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!

Good News! And A Carrot Salad With Honey-Masala Dressing

Guess who has a new job! Yes friends, I am now working at an animal hospital and am still getting used to being at work when I've been unemployed for a rather long spell. Consequently, I'm pretty tired these days as I'm adjusting to my new schedule. So this is going to be a very no-frills post, simply a recipe, but I'm already mentally composing my next post, so I'll have a story for you in a couple of days.

You know, every two weeks, almost without fail, I get a bag of carrots with my Good Food Box. And I always have the best of intentions to use them up, but the fact is, there's only so much I'm inspired to do with carrots. Frankly, I'm sick of them. So out of sheer necessity, to rid my fridge of the three bags of gently aging carrots that have amassed on the veg shelf, I decided to make this salad.

I chopped up a bunch of carrots and look! They naturally composed themselves like this on the cutting board! As if I would waste precious time doing this myself. Please.






















Then I roasted the bejeesus out of them with some chopped up potatoes. Yes, I dared to turn on the oven in this stifling humidity. Then I let them cool in a bowl with some green onions and lemon zest.














I whizzed up a dressing inspired by a President's Choice hummus I'd had with masala and honey in it, and poured it over the salad.
















And can I just say Ding Dong?!! This salad has been feeding me for two days now, and it's so humbly delicious, ringing with a fragrantly sweet flavour and is surprisingly filling. I've been crumbling a bit of goat cheese on it and as a result, carrots have bought themselves a bit more time and love in my heart.

Carrot Salad With Honey-Masala Dressing:

A bunch of carrots, maybe about 3-4 large ones, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
3 regular sized potatoes, cut into smallish cubes
2 green onions, finely chopped
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lemon
2 tbsp olive oil
1 1/2 tbsp honey
1 tsp garam masala
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350-400 degrees F. Toss the carrots and potatoes with generous splash of olive oil, salt and pepper and pour into a roasting pan. Roast for about 40 minutes, or until you can't stand the heat in your kitchen anymore because there's a heat wave outside. Take veggies out, pour into a large serving bowl. Add the green onions and lemon zest and allow to come to room temperature before dressing.

2. Assemble the dressing by whisking together the lemon juice, olive oil, honey and garam masala. Adjust ingredients to your taste and add salt and pepper if you like. Pour over cooled veggies and serve, topped with crumbled goat cheese.

Northern Underexposure, And Corn Salad With Zucchini Bread

I do this thing that drives Husband crazy, and not in a good way. Whenever we're driving out of town, I'll usually find myself saying something like "Let's go visit a local dairy!" with the hopes of picking up some freshly churned ice cream, or a few pint glass bottles full of local milk that came from long lashed cows named Bitsy and Dotty Jo, milked by kindly-dispositioned farmers sitting on wooden stools. I think I'm labouring under the misapprehension that there are dairies and creameries dotting the province's northern landscape like stars in the night sky, just waiting for wide-eyed city folk like me to come by. Husband usually rolls his eyes and does this deep exhalation thing, "Hhhhaaaaa", and I'm left to contemplate why my fairytale vision of rural Ontario is so ridiculously out of touch with reality.

There's a part of me that's sure it's not like this at all. I'm quite confident the Rockwellian version of farming I've internalized through movies and fiction is all wrong, is just another faraway idea I've built in my head to escape to when city life sometimes loses its lustre. But even more so, I think at heart I romanticize because I want to forge some kind of connection with the food that's grown here, in our country. I want to believe that the produce, the meats, the milks and cheeses and grains I buy have been lovingly tended, produced and sold by the folks who yielded them. I want to rinse my imagination of the realities of industrial-sized farms, unnaturally fattened animals in cages, hormone-injected meat, pesticide run-offs.

So I suppose for someone like me who eschews what is for what should be, getting my Good Food Box is the perfect compromise. I get mostly local produce to play with, the farmers get a fair deal and Husband gets to keep his sanity on road trips. (Actually, he doesn't. I don't foresee a point in the future where I don't ask about local dairies. I can't help myself.)

So with last week's box and a lunch date with my best friend, I decided to make a corn and zucchini salad and some zucchini bread. I want to note that this was NOT the most awesome corn I've ever eaten. While I'm a firm believer that fresh is always better than frozen or canned, I don't think we're yet in the heart of corn season, and these cobs were a little ornery, a little stingy with the flavour. These cobs had been woken up too early and were fighting deliciousness all the way.






















I pan-fried the corn kernels I'd sliced off with some chopped up zucchinis in some olive oil and a dash of oregano, just until everything was a bit softened. I set it aside to cool while I made the zingy dressing;














I put it together with some avocados, a bit of tomato, a mountain of fresh cilantro and green onions and set it aside. While the flavours sat around getting to know each other, I got the zucchini bread ready with some arm-aching grating;















My KitchenAid mixer in Cobalt Blue was a flurry of motion;










And after a spell in the oven (who's been behaving quite well indeed lately, necessitating, for now, the removal of the descriptor "Demonic") out came a lovely little loaf with flecks of the green zucchini and a tasty texture that hovered between muffin and cake;














I packed everything up and biked over to my best friend's workplace, now ravenous from my morning's industriousness; a hunger that makes food taste like a miracle when you finally sit down to eat. And I realized that the life cycle of a meal - from raw ingredients and recipe, to preparing, to cooking and eating with a beloved friend - was perhaps the most heartfelt connection I could make with my food.

Corn And Zucchini Salad With Zingy Dressing:

2-3 ears of corn, kernels shaved off the cob
1 large zucchini, diced
1-2 tbsp olive oil
A healthy pinch of oregano
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tomato cut into small pieces (if you like tomato, use more! I only had a half.)
1 ripe avocado, diced
2 green onions, thinly sliced
1/2 cup packed cilantro leaves, finely chopped
salt and pepper, to taste

Directions:

1. In a large skillet over medium heat, warm up the olive oil. Add the corn and zucchini, oregano and cayenne and stir frequently till the corn and zucchini are softened but not too broken down. Set aside to come to room temperature.

2. Once cooled, add the rest of the ingredients and top with the dressing. It's best to let this sit a few hours, and is even better the next day.

Zingy Dressing:

2-3 tbsp olive oil
juice and zest of 1 lime
dash of honey
1/4-1/2 tsp red pepper flakes (more or less, to your taste)
1/2 tsp chili powder
salt and pepper to taste

Combine all ingredients. Whisk till well mixed and pour over salad.

Zucchini Bread, from Joy Of Baking: (I didn't use the nuts or frosting that was part of the original recipe, but I bet they'd taste amazing with this loaf)

1 cup zucchini, grated
1/2 cup apple, peeled and grated
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 cup vegetable, safflower, corn or canola oil
1 cup white sugar (I cut it down to 3/4 cup and it was great)
2 large eggs
1 tsp pure vanilla extract

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a regular sized loaf pan. In a large bowl, combine all the dry ingredients; from the flour to the nutmeg.

2. In stand mixer, or with a hand mixer, beat the oil, sugar, eggs and vanilla until well blended, about 2 minutes. Add the grated zucchini and apple; then the flour mixture, beating till just combined. Pour batter into loaf pan and bake for approximately 50-60 minutes, or until a tester knife comes out clean. Let cool properly before slicing.

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!!

Are We There Yet? And A Carrot Salad

My new issue of 'Whole Living' magazine, formerly known as 'Body + Soul' came in the mail yesterday. I made myself some tea, ate a slice of the banana bread I'd made in the morning, and flipped through it, feasting on the gorgeous photography and of course, those seductively simple recipes.

The odd thing is that what I love about the magazine is also what kind of bothers me about it. The cool, crisp, balanced lifestyle, the endless tips on being greener, happier, more organized, more present in your daily life are all things I crave and aspire to. I want to learn about the best ways to keep fresh herbs thriving in my sunny windowsill, and how to curb my rampant addiction to sugar. I'd love to tone my core without crunches and be able to meditate. And I am entirely humbled by people who dedicate their sense of goodness and justice to making the world a healthier, lovelier, more sustainable place. But here's my question, the one that's been lingering in my head for days now:

When are we ever good enough, just as we are? Do we constantly have to chase our better selves?

Isn't it even a little bit okay to be flawed, shy, unbalanced, stressed? When do I get to feel okay about myself for not being able to afford the organic vegetables and the humanely raised eggs, for shopping on that rare occasion at Walmart or for getting it spectacularly wrong sometimes when I'm angry? Do I have to be everything, have everything? Maybe I'm alone in this, but I feel like sometimes the dreams of having and of wanting and of being are all the more moving and glorious than the tangibles that embody them.

In pursuit of some clarity, I cleaned out my fridge of leftover scraps, some too old to be salvaged. I wanted to see empty space in there; the visual clutter was bothering me. I happened upon these multi-coloured carrots I'd got with my last Good Food Box, and their prettiness inspired me - a salad idea formed in my mind. I peeled them and chopped the ends off; their magical insides revealed:




I sliced them up as thin as I could make them;













I chopped up a lonesome little half of a jalapeno I'd found with the Nigella mezzluna my sister had given me as a present for no other reason than because she thought I'd get lots of use out of it. She is the best, gentlest, kindest person on earth and I will think of her each and every time I use it. Me and my now-unharmed fingertips are forever in her debt.













I zested some orange, lemon and lime and delighted in their abstract, colourful tangle:






















All the ingredients went in a bowl and got mixed up with a heap of cooled couscous, left just warm enough to soften the carrots a little:














The dressing was made and poured over everything. I put it in the fridge and left all the flavours to mingle for a while. Husband came home and called me sweet names. We sat out in the brilliant late-afternoon sun chatting, and in the conversational pauses, I dreamed of trees swaying in the breeze, crowded gardens grown lush and wild, a chill on my skin, the dimpled cheeks of my true love. I didn't need to open my eyes though. Because it was all real and it was all around me.

Carrot Salad, by Moni:

1-2 cups cooked couscous, mostly cooled
3 large carrots, multi-coloured if you can find them, thinly sliced
3 green onions, finely chopped
1/2 a jalapeno pepper, finely chopped
zest of 1/2 an orange and lemon, finely chopped
zest of 1 lime, finely chopped
1/2 tsp chili flakes
juice of 1/2 an orange and lemon
juice of 1 lime
2 tbsp olive oil
splash of white balsamic vinegar
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp chili powder
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Prepare about 1 cup of couscous as per package instructions (I use a 1:2 ratio of couscous to water)

2. Combine in a large bowl the chopped carrots, green onions, jalapeno, zest of the lime, orange and lemon and the chili flakes. Set aside.

3. Make the dressing by combining the lemon, lime and orange juices, the oil and vinegar, the cayenne and chili powders and salt and pepper to taste.

4. Pour the couscous ( I used about 1 1/2 cups cooked - put in as much or little as you like) into the veggie bowl and stir till well combined. Pour dressing over it, stir till everything is coated and set aside for 30 minutes or longer.

ConFusion Cuisine, And A Naanwich.

I'd like to think I err on the side of being a starry-eyed, dreamy sort of person. I've got a relatively romantic world view and somehow, I've managed to hold on to some of my childhood assumptions about life; that people are inherently good, nature is worth gazing at appreciatively, and love is just about all you need, next to a steady paycheck.

But there is a pragmatic side to me as well that often launches spitballs at the Romantic Me. Pragmatic Me can see that the world, for all its sherbet-coloured sunsets and Jane Goodalls, is still filled with bad ideas and volatile combinations. Like Iran and uranium stockpiling. G20 protesters and a legitimate space for protesting. Cocaine and just about anyone. Keanu Reeves and a dramatic script.

And who could forget about this travesty - the Sneaker-Heel:





















(Side note: I'm sorry if any of you have a pair of these and feel attractive and whimsical in them. I don't want to take that away from you.)

But I understand why mistakes are made. Because figuring out magical combinations is just so hard and subject to grave errors in judgement! It's why pencils come with erasers. It's why marriages have pre-nuptial agreements. And it's why cooks, amateur and professional alike, have compost bins. But what do you do when you're cursed with a roaming, reckless, creative nature? How do you limit yourself to the confines of a recipe?

Well, you turn to fusion cooking. While controversial for its cultural appropriation and its toying with the idea of regional authenticity, fusion cooking can be the saving grace of new, overstimulated cooks like myself. It provides a 'politically correct-free' zone in which to play with international cuisines. And make the many mistakes that need to be made before one feels truly competent in the kitchen, as long as you're unafraid to make them.

Since purchasing my Madhur Jaffrey cookbook, I'd been wanting to make some naan bread. I read and re-read the recipe; for so few ingredients, it sure seemed like a complicated process. But I'd bookmarked it and I was feeling adventurous enough, so I rolled up my sleeves, forgot to put on my apron, and set to work.

The recipe called for hand kneading. But why would I do that when I have my trusty KitchenAid Stand Mixer in Cobalt Blue? It also called for a rather intensive session with a skillet; I decided instead to use the barbeque to grill the naans. Already, I feared I'd compromised authenticity. But I stopped really caring, after I'd dusted all the flour off my shirt and shorts and stood out in the thunderstorm, grilling and praying that the lightning wouldn't use my metal barbeque flipper as a conductor. It was working, my way.

But after the success of grilling the naans, here was a new challenge. What do I do with them? I didn't actually feel like making a curry or anything remotely Spice Trail-ish to go with them. I spent a long time worrying about my food matching abilities. So long, in fact, that I started getting irritably hungry. So I took a leap. I cut up some deliciously ripe avocado;

And added it to a bowl of chopped green pepper and green onions, with a heap of mint and cilantro and a smoky, spicy vinaigrette.

I cooked up some chicken bacon and cut a few slices of old cheddar;

Then I grilled the whole thing in my George Forman. And my naanwich was born.

Who cares if its cultural origins are blurred!?! Isn't food one of the loveliest ways to bridge the racial and regional divides between us, within our multicultural societies? Whatever the answers, this was without a doubt one of the most sublime-tasting risks I've ever taken in the kitchen. Several piles of napkins later, (it was rather messy to eat - the sign of a great sandwich) I settled into my reading chair with a book and mused that I knew of far more winning combinations than faulty ones. A mug of coffee taken with the dawn. Chocolate and peanut butter. A glass of wine on the back deck and my husband. A rainy night with a duvet and a foreign film. My mother and father - a love that has spanned time and tragedy.

Pragmatic Me was humbled, and momentarily ceased with the spitballs.

Naan Bread, from Madhur Jaffrey's cookbook 'From Curries To Kebabs; Recipes From The Indian Spice Trail':

About 5 cups of all purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp sugar
2 tbsp plain yogurt
1 cup milk
1 egg
1 tbsp melted butter, plus more melted butter or oil for brushing the bread prior to grilling
1 cup water

Directions: (Using stand mixer - this can also be made with a wooden spoon and a strong arm)

1. Sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a bowl.

2. Put the sugar and yogurt in the mixing bowl and beat. Add the milk and 1 cup of water and continue beating. Now beat in about 2 cups of flour, a little at a time - if using a stand mixer, change the whisk attachment to the dough hook. Beat thoroughly, to encourage gluten to work (about a hundred strokes, if using a wooden spoon) The batter should be a little pasty. Add the egg and 1 tbsp melted butter and continue beating. Now slowly add another 2-3 cups of flour, still continuing to beat. By the end of this, you should have a very elastic dough - if not, add a bit more flour till you do.

3. Empty the dough onto a floured board and knead briefly with oiled hands. Divide the dough into 8 balls. Dust a baking tray (I had to use several) with flour and place the dough balls on it, spaced well apart. Press down on each ball to flatten, cover in plastic wrap and set aside for 30 minutes or longer.

4. If using a barbeque, heat it up and get a cookie sheet or a cooling rack and place on top of the grill. Close the lid and let it get really hot.

5. Get the dough balls and shape them into longer flatbread shapes - you may need to flour your hands; they'll be sticky. Brush melted butter on one side and place it, butter side down, on the cooling rack or cookie sheet. Do this with as many as you can fit on at one time. Cook them till bubbles start forming on top of the naans; then brush with more butter and flip over, cooking till firm. At this stage, you can place them directly on the grill of the barbeque for char marks. Once all of them have been cooked, keep them warm in some foil till ready to serve.

Moni's Naanwich filling: (enough for 2 naanwiches)

1/2 ripe avocado, chopped
1/2 green pepper, chopped finely
2 green onions, chopped finely
a heap of fresh mint, finely chopped
a heap of fresh cilantro, finely chopped
zest of 1 lime, finely chopped
salt and pepper to taste

Dressing:

1 1/2 tbsp olive oil
juice of 1 lime
splash of white balsamic vinegar
1/4 tsp smoked paprika
1/4 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp chili flakes

Directions: Combine all the vegetables in one bowl. Assemble the dressing, whisk till well combined, then pour over veggies till well coated.

'Tempest In A Teapot' Potato Salad

Ceiling Status: Still in pre-operative damage; repair as yet unscheduled.
Mental Status: In critical condition.
Marital Status: Stable, resting comfortably.
Hangover Status: Obliterated.

I'm not much of a drinker. My first serious experience with alcohol was not with a training drink like a wine cooler or a Bacardi Breezer. It was with about ten fingers of whisky poured into a pop bottle, with some coke thrown in for colour; a drink prepared specially for me by my friends on my 16th birthday. It ended in a comically awful fashion (see: vomiting on pool table while in use; falling down a flight of stairs and passing out; waking up in hospital with mother standing by bedside, a look of acute disappointment on her face.) The few other times I've drank with abandon have ended in migraines that debilitate me for a whole day. It's taken me a few years, but now I'm quite sure that uncontrolled drinking and I are incompatible bed mates and we tend to stay away from one another.

But yesterday I awoke, after a lovely night of food and (too much) wine with friends, feeling like a hangover storm had settled inside me. I'd come down with that unwinning combination of headache, stomach upset and moodiness. I tried to fight it; I drank some dark coffee, made a pile of buttered toast, pet my dog, but nothing would help. Added to this, our upstairs neighbour, affectionately nicknamed Clompy McClomp, on account of her rather heavy footfall, had her overseas boyfriend staying with her, a man whom we discerned, through their conversations falling from the hole in our ceiling, to be abundant in boobery and lacking in smarts.

And so me and my storm got into a fight with Husband. It was a doozy. There were lots of hand gestures, some not polite. There was yelling and curse words. There was even an unfortunate bout of 'ugly crying' - mine, not his. Are you familiar with the ugly cry? Basically, it's the exact opposite of a television actress cry. Picture January Jones as Betty Draper, crying. Lovely, right? Tears glistening down milky white skin, a faint tremble of the chin. You want to go to her with a Kleenex box and stroke her back. With an ugly cry, your audience, no matter how angry they are at you, wants to look away. Perhaps out of mercy. Perhaps out of self-preservation. No one wants an ugly cry branded in their memory.


















Whoops!
Dawson! What are you doing here?

But unlike the fights of our youth, where break-ups were threatened and it felt like the sky was caving in, we managed to sort it out and put things right; one of the innumerable perks of getting older and faintly wiser. We'd decided to salvage our Sunday by having dinner together and watching the original version of The Italian Job.

Oh, have you met our newest addition to the house? Another treasure, thanks to the wedding...















I'd decided to make a potato salad; Husband was in charge of christening the new barbeque with burgers. I still had some asparagus, green beans and green onions to finish, so I chopped them up:


















And threw them together with some baby red and white potatoes:
























And I added some oil and dried rosemary and basil, then roasted the bejeesus out of them.
















We ate our dinner on the deck under a grey Toronto sky, exhausted and hungry. The new barbeque worked like a dream, and we wolfed down our burgers in relative silence. My potato salad was the most delicious, most hangover-curing thing I could have wished for. It wasn't too saucy, no one flavour overpowered the others. It was damn awesome. After the movie (Exciting! Action-packed!) was over, we crawled into bed and curled up together, survivors of the storm. And just like that, everything was right with the world again.

Tempest In A Teapot Potato Salad, by Monika:

A smallish bunch of asparagus, cut into two-inch pieces
3 green onions, cut into two-inch pieces
A large handful of green beans, cut into two-inch pieces
Approximately 10 each of baby red and baby white potatoes, cut into halves and thirds (depending on size)
2-3 tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper
a healthy pinch of dried basil and dried rosemary
1 ripe avocado, chopped into smallish cubes
Several pickles or gherkins, cut into smallish pieces
A handful of fresh oregano, chopped finely
juice of 1/2 a lemon
3 tbsp grainy Dijon mustard (mine had horseradish in it; highly recommended)
1 tbsp mayonnaise
1 tbsp white balsamic or white wine vinegar
salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Toss chopped asparagus, green beans and green onions in a large bowl with olive oil, salt and pepper, dried basil and rosemary. Roast till potatoes are cooked; approx. 35-40 minutes. Place on fresh baking sheet and lay out to cool to room temperature.

2. In a small bowl, combine the Dijon mustard, mayonnaise and vinegar and whisk till well blended. Place the now-cooled vegetables into serving bowl, add the pickles, fresh oregano and avocado and squeeze lemon juice over the top. (this will help keep the avocado from browning as well) Pour the dressing over it all and stir gently with wooden spoon till well coated. Serve and season with salt and pepper to your taste.

A Scientific Salad

I wish there was a way to photograph smells. If there was, you'd be inhaling this; a heavenly perfume of a Moroccan-inspired spice mix that I found here. I'd always been really intimidated by spices. I never knew how to use them; I was too concerned with amounts and proper combinations to really play with them and discover for myself what I liked. I felt much safer with my trusty salt and pepper shakers. I've always been awed by culinary alchemy; how does it come to be, this delicate, invisible formation of gold from common elements?

Some things truly don't make sense when you put them on paper. Almost Husband likes aggressive rock and comic books. He loves his limited diet of meat, potatoes and ice cream, and prefers to travel the perimeters closest to home. My love of music doesn't encompass 'noise metal' and I can't seem to get into comic books. I love exploring new foods and dream constantly of travelling to faraway places. We push. We pull. And yet, all of the things we bring to this concept of 'us', including all the things that clash and conflict still manage to make something beautiful in its own right.

(And it only took me 14 years to work that out.)

The other day I bought some ground cardamom, for the first time ever. It sat on my shelf all afternoon, imbuing my kitchen with its cool, indescribable smell. I'd run across so many recipes calling for it that I figured it was time to try it. As I was putting together the spice mix, I was completely bewitched by the earthy, warm colours; all together, they looked like a patchwork landscape view you'd see from a plane that was starting to make its slow descent. I almost didn't want to stir them up and destroy the beauty. But I did, and I followed Kevin's recipe pretty much to the letter and with delight because he positively saturated his ingredients with flavour (most of the time, my indelicate palate requires a good bludgeoning of flavour to activate itself - I'm working on it.)

I roasted up a bunch of veggies that were languishing in the fridge and put on the quinoa while I waited. I only managed to set off the smoke detector once, thanks to my demonic oven, but at least this guaranteed me a pet-free kitchen, which in turn guaranteed me a clear pathway to the fridge without anyone getting hurt.
















I was starving by the time everything was ready, as I'd started cooking a bit late, but this was so worth the relatively short wait. It was exactly the sort of combustion of flavours I love; the spice was pronounced but didn't dominate the other ingredients, and I loved the sweet bursts of raisins and cranberries amidst the salty vinaigrette. And the colours! I know they harken more to fall than spring, but when something is so beautiful, who cares about seasonal propriety!



Almost Husband made appreciative noises at my bowl when I brought it into the living room, and we sat down, my Mr. Meat-N-Potatoes and me, and ate our very different meals side by side. I am not a scientific person by nature. But I know romantic alchemy when I feel it.

Moroccan Roasted Carrot And Chickpea Quinoa Salad - via Closet Cooking

3 large carrots, peeled and cut into 1/4" thick circles
1 red pepper, chopped into smallish pieces
1 small bunch of broccoli, cut into smallish pieces
1 small onion, cut into rings
3-4 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon moroccan spice blend
1/2 cup red quinoa
1/2 cup white quinoa
2 cups water (I used chicken broth)
2 teaspoons moroccan spice blend
1 cup chickpeas (drained and rinsed)
1/4 cup red onion (I skipped this)
1/4 cup raisins
1/4 cup pine nuts (I skipped this too and used dried cranberries instead)
1 handful parsley (um, I skipped this too; I can't do parsley)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 lemon (zest and juice)
1 teaspoon moroccan spice blend salt and pepper to taste

Moroccan Spice Mix:
2 teaspoons paprika
1 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper

Instructions:

1. Prepare spice mix.

2. Get oven good and hot, approximately 350-400 F. Combine the oil and spice mix and drizzle it over the chopped veggies in a roasting pan. Stir to coat all the veggies and roast till they're soft and fragrant and browned a bit.

3. While you wait for the veg to roast, rinse the quinoa to remove the bitterness and heat up the chicken broth or water. Once boiling, add the quinoa and cook at a hearty simmer till the broth/water has evaporated. Set aside and add the raisins and cranberries and rinsed chickpeas - the quinoa is still nice and hot and will soften them up!

4. Combine the 2 tbsp olive oil, 1 tsp of spice mix and the lemon juice and zest in a small jar and shake till well combined.

5. By now the veggies should be done; add them to the quinoa mixture, then add the dressing and stir till everything is coated. Salt and pepper to taste.

A Joyful Salad

What happens when you mix lemon-yellow corn and night-black beans in a frying pan with some oil and lime juice and chili powder? Magic! What happens when you throw these things in a bowl with sunset-coloured mango and fresh, crunchy lettuce that reminds you that spring is just around the corner and top it all with chicken and a dressing that dances on the tongue? Delight! What happens when you manage to get all the elements on one forkful into your mouth with minimal spillage? Pure joy.

Initially, I wanted to call this a "Southwest Salad". But I've never actually been to any of the Southwestern states (except in my wildest dreams) so I'm not 100% sure this could be classified as "Southwestern". Because I think my idea of that region of the world is at best ill-informed by subpar taco kit commercials, Tex-Mex bar food and 'Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman'. And I thought that maybe the idea that everyone in this area lives in adobe houses, wears turquoise jewelry and rides on horseback while eating refried bean tortillas might just be as tiresome as Canadians living in igloos, tripping over beavers everywhere and having their crime managed by adorable Mounties. So I decided to keep my cultural uncertainty to myself and call this what it was: a joy to make, a joy to eat. A Joyful Salad.

It didn't take long to throw together. It's open for adapting to your personal taste; add bacon, add a soft, unripened cheese, add tomatoes, cilantro, crumbled up tortilla chips. Just don't forget to pour yourself a cold glass of beer and get a slice of crusty bread with a generous slathering of butter or cream cheese or whatever tickles your fancy. I swear, if you close your eyes mid-mouthful, you can almost feel the sun on your face.

As always, please bear in mind that I made the approximate amount for one person who loves leftovers. And eats big plates of stuff. Feel free to double the amounts for two or more participants.

Joyful Salad:

vegetable oil for pan-frying
1 boneless chicken breast cut into chunks
1/2 onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1/2 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp smoked paprika
dash of cayenne pepper
1/2-3/4 cup corn, ideally fresh, but frozen or canned will do just fine
1/2-3/4 cup black beans, rinsed
Juice of 1 lime (or more, if you're like me and love it fierce!)
1 ripe mango sliced and diced into smallish chunks
1/2 bunch of romaine lettuce, rinsed and chopped
Shredded cheddar

1. In small frying pan, heat some oil and add chicken breast chunks. Pan-fry till golden and well cooked - cooking times will vary depending on stoves or using fresh or frozen chicken, so I won't offer a time estimate.

2. In frying pan heat oil. Add the onion and garlic and saute till almost translucent, about 5-7 minutes, over medium heat. Set aside to cool in medium sized bowl.

3. In same frying pan, heat up a touch more oil. Add the chili powder and paprika and stir constantly for about 1 minute. Toss in the corn and black beans and some lime juice and coat with the spice mixture. Gently saute for about 5-10 minutes. Set aside to cool - you can lay it out on a baking sheet to speed it up. When cooled, throw it all into the medium sized bowl with the onion-garlic mixture, the mango and the chicken and more lime juice.

4. Wash and chop the lettuce. Dry it as best you can; any water will dilute the dressing. Add all the ingredients to the lettuce and serve the dressing on the side.

Southwestern Ranch Dressing, via Everybody Likes Sandwiches, featured on Poppytalk (whew!)

1 c buttermilk
1/4 c Greek yogurt
1/4 c mayonnaise
1 chipotle chili in adobo, minced + 1/2 t of the adobo sauce
1/4 t dried red chili flakes
1/4 t hot smoked paprika
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 pinch each of dried dill & oregano
1/2 t kosher salt
1 t freshly ground pepper
juice & zest of 1/2 lemon

1. Put all the ingredients in a mason jar and shake it till well combined! Easy, huh?

Sexy Salad

I've always been a lover of words. As a kid, I wasn't allowed to watch television during the week, except for Friday nights with my mom and my sister, watching Dallas and The Love Boat. This televisual deprivation led to a great affair with books, which in turn led me to writing. Writing, words, putting thoughts down, this is how I've always communicated best. The downside to my love of words, however, is that I tend to use twenty of them when twelve will do.

I seem to have the same problem with food. Despite my best efforts to cook simply, I have a tendency to overcrowd my dishes with too many flavours. I can't help myself. I grew up on simple, lightly seasoned meals, and I was an annoyingly picky eater. But now, I am so excited by food, by the sensuousness of it, by all the different spices and herbs and tastes, that I have a hard time choosing just a few at a time.

I know that when you're starting out, it's a good idea to master some simple recipes before you start improvising. But sometimes I think it's not only okay, but imperative to throw caution to the wind. How else do you learn what you like if you don't try it? And I'm pretty sure even the most accomplished of cooks sometimes get it wrong. And occasionally, these improvisations lead to the most accidentally delicious meals.

This salad, to me, is like that. I found this recipe here, on the Fine Cooking site, and as soon as I saw it, I was mentally adding chickpeas and onions. Once I'd made it and tasted it, I wanted it to have some heat, so I added a few chili flakes. I love it. I find the flavours subtle and bold, sweet and salty; the best of all worlds. I don't care that it's overcrowded. Sometimes, the best parties are.

Quinoa and Avocado Salad with Lemon-Cumin dressing

1/2 onion, chopped
1/2 can chickpeas
2 tbsp raisins
1 tbsp dried apricot, cut into small pieces
1/2 cup mixed white and red quinoa, rinsed well
salt
half a lemon, zested
2 tbsp olive oil
1/8 tsp cumin
1/8 tsp coriander
1/8 tsp paprika
pinch of chili flakes, to taste (optional)
1 ripe avocado, cut into smallish cubes
2 tbsp coarsely chopped nuts - I used walnuts

1. Heat oil in pan, then add onions. Cook till softened over medium heat, about 5-7 minutes, then add chickpeas. Cook till onions are almost translucent.
2. Soak the dried apricot and raisins in hot water for 5 minutes to soften. Drain and set aside.
3. After quinoa is rinsed, bring the quinoa, salt and 1 cup of water to boil. Cover, reduce heat to medium and simmer till cooked, about 10-15 minutes. Once ready, remove from heat, fluff with a fork and bring to room temperature - you can lay it out on a baking sheet to cool.
4. Squeeze 1 tbsp lemon juice into small bowl. Add lemon zest, then add in spices along with the olive oil and whisk till combined.
5. Once quinoa is cooled, add the nuts, avocado, dried fruit, chickpea and onion mixture and combine. Then add the dressing and season with salt and pepper to taste. You may wish to add an additional dash of lemon juice...

***I found this tasted amazing the second day; the flavours had a chance to mix and mingle. I can also see this as a filling for a grainy pita bread.