Gluten-Free Nutella-Berry Pancake Stack

This is almost good for you! Well not really, but sort of? Blaaah who cares. Not that I think eating gluten-free is an automatic ticket to good health like we’ve been led to believe by people wearing hot pants and living in California. But you know, it’s nice to shake things up a little bit without flour. I kind of look at gluten-free eating like I look at tofu. Here it’s “oh my god tofu I love it and I have to eat it because I’m a vegetarian.” In Korea, everyone eats it because…it’s tofu and it’s part of a regular diet, whether you eat meat or not. I think eating gluten-free can be a part of everyone’s food routine and we don’t need to make a big deal about it. Unless of course you’re celiac in which case you do need to make a big deal about it no matter how many naysayers roll their eyes at you. We’re all so food-judgey. Don’t even pretend you haven’t rolled your eyes at a vegan who won’t eat honey because the bees make it. I certainly did, until I asked a vegan, “So like, what the hell is up with that.” And they told me bees regurgitate it (eeewww). I said, “holy shit, really?” and decided at that moment to respect vegan eating habits while continuing to eat bee spit on my toast in the morning.

Yes, these two-ingredient pancakes are gluten-free but let’s just calm down and call them pancakes, shall we? These have been all over the internet for ages, and here I am putting my two cents’ worth in and some Nutella and raspberries on top of that. Raspberries are heaven and the perfect berry to go with chocolate, sorry strawberries. As for Nutella….well, me and Nutella go way back. Though not as early as you’d expect. Weirdly, you could get it where I grew up in Labrador, but here’s the thing: my sisters and I had no idea it even existed. Robin came home from a sleepover at a friend’s house one morning, and in ten-year-old speak said the equivalent of “Holy fuck I just ate spreadable chocolate on bread at Sarah’s house FOR BREAKFAST. It’s called Nutella.” I remember my eyes growing wide and “Oh god Mom can we get some,” coming out in a strangled whisper. Mom said no because she’s a genius and knew that if her kids started eating chocolate for breakfast (especially this one) it would be game over. I would never have been that European poster child for Nutella. I would never have had a thin layer of it on a piece of artisan sourdough, kissed my Maman on the cheek and grabbed my soccer ball to go frolic in flowery meadows. I would have stayed inside and eaten Nutella lollipops by the tablespoon in front of the television until I developed juvenile diabetes. As an adult I try to subscribe to the “everything in moderation” diet. While it’s true I’ve eaten hashbrown casserole more times in my life than Swiss chard (and that would be zero times I’ve tried Swiss chard) I’m trying to get better with the moderation thing as my body hurls itself toward middle age. Which I hear is like, 67 now right? Thankfully, almost thirty more years before I have to get super serious. Onwards! To the pancakes!

You need two eggs and one banana. That’s it. The trick is to put everything in a blender and whiz it together until smooth. The blender is kind of key here because once everything is whizzed up and full of air it will give the illusion of real live pancake batter. You can mash if you like, but your pancakes won’t really be pancakes so much as scrambled eggs with mushy banana. The two-ingredient rule stops here if you like. I like to add cinnamon, and you can toss in a teaspoon of sugar if you’re going to eat the pancakes plain. If you’re going the Nutella-raspberry route, or smothering everything in maple syrup, it’s not (entirely) necessary.

Heat a bit of oil in a non-stick frying pan over medium heat. Not extra virgin olive oil – that’s too heavy and will make your pancakes taste like salad. The oil needs to be light. Coconut is fun, and it’ll make everything a bit more tropical-tasting. Never a bad thing, especially around these parts. When the oil is hot (not smoking), ladle a small amount of the batter into the pan, or pour it directly from the blender. Don’t make them big like crepes, because the batter is a little delicate and they can be hard to flip. Be gentle, be patient, and when they’re dark golden brown, turn them over. Preferably with a cookie spatula if you have one. They’re small and easy to manoeuvre and will make getting under the half-cooked pancake much easier.

Two eggs and a banana make a surprising number of pancakes, so it’s probably best to make them all in the one go and keep them warm in a low oven until you’re ready to assemble. From here it’s all freestyle pancake stacking. Piled as high as you like, with as many berries and Nutella as the stack can handle. I used frozen raspberries that I’d thawed beforehand, so don’t worry if you can’t get your hands on the fresh ones. Buying frozen when berries are out of season is always your best bet anyways. Melting the Nutella a little bit first in the microwave will help with drizzling.

A yummy breakfast stack of gluten-free goodness. Or just plain goodness. Also delicious drizzled in bee spit, if you’re not in a chocolate sort of mood. Happy Spring!!

The First of the Spring Chickens

I can’t believe I’m about to write this…but…winter hasn’t been that bad?? “EASY FOR YOU TO SAY!” scream all the Haligonians and our pals on the west coast of the island who got pummelled Day After Tomorrow style. To that I will say, our hearts are with you! And goddamn, we’ve been there so I’m relishing the well-deserved break. It’s amazing how cheerful it is to walk around in sub-zero temps when you can do it on a sidewalk and not in the middle of the road. A BIG thank you to St. John’s city council for getting some of your collective shit together! And now for the love and honour can we please talk about your demolition policy? I won’t be bringing you a plate of cookies for that stunt. Anyway, I also finally broke down and bought a winter jacket that covers my bum. Between that and a Christmas vacation spent in softpants while inventing martinis, I have solved winter.

So, with high hopes and crossed fingers, I’m going to come out and say it. We’ve seen the worst of it. In the likely event of a savage storm in April, spring is still in the air and not even Sheila’s Brush can stop it. A storm in April is laced with a bit more hope than a storm in December, am I right? (I could be wrong. St. John’s could be a mess right now, I’m not even there. I’m on tour and writing this from a hotel room in Marystown, pantlessly drinking pinot grigio and watching a marathon of 19 Kids and Counting. Before you judge me, let me explain that there’s a dart tournament happening at the hotel so I’m not responsible for my actions. It’s either put on cheap aftershave and drink Coors Light in the hallway, or barricade myself in my room. And come ON, Jessa’s getting married and she’s NEVER EVEN BEEN KISSED so this is kind of a big deal. As a side-side note, if the Duggars watched We Need to Talk About Kevin like I just did on Netflix, I’m pretty sure their show would have been called One Kid and We Are Fucking DONE.)

However, comfort food season? Nowhere near over! It’s no secret to anyone that I love a roast chicken. A roast chicken dinner on a Sunday is the number one reason I could never be a vegetarian. Word on the street is that a whole roast cauliflower is now a thing for a veggie Sunday roast. Which is excellent! And a great idea for a meat-eater on a weekday! But, with nothing but the utmost respect for my vegetarian and vegan pals, I would probably have Ted Cruz and his dad over for tea and cakes before I’d bake a cauliflower for my Sunday Roast.

(Ok, ok, all jokes aside, this looks kinda good.)

This recipe is my offering for St. John’s Winter-Spring. Depending on the mood of the weather gods, this shoulder season can last anywhere from March to June. If we’re lucky, winter-spring will be over by April, just in time to start cooking chickens on the barbecue while drinking beers on the back deck. In the meantime, this recipe still falls in the category of comfort food, but will seriously make your house smell like a place where no shovelling is required. Winter-spring. Sprinter? Wring? Yeah, the last one seems more fitting.

Moroccan Roast Chicken with Harissa Potatoes

Preheat oven to 375˚F.

Combine the following spices with 4 tbsp of extra virgin olive oil: 1 tsp ground cumin, 1 tsp ground coriander, 1 tsp sweet paprika, 1/2 tsp chilli flakes, 1/4 tsp cinnamon, 1 tsp salt. Rub this mixture all over a whole chicken, including the inner cavity. Stuff with a handful of fresh mint leaves and 4 or 5 preserved lemons. Place in a roasting pan with 4 whole peeled cloves of garlic and 1 roughly chopped onion. Fill roasting pan with 1 cup water and half a bottle of white wine, taking care not to pour over the chicken, and just in the side of the pan. Cover and cook chicken for one hour. Remove from oven, baste, and return to oven uncovered for another half hour until chicken is cooked through and skin is crispy, adding more water to the pan for the last half hour if juices are evaporating too quickly. When chicken is done, move to a plate and let rest. Mash the onions and garlic in the bottom of the roaster with a fork or potato masher and bring to a boil with the drippings over the stove to make a sauce. Strain through a fine mesh sieve if you like, but that’s optional.

For the potatoes: Clean a 2-pound bag of baby red potatoes and cut them in half. Toss potatoes with 1 tbsp harissa, 1 tbsp sesame seeds, 3 tbsp olive oil, and the juice of half a lemon. Season with salt and pepper. Bake in the oven with the chicken for the last half hour. Give them a good toss and return to oven for another 15 minutes while chicken is resting. Sprinkle with more lemon juice to taste before serving.

You’ve probably never put fresh mint in a chicken before, and neither did I until I found a bunch in my fridge that needed to be used and did it on a whim. It works! You’ll only get the slightest hint of it, but it goes beautifully with the salty citrus from the preserved lemons and the Moroccan(ish) spices. I’m not even sure if this recipe qualifies as Moroccan; more than a few would argue that cooking a chicken in wine for an hour before roasting it isn’t right at all (you could just use water if you like, hahaha). But just do it for the sauce. Sweet mother, the sauce.

If you can’t find preserved lemons, don’t sweat it. Regular will do just fine. Here’s a neat Jamie Oliver trick: parboil a large lemon or a couple of smaller ones for five minutes and then prick them a few times with a knife before stuffing them in the cavity. It’s like a hot lemon juice flavour bomb for your chicken. This may be my kitchen safety paranoia soaring to new heights, but be careful when handling the hot lemon. I hold it with a pair of tongs and prick the lemon at a bit of a distance. I can’t think of anything worse than boiling lemon juice in my eye. Well, maybe Stephen Harper winning the next election. I would take hot lemon juice in the cornea before I’d see that happen. I’m looking at you, Alberta. With my one good eye.

Serve up the chicken and potatoes with the sauce and a sprinkling of cilantro if you like. Very easy, very good.

Kind of like the summer we’re all hoping for.

Top Ten of 2014

I’m a sucker for a fresh start. I enjoy a good New Year’s Eve, and like most, I try taking a deep breath and starting again. When I mess up I’ll give it another go at Chinese New Year. Another deep breath on April Fool’s Day to fool myself into starting my resolutions in the spring, then solstice, fall, any given Monday, first day of December to get a jump on things before New Year’s Eve, aaaand here we are, full circle. So chickens, if 2014 didn’t turn out quite as you expected, now’s your chance for a fresh start. In the meantime, to contribute a little something to your procrastination, here’s another annoying top ten list to peruse while you’re poking around online. Instead of starting War and Peace like you said you would on day one of your new life. After all, there’s always Monday.

Tiramisu Ice Cream

I still wonder why I waited so long to get an ice cream maker. I think deep down I knew it would ruin me for life. I think I knew once I took the plunge I would never again feel the same about ice cream that comes from Sobeys. Don’t get me wrong, there have been (and probably will be) plenty of occasions when all I want to do is stay home on a Friday night and pound the face off a tub of heavenly hash. I’m only human, after all. But have you ever really paid attention to what’s in store-bought ice cream? Especially the low-fat stuff? What are modified milk ingredients exactly? Why is it called polysorbate 80? I definitely wouldn’t be able to spell carrageenen if I was competing in a spelling bee, so I probably shouldn’t eat it. Here’s what’s in real homemade ice cream: milk, eggs, sugar, cream, vanilla. With the obvious embellishments for your preferred flavour. If you’re still not convinced full fat homemade ice cream is the way to go, just look at the weird watery puddle that’s left when your store-bought ice cream or frozen yogurt melts against a hot piece of pie. Pie deserves real ice cream and goddammit, so do you.

Check out this recipe for Tiramisu (holy shit, I know!!) ice cream from the gorgeous Playful Cooking. It’s super simple, and when you casually say to your guests. “Whatever, I made homemade tiramisu ice cream for dessert it’s no big deal,” they will lose their minds. I’m sometimes a little fussy about coffee in things that aren’t hot mugs, so when I made this I omitted the coffee and sprinkled some espresso powder and a teaspoon of vanilla-infused rum on top of each individual serving. The second time, I added a tablespoon of the rum and half a teaspoon of espresso powder to the mix before freezing the ice cream. Either which way, it’s a beautiful recipe, and extra special if you make homemade ladyfinger biscuits to go alongside.

Middle Eastern Roast Chicken

The most decadent roast chicken I made all year, and that’s saying something. There are a few different elements but it’s dead easy and so completely worth the effort and please, please try it. I omitted the rosemary and didn’t miss it. And wow, that green harissa is really something. As always, this flatbread recipe. What a deadly way to mess with people’s heads when you invite them over for Sunday Roast.

Hot and Sticky Roast Quail

If I could have lunch with one food personality, it would be Nigel Slater. Preferably sitting at a wrought iron table in an English back garden surrounded by low-hanging trees. With two really nice bottles of very cold white wine. He is just the loveliest. I recently read his book Toast, and fell a little bit more in love with him. If you cook and you don’t have The Kitchen Diaries, you’re missing out on a very tasty time.

Sometimes I’m intimidated by meat that’s not chicken. Hell, sometimes I’m intimidated by chicken. I used Nigel’s recipe the very first time I cooked quail, and it stripped away all intimidation. So don’t be scared, and don’t be precious about it just because quail is something you associate with fancy restaurants. They’re like mini-chickens that don’t take near as much cooking time (and quail is supposed to be a little pink when you cook it, so raw chicken paranoia is significantly reduced). They’re notoriously difficult to debone, so just use your fingers and be careful of the little bones. The Tragically Hip were actually singing about quail, not chicken.

Set aside 4 oven-ready quail. Mix 4 cloves minced garlic, 1 tablespoon olive oil, 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper, the juice of half a lemon, 2 tablespoons light soya sauce, half a teaspoon salt, 4 teaspoons grainy mustard. Toss quail in the mixture, using hands to ensure everything is coated well. Let everything marinate for an hour or so if you have time, but cooking straight away works too. Roast in a 425ºF oven in a pan that’s big enough the quail don’t touch. Cook the quail for twenty to twenty-five minutes.

(Adapted from Nigel Slater’s The Kitchen Diaries, HarperCollins 2005)

Spiced Lamb Chops

I get a little pang sometimes when I eat lamb but it’s my favourite and I can’t stop so I deal with the guilt. Usually by marinating, roasting, and then eating it. We bought a French rack of lamb for a treat one night and I had no idea what I was doing, but this is what happened. I’m glad I wrote it down because it turned out to be salty, spicy, tangy, tender meat that you could tear off the bone with your fingers and it tasted like street food from somewhere warm.

Marinate in fridge for 4 hours or so – a slightly scored French rack of lamb rubbed with this spice rub/paste:  1 teaspoon ground coriander, 1 teaspoon ground cumin, 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger, 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 2 teaspoons olive oil, 2 cloves finely minced garlic, juice from half a lime. Let lamb come to room temperature. Sear on all sides in a hot pan and then roast in a 400ºF oven for 12 to 18 minutes. Let the meat rest for 5 minutes, and carefully carve individual chops. Really nice with saffron rice and sprinkled with sumac.

Farmer’s Market Mini-Donuts

There is nothing on earth like an old-fashioned cinnamon sugar donut. For me, they’re right up there with the perfect piece of pie. But you know what? They’re really hard to find. Think about the last time you saw a cinnamon sugar donut. Unless you’re making them yourself, it’s probably been a while. I would even forgive Tim Hortons its shitty coffee if it had a proper donut (no hard feelings Tim, and thank you for helping me stay awake on long road trips). The St. John’s Farmer’s Market is shut down for the season, but when it opens again in the spring we all should go every weekend to support it because it’s one of the best things to do in the city. And there is a stall with a lovely man and woman who make fresh donuts. Fresh as in you can watch the little clouds of batter pop out of a machine and slide into a river of hot oil, bobbing along until they’re gently flipped over to finish frying and then tossed in whatever toppings you like. How could something so beautiful be bad? Sometimes, they put a few extra in the bag for you. Or maybe the woman was alarmed by how my eyes glazed over while I was watching the donut show and wanted me out of there fast. Maybe she’d never had a 38-year-old woman ask to be adopted into their happy little donut family, I dunno.

Portuguese Chicken and Potato Balls

I love Portugal. I can’t say that as someone who’s traveled the country extensively, only as someone who spent three days there one November. Portugal has the bluest sky I have ever seen, the best coffee, food, wine, and people. It’s the kind of place I’d like to plunk myself down, in a little apartment with a patio overlooking a nice street where I would drink wine and cook good food for a month or two. I want to learn more about Portuguese food and eat more of it, because everything I’ve tried makes me feel happy, like I’m already on that patio with a couple of glasses of wine in me. On a quick trip to Toronto last February, Didi and I stayed with two of our favourite friends, Renee and Dana. They live in Little Portugal, and for lunch Renee ran out and grabbed a Portuguese roast chicken with rice and potato balls. I’m the first person to admit that Toronto took a long time to grow on me, but I kind of get it now, and I love that every neighbourhood is its own little town. St. John’s is getting better and better when it comes to food, but I really envy my Toronto pals their ability to run out and grab whatever they feel like eating that day. And why the hell did it take so long for me to find out potato balls existed?

Slow-Roast Persian Lamb

Again, with the lamb. A shoulder this time, braised in some spices and pomegranate molasses. I like how lamb can be a formal affair or one of those things you can pick apart with your fingers and eat between flatbread. I think that’s how most of the world eats it anyway. And if they don’t, they should. This recipe is super easy and the meat comes out tender and tangy, and maybe like something you’ve never tasted. We had it with homemade flatbread, rolled out in the shape of round tortillas so it was almost like eating a lamb taco. Two sauces; a yogurt-cumin-cucumber and that green harissa I’m obsessed with, but I put a bunch of mint in it to go along with the spinach and cilantro. Really, really good. With beer, on a Sunday afternoon in front of the television.

French Macarons

One of the scariest (and most delicious) things in the world, finally scratched off my baking bucket list, mostly thanks to my friend Joanne of Paradise Cakery. Macarons aren’t rocket science, but they are baking science. Don’t make them when it’s raining out, do it with a friend, and be prepared to eat the mistakes that will happen until you finally figure it out. Turns out they’re not so scary after all.

Banh Mi

These are so delicious. And really no big deal to put together unless you want to make your own buns. All the stuffings are fairly simple, so just go buy some baguettes if you want a quick fix. Carby, comforty, and spicy. A good recipe to add to your “How to Make it Through a Winter in Town” collection.

The Clemontini 

(I know, isn’t that a great name? What’s most impressive is it only took two of these to think of it.)

And finally, not counting as food, but counting as something I would like to bathe in, a martini recipe that we may have inadvertently invented. Or inadvertently adapted. Either way those last two sentences would be hard to say after 4 or 5. It’s a martini we made just a few nights ago that’s inspired by a drink I had my first time at Raymonds. What? If you paid $200 bucks to get dehydrated at an Eagles concert, don’t even look at me sideways. Anyway, that whole glorious night is a little fuzzy, but there was one standout drink that was something like fresh lemon juice, rosemary simple syrup, apple vodka? Or maybe it was plain vodka, whatever. A few nights ago I wanted a fancy boozy cocktail and the hazy Raymonds memory returned to me. After I wept, I googled around and found lots of recipes for lemon rosemary martinis, but Justin suggested using some of the clementines in the fridge. Or as I like to call them, “the only reason I don’t get scurvy at Christmas time.” I mean, who eats an apple or broccoli between December 25th and January 1st? It’s clementines or booze/chocolate/cheese and if you’re eating kale this time of year, we probably can’t ever be friends. And if you think I’m the only one staving off scurvy with booze, you are very much mistaken.

Put all this in a martini shaker with ice. Enough for two.

1 1/2 oz freshly squeezed clementine juice
1 1/2 oz freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 oz rosemary simple syrup
1 oz vodka
1 oz green apple vodka

(For rosemary simple syrup: over medium-high heat bring to a boil 1 cup water, 1 cup granulated sugar, and 4 springs of fresh rosemary. Simmer for a minute or so until sugar is completely dissolved. Let cool and strain through a fine mesh sieve, discarding rosemary. Keeps in fridge for a month. Like it’ll last that long. Double the batch if you’re expecting company.)

A little plastic citrus juicer will do wonders, and an electric citrus juicer will make quick work of a pretty tedious job. Not a juicer juicer, more like the one you see above. And hey hey, constant exposure to citrus will burn your hands in the same way lime juice cooks seafood in a ceviche. Gross. So, even a cheap plastic juicer might be a wise investment, especially when you end up loving these things and you want freshly squeezed juice on hand all the time. They’re kind of pretty dressed up with sugared rosemary springs, or a slice of clementine. This is a nice sweet-tart-booze mix, but up the booze by an ounce if you like. If you only have plain vodka, up the simple syrup by a half-ounce. Have some fun experimenting, it’s not like you’ll throw out any failures.

Happy eating in 2015! I’ll see you at Chinese New Year for deep breathing and another fresh start.  xo

This Is Me Trying To Be Excited About Fall.

Remember August? When we were still full of hope for what was left of summer? Remember when I had this grand idea of having barbecues and cocktails and ice cream every day off? Yeah…I remember that too. Well, a little. It’s kinda fuzzy because of all the cocktails I had to drink inside because it was too goddamn cold to barbecue or eat ice cream or do anything besides drink in the kitchen wearing track pants, in front of the window so the rain could disguise my tears.

I laugh now when I think of my misplaced hope, and I’m practically rolling on the floor clutching my guts when I remember thinking, after my shows had opened and my days were finally free, “July was great! August will be great too! We are on SUCH a roll here! Woo-hoooo!” And then I think back to that August night when it was 6 degrees with 70 kilometre winds and we did The Merry Wives of Windsor outside for an audience of eleven. I thanked the gods that evening for my woollen breeches; the same breeches I had loathed a few weeks earlier when I was a walking ad for Sweatin’ to the Oldies. Sadly, that was as far as the gratitude got me that night. I looked out at the audience, wrapped up in their winter hats and blankets and sleeping bags. It looked more like Everest base camp than an outdoor summer theatre crowd. I wanted to scream at them, “WHY ARE YOU HERE??? GO HOME, WEIRDOS!” I even cursed my ancestors. “WHY DID YOU COME HERE? WHY DID YOU TRY AND CARVE OUT AN HONEST LIVING FOR YOUR FAMILY HERE, WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST STEAL A LOAF OF BREAD AND END UP IN AUSTRALIA???”

Granted, I was being a little dramatic at the time. It was the combination of Shakespeare and hypothermia. Couldn’t be helped, really.

So, yeah. Fall, hey? It’s really something else. Especially when it happens in August. Oh, July. You were such a terrible, terrible tease. With your sultry evenings and barbecue smells on warm summer breezes and your radio call-in shows with people complaining about the heat. Happy now, arseholes? Before you know it you’ll be shovelling your car out and falling on icy sidewalks and calling Radio Noon to rant about the snow. Probably after you’ve thrown rocks at passing school children and kicked a bunch of puppies.

This year, I’m refusing to be an arsehole (for the record I have never kicked a puppy or thrown a rock at a child except that one time but it was a snowball and he did it first). I’m going to embrace the fall and coming winter. I will skate, ski, snowshoe and toboggan my way into a winter wonderland of goddamn happiness. After I run out and buy aforementioned skates, skis, etc. Or possibly rent. Borrow. Or stay in with a whisky hot toddy and a giant pile of this chicken.

Sticky Kicking Chicken

(From Jamie’s 15 Minute Meals, HarperCollins, 2013)

8 skinless boneless chicken thighs
1 tbsp Chinese five-spice powder
Olive oil
2 tbsp sweet red chili sauce
2 tbsp raw sesame seeds

(I was out of sweet chili sauce and used plum sauce. Still very yum.)

On a large sheet of parchment paper, toss the chicken with salt, pepper, and the five-spice powder. Fold over the paper, then bash and flatten the chicken to 3/4-inch thick with a rolling pin. Heat olive oil in a large frying pan and cook chicken, turning after 3 or 4 minutes, until nicely charred and cooked through. Do in batches if necessary. Drain away any excess fat from the chicken pan, put back on the heat, drizzle with the sweet chili sauce and toss with the sesame seeds.

This is super fast, easy, and delicious, and the five-spice powder will make your house smell like Christmas. That’s good or bad depending on how you look at it. A bit of both for me; bad because I dread the holidays, good because it reminded me of being a kid and my Nan’s house. Which outweighed the bad. So I guess that makes five-spice powder a good thing. I’m glad I just figured that out and that you were able to come on the journey with me.

My favourite part of making this recipe was (obviously) the beating of the chicken. If I had a nickel for every time I heard a joke on a cooking show about “taking out your aggression” when you’re flattening the shit out of some kind of meat, I’d probably have enough money to buy an actual meat mallet instead of using a rolling pin. There’s a myth out there that women use meat mallets or rolling pins to take out aggression on ex-boyfriends, shitty bosses, stuff like that. I wish nothing but the best for my ex-boyfriends! Honestly! Except that guy who ran off and got married and emailed me on Christmas Eve to tell me about it. He can suck it. Anyway, when I’m flattening meat I do it extra loud to frighten the two Boston Terriers who live next door. Not that they’re not adorable (in that ugly small dog kind of way), but I like to scare them with sudden noises, just like they scare me with their sudden vicious barking when I’m taking my afternoon sofa naps.

Hey, check it, I just googled Boston Terriers for a laugh and according to Wikipedia, “both females and males are generally quiet and bark only when necessary. Their usually sensible attitude towards barking makes them excellent choices for apartment dwellers.” Hahahahahaha! HA! Some Boston Terrier owner was definitely drunk Wiki-editing. Now I have to log on to Wikipedia and create an account or whatever the hell and amend that to “generally bark only when breathing or when neighbours in attached houses are taking afternoon sofa naps. Their attitude towards barking makes them excellent choices for those living near the arctic circle. And polar bears.”

I’m kidding, I love those sweet little bathmats. Hey neighbours!!

So chickens, I begrudgingly wish you a very Happy Fall. Or, as my friend Susan says “I’m calling it autumn from now on. Fall sounds too depressing.” Either way, enjoy it. Embrace the braising, stews, curries, and afternoon sofa naps. Before you know it, summer will be here!

And you’ll still be doing pretty much the same thing because you live in Newfoundland.

August: Barbecue, Booze and Ice Cream

For a lot of people, summer started on June 21st. Even though (if I’m recalling correctly) it was one of those “whatever summer is totally here I don’t care if I have to wear a winter coat with my flip-flops” kind of day. Now that I’m thinking about it, June was pretty goddamn miserable. People had hushed conversations behind closed doors about the infamous Summer of 2011 and June-uary and sweet baby Jesus, would 2014 suffer the same fate? After the worst winter in St. John’s history (that’s not me being historically accurate, but holy shit come on), the city lived in dread of a summer with a similar theme. Me, I kind of roll with the seasonal punches. After spending ten summers in rural Newfoundland, I’ve come to expect the worst and the absolute best. This is my very first summer in the city, and I’m just happy to be here, happy to have sidewalks for a few months, and happy to be living a stone’s throw from Moo Moo’s Ice Cream.

But back to June. June was gross. Not as gross as May, and I still can’t even talk about the apocalyptic April we had, but let’s talk about July. The weather gods came out from behind the bushes, blew their giant weather-trumpets or whatever and yelled, “JOKES YOU GUYS!! July is gonna kick ass.” And it did. It was glorious, hot, sticky, like a little piece of Hanoi plopped right down on top of us for a few weeks. The lines grew longer at Moo Moo’s, tattooed men everywhere took off their shirts, and outdoor cats were all shag this please let me back in the house to seek shade under the coffee table. And my personal fav: Radio Noon was swamped with callers phoning in to complain about the humidity, which is like, so hard because you have to shovel it. Oh wait. You don’t. So go join the line at Moo Moo’s and then run through a sprinkler or something crooked arses.

The best weather the island has ever seen started just about the time I headed into full-time rehearsal. The first day the humidex hit thirty was the first day I had to spend eight hours in a rehearsal hall trying to bash Shakespeare into my brain. Normally, being inside on beautiful days makes me insane, but I was enjoying the work and never once wanted to run away and go swimming. The second part’s a lie of course – the best place to be when it’s thirty degrees is in a lake and not in a dress rehearsal wearing wool breeches and knee socks. But I never complained once (out loud) and enjoyed evenings on my back step eating barbecued hot dogs and drinking beer. We finally opened at the end of July and I made a conscious decision to start my honest-to-goodness summer in August. The month when everyone suffers from Summer Panic Disorder. You know, when you try to squeeze in everything you wanted to but never had time for in June and July. This month I’m trying to soothe my SPD with lots of barbecues, booze, and ice cream. There’s a loose plan in place to attempt a new recipe from each of the above categories and write about it every week, but I guess that will depend on how many mojitos I get in me before passing out in front of the computer.

(And hey if you’re out around Cupids this month and want to see me get disembowelled by King Henry and subsequently make out with him fifteen minutes later, check out Perchance Theatre’s schedule here.)

Week 1: Jerk Chicken with Coconut Rice and Green Harissa
               Mango Sorbet
               Cilantro Negroni

 

Jerk Chicken  (adapted from simplyrecipes.com)

1/2 cup malt vinegar
2 tsp molasses
2 tbsp dark rum
The juice from one large lime
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1-inch piece of ginger, peeled and chopped
2 fresno chillies, with seeds, chopped
1 red onion, chopped
4 green onions, chopped (or a handful of chives)
2 tbsp fresh thyme leaves, chopped
2 tbsp olive oil
2 tsp salt
2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
4 tsp ground allspice
4 tsp ground cinnamon
4 tsp ground nutmeg
Pack of 8 or 9 chicken thighs

(Bone-in thighs with skin is fine. Jerk is always better on the bone, but I took the skin off. Keep it on if you have a great barbecue and are confident in getting the chicken skin nice and crispy. If not, then eww, skin off please.)

Put everything except chicken thighs in a food processor and pulse until smooth. Place chicken thighs in a large bowl and pierce several times with a fork. Mix in jerk marinade and leave to marinate in fridge for at least 4 hours, or overnight of you can swing it. Grill on your barbecue, low and slow, until chicken is slightly charred and completely cooked through. Save the leftover marinade, boil for a good ten minutes (it had raw chicken in it, remember?) and use as a sauce, or even to baste the chicken while barbecuing. I cooked mine on the stovetop with a cup of homemade chicken stock and it was great – really intense – but great.

God, I love this chicken. The perfect recipe to use up all those spices you normally only use at Christmas. Relatively inexpensive if you’re cooking for a crowd, easy to grill on a shitty barbecue like ours, and the leftovers are the best. It’ll make your neighbours jealous because your backyard will smell like a market stall somewhere in the Caribbean. A quick note about the chillies: I went with fresno peppers, which are pretty mild on the hotness scale, but I wouldn’t be opposed to jalapenos next time if I was feeling brave. Jerk chicken is normally made with Scotch bonnets which terrify me. I love spicy food, but I’m no hero. Go nuts on the bonnets if you like, and then report back to me about how work was the next day, or how your corneas were after you accidentally touched your eye.

Jesus, the dictionary says there are four different ways to spell chillies can we get our collective shit together please.

Coconut Rice  (from the side of the box of Mr. Goudas Coconut Milk Powder)

4 cups water
1 1/2 cups basmati rice
1/2 cup coconut milk powder
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 tsp of you favourite Caribbean hot sauce

Heat up water in a medium sized pot. Add coconut powder, stir until dissolved. Bring to a boil. Add rice, stir to blend in and reduce heat to medium low. Add hot sauce, salt and pepper. Gently stir with a fork to blend in all the flavours. Cover the pot and allow to cook for 16 to 20 minutes, or until rice is tender to your taste.

Yum. And not too spicy, even though I used this lethal hot sauce that we bought in St. Lucia last year. But with only half a teaspoon for the whole pot, it was pretty smooth sailing. Slightly creamy from the coconut milk powder, but in a good way, and not a bad rice pudding kind of way.

Green Harissa  (adapted from Rachael Ray, foodnetwork.com)

1/2 of a large bunch of fresh cilantro (stems too!)
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp ground cumin
1 fresno chilli, seeds in, chopped
1 clove garlic, chopped
3 large handfuls of baby spinach
Juice of half a lemon
Salt and pepper to taste.

Pulse all ingredients in a food processor until smooth. Taste and season as necessary.

There are so many great things about this recipe I can barely contain myself. It can be used as a salad dressing (thinned with a little more olive oil), an accompaniment to any Middle Eastern dish (uh, works with Caribbean too), as a healthy dip for veggies, flatbread, grilling chicken or fish, or even spreading on sandwiches. I made this a few weeks ago and I’m obsessed with it. You know when you buy a big container of baby spinach at the beginning of the week with the intention of eating a salad every day? And then you get to the end of the week and you realize all the McCain Superfries in your freezer are gone but the spinach has started to wilt? This recipe is for you. Same goes for the big bunch of cilantro you bought and then forgot about in the produce drawer. Everything pulses into one little compact bowl of excellent.

All the above served with Anna Olson’s flatbread recipe. Takes no time to make and almost tastes like naan from you favourite Indian restaurant. Make a huge batch and freeze, or freeze the dough in individual portions, ready to thaw and roll at a moment’s notice. Great with or without the coriander seeds.

Mango Sorbet  (I totally made this up and it’s pretty deadly)

1 600g bag of frozen mango
Juice from half a lime
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup water
2 tbsp vanilla-infused rum

Thaw frozen mango on a cookie sheet, then puree in a blender. Mix sugar and water in a saucepan and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Simmer until sugar has dissolved, remove from heat and let cool. Combine mango puree, sugar syrup, lime juice and rum, and let mixture cool in fridge for two hours or overnight. Freeze in ice cream maker, according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

This is the BEST. And not bad for you because you don’t need a whole lot of sugar to sweeten the mango. You could probably get away with 1/4 cup sugar if you like. Rum is optional, but it keeps the sorbet from getting too hard and adds a lovely flavour that isn’t boozy or overpowering. Not that I don’t enjoy overpowering booze, but best to leave out if kids will be tasting, or pals who aren’t too fussy about alcohol (???). Lots of vanilla rums out there, but I make mine by saving scraped out vanilla pods and putting a few of them in random bottles of liquor. Rum, vodka, haven’t tried whisky yet, but you get the idea. Best to tell guests about that trick if your liquor is out in the open, because vanilla pods sometimes resemble stick insects, or preying mantises.

My friend Susan gave me the sweetest little case of dessert salts for Christmas, and because I was a few Negronis in and feeling adventurous, I thought one might be nice for the sorbet. Decided on the vanilla-cardamom, even though it strayed more into a spicy Indian flavour instead of spicy Caribbean. But hey, we were already all over the map with North African harissa and Italian Negronis so woo-hooooo summer. Himself wasn’t too fussy over the salt on the mango sorbet but I looooved it. That’s how I said it after my fourth Negroni. Hi Mom.

Feel free to take a chance on the red mangoes at Sobeys, but I’ve never had any luck with them. No matter how perfect they look or smell, I always end up with a soft and stringy mess. Chunks of frozen mangoes are fresher and more reliable in the mango off season (obviously all year round in Newfoundland). Different story if you can get your hands on the little yellow ataulfos; they’re usually available here in the spring, sometimes into summer, and they are insanely good and perfect for sorbets, salads, curries, and eating over the sink with your hands like a monkey.

Cilantro Negroni (from a random Martha Stewart magazine Didi gave me)

Muddle 3 cilantro sprigs with 1/2 tsp of superfine sugar and 1 orange wedge in a glass. Add 2 oz Campari and ice. Add 4 oz club soda (or sparkling water, something fizzy). Stir. Makes one.

Almost as fast as cracking a beer. Bitter, but nice. If it’s too bitter for you, add a bit more sugar and one more wedge of orange. But jeez calm down it’s Campari it’s supposed to be bitter. A lime wedge thrown in is nice too. Best with a floppy hat and oversized sunglasses.

If you’ve managed to make it through this post, you deserve a good stiff drink and an ice creamy treat. Put on your floppy hat and sunglasses and go barbecue some meat before the sidewalks disappear. Me? I’m off to get disembowelled in my woolen breeches.

Happy Summer!!

Baking is my Cardio

As a human being, I find a lot of things terrifying. Coffee grinders, flushing toilets on airplanes, Peter MacKay, etc. As a baker, the list is considerably less terrifying. I’d choose making my own puff pastry over peeing on an airplane any day (especially when it involves bringing your own Tim Horton’s coffee cup I’m looking at you Air Canada Express). I would most certainly choose puff pastry over hanging out with Peter MacKay, who would probably be quite pleased to see me back in the kitchen, let’s face it. However, the list of baked goods I’ve yet to attempt is pretty long. I’m not terrified so much as intimidated, and kind of lazy. For example, I know that making pie pastry makes me cry, and drinking coffee for two hours in front of the Food Network doesn’t. Hence, I often choose the latter. But just like working out, sometimes it takes a good buddy to motivate you to get your ass on a treadmill, or in this case, turn off the television, turn on the oven and make some French macarons.

I’m fortunate enough to call Joanne Middleton of Paradise Cakery a very dear friend. We’ve known each other since our high school days in Labrador West. We were hard core teenagers, who expressed our rebellion by baking deep dish pan pizzas while listening to The Phantom of the Opera and daydreaming of opening our own bakery-cafe. Our parents were puzzled by the fact that we weren’t drinking in the woods like every other teenager, and only became suspicious of us after we almost burnt Jo’s house down by baking pizza in a wooden-handled frying pan. Yeah, we were pretty bad-ass. I have a distinct memory of hanging out at Joanne’s house the night before my very first date. We rented The Scent of a Woman, ate popcorn, swooned over Chris O’Donnell, and rewound the tango scene five times. Joanne helped me pick out the Northern Refections t-shirt that would best suit my red glasses and high-waisted jeans and gave me advice when I asked her questions like “What do I do if he tries to hold my hand while we’re watching Schindler’s List?” Go ahead and laugh, but I couldn’t ask the internet for advice BECAUSE IT DIDN’T EXIST. And there was one theatre in town with a single movie playing at a time. But I had a pretty deadly collection of Northern Reflections t-shirts, so it wasn’t an entirely deprived teenagehood.

Joanne’s been running her cakery for about as long as I’ve been writing a food blog. She’s rocking it, and I’m still trying to turn off the television and cook things instead of watching them. A couple of months ago we decided to stop putting off the baking date we’d been talking about for ages and actually do it. The day was almost sabotaged by a pothole the size of Mike Duffy’s expense account that nearly took the arse out of my car on the way to Paradise. But the baking gods were smiling down upon me (the city of St. John’s certainly wasn’t) and I made it to Joanne’s place in one piece.

We had tea and chatted for an hour and a half before we even got started. Pretty normal for the two of us, but obvious that we were delaying what we thought would be a disaster. What happened next was a pleasant surprise for both of us. Maybe not so much for Joanne, who tackles new recipes the same way I tackle cookie dough ice cream and a Say Yes to the Dress marathon. Jesus, I know, I can’t help it. I have a weird love of watching women pay thousands of dollars for the same strapless mermaid dress over and over again. It somehow justifies me dropping fifteen bucks on a wedge of fancy cheese.

Paradise Cakery French Macarons (adapted from Canadian Living)

1 cup icing sugar
1/2 cup ground almonds
2 egg whites, room temperature, completely free of yolks
2 tbsp granulated sugar
1-1/2 tsp meringue powder

Optional: very small amount of gel food colouring paste or 2 tbsp Dutch processed cocoa powder

Filling: buttercream icing or jam of choice

Preheat oven to 325ºF. Before starting, ensure that the bowl and whisk you are using for the egg whites are entirely clean and free of any grease. Wiping around the bowl and whisk with a folded paper towel dampened with a dab or two of lemon juice will do the trick. Trace 1-inch circles, 1-inch apart onto parchment paper cut to fit onto baking tray. Place sheet, marker side down, onto baking tray. In food processor, pulse icing sugar and almonds until very fine. Sift through a fine sieve into bowl; set aside. Discard any coarse leftover grinds. Sift cocoa powder into almond mixture (if using). In a large bowl, beat egg whites (with an electric hand mixer or stand mixer) on medium speed until foamy. Tint mixture with gel colouring (if using).

With mixer on high seed, gradually beat in granulated sugar and meringue powder until stiff peaks form (when you take the whisk out of the bowl, the beaten egg whites will not flop around but rather stand on end…think lemon meringue pie). Fold in almond mixture, one-third at a time, with a large spatula, until blended. Mix only until almond mixture is blended in. Using piping bag fitted with a one-inch tip, pipe mixture onto the 1-inch traced rounds of the parchment paper. Let stand for 20 minutes.

Bake until puffed, smooth, and cracked around the bottom edges, 12-14 minutes. Let cool on pan on rack. You will know when they are fully baked when you try to lift one off the parchment paper and it lifts easily without sticking. Let cool for a few minutes on the baking sheet and then transfer to wire rack to cool completely. Spread or pipe a little of your favourite buttercream or jam on one side of the macaroon and sandwich it together with another.

They taste wonderful the day they are made but they turn into heavenly delights if they are left to “age” in an airtight container overnight. Just make sure not to crowd them in your container of choice. To make-ahead, store in an airtight container for up to 3 days.

We took a deep breath, took our time, followed the recipe exactly…and the macarons were lovely. Maybe not perfect in the way that we would beat a pastry chef perfect, but light and fluffy and crispy-chewy. The purple ones fell a little flat, but only because in our excitement we forgot the food colouring and put it in a little too late (after the almond mixture was folded into the egg whites instead of after the beaten whites were foamy). Not a complete tragedy, just a whole lot of purple flat clouds of awesomeness to snack on while we waited for the pretty ones to bake. The cocoa managed to make it in at the right time, and if there was a problem with the chocolate macarons, I couldn’t figure it out after eating eleven of them.

This is the pared-down, simplified macaron recipe that maybe you’ve been waiting for. Also, the gluten-free treat of your dreams or the dreams of your pals who are gluten intolerant. Show up on their doorstep with a little box of these and you’ve basically reached hero status. Don’t make them when it’s raining or too humid, apparently that affects the texture or the egg whites, or something. Yeah, science hey? Pretty weird. Save the rainy days for the gym. Or cookie dough ice cream and Say Yes to the Dress.

Hatching, Batching and Burritos

After my ice cream maker, my favourite appliance is my deepfreeze. I honestly don’t know what I did before I had both. Probably threw out a lot more food while fitting into my skinny jeans. While I could maybe get by without ice cream (I just wanted to see what that looked like when I typed it), a deepfreeze is an absolute necessity. Between my dad’s obsessive compulsive berry picking and my boyfriend’s mother’s gift for finding roasts on sale, the basement deepfreeze is so full it makes me feel guilty for ordering in on nights I’m too lazy to cook. I can feel it staring up at me from the basement every time we sit down with a feed of China House. It says things like, “I hope you’re enjoying that dumpling, Willow. Because there’s a whole lot of starving kids in Africa right now who would love to have five half-price prime rib roasts and two dozen baggies of frozen partridgeberries.” Then my fortune cookie will say something like, “Enjoy the bounty of food in your basement before picking up the phone” and the night ends in a flurry of tears and bloating.

Besides riddling you with guilt, deepfreezes are great for batch cooking. Taking one day, opening a bottle of wine, and cooking for nine hours straight might not sound like a party for some, but for me it’s more fun than a barrel of drunk monkeys. A few weeks ago I found myself staying in on a Saturday night to make chicken stock. It dawned on me that maybe this is what it’s like to get old: sacrificing a drunken night out for the sake of having a supply of homemade stock in your deepfreeze. Then I realized that THIS WAS FUN FOR ME and that was ok! And I wasn’t sacrificing a drunken night out, I was having a drunken night in! Getting older means being happy with where you drink. And if that’s at home on your own with a bottle of fifteen dollar of chardonnay, then you are my people and we should make chicken stock together.

Batching is a great way to save time and money and can also be a great way to show the people you love how friggin’ thoughtful and excellent you are. I’m not the best at buying gifts. I’m not a cheap bastard or anything, but when you have to buy a gift for someone (blaaargh Christmas) instead of wanting to buy a gift for them just because, it becomes a chore instead of something that should be joyful. Right? I mean, who really likes Christmas shopping? I like it a little when I have a lot of money (never) and when I don’t leave it until the last minute (never) and I can have lunch and few drinks first (ok that’s kinda fun). But I’m a big believer in making gifts, so I’ve started making people food at Christmas. Making food for people, not people food, you know what I mean. And now, when friends and relatives get pregnant (at an alarming rate I might add, I’m afraid to drink the water), I make food gifts too. Something to put in the freezer that’s easy to heat up so you can concentrate on not breaking the new baby.

If it was up to me, every new mother would be given a government-subsidized baby butler/bouncer for a good solid month. It would be someone maternal yet stern, like Mrs. Hughes from Downton Abbey. No one would get in to see the baby without her permission and she would say things like, “Sorry, everyone’s asleep. And you’re not scheduled until tomorrow, but please feel free to leave the cupcakes.” I think most people struggle with visiting protocol after a friend or family member has a baby. Well. Most people, not all. I’ve never had a youngster, but I’m guessing there are those who burst in the front door demanding an all access pass to the new human, followed by a cup of tea and something to eat. It’s hard to blame people, really. I mean, babies only have that new baby smell for so long, and everyone from your nan to your boss wants a chance to nuzzle that sweet little head at least once. But I always try to remind myself that new mamas need some head nuzzling too, even if those heads haven’t had a chance to shower in a week. So what to do? Where to find that balance between getting to meet the new human and showing your love and appreciation for its owners? According to a couple of friends of mine who’ve had babies, there are two perfect gifts you can give brand new parents.

1. Show up (not unexpectedly) with a large casserole, lasagna, or some other comfort food that can be easily reheated or frozen. Hard carbs and cheese-based dishes are preferred.

2. Put food in fridge, dig out some cleaning supplies (or bring your own), clean one room in the house, and then go home. Even if new human is sleeping and you didn’t get a chance to nuzzle it.

This makes perfect sense to me. You would definitely be loved forever and probably be named an honourary aunt or uncle. I think this would be a great gift for childless friends as well. Imagine if you just wanted some alone time and when you woke up after a nap there was a lasagna in the fridge with a note that said “Enjoy! I love you. Call me when you’re up for a visit and a cup of tea” and then you walked into your bathroom and it was sparkling. It’d be a little creepy, but mostly totally amazing.

So here are a few meals I’ve made for parents-to-be. They’ve been defrosted and approved by my sister and her husband who had their perfect little baby boy in January. Now, in addition to being on freezer duty when I visit, I’m in charge of occasional hand puppet-style entertainment for my nephew. The starfish is already becoming a bit of a diva.

And check out this link for a few more ideas on freezer meals for new parents. It’s a guide for what to make for yourself when you have a baby, but wouldn’t it make more sense if someone made the meals for you? A nice big fat hint to print on baby shower invites maybe.

Easy Bean Burritos*

4 cans black beans, drained and rinsed
2 red onions, chopped
1 head of garlic, cloves finely chopped
2 large tomatoes, chopped
4 tsp chili powder
4 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 tsp crushed red pepped flakes (optional)
Juice from one lime
2 heaping tbsp of sour cream
Salt and pepper to taste
4 tbsp olive oil
16-18 flour tortillas (whole wheat are nice for this recipe)
A whole lotta grated cheddar (I think I used one whole 500g block. Yum. Cheesiness.)

Heat olive oil in a large pot and saute onions and garlic for several minutes, just long enough for the flavour to go through the oil. Add black beans, tomatoes, spices, lime juice, and sour cream. Let cook for 15 minutes or so, until tomatoes have lost their shape and the mixture has thickened slightly. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Add extra lime juice and red pepper flakes if you like more tang and spice. Or play it safe and leave them if you’re batching for someone else.

Once the mixture has cooled a little, spoon a couple of tablespoons into the centre of a tortilla warp. Be careful not to overstuff…it might seem like a great idea at the time, but they’ll be hard to close and messy when you’re wrapping them up to freeze. Top with some grated cheddar cheese and fold up. Fold the bottom, then two sides, then the top, then put the burrito aside with the folds facing down so nothing spills out when you’re making the others. You’ll get the swing of it after a couple of messy ones. Wrap burritos individually and tightly in cling wrap and freeze in tupperware or large freezer bags. Makes between 16-18 burritos, depending on how much you’re filling them.

*These are delicious and my sister really loved them. However, as a breastfeeding mother, the baby did not. I don’t really need to elaborate as this is a food blog. Maybe these can be for the dads, or moms who are bottle-feeding.

Two more easy-freezey meal ideas while we’re at it. A chicken and dressing bake freezes like a dream, and if you use homemade dressing, you won’t feel so guilty about using a can of mushroom soup (What? Like you’ve never).

And remember how exciting it was to eat TV dinners as a kid? The ones with the fried chicken, corn and buttery mashed potatoes? The ones you ate on Friday nights while watching The Tommy Hunter Show followed by Dallas followed by falling asleep on the couch to the dulcet tones of Barbara Walters and Hugh Downs on 20/20? Just me? I have no idea why I loved those things so much, but I can still remember how surprised I was that mashed potatoes tasted so good even after they’d been frozen. Probably because they weren’t real potatoes and mostly salt and preservatives. But the good news is, real mash freezes just as well. I make mashed potato cakes constantly and you will too when you realize how easy and addictive they are. If you like Yorkshire puddings and you like potatoes, you can’t go wrong. Just press a couple of spoonfuls of your favourite mash into well-greased muffin cups or mini-muffin cups and bake at 375ºF for 20 minutes or so, or until golden brown.

This particular batch was made with butter, sour cream, a head of roasted garlic, salt and pepper, and lemon juice. Lemon juice sounds a little strange, but think of those roasted lemony Greek potatoes that you’ve had, and now think of them in a fluffy baked mashed potato Yorkshire pudding shape. You’re welcome.

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It goes without saying that everything here is best reheated low and slow, especially the chicken bake. You’ll have cooked it before freezing of course, but once it’s time to reheat, you won’t want to burn the dressing before the entire dish is hot, so take it easy and adjust accordingly. Microwaving is always an option, or defrosting in the microwave and then heating in the oven. But oven is always best, and easy if you remember to pop it in on 325ºF an hour or so before serving.

(Safety first! I once saw a hot Pyrex pan shatter into a thousand pieces instantly when placed on a cold sink. I’m assuming the reverse can happen if you place an icy-cold Pyrex in a hot oven, so if you’ve frozen your chicken bake in a glass dish, maybe put it in the oven first and then turn it on, so everything heats up gradually. If the reverse can’t happen, and people who know science are laughing at me, why don’t you go finish your blog about how the movie Gravity could never happen in real life and leave the rest of us alone.)

Burritos will take about 40 minutes between 325º and 350º depending on how hot your oven is. Potato cakes a little less at the same temperature. Remember, a fork stuck in the food and then on your tongue will let you know if something’s heated through every time, but don’t leave fork on tongue too long.

I’ve just exhausted everything I know about reheating frozen food. And as a side note, holy shit Hugh Downs is 93 years old. He’s been around longer than TV dinners.

A wee note before signing off. Apologies that these photos are limited and not my best work (she says, like she has “best work”). I packed my nice camera in my suitcase on the way to visit my sister, sat on said suitcase at the airport while waiting for a lift, and broke said camera. Camera has since been repaired and now every time I pick it up it shudders and says, “Please don’t drink all the free booze on Porter Airlines and sit on me.”

Now go cook something and hang out with your mom, your nan, a mom-to-be, a mom-not-to-be, or just some awesome gal who loves you and your food.