Icelandic pancakes, and last day at the farm

When I do get back to Toronto, I'll work on a recipe for those little beauties you see up there: my dad's Icelandic pancakes. They're sweet like cake, fluffy like air. I don't think I've ever seen a recipe for them --- my dad has never needed one.  But I do know that many egg whites and sugar make them a close relative of meringues, if you can ever say that about a pancake. 

But before I go, a few more bites I had this week, at the farm. 

My mum's lamb liver and onions. I know! Maybe you don't like liver and onions. Well, too bad for you. 

Venison steak-frites, from a doe my dad shot this fall. For the fries, the potatoes are from the world's best vegetable woman, Kelly Dubé, in LaBroquerie, ten miles away. And seasoned with this salt (which is decidedly not from ten miles away). 

On Wednesday, my good friend Emma came over for dinner and brought this spice cake. Joy of Cooking! 

Taking Time

This week, I won't be testing any recipes. You'll only see my photos. I'm at my parents' farm in Manitoba for the week. That's why. 

But I will be eating. 

Eating stuff like this lovely chocolate pie my Papa made, when I arrived on Sunday. 

My parents are both tremendous cooks. 

And my Maman is a fabulous watercolour painter, too. I'm spending my afternoons with her. 

She's also a gardener, even in the dead of Manitoba's winter.

I'll be back later this week with more farm photos. And I promise recipes when I'm back in the Toronto routine. 

M.F.K. Fisher

I liked M.F.K. Fisher from the moment, in an early chapter of her first book, Serve It Forth, she describes her secret winter’s habit of peeling tangerines and leaving them on a hot radiator for the day, so that the thin skin dries and the flesh swells with warm juicy pulp. Once cooled on a snow-packed windowsill, they quickly disappear:

“…I cannot tell you why they are so magical. Perhaps it is that little shell, thin as one layer of enamel on a Chinese bowl, that crackles so tinily, so ultimately under your teeth. Or the rush of cold pulp just after it. Or the perfume, I cannot tell.
          There must be some one, though, who knows what I mean. Probably everyone does, because of his own secret eatings.”

An Ode to Oats

Steel cut oats, that is.  Not rolled, and not quick oats, but the kind of oats that are knobby, pebbly and hardly friendly-looking. But I love them, and I eat them almost every morning.  

Steel cut oats make for a sturdy meal; a meal that takes its time on the stove, and doesn’t mind waiting for my bleary eyes to wake up. It’s a porridge that gently bubbles away for half an hour, while sip on coffee and peruse the news.

Steel cut oats can take on any personality: With a handful of coconut, some chunks of dried pineapple, and a good spoonful of dark, dark sugar, it’s nearly a dessert. Or throw in a handful of nutty granola and some cinnamon just before serving, you end up with good texture and wholesomeness. Or make it savory, with a pinch of salt, simmered with herbs, and knob of butter right at the end to round it out.  Maybe a spot of cream, too.

There’s a constant, though. For one serving, you need ¼ cup of oats, and a cup of water. Bring it to a boil, then down to the lowest fathomable simmer for half an hour. But those are really the only rules.

That picture, up there, it’s not really a porridge. It’s closer to a loose pilaf. But the principle is exactly the same: ¼ cup oats, a cup of water, and a half hour of simmering.

It’s quickly become one of my favourite ways to eat steel cut oats.  Feel free to play with the ingredients. Here, there are more veggies than there are oats. That makes plateful, rather than a bowlful. But you can easily make the reverse.

Oats with Kale and Mushrooms

Serves one as a hefty breakfast

A knob of butter

A handful of mushrooms, wiped clean and sliced

A pinch of grated nutmeg

Salt and pepper, to taste

Kale, 5 or 6 leaves, roughly chopped and tough stems discarded

¼ cup steel cut oats

1 cup water

In a wide sauté pan, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the mushrooms and cook until tender. Add numeg, salt and pepper.

Now add the kale, and sauté until it’s just starting to wilt.

Now add the oats and the water. Bring to a full boil, and immediately down to a low simmer.  Cook uncovered, keeping an eye on the oatmeal, and giving it an occasional stir. The oatmeal is ready with the grain is tender, and all the water is gone. Heap onto a plate, and eat it while it’s still piping hot.

Breakfast, Lunch, Tea, Repeat

Rose Carrarini is the reason I put so much butter and cream in scrambled eggs.

She’s the Englishwoman behind the popular Rose Bakery, in Paris, and behind a gem of a cookbook, Breakfast Lunch Tea. You might have guessed it, but the bakery and the book are full for pastries, soups, salads and puddings.  And more.

I trust her because of those afore mentioned scrambled eggs. Never before had I followed a recipe for scrambled eggs, and she admits she “feels a bit silly” giving one. But they are what she promised: creamy but well cooked. She shouldn’t feel silly. I’ve made my eggs her way since. One day, I’ll feel “silly” enough to pass it along too.

But not today. Today is a good day for blueberry and cranberry scones. In Breakfast Lunch Tea, Carrarini calls only for blueberries, so feel free to omit them. But I found they offer a fresh pop! of a counterpunch, though. 

Don’t, however, omit the wheat germ. It’s just a handful, I know, but it really makes the texture in these scones, gives them a moist crumble. They are most satisfying. If you don’t have wheat germ on hand, use cornmeal, or a handful of whole wheat flour.

Blueberry and Cranberry Scones

Adapted from Breakfast Lunch Tea, by Rose Carrarini of Rose Bakery

500 grams white all-purpose flour (about 3 1/3 cups), plus extra for dusting

A handful of wheat germ

2 very heaping tablespoons baking powder

2 tablespoons white sugar, plus extra for sprinkling

1 teaspoon salt

Grated zest of a lime, lemon or orange

1 cup butter, straight out the fridge and cut into cubes, plus extra for greasing

2 handfuls of fresh or frozen cranberries

1 handful of fresh or frozen blueberries

1 ¼ cups milk (or almost)

Grease a baking sheet, and preheat the oven to 400F.

In a large bowl, combine the flour, wheat germ, and baking powder. Give it a good thorough mix. Add the sugar, salt, and lime zest. Mix.

Add the cubed butter. Using your fingers, rub the mixture until it is a fine crumble. Mix in the blueberries and cranberries, and form a crater in the middle.

In a glass measuring cup, beat one of the eggs. Add milk until you reach the 1 ¼ cup mark. Poor the liquid into the crater, and gently mix with a fork. Finish mixing the dough with your hands, very gently so that you don’t burst all the berries (you will, inevitably end up with some bursts, creating a beautiful purple swirl in the dough).

On a floured surface, roll the dough out with a rolling pin or just your hands. You want it quite thick—3 cm or so. Using a round cutting tool (a glass works), cut the dough into individual scones and place on baking sheet, nearly touching each other.

Beat the second egg, and brush on the scone tops. Sprinkle each one with a pinch of sugar. Bake in the oven for 15-20 minutes, until just golden. Serve warm with butter and lots of tea.

An Extravagance

Today, I have a question for you. Let’s call it crowdsourcing.

This is salt that I bought in New York.  It has white truffles in it, and when I unscrew the jar, I get a hefty, earthy whiff.  It’s pretty much the only thing I bought on our trip to New York, so the frivolity of spending that (embarrassing) amount on a jar of salt is excused (in my imperfect opinion).

Anyway. So my question is this: I’ve used it in a few things—eggs, dressings, sprinkled on cold meats and on toast with avocado—but I need your help. Where else should extravagant truffled salt go? Leave a comment and let me know. 

An Indian Mushroom Soup

Let’s cut straight to it. You should really make this soup.

I made it almost by accident yesterday afternoon. It happened for two reasons: First, I had too many mushrooms in the fridge. Second, I’ve been perusing Meeru Dhalwala and Vikram Vij’s book, Vij’s At Home, religiously over the last week.

It’s such a lovely book, and while every recipe was a snap to make, the results were complex flavours and a full variety of curries on the table.  

But this mushroom soup stands out. It’s like alchemy. It’s mostly water, really, but heavily spiced and thickened with potatoes, it becomes the absolute best vehicle for a large handfuls of mixed mushrooms.

Dhalwala and Vij call for buttermilk, but I had to substitute for every kind of dairy I had in the fridge (mostly milk, a bit of cream, and dollop of yoghurt), which I soured with a drop of vinegar.  Go for buttermilk if you have, though.

As for mushrooms, any combination will do, but shitakes are just so nice. If you can include them, do.  

This will serve six people for a light meal, with a little something on the side (some rice, or a salad, say).

Another tip: Once you get the oil going, everything starts to happen quickly. So make sure you’ve prepped and measured everything, before you get going.

Indian Mushroom Soup

Adapted from Vij’s At Home, by Meeru Dhalwala and Vikram Vij

1 ½ lbs potatoes, scrubbed but not peeled

½ cup sunflower or other high-heat cooking oil

1 tablespoon cumin seeds

8 large garlic cloves, finely chopped

3 tablespoons ginger, finely chopped

2 teaspoons salt  (or up to a tablespoon, depending on taste)

2 ½ tablespoons ground coriander

1 tablespoon crushed hot chilies

1 ½  teaspoon turmeric

5 cups water

2 ½ cups buttermilk

A few large handfuls (6 to 8 ounces) of mixed mushrooms (shitake/cremini/oyster, or anything you fancy), sliced quite thickly.

First boil the potatoes. But them in a large pot with plenty of water, and bring to a boil. Turn down to a simmer, and cook for 45 minutes, or until tender. Drain and leave to cool. Then peel the skins and discard (when they are cooked, you can even do this with your fingers).  Roughly mash the potatoes, making sure to leave some larger, bite sized pieces.

In a heavy bottomed pot, heat the oil on medium-high, and add the cumin seeds. Allow them to sizzle for 30 seconds.  Add the garlic and sauté for a minute or so, until just golden. Then add the ginger, and continue to stir, for 30 seconds more. Now add the dry spices: salt, coriander, chilies, and turmeric. Stir for a minute, reduce the heat, and add the potatoes. Give them a good mix to combine, and add the water. Bring up to a boil, then down to a simmer. Leave those flavours to marry for 5 minutes or so.

Before adding the dairy, spoon some of the hot curry into the cold milk, to prevent curdling. Then, carefully pour the milk in, stirring as you pour. Bring it slowing up to a gentle boil, still stirring. Add the mushrooms and cook them until they are just soft. This will only take two minutes or so. Take off the heat, and serve.