Oh Canada, And A Coconut-Noodle Soup

When I was younger, I went to a private school for a few years. My parents thought I'd have a better education, but I feel that it may have retarded me socially, having had no contact with boys the first four years of my scholastic life. We belonged to the lesser-known "Not Poor But Not Rich" income bracket, which was mystifying and mind-boggling to those of my peers who had everything: maids, nannies, drivers, cooks (but rarely actual parents.)

At one of my birthday parties, held in our lovely, cozy home that had been purchased for a song, gutted and entirely rebuilt by my father and grandfather, one of my little classmates entered the house, looked around with an imperious air and said "But where is the rest of your house?" My parents forever after joked about the location of the 'east wing.'

Besides God and money, the school was incredibly proud of its diversity, and liked celebrating its multiculturalism. One day, we were told we'd be having an "International Cuisine" lunch, where everyone was to bring a food item or dish that was native to their cultural heritage. I was in something of a quandary; like many born and raised Canadians, I was just 'white,' not really any one ethnicity more than another.

Something of a European mongrel, I had more countries in my blood than the United Nations. My father's side of the family had Irish and Scottish ancestry, but that was about 5 or 6 generations ago. And my mother was something of an ethnic mystery to me. Born in Romania to Hungarian parents, she actually grew up in Israel and identified herself as Israeli, until she came to Canada. Then she was a Canadian, and if you asked her about her unusual accent, you'd be treated with a rather cold stare. "I am from here," she would say. "I am Canadian."

For a fourth-grader, this was a bit too complex a cultural minefield to navigate. I was Canadian. But what food is particularly Canadian? Back bacon? Maple syrup? I didn't know.

And so I brought Shredded Wheat cereal. Yes. I did.

Because the wheat was grown in Canada, it said so on the box, and you surely cannot fault a fourth-grader for being so literal. So amidst the samosas and spring rolls and shock-value haggis lay my wax papered packet of Shredded Wheat, totally unpalatable without the softening effect of hot water, the creamy coolness of milk and the sweetening effect of a 1/2 inch of brown sugar on top.

Years later, I am still stymied by what constitutes our national cuisine. I find myself cooking meals that are Mediterranean or Southeast Asian-inspired, but perhaps with my clumsy Canadian touch to them - not too spicy, not too exotic, ever so slightly inauthentic. Like this Vietnamese-style soup I made/modified and have virtually no decent photographs of. I found the recipe in Fine Cooking a few months ago and clipped it out for future use. It was so ridiculously tasty, you must try and make it for yourself.

As far as cultural identity goes, I don't know what to tell you. Maybe it boils down to where you were born. Maybe it's where your parents were born, or their parents before them. But given the lives my mother and father lived across the world from each other during the war; dramatic, colourful, often tragic lives that eventually intersected here, in Toronto, Ontario, where they started their family and found love and great happiness, maybe where you're from is the wrong question.

Maybe it's all about where you end up.

Coconut Noodle Soup, From Fine Cooking Magazine May Issue (?) 2010, adapted by me.

2 14 oz cans coconut milk
1 tbsp red curry paste
6 cups lower-salt chicken broth
3 stalks lemongrass, lightly smashed
8 1/4 inch slices of fresh ginger
1/4 cup fresh lime juice
2 tbsp fish sauce
1 tsp sugar
2 cups oyster mushrooms (you can use any mushrooms; I used oyster and cremini) trimmed and cut into 1/4 inch thick slices
1 cup chopped tomato
1 cup baby corn (optional but delicious)
Vermicelli noodles, soaked in room temperature water for 30-60 minutes in a large pot.
Fresh cilantro

*The original recipe calls for tea-smoked shrimp and instructs you on the whole process; I think you can find it on their website if you're interested.

Directions:

1. In a 4 quart pot, simmer 1/2 cup coconut milk over medium heat, stirring often till it reduces by half and thickens, about 1-2 minutes. Whisk in the curry paste until dissolved, about 1 minute. Add the remaining coconut milk, chicken broth, lemongrass and ginger. Raise the heat to medium high, bring to a boil and then reduce to a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes.

2. Strain out the lemongrass stalks and ginger pieces. Stir in the lime juice, fish sauce, sugar and a bit of salt. Season to taste. Add the mushrooms, tomato and baby corn, and cook for another 10 minutes, till the mushrooms have softened.

3. To assemble, bring the soaked vermicelli noodles to a boil for a couple of minutes, then drain well. Add noodles to bowls first, then pour soup over top, and garnish with fresh cilantro.

My 12-Step Recovery Program, And Pumpkin Tortilla Soup With Scallion Cornbread.

Things to do when you have a rampant case of unemployment:

1.) Stay in bed with the covers over your head. Brood. Feel like crap and let everyone know it, especially your significant other. Let yourself get stinky, shed any and all sex appeal and see how long you can stand it. (Or how long your significant other can stand it.)














2.) Talk to your animals, they have big eyes and sweet faces and if you give them cookies, they will stick around to listen. Make them understand in great detail how crummy and jobless you feel. They may be supportive. Or, cookies now eaten, they may roll over and pretend to die of boredom, hoping you'll stop talking about yourself.













3.) Resist the urge to eat large amounts of inappropriate foodstuffs to the point of personal injury. It will not make you feel better.













4.) Get some fresh air. Even if it means going out onto the deck in your pajamas with a large cocktail and a good book. Even if it means pretending to read so you can drink and listen to your neighbours' conversations without feeling like a complete wiener.














5.) When you are feeling a little bit better, or a little bit drunk, whichever comes first, find a recipe and make something good for dinner. Like Tortilla Soup with Scallion Cornbread muffins. Get to work. Slice up some tortillas;















6.) Open up some tins of colourful things and be cheered - a little bit, not too much. You don't want to rush happiness.






















7.) Chop up a bunch of onions, scallions and cilantro and accidentally benefit from some aromatherapy. It's like springtime in a bowl. Start cooking them down and adding the broth and getting the soup going.














8.) Time to start the scallion cornbread. Waste about 10 minutes photographing the scallions because the light is hitting them 'just so' and it makes you feel arty.






















9.) Measure out your ingredients, like the cornmeal. Get a batter together and pop those muffins in the oven.
















10.) While the muffins are baking, if you have the desire to make some guacamole, don't fight it. Add some tomatoes, lime juice and zest, red pepper flakes, cilantro, whatever you want in there. It will make those muffins sing.














11.) The soup should now be ready. Pour yourself a big, warm bowl and take one of the hot muffins and slather it with the guacamole. Find a seat, maybe at your large kitchen table. Turn on some music, put away the computer, books, the gazillion to-do lists you make for yourself and sit still. Taste your food. Shut up about the joblessness. Stop 'managing' your feelings. Just sit still and eat and be okay with where you are in life, even though it's nowhere near where you'd like to be.



12.) And finally, if all else fails, make sure you spend some time with someone who makes you laugh. It will fix what's broken, even if only for a moment.























Scallion Cornbread Muffins, from Everyday Food Magazine, with additions from me:

1/2 cup yellow cornmeal
1/2 cup all purpose flour
2 tbsp sugar
3/4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp coarse salt
1/2 tsp smoked paprika (my add-in)
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes (my add-in)
1/2 cup + 2 tbsp buttermilk
2 tbsp oil
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/4 cup chopped scallions
1/2 cup corn, canned or fresh or frozen (my add-in)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. (I only heated mine to 350) Lightly grease 6 cups of a regular sized muffin pan with vegetable oil or butter. In a large bowl, combine the cornmeal, flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, smoke paprika and red pepper flakes. Make a well in the center.

2. Stir in the buttermilk, oil, egg, scallions and corn till well combined. Fill the muffin cups 2/3 full (I made mine completely full and had one less muffin. ) Bake till tester knife comes out clean, about 12-15 minutes, depending on your oven.

Pumpkin Tortilla Soup, adapted from The Kitchn:

3 small corn tortillas, sliced and cut into smallish squares
3-4 tbsp olive oil
1 medium white onion
2 garlic cloves (I didn't use these)
2 large scallions, finely chopped (my add-in)
1 cup finely chopped cilantro
1 tsp ground cumin
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
3 tsp chipotle pepper in adobo sauce (to your taste, really)
1 1/2 cups pumpkin puree or canned pumpkin
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes
3/4 cup corn, canned or frozen
1/2 - 1 cup medium-spicy salsa, like Herdez (my add-in)
5 cups unsalted vegetable stock (I only used 3 cups - it seemed to make a LARGE amount of soup)
1/2 tsp salt

Directions:

1. Heat the olive oil over medium-low heat in a large saucepan or soup pot. Add onions, garlic, scallions, cilantro, chopped tortillas and cook, stirring frequently until onion is cooked.

2. Add the cumin and cayenne and cook for another minute, stirring constantly. Add the chipotle pepper in sauce, the pumpkin, diced tomatoes, corn, salsa and the veg stock. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat and simmer for one hour. Let stand for a few minutes and serve hot, with tortilla chips and cilantro for garnish.

'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.

Cold Comfort Soup

There are days when I come home and I'm bone tired. I can't imagine walking the dog or vacuuming or being any sort of company for Almost Husband. I can't imagine what I'll make for dinner, so I end up opening a tin of Zoodles and watching bad television in my bathrobe and calling it a night.

Days like these make me feel like I've swallowed a bit of winter; a touch of gloominess settles in my stomach. I open the door, wade through the needs of my dog and cat and ignore the tumbleweeds of pet fur that roll on by. Almost Husband understands my need for solitude when he sees me heading for the kitchen with that sort of weary, purposeful look on my face.

Cooking is something of a salvation when I feel like this. My cookbooks offer me a means to a fresh start, even at the end of a punishing day; concentrating on a task that involves creativity and my senses' hearty participation. My fridge reveals vegetables from my CSA box that require attention sooner rather than later. Parsnips. I've never had a parsnip before and now I have a whole bagful. I rely heavily on roasting vegetables, but today, I need to try something new; tastes I've never put together before. A quick scan of Jamie Oliver's Ministry Of Food, and I've found what I'm looking for: Parsnip And Ginger Soup.

The chopping of the vegetables, with all the gorgeous gradations of green in the celery and the lovely cream colour of the parsnips instantly soothes me. The smells of the ginger and garlic and onion intermingle and fill the kitchen with spicy warmth. As I wait for the broth to boil, I start imagining my weekend; perhaps we'll go see a movie, and I'll finally sit down and solder that jewellery I started before we moved. And then it hits me...Mood? What mood? Was I in a bad mood?

The soup is heavenly; a marriage of unusual flavours that renders me comforted and satisfied. I feel like a bit of the winter in me has melted. Cooking. It's a bit of magic, isn't it?

Jamie Oliver's Parsnip and Ginger Soup:

2 carrots
2 stalks of celery
2 medium sized onions
1 3/4 g parsnips (I only had a 1lb bag, so that's what I used. Still delicious)
a thumb sized piece of fresh ginger root
2 cloves of garlic
olive oil
1.8 L chicken stock, preferably organic
sea salt and fresh ground pepper
4 sprigs of fresh coriander (I skipped this)

1. Peel and roughly chop the carrots, parsnips, celery, onion, garlic and ginger.
2. In medium saucepan, bring chicken stock to a boil.
3. In large stock pot, add two lashings of olive oil over medium heat. Add chopped veggies and allow to cook for about 10-15 minutes, till onions are translucent.
4. Add boiling stock to cooked veggies and allow to come to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer for about 15-20 minutes, or until veggies are easily pierced with a fork.
5. Using an immersion blender, or whatever system of pureeing works for you, pulse the soup till smooth. Season with salt and pepper to taste and garnish with the coriander leaves if you like.