Weird ice cream is still good ice cream

This will be a very quick post, because I didn’t actually cook anything this time. Easy peasy!

There’s a little “express,” grocery store at the end of our street, and it always shocks me that they’re able to stock such a great number of diverse food items within such a small amount of space. When I saw this ice cream, I had to pick it up, partly because it aroused my curiosity, but also to support the express store’s willingness to take a risk on a product. I’m guessing they don’t sell a lot of this in my neighbourhood, but they still had a shocking number of these containers available for sale.

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Living in diverse Toronto as we do, it no longer shocks me to see green tea ice cream, or black bean ice cream, because I’ve tasted both at sushi restaurants for years. But black sesame? I couldn’t even imagine the flavour.

Another thing that excited me about this purchase was that I’m always looking for something my kids might try. People often ask, “Are your kids daring eaters too?” The answer to that question is a very firm, “Nuh-uh,” but I thought they might be willing to make an exception for something boasting the title, “ice cream.” And I was right. Happy Mother’s Day to me. There’s nothing moms enjoy more than being right when it comes to their kids. Right?

IMG_3206My daughter couldn’t even hold back long enough to get a bowl or take her scooter helmet off.

This ice cream was muddy good.

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He’s mad because she won’t let him hold the container. Oh, the joy in being a little brother.

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Success with the muddy black sesame ice cream! Rating: 4 Yums. It’s hard to describe the flavour. Think rich ice cream. Now add sweet sesame, with a toasted aftertaste. I should have gotten more creative with this dangerous food and made a dessert that incorporated a few things, restaurant-style, but I thought it might be fun to throw that out there as a question. What would go well with sesame ice cream if you were trying to be fancy? I’m thinking dense warm molasses cake with seaweed in it. Who has other ideas?

Does this taste like pee?

A question I did not ask my husband tonight, but I could have. Not should have, in my mind, but could have. So I didn’t.

Last time I was at Rowe Farms, I picked up a nice big frozen kidney, aka, cow urine creation system. Just ’cause. When I grab something strange having questionable potential deliciousness, I procrastinate cooking it, which is why this post has been rather delayed since the last one. But today I bit the pee pee bullet (kidney stone?) and served it up.

I decided to learn to make steak and kidney pie, even though it’s really more of a fall/winter dish. If I’m eating fish, and I feel like red wine, I’m not going to drink something I don’t want just because someone says it doesn’t go together. Spring. Stew. Same.

I’d never had steak and kidney pie before, so I had to guess at what was traditional by sifting through recipes. The sense I got was that it was basically beef stew in pastry with some kidney thrown in. Guessing the whole thing got started because thrifty housewives needed to thicken up beef stew when they couldn’t afford all that much beef. I felt honoured to be joining the ranks, because I’m nothing if not a thrifty housewife. Might just start thickening Phil’s dinners up with other reasonably priced fillers. Bet I could make bologna look like salmon if I really made an effort.

Anyway, I found this stellar recipe that I chose partly because it called for ale, but not a full bottle of ale, so I felt like it was giving me permission to drink the other half. Sold.

Steak and Kidney Pie (modified from original per my tweaks. Makes 1 medium casserole dish)

  • 30g plain flour
  • sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
  • 400g stewing beef – diced into 2cm pieces
  • a big knob of unsalted butter
  • Olive oil – for cooking
  • 1 large onion – chopped
  • a good dollop of English mustard
  • 170ml Ale
  • 120ml beef stock – made from almost half of a Knorr stock cube (don’t use OXO it won’t taste the same.
  • a sprig of fresh thyme – leaves only
  • a good splash of Worcestershire sauce
  • Pint of mushrooms – quartered
  • Beef kidney, fatty membranes removed (mine was removed by butcher, but I read they can have them), cut away from central tendons
  • 300g ready made puff pastry
  • 1 egg yolk – lightly beaten to glaze

Directions: Defrost meats and puff pastry if necessary and preheat oven to 350. Bask in the beauty and slight creepiness of your kidney.

IMG_3186Melt butter on burner in stew pot that can go in the oven. Drizzle stew beef with olive oil and dredge in flour, having salt and peppered the flour. Over med-high heat, brown beef, adding more oil if necessary. Cut up soft bits of kidney, avoiding anything tough. Add to pan and brown briefly (kidney in pic below isn’t fully browned yet).

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Remove.  Splash some more oil in and add onions to pan, cooking until translucent. Add mushrooms and mustard and cook a few minutes. Pour beer in, and drink remainder of bottle. Here’s the nice Toronto one I used

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Cook a minute or so, then add beef stock. Heat to boiling, and throw in remaining ingredients. Pop pot into oven, covered, and cook 2 hours. Your house will smell amazing.

Meanwhile, roll out your puff pastry so it will cover your casserole dish, flouring surface and rolling pin.

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Remove stew from oven

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Transfer to casserole dish. Brush top edge of dish with egg yolk and drape pastry over, poking centre a few times.

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Brush pastry with egg yolk. Increase heat to 400 and cook a further 20 minutes or so, checking to make sure top doesn’t get too brown. And that’s it!

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Results: The recipe was delicious, and I’d use it again for a straight steak pie, but the kidney didn’t do much for me. My mom hated liver so because I wasn’t raised eating organ meats I find it hard to get past the consistency. But there wasn’t an off-putting taste to it, and my husband ate his whole serving and put the leftovers away for another day – I would have heard about it if it was awful. Rating: 4 Yums for the recipe, but 1 Gag for the kidney. The cows can keep their pee makers.

Drink pairing: Already mentioned, Toronto’s Mill Street Tankhouse Ale

Just ducky

The egg award has been my conversation lull solution lately. You know when you’re standing there with someone and there’s that awkward pause, like, “hm, I’ve already asked her about vacations and kids and work…” I’ve been helping people out by saying, “So I’m entering an egg contest.” I’ve told my friend Jackie about it so many times that when she accompanied me to the farmer’s market in our neighborhood (Mondays – we’re very lucky) to look for the eggs it was almost like I had selected her to be my second ovum in command, and she didn’t take her responsibility lightly. She later helped with sauce suggestions.

The rules of the contest are that the eggs need to be organic, and that there should be a photo of someone/thing related to where the eggs came from, so here’s mine:

Farmer Laslo

Let’s call the free range egg farmer from Innisfil, Ontario, Canada “Laslo,” because he looks like a Laslo and he wasn’t very forthcoming with information. I did manage to learn that he has 100 quail and 20 ducks, but when I asked whether the duck the eggs came from had a name and he just said, “no,” in a very bored way, so I gave up when it came time to ask for his own name. Oh, Laslo.

I was happy to get duck eggs, though, because they’re unique here, which suits the dangerous theme of my blog well while also satisfying the requirements of the contest.

And you should know that these eggs have been on a bit of a journey to get here. I know I could potentially lose some freshness points because they went through slight cooler-coddled travel time, but I feel that the life experience they got added to the wisdom and maturity of this entry, so I feel proud to divulge their history. Like me, they have acquired a few battle scars that have only made them stronger – mine come mostly in the form of wrinkles, theirs…

Easter egg

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We went up north for a few days with families and kids, I brought my duck eggs thinking my friend Hong and I would find leisure time to dream up and photograph a recipe, but instead the leisure time was eaten up by kids colouring eggs, and my extra big white ones were too good to resist (didn’t help that I had bought brown ones for my egg dying activity, which, FYI, don’t take colour nearly as well as white. Who knew?). So I wouldn’t let them boil my duckies, but I reluctantly let them dye them, making every three and five year old swear on their mother’s eyes that they’d be gentle. And I cooler-coddled them home again. The trip wasn’t a total loss, though – Hong gave me the idea to bake them in a bread basket.

And so we finally come to the product of all this egg fretting (frittata-ing? Not this time). I now reveal to the world, the perfect post-mortem-Easter-egg recipe and pending winner of the great global egg award…

Duck egg baskets with prosciutto and lemon basil cream sauce

(makes 6)

Egg baskets:

  • 6 fresh, organic free range duck eggs
  • 6 healthy-sized pieces of grainy bread
  • 6 slices of prosciutto
  • 3Tbsp butter, with extra for pan
  • Green onions, chopped, for topping

Preheat oven to 375. Generously butter 6 spaces in a muffin pan (mine stuck slightly, so do this well). Use a wide mouth glass to make 12 circles from bread. Butter the circles, and overlap two into each muffin space to cover. This can be slightly messy – it will look better later.

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Add a slice of prosciutto

Prosciutto in muffin tin

Add egg

Raw egg over prosciutto

Bake at 375 for 20-25 minutes. Yolk should still jiggle when cooked. Carefully pry from muffin pan with knife. If a bit of the toast crumbles off, no biggie. Still looks delicious.

Egg in basket with prosciutto

Now. If you’re tired and don’t want to continue, good for you, this is a tasty, impressive breakfast on its own. You may also wish to top with hollondaise for a “benny-style” treat, or to substitute dill in my sauce recipe below for another traditional option that goes well with lemon and eggs. Since I am entering a contest however, I went with a more unconventional sauce…

Lemon basil cream sauce (based on recipe here):

  • 1Tbsp butter
  • 1 garlic clove, crushed and minced
  • 1/2C organic cream (I used 18%)
  • 1/2C organic chicken stock
  • Juice of 1/2 lemon
  • 1Tbsp cornstarch
  • Pepper
  • Small handful basil

Melt butter in small heavy saucepan. Cook garlic, 1 minute. Add cream and chicken stock and boil over low heat until reduced by about half. Mix cornstarch with lemon juice in small bowl and add to saucepan. Stir, continue to boil until sauce thickens, and add pepper. Add basil before serving. Pour over each egg basket on serving plates and voila!

Final egger

Wish me luck, and thanks @justlovefood for encouraging me to enter this great contest!

Artichoke lemonade

Okay, so I didn’t actually make artichoke lemonade. I was just trying to work on my search rankings. Because that title is going to be a home run.

I haven’t blogged for a while, and I’m telling you this even though I read something once that said never start by apologizing that you haven’t blogged for a while. But you know what this post is going to be about? Honesty. Open kimonos. Bet that term will get more search results than my title.

So I haven’t blogged for a while because I’ve had a few food flops lately. I wanted to tell you this because I think it’s important to be open about the fact that not everything you cook will be delicious. If you’re going to cook dangerously. there will be days when food won’t work out. You’ll never learn anything if you keep making chicken fajitas once a week. If I’m ever at your house, and we have to order in, know that as long as you have a very full wine cellar I will never judge.  And since I am far from being a top chef, I have had to compensate for my own cooking with the odd extra nip of vino lately (that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it).

First I tried Meyer lemons.

IMG_3058They were shining at me from within their highfalutin specialty packaging, so I knew I had to have them. Their PR people say they’re sweeter than regular lemons, so you should use them in lemony baked goods for extra delectabillity. Maybe mine were genetically modified beyond recognition, but they tasted sour on their own, yet didn’t taste lemony in anything I made with them. And I made lots, thanks to this blog post, shared by @HipFoodieMom1 on Twitter.

I made lemon fettuccine. And it was good, but not so lemony.

IMG_3060I made blueberry-meyer lemon fizz. Seems to be missing from White on Rice couple’s blog now, but let’s not mourn it. Although my daughter did ask for it again recently.  Blueberry puree, lemon juice, soda water, simple syrup (boiled sugar water 1:1).

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And Meyer lemon bars. Again, nice, but not so lemony. I wanted cheek pooching lemony goodness.

Thanks bobbleheadbaby.com

Thanks bobbleheadbaby.com

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I got something tasty, but not poochy.

And then there were the artichokes (that my daughter proudly chose at the grocery store and insisted I prepare for this blog). I had tasted them “from scratch” once in my life before, where my friend cooked them and told me to scrape the meat from the leaves with my lower teeth, but I thought I’d do them myself. I steamed, but undercooked them. I tried them again, but my guests thought they were too much like work.

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I bought some artichoke asiago dip to go with the artichoke the first time, and dipped it in butter the second.

But the heart was delicious (don’t eat the fuzzies, which are the “choke”).

The bottom line is, don’t give up. You can deal with the failures/blahs in your cooking as long as you hold out for the heart at the end of it all (gag, gag, please no one quote me as a cheesy retweetable quote, because it will ruin my reputation).

Next blog post: beef heart. Kidding. So far.

Following Midwesternbite.com’s method, I’ll close with a question for you. What has your biggest flop in the kitchen been?

Chicken to try chicken livers?

I used to work with a woman, Natalie, who was very opinionated about her food. She would look at me with all the gravity she could muster, and share very firm culinary beliefs, like, “Ann. Rice and soup should never go together.” She enjoyed soup, yes. Rice, no problem. But mixing the two went against her core values and belief system. Of course, I made a point of trying to shock her with food at every opportunity. I greatly enjoyed going on a business trip with her and eating at a restaurant during “garlic fest,” where I happily lapped up a bowl of garlic ice cream. She looked at me like she needed to figure out how to save my soul after that one.

I didn’t think I had similar beliefs about food, because obviously I’m willing to try just about anything, but as I embarked on this post’s culinary adventure I remembered I once had similar food prejudices. Another friend, this one from high school (Mary-Ann) used to bring liverwurst sandwiches to school for lunch. I couldn’t stand the thought of them and nearly gagged as she ate them in front of me. In my mind, meat needed to be fibrous. Meat. Paste. So wrong.

I’ve come a long way. I think being at parties where pate is often in close proximity to a wine bottle helped me lose my reluctance, and before I knew it I was picking up whole logs of the stuff and slurping down the jellied covering as an odd form of jello shooter.

And my biggest pate progression yet is what this post is based on. I made my own pate from real chicken livers.

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Once again, I must apologize to my vegetarian friends. Tune out for this next part. Chicken livers feel cool. They’re smooth and soft and have a beautiful weight to them. And yes, saying that makes me feel like I should crave fava beans and a nice chianti.

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Thanks propnurse.blogspot.com

Damn, that would have been the perfect recipe for chicken livers. But pate was probably easier to make. And now that I’ve made it myself, I know that it’s way more delicious to do it that way, and it’s super easy.

I found this recipe, and I’m glad I chose it because the author of the article clearly did her research, having tested many chef’s methods and selecting this one as the best. Here it is, painstakingly re-typed (you’re welcome! All I do, I do for you, my fooders), including a few bonus suggestions from me.

Perfect Chicken Liver Pate

  • 350g chicken livers, cleaned (to clean, I cut off anything a different colour or unsmooth). I used local organic free range chicken livers because they grossed me out less
  • 175g butter, diced (about 1.5 sticks)
  • 1 shallot, finely chopped
  • 1tsp thyme leaves, finely chopped
  • 75mL madeira (I can never find madeira so I use sherry, although I’ve never looked very hard)
  • 75mL heavy cream
  • 1/2tsp salt
  • dash of allspice
  • 1/4tsp ground ginger

Cut the livers into small pieces, and heave a knob of butter in a frying pan over a medium heat. Add the shallot and thyme and soften, then turn up the heat to medium-high, add the livers and saute for a couple of minutes until browned on the outside but pink on the inside. (This part freaked me out later because I read about how the livers are also susceptible to salmonella, so I’d actually suggest cooking them until they’re done in the middle)

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This is what happens after the couple of minutes…

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Tip into a food processor.

Add the madeira to the pan and boil until reduced to a couple of tablespoons. Tip into the food processor, add the cream, salt and spices and whizz until smooth. Add all but 75g (5Tbsp) of the butter, and whizz again. Taste for seasoning and adjust if necessary.

Pass through a sieve (I am often lazy about these kinds of details, but I highly recommend this part because it made it super smooth) into a serving dish and chill for half an hour. Melt the remaining butter over top, and refrigerate until set (you can omit this part – I thought it made it a bit re-chilled solidified butter weirdish).

C’est tout! And yes, I know I’ve left the accents out of the word pate through this whole post but I just wrote a comedic novel for teen girls (yay!) and I should really be working on promoting that rather than food blogging which I’m doing to procrastinate because I enjoy it but I don’t enjoy cutting and pasting accents so I’m not going to. (To the tune of “it’s my party…”) It’s my food blog, and I’ll spell badly if I want to…

Results: Even better the second day. Extremely smooth. My parents ate it, and they generally don’t like pate. Like everything, it’s very nice to know exactly what’s in what you’re eating because you made it yourself, even though in this case it’s a hell of a lot of butter and cream. Rating: 4 Yums 

Wine Pairing: A strong wine pairing for pate is beaujolais, so I’ll suggest the top beaujolais at my local liquor store for less than $20 (according to winealign.com) which is the 2008 Georges Duboeuf Beaujolais at only $11.95.

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Toothless Sunshine loves dragon fruit

Our house is all about dragons right now.

The dragon connection started in an odd way. My jeans fell apart, because I’m cheap, and I don’t enjoy buying expensive jeans, but I enjoy wearing them (see frugal article here). So while my jeans had become unwearable due to air conditioning in the nether regions, I wasn’t able to let them go. So I made a pocket purse for my daughter.

In the name of fairness, I offered my son a homemade gift of his choice. His confident request – “A dragon.” I did myself some googling, and found this pattern for a dragon. I was disappointed that the creators of the pattern hadn’t managed to find the perfect dragon fabric that I did – green velour with green sequins – so I smugly walked away from Fabricland and made the very first object of my son’s affection, Toothless Sunshine.

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Let me just take a time out to say that I’m a giant feminist, and that I proudly own my love for cooking, sewing, and parenting as a personal choice afforded to a liberated woman. Let’s move on.

Toothless Sunshine

Anyway, as we were in the spirit of dragons, I picked up this fruit

Dragon fruit

at our beloved No Frills grocery store and told my son it was a dragon fruit (pitaya). He begged to try it.

Sliced dragon fruitI searched for dragon fruit recipes in an attempt to make something interesting, but didn’t find much beyond sexy fruit plates. I was glad I hadn’t chosen those, because it turns out dragon fruit is quite bland. It looks very cool – fuschia with seedy pulp – but it’s less sweet and tart than a kiwi, which it’s often compared to due to its consistency, even though the dragon fruit is actually the fruit of a cactus.

I finally found a recipe for dragon fruit salsa over scallops, which I won’t even credit because their creation had so few ingredients it was basically dragon fruit and lemon juice (and we’ve already established that dragon fruit has a super boring flavour). I used their scallop/salsa idea, though, and created this:

Seared Scallops and Dragon Fruit Salsa (serves 2)

  • 6 large scallops
  • A few Tbsp olive oil
  • 1 ripe dragon fruit (gives slightly to touch, like a ripe mango or avocado), diced
  • 1 small handful of fresh cilantro, chopped
  • 2 green onions, chopped
  • 1 small handful dried cranberries
  • Juice of 1 lime
  • One chopped chili if desired

Directions: Heat oil over med high heat, approx. 2 mins. Add scallops and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

ScallopsCook 2-3mins per side, until white and firm on the exterior (scored and slightly darkened if barbequing, but it’s winter and I was cold, so I chose the pan). Meanwhile, combine salsa ingredients. Serve scallops topped with salsa.

Scallops and dragon fruit salsa

Results: Nice! My husband said, “Let’s keep this in mind for when we’re entertaining.” (Or something like that, I wasn’t totally listening). I included the dried cranberries to add a touch of sweetness where the dragon fruit was lacking, and the onions and cilantro answered that salsa freshness expectation. The dragon fruit made the whole thing pretty, and added a cool, crisp texture. Exotic, fresh, and tasty. Rating: 3 Yums

Toothless Sunshine will serve this recipe to his fire breathing friends for sure.

Wine Pairing: Winealign.com suggests that scallops pair well with pinot gris, so I’ll suggest Bestheim Réserve Pinot Gris 2011, Alsace, selling for $15.95 in Ontario.

Pinot Gris

Ta dah! A Midwestern winner of the Great Shepherd’s Pie Contest

Well, after thousands of entries (if you count spam blog comments asking me to buy fake Louis Vuitton bags as entries), a winner of the Great Shepherd’s Pie Contest has been determined. I couldn’t have been happier with the results if I had chosen the winner myself. Because I did.

Congratulations, Joanna at Midwestern Bite! $30 in culinary goodies will soon arrive at your Midwestern front door! (as long as you message me with your address – DM on Twitter?)

I loved what Joanna brought to the table. What’s better than ground beef? Ham. Better than potato? Sweet potato. And not just any sweet potato, spiked sweet potato. This is the second blog post in a row where I’ve had to break into our liquor globe

Antique liquor globeAntique liquor globe 2for some whiskey, and you don’t hear me complaining. I especially respect that Joanna’s recipe doesn’t call for the alcohol to be boiled off as most do. Giddy up.

PS You too can get yourself a liquor globe, if you have an antique collecting Uncle-Russell-in-law who decides to move to Mexico and relieve himself of all his earthly possessions around the time you’re getting wedding gifts. He also generously filled it for us, even though he doesn’t drink. Good guy. He’s just decided to move back here again, though. I might have to hide the liquor globe in case he has a change of heart.

Anyway, I recreated Joanna’s pie tonight just to make sure it was delicious, and I wasn’t disappointed. I omitted the sugar due primarily to a New Year’s resolution that’s about to go the way of the Betamax (and VHS, now that I think about it), but since I’m still livin the dream… It was just fine without it. I also sautéed the mushrooms and beans because I didn’t have any pre-roasted, and threw in some leftover onions. Otherwise, I made it as written. And I agree with Joanna’s assessment – this pie tastes like the holidays, all in one dish. Delish! (I saw a tweet today that said that word annoyed a chef I follow, so cheers to him)

I only took one picture to prove I actually tried Joanna’s recipe and I took it pre-topping, which turned out to be for the best because I kind of over-roasted the sweet potato so there were some blackish bits, which didn’t make for a pretty puree. She often takes her pics outside, so here is my little tribute in a sorry excuse for some Toronto snow.

Shepherd's Pie Winner

But Joanna’s pictures kick the behind of mine (I typed “behind,” because I couldn’t figure out whether it was “but” or “butt”) around the block anyway, so check those out here.

Thanks for the blogging fun, Ms. Midwest!

Haggis soup that would make Robbie Burns proud

There’s a weird identity-thing about being Canadian. When I was a kid, the other kids would ask, “So what are you?” I hated the question, because all I knew of culture at the time was Canada. All my relatives were here, and I had never met anyone in my family who was born anywhere else – a few great-grandparents were the most recent immigrants I was aware of.  “Mostly English,” I’d say, which was the most boring answer, as far as I was concerned, because it was always far more interesting to be associated with a country that was more different from where my family now lived.  But I felt like it was most accurate because it was where my last name came from.  Sometimes the question annoyed me so much I would say, “Just Canadian, okay?”

As I got older and studied some personal genealogy, I learned about other cultural connections my genes had that were just as accurate, and so I was able to be a nationality shape-shifter.  If it was St. Patrick’s Day, I was Irish.  When I visited my husband’s family outside Belfast, I was Northern Irish too – different great-great-grandparents actually came from both places.  For the Queen’s jubilee, I was English.  And today, for Robbie Burns Day, I’m Scottish.

My mother’s father’s parents were born in Scotland, in Turriff and Elgin.  Apparently a rich Scottish guy in Hamilton Ontario Canada asked for “a good wee lassie,” to be sent over to work in his home as a nanny, and after she got here she met my great-grandfather and the Canadian arm of the family began. But back to the Canadian identity thing – I was very close to my grandfather, Gord McDonald, but still never felt like a Scottish lassie myself.  The shape-shifting thing seemed too convenient, and when you have never set foot in the other country and have no contacts, and your roots are dispersed across many cultures, how can you honour ties there?

Through food, that’s how.

I met a cook from Scotland on Twitter, @Justlovefood, ages ago and asked, “Do you actually cook haggis?” I was excited to consider a “dangerous food,” that actually had a personal connection.  We traded messages, they blogged a recipe, I tried to get my hands on some haggis, and was told I’d have to wait until Burns Day.  I waited patiently.  But the friendship and process already started making me feel closer to my grandfather and his family.  @Justlovefood sent a drawing of a haggis,

Haggisand it was my grandfather’s sense of humour shining through.

I finally got my hands on the haggis yesterday, and went on a scavenger hunt to find the other ingredients, visiting grocery stores from around the globe.  The Asian grocery store, T&T was the best choice for duck eggs, but only had quail, so I nabbed those.  The British store couldn’t import marmite because it has a meat or fish ingredient our government doesn’t like, so I had to get vegemite instead.

VegemiteFinally, I proudly sliced my haggis in half

Haggisand broke it up into the pot, trying to tell myself that if my ancestors ate lungs and heart I could too.  I added all other soup ingredients, and wondered how a recipe that went against my core cooking belief – that if you blend tasty ingredients together, you’ll get a tasty result – could ever work.  Lamb innards.  Single malt whiskey.  Vegemite.  Even mustard.  Normally, I wasn’t a fan of any of it.

WhiskeyBut I was proved wrong.  This was the best soup I’d ever had! It was rich with a delicious texture, almost like gravy soup, but with a nippy bite of spice, even though I had only added pepper (the Healthy Butcher’s high quality of haggis probably deserves a lot of the kudos!). I portioned out some of the result for a few friends who wanted to try it but made sure to keep the biggest share for myself.

Haggis soup

I ate haggis in preparation for Burns Day and allowed myself to feel Scottish.  I couldn’t have conversations with ancestors, or visit their hometowns (yet), but I could eat what they’d eaten, and read a poem they might have known.  Take a second to think about where your family is living now, and then imagine in future that an arm of it emigrates, and that one of your recipes or foods might be the only tie to culture they have left.  Cool eh? Cook carefully.

Here is a reprint of the haggis description and recipe from @Justlovefood, and a link to their blog.  Hope you give it a try, even if you don’t have a Scottish lassie in your family tree.  I’ve also included Robbie Burns’s poem, “Address to a Haggis.”

Haggis&Potato&Marmite Soup with Watercress and Poached Duck egg

haggis (HAG-ihs) – Haggis is a Scottish dish made from sheep’s offal (windpipe, lungs, heart and liver) of the sheep, which is first boiled and then minced. It is then mixed with beef suet and lightly toasted oatmeal. This mixture is placed inside the sheep’s stomach, which is sewn closed. The resulting haggis is traditionally cooked by further boiling (for up to three hours).

This is the most traditional of all Scottish dishes, eaten on Burns Night (25th January; the birthday of Scotland’s national poet, Robert Burns, 1759-1796) and at Hogmanay (New Year’s Eve). Haggis is traditionally served as “haggis, neeps and tatties”. The neeps are mashed turnip or swede, with a little milk and allspice added, whereas the tatties are creamed potatoes flavored with a little nutmeg. To add that authentic touch, consume your haggis, neeps and tatties with a dram of good whisky.

History: There are no actual records, as far as we are aware, of the origins of haggis, as we know it today. The first known English cookbook is The Form of Cury (cookery), written in 1390 by one of the cooks to King Richard II. It contains a recipe for a dish called Afronchemoyle, which is in effect a haggis. The haggis became well established in the Scottish culinary scene, not as a star dish but as an everyday staple. Like a lot of other foods, haggis probably came about because the raw material was available and it had to be made into a more acceptable form.

Author Clarissa Dickson Wright in her book The Haggis – A Little History makes a case for haggis originally being from Sweden. Scandinavians from Sweden eat haggis with great relish and invariably remark on its resemblance to a dish in their local cuisine. Relations between Scotland and the Nordic world go back to the 9th century. Norsemen, raiders at first, very soon became settlers and farmers. It was late in the 15th century before Orkney and Shetland finally ceased to be dependencies of the Danish crown. The impact of the Norse was far greater than that of the French; they are part of Scotland’s historic fabric. The root of the word haggis is not from Latin languages, and its origin appears to be Scandinavian. There is no doubt that the word haggis is related to such words as the Swedish hagga, meaning to hew or chop; and the Icelandic hoggva, with the same meaning.

Reference found in :

http://whatscookingamerica.net/Glossary/H.htm

We made this soup in the kitchen when we sold all of the soup of the day and had to come up with a quick and different one using what was available in the Pantry

Haggis&Potato&Marmite Soup with Watercress and a Poached Duck egg on top

Ingredients

  • Haggis,around 500 grams
  • Potato,peeled and cut into squares,about 5 medium size
  • Shallots,5 chopped finely
  • Spring onions ,5 will do chopped coarsely
  • 1 teaspoon of Marmite
  • 1 teaspoon of English Mustard
  • 1 nip-25 ml- of Single Malt Whisky,we used Macallan 12 year old, you could also use cognac.
  • 1 Liter of good Beef Stock,could be Veggie or chicken
  • Freshly ground White Pepper
  • 3 Cloves of Smoked garlic
  • Sea Salt Flakes,like Maldon or Scottish Seasalt ( Hebridean sea salt)
  • Bunch of Fresh watercress, for soup and then garnish
  • Duck Egg,poached
  • Unsalted Butter

Instructions;

In a pot  at medium heat, saute the shallots,spring onions,garlic until semi soft, then add the potato cubes,stir, Season with Salt and Pepper, keep cooking until shallots become soft.

Put Heat to high, add the Whisky, stir.

Reduce heat to medium again.

Add the Haggis,cook until soft and blended with all the  rest of ingredients, add the stock, stir.

Add teaspoon of Marmite, teaspoon of English Mustard and stir, bring to the boil and then simmer until potatos are soft.

Add The Watercress, stir.

Blend with a Hand held blender, taste, adjust seasoning, keep warm.

For serving, use deep bowls, garnish with a Duck poached egg on top and some nice Watercress little bunch, serve hot with nice Artisan Bread and butter.

Sprinkle some Sea salt flakes & pepper on top of the Poached egg.

Copyright@Justlovefood Leith  August 2012

Chef Claudia Escobar Lindenbaum

Address To A Haggis

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang’s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’ need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they strech an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve,
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
‘Bethankit!’ hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll make it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle.

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o ‘fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

Cheeky Monkey (but not monkey, thank God)

It’s been so long since I’ve posted that initially I forgot what I was supposed to post about. I cooked something a while ago, and knew I had transferred the photos, but then I went on vacation (Mickey/Minnieville), came back, finally managed to stay awake past nine, opened my photos, and saw…

IMG_2861
A hunk of meat. Even that didn’t do it for me.  I thought to myself, “Well, I know it must have been some kind of unconventional animal part …”

IMG_2862-001What are we thinking.  Belly?  Neck?  Maybe a different animal, conventional part.  Horse?  Beagle?

And then my brain kicked in.  Cheeks.  And not the ass kind, the face kind.  Although I’m sure ass cheeks are quite tasty but named something slightly less descriptive.

I had decided to grab the cheeks (ha!) when I saw them not just because they were strange and therefore blogarific, but also because my husband had daringly ordered them at a restaurant recently and he found them fatty.  I was convinced the chef hadn’t known how to prepare them properly and that I would be able to outdo him.  Game on.

I flipped through recipes and learned that most people seemed to braise their cheeks, or “fry lightly and then stew it slowly with the lid on.”  In red wine.  I also learned from my Twitter friend @madball911 (yes, you can laugh at my using the word “friend” as related to Twitter, as my husband does) that I’d have to make sure to trim off a lot of fat to reduce the jellylike consistency in the result. So I trimmed and snipped fatty bits for ages,

IMG_2863-001browned all sides of the results in a pot with hot oil, and then followed this recipe  from Epicurious:

Braised Beef Cheeks

  4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

  4 (12-oz) beef cheeks, trimmed of excess fat

  1 medium onion, finely chopped

  1 medium carrot, finely chopped

  1/2 celery rib, finely chopped

  1/2 teaspoon unsweetened cocoa powder

  2 cups red wine (preferably a dry Lambrusco or Chianti)

  1 (28- to 32-oz) can whole tomatoes including juice, chopped (3 cups)

  1 1/2 teaspoons salt

  1 teaspoon black pepper

Read More http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Braised-Beef-Cheeks-107803#ixzz2IlJpiYwl

IMG_2866

Then I pulled the meat into chunks and scraped off anything that looked gelatinous.  I was on ultra-hypersensitive slime alert, determined to win a chef challenge against a masterchef who didn’t know I existed … and who wasn’t anything close to a masterchef.  But I was going to win, GOD AS MY WITNESS.  I didn’t tell Phil he was eating cheeks again, because he would have complained if he knew he was trying them for a second time.

And it worked!

IMG_2868I watched him chew away, ready for him to squeal, “Is this CHEEKS?  Ugh!” but he didn’t.  He cleaned his plate  My plate however…

Results:  Cheeks may be trendy (the restaurant where we had them was on Ossington, in the coolio district) but chewing on a cheek just ain’t hip.  The fatty jelly is inescapable.  I snipped before, I scraped after, and still, I couldn’t finish my piece of meat.  I’m starting to get really pessimistic about non-traditional cuts of meat.  Maybe it’s time to move on to organs.  Rating: 3 Gags.  I won the battle against the chef, but the cheeks beat me by more than a pinch.  Gross.

The strangely scrumptious shepherd’s pie contest

And now, after having spell-checked “shepherd,” for fifteen minutes … Argh.  I’m generally a ridiculously anal speller, but “Sheppard Avenue,” here in Toronto and various spellings of people’s last names threw me off this time …

Thanks cookingnook.com

Thanks cookingnook.com

Anyway.  I’m throwing the coolest contest ever, in my opinion, and it’s my very first one, so if you’re reading this you need to participate.

Thanks deliaonline.com

Thanks deliaonline.com

I thought of it tonight as I was playing, “What’s in my fridge that I can turn into something.”  If you’re the home chef for your family I know you’ve played this too.  Too lazy to shop, too cheap to spend money, you hunt around for edible food items not too far past their due dates that could potentially nourish your family.  I know you know the drill.

Thanks robertsplace.ca

Thanks robertsplace.ca

And what I found in my fridge and freezer was this.  Hotdogs.  Hundreds of condiments.  A half-eaten round of brie.  A bag of carrots (they last forever).  Frozen peas.  A small frozen portion of ground beef.  And in my pantry, a half-empty bag of potatoes that mostly hadn’t grown eyes.  Half an onion.  At first I wondered if I might have to convince my husband that Dr. Oz just revealed that eating pizza more than once a week is actually healthy, but then an evil smile spread across my face.  Of course I had to file away the hotdogs and brie as raw materials for lunch the following day and use the rest to make shepherd’s pie.

Thanks cookingforengineers.com

Thanks cookingforengineers.com

Now if you’re from the UK, you’re probably thinking, “What’s that daft cow on about?  I’d make cottage pie with those bits and bobs of nosh.”  Same thing.  If you’re French, you might be thinking, “Je ne know what elle is parlaying about.  Je would make pate chinois.”  Same thing, but you’re the daft vaches if you ask me, because there’s nothing Chinese about this recipe, as far as I can see.

Merci www.recettes.qc.ca

Merci www.recettes.qc.ca

But no matter what you call it, I threw the ingredients together; a cup of beef stock, meat and veg pre-cooked in a pan, potatoes boiled and mashed, then baked in a casserole with meat/veg on bottom, potatoes on top, and bob was my oncle.  It was fine, but boring, so my mind started wandering.  What if I had access to more ingredients and had gotten creative?  I could have thrown olives in.  Or scallops.  Liver.  I’m half-kidding with these suggestions, but I was inspired by what could have been done with the general “shepherd’s pie,” concept.

Merci patechinois.net

Merci patechinois.net

So here’s the contest.  Create a “dangerous,” version of Shepherd’s Pie.  This can mean whatever you want it to mean.  Submit it by 11:59pm Feb 1 2013 by either:

  1. Posting to your food blog and telling us to visit in the comments below, or
  2. E-mailing your recipe to ann.allchin@gmail.com, hopefully with photos

My family and I will review the entries and prepare the two we think are most interesting with the greatest potential for deliciousness (don’t bother making it kid-friendly, they’re just out of luck on this one).  I’ll post a summary of the submissions and announce the winner in my blog Feb3. 

And the prize will be $30 in culinary specialty items (dangerous sauces and dips) mailed to your home! 

Good luck!!  (And please subscribe so we can be Blog Friends Forever!)