Kitchen Scraps, And A 'Just Make Me' Broccoli Salad

You know, for all those times I think deep, profoundly interesting things, there are perhaps an equivalent, or maybe even greater number of blanks being fired aimlessly in my think-box.

Like how much I hate our low-flow toilet. No matter how many times I flush the cat droppings down the toilet, one little renegade nugget always bobs back up into the bowl. Every time.

Or like how my bangs are at that stage where I need to make a definitive decision: Do I suffer the agony of growing them out and having hair in my eyes for the next 4 months, or do I cut them short again? Is there too much real estate on my forehead to not have bangs? Are foreheads the new nipple?

Pumpkin curry - is that something?

It sounds like our coat rack is threatening to break away from the wall under the weight of our 17 different kinds of jackets, sweaters, windbreakers and raincoats. The weather has been so all over the place, neither of us know how to dress when we leave the hous..........




Oh. WOW. Did that put you to sleep too?

I'm sorry. You're totally getting my 'D' material. I'm tired, and it's been a difficult work week, which, if you've been following this blog lately, will elicit the question "When isn't it a difficult work week?" I don't mean to make it sound all bad. There are definite pluses. Like the 7 cats I work around all day; for example, there's Pickle, my attention-starved lunchroom companion, or Diesel, the whopping 32-pounder who thinks he's a dog and looks quite like an ottoman. For a few hours a day, I am almost a cat person.

Or wearing scrubs to work, which leads people on the subway to believe I am someone with medical training, toiling weird hours in the most noble of vocations, when in actual fact, I am but a glorified cockblocker between you and the appointment you really wanted with your medical professional. (wow. Tired Moni is a bit crude. Apologies.)

But the other night, just before we closed the clinic, I was called upon to perform beyond my basic receptionist skills. A woman came in with her dead cat who'd just been hit by a car. She was beside herself with grief. I'd never seen a dead pet before, and it looked just like it was sleeping. I didn't know what to say; I was so scared of saying the wrong thing. There are so many cliched responses to grief, but they are inoffensive and safe and still show support, so you use them. But somehow, I felt it was worth the risk to be a bit more personal.

So we talked, about our pets, about our husbands, about life. And I feel like in some tiny way, maybe I helped. I didn't make her tragedy less tragic. But considering how pet death is a regular part of my workplace, causing me to have nervous stomach aches every day, I think the risk paid off. Because what resulted wasn't client-receptionist platitudes. It was just two people, a dead cat, and a very human connection.

And the thing is, in that moment when that inner voice that you've been harbouring since childhood is begging you to run fast and far, telling you, a depressive with a terminally ill parent, that you're not fit to deal with any more grief and sadness; it's too much to bear - well, that's when something truly extraordinary happens. That's when you realize that you're not falling apart like you thought you would. You are coping, enduring. And maybe even with a little bit of grace too.

So I haven't much to offer in the way of a challenging meal. This is a simple thing I threw together so as not to waste food sitting in my fridge, and it turned out incredibly delicious. I'd make this over and over again, no joke, and the possibilities for adaptation are endless. So Just Make This, and have a fantastic Thanksgiving weekend, if you're in Canada. I, for one, have a great many things to be thankful for.

And I'll probably think a great deal about them, in between all those aimlessly fired blanks.






















Roasted Broccoli-Potato-Sausage Salad With Maple-Chili Vinaigrette:

1 large head of broccoli, cut into smallish florets
3 large potatoes, cubed
3 sausages; I used spicy pork sausage, but you can use any kind, even veggie ones.
3 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp chili powder

Vinaigrette:

2 tbsp maple syrup (table syrup is just fine)
1 tbsp apple cider vinegar
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp sambal oelek, or other spicy chili sauce

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350-400 degrees F. In a large bowl combine the chopped broccoli and potatoes with the olive oil and chili pepper and put in roasting pan. Roast till soft, about 40 minutes.

2. While the veggies are roasting, cook up your sausages. Make the dressing too, just combine all the ingredients in a small mason jar and shake well till combined (or just use a fork to whisk)

3. When veggies are ready, place in a serving bowl with the cooked sausage, cut into 1/2 inch pieces, and cool for about 10 minutes. Add the vinaigrette and stir to coat everything. Serve immediately with some lovely, grainy bread and butter!

When Your Eyes Are Bigger Than Your Wallet, And A Roasted Broccoli Salad

I think it's fair to say that about 37% of my student loan was spent buying vintage clothing online. E.bay and various independent sellers profited from my pursuit of education far more than my brain ever did. The sad fact is that many of those clothes are gone; some donated because they didn't fit, some of them unspeakably ugly and never even worn. An amateur to vintage style, I fell prey to the assumption that if it looked good on the model, who'd been styled to bohemian perfection, it would look good on me too. Despite having an entirely different body type. Despite not having a designer haircut that implied insouciance and a lifestyle that included trips to Prague and frequent attendance at gallery openings. Despite not living in an enchanted forest.

(side note: seriously, why did so many online vintage shops have forests as their showcasing backdrop? What looks normal in a forest among tall pines and bluebirds often looks quite batty in a city, amidst 'office casual' and a strong impatience for whimsy. Like capes. Or Victorian collars.)

Is this a look we should bring back?






















There were also the unfortunate online spending sprees at Forever 21 that I embarked on while at a really boring job. These occurred when, having read through my lengthy 'blogs-I-love' list and checking my email and Facebook profile 17 times, I was near tears at the 4-plus hours that remained of my workday.

Oh Forever 21. Why you? Why you, when I didn't much enjoy being 21 the first time around, and would never, ever willingly sign up to repeat that age in perpetuity?

Here again, money, time and hope was wasted on impulsively bought clothing that really should have been tried on. It's easy to dismiss this wastage when it's a $12 polyester top; you just cut your losses. But when you are without a job and down to your last few dollars, as I currently find myself, waste of anything takes on a whole new significance. It becomes a personal shame.

In taking quick stock of what was in my fridge a few days ago, I was alarmed at the amount of food that had been forgotten about. An ear of corn. A foil-wrapped packet of crumbled old cheddar. Sagging Swiss chard. An entire head of lettuce. How could I let this happen? But I knew how. In my foodie enthusiasm, I kept trying new recipes that required me to buy little bits of this and that, and the actual contents of my fridge were being cast aside.

Determined to stop my wasteful ways, I decided to work with what near-perishing produce I had on hand for dinner last night. I wanted something light and filling, so I cut up some apples,













Rinsed off some broccoli,




And pondered whether I was dangerously nerdy or only endearingly nerdy for finding some beauty in backlit bacon.






















I cobbled together some kind of roasted salad with toasted cubes of time-ripened baguette and a honey-Dijon vinaigrette. It was a pretty delicious creation actually, considering its headlining ingredients were creeping towards their winter years.

'Waste not, want not' has surely been one of my life's most important lessons. It's taught me how to stretch a dollar well beyond its elastic limits. And just think; all I had to do was go to college, drop out of college and cripple myself with debt to learn it.

Hmm. Maybe I should reconsider being 21 again.

Moni's Roasted Apple and Broccoli Salad With Bacon And Croutons:

4 small apples, cut into smallish cubes
3 small heads/1 smallish bunch of broccoli
8 thin slices of double smoked bacon (deli counter)
1/4 baguette, cut into small cubes
1/2 tsp chili powder

Honey-Dijon Vinaigrette:

2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp white balsamic vinegar (could also use apple cider vinegar)
2 tbsp grainy Dijon mustard
1 tbsp honey (could also use pure maple syrup)
salt and pepper to taste
a few dashes of hot sauce (I used a chipotle hot sauce to give a bit of smokiness)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Toss apples and broccoli with a few splashes of neutral flavoured oil (vegetable, canola) and roast till softened and browned, about 40 minutes.

2. In the meantime, assemble the dressing, whisking all the ingredients till well combined. In a large skillet, lay out the bacon strips with a splash of water (helps bacon cook more evenly) and cook till well done and easily crumbled. Drain on paper towels, and if you want to be really decadent, pour the bacon fat onto the roasting broccoli and apples. Oh yes. I. Did.

3. Toss the bread cubes into a frying pan with a touch of oil and dust with chili powder. Toast them till lightly browned, watching carefully that they don't burn.

4. When apples and broccoli are ready, pour into serving bowl and add crumbled bacon. Add as much dressing as you like and then add the croutons, mixing lightly so everything is combined. Serve immediately!!

'Everything But The Kitchen Sink' Dinner

I've always been painfully aware that I am not photogenic. I'm not fishing for compliments here. I'm uttering a truth. I'm not sure what the problem is, if it's that I get uncomfortable the moment a camera is pointed at me; if it's the 'performance aspect'. Or maybe it's as simple as the rounded, Eastern European contours of my face drinking in light as opposed to sharply deflecting it in flattering angles. It's okay. I've come to accept it. And in the age of the digital camera, people like me don't have to suffer anymore; we can shoot and shoot and shoot and eventually, we'll hit upon a decent enough photo for public viewing.

My mother was a photographer. A former career woman, she chose to become a stay-at-home mom and, after selflessly raising us into the salty, sulky adolescent years, she realized she needed something that was just for her, a creative endeavor. So she began taking night school courses in photography and purchasing camera equipment. And luckily for her, she had two models to practice on right at home! Her pimply, shy, awkward daughters. Every Saturday morning, she would set up her studio, ready us with a dash of lipstick and a swipe of blush (the only part I enjoyed of this ritual) and we'd sullenly pose for her for several hours. There are virtually no pictures of me smiling during this time period.

Just like unphotogenic people, there are some foods that don't really take good photos either. The more I make it, the more I realize that pureed soup is one of these foods. Last night, with the house all to myself and a hungry belly, I looked in the fridge to see what I had to work with. Broccoli. Leftover bits from previous meals. A variety of veggies that were just starting to lose their crispness. So I decided to make soup; a soup that would help me use up a considerable amount of these ingredients. I wanted something with the soup, so I decided upon a chickpea sandwich filling, with mushrooms, thyme and Parmesan cheese. I chopped. I sauteed. I boiled. I coarsely pureed. I stirred. I tasted. I cheered myself on for making such a yummy dinner. But when it came time to photograph the food, my heart sank a little.



Everything was a murky sort of brown colour. Oh dear.

I broke a sweat, trying to get my creations to demonstrate their appeal to the camera. Twisting bowls this way and that, angling plates up and down and sideways, trying all the while to keep my hand steady while depressing the shutter button. By the time I was done, my food was getting cold and I decided to stop fretting about it and eat. And the tastes - salty, tangy, earthy, layered - neutralized all my concerns that I wouldn't be able to impart to the reader how lovely it all turned out. Because I'd know. And I'd have days of leftovers to keep reminding me.

My mother, by the way, became a brilliant photographer, and I keep her pictures close to me, in every room of my house, to remind me of her.

Please note: when I don't follow a recipe, I tend to use loose measurements, so these are approximations. Just keep tasting it!

Kitchen Sink Soup:

1 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp butter
1 large onion, diced
1 head of broccoli, cut into florets and stem chopped.
2 large potatoes, cut into smallish cubes
3 stalks of celery, chopped
3 carrots, chopped
generous splash of white wine
4 cups chicken stock
1 cup of water, more if needed
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
1 1/2 tsp dried dill
1 1/2 tsp smoked paprika
prosciutto or bacon, cooked and cut into small pieces
plain yogurt or sour cream, if desired

1. Heat the oil and butter in a large stockpot. Add onion and cook over medium heat till soft, about 5-7 minutes. Add all the chopped veggies and the generous glug of wine and stir for about 1-2 minutes. Add the chicken broth and water and bring to a boil. Once boiling, keep at a healthy simmer for about 25 minutes, or till veggies are soft. In the meantime, cook up the bacon or prosciutto and set aside.

2. Using an immersion blender, puree the soup till smoothly processed. Add the buttermilk and the dill and paprika and adjust seasonings till it's to your taste. Keep it warm till serving. Add a dollop of plain yogurt or sour cream and sprinkle the bacon on top.

Chickpea-Mushroom Mash:

1 tbsp butter
1/2 onion
8 oz or 1/2 lb mushrooms, chopped - I used white, but cremini or shitake would be lovely too!
1/2 can chickpeas, rinsed well
generous glug of white wine
zest of half a lemon
juice of half a lemon, or more to taste
salt and pepper, to taste
1 tsp fresh thyme, chopped
1-2 tbsp chopped green olives (can leave these out for more subtle flavour)
shaved Parmesan cheese
Slice of grainy bread with light smear of Dijon

1. In medium frying pan, heat the butter. Add the onion and cook over medium heat till soft, 5-7 minutes. Add the chopped mushrooms, chickpeas and white wine and cook till browned and fragrant, about 10-12 minutes. Set aside to cool.

2. Once cooled, put in food processor and pulse till coarsely mashed (do not puree!) Pour the mash into a mixing bowl and add the lemon zest, lemon juice, thyme, olives if using and salt and pepper and stir till well combined. Serve on toasted grainy bread with Dijon and top with the Parmesan.