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.

potato chip cookies

Happy hour arrived at four or five in the afternoon at my grandparents' house.

A big bowl of ripple chips and a smaller bowl of salsa would appear on the table. Granddad would start pouring drinks: rye and ginger ale for the grown ups, plain ginger ale for the kids.

With dinner just around the corner, I generally couldn't believe my luck. There I was, being served pop and chips – two commodities that weren't exactly free-flowing at home.

Somehow, the ripple chips were just the right thing with a bit of salsa and ginger ale. After all, I would have spent a hard afternoon digging in the sand at the beach or playing in the yard with my cousins, trying not to step on the brittle grass with my bare feet.

All of this leads me to . . . potato chip cookies. I feel like I remember eating these cookies at Grandma's, but I don't know for sure.

I found this recipe in my Grandma's 1970s church "COOK BOOK," which includes gems like gumdrop cookies, sour cream coffee cake and applesauce spice cake. Grandma's good friend, Betty Rennison, submitted the recipe for potato chip cookies.

I mean, they definitely taste like a treat at my grandparents' house. For one thing, they contain the ripple chip. The ripple chip is subtle here: it gives a new kind of crunch and a hint of a salty flavour.

Besides the potato chips, these cookies do not have any bells and whistles. In fact, they only have five ingredients (six, with my tinkering). But they make a rich, buttery cookie . . . almost like shortbread with little bits of crushed ripple chips strewn through it.

They are – obviously – already very good eaten in the late afternoon with a cup of tea or just before bed when you have the nibbles. I think they'd also be ideal on a plate of assorted Christmas cookies.

Oh, and I haven't even told you the fun part yet! (Although it's possible you may have already used a pictorial clue to guess it.)

It is this: how often do you get to start making cookies by taking out your rolling pin and rolling a bag of chips?

Right. That's what I thought.

Old-fashioned recipes are so fun.

one year ago: roasted tomato soup and asiago lace
two years ago: butter tarts and walnut slug cookies

potato chip cookies
adapted from betty rennison
bakes about 50 small cookies

100 g. (heaping 1 1/2 c. when crushed) ripple potato chips
200 g. (3/4 c. + 2 tbsp.) butter, at room temperature
120 g. (1/2 c.) sugar
2 tsp. vanilla
245 g. (1 3/4 c.) wheat flour
     or - gluten-free flours:
     50 g. sweet white sorghum flour
     45 g. oat flour*
     75 g. sweet rice flour
     75 g. tapioca starch
     1/2 tsp. guar or xanthan gum
coarse sea salt

Prepare 3 baking trays with parchment paper. Set aside.

Take out a big cutting board and rolling pin. Use a small knife to prick a couple holes in the chip bag. Lay it on the board. Roll it until the chips are quite fine. Pour the chips onto the board. If they still need to be finer, roll them directly with the rolling pin. Set aside.

Beat the butter and sugar for a couple of minutes until it's light and fluffy. Beat in the vanilla. Set aside.

If you're using gluten-free flours, whisk them together well. Stir well into butter mixture. Mix in the crushed potato chips.

Drop by the teaspoon-full onto the prepared trays. Use a fork dipped in cold water to flatten them a bit (not too much or they'll spread too much later). Sprinkle 3 – 5 grains of sea salt on top, as desired. Chill in the fridge for 20 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Bake for about 15 minutes. They will puff up and look more set, but only colour slightly around the edges. Let them cool on the pan for at least 10 minutes before transferring to a rack to finish cooling.

Store in an air-tight container. Serve with potato chips if you're feeling fun.

*Make sure this is an oat flour that specifies it is wheat-free. If you can't tolerate oat flour, you could try brown rice flour instead.

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.

homemade ricotta cheese

Stop!

Please – don't be scared.

It's OK.

I'm going to ask you to make cheese, but you don't need any special bacteria cultures or anything you can't pronounce. Please, just hear me out (and you might be in the cheese-making business by the end of this post).

Are you still feeling skeptical?

Two years ago, I would have been more sympathetic. But my friend Madeline – who is a very good cook and a no-nonsense kind of girl – told me this ricotta was easy. I trusted her and she was right.

Now I need you to trust me . . . and make your own cheese!

Just grab your regular-old-grocery-store ingredients:

The phone cord snuck in. (It is not in the recipe.)

That's a litre of milk, some whipping cream, a lemon, and a bit of salt.

It's then as easy as bringing it to a simmer . . .

Stirring in the lemon juice . . .

Straining . . .

You may ask yourself: how many phone cords does this woman have?

And sitting back and waiting a little while as the whey falls away and . . .

Voilà! You have your own homemade ricotta cheese!

And your own homemade ricotta cheese is ever so much better than the (horrendously-overpriced) store-bought version. It's creamy and has this delicate taste that is lovely on pizza or in pancakes or on fruit with a drizzle of honey.

Go ahead – just try it.

P.S. This is my favourite pizza of the moment. It often shows up at our house on a Friday or Saturday night, along with a glass of red wine. Here's the low-down: tomato sauce, roasted pine nuts, thin slices of prosciutto, dollops of homemade ricotta, and mozzarella. If you have them, throw on a couple of basil leaves after the pizza comes out of the oven.


one year ago: quince almond cake and roasted beet risotto
two years ago: pear ginger jam

homemade ricotta cheese
slightly adapted from Eggs on Sunday and Gourmet
yields about 1 cup

4 c. milk (3.25 % or 2 %)
1/2 c. whipping cream
1/2 tsp. kosher salt (or 1/4 regular salt)
1 tbsp + 1 tsp. + 1/2 tsp. freshly-squeezed lemon juice

Pour the milk and whipping cream into a heavy-bottomed pot that's big enough to boil comfortably. Stir in the salt. Turn on the heat to medium and stir it occasionally with a spatula while you bring it to a simmer.

While you're waiting for the milk to simmer and keeping an eagle eye on said milk, measure all the lemon juice into a little bowl and set it aside. Also, get out your fine-mesh sieve and suspend it over a large bowl. (If you don't have a fine-mesh sieve, line a colander with cheese cloth or a clean j-cloth.) Set aside.

Is your milk simmering yet? If not, it will be soon and milk has a tendency to suddenly boil over, so watch it carefully. Once it's reached a steady simmer, add the lemon juice. Stir once with the spatula, just to blend it in. Set your timer for 1 minute and turn down the heat a bit so it doesn't boil too hard.

After 1 minute, stir it one more time and leave it another minute. Once that second minute is up, you should see the liquid has separated into curds and whey.* Ladle it into the sieve you've set over a bowl. Let it drain at room temperature for 30 minutes to 1 hour, depending on your level of patience. Store in the fridge.

* Whey keeps for a couple days in the fridge and is great in pancakes and bread.

27 hours in saskatoon

It felt like the river was everywhere in Saskatoon.

Bridges and paths along the river bank kept pulling me over to it, deep and still.

I stood on the Broadway Bridge and stared down into the South Saskatchewan River, and I still couldn't decide which way it was flowing. So I carried on with my exploring and checked on it every so often.

I was in Saskatoon for work last week and I had two hours to myself when I could explore this little Prairie city on the river. I walked along the river bank and people caught my eye and smiled at me as I passed them, my camera slung across my jacket (like a sign proclaiming I was just visiting).

I wandered over the bridge into the Broadway neighbourhood and looked at local pottery and native art and found some locally-roasted coffee beans to take home to Scott.

By accident, I wandered past the restaurant where my colleague would later take me to dinner. Saskatchewan has a lot of Ukrainian roots and I wasn't surprised that the restaurant had what looked like a Ukrainian name: Weczeria.

Do you know about Saskatchewan? It's kind of known for its wheat.* Now, look closely at that vase on the table at Weczeria. It boded rather well, I thought.

Indeed, when my colleague and I returned for dinner, we were not let down. I didn't see any Saskatoon berries on the menu, but I did try other local delicacies . . . including a fat little trout from Lake Diefenbaker with slightly-pickled hazelnuts and wild rice.

The next day, I saw of the University of Saskatchewan, where I was working. It was so surprising: in the middle of the Canadian Prairies, there was this collection of butter-coloured stone buildings that looked like it had been lifted up from the East Coast a century ago.

(Lovely stone buildings are generally not how we build universities in Western Canada. I'm more familiar with the grey concrete and no windows model.)

And that was it. My 27 hours were almost up. Before I knew it, I was back at the airport, wishing I had more time. However, as a consolation prize, I found this Saskatchewan wild rice at the airport gift shop. Now I can make it at home and remember my quick trip to my new Prairie neighbour.

Au revoir, Saskatoon!

*Saskatchewan is also known for lentils, potash, uranium and friendly people, in no particular order.

one year ago: quince almond cake
two years ago: pear ginger jam

beet salad with honey-horseradish dressing

Last time I visited with you, I declared that beet fatigue* was threatening to overwhelm me. (Although beet hummus seemed to keep it at bay.)

The beet saga continues.

We were invited to a lovely Thanksgiving dinner . . . and what did I see lurking at the back of the fridge? That's right, a bag of multi-coloured beets.

So, I offered to bring a beet salad.

I boiled the beets in water that soon turned blood red and dropped them into their ice bath like pink and white and purple jewels (with tails). I cut green onions on an angle so they'd look fancy. I mixed up the honey and horseradish and garlic. I tossed it all together and –

The beet fatigue was eradicated. Just like that. Snap.

My salad was so pretty that I took the bowl in my hands and began trotting around the house after Scott. Look, I kept saying, isn't it pretty?

He would say yes and I would trot back to the kitchen and put plastic wrap on top, still marvelling at its beauty, and then I'd call him back again, showing him how pretty it was.

That's when he said with only the slightest bit exasperation: Why don't you take a picture of it?

So I did.

And now I'd like to share it with you. Isn't it pretty?**

* Beet fatigue is a more specific symptom of root vegetable fatigue. It should not be indulged until the spring greens start shooting up.

** Don't worry: it also tastes good. You can use any kinds of beets you can find, even plain old red ones.

one year ago: star anise plum jam and quince almond cake
two years ago: finally yummy brussels sprouts

beet salad with honey-horseradish dressing
from ricardo larrivée
feeds 8 - 10

about 6 large beets, unpeeled
2 tbsp. honey
2 tbsp. olive oil
2 tbsp. lemon juice
1 tbsp. creamed horseradish
1 clove garlic, finely chopped or crushed
2 tbsp. + 2 tbsp. fresh chives or green onions, chopped
salt and pepper

Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil. Add the beets and cook until tender. This might take a while – anywhere from 20 minutes to 45 minutes. Make sure they do get tender – they should pierce easily with a sharp knife like a firm potato – because that will make a much better salad.

While the beets are cooking, prepare a big bowl with ice water. Set aside.

You can also make the dressing while the beets are cooking. In a large bowl, whisk the honey, olive oil, lemon juice, horseradish, garlic and 2 tbsp. green onion with a good amount of salt and pepper. Taste and see if you need more salt and pepper. Set aside.

When the beets are tender, drop them in the ice water to cool quickly. Drain and peel the beets. Cut them into 1-cm (1/2-inch) smiles. Toss with the dressing. Taste and see if you need more salt and pepper (again! It's important). Scatter the other 2 tbsp. of chives on top. Serve.

beet hummus

Do you ever get beet fatigue?*

You know, when you look at your bag of cute little multi-coloured beets – from the farmers' market, no less – and catch yourself thinking that you've already eaten enough roasted beets this month?

And then you realize it just officially turned autumn four days ago and you'd better buck up and deal with it because these beets aren't going away for at least two more seasons?

Right, so that's how I felt while I was contemplating dinner tonight. Whiny and spoiled, with an over-abundant supply of baby beets.

Until I remembered this recipe I'd just read about for beet hummus. Like magic – like all the vitamins I would probably ingest from these very beets had already got to work – I perked right up.

I mean, look at this:

It's practically electric pink! Just the thing to cheer you up in the fall. And the winter. And the spring.

Also, it tastes like it looks: bright and smooth and I-need-more-on-my-cracker-right-now-ish.

The original recipe calls for pine nuts, but I only had pecans – which I roasted first – and threw in. Having tried it this way, I don't think I'll be able to try it any other. And if you save a few extra pecans, you can put them on random beet-hummus-crackers to make little nut buttons. How cute is that?

Beet hummus: the cure for beet fatigue.

*Beet fatigue is a more specific symptom of root vegetable fatigue. It should not be indulged until the spring greens start shooting up.

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

beet hummus
slightly adapted from laura calder
yields about 2 cups

2 small-medium beets
1/3 c. pecans (or pine nuts)
250 - 300 g. (about 1 1/2 c.) cooked or canned chickpeas
1/3 c. tahini
2 garlic cloves, crushed
juice of 1 large lemon, to taste
salt* and pepper
1/3 - 1/2 c. olive oil

First, roast the beets. Heat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Wrap each beet in aluminum foil and put it on a casserole dish (in case it leaks bright red beet juice into your oven). Roast 25 - 35 minutes, until tender and you can poke a sharp knife through them easily. Let them cool, then dice them.

While the beets are cooking, you can roast the pecans in the oven. They should take about 8 minutes – keep a careful eye on them. (Nuts love to burn!) Set a few aside on a plate.

Put the diced beets, roasted pecans (except the ones you've set aside), chickpeas, tahini, garlic and lemon juice into a food processor. Blend or pulse until smooth. Taste and add salt and pepper. Add the smaller amount of the olive oil and blend. Taste. If it's not loose enough, add more oil. Once you've got the right texture, taste again and add more salt and pepper if necessary. Don't be shy with the pepper and salt: they help temper the lemon and garlic (and salt tastes good!).

Spoon onto a serving dish and poke a few pecans on top, if you're feeling artsy. Serve with crackers. Keep extra hummus in the fridge.

*I used kosher salt, but you can use whatever you like.

little house on the prairie

I find that Alberta is quite flat.

That's the Prairies, I guess.

As the sun goes down, it seems more west than west. The sun keeps dropping and dropping over the flat land, with no mountains to block it (just a flat little housing development).

I love this view.

I am working at home this month. Well, technically, I am working at our friends' home until we can get into our rental house in October.

We're out on the far western edge of Edmonton, and I sit at the dining room table pretending to work . . . but really I'm just looking out at this view.

Driving around today, I thought it would be the first day when I didn't need to pull over, check the map and turn the car around while careening my way around this foreign city. Then I almost drove the wrong way down a one-way street. So I guess I still have a lot to learn.

Gas station pump . . . They obviously have a sense of humour here.

But – with the help of friends – I have discovered a few sweet spots that are already helping Edmonton wiggle its way into my heart. 

There's the Swiss sandwich shop where I had the Italian Bride sandwich (so called because of a great circle of soft bocconcini) on a pretzel bun with prosciutto so thick I thought I couldn't possibly eat it all. But I could.

Then there's sweet little Mandolin, with a miniature café tucked into a used bookshop. They have a cookie that I believe is called "chocolate overdose." I ate it twice in two days and I didn't OD. In fact, I could eat it again right now.

And then there is the house where we're staying. The owners are wonderful gardeners and I wandered around this afternoon in the sunshine (again, while I was "working"), eating bits of lettuce and the last three raspberries of the season. I even discovered a whole row of carrots along the side of the house, just waiting to be pulled up and eaten.

Then I sat down again at the table and looked out the window.

I hope to show you a new recipe soon. But right now, it is enough to be settling in.

One year ago: pan-fried salmon with sugar and salt rub and hop & go fetch it: German edition
Two years ago: salted chocolate shortbread