[Okay, so the post title is a bit obscure (I was alluding to Four Weddings and a Funeral)--but with the Oscars coming up in a couple of days, and with my having seen, hmmn, let's see--a total of "zero" of the movies, I wanted to make reference to that grand little Golden Guy in some way or other in this post. ]
Shindig One: The most recent celebration we enjoyed here in the DDD household was an intimate birthday dinner for my friend Eternal Optimist (consisting of just the EO, the HH, and me).We three enjoyed a spectacular, yet simple meal of Potato-Miso Soup (Alisa’s uniquely delicious recipe: satiny smooth, rich and slightly yeasty from the hint of miso–in fact, this was the second time I’ve made this in a week!); trusty Tagine of Quinoa with Chickpeas, Olives and Prunes (always a hit around here); garlic sautéed rapini and collards; and a special b-day cake (chocolate layers with sugar-free chocolate buttercream frosting (both from Sweet Freedom) and the Sweet Potato Frosting I wrote about a while back.
It was grand to spend a leisurely evening together fêting a dear friend. The EO also brought along her own pooch, another border collie cross, and The Girls were in heaven. (“We love having our friends over, too, Mum! Except next time, there should be a cake that we can eat as well.”)
Shindig Two: In addition to the birthday, the dinner was also occasion for a spontaneous mini-celebration in honor of the cookbook finally reaching the publisher. After numerous delays in formatting and glitches with the cover, it’s finally on its way! My publishing rep called yesterday to confirm that she received the files and their part of the book’s production will begin next week. YIPPPPPPEEEEEE!! (Of course, this means it will still take about three months before the book is in print, but it is out of my hands at this point). I can’t even begin to express what a relief that is! So we had a little toast in honor of Sweet Freedom last evening as well.
Shindig Three: Despite mountains of marking, I’ll be peeking in periodically at the Academy Awards, that shindig to beat all shindigs, that tribute to all things silicone and Juvéderm and Botox, that massive glitterati ego-massage that will take place on Sunday evening. From the Barbara Walters interviews to the Joan Rivers gaffes to the melodramatic and slurred acceptance speeches, I love it all. And even if I haven’t actually seen any of the movies, who cares? That’s not what the Oscars are all about, anyway!
Before I depart on break, I thought it might be fun to leave you with a little midterm quiz of your own to ponder while I’m away (and the best part–it doesn’t matter whether you know the answers or not!). I’ll reveal the “correct” responses when I get back (though with a bit of sleuthing, it should be fairly easy to find them before then).
[Chocolate birthday cake in all its uncut glory]
A Diet, Dessert and Dogs Mid-Term Quiz
Instructions: Please answer each of the following questions. Note that this is an open-blog test; answers can be found in previous entries. Please double space your answers.
1) DDD stands for:
a) The 2009, eco-friendly version of the pesticide “DDT”
b) Pamela Anderson’s bra size (now that she’s had a breast reduction)
(“What? Mum, you’re not getting a divorce, are you? Because who’s going to walk us in the morning if Dad is gone??“). Now, before I go and scare The Girls, I should specify that I’m not referring to a human object of my affection. I’m talking about a new food-related amore: celeri rémoulade. (“Phew! Mum, you really shouldn’t scare us that way. We’re very sensitive, you know.”)
Let me backtrack a bit and explain. Even though the HH and I do celebrate Valentine’s Day, for the past few years we’ve done so a day or two after the fact, in order to avoid the too-crowded-too-expensive-too-mushy restaurant crowds who seem to roll out like fog off a San Francisco pier all on that one day. Last year (the first V-day to occur after I started writing this blog), I broke all previous records and assembled a multi-course, ultra-extravagant, über-romantic and oh-so-dirty dinner (no, no, no, that would have scared the dogs even more than a breakup! We’d never offend their delicate sensibilities that way. I meant “dirty” as in, “generating a lot of dirty dishes,” silly!). I vowed that this year, we’d move to the other end of the spectrum, with a simple, quick, yet equally delectable meal. (“Thanks, Mum. That divorce scare was more than enough for one day.”)
I’d actually chosen the appetizer over a month ago, after reading about celeri rémoulade on Molly’s blog. Her description was so alluring–rapturous, almost–citing the “clean, fragrant crunch of celery root, and the alchemy of mayonnaise and Dijon mustard. . . . somewhat rich [with a] flavor [that's] light, bright, even hungry-making, a perfect start to a meal,” that I knew I had to try it out. The only glitch, of course, is that traditionally, the dish contains copious amounts of both mayonnaise and yogurt (the vegan versions of which are a tad too processed for my liking). Never mind; I decided to deal with that later.
For the main course, I considered a recipe for Tempeh Stroganoff I’d found in an old (October 2007!) issue of Vegetarian Times.
[11:32 AM. Ricki and the HH sit at the kitchen table, sipping tea and nibbling on muffins. The Girls lie on the carpet in front of the fireplace, Chaser sprawled with her belly facing the fire, while Else lies curled in a ball.]
Ricki: How about this tempeh stroganoff from VegetarianTimes?
HH: No.
Ricki: But it sounds delicious! And it’s even gluten-fr–
HH: Uh-uh. No. Nada. No way. Nein. [As if to remind Ricki of a forgotten promise]: No tofu.
Ricki: But it’s not tofu. It’s tempeh.
HH: Tempeh, tofu–same difference. No soy products.
Ricki: [pouting] Well, but, this is what I want for dinner!
HH: Okay, fine. I’ll make a steak and have the stroganoff as a side dish.
Ricki: That’s why I love you, sweetheart. Happy Valentine’s Day! Kiss kiss squeeze squeeze hug hug. . .
Okay, I didn’t really say that. But I did think it. Here’s what I did say:
Me: That’s fine, HH. But just because you’re cooking your own steak doesn’t mean you don’t have to help me make the stroganoff.
HH: Okay.
Ricki: That’s why I love you, sweetheart. Happy Valentine’s Day! Kiss kiss squeeze squeeze hug hug. . .
We figured we could whip up the stroganoff in under an hour (bake the meatballs while I made the sauce; julienne the celery root while the stroganoff simmered), having time to leisurely prepare the meal ensemble while listening to some Rodrigo, exchange good-natured banter, toss cashews to The Girls and sip our favorite bargain basement champagne, sort of like we used to do in the early days of our relationship. We’d have the early part of the day to relax in our jammies, peruse the newspaper, play with The Girls, check favorite blogs, and so on. Perfect!
After a chillaxing day (browsing the paper, taking The Girls for a trail-walk, visiting the workout club–how ya doin’, burly guy with the black knee socks? Nice to see you again, septuagenarian couple with the matching T-shirts! Nice day, isn’t it, bleached blonde with the flirty giggle!), we finally turned to dinner.
Perhaps I should have planned this “easy peasy” meal just a tad more carefully. (Of course, by the time I got round to cooking, I was semi sloshed on Segura Viudas, which may have contributed to my somewhat inefficient kitchen artistry–but still).
First, I discovered that the cashews (the main ingredient in the homemade sour cream) required an hour’s soaking, which set our prep time back by an hour. No problem: I’d whir together some homemade vegan mayonnaise (I used the recipe in Cozy Inside, but this one sounds just as good) and whip up the meatballs while the nuts soaked. Then, I’d quickly prep the sour cream and throw together the stroganoff while the HH grilled his steak. We’d be done and ready to dig in by 7:00 PM at the latest.
[7:00 PM. Having forgotten about the initial chopping and sautéing involved, Ricki is still mixing ingredients for the meatballs. Sounds of rumbling tummies can be heard in the background.]
HH: So, um, what’s our ETA for dinner?
Ricki: Well, I’ll just pop these meatballs in the oven–I couldn’t bear to fry them–and then make the mayo and sour cream, and then I can whip up the stroganoff, and then the celeri rémoulade, oh, and then I guess we should think about dessert–
HH: I thought this was going to be a quick and easy dinner.
Ricki [pouting]: Well, now, I suppose it HAS been easy for YOU, hasn’t it, Mr. Lazypants? I mean, I’VE done all the work so far, I’m standing here covered in onion juice and flour and cashew crumbs, and YOU’VE been sittng there all day reading the paper and playing with the dogs, sipping your champagne, now, haven’t you?? Well, I wouldn’t be complaining right about now if I were you, mister, you’d better watch yourself, or else—
HH: Um, well, I’m actually happy to help. Just tell me what to chop. Oh, and here’s your Valentine’s Day present [brandishing chocolate].
Me: Oh, that’s why I love you, sweetheart! Happy Valentine’s Day! Kiss kiss squeeze squeeze hug hug. . .
Ultimately, we didn’t sit down at the table until well after 8:00 PM (have you ever julienned a celery root by hand??? Insanity, I tell you–sheer insanity). But the results were well worth it. The celeri rémoulade was, as Molly promised, fresh, crisp, light, and entirely irresistible. I really did fall in love, and ate two servings before even thinking about my stroganoff.
The main course, too, offered a winning combination of succulent, filling meatless balls atop a plate of velvety, herbaceous sauce. It practically hummed its smooth melody of rich, sour cream and savory, toothsome mushrooms.
It may have been more complex than anticipated, and it may have taken six times as long as anticipated, and it may have been cobbled together from seven different recipes intended for seven other purposes. . . but this meal was remarkable all the same.
After all, who ever said the road to true love was an easy one?
In case you’d like to reproduce the meal yourself (if you happen to have three and a half hours to spare some weekend), here’s how I assembled it.
And since celery root is available in Ontario in February, this post is my submission to Maninas’s event, Eating with the Seasons, for February.
Vegan Celeri Rémoulade adapted from Orangette (ACD Stage 3 and beyond)
Light and almost ethereal, this salad will enchant with its thin, crisp matchsticks of celeriac and creamy, fragrant dressing.
1 small to medium celery root
6 Tbsp (75 ml) mayonnaise of your choice
2 Tbsp (30 ml) this “sour cream” (save the rest for the stroganoff sauce)
1 Tbsp plus 1/2 tsp (17.5 ml) dijon mustard
salt, to taste
lemon juice, to taste
To prepare the celery root, peel away all the outer gnarly skin until you have a smooth, white root ball. Cut the root in half and place cut side down on a cutting board.
Slice the halves into thin slices. Stack the slices and cut again into thin matchsticks. If you have a mandolin and it will handle celery root, by all means use that instead (and avoid a 40-minute operation if done by hand–though of course you won’t revel in the same satisfaction as you will from doing it by hand. But then again, who cares?). Place the matchsticks in a large bowl.
In a small bowl, prepare the dressing: whisk together the remaining ingredients. Pour over the celery root and toss to coat. Allow to sit about 10 minutes for flavors to meld before devouring. Makes 4-6 servings. Will keep, tightly covered, in the refrigerator for 3 days.
[More romantic lighting! Okay, actually, it was just evening and fairly dark when I took the pic.]
Meatball Stroganoff (GF option) based on a recipe in Vegetarian Times, October 2007
While I enjoyed the disparate elements of this dish immensely, I think next time I’d pair the meatballs with a tomato-based sauce, as Jes does in her original recipe. The stroganoff sauce would be fine on its own, too.
1 recipe tempeh (or other) meatballs (I used this one–ues GF meatballs for GF option)
4 ounces (115 g) button or other mushrooms (I used portabello)
2 Tbsp (30 ml) tamari or soy sauce (use GF for GF option)
1/4 cup (40 g) brown rice flour
1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) dried mustard powder
1/8 tsp (.5 ml) ground nutmeg
1/4 cup (60 ml) Madeira, vermouth, or apple juice (I used vermouth)
3 cups (720 ml) vegetable broth (or use 2 tsp/10 ml bouillon powder and water) (use GF for GF option)
1Tbsp (15 ml) olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 cup (240 ml) chopped kale, collards, or Swiss chard1/4 cup (45 g) potato starch
about 8 ounces (225 g) rice pasta, or pasta of your choice
paprika, for garnish, if desired
In a small bowl, toss the mushrooms with the tamari and set aside. Meanwhile, combine the starch, flour, mustard and nutmeg in a large bowl. Slowly whisk in the madeira until smooth; then whisk in the broth until well blended. Set aside.
In a frypan, heat the oil over medium heat and then sauté the onion until translucent. Add the mushrooms with the tamari and continue to sauté another 2-3 minutes. Add the kale and cook for another minute, until it begins to wilt.
Pour the liquid mixture over the vegetables in the frypan, and stir over medium-low heat until it begins to bubble and thicken. Add the sour cream and stir to blend well (if sauce is too thick, add more water or some soymilk). Keep warm while you prepare the pasta.
To serve, place pasta on a plate and top with several warm meatballs. Spoon sauce over all, and garnish with paprika if desired. Serve immediately. Makes 4-6 servings.
Full disclosure: even if I hated seaweed and loathed green soybeans, I would still have tasted this salad based on the poetry of its name alone. I mean, how can you pass up such alliteration, such euphony, such gastronomic lyricism?
Just listen to it: AH-ra-may. EEE-da-MAH-may. “Arame” brings to mind ”aria.” And “Edamame” –well, “edamame” just makes me want to break out into song: “How I love ya, how I love ya, my EEE-da-MAH-MAYYEEE. . . .”
When I think of poetry, most of the time I think of how much I abhorred it in university (mostly because I could never understand it). Even when I went on a poetry bender at the suggestion of my crush-cum-mentor, Dr. D, I never quite “got” it. Let’s see; here’s my experience with poetry, in a nutshell: T.S. Eliot’s “Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock” –I did dare, I did dare, but it just would not sing to me; Wallace Stevens’s “Sunday Morning,”–say what? WHO is the mother of beauty? (Just too creepy); Ezra Pound’s “In a Station of the Metro“–I was haunted by apparitions in every crowd for months; ee cummings’s “in-just”–it was spring and the world was mud-luscious, but the poems just weren’t; Sylvia Plath’s “Daddy“–I felt the need to throw away my black telephone; William Carlos Williams’s “The Red Wheelbarrow“–(because so much depends on a red poet–no, make that red poet’s society–no; oh, whatever. Who cares?)
In the end, I felt as if I’d read thousands of miles of poetry and all I got was a lousy T-shirt.
One form of verse that always did intrigue me, though, was haiku (you were wondering how all this related to the recipe, weren’t you? And here we are: both Japanese-themed!). I’m sure you’re familiar with the stuff–a specific set of three metered lines, first seven syllables, then five, then another seven. What’s great about haiku is that pretty much anyone can do it.
In fact, the HH informs me that even he composed in this form of verse once, in grade school. Here’s his masterpiece:
He comes off the ride.
As the fair whirls round his head,
His dinner comes up.
Ah, yes, HH, The Sensitive Artiste.
More than anything else, I think that haiku makes poetry easy and accessible.
Well, think of this salad as the haiku of Japanese food, if you like–making seaweed accessible to all (or “sea vegetables,” if you prefer the more literary term). If you’ve ever wondered about kombu, nori, wakame, dulse, or any of those others but have been afraid to try them, this seaweed salad is for you. In fact, it’s already been taste-tested (and mightily approved) by hundreds of thousands of others, since I modeled this recipe on the extremely popular salad of the same name sold at Planet Organic stores. Except at Planet Organic, it sells for something like $6.99 per 100 grams ($31.73 a pound), which means you pay approximately $17.42 for two tablespoons (okay, I’m exaggerating–but just a little). Clearly, my version is infinitely preferable.
The salad is incredibly simple to prepare, with just arame (a fairly mild seaweed that looks sort of like black spaghetti) and edamame (green soy beans) as the major ingredients. Toss these with a rice vinegar/sesame oil dressing and some lightly toasted sesame seeds, and you’ve got yourself a delectable dish that perfectly combines sweet (the beans), salty (the tamari) and even umami (the seaweed). The bonus is a great source of protein and Vitamin C from the edamame, plus some much-needed trace minerals (and a few major ones, too) from the seaweed.
The soy and seaweed
Are in perfect harmony.
You will love this dish.
Arame and Edamame Salad
This makes a great appetizer salad or side dish to miso soup, sushi, or any other light fare–but it’s delicious on its own, too.
2/3 cup (180 ml) dry arame (don’t pack it or you’ll end up with too much–it really expands while soaking).**
about 1 cup (240 ml) shelled edamame (see how much arame you end up with after soaking, and use about double the amount of edamame)
1 tablespoon (15 ml) rice vinegar (seasoned is fine)
1 tablespoon (15 ml) tamari or Bragg’s liquid aminos
2 tablespoon (30 ml) lightly toasted sesame seeds
5-8 drops liquid stevia or 1-2 tsp (5-10 ml) agave nectar, to taste
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoons (30 ml) extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon (15 ml) sesame oil
1/8-1/4 teaspoon (.5-1 ml) fine sea salt, to taste
Place the dry arame in a heatproof bowl and cover with boiling water; allow to sit 5-15 minutes, until the arame is soft and about double in bulk (the longer it soaks, the less it retains a “fishy” taste). Drain and reserve 1 Tbsp (15 ml) of the soaking liquid, if desired.
Cook the edamame according to package directions (if not pre-cooked) and allow to cool to room temperature.
Meanwhile, in a medium-sized bowl, whisk together the remaining ingredients except for the arame. Add the drained arame, edamame and soaking liquid (if desired) and stir to coat the soy and seaweed. Allow to sit at least 15 minutes before serving (this is actually better the next day). Store, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Makes 3 servings.
** You can use wakame instead if you like, since it looks almost the same once soaked; but beware, wakame is known to have more of a “fishy” taste than arame.
“Mum, I heard it’s Valentine’s Day, so I’m practising my best come-hither look. . . do you think that cute Henry will notice? In the meantime, would you mind peeling me a grape?” **
“Hey, Elsie, is this how you do it? How’s this, huh? What do you think? Is this come hither? Huh? Well, I don’t like grapes, anyway. Sigh.”
** Yes, I know grapes should never be fed to dogs. The references was for quoting song lyric purposes only.
Just a quick note to share some exciting news: my recipe for Orange-Infused Chocolate Almond Cake is featured in this month’s Clean Eatingmagazine!
When I was asked by the folks at the magazine to create a recipe for a healthy, fudgy chocolate cake (that met the Clean Eatingrequirements, of course–basically the NAG diet that I follow anyway), I was thrilled and got to work! I actually submitted the recipe last summer, but that’s how far in advance the schedule is planned. I didn’t want to mention anything until I saw it in print with my own eyes. . . and now it’s finally here–yay! Wow, did their food stylist ever make that cake look gorgeous (the pic above is mine, not theirs–the magazine version is much more attractive!)
For those of you who can get the magazine where you live, it’s the March/April issue, with a bowl of Black-Eyed Pea Stew on the cover and the banner headline, “Try Our Chocolate-Almond Cake: Enjoy a Second Guilt-Free Slice”. And while my recipe was mentioned on the cover, to see my name credited, you have to squint really hard, then look at the teeny, tiny, teensy weensy little print along the fold to the right of the recipe (which is on the last page of the mag, in the “Happy Endings” section).
For those who are interested, the magazine is based on the philosophy/diet of Tosca Reno, who wrote the book Eat Clean. Some of the articles in this particular issue include 5-ingredient entrées, nutritious snacks, allergy-proofing your home, risotto by Food Network host Aida Mollenkamp, and antioxidant berries, goji and acai (and no, I have no personal stake in the magazine–I’m not affiliated with them in any way except for having developed that recipe for them).
I wish I could reprint the recipe here, but I can’t, as Clean Eating purchased the recipe rights as well. But I think you can at least get an idea from the photo above!
New recipe next post, I promise
PS Vegan/Vegetarian readers take note: while 22 of the 68 recipes in the magazine are vegetarian, most do contain eggs or dairy (mine doesn’t, of course!).
“Mum, if clean eating means ‘cleaning out your bowl every time you eat,’ then I think we could write for that magazine, too. Or maybe we could just be taste-testers. Much better than eating snow, I’m sure.”
Are you looking forward to V-Day next week? Seems most people either love it or hate it. Being from the “never too much schmaltz” school of romance, I love Valentine’s Day. Even during all those years before I met the HH, I’d always endeavor to celebrate somehow. I’d send cards to my friends or my sisters. I’d invite a gal pal for dinner so we could sip Shiraz together and muse about how few good men there were out there. One year, I think I even bought myself roses (must have been my “I am woman, hear me roar” phase).
The contest asks you to create a romantic dish using one or more vegetables of your choice. Last year, I came up with a Vegan Molten Chocolate Cake recipe using puréed zucchini and spinach. I loved the taste of the cakes, but the molten filling was temperamental–sometimes it formed a lovely, floating cloud of lava in the center of the cake, as it was supposed to do; other times, the filling got sucked up by the batter and all that remained was a tiny disk of tar-like chocolate at its core. You’d think I’d give up on sweets with veggies in them. But no. . .
As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, sweet potatoes are my favorite vegetable. I love sweet potatoes in just about anything (or, as I’ve seen the phrase skipping around the blogosphere lately, I lurrrve sweet potatoes). When I was on the anti-candida diet several years ago, sweet potatoes became my favorite veggie (and my favorite brekkie). They’re a healthy vegetable. They’re orange. They’re sweet. And their name sounds like a term of endearment: “Oh, why so coy, my little Sweet Potato? Come on over here and let me help you out of that peel.” Why not use them as the basis for a sweet filling in a Valentine’s Day truffle, then?
This year’s recipe really should have made it into the cookbook–it’s that good. What you’ll end up with is an insanely creamy, smooth, rich-tasting truffle filling, vibrantly orange and steeped in citrus flavor. In fact, no one would ever guess it contained one of the world’s healthiest roots. I fed 0ne of these beauties to the HH, and he literally licked his fingers clean, enthusing, ”This tastes exactly like a really fine quality, high-end chocolate!” This from a guy who’d normally consume chocolates with cream, butter and white sugar. “There is no trace of sweet potato flavor in these,” he went on. “All you taste is the orange” (enhanced with a splash of Cointreau–though you can use orange juice if you prefer alcohol-free confections).
Even if you’re not into chocolates, the filling on its own makes a fabulous, versatile frosting. Rich and fluffy, sweetened with agave and boasting the added fiber of the sweet potato, I’m guessing that the total GI (glycemic index) of this frosting is fairly low and could be used successfully by those on a variety of restricted diets. (See instructions in the Variation, below).
I’ll definitely be making these again for V-Day (the half-batch I concocted is already long gone). Even if you don’t celebrate the Big V, it’s worth making a batch of these. Give yourself a little gift of Vegetable Love this year.
This is my submission to Susan’s contest. You have until tomorrow at midnight to enter if you’re so inclined!
Spiked Sweet Potato Truffles or Truffle Cups
Filling:
1 cup (240 ml) packed sweet potato purée, from one very large sweet potato (see instructions)
3 Tbsp (45 ml) organic cornstarch, plus up to one more Tbsp (15 ml), if necessary (see instructions)
1/3 cup (80 g) refined organic coconut oil (or use unrefined if you don’t mind a coconut flavor) plus up to 2 more Tbsp (30 ml), if necessary to thicken the filling (see instructions)
finely grated zest of one large organic orange (I used a microplane grater)
1/4 cup (35 g) light spelt flour
1/8 tsp (.5 ml) fine sea salt
1/3 cup (80 ml) light agave nectar
1/2 cup (120 ml) plain or vanilla rice milk
2 Tbsp (30 ml) Cointreau or liqueur of your choice (Frangelico also worked well in these), or substitute orange juice
1 tsp (5 ml) pure vanilla extract
Chocolate Coating or Cups:
1 cup (200 g) dairy free chocolate chips or chopped semisweet chocolate
1 tsp (5 ml) refined organic coconut oil (or use unrefined if you don’t mind a coconut flavor)
Make the sweet potato purée in advance: Preheat oven to 400F (200 C). Place unskinned sweet potato on a baking sheet and bake until very tender, about an hour. (You can boil the sweet potato instead of baking it, but I find the flavor is vastly inferior that way.) Allow to cool, then peel and purée the flesh in a food processor until very smooth.
Measure out 1 scant cup (230 ml) of the purée and reserve the rest for another use. Return the one cup purée to the processor along with the cornstarch and coconut oil, and blend until very smooth.
In a small, heavy-bottomed pot, whisk together the flour, salt and agave nectar until smooth. Add the rice milk slowly and whisk until incorporated; sttir in the orange zest. (Combining the flour and agave first before the milk helps to prevent lumps from forming).
Cook the mixture over medium heat, stirring constantly, until it begins to bubble and thicken; lower heat to simmer and cook, stirring constantly, for about 30 more seconds. The mixture will thicken very suddenly and you’ll need some muscle power to keep stirring; it will end up like a very thick paste or glue. (A silicon spatula is useful when stirring, as you can scrape the sides and bottom of the pot to prevent scorching). Remove from heat and stir in the liqueur and vanilla until combined.
Turn the hot mixture directly into the processor bowl with the sweet potato and whir until the mixture is perfectly smooth and creamy. It should be soft, but stiff enough to hold a shape.
If the mixture is too thin to hold a shape, it may be that your sweet potatoes were moister than mine (the amount of moisture in the potatoes will vary from batch to batch). You can try one of these two things:
To thicken the filling (only if necessary): 1) Melt an additional 2 Tbsp (30 ml) coconut oil. With the processor running, slowly add the oil to the mixture and blend it in. It should thicken up nicely. OR, 2) Add another 1 Tbsp (15 ml) cornstarch to the processor bowl, and blend it in to the mixture.
For truffles: Pour the filling into a deep bowl and refrigerate until cold and firm, at least 3 hours. Then, using a melon baller, mini ice cream scoop or teaspoon, scoop balls of filling onto a cookie sheet that’s been lined with plastic wrap; place in the freezer until firm.
Once the truffle filling is frozen, proceed to dip the truffles: In a bowl set over a pot of simmering water (the bowl should be large enough that the bottom of the bowl doesn’t touch the water), melt the chocolate and coconut oil together until smooth. Using two forks held facing each other, dip the truffles one at a time, tapping the forks on the edge of the bowl to release excess chocolate, and place them on the plastic. Allow to firm up in the refrigerator (they will actually begin to firm up fairly quickly because of the frozen filling) Using more melted chocolate, decorate tops with swirls or heart shapes if desired. Store in the refrigerator, but serve at room temperature. Makes 12-15 truffles.
For chocolate truffle cups: Set the filling aside while you prepare the chocolate cups. In a bowl set over a pot of simmering water (the bowl should be large enough that the bottom of the bowl doesn’t touch the water), melt the chocolate and coconut oil together until smooth. Use about 3/4 tsp (3.5 ml) to coat the bottom and up the sides of 12-15 mini foil cups. Place the cups in the freezer for a couple of minutes to firm up.
Using 1-2 tsp (5-10 ml) of filling for each cup, fill the chocolate cups with the sweet potato mixture and smooth the top. Return to the freezer for another 5 minutes or so until the tops of the filling are firm.
Cover each cup with another 1 tsp (5 ml) chocolate, and spread it gently to cover, ensuring that the chocolate is sealed at the edges and no bits of sweet pototo show through. Keep refrigerated until firm, then remove from fridge , immediately peel off the paper cups, and allow to come to room temperature before serving (these are much better served at room temperature, but the cups will stick to them if you try to unwrap them once they’re no longer cold). Makes 12-15 truffle cups.
Frosting Variation: After the filling is prepared, turn it into a deep bowl and refrigerate until cold and very firm, at least 2 hours.
Using electric beaters, beat the mixture until it begins to lighten both in color and texture (it will become airy and fluffy). Use as desired to frost cupcakes, cakes, etc. Makes enough to frost a single 9″ (20 cm) round or square layer.
[Sometimes, you just want to eat something now. I've decided to offer a mini-post every once in a while, for a dish that comes together incredibly quickly or else is so easy to make that no recipe is required. Here's today's "Flash in the Pan." (For other FitP recipes, see "Categories" at right).]
It’s astonishing to me how our tastes can change so dramatically as we age. Remember those things you loved as a kid which elicit apathy now? As a tot, I loved The Monkees. In my teens it was historical romances. In my twenties, I wore dark eye shadow and painted eyeliner across the base of my lashes. In my thirties, I dressed in black almost every day for three or four years in a row.
There’s no doubt my palate has changed over time as well. Foods I loved to eat as a child–saltwater taffy, Cap’n Crunch cereal, mellowcreme pumpkins or (a dinnertime favorite) a hillock of mashed potatoes with nuggets of hamburger cut up and hidden under it–all seem slightly repulsive to me now. Then again, many of the foods I abhored then are ones I adore today; to wit, parsnips, cilantro, and–as of two days ago–baked apples.
When I decided back in January to attempt a “cleaner” diet for a while so that I might reverse some of the holiday era choc-o-rama indulgences, I turned to a cookbook I’ve had for some time but have never really used: The Detox Cookbook and Health Plan, by Maggie Pannell. Hiding at the back, on the very last page, was a rather fetching photo of a lone baked apple, stuffed to the brim with chopped figs and walnuts.
Apple? Baked? I could feel myself recoiling, thinking, “Nawwww. . . . “ I mean, who eats baked apples? They’re granny food. They’re ulcer food. They’re nothing-else-is-in-the-house-so-I-have-to-make-do-with-this-dull-fruit food. Now, don’t get me wrong; I love raw apples and try to have one every day. But I’ve always found the concept of a baked apple to be rather meh.
Besides, apples are so common, so quotidien, so humdrum that they’re suffering from overexposure, like cupcake wedding cakes or Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons or Pamela Anderson’s cleavage. I mean, aren’t apples like the perma-date of fruits–pleasant, enjoyable, always there–but just not exciting enough to seek out for something exceptional? When I think of apples, all the old, hackneyed language comes to mind: Apple of my eye. One bad apple. An apple a day. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Apple Paltrow-Martin.
I was also flooded with memories of baked apples from my childhood, and why I never liked them back then: plain, dowdy, as wrinkled as your frowsy neighbor’s housecoat. And yet, that photo beckoned to me. I found the final push I needed when I went grocery shopping a couple of days ago: I often buy marked-down packages of apples to cut up and serve The Girls along with their regular dinner. That day, I found three packs of six apples each, at 99 cents a pack. Usually, these bargain-basement fruits and veggies sport more than a few little bruises; but these packages were perfect–smooth, rosy, unblemished; pristine. Seriously, I couldn’t find a single nick or mark on any of the apples! It was a sign.
I went home and baked these apples. The recipe was ridiculously easy, with only 4 ingredients. And while they baked, I got dinner ready and even fed The Girls (they got the unbaked fruit).
I guess my tastes have matured now that I’m an adult. I loved these–they were stupendous. I’d say these apples are like the homely, bespectacled secretary in the 1950s movie who suddenly tears off her glasses, pulls the hairpin holding her bun and shakes her head, and then–mon dieu!–she’s beautiful! I now am officially smitten with baked apples. Baked apples are my hero!
I used Gala apples (that’s what was on sale) and the outcome was perfect. The contrast between the sweet, pliable stewed figs with their popping crunch, and the perfectly creamy, tart apple flesh was delightfully unexpected. And as the glaze baked and thickened up, it acquired a deep, intense orange flavor as well as a deep caramel hue, contributing a glossy, sticky exterior glaze to the skins.
I think I’d better try to eat baked apples at least a few times a week through the winter. I plan to have them as often as I can. I mean, who knows when my tastes might change again?
Baked Apples with Figs and Walnuts in a Citrus Glaze
This is an elegant weekday dessert, that’s a comforting winter treat. And for pennies a serving, you really can’t go wrong.
4 medium firm, juicy apples, such as Gala or Granny Smith
4 dried figs (I used organic Turkish)
4 Tbsp (60 ml) walnut pieces
juice of 2 oranges
Preheat the oven to 350F (180C). Line a large square or rectangular pan with parchment, or spray with nonstick spray.
Wash and core the apples. Don’t worry if you cut right through to the bottom when you core them.
Place the apples upright in the pan, and divide the figs and walnuts evenly among them, stuffing the core area of each apple. If any fig or walnut pieces remain, scatter them on the bottom of the pan.
Pour the orange juice evenly over the apples. Cover the apples with foil (or a tight-fitting lid, if your pan has one). Bake in preheated oven 40-50 minutes, until the apples seem to be softening and the skins begin to wrinkle just a bit.
Uncover the pan and continue to bake 10-20 more minutes, basting occasionally with the juices, until the apples are soft and wrinkly and the orange juice has reduced to a thick glaze. Allow to cool 10 minutes before removing carefully from the pan and placing gingerly on a plate. Garnish with any extra fig and walnut pieces and any thick juices still in the pan. Makes 4 servings.
The dozen or so of you who were reading my blog last year at this time probably remember how much I hate the snowy season. (How much, you ask? As much as Gepetto hates dishonesty. As much as Ellen loves Portia. As much as the calories in a deep-fried Mars Bar (with whipped cream on top). As much as union disagrees with management. As much as my eternal incredulity at the popularity of Julia Roberts.) This morning, when I emitted a plaintive little lament about the fact that we’ve already surpassed last year’s (record-breaking) snowfall for this date, the HH helpfully piped up, “Yeah, and we’ve still got over a month more of this to go!” Gee, thanks, sweetheart.
So, what to do about a wall of pelting snow every time you leave the house, ice crystals forming on your eyebrows, the grey rime that coats your glasses like vaseline on a camera lens?
Make soup, that’s what.
When I was a carefree singleton* back in the early 90s, I developed a Friday evening cooking ritual. After arriving home from work, I’d change into sweats and a T-shirt, then spend most of the evening cooking food for the following week. By the end of the week, I was usually too pooped to socialize anyway, and I found cooking to be incredibly meditative. (Besides, if anything bettermale intellectually stimulating came up instead, I wasn’t irrevocably tied to my plan; I’d just cook the following day). I’d pack the prepared dishes into plastic containers, then freeze them for consumption later on. A relaxing evening plus seven days of healthy, homemade food–a pretty good arrangement, I thought.
In those days, I tended to cook a lot of soups. Perhaps I was subconsciously emulating my mom, whose chicken soup graced our stovetop every Friday evening as far back as I can remember. In fact, the very first recipe I cooked in my very first apartment was soup–split pea and ham, as I recall (which is odd, since even then I didn’t really like meat, and I’d never tasted ham at all before that–or since). In the interim, I’ve expanded my repertoire a bit, enjoying a variety of traditional or exotic or unusual soups over the years. With its ability to embrace any and all stray vegetables, then bathe them in a warm, soothing broth, vitamin and mineral-rich soup is an ideal meal-in-a-bowl.
Strangely, once the HH and I began seeing each other, I all but stopped making soups on Friday nights (he seemed to think our courtship should take place alongside a wine bottle rather than a stockpot). Then, a couple of weeks ago, I received a copy of Nava Atlas’s newly released Vegan Soups and Hearty Stews for All Seasons (this is a 4th edition of her earlier VegetarianSoups for All Seasons) as part of the book’s virtual tour. Suddenly, soup was back on my radar. And I must tell you, I think this book has singlehandedly renewed my zeal for soup making.
The book is divided by season, so it made sense that the fall and winter offerings would appeal most right now, with innovative and interesting combinations like Broccoli, Apple and Peanut Soup or Almond-Brussels Sprouts Soup (which I just enjoyed for lunch today–splendid!), and classics like Hearty Barley-Bean Soup or Minestrone. But the spring and summer were equally tantalizing, with recipes for Creole Eggplant Soup and Gingery Miso-Spinach Soup and Strawberry Colada Soup. (Now I have yet another reason to wish winter would end soon.)
With our seemingly irrepressible mountains of snow (now taller than the HH, who is over 6 feet/1.8 meters) outside, a hearty winter stew seemed just the right antidote. This Sweet and Sour Cabbage and Bread Stew is a perfectly warming, filling, tasty combination, with a substantial broth, in which you simmer a variety of winter veggies, all imbued with a subtle sweet and piquant tang. Initially, the HH was a bit reluctant to try it (paradoxically, the guy will eat anything and everything if it’s derived from an animal, but is entirely unadventurous when it comes to vegetable dishes). After the first few spoonfuls, however, he pronounced it “a keeper” and was content to have nothing more than this for dinner.
I’m happy to say that I’m even looking forward to getting back in the swing of Friday evening soup-a-thons. And these days, I won’t be cooking alone (hear that, HH?).
“Mum, you know that we’d love to help you cook, too, if we could. There’s just this little matter of the ’no opposable thumbs’ thing. But we’re still more than happy to help clean up the leftovers.”
* Okay, I was never “carefree,” but more like “unattached, at loose ends, having no weekend plans.” The closest I’ve ever gotten to “carefree” was probably during that time before I embraced all the responsibilities and anxieties of adulthood–like, maybe, when I was three.
Here’s a variation of classic sweet-and-sour cabbage soup, given a bit more heft with bread cubes nestled in each serving.
3 to 4 cups (720 to 960 ml) cubed (about 1 inch) Italian or sourdough bread [I used spelt sourdough--which, as you can see in the photo, comes pre-sliced; still tasted great!]
2 Tbsp (30 ml) olive oil
2 large onions, quartered and thinly sliced
3 to 4 cloves garlic
5 cups (1200 ml) water
2 large carrots, peeled and diced
2 large or 3 medium potatoes, diced
4 cups (960 ml) coarsely shredded green cabbage
1 medium green or red bell pepper, diced
One 16-ounce (450 g) can salt-free diced or stewed tomatoes, undrained
Preheat the oven to 300F (150C). Spread the bread cubes in a single layer on a baking sheet and bake until golden and crisp, about 12 to 15 minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside.
Heat the oil in a large soup pot. Add the onions and garlic and sauté over medium heat until golden, about 10 minutes.
Add the water, carrots, potatoes, cabbage, bell peppers, tomatoes, wine, paprika, and cumin. Bring to a rapid simmer, then lower the heat. Cover and simmer gently for 30 to 35 minutes, or until the vegetables are tender.
Stir in the lemon juice and sugar. There should be a subtle sweet-sour balance. If you’d like it to be more pronounced, add more lemon juice and/or sugar to your liking.
Season with salt and pepper, then simmer over very low heat for 10 minutes longer. If time allows, let the stew stand off the heat for an hour or two, then heat through before serving.
When ready to serve, divide the bread cubes among the serving bowls and ladle the stew over them. The bread will absorb much of the liquid and add a tasty, textural element to the stew.
Per serving:
Calories: 231 Total fat: 6 g Protein: 6 g Fiber: 6 g
Carbohydrate: 43 g Cholesterol: 0 mg Sodium: 114 mg
