Mike and I generously piled our plates high with rice, braised lamb, stewed beans, some strange but delicious dish made from potato, raisin and egg in a creamy sauce, and then we got to this.  The mottled grayish green celery stew.  Now look, I’ve never been one to back down from a new culinary experience, and it’s not that I have any aversion to what I could see of the ingredients (celery, meat, something leafy and almost pureed that used to be green…) but it’s just that given the chance, with the volume that was already on my plate, I had to pick and choose and frankly whatever this dish was just didn’t make the cut.

One of Sooli’s friends, a stunning and only moderately unfriendly Persian girl, breezed by us, elbowing me in my well-padded ribs and hissed, “You have to try the celery stew.”

Huh.  Celery stew.  I poked at it, rather morosely.  As quietly as he could, out of the corner of his mouth, Mike pleadingly asked me, “Did she say celery stew? Do we…do I….maybe we can just NOT try it….?”  We edged away, ready to retreat to the back of the room and chow down on our heaping portions.

Just then, Sooli burst into the room with another round of drinks and was about to charge by when she snaked a look at my plate and stopped cold.  “TINA,” she said with a look of alarm, “You don’t have any of the celery stew.  You have to try the celery stew.  It’s everybody’s favorite.”

So.  It looked like I had to try the celery stew.  Sigh.  I grudgingly turned back and portioned out as little of the stew as I could onto my already groaning plate, and Mike followed suit.

I don’t know about you, but I have kind of an illogical strategy when it comes to massive portions of food.  Rather than filling up on the things that I know I like, I covet those, pushing them over to the side to save them for later, and plow my way through the less preferred food first so that I can use things like braised lamb as a well earned reward.  Ergo, I started with the celery stew.  I took a bite and got confused.  This wasn’t bad at all.  With my second bite, I was convinced that it was delicious.  Obviously this means that my next step was to distract Mike, steal the celery stew from off his plate and replace it with a few mouthfuls of rice from my own.  Because, hey, that’s just how I roll.

It was clear why this dish was a wild favorite at Sooli’s house.  Humble ingredients like celery and stewing beef were slow braised with aromatics and spices until everything was tender and succulent.  The flavor was deceivingly complex, with herbal undertones and a surprisingly pleasant sour note.  As Sooli was flitting out of the room, I called her over to ask what was in there.  She shrugged and said, “Uh, there’s some celery.  Meat.  Stew…….”

Minutes later, I heard someone wail, “WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE CELERY STEW???”  Rather than snickering like I normally would, thinking that this comment was ironic, I now knew the keening cry of one who had tasted celery stew and longed for just another bite more.

Khoresh Karafs:  Persian Celery Stew

Serves 5-6

• 2 lb (~ 1 kg) stewing beef *
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 1 large Spanish or yellow onion
• 5 cloves garlic
• 1 tbsp turmeric
• 1 lime (1.5 tsp zest + juice of whole) **
• 1 head of celery (~ 4 cups cut)
• 4 cups water, approximately
• 1.5 tbsp pomegranate molasses ***
• small bunch parsley (1 cup finely chopped)
• handful fresh dill (1/3 cup finely chopped)
• 6 green onions
• 1/2 cup dried mint ****
• salt and pepper to taste

* I like to buy a cheap and cheerful beef chuck or small shoulder roast and cut it into cubes myself, but the pre-cut “stewing beef” that you find in the supermarket is fine.

** Khoresh Karafs is frequently stewed with one or two dried limes in the pot.  Dried limes can be found in specialty shops, or some Middle Eastern grocery stores.  However, I find that they also have a tendency to add quite a bit of bitterness to the stew.  Using fresh lime juice and bright zest instead will mitigate the potential bitterness of the stew while still adding that green citrus hit.  As an added bonus, limes are plentiful and easy to come by, so they just make sense.

*** Pomegranate molasses adds a slightly sweet and sour high note to the stew.  If you can’t find pomegranate molasses, substitute with 1 tbsp of mild white wine vinegar mixed with 2 tsp of granulated sugar and squeeze of lemon juice.

**** Yup.  Dried mint.  You read that correctly.  Dried mint is very common in Persian and Middle Eastern cuisine, and it is easy to buy a nice big bag of the stuff from a Middle Eastern grocery store.  However, if you do not have such a store in your area you have a few options.  If you plan in advance, buy a nice big bunch of fresh mint and hang it to dry in your kitchen for a week.  Or, if you’re a bit more last minute about things, you can spread the mint out in a single layer on a baking sheet and put it in your oven on the lowest possible setting (220ºF, or thereabouts) until it dries out in the oven…which it should have time to do while the beef and celery are stewing.

Finely dice the onion and mince the garlic.  In a fairly large, heavy bottomed pot (or Dutch oven) heat the oil on a medium heat.  Add the aromatics and let them saute for 5-7 minutes or until the onions are golden.  Stir regularly and watch to make sure that they do not brown or burn.

While the onions cook, trim most of the excess fat off of the meat and cut it into stew sized cubes, each about 1-1.5″ or thereabout.  Remember that you’re not training for surgery when you trim the fat off the meat, because a little bit of fat will yield an excellent amount of flavor.  A lot of fat, however, will merely yield a greasy celery stew which sounds rather less than appetizing.

Add the meat to the onions.

Let the meat cook, stirring regularly, for 3-5 minutes or until the flesh is sealed.  It will not brown in the caramelized way that we know and love, because there simply is not enough room in the pan for it to do so.  I love brown meat, but believe me when I say that you won’t be lacking in flavor at the end of the day.

When the meat is sealed, sprinkle on top the turmeric and add the grated or rasped lime zest.  To get 1.5 tsp of lime zest you can approximate by zesting about 3/4 of the lime.  Stir the spice and zest into the meat.

Clean the celery well and chop the stalks into squat lengths of about 3-4″ each.  This is about the length of an index finger if you have squat and chubby potato picking hands like I do.  If you are a pianist you might want to opt for the pinky instead….

Pour the water into your pot and it should just reach the rim of the beef and celery.  You want the meat to be submerged so that it can slowly braise.  If you need a splash or two more, so be it.  Don’t add more than an additional cup (again, only if you must) or it will take you a dog’s age to reduce it over the low heat.

Turn the heat down to low.  Put a lid on the pot for the next hour and a half and let it stew, stew away!

When the meat starts to cook, at first the fibers will seize and get shoe-leather tough.  After slowly simmering for an hour and a half though, the tough connective tissue will break down and the meat will start to tenderize.  When the meat is tender, but not falling apart, ready the rest of the ingredients.

Mince the parsley and dill as finely as possible.  Slice your scallions (white and green parts) into small rounds about 1/8″ thick.

Add the herbs to the pot.  Crumble in the dried mint, discarding any woody stem bits, and give it a stir.

Let the pot simmer, uncovered, for another 30-40 minutes, or until the liquid has reduced from a soup to a nice stew.  Squeeze in the juice of your half naked lime (the full lime, or to taste) and season generously with salt and pepper.  Because you know what isn’t a party in your mouth?  Bland and under-seasoned celery stew, that’s what.

Celery stew is great garnished with a smattering of fresh chopped or whole grilled tomato (I’m far too lazy for that), and a sprinkle of fresh parsley or mint if you are so inclined.

Serve the stew alongside fluffy basmati rice to soak up all the flavor.  If you have a high quality basmati and feel inclined to make chelow rice with that deliciously golden crust (called tahdig, and inordinately delicious), by all means don’t hold yourself back.

When we order wings I normally hoard the celery and leave Mike to polish off all the carrots, which frankly he doesn’t really mind, and it’s because I love the slightly sweet but, well, CONFIDENT grassy flavor of celery and the watery crunch.  Combine that with meltingly tender beef, a bright and barely sour broth, and loads of verdant mint and parsley, and you can start to understand why Khoresh Karaf is like a Persian cult classic.

From meagre and common ingredients, something soulful and exotic this way comes.  The moral of this story is, obviously, don’t be afraid to try something new, humble though it might appear.  Oh yes, and if someone’s Persian mother is making dinner, JUST SAY YES.  You will never be sorry.

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Choosy Beggars TV Criticism Rating-o-matic-tron Verdict:  WATCH.

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1. Open up the form that tells me how much money I made over the course of the year.  KICK ASS!  I never fail to get ridiculously excited by my income, because I have a brain problem where I am convinced that I earn as much as I did back when I was in University.  It doesn’t matter how many years pile up between me and the days when I slogged movies at the Blockbuster, I will never stop believing that I earn $7.50 an hour and am therefore thrilled at every payday.  It’s insane, but I think it’s good preparation for my retirement years.
2. Scan over to the box where I see how much tax has already been deducted from my income before I even got it, and die a little inside.
3. Start punching all the figures from all the little boxes into my online tax software, and then die a whole lot more inside.  Like, if just a piece of my heart had withered up before, this would be, say, my entire lower half just completely shutting down.
4. Add in the retirement savings that constitute the one and only tax shelter that exists in Canada, and feel only slightly less like I’ve been thoroughly peeled.
5. …and if you think reading about me doing my taxes is riveting, try being me.

In any event, running the gauntlet of total fiscal discouragement is enough to make anyone feel incredibly, thriftily thirsty.  A drink is definitely called-for, but after realizing that I’ve spent more on Tangueray than transit this year, there’s no way I’m going out for something new.

No, it’s time to make the most of whatever’s already hanging around in the liquor cabinet.  And how bad could that possibly be?  Why would we ever buy something that we wouldn’t enjoy?  There’s no chance that we’d have a bottle of something awful hanging aroun–

Oh hey, Blue Curaçao.  It’s you.  Yeah, no — I didn’t forget about you at all.  I guess we just sort of fell out of touch, what with you tucked all the way back there behind the almost-empty bottle of Jagermeister and the souvenir bottle of wine we got at a friend’s wedding. Yes, you sure are virtually untouched, aren’t you?  Gosh, it looks like barely two ounces were ever poured out of your bottle in the months and possibly years that we’ve had you.

…yeah, it would be a waste just to tuck you back into the cupboard.  Sigh.

What?  Oh no!  I’m not brutally depressed at all.  Just, you know, struggling with all the sugar caked around your lid here.  Ha ha ha!  Who’d have thought you’d have to work so hard just to get at booze you don’t actually want, huh?

Sigh.

Every household that has ever had a martini party, a tropical-themed backyard party or a novelty drink night has a bottle of Blue Curacao kicking around.  In fact, even if none of those events have ever happened in your home, you might have a bottle lurking in the back of your cupboard anyway — in my more paranoid moments, I imagine that they just naturally sprout from the drippings of better liqueurs and then spread to take over the cabinet, like a 40-proof crabgrass.

The drink itself is a product of the island of Curacao, colonized by the Spanish in the 1500s.

Not actually all that great for cultivation, Curacao proved to be hostile to the Valencia oranges that the Spanish brought with them, which didn’t fare too well.  The fruit turned bitter and developed into the dwarf Laraha orange, which in turn was allowed to grow wild until someone could come up with a use for it. Naturally, as with so many other fruits, plants, herbs, crops and anything else that is otherwise inedible, someone decided to see if they could make alcohol out of it.

Wouldn’t you know!  It turns out that the natural oils in the Laraha peel are actually pretty fragrant, and when combined with some other botanicals can produce a clear, sweet liqueur that ranges in strength anywhere from 20 to 40 percent ABV.  The blue is just a bonus!  A teeth-staining, sticky bonus that’s meant to invoke the striking waters of the south Caribbean.

There are a number of varieties and brands of Blue Curacao, but I’m not sure you’ll find many connoisseurs out there to guide you between premium and dreck.  There is an article out there who claims to be the Original Brand, for which one can expect to pay and Original Brand Price, but for most purposes it’s important to know what you can really expect.  Namely:

• Curacao has a gritty sweetness to it that’s underscored, to varying degrees, with herbal flavors.  Imagine if someone sugared your gin, and you’re in the right neighborhood.
• It’s blue.  It’s unnaturally blue.  It’s that same blue as in a Rocket Popcicle, and with nearly the same unholy effect on your tongue.  All kidding aside, you don’t often get that kind of coloring opportunity in your booze, and it really can have some creative applications.
• It’s also pretty cheap.  Unless you make a real effort, you’re unlikely to find an expensive bottle of Curacao.  This is decorative booze on a budget.

But the real question is, when you’re heartbroken from assessing your personal finances, what the hell are you going to do with a bottle of this stuff?

1.  Make Nerd Drinks

Apparently nerds everywhere are convinced that drinks from the future are blue, and therefore awesome.  In fact, this is one of the rare points on which both Star Trek and Star Wars fans are forced to agree — and as a result, you get your choice of which fictional beverage you’d prefer to embarrass yourself by making.

Star Wars Blue Milk Cocktail:

Pour the milk over a single ice cube in a cocktail glass. Add blue curacao and creme de cacao simultaneously. Stir briefly, and serve.

Romulan Ale

• 375 ml Bacardi 151 Proof Rum
• 375 ml Vodka
• 375 ml Blue Curacao

Clean and prepare a 1 liter bottle, before combining equal measures of each ingredient in it. For best results, chill in your freezer for a couple of hours to achieve a syrupy texture.  Take the time while you’re waiting to notify your next of kin, and ponder whether being a Star Wars fan might not preserve your lifespan.

2.  Make Girl Drinks

Let’s be honest, despite our fantasies, most women do not actually enjoy knocking back ounce after ounce of straight Scotch whiskey.  I mean, Tina does, but that’s because I’m hysterically fortunate and — let’s face it — kind of the girl in our relationship.  She smokes, drinks hard liquor and eats her steak so rare that it might actually still be alive; on the other hand, I write lengthy guides about the proper use of colorful liqueurs and talk in detail about my feelings.

Anyway, the important thing to take from this is that there’s always someone in your household who’s going to need girly drinks, and Curacao can definitely help in that.  For example:

The Blue Lagoon is a sappy story about natural love or whatever, known among boys of my generation as the movie where Brooke Shields swam around naked.  But did you also know that it’s a sappy, lightweight cocktail for people who don’t like the taste of alcohol very much?

It’s true!

The Blue Lagoon

• 1 oz. Vodka
• 1 oz. Blue Curacao
• 4 parts lemonade

Perfect in rock or highball glass with crushed ice, and served while boys grow tall, girls grow beautiful and love happens that is as powerful as the sea, or something.

3.  Make a Classic

You know, or if all else fails, you can always work on crafting a classic.  I did say that there aren’t a lot of Curacao Appreciation Societies out there, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that some of its feature drinks don’t have their passionate supporters.

Take the Mai Tai, for example, a drink that has seven different recipes and groups of Tiki cocktail purists who will argue vociferously about each one.  Dare to include pineapple juice at your peril, jerk!  Presume to use blue Curacao instead of orange and suffer their wrath!  Put grenadine in there and your days are numbered, heathen!  Here’s the “pure” edition from Senor Curacao of Curacao, as an example:

• 2 ounces 17-year-old J. Wray Nephew Jamaican rum
• 1/2 ounce French Garnier Orgeat
• 1/2 ounce Orange CuracaoLiqueur
• 1/4 ounce Rock Candy Syrup
• juice from one fresh lime

“Shake with crushed ice, serve in a rocks glass, garnish with a mint sprig, one pineapple spear, and a cocktail cherry. And yes, it must have the mint garnish to be a mai tai. No float of dark rum. No 5 tropical fruit juices. No grenadine. No umbrella. No pineapple juice. No sour mix.”

Hear that?  Yeah, that’s right, this is a recipe so exclusive that it actually has as many things that you DON’T add as there are things you DO.  Because it’s THAT IMPORTANT, and Tiki enthusiasts will shun you forever if you screw it up.  Of course, Tiki enthusiasts don’t have a constrained budget and a bunch of blue Curacao lying around, so I say improvise.  Only you will know, and only you can decide whether authenticity is as delicious as the sweet, sweet flavor of saving a little money.

Blue Curacao doesn’t have to be the perpetually unwelcome guest in your liquor cabinet.  As a liqueur it’s perfectly competent at delivering a mid-range alcoholic whallop, and its sweetness makes it accessible to almost anyone.  And while the bright blue color can quickly turn your more common cocktails into swamp water, it also affords the opportunity to get a bit creative with your bad self.

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I just get really excited when I talk about preserved lemons and their remarkable versatility.  For a traditional twang you could use them in Tagine Bil Hut, a Moroccan fish stew with olives and preserved lemon.  Then again, they also add a remarkable rich citrus punch to a fresh and herbal vinaigrette.  Sometimes I get a bit carried away when talking about how great they are,but I speak nothing but the truth.  But now that I’m feeling chatty, let me start again from the beginning.

The most common use for preserved lemon is to rinse and remove the pulp before finely chopping and adding the pieces to a Moroccan stew or tagines (which is just a name for a braised dish of meat, vegetables or legumes, so called after the container that it is cooked in – a tagine – which has the shape of a small chiminea).  The rind is the money shot when it comes to preserved lemon and many people scoop out the pulpy insides and just use the rind. I hate to waste things, and frankly I like the salty, goopy pulp, so I use the whole shabang – although not always in the same dish.

You might be wondering why in God’s name you would possibly want to make a whole quart of preserved lemons, but I can actually answer that question for you.   Preserved lemons can be used in many of the savory dishes that you would normally add lemon zest to, except that the flavor is even more intense, pungent, and lemony than the mere rind that you would normally use.  You can finely chop the rind and add it to oil, thyme and minced garlic for a killer roast chicken rub.  You can also stir it into a mixture of mayonnaise  and sour cream with a dollop of pesto for a vegetable dip that people can’t stop eating but don’t know why.  Preserved lemon adds punch to a chunky salsa served on top of fish or chicken, it adds gusto to a previously pedestrian gremolata sprinkled on top of Osso Bucco, and a fine mince into Hollandaise elevates your eggs benny from ho-hum to OH MY GOD, YES.   Preserved lemon has an equal affinity for fish and seafood as it does for chicken, pork or lamb, but you would be surprised how a sprinkle of the finely minced and a drizzle of olive oil can elevate a lowly vegetable side dish into the realm of the exotic and sublime.  Buttered carrots with preserved lemon?  Yes please!  Green beans with preserved lemon and roasted almonds?  Well, okay, if I must.

And now I’m about to push the envelope, but I know that you’ll forgive me because that’s just what I do sometimes.  Hopefully you are now less skeptical of the joys that can be found in preserved lemons when it comes to savoury applications, which means that I need to talk about the sweet.  Yes, these are salt cured lemons.  I get that.  But if you rinse off the salt and soak the lemon rinds in cool water for five minutes, you would not believe the flavor punch that a tablespoon or so can add to fresh lemon ice cream, glazed lemon poppy seed cake, or citrus pots de crème.  Seriously, picture everything that’s awesome about salted caramel, and then apply it to tangy, sweet and sour citrus. Simply divine.

Simple Preserved Lemons

Makes 1 quart

• 8-10 Meyer lemons *
• 3-4 additional lemons for juice
• 2 tbsp + 8-10 tsp salt

* Meyer lemons are a smaller, slightly sweet, floral, thin skinned lemon which is less acidic and far more lemony than your regularly available supermarket lemon.  Meyer lemons are not as common in the stores because they are not widely grown commercially, they require quite a bit of care to ship them without damaging or bruising the delicate citrus fruit, and they also have a slightly shorter shelf life.  If you can’t find Meyer lemons, Eureka lemons are far more common and can be used as a substitute.  Worst case scenario, use whatever lemons you can find but really search through to find the smallest lemons with the thinnest, delicate rinds.  I like to use organic Meyer lemons for preserving, and whatever my local has to offer for the juice.  You will see both in the picture below, and they are easily distinguished.

Scrub each lemon well in warm water, using a vegetable brush to lightly slough each one.  If your lemons are organic you can stand to be a little bit more lax here, but you want to remove any chemicals or impurities from the outsides of the skin.

Slice just the stem end off the lemons, being careful to cut as shallow with the knife as you can.  You just want to remove the tough little nubbin. Cut each lemon vertically in an “X” shape (quarters), stopping about one half inch (1/2″) from the bottom for each incision.  You want the base of the lemon to stay intact.  Also be sure to cut the lemons over a clean bowl, because any lemon juice which is released can be re-purposed in just a moment.

Carefully part the lemon quarters and pack the center with one (1) teaspoon of salt, making sure that the salt is also sprinkled on each cut side of the lemon.

Sprinkle one (1) tablespoon of salt into the bottom of a clean, sterilized quart sized Mason jar.  Pack the lemons in, standing upright whenever possible, and really pushing them down and into one another with the butt end of a clean wooden spoon.  Pressing firmly will also encourage the lemons to release their juice, therefore mitigating the amount of additional lemon juice that you will need to “top-up” at the end.  Stuff as many lemons into the jar as you can possibly get, and then sprinkle a second tablespoon of salt on top.

Extract the juice of the remaining lemons.   You may only need 2 lemons, but depending on the size and how many lemons you packed into the jar, it is possible that you could even need up to five.

Pour into the jar the lemon juice which collected in the “cut” bowl.  Pour the freshly squeezed lemon juice into the jar as well, nudging and shaking it occasionally to release any air pockets.  When the jar is completely full and the lemons are submerged, screw on the jar’s sterilized lid.

Leave the lemons in a cool dark place where they can cure, undisturbed, for at least 10 days or up to one month.  Shake the jar occasionally to ensure that the lemons are completely covered.

Moroccan Spiced Preserved Lemons

Makes 1 quart

• 8-10 Meyer lemons
• 3-4 additional lemons for juice
• 2 tbsp + 8-10 tsp salt
• 2 bay leaves
• 1 star anise
• 1/2 cinnamon stick (or 5-6 pieces cassia bark) *
• 4 whole cloves
• 1/2 tsp coriander seeds
• 1/2 tsp fennel seeds
• 1/4 tsp cumin seeds
• 1 dried red chili **

* Cassia bark, although cheaper and less pungent than cinnamon, is significantly easier to slip inside the jar between the lemons.  Small pieces of cassia bark (about 5-6) can be easily dispersed.

** Opt for a flaming hot but really flavorful red finger chili, like a chili de arbol or cayenne.

Follow the instructions to make preserved lemons, however when the jar is half full of lemons you should pause to sprinkle on half the spices, one bay leaf, the star anise and chili.  Continue packing lemons into the jar until it is almost full and the sprinkle the remaining spices and bay leaf on top.

Add the freshly squeezed lemon juice to the jar until the lemons are completely covered and give the jar a quick shake to dissolve the salt before  Pour the freshly squeezed lemon juice into the jar, nudging and shaking it occasionally to release any air pockets.  When the jar is completely full and the lemons are submerged, screw on the jar’s sterilized lid.

After the lemons have cured they will keep, sealed in a cool and dark place, for up to 6 months.  After you open the jar it’s a good idea to refrigerate the preserved lemons if you aren’t going to use them right away, and they will keep in the fridge for a phenomenal length of time.

Always be sure to avoid contamination by removing the lemons from the brine with a clean spoon or fork rather than your fingers, and wipe the rim clean before resealing the jar of fruit in their briny, delicious juices.

Although the lemon is the star of the show, don’t forget about that fabulous juice.  A teaspoon or two of the brine can be used in vinaigrette, to add a bright punch and flavor burst to a soup, increase indulgence in a Bloody Mary, or lend that je ne c’est quoi to the best potato salad that you’ve ever made.

So go forth and make a batch of preserved lemons.  It is well worth the twenty minutes of effort and few weeks of wait.  What really cinches the deal though, is a few dishes in when you find yourself creatively using the preserved lemons for everything from a spring like orzo side dish with luscious asparagus and sweet peas, to a tart and vibrant lemon and lavender granita.  Preserved lemons: They’re where the party may be at.Similar Posts:

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The Jerusalem artichoke, also commonly known as ’sunchoke’, and less commonly known as ’sunroot’ and the oddly compelling but confusing ‘earth apple’, is actually the root of a tall sunflower plant.  But before you go digging around in your neighbor’s back yard, you should also know that it’s a relative but not exactly the same species as your average garden variety sunflower.  Sheesh.  The plant does not actually hail from Jerusalem (it’s likely a bastardization of ‘girasole’, the Italian name for sunflowers), and they’re also not part of the artichoke family.  I’m telling you, sometimes gardeners just like to mess with our heads.  That said, they do taste somewhat akin to an artichoke, although I would say their delicate and barely nutty flavor is similar to a cross between a potato and the stem end of a tender cauliflower…but that’s just me.  They’re healthy little fellas, and each tuber is impressively high in potassium, iron, niacin, phosphorous and copper, among other things.  Things like fiber.

Yes, that brings me to the true infamy of Jerusalem artichokes.  Enough of this namby-pamby talk of minerals and nutrients, because these pretty little tubers are famous for an entirely other reason.  They are famous for the flatulence.

The carbohydrate inulin (not insulin; inulin) is present in Jerusalem artichokes the way that starch is in potatoes.  Your body, however, does not react to inulin the same way that it does to starch.  Some people absorb it easily and it passes on through without a whisper through the willow trees.  For the unlucky ones the affects are a bit more unpleasant, and can include wince worthy gastric pain and the kind of ranky farts that make you question whether you are rotting from the inside out.

My favorite Jerusalem artichoke quote, by far, is from the late (and only moderately great) gardener John Goodyer, the first person to cultivate the tubers in England.  He wrote, “Which way soever they be dressed and eaten, they stir and cause a filthy loathsome stinking wind within the body, thereby causing the belly to be pained and tormented, and are a meat more fit for swine than men.”  Okay, so I think that’s A BIT of an over-reaction, Johnny.  However, as a gardener in the 16th century when food was of the essence and what we think of as herd crops were the norm for human consumption, I can only imagine how many of these he would have had to eat, and how miserable boiled Jerusalem artichokes would have made him.

But hark!  There is hope!  You know that I wouldn’t cook or eat something that was truly awful, right? Moreover, I wouldn’t encourage you to make it at home.  I might serve it to an unwanted visitor who overstays their welcome, just for a lark, but really that’s the extent of it.  I’m giving you this recipe because Jerusalem artichokes are nutritious and utterly delicious, and despite their dubious reputation there are ways to mitigate The Mighty Wind.  Some of this is probably folk fiction, but a few suggestions for reducing the damage include:

- Parboiling the Jerusalem artichoke and discarding the water it was boiled in before continuing the cooking process.
- Cooking the tuber with fresh fennel, ginger or bay leaves.
- Use firm, supple, fresh Jerusalem artichokes rather than the ones which are withered or old (the elderly can be surprisingly hazardous, can’t they?).
- Don’t serve it on the side of prunes, Bran Buds, or Dairy Queen Blizzards.
- Finely slice and panfry the tuber into crisp potato-chip like snacks.
- Serve it on fine china.  It doesn’t really help with the flatulence, but you’ll feel too classy to fart at the table.

I will be honest; I’ve seen an improvement through the parboiling, but I don’t know about the others.  That said, this soup is quick to pull together, has a deliciously complex flavor yet it’s still too subtle to overpower, and it’s elegant enough to serve at a dinner party.  Especially a dinner party where you want your guests to feel at home.

If you have ever seen your partner pause and spend a few minutes deliberating over faucets in Home Depot, and then when you curiously approach he hisses at you, “GO! GET AWAY!” and briskly bolts in the other direction as your eyes start to water, this soup is for you.

If “Cup and Blow” is your favorite party trick, despite your suspicion that it might be contributing to your continuing singledom, this soup is for you.

If your space heater is broken and you go to bed wondering if your toes will freeze and fall off, fear no longer.  This soup is for you.

Really though, all jokes aside, Jerusalem artichokes are a deliciously nutritious tuber and if you give them a shot you might just find yourself hooked.  They can be roasted or pan fried, scalloped or pureed, mashed and baked into a gratin, or even sliced paper thin and served raw in salad for a watery, nutty crunch.  Just be sure to treat any cut Jerusalem artichokes in acidulated water (water with a squeeze of lemon juice) because they discolor quickly in the open air.  Other than that, experiment to your heart’s content!  And if you need some guidance, start with a soup…..

Spiced Jerusalem Artichoke Soup

Serves serves 4-6

• 1.75 lb (800 g) Jerusalem artichoke *
• 2.5 tbsp olive oil
• 1 medium yellow onion
• 3 big fat cloves garlic (or 4 medium)
• 1″ chunk fresh ginger (1 tbsp finely minced)
• 2 medium celery ribs
• 1/2 tsp mustard seed
• 1/2 tsp coriander seed
• 1/2 tsp fennel seed
• pinch of red chili flakes, optional
• 1 bay leaf
• 5 cups chicken stock
• 2 cups water
• salt and pepper to taste
• a few shavings of parmigiana reggiano and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil to finish

* Pick Jerusalem artichokes that are firm and unblemished with a smooth skin and slight blush.  They often look a bit like fresh ginger root.  If the tubers are wrinkled or grayish, keep walking by.

Aren’t they lovely? Just look at those twee little tubers and tell me if you wouldn’t give them a shot, despite their bad rap.  The color of fresh Jerusalem artichokes varies from a creamy beige or a tawny brown all the way to a decidedly pinkish or purple hue.  If nothing else, the thought of pink root vegetables has me smitten every time.

Peel the Jerusalem artichoke and cut them into fat chunks of about 3/4 – 1 inch.  Put the artichokes in a pot full of cold water as they get prepped to prevent discoloration.  Season the pot with a hearty helping of sea salt (about a tablespoon should do the trick) and put it over medium high heat.  Bring the water up to a boil and let the Jerusalem artichoke bubble away for five minutes.  When the chokes are pleasantly parboiled, drain the pot and give them a good rinse under cold running water.

While the water is heating, dice the onion and mince the garlic and peeled ginger.

Pour the oil into a pot and scatter on the mustard, coriander, and fennel seeds.  Put the pot over medium heat and let the spices warm in the oil until they’re fragrant and starting to brown and pop.

Add in the onion and garlic and saute for 5-7 minutes until the onion is starting to turn a delicious harvest golden hue.  If the garlic and onion look like they’re starting to brown, turn the heat down and continue to stir.  The taste of burnt garlic or onions will add an unpleasant bitterness to this subtle soup.

Chop the celery into a small dice and add this to the other aromatics, stirring and then letting it all continue to cook together for another 2 minutes until the celery just starts to soften.

Add the parboiled and rinsed Jerusalem artichokes to the mixture and pour in the chicken stock and water.  Add the bay leaf and a pinch of chili flakes if you’re using them.  Turn the heat down to medium low and leave the pot to simmer, uncovered, for 35-45 minutes.  The tubers will be cooked after about 10-15 minutes, but the additional simmering time will make them mushy soft and easier to puree, as well as encouraging the flavors to meld.

Puree the soup using a hand blender until it is smooth and free of lumps.  If you don’t have a hand blender you can use an upright blender to puree the soup in batches.  However, please, for the love of god and the sake of my sanity, PLEASE use caution when you puree hot liquids.  Don’t over fill the blender, keep the lid held down tightly, and gradually increase the speed.  I might be as much of a pain in the rear as this soup is, but as someone who has spattered her delicate eyelids with molten lava-like chowder, I say these things for your benefit.

I like a rustic pureed soup that’s just the teensiest bit granular, like a traditional vichyssoise, but if you want a smooth and silky soup all that you have to do is strain it through a wire mesh and back into the (clean) pot.

Season the soup with salt and pepper, keeping it rather heavy handed.  Soups love salt, and this starchy puree gets all giggly and starts to stammer when the pepper mill comes in sight.  Have a heavy hand, particularly as far as the freshly cracked is concerned.

Ladle the soup into bowls and garnish with a thin curl or two of good parmigiana reggiano cheese, a drizzle of fruity extra virgin olive oil, and one more crack of pepper because that’s just how you roll.

Healthy, light, but packed full of nutrients and a subtly exotic flavor, this elegant soup is easy enough for a mid-week dinner, but gracious enough for a Saturday dinner party with guests.

A warm homemade roll and a fresh green salad, and a crackling fireplace is all you need to while away the winter blahs.

Now go out and get yourself some Jerusalem artichokes, because they’re almost at the end of their season.  You heard me, git!Similar Posts:

• Pappa al Pomodoro: Tuscan Bread and Tomato Soup
• Swedish Parsnip And Leek Soup With Pickled Beet Swirl
• Gazpacho, Thai Style
• No-Chicken Soup
• Sweet Corn & Lobster Soup with Tarragon Chive Oil

Look forward to articles about ranky farts and seductive cocktails to close out the week — and not necessarily written by who you might suspect!

It’s Thursday, everyone.  Hang in there!  We can make it through.Similar Posts:

• Choosy Beggars Monthly Calendar – February
• Choosy Beggars Monthly Calendar – December
• Anniversary, Part 2
• Friday Open Thread: Friday Lunches
• Choosy Beggars Monthly Calendar – January

I get it, though.  Despite the fact that we’re just talking about the lean mean cousin of fatty lamb, it is still GOAT.

The average barnyard is an awful lot like high school.  The chickens are Team Girl Squad, milling about on the driveway, around the lockers, swarming over table after table in the cafeteria, and basically building on space and sound as they travel around in a high pitched, impetuous, nattering brood.  The pig is that guy who’s name you don’t know, but he’s always in the same uniform of relaxed fit jeans, an oversized hoodie, and a ball cap.  The pig has a solid ‘C’ average, and he makes lewd comments about the chickens as they scatter by him, avoiding any eye or bodily contact.  The rooster is a smart aleck, always pushing the limits just a little bit too far, and egocentrically strutting around all skinny chest and shoulders to cover up his crushing fear of failure (P.S. – the rooster is, like, so totally still a virgin and Carrie from Chemistry says he made up that story about getting drunk with Mandy outside the 7-Eleven last summer.  Just sayin’). The cow, of course, is that cute guy on the football team who would have to be surgically separated from his worn in leather jacket and/or the colony of chicks which is constantly gathered around him.  Every time he smiles you hear a slight *tiiiiinnng* and the sun shines a little bit brighter.   Don’t even get me started on the horse, or that crazy look in her eyes.

Then you have the goat.  Yes, the goat.  You know the goat.  You went to elementary school with the goat.  He was still blowing spit bubbles and accidentally giving himself wedgies when he was thirteen years old.  Then he had that growth spurt and got progressively more gangly and angular, with every part jutting out haphazard and discordant, like a barn cat in a bag of nails.  One time you had to sit beside the urine-sweet smelling goat on a class trip to the museum and he stared, blinking his watery red eyes at you, for 20 minutes before finally wheezing out, “Did you know that I’m awwewgic to kale?”

But time goes on, my friends, and next thing you know you’re browsing Facebook on a lonely Tuesday night at 1 a.m. and you see that guy who has the same name as the goat but can’t possibly be.  Sure, you have thirty five mutual friends, and your hometown is the same, and OKAY, maybe you’re both in the same scanned grade three picture, but….but….it just can’t be.  The goat has transformed into a glossy haired heart breaker with a rapier’s wit, smug and certain smile, and a disconcerting habit of throwing mounds of software development money up into the air just to watch it drift away.  The goat has come of age, and all of a sudden you look down at your worn out Lululemon  yoga pants with the hole in the crotch and the Crocs that you swore you’d never buy but now own in seven different colors, and you wonder if maybe it was never about who the goat was at all.  If only you had taken the time to get to know the goat, would things be different now that you’re older and mature? Maybe all that it would take is a dimly lit room with you, the goat, and a cold six pack of beer to make beautiful things happen.  The time has come to get beyond your childish phobia and disdain for the goat, and embrace the goat for the lean but tender, curry loving gent that he is.

(And no, that was not a story about my life.  AS IF I would ever wear Crocs)

Jamaican Curried Goat

Serves 4-6

• 2.2 lb (1 kg) bone-in cubes of goat meat (about 1.5″)
• 3 tbsp white vinegar
• 2 medium yellow onions
• 6 large cloves of garlic
• 1″ fat chunk of fresh ginger
• 1 heaping tbsp fresh thyme, roughly chopped *
• 2 scotch bonnet peppers **
• 1 tsp allspice berries
• 3 tbsp curry powder, divided ***
• 2 tbsp vegetable oil
• 3 large green onions
• 1 bay leaf
• approximately 2 cups cold water
• 2 lb starchy potatoes (about 2-3 large)
• salt and pepper to taste

* Is fresh thyme necessary? No, but I’m in the process of finalizing my plan of Death By Neglect For Unfortunate Indoor Herbs. I figured that I could at least get a few good sprigs out of this plant before it finally pulled a dust to dust. On that note, if you were using dried thyme you would want to use about 2 level teaspoons, or roughly half as much.

** Scotch bonnet peppers are sometimes referred to as Jamaican peppers, Bahama Mamas, Bahamian peppers, and Martinique peppers.  If you can’t find a bonnet by any other name, a good substitution is the slightly sweeter (but still potent) habanero.  If you only like a moderate spice omit the second pepper.

*** I have problems. Serious problems. One of them is that I’m a spice collector, and right now my spice rack (and cupboard…and tupperware boxes) contain somewhere between 5-7 curry blends.  Is this excessive? Absolutely.  I get that.  But I challenge you to surreptitiously make off with any one of them, because I’LL KNOW, and I’ll hunt you down for it.  Curry powder is a spice blend, rather than a pure spice, and the regional variations are quite astounding which is why I’m happy to have made a temporary home for curry blends from Sri Lanka, India (x 2), Jamaica, Malaysia, Japan, and a big ol’ cheap jar of generic curry powder that I would use in a pinch if need be.  Okay, that one you could steal and I wouldn’t mind. That said, because I know that not everybody has curry out the wazoo (make no jokes about late night post-bar chicken korma, please) so I made this with Johnny Generic as a test.  It was fine.  In fact, it was more than fine.  So there you go.  Feel free to use what you’ve got, and don’t feel compelled to shell out for a specialty West Indian curry powder unless you really feel the yen.

It wasn’t until I took that picture that I realized what massive (inherited) Costco-on-steroids style bottles of vegetable oil and white vinegar we have.  Huh.  That’s something, eh?  But before you start mocking this excess, I would like to remind you that if Canada ever got attacked by furry space invaders, and we all had to seek shelter in the underground, and the only thing for us to eat was salad because maybe lettuce actually grows splendidly in the subway tunnels, and everybody was craving a really white trash vinaigrette, well, huh, I would TOTALLY be their hero.  Just bear that in mind before you mock the goods.

Coarsely crush the allspice berries in a mortar and pestle, or pulse them in a spice grinder until they are mostly broken down.

Give the cubes of goat a quick rinse under cold running water and pat them dry before placing them in a large mixing bowl.  Toss the goat cubes with the vinegar.

Dice the yellow onion (roughly 1/4″ chunks) and mince the garlic, peeled ginger, and one (1) of the two scotch bonnet peppers.  Add these to the goat as well as the crushed allspice, roughly chopped thyme, and one (1) tablespoon of the curry powder.  If you want a goat curry that has just a whiff of kick you can take out the ribs and seeds of the pepper before mincing it finely and omit the second pepper.  For a medium heat, remove the seeds and ribs of both peppers.  I like it hot and come hither, so everything goes into the bowl and I add a second whole pepper to the stew.  It’s to your preference, but the more the merrier.

Mix everything together so that the goat meat is evenly coated before covering the bowl and leaving it in the fridge to marinate.  You can let the goat marinate for as little as 2 hours or up to overnight if you have the time.

Remove the goat from the rest of the mixture, scraping off any bits of onion or the like which are stuck to it.   Reserve both piles because they will be used momentarily.

Heat the oil up in a large Dutch oven or heavy bottomed pot set over medium high heat.  Add the reserved onion mixture and saute until the onions are translucent, about 3 minutes.  Be sure that the heat is not too high and you’re stirring regularly because you don’t want the onions or garlic to start browning or burn.

Add the goat meat and remaining two (2) tablespoons of curry powder.

Cook the goat, stirring regularly, until the outside of each piece has sealed and started to brown, which takes about 5 minutes.  While the goat is cooking, chop the green onions (white bottoms and green tops) into medium sized chunks of about a half inch.  Add the green onion to the goat and let this saute together for another 2 minutes.  The mixture will be very fragrant at this point, and some of the spice might be starting to stick to the bottom of the pot.  This is absolutely alright.

Add two cups of cold water to the pot and stir, scraping along the bottom to loosen any bits of spice or meat that have chosen to cling.  Cold water in a hot pan will loosen everything up just splendidly, as long as you stir vigorously along the bottom of the pot.  This is how the Jamaicans be de-glazin’, mon. The water should just reach the top of the goat meat.  If it doesn’t, add another little splash at a time (no more than 1 cup in total) until it does.

Drop in the bay leaf and the other whole scotch bonnet pepper (if what you choose to use of it).  Turn the heat down to low because you want the stew to simmer rather than boil.  Simmering will yield tender, succulent meat over time.  Boiling will cause the meat to seize and immediately shrink up, taking significantly more time to undo the havoc you have just wreaked.

Cover the pot and let the pot simmer for about 1.5 – 2 hours, stirring every now and then when you remember.  After the long simmer your goat should be tender and starting to pull away from the bone.

Peel the potatoes and cut them into large stew sized chunks, each about the same size as the cubes of meat.  Stir the potatoes into the curry and let this cook, uncovered, for another 30 – 40 minutes.

You want to do the final stage of cooking without a cover on the pot so that the liquid can start to reduce, thickening with the starches released from the potato.  The final texture should be more like a thick curry than a loose stew.  If you added a touch too much water and need to keep the pot uncovered for another 20 minutes, so be it.  The potatoes won’t mind.

By this time the goat and potatoes will be meltingly tender and richly flavored in the spicy curried gravy.

Serve the curried goat over boiled white rice, or the traditional rice and peas….which is a total misnomer, and despite my affection for rice and peas that always kind of niggles and eats away at me.  There is rice, true, and I’m sure that at some point there were a variety of peas.  However, rice and peas as we commonly know it is white rice simmered in coconut milk with kidney beans and occasionally garlic or herbs.  Delicious, right?  I agree.  But I would be much happier if it was called “rice and kidney beans” or “long grain and legumes”.  What can I say? I have no sense of whimsy.

This curry is baaaaad to the knuckled bone, it is.

Of course the leftovers are even better over the next few days, in all of their reheated glory, but you’ll forgive me if I say that they rarely last that long.  As far as Jamaican curried goat goes, if you served this in a Styrofoam container with a grease stain and some dirty finger prints on top, anybody would believe that it came from your local Patty King.   And yes, I think that’s a plus.

If you have never had goat, now is as good a time as ever to give it a try.  With a long, slow simmer in spicy and richly flavored broth, you won’t be disappointed.

Similar Posts:

• Jamaican Oxtail Stew
• Moros y Cristianos: Cuban Black Beans and Rice
• Rockin’ Ronnie D’s Maple-Curry Chicken
• Chest Hair Chili
• Loubi: Braised Green Beans in Tomato Sauce

Week 1: March 1 – 6

• Enjoy a wholesome family afternoon together by celebrating the birthday of beloved author, Dr. Seuss.  Have fun fielding questions from your children about environmentalism, anti-consumerism, and assured mutual annihilation as you suddenly realize why Barney got so popular.
• March Madness begins this weekend!  FUN FACT: Did you know that March Madness was brought about when an enthusiastic sports fan wished for “a month of Superbowls”?  Tragically, they used a monkey’s paw and thus doomed society to a four-week intermural basketball tournament every spring.
• March 6th is National Chocolate Cheesecake Day.  For real, yes.  Legislation finally did something important.  It doesn’t matter what country you live in, don’t even ask — wherever you are, it is National Chocolate Cheesecake Day.  We can help you celebrate.

Week 2: March 7 – 13

• Have you remembered Johnny Appleseed Day?  Your children certainly haven’t, and probably with good reason.  So, seriously, don’t bother — nobody wants a repeat of last year’s incident with the pot on your head and the three hours in emergency waiting to get it pried off again.
• Early to mid-March is the ideal time to start seedlings for warm-season vegetables such as tomatoes, peppers or eggplant.  This early planting exercise will help hone the forgetful neglect that will allow you to kill your entire garden later in the summer.
• As the last of the cold weather retreats, there are only a few chances left to take full advantage of hot winter drinks.  Go find a reason to work in the yard, get your bones good and cold, and make yourself some Hot Buttered Rum.

Week 3: March 14 – 20

• Daylight Saving Time begins this week, so don’t forget:  in the autumn, “fall back”!  In the spring, “spring forward” with your face into the palms of your hands, to sob gently and mourn the lost hour of sleep.
• Beware the Ides of March!  No, we don’t know why either.  But, you know, beware.
• Saint Patrick’s Day is a traditional opportunity to get all smashed up in the middle of the week (or at least, a traditional justification for it).  You and your friends may have a fantastic get-together, but beware of unwelcome beers getting dumped on your doorstep!  If all else fails, refer to our survival guide on methods to dispose of unwelcome beer.

Week 4: March 21 – 28

• Spring has officially begun!  Acceptable activities today include prancing around merrily, singing tra-la-la-leee-loo-lee-lay, feeling emotions such as hope and optimism, and being savagely beaten by Seasonal Affective Disorder sufferers.
• This is the week to enjoy National Toast Day, particularly appropriate if you were already planning to celebrate National Magnum of Inexpensive Red Wine and National Force The Cats Into Snuggling You When They’d Rather Be Left Alone Day.
• It’s March Break time!  Families all across North America will be jetting off on vacations together, enjoying the pleasant weather in sunny locations.  Not you, though — but being trapped in your gray, slushy home doesn’t mean you can’t still have breakfast in Jamaica!

Week 5: March 28 – 31

• Sweep aside the mulch and ground cover that you responsibly left over your perennials last fall.  Remember when you deliberately left mulch on your garden, to protect it from the cold?  Sure you do.
• As the bleak, sanity-shattering gray weather seems to go on and on, it’s a good time to catch up on the small details around the house:  record the valuable items in your home to update insurance; go through medicine cabinets to review all prescriptions, testing their odors and flavors if necessary; stay up all night meticulously sharpening your axes and gardening implements.  Your family will be impressed by the close attention you’re paying to the finer points!  The fine, sharp points…
• Who wants cupcakes!

Similar Posts:

• Choosy Beggars Monthly Calendar – February
• Choosy Beggars Monthly Calendar – January
• Choosy Beggars Monthly Calendar – October
• Choosy Beggars Monthly Calendar – December
• Choosy Beggars Monthly Calendar – November

1. I’m not entirely sure that it’s a responsible thing to do, because of the things I’m mixing together and how they may cause excessive liver problems
2. I have already tried it, and am therefore experiencing severe brain problems
3. The Canada-Russia hockey game is on as I write this, and it’s actually illegal* here not to watch it.

*N.B. Not actually illegal, but culturally unacceptable. If I turned up to work tomorrow and did not talk about the hockey game, it’s entirely possible you would find me in the gutter out back.

But what this does give me the opportunity to do, as I soak in the glowing enthusiasm of our national sport, is talk about a couple of Olympic ads that are typical of my country:  one from Tim Hortons, and one a horrible musical earworm that will haunt you always.

1.  Tim Hortons

For those of you who aren’t aware, Tim Hortons has bonded itself with the Canadian identity more thoroughly than beer, hockey and national self-deprecation combined.  People refer to it (cringe-inducingly) as “Timmy’s”, they will line-up in shopping malls for twenty or thirty minutes for a cup of their coffee, and they will regard you with pathos if you don’t understand why it’s so wonderful.

Except, good God, it is not.  The coffee is terrible, their own franchisees have sued them over being forced to sell microwave-defrosted donuts, and the service in most locations is horrifying beyond belief — made worse from the fact that unlike every other business in the country, they accept only cash and one kind of credit card.  You know how many Canadians use their debit cards to buy everything?  60%.  You know how many Tim Hortons accept debit?  0%.

But, apologists say, why would they bother when all they sell is coffee and donuts?  Why wouldn’t you just bring cash with you, when you know how it works?  Why don’t you just let Tim Hortons tell you, the customer, how you may be permitted to do business with them?  It’s Tim Hortons!  Don’t you talk about them that way!  THEY’RE TRUE CANADIAN I BET YOU LIKE STARBUCKS YOU WANNABE YANKEE TRUE PATRIOT LOVE, LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT BABY!

(EDITED TO ADD:  As many have noted in the comments, the no-debit-Mastercard-only policy apparently extends only to Tim Hortons in Ontario.  But I’m fine with sticking with this complaint rather than the serial service model — by which I mean, the cashier will fetch your coffee, return, then fetch your donut, return, then prepare your second coffee order rather than take your entire order at once — or the overall shitty attitude of most employees, because I’m sure someone will assure me that THEIR local store isn’t ANYTHING like that.)

How did Tim Hortons accomplish this?  Through masterful brand-building, community outreach, and advertising that never fails to hit just the right note with its audience.  Here’s the ad that has Canada sniffing into the back of their hand over every commercial break, this Olympics:

Aw!  I don’t even have anything cynical to say about that.

Which, in turn gets you to think, hey, maybe Tim Hortons isn’t all that bad, even if I have to take out a $20 before I go there and wait forever and sometimes (most times) they get my order wrong and the donuts look sort of like sun-dried turds these days.  Think of that fella and his family!  That’s heartwarming!  That’s GOOD CANADA right there!

So what if it doesn’t actually have anything to do with the product?  What’s important is that it’s connected to our national identity so profoundly.  Buy it because it’s Canadian, not because it’s good or anything.  You like Canada, don’t you?  Tim Hortons is super-Canadian!  It’s synonymous with Canada!  Not liking Tim Hortons is like spurning the nation of Canada itself!  And that’s why you had better just get the hell in line and hope you remembered to bring cash with you to the airport.

It’s a masterstroke of branding, to immediately skate people past the product itself and right on into the values of an entire country.  But branding is all it is, a very deliberate maneuver to no longer compete on beverages or food — Canadian-ness is Tim Hortons’ product here, which gets up my nose more than even the debit card thing ever could.

2.  Source Yogurt

This is Celleste.  You haven’t heard of her before, because she’s so new on the scene that her MySpace page doesn’t even have any music on it yet.  But she’s from Quebec, she’s bilingual and she’s got a good voice, so how better to kick off her career than with a catchy commercial?

Because of our two official languages, Canadian advertisers will often save a buck by hiring a cast that can do their script in both languages.  The sets, costumes, and basic storyboards can then all stay the same, and the product can get advertised nationwide.  But oh, the vicissitudes of translation.

Let’s watch it in her native French:

Cute, right?  The whole “diamonds are a girl’s best friend” thing with yogurt, which is ridiculous but generally pretty harmless.  My French isn’t great, but that doesn’t sound like too huge a stretch all around.

And now, the English:

This will get into your brain and eat your thoughts.  It has been aired ten thousand times in the last two weeks here, all over the place but particularly on the secondary Olympics stations.  Every commercial break, “Mel-un TREE-OHH!”  Every cut away to the news, I strain to hear, “With thirty-sevuuhhhhsssss!”

That’s what you love?  Why?  WHAT IS A SEVUHHHHH, WOMAN, I MUST KNOW!  Will your yogurt tell me?  If I eat some will I gain thirty… of… them too?

The thing is, this ad is so typically, entirely Canadian that I can’t fault it.  I love the goofy song that’s shoehorned into two languages and doesn’t work in either, I love the use of an aspiring Quebecois singer instead of an actual celebrity, I love that someone thought it was a good idea to do a glamorous Marilyn Monroe dance number about diet yogurt.

Tina and I will actually sing this horrible, sticky song to each other as a form of torture.  She hears it bubbling up the stairs while I’m on the treadmill, and will dance around to it. I will hear it echoing down the hallway and immediately turn on a fan or something to drown it out before it gets in my head.  Such is its repetitive power.  Fear it, for someday it may have you too.

Please don’t get me wrong — I don’t think this is great advertising by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s unique among the ads it runs against:  as lame as it is, this is an ad that belongs to a long tradition of gawky, chintzy, bilingually-awkward commercials that we grew up with.  Among a bunch of ads forcing how Canadian they are on me, it’s all the more refreshing when you see one that just… is.

But, for God’s sake, maybe not every commercial break, eh?Similar Posts:

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Tina: “Ooh, I know! Let’s go THERE for dinner!”

Mike: “No.  Absolutely not.  That place looks dreadful.  It’s skeevy and infested.”

Tina: “Infested with GOODNESS, I bet!  Yes, I choose *that place* and I don’t want to go anywhere else, we MUST go there and I’ve always wanted to try it out, you know….”

Mike: “NO.  You’re only saying that because we’ve never been here before and we happen to be standing in front of the building.” (lowering voice), “Tina, for god’s sake, there’s a man passed out in the doorway with a broken bottle of beer in his hand.”

Tina: “That’s great! It means they’re LICENSED!!”

Mike: “……”

Tina (whining): “But Miiiiiiike, we’ve never beeeeeeen here before.  Can’t we just tryyyyyyyyy it? Don’t be such a branch in the ground, old man.”

Mike: “Stick in the mud!  The expression is ’stick in the mud’!  And no, I absolutely refuse, there is no way in hell that I’m setting foot inside that godforsaken place andforthelasttime you can’t just BULLY me into saying yes because you FEEL LIKE IT.”

****an hour later, from inside the den of iniquity****

Tina: “Huh.  So I think that having dinner here was a mistake.”

Mike: “Oh, you THINK SO, do you?  Really?  Now why would you possibly have –”

Tina: “You know, next time you should just let me choose.”

Yup.  That sounds about right.  I crave variety, always wanting to see something new or experience something different.  The thing is, different doesn’t always mean good. Sometimes, true, but not always.  There is something delightful about the tried and true, the comforting and companionable, or the fan favorite.  Just because I’ve seen The Princess Bride about a bajiliazillion times (real number), it doesn’t mean that I’m fool enough to swap it out of my DVD player for The Princess Diaries, if you know what I mean. Sometimes what I want is what I know, and what I adore, even if it’s what I’ve eaten about a thousand times before.

Enter my friend Chana Masala, which is a spicy-sweet-sour Indian spiced chickpea stew.  Every time that we order Indian food we end up with enough leftovers to feed half of my home town, because I always want to try something different, but I’m unwilling to part with my good old friends Chana Masala, Saag Paneer (cheese blocks in a spinach sauce, which I plan to make with tofu in the near future for the express purpose of tricking Mike into eating tofu), and Beef Vindaloo (beef curry in a spicy vinegar and chili sauce).  Oh yes, and an order of Butter Chicken for the cakers who nervously scratch their chins and say, “Sah-yag what?”

Traditional Chana Masala is made with dried chickpeas which are soaked overnight before getting simmered for another couple of hours in a flavorful tomato based broth with ginger, garlic and spices.  That’s great and all, but sometimes I’m lazy.  And by sometimes I mean most of the time.  I would prefer to take those hours of simmering and prep time and apply them to a greater good, such as napping, drinking vodka, or considering whether or not I should bother checking my personal email account or if that will just be too depressing.  Most of the time vodka wins.

If that’s not incentive enough for you to make a fairly fast, delightfully easy, and alarmingly affordable vegetarian meal for dinner tonight, remember that there is also another bright side to Chana Masala:  I’m giving you yet another opportunity to use up those dusty canned beans in your pantry.  As if you need an excuse.

Lazybones Chana Masala: Spicy Chickpea Stew

Serves 4 -6 over basmati rice with naan bread and cucumber raita on the side

• 2 small yellow onions
• 1.5 tbsp garlic puree *
• 1.5 tbsp ginger puree**
• 2 tbsp oil
• 1 – 3 green chili***
• 1 tsp turmeric
• 1 tsp garam masala
• 3/4 tsp red chili powder
• 3/4 tsp ground coriander
• 1/2 tsp ground cumin
• 2 cans (19 oz each) chickpeas
• 1 small can (15.5 oz) diced or whole tomato
• 1/3 cup tamarind syrup ****
• 1/2 lemon
• 1 tbsp finely chopped cilantro + more to garnish
• salt and pepper

* Garlic puree is just canned finely minced garlic.  It certainly saves a heap of time, but it is somewhat less pungent than fresh garlic.  If you wanted to use fresh garlic instead, finely mince about 5 medium or 4 large cloves which will yield about one fat tablespoon.

** Ditto with the pureed ginger.  If you have fresh ginger, grate down about 1.5″ of a nice plump root, which will yield about one heaping tablespoon.

*** Baby likes it hot, so I used 3 chilis with their seeds in.  For a milder masala you can remove the ribs and seeds of the chili, or reduce the number.  One green chili without seeds or ribs will make a mild masala.

**** Another shortcut ingredient, tamarind syrup is rehydrated tamarind where somebody else has done all the work of softening, mushing, and straining for you.  Tamarind syrup is also sometimes flavored with pureed mild green chili, aromatics and spices.  But hey, nothing wrong with that!  It just means more flavor.  If you don’t have tamarind syrup you could rehydrate dried tamarind pods.  If you don’t have dried tamarind pods either, try to mimic the sweet and sour flavor by mixing 1.5 tablespoons of tomato paste with 1.5 tablespoons of honey and 1 tablespoon of red wine vinegar.  Add an extra squeeze of lemon at the end.

Heat the oil in a large pan with high sides set over medium to low heat.  Dice the onion fairly finely and let it start to sweat it out for 3-4 minutes until it is translucent and fragrant, stirring regularly so that the onion does not brown or burn.

Finely  mince the chili (as much or as little as you are comfortable with) and add this along with the garlic and ginger purees.  Cook the mixture together for 2 minutes, or until the garlic and ginger are beautifully fragrant.

Stir in the spices and let these coat the onions, cooking them for another 2 minutes.

Rinse the chickpeas under cold running water and drain off any excess moisture.  Add the chickpeas to the spiced onion mixture and let it cook for 3-4 minutes or until the chickpeas start to look a little bit dry.

Stir in the diced tomatoes and their juices.  If you are using whole tomatoes, which are my preference, smoosh and squeeze them between your fingers to rustically break them up before adding the tomato bits and all of their juices to the pan.  Pour in the tamarind syrup.

Turn the heat up slightly to medium-high.

Let the chickpea stew cook down for about 10 minutes so that the liquid can reduce.  The chickpeas should have absorbed some of the color and the sauce will be thicker; less like a soup than a stew.

Squeeze in the juice of half a lemon, stir in the finely chopped cilantro, and season quite liberally with salt and pepper.  Because hey, you know what beans and legumes like?  They like salt.  And long solitary walks in a heavily wooded area, but that’s another story.  Taste the masala and adjust the seasoning as you see fit.

Serve over basmati rice and garnish with some more cilantro if you feel the yen.

Looking at those glossy little gems of fiber and protein remind me of how good it feels to have meatless meals in our weekly rotation.  Packed full of flavor, this masala has a slightly sweet and sour tone which is gussied up from the heat of chili and rich, exotic spices.  It’s pretty clear why this is one of my favorite cravable dishes.

Whether it’s eating out at an authentic Indian restaurant or making a quick lazybones dinner at home, you can’t go wrong with chana masala.  Well, unless you don’t like chickpeas of course (in which case you’re dead to me), or you have an aversion to flavor (I repeat: DEAD TO ME).  For the rest of us reasonable people, however, you ask the always present question of “What in the name of Beelzebub can I make for dinner tonight?”  I offer that you go no further than your pantry and treat yourself to a delicious but dirt cheap meal that won’t keep you in the kitchen during prime time.

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