s raining outside.

As you may guess, I’m in a bit of a mood.

It is times like these, when I am feeling overwhelmed, that I transform from a usually capable person into a somewhat dramatic, hopeless mess. And it is times like these that the smallest of favours are the grandest of gifts.

These adorable little tomatoes for example, a co-worker brought them to me from her garden – she is a kind and thoughtful lady who never thinks twice when given the opportunity to do something for another. Perfectly ripened, almost candy-like in their sweetness and utterly photogenic, I have had the pleasure of enjoying three miniature little harvests of tomatoes, my morning brightened by a little bag of these babies waiting on my desk in the morning.

Or this lovely green dish, a gift from my dear S in apology for setting fire to one of my roasting dishes (long story involving preheating the oven without remembering that he’d hidden dirty dishes in there earlier). Smooth and sleek with its feminine fluted edge, I love the weight and feel of the ceramic — and the colour is so utterly of him (as you may have noticed, I have a fondness for white serving ware).

So things may not be as dire as they seem. Last night, I surveyed the kitchen and came across some gorgeously crusty Calabrese bread, some herbs and my darling tomatoes. Remembering a recent sunny afternoon at the Taste of the Danforth food festival in Toronto, with the company of great friends and laughter all around, I was inspired to recreate the fabulously fresh bruschetta we’d had at Il Fornello.

The first bite of crusty bread, tangy soft cheese and luscious tomatoes, and I’d banished the gloom. Such a simple pleasure, coupled with a quiet evening, had a wonderfully restorative effect. I slept soundly, and woke this morning with a renewed sense of enthusiasm to face the work ahead.

That’s when I noticed the rain clouds.

Bruschetta with tomato salad and chèvre
Bruschetta, from the Italian bruscare (to roast over coals) technically refers only to the grilled bread. My apologies that I have not included amounts here, instead just the ingredients. But truly, when in a mood like the one I’ve been in, the last thing one wants is to stress over measuring spoons. Use the proportions that best suit your palate. This is supposed to be a dish that exemplifies the “path of least resistance” – the quickest way to pleasure with minimal effort.

Ingredients

Tomatoes, grape or cherry halved, or your favourite large variety cut into manageable bites
Red onion, finely minced
Garlic, finely minced or microplaned (optional)
Basil, in fine strips (chiffonade)
Parsley, finely minced
Salt and pepper
Red wine vinegar (optional)
Olive oil
Slices of Calabrese bread, or any other crusty bread you like
Garlic (left whole)
Chèvre

Preheat broiler.

Combine tomatoes, onion, garlic and herbs in a bowl. Season to taste with salt and pepper and a scant splash of red wine vinegar. Pour over a good-quality olive oil, mixing gently to combine. Allow to sit at room temperature while you prepare the bruschetta.

Under a hot broiler, toast bread on one side until golden brown. Turn and toast the second side until just starting to turn colour. Remove from oven and, working quickly, rub the cut side of the whole garlic clove all over the lightly toasted side. Top with crumbled chèvre, and return to the broiler until the cheese is starting to melt.

Serve topped with tomato salad and a final drizzle of olive oil.

Notes:
• This recipe can be done on a barbeque, grilling the bread first over medium high heat. To melt the cheese, turn the grill down to medium heat and close the lid, checking after 2-3 minutes.

On insipired collaboration

I will be continuing my cookbook exploration, as promised. Stay tuned.

I am, as you may have suspected, one of the many food-obsessed.

While eating breakfast, I’ll be planning my lunch and preparing a mental shopping list for dinner. When we go out, I’m constanly looking in market stalls, restaurant menus and other people’s grocery carts for inspiration. When enjoying a meal, I’m critquing the bite in my mouth, keeping an eye on the presentation, and rarely does my date survive without at least one bite stolen from his plate.

When faced with a dish, I automatically compare it to the times I have had it before, considering what I like and would improve in this incarnation, and looking for ways in which I can create my own version. It’s a compulsion, and I relish every minute of it.

I realize that the food-obsessed is not a rare breed, but we are a passionate, inquisitive and enthusiastic bunch. Not a terrible combination, I’d say.

Most recently, I became fixated on peaches. The hot hazy days of late July were upon us and, in my opinion, there is nothing more equatable to summer than the honeyed sweetness of a ripe peach. One bite into the yeilding flesh, with juices flowing down your chin, and you’re tasting all of the season.

Living in a prime stone and soft fruit region, my anticipation grew, and I began culling recipe books and websites for peach recipes, finally stumbling upon a streusel cake from Williams and Sonoma.

But oh, one recipe would be too simple. Still on my mission for the perfect recipe, I clicked over to the charming Delicious Delicious and was interested in Caryn’s blueberry streusel muffins. What if I took the W&S peach recipe and converted it to muffins or mini-cakes instead?

I have no idea where the sour cream came in. I swear, I was all set on my recipe, and out of nowhere came the thought of the tangy density of a good sour cream crumb cake entered my busy little brain. And so, I was lost. The third recipe hunt began. Donna Hay’s Modern Classics: Book 2 proved my saviour, with her sublimely simple muffin base recipe (my usual standby).

So I was set. I would combine the struesel from Williams Sonoma, the form from Caryn, the base from Donna Hay (slightly altered) and I would have my peach perfection.

Then my dear father offered me a pint of gorgeously bursting blueberries. Remembering the colour combination of black and peach from Nigella’s fruit bake with yoghurt (blackberries and peaches), I couldn’t resist his offer. This was collaboration at its best, and the result could not have been more rewarding.

Blueberry peach sour cream crumb cake
With thanks to the many contributors.

For the topping:
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

For the cake:
2 cups plain (all purpose) flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup sugar
1 cup sour cream
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/3 cup vegetable oil

1 cup blueberries
2 medium sized peaches, peeled, pitted and cubed into medium chunks

Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C). Butter and flour a 9 inch round springform pan (see Note).

To prepare the streusel, stir together the flour, brown and granulated sugars and cinnamon in a bowl. Using a pastry blender, two knives or your fingers, cut or rub the butter until coarse crumbs form. Set aside – if working in a warm kitchen, refrigerate until needed.

For the cake, sift together flour, baking powder and salt in a bowl. Stir in sugar. In a separate bowl, whisk together sour cream, eggs, vanilla and oil, until smooth.

Stir the sour cream/egg mixture through the dry ingredients. Be careful not to overwork the batter – mix until just combined.

In a small bowl, combine the blueberries and peaches.

Pour batter into prepared springform pan and spread evenly to fill the base (the batter will look like it is too little, but it will expand while baking). Sprinkle the mixed fruit over the batter and evenly top with the streusel.

Bake until lightly golden brown and a cake tester or toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean, about 35 minutes. Transfer the pan to a wire rack to cool for 20 minutes. Remove the sides of the springform pan. Can be served warm or at room temperature.

Notes :
• As pictured, this recipe can also be made in a 12 x 1/2 cup capacity non-stick muffin pan. When spooning in the batter, fill until about two-thirds full. Reduce the cooking time to approximately 12 minutes. In this preparation, you will have extra streusel topping, which can be frozen for a later use.
• To peel peaches, simply bring a two-thirds filled saucepan of water to boil. Using a small knife, cut a small, shallow “X” into the bloom end of each peach and immerse the peach into the boiling water for 30 seconds. Lift out with a slotted spoon and transfer to an ice bath until cool (you can skip this step and allow them to cool on a board, but I find the ice bath expedites the process). Once cooled, the skins should peel off easily, using either your fingers or the knife.

Reviewing The Best

As promised, this is my first installment in my spotlight on five books from my recipe collection. I'll devote three entries to each book.

I came across the television show The Best when flicking by a BBC Canada preview one long weekend. Starring Ben O’Donoghue, Paul Merrett and Silvana Franco, the premise of the show was simple – two separate theme ingredients/meals would be set up as a challenge for each episode. The three would then prepare and present their interpretation to a cloistered group of judges. Some examples were; the best sweet summer tart, the best lamb lunch, and the best simple sandwich.

Though this may sound rather like an episode of Iron Chef – The Best could not be further from the Kitchen Stadium of Chairman Kaga. The hosts, two classically trained chefs (O’Donoghue and Merrett) and one experienced cook and food stylist (Franco), worked together with an easy competitive camaraderie. Each took on the duties of sous chef for the others, and there was frequent tasting and joking along the way.

It was the charm of the series that made me seek out the cookbook by the same name – which has fast become one of my favourite books for inspiration. The three authors, with their diverse backgrounds and influences, support and encourage my somewhat schizophrenic interests in cooking.

Merrett’s Perfect Cheese Soufflé and sublime Watercress and Mushroom Soup appeal to the part of me that likes a bit of fuss over a meal. His recipes can be a bit labour (and time) intensive, but the results are nothing short of show stopping.

O’Donoghue, proud of his Australian roots and classically trained, tempts me with fresh ingredients presented in laid-back style. His Summer Berry Compote and Braised Tuna Salad epitomize his philosophy on food – elegant yet gutsily straightforward, uncompromising in its quality.

Franco is a woman after my own heart. An accomplished food writer and stylist who has worked with the likes of Ainsley Hariott, she has not let acclaim change her views on food. Simplicity itself, relying on cupboard staples and no-nonsense preparations, dishes like her Chinese Style Barbecue Pork and Goat’s Cheese and Cranberry Toast offer immediate satisfaction.

The first recipe I’ve chosen to highlight is Ben’s Tomato and Herb Spaghetti from “The Best Quick Pasta Supper” episode. I love the combination of the velvety robust sauce against the herbaceous crunch of the pan gritata (toasted breadcrumbs) – all slurped up with perfectly cooked spaghetti. In the midst of summer I will admit that I sometimes substitute the canned tomatoes with peeled fresh ones, whenever I find myself in possession of some just about to pass their prime.

Ben’s Tomato and Herb Spaghetti
The Best by Paul Merrett, Silvana Franco and Ben O'Donoghue.

For the pan gritata:
4 tablespoons roughly chopped thyme leaves
4 tablespoons roughly chopped parsley
2 tablespoons roughly chopped majoram
1 small dried-out or day-old chibatta, made into rough crumbs
8 tablespoons sunflower (or other neutral) oil

For the tomato sauce:
1 garlic clove, crushed
3 tablespoons olive oil
800 g jar of San Marzzano plum tomatoes, or 2 x 400 g cans of plum tomatoes in their own juice, drained
1-2 bird’s eye chilies
500 g (1 lb 2 oz) pack best-quality durum wheat dried spaghetti
1 garlic clove, chopped
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

To make the pan gritata, first process the herbs in a food processor. Empty into a bowl, add the ciabatta crumbs and blend together using your hands.

Heat the sunflower oil in a frying pan and shallow-fry the herbs and breadcrumb mixture for 3-4 minutes, until crunchy. Drain on kitchen paper.

Make the tomato sauce by gently frying the garlic in 2 tablespoons of the olive oil for 30 seconds, until sticky. Add the tomatoes and chilies and cook for 30 minutes over a very low heat until broken down and the tartness has gone from the tomatoes.

Meanwhile, cook the pasta until al dente (according to the packet instructions) and drain. In a large frying pan, heat the remaining olive oil and add the chopped garlic. Toss through the cooked spaghetti. Then serve the spaghetti in a bowl with the tomato sauce surrounding it and season with salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. Sprinkle the pan gritata all over and serve.

Serves 4.

Notes
• In the case of the dish in the photograph, I happened to have fresh, finely crushed breadcrumbs around from another recipe. I opted to use them instead of the ciabatta, and tossed some through with the cooked pasta. For your first time making the recipe, I recommend using the ciabatta as instructed – the coarser texture adds another dimension to the dish.
• I choose to season the sauce with salt and pepper while it is cooking, rather than at the end.
• When I use fresh tomatoes, I reduce the cooking time for the sauce to about 15 minutes, as I like to preserve a bit of the freshness of the tomatoes.
• Although not mentioned in the recipe, I find that a bit of freshly grated Parmesan never hurt anyone.