If you haven’t heard of TED, it stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design. For over 20 years it has brought people from each pursuit together at a conference that thanks to our ever-broadening global community and onset of global media has grown in scope, allowing more people to experience the talks and become a part of the community.
Each year the TED prize is awarded to an individual who receives $100,000 and “One Wish to Change the World” – the prize is designed to leverage the TED community’s wide range of talent and resources to make the dream come true. This year, Jamie Oliver was the recipient of this honour, and unveiled his wish at an award ceremony held during the TED Conference in February. His wish:
“I wish for your help to create a strong, sustainable movement to educate every child about food, inspire families to cook again and empower people everywhere to fight obesity.”
So let’s do it. My hope is that I do inspire families in my own small way to get into the kitchen and cook. Pass it on. Cook with your kids, cook for your friends, plant a garden, seek out -as my friend Wade puts it- food you know from people you know. The smallest movement can have an enormous ripple effect. Who knows what you’ll trigger. We all influence each other, whether we intend to or not.
And while we’re at it, this is also a must-see: in his talk, How I Fell in Love with a Fish, Chef Dan Barber faces a dilemma shared by many chefs: how to keep fish on the menu.
I SHOULD NOT BE ABLE TO CREATE THIS OF MY OWN ACCORD.
This is the sort of thing that needs to be portioned out. Prepared and purchased in some wonderful hole-in-the-wall far from my house. Preferably somewhere accessible only by foot, after a 10k hike.
I cannot have unbridled access to a veritable buffet of moist shredded lamb and soft, chewy naan hot from the skillet, along with as much tzatziki as my heart desires. Because when this is presented to me, and there are no witnesses, it’s easy for my brain to forget the fact that my birthday suit now more resembles a sumo suit, or at the very least care not at all until I’ve had just a little bit more… another wee bite… and a few more chunks of lamb, and what’s this, another fresh naan still warm from the buttery pan? I wonder what it might taste like doused in cinnamon sugar?
There was leftover lamb; we rewarmed it and shredded it with two forks. I decided to make naan – one of the main reasons I could never give up bread products entirely – because really, aren’t all flatbreads similar versions of the same general idea? I didn’t want flour tortillas, and I could have done with pita, but I wanted something soft, bulbous and chewy to wrap around the meat and garlicky tzatziki. (Also easy to make: grate cucumber onto a paper towel and squeeze excess moisture out; stir into thick plain yogurt with two finely smooshed garlic cloves and a big pinch of salt; leave to get to know each other and intensify for a few hours.)
It’s funny that naan seems like such an undertaking, but is really as easy to make as anything else. Stir and knead the dough, roll out pieces, cook in a hot skillet. The oil and yogurt makes it smooth and wonderful to work with; more so to eat.
I couldn’t stop taking pictures of each naan bread as it cooked:
Naan
My friend and Indian cook Tahera Rawji taught me to make naan (also samosas!) – she instructs to brush each piece of rolled dough on one side with oil and the other with milk before placing in the hot pan. I’ve brushed both sides with in the past but this time didn’t bother – brushing it is a bit messy but does ensure even coverage.
1/2 cup warm water
2 tsp. active dry yeast
1 tsp. sugar
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus extra for rolling
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 cup canola oil
1/3 cup plain yogurt
1 large egg
melted butter or oil, for frying
In a large bowl, stir together the water, yeast and sugar and let stand for 5 minutes, until foamy. If it doesn’t foam, the yeast is inactive; toss it out!
Stir in the flour, salt, canola oil, yogurt and egg and stir, then knead until you have a soft, pliable dough. Cover with a tea towel and let rise until doubled in size; about an hour.
Divide the dough into 6-8 pieces and on a lightly floured surface, roll out each piece into a thin circle or oval.
Cook each naan in a nice hot skillet drizzled with oil (with a dab of butter too, if you like) until blistered and cooked, flipping as necessary. (When the surface has big blisters and is golden on the bottom, flip it over and cook until golden on the other side.
Who am I to not haul myself up onto the St. Paddy’s Day bandwagon with something green or Irish? I can’t do green beer, but I can manage a fresh loaf of bread. Or buns.
It occurred to me as I lay in bed last night far past midnight, trying to convince my brain to quiet and let me sleep, that an Irish soda loaf looks an awful lot like a giant, rustic hot crossed bun. Don’t you think? Big and round, with the X slashed across the top? And although I do love from-scratch hot crossed buns, soda bread is quick (leavened not with yeast, but containing in fact more baking powder than soda) and thus something that can be mixed and baked in the wee hours of the morning while everyone else is still asleep.
I added grated orange zest and currants, which remind me of my Grandma (although I have no memory of her making Irish soda bread nor hot crossed buns), but you could add chopped candied citron and golden raisins or whatever you might be inclined to add to a hot crossed bun. I shaped the sticky dough into rough balls, slashed Xs on them with a serrated knife, brushed them with buttermilk and sprinkled their tops with coarse sugar. They came out much like drop biscuits/scones, but with far less fat (1/4 cup to 4 cups of flour). I liked their texture and way they spread; if you’re inclined to have them hold their shape a little better, add about 1/2 cup more flour.
Irish Soda Hot Crossed Buns
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups whole wheat flour
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1/4 cup butter
2 cups buttermilk or thin plain yogurt
1 large egg
grated zest of an orange
1 cup currants or other dried fruit
milk, for brushing (optional)
coarse sugar, for sprinkling (optional)
Preheat the oven to 375°F.
In a large bowl, measure and stir together all the dry ingredients – the flours, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Cut in the butter (or pulse it in a food processor) until well blended.
In a medium bowl, stir together the buttermilk, egg and orange zest, and add it to the dry ingredients. Stir with a spatula until it’s about halfway mixed, then add the currants and stir just until combined.
Sprinkle the countertop with flour or oats and gently knead the dough, folding it over itself about 10 times, then either shape it into a ball (for a single Irish soda loaf) or divide it into balls about the size of a plum or small orange. Arrange about an inch apart on a rimmed baking sheet that has been sprayed with nonstick spray.
Brush the top (or tops) with milk and sprinkle with coarse sugar; cut an ‘X’ lightly on the top using a sharp serrated knife. Bake for 45-55 minutes for a large loaf, 30 minutes for small buns, until golden. Transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.
Ta da! (Honestly – I didn’t even arrange the rosemary in this photo – it just came out that way.)
I’m really – for sure this time – bringing back Sunday Dinner.
I don’t mean that in the sense of reintroducing it to the world – I know this is something people commonly do – and yes, we’ve been eating dinner on Sunday nights for quite some time, but the tradition of bringing the extended family around the table for something that might even require actual napkins (as opposed to the omnipresent roll of paper towels) is something we’ve fallen out of the habit of. Not that it ever was a big thing in the childhood of my memory – throughout our twenties and most of our thirties we’d go to Mike’s parents house for Old Shoe Cooked in Beer, which we’ll just say didn’t foster the grandest memories. I’ve always wondered what it might have been like to marry into a big, food-loving Italian family who (in my fantasies) cooked through the middle of each Sunday to put on an early feast. Sort of like the afternoon equivalent of brunch. Mike and I used to say, back when we had a teeny apartment and no room, that we’d do this someday when we had a house. And finally – more reason than ever with my sister across the street – we’re instigating it.
I love the warm, chaotic bustle of a late Sunday afternoon and the collective sigh that follows as everyone disperses to finish their homework and get ready for the week. Even the overflowing sinkload of dishes doesn’t deter me.
Dinner tonight was leg of lamb – done almost effortlessly in the slow cooker.
Wait, I missed a part.
I’ll preface this by saying that I’m not particularly computer-savvy. I don’t do Google analytics and track search engine keywords nor do I know much about SEO techniques. But when I do take a peek at my stats, down at the bottom of the page (if I manage to scroll down there) there is a list of search terms that were inputted and resulted in someone finding Dinner with Julie. EVERY TIME I’ve looked at this list, “leg of lamb slow cooker” is there. Every single time. So either a lot of people want to know just how to cook a leg of lamb in a slow cooker, or I’m one of few who have written about it on this here world-wide inter-web. So it has been rattling around the back of my mind to do it again sometime.
The prep couldn’t have been much simpler. At around 11 this morning, as we were about to leave for the park, I remembered that I had it and it needed to start sooner rather than later if we were to eat at a reasonable time. It’s size wouldn’t allow me to brown it (the bone put it at an angle in the pan) and so I turned on the barbecue and quickly seared it (to add flavour) while chopping some Yukon Gold potatoes into the bottom of the slow cooker. I tossed the lamb on top of its potato bed, threw in a bunch of garlic cloves, pressed another few and rubbed it on the lamb, tossed in some rosemary and a glug of wine, set it on low and went out. (Note: The bone stuck out, keeping the lid from closing, so I covered the lot in foil to keep the heat in, then draped a dishtowel over it to weigh it down and make sure no steam pushed through.)
While we were out I found a beautiful bunch of rainbow chard from Hotchkiss Farms at Blush Lane, and so we also had roasted chick peas with garlic and chard – a perfect pairing for lamb. (I’ve become lazier about this dish the more I make it – I sauté the chick peas with a few cloves of garlic in a hot pan with plenty of canola oil until they darken and get crispy – throw in the chopped chard and some water or stock, lid it for about 10 minutes to cook the chard through, then take the lid off and make sure any moisture has cooked off, add salt, and it’s done.)
The lamb was fantastic. Perfectly cooked after 6 hours (not even, I think) – it fell off the bone but still had some tooth to it. The potatoes were intense, having absorbed all those lamby juices, and could have been easily roughly mashed (YUM) but we scooped them out, all deep golden and studded with softened cloves of garlic, and ate them alongside what was essentially pulled lamb. My mom and sister doused theirs in mint sauce. I want the leftovers wrapped in soft flatbread with tzatziki. For breakfast, maybe.
Leg of Lamb in the Slow Cooker with Garlic and Rosemary
olive or canola oil, for cooking
1 bone-in leg of lamb
4-5 medium Yukon Gold potatoes, chopped into chunks
1 head garlic, peeled
salt
a few sprigs of rosemary
about a wineglass full of red wine
Rub the oil all over the lamb and either brown it in a hot pan or throw it on the grill to get some colour. Meanwhile, toss all the potatoes and about half the garlic cloves into the bottom of your slow cooker.
Put the lamb on top of the potatoes, squish a few more cloves of garlic and rub it over the surface, then sprinkle with salt. Toss in a few sprigs of rosemary and pour some wine in around the potatoes, cover (if the bone sticks out, cover the lid with foil to seal in the heat) and cook on low for 6-8 hours. Carve the lamb and serve with the potatoes, finished with a squeeze of lemon, if you like. Serves 6-10.
We were supposed to be in Jasper this weekend, Ali and I and the kids – I was set to be a presenter at the Pajama Party at the Jasper Park Lodge, but a severe snowfall warning and poor winter driving conditions prevented us from hitting the highway Friday afternoon. As I deliberated, stressed out and monitoring the AMA road reports, W sat on my lap and I pondered a spot on his face that I thought was a scratch or bug bite. He had a few along his hairline, too. When we decided to abort the mission he took off his clothes, as he tends to do, revealing about a dozen little red freckles around his midriff. Ali looked at him and said “W has chicken pox!” (You may recall that Ben had shingles a few weeks ago – the same virus, reappearing in a new manifestation of itself, but still transferrable as the Pox.)
We stayed home. The boys had a sleepover. To ease the pain of not getting to go to the cool hotel in the mountains with the swimming pool, I made waffles. (This also eased the pain of being roused at 7 on a Saturday morning. Somewhat.)
I forgot to mix up my usual (I say as if this is a weekly occurence) yeast-raised waffle batter the night before, and so this morning pulled a book off the shelf in search of a waffle recipe that required little energy, and no beating and folding in of egg whites. The only one that fit the bill sounded delicious, too – Honey Bran Waffles, which I made with maple syrup. They were nutty, toasty without being heavy or gummy (as some grainy things tend to be), and nicely sweet (although I turned down the syrup a bit), allowing the boys to eat triangle wedges as is in front of their cartoons, with the maple baked right in. No stickiness. Hallelujah.
(I may have buttered mine. And dribbled over a little extra maple sweetness.)
Maple Bran Waffles
adapted from The Joy of Cooking
3/4 cup whole-wheat flour
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4-1/2 cup wheat bran or oat bran
2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
1/4 cup canola oil
1/4 cup maple syrup or honey
2 large eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
In a large bowl, stir together the flours, bran, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Add the buttermilk, oil, maple syrup, eggs and vanilla and whisk until well blended.
Preheat your waffle iron and spray it with nonstick spray or brush it with oil. Cook the batter according to the manufacturers directions (I cook about a ladleful in a thick Belgian waffle maker) until golden brown. Keep them warm in a 200F oven while you cook the rest. Makes 6-8 large waffles.
The silver lining to missing out on Jasper (besides having the chance to get up early and make waffles): I got to attend Local 201 – Connecting People in the Local Food Movement. There was an amazing, inspiring lineup of speakers talking about everything from urban agriculture to food policy, urban chickens and beekeeping. It was a smorgasbord.
And of course there was lunch.
LOCAL 201 Lunch Menu
Buffalo Horn Ranch Bison Stew
Sylvan Star Gouda Mac and Cheese
Saskatoon Berry Slaw
Green Salad with Buttermilk Dressing
Biscuits with Vital Green Farms Butter
Forage Chocolate Chip Oatmeal Cookies
Besides the amazing spread, the event gave me plenty to chew on. While monitoring Pox Boy.
