So we’re part of this dinner club. Which sounds, I know, very grown up and Thirtysomething, but I assure you it’s not at all like that. There is plenty of sufficiently unsophisticated conversation/slapstick, and we try to push the themes a bit beyond Mexican and Italian (the internet has killed the sport of tracking down authentic regional recipes) to things like vintage Kraft (complete with cheese-slice tablecloth and Jaws projected on the ceiling) and most recently, Deliverance. (For the sake of clarity and to avoid too much pig on the menu, it was expanded to Southern barbecue. Overalls and pigtails optional.)
This one was at Wade’s, who conveniently lives next door. He picked up a pig. I took pictures, but. The early-in-the-process ones are a little too anatomical. You can see the further-along ones.
He rubbed it with a blend of something or other and threw it on the barbecue, wrapped in foil, to cook all afternoon. Toward the end, he mopped it, rendering it a little lobsteresque. By dinnertime Mike called it pig butter. As it was carved, we stood around and watched drinking mint juleps out of jars and eating devilled eggs with tomato aspic. (OK, not so much the tomato aspic.)
There were hush puppies (sorry, I don’t have a recipe, but D said she’d show me how to make them and I’d be happy to relay that tutorial) and fried green tomatoes, and cheddar, bacon and fresh chive biscuits made from this recipe, that were stellar. I may have eaten three.
I was in charge of dessert. What else does one make for a southern barbecue than peach cobblah? Which, I figured, would make a fine vehicle for sour cream ice cream. I poked around for some recipes and came across one in an old Gourmet that called for boiling water to be added to the flour-sugar-butter mixture, which intrigued me enough to try it. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! It didn’t have the doughy heaviness I usually associate with cobblers – even the photo above makes me think of one that’s overly bready. This wasn’t. The dough was soft and easy to drop, and baked up crispy and light; it didn’t weigh down the fruit, nor sog out from its juices. I can’t wait to make this with fresh apricots, and blueberries, and plums.
Do you see that colour? It looks as if it was made with plums – the blush is from the skins, which were left on. Because really, who wants to peel peaches (have you tried it? it’s like undressing little round slippery pigs) and why would you, when the peel is something you’d eat under normal peach-eating circumstances? Many of the nutrients and much of the fiber is contained in the skins. Once cooked, you hardly know they’re there.
Confession: I made it again tonight. My aunt and uncle are visiting from Vancouver island, and I asked them over to help get rid of the second batch of sour cream ice cream that taunted me from the freezer. This time I tried to stretch six peaches out to feed nine people – I added two cups of blueberries and a handful of cherries to the fruit, and doubled the topping. It was still perfect.
Peach Cobblah
Feel free to swap some of the peaches for plums or fresh apricots. Adapted from the September 1999 issue of Gourmet
6 large peaches, cut into wedges
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
1/4 cup sugar
1 tsp. cornstarch
Biscuit topping:
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/3-1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1/3 cup butter, cut into bits
1/4 cup boiling water
Preheat oven to 425°F. Toss peaches with lemon juice, then stir together the sugar and cornstarch (to get rid of any lumps), sprinkle over the fruit and toss, then spread in a glass or porcelain baking dish and bake in middle of the oven for 10 minutes.
Meanwhile stir together the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt; blend in butter with your fingertips or a pastry blender until the mixture resembles coarse meal. (This is easy to do in the food processor – just transfer to a bowl before stirring in the water.) Add water and stir until just combined. Remove peaches from oven and drop spoonfuls of topping over them – it will spread as it bakes – and return to the oven for 25 minutes, until bubbly and golden.
Sour Cream Ice Cream
Make this with a full cup of whipping cream and half a cup of half & half, or a cup and a half of 18% (coffee) cream – whatever you have. It’s worth a try with low fat sour cream, or full-fat plain yogurt (which has around the same fat as low fat sour cream).
2 cups full-fat sour cream, chilled
1 cup half & half
1/2 cup heavy (whipping) cream
1/2 cup sugar or 1/3 cup honey
1 tsp. lemon juice
1/2 tsp. pure vanilla
pinch salt
Whisk everything together and freeze in ice cream maker. Transfer to an airtight container and put in freezer to firm up, if you like.
July 05 2010 | dessert | 19 Comments »
Sorry guys, I have this big great southern barbecue to tell you about, but I think I’ve burnt myself out – some form of the plague has taken over my head and throat, and I still have some work to do and a hedgehog to carve out of a watermelon before I get some sleep, and the alarm is set for 5 to get me to BT. But tomorrow, there is peach cobblah to tell you about. And sour cream ice cream. And mint juleps, hush puppies (not the shoes, although I hear they’re comfy), biscuits with bacon, cheese and green onions, and a whole pig on the barbecue. All of which you’ll likely see physical evidence of on TV tomorrow. (The camera adds ten pounds – and there are two cameras – and last night’s meal added at least another ten.) And afterward, I promise to not slack off with my posting quite as much.
If you’re really jonesing for something new – I made watermelon sno-cones and carved a hedgehog on BT this morning…
One Year Ago: World Peace Cookies and Taco in a Bag
July 04 2010 | leftovers | 5 Comments »
Oops, how did three days go by? In that time I met with Pierre over an exciting new project we’re working on, the boys and I had a tour of MacKay’s ice cream factory in Cochrane and a preview of the mini donut ice cream they’re going to have at Weadickville this year (!), we tore out half our back yard, Lou spent a night in the doggie detention centre, having been picked up a few doors down the street and deposited at said location a few minutes before closing time (hearing horror stories overnight no doubt from other bad-ass dogs about the Big Sleep) and we had the best Canada Day ever. I couldn’t wait to tell you about it, except that when we got home from the party we spent almost 7 hours at, after far too much sun and a few icy Damn-You-Dorises (I’ll explain later) and I managed to crawl into bed with my laptop, I discovered that my camera was in fact back at the party, most likely still on the hot tub cover where I put it so I’d remember it. And then I think I fell asleep.
I tried to zero in on something specific we ate on Canada Day to share with you – maple syrup tarts – but can I tell you about the day first? We had planned to finally FINALLY put in the garden yesterday, and my sister and I went the night before to spend hundreds of dollars on dirt, rocks and poo. Which kind of makes you feel a little bit like you’ve been had, don’t you think? Walking through the garden centre comparing bags of soil – Black Gold! Super Soil! NuMix! Ultra Potting Soil! Topsoil! Peat! Also: cow manure! Sheep manure! Mushroom manure! (I didn’t realize they had that particular function?) My sister somehow knew exactly what ratio of this to that would make for optimal growing conditions, and we loaded the old Subaru Outback so full that the back bumper was about an inch off the asphalt the whole way home.
Yesterday morning we collectively tore out the back fence and reclaimed some space behind the garage, trimmed trees, built raised beds and dug out weeds and rocks and built a poopad for Lou. Here’s a lovely trashy before photo. Next time I’ll get Mike to capture me sitting in a lawn chair in the swimming pool with a beer.
We mixed and filled the planter boxes with a ridiculous amount of dirt and planted blueberries and raspberries, strawberries, carrots, beets, radishes, chard, peas (did you know if you soak them for a day before planting them it shaves off a few days’ germination time?), tomatoes, spinach and lettuces.
I missed the next work-in-progress picture because around mid-afternoon, as we all started getting tired and achy from bending and shoveling, we threw on (mostly) clean clothes and headed up the hill to the house of friends who have a Canada Day party every year. Every year Mike brings his stand-up snare drum and acts as accompanist to the lowering of the previous year’s flag and the raising, to a rousing group rendition of Oh Canada!, of the new.
It’s a potluck, a total free-for-all – there is no “you bring a side dish, and you bring dessert” – and yet the table is never overrun by potato salad. And even if it was, who cares? We’re at a party with dozens of happy people, and would have happily eaten platefuls of potato salads. This year the tables were loaded with slow-cooker curries, crispy-fried pickerel from Manitoba, corn and black bean salad, seven-layer dip, chips, mussels, and Nik brought Turkish cotton candy and pickled plums.
And this year, there was a Margaritaville bevy blender, into which I suggested Doris, known in some circles as the McGyver of the bar, whiz up a Strongbow. She added her own kind of love and wound up with rounds of icy drinks I dubbed Damn You Doris, applicable at the time because she wouldn’t share the formula, and potentially later on or the next morning, when one could mumble under ones’ breath “damn you Doris!” (Later, she shared her recipe, although I don’t have the quantities straight: Strongbow, vodka and peach schnapps – just a bit – and ice. Damn.)
There was a soccer game across the street, at which Emily, who I may not have yet proudly mentioned is a soccer superstar, kicked some serious ass and impressed even the ex soccer player dads.
There were hundreds of water balloons and a trampoline, and twin brunette girls with bobs in red and white striped Parisienne shirts and flouncy skirts who huffed off, annoyed by Ben and W, dressed in Spiderman and Superman costumes respectively, trying to wow them with their superhero moves.
Leon wore a Montreal Canadiens PJ top. The boys hid out in between rounds of soccer and water balloon wars in the old school basement rec room to cool off and play air hockey and Operation. I inhaled a bug – up my nose, so I didn’t even get the advantage of added protein – about ten seconds before meeting someone I’ve been meaning to meet in person for ages. She fashionably dressed, manicured and clean – me still in my gardening clothes from the waist down, soaked from the hose from the waist up, and trying to play it cool, lest she notice I have some sort of flying creature wedged in my sinus.
My contribution to the potluck was determined by what was in the kitchen (yes, I’m still on that mission), which included pastry made with homemade lard in the freezer and maple syrup in the fridge. We also brought pretzels and experimental watermelon cupcakes, which began as beautiful pale pink batter and wound up as weird neon orange baked cakes – nothing a smear of icing and shower of sprinkles couldn’t disguise (and simultaneously ensure only the younger set would go for them).
Maple Syrup Tarts
pastry for a double crust pie
Filling:
2 large eggs
1/2 cup packed golden brown sugar
1 cup pure maple syrup
2 Tbsp. butter, softened or melted
pinch salt
1 cup coarsely chopped pecans (optional)
Preheat oven to 400°F. On a lightly floured surface, roll the pastry out 1/4? thick. Cut out circles using a 4? cookie cutter or empty can, and press into ungreased muffin cups. (Or cut them smaller and line mini muffin cups.)
Whisk together all the filling ingredients and fill the tart shells about 2/3 full; bake for 20 minutes, until bubbly and golden. Take them out of the pan using a thin knife to run around the edges and coax them out while they are still warm, otherwise any goo that has bubbled over will stick to the pan as it cools. If it does, pop them back in the oven for a minute to soften it again. Cool on a wire rack. Makes about 2 dozen tarts.
July 02 2010 | dessert | 16 Comments »
