Archive for January, 2012
It was -33 today. I can think of no better argument for bringing out the slow cooker.
Wait – there was a better reason. Kelsey and Phoebe and Cara (from Big Girls Small Kitchen – who’s new cookbook I became smitten with in early December when I was bedridden with a wrecked back) asked me to be a part of their slow-cooker love-in. It’s cold, and I love slow cooked food. Why not?
They’re giving away some slow cookers too, if you want to get in on the action. They’re also swapping ideas and links and pins and such, if you’re looking for slow cookin’ inspiration, which if my inbox is any indication, a lot of people are.
I must keep this short – have a story due today, which technically ends at midnight, right?
There are so many possibilities when it comes to slow cookers. So many cool things to make, but I couldn’t see past a bowl of baked beans. These are thick and sweet and tangy and everything baked beans should be, plus the beer. (As Sue puts it – feel free to swap apple juice or stock if there’s no beer in the fridge, or other members of the household protest its use this way.)
Guinness Baked Beans
a few slices of bacon, chopped (optional)
2 onions, finely chopped
2 19 oz (540 mL) cans red kidney beans, drained
2 19 oz (540 mL) cans white kidney or navy beans, drained
3/4 cup ketchup
3/4 cup barbecue sauce
1 bottle Guinness, or 1 1/4 cups beef or chicken stock or apple juice
1/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup Dijon, yellow, or grainy mustard
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
2 Tbsp. molasses
salt and pepper, to taste
a few shakes of Tabasco sauce (optional)
In a heavy skillet, cook the bacon until crisp. Remove it from the pan, crumble and set aside. Sauté the onion in the bacon drippings (or dump them and replace with a drizzle of oil) for about 5 minutes, until tender and beginning to turn golden.
Transfer the onions to the bowl of a slow cooker and add the beans, ketchup, barbecue sauce, Guinness, brown sugar, mustard, vinegar, molasses, and a hit of salt and pepper. Cook on low for 6-8 hours.
Stir the bacon back into the beans right before you serve them. Makes lots.
Look who else has come to play!
FN Dish (The Food Network Blog)
Food52
The Family Dinner
Foodily
Punchfork
The Daily Meal
College Candy
Her Campus
College Lifestyles
Life2PointOh
One Bite At A Time
Mrs. Wheelbarrow
Savor the Thyme
Babble
Momtastic
Families in the Loop
NY Family Magazine
One Hungry Mama
CafeMom
Simple Bites
Gluten is my Bitch
Cookin’ Canuck
Food for my Family
Eclectic Recipes
Family Fresh Cooking
Talk Nerdy to Me
The Kids Cook Monday
Early Twenties
January 16 2012 | beans and slow cooker and vegetarian | 16 Comments »
In a perfect world, I’d spend every day playing in the kitchen, experimenting with new ingredients and cuisines, making stuff and posting it here. OK, there would likely be a few other things involved in my perfect world, but wouldn’t that be swell? In the real world, as in other peoples’ worlds (and the opposite of so many others’ worlds), some days I find myself at IKEA looking for a new desk chair, because the stuffing on my old one has somehow worked its way to the outside of the upholstery. And on this particular day, having tried to reel in my appetite, I was starving at said IKEA visit, and thus cranky, and impatient in the as-is section, and then in line, and by the end of it there was no time to go get Swedish meatballs. But it occurred to me that IKEA doesn’t actually have a monopoly on Swedish meatballs.
And if I put my mind to it, I might be able to make them my very own self.
This is the kind of revelation I’d love to dedicate my working life to. Making meatballs, and passing them on. That’s a worthy pursuit, isn’t it?
So here’s the Secret of the Swedish Meatball: you don’t really need a formula. Whether you start with frozen meatballs or make them yourself. (I generally don’t bother with unnecessary binders – like egg – or ingredients like breadcrumbs that were initially added to stretch pricey beef – but it doesn’t matter at all what you add – just do what you like.) Adding a pinch of allspice and/or nutmeg will give them that distinctive Swedish flavour. And if you cook them in a heavy skillet on the stovetop, you’ll create lovely crispy dark bits in the bottom of pan, exactly the kind that make for wonderful gravy.
To recap, you make gravy by shaking flour into fat in a pan – fat + flour won’t get lumpy – then whisking in liquid, like stock or wine. It will bubble and thicken, and turn into gravy. You can add more stock if it’s too thick, or a big glop of sour cream to creamify – spellcheck says that’s not a word, but I contend that it is – the gravy into something like what you get on those deliriously good Swedish meatballs. (If you use low fat sour cream, turn down the heat. Be gentle, or it could separate.) You can totally do this, and wing it even.
If you need a recipe, here you go:
Swedish Meatballs
Adapted from Cookie, October 2008. If you want to streamline things, start by gently shaping pure ground beef into balls, straight out of the package – don’t bother mixing anything in.
1 lb. lean ground beef
1 small onion, coarsely grated
1/2 cup breadcrumbs
1 egg
1/4 tsp. allspice and/or nutmeg (optional)
salt and pepper
2 Tbsp. butter (optional)
1 Tbsp. flour
1 cup chicken stock
1/2 cup sour cream
Lingonberry or cranberry sauce (optional)
In a medium bowl, gently combine the beef, onion, breadcrumbs, egg, spices and salt and pepper with your hands, and shape it into 1-inch balls.
In a drizzle of oil in a heavy (cast iron is great) skillet set over medium-high heat, cook the meatballs, rolling them around as you need to, until deep golden and crusty and cooked through. With a slotted spoon, transfer them to a bowl and set aside.
Drain the excess fat from the pan, leaving about a tablespoon. Add the butter (if you like, or just leave the drippings in the pan) and the flour, and whisk to combine. Add the stock and stir, scraping up the browned bits from the bottom of the pan, until the mixture boils and thickens. Whisk in the sour cream and stir until it has the texture of creamy gravy. This whole process will only take a few minutes.
Return the meatballs to the pan and roll them around to coat. Serve with cranberry or lingonberry sauce. Serves 4-6.
January 13 2012 | beef | 15 Comments »
It’s a good day when you get to spend most of it in your PJ pants – until you have to upgrade to yoga pants to go pick up the kid from school, anyway – and in the middle of it someone drops by with a few pastries and a couple loaves of still-warm bread.
I didn’t have any butter. But – tragedy averted: I had about a cup of cream. Making butter really isn’t a biggie, and yet although it’s been on my radar since we took turns shaking up that little container of whipping cream in elementary school, passing it from kid to kid until it transformed into butter (that really could be an analogy for a lot of things, couldn’t it?) I rarely do it myself. If I’m out of butter, I run to the corner store, or send Mike, or put it on the shopping list. I don’t think to make it, but it couldn’t be easier. Or better. (Then again, I rarely have heavy cream in the fridge either. Maybe I’ll start to? Heavy cream meaning 35% whipping cream, the heaviest commonly available.)
It would be worth getting into the habit of making butter for my own use (apart from baking, I mean – I’ll share it with the boys) – after all, if I’m going to eat butter, it may as well be the good stuff. Think homemade chocolate chip cookies vs the bagged kind.
Have you seen the cost of high-end butter? To buy a pint of cream and make your own is a steal.
As I was saying, it’s no biggie – I was working in the kitchen anyway, and so poured the cream into the bowl of the stand mixer, covered the top with plastic wrap (it gets splattery) and turned it on. That’s about it. It’ll churn away, first turning into whipped cream, then something stiffer than whipped cream, and then suddenly you’ll hear it get wet and splashy as it separates into butter and thin buttermilk. (This is why I like using plastic wrap rather than a tea towel – not only can you seal the edges, you can see through it to see how the cream is changing, and hear when the butter separates from the buttermilk and splashes on the plastic film.) That’s it.
You’ll wind up with pure butter that looks like a wad of moulding clay – simply pull it out and put it in a crock, or dish, or jar. It will be a perfect spreading texture. Yes, that’s glittery purple nail polish.
You could add salt to it of course, before or after. Or try spreading your bread with sweet butter and sprinkling it with a pinch of coarse salt. Heaven. Especially when it’s -11 outside and you’re still in your PJ pants.
January 11 2012 | preserves | 29 Comments »
We interrupt our regular dinner announcement to bring you these deliciously salty, spicy, munchable roasted chickpeas, which ruined our appetites for dinner anyway. I tweeted out a picture of these this afternoon, as I prepared to have four kids descend on my kitchen to taste test bean recipes for an upcoming Parents Canada spread. The immediate twitter flurry of recipe requests that ensued suggested that perhaps some of you may be interested in knowing how to roast a chickpea.
It should be a standard formula in any kitchen, I think. Especially after watching how kids devour them. If you’re looking for something salty and snackable, these beat chips all the way to the curb. Protein, fibre, they’ve got it all-and good taste, to boot. I’ll refrain from any reference to safe snacking.
Roasting chickpeas is like roasting anything else: the drier they are going in, the crispier they’ll be coming out. Open a large (19 oz.) can (or two), rinse and drain them well, and spread them out on a rimmed baking sheet. Drizzle with canola or olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and any other seasonings you like – cumin and paprika (sweet or smoked) are good, or curry powder, or any spice mix you fancy. Roll them around to coat them more or less, and rast them at 400°F for 20-30 minutes, giving them a poke around once or twice, until golden and sizzling and crispy. They do tend to get paper towely after a couple hours, so serve them right away. Divine.
January 08 2012 | appetizers and beans and vegetarian | 12 Comments »
This is what you do when once again you’re completely out of hours, and your intention to FOR SURE THIS TIME bake fancy fruit-studded loaves to bring all your friends and neighbours in the days before Christmas has once again fallen flat on its face. Honestly, don’t you know yourself yet?
It occurred to me that the wonderfully easy, rustic and crusty no-knead bread could take on additions like cinnamon and raisins, or herbs and cheese, or figs and walnuts. So I made a loaf, just to see. It fused fast to the pot – something that has never happened before – so much so that I had to chisel and soak its bottom from the bottom of the pan.
So for round two I used a piece of parchment, which worked brilliantly – not only did it contain the floury mess on the countertop, it looked quite charming in the pot itself, especially after the bread had baked and the parchment turned crackly and pale golden. Don’t skip it, unless you love doing dishes.
It turns out this is perfect for after Christmas too – for those midwinter mornings when preheating a large, heavy pot in a 450F oven to bake a crackly round loaf seems like a Very Good Idea.
Fig & Walnut No-Knead Bread
3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, plus more for dusting
1/4 tsp. active dry yeast
1 tsp. salt
1/2 cup chopped dried figs or raisins
1/4-1/2 cup chopped walnuts, toasted if you like
1 tsp. cinnamon (or a good hefty shake)
In a large bowl stir together the flour, yeast and salt. Add 1 ½ cups plus 2 tablespoons water, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Add the figs, walnuts and cinnamon and stir to sort of combine – the cinnamon will be streaky. That’s OK. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap or a plate and let it rest on the countertop for 18-24 hours at room temperature.
The dough is ready when its surface is wet looking and bubbly. Put a piece of parchment on the countertop and scrape the dough out onto it; dust the surface generously with flour and fold the dough over itself a couple times; sprinkle again with flour and cover with a tea towel. (Make sure it’s not terry cloth, which will stick.) Let it sit for another hour or two, or even three or four.
When you’re ready to bake, preheat the oven to 450°. Put a 6-8 quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. Pull the pot out of the oven, lift up the dough on the sheet of parchment and drop it into the pot. Cover with the lid and bake for 30 minutes, then uncover and bake for another 10-15 minutes, until crusty and golden. Remove from the pot and cool on a wire rack, or eat warm.
January 06 2012 | bread | 31 Comments »
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