experimentalicious

That’s last night’s pantry-busting-inspired experiment.

I took some pre-made naan from the freezer, sauced it up with a 1:1 mix of tikka sauce and sour cream (yoghurt could be substituted), added some roasted snow peas, spinach, peppers and broccoli, then some bits of cooked chicken – all topped off with grated marble cheese.  Tossed them on the pizza stones in a 400 degree oven for about 10 minutes and out they came all gooey and golden and pizza-esque.

Next time I’ll use goat cheese but otherwise wouldn’t change a thing.

squishy experiment

So tonight it was experimental squash canelloni for supper.  This baby’s not going to win any beauty contests any time soon.  I was going to cook a nice, innocuous tenderloin but forgot to take it out of the freezer so here we are. Plus, there were squash guts leftover from the lovely soup the mister the other night so this is all in the name of using what I’ve got.   I was determined to use only things we had on hand for this dish. I almost did it but had to run across to the convenience store across the street and buy a can of tomatoes.  It was very tasty but the texture was lacking…something.  Everything was just too the same.  I know that’s par for the canelloni course and maybe it’s my palette which is picky but I have a few thoughts on making a new, improved version.  Beyond that I was really happy with the milk sauce I chose to go with it.  It has been ages since I’ve had a milk pasta dish and this one really served its purpose in balancing flavours; it wasn’t so hearty that it overpowered the squash and wasn’t so meek that it needed a lot of help holding itself up.

Here’s the skinny on the filling:

2 cups of mashed, cooked squash

3/4 cup feta cheese, crumbled

1 red onion, minced

1/4 cup pesto

Mix everything together and stuff into canelloni noodles laying out them in one layer across the bottom of an 11×13 casserole dish as you go.  I used oven-ready in the interest of time and because I hate working with the cooked ones.  This recipe uses about one box.

The sauce:

2 cups tomato sauce of your choice

2 cups of milk

1/4 cup pesto

Mix all of that together then use it to completely cover the stuffed canellonis in the casserole dish.  Bake at 350 degrees for 15 minutes then top with slices of provolone, mozzarella or havarti and cook for another 30 minutes or until the noodles are tender.

So I would totally make this again but, instead of making a squishy squash filling I would transfer a lot of the flavour elements, like the feta and more pesto, to the sauce and use uncooked squash spears inside the noodles.  This would eleminate a lot of the mess involved in stuffing them and help give the dish a little more textural backbone.

the magical compost pumpkin

That is the composter between our house and the house next door and it’s progeny, a happy, accidental pumpkin which beat the odds in an environment set against it and climbed those Maslowian rungs to self-actualisation.

Now we just need to decide on a recipe by which to honour its achievement.  Any ideas?

roasted capon with perfect fall stuffing

We have a lovely organic poultry vendor at our local farmer’s market from whom I (and the rest) get tremendously good deals on his capons (2 for $40 – can’t beat that) so I’ve usually got a couple in the freezer at any given time.  I was feeling like we needed a toasty, warm, autumnal meal this weekend so here’s what I made:

I tend to prefer dryer bread for stuffing than the fresh sesame bread I ended up using just because it keeps it from getting soggy.  To it I added 2 diced macintosh apples, which are about two weeks out of season here and are getting a little softer as a result.  This makes them perfect for cooking in this manner and add a little moisture to the stuffing.  I also tossed in some chopped proscuitto, ground sage (can’t WAIT until the stuff my Megan provided is ready for rubbing), ground nutmeg,  oregano and lemon juice.  Capons don’t need a lot of help in the flavour, fat or moisture department so I wanted a lot of that to come infused through the stuffing, rather than treating the meat itself but I did pour the better parts of the remnants of a bottle of white zinfandel from last night’s wine night (donated by a well-meaning guest rather tragically to a group of red snobs) into the pan to help it out a little.  The results were great.  The proscuitto gave it a low smokey flavour, the sage came through in a subtle tone, that apples lent their juices to getting everyone to make friends and the lemon juice and wine perked things up nicely.  We ate our chicken and stuffing with mashed potatoes and yams, fresh green beans, & beats in horseradish butter.  It was lovely.

verdict is: the sauce does NOT suck!

I hadn’t attempted to make spaghetti & meatball sauce using the patented family secret recipe in about 7 years.  It was one of those things that I attempted and failed miserably at each time, possibly out of contempt for the stuff as I saw it growing up.  A huge pot would be made at the weekends then part of it eaten as a meal and the rest put into the fridge to be used in various and sundry meals through the week.  We literally ate the stuff in one way, shape or form 4 nights out of a week.  Being the variety loving creature I am I just stopped eating it.  Instead I would eat my pasta with olive oil and garlic and a little romano cheese with a couple meatballs on the side and all of the vegies I could fit on my plate after that.  I boycotted the sauce.  After moving out I learned to make a wicked napolitano sauce & kickass greek meatballs (not to be eaten together) while my sister mastered the family sauce & the meatballs to go with it.  I never refused an offer to partake in her mastery when she lived 2 and a half blocks away from me.  Now she lives an hour and a half away and I had a hankering so I gave it another shot…and it didn’t suck.  It was actually quite good if a little less thick than I wanted it to be.  That being said, I didn’t exactly follow the family recipe to a T, either.  And I made bison meatballs.  And served it with zucchini.  But for all of my improvisations, it did not suck and I’m quite happy with that.

bagel melts

mmmMMMmmm…bagel melts.  Pretty sure no better breakfast exists in the world.  Someone once asked me what my favourite sandwich is and I couldn’t answer but come to think of it the bagel melt must be it.  So it’s not really a really real sandwich.  All good by me.  It’s close enough in my books and consists of three loves of mine; breads, fresh vegies and, of course, cheese.  This one’s made with an everything bagel, roma tomatoes, dill, black pepper and mild but wonderfully melty marble cheese but they can be made with just about every flavour combination.  Try cinnamon raisin bagels with apple slices and mozzarella or provolone.  Or sesame bagels with roasted eggplant, red pepper slices and goat cheese.  One would have to try very hard to do any wrong with these…you can even nuke ’em!  That said, I strongly suggest the oven method – just slip them onto a broiling pan (I slipped mine onto the pizza stone currently occupying the oven) then into a 450 degree oven.  Once in turn on the broiler and leave the oven door open a smidge, not to keep the broiler for turning off (the bagels aren’t likely to be in there for that long) but because the cheese will go golden brown (which is when you want to take it out) very quickly and having the door open tends to make one acutely aware of the fact that there’s stuff going on in there they need to not forget.

the machiavellian intelligence of maize

The mister saw fit to bring back a copy of The Omnivore’s Dilemma from Montreal a couple of weeks ago.  As he’s not allowed to read it until he’s fully digested Foucault’s Pendulum I decided to pick it up as my thinking (as opposed to purely entertaining) book of the moment.  I finished reading the first ‘chapter’ (section?) over coffee on my front porch this morning and though I’m not prepared to get into a full review of the book at this moment I do have some initial thoughts and reactions I feel the need to air so I’ve chosen to do so here.  Perhaps I’ll bore you all with a play-by-play as I read along.  The book’s formatting – following four meals back to their natural sources and reminding us of our relationship to the ingredients all the way – is rather conducive to that.  Perhaps I just won’t be arsed.  We’ll see.

An introduction to a new set of socio-political ideals about food is (apparently) kind of like buying a new car in that one sees it everywhere within the first few weeks after adoption.  I think I realised the full effect of the read yesterday while visiting our local farmer’s market determined to bring home an interesting and organic new cut of beef or buffalo or elk to play with.  The latter two being out of my price range and offering nothing I considered interesting enough to justify the expense I turned to the many many offerings of the former, all purporting to be ‘certified organic’ but then also listing ‘corn-fed’ as being one of the value-added benefits of their beef.  Newsflash – cows aren’t naturally gifted in the processing of corn.  They can only do so with the aid of loads of hormones and antibiotics assisting them in converting those precious (and cheap) calories into the steaks we all know and love.  While this isn’t news to me, it has been a long time since I’ve thought about it.  So the question is begged: what then, is ‘organic’?  Who defines it?  Who measures it and by what means?

I don’t have immediate answers to those questions, but I’m certainly bloody-minded enough to go searching for them and, though I’m certain the answers will vary from region to region, I’m kind of hoping they’ll be answered later in the book.  Or that some clever indices I can follow will be presented at the very least, but more on that later.  The thing is that the issue of cows not being able to process corn natural is a mere scratching of the surface of the plant’s place in the global food debate.  The real issue is that corn, with human aid, has circumvented all of the laws of natural selection to become a dominant organism on our planet and in our digestive systems.  Getting into the nitty gritty of all of that is beyond the scope of this post – just go read the book – this post is about my feeling of betrayal, akin to the betrayal I felt toward my own genetics upon reading The Selfish Gene.  Like Dawkins, Pollan is a radical messenger of radical truths who has transformed the favourite summer treat this (quasi) farm-bred girl, raised on the plantable, sustainable, preservable holy trinity of vegetation that is squash, beans and, of course, corn into an alien overlord infiltration of Orwellian proportions.  He makes it quite easy to draw the line of responsibility between corn and global warming, poverty, malnutrition, alcoholism and even war.  Granted, cow corn is different from people corn.  The stuff we buy from roadside tables on lazy Sunday drives is not responsible for all of this as such, but my overactive imagination can’t help drawing the parallels.  Mind = blown.  I’ve not yet decided what my long-term response to this will be.  This section of the book had me checking all of the labels of the all of the jars of all of the products we have in the cupboards and fridges and I can say with some relief that my lack of sweet tooth keeps us away from the onslaught of corn bi-products in the few processed foods that we do keep around the house.  We’re hardly every day meat-eaters in this house, we do try to stay fairly low on the food chain and we don’t own a car but even those efforts don’t seem to be enough in the face of this.   Needless to say I left all traces of beef at the market yesterday but did come home with organic, corn free, birdseed for our feeders.  Damn you, Michael Pollan.  Damn you all to hell for making corn my new boogey man.

Tabouleh

I was feeling particularly in need of something summery and given that making a dress would leave me unable to wear it for a few more months I decided to make Tabouleh. Of course it normally looks more parsley-laden that the one above but I was working on a whim and didn’t have everything available in the quantities require – it was still quite good.

What you need:

2 cups dried bulgur

4 cups boiling water

1 large, finely chopped, red onion

3 cloves crushed garlic

3 cups chopped fresh parsley leaves

1 cup chiffonaded fresh mint (dried can be used when it’s not in season)

5 or 6 diced medium-sized tomatoes (I find firmer, less ripened tomatoes hold up better in this dish)

1/4 to 1/2 cup lemon juice (depending on how lemony one likes their tabouleh)

2 tbsp. olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Several hours in advance (4 is probably the least one could get away with,) reconstitute the bulgar in the four cups of boiling water. Cover, refrigerate, do your laundry and come back and check to see if your bulgur has soaked up all of the water. If it has then add everything else to it. Stir (with a wooden spoon or some other gentle device which will not bruise your herbs.) Chill. Leaving it overnight is ideal as it gives everything a chance to marry.

This can be served in romaine lettuce leaves which make fancy little finger food boats, in or on pitas or just on its own.

On kids and food (a.k.a: a largely anecdotal and rather long-winded missive)

I’m often asked how I avoided the usual kid-pickiness when it comes to food that other parents face and the fact of the matter is that I didn’t My kids have been through picky phase after picky phase for as long as I’ve known them. One day they like tuna on crackers and the next they don’t. I guess I’ve always seen it as a fact of life and part of being a kid…but something of a challenge nonetheless.

I remember vehemently refusing tomato sauce on my pasta for over 10 years unless it was Zia Louisa’s (who preserved a very basic Napolitano containing very little beyond tomatoes and garlic every after harvest.) It was my first political protest (for reasons beyond the scope of this blog) and I did it simply to irritate my step-father who was more than happy to impart his sauce-making secrets in a subversive attempt to bring me to the saucy side. Despite that, I was more than happy to try just about everything under the sun except frog’s legs (having lived across the road from a river through my formative years helped me develop a certain appreciation for amphibians and reptiles though having beef-farming grandparents didn’t sway me from eating cows, though it did make me more discerning in terms of what cow tastes like – having grown up on pasture-raised beef and wild game my dad brought home had me realising quickly that the stuff sold at grocery stores rather drastically lacked in flavour and substance) and brussel sprouts (I just don’t like those nasty little cabbages, ‘kay?)

So yes, at the tender age of 32 I too am a picky eater to a certain extent and really expect no less from my loin fruits and I still have no easy answer to the question with which I began this post. That said, I strive to maintain realistic expectations when it comes to foodstuffs. When I was about 14 my mum came home one day and announced that we were going to eat a strictly vegetarian (‘strictly’ in the loosest sense of the word as fish, eggs, chicken and dairy were permitted) diet from there on out. I embraced that at first (save every other weekend whilst visiting my hunter of a father) but quickly became disenchanted with the whole affair when meals became unimaginative and uninspired. Within 2 weeks I was reading Diet for a Small Planet and The Enchanted Broccoli Forest and learning about ingredients beyond leafy greens and tofu…and meat and potatoes.

I believe that experience, more than any other, introduced me to the concept of varied eating and made me aware of how it would benefit myself and how it impacts the rest of the world. Plus I had parents willing to openly discuss their politics on such matters with myself…generally in contrast with each other, but without judgement. Yeah, that’s pretty effin’ cool.

But I digress.

Point being, I had a pretty wonderfully set stage for my own parenthood when it came to food and politics. Then came my in-laws, who (bless ’em) would openly argue such things but were also completely committed to a certain level of self-sufficiency through maintaining a massive vegetable garden every year and who, despite our differences, imparted a wealth of knowledge to myself in assisting me in doing the same and, in so doing, shaped my children’s appetites.

What all of that boils down to, really, is involvement, variety and discussion. About a month ago the daughter came home and demanded we eat one vegetarian meal a week in order to make a healthier impact on the environment. Pointing out to her that we already did that (breakfasts and lunches are almost always vegetarian and vegetarian suppers in our house happen at least 4 out of 7 nights a week) lead to a discussion on how we could do it better. The sprogs assist in creating meals (they know the secret to fluffy yorkshire pudding) and contribute to grocery lists and are good for half a clue toward the cost of keeping food in our collective bellies. They know the rule is, no matter what the context, they have to try at least two bites of everything on their plate. That said, they’re absolutely allowed to dislike anything and everything (hey, I still don’t cook Brussels sprouts) but it’s their responsibility to come up with a comparably healthy alternative to whatever they’re rejecting. They’ve been responsible for creating their own (healthy) lunches since kindergarten (I’m so mean) and to do it according to the Canada Food Guide. They have free reign over fruits and vegetables as snacks but must ask first for anything else.

I don’t believe any of this is too much different than what’s happening in most Canadian households but if tossing around ideas helps then I’m happy to put my thoughts and methodologies out there.

Again with the turkey leftovers

Ok…so we have lots of leftover turkey. Luckily I also have many ways of dealing with it.

We’ve already discussed dealing with a savoury pie to help us sort out roast beef leftovers, now we’ll do it with turkey. The method is very much the same, but the ingredients are switched up a bit.

What you need:

1 pkg. deep dish pie crusts

1/2 of a cooking onion (I actually used a red onion because I actually enjoy the flavour of red onion cooked…damn the naysayers, dammit)

1 tbsp butter or margarine

1.5 cups of cubed, cooked turkey meat

1 cup of turkey gravy

1/2 cup of dry white wine

1/4 cup of milk

2 cups of frozen mixed vegetables

Salt and pepper to taste

If frozen, take the crusts out of the freezer to come to room temperature as the rest of the preparation goes on.

Chop the onion into palatable bits – far be it for me to say what that means to most people but I tend to chop mine fairly thinly as I’ve a couple of folks around here who don’t enjoy chunks of onions in their goodies. I, on the other hand, quite like the chunks…so giv’er and do what ye will.

Add the butter or margarine to a medium sauce pan heated over medium heat. Once that has melted add the chopped onion. Sautee until translucent. While that’s going on the turkey meat can be cubed (if this hasn’t been done already) and added to one of the pie shells. Top that with the frozen vegetables and season with salt and pepper to taste. Let that sit while the base it cooking.

This is a good time to preheat the oven. The pie wants to start at 375 degrees.

Once the onions are translucent deglaze (ok, I have to admit that I did not know what the term was for that particular manoeuvre until just this year…I’ve been doing it since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, but the fact that there was a word for it escaped me completely…meh) the pot with about half of the wine. Add the gravy and stir vigorously (I love that word) until combined. Once combined add the mild and the rest of the wine and stir vigorously again.

Pour the base mixture over the vegies and meat already in the pie shell. Top the lot of it with the second pie shell, pressing the edge into that of the bottom shell to make a relatively firm seal around the edges. Cut slits into the top to allow steam to escape. Pop it into the oven at 375 for about 15 minutes. After 15 minutes crank the heat to 425 for another 10-15 minutes for optimum browning and pastry flaking.

mmmMMMmmm…savoury pies rock my world.