Suddenly

If I'm being honest, I have to admit that I don't always know what to write. Mostly it sounds self-absorbed. I want to tell you about my Saturday, how I walked southbound on University Ave. listening to Frank Sinatra, hot cup of strong coffee in hand. I want to tell you about how I smiled at the day that was miserable and overcast and, legend has it, birthed a sunny, bright, crisp afternoon. I'd like to go on about a lovely night when I ate Vietnamese take-out over a cheesy film and drank two large glasses of wine, or how I read about how Amanda Hesser fell in love with Tad Friend while tucked beneath my duvet. I roasted root vegetables with rosemary, sea salt and olive oil, I whipped up a batch of sriracha-laced hummus, I shook up a basic red wine vinaigrette, I made a pot of sunchoke-potato soup with chile oil, I made a browned-top baked oatmeal and cooked a cremini mushroom and bacon frittata loaded with fresh parsley. 

But most of all, I want to tell you about something I've been contemplating lately. One of the (many, many things) I love about Amanda Hesser and Melissa Clark is their utter candidness and honesty. It's beautiful, and so attractive. I thought the same of Laurie Colwin when I was reading Home Cooking. "People used to learn to cook by making dishes in their mother's or grandmother's repertoire. But now that cooking is no longer a necessity, very few people do this, which is probably why so many young people may never cook. Without a handful of recipes to start you off, cooking seems overwhelming. There are too many choices. Why begin with roasted chicken when you could make chicken satay or chicken curry? Why make chocolate pudding when you're used to the molten chocolate souffles that you get in restaurants?" Amanda asks in Cooking for Mr. Latte: A Food Lover's Courtship, with Recipes. I'd never thought about it that way, but it's true.

While I grew up with a mother who had dinner on the table by 6pm every night and did indeed cook, I didn't grow up the way some others have -- dining in top Parisian restaurants, perfecting croissants and eating potato salad with homemade mayonnaise. For a long while there was Shake'N'Bake and Swanson's chicken pot pies and Domino's pizza on Friday night (to qualify, I'll mention that my parents both cook and both cook very well.) It was how I grew up and it made sense for my family. But at the same time, as someone who adores cooking from scratch, I had no real repertoire when I first started out. I still don't, not really. I try different recipes. I eat what I like. It's not uncommon for me to eat the same thing for dinner all week without thinking twice about it. But I'd like to think this is a good way to start -- being thrown into the ocean headfirst and trying, gracefully or not, to navigate the waves and ripples.

As Amanda says -- I speak about her as if I know her, I realize -- "when you make a dish again and again, altering it to your liking, it becomes an expression of your aesthetic, of your palate, of who you are. And when you serve that dish to guests, they come to understand you a litte better. This my mother, who is very practical, generous and a perfectionist, makes a superb roasted chicken with herbs tucked under the skin and lemons and onions neatly packed into its cavity, and crisp almond biscotti that look as if the nuts were arranged one by one. My sister Rhonda is indulgent and has a good sense of humor. One of her specialties is spaghetti with fried eggs."

I like the thought that my repertoire of dishes is an extension of myself. Of course this is easy to say given my affinity for anything kitchen related. But I think even throwing together a salad with some nuts and a good goat's cheese counts. I think of the dishes or foods I make most often -- linguine with tiny canned clams, lentil soups and stews, salads with multiple lettuces, granola, roasted chicken with lemon, garlic and rosemary. I made a batch of terrific latkes with aged white cheddar and homemade applesauce, and I love dipping my fingers into a big bowl of air-popped popcorn coated lightly in olive oil and dusted with salt and either smoked paprika or chili flakes.

Brown rice pasta with pesto is my go-to meal, perhaps because it seems perfectly refined to me when topped with a poached egg and is equal parts comfort food and sophistication. I enjoy eating cottage cheese right from the container, standing up, or having a baked lamb sausage with red grapes -- the way the skins split open is lovely. I don't know what these things say about me except that I must have a great deal of time on my hands, which is half true, I guess. However, I do like humble foods, simple foods, and I suppose that speaks to my upbringing and my former geographical landscape. At the same time, I like the best. Good, freshly picked, Ontario apples. A fruity extra-virgin olive oil and a grassy tasting one for different purposes. Delicious teas and fresh herbs. Some might say I'm obsessed with food and they would be correct, but I think of cooking and preparing foods in the same way I perceive fashion or home decor; I see these things as my soul's limbs, not self-defining exactly and not the be-all, end-all, but as a way to live in the world. I get to decide who I am and what I love.

 

If I'm being honest, I want to tell you that so much of what I know stems from the mistakes I made and the lessons I gleaned from those mistakes; this applies to just about everything. I didn't know my way around in the kitchen at all when I first started out, and I didn't know enough about my job when I started working, but I'd like to think that's okay. The most important thing I've taken away from Amanda -- oh, Amanda! -- is that people used to learn, which is to say they were taught. These days, we don't always have that luxury.

We don't start knowing everything: we learn piece by piece, picking up odds and ends as we go. And that's what cooking is to me, too -- seeing what's around, what scraps can be thrown together into something edible. Eventually you realize sweet potatoes, kale and eggs operate harmoniously together, that coriander was the missing ingredient in the lentil soup from one of your old haunts that you tried to re-create, that latkes are easier to make than you imagined.

Or suddenly you find yourself with an odds-and-ends kind of cookie, one that is a little bit dessert and a little bit refined and a little bit ladies-who-lunch. I don't know what that says about me, but I know I am quiet when I eat them. As anyone who knows me can attest to, this is no small thing.

When I cook these days, I imagine Amanda in my kitchen, tasting a basic vinaigrette I've emulsified in a glass jar, or biting into a bean taco and murmuring aloud, "More salt?" as she lets the flavours float on her tongue, tastebuds making the call.

These cookies are buttery but crumbly, flavourful yet restrained. When I handed them out to those looking for samples, one proclaimed they were very nice. I like them well myself, especially considering the dough freezes well -- excellent for those who live alone and don't want to be tempted with so many cookies. Full disclosure: I devoured seven of these (mini cookies) within a few hours, but since they contain that magical ingredient (begins with b, ends with utter) in addition to the buckwheat and quinoa flours....well, this cookie is practically a health food, non?

Buckwheat Cocao Nib Cookies
Adapted from Molly Wizenberg, who adapted this recipe from Alice Medrich's Pure Dessert

1 1/4 cups quinoa flour
3/4 buckwheat flour
1/2 lb (2 sticks) unsalted butter, brought to room temperature
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1/4 tsp salt
1.5 tbsp baking powder
1/3 cup cocao nibs*
1.5 tsp pure vanilla extract

Now, this is going to sound like a total cop-out, but Ms. Wizenberg does a much better job at detailing the method than I could ever hope to do. Please see her instuctions, adding the baking powder to the flours. I used quinoa flour in place of the all-purpose, but I can't see why you couldn't use brown rice, coconut flour or any other flour you like. The texture and flavour might alter slightly, so please take that into account.

Please see Molly's instructions here.

*I only had 1/4 cup of cacao nibs when I made these cookies, so I added in some finely chopped dark chocolate to make up a the full 1/3 cup. The cookies were no worse for wear, trust me.

December, holiday detox, etc.

Chocolate Puddle Cookies, 03/10, Tallahassee FL

We are mid-holiday and already I'm filled entirely to the brim with happiness and gratitude. 2010 may have appeared fairly bleak at the onset, but how those concerns were repressed once the months unfolded and I got into the swing of things.

Plum Cobbler with Assorted Fruit, 02/10, Tallahassee FL

It's been a whirlwind of a year. Last December, I saw the light shows in Lakeland, FL. while sipping on coffee and catching up on television shows. I beach combed at Passe-A-Grille Beach, slurped up a creamy tomato bisque with seafood and sherry, ate bites of broiled flounder and drank potent margaritas on the rocks.

St. George Island, 02/10, FL

I celebrated New Year's Eve in style by hitting up two of my favourite Toronto spots -- The Yellow Griffin Pub in Bloor West Village and Terroni on Adelaide East by St. Lawrence Market -- and attended a terrific house party and drank a lot of red wine (a very early indication that this blog would come to feature many such episodes of my drinking a lot of red wine and writing about it.) I spent January in Amherstburg and went back to Florida for a month, drinking sparkling wine with good friends and eating such delectables as homemade BBQ ribs with two different sauces, seared tuna on plaintains topped with an avocado salsa and blood orange drizzle, and amazing creole-style shrimp with a cheese-filled potato cake.

Kim's visit to Toronto, 06/2010

It was a year of Blueberry-Ginger Cheesecake, eaten under a big tree in the Florida sun, the crisp March air whipping at our skin, and, subsequently, a year of rice and beans done several different ways while I searched for a job in the midsts of a downtrodden economy. I made a permanent move to Toronto and set up shop. I started this blog. I spent a night on my uncle's boat, drinking crisp wine in the hot air, and a day, sipping at caramel apple martinis and eating a great dinner in honour of Canada Day. I tried and fell in love with Indian food for the first time. I worked the toughest job I've ever worked (in catering) and landed my first career job (in corporate marketing/advertising). I've read some wonderful books, and have had the pleasure of meeting so many lovely people. To finish off this year, this year of lessons learned and victories gained, I can't help but count my blessings: my family is happy and healthy; I can pay all my bills and still dream of owning a pretty duvet cover; friends that are the most wonderful people a girl could ask for; a fabulous apartment; and a great job. That, dear readers, really is everything.

Ottawa, 05/2010

There was also a whirlwind trip to Ottawa, complete with great conversation, wonderful food, and terrific tour of the city by one of my favourite people. And a minor car accident. Let's try to forget about that (though, as with many unfortunate things, it makes a good story in retrospect.)
 
I once said I wasn't much of a soup person, but this winter has made a liar out of me. After making Cuban black bean soup (twice -- both scandalously delicious), a forgettable throw-together-in-the-crock lentil soup, a red lentil soup with potatoes and cumin, Melissa Clark's Red Lentil Soup with Lemon (twice), potato-leek soup with rosemary and roasted garlic, Richard Olney's Garlic Soup, and sweet potato soup with maple syrup and chili flakes, and broccoli cheddar soup, I can no longer claim such a title. Now I dream of a chickpea soup with cumin, of a soup au pistou with a dollop of sundried tomato pesto, of more lentil soup. My devotion by this point is rather unquestionable, non?

Griffin at the cottage on Lake Buckhorn over Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, 2010

 When you are finished with holiday celebrating -- perhaps around January 2nd? -- and require a bit of a detox, I recommend making a big pot of Melissa Clark's Red Lentil Soup with Lemon.

It's a simple soup, each flavour distinguishable from the other. The tomato paste lends depth, the lemon adds brightness, and the lentils contribute plenty of heft and volume to this hearty, filling soup. It tastes as good as it smells, and freezes well.

A soup by any other name

When winter comes to the big city in a big way -- I mean a -26°C with the wind chill kind of big way -- sometimes the best coping method is to arm yourself with two new shiny cookbooks -- Dorie Greenspan's Around My French Table and Melissa Clark's In the Kitchen with A Good Appetite, courtesy of the public library system -- and to listen to Kurt Elling. It's particularly helpful to whip up a batch of granola that fills your apartment with the lingering scents of ground ginger, cinnamon and brown sugar, and to sip on a cup of tea called The Skinny that came highly recommended by a co-worker, the faint smell of Indian cuisine arising from the steam.

And -- if you're particularly daring and dreamy -- the best way to arm yourself against the throes of the cold is to wait and wonder as a pot of garlic broth simmers on your stove. Truly, it will calm your worries and heal your aching body.

Remember a while back when I confessed to not being a soup person? That my experiments in the land of liquid had, generally speaking, soured my hopes of ever metamorphosing into a soup-makin' connoisseur? Dear readers, I have made several pots of soup this winter, and by and large I have liked them all. I've beat the system! Or something like that.

And then (oh, the story turns!), there was a soup named Garlic, and she was smooth, rich, indulgent, and...dissatisfying.

Dissatisfying, at least, to me.

It is the perfect restorative, regenerative soup, yes. A soup using no less than a dozen cloves of garlic is bound to wield some power. But really, despite its simplicity and lovely French techniques, it's safe to say this elegant soup is not for me. I feel okay admitting to this. It's a nice soup. It's dignified. It's the perfect companion for crusty bread or a poached egg, or both if you so please, and if I were served it anywhere but in my own house it would please me well enough. But I have realized through this season of soup-making that my soup preferences lie at either end of the spectrum -- very robust or very brothy, with no middle ground. But nevertheless, you should know this recipe, if only to tell people you are making garlic soup.

When I told people of my plans to make garlic soup, the reactions varied. "Garlic..soup?" one might ask, as if the two were very separate things that should never be mixed in equal parts (unlike French Onion Soup, which no one except for perhaps my sister second guesses) while another might respond with, "Oh, I bet that's delicious!" And still another would come around very inquisitive indeed, without an opinion either way -- just wonderment that such a thing could exist. "Hmm, garlic soup!" Like a child, I am often amused by small things.

For this recipe, I used an adaptation of Richard Olney's recipe. Julia Child also has a recipe for garlic soup which appears in Mastering the Art of French Cooking I, but the way she incorporates egg and parmesan is very different from Olney's. I think both are equally good, but it depends on what you are after. Olney's yields a creamy, rich soup, while Child's is quite brothy and uses the cheese as a garnish. If you intend on re-heating, I'd recommend Child's version, as Olney's is one soup that does not stand up to re-heating; the olive oil separates from the soup, and you end up with a soup slightly greasy in texture and aesthetically unappealing.

Now tell me a story where you made a soup that causes memories to shift and stir.