The Gouda Life

And now for the news I’ve been holding back from all of you, my darling friends, peers and readers, for over a week of agonizing solo-excitement. 


[Photo courtesy of 365 Days of Dining website]

About a month or so back, I applied for Tourism Richmond’s 365 Days of Dining while thinking to myself, “You’re not going to get it. But maybe you will get it. But probably not. But you never know, right? Ok. FINE. I’ll apply.” Thankfully, the thought that bellowed louder than the rest was, “If I pass this up, I will regret it.”

Sweet holy hot crossed buns! Am I ever glad I did. I found out last week that of the 1500 worldwide applicants, I have made the short list of 12. TWELVE PEOPLE. Can you believe that? I’m still waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop through my front door and tell me I’ve been punked. (Does Ashton Kutcher even host that show anymore? I hope not. It was a stinker.) I digress.. 

Moving along, I just wanted to mention how incredibly, unbelievably, shockingly touched I am by the support I’ve received even just in the last few hours since the news was made official. You are all my constant inspiration to keep pushing through, working harder and hopefully someday (perhaps sooner than I thought?) make my dreams a reality. Whether or not I make the final 3, I am so touched, honoured and moved to have even made the top 12 in a group of 1500 talented individuals that I will forever remember this day. Truly, I am awed. 

Now for the part I really dislike doing. I know you’re all busy and time is hard to find these days… however, starting tomorrow the voting portion of this job opportunity starts. The finalist with the most votes gets an automatic entry into the final 3… which is beyond imagination at this point.  Tourism Richmond will choose the final two themselves (which I am glad for!). 

If you can find a few spare moments to visit Richmond, BC’s Facebook Page, “like” it and vote for me, I would be eternally grateful. 



OK! Now that the housekeeping matters have been taken care of, let’s rap!

I created this Spring Salad for the April issue of Centretown Buzz, a local newspaper I write a monthly food column for. I typically don’t blog about the recipes I write for the paper, but this one is so light and lovely that I just had to. Grassy asparagus laced with peppery thin-sliced radishes, hulled sugar snap peas, and meaty sauteed shrimps all brightened up with some lemon and finished with aromatic Thai basil and cilantro. To make things ever sexier (and less wasteful), I added a last minute addition of pureed pea pods, lemon and olive oil. It’s the perfect afternoon lunch to enjoy over a chilled glass of wine. 

Shrimp, Radish and Asparagus Salad
Serves 2 as a main, 4 as a side

The directions in this recipe are quite vague so feel free to be creative and make it your own. The lemony pea-pod puree is optional, but it’s a brilliantly fresh, bright green flavour that really compliments the salad. It’s also a great way to be less wasteful.

olive oil
small bundle asparagus, preferably tender, thin spears
5-8 radishes, cleaned and sliced thin
2 large handfuls sugar snap peas
10-15 large shrimp, peeled and de-veined
zest and juice from ½ lemon
1/3 cup dry white wine
small handful Thai basil, chopped
small handful cilantro, chopped
salt and fresh ground pepper
freshly grated Parmesan
lemon and sugar pea pod puree (recipe to follow, optional)

Snap off the woody end of the asparagus and slice each spear into 1 ½” pieces. Slice the sugar snap peas down the seam, and remove the peas into a small bowl.

Sprinkle the shrimp with a little salt and pepper. In a large saute pan over medium heat, add enough olive oil to lightly coat the pan. When the oil starts to ripple, add the shrimp. Cook 1-2 minutes on each side until cooked through. Toss in the radishes, asparagus, hulled peas, lemon zest and juice. Pour in the white white and turn the heat up a touch. Cook until vegetables are softened but still have a bit of crunch to them, and the white wine is reduced. Taste for seasoning and add salt if needed. Spoon into bowls and top with chopped cilantro, basil, lemony pea pod puree and parmesan cheese.
 

Lemony Pea Pod Pureé

zest of remaining half of lemon
generous squeeze of lemon juice
2 tbsp good quality olive oil
pinch salt
1 ½ cups leftover pea pods

Blend ingredients in a food processor, bullet or blender until smooth. Taste and add more lemon or salt if needed.

How is success calculated? 

Is fame the ultimate goal? Is it financial reward that must be received before you can say you’re successful at your craft of choice? Or is it simply being happy with ones work that denotes success?

These are the questions I’ve been asking myself recently. My time has been spent brooding endlessly over which path I will travel in these next few years, and what I hope will be at the end of the journey on both sides. Currently, I’m standing still at an unfamiliar, mid-twenties crossroad and haven’t ever felt more befuddled by my future. On the one hand, I have a full-time career, albeit one I’m not entirely (at all) passionate about, that pays the bills and keeps me busy. On the other, I have a hobby - this. Right here. Which I adore. I yearn for the recognizable sound of fingers delicately tapping keys, moving forks from one side of the plate to another all for the sake of a photo… and when I’ve had a few days away from the kitchen, from the camera, from the food… I feel a vacant  space in the pit of my tummy where my ‘love’ lives. I think about it all day, every day and I would love nothing more than to jump head first into a career in writing, or simply in food. But therein lies the problem.



Amanda Hesser wrote an article yesterday about the business of Food Writing and her advice for future Food Writers. It was a discouraging article that needed to be written. As I read each word thoughtfully, I could literally see the shoulders of hundreds of thousands of aspiring food writers, like myself, slump forward in a dispirited sigh. Though the article was not without reward. I do urge you to read it, but the jist of Amanda’s advice was this;

• Don’t rely on your writing as your bread and butter. It is near impossible to pay your bills through writing alone - look for jobs within a desired area of the food industry and keep writing on the side. 
• Work your ASS off. Literally. 
• Get as much experience in as many areas of food as you possibly can - know your industry.
• Work for a company that’s making a difference and become an expert in an area of our food system. 
• Pitch to magazines, go after a book contract

Once I had given myself a few hours to feel discouraged and brokenhearted about my future in food writing, I realized that the advice was more helpful than hurtful.  And while I’m still assured it will take much determination and loads of long hours and hard work to clear the mid-twenties fog and find a befitting path, I do know that I am walking down the road I need to be on. I’m nothing if not determined and you mark my words, I will get there - be it now or in 10 more years. And if you’re an aspiring food writer reading this - I have faith that you, too, can work your little fingers to the bone and come out on top. This was the shake-the-dust-off-your-bones pep talk we all desperately needed. No more sugar coated encouragement.

With all of that said, let the love come in! We’re here for food and it would be rude for me to deny you that much.



Lemon-Scallion White Bean Patties with Asparagus Pesto & Simple Salsa
makes 6 large patties

The pesto here is lovely, but it does tend to be slightly outdone by the bolder flavours of the dish. I happened to have asparagus that needed to be used up ASAP and so I did. I would recommend making a simple cilantro or basil pesto if you want something that will stand up to the rest of the flavours. 

2 cans white kidney or cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
2 large cloves garlic, pressed or minced
zest from 1 lemon
juice from 1/2 lemon
1/4 cup chopped scallions
3/4 cup bread crumbs (I used whole wheat)
2 eggs
pinch red pepper flakes
1/2 tsp salt
few grinds of black pepper
vegetable oil for frying

In a large bowl, mash the beans using a potato mashed or a fork (smooshing them against the side of the bowl works best for me). Add the rest of the ingredients and stir well until combined. 

Form the bean mixture into patties about the size of a hamburger bun. Heat a non-stick or well-seasoned cast iron pan over medium heat. Drizzle a little vegetable oil in the pan and wait until its hot and rippled. Fry the patties, 2 or 4 at a time for about 2-3 minutes on each side or until nice and deep golden brown. Remove to a paper towel lined pan. 



Asparagus Pesto

Small bundle asparagus (about the width of a toilet paper roll), ends trimmed, sliced into 1” pieces
3 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp toasted walnut pieces
2 tbsp grated Parmesan
1/4 tsp salt
pepper

Fill a small pot with water and bring to a boil. Add the asparagus and cook for 1 minute until bright green. Remove and plunge into a bowl of ice water for a few minutes to stop the cooking process. 

Add the ingredients to a food processor and pulse until smooth. 



Simple Cherry Tomato Salsa

It’s best to make this before you get everything else ready so it has some time to chill out and absorb all those spicy, delicious flavours. 

1 pint fresh cherry or grape tomatoes, sliced in half
2 tbsp minced scallions or chives
1/2 jalapeno (less if you’re sensitive to heat), seeds removed, minced
2 tbsp olive oil
generous squeeze of lime juice
few pinches salt

Mix everything together and let it sit in the fridge for at least 30 minutes before eating. 



To Serve:

Dollop each patty with 1 tbsp of the pesto and a spoonful or two of the salsa. Finish with some grated Parmesan, fresh ground pepper and a squeeze of lime or lemon juice. 

In the next few weeks, I’m going to be doing something a little different around here. 

We all know how stressful the holidays can be, what having to buy gifts for not only your immediate family, but your in-laws, close friends, grandparents, and somehow you always end up getting a few things for people you’re not even sure why you bought for. I know I have a hard time figuring out how to make it all work while still being able to afford my rent and groceries. 

 

We all know a homemade gift is cherished much more than something you swiped some plastic for, so in the weeks coming up to the big day, I’m going to give you some really great, as far as I’m concerned, homemade gifts you can create for very cheap to moderate prices for the food-lover, kitchen-guru or host(ess) in your lives. We’re not talking macaroni animals or painted egg ornaments here either, I promise. I’m going to try my best to keep the posts short and to the point since I know it’s not the easiest time of the year to lounge around reading. 



First up on the list, Salt Preserved Lemons and Oranges. If you’re not sure what those are, I don’t blame you. I wasn’t so knowledgable about them a while back, either. Preserving citrus gives you an easy way to add tons of lemon/orange flavour to a dish without using very much. They’re preserved in a salt-brine and after hanging out in a jar for a month, the skins are soft and ready to be minced into your favourite dish. The uses for preserved citrus are endless, you can add them to couscous with roasted vegetables, mince into fresh salsa, chop up with green olives and garlic to garnish fish or chicken, garnish ice cream or a dirty martini, in a gremolata… I’m sure you can use your imagination here. Why preserve the citrus, you ask? Preserved citrus is to fresh what smoked meats are to raw meats. Still delicious, but with more depth, more flavour. 

Give your food-loving friends a jar of these with a tag that explains some uses for them and I’m sure they won’t be disappointed. 

Preserved Lemons and Oranges

I kept mine pretty simple and didn’t add any extra aromatics, but if you choose to, they would add another dimension of yummyness! 

Since you’re intending for your friends/family to eat the rind of these, you should really try to buy organic or unsprayed cirtus. 

2-3 medium-sized jars
2 of the smallest lemons you can find (Meyer would be great, but I wasn’t able to find any)
1 extra lemon for juice
3 oranges
3/4 cup or more of your favourite coarse salt (this is a good place to use that jar you’ve been saving)
small chili pepper (optional)
bay leaf (optional)

Working over a bowl, slice the pointy tip off the lemons. Slice in half from the bottom to top, and then slice each half again, from bottom to top. 



Scrub each lemon slice really well with salt. Press into jar and give another good sprinkle of salt. Repeat until your jar is packed firmly with lemons. Give them one more generous sprinkle of salt and slice/squeeze the remaining lemon’s juice over the jar. Press them in there really good. Pour remaining juice and salt from the bowl into the jars. 



Repeat the same process with the oranges. 

Close the jars and place in the fridge over night. For the next 2-3 days, open the jar once a day and press the lemons/oranges down to help release the juices. Refrigerate for at least a month before use (tip: write the “Open On” date on the jar so your giftee knows when they are ready!)

When ready to use, they should be rinsed off well and the meat of the lemon should be removed. You only need a little rind, minced well, to pack a whole lotta cirtus flavour into dishes. 

 

Enjoy! 

 

Sundays are big around these parts. 

If we’re lucky enough to find a Sunday where we’re both home for dinner, I am typically up at the crack of dawn and elbow deep in cookbooks looking for something exciting to make. I carefully unfold the corners of my beloved books, that I’ve placed that way for the very purpose of Sundays, and run my hand down the page making mental notes of ingredients I have and don’t have. I nudge Mr GL every few minutes, eyes-wide with inspiration, begging his approval of whatever dish has struck my fancy in that minute. If he agrees that the chosen recipe is ‘Sunday-worthy’, I quickly pound back my coffee, grab whatever article of clothing might be on the floor, and set off on a journey to purchase ingredients and, no doubt, a bottle of wine to go with. 



This past Sunday, in particular, I woke up in search of a good chicken recipe. Not just any chicken recipe would do, though. Because I am a holy believer that there is no better chicken than Thomas Keller’s Simple Roast Chicken, it takes a lot for me to trust in another. It’s about as close to perfect as chicken can get. Moist, crispy skinned, and, for lack of a better descriptor, distinctively chickeny. 



As I ran my fingers down the pages of Jamie Oliver’s ‘Happy Days with the Naked Chef’, I made the brave decision that I was going to do the unthinkable, and try a new chicken recipe. A whole chicken cooked in a mixture of milk, lemon zest, cinnamon, garlic and sage. One that I’ve heard praise for time and time again. It can’t hurt, right? Trying new things is good… or so they say. 



It’s difficult for me to admit, but this chicken is really good. Like, really, really good. Probably on par, though entirely different in taste and texture, than Kellers roast chicken. It’s moist, fragrant and literally bursting with flavour from the savoury lemony sage sauce. There will always be room for both of these chickens on my plate. 

If, like me, you mean serious business when it comes to Sunday Suppers, I urge you to invite this chicken to the table with you and your family. It’s rustic and stunning in appearance, exquisitely delicious, and, like all perfect Sunday dishes, goes extremely well with a big bowl of creamy, buttery mashed potatoes. 



Milk Braised Chicken with Lemon Sage and Garlic
recipe adapted from Jamie Oliver’s Chicken in Milk

Even if the idea of lemon zest curdling the milk makes you squeamish, please please try it as written before making adjustments. The curdled bits of milk turn a caramel brown and are delightful beyond words. 

1 1.5-2kg whole chicken
salt and freshly ground pepper
3/4 cup butter
Olive oil
1/2 stick cinnamon
Big handful of fresh sage leaves
Zest of 2 lemons
10 cloves of garlic, skin on
3 cups of milk 

Preheat oven to 375. 

Season your chicken all over with salt and pepper. Melt butter and a good splash of olive oil in a big pan over high heat and brown chicken on all sides until golden brown. Take care to brown it well as this will create beautiful flavour later on. Discard (or save!) the drippings. 



Once browned, add the chicken to a snug fitting pot (one with a lid). Add the rest of the ingredients. Cook in preheated oven, covered, for 1 hour basting with juices every so often. Remove lid from pot and cook for another 1/2 hour uncovered. 



When cooked through, pull the meat from bones and serve with pan juices on the side or poured over. We serve the chicken with skillet glazed carrots and, my ultimate Sunday comfort food, mashed potatoes. 

I’ve been feeling a little guilty since I posted the recipe for Lasagna Caprese. Not because it wasn’t delicious and not because it didn’t deserve first display dibs. But more so because I unintentionally poo-pooed the wonderfully delicious dessert that I had meant to post before that.

I am certain, though most do disagree, that inanimate objects (more specifically, my kitchen equipment) have feelings. Feelings I have a hard time dismissing without feeling guilty myself. I know, for a fact, that my favourite balloon whisk feels glum when I opt to use it’s smaller, flatter relative. I know that all my pots and pans are waiting at the edge of the shelf, anticipation hanging heavy on their little lids, to see who gets to be called up to play. I just know it. And if it makes me crazy, well so be it. I’m as batty as they come. But there is a good chance you had already jumped to that conclusion, so I feel slightly more at ease admitting it. Now you know. 



The dessert I so thoughtlessly tossed aside was one that I intend to make over and again this summer. Everything about it was perfect. From the bright, tangy, lemon flavour literally bursting from every bite, to the lightly sugared berries sitting pretty atop the soufflé. The idea of freezing a soufflé is certifiably genius in my books. The little pockets of air created by whipped egg whites freeze into an airy, lighter-than-ice-cream, treat that didn’t feel nearly as guilt-evoking as a personal-pint (don’t tell me I’m the only one who can polish one off myself…) of Haagen Daz. 

If you’re looking for a dessert that is creative, bright flavoured and simple, look no further. You’re here already!



Frozen Lemon Souffé
adapted from Everyday Food, Issue 83, June 2011

1 cup granulated sugar
1 tbsp grated lemon zest
juice from 3 lemons
8 large eggs, whites and yolks separated
1/4 tsp salt
2/3 cup cold heavy (whipping) cream
1 1/2 cups fresh raspberries
Confectioners sugar to garnish

Wrap the outside of 4 6oz ramekins with parchment paper, extending 2-3 inches above the rim, and secure with tape. It should fit quite snug. 



Whisk together sugar, egg yolks (no whites), lemon juice, and salt. Pour into to a saucepan over medium-high heat. Let cook, whisking constantly, until mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon and bubbles form around the edges of the pan, about 5 minutes. Remove pan from heat, while still whisking, and pour into a fine mesh sieve placed over a heat-proof bowl. Using a rubber spatula, press curd through the sieve. Be sure to scrape the bottom of the sieve into the bowl after you’re finished. Lots of good stuff down there! 
Press plastic wrap directly against surface of curd and refrigerate until cooled, about 30 minutes.  





Add egg whites to a large bowl (or bowl of standing mixer) and, using an electric mixer or large whisk, whip until stiff peaks form, 2 minutes. Gently fold the egg whites into cooled curd until combined. 

In the same bowl you whisked the egg whites (or another bowl if you like to do dishes - I don’t) add the cream and beat until stiff peaks form, 3 minutes. Fold cream into the soufflé mixture. I found it hard to incorporate so I added a little bit of the souffle batter into the cream to loosen it slightly first. Either option is fine. 



Pour into ramekins and freeze until firm, about 6 hours. 

When ready to serve, top with raspberries and dust with confectioners sugar. 



Now take a bite. Ready? 1, 2, 3…. siiiiiiiiiiigh. Wasn’t that delicious? 

I’ve been feeling pretty lazy lately.

Not the sort of lazy that restricts you from cooking a three course meal, but rather, a deep set-in lazy that has me dreading walking to the kitchen, let alone doing anything once I finally get there.

Granted, I have been a little under the weather and feeling some stress from that, but generally that doesn’t stop me. I feel at ease in the kitchen and can usually work my way through any stresses or problems while concentrating on putting a meal together. Often, I don’t even have to focus on the issue at hand for it to instantly dissolve into the cutting board in front of me.



This past week, however, I haven’t even had the urge to do so much as boil pasta and add a jar of sauce. There have been a lot of visits to restaurants, a lot of take-out, and a shameful amount of snacking. And today I decided the party was over. Time to get back to business before I wake up in two months, poor and bloated from one too many greasy slices of pizza.

Despite the fact that I still don’t feel quite myself, I’m ready to try and find my way back the only way I know how. Which, as I’m sure you guessed, is in the kitchen, standing steady in front of the cutting board, camera in one hand, knife in the other. My lingering want to hang out on the couch and watch endless re-runs of Criminal Minds made it necessary for me to ease in slowly lest I run screaming from the kitchen,  knife in hand. Nobody likes crazy Kelly. She’s definitely an acquired taste.



After a few laps around the kitchen, peeking in cupboards, opening and closing the fridge as if somehow something new would appear each time, I decided on a simple pasta dish of linguine, artichoke hearts, arugula, lemon and some mustard spiked breadcrumbs. All things I had on hand, which certainly made the task slightly less daunting. I was pleasantly surprised at the resulting dish. It was something I’d expect from a two-weeks ago version of myself, rather than the sour-faced-lump-on-the-couch version that types before you. Maybe this was just what I needed to get back on track. I’ll let you know after this next episode of Criminal Minds, ok? 

Lemony Linguine with Artichoke Hearts, Arugula and Dijon-Breadcrumbs

I used canned artichoke hearts, but you’re welcome to use hearts you’ve cooked yourself, or marinated jarred ones. Whatever you have on hand will be just fine.

1 lb linguine

Olive oil
4-5 artichoke hearts, cut into bite sized pieces
3 garlic cloves, rough chopped
1/2 - 1 tbsp red pepper flakes (depending on your spice tolerance)
Zest of one lemon
3 handfuls arugula
1 1/2 cups fresh breadcrumbs (instructions below)
1 tbsp butter
1 tbsp Dijon mustard, grainy or smooth
3/4 cup fresh grated Parmesan, plus more for garnish

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add linguine and cook until al dente according to package instructions. Reserve 2 cups pasta water. (You may only use one cup, but better to have more than not enough)

While pasta is cooking, add a few glugs of olive oil to coat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Once oil starts to ripple, add the artichoke heart pieces, garlic and red pepper flakes. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the artichokes are just starting to brown.



In small skillet over medium heat, add the butter and cook until melted. Add the Dijon and whisk to combine. Add breadcrumbs and stir to coat. Let cook, stirring often, until they are lightly browned and crisp. About 7-8 minutes.

Add strained pasta back to the pot. Add artichokes, lemon, arugula, parmesan and 1/2 cup of the pasta water. Toss to combine. If it’s too dry, add more water until desired consistency.



Serve pasta with breadcrumbs and fresh grated Parmesan.

And then promptly return to your spot on the couch, and flip on your favourite show.  Bon Appetit!

*****************
Fresh Breadcrumbs
Cut the crusts off 4-5 slices of your favourite bread (I used a 12-grain). Place in blender or food processor and pulse until they resemble a soft sandy texture.

I’ve never been much of a gardener. My green thumb is more of a green fist of fury that wipes out anything that comes into contact with it. Ferns, flowers, vegetables, or otherwise. Once they’ve entered through my front door, their fate is set. I water too much. I water too little. I love too hard. And ultimately, they end up sagging, sickly and void of life. For shame.

With the sun rising bright on Friday morning, I found myself feeling hopeful. Feeling assured that this was the summer that I would plant something that would grow. Something I could plant from a seed, nurture and love. Something I could pull from the ground, eat and finally understand what it’s like to grow my own food. A skill I find often find myself feeling envious of.



With hope on my side, I strode confidently into the Home Hardware and picked up a bunch of seeds, soil and pots. Before 1pm had hit, I had planted seed upon seed, making sure to do so lovingly so as not to upset the horticulture Gods, and said a little ‘please oh please just let one of them sprout, grow and mature!”. With any luck, sometime in late July or early August, I will have bushels and bushels (maybe one plateful?) of cucumbers, jalapeno peppers, 5 varieties of tomatoes, spinach, sweet basil, wild flowers, green onions, and, my golden ticket, radishes.



I call them my golden ticket because radishes take 3-4 weeks to mature from seed to harvest. Instant gratification is something I am very fond of. Especially since I find myself staring at all the little pots, wondering when something will peek through the soil. Of course, it’s a futile effort. And a little pathetic on my part. The funny thing about my radish excitement is that as of Friday, I wasn’t ever sure if I liked radishes. They’re one of those vegetables that I’ve tried time and time again, but are never really memorable. Forgettable, mostly. With all this in mind, I figured if I was 3-4 weeks away from pulling the pinkish oblong orbs from the soil as my first real gardening success, I had better figure out if I liked them or not.



Because everything tastes better on a disc of thin, crunchy dough, I decided to add the peppery little bulbs to a pizza. Add to that a little anchovy-lemon relish, radish greens and some sharp, nutty Parmesan and I think it’s pretty safe to say, that no matter how many radishes my garden might throw at me, I will find a use for them. Especially if it means making, and better, eating more of this pizza!

Radish Pizza with Anchovy-Lemon Relish and Greens
makes two medium pizzas

Anchovies can usually been purchased packed in oil or salt in or around the seafood section. In this case, I used fillets packed in oil since I wanted to make use of the oil. 

I wasn’t especially fond of the dough I tried out for this, so use your favourite dough recipe.




1 lb favourite pizza dough

Toppings
Zest from two lemons
5-6 anchovy fillets
1 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes (1 tsp if you prefer less heat)
2 bunches radishes, cleaned and sliced thin
2 bunches radish greens, cleaned and dried
Anchovy oil from tin
Olive oil
1 1/2 cups Parmesan

Place a pizza stone into the oven and sprinkle with cornmeal. Preheat oven to 450.
Add the lemon zest, fillets, and red pepper flakes to a mortar and pestle and grind to a coarse paste. Set aside.



Place dough on lightly floured surface and roll out the dough. One at a time, assemble the pizza on a cutting board sprinkled with cornmeal (this makes it easy to move the pizza from board to oven). Top each pizza with half the anchovy-lemon relish, half the radishes, half the greens and half the Parmesan. Bake each pizza, one at a time, until crust is deep golden and cheese is melted, about 6-7 minutes.





I served with some green olives on the side, which was lovely, but a cold beer or iced tea will do just fine.

 

Let it be known, that I was the kid who recited “I will not be just like my mother” like it was etched on my skin. Not because I thought my mother wasn’t a perfectly acceptable role model, but I, like most kids/teens, liked to think I would be my own person. Do things differently, and change the little quirks that frustrated me so much as a teenager. “I’m not going to do it like that… ” I would say confidently, assuring myself that things would be different when I was old enough to call the shots.

Here I am, 25 years old, noticing daily that I am, in every sense of the word, my Mother’s daughter. From the way my hands look, to the way I answer the phone, my views on the world and relationships, and the tiny looks that I so often despised as a kid… it’s all eerily similar. And while it may not have been what I had hoped for when I was younger, I couldn’t be happier to be just like her. I remember her sighing at me with a smirk and saying “just wait until you’re older…” and it all makes sense now. Everything she instilled in me, all the life lessons passed down, they’ve all come back around.

I often find myself telling people that I would prefer to have boys when I decide to have children. Not because I don’t likegirls, but because I’m afraid that my potential daughters might be just like me. It took me twenty two (give or take) years to finally understand everything my Mum used to try and tell me. And it seems like an awfully long time to not see eye-to-eye. From where I’m sitting now, I have the utmost respect for her and the patience it took to raise two daughters who always thought they knew better.



My mom is wonderful, and kind hearted, and generous beyond belief. She not only taught me to be all those things, but also how to fend for myself and take care of others. A valuble lesson that I am forever thankful I aquired from her.

It’s hard to say thank you to someone who has molded exactly who you are, and unquestionably the person you had always hoped to be, but we always try our best. My mum is not much for presents on Mothers Day, but instead asks for our time, which we understand is more and more valuable as we get older, and start traditions, careers and home lives of our own.

Since the weather has been agreeing lately, we decided to put together a brunch for Mothers Day. Something small but satisfying we could enjoy over mimosa’s, coffee, and cheerful conversation on my balcony. My sister made the savoury portion of the meal, sharing a wonderful roasted vegetable frittata, bacon and fruit salad, and I was in charge of the sweets. I hmm’d and hah’d over scones, muffins, bread pudding… but none of them left me feeling excited. And if I wasn’t excited about it, why would anyone else be.



I recalled a recipe I came across on The Kitchn for an alternate take on the cinnamon bun minus the cinnamon. A sticky, sweet roll that housed a few of my very favourite things. Lemon zest, lemon juice, sugar, cream cheese, nutmeg… all the most crucial players for a breakfast baked good, in my opinion. I can’t say I’ve ever been successful in any cinnamon bun endeavours, but I took a deep breath and assured myself that this was it. Time to step into the big leagues, push out any unfortunate memories of rock hard buns, and get down to business. I owed my mom that much.

There few words I can use to do these rolls the justice they deserve, but here are a few for starters; tangy, sweet, yeasty, warm, lemony, creamy. To say they were enjoyed would be a monstrous understatement. Each section was lovingly unraveled, the tangy lemon glaze slowly oozing down the freshly revealed dough,  making a deliciously sticky mess of every one’s hands. Most of us enjoyed not one, but two rolls, which was surprisingly since we’re typically not much for dessert.

They looked good, tasted great, and were really not much harder than making a loaf of bread. I strongly urge you to try them. They might even convert you from a cinnamon-bun lover to a lemon-bun afficianado. I myself am a changed woman. And most importantly, my mum loved them just as much as I did.



Sticky Lemon Rolls with Lemon-Cream Cheese Glaze
Adapted from The Kitchn
Makes 12 large breakfast rolls

Note: Half of the lemon juice will be used in the lemon-sugar filling for the rolls. The other half will be used in the glaze.

Lemon Roll Dough
3 lemons
1 envelope or 2 1/2 tsp active yeast

3/4 cup milk, warm but not hot (about 100 degrees)
1/2 cup unsalted butter, very soft
1/4 cup sugar
2 tsp vanilla extract
4 1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp nutmeg
2 eggs, room temperature
1/3 zest from lemons

Sticky Lemon Filling
1 cup sugar
1/4 tsp freshly-ground nutmeg
1/2 tsp powdered ginger
3 tbsp unsalted butter, very soft
1/2 juice from lemons
1/3 zest from lemons

Lemon Cream Cheese Glaze
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 cup powdered sugar
1/2 juice from lemons

Final 3rd of zest for garnish.

Dough
Zest and juice the lemons. Divide the zest into three parts. Divide the juice into two parts, and set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer sprinkle the yeast over the warmed milk and let it sit for a few minutes until frothy. With the mixer paddle, stir in the softened butter, sugar, vanilla, and one cup of the flour. Stir in the salt, nutmeg, and one part of the lemon zest. Stir in the eggs and enough of the remaining flour to make a soft but slightly sticky dough.

Switch to the dough hook and knead for about 5 minutes, or until the dough is elastic and pliable. If you do not have a stand mixer, you can stir the ingredients by hand, roll out onto a lightly floured surface, and knead by hand for 5-7 minutes until smooth and elasticy. See here for thorough instructions.



Spray the top of the dough with vegetable oil, and flip the dough over so it’s mostly covered in oil. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and a towel and let the dough rise until nearly doubled, about an hour.

Filling
In a small bowl, mix the sugar with the nutmeg and ginger, then work in the second part of the lemon zest until the sugar resembles soft sand. Slowly pour in one part of the lemon juice, stirring. Stop when the sugar and lemon juice form a wet, clumpy mixture. You may not use all the lemon juice. It shouldn’t be gloppy.



Assembling Rolls
Lightly grease a 13x9 inch baking dish with vegetable oil or butter. On a floured surface pat the dough out into a large yet still thick rectangle, about 10x15 inches. It might not be a perfect rectangle, but that’s ok.

Spread the dough evenly with the 3 tablespoons of softened butter, then pour and spread the lemon-sugar mixture over top. Roll the dough up tightly, starting from the top long end. Stretch and pull the dough taut as you roll, to keep the lemon sugar firmly inside. Cut the long dough roll into about 12 even rolls with a sharp knife so as not to squish them. Pinch the bottom of each roll closed and place each one, open and cut side up, in the prepared baking dish.

Cover the rolls with a towel and let them rise for an hour or until puffy and nearly doubled. If you are making the day before, as I did, you can cover the pan tightly with plastic wrap and place in the fridge overnight, up to 24 hours. In the morning, take them out and let them rise for an hour before you bake.



Heat the oven to 350°F. Place the risen rolls in the oven and bake for 35 minutes or until a thermometer inserted into a center roll reads 190°F.


(I was a little worried at this point since I expected them to be a little softer looking, but rest assured, you’re on the right track)

Glaze
While the rolls are baking, prepare the glaze. Add the softened cream cheese to a mixer or a bowl with a hand mixer, and cream until smooth. Add remaining lemon juice and cream until smooth. Add the powdered sugar, a little at a time until you have a smooth, creamy glaze. Not as thick as frosting, but should coat a spoon (or your finger) with a good thick layer.



Finishing the Rolls
When the rolls are baked, smear them with the cream cheese glaze, and sprinkle the final remaining lemon zest over top to garnish. Let cool for at least 10 minutes before serving, but be sure to serve warm when they are at their very best.



Lastly, if you haven’t spoken with your mom in a little while, give her a call and tell her you love her. It’s the best gift you can give. Short of a million dollars, that is.

What a strange week it’s been so far. The weather here is borderline schitzophrenic and I’m not sure if I should put on another coat or start planting my tomatoes.

I always find the transition from one season to the next a little tough. The anxiousness of knowing that sunshine and warmth is just around the corner makes it all the more hard to get through these last few weeks of cold, ice, and yes, even a surprise blizzard! Just in case you got a little too cocky and wore your shorts out prematurely. Yes, you! The gentleman I saw rollerblading down Bank St in shorts. RELAX! It’s not time yet and you’re scaring away all the spring! Put your pants back on and give it a rest.



I’ve been trying to sneak in all the carby, cheese-filled, braise-heavy dishes I can in the last week or two, knowing full well it will be 30, humid as anything, and dangerously hard to move in no time at all. Summer has a way of kicking through the door like a masked intruder in this city. One minute you’re enjoying a cool spring breeze on your face, marveling at how lovely it is to be able to sit outside at all, the next you’re taking 10 cold showers just to be able to sit still without sweating. Or maybe it’s just me. I doubt I have to tell you my feelings on summer. And if you don’t know, well oh boy, you will.  

Much like our weather, dinner tonight was also a little schizophrenic. The pasta making it heavy enough to feel comforting enough for a winters eve, but the addition of lemon, both zest and juice, making it feel fresh, springy and surprisingly light. Confused has never tasted so good.



This recipe, originally followed from Cooks Illustrated, has been a regular spring guest at my table for a few years now. It’s simple, fresh and light, and other than some lemons and basil, consists mostly of pantry staples. Perfect weeknight pasta for one, two, or a whole table of guests.

Lemon & Olive Oil Pasta with Basil

I used rotini because it just happened to be what I had on hand. Feel free to use your favourite pasta. Spaghetti and linguine are both excellent for this.

1 pound pasta
1.5 tbsp lemon zest (about two lemons)
1/2 cup lemon juice
1/4 cup cream or buttermilk
1/4 cup good quality olive oil
1/2 cup fresh grated Parmesan
1/4 cup (handful) of fresh basil, chiffonaded
extra Parmesan and olive oil to garnish
salt and pepper

Bring a large pot filled with salted water to a boil over high heat. When boiling, add your pasta and cook until just slightly under al dente. It won’t taste quite finished yet. Reserve 1.5 cups of pasta water. 



Strain your pasta and set aside. Put the pot back on the stove and add the lemon zest, half of the lemon juice, olive oil, 1 cup of pasta water, and cream. Boil over medium-high heat for a few minutes until reduced slightly. Add your pasta and parmesan cheese and stir until combined. Give it a quick taste for seasoning. If you think it needs more lemon juice, add the rest. If it needs a little more liquid, add the rest of the pasta water. When the liquid is absorbed, remove pot from heat and add the basil.





Serve with a drizzle of olive oil, parmesan and a few grinds of pepper.

I think I told you a while back that I was done forcing Brussels Sprouts upon you. I’ve changed my mind. Stop being so stubborn and just eat them! GOSH! They are delicious and they are good for you. I bet you haven’t even tried them since you were a kid, have you? I didn’t think so. 

Most of the sprouty recipes I share with you take the utmost care to transform the shaggy, bitter tasting greens into something mild, sweet and packed with flavour. Not like your moms boiled sprouts cooked well past their prime. Honest! Friends don’t let friends eat boiled sprouts.  I wouldn’t do that to you. And I wouldn’t do that to myself or my family members, either. Another thing to keep in mind with sprouts is seasonality. Just because they can be found year round, doesn’t mean they are at their tastiest year-round. The sweetest, best tasting ones come to your grocery store/farmers market after the first frost and throughout the colder months.

Today’s recipe showcases the little green orbs hashed up with a lemon dressing spiked with white wine, poppy seeds and topped with crispy prosciutto. The crunchy texture of the quick-sauted sprouts and prosciutto are my favourite part of this dish. Bring it to your family’s Christmas table and I assure you, they’ll be transformed just like you are. And you are, aren’t you? You better be.  

Hashed Brussels with Lemon Dressing and Crispy Prosciutto
based on Orangette’s recipe

4-5 slices of prosciutto, cut into ribbons about 1/2” thick
1 Tbsp olive/veg oil

1 1/2 lbs Brussels sprouts
1 1/2 Tbsp fresh lemon juice
2 Tbsp olive oil
2 medium garlic clove, minced
1 Tbsp poppy seeds
1/2 Tbsp lemon zest
¼ cup white wine
¼ tsp salt

In a large pan over medium-high heat, add the olive oil and heat until almost smoking. Add the ribbons of prosciutto and cook until crispy, about 5 minutes. Transfer to paper towels and set aside to cool.

Cut the stems from the Brussels sprouts and remove any blemished leaves. Halve each sprout lengthwise, and slice each half into thin slices. Don’t worry about being too meticulous. Toss the lemon juice with the sprouts.

In a large pan over medium heat, add the olive oil and garlic. Cook the garlic as the oil heats up but don’t let it burn. Stir in the sprouts, poppy seeds, lemon zest and salt. Add the white wine and cook until the sprouts are bright green and the wine has reduced slightly.



Taste to be sure you’ve seasoned appropriately.

Serve topped with some shaved parmesan and prosciutto (optional for the veggies/vegans).