linds.eats

#lindseatsrichmond - IT'S ON!

2012-03-08T12:10:00.002-08:00

I've probably been asked the question "what's your dream job?" a thousand times. And my answer is always "getting paid to eat and write about it." Then I slap my knee hard and share a good laugh with whoever asked me, because that's just crazy. Until now.

It's true, my dream job has arrived; Tourism Richmond is seeking a food blogger up for the challenge of eating at 365 restaurants in 365 days, all in beautiful Richmond, B.C. The successful applicant receives a generous salary, help with living expenses, their 365 meals, and a pass to the Richmond Oval to work it off!

With applications due by the end of March, I've launched a full-fledged campaign to get hired. If you're up for it, I would really appreciate your support! I'm asking people to send in photographs of themselves holding signs that say #lindseatsrichmond, with their location below and names too, if they wish. Photos can be sent to lindsaylaurenanderson@gmail.com by March 20th, if possible, but I'll happily receive them till the end of the month.

If you're up for taking things even further, you can upload your photo to Facebook and/or Twitter (follow me at @lindsay_lauren) with the hashtag #lindseatsrichmond. Soon the world will be asking "Who is this Lindsay girl, and how does she know SO MANY COOL PEOPLE?" and I'll say "I don't know, but I want to bake cookies for them all. With extra chocolate. And nuts. The expensive ones."

Here are the photos so far - 45 and counting! Thank you so much to everyone.

Follow @lindsay_lauren

Day Tripper.

2012-02-07T16:25:00.000-08:00

Last week I biked to Horseshoe Bay and ferried over to Bowen Island. It was the simplest of day trips - I was only gone about seven hours - but it was a vacation nonetheless. The sky was bright, the air cool and clean, and Bowen was awfully charming. I have a feeling even their landfill is quaint.

I had lunch at Artisan Eats (which I highly recommend) then walked around and discovered all I could. Here are some pictures from my day of adventuring, including a lovingly-shot portrait of a dilapidated cottage. It was the white chocolate cream cheese icing on my oh-so-delicious cake of a day.

Chocolate Peanut Butter Mountain.

2012-01-25T17:14:00.000-08:00

I recently realized how much I love baking big cakes. They’re a personal challenge, like climbing a mountain or running a marathon, only you’ve gained weight by the end instead of having lost it. This one, courtesy of Sky High Cakes, was my Kilimanjaro; it's do-able for the average being, but still quite a hike.

A few months, ago I saw this recipe on Smitten Kitchen and said something along the lines of “Peanut butter and chocolate cake tower? OH YES I WILL BE MAKING THAT.” With my roommate Janine’s birthday on the way, I finally had my excuse.

I purchased an offset spatula for the job, which may now be my most prized possession.

I also purchased chocolate, cream, peanut butter, butter, cream cheese, icing sugar, sour cream, flour, and then a gym pass.

For dinner we had raclette, which is communal eating at its absolute finest.

Steak, shrimp, salmon, sablefish, potatoes, mushrooms, balsamic onions, cornichon, and bread were just some of the delectables we passed around and ate under melted slices of swiss cheese. Once we'd grilled and broiled to our hearts' content, we took a break. Then it was cake time!

Deb of Smitten Kitchen described this chocolate cake as “INTENSE. Serve it in the thinnest slices possible, and keep a glass of milk handy.” I nearly ignored these instructions, believing myself to be above thin slices of cake. I like wedges, something sturdy. Her advice turned out to be an understatement, however, as this cake was beyond intense. It was so awesomely rich and fudgey that even I had to stop after my reasonably allotted portion. You simply CANNOT wedge this one, and I mean that in the best possible way.

Happy Birthday, Janine. May the calories provided by this cake last you a lifetime, or at least a few yoga classes.

Oh Sunny Day.

2012-01-11T21:22:00.000-08:00

Today was sunny in Vancouver, and I appreciated it.

So did the orchid in our kitchen,

my coffee-drinking neighbours,

this patch of sidewalk,

and these lonely shoes.

But most of all, these yeasty biscuits appreciated it, as it gave them a deliciously warm kitchen to rise in. Now my belly's appreciating these biscuits, so we've come full circle. Thanks, sun.

Flaky Freezer Biscuits (a tree-planting camp favourite, from the Best of Bridge)
Yields approximately 20 biscuits.
1 Tb yeast (1 package)
2 Tb sugar

¼ cup warm water

5 cups flour

3 Tb sugar

1 Tb baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

1 cup butter

2 cup buttermilk (or milk mixed with 2 tablespoons lemon juice or vinegar)

In small bowl combine yeast and sugar in water. Set aside for 10 min. In large bowl mix flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Cut in butter to form crumbly mixture. Stir in yeast mix and buttermilk. Mix just enough to hold together. Roll ¾ inch thick on floured surface. Cut out biscuits with cutter. Prick tops with fork. Freeze separately on cookie sheet. After frozen, stack and wrap well. Before baking, thaw and let rise until puffed slightly (about 30 min). Bake at 425 for 15 min on lightly greased cookie sheet.

Or just bake them up and eat right away! As per today.

Gingercabin 2012.

2012-01-03T17:36:00.000-08:00

I’m writing about old buildings again, but this time they’re edible.

If we’re together around the holidays, my friend Megan and I make a gingerbread house. It always possesses a theme, though they’re not always wholesome. If you’re thinking “Santa’s Workshop” or “Victorian Christmas” you’d be off. Way off. This year’s theme was “Derelict Northern B.C. Log Cabin.”

Megan is an excellent gingerbread house-making partner for two reasons: she has a dark sense of humour and an extremely steady hand. Our masterpiece had ivy growing up its side, mould on the roof, an outhouse in the yard, and a gummy bear carcass in the snow (dead of natural causes, I assure you). We included a pile of rotting logs stacked in the yard, because any self-respecting northerner would know that’s a necessary feature. Gorgeous!

I also have a Christmas tradition with my friend Stephanie. We put on Sorel boots and “Go Trudging,” usually along the snowy trail that circles our childhood neighbourhood. This year I requested that instead of our usual route, we head up to the old trappers’ cabin near the university. Why? Because it was the inspiration for the gingerbread house.

The cabin was easy to find, though it’s in rougher shape than when I last I saw it. It resembled its edible counterpart not when we first baked and built it, but at its final, almost entirely-eaten stage. All that remains are the cabin’s lower walls, mossy old logs stacked ten high, which within a few decades will have returned to the earth completely.

With its life beginning at the grocery store and ending in the bellies of two hungry 20-somethings, the gingerbread cabin’s fate was far less romantic. But it was appreciated nonetheless, and held up well.

Happy 2012. May your year be as lovely as these cinnamon-spiced walls were to eat.

For Lisa.

2011-11-30T17:01:00.001-08:00

You know those people who blog about stupidly complicated recipes with 59 steps and 26 different ingredients? Those people? Well today I’m one of them.

I made owl cookies. They were time-consuming and tedious. They were finicky and miniature. They were quirky and questioning little beings that stared at me wide-eyed from the plate. I don’t suggest you make them. But they were awesome.

Ever since I visited London's Cinnamon Tree Bakery I've had their famous shortbread on my mind, so for my friend Dana’s birthday I thought what the heck, let’s go crazy. Let’s make some wicked little owl cookies.

It was a long and annoying process, and I cursed my plan after all of eight minutes. I made the dough, rolled it into a log, froze it, cut it, rolled out some more dough, dusted it with cocoa powder, cut out the eyes, put two on each cookie, finished the eyes with tiny chocolate chips, chopped almonds in half for the beaks, added slivered almond horns, made patterns on their bellies with the tip of a paring knife, baked them, cooled them, packaged them, then transported them to Dana’s house, anxious the entire way they’d fall and be ruined. They survived the journey, however, and were received with much enthusiasm.

It took a few re-designs to get them right (phase one creatures resembled muppets, not owls) but by the end they were sufficiently wise-looking. I don’t suggest you make them yourself because frankly you probably have better things to do with your time, but here's the shortbread recipe I used, which is actually quite simple. Eat them plain, dip them in dark chocolate, or by all means, turn the little suckers into owls if you want. Just don't say I did warn you.

Hoot.

Danger Chocolate.

2011-11-01T16:05:00.000-07:00

If I had a nine year-old daughter who came to me and said "I'm going to be an expired Hershey bar for Halloween," I would fist-pump the air, high-five her Dad, and know she was destined for greatness.

My friend Carey's parents experienced just that, and while I don't know how they reacted, the latter part has proven true. Happy Belated Halloween, Carey. I wish I'd known you as a kid.

Please note, this bar expired in 1972. That's some bad-ass chocolate.

2011-10-27T07:55:00.000-07:00

Lemon-y Autumn.

2011-10-24T09:09:00.000-07:00

Lemon tarts are mid-summer sunshine, hardly at home with the pumpkins, kale, and slow-cooked stews of October. I can't put off sharing these citrus beauties anymore, however, and I'm ashamed it's taken me so long already. Absolutely ashamed.

So now, to the tarts: this spring, while living in Calgary and working for Sidewalk Citizen Bakery, I had the pleasure of meeting Shallon Cunningham, owner of Salt Food Photography and all-around lovely person.

Introduced by my friend/her cousin Marnie, we hit it off and planned a date: I, with some kitchen experience, would bake and food-style. Shallon, with her photography experience, would capture the whole process. It'd be a learning opportunity for both of us, and we'd have something luscious and sweet to snack on at the end. We decided on lemon tarts.

Photography + pastry + lemon curd + cream = a very nice way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Included in this post are a selection of photos from that day, as well as a few that Shallon took for my friend Sue of M for Macaron. They're a nice punch of colour in these dusky Autumn days.

You can visit Shallon's website to see more of her impressive work, as well as her account of our afternoon on her blog, which has a recipe for the tarts.

Chez Moi.

2011-09-19T12:34:00.000-07:00

How old do you think it is?

Not too sure.

That one?

Couldn't tell you either.

This was the oft-repeated and rarely satisfying exchange between my parents and I on road-trips. As a child, I had a relentless fascination with decrepit old buildings. I wanted to know the age of every crumpled grey barn we passed, and the story of each tired-looking farmhouse. Maybe they didn’t even have one, and maybe I just read too much Little House on the Prairie, but my love affair with old spaces has endured to this day. Now, I get to live in one.

It’s not an abandoned farmhouse with its windows smashed in, but it’s still pretty great. Two weeks ago I moved into a century-old house in Strathcona, Vancouver’s oldest neighbourhood. I ponder the history of my home every single day, and feel satisfied each time I open its yellow front door.

There are three of us in the house, plus a dear scruffy dog named Marsou. My bedroom is small but lovely, with dental crown molding and a window overlooking Pender Street. From it I watch people on the sidewalk below, and in this way I’ve come to learn how eclectic this area is.

I still want desperately to know who lived here first, and what the sidewalk looked like then, but for now I’m just happy. Happy to be in a home with creaks and quirks, and a kitchen that Laura Ingalls Wilder would have been happy baking pies in.

A Saucy, Smokey Victory.

2011-09-11T19:29:00.000-07:00

BBQ is serious. Just ask Texas, or either one of the Carolinas. Should you be farther north in Vancouver, ask the people of Re-Up BBQ, because they put on a very serious grill-fest last Sunday at The Waldorf.

If they had just called it for what it was, a meat marathon, my friends and I would have won gold. We were all business, dedicating ourselves to five hours of pulled pork tacos, chili, smoked chicken, brisket, and ribs, pausing briefly to argue over salad vs. meat consumption and sigh with contentment. I ate more meat in one evening than I usually do in a month, eliminating any chance of the doctor telling me I’m anemic for a good long while.

We sipped Tantalus Vineyard wines and swayed to some late summer tunes. I can now cross Marathon: Meat or Otherwise off my bucket list, and credit the Re-Up BBQ team for this victory. Thank you for helping me realize my potential.

Hook, Line, and Drowner.

2011-08-26T11:51:00.000-07:00

Tezzeron. Just saying it puts hair on your chest. Or in our case, fish on our plates. It’s one of the spots where my Dad and I went fishing last week; he wanted to show me where he’s been going with his buddies each September for the last ten years. It’s a beast of a lake with only a few rough cabins on its shore, and that day we had the entire thing to ourselves.

We set out with visions of five-pound trout in our heads, though these were quickly hammered away by a hailstorm en route to our spin-casting spot. My aggressively-parted French-braided scalp took a beating, but we finally found sunshine and set about hooking the big one. Within minutes my Dad had a bottom-feeder, which he released, then I made my first catch of the day: a clam.

Call me ignorant, but until that moment I didn’t realize there were clams in lakes. Now that I know there are, I’d like to point out the considerable skill it requires to hook one. They’re tiny, have no mouths, and can't chase after shiny objects like fish do. So really, well done me.

I didn’t reel in much more, though I caught a few small Kokanee the next day. By caught I really mean drown. One was so small I didn’t know he was there, and after 45 minutes of being dragged on my line the poor guy didn’t need a bop on the head to finish him off. He was already very much done. Guess I’m not much of a fisherman. Fisherwoman? Fisherlady.

Fortunately my Dad had better luck, and between my few Kokanee and his good-sized trout, we had a proper feast. At least I’m good at eating.

(Lack of) skills aside, fishing is really about enjoying the water, each other’s company, and snacking endlessly on a 2kg bag of trail mix. And clams! I now know it can be about clams too.

Take Cookies, Take Ice Cream. Now Put them Together.

2011-08-02T22:48:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Vancouver at the same time as summer, and the city is hiiiiigh on Vitamin D. I'd like to think the collective good mood is because of me, but I'll give credit where it's due. Sun, you are glorious.

My friend Linds and I have taken advantage of the weather by getting outside, enjoying the beach, and eating many delectable things. The other day we did the Grouse Grind, followed it up with a lunch of nachos and beer, and then made ice cream sandwiches.

I'm not going to talk about the nachos because even though they're great, I don’t want them right now. I want two more coconut-oatmeal-chocolate chunk cookies stuffed with toasted coconut ice cream. That is what I want. There’s half of one in the freezer but that’s Lindsay’s, and good friends don’t eat their bff’s ice cream sandwich halves while they're at work. At least that’s what I’m telling myself while that damn thing laughs at me from the kitchen.

I’ve posted the cookie recipe below so you can make them too. If you wish to fill them with ice cream (which I highly recommend you do), let it soften a bit in the fridge, make the sandwiches, and freeze them on cookie sheets for a few hours to let them set. Then grab a sandwich, your bff, and go find some sun.

Chocolate Chunk Oatmeal Coconut Cookies Courtesy of Gourmet, via www.epicurious.com

2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter, softened

1 cup packed brown sugar

6 tablespoons granulated sugar

2 large eggs

1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup all-purpose flour

2 1/4 cups old-fashioned oats

1 1/2 cups packaged finely shredded unsweetened coconut

12 oz semisweet or bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), cut into 1/2-inch chunks (about 2 cups)

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Beat together butter and sugars in a bowl with an electric mixer at high speed until fluffy. Add eggs and beat until just blended, then beat in vanilla, baking soda, and salt. Add flour and mix at low speed until just blended. Stir in oats, coconut, and chocolate.

Arrange 1/4-cup (*or smaller, this makes huuuuge cookies) mounds of cookie dough about 3 inches apart on 2 lightly buttered large baking sheets (about 8 cookies per sheet), then gently pat down each mound to about 1/2 inch thick. Bake in upper and lower thirds of oven, switching position and rotating pans halfway through baking, until golden, 15 to 18 minutes total.

Cool cookies on sheets 1 minute, then transfer with a spatula to racks to cool completely. Make more cookies in same manner.

To the Closet with You, Gumboots.

2011-07-26T12:43:00.000-07:00

Well, It’s been awhile. I promised stories of camp life and then entered camp, my very own black hole. I should have known I wouldn’t write much during the season; my life becomes a tent, a kitchen, and eighty hungry tree planters. Though I managed to check the internet most weeks, Russia could have fallen off the earth and I probably wouldn’t have noticed.

Twelve weeks later we’re done, and it’s time to re-enter the world. There were many things I looked forward to while at camp: couches, flushing toilets, and not having to worry about a bear potentially biting me while in bed (yes, that happened, and one planter now has the most bad-ass camp story ever).

Of course, there are more things that I’ll miss. I spent nearly every day with my kitchen crew, Jess and Allison, and most of that time we were laughing. Sometimes out of pure exhaustion, but laughing nonetheless. Three people in one kitchen for fifteen hours a day are destined to either despise one another or fall madly in love, and fortunately we were very much the latter.

Photo by Hannah Klassen

Camp conditions this year weren’t exactly ideal. First we were in a gravel pit, then in BC’s premier mosquito breeding grounds, then rained on for three weeks in Chetwynd. In just a few days our camp transformed into a slick mud-pit, greedily swallowing up sandals, trucks, and pretty much everyone’s dignity. There was no escaping the unstable black earth, and it became wearing after awhile.

The poor weather meant no days off at Flatbed Creek, no hikes into our favourite waterfalls, and no adventurous campfire cooking. What the weather couldn’t discourage, however, was one very special camp event: Joel Gorrie’s 7^th Annual Glacier Rapids Festival of Fine Wine and Poetry.

Photo by Tyler Wilson

Because of the mud, this traditionally creek-side party was moved into a spare semi-trailer filled with benches, a bar, and even two very posh bartenders. Joel decorated the place beautifully, finding a stage for performances and placing tea-lights in tart shells strung from logs. They gave the party a certain glow, a sort of Martha-meets-Mantracker aesthetic that shamed even the swankiest of parties I served at during university. People brought and shared wine, cheese made its appearance in the form of Goldfish crackers and cheesies, and countless musicians and poets proved the talent of our camp.

I contributed a bottle of Prosecco (a little homesick for Italy, I suppose) and decided to girl-up. I put on a dress, did my hair and makeup, found some earrings, and even wore perfume. The only ‘camp’ left on me were my gumboots, though I wasn’t about to give those up. I tried some great wines and chatted endlessly, then watched the inevitable Peter vs. Michelle 2am mud-wrestling match, illuminated for the crowd by headlamps and seriously enjoyed by all.

Photo by Tyler Wilson

It was my favourite wine fest yet. Amidst the music and Merlot-induced haze, my love for treeplanters’ joie de vivre and ingenuity grew even more. There are times when 3:45am wakeups and fields of mud become worth it, and this was one of them.

Goodbye camp, it’s been a slice. Now, to the real world.

Let the Camera do the Talking.

2011-05-29T15:58:00.000-07:00

We're three weeks into the season. I'm having a great time but I'm tired. So, so tired. Because no one needs to hear the ramblings of an incoherent camp cook, I will give you some pictures instead, some of which were taken by my extraordinary kitchen-mate, Allison.

Stories to come. Someday. I promise.

One, Two, Tree, Four.

2011-05-09T07:27:00.000-07:00

Soon, I won’t see the dark of night. That’s what happens when you go to bed at 8pm and wake-up at 4am. That’s what happens when you cook for tree planters.

One more year, though of course that’s what I claimed during the 2009 season. Last summer I was in Norway, staring up at the cliffs from which base-jumpers were launching themselves and realizing that perhaps base-jumpers are the only people on earth crazier than tree planters. But when I returned from my year abroad, I shook my pockets and found no spare change in them. Not a penny. So I thought okaaay, one more summer.

It’s taken awhile to come around to the idea, but I’m actually looking forward to camp. Now that the snow is (nearly) gone, now that I’m well-equipped with base-layers, and now that I’m nearly convinced my body’s not too old for this, it’s time for optimism.

I like cooking for planters because they genuinely love food, and genuinely love you for cooking it. I like excusing myself from the world and hearing no news but news from the block. I like having strong arms and absolutely no regard for what I’m wearing. And I love days off around the campfire, with a motley-crew of planters playing music. Those are my chances to re-connect with life after sunset, and they're simplistically sweet.

So here I go again: one more season, one more summer in a tent, and one more chance to blindly choose my outfits. I am absolutely, positively certain of one thing:

There will be stories to tell.

Sorry, bod.

2011-05-05T06:47:00.001-07:00

I just finished at the bakery, and though I ate beautiful food for my three months there, the last seven days were epic. Or perhaps I should just say ridiculous, and highly disapproved of by my digestive system. I ate like I wouldn’t see food again until 2015, or ever again. Soon I’ll be at a tree planting camp and surrounded by more eggs, meat and cheese than Texas consumes in a day, but my brain neatly tucked this fact away and I let loose.

Logic of the Week and Other Thoughts:

That doesn’t have bacon in it, Aviv. What are you, kosher now?

I won’t get to eat these scones for a while, and they’re just so, so good. Best eat my weight in them while I can.

I know we feel ill from last night’s ‘This Is Why You’re Fat/Top Chef Canada’ potluck, but we have to try the doughnuts from that new shop today so we don’t draw attention from Sue’s lunch tomorrow.

Sue, this lamb stew is amazing. Good thing the four of us were able to eat an amount intended for six.

Too bad we didn’t sell all the cinnamons buns. Guess I should probably have another one. I like to help out where I can, and food waste is a worldwide problem. Is that bucket of caramel goo still in the fridge?

Finished the peanut butter jar. I’ll spread some butter on my bread instead. I hear they no longer have butter in BC.

Duck fat fried poutine with cheese curds and truffled gravy. There is no logic.

Totally worth it, but sadly this list totals only a fraction of the calories I burdened my body with the last week. I am now back on the Legumes and Grains Train, a term dubbed by my friend Shane and one which we became quite fond of at the bakery. The train's caboose is heavily laden with vegetables and fruit, and at no point in the coming weeks is it allowed to stop for donuts, cinnamon buns, or duck fat fried poutine. I'd be happy if it could pop me by these people, though.

Second two photos by the amazing Michal Lavi.

It's Tops.

2011-04-25T14:31:00.000-07:00

I don’t watch a lot of TV, but every so often I’ll fervently dedicate myself to a show. Right now that’s Top Chef Canada, and Monday nights I’m at my friend Adele’s watching it. That’s at least until I leave for tree planting camp anyways, where my only entertainment will be the planters themselves. Luckily, they’re usually quite an amusing bunch.

While in the woods, I’ll have to get my Top Chef fix by re-enacting some of the quick-fire eliminations (go find me a bowl of spiky artichokes to peel, STAT!) and assign myself intense challenges each week. For example, “You must cook a dinner for eighty people using only tea, pickles, white chocolate and cumin. You have twenty minutes, the clock starts NOW.” I’ll finish in 19 minutes and 55 seconds, then find the tree planter who looks most like head judge Mark McEwan and get him to berate my final dish. Even if he hates my cumin-dusted chai-infused pickled chocolate soufflé it won’t matter, because his only other option is to go hunting for a meaty squirrel. I’ll therefore win every challenge, and Mark McEwan will lose all of his power.

Because it’s a show about food, and because we can’t manage to do anything without eating, we’ve turned our Monday nights into potlucks. The first week I made dolmades, and last week decided on this recipe from Ottolenghi, a restaurant in London and one of my favourite places to eat. Adele described it as “autumnal,” and she was quite right because it looks like October itself. But with the snow still lingering and spring vegetables not quite here, I figured yams with fresh herbs, pecans, and citrus-maple vinaigrette would work. Next time I’d add feta too. The cookbook suggests serving this hot with Christmas dinner or cold with a summer picnic, but you could also just make the dressing and toss it with a green salad. It’s so very versatile, JUST LIKE A TOP CHEF. Go Connie!

Some Days are Diamonds, Some Days are Stones.

2011-04-22T18:11:00.000-07:00

Today, for the first time, I took on crème pâtissière. It’s not difficult to make, but I was worried I would err in one way or another and make our day at the bakery even worse. Aviv, dressing himself at 3:45am, accidentally wore an entirely green outfit to work - shirt, pants, and shoes – and while hilarious, this somehow turned him into the Tall Israeli Leprechaun of Bad Luck. Nothing life-altering happened, but a multitude of medium-sized troubles made the day last forever.

I didn’t want to add to his cursed luck by butchering a recipe, so while Aviv was out delivering bread I set myself up with the makings of crème pâtissière: a dozen egg yolks, sugar, milk, flour, and two very splendid vanilla beans. I triple-checked the recipe and measured everything carefully, then split open the curled black pods to scrape out their seeds. Whisked into milk and spinning on the surface, they reminded me of the Milky Way; black galaxies set against a bright white sky. Had Aviv walked in at that moment he would have found me bent over the stove, watching my pot with an odd kind of intensity. Turns out I really love watching vanilla-studded milk boil, and really really love making crème pâtissière. You start with just a few things, follow a recipe, and are rewarded with smooth, pale-yellow joy.

If you’d like to stargaze over your own pot, Martha’s got a recipe here.

Flour on My Face and Flour on The Brain.

2011-02-16T18:18:00.000-08:00

And thus it begins - three months covered in a perpetual layer of fine organic flour.

I'm working for my friend Aviv at his bakery, Sidewalk Citizen. It's a small operation (I'm his first employee) but a very busy one. So busy, in fact, that the phrase "remind Aviv to sleep" should be written into my job description.

When I'm not at the bakery I'm learning about a wheat variety called Red Fife, my topic for our final UNISG paper (which, as much as I'm reluctant to remind myself, is due very soon). The more research I do, the more interesting it becomes, and the more I feel like I'm drowning in a field of grain. The politics of seed are complicated, people.

I've heard from many wonderful farmers and bread bakers, and had the chance to visit a farm where Mark Gibeau grows Red Fife. He's now in the process of setting up a small mill and generously took the time to show Aviv and I his whole setup. Here are a few photos from the farm and bakery.

This has been a lovely break. I must now return to my beautiful and confusing field of wheat.

Butternut Squash and Dark Chocolate Loaf.

2011-01-31T19:52:00.000-08:00

"Dear Lindsay,
Could you please bake something healthy for us? Thanks!
Love Theo."

The intensely neat handwriting on this note, along with the fact that Theo is our dog, led me cleverly to deduce that it was in fact my mom who wished for something from the oven. It also clearly indicated she wanted neither cookies nor brownies (boo to that). Healthy baking would be a departure from 'the more-butter-the-better' approach we all seemed to take in Parma, but since I love my mother and had been wanting to bake something butternut-y lately, I decided this was the opportunity. Nearly every recipe I found called for two cups of sugar and about a half-gallon of oil, and while I'm sure these would be completely tasty, they did not quite fit with Ina's request. I finally came across this recipe for whole grain pumpkin bread, which has reasonable amounts of sugar and fat and seemed it would lend itself well to adaptation. The result was a (sort of) guilt-free and tender loaf that lasted all of two days. I was happy with it, so here she be.

Butternut Squash and Dark Chocolate Loaf:

Adapted from The Whole Grain Gourmet

1/3 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/4 cup honey
1/2 cup packed natural brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 eggs
1 1/2 cups butternut squash puree*
1 cup white flour
3/4 cup (minus 1/2 a tablespoon) whole wheat flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp baking soda, diluted in 1/4 cup hot water
1, 250 gram bar of 75% dark chocolate, chopped into chocolate-chip sized pieces
1/2 cup chopped pecans (optional)

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Combine flour, cinnamon, and salt in a bowl. Whisk and put aside.

In another large bowl combine butter, honey and sugar. Beat for two minutes. Add the eggs and lightly beat until just combined. Mix in squash and vanilla - do not overmix. Gradually beat in the flour mixture in thirds.

Dilute the baking soda in the water and beat into batter. By hand, stir in the chocolate and nuts.

Pour the batter into a greased 9x5 inch loaf pan and bake at 325 for approximately 55-65 minutes. Test with a toothpick for doneness, and be careful not to over-bake or the loaf will dry out. Once out of the oven let cool 10 minutes, then remove loaf from pan and cool on a wire rack. Delicious if eaten warm, though it does tend to fall apart! After a few hours it slices more cleanly.

*To make the puree: Slice one large or two small butternuts lengthwise and scoop out the seeds. Place skin side up on an oiled baking sheet and roast in the oven at 375 degrees for 30-40 minutes, or until a knife slides easily through the thickest part. Remove from oven and let cool, then scoop the softened squash out into a bowl. Mash with a fork and bam! You've got butternut squash puree.

Highlights of NYC.

2011-01-26T21:30:00.001-08:00

On my way home from Italy I spent four wonderful days in New York. Here's a smattering of sights/eats, but get in touch if you'd like the full list!

1. The best and brightest lights of all were Carey Polis and Lauren Sudekum, New York hostess extraordinaires and participants in our very own New York City Marathon. OF FOOD.

2. A quick list of (just some) of the tastiest bits:

-Shake Shack burgers, as delicious as promised
-Momofuku Noodle Bar's fried chicken lunch, impossible to get a reservation but Jon did, oh yes he DID
-Hill Country BBQ. While the moist brisket was excellent, I loved the sides the most: cornbread, collard greens with bacon, mac and cheese, baked beans, etc etceteraaaa.
-The fish torta, nachos, and reggaeton at Pinche Taqueria
-A potato knish at the famous Yonah Schimmel Knishery, where the staff hate each other and make no attempt to hide it
-Tasting pumpkin, olive oil, roasted cashew, and honey-lavender flavoured gelati at Il Laboratorio del Gelato
-Murray's cheese shop, a.k.a Mecca
-The Chelsea Market (indoor) and the Union Square Greenmarket (outdoor)
-Cookies (see last blog post, which talks about nothing but)

3. I would also like to talk about Mast Brothers' chocolate. Anyone who has spoken to me since New York may want to skip this part, because anyone who has spoken to me since New York has heard about the Mast Brothers. Young, tattooed and heroically bearded, they are New York's only bean to bar chocolate makers and source their cacao (single origin) from places like Madagascar and Venezuela. We never made it to their shop, but did find their bars for sale at Murray's Cheese. It was all I could do not to buy them out completely, though the $10/bar price curbed that desire slightly. All bars are hand-wrapped in paper of varying designs, each so pretty I was reluctant to open them (though I managed to get over that, too). I bought two bars, the Madagascar and Cocoa Nib, loved them both, and now wish to try every last one. This will be difficult since they neither sell nor ship to Canada. Sigh. You can read an interesting article about their branding here, which has clearly worked wonders on me.

4. Lauren and I started out New York: Day 3 at the outstanding Brooklyn Flea. This ain't your local community center craft fair. Each Sunday, under the sweeping, mosaic-laiden ceilings of an old church, hip vendors sell vintage finds, hand-crafted jewellery, and food (homemade pickles and raw chocolate anyone?) to the kind of people I'd like to brunch with. We perused the stalls, wished for cool apartments in which to put all the cool things, and ate grilled cheese sandwiches from the Milk Truck stall downstairs. Good sammies, though the plaid-adorned Milk Truck Men were s.l.o.w. on those grills.

5. One evening Carey took us for a stroll on The Highline, a raised walking path that threads its way through Manhattan's West Side. Built in the 1930's, it originally functioned to raise dangerous freight traffic above the busy streets, however the trains stopped running in 1980 and the line was abandoned for several decades. Ten years ago a group of citizens advocated for its restoration, and several years later a new city park was born. From it we watched the sunset over the Hudson and I felt tranquility in New York. Who'd have thought.

Thanks to Carey and Lauren, my first trip to the New York was magic. I can't wait to take another bite out of the Big Apple soon.

Mast Brothers photo courtesy of http://lovelypackage.com/mast-brothers-chocolate/.

NYC. New York Cookie.

2011-01-17T05:53:00.001-08:00

You'd think I hadn't eaten cookies in a decade the way I ate cookies in New York - I was like a thirsty desert nomad and bakeries were my oasis. That's actually a bloody lie considering I made cookies about once a week in Italy, but my return to North American Baked Goods Culture was thrilling nonetheless. We tried the Nutter Butter and Bouchon from Thomas Keller's bakery, the baseball-sized chocolate chip walnut and dark chocolate peanut butter chip cookies from Levain, and then there was our little discovery in Brooklyn.

Whilst wandering around Williamsburg, Lauren and I passed a chalkboard scrawled with "Momofuku Milk Bar," the name of a popular David Chang eatery. The strange thing was there was no shop-front, just an industrial metal door with cut-outs of dog photos taped to one side. As far as we knew, there were only two Momofuku Milk Bars in New York, both in Manhattan, so this was a bit of a puzzle. I'd had a slice of their trademarked Crack Pie the day before but was too full to try one of their Compost Cookies, a quirky mix of chocolate and butterscotch chips, pretzels, potato chips, graham crumbs and coffee grounds. I couldn't decide if this concept repulsed or enticed me, but wanted to try one nonetheless. And I would. Oh I would.

Turns out what we'd happened upon in Brooklyn was the Momofuku bakery warehouse, which will buzz you in and sell things strictly by the dozen. Twelve cookies, two people, and one more day in NY. Lauren gave me a look that said "it'd be an idiot move, Anderson," but I'd already decided this was magically fated. When else could I say I'd bought crack from behind a sketchy green door in the heart of Brooklyn? This technically wasn't even crack, just a bunch of compost, but I'll take my bad-ass moments when I can get them. Before you could say Butter-Overload I'd agreed to a dozen hefty cookies, opting for two of each flavour. They handed me a box that weighed no less than two kilos, which I proceeded to lug back to Astoria then all the way to Vancouver.

Totally worth it for the cookies themselves, the friends I got to share them with, and the fact that I later got to say "my favourites are the Peanut Butter, Corn and Compost." I also think I gained some serious street cred and am now considering a henna tattoo.

Last photo credited to: http://ggeatsnyc.blogspot.com

The Story of My Left Eyeball.

2011-01-04T06:37:00.000-08:00

Romantic, I know. It's a complicated one though, so instead of writing it out in a million emails I thought I'd take advantage of my blog and write it once. Here goes....

Sometime in early December my left eye had a bit of red on it, near the iris, and I assumed it was just a mild flare-up of a cornea infection I had in the summer.

I went to Punto Bianco (the not-so-emergency room) and was at first misdiagnosed. On the wrong drops it got worse, fast. Now I had a very red, super-light-sensitive eye and piercing headaches, so I went back to Punto Bianco and a new doctor (quickly dubbed "Hot Doctor") had a look. He was the one good thing about all this. He changed my drops and booked me for a hospital appointment first thing the next morning, thus beginning a series of 9 visits over two weeks. I told them I was supposed to be leaving for London on the 28th and India on the 4th, but once they thought it had stabilized they assured me I would still be able to go.

With time the pain only got worse however, and I started having headaches down the whole left side of my face. On the 23rd my eye clouded over so much I couldn't see out of it. I ended up back at the hospital on the 24th, and at that point they told me it was a condition called Anterior Uveitis (a swelling of the interior front part of the eye) and that it had gotten very serious. They gave me a bunch of meds and basically said if the swelling lasted much longer I could start to lose vision permanently. Not the best Christmas Eve news, but I did get to eat rib cake later that day which helped.

Many drops, pills, disgusting eye-gel and two weeks later, my eye has returned to normal, the pain is gone, and they are starting to ween me off everything. Needless to say, India has had to be postponed indefinitely as I'll need be semi-chained to an ophthalmologist in the coming months. They're thrilled with how my eye looks, but annoyed that they don't know the cause; on the 28th they took a bunch of blood but the tests have since come back inconclusive. My doctor's theory is that it's an autoimmune disease that manifested itself through Anterior Uveitis, but he said I'll need to have further testing to figure out which one. For now I'm just happy to have a white eye again.

Plan B goes like this: I'm heading to Calgary to intern with Sidewalk Citizen, my friend Aviv's bakery. I'm super excited to get to help he and Michal out with a new business, especially one with a philosophy, owners, and products that I admire so much.

I'm also happy to report that on my way home I have a four day lay-over in New York, where I'll be visiting my good friends from UNISG who are interning there. Carey (who has lived in New York) drafted the world's best to-do list for me which offers about 8 different options for my afternoon snack alone. I'll also stop in Vancouver for a few days and soak in the English-speaking Canadian-ness of it all with my friends there. It's nearly been a year since I was home.

So that's the story. It's been a frustrating and disappointing month, but such is life. India's not going anywhere and I'll get there eventually. Though I already knew it, I've also been reminded that I have the most wonderful, supportive, and sympathetic friends and family ever.

For now you may join me in cursing my left eyeball and keep your fingers crossed that I'll get to put my contacts back in soon. I really, really dislike wearing glasses and have been squinty and confused-looking for far too long....

The Six Days of Comfort Food: Day Six

2010-12-30T00:05:00.000-08:00

Chocolate Chip Cookies.

Math has never really been my forté, but especially lately. I've been distracted and nearly forgot that 1+1+1+1+1 does not equal 6. Perhaps The Six Days of Comfort Food should include more than five posts.

So here I am, conquering arithmetic and talking about cookies. These cookies, to be specific, which are my favourite recipe of late. I love them because they are thick, soft, and chewy, all tough traits to find in the amateur cookie-recipe world. I almost always use dark chocolate because the dough is quite sweet, and usually add toasted hazelnuts since nut-ified cookies are always better. Unless I've been asked to bake for nine bake-sales plus a football team, I almost always half this recipe.

How many days ago did I make these? One. How many kinds of chocolate did I put in them? Two. How many times have I made these now? Three. And how many did I eat fresh out of the oven? Four. Take that Math 11 and my crappy exam score, look who's countin' NOW.