marathon

Legend has it that a Greek messenger called Pheidippides ran the entire distance from the battlefield of Marathon to Athens, to announce Persia's defeat. Legend also has it that Pheidippides collapsed and died right after delivering the news. I ran only half a marathon on Sunday and, though I did not die at the finish, I did wish for a split second for death to come for me.  I am now once more happy to be alive, though I still cannot climb or descend stairs, sit down, stand up, bend over, or walk without resembling an arthritic penguin. 

Though I had already run this course two years ago, this time was different. This race was the result of an insane bet with myself. A taunt, really. A taunt in which I dragged my friends, Nadia and Shelly, who had wholeheartedly and enthusiastically agreed, three months ago, to come down from Vancouver and run this half marathon with me.  I soon discovered that my ten-month post-partum body wasn't able to run more than one mile at a time. Suffice it to say that my training leading up to the race hardly qualified as such. I ran as hard as I could and as often as my mommy's schedule allowed me to, which was sometimes only once a week. I ran at weird and ungodly hours. I managed a few times to run longer distances without feeling as though I had lost a lung, but most of the time I felt like giving up after fifteen minutes. I threw in the towel three weeks ago and told the girls that I would probably not run with them. That I might just have to run/walk the course. And then something happened. A new resolve. I ajusted my expectations to the person that I am today instead of the one I was two years ago, and suddenly it was much easier to run and to push myself harder.

On Sunday, that resolve, combined with the energy released by my two beautiful, young and vibrant friends, carried me to the finish. It was so damn hard. I visited places in my head that I had never been to before and found stores of energy and endurance that I did not think I had in me. This new resolve has made me realise that many of the limitations we face in life are self-imposed. We really are our own worst enemies. 

And now what? Now I find myself back in this little old house. Back to my stay-at-home mommy grindstone. Back to wondering what my future holds. Where did all that new resolve go?! I know for a fact that it is still there, but I think that I am finally working on adjusting my expectations to the person that I am today. I am no longer that 23 year-old girl, fresh out of Law school.  I don't even really remember being that person, quite frankly, and what I do remember is something that I would not revisit for all the money in the world. I made dubious choices and must finally accept them and learn to forgive myself. I must figure out how to take my very limited work experience, my skill sets, my assets, and transform those things into a monetizable whole. That's my next marathon, I think. And I will train for it one mile at a time. 



Thanksgiving

I never really appreciated Thanksgiving until I moved to the US. We celebrate it in Canada on a different day, but it does not have the same resonance as it does here, at least not in Québec. Sure, we congregate over turkey with our families and the meal is far more special than others, but rarely do we actually fly cross-country or drive long distances to do so. We save that pilgrimage for Christmas, good Catholics that we are.

Luigi and I are very fortunate to have family living in Seattle. My uncle and aunt, Claude and Pandora, have been here for almost fifteen years and their presence was one of the key reasons we chose to move to this city. Spending Thanksgiving at Claude and Pandora's has become our new normal, a tradition, and Pandora's love for the Holiday - she is American - has transferred to me. There is something refreshing in gathering around a bountiful meal for no other reason than that of expressing love and gratitude towards our cherished ones. No strings attached.  No guilt over purchasing the perfect presents. No Thanksgiving music buzzing in your ears since the day before Halloween. No [blatant] religious motivation. Just Love. Gratitude. Food.

Let's be clear. I love Christmas. I love selecting and trimming the perfect tree. I love baking cookies.  I love Christmas music. I love my Santa collection. I love that almost every tree ornament I own has a story. I love Christmas movies. I love leaving cookies for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. I love watching the expression on my daughter's face when she walks into the living room on Christmas morning.  I love mimosas at 10 am, panettone, eggs florentine, left-over gravlax and candy cane breath. I love matching Christmas pjs.

But, Christmas is a season and Thanksgiving is one day. Christmas feels more contrived, somehow. In the United States, Thanksgiving is one day on which virtually everybody reunites at the same time, for the same reasons and around the same kind of meal, which can be downright simple or sometimes very elevated, or just right in the middle. People all converge over one message. Thank you. I love you. I am grateful to have you in my life. There is no artifice. Just one, true, simple message. How beautiful.

---

My father and I would look forward to my mother's Thanksgiving turkey because of one thing: my mother's Thanksgiving leftover turkey and wild rice timbale, which is based on an old Craig Claiborne recipe from the New York Times. "Timbale" is fancy for "casserole" and this is hands-down the most dated and kitchy dish in my culinary arsenal. That said, I make it once a year and it isn't Thanksgiving without it. So here it is.

Timbale de Dinde et de Riz Sauvage - Turkey and Wild Rice Casserole

(Adapted from a Craig Claiborne recipe in the New York Times, circa 1980)

8 servings

Ingredients

1 ½ cups raw wild rice

3 cups boneless turkey cut into cubes

5 tablespoons butter

5 tablespoons flour

3 ½ cup. rich turkey broth or boxed chicken broth
Leftover turkey gravy

1 pound mixed mushrooms (I use crimini, chanterelles and one or two ounces rehydrated porcini)

Juice of half a lemon

2 tablespoons finely chopped shallots
2 teaspoons fresh thyme, minced
1 ½ cup heavy cream 

1 cup dried cranberries (you can use up to 1 cup and a half, but I find that's too much)
1/8 teaspoon grated nutmeg

Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Micro greens or Fresh herbs
Cranberry sauce with Crystallized Ginger (see below)
 

Directions

1. Rinse and drain the wild rice. Bring rice, 4 and 1/2 cups of water and 1 teaspoon of salt to boil. Lower heat, cover and simmer for 45 minutes to one hour or until the rice grains are puffed open. If they are not open after an hour, just remove the pan from the heat and let the rice stand. Drain well.

2. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and prepare your sauce: Melt 4 tablespoons of butter in a saucepan and add the flour, stirring with a whisk. When blended, add the broth, a couple of tablespoons of your turkey gravy as well as the juices of the reconstituted porcini (if using), stirring rapidly with the whisk. Let simmer for 15 minutes, stirring regularly. The sauce should reach the consistency of a creamy soup and coat the spoon.

3. Prepare your mushrooms: In a heavy sauce pan or or sauté pan, melt 1 tablespoon butter. Add mushrooms and lemon juice and cook, stirring often until the mushrooms begin to sweat. Add shallots and thyme and continue to sauté until most of the liquid has evaporated. Add mushrooms to the sauce. Add cream and nutmeg. Add salt and pepper, to taste. Continue cooking for about 10 min at low heat, stirring regularly and never letting the mixture reach a full boil.
 

4. Combine sauce, rice, turkey and fruit and put into a casserole or pyrex dish.  Cover loosely with foil and bake for 45 minutes, uncovering for the last 5 minutes. 


11/29/2014 update:

I've added the recipe for my favourite cranberry sauce, which I think elevates the dish a tad bit. It also occurred to me last night that just plopping adown a big spoonful of timbale doesn't make for a very sexy presentation. I pulled out my nifty food rings and, instead, arranged it carefully in a perfect circle on the plate. I then topped it off with some micro greens (Trader Joes) and some chervil and chives. I served the cranberry sauce on the side.

Although this would add even more to the dish's calorie count, I think the timbale would do marvelously well served on top of a square piece of puff pastry (a vol-au-vent would be ideal).

I usually serve a winter salad as appetizer.
 

Gobble gobble!
 

 

Cranberry Sauce with Crystallized Ginger
(Adapted from Bon Appetit, December 1990)

Note: I only had one bag of cranberries and halved all the other ingredients. It made enough for 8 people. The recipe is excellent without the crystallized ginger. The ground ginger adds a nice zing on its own.

Ingredients

2 12-ounce bags cranberries

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 cup orange juice

1 cup water

1 tablespoon grated orange peel

1 teaspoon ground ginger

1/2 cup (about 2 ounces) minced crystallized ginger (optional)

 

Directions

 

Combine first 6 ingredients in heavy medium saucepan. Bring to boil, stirring until sugar dissolves. Boil until cranberries pop, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. Cool. Mix in crystallized ginger (optional). (Can be prepared 3 days ahead. Cover and refrigerate.)

global journey

The journey is the destination!

A very smart lady reminded me of this only a few days ago when I expressed self-doubt about what my purpose is on this blog. It has since then become my motto.

Right now I see this as a much needed creative outlet and I am pleased that so many of my friends and family are encouraging me through it. There are probably some people who think that I am wasting my time rather than focusing on finding a calling that will eventually pay the bills. Oh well! It does not have to represent all that I will accomplish in the future, but for right now it is a journey that I am happy to be embarked upon.

A little bit of this is starting to have friends all over the place, which is pretty amazing if you ask me! I have a regular audience in France - Coucou Suzanne! - and the Netherlands - Hallo Wendy! - as well as a few readers in Indonesia, Venezuela, Brazil and Germany, not to mention Mozambique. Obrigado, ma soeur! I also have a very large audience composed of hits from Russian robot spam referral sites. Stop polluting my stats, robotskis!  Спасибо! Spaseeba! It is impossible for me to determine how much of my "large" American audience is composed of friends or spam hits, and how much of it actually includes people who have just stumbled upon the blog.  Show yourselves, please! I think it's safe to assume that more than half of the 340 hits from my native country of Canada are from my mother. Merci Maman!!

Whatever the case, it's exciting. And I am still fascinated by how easily we can come together thanks to the power of the Internet. I will one day tell my children that I grew up in a world where people connected via telephone and hand-written or typed letters, and they will laugh at how ancient I am (I will also tell them about cash registers, rotary dial telephones, cassette tapes, phone books, penny loafers, encyclopedias, betamax and bright yellow walkmans). Did our words weigh more back then? There were no cell phones, tweets, emails or text messages to provide instant gratification. One could not take invectives back quite as promptly. I still prefer speaking on the phone to writing emails because I feel like my words are often misinterpreted. Sarcasm is better heard than read, I guess (I'm not being sarcastic).  

As usual, I digress. I welcome these changes and I love this new world culture of ours. And since I am meant to segue to food, what better way to celebrate global cuisine and the wonders of blogging than by turning to pioneer Molly Weizenberg, whose curried lentil soup has become one of my favourite go-to weeknight dinners. I do not add the butter, which it really does not need, and replace the sliced green onions with simple sautéed greens (chard is what I had on hand last night, but mustard greens or spinach work, too). I serve it with basmati rice in a small bowl on the side.

Curried Lentil Soup
(Lightly tweaked from Molly Weizenberg's recipe in the December 2010 issue of Bon Appétit)

Serves 4-6 people (4 as a main course, 6 as an appetizer)

Ingredients
4 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 medium onion, chopped
1 large carrot, finely chopped
2 large garlic cloves, chopped, divided
2 tablespooons (or more) curry powder
1 cup green Puy lentils
4 1/4 cups (or more) water, divided
1 14 or 15 ounce can of chickpeas, drained and rinsed
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 to 2 bunches swiss chard (quantity of greens depends on how many you are serving)
Lemon wedges

Directions

1. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in heavy large pot over medium heat. Add onion and carrot; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook until onion is translucent, stirring occasionally, about 4 minutes. Add half of chopped garlic; stir until vegetables are soft but not brown, about 4 minutes longer. Add 2 tablespoons curry powder; stir until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add lentils and 4 cups water. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Increase heat and bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium; simmer until lentils are tender, about 30 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, puree chickpeas, lemon juice, 1/4 cup water, 2 tablespoons olive oil and remaining garlic in processor. Set aside.
3. Once your chickpea purée is ready, remove and discard chard stalks and roughly chop the chard leaves. In a separate pan, heat remaining tablespoon of olive oil and throw in chard with a small pinch of salt. Sauté until chard is coated in the oil and begins to wilt. Cover for about 3 minutes. Uncover, sauté and boil away excess liquid.

3. Once lentils are cooked, add chickpea puree to lentil soup. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Add water by 1/4 cupfuls if you think the soup needs to be thinner. I like it on the thicker side, as it is closer to a dal, especially when it is served with rice on the side. You can also add more curry powder if you wish. Luigi adds a micro pinch of cayenne to his bowl.

4. Plate the soup and top it with a small bunch of chard. Serve with lemon wedges and a bowl of rice.  

college

In University, when we partied too hard, there were no children to tend to in the morning. Nobody depended on us for food and basic sustenance. Nobody needed their bums wiped and diapers changed. All we needed to do was to make it to the medicine cabinet for some Vitamin I and go back to bed. And our bodies were much more resilient than they are today and could endure far more revelry than they can now. At least, mine could. But not anymore.

We were very silly last Saturday night. We attended the yearly Winter Beer Taste up at our local neighbourhood center. It's quite a big deal, with more than 30 Pacific Northwest breweries showcasing their  best seasonal ales. It takes place in the charming old wooden building that is the original Phinney Neighborhood Center, which was built in 1901 and served as an elementary school well into the nineteen-eighties. The old, blue building is warm and welcoming, complete with high ceilings, creaky floors, original woodwork and a massive central staircase that has a patina from more than one hundred years of big and little feet treading on it.

We were very silly last Saturday night. We drank lots of beer. Lots of deep, dark, sometimes malty, sometimes hoppy, sometimes chocolaty, mostly delicious winter ales, stouts and porters. Some of them were bourbon barrel aged. Some of them were infused with coffee. Some of them were fresh hopped. More than half of them had an alcohol content of over 9%. How many beers did I drink? I'm not quite sure. The entrance included a 6oz tasting glass and 10 tickets, which you are supposed to give to the brewer in exchange for a beer. I still had 10 tickets in my pocket on Sunday morning as the result of a silly game we play and according to which the person who ends up with the most tickets at the end the evening wins (we still haven't figured out a prize).

You would think that 60oz of beer -roughly two and a half imperial pints- is not that much. But here's the thing. The building is packed with people. Hundreds of very happy, very drunk people. It's hot. You've got three hours (two and half in our case because we got there a little late) and so many delicious brews to choose from. So, maybe you drink a little more and a little faster than you should. And maybe you are on a roll, and you forget that you are no longer college-aged, and you stop by a pub on your walk home, and play some pool, and have some more beer, and act a little silly with your honey and your friends. 

Sunday morning felt like college all over again. My head hurt. There were people sleeping in my living room. Only, these people were not college-aged. These people, our friends, were in our living room as the result of a planned "sleepover". These were responsible parents whose children were sound asleep upstairs with my children. Responsible parents who went back to college for an evening. The little ones had an amazing time with our babysitter and went to bed well fed, entertained and happy, as planned. They woke up early to a "breakfast party" (my daughter's words) and got to sing, dance, run around, and eat bacon and eggs with the grownups, who quietly sipped on their coffee, sucked on their bacon and winced at every loud noise. 

Once the "party" was over, I napped with my son and woke up feeling human again. I slowly got ready for a potluck lupper with my wonderful bookclub ladies and even managed to make a soup. I went to bed at 8:30 after kissing my sleeping babies, feeling grateful for all that I have, and thankful for the fact that my college days are over (until the next Winter Beer Taste Breakfast Party Sleepover).

-----

After a weekend of excess and with the Holidays looming over my waistline, it is time to cleanse for a bit. This, to me, means staying clear of sugar and saturated fats - other than fish and lowfat milk in my coffee -and consuming reasonable amounts of alcohol (notice that I did not completely take alcohol out?).  And what better time to cleanse than during autumn, when the veggies taste so darn good.

Balsamic, Lemon and Garlic Vinaigrette
Enough for a salad of about 6 to 8 people.

This is one of my every day vinaigrettes and I love it. It is wonderful on everything, including roasted veggies and beets as well as mixed into a salad of brassica greens, or spinach, or radicchio or arugula. I recommend not mincing the garlic, but rather smashing it or roughly chopping it, so that it does not go into your salad or vegetables. If you prepare it half an hour or an hour ahead of time, the flavour of the garlic should have sufficiently infused into the vinaigrette. It's a little bit of this, so feel free to play around with the flavours.

Ingredients
3 tablespoons good quality balsamic vinegar
One to two cloves garlic, peeled and lightly smashed or coarsely chopped
Juice of half a lemon
About half a cup of good quality olive oil
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Directions

I'm a big fan of sticking everything into a container and shaking the hell out of it until it's blended. However, if you're fancy, combine everything but the olive oil, and then proceed to slowly whisk the oil in until the vinaigrette is emulsified. Add a large pinch of salt and a few grindings of black pepper, to taste.  It keeps for two or three days in the refrigerator, but I suggest removing the pieces of garlic beforehand.

un steamé 'pis une graisseuse

My family and I used to go foraging for mushrooms long before it was considered cool. I remember how my schoolmates would look at me quizzically when I boasted about the weekend's bounty. "We picked four pounds - FOUR!!! - of porcini!! And a huuuge basket of chanterelles!!!! Can you imagine?!". No, they couldn't.  And, quite frankly, they didn't give a rat's ass. It was just another thing to add to the lengthy list of Mia's strange and nerdy quirks.

To be perfectly honest, I don't remember enjoying mushroom picking all that much, but given that a child rarely gets a say in how he or she spends the weekend, I had no choice but to come with. I remember long, sinuous rides in the car, with my sister and our dog, followed by trespasses on private properties, and trudging - for what seemed like hours upon hours - through muddy forests and sharp branches, towards our secret mushroom hiding places. There were upsides. I had, and still have, amazing vision. "Eagle eye vision", as my father used to call it. "Eagle Eye Baudry" is what my husband calls me now.  So, I would often spot the day's first bunch of mushrooms before anybody else did. I would run towards it and watch it intently until my parents caught up with me. I was sometimes even allowed to cut the mushrooms myself, once they had been properly identified and deemed large enough to bring home. Another high point: we got to stop for a hot dog and fries (in Québécois jargon, un steamé 'pis une graisseuse) at one of the many roadside greasy spoons the countryside had to offer. The mushroom feasts that ensued weren't bad either.

My parents had made a point of teaching me basic notions in mycology. I knew which trees to look for, which soil beds were most fertile and I had been well trained to spot the yummier mushrooms - porcini, bolets, chanterelles and pleurotes - right away. I also knew quite a bit about poisonous mushrooms and sought them out more eagerly than their edible counterparts, mainly out of morbid curiosity but also because they were the most beautiful varieties out there. I learned quite early that Mother Nature can be very sneaky...

As I write these words, I realise that I must get my family out mushroom hunting. I guess I do have fond memories of it after all. I doubt the steamés will be as good as I remember, but I'm sure we will be able to find an acceptable substitute.  

---



These days, especially in the Pacific Northwest, wild mushrooms are almost commonplace. Chanterelles are selling for 8$ a pound at my local grocery store, which is a STEAL when you think of how much you can get for your money and how de.li.ci.ous they are. Chanterelles are fragant and woody and they have the perfect texture. They do not contain that much water and they take well to being sautéed at length, which enhances their flavour.  I usually refrain from using fat (other than loads of olive oil)  in my day-to-day cooking, but I have to admit that there is nothing quite as complementary as butter and mushrooms. Wikipedia tells me that this is because most mushrooms are "fat-soluble". I have no idea what that means. All I know is that they go together like a steamé 'pis une graisseuse. 

Sautéed Chanterelle Bruschetta
Serves 4

My friend Kirsten and I had something similar to this on a perfect late October evening in Portland, a few years back. We have been eating it ever since.  This will serve 4 as an hors d'oeuvre or appetizer, but it will also suit two as a main course, with a nice fall salad on the side.  Oh, and some wine.

Ingredients
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound chanterelle mushrooms
1 medium sized shallot, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, in slivers
1 clove garlic, peeled and gently smashed with the side of  a knife
1 handful fresh Italian parsley
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Crusty bread, preferrably baguette or something not too yeasty

Directions
Choose mushrooms that appear and smell fresh. Stay away from those that are either drying or shriveled, moldy, soggy or dark in places. They will keep for a few days in your refrigerator as long as they are stored in a paper bag (this allows them to breathe and keeps them from becoming moldy). Refrain from washing the mushrooms under water, unless absolutely necessary. You can either use a damp paper towel or a paring knife to remove the dirt, needles or leaves. If you must wash them, just pass them quickly under cold water and dry them right away in paper towels,  but do not soak them because they will become waterlogged (the only mushroom that I tend to clean with water is the morel, because it can contain lots of sand and because it doesn't absorb much of the water).
1. Leave the smaller mushrooms (less than two inches long) whole and slice or tear the larger ones into two or three pieces lengthwise. 
2. Preheat oven to 400. Slice your baguette (about half an inch) on the diagonal, place it on a cookie sheet and set aside. You have enough mushrooms for beween 8 and 10 pieces of baguette.
3. In a frying pan, heat olive oil butter at medium-high heat and throw in the chanterelles, giving everything a nice stir. Once the mushrooms begin to sweat (after 4 or 5 minutes), reduce the heat to medium and make sure you tip the pan and remove the excess cooking liquids (reserve the juices and use them, one tablespoon at a time, as the mushrooms sauté and things begin to stick). You do not want the chanterelles to boil or simmer in their broth; for this dish, they must sauté and keep a nice firm texture.
4. Throw in the slivered garlic and shallots, a generous pinch of salt, and continue to sauté for a few minutes (about 5) watching carefully as the mushrooms brown a little bit and making sure to add mushroom juices if you see the shallots or garlic burning or if things are getting too dry.  Again, you want the mushrooms to look slightly browned, their flavour will have intensified and they should have held their texture.
5. Once they are ready, chop a small handful of parsley and throw into the mushrooms. Add a few grindings of fresh black pepper and check for salt. Cover and remove from heat. 
6.  Place your baguette in the preheated oven and leave for about 5 minutes, until the bread is just beginning to become a little brown and crispy on the sides. It should still be a little chewy in the middle. You can turn it over halfway through, if you like. Once it is ready, remove the cookie sheet from the oven and rub each piece of bread with the peeled and lightly smashed garlic clove. Watch you don't get carried away or else the raw garlic will overpower the chanterelles (rubbing it twice, up and down, should do).
7. Once the bread slices have cooled a bit (we don't want everything to be too hot), spoon a generous amount of chanterelles onto them. Serve immediately and enjoy!

So-so photo, but you get the basic idea!

Variations

-The chanterelles can be served as a pasta sauce. Just do exactly what is written above but reserve all the cooking juices for the end, adding a bit of olive oil, chicken broth or water if the dish needs liquids as it cooks.  Once your pasta is ready, you reheat the mushrooms with their juices and maybe a touch of cream (i know, i know...). Just heat everything through until it is hot but make sure you do not boil or evaporate any of the liquids. Add pepper and parsley, mix pasta into the sauce and add some of the reserved pasta water if necessary. Serve immediately with fresh parm and olive oil on the table.

 -The chanterelles can also make an amazing side dish for poultry. Again, follow the directions but keep your juices for the end, adding a bit of olive oil or water if the dish needs liquids as it cooks. A little thyme thrown in with the shallots and garlic will complement the poultry. 

-Finally, these sautéed mushrooms are perfection as an omelet filling!

italiano

My husband, Luigi, is Italian, and his name is not the only unabashedly and stereotypically Italian thing about him.

He calls his mamma regularly. He is not afraid to cry. He would eat pasta every day of the week if I let him. He prefers to cook his eggs in olive oil and pepperoncino rather than butter. He's got a fiery personality. He has no problem with kissing other men on the cheek if they don't mind. Soccer is his religion. He tells it like it is.

I'm often reminded by my more sarcastic friends and family members about how I once vowed never to date, much less marry, an Italian man. And yet, Luigi is also the polar opposite of the Italian men I met in Italy more than a decade ago. He flew from his mamma's nest before hitting his twenties. He cooks, cleans, vacuums and irons. He has traveled the world. He'll try anything once. He is a very dedicated and hands-on papa. He is not afraid of strong-willed and opinionated women.

Luigi loves to eat and it can be challenging to cook him the same dishes that his mother has lovingly been feeding him for decades. Needless to say, I tread very carefully when I go down that dangerous road. Though Luigi will rarely tell me that these meals are better than his mamma's (it happened once and I got it in writing), I know I must be doing something right when his plate is wiped clean before everybody else's. Just like it was this past weekend, when I dared to make eggplant parmesan.

Melanzane alla parmigiana - or just plain "Parmigiana", as Luigi insists that it be called -  is hard to categorise. It is comforting and rustic, but it is also sexy and decadent. It's kind of like Daniel Craig in sweatpants....But I digress. Whatever the case, with eggplant season nearing its end, it is time for you to make it. Subito!

Melanzane alla Parmigiana (Eggplant Parmesan)
(Adapted from Marcella Hazan's "Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking")

For my lactose intolerant or cholesterol weary readers, the fried eggplant makes for a yummy treat on its own, served hot, warm or room temperature as an hors d'oeuvre, appetizer or contorno (side dish). For those who prefer not to fry the eggplant, I have included an oven-baked variation.

Ingredients
3 large cans Italian tomatoes, roughly chopped, without their juices
3 cloves garlic
Kosher salt
Olive oil, for tomato sauce
3 large eggplant
Flour
Vegetable oil, for frying (I recommend canola oil)
1 log or 3 large balls of fresh mozzarella (no more than a pound)
One cup freshly grated parmigiano
A handful of fresh basil (at least 3 or 4 leaves per layer of eggplant)

Directions
I'll admit that this is a time consuming dish, but it is simple and well worth it, and you can prepare your tomato sauce ahead of time.

Fried Eggplant

(Adapted from Marcella Hazan)

1. Eggplant can taste bitter, either when it is large or when it is bought late in the season. To lose this bitterness, it is necessary to purge it by steeping it in salt for about an hour, a process called "degorging". Make sure you choose eggplant that is firm to the touch and silky and smooth in appearance. If you cannot find the right produce, don't just buy whatever is on hand. Slice the eggplant crosswise into rounds of 6 or 7 mm (roughly 1/4 of an inch). In a colander, place the slices vertically in layers and sprinkle salt over each one. The eggplant will begin to sweat and lose its dark bitter juices.

After about an hour, pat each slice dry (do not squeeze) with paper towels. The eggplant must by dry to fry properly.
2. Spread flour in a dinner plate. Not too far from where you will be frying the eggplant, set a cooling rack over some paper towels. If you do not have a cooling rack, line a platter with paper towels.
3. Pour vegetable oil into a large frying pan until it comes 1 1/2 inches up the sides, and turn the heat up to high. Test the heat by dipping a slice of eggplant into it. The oil is hot enough for frying if you hear it sizzle. Coat the eggplant slices in the flour, tapping off the excess, and fit as many slices into the pan as possible without overcrowding. Only flour the slices right before you add them to the oil, or else the coating will become soggy. Fry the slices until they are golden brown on one side and then turn them over with tongs and fry the other side. Once the eggplant is done, use a slotted spoon or gently remove with a tong to the cooling rack or paper-lined platter. Finish cooking all the eggplant. Reduce the heat slightly if you find the oil becoming too hot, but refrain from adding more oil to the pan.

Tomato Sauce
(Luigi's)
4. This sauce can be made up to two days ahead of time.
5. Pour three or four tablespoons of oil into a heavy-bottomed pot or saucepan that will accommodate all the tomatoes. Peel and smash three cloves of garlic, add them to the oil, and turn the heat up to medium-high. Infuse the oil with the garlic for about three minutes, making sure the oil does not smoke or the garlic does not brown.
6. Pour the tomatoes into the pan, add a little pinch of salt, stir and bring to a boil. Lower the heat, so that the tomatoes simmer gently. Cover and leave for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally and breaking down with the back of a wooden spoon, until the tomatoes have cooked and are falling apart, and until they have reduced by at least one third. Process roughly with an immersion blender, or a food mill, or with a potato ricer, until the tomatoes are smooth. That being said, you can choose to leave as much texture in the tomatoes as you wish.

Eggplant Parmesan
(Adapted from Marcella Hazan)

7. Preheat your oven to 400F and lightly grease the bottom and sides of an 11x7 or 9x13 baking dish with butter.
8. Thinly slice your mozzarella. Wash and dry the basil and tear each leaf into at least two pieces.
9. Line the bottom of the baking dish with eggplant, in a single layer, spoon and spread tomato sauce over the eggplant, cover with a layer of mozzarella, sprinkle liberally with parmesan (those are Marcella's words, and I concur), scatter a few pieces of basil, and top with another layer of eggplant. Repeat these steps and finish with a layer of eggplant on top. Sprinkle with parmesan and place the dish in the upper third of the oven.
10. Cook for 20 minutes, check that you do not need to remove some excess liquid by pressing down with the back of a spoon and cook for another 15 minutes. Let the dish rest for about 5 minutes before serving.

Baked eggplant variation
I prepare it this way if I am feeling guilty. The flavour of the baked eggplant will be slightly deeper and its texture a little meatier. I find the fried eggplant holds its shape better and, well, it is delicious. However, the baked method is also yummy and, more importantly, it has passed the Luigi test.

After degorging and drying the eggplant, preheat your oven to 375, lightly brush the eggplant rounds with olive oil and place, in a single layer, onto a cookie sheet. Bake for 25 minutes to half an hour, carefully turning the pieces over with a spatula, halfway through. Once the eggplant pieces have cooled, assemble the Parmigiana as described above.

Serve with crusty bread, red wine and a nice big green salad.

seeds

Another Halloween will soon have passed, and with it more happy memories will be made! It is so very true that those we have lost live on in our hearts and minds. My father left us very suddenly six years ago, right before Halloween, and although not a day goes by that I do not think of him, the weight of his loss feels heavier when I find myself prepping for what used to be be of one of his most favourite nights of the year. Of all things Halloween, I think my father liked carving our pumpkins the best! This was before Martha Stewart, fancy stencils and the Internet. I remember the E.T. Jack-o'-lantern that he once cleverly put together using a tall oval-shaped pumpkin and a long skinny-necked and flat-headed squash. He thought of using decorative gourds, cabbage leaves and other veggies as accessories and body parts long before anybody else we knew, and his masterpieces were even featured in our neighbourhood's weekly paper.

It is no wonder why I put so much pressure on myself to produce original pumpkins each year!  It is a way for me to remember my father and it is hopefully a penchant that will be passed on to my own children when they grow up. What else did my father insist we do each and every year? Well, roasted pumpkin seeds, of course!!

Roasted Pumpkin Seeds

Ingredients
Fresh pumpkin seeds
Olive oil
Kosher salt
cumin
Paprika (sweet or smoked)
Cayenne pepper

Directions
1. Wash pumpkin seeds in a colander,  remove any bits of pumpkin flesh, mix with hands to shake excess water out and spread out to dry on a tea towel. Cover with paper towels or another tea towel.

2. Once the seeds are mostly dry (a little moisture is fine), preheat the oven to 350F. In a bowl, toss the seeds with the olive oil, the salt and whatever spices you want. I usually make a simple batch, with olive oil and salt, and a spiced-up second batch with a little salt, cumin,  paprika and a smidgen of cayenne. For two cups of pumpkin seeds you will not want more than a teaspoon of cumin, a small pinch of  paprika and an even smaller pinch of cayenne.  I use whole cumin seeds, which I dry roast in a cast iron pan and grind with a mortar and pestle. Ground cumin will do just fine if it is all that you have on hand. If your paprika is quite strong, or if you use smoked paprika, then go easy on the cayenne or leave it out entirely.

3. Spread onto a cookie sheet and roast in the oven for about 15 minutes, stirring once, for more even cooking, until the seeds are golden brown and crispy. Watch them carefully because they burn easily! Remove from oven, let cool slightly and enjoy as a healthy snack, aperitif or even as a topping for squash or pumpkin soup.

images

Though this blog is food-centered, there is no question, I am not convinced that it is taking the typical food blog trajectory. For instance, I have absolutely no interest in photographing every step of the dishes I produce. I am confident you all know what chopped onions or peeled carrots look like, yes? I know many of you want to see photographs and I promise I will try. But, here's the thing: I don't cook for the blog. I cook for my family and then maybe the blog gets to hear about it. I cook in an old kitchen while simultaneously tending to the nine-month-old who gets stuck under chairs, puts everything into his mouth and chases after the poor cat. I chop, blend or sauté while my daughter sings or speaks over my every thought. And I tend to them first and foremost, because they are my everything. Here's the other thing:  I want whatever photo I decide to post to be artistic, not just functional, but what I usually have on hand is my iPhone, which doesn't really qualify (see Brussels sprout pic).  Plus, those of you who have been in my kitchen know that is does not provide the ideal backdrop for lip-smacking food photographs. I need to pull out the big guns if I wish to produce something that will offset these old grey cupboards, white melamine countertops, sub-par lighting and average looking appliances. Our good cameras are usually safely tucked away in a child-proof camera bag and I am trying to form the habit of having them on hand before I begin to cook. So, please bear with me and I will begin to grace these pages with some pics on a more regular basis!

balance

An entire week has passed since I last posted. Just like that! I'm sorry, but I was all caught up with my old friend, Life. If I were in elementary school and you were my teacher, I would say: "I'm sorry, but Life ate my homework".

Though she can sometimes be kind and gentle, Life tends to harry me, so much that I often find myself ignoring her a little. But she is quite prompt in reminding me of her existence, be it through the daily loads of laundry, the stinky diapers, the nasally nighttime wailing, the dirty floors, the kindergartener tantrums, the clutter, the grumpy husband, the bulimic cat, the hormonal mood swings, the mysterious vanishing keys and wallet, and, my favourite, the squirrel family that is happily nesting in my roof. I think it is high time for me to make a new friend. I've mingled with her a few times but things never really gelled. Her name is Balance. She could most probably help me get reacquainted with the kinder and gentler version of Life. She could help me make better choices and set realistic goals. Perhaps she could bring along her friend Organisation, who would teach me how not to procrastinate and how to keep my house from looking like a bomb blast site all the time, no matter how much I constantly tidy up after myself and the aforementioned baby, kindergartener, husband, cat and damn squirrels. Ah, Life!  But where would I be without her? The answer is quite simple: nowhere. Yin and yang.

Life also brings me love, laughter, food, wine, beauty and kindness. She brings me a happy little girl who sings and dances through my heart, a sweet-smelling baby boy who giggles and squeaks, a darling husband who loves me unconditionally, and a cat who warms my lap. And after she and I have had a fight, Life makes up for it by offering me simple and delectable roast chicken.

Simple Roast Chicken with Autumn Root Vegetables
Serves 4 or 6, depending on portion, appetite, size of bird, etc!
Ingredients
One 4 to 4 1/2 pound organic, free-range chicken
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
6 to 8 garlic cloves, peeled and lightly smashed
3 sprigs rosemary
Half a lemon
Butter (optional)
Olive oil
4 to 6 medium parsnips, halved lengthwise
4-6 medium carrots (rainbow coloured look extra pretty), halved lengthwise
8-10 fingerling or small red-skinned potatoes

Directions
1. Remove innards from the chicken's cavity, wash bird inside and out and dry thoroughly with paper towels. With scissors, discard any extra fat hanging from the neck or bottom. Let the bird stand at room temperature for at least an hour, or else it will not roast evenly.
2. Preheat oven to 425F. In the oven, place a roasting pan that is not too large, but that will comfortably accommodate the vegetables later on if you choose to roast them with the chicken instead of separately (we'll get back to that).
3. Generously season the inside of the bird with salt and pepper, throw in the garlic cloves, rosemary, lemon and a nob of butter (optional).
4. If you want, place your index finger underneath the skin on the breast and very gently begin to separate the skin from both breasts, being careful not to tear the skin. Sprinkle salt underneath and pour in a little olive oil (this will make for crispy skin).
5.Generously season the outside of the skin with salt and pepper and rub a little olive oil all over it (it can't hurt).
6. Truss the chicken only if you feel like it! I have these thin skewers (about 15 cm or 5 inches long) and just place two at the opening. I only use string when I'm dealing with a turkey or capon.
7. Swivel and tuck the wing tips underneath the bird to prevent them from burning.
8. Carefully place chicken into the hot roasting pan and roast, breast-side down, for 30 minutes.
9. While chicken roasts breast-side down, prep your veggies. The vegetables should all more or less cook at the same time, provided they are roughly the same size. If your potatoes seem too large, don't hesitate to cut them in half. Place all veggies into a mixing bowl and toss with olive oil, salt and pepper. Veggies usually take between 30 or 40 minutes to roast on a baking sheet, so this is why I add them after the chicken has already roasted for half an hour. If you have a smaller chicken, you'll have to start them earlier. Here is your choice with the veggies. You can either cook them on a cookie sheet, on the rack below the roasting pan, or you can add them to the roasting pan when the time comes to turn the chicken breast-side up. Both equally good, one way not quite as healthy (I'll let you guess which one...).
10. Lower the heat to 400 F. Turn the chicken over, arrange vegetables around the chicken (or place vegetables on a cookie sheet). Roast until ready, for about another 45 minutes. Feel free to spoon some pan juices onto the breasts as the bird roasts. The chicken should register 160 on a meat thermometer, it should run clear juices when pricked with a fork, the legs should move easily when wiggled (not bounce back) and the skin should separate from the meat on the drumsticks. If your bird is smaller, it might take about an hour total.
11. Remove chicken to a platter and let rest for about 15 minutes until the juices settle.
12. Use this time to finish cooking veggies if they are not cooked enough to your liking.

Chicken Stock

After dinner, put the carcass as well as all other chicken bones into a large pot. Add two or three carrots, two or three slices of celery, a handful of parsley, a skinned and halved onion, as well as a few peppercorns and a pinch of salt. Cover with water. Bring to a slow boil and lower heat to a simmer (a high boil will make the broth cloudy). Let the broth simmer slowly, uncovered,  for two hours. Drain into a food storage container through a sieve, let cool, and refrigerate (or freeze).

nourishment

I fell upon a beautifully written opinion piece in last Sunday's New York Times magazine and let's just say that it got me thinking. In Notes from a Dragon Mom, Emily Rapp writes about her 18 month old son, who is dying of a rare genetic disorder and will most likely not live past his third birthday. This little dying boy's mother writes with such candor, strength and assurance that you almost feel like she is trying to comfort you, the reader, while it should be entirely the other way around. 

I have since then only halfheartedly been thinking up ideas for my blog. Here is a woman whose child is dying. A woman who is parenting a child with no future. And here I am talking about Brussels sprouts and about how Autumn makes me feel vulnerable. It's embarrassing. The exercise feels irrelevant and highly narcissistic and I am unsure as to whether I really have a voice.  What is the point?

I wonder what I would cook for Emily Rapp.  What could I feed her that would momentarily make her forget her pain and her anguish? You see, nourishment has always been my antidote to pain, for myself and for the people I love. The need to nourish others, to take care of them; it is the only concrete thing that I can think of because I cannot - though I would - take their pain away and make it mine. I guess that is the point, for now?

comfort

Autumn is undeniably the time when I feel the most vulnerable. I have often wondered why Winter doesn't bring out these feelings in me, but I guess by the time she arrives I am already "locked in" and ready to go. I think it is because the transition between Summer and Autumn isn't subtle or progressive. It just hits you. One day you are wearing shorts and a t-shirt and the next, you wake up and you are forced to reach for a sweater. From a food-lover's perspective, one day you are eating ceviche and then, boom, you are in the mood for ratatouille. Sudden and destabilising, but not entirely unpleasant!

By nature I usually require a more subtle transition and I must ease into new realities. Autumn, however, does not waste time. She just arrives, uninvited. The nerve! She comes, with her blustery days and foggy mornings and yet, for a solid month, I continue to leave the house sockless and sweaterless, in complete denial that Summer has left me for good (or at least until next year).

But Autumn is cunningly beautiful, with her flamboyant colours, her crisp, clean air, her sharp and contrasting lighting, and, yes, the bounty of her food.  Such inviting, warm-hued ingredients. They tuck you in and they prepare you for the long winter months ahead. They bring you comfort when you are at your most vulnerable.

Polenta with Sausage, Tomato and Wild Mushroom Ragù
Serves 4

This dish requires a little multitasking but there isn't much prep work involved and you should be all done within an hour or so. Boil the water for the polenta one one burner while you brown your sausages on another. Then, set aside your sausages and get going on your polenta. Once you've finished that initial 5 minute stir, cover the polenta and continue on with the sausages. Both dishes will be ready after about 45 minutes. The result is delicious, rustic and comforting.  

Polenta
From Marcella Hazan's "Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking".
Marcella is usually my go-to girl when it comes to classic Italian dishes. Her polenta recipe has never failed me and this is why I always turn to it. 

Ingredients
7 cups water
1 tablespoon salt
1 2/3 cups coarse-grained imported Italian yellow cornmeal
Directions
1. Bring the water to a boil in a large, heavy pot.
2. Add the salt, keep the water boiling at medium-high heat, and add the cornmeal in a very thin stream, either with a measuring cup or by letting a fistfull run through your nearly closed fingers. While adding the cornmeal, stir constantly with a whisk and make sure that the water is always boiling. 
3. Once the meal has been poured entirely, begin to stir with a wooden spoon. The classic way to prepare the polenta would be for you to go at this for a full 45 minutes. Though some Italian cooks would strongly disagree, constant stirring is not required!  Even Marcella says so! Instead, once you have finished adding the cornmeal, stir the polenta for 5 minutes and cover the pot. Make sure to adjust the heat so that the water bubbles at a very lively simmer but not at a full boil. When the polenta has cooked for 10 minutes, uncover and stir for 1 full minute, then cover again. Continue this for about 40 minutes. For the final 5 minutes, stir the polenta vigorously so that it loses its graininess. It is ready when it pulls cleanly away from the sides of the pot. I usually add a bit of salt as well as a large nob of butter and about half a cup of grated parmigiano, before plating. This dish calls for serving the polenta immediately, while it is hot. That said, one day you might try pouring it directly onto a wooden block and letting it cool. You could also pour it into a moistened glass bowl or dish, let cool for fifteen minutes and unmold upside down onto a platter.  It is wonderful grilled or served sliced with grilled vegetables or meat.

Sausage, Tomato and Wild Mushroom Ragù
Ingredients
Olive oil
4 Italian sausages (pork or chicken, spicy or not)
3 garlic cloves
1 large can of Italian tomatoes, with their juices
Fresh thyme
Fresh rosemary
Half a pound (8-10 oz) fresh chanterelles
1 shallot
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Directions
1. In a dutch oven or heavy bottomed pot or saucepan large enough to simmer all ingredients, heat a few tablespoons of olive oil,  brown the sausages, remove them and set aside.
2. Peel and smash the garlic with the back of a knife. Add one or two tablespoons of olive oil to that which is already in the pan, add the garlic and turn the heat on to medium. The garlic must not brown but rather gently infuse the oil for a few minutes. Add tomatoes and their juice as well as a pinch of salt and roughly chop the tomatoes up with a wooden spoon. Cover and let simmer for twenty minutes, stirring once or twice.
3. Meanwhile, clean the mushrooms with a cloth or paper towel. Tear them or cut them up lengthwise in two or three pieces, depending on their size. Finely chop the shallot.
4. In a frying pan, heat two tablespoons of olive oil and throw the mushrooms in, with a small pinch of salt, stirring at medium heat until the mushrooms begin to sweat. Throw in the shallot, blend and let sweat for another two or three minutes until shallots are soft. Set aside.
5. Finish breaking tomatoes down with your spoon. Add sausages and mushrooms  and throw in a sprig of rosemary and a few of thyme. The sausages should be at least half-way covered in the sauce. Place pan cover back on and let it all simmer gently, not boil, for another twenty minutes, turning sausages once or twice so that they cook through evenly. Uncover and gently stir for a few minutes to reduce liquids. Your tomatoes should come out of this looking stewy, that is, not too liquidy and not too dry. Add a few grindings of pepper and salt, if necessary (the sausages should be salty enough to season the sauce).
6. Serve over polenta with freshly grated parmigiano sprinkled on top.

Variation: reconstitute two or three ounces of dried porcini, drain them over a bowl through a paper-towel lined sieve and, when adding the chanterelles, throw the porcini into the sausages with a few tablespoons of their soaking water. The porcini will add some depth to the dish, but be careful not to use too many as they will overpower the delicately flavoured chanterelles.

first kiss

I am feeling a lot of pressure about posting my first recipe. Of course, this pressure is completely self-imposed since very few people read the blog. But still, I feel like the first recipe will make it or break it. Kind of like the first kiss. It has to make you want to come back for more. This is why you might find it peculiar that I have chosen the Brussels sprout for my first kiss, so to speak. Still, I can't help it if I'm feeling brussels-sprouty. They're at their seasonal prime and I'm a seasonal kind of cook!

If the vegetable world had a fall guy, it would be the Brussels sprout. Teased, thrown under the bus and repeatedly held responsible for many a child's hatred of vegetables because of its potential for sulfury bitterness. But I ask you this: why don't we ever blame the cook? Yes, the cook! You know, the one who boiled the crap out of the poor veg in the first place?

Brussels sprouts can sometimes be bitter, but that flavour only intensifies with boiling. Plus, preparing them that way only makes them lose their nutritional value. This, my friends, is a shame because these little cruciferous scapegoats are not only nutty and sweet when cooked properly, but they are also chalk full of glucosinates, otherwise known as cancer fighting superheroes (can you tell I have a five-year-old?). So, do yourself a favour, kiss try them again for the first time, but, please, for the love of all things green, do not boil them to death.

Sautéed Brussels sprouts
serves 4, as a side dish

1 to 1.5 pounds Brussels sprouts
Olive oil
1 large shallot
2 garlic cloves
Water or chicken broth
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Make sure you choose the right sprouts. You want them round and heavy, not too big, and their leaves must be tight (that goes for a lot of things, but I digress). 

To prep, wash sprouts and cut a little bit of the stem off. Be careful not to remove too much or else the leaves will fall apart. While you are at it, discard any tough-looking, discoloured or bug-eaten outer leaves.  Slice the sprouts lengthwise, either in halves or in up to three or four pieces. You can also shave them with a mandoline which is a little more time consuming prep-wise, but produces a delish result.

Finely chop the shallot and, if possible, shave the garlic with a mandoline. If you are not equipped with one, thin slices will do. 

Heat enough olive oil to coat the bottom of a sauté or frying pan. Toss your Brussels sprouts in the oil and arrange them cut-side down, add a generous pinch of salt and leave them be, at medium-high heat, until they brown.  It doesn't matter if your pan is crowded or if some of the sprouts do not brown. This should take between 3 and 5 minutes (or less if you decided to shave or very thinly slice the sprouts).

Throw in the shallots and garlic, give everything a nice stir and add one or 2 tablespoons of water or broth (quantity depends on how dry things are getting in there).  Cover with a tight-fitting lid. Steam/fry the sprouts for about one or two minutes until they are tender. Uncover, stir and sauté until there are no more liquids. You can continue browning or not. Just do not overcook them! Add a few grindings of pepper and salt, if necessary. Serve alongside any meat or fish, or just on their own.

Variation#1: use butter instead of, or in addition to, olive oil.
Variation #2: render about 150g (4 to 5oz) of cubed pancetta and reserve it for later. Add a tiny bit of oil to the pork fat and proceed to cook sprouts as indicated above. You might have to deglaze the pan with a little bit of water before putting your sprouts in, if the fats are starting to get a little too brown in there. Before serving, throw the pancetta pieces back in until they are warmed through and add a few tablespoons of finely chopped parsley before serving, for balance and colour.
Variation#3: slice waxy potatoes (yukon golds, yellow fingerlings, any potato that won't fall apart in pan) a little thinner than the Brussels sprouts and add them at the same time. Also works great with the pancetta and parsley variation.

Roasted Brussels Sprouts
serves 4, as a side dish

1.5 to 2 pounds Brussels sprouts
Olive oil
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

This method really enhances the Brussels sprouts' nuttiness. 

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees F. Clean and prepare the sprouts the same way as indicated above, but leave them whole.  In a mixing bowl, toss the sprouts with olive oil, salt and pepper. Throw the sprouts onto a cookie sheet and stick them in the oven until they are ready, anywhere between 30-40 minutes. Turn them over halfway through, so that they will brown and cook evenly. Adjust seasoning.

Serve alongside any meat or fish.

Variations: You can toss and roast the sprouts with mixed root vegetables, such as fingerling potatoes, Jerusalem artichokes, parsnips and carrots. You might have to cut the root veggies in two or leave some whole, depending on their size, so that everything cooks evenly.  Feel free to add fresh thyme or whole garlic cloves to the roasting mix. Tossing fresh parsley in before serving is also a nice touch. Anything goes!




Sautéed Brussels sprouts



recipe for life

I did it! I finally created this blog after being urged to do so by my friends and family for many, many years. It took me a while to make it here because I couldn't help feeling that I had somehow missed the blog boat (bloat?!). There are countless food and leisure blogs out there and surely my gastronomical musings are very, very low on the totem pole of Orangettes, Smitten Kitchens and what not. Still, I love food. I love to eat. I love to shop for food. I can spend an entire day picking out the perfect ingredients to a perfect meal. "So What?", you say?! You're right! Judging by the crowds that gather at my local Sunday farmers market, I am not the only one who loves food! Nevertheless, I have decided to put myself out in the blogosphere, with no clear intention other than that of writing about one of my favourite pass times.

I recently offered to put together a compilation of some people's best recipes for a friend's bridal shower. The end product is lovely and inspiring and the content is so diverse. I found it interesting to see how some people credited their sources of inspiration, while others could not even remember where the recipes stemmed from originally because they had been preparing them for so long! This is where I started to ask myself about recipe ownership and what makes a recipe "ours". I have a very extensive cookbook collection and use it mainly for inspiration. My books inspire me to try different flavour combinations and to purchase ingredients that I would not normally pick out. However, there are certain classic recipes that are so perfect and so engrained in my culinary brain that I still follow them to the "t". The Silver Palate's Chicken Marbella is a good example. Who has not been to at least one party and not eaten this briny-sweet-and-savory-pruny-and-olivy-deliciousness? And let's not talk about recipes for baking. They are my Achille's heel. There is no room for "a little bit of this" in baking. It's all chemistry, which I suck at. And this is why I cannot claim to have any original baking recipes. Sure, I've fused different recipes and made them into one, with certain clever tweaks here and there, but the chemistry behind them is never mine.

What *is* a recipe anyway? Does throwing garlic into hot olive oil and pouring a can of italian tomatoes over it with a little salt and basil qualify? What about shaving some fennel onto a plate, smothering it with citrus fruit and then drizzling some primo olive oil over it? Is "prep seasonal root veggies, toss them in olive oil with garlic and salt and bake them in the oven at 400 until they are caramelized" considered a recipe?!

It is hair-bendingly difficult for me to quantify certain ingredients when I am writing down a recipe. Take olive oil, for example. One tablespoon? Two? A half cup? A little less? Can't I just write "OLIVE OIL" ??? I mean, is there really anything wrong with too much olive oil? I just know when there's enough. My left-brain oriented friends absolutely HATE it when my right brain throws them a recipe. "How many olives in your tapenade, Mia?". "Uuuuuh...I don't know", I say, showing them my fist. "About this many?!". This is why I make so many digressions and write very long-winded recipes. Because I am not conditioned to commit to one little clove of garlic or two measly anchovy fillets. It's not who I am. Why can't it be one or two, or three or four? Why must it be only one solitary anchovy? If your anchovies are ginormous, make it one. If they're skimpy, make it two. Does it matter? NO. Because that's just like life! It's messy. It takes practice. It's never the same and it always calls for a bit of this and a bit of that.