I thought that we had turned the corner on kale in our house, but I was wrong. After spending several years  trying to convince Mike (and myself, for that matter) that we were “a Kale Loving Couple”, I was almost ready to admit defeat and just buy spinach instead. Because, you see, I had learned to tolerate kale, but I was still a far spell away from loving it. The thing is, I figured that it was just mind over matter in this case. If I truly believed that I loved kale,  I would eventually love kale.

Except that I totally didn’t love kale.

I had found ways to make kale palatable by hiding it in pasta or grain dishes. I had even found ways to make it delicious on it’s own by wilting it down with pancetta, pine nuts and raisins, but I still didn’t love kale, in and of itself. That’s when it occurred to me that I no longer had a phobia for kale, exactly, but rather raw kale, that tough and bitter scourge of the vegan rice bowl.

You know what? I was okay with that. Sure, my relationship with kale was conditional, but eating within those parameters we were still able to enjoy this leafy nutrient powerhouse at least once or sometimes twice a week. At last, Mike and I had graduated into the realm of “a Kale LIKING Couple”. That seemed like enough of a win. That is, until my sister-in-law introduced me to her now infamous and celebrated kale and chickpea salad. The kale was both raw and revelatory; I loved it. Raw kale, and I loved it.

You see, something very special happens when you dress kale well with a slightly acid dressing and then massage it into the leaves. Lovingly. Tenderly. Like someone who loves kale would do. The leaves soften almost immediately and become supple and flexible. In the mouth, the texture is more similar to a raw curly parsley than the hardy and crunchy raw kale that I had grown accustomed to (hating).

At first, I tried her salad to be polite. Then, I went back for a second helping. I took leftovers home and ate them greedily for lunch the next day at work. Yes, greedily.

I don’t know where my SIL got her original recipe from, but this is my adaptation. She has finished the salad with a sprinkle of parmesan cheese in the past, but I prefer the creamy texture and salty tang of a good quality feta. Other than that, this is pretty close to the one that she makes and which I covet. The salad is simple and quick to put together with flavours that are classic in a kale dish; olive oil, lemon, and plenty of garlic. With nutty chickpeas and salty cheese, this is a side salad that quickly subs in as a light and healthy meal in a pinch.

Also, raw kale, and it tastes delicious. Did I mention that? Because I’m still rather startled by this revelation, and I feel like the whole world should know. Finally, it IS possible.

Kale and Chickpea Salad

serves ~ 6-8 as a side dish but leftovers keep well for days

• 2 bunches curly kale
• 1 very large (2 small) cloves garlic
• 3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
• 1 fat lemon (juice of whole; 1 tsp lemon zest)
• 1 large can (28 oz) chickpeas
• 100 g (~2/3 cup) feta cheese *
• salt, to taste

* For a vegan option you could omit the feta cheese, or use a vegan feta substitute.

Strip the leaves from the kale and discard the tough stems. I find that the fastest way to do this is just to grasp the stalk firmly in a fist and pull upward, stripping it; the leaves will naturally separate from the stem.

Wash the kale leaves thoroughly to remove all grit and grime from the leaves.  Spin dry to remove any excess moisture and then roughly chop into smallish bite sized pieces.

Grate or press the garlic (mash if you prefer) and add one teaspoon of lemon zest. Squeeze in the juice of the full lemon (there should be about 3 tablespoons of juice) and add the olive oil. Season generously with salt and whisk to combine the dressing.

A quick note here on the word “generously”: I mean it. Kale loves salt. Kale craves salt. Kale cries out for salt in it’s sleep. Chickpeas echo the sentiment. Don’t believe that the slight smattering of feta in here will be enough to adjust for under-seasoning the kale, because it won’t. Be brave, because I speak from unfortunate experience when I say that a light hand with the salt will give you a salad that’s, well, kinda ho-hum and boring. Seasoned correctly, it is almost suspiciously delicious.

Drizzle the dressing over the kale and start to massage it into the leaves.

Unlike a delicate mesclun mix that you barely want to toss lest it bruises, kale likes a firm touch. Rub the dressing into the leaves brusquely and thoroughly. Watch the kale go from dusty looking and coarse to glossy and supple. It will also lose about 50% of the volume. This is the kale right after drizzling the dressing….

….and this is the same kale after a brief 2 minute massage.

Rinse and drain the can of chickpeas. Crumble the feta, and mix the chickpeas and feta into the kale salad.

The beauty of this salad is that it is both delicious and robust. You can serve it immediately or let the salad marinate in your fridge for up to 3 days. It can be eaten cold or at room temperature and you won’t need to worry about a pool of dressing in the bottom of the bowl.

Because it can be made in advance and holds up so well, this salad is perfect for an outdoor BBQ or potluck with friends. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I make it all the time. 

Raw kale and it actually tastes good. Who would’ve thought?

UPDATE: The original recipe for my sister-in-law’s salad is here! It seems that its really more of a (delicious) chickpea salad with kale than a kale salad with chickpeas. I guess that was the gateway that I needed! Over time, looks like I have unconsciously upped the kale quotient by about ten-fold. It’s that good.

Today’s post is brought to you by the letter “C”, as in “creative”, “clean” and “crave-worthy”. Or, you know, “cauliflower”.

I have always felt that cauliflower, like most crucifers, is often sadly overlooked. We spend so much effort on eating the rainbow, filling our plates with vibrant, colourful fruits and vegetables, that we sometimes forget the value in those that are just plain white. Pallid parsnips get passed over for purple and orange carrots, and poor old cauliflower plays a distant second fiddle to just about everything else. You totally know what I’m talking about, even if you are as much of a cauliflower lover as I am. Picture in your mind the last dozen half-eaten and abandoned vegetable trays that you’ve seen at a party. There might be a few lonely carrots rolling around, a solitary piece of celery and a mangled looking cucumber slice hidden under a piece of decorative purple kale, but the quarter tray of cauliflower looks as pristine and unsullied as when it was first laid out. There might as well be a sign on there saying, “Cauliflower, go home. Nobody likes you here, anyway.”

Except that I do. Quite a bit, really.

At times, I try to trick you into thinking that I have some kind of eternal home-cook creative genius going on, whereby I’m positively brimming with unique ideas that are just waiting to be shared. This is not one of those times. I happily stole the brilliant idea for a cauliflower “couscous” from Bitchin’ Kitchen after watching a re-run of an old Hallowe’en themed episode.

To be clear, this is not a couscous salad, it is a cauliflower salad that is prepared in such a way that it looks startlingly like couscous and would likely be the perfect foil for your picky no-veg-eating loved one. If you have a food processor, it comes together in a snap and is a lovely light side dish or offering on the buffet table. When I photographed this salad (many moons ago), it was paired with a Middle Eastern sweet and tangy spiced lamb chop, but it would be just as perfect alongside grilled chicken, fish or even a juicy pink pork loin.

Curried Cauliflower “Couscous” Salad

Serves 6 as a side dish

• 1 medium head of cauliflower
• 1 medium red pepper
• 1/3 cup kalamata olives, pitted (~20)
• 1/3 cup dried currants *
• 1/4 cup slivered almond
• 1 clove garlic
• 3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
• 1/2 tsp lemon zest
• 1.5 lemons, juice only
• 1 tsp mild curry powder
• 1/2 tsp ground cumin
• small handful fresh mint (2 tbsp minced)
• small bunch of parsley (3/4 cup minced)
• kosher salt, to taste

* You can substitute raisins if you prefer.

Grate or press the peeled garlic into a fairly large mixing bowl. Measure in the olive oil, 1/2 tsp of lemon zest, and juice of one and a half plump lemons. Add the dried spices.  I’m always a fan of mixing the dressing for a salad directly in the bowl first, because as far as I’m concerned it is just one less dish to wash! Season the dressing with salt before whisking together the ingredients.

Toast the almonds in a small dry skillet (or the oven, if it happens to be on) until they are golden brown. Set them aside to cool.

Now on to the bulk of the salad – the cauliflower!  Carve large florets off of the head of cauliflower and discard the main stem.  Working in batches of about 1/4 cauliflower at a time, pulse the raw florets in a food processor until they are equally small and granular, about the size of couscous. Remember to pulse  the mixture in short, small whizzes so that you have control over the size, because your intent is not to create a cauliflower puree.  When each batch is complete, add it to the mixing bowl containing your dressing.

Chop the red pepper into a small dice and coarsely chop the olives. Mince the parsley and mint. Add these ingredients, along with the currants, to the cauliflower.

Stir until everything is combined. Taste the salad and season again with a bit of salt if you need it, which you might. I find that people tend to have a much lighter hand when seasoning via dressing than they would when seasoning a whole salad, myself included.

Garnish the cauliflower couscous with your toasted slivered almonds, and you’re done!

I served this salad on the side of  some gorgeous rare lamb chops, but it is well worth noting that I have also eaten the leftovers for lunch as a stand alone meal and it was surprisingly satisfying, and possibly even more flavourful after allowing the ingredients time to blend.

With the warm weather here, and a summer full of backyard BBQ and potlucks looming on the horizon, dishes like this fast, fresh and healthy salad are hitting my table more frequently than ever. Or, put another way, cauliflower is quickly becoming a new favourite “grain” in this house!

There are people out there who don’t like eating lamb. Those people are crazy and it is probably best to avoid associating with them.

Lamb is one of my absolute favorite meats and I have yet to meet a cut that I haven’t enjoyed, from succulent slowly braised neck to a glorious roasted leg, and literally everything in between. Well, except for lamb fries, but only because I haven’t had the opportunity to try them yet (mind you, considering my sexy-time crush on Chris Cosentino, it’s only a matter of time before they’re filling my plate). My favorite cut of lamb, however, is the ubiquitous chop; tender, versatile, and indescribably elegant and sophisticated.

Nothing screams “special occasion” like a beautiful lamb chop. There are few things in the world that I enjoy as much as gingerly picking up a ruby rare chop, holding the bone in exactly the same position that one would use to sip their tea from bone china, and nibbling myself into a stupor. When cooked properly, the meat is tender, succulent, and utterly worth the occasional indulgent splurge. When cooked improperly, however, the Kitchen Gods cry tears made of vinegary mint sauce. True story.

The good news is that it is incredibly easy to cook a basic rack of lamb so that it is flavorful, juicy, and well seared on the outside but evenly cooked within. The key to this is a simple technique, and that’s what I really want to show you, but I will also share my favorite Middle Eastern spice paste. It is sweet, tangy, exciting on the palate and an absolute perfect match for the tender and decadent chops.

Perfect Lamb Chops, Perfectly Easy

Serves 2-3….but usually 2!

• 1 rack of lamb *
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Spiced Pomegranate Glaze

• 1 tbsp pomegranate molasses **
• 1 tbsp olive oil
• 2 medium garlic cloves
• 1/4 tsp cumin
• 1/4 tsp cinnamon
• 1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
• 1/8 tsp allspice

* The rack of lamb should weigh approximately 1.5 pounds and have 8 bones, which is really the average rack that you will find in North America. However, if by chance your rack is skinnier or heavier than this, you will need to adjust cooking times slightly.

** Pomegranate molasses is a syrup made from concentrated pomegranate juice and sugar. It is both very sweet and very, very tart. This is a common ingredient in Middle Eastern cooking and can be found at most Middle Eastern grocers, some specialty food stores, and even many well stocked supermarkets. Or, of course, you can make your own.

Your rack of lamb is probably ‘frenched’, which means that the excess meat and connective tissue has been cut away from the bone (see picture above). This is done mostly for pretty presentation, and to allow you a clean bone to pick up. However, it is also not necessary. Some people like best of all the crispy bits of meat between the bones! If your rack has not been cleaned/frenched, you certainly don’t need to do this, but I do recommend that you cut down between the bones just until you approach the top of the medallion. This will help the meat to cook evenly and will also make it easier for you to carve later.

Season the rack generously with salt and freshly ground pepper.

If you’re just reading this for technique, you can slather the lamb with whatever you prefer (Dijon mustard, garlic and rosemary is a popular choice), but I really want to show you my personal favorite, a spiced sweet and tangy Middle Eastern glaze. To make that, finely mince or press two cloves of garlic into a small bowl. Add the remainder of the pomegranate glaze ingredients. Pro tip: if you measure in the olive oil first, the pomegranate molasses won’t stick to your spoon.

Stir to combine the glaze ingredients into a thick sauce. Slather half of the glaze all over the meat, reserving the rest for later. Let the meat marinate for at least 30 minutes, or up to a whole day if you’re in no rush.

Preheat your oven to 450ºF. You want to start off with an oven that is hot, hot, HOT!

Put the lamb fat side up (or bone side down) on a rack set above a baking sheet. This will encourage air flow and even cooking.  Let the lamb roast at high temperature for seven (7) minutes.

Remove the lamb from the oven and turn the heat down to 325ºF.  Slather the meaty side of the lamb with the remaining glaze.

Pop the lamb back in the oven for an additional twelve (12) minutes for medium rare. If you like your lamb very rare, reduce that time to 10 minutes. If you prefer it closer to medium, increase the time to 14 minutes. If you like your lamb well done, go braise a shank instead because this is not the recipe for you.

It is worth noting that some ovens run hotter or colder than others, so to be sure that the rack is cooked to your liking, feel free to take the internal temperature using a digital meat thermometer and know that the temperature will increase by a few degrees as the meat rests. Also, please don’t stress yourself out trying to get a temperature that is exact. If you are 2-3 degrees up or down, it’s not the end of the world and your lamb will still be delicious. Trust me.

Rare: 120 – 125ºF

Medium Rare: 130 – 135ºF

Medium: 140 – 145ºF

Let the meat rest, tented with foil, for around 10 minutes before cutting the rack between each bone into evenly sized chops.

With meat this rich and delicious (you WILL clean the bones like Jack’s giant, I hope!), I suggest keeping side dishes fairly light and with flavors that complement your marinade or glaze. To play up the sweet and tangy Middle Eastern flavors of the spiced pomegranate glaze, we paired the lamb with a refreshing minted cucumber and yogurt salad, and cauliflower couscous.

Cooking the perfect lamb chops really is perfectly easy by following this technique. The next time that you’re making a fancy-shmancy meal for two, I urge you to impress your beloved with these succulent chops!

Things have changed a lot for Mike and I over the past couple of years. We got married, went on a couple of exceptionally fun vacations, and were blessed with a gorgeous baby girl who is our absolute world. What hasn’t changed, thankfully, is that we’re still best friends, spending time with each other is the best part of every day, and I still derive no greater pleasure than tricking him into eating things that horrify him, or the few dishes that he thinks that he hates.

For real. I always keep an emergency block of tofu in the fridge specifically for times that I’m feeling wicked.

Anyway, I had used my culinary wiles to earn a bit of credit in the Love Bank lately, by making a rather special multi-course Valentine’s Day dinner that featured a fabulous dry aged organic rib-eye as a main, and the following weekend for Family Day we celebrated by staying in our pajamas all day and eating chili cheese burgers with Greek fries for dinner (staying at home all day was his real present, because as you might have guessed, if I don’t leave the house for at least a few hours every day I actually start to degrade and will eventually perish). I like to think of chili cheese burgers as a valuable gold-tone bargaining chip when it comes to our relationship, and because of those two Mike-centric dinners, I was able to look him steadily in the eyes and say, “We’re going to St. Lawrence Market next weekend.” And he just sighed and nodded his head.

Let’s be honest; many men don’t love going to the farmer’s market as much as most of the ladies that I know. It involves waking up early on a critical Only-Day-To-Sleep-In morning, shlepping off to spend exorbitant amounts of money on produce that claims to be “organic”, braving throngs of other tired and cranky people who would shiv you for that basket of chanterelles without a second thought, and for those of us in the suburbs it also includes a 40 minute commute and a $20 parking fee. Although a morning at the market will leave me exhilarated and giddy with culinary optimism, it leaves poor Mike feeling beleaguered, broke, and filled with trepidation about dinner.

This is partially because it is impossible for me to leave the market without buying a glut of fresh seafood, some manner of exotic game meat (camel sausages, anyone?), at least two particularly stinky cheeses and a big bunch of kale. And they might all get cobbled together into dinner. YUM.

As with every time that I’ve been to the market, I fully intended to show restraint but when I reached the seafood section, well, the flesh was weak. I was only looking for a bit of fish for dinner, but I also left with a bag of wild caught colossal white shrimp and some snowy white squidoos. If you have been reading this blog for a while, you know that Mike is no fan of anything tentacled. You also know that apparently I don’t care … at all. I’m that kind of wife.

So yes, I made squid for my cephalapod-averse husband. Again. Because I love it, and frankly, I feel like I’ve earned it. And to be honest, he muttered a lot but he didn’t really mind because in the dead of winter, the flavors of this dish bring us right back to the fabulous memory of the seafood feasts that we ate in Spain on the beach as the sun was setting. It was magic. The good thing is that you can capture some of that Mediterranean sunshine at home with one of the quickest weeknight dinners that I know.

Mediterranean Grilled Seafood with Garlic and Lemon

Serves 4 with bread and salad

• 1 lb calamari, cleaned *
• 1 lb jumbo or colossal shrimp **
• 1/3 cup kalamata olives, about 2 dozen
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 4 medium cloves garlic
• 1-2 lemons, (1 tsp zest and 3 tbsp juice)
• 2.5 tsp dried oregano ***
• 1/2 tsp red chili flakes
• 1/2 tsp salt, or to taste
• 1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper, or to taste

* When you buy pre-cleaned calamari, which is generally how it is sold, all that you need to do is break down the bodies. However, if your calamari has not been cleaned, you can remove the grody bits by following these excellent instructions.

** Look for shrimp that are less than 21-25/lb. The juicy fatties that I bought were 15-18/lb and they were perfect. Unlike the calamari, colossal shrimp are generally sold in the shell and need to be peeled and deveined. It does take a bit of extra time, but I far prefer that to previously frozen shrimp that was already shelled, which is usually the alternative, as the texture of the shelled is inferior. Cleaning the shrimp is easy enough and there is a good diagram here.

** Fresh herbs are usually superior to dried, but I find that fresh will just burn and blacken immediately when the seafood is grilled. Dried oregano is pungent and powerful but has much better staying power for a recipe like this.

Peel the garlic cloves and use a garlic press, or grate them on a rasp, into a small mixing bowl.  Add one teaspoon of lemon zest, the dried oregano, chili flakes, salt and pepper.

Squeeze in the lemon juice (1 plump and juicy lemon or 1.5 smaller lemons will be fine. Don’t worry about being too exact here) and pour in the olive oil. Stir until combined.

The great thing about this recipe is that it is so delightfully quick and easy. You just made both the marinade AND the finishing sauce in less than 5 minutes!

Separate the squid tentacles from the bodies. If the tentacles are particularly large, cut them lengthwise into 2-3 pieces. Smaller tentacles can be left whole.

Lay the calamari tube flat on your cutting board and slide a sharp knife along one side to open it up like a book. Using very gentle pressure from your knife, slide it along the body in long and shallow grooves, each about 1/8″ apart, as you score the flesh. This will help the calamari to cook quickly and evenly, as well as allowing lots of room for the garlic and lemon marinade to penetrate and collect.

Peel and devein the shrimp, if that hasn’t already been done, but feel free to leave the tails intact for presentation purposes.

In a large bowl, combine the shrimp, squid and kalamata olives. Pour 2/3 of the marinade over top, making sure to reserve at least 3 tablespoons. Ensure that all of the seafood has been evenly coated in what is essentially a flavor mania.

Let the seafood marinate for 30 minutes, if you can. That’s the perfect length of time for the flavors to permeate, but not enough time for the acid in the lemon juice to start denaturing the shrimp.

Set your grill pan over high heat. If you have one of those fabulous and long grill pans that spans multiple elements, well, I’m jealous. Also, that means that you can multitask and put the seafood on in stages according to how long each cooks. However, for those of you who have just a regular one-element pan like me, start by nestling in all of the shrimp and olives.  Let the shrimp grill on each side for about 1-2 minutes (depending on size and how hot your grill pan gets), and take them off as soon as you can see grill marks, or the shrimp are pinkly opaque and curling. Please try not to overcook the shrimp as they really do grill up quite quickly.  As soon as the shrimp are cooked, take them out and keep them warm in a heat proof bowl.

The olives, on the other hand, can stay down and just need a little nudge.

Next up are the calamari tentacles. Grill these until they shrink, curl, and feel slightly springy to the touch, or about 2-3 minutes total.

When the tentacles are cooked, they can join the shrimp. Give the olives another little turn.

Finally, lay the calamari bodies on to the grill pan with the hatched side down. Let this cook for only about a minute before turning the bodies over and letting them cook on their backs for another 30 seconds or so. Calamari cooks up exceptionally quickly so don’t leave the pan unattended. Don’t turn around. In fact, if you want to just stand and stare at it as it cooks, feel free. Other people may judge you for that, but not me, my friend. I stare too.

As the calamari bodies cook, they will begin to curl. Take them out of the pan and set them on a cutting board, nudging the bodies gently to encourage them to curl into tubes, which they will do quite willingly. Slice the bodies crosswise into slices that are about 1/2″ thick before adding them to the rest of the mix.

Oh yes, and those delightful grilled olives can now join the party too.

Spread the seafood and olives on a platter and drizzle the remaining garlic and lemon mixture over top. Feel free to garnish with a few additional slices of lemon if you feel the yen.

This simple but succulent grilled seafood is a perfect light dinner served with a fresh loaf and a simple salad with a bit of acid. Although it is winter, we found some perfect hothouse grown cherry tomatoes at the Market which were super sweet and perfect in a tomato and cucumber salad, dressed simply with naught but a drizzle of very good olive oil and some crunchy flaked sea salt.

If you aren’t sucking your fingers and fighting over the heel of bread to sop up every last drop of those delicious garlicky, lemony seafood juices, I’ll eat my hat. Although, by “hat” I actually mean “your share of the tentacles”, because they’re totally the best part. That must be why Mike always lets me eat his, because he loves me. Yes. That’s why.

Garlicky and bright, with the briny sweetness of grilled olives and all that succulent fresh seafood, this is one of my absolutely favorite ways to cook calamari and if you give it a shot, you will completely agree.

There are many reasons why you would want to come to my house for dinner. For example, there is no such thing as a “last” bottle of wine, unless you mean “the last one we opened’. Before and after dinner, putting your feet up on the couch is encouraged, and nine times out of ten, you will leave with a packed lunch for work the next day.

There are also many reasons why you would not want to come to my house for dinner. These include the warning that any given evening might end up being Octopus Night, the cats throw up more often than our five month old – always right where you were about to step – and sometimes dessert is actually an experiment involving a bag of strange fruit.

Meet my good friend Sue. She thought that she was just coming over for soup, salad and a snuggle with the Choosy Baby.

Little did she know that I was planning to use the opportunity to spring these on her….another round of Strange Fruit.

Introducing LONGAN!

When I saw these on promotion at the grocery store, I didn’t think twice about throwing a sack into my cart. All that I could tell from the tag was that these strange little fruit were called ‘longan’ and these particular ones were imported from Trinidad.

After doing a bit of research I learned that Dimocarpus Longan, otherwise known simply as ‘longan’ (or long’an) is the tropical tree that bears these little fruit. It comes as no surprise that longan is a member of the soapberry family, which is populated by the popular, perfumed and martini-ready lychee, as well as the hairy devil’s ball-sack, guinep.

According to Wikipedia, the literal translation of ‘longan’ (龍眼) is ‘dragon eye’, because the fruit looks a bit like a glaucoma diseased eyeball, with the black pit barely visible through the translucent flesh after you crack the thin shell. But wait! I’m getting ahead of myself here. And that sounds far grosser than it should. So anyway, let’s back up to our first foray into the world of longan. At this point, all that Sue and I knew was the name.

This face says, “Sure…yeah….I would like nothing better than to sample some of your strange and quite possibly abhorrent or poisonous ‘fruit’….thanks for that….”

The tawny brown and slightly pebbly shell of the longan was tough but thin and easy to crack and peel away. The fruit inside….sure does look like an eyeball.

And now for the taste test!  I let Sue take the lead on this one. I’m a giver like that.

Stage 1: I can’t believe that you’re making me eat an albino cherry.

Stage 2: Huh. So that’s what ‘eyeball’ tastes like.

Stage 3:You know, this is….not bad at all…..no, really.

Stage 4: It’s kind of like a grape, soaked in booze, without a peel.

The best comparison to longan would definitely be lychee; the texture of longan is slightly juicier and the flesh is a bit sweeter but without the floral perfume and flavor that lychee is famous for. The pit inside is relatively small, so you don’t feel cheated by the fruit’s false claims (I’m looking at you, guinep!)

Apparently, longan can be found in fresh or dried form at Asian markets, and is used in many dessert soups and sweet-and-sour foods. At some point I would love to experiment with using longan in cooking, but for our first journey into the world of this strange fruit, raw was perfectly fine for us. In fact, I was somewhat surprised to find that we enjoyed it so much!  The counter in front of us started to look like the Galapagos during sea turtle hatching season.

Would we buy longan again? Absolutely! And better yet, this Strange Fruit had not one but TWO converts that day.

As we get into the holiday season, it is nice to have a few easy appetizers tucked away up your sleeve. You know, the ones that are easy to make with ingredients that are easy to find, but that look like you spent far more time on them than you did. And, as with most of my favorite holiday appetizers (like Brie en croute or a classic cheese ball), they involve cheese. Always, going on about the cheese.

As a side note, Mike gets frustrated beyond belief because I am constantly saying, “Now you’re cooking with CHEESE!” He insists that the correct idiom is, “Now you’re cooking with gas”, which it is. Technically. I must sound like one of those people who talk about, “The doggone days of summer”, or “Jumping on the band’s wagon”. However, I feel that cooking with cheese is infinitely more satisfying than cooking with gas, expedient though it might be, so I refuse to change my ways, much to his chagrin.

I don’t even know if I can call this a “recipe”. It feels like a hideaway from one of those old Betty-Crocker style books, where every recipe somehow manages to involve a packet of instant vanilla pudding or yellow slab cake mix. But healthier and less processed. That said, we could all use a bit of simplicity in our lives once in a while, and if that takes the form of fast and easy little bite sized appetizers, so be it.

One last note is that measurements are very approximate and will vary based on the size of your apricots. Plump, juicy dried apricots will obviously be able to hold more than the small, dessicated little dried apricots that sat for a year on the back of your grocer’s shelves, waiting to be bought. Not to be size-ist, but in this case, bigger is usually better.

 Dried Apricots Stuffed with Brie and Almonds

• 2 dozen dried apricots
• 2 dozen whole almonds
• 4 oz Brie cheese
• 1 tbsp roughly chopped fresh thyme

Toasting the almonds is important as it really enriches the flavor with a robust nuttiness that borders on smoky or meaty. In fact, my father in law said to me, “I like the ones with the bacon!” In my opinion, things that taste loosely like bacon can never be bad.

Toast the almonds in a dry skillet set over medium heat for about 3-5 minutes, or until they are fragrant, darkened in color and…toasted. When you toast nuts in a pan instead of in the oven, they tend to get concentrated color where they touch the pan, as opposed to nuts toasted in the oven which colour evenly. However, I’m not going to turn on my oven for 2 dozen nuts, and even though these ones were just on the shy side of being burnt, they were absolutely perfect for the stuffing.

Let the almonds cool completely before use.

Tear the thyme leaves off and discard the tough and woody stems.

Each apricot will have a slit at some point along the seam of the fruit which is where the pit was removed. Locate the slit and gently coax the apricot open but make sure that you don’t tear all the way through.

Cut the Brie into small cubes, each about 1/2 – 1 teaspoon (depending on the size of your apricots). You want the cheese to be cold when you do this.

Lay an almond inside each apricot pouch. Squish on a cube of brie and drop a few thyme leaves over top. Flip the other side of the apricot over around the stuffing.

Dried Apricots Stuffed with Jalapeno and Goat Cheese

• 2 dozen dried apricots
• 1 medium size jalapeno
• 4 oz goat cheese

Start by slicing the jalapeno horizontally into rounds which are as thin as possible. If you can make them borderline translucent, all the better. And please ignore the thyme on the other side of the cutting board; I was multitasking.

Coax the apricot open along the seam of the pouch. Lay a slice of jalapeno inside and a goat cheese dollop, approximately 1/2 – 1 small teaspoon (plus or minus, depending on the size of your apricots), neatly in the centre. Fold the apricot pouch over like a well stuffed taco.

See what I mean about a simple and easy appetizer? Each one is only a bite, but it is a delicious and flavour packed punch of a bite.

These aren’t the prettiest pictures in the world, but such is life. It wouldn’t have hurt me to decorate the plate a little bit, for your sake if nothing else, but that’s not the lazybones way.

Stuffed apricots are so easy to do with a minimal number of ingredients, and very open to variation. Why not try an apricot stuffed with gouda and a scrap of bacon, or goat cheese and freshly torn basil? Cream cheese with candied cherry peppers or candied pecans for a sweeter treat? The possibilities are only limited by your imagination and good taste.

A good stock is something that is invaluable in the kitchen and makes everyday cooking faster, easier, and infinitely more delicious. I grew up in a house where my Dad made his own everything and wouldn’t dream of purchasing a commercial stock.  I can understand that, because 30 odd years ago commercial stocks were largely reminiscent of yellow, salty water.  For my part, I do try to make my own stock when I can, but there are a few reasons that these days I also use stock from a box:

• I rarely have the foresight to thaw my stock in advance, and in the middle of cooking dinner I’m far too lazy (or unable) to wait 12 minutes while the 2 L container thaws slowly in the microwave.
• My freezer is already bulging at the seams and space is at a premium.
• I consume far more stock and broth than you would imagine…..
• There are some genuinely good quality stock and broth options out there that I don’t use out of desperation, I use them out of desire.

The ones that I’m excited to tell you about today, which are officially “Tina Tried and Favorited”, are the new Campbell’s chicken, beef and cream stocks, from the Stock First line, which launched July 2012. As you may have noticed, I prefer not to tell you about products that I don’t really enjoy, so when I do a product review at least you know that it comes from the heart. These, my friends, are totally my newest Time Saving Trick.

A few weeks back, Mike and I were invited to a special dinner in the Campbell HQ to sample a variety of dishes that illustrated the versatility of these stocks. I readily accepted, and….brought a baby. To a PR event. Yes folks, I am *that* person. Thankfully, the little lamb was in good form and let everyone enjoy the quiet and intimate dinner put out by Chef Suman of the Campell test kitchen (pictured on right) without interruption.

Chef Suman prepared seven delicious dishes for us over the course of the 90 minute meal, and although some of the prep work had been done in advance, the vast majority or the cooking was done live and in-the-minute. If nothing else, that should speak volumes to you about how valuable these flavorful stocks can be as a time saver for the busy home cook.

My favorite part about the test kitchen was that it was located in the “office end” of the actual Campbell’s factory. How cool is that? If it hadn’t been for the wee one on my hip, I would have been begging for a tour.

So…I will fully cop to the fact that I didn’t really know that there was a difference between “chicken broth” and “chicken stock”, and historically I tended to use the two interchangeably.  Many of us do, in fact, but to be more accurate, a broth is made from stewed meat, vegetables and aromatics. A stock is made from all of the above as well as the bones, so it tends to be darker, richer and more flavorful. This is certainly the case for the Campbell stocks, which have a much stronger flavor than the weaker chicken and beef broths.

Now what about this cream stock, huh? I had never heard of such a thing, but essentially it is like a thinner version of a cooking cream which has already been seasoned and lightly flavored with aromatics like garlic and onion.  You may like the cream stock because it is convenient, will  not scald or burn, and is perfect to make a sauce in seconds. For my part, I like the cream stock because there are only 45 calories in a quarter cup!

And as for the big question that a lot of you are going to be asking, yes: the stocks are much lower in sodium than their former brothy counterparts were.  That’s important to me, and although there are no specifically low-sodium options in the stocks right now, I can still feel better about using them from a health perspective.

Before getting too far into the tasting of the meal, one of my fellow diners and I requested to taste the stock on it’s own. After all, that’s the true litmus test.  If I’m going to use a ready made stock, I want it to be robust and flavorful without being overly salty. The chicken stock tasted much richer and more like chicken than the traditional Campbell’s broth. It was flavorful enough that I could easily drink this as a clear soup if I was feeling under the weather, but without feeling my fingers instantly swell from all the sodium. Check and mate. The cream stock was light and thinner than I was expecting, which was nice, and it had a savory flavor that made me instantly start plotting all the things I could do with it.

Now then, to see the true versatility of these stocks, scroll down and I’ll show you what Chef Suman made for us.

The first course was a scallop which had been lightly seared and then poached in the cream stock, with a drizzle of balsamic reduction.

Mixed greens with dried fruit, nuts and goat cheese in a creamy citrus and cilantro vinaigrette, using the cream stock.

Cod filet which was pan braised in the chicken stock, in a puttanesca sauce over a bed of Moroccan spiced couscous which was hydrated with the chicken stock.

Creamy and decadent (yet surprisingly healthy) mushroom risotto, cooked with the chicken stock and finished with a splash of the cream sauce for extra richness.

Harvest vegetable ragout, made with the chicken stock and served in a bread bowl. For a meatless entree, this was incredibly satisfying.

Beef tenderloin medallions in a mustard and mushroom sauce, made with the beef stock and served over potatoes whipped with cream stock. I could have eaten a pot of those potatoes.

Finally, for dessert, the dark horse that surprised everybody: a bittersweet caramel and espresso flan made with the savoury cream stock and served with macerated berries on the side.

If you’re looking for more inspiration, check out the Campbell’s cream stock recipes or the chicken and beef stock recipes!

At the end of the event, we were sent home with a bag of goodies including a variety of the stocks – and some bibs, spoons and a sippy cup for Harlowe (How sweet and thoughtful was THAT?). In the time since the event, I have already managed to use most of it up. One container of chicken stock went in a pan with some ginger, garlic, chili and star anise to poach fish, and the other was used for braised chicken thighs with sweet peppers. The cream stock made an appearance in a lower fat alfredo sauce with ham, sweet potato and broccoli rabe, and the beef stock was purposed in a  super fast and richly flavored beef vindaloo.

I have my eye on the bit of cream stock which is remaining for some scalloped yams later this week, and all of the stocks have made it through to my grocery list for the next time I shop.  I will absolutely be buying them again.  You know, I wouldn’t endorse a product that I didn’t truly enjoy and support, so here’s to hoping that you like the assorted stocks and give them the same thumbs up as we do!

Considering that our last post was about a month ago, and in the weeks preceding that our posting was spotty at best, it might feel like Mike and I are those absentee friends that you used to know but then they started listening to soft rock, moved to a suburb with a lot of small dogs, and promised that “Yeah, sure, we’ll go for a drink sometime…” but they never call.  That’s sort of true, actually (except for the soft rock), but we didn’t really fall off the face of the earth or the edge of reason.  We just kind of….fell apart.  In other words, we had a baby.

After the kind of completely atypical labor and delivery that will forever redefine how I think of the phrase, “hard and fast”, on August 15, 2012, we welcomed 9 pounds and 5 ounces of beautiful baby girl into the world.

Note: I had a late-date ultrasound appointment the day before and they guesstimated her weight to be right around the 8 pound mark.  Thank god for lies like that, because when you’re girding your loins for a drug free delivery, any suspicions over 8 pounds are just better left unsaid.

Anyhow, I think that about 5 of those ounces have got to be made up of lip…

..and at least 3 ounces are comprised of her funny, unkempt mop of pseudo-electrified hair.

I will spare you the description of what the rest of her weight is comprised.

So how did we spend that first month?  Well, the first few weeks were spent desperately trying to get her to feed, dementedly trying to get her to sleep, and then feverishly trying to wake her up again to eat. I like to think that years of working multiple jobs and/or long hours, combined with my most recent role providing support to a manufacturing facility, was kinda like boot-camp training for these sleepless nights. In fact, that is likely the only reason that I could keep some semblance of smile on as we muddled through those early days, attempting not to hiss, ” ‘Sleep when the baby sleeps’ only works when the baby sleeps…so piss off!” to well meaning bystanders who bravely came by to offer us support.

And hey, she did sleep occasionally; I slept when she slept, and Mike captured each one of those instances on film so that looking back on these early days I appear to be the laziest new Mom in the world.

Speaking of Mike, he is as brilliant a Dad as I expected, and despite the fact that neither one of us has any idea what we’re doing, he has mastered the art of Snuggles, Tummy Time, and “Daddy Loves Me” songs.

It still seems a bit surreal that we have finally met our little Flipper, and we appreciate your patience with both the brevity and questionable frequency of our posting as we work to get through these first crazy and exciting few months.

Eventually I hope to once again get more than 4 hours of sleep a night and be able to take showers that are longer than 4.5 minutes, or, you know, cook a dinner that didn’t come from the freezer.  In the mean time, know that we miss you and can’t wait to start posting again as soon as the little babe will let us…hopefully soon, because Mama needs her stove!

(Photo courtesy of the charming and talented Jacob Hanania)

It doesn’t take much to find something ordinary and elevate it to the realm of special, luxe and sophisticated.  It’s in the sprinkle of flaky Maldon sea salt on top of your Grandmother’s famous brownies, the minced tarragon in your tuna salad sandwich on brown, or the exceptional olive oil drizzled amongst shavings of Parmigiano Reggiano on top of a five minute blended tomato soup.

In my last post about grown-up Millionaire Bars, we told you that we had plans in mind for how we wanted to use Courvoisier to elevate a basic dish into something sublime as part of the Courvoisier Collective: Culinary Masterpieces. However, we didn’t have a chance to post it until now, what with my going into labour and spending most of last week in the fugue-state of a new mom (and yes, you will be introduced to the Choosy Baby very shortly!).  That said, I was determined to scrape in an entry before the Collective closed their virtual doors on August 24th, and out of all the dishes we experimented with, Mike and I mutually agreed that our favorite was found in the simple combination of carrots and cognac.

For our entry, elevating the ordinary comes through the gentle kiss of cognac in a basic carrot soup, which is set off by a drizzle of potent dill oil and a swirl of tangy, creamy, homemade creme fraiche. If you wanted to make your own creme fraiche as well then you should plan to start a day in advance, but otherwise this recipe is simple enough to be made for a mid-week dinner, but elegant enough to serve at your next fancy-pants soiree.

Carrot and Cognac Soup

Serves 6 as appetizer or light meal

Soup:

• 2.5 lb carrots (~ 8 large)
• 1 lb leeks (~ 3 large)
• 3/4 lb fennel bulb (1 large)
• 5 cloves garlic
• 3 tbsp butter
• 1/2 tsp caraway seed
• 3 oz Courvoisier cognac
• 6 cups chicken stock *
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Essential Garnish:

• small bunch dill (~ 1 cup loosely packed)
• 2/3 cup olive oil
• 1/8 tsp salt
• 6 tbsp creme fraiche, or to taste **

* For a vegetarian soup, feel free to substitute a flavorful and golden (not tomato based) vegetable stock.

** Sure, you could buy creme fraiche, but it is so embarrassingly easy to make at home that I don’t know why you would.  Simply stir about 2 tbsp of buttermilk into 2 cups of heavy or whipping cream. Cover this with something breathable, like a paper towel secured on top of the jar or bowl with an elastic band, and leave it to sit at room temperature for 12 – 24 hours.  Give it a stir every 6 hours or so and put the lid back on. The creme fraiche will get thicker the longer that it stands, but I think it is just about perfect at 18-24 hours, when it is thin enough to drizzle when at room temperature, or thick enough to dollop when cool.  The creme fraiche will keep in your refrigerator for at least 2 weeks in a sealed container.

Start by preparing the dill oil. Put the oil, salt and dill weed (stems and all!) into a blender.

Puree the mixture until it is smooth and uniform.

Line a fine mesh sieve with thin muslin or a coffee filter.  Pour the dill oil into the sieve and set it over a bowl to drain for at least an hour. There is no need to stir it or press down on the solids for now, it should drain naturally with a little bit of time. When the oil has drained, discard the remaining solids.  This is well more dill oil than you will need for the soup, but the remaining oil will keep well in a sealed container for several weeks.

Prepare your vegetables for the soup.  Coarsely chop only the white and pale green portions of the leeks, discarding the green tops (or saving them for vegetable stock).  Leeks are filthy little vegetables, so rinse them very well in a basin of cold water to get rid of all the grit.

Peel the garlic and roughly smash the cloves.

Peel the carrots and dice the carrots and fennel bulb.  In a large soup pot, melt the butter over medium low heat.  Add the the leeks, carrots, fennel, garlic and caraway seed.  Let this begin to sweat out for 15 minutes, or until the carrots are very tender.

Stir the pot intermittently as the vegetables cook because you don’t want them to burn, but a brown fond at the bottom of the pot is to be expected as the sugars from those carrots caramelize. Don’t worry; that’s pure flavor down there and we’re about to get it loosened into the pot!

Deglaze the pot by pouring the cognac all over the inside of the pot. It will immediately steam and boil off; with a wooden spoon, rapidly stir the contents being sure to scrape up and loosen the brown crust from the bottom of the pan and incorporate them back into the vegetables.

Pour in the stock and let this simmer on low heat for at least 30 minutes so that all the vegetables can continue to soften as the flavors marry.

Carefully puree the soup in batches through the blender, being particularly careful with that boiling hot liquid, or use a hand blender to do the trick.  Try to get the soup as smooth as you can.

I like a robust and fairly thick carrot soup. However, if you prefer something thinner, feel free to thin the soup with a bit more chicken stock or even a splash of water.  When you have achieved your desired consistency, season the soup to taste with salt and pepper.

To serve the soup, ladle it in to bowls and drizzle a teaspoon or two of the dill oil over top, followed by a swirl of creme fraiche.

The carrot soup is sweet and mild with just a hint of licorice flavor coming through from the fennel and caraway seed.  However, when the dill oil is drizzled on top to brighten it up and add freshness, which combines with the creaminess and tang of that luscious homemade creme fraiche, this goes from being just another basic root vegetable soup to something sophisticated and dinner party worthy.

…Or Tuesday-night-worthy, because sometimes life needs a bit of luxury in the every day.

There are certain liquors which are evocative because of brand stereotype or personal association rather than their actual taste. For example, as a Canadian, I can’t think of Screech without picturing a Newfie “Kitchen Party”, or how Bushmills and Jamesons will always be reminiscent of local expats with plastic shots glasses on Rabbie Burns night.  On the other hand, when I think of Courvoisier, the quintessentially classic cognac, I think of ascots, pipes and snifters…maybe with some foie gras, foxes and horses in close proximity (because that’s what Money Likes).

Oh yes, that and Gangsta Rap.

Or maybe not “Gangsta Rap” (perhaps gangstas don’t appreciate capitals and punctuation as much as I do), but the closest equivalent that white kids in the suburbs could get their Abercrombied little hands on. I can’t supress the depressingly vivid memories of a particularly puerile ex-boyfriend brandishing his Coors Light tall-boy like a talisman as he encouraged us all to “Pass the coo-vwa-zee-YAY, bitches!”  (This, of course, was after a frustratingly long and Snoop Dogg driven infatuation with Hennessy, which was finally starting to subside. After all, Hennessy was so 2001).  Also, it was not like we actually had any Courvoisier around, at that point. I was drinking peach flavored wine from a box and everyone had pitched in $5 for gas to get to the party, but he was pretty sure that if you could talk gangsta, you would eventually become gangsta.

(He never became gangsta)

Despite that limited -and questionable- exposure, as age and finances permitted, I eventually developed a surprising taste and appreciation for classics like cognac, both as a tipple as well as a flavor boost for food.  I am equally likely to sip a snifter in the winter as I am to enjoy adding a splash of cognac to everything from savory chicken liver paté or French onion soup to ruby toned Cherries Jubilee or a luscious apricot jam. For that reason, we were particularly excited when we heard about the Courvoisier Collective: Culinary Masterpieces, an opportunity for Ontario culinary students and amateur chefs to share their gastronomic creativity while cooking with some of their favorite hooch.

Anybody can enter their favorite or most creative dish to the contest as long as it falls into the category of soup, salad, hors d’oeuvres or entrée and does not contain more than 15 ingredients.  We will definitely be participating, but couldn’t help ourselves from skirting around the limitations of the contest and starting with something sweet. Hey, at least it got our creative juices flowing and gave us a chance to talk about this challenge before it expired!!

Channeling the spirit of cognac, we wanted to take something classic and refine it, giving it a grown up appeal that brings us from childhood to the adult realm.  So for all my gangstas out there, here is a grown up version of the classic Millionaire Bar: a crisp and buttery cookie base coated with cognac scented caramel and slathered with bittersweet chocolate. A touch of fleur de sel walks that glorious salted-caramel line and really brings these home.  Unlike some versions, these are less gooey and more refined with thinner layers of the sweet and a little bit more adult appeal.

Courvoisier Millionaire Bars

Makes 24 small bars. Or a single serving for Busta Rhymes.

Cookie Crust:

• 2 cups all purpose flour
• 6 tbsp granulated sugar
• 2 tbsp brown sugar, packed
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1 cup unsalted butter
• 2 tbsp Courvoisier cognac

Courvoisier Caramel Filling:

• 1 can (330 ml) sweetened condensed milk
• 1/3 cup unsalted butter
• 1/4 cup brown sugar, packed
• 2 tbsp golden corn syrup
• 3 tbsp Courvoisier cognac

Chocolate Topping:

• 12 oz semisweet chocolate
• 1 tbsp golden corn syrup
• 1 tsp unsalted butter
• Fleur de Sel, optional

Preheat your oven to 325ºF with the racks set in the center.

The easiest way to make short work of the crust is in a food processor.  Measure in the flour, sugars and salt.

Whiz the flour mixture together until combined. Cube the butter into smaller pieces and add them to the food processor bowl.

Pulse the mixture several times until the butter is mixed in uniformly and the flour looks sandy.  Although you don’t want to overprocess the mixture, if you have pieces that are the size of little peas then they are too large.  The mixture should clump together when pressed but will feel rather dry and crumbly to the touch.

Thoroughly grease a 9 x 13 baking pan and dust it lightly with flour.

Press the flour mixture into the prepared pan.  Firmly tamp it down so that it is packed and as flat or even as you can manage.

Bake the cookie crust for approximately 30 minutes, or until it is just starting to turn golden around the edges and pulls away ever so slightly from the pan.

Set the cooked crust aside to cool after brushing on the 2 tablespoons of Courvoisier.

For the filling, pour the can of sweetened condensed milk into a small pot or saucepan. Be sure to scrape it out fully, because that stuff is liquid gold.  Add in the butter, brown sugar and corn syrup and stir everything together.

Let the mixture simmer over low heat for approximately 15 minutes, stirring almost constantly, until it has deepened in color to a rich golden brown.  Caramelizing the sugar over direct heat is dicey and if you leave the mixture alone on the stove it will almost immediately bubble over and scorch in spots, yielding dark umber colored speckles throughout the otherwise gloriously golden brown caramel.  For the time that it cooks, you need to be at the stove and paying constant attention.  Don’t answer the phone, it’s just a telemarketer.  The Girl Guides will come back to your door eventually, and the commotion that you think you hear outside isn’t really an exciting neighborhood fight, it’s just someone moving boxes in his garage.  It’s not worth it to have burnt caramel.

I can never stay at the stove and pay constant attention.    It was my Dad on the phone, the Girl Guides NEVER come to my house with their delicious cookies, and I the clamour outside was just someone’s recycling. My caramel is ugly.  It’s just the price I pay.

Measure in the Courvoisier and stir until it is completely incorporated.

Pour the caramel over the cookie base and smooth it out with an offset spatula or wooden spoon so that it is uniform.  Set this aside to cool and set.

When the caramel is just slightly tacky to the touch, start the chocolate topping.  In a double boiler (I have a double boiler, but prefer to just use a glass bowl set over a small pot with about an inch of simmering water), melt the chocolate slowly and gradually with the butter and corn syrup.

Tempering chocolate can be fussy, so use gentle heat and don’t rush the process.  Stir things up every so often until the chocolate is completely melted, smooth and glossy.

Pour the chocolate on top of the caramel layer and use an offset spatula to spread it until it is flat and even.

Let the chocolate start to firm up for just a minute or two (you don’t want it piping hot) before sprinkling on the flaky fleur de sel.  I just sprinkle it on evenly according to my personal taste preference, but if I were to estimate, I would say that is, oh, about a teaspoon and a half of the coarse flakes.

Set the bars aside to cool completely before slicing into 24 rectangles using a sharp, thin knife.  You may wish to run the knife under hot water periodically to make this task easier.   Keep the Millionaire Bars refrigerated until you’re ready to eat them, which will be soon.

Perhaps immediately.

With warm, subtle notes of cognac, bitter sweet chocolate and a salty caramel taste, these Millionaire Bars will have you bustin’ a rhyme as well!

We will be posting our formal entry into the Courvoisier Collective sometime next week, which means that this weekend will include some delightfully boozy experimentation!  If you are also  interested in joining the fun, there are a few key dates to bear in mind:

• Now until August 24th: Users can submit recipes and vote for their favourites online at www.courvoisiercollective.com
• August 24th – September 7th: The chef judging panel review each recipe
• September 7th: Six finalists are contacted and invited to attend an exclusive tasting event in October where their dish will be recreated and sampled!