Today marks only a few days before the start of Passover, and Easter is right around the next corner–it’s time to cook for the holidays! Since the HH and I are invited to a friend’s house for a seder this year (and since her niece is a vegetarian), I decided to bring a dish that normally makes an appearance on Passover tables: chopped liver. My version, of course, is “mock.”
So you might be wondering, “what is a self-professed meat-refusenik doing posting yet another faux meat recipe on this blog? Like, the sixthoneI’veposted so far?”
Well, believe it or not, this time I’m not creating a vegan version of a meat I ate as a kid; this spread is the very same one that my mother made for us countless times when I was young, despite her having an unlimited supply of meat available via My Dad the Butcher (I told you she was a closet vegetarian).
I seem to remember this Mock Chopped Liver recipe originating from a cookbook Mom had called Second Helpings, Please!,but when I leafed through my old copy, I couldn’t find it. I did find a remarkably similar version to the one I remember on Nava Atlas’s Veg Kitchen site, however. Nava’s version seems to be almost identical to my mom’s, with two important differences: my mother’s used canned green beans instead of fresh (in particular, a type called “French Cut,” which was specified in her recipe); and whereas Nava uses cashews, my mom used walnuts. I decided to split the difference and use half of each type of nut (and walnuts result in a deeper brown color than cashews, more like the authentic spread).
Whether
Whether or not you like (or have even ever tasted) chopped liver, this spread is a perfect topping for crackers, celery sticks or collard leaves–but, unfortunately, not matzo. You see, my good intentions were dashed when I realized that beans are not allowed at Passover–and the main ingredient in this spread is beans! (If you observe Passover, you can try this other mock chopped liver on Nava’s site, which uses mushrooms instead).
To the HH, who grew up on liverwurst, this spread tastes “nothing like real liver.” And yet, it looks eerily like the “real thing,” with the same rich, smooth flavor imparted by onions, fried until caramelized (the hallmark of chopped liver).
And since it is the holidays with both Passover and Easter falling within days of each other, I’m also including a quick reference list of some holiday-themed recipes for those of you still thinking about what to cook (see bottom of this post).
And don’t forget, you can still find dishes for a full holiday menu in the Anti Candida Feastebook (the nutroast is perfect for Easter) as well as many grain-free, Passover-friendly desserts in Desserts without Compromise.
I thought this spread would be a perfect submission for Diane’s Real Food Weekly event–all real ingredients, of course!
Mock Chopped Liver (suitable for ACD Stage 1 and beyond)
Whether or not you like the “real thing,” this is a great spread for sandwiches, crackers, or veggies. I’ve added paprika and walnuts to the original recipe and decided to stick with the canned beans for a more authentic hue, but feel free to use freshly steamed if you prefer.
2 Tbsp (30 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
2 medium onions, coarsely chopped
1 can (19 ounces or 400 ml) cooked green beans, well drained
2/3 cup (160 ml) lightly toasted cashews, walnuts or combination (I used 1/3 cup/80 ml of each)
1 tsp (5 ml) Bragg’s liquid aminos or soy sauce (for ACD, use Bragg’s)
1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) paprika
salt and pepper, to taste
sliced green onion for garnish, if desired
Heat the oil in a nonstick frypan and add the onions; fry over medium-low heat, stirring frequenty, until they are well browned and beginning to caramelize, 10-15 minutes. Meanwhile, place all the remaining ingredients in the bowl of a food processor.
Once the onions are done, add them to the processor and blend until everything is smooth. Scrape into a bowl or container and allow to cool to room temperature before servings. Garnish with green onions, if desired. Makes about 2 cups (480 ml). Store, covered, in the refrigerator up to 4 days.
LAST MINUTE HOLIDAY RECIPE SUGGESTIONS:
I’ve designated each recipe with B (either Passover or Easter) or E (Easter only).
Appetizers and H’ors D’oeuvres:
(E) Carrot Pâté ( Pâté is GF; for ACD version, use apple cider vinegar)
If you are (or were) an English major in university–or even if you know someone who studied English–you are probably familiar with one of the most common themes in literature, ”appearance versus reality.” You know the one: it’s the notion that things are not always what they seem to be on the surface, and the way we appear is not always the reality. To wit:
Macbeth.Appearance: Nobleman kills King at wife’s behest, then usurps power and lives a life of riley with wife. Reality: Wife goes slowly crazy with guilt about said murder. And all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten her little hand.
The Matrix. Appearance: Cool dude in shades is tracked relentlessly by deadly, humorless government agents, ostensibly in possession of superpowers. Reality: Unlike the other zillions of human USB ports linked up to a giant computer, this dude is The One.
Charlie Sheen. Appearance: Narcissistic star of mediocre comedy show garners too much success and implodes in waves of cocaine, prostitutes, goddesses, Tiger Blood and zingy retro one-liners. Reality: Very astute marketing ploy.
You see what I mean.
In my case, when it comes to meeting people for the first time, appearances may belie the reality. My outward demeanor may be someone who is comfortable–nay, aloof, even–in social situations, when the reality is that I’m stammering and sweating and feeling entirely “highschool reject” inside. As a result, it can take me a very long time to forge real friendships with people since, as a rule, I say very little for the first oh, five years or so. (Real life example: I worked as a volunteer for my friend Eternal Optimist for five years before I called it quits. If she hadn’t invited me to join her book club, which led to socializing together, which led to a real friendship, we would likely never have spoken again).
Sure, I have made friends with people in a more spontaneous way. When I first encountered my friend Sterlin, for example, it was as if we’d known each other for years. We just had so much in common: both bookworms, both nerds, both yearning for a boyfriend and both in the possession of a wacky sense of humor. It was soul sisters from the first crazy conversation. More often, though, it takes me weeks, months, or years before I establsh true friendships.
And this is why I love blogging so much: you are in regular contact with a core group of people, many with whom you exchange daily or near-daily emails, comments, tweets, Facebook messages, etc. And since I’ve always been more comfortable with the written versus the spoken word, this situation suits me just fine.
Yes, Kim is a force to be reckoned with! Her bubbly optimism and consistent good nature come across in every blog post. And the first time we spoke on the phone, I felt as if I were talking to a dear friend, or my old roomie from college, or my younger cousin. We chatted easily for almost an hour, sharing information, ideas, food stories, health tips, anecdotes, our blog vision, and more. When we began to plan the SOS Challenge as a joint venture, I knew we were on the same wavelength and didn’t hesitate to jump right in.
Given our similar diets and our affinity for many of the same foods, it made perfect sense that Kim and I would come up with matching recipes as our “savory” installments this month–without having discussed it first! Kim recently posted her adzuki dip and today I’m adding this adzuki sandwich spread to the list. Yes, the recipes are a little different from each other (mine is a bit thicker, and Kim’s adds a bit more spice), but otherwise they appear to be two sides of the same bean.
Just remember, though, that’s only the appearance of things. The reality is that each recipe offers a protein-packed, nutrient-dense and delectable spread for appetizers, sandwiches or wraps. In other words, you should try them both out!
And also. . . .
New Recipe on the DDD Facebook Page!
As I’ve mentioned before, I will occasionally post recipes (as “Notes”) on the Diet, Dessert and Dogs Facebook page. These are often really quick recipes that would otherwise be lost if I waited to write up an entire blog post about them–so I just add a brief note to the fan page and you can access them there. A few days ago, I added this quick and easy soup for a fast and delicious weeknight dinner. The HH and I both loved this Squash and Pecan Soup.
Place all ingredients except for green onions in the bowl of a food processor and mix until smooth. Add the green onion and pulse just until combined. Store, covered in the refrigerator, for up to 5 days. Makes about 1-1/4 cups (300 ml).
* Or, “Nutroast, Nutroast, Wherefore Art Thou, Nutroast?”
They say that everyone remembers their first time, and I am no exception. As I’ve mentioned before, I was a late bloomer, so the event is indelibly etched in my memory.
N.R was rich, deeply tan, warm and beckoning. One glance, and I couldn’t resist–I leapt right in, with gusto. Afterward, I asked myself, “Where have you been all my life?” I couldn’t get enough. I made sure that we encountered each other again–and again–every day for a week. In short, I was in love.
In love. With Nut Roast.
(What? You mean you weren’t thinking, ”N.R. = Nut Roast“?)
I hadn’t even heard of nut roast before I began this blog. Then, when I tasted my first nut roast back in 2008 (told you I was a late bloomer), I was immediately besotted, consuming it for pretty much every special occasion and holiday meal after that. And while I did manage a really yummy variation for my first ebook, Anti-Candida Feast, it seems I’ve since been unable to reproduce my initial good fortune to come up with a new take on the old inamorato.
Last December, I decided I’d create a new nutroast that would become our contemporary favorite here in the DDD household. Seeking inspiration, I turned to the Queen of Nutroast (she even held a blog event in its honor), Johanna of Green Gourmet Giraffe.
I always enjoy using buckwheat in savory dishes for its earthy, slightly nutty flavor that tends to confer a “meaty” vibe to a dish, so I included some in this. I tossed in several other favorite savory ingredients, smoothed it in the pan, set it in the preheated oven, and waited.
When it was done, it looked perfect: lightly browned crust on top, a heady aroma of fragrant herbs wafting toward me. I let it cool slightly, then tasted a nibble.
And it was delicious!
Just one small problem: the texture, unfortunately. . . was all wrong for nutroast. Too soft, too moist, too smooth. And yet. . . I couldn’t stop “tasting” it, couldn’t stop “evening out” the slice. Somehow, the flavor was incredibly familiar. . . something I’d eaten–and loved– in my younger days.
Eventually, it came to me: the taste and consistency were almost identical to that of a veggie pâté I used to buy when visiting relatives in Montreal. My old love–resurfaced! Although the original wasn’t gluten free, I knew that the flavor was remarkably similar to that of my flubbed nutroast.
Well, you know what they say about the ones you love: it’s best not to try to change them. So I decided to set aside my quest for the Consummate Nutroast (for now) and revel in the fetching qualities of my newfound Romeo, Country-Style Pâté.
I re-baked the raw mixture in a square pan and cut it into quarters, just like the Quebec-based version, so it could feel comfortable in its own crust. I spread it on crackers, where it was its true self the most; cut it into strips and stuffed it into collard leaves when it was feeling like a change of pace; and used it as a sandwich base for the HH when it asked to meet my friends.
Make no mistake: I will always have a soft spot in my heart for my first love, Nut Roast, and that will never change. But I’m older now, and my heart (and stomach) have room for different types of love. Ah, Country-Style Pâté, you bring a more mature love to my life, one that’s deeply seasoned and more nuanced, and I happily accept the uniqueness that is you.
In fact, I loved this pâté so much, I want to spread the love around. So here’s my serendipitous recipe–hope you end up feeling the love, too.
Meetup News! Maggie of She Let Them Eat Cake and I are organizing a blogger lunch meetup in downtown Toronto! Please join us for a vegan, gluten-free lunch on Saturday, March 5th at 1:00 PM. We’re leaning toward Fressen downtown. Would love to see you there! To RSVP, please email me (at dietdessertdogs AT gmail DOT com) or Maggie.
Pâté Campagne (Country Pâté): ACD Stage 1 and beyond
A perfect combination of savory, nutty, rustic flavors with just a hint sweetness from the sweet potatoes. This makes a perfect snack or meal on the go—spread it on bread or crackers, or stuff a slice in a wrap with favorite veggies.
1/2 cup (120 ml) dry buckwheat groats (kasha)
1-1/4 cups (300 ml) vegetable broth or stock
1 Tbsp (15 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
2 medium onions, chopped
2 cloves garlic, sliced
1-1/4 (300 ml) cups peeled and cubed roasted sweet potato
1 medium zucchini, trimmed and grated (you can leave the skin on)
1 tsp (5 ml) dried rosemary
1 tsp (5 ml) dried parsley
1 tsp (5 ml) dried tarragon
pinch nutmeg
3/4 cup (180 ml) lightly toasted sunflower seeds
2 Tbsp (30 ml) finely ground flax seeds
3 Tbsp (45 ml) soy or chickpea flour
salt and pepper, to taste
Preheat oven to 350F (180C). Line an 8-inch (20 cm) square pan with parchment, or spray with nonstick spray.
Bring the broth to a boil in a small pot. Add the buckwheat, lower heat to simmer, and cover. Simmer for 15-18 minutes, until the liquid is absorbed; removed from heat and set aside to cool.
Meanwhile, heat the oil in a frypan and add the onion and garlic. Sauté until the onion is golden and the garlic has begun to brown. Add the sweet potato and zucchini along with the rosemary, parsley, tarragon and nutmeg and continue to cook until the zucchini releases most of its liquid. Turn off heat.
In the bowl of a food processor, grind the sunflower seeds, flax seeds and soy flour until it reaches the consistency of a fine meal. Add the onion-vegetable mixture and process until almost smooth. Add the cooked buckwheat to the processor; process until desired consistency is reached (I like it perfectly smooth, more like a conventional pate; you can leave it a bit grainy if you prefer). Season with salt and pepper.
Turn the mixture into the prepared pan and bake 1 hour to 70 minutes, until the outside is crisp and browned. Allow to cool for 10-15 minutes before slicing. Makes 6-8 servings. May be frozen.
In case you haven’t noticed, we Canadians are pretty obsessed with the weather. It rules our schedules, our wardrobes and our moods. Wake up to sunny skies and 26C (79 F), as we did a couple of weeks ago, and it’s going to be a good day. Wake up to glum, sodden skies, and that scowl won’t leave your face for the next 18 hours.
The weather influences how early you have to leave for work, your choice of foot covering for the day, whether your hair will behave or not, and how long your dog-walk will be. Good or bad, it can even inspire me to haiku:
Last week was summer.
This week, earmuffs have returned.
Oh, Canada–why?
(If you’re in the mood for more random haiku–including the HH’s magnum opus from his childhood–see this post).
Despite the unseasonally inclement weather this week, I’ve been hankering after raw foods for some reason. (I’ve also been dreaming of appearing on The Ellen Show, but that’s pretty much standard every week these days.)
Maybe I’m just classically conditioned to react this way at this time of year, thermostat to the contrary or not. It’s sort of like being hungry at 12:00 noon, even if I’ve eaten breakfast at 11:00 AM; my head says, “Oh, yeah! Time to eat!” and I heed the call, even if my tummy is still churning through my cereal. (Still trying to work on that “listen-to-your-body-signals” thing). Whatever; I decided to give in to the impulse, and whip up some broccoli hummus.
“Mum, are you suggesting that there’s something wrong with classical conditioning? And does this mean all of our work with that nice Mr. Pavlov was for naught? But you will still give us those treats every time you ring a bell, won’t you? “
This is Gena’s fantabulous recipe, so I can’t really take the cakethis man to be my lawfully wedded husbandthe heat the credit for it. However, I did minimally adapt it since, unlike Gena, I find it’s a rare hummus I can enjoy without a good hit of garlic included. If you prefer yours without the added allicin, then by all means, leave it out. I also substituted miso for the nutritional yeast, since I’m still adhering to ACD, of course.
The recipe is perfect in its simplicity, like a classic string of pearls, or a Henry Moore sculpture, or Jessica Simpson. I couldn’t believe how quickly it came together, and how scrumptious it was. The zucchini confers both smoothness and creaminess, just as it does in Gena’s remarkably delicious zucchini dressing (which I’ve been making almost daily for the past couple of weeks) as well; and the tahini provides a bit more density and heft for spreading.
Even if you’re not a fan of broccoli, you’ll likely enjoy this, as the flavor is tempered by the tahini. I’ve had the hummus spread on a raw collard wrap and on rice cakes–both work beautifully. And between the broccoli and tahini, you’re getting a nice hit of calcium in each serving. All in all, a bowl of yum.
And if you squint really hard at that photo up top, you can pretend it’s a poetry-inspiring photo of the sun, its rays emanating warmth and sunny dispositions across our Canadian skies this morning.
Gena’s Raw Broccoli Hummus (ACD Phase I and beyond)
This quick and easy spread is a perfect alternative to standard hummus, especially if you’re trying to reduce starchy foods. And since the main ingredients are broccoli and zucchini, you can even enjoy a little more than you would the regular stuff–without worrying about the calories.
1-1/2 cups (360 ml) raw broccoli, chopped
1-1/2 cups (360 ml) raw zucchini with skin, chopped
1 medium clove garlic, minced
1/3 cup raw tahini (sesame paste)–use regular, as I did, if you don’t mind that the recipe isn’t entirely raw
1 Tbsp (15 ml) mild miso*
1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) cumin
3 Tbsp (45 ml) freshly squeezed lemon juice
fresh ground pepper, to taste
olive oil, for drizzling
Place the broccoli and zucchini in a food processor and process until almost smooth. Add the remaining ingredients and continue to process until smooth and creamy, scraping down sides of processor bowl as necessary. Taste and adjust seasonings. Serve immediately or refrigerate. Makes about 2 cups. Will keep, covered, in refrigerator up to 3 days.
*NOTE: For ACD Phase I, use Bragg’s instead of miso.
*Or, Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown. Now Eat Some Delicious Spread.
[There's just nothing like a homemade gift for the holidays. This year, with the purse strings a little tighter than usual, I'm determined to make at least a few in my kitchen--and thought I'd share my ideas in case you'd like to partake, too. ]
I know that pretty much everyone in the blogosphere (well, and the rest of the galaxy, too, come to think of it) has already made this spread. But hey, I’ve always been a late bloomer. And now, I’ve finally tried it, too. And it is so *&$@!% good that I had to include it as this (penultimate) Gastronomic Gift this year. (I’ve got one more planned, as long as we can shovel ourselves out of the *&$@!% 25 cm. (just under a foot) of snow that battered the city yesterday and I can get to the store).
Pumpkin butter is the perfect means to use up cooked pumpkin (or squash, to those of us in North America). It’s a great nut butter substitute if you’re trying to reduce fat and calories. Or if, like me, you’ve once again allowed the insidious holiday-time profusion of chocolate and chocolate-coated/ chocolate studded/ chocolate-molded/ chocolate-frosted/ chocolate flavored/ chocolate filled/ chocolate-related-in-any-way desserts that seem to reproduce of their own accord on countertops and dining room tables and candy dishes and office desks and buffets and coffee tables and bar tops and glove compartments and pockets and dessert menus to override your (wobbly at the best of times) self control, and you find that you’ve now consumed more chocolate in the past two weeks than the entire GDP of a small country, more than Big Brother’s secret stash in 1984, more than the exports from Switzerland at Valentine’s Day, more than the full contents of Willie Wonka’s factory–more, really than you’d rightfully expect any normal human being to ingest under any circumstances whatsoever in a lifetime, except maybe under threat of torture.
What? You mean it’s just me?
For some strange reason, I felt the need for a break from chocolate for a while (ahem). Now that I’ve made my own pumpkin butter, I can join the chorus and say that I, too, am smitten. It’s the perfect accompaniment to pretty much any carbohydrate with a flat surface (or even a somewhat bumpy one–have you tried this on rice cakes? Divine.)
But I must admit that my favorite use for the butter isn’t on toast, or a muffin, or pancakes, or any other solid food. I think I love it most blended (using my hand blender) in a tall, cold glass of almond or soymilk. Yum-mers!
It also makes a fabulous hostess gift, of course, and a wonderful last-minute present; it’s the perfect way to use up that final can of pumpkin purée that’s been biding its time in your cupboard since Thanksgiving.
This recipe (the ubiquitous allrecipes version) makes a pretty big batch, so you can scoop some away for home use and still fill two or three pretty little gift jars with the stuff to give away. If you can bear to part with it.
Oh, and there are still four more days to bid on some amazing prizes from Menu for Hope! Hop on over to the main donation page and give it a go!
Try this lovely alternative butter anywhere you’d spread jam or nut butter. It’s got no fat, with the bonus of holiday spices all year round.
3-1/2 cups (about 820 g.) cooked, puréed pumpkin
3/4 cup (180 ml.) apple juice [but personally I think OJ would be great in this]
2 tsp. (10 ml.) ground ginger
1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) ground cloves
2/3 cup (160 ml.) agave nectar (light or dark)
2 tsp. (10 ml.) ground cinnamon
1 tsp. (5 ml.) ground nutmeg
Combine all ingredients in a medium sized pot. Heat over medium-high heat until mixture boils; reduce heat to low and continue to simmer, stirring very frequently, until the mixture is thick and has darkened (the original recipe said 30 minutes, but mine took a bit more than an hour). This might also be a good time to pull out that old splatter screen if you have one, as the mixture tends to boil and pop a bit (my walls needed a good wipe-down after I was done).
Pour into clean glass jars and store in the refrigerator. Makes about 2 cups (500 ml.). Will keep at least 3 weeks in the refrigerator.
GG III: Marzipan-Topped Shortbread **Note: the original recipe was somehow transcribed incorrectly–please use the current version with the correct amount of flour!!
[There's just nothing like a homemade gift for the holidays. This year, with the purse strings a little tighter than usual, I'm determined to make at least a few in my kitchen--and thought I'd share my ideas in case you'd like to partake, too. ]
As I’m wont to do during the drive to work, I tuned in to the CBC this morning and overheard Jian Ghomeshi (isn’t he just the dreamiest??) talk about how excited we Canadians get any time we’re mentioned on American TV. Last evening, in fact, Jon Stewart satirized our impending governmental crisis (if only that were a dream!) on The Daily Show. As a food blogger, I must admit I felt the selfsame patriotic pride last month when Susur Lee (also dreamy) was fêted by Ruth Reichl et al in New York, for the opening of his newest resto, Shang. I mean, now that we’re all firmly entrenched in the Era of the Celebrity Chef courtesy of Food TV, isn’t it just as exciting for us Canadians to hear mention of a Canadian chef in the U.S. media?
Stern was one of the very first “celebrity” chefs in Canada, known across the country at a time when the only viral netorking was an actual virus that networked its way through your mucus membranes and into your sinuses. She ran a highly successful cooking school in Toronto, she owned a kitchenware store beside it, she published severalbest-sellingcookbooks, had her recipes published in a variety of newspapers, and even tried her hand at her own cooking show for a time.
Back in the 90s, at the apex of Stern word-of-mouth buzz, I attended one of her cooking classes; the topic was “Homemade Gifts for the Holidays.” I was thrilled to have secured a coveted space in the always-sold-out classes, even at the exhorbitant fee of $95 (back then!). I was primed to observe the doyenne of cooking in her element, absorb every word she uttered, and finally become privy to the professinal tips and tricks she’d reveal as she prepared the most delectable and irresistible tidbits I’d ever tasted on a holiday table.
Well, I have to tell you straight up that I was bitterly disappointed. Sitting against the back wall of an auditorium-sized classroom (seriously, I had closer seats for forty bucks at the Bruce Springsteen concert that year), all I could see was a tiny figure in the distance that resembled the barely distinguishable collection of phosphor dot people I squinted at regularly on my (then) 12-inch television screen at home–and it wasn’t even Stern herself; it was a poor substitute, a culinary surrogate! After whipping up a series of recipes in quick succession and without much instruction, the recipe demonstrator passed around trays of thimble-sized samples for each person to nibble upon, all fairly bland and unexciting.
One recipe, however, stood apart from the rest, and it alone was (almost) worth the price of admission: Honey Liqueur Fruit Butter. It was a quick, easy spread consisting of dried apricots, candied ginger, and orange liqueur. Although I’m not, as a rule, particularly enamored of jams or jellies, I fell in love with this spread. I swooned. I drooled. I surreptitiously tasted three thimbles full.
I returned home and promptly re-created the spread, not once, but several times over the following few months. I gave away little jars as hostess gifts; I bestowed a few jars on my sisters and close friends; I spread it on bagels, pancakes, muffins and bread. And then, I tucked the recipe away in a file folder and forgot about it for over a decade.
That very folder–older, grayer, fraying at the edges–has been packed up and upacked during seven separate house-moves since that time. This year, while pondering what I might cook up as holiday gifts from my kitchen, I finally remembered it. Like the memory of a first kiss, the thought of that recipe unearthed a wave of longing and a compelling desire to once again re-create that long-ago, captivating sensation. I dug out the file folder and cooked up a batch. And (perhaps unlike that first kiss with your childhood sweetheart) this spread was just as good 15 years later.
I’ve subbed agave for the honey and brandy for the liqueur, with spectacular results. This is a smooth, glossy spread that will keep for more than a month in the refrigerator, since the alcohol acts as a preservative. I love this slathered on breakfast food, but it would be a terrific filling for a danish or rugelach as well.
(“Mum, too bad we can’t have anything with alcohol in it. . . but we’d be happy with all those breakfast foods on their own, next time you’re slathering.”)
Brandied Apricot-Ginger Spread
My notes from the original class tell me you could also substitute dried pears for the apricots, or a combination of prunes and dried apples, adjusting the liqueur accordingly (poire William and armagnac come to mind, but any favorite will work nicely).
8 ounces (225 g.) dried apricots (I used unsulphured organic–fabulous in this!)
2 ounces (55 g.) dried candied ginger, chopped
1 tbsp. (15 ml.) each, grated lemon and orange zest
2 cups (480 ml.) water
1/2 cup (120 ml.) agave nectar, or more to taste
1/4 cup (60 ml.) brandy, orange flavored liqueur, or other liqueur that you like)
Place the apricots, ginger, citrus zest and water in a heavy saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, until fruit is soft and almost all the water is absorbed, 30-45 minutes, stirring occasionally. Cool slightly.
Turn the mixture in to a food processor and process until smooth. Add the agave and liqueur and blend again until perfectly smooth.
Spoon into clean glass containers or jars; cover and refrigerate. Mixture will keep about a month in the refrigerator.
Gastronomic Gifts III: Marzipan-Topped Shortbread **Note: the original recipe was somehow transcribed incorrectly–please use the current version with the correct amount of flour!!
This past weekend, I took the train to Montreal to visit with the CFO (unfortunately, the HH stayed at home on dog duty, as our regular doggie daycare was closed and it was too late to find an alternative). Just before I left, though, I was delighted to learn that I’d been awarded the “E for Excellence” award by Misty over at Mischief blog! Misty is also the owner of 2 adorable dogs (check out their Halloween duds!) who often appear on her blog (plus lots of yummy food, of course). Sorry it’s taken me so long to acknowledge this, Misty, as I ran off on Friday and just returned yesterday evening. It’s much appreciated and I’m so glad you think my blog is excellent! Thanks so much.
While lovely nonetheless, the visit was over in a flash, filled with a cocktail party, brunch with the family, a birthday lunch with friends, and a stroll through the area known as the Plateau (fascinating, isn’t it, how 90% of social activities revolve around food? Sorry, what’s that you say? What do you mean, it’s just me–??). Since my birthday (sort of) coincided with the CFO’s annual cocktail party, we combined celebrations. As the HH remarked before I left, this year I seem to be enjoying The Birthday That Wouldn’t End. But who am I to argue?
Let me tell you, that CFO sure knows how to throw a party! The menu featured several vegan options, as well as a few gluten-free choices (though, if I remember correctly, the two never overlapped in a single hors d’oeuvre). Still, there was plenty for me to eat and drink, such as tapenade-topped mini-toasts; an apple-pecan butter-cracker combo; crudités and spinach dip; thai rice salad with peppers, cilantro and mango; spanakopita; plus a few others I’ve forgotten (and don’t even get me started on the desserts). Saturday afternoon was reserved for a leisurely lunch with my old buddies Phil, Linda and Babe, and on Sunday morning, my family brunched at a restaurant I’d not heard of before, called Orange, where they offer the most astonishingly boundless bowls of steaming, perfectly creamy yet nubby oatmeal, capped with your choice of imaginative toppings, from fresh berries to cinnamon-apple pie filling to walnuts and coconut doused in maple syrup.
Still, it was good to be home. That final stretch of the journey always seems to elicit in me a certain psychic restlessness, the desire to stretch, stand up and stroll the length of car as the train approaches Toronto. No matter how many times I leave and return, I still experience that familiar ripple of excitement and anticipation, the tingle in the chest, when I first catch a glimpse of city life twinkling in the distance beyond the blanket of black outside the window. Slowly, the number of flickering lamps or silhouettes in apartment windows multiplies, then the glaring neon billboards make their appearance above highway overpasses, and cars’ flashing headlights join the symphony of movement and glitter. Before I know it we’re within reach of the CN tower and the station beneath the Royal York Hotel, the buzz of the downtown humming up through the rails. Toronto, with its denizens crowding the streets at 11:00 PM, knots of taxis and buses jammed in front of the station, the clang of the train and roar of the subway and yips emanating from staggering groups of twenty-somethings as they exit the bars after midnight. . . yep, it’s good to be home.
As it turned out, we didn’t ”do” Halloween this year. Due to both my absence and The Girls’ xenophobic reaction to strangers at the door (read: frenzied barking and growling, at a volume of around 120 decibels), the HH chose to forgo the treats. Still, like many of you, we do have a surfeit of pumpkin and pumpkin seeds left in the house. I remembered this recipe and thought it would be a perfect way to use the pepitas.
I call this mixture “pesto,” but it can also be used on its own as a spread for crackers or bread. In fact, the inspiration came shortly after I sampled roasted garlic for the first time and was immediately transported. As I recall, the HH and I were served an entire head of garlic once at a restaurant, the top sliced clean across and the pudgy exposed cloves baked to a rich, earthy mahogany, glistening with a sheen of olive oil. We squeezed the garlic from the papery casing like toothpaste from the tube, spreading the softened, caramelized pulp on fresh slices of bagette. It was heavenly, and we polished off the entire thing in minutes.
Garlic smell? Yes, heavenly. When baked, its scent is subdued, sweet, and alluring. It’s one of my favorite foods, and I use it as often as I can. In this pesto, the garlic adds richness and a smooth base for the grainy pumpkinseeds, contrasted perfectly with the cilantro and citrus tang of the lemon zest and juice. You can use this spread directly on crackers, as I like to do, or toss it with pasta (save about 1/2 cup of the pasta water to thin it out a bit and create a slight creaminess to the mix). Or, hey–I bet it would even be great as a snack while you mull over some election results!
This dish is great for your heart, and also terrific for flu season: both garlic and pumpkin seeds are high in antioxidants,and the pumpkinseeds contain zinc, essential for fighting viruses and bacteria.
1 whole bulb garlic (about 8-10 cloves)
4 T. (60 ml.) extra virgin olive oil, separated
1/2 cup (120 ml.) pumpkin seeds (pepitas), lightly roasted
3/4 cup (180 ml.) loosely packed cilantro or parsley, or a combination
2 T. (30 ml.) freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tsp. (5 ml.) lemon zest
Sea salt and pepper, to taste
Preheat oven to 350F (180C). Cut the top off the garlic to expose the cloves inside.Place the garlic on a square of aluminum foil or in a garlic baker and drizzle with one tablespoon (15 ml.) of the olive oil.Wrap in foil or cover the baker and bake for about 40 minutes, until soft and dark golden. Let cool.
Meanwhile, in the bowl of a food processor or blender, whir the pumpkin seeds, cilantro or parsley, lemon juice, zest, and remaining oil until almost smooth. Squeeze the garlic from the bottom toward the top so the cooked cloves are pushed out of the skin; add the garlic to the processor and blend again until combined.Season with salt and pepper to taste. Best served at room temperature. Store, tightly covered, in the refrigerator for up to 5 days. Makes about 1/2 cup.
I’ll never forget the phrase that haunted me for months when I was about 16: delivered in a low, undulating murmur heard through the telephone receiver, a deep, throaty male voice posed a simple question: “Have you checked the children?”
Anyone who recognizes that line is familiar with the horror movie When a Stranger Calls. The premise is simple: a young woman is babysitting. Repeatedly, a strange man calls to ask if she’s checked the children. Eventually, she twigs in that this guy might just spell trouble, so she contacts the police to report the caller. “No problem, Miss,” the helpful lieutenant replies. “We’ll just trace the call and see where it’s coming from.” You can guess what’s next, right? When the subsequent call arrives, it’s the frantic police officer, warning the young woman to hightail it out of there: “It’s YOUR telephone number! The calls are coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE!!”
Egads. I still get chills when I think of that scene.
I know that horror movies are immensely popular, but I must admit that I don’t exactly, um, cleave to the genre very much (which, I suppose, would more appropriately be “cleaver,” in this case, anyway). I find nothing causes the blood to drain from my face and a gut-churning queasiness to overtake my innards quite so easily as the image of Jack Nicholson’s unctuous, demented grin poking through that ravaged pane in the door, drawling, “Heeeeere’s Johnny!” . Or how about the eerie, portentous silence that precedes the faceoff between Ripley and the alien in the original Alien? (Let’s just say I’m hoping those nail marks I dug into the the HH’s forearm will fade eventually).
I must confess, after seeing that last film, I finally swore off this type of movie for good. As a consequence, I have yet to see the original Psycho. I’ve also forfeited a good excuse to sidle up to the HH on the couch as we watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers; and I will remain forever ignorant of other modern classics such as Hallowe’en, or Se7en, or Shaun of the Dead. I mean, seriously, are 90 minutes of spectacular, digitally-enhanced bloody geysers, headless torsos and disembodied entrails really worth 48 hours of elevated blood pressure?
Now, you may ask, just why am I rambling on about horror movies at this particular juncture? It’s not that I’m no longer traumatized by them, or that I’ve recently relented and watched one. No, nothing of the sort. The reason I’ve got horror movies on the brain is an innocuous Middle Eastern sweet pepper dip (if anything that’s brilliant red can be considered innocuous when discussed in the context of horror, that is).
While I’m a fan of many types of Middle Eastern dishes from baba ghanouj to hummus to halvah, I had never heard of muhammara (and yet, a Google search on the dip yields a multitude of entries–this stuff has been around for eons!). Every time my sis uttered the word, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Vincent Price’s classic, villainous laugh, Baby Jane’s self-satisfied cackle as she serves up that dinner surprise, or even Count Floyd’s satiric rendition in Monster Chiller Horror Theater.
Here, try it yourself: “Mmmmwoohhhaaaaahaaahaaa–marra!!” Heh heh.
So you can see why, from that moment onward, the eternal pairing of muhammara and horror movies was born.
Yesterday, as I was musing about what I can eat on this cleanse (actually, I muse about what I can eat most days, cleanse or no), I remembered the muhammara. Could it be that following the ACD is beginning to feel like a horror movie? Perhaps. In any case, the dip’s ingredients are all fairly antagonistic to candida: it’s really just a puréed veggie spread made primarily of roasted red pepper, walnuts, garlic and olive oil. The only questionable items were the pomegranate syrup and bread; and I figured that if I made my own sugar-free syrup (without added sugar) and omitted the bread, this would loosely qualify for my new, “more flexible” form of the ACD. The result, even without the bread, was still entirely appealing, and made a wonderful dinner with baby carrots and a rice casserole.
This recipe, which I adapted from here, is so simple it almost qualifies as a “Flash in the Pan.” However, since the peppers must first be roasted, peeled and seeded, and since it requires pomegranate syrup (essential, but not hard to make your own), I decided it was a bit too much work for that category. On the other hand, it’s definitely not too much work to whip up in the afternoon as a pre-prandial appetizer if you’ve been dreaming of smooth, creamy, slightly sweet and slightly tangy flavors during the day. It’s also perfect as a light meal before a night out (just be sure to choose your babysitter wisely).
And since the predominant ingredient in the muhammara is red peppers, I’m submitting this recipe to Sunshinemom at Tongue Ticklers, who’s hosting the “Food in Colors” event. This month’s theme is “red” (as in, “blood.” As in, “slasher movie.” As in, “Have you checked the children. . . ?”)
This was a lovely, satisfying precursor to our dinner last night (a simple steamed veggie affair), that allowed me to indulge the need for something tasty without completely abandoning my ACD resolve. And with the hefty portion of walnuts included, it provides both a source of protein and heart-healthy Omega 3 fats.
3 large red bell peppers
2 cups walnut halves
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1 slice spelt or kamut sourdough bread (optional)
2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. cumin
pinch cayenne (optional)
2 Tbsp. pomegranate syrup*
Preheat oven to 400F ( C) and place peppers on a parchment-lined cookie sheet. Roast for about 45 minutes, until very soft and skins begin to blacken. (If you have a gas stove, you can roast the pepper directly over the flame of an element–it will be much faster). Remove from oven, place in a paper bag, and allow to cool. Once cool, peel away the skins, cut open and remove seeds.
While the pepper is roasting, toast the walnuts on another rack of the oven for about 7 minutes, until fragrant and beginning to brown. Remove from oven and allow to cool.
In a food processor, process the garlic and bread until crumbly. Add the remaining ingredients and process until smooth. Adjust seasonings and process again to mix. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator. This is even better the next day.
* To make your own pomegranate syrup, take 2 cups of unsweetened pomegranate juice and simmer down to about 1/4 cup, until the syrup is thick and easily coats a spoon.
[I thought it would be fun to run a little series over here at DDD: I'll profile one one of my favorite foods, or a food that I've recently discovered and enjoyed, over several days. For this third entry, I'm focusing on Avocados. The series is presented on an occasional (and entirely arbitrary) basis, before I move on to the next lucky comestible. Today's avocado-based recipe also happens to be quick and incredibly easy, the criteria for my Flash in the Pan recipes--so it straddles both categories!]
Think smooth and creamy. Think easy and delicious. Think sandwich spread, base for sandwich fillings, foundation for dips or savory pâtés. Think avocado mayonnaise!
This incredibly quick and equally irresistible recipe comes from the wondrous Dr. Ben Kim’s Natural Health website. A chiropractor and acupuncturist based in Barrie, Ontario, Dr. Kim is also a fount of information on all things holistic, and he offers incredible material about healthy eating–all for free through his newsletter, of which I am an avid fan (and no, I’ve never actually met the man, just in case you think there’s a little nepotism going on here–I just really think his info is great!).
I whipped up this mayo and enjoyed a daub on some steamed artichokes, but by the time I’d finished eating them, I knew I was hooked. I plopped some over ripe, juicy slices of beefsteak tomato for a lunch appetizer and was enthralled. After the first taste, I wanted to scoop this out of the bowl with a spoon (come to think of it, I did scoop this out of the bowl with a spoon).
You can use this as you would any other mayo, in sandwiches, wraps, salads (it would be heavenly thinned out just a little over field greens–turns out the recipe is very much like the avocado pesto salad dressing I posted about last March).
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