Something bold

Dear reader, it’s been a long while since I’ve waxed on longingly about a fruit. In the early days of Aubergine, the yearning was a bit of a constant. Red currants and Montmorency cherries provoke immense excitement, the likes of which may end in you riding mechanical bulls or jumping out or airplanes. Unlike red currants and cherries, though, my lemon love is big. It began somewhere around lemon meringue pie and swerved around the dinner table during the fourth grade, where I’d bite down into the sour flesh and bitter pith with astonishing regularity (I have the poor enamel to prove it – an interesting badge of honour.)

Lemons make for a beautiful and inexpensive table display. Their juice brightens soups and stews. Salt-cured (otherwise known as preserved), they’re fantastic in African tagines. And quite frankly, while I love chocolate as much as the next girl, hand me over a lemon-flavoured dessert and I’m as good as yours. I should probably keep that last tidbit to myself.

And so this weekend I went about making lemon curd, and the following Lemon, Almond & Cornmeal cake. When I first removed the cake from the oven, I thought the recipe had called for entirely too much butter. The parchment was drenched in grease and the cake seemed perhaps too moist. But trust me, it dries out, and the butter ensures it stays moist (does anyone actually like this word?). The crumb is loose and seems to dissolve on the tip of your tongue, and the lemon is obscenely bold. I’ve eaten this cake warm and alone (the cake, I mean) and I’ve eaten it in the company of co-workers, dressed with a dollop of crème fraiche. I’ve eaten it for dessert after dinner and with afternoon tea. It’s the kind of recipe you want in your repertoire, the kind of thing you’d serve to good friends on a Saturday, the kind of thing you fall in love with whether you are ten or twenty-six.

Find the recipe over here at Simple Bites (I used regular lemons in place of the Meyer ones.)

Things that are good

I’ve been trying to write for a while. I’ll be honest. I’ve started and scratched out an embarassing number of entries. Some emotions or experiences are tricky to put into words. A long weekend spent in Amherstburg drinking fabulous wine and margaritas out of mason jars, eating great food and laughing with my family. Reading a wonderful book in bed with a cup of fresh coffee beside me, the sun rising. A Tuesday off work to putz around the city. A short work week. Steel cut oats with frozen sour cherries and shredded, unsweetened coconut. Going out with co-workers. Believing in the good in people.

What have you been up to lately? Dear readers, I’ve missed you.

I haven’t been cooking much lately (gasp.) Pasta with an egg and homemade lemon artichoke pesto, quick red lentil soups and a crustless quiche with Gruyère and cremini mushrooms. I've been loving meals that come together easily but that are still big on flavour; subtle hints of anything need not apply.

At the same time, some of these things -- notably the quiche -- have been a bit heavier than I'm accustomed to. Unintentionally, I gravitate more toward vegetable-laden dishes full of pulses and fresh ingredients where animal products appear secondary instead of taking a starring role. Every once in a while I cook up something a little indulgent. It's great, but I'm happy to be back to lighter fare.

These meals have been both satisfying and nourishing, and I'm glad for it.

A red lentil vindaloo with potatoes and green beans, served on brown rice.

An enormous chopped green salad with French lentils. Have I told you how much I love French lentils? Well, a lot. I would happily sit and eat an entire bowl of them, tossed with a red wine vinaigrette and garnished with a bit of goat cheese and possibly a hardboiled egg.

And an amazing lemon tart. Umm...a different kind of satisfying and nourishing, really. I don’t have pictures because it was devoured too quickly over the long weekend. This makes me sad, but then again, I tend to think it was a bit of a clever move on my part. It’s just an excuse to bake another one, no?

Lemon Tart of My Dreams
(Barely) adapted from Elana’s Pantry and Laura Calder

Yields about 8 slices

1.5 C almond meal
1/4 tsp fine grain sea salt
1/4 tsp baking soda
1 tbsp sugar

1/4 C vegetable or neutral tasting oil
1 tsp real vanilla extract

2 whole eggs
4 egg yolks
3/4 cup sugar*
2/3 cup sour cream (low-fat is fine)
3/4 cup fresh lemon juice

To make the crust, combine the first four ingredients (dry ingredients.) Whisk to thoroughly combine. Make a well and slowly add the vanilla and the oil. Continue  to whisk until absorbed. Pre-heat the oven to 325F. Grease a 9.5" ovensafe pie plate and add the almond "batter", smoothing with your hands if necessary to even it out. Bake for 15-20 minutes until slightly browned.

To make the filling, blend the eggs, yolks and sugar together until emulsified. Slowly whisk in sour cream and lemon juice; it will yield quite a thin filling. Once the crust is finished cooking, fill with the lemon mixture and bake at 325F for 30-35 minutes until set. Refrigerate and cool for at least two hours. Serve chilled.

*Despite the amount of sugar, this recipe yields quite a tart pie. If you prefer a sweeter lemon tart, I would up the sugar to a full cup or even 1.25 cups.

Getting out of Dodge

Oh goodness.

I must say, October, you certainly charged in like a lion of an unprecedented sort. Just weeks ago I was eating birthday cake and enjoying my since-deceased leisure time. These days are as long as the limbs of 100-year-old trees, which is to say very long indeed. So when this past weekend popped up on my radar, rife with time for -- dare I even mutter the word? -- relaxation, I embraced it whole-heartedly. A schedule packed with work and social gallivanting is very fine, but sometimes a girl just needs a glass of wine, a warm bath and a good book.

This weekend offered a literal breath of fresh air as I abandoned the city and travelled north to my uncle's cottage for a glorious Canadian Thanksgiving. I mean, just take a look at the view I had as I walked into the living area that first morning, cup of high-voltage coffee in hand.

If you're offended by what I'm about to say next due to its utter fabulousness as a friend of mine was -- truly, for he has informed me we are no longer friends due to my goings on -- let me pre-empt this by saying I'll happily extend chocolate and wine as a peace offering. For three days (!), I sat on the beach with a book in hand, drinking wine and soaking up the last of the sun's brilliant rays. I helped roast a turkey to perfection in an old, apartment-sized oven, and ate myself stupid as one is wont to do during the holidays. There was a few games of Mexican Train, a wildly affectionate Golden Retriever,

pumpkin-carving (and therefore the ingestion of deliciously toasted pumpkin seeds), Motown and Jazz, Dionne Warwick murmuring softly from the boombox -- "ain't no mountain high enough, to keep me from you" as my uncle and I got started on the stuffing. Marshmallows were roasted over a "two-storey bombfire". We kayaked through still waters. There was bird-watching, a lot of sleep, and long, less-than-sober conversations -- though it's worth mentioning I left the politics at home this time. The pine trees have shed many of their needles, all of them landing amongst the lily pads in the lake. That's something to see in and of itself. I'm not much of a camper, but there's something about a weekend at the cottage that is so lovely -- particularly with a couple episodes of Modern Family thrown in for good measure.

I might owe many people wine and chocolate now.

It was so nice, in fact, that a woman in one of the neighbouring cottages strolled out in a bikini and dove straight into the lake. I'm still shivering at the thought of it.

Readers, I even made a cake for the occasion, though I'm embarassed to say it was gobbled up before I could snap a picture. I even brought leftovers home and ate them at work, forgetting all about you! I apologize. But you'll forgive me when I share this recipe with you. The texture is swoon-worthy, I think, and it makes a lovely accompaniment to a rich, big meal. Personally, I'm not such a fan of heavy desserts in the evening, the way they sit at the bottom of your stomach like devious sugary bricks. A veritable Goldilocks, I declare this cake not too too heavy, not too light -- it is just right.

Pumpkin is the epitome of autumn in my mind; the leaves can morph from green to vibrant reds and yellows and oranges, they can scatter themselves amongst the yellowing grass, cider donuts can be fried and eaten, apple picking season can spring itself upon us, hot cider can be consumed, but it just isn't truly autumn until I've eaten pumpkin. 

I do often prefer its savory applications, though puréed pumpkin is oft-considered a dessert sort of thing with all of our pumpkin pies -- undoubtedly an emblem of good old-fashioned Americana. It's true that a good pumpkin dessert is generally irresistable, and will in time convert the most skeptical of Sweet Tooths. However, because I'm not much into sugary desserts, don't expect a sugar high and ensuing crash out of this recipe. You could easily eat this torte for breakfast. According to Laura Calder, it's inspired by the French tortes that litter the countryside. With such an enchanting back story, it quickly (and quietly) became the perfect way to cap off a Thanksgiving dinner among a more intimately acquainted Group of Seven. 

I go weak in the knees for anything that sounds both rustic and foreign, so you can well imagine my delight when the torte came out much the same way -- a little homely, but sophisticated in its simplicity; good enough to mark the end of a holiday dinner, but not so over-the-top that it couldn't be enjoyed on any old day. And really, that's what Thanksgiving is really about, anyway: being thankful for the autumn harvest, communing together, enjoying a sunset -- the ultimate laissez-faire holiday if there ever was one.

Squash Cake (aka "Thanksgiving Torte")
Adapted from Laura Calder, French Taste

Yields 8-10 slices

2 cups puréed pumpkin (not pumpkin pie filling)
3 eggs, separated
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
1/3 cup corn starch
1/4 cup fine-milled cornmeal
3 tbsp pumpkin pie spice
1/4 cup rum (preferably dark)
Zest of one large orange

Pre-heat oven to 350°F. Grease and line a springform pan. Combine yolks with sugar and beat until light and pale. Whisk in cornstarch and cornmeal until smooth, followed by the pumpkin, rum, pumpkin pie spice, and orange zest.

In a separate bowl, whisk the egg whites until they form soft peaks. Bringing the egg whites to room temperature will render this task infinitely simpler.

Gently stir half the egg whites into the batter and fold in the remainder. Pour into the pan and bake until a toothpick comes out clean -- this took a full hour in my gas oven. It will be very moist, but if it's still sticky to the touch, it hasn't finished baking. Serve slightly warm with sweetened whipped cream. Perfect as an afternoon accompaniment to a cup of coffee or tea, or as a lighter dessert. Consume within three days and avoid refrigeration if possible, which will render the cake soggy.