Quick fixes; reviewing Delia's How to Cheat at Cooking and Everyone Can Cook Midweek Meals

Eric Akis' Skillet Mac and Cheese (yes, I know, I used penne and I served it in ramekins; I am quirky like that).

It is interesting how the world works sometimes. Just before our household grew from three to four, I was offered the opportunity to review not one, but two books on the subject of quick meals for busy cooks.

Everyone seems to be talking about how hard it is to find the time to cook. Sandra Lee has become a household name thanks to her "semi-homemade" mantra, Donna Hay has two books devoted to "instant" cooking and entertaining, and almost every magazine on the shelf is emblazoned with promises of "10 meals in under 10 minutes" or "faster takes on family favourites." Of course, there is also the juggernaut that is Rachel Ray, promoting under-30 minute cooking through her multi-media empire.

What is even more interesting is that, as it happens with any campaign, there are factions in the quick-cooking industry. Some believe it best to simplify the ingredients and methods while others make use of prepared foods to do some of the work for you.

As luck would have it, the two titles that came across my desk, Everyone Can Cook Midweek Meals (Whitecap, 2008) by Eric Akis and Delia's How to Cheat at Cooking (Ebury Press, 2008) by Delia Smith, each represent a side to these seemingly divergent approaches.

Because I received these books pretty much simultaneously, and because of their similar subject matter, I could not help but compare and contrast their styles as I looked over their content. And so, I thought it might be interesting to review these books side-by-side, as this really is such a huge market in the food world right now and this was an opportunity to study the two camps of this "fast" food movement.

I have chosen to break my analysis down into categories, for ease of quick comparison.

The authors and their philosophies
Eric Akis, food writer for the Victoria Times Colonist, seeks to inspire the home cook to tackle cooking after work or preparing meals ahead of time. His is straightforward and simple cooking, with (mostly) short ingredient lists and quick-to-prepare instructions. While there are a few intermediate recipes in terms of procedure and cuisine, Everyone Can Cook Midweek Meals focuses on giving the reader a repertoire of basic meals that allow for personal variation and are most likely appealing to a larger audience.

Akis positions himself staunchly against packaged and/or processed convenience foods. His introduction spells out his feelings quite specifically, mentioning his concern that too much sodium and preservatives in packaged foods can compromise the palate, and that the frequent use of what he calls "instant" meals colour children's perception of what food is supposed to taste like. His aim is to take the stress and worry out of midweek meal preparation, believing that with a well-stocked pantry and shortcut recipes even the busiest person can find scratch cooking a pleasure instead of a chore.

Six years after retiring from the cookery world, famed British cookbook author and television personality Delia Smith returns with the reworking of her 1971 debut How to Cheat at Cooking. In contrast to Akis' manifesto, Smith features recipes that promote grocery store shortcuts (specifically in the form of prepackaged foods and already-prepped ingredients) that are then used in the assembly of other dishes.

She considers the ability to produce meals, with minimal effort and time invested, a liberating experience. Smith encourages the use of the storecupboard and the freezer, seeing these to be invaluable resources to the hurried cook. Why stir slowly-caramelizing sugar, when someone else will make it into toffee and jar it for you? The same goes for slicing onions, grating cheeses and making tomato sauce. But this is only the beginning; Smith proudly dons the currently-unfashionable mantle of one who takes premade a step further, introducing the reader to tinned minced lamb, purchased pancakes, sachets of risotto and, what looks to be Smith's favourite ingredient - frozen mashed potatoes. She not only uses these ingredients, but she is also exceedingly particular about them; indicating the exact product, by brand name, that should be used in the recipe. Substitutions are frowned upon.

The books
Everyone Can Cook Midweek Meals seems to follow the style of the predecessors in the Everyone Can Cook series (it should be noted that I am not very familiar with the other titles). Vibrant colours and casual settings reinforce Akis' comforting home-cooking style. The photos, shot by Michael Tourigny and styled by the author himself, are cropped closely with the food usually filling most of the frame. Clearly laid out and easy to read, each recipe header includes the preparation time, cooking time and number of servings - a helpful tool for the truly time-starved.

Even though the book's sections can be a bit kitch in their titles ("Splendid Sides" and "Nifty Noodles", for example), they do cover a good deal of subject matter. Chapters on pantry staples, types of meals, various cuisines and cooking methods, offer the reader a well-rounded course in quick-cooking basics. That said, the more experienced cook may find this book to be too limited in its offerings. While it is not explicitly aimed as a book for beginners, notes on subjects such as what makes a vinaigrette and how to purchase fish might be redundant to some. Furthermore, dishes like breakfast parfaits are simple enough that they hardly require a recipe.

Delia's How to Cheat at Cooking is a very pretty book; the typeface, the layout and styling all work together beautifully to create a very modern, slightly spare aesthetic. It is beautifully designed by Vanessa Holden, and John Kernick's evocative photography accompanies almost every recipe. The result is a cookbook that looks pared down, refined, and very much in keeping with prevailing trends in cookbook and food publications.

After a lengthy section of introductions that outline in detail Smith's thoughts on shopping and cooking, the chapters are arranged in a loose interpretation of seasonal divisions and food for specific moods. For example, "Cool!" is the chapter containing recipes for the balmy days of summer, while "Capers in the Larder" explores the possibilities of the pantry. As to be expected, "Asian Express" and "Pronto Italiano" cover dishes from their respective cuisines. The book finishes with an extensive list of suggested ingredients to always keep on hand, and there is a repeated notation throughout the book that this list is kept up-to-date on Delia Smith's own website.

The recipes
Eric Akis has filled this book with dishes that would appeal to a wide audience. These are comfort-food basics, with few exotic ingredients or complicated techniques. Pastas, soups, stews and sweets are all well represented. Casual and satisfying, Akis' food is the sort you would want to eat curled up on the couch after a long day.

The chicken-fried steak with pan gravy is rich and hearty, with a simple white sauce as the decadent counterpoint to crispy double-dredged steaks (dried sage is a particularly nice addition to the coating mix). Chickpea Burgers are kept moist thanks to tahini and grated vegetables, and are well-seasoned with cilantro and curry. The fish tacos are family-friendly, especially when topped with the optional homemade guacamole. Fresh and bright with lime, the creamy spread goes beautifully with Akis' marinated baked fish. Tangy and creamy, the Easy-Peasy Lemon Pie would be far from daunting to the novice baker, and the results match up well against more complicated versions.

Of particular interest was the roux-less Skillet Mac and Cheese (pictured, above). Promising a cook time close to that of most boxed macaroni and cheese dinners, it comes together first on the stovetop and is then quickly blitzed under the broiler for a crust similar to long-baked recipes. While the dish did not offer the same creamy, savoury depth as more labour- and time-intensive versions, it was a reasonably good stand-in for a midweek meal.

While far from ground breaking, Akis' has compiled a solid set of recipes that can be prepared by a novice cook.

In Delia's How to Cheat at Cooking the recipes are far-reaching in their scope. Moroccan Chicken with Preserved Lemons and Chickpeas appears alongside Caribbean Chicken with Salsa and Chicken and Leek Pot Pie. Asparagus with No-Panic Hollandaise turns the original on its head, opting out of the time consuming vinegar reduction and then emulsification for a tangy mix of crème fraîche, lemon, egg yolks, softened butter and cornflour. With less fat and no risk of splitting, the sauce did provide the unctuous mouthfeel of Hollondaise without the stress of its preparation. Sprightly Vietnamese Spring Rolls are stuffed with prawns, crunchy vegetables and herbs, and studded with peanuts; these are perfect for a light lunch or snack. Chocolate mousse is not out of Smith's reach; hers is made with ricotta cheese blended with crème fraîche for its base and is delicious but light. I had hoped to try the recipe for chocolate cake that called for 6 discs of mashed potatoes as an ingredient, but I could not find the kind required.

Herein lies the problem that comes up over and over again in Delia's How to Cheat at Cooking; as the author has been so adamant in her instruction to use brand name products, those in areas where these are unavailable are seriously disadvantaged. A worldwide audience may be unable to source products from the UK and Europe easily, rendering many recipes useless. Substitution is at times impossible as trademarked spice blends are used as the primary seasoning or the measurements are based on the portion size of specific products. If similar-sounding items can be found to swap in, it is uncertain how close result would be to the dish that Smith had intended.

This reliance on prepared foods sometimes seems unnecessary and almost creates as many problems as it solves. Although time is saved in the kitchen, even Smith herself admits that shopping takes longer as trips to multiple shops is necessary to find the particular brands.

Finally, the brand-particular favouritism inspires a new type of food snobbery (something Smith admonishes in her introduction); Italian packets of risotto are assumed to superior to a domestic product and onions sliced and softened in Spain are essential. But how can one with good conscience, in a world where concerns of carbon footprints and the support of regional agriculture are paramount, actively choose imported ingredients when local might be available and possibly taste better than those from abroad?

The conclusion
As much as I am tempted to consider these books mutually exclusive, neither truly are; there is a large middle ground. Though Eric Akis rallies against packaged foods, his stance is not without exception. He uses canned beans, pestos, curry sauces, bought stocks and tinned fish. While we may not think of these as convenience items, they do technically fall into that category and are likely to be staples in most homes. At the same time, Delia Smith includes recipes that are completely homemade and that simply employ tricks to expedite the preparation process. And in an ironic coincidence, these two books include recipes for the same dishes.

Everyone Can Cook Midweek Meals is a good beginner's guide to easy meals that can be prepared in a short time. Akis' approach is friendly and easy to follow, making it an accessible resource for those looking for healthy home-cooked meals. His tips are relevant and those packaged ingredients used are readily available.

Smith gives the readers time-saving reworking of well-known recipes, even as she expands the uses of prepared foods with the book Delia's How to Cheat at Cooking. Poshly presented, the book appeals to the foodie at heart, but one without the time, the desire or possibly the skill to prepare meals from scratch. She positions herself in a field outside of television cookery or vaulted art; Smith calls this an opportunity to "revolutionize your life" - with canned bisque firmly in hand.

Either way, it is evident that there is a desire to make food preparation faster, it is up to the reader (or the cook) to decide their speed limit.

Skillet Mac and Cheese
Excerpted with permission from Everyone Can Cook Midweek Meals by Eric Akis (Whitecap, 2008).

Preparation Time: 10 minutes
Cooking time: 9-12 minutes
Makes: 4 servings

Here's a quick stovetop way to make macaroni and cheese and still have the heavenly crust of an oven-baked version. I serve it with whole wheat dinner rolls and a platter filled with raw fresh vegetables, such as celery, carrot and cucumber sticks, broccoli and cauliflower florets and cherry tomatoes.

Ingredients
2 cups (500 ml) macaroni
2 cups (500 ml) milk
3 tablespoons (45 ml) all-purpose flour
1/4 (1 ml) teaspoon paprika
2 cups (500 ml) grated cheddar cheese
salt and white pepper to taste

Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add the macaroni and cook until just tender, about 6-8 minutes. Meanwhile place the milk, flour and paprika in a bowl and whisk until lump-free, Pour into a 10-to-12 inch (25 to 30 cm) nonstick ovenproof skillet and set over medium heat. Cook the mixture, whisking frequently, until it gently simmers and begins to thicken, about 5 minutes. Mix in 1 1/2 cups (375 ml) of the cheese; season with salt and white pepper. Cook and stir until the cheese melts; reduce to low heat. Place an oven rack 6 inches (15 cm) beneath the broiler; preheat the broiler.

Drain the cooked macaroni well and mix into the cheese sauce. Stir in a little extra milk if you find the consistency too thick. Remove from the heat. Sprinkle the remaining 1/2 cup (125 ml) of the cheese overtop and place under the broiler until it's nicely browned, about 3-4 minutes.

Eric's Options
• To add some protein to this dish, mix in a can (6 oz/170 g) of chunk tuna, drained well and coarsely flaked, or 1 1/2 cups (375 ml) of cubed ham or cooked chicken.

Recipes from Delia's How to Cheat at Cooking

A selection of recipes from the book can be found here.


Cover art courtesy of Whitecap Books and Ebury Press, respectively.

Unto the breach

As a child of the 1980s, I have a deep affection for that era of roller skate - the ones with four wheels and the bright red, eraser-like stopper attached to the toe. I spent many an hour touring the neighbourhood in my skates, confident as can be.

Flash forward 20 years later and you can imagine my trepidation when my dear Sean strapped brand new rollerblades on me and assumed I would be steady on my feet. Facing the downhill slope of a rather steep hill, little did he expect the athletic debacle that would follow.

To make a long story short, I ricocheted off of a fence once or twice on my way down. Since then if faced with the slightest of declines, I am happy to veer off the road, sit myself down in the grass and watch the world roll by.

In this case I am all too happy to indulge my cowardice.

But one arena in which I have rarely shown fear has been the kitchen. Whether it was youthful exuberance or sheer naive ego, I would be hard pressed to remember a recipe that I have shied away from due to lack of experience. I will either place my confidence in quality of the recipe or in my own common sense, and then pray for the best.

That is not to say that errors have not been made; I could tell stories of some spectacular culinary failures that culminated in me laughing and crying all at once, as I reached for the phone to order takeout. But for whatever reason, these catastrophes have never fazed me. A simple shrug of the shoulder later, a wipe down of the counters and I am usually ready to tackle my next attempt.

It was with this touch of hubris that I made my first soufflé. Not smart enough to heed the many horror stories of fallen hopes, I happily whipped, folded and baked my way to airy perfection. Maybe it was assuredness that was the secret of my success. Maybe it was my assumption that all will be well was what made it so. Since that triumph, I have never looked back; both savoury and sweet offerings have graced our table. I have fallen in love with soufflés, with their luscious eggy density and slightly tender belly.

This corn and cheddar version has been a favourite since first taste. With a subtle background heat playing off of the sweetness of fresh corn, it is a wonderful balance of flavours for a light summer supper. The procedure is surprisingly simple and forgiving; stir the roux patiently, do not overwhip your egg whites, fold the batter gently. Bake until set without peeking in the oven, and your bravery will be rewarded with awe at the table. Who needs a greater ego-boost than that?

Sweet corn and white cheddar soufflé, with herbs and chili

Ingredients
Kernels from 2 ears of fresh corn
1 medium onion or 2 large shallots, cut into small dice
1 small red chili, finely minced
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons butter, plus more for greasing the ramekins
2 tablespoons plus 1/3 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese, separated
3 tablespoons all purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
3/4 cup milk
3 eggs, separated
1/2 cup grated aged white cheddar
1 teaspoon chopped parsley
2 teaspoons chopped basil
1 tablespoon chopped cilantro (coriander)

Preheat oven 375°F (190°C). Lightly grease four 3/4 cup capacity ramekins with butter, then coat with Parmesan.

In a sauté pan over medium heat, melt one tablespoon of the butter. Add the corn, onion and chili and cook, stirring, until the corn is tender and the onion is translucent. Remove the vegetables to a small bowl and set aside to cool.

In the same pan over medium low heat, melt the remaining butter. Whisk in the flour, cayenne and nutmeg, then cook this mixture for about 2 minutes. Slowly add the milk, whisking constantly to combine. Continue to cook, for about 3 minutes, until the sauce is thick and smooth. Turn off the heat, whisk in egg yolks, cheddar, remaining Parmesan and herbs. Stir in the corn and vegetable mixture. Set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer with the whisk attachment, or with a hand mixer, beat the egg whites to stiff (but not dry) peaks. Using a spatula, fold one third of the egg whites into the soufflé base. Continue to fold each third in, only until just combined.

Divide the soufflé batter among the four prepared ramekins. Sprinkle with additional finely grated cheddar or Parmesan, if desired.

Gently place ramekins into a roasting pan or large casserole dish. Fill the pan with water from a recently-boiled kettle, until it comes halfway up the sides of the ramekins. Bake in the preheated oven for 20 minutes, until crowned and golden.

Serve immediately, makes 4.

Notes:

• For a more impressive crown to your soufflé, rather than one that will just coyly peek over the edge of the dish as seen here, use a slightly smaller ramekin.
• When folding in the egg whites, I usually let a few streaks of white to remain for my first two additions as I know those will dissipate with the last addition. This allowance will prevent you from overworking the batter and deflating the volume.

Take me outside

I have come to embrace the fact that I'm a creature of habit. As such, I revel in my Pavlovian-impulse to make a beeline for a patio once the warm weather hits. In my mind, there is little better than some nibbles and sips under the sun during those muggy months of summertime. Conversation flows as evenings give way to starry nights that stretch on endlessly.

The only drawback to this tendency is that I only associate the al fresco lifestyle with restaurant dining. Save for a few backyard barbecues and poolside afternoons, I rarely eat outside at home - or at least, until recently.

It was most likely that coffee one morning, enjoyed on the back patio, that made me realize how much a simple change in environment altered the feel of the meal. All of a sudden, my morning cup seemed more of a treat than a ritual. It was as if I was on holiday, as my pace turned leisurely and I began to take notice of the trees above me and the birds all around.

Since then, we've been having our meals outdoors at every chance. Not just those meals prepared outside, but even those made in the kitchen are piled up onto a trays and taken to the patio, the deck or even to the porch step. Somehow, these meals feel an event; inherently festive as we all come together under a canopy of leaves.

Fitting for our verdant surroundings, this salad is full of vibrant colours and tastes. The red onion loses much of its harsh edge in a quick pickle of fragrant puckery vinegar, while jammy sundried tomatoes add another acidic but sweet note. They tumble together with meaty chickpeas and salty feta in a garlic vinaigrette, blanketed by a green shower of herbs. Twangy, sweet, creamy and satisfying, this is the sort of salad that is meant to be put in the middle of the table, allowing everyone to dive in.

Chickpea salad with sundried tomatoes, feta and a fistful of herbs
My own recipe. The fistful of herbs is literal; I head outside to our herb boxes and pick whatever needs pruning or strikes my fancy. Once I have a fistful, I know I have enough. One caveat, I have small hands.

Ingredients
1/4 large red onion, sliced wafer thin
2 tablespoons (30 ml) red wine vinegar
Salt
6 tablespoons (90 ml) olive oil
A good pinch, about 1/8 teaspoon, red chili flakes (optional)
1-2 cloves garlic, sliced wafer thin
8 sundried tomatoes, julienned
2 cups (500 ml) chickpeas (garbanzo beans)
1 teaspoon (15 ml) English mustard
Freshly ground black pepper
Approximately 1/2 cup (125 ml) of mixed herbs; examples include parsely, lemon thyme, coriander/cilantro, basil, oregano and mint
5 ounces (150 g) goats milk feta cheese

In a small bowl, douse the red onion with the vinegar. Sprinkle over a good pinch of salt, then use your fingers to squish the mixture a bit - this will work the salt into the onions and expedite the breaking down of their acrid bite. Set aside.

In medium saucepan over medium-low heat, warm the olive oil, garlic and red chili flakes. If there is any sizzle at all, turn the heat to low. Once the oil is fragrant and the garlic turns translucent, turn off the heat. Add the sundried tomatoes and chickpeas at this point, allowing them to steep as the oil comes to room temperature. This step of bathing the chickpeas in the warm oil is wholly optional, but I feel it imparts more flavour into the beans.

Once the oil has cooled, remove the tomatoes and chickpeas from the saucepan and put them into a large bowl (keep the oil, set it aside). Do the same with the onions, adding them to the salad but reserving the vinegar.

In that vinegar bowl, whisk in the mustard, salt and pepper. Whisking constantly, slowly drizzle in the steeped olive oil. Once the vinaigrette is emulsified and thick, coarsely chop the herbs and add to the bowl. Pour this dressing over the chickpeas and tomatoes. Toss to combine.

Crumble over the feta, then fold gently to distribute. Check for seasoning. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours for the flavours to combine. Can be served cold or at room temperature.

Serves 4-6.

Notes:

• Canned chickpeas are a convenient pantry staple, but dried beans (soaked, then cooked) will result in a better texture and are my preference.
• To make this a heartier meal, add chunks of grilled steak or chicken when combining the chickpeas and onions.
• Toss through some handfuls of arugula or other greens, then pile the salad onto slices of grilled bread for an appetizer.
• I have been toying with the idea of buzzing this salad in the food processor (with additional olive oil or maybe yogurt as needed) to make a spread. I'll report back on that - but if anyone tries it first, let me know.

There are no small parts, just small ingredients

While it is lovely when expectations are met, the greatest performances are sometimes those that are stumbled upon and steal the show entirely.

To more succinct in this particular case, stumbled upon means came home in our grocery bag.

I had intended to make something to satiate a craving for smoked salmon. I had decided upon a sandwich. I had thought I would thinly slice some red onion, sprinkle over some capers and be done with it.

But then the tomatoes arrived; Sean had gone to the store for provisions, and came back with some of the most gorgeous little beauties from the market. Golden yellow, sunset orange and robustly red, the pint of mixed varietals demanded the spotlight.

Their delicate scent courted centre-stage status; a paltry sandwich seemed too gauche for their charms. And so, the smoked salmon was relegated to the chorus line, providing the backdrop to a tomato salad-crowned tartine.

Like any good production, this light lunch offers a play of dramatic contrasts. Heavily silken folds of salmon are undercut with the twang of fresh chèvre and astringent lemon. Juicy tomatoes rendezvous with their long-time companion sweet basil, and take a tumble with saline capers and spiky, fiery red onion.

While I refrained from a standing ovation, an encore is surely deserved.

Smoked salmon and tomato salad tartine
Please forgive my lack of truly specific quantities; you can treat the list as if each item includes the modifier "or thereabouts". This is one of those dishes for which personal taste is paramount. Choose the proportions that work with your taste to best balance the salty, sour and sweet elements.

Ingredients

For the tomato salad
1 1/2 cups small tomatoes (cherry, grape, strawberry), cut into halves or quarters
1/3 cup small diced red onion
2-3 tablespoons capers, rinsed
Basil, cut into chiffonade
Fresh parsley, minced
Lemon zest
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the sandwich
4 tablespoons cream cheese
4 tablespoons chèvre (unaged, fresh)
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
4 slices country bread, or 2 slices halved if large
4-8 slices smoked salmon, depending on the size
Lemon juice, freshly squeezed

In a small bowl, combine the ingredients for the tomato salad. Toss gently and season with salt (judiciously) and pepper.

Combine the cream cheese, chèvre and Dijon mustard. Beat until fully-blended and light. Season with pepper.

Lightly toast bread slices under a preheated broiler.

Spread cheese mixture over bread. Top with sliced smoked salmon and a squeeze of lemon juice. Pile tomato salad over all and enjoy.

Makes 4 pieces.

Compromise without giving up anything

While there are is a place for purity and tradition, there are some moments (and foods) that will forgive a bit of artistic licence. In every life there are times when one must stand up for personal preference, give into craving and possibly bend a culinary rule or two to satiate the appetite. And what food presents the perfect canvas for such a creative expression? You need not look further than the not-so-humble pizza.

When my dear Sean and I first started setting up house, I quickly came to realise that not only did we have to become experts in the tactful delivery of “your lamp does not go with my couch,” and the art of paint selection, but we also had to be adept in the United Nations level-negotiation of what would grace the dinner table. The decision of what to eat would take greater diplomacy than interior design discussions ever would.

You see, while my dear Sean and I have similar palates, we there is a disparity to our cravings. Where I salivate over something decadent and chocolate, he will pick the apple pie. I truly dream about unctuous scrambled eggs, whereas Sean will be looking forward to pancakes. Neither finds the other's choices distasteful; we do like the same things, but we do not always want them at the same time.

Enter the great leveller - the pizza. Especially when made yourself, a pizza allows for your personal stamp; thin crust or thick, red sauce or white or none at all, meats or vegetables. It is the opportunity to create the perfect taste combination to suit, well, your tastes, no matter how capricious they might be.

This combination of salty ribbons of jamón and creamy ricotta, topped with a verdant tangle of peppery rocket, brings some of my cravings together. The citrus-spiked vinaigrette echoes the aromatic lemon thyme and cuts the richness of the cheeses. While I have provided a recipe, it is only a framework for your own creativity - I mean, who am I to say what the perfect slice to be?

Jamón and ricotta pizza with rocket salad
My own interpretation from many points of inspiration. This recipe makes four thin crust pizzas. If you prefer a doughier crust, make the bases smaller than directed. You will need to adjust the cooking time accordingly.

Ingredients

For the dough
2 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast
1/2 teaspoon sugar (I heap this a bit)
1 cup lukewarm water
2 cups all purpose flour, plus extra
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 1/4 teaspoon salt
Cornmeal, for dusting

For the toppings and salad
240 g mozzarella, sliced thinly
240 g fresh ricotta cheese
8 slices of Jamón (serrano or ibérico) or Prosciutto di Parma
3 fresh lemon thyme sprigs
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Four handfuls of baby rocket (arugula) leaves
Juice from 1/2 lemon, approximately 2 scant tablespoons
1 1/2 teaspoons white wine vinegar (or thereabouts)
7-8 tablespoons olive oil, or to taste
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

In a bowl, combine the yeast, sugar and water. Set aside in a warm spot for 5 minutes or until bubbles appear on the surface and you begin to smell a musty, yeasty aroma.

In another bowl, mix together the flour and salt. Make a well in the centre and pour in the yeast mixture and olive oil. Using your well-floured hands or a wooden spoon, slowly incorporate the flour into the wet ingredients until a dough is formed. Adjust the amount of flour until the dough comes together into a clean ball (see note).

Turn out the dough on a lightly-floured surface and knead for 5-8 minutes or until the dough is smooth and elastic. To best test this, poke your finger into the ball of dough - if it springs back, it is ready. Divide the dough into four equal portions and lightly shape into balls. Either on the floured work surface or on a floured baking tray, cover the balls with a clean, damp tea towel and allow to rest for 30 minutes or until doubled in size.

On a floured surface, flatten a ball of the dough with your fingers, then roll it out into a 22 cm - 25 cm round (between 9”-10”). Dust a pizza peel or a piece of parchment paper with cornmeal then place the round on top. Repeat with remaining balls of dough.

Preheat the oven to 230°C (450°F). Place a pizza stone, unglazed tiles or an overturned sheet pan in the oven and allow to preheat for at least 30 minutes.

Brush pizza bases with olive oil, if desired. Top with mozzarella and ricotta cheeses. Roughly tear the jamón into long strips and lay them among the cheese. Sprinkle over the lemon thyme sprigs and season with pepper. For added flavour, finish with another drizzle of olive oil.

Bake on preheated stone or sheet pan for 8-10 minutes, or until the crust is crisp and golden.

Meanwhile, prepare the vinaigrette by whisking all the ingredients together in a small bowl. Taste and adjust the seasoning accordingly. In a separate, medium sized bowl, toss the rocket with the amount of dressing you see fit. Personally, I like the dressing to be a bit scant; only glossing the leaves rather than weighing them down. If you have remaining vinaigrette, place in jar and store in the fridge - it should keep for a good week or so.

After the pizza is out of the oven and cooled a minute or so, top with the salad and serve immediately.

Makes 4 pizzas.

Notes:
• The dough sometimes requires up to an addtional 1/4 cup of flour to come together.
• I have chosen to add a slug of olive oil to the dough as I prefer my crust to have a bit of tooth but still tenderness. Omit this if you prefer a drier, cracker-llike crust.
• The slower the dough rises, the more improved the taste. While keeping my little swaddled dough babies out of drafts I do not put them in a particularly warm place either.
• I do not salt the pizza, as the dough has been well-seasoned and the tang of the vinaigrette will season the toppings enough.
• Alternatively, if you prefer a softer jamón: reserve the slices and bake as written with just the cheeses and lemon thyme. Top the pizza with the jamón once it is baked, then with the salad as directed.
• For a particularly bright tasting vinaigrette, include some finely grated lemon zest and some finely minced shallot.

Reality bites

Aside from some cursory mentions and to answer specific questions, I have rarely felt the desire to write about this site on this site. Maybe it was because it seemed too self-referential, or maybe it is because I enjoyed the romantic notion that my writing was part of a conversation rather than a post on a computer screen; either way I always felt better in ignoring the technicalities of food blogging and website management.

However, due to a technical glitch, I have had to republish certain articles from my archives. My day has been spent resurrecting old posts, my eyes now sore from scanning old files and rearranging templates.

Since I enjoy the illusion that hides the work that goes into the site and my writing, I must admit I do believe that many of us subscribe to a similar fantasy in regards to the lifestyles behind food blogs. While I can only speak for myself definitively, I am sure that there are others who would admit that not every dish that graces our table is camera-ready, or that every meal eaten out is from a starred restaurant.

How very fitting it is then, that while rooting around for some files to reconstruct the archive I came across this picture for a Mixed Berry Ricotta Fool. A dish made up completely of odds and ends from other dishes featured here, it is a good dose of honesty - I mean, how often does one mention, let alone write about, the humdrum reality of leftovers?

Not every meal I cook is meant for publication; most days (especially in these last few months) I have not been able to enjoy the luxury of planning multi-course meals or experimenting as much as I used to. More often than not the focus of my cooking is to resolve the grumbling of stomachs and the solution lies in whatever is in the fridge. Far from glamorous I know, but closer to the demands of the everyday.

I will admit though, as much as I can recognize this actuality, I have little desire to write or dwell upon it. As shallow as it seems, I would like to continue my daydream that every author behind every site I read is living an utterly fashionable life, that every city is exciting every day, that almost every meal is a success, that any failures are dealt with aplomb and are simply fodder for a rapier wit.

But please do not draw back the curtain on the dirty dishes and take-out meals and the midnight snacks of saltines and peanut butter. While I do believe a good measure of self-awareness and accepting oneself, leftovers and all, let's not go overboard.

My apologies to subscribers of this site for old posts appearing on the site feed. I hope you don't mind the trip down memory lane.

Mixed berry ricotta fool
My own creation. Luscious, yet light, this recipe delivers a perfect balance of flavours and texture.

Blame it on lack of sleep (an infant will do that to you), but while I have the photo, I have no recollection of where I put the exact recipe. The following are estimations.

Ingredients:
1/3 cup of mixed berries
3 tablespoons ricotta
Honey, I believe I used about 1/2 teaspoon, but go with your taste depending on the tartness of the fruit
1/8 teaspoon vanilla
A few grates of lemon zest (optional)

Crush the berries with the back of a fork or in a mortar and pestle to form a coarse purée.

In another bowl, combine ricotta, honey, vanilla and nutmeg (if using). Fold the berry mixture through the ricotta, until marbled well but not completely blended. Check for sweetness and adjust honey if needed.

Spoon on slices of baguette, scones or to top waffles and pancakes.

Serves 1.

Notes:
• Omit the lemon zest and use a few grates of nutmeg for a background note of spice.
• Alternatively this fool can be mounded on split strawberries for a quick snack, multiplied to fill prebaked tart shells, in a napoleon of puff pastry, or between layers of sponge cake. It also makes a simple summer dessert when served in a cup with shortbread or sugar cookies alongside.

Speaking of ...

Sometimes I just get on a kick; I will become obsessed with an ingredient or dish, and eat nothing but variations on a theme. Last year at this time I was all about asparagus. This year, it seems my seasonal love affair is with peas. Since we’re already on the subject, I thought I would present another new favorite recipe for these little darlings.

Pea and ricotta crostini
Fresh with the brightness of lemon and rich with the supple texture of ricotta, these crostini are great as an hors d'oeuvre or starter. Alternatively, serve them as a garnish with a spring minestrone or other broth-based soup.

Ingredients
1 cup petit pois/peas (defrosted if frozen)
3 tablespoons ricotta cheese
Lemon zest (see note)
1-2 teaspoons olive oil
Salt and pepper

To serve
Toasted slices of baguette
Parmesan shavings or shards

In a small pot of boiling salted water, blanch the peas. Cook until tender, approximately 1 to 2 minutes (depending on their size). Once cooked, remove peas to a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking process and set their colour.

In a mortar and pestle, or a small food processor, mash the peas to form a coarse paste. Stir in the ricotta and lemon zest and enough olive oil to reach the desired consistency. Season to taste with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

To serve, mound purée onto slices of freshly toasted baguette and garnish with parmesan cheese.
Makes about 1/2 cup of purée.

Notes:
• I use just a few grates of lemon zest - about 1/8 of a teaspoon or so. It is really to taste, so trust your own judgement. Alternatively you can use a squeeze of lemon juice instead.
• This purée can also be tossed with cooked pasta for a quick supper. In this case, I would add some chopped parsley, whole watercress or torn arugula and additional cheese, with olive oil to loosen.

From the produce section, with love

When my brother and I were growing up, I do not remember having an option when it came to vegetables. Wait, I should clarify. It was not that there was a lack of variety in the vegetables placed before us, it was that we were never really given the option of trying them or not – we just did. We ate everything.

I’ll admit my Mother may be the better resource on this, but I do not remember there ever being a vegetable my brother or I would simply not eat (sure, there were ones that were not favourites). I recall being aghast when watching television and witnessing kid surreptitiously hide some Brussels sprouts in a napkin.

The thought had never dawned on me – I mean, why would anyone not want to eat a Brussels sprout? It was a completely foreign concept to my 7-year-old brain. Admittedly, our cocker spaniel did love corn, so he would have probably appreciated any scraps had we been willing to part with them.

We were lucky to be exposed to a wide array of vegetables, from a young age. We happily gobbled up steamed broccoli, curried cauliflower, peas in our aloo (potato) subsi, okra, spinach, beans of all sort, along with pulses and lentils. We even knew the three sides to one of our favourites — a vegetable that could be an aubergine when my grandmother was cooking, then transform itself into eggplant parmigiana at our neighbour’s house, and still be called baigan and brinjal when my Mom or Dad made Indian food.

My love for vegetables has carried me to adulthood, as I’ve expanded my repertoire to include new preparations and cooking methods. Nothing is better come springtime than roasted asparagus, more welcomed in summer than marinated salads, or more comforting in winter than braised leeks served alongside grilled meats.

S, on the other hand has not always been keen on our leafy and tuberous friends. Up until a few years ago, I could not even convince him that the noble onion was something that should pass his lips now and again. Luckily for me, a sojourn in some far-off lands opened up his culinary horizons and he is now my willing taste-tester. Though I’ll admit, I’ve not yet heard him say he ‘craved’ a vegetable – but I’m sure we’re on our way.

The many-named eggplant has been a perennial favourite, so when it came to deciding on what to make this past weekend, it was the obvious choice. Roasted in the oven, then used to top crunchy layers of puff pastry and a silky, rich filling of onions and herbed chèvre, the flavours were pronouncedly fall and the balance of textures exactly what I was looking for.

I sent one of these tarts to my parents this week; I hope they consider it a small thank you for all those years of ‘forcing’ me to eat my vegetables.

Roasted eggplant tart, with caramelized onions and chèvre

1 large globe eggplant
1 sheet puff pastry, thawed as per package instructions
2 small onions, halved and then sliced finely
100 g (3 oz) chèvre, softened and divided
100 g (3 oz) cream cheese, softened
2 tablespoons mixed fresh herbs (or more to taste), I used chives, parsley and thyme
5-10 cloves garlic, roasted and crushed into a paste
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Olive oil

Preheat oven to 425º F (220º C).

Slice eggplant into 1/2" rounds. Toss with olive oil, salt and pepper. Place in a single layer on a baking sheet and roast for 12 minutes. Turn the slices and roast for another 12 minutes, until lightly golden and soft. Alternatively, you can sauté the slices over medium heat. Set aside.

Reduce oven temperature to 400ºF (200º C).

On a floured surface, roll out the puff pastry to16”by 10”, trim any edges to form a neat rectangle. With a paring knife, score a 1” border around the edge of the pastry. Place on baking sheet. Prick (dock) the interior of the rectangle all over with a fork, to prevent excessive rising. Bake for 15 minutes, or until an even pale golden brown. Depending on your oven, you may need to rotate the pan halfway through the baking. Set aside on rack to cool (do not remove from baking sheet).

Meanwhile in a small saucepan with a tight-fitting lid, sauté the onions along with 1 teaspoon of salt. After the onions have become translucent cover and continue to cook, stirring frequently, for 15 minutes or until caramelized. Remove from heat, uncover and allow to cool.

In a small bowl, blend together half the chèvre, all the cream cheese and the herbs. Depending on the type used, you may need to loosen the mixture with a teaspoon of olive oil. You are looking for a lightly whipped, spreadable consistency. Season with salt and pepper, and set aside.

Being careful not to crush the pastry, spread the garlic paste over the crust. Top with the cheese mixture, followed by the caramelized onions. Arrange roasted eggplant over the onions and top with the reserved chèvre. Drizzle with a bit of olive oil, if desired.

Bake for 10 minutes, or until cheese starts to brown and the eggplant is warmed through. Can be eaten warm or at room temperature.

Serves 4.

Notes:
• For the ruffled effect shown with the puff pastry, I used a removable-bottomed tart pan with a fluted edge.
• Lemon zest and/or juice are welcome additions to the herbed cheese mixture.
• Any roasted vegetable would be excellent with this combination; tomatoes, zucchini or mushrooms are all suitable.
• Omit the chèvre and substitute an equal amount of a blue cheese for the filling.

The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day ... that turned into a week

Title with thanks to Judith Viorst.

Monday started out with me slipping in a mud puddle. Tuesday introduced impossible deadlines to be met – and was a day that did not seem to have enough hours in it. Wednesday, well, I forget Wednesday, I’m sure it happened but I have no recollection of it. I think it was so traumatic that I blocked it from my memory.Thursday brought misunderstandings of seemingly endless proportions. And now it is Friday, and it’s raining outside.

As you may guess, I’m in a bit of a mood.

It is times like these, when I am feeling overwhelmed, that I transform from a usually capable person into a somewhat dramatic, hopeless mess. And it is times like these that the smallest of favours are the grandest of gifts.

These adorable little tomatoes for example, a co-worker brought them to me from her garden – she is a kind and thoughtful lady who never thinks twice when given the opportunity to do something for another. Perfectly ripened, almost candy-like in their sweetness and utterly photogenic, I have had the pleasure of enjoying three miniature little harvests of tomatoes, my morning brightened by a little bag of these babies waiting on my desk in the morning.

Or this lovely green dish, a gift from my dear S in apology for setting fire to one of my roasting dishes (long story involving preheating the oven without remembering that he’d hidden dirty dishes in there earlier). Smooth and sleek with its feminine fluted edge, I love the weight and feel of the ceramic — and the colour is so utterly of him (as you may have noticed, I have a fondness for white serving ware).

So things may not be as dire as they seem. Last night, I surveyed the kitchen and came across some gorgeously crusty Calabrese bread, some herbs and my darling tomatoes. Remembering a recent sunny afternoon at the Taste of the Danforth food festival in Toronto, with the company of great friends and laughter all around, I was inspired to recreate the fabulously fresh bruschetta we’d had at Il Fornello.

The first bite of crusty bread, tangy soft cheese and luscious tomatoes, and I’d banished the gloom. Such a simple pleasure, coupled with a quiet evening, had a wonderfully restorative effect. I slept soundly, and woke this morning with a renewed sense of enthusiasm to face the work ahead.

That’s when I noticed the rain clouds.

Bruschetta with tomato salad and chèvre
Bruschetta, from the Italian bruscare (to roast over coals) technically refers only to the grilled bread. My apologies that I have not included amounts here, instead just the ingredients. But truly, when in a mood like the one I’ve been in, the last thing one wants is to stress over measuring spoons. Use the proportions that best suit your palate. This is supposed to be a dish that exemplifies the “path of least resistance” – the quickest way to pleasure with minimal effort.

Ingredients

Tomatoes, grape or cherry halved, or your favourite large variety cut into manageable bites
Red onion, finely minced
Garlic, finely minced or microplaned (optional)
Basil, in fine strips (chiffonade)
Parsley, finely minced
Salt and pepper
Red wine vinegar (optional)
Olive oil
Slices of Calabrese bread, or any other crusty bread you like
Garlic (left whole)
Chèvre

Preheat broiler.

Combine tomatoes, onion, garlic and herbs in a bowl. Season to taste with salt and pepper and a scant splash of red wine vinegar. Pour over a good-quality olive oil, mixing gently to combine. Allow to sit at room temperature while you prepare the bruschetta.

Under a hot broiler, toast bread on one side until golden brown. Turn and toast the second side until just starting to turn colour. Remove from oven and, working quickly, rub the cut side of the whole garlic clove all over the lightly toasted side. Top with crumbled chèvre, and return to the broiler until the cheese is starting to melt.

Serve topped with tomato salad and a final drizzle of olive oil.

Notes:
• This recipe can be done on a barbeque, grilling the bread first over medium high heat. To melt the cheese, turn the grill down to medium heat and close the lid, checking after 2-3 minutes.

Soul food

I’m going away on business for a few days, attending an industry conference. A few of our meals have been “sponsored” by various companies with which we collaborate — with each sponsor selecting the restaurant, and in some cases the menu, the group will experience.

Mulling over the list of events, I became naturally curious about those chosen. While searching for websites and reviews, I was struck by the diversity of venues that had been selected. They ran the spectrum, in terms of atmosphere, clientele and, of course, cuisine.

This range had me thinking. I started trying to find the connection between the company who sponsored the event, and the location they chose. In most cases, it seemed the companies had not only considered the reputation of the restaurant, but also how that reputation, clientele and cuisine would reflect and reinforce their own image. The deliberation behind the choices was evident.

So does this translate into our personal choice in establishments and into our own kitchens?

On a personal level, I think the same criteria rings true, but in a much more subconscious form. I think we’re all aware of the emotional connection we have with food; how we eat reflects our mental state, how we celebrate and how we placate.

More specifically though, the food we consider “home”, the food that resonates with us, are the specific dishes to which we feel some sort of connection. We respond to those flavours on a visceral level; the catalyst may be nostalgia, or simply an ingredient that seems to speak to an aspect of our personality.

When we choose to serve or share these meals to others we are, in effect, choosing the part of ourselves to present to them.

So what does all this rambling have to do with what I’m making for dinner? Well, I am making a bit of a special meal tonight (in honour of my little trip), to be shared with the person I adore most in the world.

Since I’d been thinking about the personality of our food, I took a long look at what I was planning to serve.

This salad is a fairly accurate representation of my philosophy on food and, to a degree, my idea of who I am.

It is uncluttered; favourite ingredients, treated with respect and presented with some sense of aesthetic. I’ll admit myself somewhat shallow, I respond to pretty things — as exhibited by my collection of not-at-all-practical-but-simply-gorgeous shoes. There are some fiddly-bits, and that quality is part of me. I appreciate a bit of a to do over an event, but I am not a fan of fussiness or construction without substance. Complexity does not need to be cumbersome. I tend to crave pure flavours and respond most strongly to that which is straightforward.

Hopefully on this plate, and in my life, I’ve achieved that.

I'll see you in a few days.

Fig, prosciutto and goat’s cheese salad with citrus vinaigrette
From The Best by Paul Merrett, Silvana Franco and Ben O’Donoghue, with a few adaptations

Ingredients
1/2 cup grated Parmesan
8 slices Prosciutto di Parma, roughly torn
4 black mission figs, quartered
80 grams chèvre (or more, if you’d like)
Two handfuls of mixed baby greens

Vinaigrette
Juice of 1/2 lemon, approximately 2 tablespoons
Zest of 1/2 lemon, finely grated
1-2 teaspoons rice wine or white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon finely snipped chives
1-2 cloves garlic, finely minced (optional)
9 tablespoons olive oil, or to taste
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Preheat oven to 200º C (400ºF).

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, or a silicone baking sheet. Spoon a heaped tablespoon of Parmesan onto sheet and lightly pat down. Repeat with remaining cheese, placing the four mounds approximately 1/2 inch apart.

Bake in oven for 3-5 minutes, until lightly toasted brown. Remove from oven and let stand for about 20 seconds then, using a spatula, place crisps across a cylinder (like a wine bottle or a rolling pin), to set into a curved shape. Allow to cool.

Whisk all the dressing ingredients together, adjust the seasoning to taste.

Toss the salad leaves with about 3 tablespoons of the vinaigrette.

Place a crisp on each plate, and mound a small amount of the salad in the centre. Nestle in figs, fold the Prosciutto and crumble the chèvre over the leaves. Drizzle plate with remaining dressing.

Serves 4.

Note
• Aged balsamic, or a balsamic reduction, is also a lovely addition to this salad.