lemon syllabub

Syllabub.

Looks like it sounds:

"Sill-uh-bub."

(Even though it looks quite silly. Actually, someone I know takes great delight in calling it "silly-bub.")

Syllabub, syllabub, syllabub . . . It's one of those words I could say over and over. Good thing I predict 2012 will be the year of the syllabub.

My mom whipped up a syllabub New Year's Eve, and now, I'm afraid, we're hooked. We say it and eat it as often as we can.

Oh, but you'd like to know what syllabub actually is?

Well, my dears, it is cold and creamy and lemony and tastes the way I always thought snow should taste. It is smooth and tart and packs an incredible amount of flavour into a small spoonful of cream.

The recipe itself is like child's play (well, aside from all that alcohol).

All you do is beat an improbable amount of lemon juice, sherry, brandy and vanilla into heavy cream. In just a few minutes, you have soft peaks of creamy lemon heaven. Then you drop a bit of lemon rind and shaved dark chocolate on top if you're in the mood.

The magical thing is that what you have created doesn't taste like sherry and brandy; it tastes like eating pure essence of lemon with a dollop of cream. It is that good.

My mother says she has been making this recipe for years. It has handwritten notes on it that say things like:

"Delicious, but rich!"

"Freezes well!" (My mother freezes everything.)

"People loved it. NY Dinner."

The recipe comes from a big hardcover cookbook I remember seeing since I was a child. It's called Drake's International Recipe Cookbook and has a price of 9.88 penciled in the front cover. Mom says she remembers buying it at a big bookstore in San Francisco in the 1970s. (I would guess she's talking about City Lights, but she can't confirm that.)

The thing I love about this cookbook – beside the syllabub recipe, obviously – is that it's broken into sections of different countries. Syllabub falls in the British and Irish section.

I did a bit more research and – if Wikipedia is to be trusted – syllabub dates back to the Tudor dynasty that ruled England from 1485 to 1603. You know I'm all about the heritage desserts, but I think I've really outdone myself here. Thank you, Mom and Drake's.

May I propose a toast?

To the year of the syllabub!

last january: rosemary gruyère baked eggs


lemon syllabub
all the way from Drake's International Recipe Cookbook

serves 4 – 6

grated rind and juice of one lemon
1/2 c. sugar
3 tbsp. sherry
2 tbsp. brandy or cointreau
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
250 ml. (1 c.) heavy or whipping cream

Pour the lemon juice and most of the grated rind into a good-sized bowl. Stir in the sugar, sherry, brandy and vanilla. Pour the cream in and beat until the cream is thick. (It will be thick but not stiff.) Dollop into 4 – 6 wine glasses or parfait glasses. Chill in the fridge for 4 hours.

When serving, sprinkle with a bit more grated lemon rind and shaved dark chocolate. (Drake's also recommends serving with ladyfinger, macaroons or sugar cookies. I don't think they're necessary.)

tomato sauce with onion and butter

Snow day today!

I live in the warmest part of Canada. In fact, it is so warm that my little house doesn't have insulation. I'm not saying that I would recommend that or that all houses on Vancouver Island were built without insulation or that I wouldn't kill to have some insulation right about now . . . but you get my drift.

My snowdrift, that is!

We don't get snow very often, so when we do, everyone goes a bit wild. The schools and libraries close down, people greet each other with "It's like driving on a skating rink!" instead of "How are you?" Then we all discuss how many snowplows the City of Victoria has. (Current estimates range from zero to one.)

So, this morning, I was looking out on my snowy deck (sleep, little garlic bulbs!), enjoying the white snow light coming through the window and thinking about how cold I was. (Yes, I was already encased in many layers of merino wool, down vest and Scottish wool blanket.)

I decided the only solution was to start something simmering. I found a can of good tomatoes and ventured down the cold stairs looking for an onion. Yes, found a red one. (The original recipe calls for a yellow onion, but I can now confirm that red also works.) Of course, I had butter.

Everything I needed to make Marcella Hazan's classic tomato sauce with onion and butter. (Many thanks to Orangette for first leading me to this recipe a couple of years ago).

I was so delighted when I first tried this sauce because it solved a mystery for me.

Back in university, I had a friend who was Italian. I remember being at Laura's house when her mother served us little plates of pasta with a simple tomato sauce. It was heaven. I asked how she did it and Laura said something about tomatoes and onion and not much else.

Of course, I went home and fried onions and added some diced tomatoes . . . and was disappointed with a choppy, acidic sauce. Maybe, I thought, the problem is that I'm not Italian and this is just not something I'll ever be able to master.

But with this recipe, I uncovered the secret: butter. The sauce needs butter to round it out and make it smooth and rich. And the onion just has a long bath in the sauce, but gets taken out before serving, thus solving the texture issue.

Of course, with so few ingredients, it's essential to use very, very good tomatoes. Sorry, but really: buy the more expensive canned tomatoes once and you'll never go back.

All you do is plop the tomatoes, halved onion and butter in a big, heavy pot. Add a bit of salt if you're in the mood. Bring it to a simmer. Let it simmer for about 45 minutes, making your kitchen smell heavenly and throwing a bit more heat out into your uninsulated house.

When it's ready, it's lovely and velvety and just the thing for a snow day.

one january ago: glorious hummus for bean month
two januarys ago: shortbread in january


tomato sauce with onion and butter
from Orangette, who adapted it from Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazan
serves 2 – 3

28 oz. (794 g.) whole peeled canned plum tomatoes with their juices
5 tbsp. butter
1 medium yellow onion, peeled and cut in half
a bit of salt to taste

Plop the tomatoes and their juices into a pot with a heavy bottom.* Add the butter and onion. Use your spoon to kind of tuck the onion into the tomatoes. Add a bit of salt if your tomatoes aren't already salty enough. Bring to a simmer. Lightly simmer for 45 minutes or until you can see little drops of fat floating on the tomatoes. Stir it a few times while it's simmering. If you feel like, it use your spoon to break up any big tomato pieces against the side of the pot. Take the onion out before serving.

Serve on pasta, with a bit of parmesan, if you like.

*Although Molly appeared to use a frying pan and it looked fine. When I'm simmering something for a while, I like a heavy-bottomed pot. But I leave it up to you to decide what kind of pot you'd like.

glory bowl

When we moved across the country three years ago this May, we decided to drive.

It took us about eight days to make our way from Ottawa to Victoria, driving all 4,723 kilometres through Canada. (The shortcut across the top of the United States was tempting, but we wanted to see our country.)

In Ontario – land of never ending lakes and trees and more lakes and more trees – we stayed at bed and breakfasts. After we hit the prairies – land of very smooth, straight highways where you could see potential roadkill miles away – we were able to stay with friends every night.

So we had breakfasts and most dinners taken care of. But we were always looking for lunch in the middle of our driving day. Specifically, we were always on the lookout for hippie cafés. You know the ones I mean: cafés that offer dishes with sprouts and chickpeas and homemade soups.

We had varying degrees of luck, until we crossed the British Columbia border. (If you're not familiar with Canada, now is the time for me to tell you that B.C. proudly boasts the highest ratio of hippies to hunters of any province in Canada.)

We drove through the Rocky Mountains and ended up in Golden, just on the B.C. side of the provincial border around noon.

My more skeptical half was somewhat dubious when I pronounced that we were sure to find a hippie café for lunch today. But he gamely drove slowly through the narrow streets of Golden while I sized up the storefronts.

Sure enough, I spotted it in no time: Bacchus Books and Café. A used bookstore with a café on the top! Hello, hippie café!

We went up to the second floor and checked out the café: vegetarian, vegan and gluten-free options. Yep, we were definitely back in B.C. I ordered a creamy tomato soup that was so good I had to ask what was in it.

Scott, the gluten-free man, ordered the glory bowl: quinoa with beets, carrots, spinach, almonds and tofu. I gave him a covert look of alarm (didn't want to upset the cook) – um, wouldn't that be too healthy to be good?

No. Unfortunately, as happens from time to time, the husband was right. With a truly addictive dressing, his glory bowl was divine. It was all I could do not to keep sneaking bites when he went to the bathroom.

So we also ended up asking about the glory bowl. The nice woman serving us said it was from a cookbook called "Whitewater Cooks," which they sold in the bookstore downstairs. We promptly went down the stairs and bought the book.

We've never looked back. We make the glory bowl at least once every couple months and always love it. Besides being very, very tasty with this dressing, I can't seem to find any other way to happily eat grated beets and raw spinach.

This is one appropriate meal for January, month of cleanses and resolutions – except that it actually tastes good.

last january: naomi's granola


glory bowl
serves 6
 
sesame baked tofu
from rebar modern food

2 tbsp. soy sauce
1 tbsp. sesame oil
1/4 tsp. ground pepper
1 block firm tofu (about 300 g.), cubed

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Prepare a baking sheet with Silpat or parchment paper.

Mix soy sauce, sesame oil and pepper in a medium-sized bowl. Toss with tofu. Spread tofu on prepared baking sheet. Bake for 15 – 20 minutes, stirring part-way through.

glory bowl dressing*
slightly adapted from whitewater cooks

1/2 c. nutritional yeast flakes
1/3 c. water
1/3 c. tamari or soy sauce
1/3 c. apple cider vinegar
2 tbsp. tahini paste
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1/2 c. canola oil, grapeseed oil or vegetable oil

Mix yeast flakes, water, soy sauce, apple cider vinegar, tahini and garlic together. (I like to use an immersion blender, but you could use a whisk or hand blender.) Add the oil in a slow, steady stream while you're mixing.

*This dressing makes a bit more than you'll need for the glory bowl. Trust me: you want that extra dressing hanging around for other raw vegetables you need to dress up.

the bowl itself
slightly adapted from whitewater cooks

2 c. uncooked quinoa*
2 c. beets, grated
2 c. carrots, grated
2 c. spinach leaves
1 1/2 c. roasted almonds, roughly chopped
prepared sesame baked tofu
prepared glory bowl dressing

Pour 3 1/2 cups of water in a medium pot. Add the quinoa and a bit of salt, if you like. Cover and bring to a boil. Turn down the heat to keep it at a simmer and cook covered for 10 – 12 minutes, depending on how done you like your quinoa. Remove from the heat. Let it sit for a few minutes, then fluff with a fork or spoon.

Next, we're assembling the bowl! Spoon quinoa into your bowl. Top with beets, carrots, spinach leaves, almonds and tofu. Pour dressing over.

*The original recipe calls for brown rice. You could also try that, or even barley, kamut or farro.

nougat marzipan cookies

The other morning, I was supposed to be writing.

Instead, I just sat there, staring out the window and thinking about nougat.

In fact, ever since I got a box of Toffifee for Christmas, I have been thinking a lot about German nougat and how I can incorporate more of it into my life.

German nougat, by the way, is very different from French nougat. The Germans combine nuts and chocolate to form a magical substance they call nougat. The French, sadly, leave chocolate right out of the equation and still call it nougat. Even more sadly, Canadians hardly eat any kind of nougat at all.

Then, as I sat there, I thought about how I was in the mood for something that is not a cookie and not a chocolate. I wanted something in between. Something small and chocolate-ish, but also cookie-ish.

And I wanted it to have nougat. Suddenly, I was composing not a story but a cookie.

Enter the marzipan left over from my stollen-making expedition in early December . . .

Add my desire to eat shortbread over the holiday . . .

Drop a few lines of melted dark chocolate left over from that disastrous truffle-making episode . . .

And the chocolate-ish, cookie-ish thing is born: the nougat marzipan cookie.

If you would also like to compose an itsy-bitsy cookie, here's what you do:

Bake mini shortbread cookies.

Make German nougat (which is not difficult) and dollop it on top.

Pull out your extra marzipan and mold it into a patty to fit over top.

Melt some chocolate and start drizzling.

Voilà! – you're done!

A new little cookie for those times when you can't stop thinking about nougat and you want something that is in between a chocolate and a cookie.

Happy New Year!

May you eat many cookies, chocolates, and everything in between.

last december: tipsy rum balls (also in between!)


nougat marzipan cookies
bakes about 20 wee cookies

about 20 shortbread bottoms
nougat (adapted from here) :
      1/3 c. heaping cashews or hazelnuts
      1/3 c. icing or powdered sugar
      1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
      2 - 4 tsp. cocoa powder
      2 tsp. strong black coffee
150 g. (5.3 oz) prepared marzipan 
50 g. (1.8 oz) dark chocolate

First, make the little shortbread bottoms. A half recipe from here works perfectly.

While the shortbread is baking and cooling, make the nougat. Grind the nuts in a food processor until they look like couscous. Add the icing sugar and grind until fine, but not until you have nut butter. Empty into a medium-sized bowl. Add 2 teaspoons cocoa and stir well. Mix in the vanilla and coffee. If it is now a firm but spreadable texture, you're done with the nougat. If it's not thick enough, keep adding a bit more cocoa until it is.

Once the shortbread is cool, spoon a bit of nougat on each cookie. Cut pieces of marzipan and roll them into balls. With your fingers, shape each ball into a patty. Carefully attach the patty to the cookie, over the nougat centre.

When all the cookies have nougat and marzipan, start melting your chocolate in the top of a double boiler or in a metal bowl suspended over simmering water. Once it's melted, use a small spoon to drizzle chocolate over each cookie. Refrigerate until chocolate has hardened. Eat!

cheesy grapes

I like it best when parties have themes.

(I also like games at parties, but since I seem to be the only adult on the planet who feels that way, let's just keep that to ourselves, shall we?)

So, our friends Catherine and Guthrie had a Christmas open house this weekend and the theme was 60s finger food.

60s finger food!

Genius. Catherine had a big pot of fondue simmering, we drank mulled wine, we ate deviled eggs and tiny skewers of salami and pickle, and so many girls wore cute 60s dresses. (Wish I'd thought of that.)

I did think long and hard about my contribution and ended up with cheesy grapes. (The title alone – are you hooked yet? I bet you're just skipping on down to the recipe now, desperate to make them.)

I first ate these at a Christmas party seven years ago. They were crunchy and juicy and creamy and salty and somehow it all worked. Luckily, my friend Hilary is generous with recipes and she shared it with me. Turns out, it's originally from Canadian Living magazine, which is always a good source of retro and old-fashioned recipes.

The grapes are smothered in a creamy mixture of blue cheese, cream cheese, garlic and ground ginger. This sounds odd, but you'll just have to trust me. And really, can you go wrong with blue cheese and nuts on anything? (Although I do find I always have to eat quite few as I'm rolling them, just to – you know – make sure they're still tasty.)

I did stick a toothpick in each cheesy grape for the party. After many years of trial and error, I've learned that you have to make it easy for people to try your odd-looking potluck dish. After all, no one wants blue-cheesy hands when they're meeting new people.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

 last december: tipsy rum balls

note: almonds only stay crunchy for so long – try to make this no more than a few hours before your party

cheesy grapes
slightly adapted from canadian living

114 g. (4 oz. or 1/2 c.) cream cheese
24 g. (7/8 oz. or 1/4 c.) blue cheese, crumbled
1 tbsp. mayonnaise
1 clove garlic, minced (optional)
1/4 tsp. ground ginger
60 seedless red grapes
1 1/2 c. roasted almonds, chopped finely

Wash the grapes and dry them thoroughly. (I liked a clean tea towel for this.) Set aside.

Put the almonds in a small bowl – big enough for the nuts to move around, small enough to easily roll a grape. Set aside.

Cream the cream cheese, blue cheese and mayonnaise together. Stir in garlic and ginger. Carefully stir the grapes in, so that each grape is coated. Roll each cheese-covered grape in the almonds. Place them in a single layer on your serving dish. Poke a toothpick in each one for easy handling. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until your party starts.

spiced ginger mounds

I think the world can be divided into two kinds of people: those who like chewy cookies and those who like crisp cookies.

That means that some people go ga-ga over ginger snaps.

I don't.

I go ga-ga over ginger chews.

That's right – I like my ginger cookie good and chewy.

My friend Carolyn gave this recipe to me one December in Halifax, eleven years ago (when I was a mere child).

With a slight crackle appearace and a dusting of sugar snow, this is one of my favourite Christmas cookies. It is also very satisfying to watch them flop from a sugary ball down into a thick, chewy* cookie. And, I am happy to report it has single-handedly broken my bad baking streak this December.

What more could you ask for? With or without gluten, these cookies are gentle little spicy chews that just beg to be chased with a Christmas orange.

That's really all I have to say. If you like chewy cookies, you should make these spiced ginger mounds. If you like crisp cookies, you'll have to find another recipe. Or bake these a lot longer.

* Obviously, I am trying to break some kind of record for how many times I can use the word chewy in one post.

P.S. I am back from Toronto. There was no snow, but I did brave a chilly north wind, which was perfect for cold-testing my new coat from Cornwall. (My new coat performed perfectly, thank you very much. It felt light and toasty like a marshmallow and I love it.) Getting back to food matters, I discovered some excellent Italian food. Hop on over to hop & go fetch it for new favourite restaurants in Toronto.

last december: spicy cajun almonds and butter lettuce for a break

spiced ginger mounds
bakes 36 

3/4 c. butter
1 c. + 3 tbsp. white sugar
1 egg
1/4 c. molasses
2 c. wheat flour
     or gluten-free flours:
     80 g. sweet white sorghum flour
     40 g. teff flour
     90 g. sweet rice flour
     70 g. tapioca starch
     1/2 tsp. xanthan gum
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
2 tsp. ginger
1 tsp. ground cloves


Preheat oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Line cookie sheets with parchment paper.

Cream butter and 1 cup of sugar. Beat in the egg and molasses. Set aside.

In another bowl, blend the flour(s), salt, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger and cloves. Mix well. Stir into butter mixture.

Shape into small bowls, about 1 inch in diametre. Pour your extra 3 tablespoons of sugar into a small bowl. Roll each bowl in the sugar. Set on prepared cookie sheet. Give them room to spread out (only 12 - 14 balls per large cookie sheet).

If you're making gluten-free cookies, chill at least 15 minutes. If you're making cookies with wheat flour, skip the chilling. Bake for 9 – 11 minutes, until small crackles form on the cookies.* Cool on the cookie sheet for 5 – 10 minutes before transferring to a rack.

* Don't overbake if you like a chewy cookie.

dominosteine and christmas treats

My dear readers, I have been trying to make some Christmas treats to share with you. Trying being the key word.

After rolling and carefully cutting out a promising new recipe of cinnamon stars . . . they melted into tasty but shapeless blobs as they baked.

Then I pulled out a tried and true truffle recipe – one I've been using since I was 16! – and what do you think happened? Somehow, the chocolate separated and I have some very grainy pre-truffle mixture lurking in my fridge. (It's certainly not worth rolling.)

Now, I am in Toronto for work and there is no baking going on in my hotel room. So, all I can do is tell you about my favourite little Germany Christmas treat: dominosteine.

Maybe you've seen them in the import section of your grocery store and wondered what those dark chocolate cubes were? Well, they are actually the perfect cross between a chocolate and a cookie, and I would recommend you eat at least two every day leading up to Christmas.

The bottom layer is a soft lebkuchen or gingerbread. Top that with an apple jelly. And top that with marzpian! (No, I am never far from marzipan.) And cover it all in dark chocolate! Yes, you see why I love them so.

I know, I know, you still want to do some Christmas baking. Well, until my unlucky streak runs out and I'm back with both a pretty and edible recipe to share, how about repeats?

Here are a few ideas from the past (both pretty and edible) that could work for Christmas:

tipsy rum balls

chocolate nut balls

shortbread

salted chocolate shortbread

walnut slugs

butter tarts

bacon-wrapped dates with olives and almonds

spicy cajun almonds

Do you have any good recipes to share? (Yup, I'm looking for ones that actually work.)

roasted tomato soup and asiago lace

How's this for recommending a winter soup:

It has nary a drop of meat in it and I drink red wine with it.

Intrigued?

We have the genius Mark Bittman to thank. Oh, and a can of good tomatoes.

No, people, I'm not talking about those mythological home-canned tomatoes (that I wished lived in my pantry but never do). I'm talking about a can of high-end tomatoes from the grocery store. (By high-end, I mean $2.99.)

The afore-mentioned genius has us drain those tomatoes, chop them in half, sprinkle olive oil and thyme over top . . . and roast them.

Yes, roast them. Why did I never think of this before?

 The wet canned tomatoes get a bit dried out and produce these very tasty browned bits that you scrape off and pop into your soup – thus, providing its deep, dark base.

With a supporting cast of garlic, carrot and red onion, this soup is much, much more than the sum of its parts. It's so very rich and tomatoey – without a drop of butter or cream (which is a tad sacrilegious for this site, but I am wiling to put up with it to make more of this soup).

Now, what to eat with your lovely, rich tomato soup?

How about asiago lace? Crisp bits of cheese that crunch next to your silky soup, spiked with thyme and rosemary. Yes, that will do. (And did I mention they're dead easy?) Thank you to the lovely Laura Calder for the idea.

There you are. Now you are ready to make dinner.

last november: butter tarts


roasted tomato soup
very slightly adapted from mark bittman
feeds 4

28 oz or 35 oz canned whole peeled tomatoes (good quality if possible)
2 tbsp. + 2 tbsp. olive oil
1 tbsp. fresh thyme leaves
1 tbsp. garlic, minced
1 medium carrot, minced
1 small red onion, quartered and thinly sliced
1/2 tsp. kosher salt (1/4 tsp. regular salt)
1/4 tsp. ground black pepper
4 c. chicken or vegetable stock
1/4 c. parsley, chopped

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

Drain the tomatoes, keeping the liquid. Cut the tomatoes in half and place them on the roasting pan. Sprinkle with 2 tablespoons olive oil and thyme. Roast the tomatoes, turning once or twice if you feel like it. Once they are lightly browned or you can see some good brown bits on the side of the pan, they're ready. This will take anywhere from 40 - 50 minutes.

Take the tomatoes out of the oven.

While your tomatoes are roasting, prepare the supporting cast. Heat a thick-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add the other 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Add the garlic. Stir often for 1 minute. Add the carrot and onion. Stir in the salt and pepper for about 5 minutes. Add the stock, the roasted tomatoes and the reserved tomato juice. Use a bit of hot liquid to scrape up any dark bits from the pan. (This is carmelized yum: use it!).

Bring the soup to a boil, then back down to a simmer. Cover and cook until the vegetables are tender, about 20 minutes. Stir in half the parsley. Taste and add any more salt or pepper, if necessary. Ladle into bowls. Garnish with reserved parsley and serve (preferably with asiago lace and red wine).


asiago lace
adapted from laura calder
makes 12

2 c. Asiago cheese, finely grated
rosemary, minced
thyme, minced 

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Prepare two cookie sheets with silpat or parchment paper.

Stir the cheese and herbs together. Drop about 6 mounds onto each prepared pan. Get out a rolling pin, so you're ready for later.

Bake until the cheese melts, bubbles, and turns light brown, about 7 - 8 minutes. Be vigilant!

Take the pan out of the oven. Quickly, use a flipper to lift each lace disc onto the rolling pin. Pat it, so it curves a bit. Drop it off and move on to the next one. Wait until cooled and crisp to eat. Otherwise, store in an airtight container until ready to eat.