tuscan white beans

Happy New Year!

And happy time of the bean. In the post-sugar-and-gravy-haze of the holidays, I always like to give you at least one new bean recipe before I go back to dolloping cream over everything.

Last year, it was black-eyed peas with kale and bacon (and a near identical photo – fancy that!).

I seem to have skipped a year in 2012 (it was a leap year, after all), but I did bring you the über-healthy and über-tasty glory bowl.

In 2011, I brought you glorious hummus.

And in 2010, I brought you shortbread. Hmmm . . . maybe I'm not quite as consistent as I think.

Anyway, back to this year's bean dish.

Have you ever eaten a cannellini bean?

I believe it is Italian for "buttery, wonderful bean." That might not be a direct translation.

The cannellini bean is essential for this dish because once it's fully cooked, it magically maintains its nice bean-y texture but also emits a kinds of creamy bean-y goodness. This works very well when you finish it with slivers of golden fennel and carrot that have been softened in good olive oil.

A bit of fresh sage perks it all up, as does a splash of white wine at the very end.

I should tell you that the original recipe calls for both fresh sage and fresh rosemary, but my grocery budget doesn't permit me to buy both. I find a shake of dried marjoram stands in nicely for the fresh rosemary. (The sage is also handy to have on hand to add to brown-butter gnocchi for another meal.)

Anyway, whatever herbs you use and however you want to adjust this, it all cooks up and blends together so well that you will be eating it for many Januaries to come.

Bonus photo! This snowflake just arrived in the mail from friends in Germany.
Isn't it lovely?

tuscan white beans
adapted from Ina Garten's Barefoot Contessa: How Easy is That? and Ezra Pound Cake 
serves 6

454 g. (1 lb.) dried white cannellini beans
1/4 c. olive oil
4 c. fennel, chopped (about 2 large fennels)
2 c. carrot, chopped (about 4 carrots)
1 tbsp. garlic, minced
2 – 3 c. chicken stock
1 tbsp. fresh sage leaves, minced
2 tsp. kosher salt (or 1 tsp. regular salt)
1/2 tsp. freshly-ground pepper
1/2 – 2/3 c. Asiago, Parmesan, or Pecorino Romano cheese, grated
splash of white wine
(optional) couple shakes of dried marjoram powder
(optional) 1 tbsp. fresh rosemary, minced

You have two options for soaking the beans: slow and quick.

Slow option: Cover the beans with water at least two inches higher than the beans. Cover and refrigerate overnight or 8 hours.

Quick option: Cover the beans with water at least two inches higher than the beans. Bring to a boil. Turn off the heat, cover and let sit for 1 hour.

Strain and rinse the beans. Put them back in the pot and add about twice as much water as beans. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer uncover until they are tender, about 45 minutes (depending how old your beans are).

In the meantime, heat a Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the olive oil. Stir in the fennel and carrot. Cook 8 – 10 minutes, until tender. Stir in the garlic and cook 1 more minute.

Once the beans have cooked, strain them and add them to the vegetables.

Add 2 cups of the stock, sage, salt and pepper. Also add the marjoram or rosemary, if using. Bring to a simmer and cover. Stir occasionally and simmer for 15 – 30 minutes, until the beans are a very tender and a bit creamy. Add more stock if you'd like it a bit saucier.

Add the wine. Turn the heat off. Stir in the cheese. Taste for salt and pepper (you'll probably need more.) Serve hot with a piece of crusty bread or cheesy toast.

jane's pecan puffs

Growing up, I remember sugar cookies.

My mom and I would roll them out into bells and stars, and then paint them with a lemon glaze. The best part was watching the red and green sprinkles wash into the glaze like a water colour painting.

In the meantime, my dad would be down in the cold room, dousing a fruitcake with dark rum every few days in the couple months before Christmas.

When Christmas finally came, we'd pull out tins and make plates of sugar cookies, Christmas cake, brandy beans, dominosteine, stollen and mandarin orange pieces. For about two weeks, we would make a plate almost every afternoon around coffee time.

Now, Scott and I have different cookies, but we usually keep the brandy beans, the dominosteine and the mandarins on the plate. Sometimes, we add walnut slugs or shortbread or Mozartkugeln. This year, it's pecan puffs and – if I have time – these buttermilk cookies, which remind me of the sugar cookies of my childhood.

My friend Amanda gave me this recipe for pecan puffs in Victoria a few years ago. They were her mother's cookies, she reports, and she likes to make them to remember her mother. So we're calling these Jane's pecan puffs, in honour of Amanda's mother.

I am sure Jane was a wonderful baker because these puffs are fragrant with pecans and so delicate that they almost burst into sleigh bells and all things magic at Christmas as soon as they hit your tongue.

I hope you have time to make at least one batch of cookies this holiday season. I have been putting all my energy into planning special radio shows to raise money for the food bank, but these cookies help me step away from it all and remember that Christmas is indeed coming.

one year ago: hot lemon honey tea
two years ago: spiced ginger mounds and cheesy grapes
three years ago: butter lettuce for a break and tipsy rum balls

jane's pecan puffs

1 1/2 c. pecans
1/2 c. butter
2 tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1/4 tsp. salt (fancy, if you have it*)
1 c. cake flour
     or gluten-free:
     70 g. rice flour
     35 g. cornstarch
     18 g. potato starch
     18 g. tapioca starch
icing sugar, for rolling

Grease two cookie sheets or line them with parchment paper.

Grind the pecans in a food processor (not a blender) until small but not until they become pecan butter. Set aside. If using gluten-free flours, mix them together well. Stir salt into the cake flour or gluten-free flours and set aside.

Cream sugar and butter. Stir in the ground pecans and vanilla. Stir in the flour-salt mixture. Roll into small balls (about 1 to 1.5 inches in diameter) and place on prepared cookie sheets. If using gluten-free flours, chill in the fridge for 15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees Fahrenheit. Bake the cookies for 23 to 30 minutes, depending on size. Their bottoms should become lightly golden. Once they are cool enough to touch but still somewhat warm, carefully roll in icing sugar.

*I used Maldon sea salt flakes and found it worked very nicely with the pecans.

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.

japan in food

Breakfast in Hiroshima

I can't think of just the right words to summarize eating in Japan, so let me share a few things I do remember.

I ate a lot more noodles than I expected – and I loved them.

The fish was usually raw – and always perfectly fresh and tender.

The sake was hot or cold – and both were good.

I am yet another foreigner who doesn't like natto (fermented beans) – and I can't even handle looking at that slimy texture.

I learned to drink green tea like water – and I miss it now.

I continued my new love affair with soft tofu – and am now determined to make it at home.

I live in Alberta and I don't want to be unpatriotic, but I ate the best steak of my life at the New Otani Hotel in Tokyo – and can't wait to go back for more.

Let me show you the rest . . .

One morning, these sweet potatoes showed up in the yard at our host family's house in Kasugai. I believe they came from Hamako's brother's garden. I never saw grass in between houses in the city; the land was always used for vegetable gardens and persimmon trees.

Hamako packed these snack bags for us on our last day. We happily munched our way through them on the bullet train.

We had our nicest hotel breakfasts in Hiroshima, looking out at the bus stop and scores of school children rushing to the bus with all their umbrellas up.

After making my way through the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, all I wanted was a cup of hot tea.

I asked at the little shop inside and the server pointed to what looked like a refrigerated case of tea bottles behind me.

I said, "No, I would like hot tea."

She nodded and I gave in. She reached into the case and handed me a bottle that was hot. I still don't know how. I sat at a little table and drank it, looking through the rain at school children visiting the Phoenix tree that survived the atomic bomb.

This was just one small part of lunch at a restaurant on Miyajima.

From my seat, I could see out the windows, to the rainy ocean and rising land beyond.

While my mom finished her shopping on Miyajima, I ducked out of the rain into a little bakery.

Miyajima is famous for these little maple-shaped cookies filled with bean paste. They were only about 90 cents and I ordered two: one for me and one for mom. I sat down to eat mine and they brought me green tea. It was exactly what that rainy afternoon called for.

A market stall just before entering the Nishiki food market in Kyoto. I do believe we ate daikon radish every day in Japan.

Lunch at Arashiyama: a big bowl of udon noodle soup and green tea.

On our last morning in Tokyo, more than a hundred people were lined up for breakfast at the hotel.

We headed outside and found a little Thai restaurant. We sat outside at a rickety table and ate green coconut bread, ricotta pancakes and mango as we watched thousands of people cross the intersection from the subway station on their way to work.

I was reminded once again of a very important Japanese word: oishii. Delicious.


one year ago: potato chip cookies
two years ago: roasted tomato soup and asiago lace
three years ago: butter tarts

japan in pictures

I got back from Japan last Monday.

Images from my trip keep surprising me: when I look a certain way, when I suddenly want a cup of green tea mid-afternoon, when I sit on the bus on the way to work and think how different the bus was in Kyoto.

Here are some of the pictures I love the most. I'll be back later with the food photos.

Kasugai Train Station

Our umbrellas after we were literally rained out of the parade in Kasugai

Thirteen-year-old Thomas was a big hit with the Japanese girls

Bullet train to Hiroshima

After the atomic bomb hit Hiroshima, only the bones of this building remained

The floating gate at the shrine on Miyajima Island

Contemplating the shrine and thankful the rain stopped for 10 minutes

Bamboo grove in Arashiyama

Koi in the gardens in Arashiyama

Japanese maple leaf in Arashiyama

At Kyoto's busiest intersection

Why can't Canadian men dress this well?

View from the Tokyo Sky Tree

Imperial Palace grounds in Tokyo

Bride and groom at the New Otani Hotel in Toyko

Last morning in Japan: view from Tokyo hotel room

one year ago: quince jellies
two years ago: applesauce spice cake
three years ago: west african peanut soup via winnipeg