Diet, Dessert and Dogs

[Delicious as a pizza--stellar as a quiche.  This recipe has many talents!]

Have you heard that Hugh Jackman, that alluring Aussie known best for his role as a latter day wolfman, is performing a one-man cabaret-style show here in Toronto right now?  That’s right: Wolverine’s tricks span beyond giving manicurists nightmares or saving bald-headed professor-types from magnetized death, all the way to singing, dancing, and delivering one-liners.

In the olden days (ie, when I was a tot), entertainers were required to have it all:  Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Vera Ellen, Ginger Rogers, Judy Garland et al–each one of them could sing, dance and act (with varying degrees of aptitude). Today’s all-in-one players like JLo, Beyoncé, Justin Timberlake and their crew just don’t cut it the way the old-timers did, in my opinion.  If you keep in mind that the stars of eras gone by had to actually do it all at once–no lip syncing or pre-taped music!–today’s feature players simply pale in comparison. Back then, an orchestra played live while the thespians sang and danced.  Get something wrong, and they had to film the entire scene over again.  Now, that’s entertainment.

Similarly, the notion of the true, multi-talented ”Renaissance Man” seems to be in short supply these days.  Although I didn’t realize it when we first met, I think of the HH as just that kind of fellow (see, he even incites my use of Renaissance-era words like “fellow”!).  It was the height of summer when we started dating, and having just emerged from a divorce, the HH was still in party mode.  At the time, I assumed that he would be perpetually a scruffy guy in jeans and a T-shirt, who seemed to like nothing more than spending time on patios or smoky jazz bars, soaking up mindless movies, or reading magazines about expensive race cars. 

When winter hit, I tried a new tactic: I invited him to the ballet (The Nutcracker, as I recall).  “Sounds great!” he enthused, totally unphased.  “I haven’t seen it in a few years. Always a good time for Tchaikovsky.”  Huh?! Not only was he entirely familiar with the ballet and all of the music–he had  actually been friends with one of the National Ballet of Canada’s principal dancers back in the 1980s! I quickly ascertained (and time has proven) that the HH was one of those rare individuals who could mingle with anyone or go anywhere, equally at ease in tattered Levis and sneakers, or a Hugo Boss suit and brogues (though, to be fair, he only wears his suit about twice a year).  Whatever the habidashery, though, the HH is comfortable in just about any context.

[Does this pie sing to you?]

I think of the chickpea flour in this recipe in much the same way: it’s also a kind of ”Renaissance Ingredient.”  (What a minute here.  Did I just compare the love of my life to a dried legume?  Don’t answer that.)

One of the great things about chickpea flour is how well it can serve so many different purposes, equally delicious in all of them.  It’s a great high-protein flour to add to your all-purpose gluten free flour mix.  It works beautifully in pancakes and other breakfast foods, in savory  dishes, as a thickener in sauces.  Alone or within a group, chickpea flour plays well with others. It’s multi-talented.

Used as the base of this “quiche,” chickpea flour is simply unrivalled.  Now, I’ve written about my love of the Lucini brand’s Cinque et Cinque before (a specially milled chickpea flour) and how I used the mix to create a stupendous “pizza” crust.  I do try to get the mix when I can, but when I ran out, I used regular chickpea flour (since that’s the only ingredient in the “Traditional” flavor) instead. I’ve found that the store-bought flour works almost as well. In fact, if you don’t have the Cinque right beside it for comparison, you’d swear they were identical.

The last time I mixed up some cinque (also known as farinata or socca), I decided to try something different. Rather than pile all my “extras” on top of the pie as a pizza, I folded all the chopped veggies right into the batter and cooked it all together.  And oh, my goodness–what a difference that made!

The result really did remind me of a true quiche, albeit a crustless one (which made me think of my friend Shirley, who is prolific with all things GF and crustless). Who needs crust when you have a rich, custardy filling punctuated throughout with shreds of dandelion or chard, roasted garlic slices, oven-dried tomatoes and any other chopped veggies you fancy?  The beauty of this method, as well, is how it saves preparation time: this way, instead of stopping to place your toppings strategically over the “pizza,” they’re baked right into it.  Magically, the baking time is just right to cook those veggies to perfection–including those raw garlic slices.

The HH couldn’t get enough of this pie.  He ate 3 slices for dinner, and remarked how “this is way better than that other chickpea pie you used to make” (I didn’t tell him that it contained exactly the same ingredients, just presented in a different format). 

Who knows? Maybe he felt a kinship to the multi-talented, multi-faceted chickpea flour, and that’s why he loved it. 

Me, I love them both.

[And speaking of yummy gluten free eats. . . the fabulous Alta of Tasty Eats at Home has adopted me for this month's Adopt a Gluten Free Blogger!  I am totally honored!  Check out her wonderful post and stunning photo.  Then go look at Wendy's roundup at Celiacs in the House, where you can see all of the adoptions from this month!]

I’m submitting this post to Amy’s weekly event, Slightly Indulgent Tuesdays,  Diane’s Real Food Weekly and Cybele’s Allergy Friendy Fridays and Brittany’s Seasonal Sundays.

Last Year at this Time: Salad Days: Cabbage (or Broccoli) Delight (ACD All Stages)

Two Years Ago: A Swell Cookzine for Your Collection (review)

Three Years Ago:  Warm Dandelion-Potato Salad (ACD Stage 2 and beyond)

[Changes are afoot: I'll be revamping the blogroll (actually, the entire site!) in a few weeks and want to be sure I don't miss any of the blogs I regularly enjoy reading.  If you'd like to be included--and especially if I've ever commented on your site--please let me know if you're not already on the list!  I'll do my best to include everyone.]

These days, I try to be a little nutty every day.

Of course I don’t mean “nutty” as in “I missed my plane so I’m going to become a minor celebrity on YouTube” nutty.  Or  ”I think I’ll switch careers at the pinnacle of my success and adopt the mien of a skid row bum from another planet“ type of nutty.  And certainly not  “just drop me in the middle of the Sahara without any food, water or shelter, and see how I hold up for a week” sort of nutty. While it may be true I do, on occasion, exhibit behavior one might characterize as “nutty” (at least that’s what the HH keeps telling me), I was referring to the toothsome, bite-sized, healthy-fat-and-protein-rich kind of nutty. An “Uncle S.” kind of nutty.

You see, I’ve had a fairly rocky history with nuts–and I blame it all on my Uncle S.

One of my favorite relatives, Uncle S (along with Aunty M) lived upstairs in our family’s duplex during my childhood.  We kids would scoot out the door, up the stairs and into their home without a thought or an invitation, assuming it was simply the top floor of our own place.  Aunty M would greet us, hand over some homemade cookies, and then we’d go seek out our uncle.

I have to admit, I didn’t fully appreciate Uncle S’s unique charms until I was an adult.  An unrivalled prankster, Uncle S was a puckish,  Punk’d prototype whose myriad tricks were relentless.  Case in point: every Sunday, our family would pile into Uncle S’s taxi (this was before my dad acquired a car) for an outing in the countryside.  We’d drive for a while, after which, like clockwork, Uncle S would begin to hem and haw:  “Gee, I don’t remember passing that tree over there.  Maybe I took a wrong turn. You know, I’m not exactly sure where we are–maybe we’re lost.  Ricki, which way should I go?”  Given that I was only four or five at the time, I had no idea; but, also like clockwork, Uncle S’s musings sent me into paroxysms of anxiety, certain I’d be wandering forever in the woods, never to see my own home, bed or Barbie dolls again.

Once I grew older, I could appreciate Uncle S’s humor, his always jovial and somewhat michievious expression, reminiscent of the Pillsbury Dough Boy (although not in any way chubby). In fact, I’d say Uncle S resembled a cartoon character more than anything else: having lost his hair as a young man, his shiny dome was encircled with a fluffy white fringe that snaked round the back of his neck and behind his ears.  His nose, slightly bulbous at the tip, was, like his cheeks, often flushed pink,  and he wore a perpetual half-smile on his face.

Uncle S had a favorite expression, “No Fun!”  which he used the way one would utter, “No Way!” or “You’ve Gotta Be Kidding Me!”.  The CFO and I found this endlessly amusing. To wit:

Ricki: Uncle S, my goldfish had babies and now we have four fishies.

Uncle S:  No Fun!

[Ricki and The CFO erupt in peals of uncontrollable giggles, hands clamped over their mouths].

The summer my mother died, it seemed only Uncle S could lighten the moribund shroud of silence in the hospital waiting room where our family sat in stunned silence.  Uncle S would ramble on, his words always infused with optimism and hope.  One evening, as we all sat lost in resigned torpor, Uncle S was positioned across from me and the CFO, an absent, bemused expression on his face.  The CFO leaned over to me and whispered, “Hey, doesn’t Uncle S sort of look like Bozo the Clown?”  That smile! That fringe! That nose!  Why yes, yes he did–and with that, Uncle S unwittingly bestowed on us a truly priceless gift: the only moment of unrestrained hilarity in an otherwise unbearable summer.

Ah, yes, you’re wondering about the nuts.

Uncle S loved to eat nuts. In particular, he was never without his glass jar of Planter’s Dry Roasted peanuts, which he carried with him wherever he went.  Another open jar was stationed on a TV tray beside his armchair so he could munch as he enjoyed the Ed Sullivan Show.  He’d pour a small mound into his open palm, then tip it into his mouth with a quick flick of the wrist as if tossing a ball for a prize at the midway. Then he’d plow ahead with whatever it was he’d been saying,  mouth open and chewing, oblivious as the ground up bits of nut began to escape his mouth in little bursts of beige spray as he spoke.  (In fact, those Planter’s nuts and an opened can of peas and carrots–spooned straight from the can, cold–are pretty much all I ever remember him eating).

For some inexplicable reason, I decided nuts were not my thing back then.

I’m happy to report that my nut aversion was finally overcome when I came across Elaine Gottschall’s Specific Carbohydrate Diet (geared toward people with Crohn’s, Colitis, or other bowel diseases) while studying nutrition. Her recipes employ nut flours (basically just ground nuts), and I began to experiment with them back then.  Almonds tend to be the most versatile (and mildest in flavor), but almost any nut will do–pop it in a food processor and blend to a mealy consistency.

To some extent, I’m following the ACD  for the next month or so to heal my gut and encourage a little digestive rejuvenation. This means eating less gluten, fewer grains, and more fruits, vegetables, and legumes.  These pancakes were an auspicious first attempt.

Made mostly with almond meal and a smidge of chickpea (besan) flour, they nevertheless retain a light, airy texture and a refreshing lemon tang.  Neither the almond nor the chickpea asserts itself too prominently, so the flavor remains mild.  I served these last week (before eschewing all sweeteners) with a splash of organic maple syrup from Coombs Family Farms that I received as sample (more on that in an upcoming post) and they were, quite simply, delicious.

I may not be nutty enough to consume a jar of Planter’s peanuts just yet.  Still, these little treats are a healthy step in the right direction.

Last Year at this Time: Week at Warp Speed and Easy Dinner

© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs