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.

parsley lentil pasta

I'll just come right out and say it: I love lentils.

I think I eat them almost every week of the year: red, yellow, blue, green, brown, beluga, French . . . lentils have a regular spot in my stomach.

This pasta is the most unassuming little dinner that you can knock off in half an hour after work – and have some tasty leftovers for lunch the next day.

It has been on my regular rotation for more than ten years, ever since my friend Leanne whipped out a can of Unico lentils and told me we were making the recipe on the label. 

She peeled off the label and I looked at it dubiously: it didn’t look very saucy for a pasta dish. Lentils and onion and parsley and parmesan . . . and, well, nothing. It seemed a bit simple.

But Leanne is a very good cook – and a nutritionist, to boot – so I put a smile on my face and said, “Sounds good!”

 And you know what?

It was good.

Really good.

It is simple, but it works. The earthy lentils highlight the fresh parsley, while the onions provide a buttery base and the parmesan brightens it up. (In fact, it is possible I would like almost any pasta dish smothered in freshly-grated parmesan, but I digress.)

This pasta also has the added bonus of using ingredients we usually have on hand. And did I mention you could make it in 30 minutes? 

Thirty minutes! I should enter it in some magazine contest, since magazines are always advertising “meals you can make in minutes.” (I am highly suspicious. Do you notice most of the recipes call for a lot of prep before their clock starts running? Meals in minutes if you have a sous-chef, I suppose. Anyway, this is a true meal in 30 minutes you can make without a sous-chef.)

Unico has long since stopped printing the recipe on the label, so this is my version that has grown up over the last 10 years. Just think: if this recipe were a child, it would be starting Grade 5 this year!

Last September: a taster menu from Gluten-Free Girl & the Chef and good spinach

parsley lentil pasta

serves 3 - 4

2 tbsp. butter

1 tbsp. olive oil

1 small to medium onion, minced

19 fl. oz. (540 ml) canned lentils

1/2 tsp. kosher salt

1/8 tsp. ground black pepper

2/3 c. parsley, rinsed and minced

9 oz. (250 g.) uncooked pasta

1 – 2 c. parmesan, grated

Heat frying pan over low heat. Add butter and olive oil. Throw in the onions. Watch that they cook gently without colouring.

In the meantime, boil your pasta in nice salty water. Grate the parmesan and set aside.

After about 9 minutes, when the onions are soft and translucent, add the lentils, salt and pepper to them. You are just heating the lentils here and letting the flavours mix. Taste after 5 minutes to see if everything is hot and if you need more salt and pepper.

Once your pasta is al dente, strain. Add the pasta to the lentil-onion mixture and toss. Heat again if necessary. Taste to make sure you have enough salt and pepper. Stir in the parsley.

Serve with a big bowl of parmesan on the table to garnish.

hop & go fetch it: german edition

See this? It is a very good slice of chocolate-nut cake.

It was so good that it makes me want to recommend the Hotel Adlon Kempinski in Berlin.

But I can't. Because I paid a shamefully-high amount of money for the tea that went with it. The lukewarm tea that went with it. Even if we did have real silver and sat in the shadow of the Brandenburg Gate.

So there you go. Possibly the most expensive hotel restaurant in Berlin just missed getting included in hop & go fetch it.

Don't despair! I discovered other mouth-watering - and less expensive! - places to tell you about in Germany.

Hop on over to hop & go fetch it and I will tell you all about my favourites in Berlin, Düsseldorf, Osnabrück and Lübeck. Oh, and just because I like to mix it up, I've also added a couple new favourite restaurants in Vancouver, Victoria and Portland.

Guten Appetit!

last september: falling for a side cookie

salmon for dinner

Last week, we had friends from Germany over for dinner.

At first, I was planning to make them my summer 2011 standard: German zucchini soup and arepas.

But then I realized that they were in fact German and probably already knew their way around a zucchini soup. They were coming to see the west coast of British Columbia, Washington state and Oregon. There was only one thing to make them.

Salmon. 

We have very good local salmon here. Scott and I eat it so often that we’ve almost stopped thinking about it as special, as “company” kind of food.

But luckily I remembered.

It’s taken a lot of experimenting – and some pretty darn good taste-testing along the way – but we do believe we have now found the best way to cook salmon.

It’s so simple it’s almost scandalous, but I swear we both like it better than the salmon we get at very good restaurants. Really. It. Is. That. Good.

Credits are due to three people:

1.     Our friend James in Kelowna for frying us some mighty good salmon last August
2.     A Vancouver hotel chef (whose name I cannot remember!) whose sugar-salt salmon rub idea I played on the radio last summer
3.     Mark Bittman, who suggested scattering salt on the pan

In the hopes that our favourite salmon – which also happens to be extremely easy – might become your favourite salmon, let me walk you through it.

Whenever you think of it – let’s say anywhere from 2 hours to 1 minute before you plan to eat dinner – make a rub.

Mix one part salt with two parts sugar. I usually do 1 tablespoon of salt to two tablespoons of sugar. (I have a bit left over, but it’s always better to have more rather than less rub.)

If your salmon is not already cut into nice, individual-sized filets, do that now.

Using your fingers, rub the rub into the salmon flesh, but not on the skin.

Put the salmon in a dish and let it stay cool in the fridge until you’re ready to fry it up.

Just before you’re ready to eat, set the pan on the stove to heat. Turn it up just beyond halfway on your heat gauge. On our stove, that’s 6.

Wait 10 minutes, so your pan can get good and hot.

Once it is indeed good and hot, sprinkle salt over the bottom to loosely cover.

Carefully, place your prepared salmon filets in the pan, skin side down. Cover.

Depending how thick your salmon is, open the lid and take a peak after 3 – 5 minutes. See how happy and plump it’s become! 

If it’s starting to look opaque, flip it over. (If your pan is at the ideal temperature, the salt should prevent it from sticking very much.)

Cook for 1 minute if you like your salmon medium-rare. If you like it cooked through, give it a tiny bit longer. (Be careful: salmon overcooks very quickly!)

You can serve the salmon with whatever you like. We are really into Mark Bittman’s lentils right now, although we use beluga lentils or lentils du puy instead of the green ones he calls for. We find beluga lentils and lentils du puy don’t take as long to cook and are more fun.

Eat your new favourite salmon! Serve it to guests!

Last September: black & blue scotch berries and plant yourself some garlic

german groceries

Do you look at that picture and wonder how heavy my suitcase was?

Um, a bit heavy. Although it is certainly possible that my imports were divided between my suitcase and my (somewhat unwilling) husband’s suitcase. So it was manageable. Kind of.

However, now that I’m home and have set my German groceries free in the cupboard and fridge, I honestly would not leave even one behind. You see, having these groceries means I can take little bites and imagine I’m still there.

Take that mustard up there. Even after I eat it all up, I will have a pretty glass! (Those Germans are so clever.)

Raspel is simply pre-cut little flakes of chocolate. Yes, I am capable of taking my own block of artisan chocolate and shaving bits off. But this is more fun and the dark chocolate is exceptionally good for already being flaked. I also might tell you more about a dessert with raspel, quark fresh cheese and hazelnut yogourt sometime soon.

Hanuta! Imagine a perfect little square of remarkably good hazelnut chocolate sandwiched between two layers of crisp wafer. Imagine an 11-year-old Canadian girl discovering them on her first trip to Germany when they cost just 30 cents. 

This is a dill and herb mix my Oma always used for a simple cucumber salad. Need I say more?

I have always felt sorry for black currants in Canada, where they are sadly under-appreciated. Not so in Germany. May I present black currant gummies?

My friend Ulla introduced these to me as we rode our bikes along the Rhein outside of Düsseldorf. They are fruit sugars – little tablets of black currant-flavoured goodness that melt on your tongue and instantly make you feel more energetic. I may have bought one packet for work, one for the car, and one for home, but I’m not saying.

And look – they even make black currant hand lotion!

Oh, wait. Actually, I didn’t realize that it’s grape seed hand lotion until I took this very photograph. Oh, well – grape seed’s cool, too.

Nougat means different things in different parts of the world. In Germany and Scandinavia, it means a mix of soft chocolate and very finely ground hazelnut and possibly almond that melts almost as soon as you look at it. It is very, very good.

Five years ago, I ate a nougat bar at a Swedish bakery in Vancouver. I am still thinking about it.

Why – it’s a still life of . . . marzipan fruit!

Marzipan laws have been very strict in Lübeck for more than two centuries. In fact, there is now a European Union Council directive that makes Lübeck marzipan a “protective geographical indication.” I’m not sure if this is the same as champagne from Champagne and parmesan from Parma, but it seems close. In any case, Lübeckers take their marzipan seriously.

I went a little wild at Niederegger, one of the great marzipan companies there. Notice the marzipan peach, pear and eggplant. (Who thinks to make a marzipan eggplant?!) Hiding behind them is a loaf of marzipan schwarzbrot (black bread). That would be marzipan shaped in a loaf and covered in dark chocolate. Out of the photo, a small bottle of marzipan cream liqueur is waiting for just the right evening.

Let’s finish this journey with a nice cup of tea. Would you like marzipan tea, Osnabrück hobby horse tea with vanilla and apple, or a traditional German red tea with fruit and rosehips?

I will be back soon with an actual recipe now that I must make my own food again. I must say that I enjoyed being spoiled rotten and constantly fed by my German friends and family. It is good to be back in my kitchen, but the dishes – oh, the dishes! I did not miss the dishes.

last august: peach crisp and tomato zucchini gratin 

tschüss, deutschland!

hello-bonjour, canada!
 

Just a quick note to say I'm back and I've missed you!

See that breakfast up there? That's the kind of breakfast I ate every day in Germany, often outside!

I did some darn good German eating while I was there. (Don’t worry: I balanced it all with extensive bike riding and train riding.)

Once I’ve settled back into regular life – and sadly skimpier breakfasts – I’ll show you some of the treats I’ve brought back . . .

last august: rote grütze on ice cream and rosemary corn butter