eating out

Months ago, my landlord put these bulbs in little jars of water. As I watched them freezing into solid ice-cube bulbs in December, I had my doubts.

I shouldn't have.

Spring does always come – even if you're a little narcissus bulb straining to bloom in a little jar of ice.

Now it's February and they've had just enough shelter in our foyer to grow way, way up and blossom right out. They were a nice treat to come home to after working and visiting friends in Vancouver last week. (It was ever so rainy, but that's Vancouver in February for you.)

All this travelling means I have new Vancouver restaurants to recommend: one Chinese and one with a cozy ski lodge feel. I'm also making up for lost time, and I've added favourite spots in Edmonton and up Vancouver Island. Hop on over to hop & go fetch it to read about them.

I'll be back with a new recipe soon – although I'm back on the road again this weekend. I did make a nice little eggplant parmesan for Valentine's Day, but it wasn't quite perfect. When it's up to snuff, I promise to share it with you. In the meantime: here's to eating out and not doing dishes!


One February ago: turnip puff to the rescue!
Two Februarys ago: lemon loaf, little lemon cakes and olympic nanaimo bars

gumdrop cake and turning 2

Last night, I dreamed of gumdrop cake.

I saw a slice of cake, close up. It was white and fluffy and the gumdrops were perfectly distributed throughout the cake – you know, almost suspended in the air of the cake. It was a beautiful thing.

In fact, if you make this cake with regular wheat flour, that dream can be your reality.

If you make this cake with gluten-free flours, your pretty gumdrops will drop (ooh, foreshadowing!) to the bottom half of the cake and give you a gumdrop layer cake.

I have given this a great deal of thought today and I believe that, according to the laws of physics, that is just the way things are meant to be. I mean, with no gluten to hold up the gumdrops in the cake, what can they do but drop?

Anyway, all that to say: it doesn't matter! Because whether you have gumdrop studded cake or gumdrop layer cake, you still end up with a rich, buttery cake that is just right for celebrating.

Yes, this little blog is turning two and I thought rainbow gumdrops were appropriate for celebrating this toddler achievement. I am also celebrating with a new plum and star anise header and – coming very soon – a print button so you can quick-as-a-snap print just the recipe you want.

You might say, "Stephanie, my goodness, two years! You have posted 84 recipes in that time! What are your favourites?"

And I would say:

* grand forks borscht
* salmon with sugar-salt rub
* loganberry jelly
* chocolate raspberry horse turds
* sophisticated marshmallow squares
 
Or maybe you wouldn't say that at all and you would like me to get back to the gumdrop cake, please. Certainly.

 Mrs. Doucet strikes again!

I first tried this cake days – days, I tell you! – after New Year's when I was visiting Angela in Halifax many years ago. Her mom had sent this cake home with her after Christmas.

I had never eaten gumdrop cake before and I was entranced. I do believe I ate a small slice every day of the four or five days I visited. The cake was dense and soft, and the chewy gumdrops provided pockets of chewy, gummy love.

This cake has a somewhat indecent amount of butter. Do not be tempted to cut it. I repeat: do not. I do believe the butter – and the milk and the sugar – gives it a lovely buttery flavour and helps it have a long, stable shelf-life. (Which is perfect, since this cake is rich and you will be happy with just having a little slice every day.)

After all, it's birthday cake. It should have lots of butter and milk and sugar – and gumdrops.

One February ago:  whisky marmalade and bacon-wrapped dates with olives and almonds
Two Februarys ago: creamy celeriac soup and muesli
Related: gumdrop cookies

gumdrop cake

If you'd like to scale the recipe down to half – which I highly recommend if there is only one or two of you in the house – use a 6-inch pan and bake for about one hour and 15 minutes. If you use an 8-inch or 9-inch pan with half a recipe, bake for about 35 minutes.

2 c. regular gumdrops or jujubes*
1 c. butter
3 eggs
2 c. sugar
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 c. + 2 1/2 c. wheat flour
     Or gluten-free flours:
     98 g. uncontaminated oat flour
     98  g. sweet white sorghum flour
     98 g. sweet rice flour
     98 g. tapioca or arrowroot starch
     98 g. potato starch
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1 c. warm milk

Cut gumdrops into thirds and sprinkle with 1 cup of the flour. Cover them, and leave them to sit on the counter overnight.

When you're ready to start baking, preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter a tube pan. Dust with flour.

Beat the butter, eggs, sugar and vanilla together until somewhat fluffy. Set aside.

In a separate bowl, mix the flour(s), baking powder and salt together well. Alternately add the milk and the dry ingredients to the butter mixture. Fold in gum drops. Pour batter into prepared pan.

Bake for 1 1/2 hours, or until golden brown and your cake tester comes out clean. Let cool fully before eating. Keeps well in a sealed container on the counter for quite a while.

* Use regular gumdrops or jujubes, not the baking ones. Take out any that are black or clove-flavoured.

lemon syllabub

Syllabub.

Looks like it sounds:

"Sill-uh-bub."

(Even though it looks quite silly. Actually, someone I know takes great delight in calling it "silly-bub.")

Syllabub, syllabub, syllabub . . . It's one of those words I could say over and over. Good thing I predict 2012 will be the year of the syllabub.

My mom whipped up a syllabub New Year's Eve, and now, I'm afraid, we're hooked. We say it and eat it as often as we can.

Oh, but you'd like to know what syllabub actually is?

Well, my dears, it is cold and creamy and lemony and tastes the way I always thought snow should taste. It is smooth and tart and packs an incredible amount of flavour into a small spoonful of cream.

The recipe itself is like child's play (well, aside from all that alcohol).

All you do is beat an improbable amount of lemon juice, sherry, brandy and vanilla into heavy cream. In just a few minutes, you have soft peaks of creamy lemon heaven. Then you drop a bit of lemon rind and shaved dark chocolate on top if you're in the mood.

The magical thing is that what you have created doesn't taste like sherry and brandy; it tastes like eating pure essence of lemon with a dollop of cream. It is that good.

My mother says she has been making this recipe for years. It has handwritten notes on it that say things like:

"Delicious, but rich!"

"Freezes well!" (My mother freezes everything.)

"People loved it. NY Dinner."

The recipe comes from a big hardcover cookbook I remember seeing since I was a child. It's called Drake's International Recipe Cookbook and has a price of 9.88 penciled in the front cover. Mom says she remembers buying it at a big bookstore in San Francisco in the 1970s. (I would guess she's talking about City Lights, but she can't confirm that.)

The thing I love about this cookbook – beside the syllabub recipe, obviously – is that it's broken into sections of different countries. Syllabub falls in the British and Irish section.

I did a bit more research and – if Wikipedia is to be trusted – syllabub dates back to the Tudor dynasty that ruled England from 1485 to 1603. You know I'm all about the heritage desserts, but I think I've really outdone myself here. Thank you, Mom and Drake's.

May I propose a toast?

To the year of the syllabub!

Last January: rosemary gruyère baked eggs

lemon syllabub
all the way from Drake's International Recipe Cookbook

serves 4 – 6

grated rind and juice of one lemon
1/2 c. sugar
3 tbsp. sherry
2 tbsp. brandy or cointreau
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
250 ml. (1 c.) heavy or whipping cream

Pour the lemon juice and most of the grated rind into a good-sized bowl. Stir in the sugar, sherry, brandy and vanilla. Pour the cream in and beat until the cream is thick. (It will be thick but not stiff.) Dollop into 4 – 6 wine glasses or parfait glasses. Chill in the fridge for 4 hours.

When serving, sprinkle with a bit more grated lemon rind and shaved dark chocolate. (Drake's also recommends serving with ladyfinger, macaroons or sugar cookies. I don't think they're necessary.)

tomato sauce with onion and butter

Snow day today!

I live in the warmest part of Canada. In fact, it is so warm that my little house doesn't have insulation. I'm not saying that I would recommend that or that all houses on Vancouver Island were built without insulation or that I wouldn't kill to have some insulation right about now . . . but you get my drift.

My snowdrift, that is!

We don't get snow very often, so when we do, everyone goes a bit wild. The schools and libraries close down, people greet each other with "It's like driving on a skating rink!" instead of "How are you?" Then we all discuss how many snowplows the City of Victoria has. (Current estimates range from zero to one.)

So, this morning, I was looking out on my snowy deck (sleep, little garlic bulbs!), enjoying the white snow light coming through the window and thinking about how cold I was. (Yes, I was already encased in many layers of merino wool, down vest and Scottish wool blanket.)

I decided the only solution was to start something simmering. I found a can of good tomatoes and ventured down the cold stairs looking for an onion. Yes, found a red one. (The original recipe calls for a yellow onion, but I can now confirm that red also works.) Of course, I had butter.

Everything I needed to make Marcella Hazan's classic tomato sauce with onion and butter. (Many thanks to Orangette for first leading me to this recipe a couple of years ago).

I was so delighted when I first tried this sauce because it solved a mystery for me.

Back in university, I had a friend who was Italian. I remember being at Laura's house when her mother served us little plates of pasta with a simple tomato sauce. It was heaven. I asked how she did it and Laura said something about tomatoes and onion and not much else.

Of course, I went home and fried onions and added some diced tomatoes . . . and was disappointed with a choppy, acidic sauce. Maybe, I thought, the problem is that I'm not Italian and this is just not something I'll ever be able to master.

But with this recipe, I uncovered the secret: butter. The sauce needs butter to round it out and make it smooth and rich. And the onion just has a long bath in the sauce, but gets taken out before serving, thus solving the texture issue.

Of course, with so few ingredients, it's essential to use very, very good tomatoes. Sorry, but really: buy the more expensive canned tomatoes once and you'll never go back.

All you do is plop the tomatoes, halved onion and butter in a big, heavy pot. Add a bit of salt if you're in the mood. Bring it to a simmer. Let it simmer for about 45 minutes, making your kitchen smell heavenly and throwing a bit more heat out into your uninsulated house.

When it's ready, it's lovely and velvety and just the thing for a snow day.

One January ago: glorious hummus for bean month
Two Januarys ago: shortbread in january


tomato sauce with onion and butter
from Orangette, who adapted it from Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazan
serves 2 – 3

28 oz. (794 g.) whole peeled canned plum tomatoes with their juices
5 tbsp. butter
1 medium yellow onion, peeled and cut in half
a bit of salt to taste

Plop the tomatoes and their juices into a pot with a heavy bottom.* Add the butter and onion. Use your spoon to kind of tuck the onion into the tomatoes. Add a bit of salt if your tomatoes aren't already salty enough. Bring to a simmer. Lightly simmer for 45 minutes or until you can see little drops of fat floating on the tomatoes. Stir it a few times while it's simmering. If you feel like, it use your spoon to break up any big tomato pieces against the side of the pot. Take the onion out before serving.

Serve on pasta, with a bit of parmesan, if you like.

*Although Molly appeared to use a frying pan and it looked fine. When I'm simmering something for a while, I like a heavy-bottomed pot. But I leave it up to you to decide what kind of pot you'd like.

glory bowl

When we moved across the country three years ago this May, we decided to drive.

It took us about eight days to make our way from Ottawa to Victoria, driving all 4,723 kilometres through Canada. (The shortcut across the top of the United States was tempting, but we wanted to see our country.)

In Ontario – land of never ending lakes and trees and more lakes and more trees – we stayed at bed and breakfasts. After we hit the prairies – land of very smooth, straight highways where you could see potential roadkill miles away – we were able to stay with friends every night.

So we had breakfasts and most dinners taken care of. But we were always looking for lunch in the middle of our driving day. Specifically, we were always on the lookout for hippie cafés. You know the ones I mean: cafés that offer dishes with sprouts and chickpeas and homemade soups.

We had varying degrees of luck, until we crossed the British Columbia border. (If you're not familiar with Canada, now is the time for me to tell you that B.C. proudly boasts the highest ratio of hippies to hunters of any province in Canada.)

We drove through the Rocky Mountains and ended up in Golden, just on the B.C. side of the provincial border around noon.

My more skeptical half was somewhat dubious when I pronounced that we were sure to find a hippie café for lunch today. But he gamely drove slowly through the narrow streets of Golden while I sized up the storefronts.

Sure enough, I spotted it in no time: Bacchus Books and Café. A used bookstore with a café on the top! Hello, hippie café!

We went up to the second floor and checked out the café: vegetarian, vegan and gluten-free options. Yep, we were definitely back in B.C. I ordered a creamy tomato soup that was so good I had to ask what was in it.

Scott, the gluten-free man, ordered the glory bowl: quinoa with beets, carrots, spinach, almonds and tofu. I gave him a covert look of alarm (didn't want to upset the cook) – um, wouldn't that be too healthy to be good?

No. Unfortunately, as happens from time to time, the husband was right. With a truly addictive dressing, his glory bowl was divine. It was all I could do not to keep sneaking bites when he went to the bathroom.

So we also ended up asking about the glory bowl. The nice woman serving us said it was from a cookbook called "Whitewater Cooks," which they sold in the bookstore downstairs. We promptly went down the stairs and bought the book.

We've never looked back. We make the glory bowl at least once every couple months and always love it. Besides being very, very tasty with this dressing, I can't seem to find any other way to happily eat grated beets and raw spinach.

This is one appropriate meal for January, month of cleanses and resolutions – except that it actually tastes good.

Last January: naomi's granola


glory bowl
serves 6
 
sesame baked tofu
from Rebar Modern Food

2 tbsp. soy sauce
1 tbsp. sesame oil
1/4 tsp. ground pepper
1 block firm tofu (about 300 g.), cubed

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Prepare a baking sheet with Silpat or parchment paper.

Mix soy sauce, sesame oil and pepper in a medium-sized bowl. Toss with tofu. Spread tofu on prepared baking sheet. Bake for 15 – 20 minutes, stirring part-way through.

glory bowl dressing*
slightly adapted from Whitewater Cooks

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. canola oil, grapeseed oil or vegetable oil

Mix yeast flakes, water, soy sauce, apple cider vinegar, tahini and garlic together. (I like to use an immersion blender, but you could use a whisk or hand blender.) Add the oil in a slow, steady stream while you're mixing.

*This dressing makes a bit more than you'll need for the glory bowl. Trust me: you want that extra dressing hanging around for other raw vegetables you need to dress up.

the bowl itself
slightly adapted from Whitewater Cooks

2 c. uncooked quinoa*
2 c. beets, grated
2 c. carrots, grated
2 c. spinach leaves
1 1/2 c. roasted almonds, roughly chopped
prepared sesame baked tofu
prepared glory bowl dressing

Pour 3 1/2 cups of water in a medium pot. Add the quinoa and a bit of salt, if you like. Cover and bring to a boil. Turn down the heat to keep it at a simmer and cook covered for 10 – 12 minutes, depending on how done you like your quinoa. Remove from the heat. Let it sit for a few minutes, then fluff with a fork or spoon.

Next, we're assembling the bowl! Spoon quinoa into your bowl. Top with beets, carrots, spinach leaves, almonds and tofu. Pour dressing over.

*The original recipe calls for brown rice. You could also try that, or even barley, kamut or farro.

nougat marzipan cookies

The other morning, I was supposed to be writing.

Instead, I just sat there, staring out the window and thinking about nougat.

In fact, ever since I got a box of Toffifee for Christmas, I have been thinking a lot about German nougat and how I can incorporate more of it into my life.

German nougat, by the way, is very different from French nougat. The Germans combine nuts and chocolate to form a magical substance they call nougat. The French, sadly, leave chocolate right out of the equation and still call it nougat. Even more sadly, Canadians hardly eat any kind of nougat at all.

Then, as I sat there, I thought about how I was in the mood for something that is not a cookie and not a chocolate. I wanted something in between. Something small and chocolate-ish, but also cookie-ish.

And I wanted it to have nougat. Suddenly, I was composing not a story but a cookie.

Enter the marzipan left over from my stollen-making expedition in early December . . .

Add my desire to eat shortbread over the holiday . . .

Drop a few lines of melted dark chocolate left over from that disastrous truffle-making episode . . .

And the chocolate-ish, cookie-ish thing is born: the nougat marzipan cookie.

If you would also like to compose an itsy-bitsy cookie, here's what you do:

Bake mini shortbread cookies.

Make German nougat (which is not difficult) and dollop it on top.

Pull out your extra marzipan and mold it into a patty to fit over top.

Melt some chocolate and start drizzling.

Voilà! – you're done!

A new little cookie for those times when you can't stop thinking about nougat and you want something that is in between a chocolate and a cookie.

Happy New Year!

May you eat many cookies, chocolates, and everything in between.

Last December: tipsy rum balls (also in between!)


nougat marzipan cookies
bakes about 20 wee cookies

about 20 shortbread bottoms
nougat (adapted from here) :
      1/3 c. heaping cashews or hazelnuts
      1/3 c. icing or powdered sugar
      1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
      2 - 4 tsp. cocoa powder
      2 tsp. strong black coffee
150 g. (5.3 oz) prepared marzipan 
50 g. (1.8 oz) dark chocolate

First, make the little shortbread bottoms. A half recipe from here works perfectly.

While the shortbread is baking and cooling, make the nougat. Grind the nuts in a food processor until they look like couscous. Add the icing sugar and grind until fine, but not until you have nut butter. Empty into a medium-sized bowl. Add 2 teaspoons cocoa and stir well. Mix in the vanilla and coffee. If it is now a firm but spreadable texture, you're done with the nougat. If it's not thick enough, keep adding a bit more cocoa until it is.

Once the shortbread is cool, spoon a bit of nougat on each cookie. Cut pieces of marzipan and roll them into balls. With your fingers, shape each ball into a patty. Carefully attach the patty to the cookie, over the nougat centre.

When all the cookies have nougat and marzipan, start melting your chocolate in the top of a double boiler or in a metal bowl suspended over simmering water. Once it's melted, use a small spoon to drizzle chocolate over each cookie. Refrigerate until chocolate has hardened. Eat!

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.