Have you ever panicked that there is just so much food and so little time? I do. Frequently.
I remember the first time I felt a pang of THERE IS JUST SO MUCH TO EAT AND ONLY SO MANY DAYS IN A WEEK AND HOURS IN A DAY! AND MONTHS IN A YEAR! EVERY DAY I HAVE TO DECIDE! I’M NOT GOING TO HAVE TIME TO EAT IT ALL! THE MATH JUST DOESN’T ADD UP! – it was triggered by a coconut cream pie. So now every time I get overwhelmed by the food possibilities out there (eating in and out), or unreasonably angry that I’ve wasted valuable space and calories on something that was not all it should be, I think of coconut cream pie. OK, not really every time. But sometimes I have my coconut cream pie moments.
I get this feeling a lot when I get sucked into the vortex of food blogs – skipping from one to the next, bookmarking stuff and taking mental notes that invariably more mental notes get loaded on top of until I go a little bit mental. Once in awhile something I see jumps the queue – this was one of them. And I had a bag of the daintiest little Canadian du puy lentils that remind me of smooth, speckled green river stones that I was dying to use.
A Gourmet recipe, it was originally titled “Fried Eggs Over Warm Lentil Salad with Lardons”, which sounds appealingly rustic and British, but of course we don’t generally use the term lardon to describe the bacon in our skillets, and because I’m trying to be a little bit less lardon I poached my eggs instead of frying them. Every little bit helps.
This was actually lunch and dinner; at 6pm I tossed the leftover lentil salad back into the skillet I had just cooked plain old pork chops in, tossing them around to warm them and get some of those flavourful bits. It made a great accompaniment; ditto pork tenderloin or roast, I’d imagine.
Poached Eggs Over Warm Lentil Salad with Bacon
Thanks again, Gourmet. (This of course has been adapted – I also tossed the spinach right in and wilted it, rather than scattering it overtop the eggs as per their instruction.) If you want to throw a peeled clove of garlic into the pot of lentils while they simmer, go right ahead.
3/4 cup dried lentils (I used little green du Puy lentils)
4 slices bacon, chopped
2 leeks (white and pale green parts only), finely chopped
2 celery ribs, finely chopped
1 carrot, finely chopped
2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar, or to taste
1 cup baby spinach
1 Tbsp. finely chopped fresh tarragon (optional)
salt & pepper
4-8 large eggs
In a small saucepan, cover lentils with about twice as much water, bring to a simmer and cook uncovered for about 30 minutes, or until just tender. (You can do this ahead of time and keep them in the fridge until you’re ready for them.)
While the lentils are simmering, cook the bacon until crisp in a large, heavy skillet; transfer with a slotted spoon to a plate, leaving the drippings in the skillet. (If you like, pour them out and add a drizzle of canola or olive oil.) Add the leeks, celery, and carrot and cook, stirring often, for about 5 minutes. Add vinegar and cook until it’s mostly evaporated. Drain the lentils well and add them to the skillet along with the spinach and tarragon; cook, stirring, until heated through and the spinach wilts. Season with salt and pepper and stir in the bacon.
Meanwhile, poach your eggs. Divide the warm lentil salad among 4 plates and top with the eggs. Serves 4.
A long day. Up at 4, out the door by 5am, back home just in time for the 9 o’clock news. But a few new experiences in between:
At around 6:30 am, as I was hurtling down the highway toward Edmonton listening to Panic in Detroit, I saw a moose standing by the edge of the highway; a big guy with a massive felted rack, tapping a hoof onto the pavement like he was testing the water before getting in. I honked. He got spooked and backed off, then ran alongside the traffic for a bit. (How Canadian, eh?)
Later in the morning I was carrying 3 watermelons down Jasper Avenue in Edmonton and my pants fell down. Yes, I was, and they did. (A hidden camera moment if I’ve ever heard of one.) This is the problem with Spanx – their smooth shininess coupled with their ability to smooth out those rolls your pants normally hang on to, just enough for them to work their way down without you feeling them go. You really learn something about yourself and what interesting new muscles you’re capable of pulling when you’re responsible for the safekeeping of multiple melons. I might have been more mortified if I wasn’t so ecstatic that my pants actually fell down. I must be wasting away to nothing, right?
I had lunch (beef short ribs and phyllo-wrapped cheese with saskatoon compote) with someone I had never met, someone also guilty of photographing her food. Then I drove to Legal (pronounce it as if you were French) and met some fantastic people with a brilliant food product that I’ll tell you about tomorrow – tonight I’m just too bagged to even know where to begin.
Dinner was leftovers from this morning’s cooking segments on BT – grapes from the bag, chunks of melon, strawberries and watermelon salsa nestled in the cup holder scooped out with corn chips. Turns out finely chopped watermelon is a great addition to salsa – juicy, crunchy, slightly sweet; a refreshing contrast to the chilies, black beans, corn and spice. I ate in the car, driving in and out of rainstorms from Legal through Edmonton and back to Calgary. My favourite part – besides the fields full of hay bales we always refer to as whole-wheat marshmallows – is the sky.
For those of you who have not experienced an Alberta sky; well. How do I describe it and do it justice? A friend of mine moved here from Halifax to become a doctor, and she said that for 2 whole years she felt like she was being crushed by the sky. It’s just that big. This afternoon it was straight out of the Simpsons opening sequence – on my way home it looked like puddles of blue-gray watercolour paint dabbed with a wadded-up Kleenex. I couldn’t stop looking at it.
1 19 oz. (540 mL) can black beans, rinsed and drained
1 can kernel corn, drained
1/2 small purple onion, finely diced
1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and finely minced
1-2 garlic cloves, minced
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 tsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. mild chili powder
juice of 1 lime
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
Salt to taste
2 cups finely chopped seedless watermelon
In a large bowl, stir together everything except the watermelon. Add watermelon and gently fold to combine. Chill for a few hours to allow the flavours to meld before serving.
Tonight we went to a barbecue. It was supposed to be a bocce barbecue, but the wind picked up and by the time we finished our roast beef, salmon, potatoes, salad, and Thai prawns in spicy coconut milk with chilies and bits of tomato, onion and cilantro and sourdough bread to mop up the broth, we wussed out and packed it all inside to drink wine around the table and listen to 80s music over coconut-lemon bars and brownies.
Soon enough John Cusack came up in conversation. At which point it was revealed that V, whom I must make a point of getting to know better – much better – perhaps she’s in the market for a new best friend? – lived in the Chelsea Hotel in New York in the 80s and actually hung out with John and his sister. (What a bonus wedding present that would be, hey? Joan Cusack for a sister in law? Could the package really get any better?)
But wait, it gets better. She went to see Pretty in Pink with him. He called her and asked her to go, even. John Cusack called and invited her to a movie. It was the advance screening, at which they showed an alternate ending in which Andie (Molly Ringwald) ends up with Duckie (Jon Cryer) instead. It was the one they both voted for, but I guess the consensus was that she live happily ever after in cinematic history with Blane (Andrew McCarthy). So I’m sitting there eating brownies with someone who went to see Pretty in Pink with John Cusack, for real and true. I touched her as much as I could subtly get away with sitting casually next to her at the table. I’m down to two degrees of separation now. It’s a good thing I have size 11 feet – they do come in handy when I need that extra reach.
(In case you’re wondering the same thing I was, I did ask why she didn’t end up with him, and she said it was because she already had a boyfriend; one of the Kids in the Hall.)
So this all came up about three hours ago, and since then I’ve had a bit of fuzzy feedback in my brain that sort of flushes out all other information, both coming and going. So I’m afraid I can’t really relay much in the way of May long weekend goings-on thus far. I just need to have some time to settle down with it, to ponder how a girl not much older than I ended up leaving Calgary for New York and doing laundry with Iggy Pop and his wife in the laundry room of the Chelsea, going to see Pretty in Pink with John Cusack, and then wound up at a patio table with me, laughing at W when he came out of the house pantsless to ask one of us to wipe his bum. Sometimes I’m just so blown away by the possibility of it all.
I will, however, tell you about a chick pea-asparagus-brown rice dish I made last week and again yesterday afternoon, and which I will undoubtedly make again. I had a big bunch of asparagus, and I have to say I’m a little bit done with asparagus – it was completely uninspiring and going south quickly in the fridge while I summed up the gumption to do something with it. So I moseyed on over to 101 Cookbooks and typed in “asparagus” – it’s like the grown-up version of shaking the magic 8 ball – always interesting to see what pops up. Ten Minute Tasty Asparagus and Brown Rice. It lived up to its name, and then some.
I did streamline it a little, and skilleted everything separately in order to really brown and caramelize it all. Yum. I can tell this is going to make it into my regular rotation. (If I have one?) I’d definitely make a batch for John, if he ever asked me to.
Stir-Fried Chickpeas and Asparagus with Brown Rice and Lemon Tahini Dressing
a drizzle of canola or olive oil
1 19 oz. (540 mL) can chickpeas, drained well
2 garlic cloves, crushed
1 onion, chopped
1/2 bunch asparagus, cut into 1″ pieces
2-3 cups precooked brown rice (cold rice fries up better, with separate grains instead of turning pasty)
1/2 cup sliced or slivered almonds, toasted
Tahini Dressing:
1/4 cup tahini
juice of 1 lemon (or 2-3 tablespoons)
2 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp. hot water
1 garlic clove, finely crushed
pinch salt
To make the dressing, shake everything up in a jar. Depending on how much you like, you may have enough for a second batch of chickpeas with asparagus.
Heat a generous drizzle of oil in a skillet set over medium-high heat; add the chick peas and cook for a few minutes, until they start turning golden. They will sputter and pop as they cook. Add the garlic and a bit of salt and cook until they are nicely golden and getting crispy. Transfer to a shallow bowl.
Add the onions to the pan, along with a little more oil if you need it. Cook for 4-5 minutes, until golden. Add the asparagus to the pan and cook for a minute or two, putting the lid on the pan if it helps, just to allow the asparagus to brighten and soften a bit. Dump that into the bowl with the chickpeas.
Add another slick of oil to the skillet and cook the rice for a few minutes, just to warm it through and brown it a bit as well. Add the chickpeas, onions and asparagus back to the pan and toss it around to warm it all through, then divvy it among bowls and sprinkle with almonds. Drizzle with a bit of the tahini dressing, and pass more at the table.
Can’t seem to quit the bread. Do you think if I strapped a bun to my arm it would work like a patch? (Yes, I twittered that yesterday.)
We kind of missed dinner tonight, having been lured to Rocky’s Burger Bus at around 2:30 this afternoon. (But listen, there was no one lined up! It’s like when you drive past a Tim Horton’s, and there’s no one in the drive-thru, so you have to go through and get a coffee just because you can.) Rocky’s is the old red transit bus half-wedged into the ground just behind Blackfoot Trail, which Jane and Michael Stern wrote about in Gourmet, and who make their burgers using actual Alberta beef and shape them gently by hand, so that they are tender and juicy and about as thick as they are wide. (Don’t order a double burger. Just don’t.) And the fries – if I am going to eat fries, I eat these. And DJs fruit and veg market, with whom they share a parking lot, is now open. (So you can ballast the burger and fries with loads of fresh fruit and veg.) We always share, to get our fix without downing an entire burger and order of fries each. And now I have to fess up that I went because there are at least two witnesses out there, who work at the Food Bank, where I stopped post-bus with mustard AND ketchup dripped down my front.
Later in the afternoon I was feeling a little low in the vegetable-fiber-vitamin department, so steamed up some edamame from the freezer. I’m never that inspired to make the stuff – it always looks freezer burnt – but it never is and I always enjoy it when I do. Edamame is the term for young fresh (or frozen) soybeans in their pods, which are easily steamed in about half an inch of water for a few minutes, then thrown into a wide dish, sprinkled with coarse salt, and eaten by half squeezing, half pulling with your teeth sort of like you do with artichoke leaves to get the beans out. (And as you do, you get the salt from the outer pod, which gets tossed.) Soybeans are legumes, and so as such a great source of fiber, protein, and other good stuff. (They also make a pretty fab hummusy sort of dip with parsley, walnuts and garlic.)
At dinnertime I strapped W into the car with a berry-banana smoothie, promised him a play at the park and we drove around the northwest delivering sourdough starter to some of those who were still waiting for their own specimens. My timing was slightly off, and I hadn’t counted on rush hour. Fortunately, my friend Tasha had recently dropped off a copy of her very first children’s CD, Big Bad Bantam Rooster, which is being pressed now (and will hopefully be finished by the time she appears at Children’s Festival next week), and so we popped it in and cranked it up. Tasha is a brilliant musician (not only did she write the music and lyrics of all 18 songs on the CD, she sings lead vocals and harmonies, plays guitar, piano, banjo, accordion, metallophone -whatever that is-, percussion, bells and whistles. She’s what you might call talented.
And even though it’s for kids, it’s a CD I actually find myself listening to when I’m alone; it’s not the kind of music that makes me want to throw myself out of a moving car. (W put this to the test tonight, when he decided Big Bad Bantam Rooster and Yawn and Stretch were his favourite songs and we listened to them 85 and 47 times in a row respectively, give or take.)
Problem is, I can’t stop singing to it. You know how when you sing along with a CD you sound just like the person actually singing? When I was a kid and we played ABBA on a regular basis (I was always Agnetha, being blonde and all) I was convinced I was some sort of child prodigy, with a voice exactly like both Agnetha and Anni-Frid. And wow, I wasn’t even ten, and didn’t even have to try! (I still know all the lyrics to most ABBA songs. Try me.) I had a haircut just like Agnetha, and wore those twisted headbands with the little thread of gold running through, sitting just underneath my curling-ironed, parted-in-the-middle bangs. My sisters and I put on a little performance for my Grandparents once, which included a rousing version of Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight). And then one day I recorded myself on one of those elementary-school-issue black tape decks – Take a Chance on Me, I Do I Do I Do I Do I Do, Waterloo – and then played it back. And you know, someone must have snuck in and taped over my singing, or the tape recorder was terribly broken, because it didn’t reflect my talent at all.
(I so want this poster for my bedroom wall. Wouldn’t it make a great ad for Reynold’s Wrap?)
So tonight as we drove I kept on singing along to Tasha’s CD, and every time I did, W would yell from the back seat “No Mommy! NO! STOP SINGING!”. And every time we started the song over again he would remind me to PLEASE NOT SING. Mommy, you just CAN’T SING! And I know he meant he just didn’t want me to ruin it for him by singing over Tasha’s well-honed voice, but really, he’s right – I can’t sing. So I guess it’s good that I have friends who can.
I woke up this morning craving -nay, requiring- vegetables. Since the back yard is still half covered with thick, dingy ice floes I’m not quite in full-on salad mode. (At this point I’m not fully convinced spring is going to actually come – I’ll believe it when I see something green poking through.) My brain was trying to push me toward butter chicken, so I compromised with this veggie-based curry of sorts. I’ve seen a lot of curried sweet potato-legume (lentil, black & kidney bean) concoctions in the past month, so I may as well go ahead and make one and get it out of my system. This one came from the New York Times, by way of SmittenKitchen.
I meant to make naan, but my timing was way off. (Timing is not my forte. It’s particularly apparent at Thanksgiving and other multi-course meal events where there are a lot of witnesses.) I’m kind of glad I didn’t – had I made it I would have eaten three easily, and then sat around all night digesting dough. When I abandoned the naan idea, I put on a pot of basmati rice instead. (Perhaps naan tomorrow – something will need to go with the surplus of lentils.)
Really, there’s a serious lot of leftovers. 1 1/2 cups of dry lentils plus 2 pounds of sweet potato made a massive pot. Lunch is taken care of for a week, anyway. To go with I roasted some cauliflower – tossed around in a bit of oil and roasted at 400F for about 15 minutes. I have fulfilled my vegetable quota (for once). And I feel good for having eaten it all. (If I’d only stop eating these mini eggs.)
Curried Lentils With Sweet Potatoes and Swiss Chard
adapted from the New York Times, by way of SmittenKitchen. Bump up the curry powder if you like things spicier.
1-2 Tbsp. canola oil
1 onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, crushed
1 Tbsp. grated ginger
1 1/2 tsp. garam masala
1 1/2 tsp. curry powder
1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced
4 to 5 cups vegetable or chicken broth
2 lbs. sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes (about 4 cups)
1 1/2 cups dried lentils
1 bay leaf
1 bunch Swiss chard, center ribs removed, leaves thinly sliced
1 tsp. salt, or to taste
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper
1/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro
Juice of 1/2 lime
1/4 cup chopped almonds (tamari almonds, if you can find them), for garnish (optional)
In large saucepan, heat oil over medium heat. Add onion and saute until translucent, 5 to 7 minutes. Add garlic, ginger, garam masala, curry powder and jalapeno. Cook, stirring, for 1 minute.
Stir in 4 cups broth, sweet potatoes, lentils and bay leaf. Bring to a boil; reduce heat to low, cover and simmer for 25 minutes. (If the mixture seems dry, add more stock as needed.) Stir in the chard and salt and pepper, and continue cooking until the chard is cooked, another 10 minutes.
Stir in cilantro and lime juice and serve immediately, plain or over rice, garnished with almonds.
