salted butter crackers

Well, it turns out that starting your own business can leave one a little frazzled and forgetful.

I could tell you all about leaving the locker key on the bench in the change room at the swimming pool instead of pinning it to my bathing suit – but that isn't really food related.

Instead, let's talk about these crackers.

Last weekend, I was supposed to bring a second dessert to our friends William and Nancy for Thanksgiving dinner. It needed to be gluten-free and nut-free, so we settled on salted butter break-ups. They're a crowd pleaser and I've written about them before: basically, a giant butter cookie that everyone can break up at the table.

I got down to work early Sunday afternoon, mixing and rolling the dough onto the pan. I noticed that the dough didn't look quite right and wasn't as big as usual ... but assumed everything would right itself in the oven.

Wrong.

The giant "cookie" came out thin and impoverished looking. Basically, like something that would feed four people instead of 15.

I pulled Scott into the kitchen for a consult. He stumbled in from a nap and looked at it bleary-eyed. Unfortunately, he agreed with my assessment. We set to work on another dessert: sour cherry crumble, this time.

While we were baking our second dessert, I thought we might as well break into the sad cookie and try it ourselves.

It broke with a happy snap and we cautiously tasted a piece. That was when it dawned on me.

I had forgotten the sugar.

No wonder it was smaller and thinner and paler.

It was not a cookie. It was a cracker.

And you know what? It was a really good cracker: buttery and salty and just crying out for cheese.

I threw a few in a bowl and we brought them along to the dinner. After dessert, they became the cheese course. Indeed, with grapes and bellavitano cheese, they were heavenly.

I guess being frazzled and forgetful isn't so bad after all.

one year ago: squash pasta with onions caramelized in maple syrup and apple cider vinegar
two years ago: fresh plum kuchen
three years ago: leek gratin

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salted butter crackers
via myself and the little red kitchen 

1 3/4 c. all-purpose flour
     or gluten-free:
     127 g. (4.5 oz) tapioca starch
     42 g. (1.5 oz) sweet rice flour
     42 g. (1.5 oz) sorghum flour
3/4 – 1 tsp. sel gris or kosher salt or sea salt
9 tbsp. (127 g./4.5 oz) cold butter, cut into 18 pieces
3 – 5 tbsp. cold water
1 egg yolk, for the glaze

Pour the flour(s) and salt in a food processor and pulse to mix. Drop the butter in and pulse until it looks like coarse meal with pea-sized and smaller pieces. While the machine is running, slowly add some of the cold water. Only add enough water to make a dough that almost forms a bowl. It will be very malleable.

Move the dough onto a big clean cutting board and form it into a square. Wrap it in plastic and refrigerate for about 1 hour (or up to 3 days).

When it's time to bake, preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and make sure your rack is centred. Line your baking sheet with a silicone baking mat or parchment paper.

Roll the dough out between sheets of plastic wrap until it becomes a rough rectangle that's about 1/4-inch thick and about 5 by 11 inches. Peel it onto your prepared baking sheet.

Whisk the egg yolk with a few drops of cold water, and use a pastry brush to brush the dough with the egg glaze.

Bake 30 – 40 minutes, or until golden. It should be firm to touch, but with a little spring when you press its centre. Dorie says the perfect break-up is crisp on the outside and still tender on the inside. When it's not too fragile, transfer it to a rack and let it cool to room temperature. Break into cracker pieces  – or let your guests break it up – and serve with cheese.

nuts and bolts

Well, I think you know how I feel about retro recipes.*

So how about some nuts and bolts?

My mother-in-law made a big batch of these at Christmas and every time she put a bowl out, we'd dip in and keep coming back until, in very short order, the bowl was completely empty.

I don't think I should even contemplate how many I ate on our day trip down to Seattle . . . but let me tell you, they are a perfect car snack. They're not messy, but they're super tasty and you've got at least two food groups with all the cereals and peanuts.

My mother-in-law made them gluten-free and my husband was so pleased that I knew I'd have to repeat them again soon at home.

And you know what?

They're a cinch. Basically, just mix a bunch of cereal with some oil and spices and bake.

I couldn't resist sampling a few before they went in the oven and they were darn good, but what happened in the oven was magical. The bolts slowly crisped and transformed themselves from separate cereals into one golden, cohesive snack mix.

I know you might be skipping down to the recipe now and might be astonished by the amount of oil called for . . .

What can I say?

This is a retro snack. I actually cut the oil from two cups to one and a half and it still tasted great. And this recipe makes a tonne of nuts and bolts (think: two of your biggest Tupperware containers overflowing).

So I don't think there's very much oil per serving. And the oil is, I truly believe, essential to create that lovely, golden, crisp finish.

Just try it. All the cool retro kids are doing it.

* That would be very, very positive.

one year ago: pan de yuca (colombian tapioca cheese buns), carrot and fennel soup
two years ago: tomato sauce with onion and butter, lemon syllabub
three years ago: naomi's granola, rosemary gruyère baked eggs

nuts and bolts
this makes a lot of nuts and bolts – enough to fill an industrial-size cookie sheet
all of these cereals – Chex, Cheerios and pretzels – are available gluten-free  

1/2 – 3/4 box Chex*
1 box Cheerios
1 bag pretzels
1 1/2 c. neutral oil, such as grapeseed or canola
2 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
2 tsp. celery salt
2 tsp. garlic powder
1 can roasted, salted peanuts

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees Fahrenheit. Pour the cereals onto an industrial-size cookie sheet, or even two if you don't like nuts and bolts escaping onto the counter as you carefully mix them.

Whisk the oil with the Worcestershire sauce, celery salt and garlic powder. Alternately pour and mix them with the cereal until it's all mixed in. Don't worry if some spices are hanging out at the bottom of the bowl. Just scrape them out and put them on the cereal. This is a very forgiving recipe.

Stir every 15 minutes or so and bake for a total of two hours. When cool, toss with peanuts and eat.

*I used three-quarters of a 365 g. box because I love Chex. But the original recipe called for half a box.

annie's sun-dried tomatoes

May I introduce you to my new favourite dip?

Only . . . it's not quite a dip.

It's more like a soft, plump piece of the most flavourful sun-dried tomato you can imagine hanging out next to a golden piece of garlic that spreads like butter when it hits your cracker.

The sun-dried tomato and the garlic have a bit of very good olive oil* to keep them fluid, and that's it.

I like to serve this concoction with a little wooden spoon from Japan that allows it to work in its magical twilight between liquid and solid.

You spoon it onto your cracker or crisp bread, take a bite before the oil dribbles too far down your chin, and head back for more. (But someone else has now got the spoon, so you also get to learn patience. Bonus.)

This sort-of-dip has an unusual technique. First you let the garlic soften and get golden in that good olive oil, then stir in the spices, then a bit of plum and balsamic vinegars. Finally, you stir in some plump rehydrated tomatoes.

All those additions quickly make friends and that humble sun-dried tomato becomes (so I think) the very essence of what a sun-dried tomato should be.

Many, many thanks to my friend Haruko who first introduced me to this recipe. She brought it to book club and I begged for the recipe. At the next meeting, she came with a hand-written purple recipe card.

Haruko calls this Annie's Sun-Dried Tomatoes, because her dear friend Annie gave her the recipe. Turns out, it's originally from Wilderness Cuisine by Carole Latimer. (You better believe I am going to request Wilderness Cuisine at the library right now. There. Done.)

I think this is the kind of recipe that gets around a lot between friends.


* I like like this Sicilian olive oil, which is surprisingly reasonable for its big flavour.

one year ago: cheese ball!
two years ago: spiced ginger mounds
three years ago: walnut slugs and spicy cajun almonds
four years ago: seafood chowder for a cold autumn day

annie's sun-dried tomatoes
slightly adapted from wilderness cuisine by carole latimer
yields about 1 cup

3/4 c. sun-dried tomatoes (dry)
6 tbsp. good olive oil
7 – 10 cloves garlic, peeled
1/4 tsp. paprika
1/4 tsp. oregano
1/2 tsp. coriander
1/4 tsp. salt
5 whole peppercorns
2 tbsp. ume (Japanese plum) or rice vinegar
1 tbsp. balsamic vinegar

Cut the garlic into thick strips (in half for a small clove, maybe 4 or 5 for a big clove). Gently heat a pan over low heat. Add the olive oil and garlic and cook for about 15 minutes. Make sure they're not burning: you just want them to slowly get golden.

While the garlic is cooking, bring the sun-dried tomatoes to a boil in a small pot with enough water for them to swim around. Let them boil for a couple minutes to rehydrate. Drain. Put the sundried tomatoes on a cutting board so they can cool down a bit. Once they are cool enough to touch, cut them into long ragged strips.

Measure the spices and add to the garlic once it's golden. Stir and cook five more minutes. Add the vinegars and cook two more minutes. Stir in the cut sun-dried tomatoes. Serve with crackers or crisp bread, or set aside to serve at room temperature. Store in the fridge if leaving out for more than a couple hours. Set out an hour ahead of time to bring to room temperature.

leek gratin

I tend to go a bit leek crazy.

Whenever I see them at the farm or the farmers' market, their white curly ends and smooth white-to-green stalks pull me in. I hand over my money and I'm suddenly filling my wrinkled cloth bag with bunches and bunches of leeks.

Their dark green tops peek out the top of the bag and look so cheerful on the way home.

But once in the fridge – once I've cleared a whole shelf in the fridge because, let's face it, leeks are not small vegetables – it's a different story.

Their leaves get a bit wilted and I remember how much work it is to wash all that pesky dirt out of leeks. In short, I feel overwhelmed by a vegetable.

Luckily, I stumbled onto this recipe last summer at just such a time.

It's from Beyond the Plate and it only has four ingredients: leeks, heavy cream, freshly-ground nutmeg and gruyère cheese.

I was a bit dubious, until I read that Danielle's husband learned the recipe in Switzerland. Really, that was enough. If anyone knows how to make gratin, I believe it would be the Swiss.

And they do. And now I do. And so will you, if you make this.

The technique is brilliant: simmer the heavy cream and a bit of the leek cooking water down until it's thick and pre-gratin-y (that is a new word I just made up!). Stir in a good amount of nutmeg, season it with salt and pepper, coat the tender leeks with the sauce and cover it all with a good lid of gruyère cheese.

This bubbles and burbles in the oven and the gruyère blisters into brown caramelized goodness and –

Oh.

The leek magic is realized and there is suddenly nothing else I would rather eat. I reassure myself that buying bunches and bunches of leeks was actually a very wise decision, and I dig in.

P.S. Thanksgiving is coming, and I do believe this would be a show-stopper side dish on your Thanksgiving table. Just sayin'.

Thanksgiving ideas: turnip puff, tarragon three-bean salad, creamy celeriac soup and rosemary corn butter
one year ago: beet salad with honey-horseradish dressing
two years ago: star anise plum jam
three years ago: finally yummy brussels sprouts

leek gratin
via beyond the plate

 about 1 kg. (2 – 2 1/2 lbs) leeks*
1 1/2 c. whipping cream
2 tsp. ground nutmeg or as much freshly-ground nutmeg as you can bear grating
salt and pepper
1 1/5 c. gruyère cheese, grated

First, start by preparing your leeks. Trim the end off each, then cut discs about 3 cm (1 inch) thick. The first couple disks will be white. After that, cut off a layer of green leaf and rinse it for each disc. This will keep the pesky dirt hiding in the leek away from your gratin and help make sure you're using the tender part of the leek.

Put the leeks in a pot with enough water to cover. Stir in a big pinch of coarse sea salt. Bring to a boil, then simmer the leeks uncovered for 5 minutes. Take 1/4 c. of the cooking water out of the pot and set it aside. Drain the leeks and set aside.

Pour the whipping cream and reserved leek water into a wide skillet. Bring to a good simmer over medium heat, stirring often. Over approximately the next 30 minutes, the cream will thicken and get a bit clumpy. When it's sufficiently thickened, the bubbles will have more trouble breaking through and it will look like there's a layer of cream around the circumference. (See photo.)

While you are waiting for the cream to thicken, chop the leeks into quarter-discs.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

One the cream has thickened, add nutmeg, salt and pepper to taste. Stir in the leeks and keep stirring until they're well coated. Turn the heat off and spoon your creamy leek mixture into a casserole dish (preferably a wider dish than the one I used above). Use the back of the spoon to even it out in the dish. Toss on the cheese to cover the creamy leeks. Bake for 20 – 30 minutes, or until the gratin becomes golden brown.

Let it rest on a rack for 10 minutes before serving.

* Leeks come in wildly different sizes. One kilogram could equal anywhere from 2 very large leeks to 7 smaller leeks. Try to weigh them at the store so you know what you're dealing with.

green beans with garlicky tomato concassé

The first real frost forecast came late last week.

After some discussion, we decided that tucking table clothes around the tomato plants probably wouldn't provide enough protection, as it had the week before.

So, Thursday night after dinner, my intrepid husband donned a headlamp and got out our biggest bowl. He came back in with his bowl full of little green tomatoes.

Now, we have two full cookie sheets of tomatoes in various stages of green to red.

But I'm not concerned.

Because I have discovered the wonderful world of tomato concassé.

I don't think I'd ever had concassé before, except maybe in a fancy restaurant where I didn't know all the names for things that happily passed by my lips.

Laura Calder, of course, knows the names for French foods, and I found this recipe for green beans with garlicky tomato concassé as part of a menu called "An Unintimidating Dinner on a Reasonable Budget"* in Dinner Chez Moi.

How could I resist?

It turns out that a concassé is this plump, velvety mass of tomato sauce that tastes like it costs  well beyond "reasonable."

I think the secret might be the mere half a teaspoon of balsamic vinegar, which somehow brightens the tomatoes but doesn't make them at all acidic. And that little teaspoon of sugar makes the tomatoes softer and more friendly, too.

Concassé is a tomato sauce transformed, and it's lovely and smooth alongside crisp green beans. Just the thing for your trays of tomatoes.

* If you're curious what else is on Laura's menu: avocado with citrus dressing, flat-roasted chicken with merguez sausages and a cake of cherries.


one year ago: beet hummus
two years ago: parsley lentil pasta
three years ago: mrs. doucet's apple chutney

green beans with garlicky tomato concassé
from Laura Calder

4 large tomatoes
2 tbsp. olive oil
2 – 3 garlic cloves, sliced
1 tsp. sugar
1/2 tsp. balsamic vinegar
2 bay leaves
salt and pepper
675 g. (1 1/2 lbs) green beans, trimmed

First, set about peeling the tomatoes. Bring a pot of water to boil. Mark a small X on the tomato bottoms and drop them into the simmering water. Leave in for 10 seconds to 1 minute to loosen the skin. Use a slotted spoon to take the tomatoes out and set the tomato water aside. Place the tomatoes in ice-cold water so they stop cooking and you can work with them sooner.

When they're cool enough, peel the tomatoes. Make thick slices and push out the seeds. Set the seeds aside to use for something else.* Chop the tomato flesh until it's a pulp.

Put a large frying pan over medium heat and heat the oil. Cook the garlic gently for up to one minute; don't let it colour. Stir in the tomato pulp, sugar, balsamic vinegar and bay leaves. Add salt and pepper to taste. Cook until it becomes a thick sauce, about 20 minutes. Remove the bay leaves.

Set the tomato water over the heat again and salt it. Once it's boiling, cook the green beans until al dente, about 5 minutes. Drain the beans and put them in an ice-water bath to stop further cooking. Drain again.

Stir the beans into the tomato concassé and gently heat through. Serve.

* I like to put the juicy tomato seeds in a small bowl, season it with salt and pepper, and eat it like a fancy appetizer.

snack chronicles: super fudge

As a constant snacker and snack-baker-maker, I'm not sure why I didn't try this recipe sooner.

It's been sitting in my recipe binder, gathered from a visit with Angela in Halifax in July 2006.*

I've glanced over it for ages, but I think the fact that it has sunflower seeds scared me off.

I shouldn't have been scared.

Without further ado, may I present super fudge?

It is not, in any traditional sense of the world, fudge. It's more like a homemade Eat-More bar, with a bit of cocoa and honey and peanut butter to bind seeds and gooey dates together.

It's not fudge, it's super fudge.

Making it is fun, too. You heat up honey and peanut butter till they're loose and hot. Then you quickly stir the cocoa and everything else in . . . and watch everything magically change.

Suddenly, the texture is more like fudge, more like you want to roll a ball of it between your fingers just to see what it will do.

You quickly pour it into a lined pan, let it firm up even more in the fridge.

I used roasted sunflower seeds and sesame seeds – thanks to the brilliant husband for the suggestion – and they give a light, toasty crunch in their chocolate-y body. Perfect for snacking.

This recipe makes about 36 little squares, which I individually wrap and keep in the freezer. Every morning this week, I have grabbed a super fudge bar on my way out the door, and been very happy to find it at work around 11 a.m.

*I know that because I actually mark every recipe with a date and place. Call me crazy, but I get a kick out of looking back on them.

P.S. And now I am off on summer vacation! I am getting the distinct sense that said brilliant husband would prefer I helped pack as opposed to write a post. I will try to do my duty. Bye!

one year ago: finding jim mitchell lake and tarragon three-bean salad
two years ago: sun tea
three years ago: rote grütze on ice cream and rosemary corn butter

super fudge
yields about 36 small bars of super fudge

1 c. honey*
1 c. natural salted peanut butter
1/4 c. cocoa powder or carob powder
1 c. roasted unsalted sesame seeds
1 c. roasted unsalted sunflower seeds
1/2 c. flaked or shredded coconut
1/2 c. dates or other dried fruit

Line an 8" by 8" square pan with parchment or wax paper.

Heat the honey and peanut butter over medium-low heat. Stir together. Turn off the heat.

Quickly stir in the cocoa powder, and then all the seeds, coconut and dates. Pour into pan and refrigerate to harden. Cut into squares and keep in the freezer.

*I'm going to try 3/4 c. next time and see if the texture still works. I'll update you when I know.

asian slaw

This is Asian slaw piled on top of pulled pork, which has been piled on top a homemade (gluten-free!) bun.

It's one of those iconic summer dinners that I could eat any time of year.

The dressing for the slaw is flavoured with nutritional yeast flakes. I know, I know, that sounds too healthy to be tasty, but you just need to trust me here. You should be able to find nutritional yeast flakes in the healthy section of your grocery store. I don't even know how to describe what those little flakes do to the dressing – they make it savoury and umami and totally moreable.

Here's what one brand looks like (along with their friend the toasted sesame seed):

Otherwise, this slaw is pretty darn easy. Slice your cabbage as finely as you have patience for, grate your carrots (hopefully without grating your fingers) and toss them with cilantro and green onion. Stir in the mystery dressing, sprinkle some toasted sesame seeds and – voilà! – you're eating Asian slaw.

You don't have to pair it with pulled pork. We also like it with West Coast crab cakes and mango and fennel chutney, adapted from Whitewater Cooks. I think it would work with burgers, too, and pretty much anything you could barbecue.

I've given you proportions to make extra dressing because it is so very good. You could put it on the glory bowl or plain quinoa or cous cous or any kind of salad, just for starters . . .

P.S. Speaking of barbecues, we just got one! Very exciting times at our house. Do you have any favourite barbecue recipes to share?


one year ago: penne with sausage and greens and salmon with warm tomato basil oil
two years ago: kathleen claiborne's hotcakes and kristina's nuss kuchen
three years ago: chilli pasta and honey orange cream

asian slaw
slightly adapted from Whitewater Cooks by Shelley Adams

2 c. green cabbage, chopped finely
2 c. red cabbage, chopped finely
1 c. carrots, grated
1/2 c. cilantro, chopped
1/2 c. green onions, chopped
1 tbsp. toasted sesame seeds

dressing*
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. neutral oil, such as grapeseed, canola or vegetable

First, mix up the dressing. Stir the nutritional yeast flakes, water, tamari, vinegar, tahini and garlic together in a bowl. Blitz with an immersion blender until it's consistent. Then add the oil slowly and blitz it in. Set aside just over 1 cup for the slaw and put the rest in the fridge for another use.

In a big bowl that gives you lots of room to move, mix the cabbages, carrot, cilantro and green onion together. Stir in the cup of dressing. Add more to taste. Sprinkle with sesame seeds.

*You won't need all the dressing for the slaw. But it's so good that I think you'll be happy to have it around. Otherwise, halve it.

night circus mice

Look at these mice scurrying across the plate.

I think I might start a whole new category in the recipe index: something like Possibly Too Cute to Eat. Scott suggests they should be filed under Possibly Too Creepy to Eat.

I love looking at these little mice, but actually I love eating them even more. Under their milk chocolate fur, their innards are crispy peanut butter. These are sort of like the animal version of a peanut butter cup – but a lot better because these mice were born with real peanut butter and lovely, melty milk chocolate.

I made these mice for book club last week. We had just read The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern and we all brought circus-themed treats. I was intrigued when I read about the chocolate mice with licorice tails.

(I was also planning to attempt caramel corn but I couldn't find any naked popcorn to dress up with caramel – and my household is sadly lacking a popcorn popper. Well, it's a good thing, because four (!) friends came bearing bowls of caramel corn. We essentially had a caramel corn tasting party and discussed the book in between bites.)

The mice are a bit involved because you have to chill the innards before you can dip them in a thick coat of milk chocolate. But they're also pretty simple: mix the peanut butter with a bit of melted butter, icing sugar and crispy rice cereal and you can shape your little mouse bodies.

Then you lay out tails on the pan, dip your chilled mice in melted milk chocolate and attach them to the tails . . . Chill a bit and dab on white chocolate eyes.

Done. And cute to boot.

one year ago: paska for easter and zeppelin pancakes
two years ago: gumdrop cookies
three years ago: butterscotch pudding

chocolate mice with licorice tails
adapted from rock recipes

breeds 16 – 20 mice

1/2 c. smooth peanut butter

1 c. icing or powdered sugar

2 tbsp. + 2 tsp. melted butter

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1/2 c. crispy rice cereal (optional), crushed a bit*

about 40 sunflower seeds or sliced almond pieces for the ears

heaping 1 c. milk chocolate pieces

1 – 2 tbsp. white chocolate pieces

licorice, cut into tails**

Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper. Set aside. 

Mix the peanut butter, icing sugar, 2 tablespoons melted butter and vanilla extract together. If it feels too dry and crumbly, add the other 2 tsp. of melted butter. However, you do want a somewhat crumbly "dough" to shape – but you need to be able to work with it. Stir in the crispy rice cereal.

Shape the mice so that they have a somewhat pointy nose and rounded bum. Set them on the prepared pan. Poke "ears" in with sunflower seeds or sliced almonds. Chill in the fridge for about 2 hours. 

In the top of a double-boiler or a bowl suspended over boiling water, melt the milk chocolate. Scrape it into a small deep bowl that's just big enough to roll a mouse around. (If your bowl is too wide and shallow, it will be tough to coat the mice and you'll need more chocolate.)

Place the licorice tails on the prepared pan where each mouse will go. Using two small spoons as tongs, dip each mouse in the chocolate and place each on a tail.

Chill for 1 hour until the chocolate has set. Melt the white chocolate and use a toothpick to dab on the eyes. Let set in the fridge. Eat!

*To crush, you can put them in a plastic bag and scrunch them 

**Licorice has wheat flour, so these are not gluten free if they have tails. But you can always genetically alter them to be tail-less and gluten-free.

cheese ball!

I think I first encountered the cheese ball in third-year university.

It was just after Christmas, and I had had my wisdom teeth taken out a few days before.

I looked like I was related to Bill Clinton, and surely I was only eating soft foods . . . But I still felt well enough to attend a picnic club reunion.

The picnic club was a very exclusive little group: just me and my friends Erin and Tim. We started it when we were in high school in Kelowna, I think mainly as an excuse to have picnics together. Erin soon made us official membership cards. I still have mine.

We all ended up choosing universities on opposite ends of the continent, but we would still meet up at Christmas (for indoor picnics) and summer (if we were all back at the same time).

I've just found the pictures for the cheese ball picnic, and it looks like we did indeed have a soft-food theme: spinach dip in a sourdough bowl and soup were also on the menu.

I can't imagine how I navigated my way around the nuts on the cheese ball, but I must have done it. Because I came away from that picnic with Erin's family cheese ball recipe . . . and I've been making it ever since.

In fact, if you invite me to a party today, there's a good chance I'll bring a cheese ball.

I just don't think you can beat a cheese ball for holiday snacking. It's retro, it's a snap to make, it's easy to transport by bus or car and – really – who doesn't love a cheese ball?

You can also play around with the ingredients. As long as you have cream cheese and a hard sharp cheese, you're good. You can roll it in pecans or walnuts, or even almonds in a pinch. You can add olives to one little cheese ball (with an olive on top to signify its special status) and keep the olives far away from the other pure little cheese ball. You can take the leftover bit of cheese ball in your lunch the next day with crackers for a holiday snack.

And finally, it's just fun to say: cheese ball. (Thank you, Erin!)

one year ago: dominosteine and christmas treats and spiced ginger mound cookies
two years ago: spicy cajun almonds and butter lettuce for a break

cheese ball
from erin
rolls into two medium cheese balls – or one gigantic cheese ball

1 package (227 g. or 8 oz.) cream cheese
2 c. (170 g. or 6 oz.) grated old cheddar cheese
1 tsp. worcestershire sauce*
1/2 tsp. onion powder**
1/2 tsp. garlic powder
optional: 1/4 c. green olives, chopped (reserving 1 or 2 for the top)
about 2/3 c. roasted walnuts or pecans, chopped

Cream the two cheeses together with an electric mixer. Add the worcestershire sauce, onion powder and garlic powder, and mix well. If you're using olives, mix them in at the end.

Use a spatula to take out the cheese mixture and form it into a ball with your hands. Roll the naked cheese ball in the chopped nuts. If you're using olives, put one on top (because it looks cute).

Store in the fridge in an airtight container, or serve immediately with crackers and a little knife for spreading.

* If you're making this gluten-free, make sure the worcestershire sauce is gluten-free
** I often don't have onion powder on hand. Just add an equal amount of garlic powder.

quince jellies

My favourite medieval fruit is baaaack!

Two Saturdays ago, across the crowded farmers' market, I found them.

I'd been asking around since September, and then I was just standing at the fruit stand, about to buy pears, when I saw it: a basket of homely and bumpy quinces.

Have you ever seen an uglier or more beautiful fruit?

I don't think I actually jumped up and down (although it's certainly possible), but my excitement must have been fairly obvious because the girl next to me asked me what I was so excited about. So I waxed rhapsodic about quinces and I do believe I converted both her and the nice young man selling the fruit to this fuzzy-rock-hard-magical fruit.

I went a bit wild about quinces last year and the mania continues.

Hard! Woody!

One of my favourite things about baking is how ingredients get together and transform themselves into cakes and soufflés and gratins – something completely new. Well, quinces do that all by their lonesome. (OK, a bit of water and sugar help them along.)

You see, they start as beige-coloured woody pieces of flesh that you have to hack off with your sharpest knife. But then, in the boiling water, they transform into tender pink (pink!) pieces of perfume-y soft fruit. And their cooking liquid goes from clear to pink to ruby.

Soft! Tender!

Last year, I gave you the recipe for quince almond cake and threw in a line about how you can just add a bit of extra sugar to the cooking liquid once the quinces are poached, forget about it boiling on the stove while you eat dinner, and suddenly you have a kind of firm quince jelly.

"Done" bubbles – so quick and rolling they won't come into focus

Well, I do understand that wasn't the most helpful instruction ever so I thought I'd make it a bit more scientific. I can now give you exact proportions and times to make quince jellies – because, let's face it, eating dinner might take a different amount of time at your house.

The jellies have a lovely set that is firm but as smooth as a lake on a clear day. The taste is hard to describe because it's so very quince: perfumed with a sort of tang that is unlike any other fruit.

We like eating the jellies neat for dessert, and also with crumbly sharp cheese on a cheese board. Their clear red colour is stunning – especially when you think about how you started with ugliest pieces of beige fruit known to man.

Sylvan Star grizzly gouda & quince jellies on a cutting board my dad made me 

one year ago: quince almond cake and applesauce spice cake
two years ago: west african peanut soup via winnipeg and butter tarts
three years ago: seafood chowder for a cold autumn day

quince jellies
many thanks to clotilde at chocolate & zucchini for the poaching method
yields a 20-cm or 8-inch circle of jelly, which you can cut up as you please

1 kg. quince, about 4
1/2 pod vanilla (omit if you don't have)
80 g. (1/4 c. + 2 tbsp.) + 160 g. (3/4 c.) sugar
1 litre (4 c.) water

Rinse the quinces in warm water and use a cloth to gently rub off their fuzz. Then, take out your biggest and baddest knife and sharpen it – quinces are hard like wood. Once you've sharpened your knife, set it aside and get out your vegetable peeler. Peel the quince, then use your sharp knife to cut around the core and make pieces in the size you like (I like 2 – 3 cm squares).

Put the quince in a big pot and cover with 1 litre of water. Cut your vanilla bean in half and use a small knife to scrape out the seeds. Deposit these seeds and the bean pod in the water. Stir in the 80 g. of sugar. Bring to a boil. Simmer, covered, until the quinces are pink and soft, about an hour and a half for me, possibly longer for you. They should yield easily to a sharp knife and be edible at this point.

While the quinces are poaching, get out a big bowl and two strainers*: one regular pasta strainer and one fine-mesh sieve. Place the big strainer over the big bowl. Once the quinces are soft, strain them over the bowl. Set aside the fruit for your next cake or breakfast** (removing the vanilla bean).

Wash the pot the quinces were cooking in to get rid of any extra grainy matter. Rinse it well! Set the fine-mesh sieve over it and strain the cloudy liquid through it. Now you should have clear liquid in the clean pot. Stir in 160 g. of sugar. Boil uncovered over medium-low, stirring when you feel like it.

At first, the bubbles will be small and pop up from the bottom. While you're waiting, get out a shallow pot (about 20 cm or 8 inches). Set it nearby. When the liquid is ready, in about 20 minutes***, it will suddenly be darker and bubbles will be big and tangled and overwhelm the liquid.

Pour it into the shallow pot to stop the cooking process. Wait about 20 minutes, until it's completely cooled and firm. Run a clean butter knife around the edge and invert it (with a bit of help) onto a plate. Use that butter knife to cut it into jelly pieces. Serve alone, as dessert, or with a crumbly sharp cheese, like very old gouda.

You may keep it in the fridge in a sealed container for a long time.


*If you have a large fine-mesh sieve, you can skip the first strainer. My fine-mesh sieve is too small to hold all the fruit.
** The poached quince is very nice for breakfast with a dollop of thick Greek yogourt and honey
*** If you double the recipe, it may take twice as long.