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 balls, about 1 inch in diametre. Pour your extra 3 tablespoons of sugar into a small bowl. Roll each ball 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 German 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.

applesauce spice cake

When I asked my dad what desserts he ate growing up, he said – without a moment's hesitation – applesauce cake. And he always made the icing while his mother made the rest of dinner.

This was quite something, as my dad has a notoriously bad memory for what happened when he was growing up or, really, any time in the first thirty or forty years of his life.

Apples, he said, grew in their yard and they were free and they kept, so they ate them a lot. Applesauce cake, apple pie, apple roly-poly, plain old applesauce . . . they ate a lot of apples.

(In fact, dad also tells the story of how eventually his mother decided she didn't like applesauce. But she had to eat it throughout her life. Even when she was dying, people kept making her applesauce because they thought it would be an easy thing to eat, little realizing it was the last thing she wanted.)

So, it was only fitting that when dad came to visit us last weekend, what should he bring but apples? Two kinds: wind falls and Bramley's Seedling, which dad says are the best cooking apples out there. Add those to the box of Cox's Orange Pippin apples friends brought us the weekend before and I decided there was nothing for it but to make applesauce cake.

This is a humble little cake. It is not excessively sweet or moist or modern. But somehow, it's just right. I found myself eating one bite and thinking, "Hmmn, that's pretty good." And before I was done chewing I had the next bite ready to pop in. Suddenly, I was done a whole piece of cake and I had hardly noticed.

You may look at the recipe and be alarmed about the nuts and raisins. (Do you, like me, sometimes find raisins to be an interloper in cake?) Stay calm. The raisins are chopped and somehow they just meld right into the dough and make it good. Seriously, won't you try it just once with the raisins, for me?

By the way, this recipe comes via my great aunt Marjorie (my grandmother's sister) from what looks like a church cookbook. The original author is Mrs. L. Faulkner on Lulu Island, B.C. Thank you, Mrs. L. Faulkner.

Last November: west african peanut soup via Winnipeg 

applesauce spice cake

1/2 c. butter
1 c. sugar
2 eggs
1 c. chopped raisins
1/2 c. chopped walnuts or pecans
2 c. sifted cake flour
     or gluten-free:
     56 g. (1/2 c. + 1 tbsp. + 2 tsp.) pure oat flour
     56 g. (1/2 c.) sweet white sorghum flour
     56 g. (1/3 c.) sweet rice flour
     56 g. (1/3 c. + 1 tbsp.) tapioca starch
     56 g. (1/3 c. + 1 tbsp.) potato starch
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1 c. unsweetened applesauce

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Grease 8" x 8" cake pan.

Cream butter and sugar together until fluffy. Add eggs and mix. Stir in the nuts and raisins. Set aside.

Stir the flour(s), salt, baking soda, nutmeg and cinnamon together. Alternate between adding this mixture and the applesauce to the butter mixture. Pour into pan.

Bake about 30 minutes, until your cake poker comes out clean. Let cool in the pan on a rack.


icing
 
3 tbsp. butter
1 1/2 c. icing or powdered sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla
(about) 2 tbsp. milk

Cream the butter and icing sugar together. Beat in the vanilla. Add the milk a bit at a time until you get the consistency you'd like. Spread over cooled cake.

roasted beet risotto

Growing up, I didn’t know you could do anything with a beet but pickle it. And I loved eating my beets, pickling my mashed potatoes pink while I ate all my other favourite things at my grandparents’ house.

It wasn’t until a couple of years ago when we consciously started trying to eat more root vegetables in the winter that I learned about roasting beets.  Turns out, roasted beets come out sweet and earthy . . . and just begging to be added to risotto. (Seriously, I hear their little beet voices calling to me, almost as soon as I pull them out of the oven.)

Roasted beets just love nestling into a comforting creamy and cheesy zucchini risotto, much like nestling into the couch with hot chocolate and good book while the autumn rains pour down outside.

The beet gems are bright and lift the risotto up, up, up and into my bowl for dinner. 

Crazy but true: this risotto actually started its life as a sun-dried tomato risotto on Epicurious from Gourmet Magazine. Thank you, Gourmet, for this solid risotto foundation. And thank you to Angela of pear ginger jam and apple chutney fame for sharing it with me.

Now, a couple notes about risotto.

1. If you’ve never made risotto before, do not be overwhelmed. It is possibly the most exciting thing to make on the stove top. I mean, can you imagine anything more fun that coating each grain of rice in oniony-garlicky oil and then slowing adding liquid and watching the rice absorb it? I find it truly absorbing.

2. If you don’t have white wine, under no circumstances should you use red wine instead. Did you hear that? UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES. Just skip the wine and add a bit more broth. Just don’t add the red wine. Trust me, I used red wine for my very first risotto. The resulting blue risotto was so visually horrifying that I didn’t attempt to make risotto again for two years. Don’t let this happen to you.

Last October: pear ginger jam

roasted beet and zucchini risotto

adapted from a Gourmet recipe

serves 4

375 g. beets (a few small beets), peeled and chopped in small pieces

3 tbsp. + 1 tbsp. olive oil

1 c. onion, finely chopped

1 large garlic clove, minced

3 c. chicken broth

1 c. Arborio or carnaroli rice

150 g. (about 1 c.) zucchini, finely chopped

1/2 c. white wine

1/3 – 2/3 c. Parmesan cheese, grated

parsley, finely chopped for sprinkling as garnish

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Place the prepared beets in a casserole dish and cover. Slide into the oven. Roast until tender, about 25 – 30 minutes.

Heat a pan over medium heat. Add 1 tablespoon of oil. Fry the zucchini with a bit of salt and pepper for about 5 minutes, until softened, but not mushy.

In the meantime, heat the chicken broth in a medium saucepan. Keep it covered and lightly simmering, but not boiling.

Then, heat a heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over low heat. Add 3 tablespoons olive oil. Add the onion. Stir frequently. When it’s almost soft, after about 5 minutes, add the garlic and cook for 1 minute. Pour in the rice and stir, until each grain is glistening. Add half a cup of the simmering broth and stir in. Once the liquid is absorbed, repeat. And so on.

Once you’ve added much of the broth and the rice is almost al dente (about 20 minutes), stir in the wine. Once it’s absorbed, taste to see if the rice needs to cook more and you need to add more liquid. If you do, add another half cup of the broth. And so on.

Once the rice is al dente, stir in the parmesan. Taste to see if you need more salt and pepper. Stir in the zucchini. Stir in the parmesan. Stir in the beets gently – try not to let every grain of rice become bright pink – contrast is pretty here. Serve sprinkled with a bit of parsley on top.

quince almond cake

A homely little fruit has changed my life.

It is called a quince and it is the most beguiling fruit I have ever eaten.

I am so enamoured of my fuzzy little friend that I’ve done all kinds of reading about the quince. Did you know the quince might be the very fruit Eve was tempted to eat in the Garden of Eden? Did you know there are more recipes for quinces in medieval cookbooks than any other orchard fruit?

I know! I had never even eaten a quince until three days ago and it has this epic history. Which – now that I have eaten one – I must say seems apt.

A quince looks like a deformed apple or pear. He has a dusting of uneven fuzz, much like an adolescent boy. (This fuzz comes off easily with warm water and a bit of rubbing, also much like an adolescent boy.)

Once you peel that quince, you will find a light beige flesh, almost like an old apple. You must sharpen your knife before attempting to cut said flesh, as it feels like an old piece of wood while you saw through it.

But this – this! – is why the quince is so alluring.

With just a few hours (!) of poaching, his flesh gets soft and . . . pink. Yes, pink! If you cook him even longer, he’ll get almost ruby red. And all the while, he'll be releasing this lovely quince perfume, making you very, very hungry to eat him.

So you can see why I’m in love. The quince has officially taken his place as my new favourite fruit.

I’ve been wanting to try quince since I read about vanilla-poached quince, quince almond cake and quince jelly on Chocolate and Zucchini last fall. Naturally, I followed Clotilde’s advice as I dealt with my beloved new friend. I set aside half my quinces to poach with a vanilla bean, à la Chocolate and Zucchini.

Once my first set of quinces were done poaching, I threw in a bit more sugar – maybe half a cup – and kept boiling them in the hopes that I might end up with an informal quince jelly. Then I forgot about them while we were eating dinner . . . only to smell something burning and to run back to the stove to find the liquid almost boiling over. I quickly poured the dark liquid into another pan to cool, thinking it was a goner.

But once again, my little quince pulled through! After 20 minutes, I had quince paste or membrillo (which is a lot more fun to say). 

We have eaten shiny slices of membrillo as dessert and are also planning to try it with cheese.

Now, back to the story about the cake.

You should make this cake. Probably today. Because if you make it tomorrow, you’ll wonder what you’d been waiting for. It has a lovely moist crumb, flecked with little pieces of soft pink quince. The ground almonds give it an earthy quality, but don’t weigh it down at all. It’s springy and tender . . . and even keeps for days without drying out.

I know, I know, quinces are hard to come by. (Look at me: I had to wait a whole year to find them.) But pears are not. And pears are good, too. (They’re in my top 10 for fruit.) So try this with pears and let me know how you like it. But truly, truly, just make this cake. Oh, and go find yourself some quinces.

Last October: pear ginger jam

Clotilde’s recipe is so good that I’ve only cut it in half, switched the sugars and converted it to gluten-free.

Here is the recipe for vanilla-poached quince. If you don’t have quinces, raw pieces of pear will work, too.

Clotilde uses weight measurements for her recipes, which makes them exact and easy to convert to gluten-free. I’ve left the weights, with rough volume measurements for those of you who don’t have a scale yet. Just buy one!

quince almond cake from chocolate and zucchini

100 g. (3/4 c. + 1 tbsp. + 1tsp.) wheat flour 

50 g. (1/4 c. + 2 tbsp.) ground almonds

            Or – for gluten-free:

            22 g. (1/4 c.) pure oat flour

            22 g. (3 tbsp.) sweet white sorghum flour

            22 g. (3 tbsp.) tapioca starch

            22 g. (3 tbsp.) potato starch

            22 g. (3 tbsp.) sweet rice flour

            40 g. (1/4 c. + 1 tsp.) ground almonds

1/2 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/8 tsp. salt

1 egg

100 g. (1/2 c.) white sugar

25 g. (2 tbsp. + 2 tsp.) vegetable or grapeseed oil

100 g. (1/3 c.) plain yogurt

a splash of brandy or rum

200 g. (heaping 1 c.) vanilla-poached quinces or chopped raw pears

brown sugar to sprinkle

Preheat the oven to 360 degrees Fahrenheit (180 degrees Celcius). Line an 8-inch cake pan with parchment paper.

Stir the flour(s), ground almonds, baking powder, baking soda and salt together. Set aside.

In another bowl, beat the eggs and sugar together. Stir in the oil, yogurt and brandy. Add the quince or pear. If you used wheat flour, stir gently to mix it together. If you used gluten-free flours, stir as much as you want – you don’t need to worry about activating any gluten.

Pour into your prepared pan. Use a knife or spoon to level the top. Sprinkle with brown sugar.

Bake for 30 – 33 minutes or until a knife or cake pick comes out clean. It will be golden brown by this point. Keep it in the pan, but let it cool on a rack. Serve slightly warm or at room temperature.

star anise plum jam

It’s a melancholic time of year.

I stopped to stare at three different kinds of plums at the store on Sunday. I felt this whoosh of regret: soon, the plums will be gone and I won’t be able to eat nearly enough of them before the oranges and grapefruit have recolonized the store for winter.

That sad thought made me think of my pretty little gold sandals, peaking up at me in the back room . . . not knowing they've been sent there because I can’t bear to put them away for winter yet. (But there is no question I won't wear them again this year. When a girl puts on mittens to drive to work in the morning, she does know that open-toed footwear will have to wait for spring.)

It is getting cold and windy and rainy and summer is done. There: I’ve said it out loud. Alas.

But there is still a little window to do something with all these lovely plums. 

My jam idol, Marisa at Food in Jars, suggested Italian plum jam with star anise and – after putting up a small batch – I must report that she was spot on.

In fact, she was so spot on that I didn’t change the recipe one bit, except to double the goodness.

I grew up eating Italian prune plums every day in September and October. We had a tree in the front yard that always gave us lots to take in our lunch. They are not the juiciest of plums, with a thin purple skin and almost green flesh. But when they’re ripe, they’re sweet. And – since I have an intense aversion to sticky hands – really easy to eat without making a mess.

I had no idea prune plums would stew up to be dark and deep and altogether more romantic. The star anise brings out an almost amaretto quality in the plums, which I found surprising and just right.

I like Marisa’s ideas of eating this jam with cheese and crispy bread or a cracker. Marisa had a nice truffle goat cheese. My unfortunate nostrils think goat cheese smells like a dirty barn, so I would also recommend Taleggio. Really, anything creamy with a hint of sharpness would do, I think. Just do something before all the plums are gone!

Last October: Mrs. Doucet’s apple chutney and finally yummy brussels sprouts

For Marisa’s original recipe, see here.

italian plum jam with star anise from food in jars

yields almost 3 cups

5 c. Italian prune plums, chopped

1 1/3 c. sugar

6 star anise blossoms

Put a small plate in the freezer. Leave it there.

Stir the plums, sugar and star anise together in a good-sized pot with a heavy bottom. Cover and set aside for about an hour or until it has created a syrup and/or you can’t bear it any longer.

Remove the star anise blossoms if you don’t want your jam to be too star anise-y. (I left mine in for the cooking process and don’t find it’s too much. But I leave that up to you.)

Place the pot over medium-high heat. Bring to a boil. Boil, uncovered, for 10 – 15 minutes. The jam will thicken and darken. When the time is almost up, take your small plate out of the freezer. Dollop a bit of jam on the plate. Leave it for one minute. Use the back of a spoon to push against that bit of jam. If it wrinkles a bit, it has set. Remove the jam from the heat.

If you haven’t already, remove the star anise blossoms now! Remove any skim on the jam.

Ladle into sterilized jars and process in a hot water canner for 10 minutes.