Fraises

I just bought a flat of strawberries.

A whole flat.

I live alone.

Strawberries will be out of season next week.

I plan on making strawberry sorbet and perhaps ice cream.

Strawberry Jam.

I'm going looking for recipes.

Wish me luck and send me recommendations.

Updates soon.

The new Modus Operandi for The Food Slut

I want to write about everything that I eat.

Five minutes ago, I was sitting on the floor of my apartment, in nothing but my underwear, cutting up slightly overripe strawberries. I went back into the kitchen, grabbed some vanilla sugar and my pepper grinder. I sprinkled the sugar, cracked the pepper and tossed the berries.

I don't think I could have been any happier at that moment.

The heat of the peppers intensified the flavour of the slightly sweetened berries. It was like someone had turned the lights on in my mouth. It was warm, sweet and potent.

This is how food should be.

This is how food should be experienced.

This is why I want to write about food.

And this is how I want to write about food.

Starting right now, I am going to write, catalogue, as many things as I eat as possible.

Is this insane?

Probably, since I have a tendency to be lazy about writing.

But this is why I am doing this. To give myself motivation, incentive, reason.

Write about the things you know and love.

Food.

Eating.

Making.

Learning.

Creating.

Five minutes I made myself probably one of the most amazing sandwhiches I have ever eaten. It woke me up to what food should be, what it is.

I had started to become lazy in my production of food. eat this, work now.

I would get more delight in the concept of food, in its acquisiton and buying, than in its execution, it's raison d'etre. Fuel for the soul, more than fuel for the body.

The sandwhich was made of as follows:

Two pieces sourdough bread
Two pieces of gouda (preferably artisanal, as the taste is more pronounced and better balanced)
Cranberry mustard
Dill.

That's it.

Take two pieces of bread and slather with a small amount of cranberry mustard. Place gouda on bread. Add a few sprigs of dill. Eat.

Simplicity in itself.

BUT HOLY SHIT IT'S AMAZING!!!!!!!!

The complexities of flavours, the sweetness of the mustard, mingled with the heady and strong taste of the dill were unusual at first, but only because dill is such an uncommon flavour to me. Upon the second bite however, I was bowled over. The intensity of flavours, mellowed by the slightly salty cheese was beyond compare.

I am in love again.

***

Recent discoveries.

Ben Shaw's amazing drinks.



I discovered Ben Shaw's cloudy lemonade a few months ago in a local market. It's the only place in the city that carries it. I have recently become enamoured with lemonade, freshly made or any reasonable facsimilie. Tropicana makes a good lemonade, but Ben Shaw's lightly sparkling lemonade is clean, tart yet slightly sweet and perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Every single person I know who has tried it has fallen in love with. From foodies to drinnk guzzlers, all agree, it is probably the best commerically produced lemonade.







Apparently a common beverage in England, Burdock and dandelion soft drinks are a relatively new phenomenon in north america.

But I hope for their sake it grows here and becomes more than just a possible fad. Not too sweet, sligthly reminiscent of cream soda and root beer all at once, the drink is almost ambrosial in its delicate flavour. Perfect for kids and adults alike.

Find it and try it now.

What do I do with the pink stuff?

Ok, so it's summer. Things are in season, and I'm looking for help. I can't just let all this food sit in my fridge and go to waste.

Hence....



Rhubarb.

I often make a rhubarb vanilla compote (thank you Donna Hay) but am lost as to what to do with it.

Also, I have waaaaay too much cilantro.

Suggestions anyone?

Back to food, back to me.

I'm cooking again.

Standing over the counter, peeling onions, smashing garlic, melting butter, dusting with cayenne. Mixing oil and vinegar. Squeezing lemons. Tearing greens into small pieces for salads. Biting into pieces of fresh bread laden with melted chocolate and oven-warmed hazelnuts.

I feel whole again.

All because of a small meal.

Mangoes and curry leaves

I am in love.
Again.





I have just finished reading Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid's latest book, Mangoes and curry leaves and once again, I am fascinated, enthused and excited. I have read all of their books (and own all but one, Flatbreads and Flavours) and have come to use their books as a standard for how I view cookbooks. Their books are not only filled with great recipes, but personal anecdotes about each dish which lend a greater character and strength to each recipe. Alford and Duguid not only tell you how to make the dish, but why.

Why should I make pork in an aromatic broth? Because the scent of lemongrass and ginger and onions will deliver you to sri lanka. What would go well with it? Simple basmati rice and a sambhal (a sri lankan salsa). What is it like to trek across the subcontinent? To be lost in a monsoon? To make a tandoori oven? They will tell you. Other cookbooks won't.

This is why I love these books. Not only will they tell you, teach you, help you understand the subtleties of the foods contained therein, but it's as if they are right there beside you, old friends telling you how and why you should go to where they have been.

I missed you, oh dear kitchen

I have been craving cake for the past two weeks.

I dream about cake. I fantasize about what kind of cake that I will make. I had been thinking about making a coconut loaf cake from Pierre Herme's "Desserts", but when I told someone that I was making a cake, they asked that it be chocolate so that they could come over and help me eat it.

Sure. Chocolate it is.

I went to the grocer, bought a few things and came home and got everything ready. I put on a mix cd of songs I made for someone else and sang along. I dug out bowls, measured ingredients, turned on the oven, lost myself.

There is a rhythm that comes in making food. A rhythm that I haven't followed for a while. I have been guilty of making ten and fifteen minute meals, tuna salads, sandwhiches, a piece of fruit. Altough each of these things were quite good, they don't beat the methodical approach of taking one's time, going slow, following the beat of the kitchen, listening, watching. Add flour here. More chocolate there. Stir well. Fold ingredients into each other. Watch. Smell. Taste. Magic.

When the cake comes out of the oven, I place it gently on racks and open the windows to help them cool. I walk around the apartment, cleaning things, putting away laundry, flip through a book, dig out old records I haven't listened to in a while.

These are all part of baking the cake: the time you take to do what you want to do, what you need to do. This is where the anticipation builds, slowly, deliberately. How will it taste this time? I pace myself, pace my needs, slowing them down with a small nap, a cup of tea.

As I frost the cake, my fingers grace its edges, keeping it clean, licking my fingers, smoothing the tops, making sure the edges are well coated and covered. I dust the cake's frosting with poppy seeds, tiny dots, black stars in a sweet white sky.

When I cut into the cake, all I care about is that first bite. Will it be sweet? Will the crumb be soft, moist, yielding? Will the alchemy of mundane ingredients release something precious and light?

Yes.

And it's done. Two, three hours, all for one bite. But that bite pleases me. Immensely. It is the end of something wonderful. Of an afternoon spent lounging around in old clothes, remembering things, tasting.

I am grateful for this ending. Sweet, sweet ending.

Holidays are for hogs

It seems that when the holidays come around, we seem to forget our diets, our waistlines, our fear of carbs.

Every year, I go nuts and start making cookies, breads and x-mas dinner. Last year I made dinner for 14 people. It was fantastic. I loved it as did everyone else who was there.

This year, I went a little easier. Armed with my trusty Gourmet and Bon Appetit magazines, I created a menu for our family meal.

The menu was as follows:

Roasted parsnip soup
Thyme roasted squash
Celeriac Mash
Chive and parsley oil mashed potatoes
Apple and shallot stuffing
Herb stuffed turkey

And for dessert, an chocolate orange buttercream yule log.



It was the first time I had ever attempted to make one. Word from the wise: Use parchment paper at all times when flipping the cake out of the pan. Read the instructions fully.

The best part of the holidays, are the cookies.



Everyone loves christmas cookies, perhaps even more than the boxes of chocolates and candies. I made three different types of cookies. Anise sesame cookies, molasses crinkles(which I dusted with icing sugar instead of sugar cystals) and my favourite, cardamom butter squares , which I dipped into white chocolate to make even more decadent. I wanted to share with you the recipes for these. Just click on the names of each cookie to get to epicurious.com for the recipes.



The holidays may be over but that doesn't mean you can't bake anymore! Enjoy!