So I was sitting at my desk this afternoon, as I typically am on any given afternoon of my present-day life, on this particular day enraged at a box of styrofoam peanuts that had just arrived at my door containing: a juice box, a Nutri-grain Bar and a single packet of those little bread sticks with processed cheese product. (Like-a third of a three-pack, pulled apart.) This is what the PR people charged with promoting National Snack Month on behalf of the Canadian Automatic Merchandising Association decided would be a good idea, that I might open it up and be inspired to write about how concerned the vending machine people are with the health of all our kids who have snack machines in their schools and hospitals, and how we can all feel good about the fact that they now have healthy options like WHITE BREADSTICKS AND PROCESSED CHEESE PRODUCT. For real. That was the gist of the accompanying press release.
Boy, did they get the wrong person. I was fuming, tweeting, plotting my course of action when an email came out of the blue, letting me know that the group of Blog Aid contributors had ganged up to make a donation to Doctors without Borders in my honour. My emotions did a backflip. I couldn’t see to type for the tears. Had there been any witnesses they might have thought me a little unbalanced, going from annoyed hammering on my keypad to snivelling, grinning and searching for Kleenex.
There’s so much love around. I feel like all I did was reach into the pot and stir it up. Like Tea so eloquently put it, we cannot do it alone. (I love the way she widens the scope of love in our lives – I couldn’t agree more. Even as someone married, I get tired of Valentine’s day so narrowly defined as a mushily romantic, couple-y sort of occasion. Love is so much bigger than romance and overpriced roses for a member of the opposite sex you want to hop in bed with. It does indeed make the world go ’round.)
This wonderful lot schemed to make an even bigger difference to those who need it (and to me): Chef Michael Smith, Dana McCauley, Emily Richards, Catharine from Weelicious, Cheryl from Backseat Gourmet, Jeannette of Everybody Likes Sandwiches, Nishta from Blue Jean Gourmet, Lauren of Celiac Teen, Charmian from Christie’s Corner, Shaina from Food for my Family, Marisa of Food in Jars, Shauna and Danny from Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef, Lauren from Healthy Delicious, Alice from Savory Sweet Life, Tara from Seven Spoons, Jess of Sweet Amandine, Helen from Tartelette, Gail from The Pink Peppercorn, Pierre of Kitchen Scraps, Tim from Lottie and Doof, Tea from Tea & Cookies, Jamie from My Baking Addiction, Lori from Recipe Girl, Melissa from The Traveler’s Lunchbox, Brooke of Tongue-n-Cheeky and Aimee of Under the High Chair.
Thanks, guys. Sniff.
And let’s not forget dinner: this morning the CEO crew requested Chinese food in honour of the Chinese New Year and I managed to save some ribs for us. Dinner was fried rice to use up the last bits of broccoli and asparagus, and a half rack of ribs. And popcorn. (Also: I filled the blender with the last of last summer’s blackberries from the freezer, and when I turned to get the yogurt, W pressed the on button with the lid off.)
Hoisin Pork Ribs
Adapted from Canadian Living Magazine, April 2004
2 lb (1 kg) pork side or back ribs
1/2 cup hoisin sauce
2 Tbsp rice vinegar
1 Tbsp liquid honey
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 Tbsp. grated fresh gingerroot
big pinch hot pepper flakes
toasted sesame seeds and/or chopped green onions, for garnish (optional)
Put the ribs on a rimmed baking sheet and cover tightly with foil; bake at 300°F for 2 1/2-3 hours, until tender. (Ribs can be cooked up to this point and then wrapped in foil and refrigerated for up to 3 days.) Meanwhile, stir together the hoisin sauce, vinegar, honey, garlic, ginger and hot pepper flakes.
Remove the foil, turn the oven up to 425°F, brush the ribs with sauce and roast for another 10 minutes, until dark and sticky. (Alternatively, you could finish them on the grill over high heat for a few minutes.) Sprinkle with sesame seeds and green onions. Serves 6.
February 16 2010 | pork | 16 Comments »
Honestly, that title was hilarious last night when we were deep into the shiraz. I didn’t think this post would entice as much if I titled it “Ensaimadas”, which is what I’m going to tell you about. The name doesn’t do justice to these slightly sweet, poufy buns of the very best kind, brushed in their innards with homemade lard made of pork fat. Seriously – don’t gag.
(Sorry to have skipped out on you for the weekend – I pulled out my laptop and camera yesterday to summon a post, but discovered I had brought the wrong camera-to-computer cord. So rather than talk about something I couldn’t show you in pictures, I thought I’d wait another day.)
We spent a chunk of the weekend (minus the driving part) on the top of a snowy mountain. W went skiing for the first time (us in our boots, coaxing him toward each other at the bottom of one of the more secluded hills). Beyond that, and watching the Olympics, and drinking vast quantities of wine, we had intense and excited conversations about lard. You can imagine the boys were relentless in their taunting that their wives’ weekend revolved around a side of pig fat. (“It’s Saturday night – what are you doing? We’re rendering pig fat!”) They nonetheless reaped the benefits of our efforts, and liked it.
But first, while I backtrack to the point where we decided to make lard our weekend activity, I should backtrack further. There’s no point being elusive about the friend I’ve come to visit; you may have noticed here here, subtly popping up now and then in the comments. Sue is just an excellent person. The shyest two at our small Junior High school, we were thrust together by teachers playing matchmaker for the ones who just didn’t seem to have much in the way of social standing. It was a good call. We spent our formative years listening to U2 and the Clash, wearing tights and slingbacks, dating British boys and pouring mickeys of rye into Super Big Gulps. And speaking of boys -we met Mike at her big sister’s apartment, and it was up for debate over the course of that first year which one of us would go around with him (I told her she could have him).
Sue had always wanted to be a barnstormer, eventually got her pilot’s license, and snatched herself up her very own pilot in the process. About a decade ago they produced a baby girl (who when she was brand-new looked like a Maurice Sendak drawing – and I mean that in the cutest possible way) and soon after relocated to the top of a mountain in BC, very close to exceptional skiing, he being an ex-speed skier in New Zealand and still thoroughly obsessed with the sport.
Which is all to say I WISH SHE LIVED CLOSER. (No pressure if you’re reading this, Sue.) But as is so often the case I probably see her as often as my Calgary friends, she having access to cheap flights via her most excellent West Jet pilot husband, and conveniently living halfway between Calgary and Tofino. And when we do see each other, it’s good quality time spent.
Who am I kidding? I still wish she lived closer. I think the old adage absence makes the heart grow fonder only applies to romantic situations in which logistics prevent you from being bothered by the facts of domestic life – socks on the floor, annoying bathroom habits and the like – and the, ahem, benefits never stagnate.
There are two things you should know about Sue: 1) she’s an unbelievable cook, and appreciates food in all the same ways I do (when we see each other we invariably make fruitcakes or jam or something, and if not the conversation is very food-centric, which actually works out just fine because the boys are always busy discussing planes), and 2) she’s a brilliant writer. She reads as much as I always intend to. Even her emails are good reads. She’s also very smart – she was the one getting marks in the high 90s in physics and math while math was the bane of my teenage existence and I Forest Gumped my way through English having not actually read Hamlet (but still managed an 83%!). I keep telling her she should combine the two somehow and I don’t know – write a blog or something – but so far she hasn’t, so I thought I’d swoop in and steal her for myself, and ask if she might like to do an occasional guest post here, just to get her toes wet. (I suppose that wasn’t the very best analogy for a food blog, but you get the gist.)
Anyway. We’re equally enthusiastic about food and its preparation, so there’s almost always a cooking project on the table – something we likely wouldn’t bother with if the other wasn’t there to hold our hand and share in the revelry. A couple weeks ago, when it was confirmed we’d be coming to visit, she sent an email saying oh goody – and let’s make these! Using lard we make from scratch! Which I admit is something I’d considered doing in the past, but only briefly – the stigma of pure white pig fat acts as effective deterrent.
But here’s something I didn’t know: lard made from pure rendered pig fat is lower in saturated fat than butter. For real! Although the thought, I concede, is a little gag-inducing, it was a big selling point to go ahead and make some. And it does fall into the whole food category – unprocessed, no additives – I know exactly what’s in it. I’d rather eat pork fat from a farm in BC than most of what comes in a tub and is labeled as some sort of butterlike spread.
So as soon as I walked in the door on Saturday afternoon and dropped my suitcase, Sue presented a slice of pig – a giant slab of fat and skin, which we promptly set about chopping – or rather sawing – to set in a cast iron pot and melt in the oven. Our blades didn’t slide through it like butter, as we expected it to – it was more like chewing through leather – we took turns and enlisted Mike’s help to get it into little pieces to put in the pot. (Note to self: get the butcher to grind it next time. Or score and throw in with skin intact, to let the fat melt off? Also: try it in the slow cooker.)
It sat on the stove for awhile before we popped it in the oven at its lowest temperature when it came time to go to bed. (The idea is that you melt the fat without browning it – adding a bit of water helps prevent this, and cooks off as the fat is rendered.) Poor Lola sat in waiting, hoping some pork bits would spontaneously jump from the pot. They didn’t.
In the morning we poured the fat off of the clumpy, sticky bits of skin (is this what’s supposed to turn into cracklings? they never did) and chilled it. It came out solid but spreadable, pure white and fairly benign in flavour. It had an appealing texture – creamy and soft, like whipped Vaseline – softer than butter – evidence of its lower saturated fat content.
There was much hoopla and speculation over the potential pastry and biscuits it might produce. From the two of us, anyway – everyone else in the house looked up from speed skating and moguls (yay Bilodeau!) and rolled their eyes. But I bet if we had made biscuits and pie, they’d have eaten them. It’s probably a good thing we left early enough this morning to not have time for more lard-baking. And can you imagine the roasted potatoes?
So this was all lard-making for the sake of lard-making, but also to produce the Ensaimadas Sue had seen on Delicious Days.
We made the dough using fresh yeast (half a pound for a little over a dollar, and it worked swimmingly) – it’s a lovely, soft dough made with eggs and olive oil, rolled it out, brushed it with the lard, rolled and coiled each piece and set them aside to rise as we went to collect the kids from craft night in the village.
We made the mistake of baking them before dinner, and sprinkled them as they emerged from the oven with icing sugar – they were light, soft and ethereal. But oh the possibilities! For this dough (wonderfully light and slightly sweet, with no butter) as well as their shape – I’m dying to make a cinnamon bun in this form; the sugar and cinnamon and nuts enclosed in its spiral and then coiled like a snail shell; in fact, the next time I make a roll of cinnamon buns rather than cut them into rounds I’ll try coiling the lot, baking it and then slicing into wedges. They were just so pretty – and I imagine doing them this way would prevent overly sticky fingers. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, unless you’re short on napkins.
Besides cinnamon, we fantasized various cheese blends with garlic, pesto and prosciutto, mincemeat. The very best kind of recipe is that which begets even more creations.
Ensaimadas
I’m keeping the weight measurements here, because Sue is devoted to her kitchen scale and used that (seriously easy – you plunk the bowl on the scale and add ingredients by weight instead of needing measuring cups and spoons) – but I’ll give you the straight-up measurements too. Adapted from Delicious Days, inspired by Eliza’s recipe.
3 2/3 cups (500 g) all-purpose flour (plus more as needed)
1/3 cup (75 g) sugar
1/2 tsp. fine sea salt
2 Tbsp. dry yeast (or 40 g fresh)
1 scant cup (about 7/8 cup – you may need the whole cup) lukewarm milk
2 medium eggs
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 cup (about 100 g)soft pork lard or butter
icing sugar, for dusting
In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar and salt. Make a hollow in the middle, crumble in the yeast and a pinch of sugar and pour over enough of the milk to cover; stir just the yeast and milk once or twice, then cover the bowl with a kitchen towel and let rest for about 15 minutes or until the surface of the yeast milk looks bubbly.
Add the rest of the ingredients (the remaining milk, eggs and olive oil) stir until a dough forms and then knead on a lightly floured countertop for a few minutes, until smooth. (The dough was a little sticky; don’t worry about it.) Put it back in the bowl, cover and let rest in a warm place for 30 minutes to an hour, or until doubled in size.
Punch it down softly, then flip the dough onto a lightly floured surface and sprinkle with a little flour. Cut the dough into 10 equally sized portions and form into balls, then let them rest on a baking sheet, covered with a towel, for another 30 minutes.
Flatten each ball of dough and roll out into a thin circle and brush with the softened pork lard. Roll each up loosely, then coil so that it resembles a snail’s shell; keeping it a bit loose as the dough will rise further. Place about five ensaimadas on each baking sheet, making sure to leave enough space between them. Lightly brush with lard (if you like – we missed this step) and cover up again. Let them rise for 1-4 hours, until nice and poufy; or if you want them for the next morning, refrigerate overnight, which will slow the rise.
Preheat the oven to 390° F and bake for 14 to 16 minutes, or until golden. Dust with icing sugar and eat while still warm. Makes 10 ensaimadas.
February 15 2010 | bread and breakfast and pork | 30 Comments »
My Mom made this for what is certain to be her annual Christmas ladies’ lunch a couple weeks ago; I loved its similarity to tourtière, the classic version of which I’m not particularly enamoured with, but I also love that it comes from the Fairmont le Château Frontenac in Montréal Quebec City. They make it with skinless, boneless chicken thighs and lidded with a flakey lard pastry crust, but it turned out to be the perfect use of leftover turkey and the vats of stock I’ve been freezing over the past couple days. (I throw the carcass back in the oven in its roasting pan and cook it again until it’s deep brown all over for a richer, darker stock.) I also typically wind up with extra pastry and puff pastry in my freezer after the holidays; unrolling a piece of puff overtop couldn’t be easier, or more impressive-looking, if you’re into that sort of thing.
Wouldn’t this make a lovely New Year’s Eve or Day dish? I thought so too. I may make another to freeze (without its pastry top – without the eggs it’s a perfect candidate for freezing) to thaw, cover and bake for an instant meal a month or so down the road, when snow and cold have lost their lustre and we need something quick and warming for dinner in the dark.
Chicken, Sausage & Mushroom Pot Pie
Adapted from the December 2008 issue of Bon Appetit, from the Fairmont le Château Frontenac in Quebec City. Double to feed a larger crowd.
2 Tbsp. each canola or olive oil and butter, plus a little extra
12 oz. crimini (baby bella) or button mushrooms, sliced
1 large onion or 5 shallots, chopped
1 Tbsp. chopped fresh thyme or rosemary
1 lb. Italian sausages
2 cups shredded leftover turkey or 1-2 lbs. skinless boneless chicken thighs, cut into 1″ pieces
1/2 cup Madeira or white wine
2 Tbsp. all purpose flour
2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1/4 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley
3 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and thickly sliced (optional)
1/2 pkg. frozen puff pastry dough, thawed, or pastry for a single-crust pie
To make the filling, heat the oil and butter in a large skillet set over medium-high heat. When the foam subsides, add the mushrooms, onions and thyme or rosemary; sauté until mushrooms brown, about 8 minutes. Add the sausage, squeezed out of their casings, and sauté until no longer pink, breaking up with spoon. Add turkey or chicken, season with salt and pepper and if it’s uncooked, sauté until chicken is opaque, about 5 minutes. Add Madeira or wine and cook, scraping up the browned bits on the bottom of the pan, for about 2 minutes.
Mix the flour with about a tablespoon of butter or oil and add it to the pan along with the broth; bring to a boil. (Alternatively: shake the flour over the meat, toss it around to coat, then pour in the broth.) Simmer until sauce thickens, stirring often, about 3 minutes. Stir in the parsley and season with salt and pepper. Transfer to a baking dish and top with egg slices, if you like. (The pie can be made ahead to this point; cover and chill overnight and when it’s time to bake, cover with pastry first.)
When you’re ready to bake the pie, preheat the oven to 400°F. Roll out the puff pastry or regular pastry dough on a lightly floured surface until it’s about an inch bigger around than your baking dish; drape over the filling. You could leave it over the edge of the baking dish, or crimp it. Cut a few slits in the top and if you like, brush with some lightly beaten egg. Bake pie for 45 minutes, or until bubbly and golden. Let rest 15 minutes before serving.
One Year Ago: Slow Roast Beef on a Bun and Light Coconut Christmas Cake
December 28 2009 | chicken & turkey and freezable and leftovers and pork | 17 Comments »
Have been reduced to a bobblehead with a wonky neck spring. Brain function reduced to a trickle. Discovered don’t have a waist upon trying on Julia Child outfits (Oxford-style shirt, tied apron, which makes me look more like Paul Prudhomme) in front of full-length mirror.
Ghoulash for dinner. Wanted to tell you about it. V. good on brown rice. Leftovers. Better after a day or two in the fridge. Freezes well.
Pulled Pork Ghoulash
adapted from Jamie at Home, by Jamie Oliver (a stunning book-I highly recommend it!)
canola or olive oil, for cooking with
4-5 lb. pork shoulder, preferably bone-in
1 large purple onion, halved and thinly sliced
1 red pepper, seeded and chopped
1 yellow or orange pepper, seeded and chopped
2-3 hot chile peppers, seeded and finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, crushed
1 tsp. hot or 1 Tbsp. mild smoked paprika
1 19 oz. (598 mL) can diced tomatoes, undrained
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 Tbsp. brown sugar
salt & pepper to taste
½ cup sour cream or crème fraiche (optional- Jamie spikes his with lemon zest and a handful of chopped fresh parsley)
Brown rice or warm cornbread, for serving
Heat a drizzle of oil in a heavy skillet set over medium-high heat and brown the pork shoulder on all sides. Transfer it to a Dutch oven or slow cooker. (If you want to cook this in the oven instead of the slow cooker, preheat it to 325°F.) Add the onions to the pan and cook until they start to turn brown; add them to the Dutch oven or slow cooker; ditto the peppers, chile peppers and garlic. Add them to the pork and onions, and add the paprika, tomatoes, vinegar and sugar as well.
If you are using the oven put a lid on the pot and put it in for about 3 hours. If you are using a slow cooker, set it on low for 6-8 hours. Take the lid off and test the meat – it should pull apart easily with a fork. Remove any bones and continue cooking with the lid off if you’d like to thicken the sauce. Skim any fat from the surface, or cool the pork completely, then refrigerate it overnight; this makes it easier to pull the solidified fat from the surface, and it always tastes better reheated the next day, after the flavors have had a chance to improve.
Using two forks, shred the meat and distribute it through the sauce. Season with salt and pepper. Serve over rice or split cornbread, topped with a dollop of sour cream or crème fraiche. Leftovers are grand, and freeze well.
Serves 8-10.
One Year Ago: Beef Stu, Garlicky Cheese Biscuits and Blood & Gutscakes
October 29 2009 | pork and slow cooker | 21 Comments »
So hey, it turns out I can cook Vietnamese. Who knew?
There are some things that I have a ton of interest in eating, but none whatsoever in making. Vietnamese food falls into this category. So does Chinese food, Korean food; anything I feel like I have no authority to create. I mean besides the basics. I attempted homemade ginger beef once and for all the effort that went into it I’d rather call up the place down the street and slap down a 10 spot for them to do it for me.
Besides, the mystique is taken away when you make something yourself. Do you ever get that sense that everything you make tastes like slightly different versions of the same thing? You know what went in there, and you’re intimately familiar with the process that made it taste the way it does. I’d rather focus my energies elsewhere and leave some things up to the pros.
But then recently I had the occasion to try, and I’m so glad I was shoved out of my comfort zone. Because that’s how you learn – when you expand your horizons beyond what you already know. (Whether voluntarily or by force.)
Satay aren’t really out of my comfort zone – they’d be more accurately classified as a staple around here. But the marinade is different from my usual. I kind of winged it; using about a pound of skinless chicken thighs and cutting them across into half strips, half chunks, and then mashing them more closely together than my usual slightly graceful (if anything about me could be described as such) “S” shape. I liked it this way.
Vietnamese Chicken or Pork Satay
1-2 lb. skinless chicken thighs or pork tenderloin, cut into strips or chunks
2 Tbsp. honey or sugar
1 1/2 Tbsp. fish sauce
1 Tbsp. canola or olive oil
1 Tbsp. lime juice
2-3 garlic cloves, crushed
1 tsp. Sriracha or a pinch of dried red chili flakes
Put the chicken or pork in a bowl or ziplock bag; stir together the rest of the ingredients and pour overtop. Marinate for at least an hour, or preferably overnight.
Soak bamboo skewers in water for at least 10 minutes to prevent them from burning, and thread the meat onto them, squishing the pieces together. Grill or broil for a few minutes per side, just until cooked through.
Fried rice is one of those things I tend to go about on my own. Even when I find a recipe I’m one to ignore it, thinking I know what I’m doing, and right here is a perfect example of something I make that always comes out tasting the same, with the occasional fluctuation depending on how heavy-handed I am with the soy sauce, or whether or not I opted to add curry paste.
But this. It elicited as many oohs and aahs as I’ve received for anything that has come out of my kitchen. The first time I made it, the recipient (who shall remain anonymous to protect his reputation as a mostly generous person) didn’t even share. I think it was the seasoning – the rice vinegar and sugar and fish sauce – but wow. It’s like fried rice that really means it.
Remember – you need leftover cold rice to make a good fried rice – the time in the fridge gives the grains a chance to separate, so that they won’t clump together and get all sticky in the pan.
Vietnamese Fried Rice
This is a bit of a spinoff of one I found on Epicurious
Seasoning:
2 Tbsp. sugar
2 Tbsp. fish sauce
2 Tbsp. rice vinegar
canola or mild olive oil, for cooking
5 cups cold long-grain rice
2 large eggs, lightly beaten with a fork
big pinch dried red chili flakes
1 small bunch of green onions, chopped
1-2 large carrots, coarsely grated
1-2 garlic cloves, crushed
2 cups bean sprouts (optional)
fresh cilantro and chopped salted peanuts, for garnish
In a small bowl stir together the sugar, fish sauce and vinegar.
In a large, heavy skillet, heat a slick of oil over medium-high heat. Add the rice and cook for a few minutes, until heated through. Push over to one side and pour in the eggs; stir-fry until the eggs are scrambled, allowing them to cook without mixing them into the rice completely (so that you end up with detectable bits of egg); add the chili flakes, then the green onions, carrots and garlic; cook for a few more minutes.
Pour over the fish sauce mixture, then add the bean sprouts and cook for a minute, tossing with tongs, just until heated through. Serve immediately, in shallow bowls topped with cilantro and peanuts. Serves 4.
One Year Ago: Meatloaf, (S)Mashed Potatoes and Peas
October 20 2009 | chicken & turkey and grains and on the grill and one dish and pork | 11 Comments »
