We interrupt our regularly scheduled dinner program to announce that Good Bite has gone LIVE! Yes, finally, the Big Secret Project is not a secret anymore. And phew – what a relief, after two months of not being able to talk about it! I’m terrible at keeping secrets. (Just kidding – you can totally tell me stuff. Please do.)
So here’s the gist – I nearly hit the floor when the DECA producers, the ones who brought us Momversation, called in April (from LA) and asked if I would be interested in being a part of this new online cooking conversation, putting me alongside the likes of David Lebovitz, Matt Armendariz of Matt Bites, Deb from Smitten Kitchen, Elise from Simply Recipes, Shauna and Danny from Gluten Free Girl, Diane and Todd from White on Rice Couple, Jaden Hair of Steamy Kitchen, Jeanne Kelley from her self-named Kitchen, Catherine McCord from Weelicious, and…. me. I’m still pinching myself, sitting here at my desk in pink flannel PJ pants, as I write this.
Billed as “top food bloggers, fresh ideas – making cooking fun and easy”, Good Bite features weekly conversations and shows you new recipes that are demoed by Good Bite’s in-house chef. We are all given a topic and told, like Mike Meyers in Coffee Talk, to talk amongst ourselves. We all then go off and chat about our ideas using portable HD cameras in our own kitchens. How much fun is that?
Did I mention the “top food bloggers” part?
And I’m pretty sure I said on the phone that um… this is Julie? Julie Van Rosendaal? And when it became evident they were confident they had reached the right person, I went with it. Still, I am getting near-constant flashbacks to junior high school when I finally managed to sit at the right table for lunch with the cool kids but fully expected to be bumped unceremoniously off the end at any moment, spilling fries and gravy all over my Benetton rugby shirt.
Above is my very first segment, done with Elise and Shauna, on the very appropriate topic of lazy meals. (I never realized how much I hate my ears.) I can’t wait to do my next, and to bring the camera to Tofino this summer. (I think if regular cameras add 10 pounds, HD cameras add 30…)
I am so totally the opposite of Martha, I am like her antonym: I should have a magazine titled Julie Van Rosendaal Just Barely Subsisting. Or Keeping it Together the Best She Can. Or Julie Van Rosendaal: She Can’t Even Find the Vacuum Cleaner’s On Switch. (This one is for real: Mike bought a vacuum about a year ago – and last week W asked if he could vacuum. I thought I hit the jackpot – clean and play all in one? Well OK. But then the phone rang and I had no idea how to turn the vacuum cleaner off, because I had never used it before. And Mike wasn’t home. I had to ask W how to do it. In my defense, we have all hardwood floors… But still – we also have a large hairy dog. Even worse: about a month ago as I was chatting on the phone I noticed the clumps of dust up on the trim resembled cauliflower florets in size, and thought – actually thought – hey, that poufy thing on a stick I bought at the dollar store would probably reach up there perfectly! Yeah – the duster?)
So yes, I am severely cleaning impaired. I’m sorry if I’ve tarnished any positive images any of you may have had of me.
In my mind, because I still don’t know myself very well yet, I envisioned this idyllic, perfectly relaxing weekend in which I would sleep in, then go toodle around garage sales and farmers’ markets on Saturday with the boys and a coffee, then come home and spend maybe an hour in the kitchen assembling a perfectly simple dinner for some friends to come by and share under the lilac trees later, after my nap. Sunday I’d wake up and make strawberry-rhubarb blintzes for W to serve Mike in bed before we headed off to set up for Ramsay Rocks (our community festival of sorts we had helped organize and I was emceeing). As you can imagine, it didn’t quite go down that way.
Saturday was fine until I decided to do a sort of freezer-cleaning menu: marinated chicken thighs and shrimp, brown and wild rice salad, roasted chick peas with garlic and chard, grilled veg and a roasted tomato tarte tatin (typically done with apples, you saute them with butter and sugar in a heavy skillet, top with puff pastry and bake it, then invert it onto a plate), which I had attempted about a month ago with great success. When I went outside to grab some basil and chives, the birds had made a mess of the deck with birdseed shells, which I tried to brush off the steps with my bare foot. An hour before everyone arrived I was not cooking, nor cleaning, nor even napping; I was spending 45 minutes digging a giant sliver out of the most inaccessible side of my toe with a needle and tweezers. W was not sleeping. I ran downstairs with my bleeding toe and pulled the cast-iron skillet (I used the large one) out of the oven where it had been for over an hour, roasting tomatoes at 450°F, and wrapped the handle in a tea towel so I wouldn’t absentmindedly grab and move it. The towel fell off. I grabbed and moved it, branding myself squarely on the palm. I opened the brie I had bought at the market (the plan was to plank it) and it was covered with poisonous-looking florescent orange spots. I realized that I hadn’t actually sliced and baked the Raincoast Crisps I had made (you bake them as loaves first, which were still in the freezer) and everyone was supposed to arrive 10 minutes ago. I dropped peppered Boursin in spoonfuls over the tomatoes and when I unwrapped the thawed puff pastry to set overtop, it gummed together like floury paste I had to scrape off the waxed paper in a large, wet wad. I yelled at Mike to go order Inglewood pizza for the 6 kids who were about to show up hungry with their parents. Since the point of burning myself I was holding a frozen bag of chipotle chiles en adobo (they don’t freeze solid and conform to your hand – better than peas for burns and such) in my left hand, and only using my right. The baggie thawed and split and oozed red-orange chile sauce all over me. Julie Van Rosendaal: this is Your Life.
The gin & tonics helped. Mike got pizza, and another brie. (I’ll tell you all about planking it another time.) The chicken and shrimp turned out well. I spent the night holding baggies of various foods from the freezer. The tarte Tatin was not pretty (fortunately I took some photos last time, when I tested it for a City Palate article), but I’m always amazed by puff pastry’s ability to bake up all pretty even when it looks like hell as it goes into the oven.
I’ll spare you the details of fathers’ day – suffice to say we were in the backyard until almost 1am, and Mike was lucky to get a Tim Horton’s coffee and raisin bran muffin practically thrust at him with instructions to put on your pants, we have to go, like right now, and then he spent the next several hours moving tables, setting up tents and figuring out how to power two jumpy castles that kept spontaneously deflating. Dinner, after the event and the tear-down, was at my parents’ house – a nice mango curry Mom made for my Dad’s birthday that I didn’t photograph, having not considered bringing my camera along when I left the house at 8:30 am.
Roma tomatoes work well for this upscale pizza-ish tart, being meaty and not as juicy as beefsteak tomatoes, but you could use either. Roast them, then drop on spoonfuls of soft goat cheese or Boursin. I’m sure there a thousand other things you could do with it, as with roasted tomatoes: add garlic, or herbs, or caramelized onions. I may have to try all of them, just for research purposes.
Tomato & Goat Cheese Tarte Tatin
This savoury take on a classic apple tarte tatin (in which the apples are caramelized, then topped with pastry and inverted) is reminiscent of pizza, only more refined. Slivered, it makes a great appetizer (try tearing some fresh arugula overtop), or serve wedges with a side of peppery greens for lunch.
8-10 Roma or plum tomatoes, halved lengthwise, or 2 pints cherry or grape tomatoes
olive or canola oil
salt and freshly ground pepper
1 10 oz. pkg. soft goat cheese or Boursin, plain, peppered or herbed
1 sheet frozen puff pastry, thawed
In a large cast iron or ovenproof skillet, arrange the tomatoes cut-side up and drizzle with oil; toss with your hands to coat them well, rearrange them in a single layer (don’t worry about them being closely packed; they will shrink quite a bit as they cook), and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast for an hour at 400°F (alternatively, you could slow roast them for 4 hours at 250°F).
If you slow roasted your tomatoes, turn the oven up to 400°F. If your puff pastry is in a block, roll it out to approximately the same size as the pan you’re using. Crumble the goat cheese over the roasted tomatoes and top it with the puff pastry, crimping the edges underneath with your fingers (sloppy = rustic) or trimming the corners off to make a circle with a paring knife.
Bake for 20 minutes, until the puff pastry is golden. Let sit for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a serving dish; retrieve any goat cheese that has stuck to the bottom of the pan and put it back onto the tart. Cut into wedges to serve. Serves 4-6.
Fridays are house wine-drinking days on the Homestretch, and since I was taking over traffic duties I was around to partake. Jeff, who is (sadly) retiring next week, always brings cheese; this week it was a wedge of Piave, a cow’s milk cheese made in the Piave River Valley region of Belluno, Italy, and a runny brie-like goat cheese from Salt Spring Island Cheese. They had to pin me down and pry the Swiss Army knife from my hands to keep me from finishing that Piave; it’s a little like a cross between Parmesan and aged Gouda, and it is divine. As was the goat cheese. I’m glad I didn’t have to choose and could devour them equally. We ate all of it in the studio between 6 and 7, after going off the air. (Both, by the way, can be found at Janice Beaton.) To wash it down, Mount Nelson Sauvignon Blanc 2007. Very grapey and drinkable. I’m not usually a white wine person, but I’d pick up another bottle.
As a vehicle, Raincoast Crisps. But the plain kind, which I have to admit I’ve never warmed up to. (Part of their problem: they are too loud. You can’t eat and listen at the same time. I kept having to stop chewing and say “WHAT?” Or, yes.. pardon me. W: “what?” Me: “pardon me.” W: “I said WHAT?”)
But it did remind me that I can make the rosemary-pecan kind my very own self, and I do believe I will whip up a batch for tomorrow night.
Dinner tonight was inspired by Linda’s comment. (I do read all of your comments, although I’m a bit behind – quel surprise – on replying to some.) She reminded me of the jar of rhubarb chutney I had in the fridge – I too heard a mention of rhubarb chutney recently, and it seemed to me a Very Good Idea. So I made some. Tonight we ate the last of it for dinner with a grilled pork tenderloin (excellent pairing), pickled beets (all eaten straight from the jar, with a fork, without making it onto dinner plates) and some grilled asparagus. To grill asparagus, roll it around in a bit of oil and throw it straight on the grill, running the stalks crosswise against the grills so that they don’t fall through. Thicker asparagus – which is not lesser asparagus, nor necessarily woodier – is easier to handle with tongs.
If you’re looking to turn some rhubarb into jam, I made some last year that was pretty tasty on toast.
Rhubarb Chutney
This stuff is pretty fab on a leftover roast chicken sandwich.
canola or olive oil
1 small onion, finely chopped
4-5 stalks rhubarb
1 small apple, chopped (optional)
a handful of raisins
1 Tbsp. grated fresh ginger
3/4 cup sugar, white or brown
1/3 cup red wine vinegar
1 cinnamon stick
Heat a drizzle of oil in a medium saucepan and cook the onion for about 5 minutes, until soft and starting to turn golden. Add everything else, bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat and cook for about half an hour, until everything is nice and soft and it looks like chutney. Ladle into clean jars and seal, or refrigerate. Makes about 2 1/2 cups.
Romance is so not dead. I was just rooting around for chocolate (a habit I inherited from my Dad, who used to do this after dinner any night that there wasn’t a little dessert to be had – now he keeps the makers of Lindt 70% cocoa chocolate busy) and mentioned how much I would love to have a Drumstick right now (the ice cream kind), and Mike walked to the corner store and just handed me one. I think he may be hoping for some kind of payback later.
It was some sorta crazy weekend. Friday night ended at 1am and Saturday morning began at 6:30 with W flicking/Lou licking me in the head. It was Gallery Calorie day, which was wildly successful and (almost) went off without a hitch, but had me out the door before 9 and home at close to midnight again. Sarah came and met me, and took a photo of our stunning pasta and bruschetta we ate on the patio at Il Giardino with her iPhone, but the computer keeps telling me it’s broken and won’t let me open it. So that, technically, was dinner, along with a few raspberry martinis (not a good idea in close vicinity to a silent auction), beef and beer pies, cupcakes, and bacon-wrapped scallops. (Dinner was grazed upon between 2 and 7 pm.)
This afternoon we spent at a barbecue and got home at dinnertime, all disoriented after having just eaten burgers and hot dogs a couple hours earlier. Why is there no afternoon equivalent to brunch that marries lunch and dinner?
But H had walked across the street this morning with a little basket of freshly picked spinach leaves – straight from her garden – and I was not about to leave them to languish in the fridge or for W to use as confetti in the living room. I haven’t even managed to plant my spinach yet, let alone harvest it.
(I don’t hate her because she’s beautiful, I hate her because she can plant stuff and not kill it. Which come to think of it is a handy sort of neighbour to have.) So I quickly sautéed the lot in a slick of olive oil and dab of butter, with a smashed clove of garlic, and as soon as it wilted tipped an egg into the hot pan. There is no better quick meal with a good slab of buttered toast.
I also reheated some asparagus-cauliflower vichyssoise for each of us to sip as we went about doing what needed doing. I didn’t make it to Edgar Farms’ Asparagus Festival a couple weekends ago on account of W’s fever; luckily I managed to stock up on plenty of the stuff, some of which I made into a large pot of soup. Vichyssoise is the hoity-toity name for far more humble sounding leek and potato soup, when it is puréed and served chilled. Very Garden Party. It was always my Dad’s favourite soup – he’d request it on birthdays and other occasions during which his input was requested. I hadn’t made it for ages but thought asparagus might make a nice addition, and then as I was making it discovered half a head of cauliflower that needed using, and both worked swimmingly.
This soup, by the way, is just as good served hot as cold or anywhere in between. And although I am not much of a garnisher, I dabbed a bit of jarred pesto on top for the photo because the pale green puree just wasn’t cutting it. It’s optional, but delicious.
Asparagus Vichyssoise
1 Tbsp. each butter and canola or olive oil
3 medium potatoes, peeled and diced
2 leeks, chopped (white and pale green part only) and then washed in a bowl of cool water
1 pound asparagus, trimmed and cut into 1″ pieces
5 cups chicken or vegetable stock
salt and pepper
1/2 half & half or cream
In a large saucepan, heat the oil and butter over medium heat. Add all the vegetables and cook for a few minutes, until they start to soften. Add the stock and cook for 20 minutes, until everything is very tender. Season with salt and pepper and stir in the cream.
Purée the soup in the pot using a hand-held immersion blender, or do it in batches in the blender or food processor until very smooth. Serve warm, or chill and serve cold. Serves 6.
