Just Make Me: A 'You Only Like Me On Fridays' Baked Pasta

Welcome to the newest feature of Fresh Cut Cook. It's called "Just Make Me", which is a more succinct and cleverer (does misspelling 'clever' invalidate its meaning?) way of saying "My Shizzle Was Lay-zizzle And Didn't Feel Like Taking Pictures While Preparing This Awesome Meal." It may make an appearance on the blog once every week or two, because I won't lie to you; there are times when I feel like cooking minus the song and dance that comes with food blogging.

In this feature, you will find a yummy recipe without me yammering on about things, like how it's so peculiar that one of my co-workers only seems to like me on Tuesdays and Fridays, while being openly hostile the rest of the week.

(That IS peculiar, right? I mean, I know I can't be everyone's cup of tea, but I've never really worked with anyone who has so openly disliked/been enervated by/eye rolled me before, so this is new and bumpy terrain.)

But thanks to inspiration from Emeril Lagasse via my Everyday Food magazine, I decided to heal yet another rotten work week with baked pasta, Monika-style. Which means way more cheese than is called for. So, without further ado, Just Make This. It is everything you want from baked pasta; salty, cheesy and filling, punctuated by these lovely, juicy bursts of tomato, and a more subtle basil flavour. I promise to entertain the socks off of you with my usual full-length musings on life when I return from our third, (3rd!!!!) attempt to get Heidi The Jetta to haul us to Sauble Beach without going Kaboom! on the highway.















'You Only Like Me On Fridays' Baked Pasta, inspired by baked pastas everywhere...

2 - 2 1/2 cups penne or other small shaped pasta, prepared according to package instructions
1 can evaporated milk (12 ounces)
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups crumbled goat cheese
3/4 cups crumbled feta cheese
1 tsp dried oregano
1/2-1 tsp red pepper flakes
fresh ground pepper, to your taste
1/2 cup fresh basil, coarsely chopped
1 tomato, chopped
1 1/2 cups spinach

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Cook pasta according to package directions. While you're waiting for it to boil, combine the evaporated milk (no less than 2% milk fat; don't bother with the no-fat stuff) with the eggs, both cheeses, oregano, red pepper flakes, fresh ground pepper, fresh basil, tomato and spinach in a large bowl.

2. Add pasta to the bowl and mix everything till well combined. Pour into a 8 - 9 inch square pan or equivalent round baking dish, and bake for about 25 minutes or until the pasta looks 'set' in the middle and is golden brown on top. Let cool about 5 minutes, then serve!

When The Universe Speaks In Riddles, And Good Luck, Godspeed Pizza

It all started on Friday night. Husband had come by my work to pick me up and the plan was that we were going to drive up to Sauble Beach for a much needed break. Husband had worked about eleventeen hundred hours of overtime and I was recovering from a week of working on my own at the front desk, hopelessly untrained and at the mercy of nervous pet owners. With my new job, our work schedules are now completely opposite. He comes home right when I'm leaving and by the time I get home, he's ready to go to bed. To say it's an adjustment is an understatement.

Fast forward to an hour outside of Toronto, a bit north of Vaughn which, as a non-driver, means nothing to me, but perhaps you know where that is. It felt like the middle of nowhere, except that there was a pit stop with a Tim Hortons to our right, which meant something to me because Tim Hortons is kind of like an Inukshuk for city people who feel entirely lost in the highway limbo that lies between city and cottage country; a gentle, doughnutty reassurance that we are indeed somewhere man has been before.

It was about here that it happened.
Husband: What's that noise? Is that the engine?

Me: What noise? (while being totally aware of the weird knocking noise that has suddenly come from our vehicle)

Husband: That one. There. Oh no. Shit. (clutter, sputter, knock, knock, whirrrrrrrr. Ka-CHUNK!) Okay. There goes the transmission. It's blown! Double-you The Eff!

We lurched violently forward as Heidi the Jetta shut down. With a deftness only a seasoned video gamer could demonstrate, Husband navigated the now-defunct Heidi over to the right shoulder of the highway and we absorbed in silence what had happened. It didn't take long though, because we already knew our weekend at Sauble Beach was done for. Eventually, the tow truck came, and we even managed a few laughs when my dear, sweet father came to pick us up in the backroads of sketchy Rexdale and joked about us having to wear bullet proof vests in case of shootings, which is probably all kinds of politically incorrect, but oh well.

We tried our best to salvage our weekend. But by Sunday, it was not to be. I, in full possession of a raging case of PMS, couldn't shake the feeling that the universe didn't want me to be happy. Husband and I went on a walk to get some candy at the bulk store, and just as I was starting to come out of my dark mood, just as I was noticing the sun-dappled trees and the delicate breeze and the honeybees, a cat ran out into the street in front of us and got hit by a car.

I screamed. It happened in slow motion. I could hear the sound of Cat making contact with Car. I covered my eyes and my legs turned to jelly. Miraculously, the cat sprung up and ran off, one of its 9 lives clearly used up, but the other 8 just waiting to get back to the catfight that had been taking place several moments earlier. My dark mood returned, full force. Somewhere between Heidi the Jetta, Reckless Cat and Hormone Fluctuation, I gave up on a relaxing weekend.

Husband had been making jokes earlier about being able to read braille on my forehead because of the rather alarming smattering of pimples that had settled on my face. I mused that if these had been freckles rather than pimples, I would be adorable. I was reminded of that old 'beauty trick' I used to see in Seventeen magazine:

"Got a pimple? Why not try dotting it with some brown eye pencil and turning it into a beauty spot?"

Genius!

The beautiful girl demonstrating this tip always seemed to have her fake pimple right above her lip, to the side, like Marilyn Monroe, or Cindy Crawford. It looked sexy. So I decided to give it a try.




















Hmm. I'm not sold on it.

Some days are like this. Some days can't be saved no matter how hard you try to see the silver lining. Some days, you'll come home from working at a job you're not sure you like, and you'll be so glad to see your dog and cat, your furniture, your purple bathrobe. You'll also be so glad that you had the presence of mind to make pizza dough the night before, so now, all you have to do is a tiny bit of prep with these; some chopping and slicing and grating...
















And then you get to release some pent-up frustration by punching the dough:














Satisfying. Then you'll spread it out on a baking sheet dusted with cornmeal that, in a certain light, looks like stars thrown across a night sky (like the ones we should have seen in Sauble Beach) and brush some olive oil on top. A gentle dusting of red pepper flakes and fresh ground pepper, and the lightest toss of coarse grain salt is all you need for the base:























Finally, you layer the grated, unnervingly orange cheese, apple slices, tomatoes and several basil leaves and you pop it in the oven for half an hour during which time you'll imbibe a beer or glass of wine...














And when it comes out, golden crusted and perfectly delicious, perhaps the best you've ever made, and you have a week's worth of Coronation Street waiting for you on the computer, then and only then will you realize that despite Heidi the Jetta, Reckless Cat and Hormone Fluctuations, there is still sweetness in this life. A dog and cat who gravitate towards me like I'm their North Star wherever I am; a family that will come and help me, no matter how old I am or how far away I may be; a Husband who puts toothpaste on my toothbrush for me each and every night - this is who and what I live for.

Okay, Universe. Message received, loud and clear.

Good Luck And Godspeed Pizza:

Basic Pizza Dough, from Martha Stewart's 'Fresh Flavour Fast '(and the BEST dough I've ever eaten)

1 1/2 cups warm water (115 degrees F)
2 packets active dry yeast (or 4 1/2 tsp, if using the jar)
1/4 cup olive oil, plus more for brushing
2 tbsp sugar
2 tsp salt
4 cups all purpose flour (I used half whole-wheat)
a pinch each of dried basil, oregano and rosemary (my addition!)

Directions:

1. Place warm water in large bowl; sprinkle with yeast. Let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes. Brush another large bowl with oil.

2. Whisk sugar, oil, salt and dried herbs into yeast mixture, then stir flour with a wooden spoon until a sticky dough forms. Transfer to oiled bowl, brush top with olive oil and cover with plastic wrap; let stand in a warm spot till dough doubles in size, about 1 hour.

3. Turn dough onto a well-floured surface. With floured hands, knead until smooth, about 15 seconds and divide into two equal balls. If only using one, freeze the other; it keeps up to 3 months in the freezer, just let it thaw overnight in the fridge in an oiled bowl when ready to use.

Pizza toppings:

1 cup grated old cheddar
1/2 large apple, sliced thinly into half-crescents
a handful of fresh basil leaves, coarsely torn
2 small tomatoes, thinly sliced

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Sprinkle a baking sheet with cornmeal. Spread the dough onto the sheet in a long, oval shape. Rub some olive oil onto the top of the dough and sprinkle with red pepper flakes, fresh ground pepper, and some coarse salt, if you have it.

2. Sprinkle the cheddar evenly over the dough. Add the slices of apple and tomato; top with the torn basil leaves. Bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes, or until cheese is all melted and crust is golden brown. Let sit for 5 minutes, then serve!

Flap Your Premature Bingo Wings With Pride, And A Tomato Sauce Recipe

A little while ago, I was reminiscing about our time in the Netherlands with our Dutch friends, Gaby and Ron. We'd met them while staying at their flat in Amsterdam, and they took it upon themselves to gift us with a drive through Northern Holland one fine afternoon. We spent the day picnicking by tulip fields, having poffertjes (mini Dutch pancakes) and looking for hidden treasures of vintage furniture in 'Rommel Paradises', which is basically the name for overpriced antique shops in the countryside (I still keep calling it 'Rommel's Paradise' by mistake, which makes Husband snicker at the idea of the Nazi officer taking in the country air while antiquing.)






















Somewhere in this 3 day span of knowing Gaby and Ron, I'd gotten it into my head that we were dear friends. I'd conveniently forgotten that much of our time spent together was in silence, given the language barrier, the age gap and the general differences in lifestyle. It's safe to say that crickets were heard chirping in both Dutch and English during those long silences. Anyways, I'd sent them updates about our wedding, thinking they cared, and had imagined apartment shares where they'd come stay with us and we'd go stay with them and when our babies were born, we'd send them pictures and a lifelong friendship had been built. So I'd mentioned them fondly again a few weeks ago when Husband broke my illusion by saying "I didn't think they actually liked us that much. I think they thought we were boring."

I was crushed. Boring? Us? Our identity as a couple was thrown into immediate crisis. How could we be boring? We love doing stuff! Husband is hilarious! And I'm delightful...? But all this came into rather serious doubt. Maybe being boring is like being crazy; everyone but you knows it.

I started to think about us as a couple. We do like sitting out on our back deck having beers and talking, or eating at home, preferably in front of a movie or TV on DVD. But we don't like going out to bars, cafes, house parties, concerts, theatre productions, art shows, street fairs or anywhere with crowds or a disproportionate number of hipsters and ironically fashion clad youth. We do like hanging out with other couples or friends one-on-one, but we also start to get tired, fussy and ready for bed at about 10pm. On our honeymoon, we'd spent lots of time mooning over each other, yes, but we'd also spent a considerable amount of time trying to complete jigsaw puzzles and listening to old time radio like 'Fibber McGee and Molly' on the computer.

So it's official then. We're either exceptionally boring, old-before-their-time thirtysomethings, or we're exceptionally youthful, attractive and fun octogenarians.






















But it's okay. You know, once you fully embrace the facts, once the light of truth has shone in your eyes, a certain level of acceptance overtakes you. Like, so what if we're boring to other people? We have so much fun together! Like when Husband bought us Yahtzee yesterday;














And I, suffering from a very bad cold, got that very bad cold very drunk on wine and we listened to Bobby Bland and Sam Cooke and played a high-stakes, competitive round. Yahtzee, it seems, brings out my reckless streak, and I threw down boldly, brashly with the devil in the dice. We played until dinnertime, both of us excited for dessert because we'd bought two NEW flavours of ice cream to try. I mean, I ask you. Would a boring couple do all this?

For my dinner, I'd decided to make pasta with a zesty tomato sauce based loosely on a puttanesca. I excitingly chopped up some tomatoes:














I'd daringly cut up a red chili and some green onion and added them all in a bowl:
















Thrillingly, I'd cut up some green and black olives and some white onion and softened them in some olive oil and balsamic vinegar, though next time, I'd use red wine instead:














Then, with a spectacular vigor, I combined the tomato-chili-onion mixture to the olives:














And once it cooked down to the consistency I wanted, I made some pasta and poured lavish amounts of sauce on the noodles and crumbled some salty feta on top. Oh, it was so divinely good, I had to soak up all the remainders of sauce with the fresh Portuguese bread we'd bought. We watched some Friday Night Lights as we ate and I really, truly didn't care whether we were boring or predictable or a few steps away from taking up shuffleboard.

Because there's something to be said for knowing that you are going through life with someone whose company never fails to delight, challenge or comfort you. There's something grand about being able to talk to your partner about digestive issues and heartaches with equal candor and lack of embarrassment. And there's a great freedom in not caring about being 'cool' anymore, and finding pure joy in just sitting together.

Even if only to watch the grass grow.

Simple, Zesty Tomato Sauce:

6 large tomatoes, chopped
1 red chili, finely chopped
2 green onions, finely chopped
1 small white onion, finely chopped
a handful of green and black olives each, chopped, (about 3/4 cup total)
juice and zest of one lemon
1/2 to 1 tsp red pepper flakes, depending on your taste
a handful of fresh basil leaves, chopped coarsely
1/4 cup feta, crumbled
salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Cook pasta according to package instructions. Combine the chopped tomatoes, green onions and red chili in a large bowl and set aside.

2. Heat about 2 tbsp olive oil and a hearty splash of either red wine or balsamic vinegar over medium heat in a large stock pot or skillet. Add the chopped white onion and the juice of the lemon and cook till softened, about 5-7 minutes. Add the mixed olives and cook for about 5 more minutes.

3. Add the tomato mixture to the olives and stir till well combined. Add the red pepper flakes, some salt and fresh ground pepper and cook down till a sauce-like consistency, about 20-30 minutes, over medium-low heat. Once cooked, remove from heat and add the lemon zest and chopped basil. Pour over prepared pasta and sprinkle with the crumbled feta.

Neither Rain, Sleet, Hail Nor Snow, And Coconut-Peanut Tofu With Veg

Do you see this? Do you see what lengths I will go to in order to bring you some good food? This is a picture of a really great dinner I made the other night. Only I was so desperate to photograph this meal without flash, my kitchen being filled with the overcast grey light of the rainstorm occurring outside, that I decided to photograph my dinner outside, in a rainstorm. That is rain in the background, mere inches away from my plate.

Sometimes the stars just won't align. The pictures of food ingredients don't really inspire ooh's and aah's, the natural light is uncooperative, or non-existent. A charming story to attach to the recipe fails to present itself. And the blogger is impatiently hungry but refuses to settle for a sandwich or a bowl of cereal instead of making a three-step meal. So I pour myself a beer, put 'Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme' on the kitchen stereo and struggle to grasp why Garfunkle is dressed so contemporary when Simon, in his ridiculous man-blouse, looks like he's about to hold court with Louis XIV.



I cut up some extra-firm tofu, having rediscovered my love for its pale, blank adaptability, and toss it in a mixture of flour, cayenne pepper and ginger.


I quickly pan-fry it in some veg oil, sesame oil, a hearty pinch of red pepper flakes and a dash of soy sauce, till it turns out like this:

















Then some carrots are shredded, a tin of peas opened and a tomato gutted and robbed of almost all likeness to a tomato. It is the only way I can contemplate eating tomatoes.













These ingredients are then pan-fried in some oil and soy sauce till softened, and taken outside into the rainstorm to be photographed. The old man sitting under his grapevine structure next door must think I'm bonkers. But really, he's the one who randomly blows a whistle hanging around his neck and then falls asleep, face first, on the picnic table in the middle of the day, so I figure the Pot really shouldn't be calling the Kettle anything.



I make some rice. A delicious sauce from a pictureless cookbook called 'Quick-fix vegetarian' that I'd bought several years ago is whizzed up in the food processor; a coconut-peanut sauce that is sweet and salty and spicy and highly addictive.

A big plate is dished up and I settle into Husband's tatty, cat-scratched armchair, where I embark on a Coronation Street marathon via CBC online. The food tastes amazing. I can hear the rain pounding on the rooftops outside; the dog and cat have hunkered down to keep me company in Husband's absence. And as I fret over why I am feeling sorry for evil murderer Tony Gordon and continue to intensely dislike Molly Dobbs, I realize I am so, so cozy and warmed from within. I'm exactly where I want to be.

Tofu And Veg With Coconut-Peanut Sauce, adapted from 'Quick-Fix Vegetarian' by Robin Robertson:

1 package of extra firm tofu, pressed of any extra liquid and cut into 1" cubes
2 tbsp flour
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp ground ginger
1 tbsp neutral flavoured oil (veg, canola)
a few drops of sesame oil
a few dashes of soy sauce
a pinch of red pepper flakes
2 large carrots, peeled and grated
1/2 cup of peas, fresh, canned or frozen
1 tomato, chopped
A large handful of fresh cilantro leaves, rinsed and torn

Directions:

1. Put on the rice according to package instructions. Toss cubed tofu in large bowl with the flour, cayenne and ground ginger till well coated. Heat the oils, soy sauce and pepper flakes in a pan over medium heat, then shake the excess flour mix from tofu cubes and toss into the pan. Stir often and cook the cubes till browned. Set aside in large serving bowl.

2. In same pan, heat up some oil and a dash of soy sauce and quickly pan fry the carrots, peas and tomato till softened, about 5-7 minutes. Add to the tofu cubes in serving bowl. Rice now ready, put some on a plate, top with the tofu and veggies, and pour a generous serving of the Coconut Peanut sauce (recipe below) on top. Garnish with the cilantro and salt and pepper if you like. Eat immediately!

Coconut-Peanut Sauce:

1/3 cup creamy peanut butter
3 scallions, chopped (I used 2; 3 seemed excessive)
2 tsp fresh minced ginger
1 tsp minced garlic
3/4 cup light unsweetened coconut milk
1 tbsp freshly squeezed lime juice
1 tsp light brown sugar
1/4 tsp cayenne
1 tbsp tamari or soy sauce

Directions:

1. In food processor, combine all ingredients and process till smooth, adjusting ingredients to your taste.

The State Of Affairs, And Tomato-Pesto Pockets

This is the current state of my kitchen. Maybe yours is worse and you're thinking: Lady, get a grip, it's not that bad! But this is bad for me. Because once I reach a certain level of plate piles, empty beer cans, used coffee filters and crumbs, something odd happens to me. I start accepting the mess. And once I've accepted it, I lose that sense of urgency that says I need to deal with it. Suddenly, I'm washing single items for use instead of just washing the whole lot. Next thing I know, I'm eating off of napkins and cutting boards to stave off the need for clean plates. Then, a bit later, if I'm feeling industrious, I may attempt to design new piles out of the old piles to make them look smaller and less demanding of my immediate attention. The piles will consume me, yes, but at this stage, nothing will compel me to actually get rid of them.

It's a popular idea that the state of your living space can be related to the state of your mind. My need for simplicity and fresh ideas and positivity has been buried under the hundreds of haphazardly built piles of worry; is my Dad okay? am I driving Husband crazy? is this skin irritation on my lips a flesh-eating virus? will I find a job ever/soon? And then of course there are the piles devoted to fretting over the external world woes, like the floods in Pakistan, the BP oil spill, the alarming amount of attention being spent on the 'cougar' phenomenon...

And when you've come home from your first-ever funeral, where you are but a breath away from real grief, the kind where you can practically taste the salt of all the tears shed, hear the rapid beating of saddened hearts and feel that peculiar fullness of emptiness, dishes mean even less to you.

But sometimes, even underneath the mental clutter, I'm still able to find a golden idea or two. Like this:




This is a pocket full of wonder. This is one of the simplest meals I've come up with in a long time, adding to the already abundant amount of deep fondness I feel for ready-made puff pastry sheets. This is the meal you make when there's virtually no free counter space in your kitchen and you are one straw away from the last straw. You simply clear a corner for yourself, step around the maze of cat and dog and the three pairs of shoes that have mysteriously migrated and settled under the kitchen table. Then you throw some things in a mini-chopper;

















...give it a blast and end up with pesto! Then you chop up the last of the heirloom tomatoes with some green onion and let them drain a bit in a colander;














Next comes unfolding the puff pastry and cutting into 4 sections, so you can spoon some of the pesto and tomato mixture onto it;



















Fold them quick, if you can, because once the pastry comes to room temperature, it's a nightmare of stickiness to get the filled triangles off the cutting board and onto the baking sheet. In fact, don't do this at all; unroll the pastry sheet on some parchment paper and save yourself a lot of bother! Once you manage this simple task, you are 15 baking minutes away from the kind of delicious meal that makes you forget your multitude of worries.

And the entirely new pile of dishes you've just made making dinner.
















Tomato-Pesto Pockets:

1 puff pastry sheet, thawed (keep refrigerated till you need it)
a handful of mixed heirloom tomatoes, or about 2 regular sized tomatoes, cut into smallish cubes
1 green onion, finely chopped
Pesto (either store-bought, or homemade; see recipe below)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Once pesto is made, and veggies are prepped, do what I didn't and unroll the puff pastry sheet on some parchment paper and cut into four pieces. Place a dollop of the pesto in the bottom half, topped with a spoonful of tomatoes on top (as in picture) Fold the top right corner over to the bottom left corner to form a pastry triangle. Do this for all four.

2. Place the triangles on a baking sheet (if you've used parchment paper, this is easy) and bake for 15 minutes, or until pastry is golden brown and crisp. Serve immediately.

A Different Sort Of Pesto Recipe:

1/8 cup pine nuts
1/4-1/3 cup of basil leaves
2-3 tbsp olive oil
Zest of 1/2 a lemon
Juice of whole lemon
1 green onion, chopped
1/4-1/3 cup feta cheese
salt, pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Combine all ingredients in a mini-chopper or food processor, or I suppose you could mortar and pestle it too. Pulse till well combined and on the thick side, not as runny as a traditional pesto. Adjust ingredients to your taste.

When Life And Used Car Salesmen Give You Lemons, And A Tomato-Corn Pie

Okay. Seriously. I have not gone off blogging, I swear. In fact, I really missed sharing food with you. This last absence from posting was totally not my fault. I'm not even sure who to blame. Our 1997 Jetta with 'Party Mix' patterned seats, or the shyster who sold Husband a faulty vehicle.




There we were, Husband and I, driving back to the city from our long weekend in Sauble Beach. Sauble Beach, with all its humble charms, is my version of heaven on earth. Yes, I know. There are hundreds of gorgeous European towns or tropical islands that could fight Sauble and easily win the title of "Paradise" in the hearts and minds of most folks. But Sauble Beach has always been that place that slows me way down and gets me quiet and still inside; that place where even the most everyday sort of experience gets honeyed. A box of fresh, hot fries from Dobson's, where Husband used to work as a surly, noodly pre-teen. The dense sound of crickets at night, as numerous as the stars visible in the night skies draped over all those pitch black country roads and majestic pines. The endless stretches of beach that almost entice a non-swimmer like me to play in the water like a kid. And the feel of sand under my feet.




Apparently though, the magic of the Beach has rather limited boundaries. Once outside the perimeters of Paradise, the simple traveller is entirely vulnerable to the cruel hands of Fate, who obviously drives a much higher status vehicle than our lowly VW Jetta. Because it was in Owen Sound that the transmission took its last stand against Husband's gentle and then not-so gentle cajoling and refused to switch gears as we tried to ascend a rather steep hill. The car rolled backwards. "EEEEeep!" I screeched, digging my nails into poor Husband's arm. He fought the stubborn transmission one more time, and again, we rolled backwards, down the hill. I nearly peed myself. Husband, much calmer than me, or in a weird state of calm rage, manoeuvred us into someone's driveway, where we sat, and let life's unfairness wash over us.

I am not as good as I thought in a crisis. In fact, I was embarrassingly helpless in this crisis. Thankfully, Husband's lovely family stepped in and rescued us with various acts of simple yet deeply felt acts of kindness. And I learned that, for one, don't underestimate the cliches of used car salesmen. I'm sure there are loads of really decent, honest ones out there, but for every one of them, there are, I fear, schools of corrupted dealers who couldn't care less about you once the cheque is written. I also learned not to underestimate the importance of family, because they are there when Luck and Good Fortune go out for a pack of smokes and take a long time coming home.

Barring car trouble, we did have a lovely stay in the country. We lazed on the beach. We read and played Yahtzee a lot. We took a few long walks with the dog. We did some shopping at local food stands, buying potatoes, green beans, eggs, green onions, peppers, vegetables with the soil and roots still attached. We ate and ate and then ate some more of these:




Husband's father had told us that the cookie-making factory, the one that makes the really good Speculaas cookies, had burned down. And there were no more being made until a new factory was built. So we stockpiled. And ate them accordingly, only to find out a few days later that the new factory had in fact already been built, and our gluttony was in vain. I think if I'm to have any fondness for Speculaas cookies ever again, I must take a break from their spicy, crumbly, crispy goodness.

We'd picked up some fresh sweet corn from a roadside stand, so I knew I wanted to do something with it. I had also been delighting in the photos of heirloom tomatoes in my Eating Well magazine, so when we finally got back to the city, I went out and bought some, and photographed their gorgeous little guts. I think I even had an American Beauty 'plastic bag' moment with these brightly coloured gems. They were so beautiful, I almost couldn't stand it.







When I was cutting the corn off the cobs to pan fry them with some green onion, I tried valiantly to pluck every last strand of corn silk off the kernels until I realized the ridiculousness of what I was doing. Is the editor of Bon Appetit coming over to sample my pie? Is anyone but me going to be picking corn silk out of their teeth?

So I stopped.




I whipped up the custard-like filling and after pre-baking the crust, layered the ingredients and poured the custard over top. It baked up perfectly, although it's still a slog trying to make a light, buttery pastry, so the crust was just the tiniest bit too crusty. But it tasted wonderful. The tomatoes were slightly tart, the corn just sweet enough and I was surprised at how little salt it needed! A chronic over-salter, I reigned myself in this time and it was just perfect.



With Husband's chemical accident, the car bellying up, and the various other little irritations and insanities I have no control over carving chips into my shoulders, it's so lovely and restorative to get back to my kitchen, where I am the reigning monarch. In my domain, wonderful food accidents and mistakes and triumphs mingle with solitude, thoughts, sunlight. Lemons, both real and metaphorical are turned into lemonade. And I imagine that somewhere out there, that corrupt used car salesman will sit next to Bad Luck and Misfortune, and get paid his dues.

Tomato-Corn Tart, inspired by/adapted from Eating Well Magazine, August 2010:

Crust:

3/4 cups whole wheat pastry flour (I only had regular whole wheat flour, so that's what I used)
3/4 cups all purpose flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp freshly ground pepper
1/3 cup olive oil
5 tbsp cold water

Directions:

1. Combine flours, salt and pepper in a large bowl. Make a well in the center, add the oil and water and gradually stir them together to form a soft dough. Wrap the dough in plastic and chill for 15 minutes.

2. Preheat the oven to 350/400 degrees F, depending on your oven. Roll the dough into a 12 inch circle on a lightly floured surface. Transfer (they make this sound easy) to a 9 inch pie pan, preferably deep-dish, and press into bottom and up sides. Line the dough with parchment paper large enough to lift out easily and fill evenly with pie weights or dry beans. Bake for 20 minutes. Remove the beans and parchment paper and let cool for at least 15 minutes, or up to 1 hour.

Filling:

3 large eggs
1 cup buttermilk (I had this on hand, but you can use regular milk)
1/3 cup goat cheese (the recipe calls for sharp cheddar, so whatever you prefer)
a hearty pinch of dried basil
a hearty pinch of dried oregano
1-2 cobs of corn, kernels shaved off
1 large green onion
2 medium tomatoes, or an assortment of heirloom tomatoes, thinly sliced
coarse salt

Directions:

1. In a blender, combine the eggs, buttermilk and goat cheese, dried basil and oregano. Pulse till well combined and set aside.

2. Heat some olive oil in a skillet and saute the corn and green onion over medium-high heat for about 4-5 minutes, stirring constantly. You just want to soften them a bit.

3. Pour the corn-onion mixture over the crust bottom. Pour in the custard filling and layer the tomatoes over top (there may be some extra liquid left over) Take a small pinch of coarse salt and sprinkle it over the unbaked pie; there's not much salt in this recipe, so you can indulge in a few lovely grains of it with each bite.

4. Bake the pie for about 40-50 minutes, or until the custard has set. Let cool for about 15 minutes before serving.

Simple Pizza.

You know, sometimes, I don't feel like writing a huge preamble to a recipe. Sometimes, the thought of creating a story based on a memory related to food feels formulaic and not at all what I want to write about.

I'd rather tell you about the other afternoon, when I was preparing to make this pizza in an effort to catch an hour or two of silence, away from the wedding planning, away from the emailing and the phone ringing and the dog mooching and the cat being a total dink. How on that afternoon, I put on Vivaldi's violin concerto in D Major, and it took my breath away. I pulled a chair up right in front of the stereo speakers and closed my eyes and felt something like elation, a funny, soaring kind of feeling in my stomach. The sunlight filled the kitchen and I had one of those transcendent moments that was absolutely perfect in its simplicity.






















What better food to be making than a sort of Margherita Pizza? Could anything be simpler than thawing a ball of frozen herbed dough I'd made a little while ago and topping it with broken-down tomatoes tinged with balsamic vinegar and some mozzarella and basil?



I listened to the rest of the cd and got my ingredients ready, blissfully absorbed in what I was doing. I readied it for baking, covered it and put it in the fridge. Almost Husband came home an hour or so later with a bottle of wine, poured me a glass and a beer for himself, and we sat on our deck and talked, soaking in the dusk. I want to remember days like these, where nothing really happens, there's no real drama, but everything is bathed in a golden calm, and I recognize that I am as close to touching happiness as I'll ever get.

Simple Pizza Dough via Everybody Likes Sandwiches:

1 envelope active dry yeast
1 1/4 cups warm water
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour (I tend to use a mix of all purpose and whole wheat flour)
2 Tbsp olive oil
2 tsp assorted dried herbs (I used oregano and basil, but I'm sure lots of different ones will work)
1/2 tsp salt
cornmeal (I've never used this, but I'm sure it's lovely)

Directions:

1. In large bowl, combine yeast with 1 cup of the warm water. Stir in flour, salt and olive oil and mix with wooden spoon till sticky dough starts to form. Add the rest of the warm water and shape the dough into a ball with your hands - you may need to flour your hands a bit if the dough is too sticky to handle with ease. Knead the dough for about 5 minutes. Get in there! Get it nice and elastic.

2. Oil up another bowl and place the dough inside. Cover it with plastic wrap and set it in a warmish place and allow to sit for 2 hours. It should double in size. If using, sprinkle some cornmeal on your work surface along with a bit of flour and set the dough on top of it. Cut the dough in half - this recipe makes enough for 2 pizzas. You can either use both doughs now or do what I do and freeze the other half - it freezes really well and just needs to be thawed in the fridge for a few hours. You can also keep it covered in the oiled bowl in the fridge for a couple of days if you want to make another pizza during the week.

3. If you have a rolling pin, I'm sure that would make life a lot easier, but I've never had one, so I've just stretched out the dough to about a 1/2 inch thickness, placed it on a greased baking sheet and then added my toppings. Bake at 350-400 degrees for about 15-20 minutes, keeping an eye on it so the crust doesn't burn. Allow to cool for 5 minutes, then cut and devour!

Margherita Pizza, sort of...

A bunch of small tomatoes - I used organic grape tomatoes, about 10-12., washed and chopped
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp dried oregano
A generous drizzle of balsamic vinegar
1/2 tsp or more of dried red pepper flakes, depending on how spicy you like it
salt and pepper to taste
A bunch of fresh basil, ripped into small pieces
About half a ball of mozzarella (1/2 cup?) cut into small cubes
1/2 cup whole milk mozzarella, cut into cubes

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350-400 degrees. In frying pan, heat up the olive oil on medium setting. Add the chopped tomatoes and oregano and cook till they are softened and breaking down, about 5-10 minutes. Add drizzle of balsamic and cook further for about 5 minutes. Remove from heat, add the pepper flakes and salt and pepper and set aside.

2. Combine the cheese cubes and the basil in a bowl. Place the cheese and basil mixture over the readied pizza dough. Add the tomato mixture over top, allowing for some of the cheese to peek through. Bake for about 15-20 minutes. Once cooked, allow to cool for about 5 minutes. Garnish with additional basil leaves.

Labour Of Love

Oh hello. Did I blind you? Have you recovered from the ugliness of this picture of my dinner the other night? I know. It's a bit of a leap, asking you to consider making this based on your first impression, which is undoubtedly a little...unfavourable?

Would it help if I told you it was really, really good? If I used adjectives like 'earthy' and 'fragrant' and 'flavourful', would that persuade you a little? It's all good stuff in there. It's just that I wasn't able to capture the inner beauty of this meal in a photograph.

My landlord lives downstairs from us; he loves to cook. I come home from work everyday and the smells wafting from his door entice and inspire me and make my mouth water as I try to deduce what he's making. He and I have discussed the art of cooking on several occasions, and the one thing he said that has really stuck with me is that if you're preparing a meal, you must feel good about it and do it with love. My first response to that was an internal eye-roll; cook with love? What? How do you even quantify that? How much love is enough? Will the love tell me when the meat is ready? Will the love tell me whether the soup needs more cumin?

But when I thought about it a bit longer, my skepticism faded and I recognized the value of his advice. Often, when I set to cooking, it's at the end of a long day. I'm rushed, I'm hungry, I feel like the day is getting away from me. Consequently, I don't enjoy the chopping and dicing and seasoning and sauteing as much as I could. All the motions are there, but where's the love? Where's that feeling that I'm involved in something really cool? Maybe if I just slowed down and really opened myself to the experience, my food might turn out better and wouldn't have that slight aftertaste of 'frantic'.

So the other night, I set to doing just that; allowing the love to join me in the kitchen. I had a bunch of mushrooms that were on their way to the compost in another day or so, and I decided to throw a few things together that I knew I liked; canned diced tomatoes, onions, garlic; a simple sort of tomato sauce that I wanted to bake some white fish in. I poured a glass of wine, turned on some classical music and took a deep breath. I forgot about the long day I'd had and completely surrendered myself to the magic of food. As my ingredients came together and bubbled in the pot, I felt it; that love my landlord had been talking about. It wasn't some mystical element that told me what to put in the dish. It was the thing that put me in the moment, that engaged me with tastes, smells and ideas and made me trust what I was doing.

So here, without further ado, is the ugliest, tastiest thing I've made in a long time. I made the sauce the day before, but you could certainly make this all in one day. It would be much quicker to use fresh fish, but all I had was frozen which increased the baking time a lot!

Simple Tomato Sauce With White Fish:

1 tbsp butter
1-2 tbsp olive oil
1 red onion, chopped
1 big clove of garlic, finely diced
1 package of white mushrooms, chopped
1/2 cup red wine
1 28 oz can of diced tomatoes (mine were lightly seasoned with oregano and basil; you could add some if you like)
salt and pepper to taste
1 large frozen or 2 fresh fillets of cod, haddock, sole or monkfish

1. Preheat oven to 350° F

2. In a large pot, heat up the butter and olive oil over medium heat. Add the chopped onion and garlic and cook till onions are soft and translucent, about 7-10 minutes.

3. Add in the mushrooms and red wine and allow to come to a boil. Cook for about 5-10 minutes, or till really fragrant and some of the wine has been cooked off.

4.Turning the heat down a little, add the tomatoes and simmer for about 30-40 minutes; the sauce should thicken a bit as some of the liquid boils off.

5. Put a layer of the sauce in a baking pan/oven-safe pot/dutch oven and then add the fish. Put the remaining sauce on top of the fillets and cover.

6. As I'd mentioned, I used frozen fish, which took about 45-50 minutes to bake. Next time, I'll use fresh fish, which, by my estimation, should take about 20 minutes; make sure to check on it and when the fish flakes easily with a fork, it should be cooked through.