38 words

"So, 2013, you were hard. I'd appreciate a bit of gentleness in the year to come. I'm hard too, though, so if all you've got is more of the same, 2014, bring it and I'll take ya down. "

Those 38 words--contemplative, declarative, confessorial and  challenging--posted in 2013's waning hours, pretty much summed up so many in my Facebook news feed.

What followed were messages from the bereaved, those who've worn ruts to and from hospital, as well as those who've been discarded by employers or lovers.

Snaps of smiling faces, happy pets, copious foods and drinks, as well as messages of peace and goodwill were there, but a steady stream of resolve, hope and strength kept coming though from all corners of the world.

2013 wasn't a great year for many in my circles, but we came through together, some more bruised than others.  Regardless, unlike entering into 2013, there is a determination to face the good and the bad with the sort of aplomb reserved by those who don't have the luxury of resting on laurels or the assured safety of a soft landing.

So while I take stock of my own 2013 and gird myself for whatever 2014 throws at me, I decided to simmer a pot of Hoppin' John Soup to encourage good fortune and optimism.

Hoppin' John is a southern US peas and rice dish, which may have evolved from what was fed to African slaves transported to the US.  The modern dish itself is usually made with rice, black eyed peas (or field peas) with onion, pork, salt and greens such as kale, cabbage or collard greens.

Today, it's traditionally eaten on New Year's Day to bring diners good luck and prosperity.  The peas symbolise coins, pork represents optimism, and the greens symbolize banknotes.  I've also seen an interpretation where the peas represent peace and the rice, riches.

Whether you believe a dish can usher good luck, riches and peace, my take on the popular American food offers a hearty and warming meal.  I made this soup after looking at several recipes for the traditional meal and its brothy cousin.  My inspirations came from  my friend Kalyn, Emeril Lagasse and AllRecipes.

The soup is smoky, salty and above all, hearty and warming.  The rice breaks down and thickens the tomatoey broth.  The peas are toothsome and not overcooked.  The greens are silky soft.

Whether or not it brings luck…well, ask me in at the end of the year.

Hoppin' John Soup

Yield: approx 2.5 L

Ingredients

225g (0.5lb) dried black eyed peas, picked and soaked overnight
flavourless oil
1 onion, chopped to small dice
1 celery rib, chopped to small dice
1 red or yellow bell pepper, chopped to small dice
1 garlic clove, minced
500ml (2c) chopped tomatoes
1dspn/2tsp (10ml) Cajun seasoning (see notes)
0.5tsp (2.5ml) dried thyme OR 1.5tsp (12.5ml) fresh thyme
1 large pinch of dried chilli pepper flakes
1-2 bay leaves
2L (8c) chicken or vegetable stock (more, if you want your soup more brothy)
100g (125ml/0.5c) raw rice (see notes)
1 ham hock, ham bone or pieces of ham rind (optional)
225g ham, chopped to small dice (see notes)
1 bunch Swiss chard, chopped (chiffonade), green parts only -- approximately 1.5L (6c) (see notes)
1dspn/2tsp (10ml) apple cider vinegar

Method

• Slick your soup pot with oil and light the hob to a medium flame. Add onions, celery and bell pepper. Saute until soft. Add garlic and stir until the air is perfumed with garlic. 
• Add tomatoes, Cajun spice, thyme, chilli and bay leaves. Mix well and cook (uncovered) for about 10 minutes, occasionally to crushing the tomatoes and stirring, to ensure the veggies don't catch. 
• Add chicken stock, rice and ham hock (if using). Stir, bring to a boil and cook for 30 minutes. 
• Drain the beans of their soaking water and tip the beans, along with the ham, greens and apple cider vinegar, and give it all a good stir. Bring the soup back up to the boil and turn the flame down to a simmer and let the soup cook for another 30-45 minutes. Stir occasionally. The peas should be tender, the rice soft and collapsing, and the greens, silken. Balance flavours to taste. 
• Serve with a good loaf of crusty bread or cornbread.

Notes:

• Cajun seasoning: you can use a shop-bought spice mix or make your own (the recipe I use is Emeril Lagasse's Essence) 
• Rice: Most recipes I've seen call for long grain/wild rice, or seasoned rice mixes. I used basmati, which works well. 
• Ham: I made this with half a slice of ham steak (with the bone), but you can use leftover ham, bacon or sausage (I think English bangers (with lots of sage) or fresh chorizo would work well).
• Greens: I think the point is have something green and leafy--so use what you have chard, kale, spinach, collard greens, etc.

cheers! 
jasmine 
I'm a quill for hire!

Temple Food: Curried Roasted Squash Soup

After a week of meals that looked like

and

(along with other things that came from oil- and sauce-spotted containers, icing-stickied paper sacs, and lidded plastic cups which barely contained melted sugary goo topped with more sugary goo),

It's time for a bit of temple food after a week--and more specifically a weekend--of semi-hedonistic cavorting with old and new friends. More veggies, less meat. More roasting and steaming, less frying.

My week is still busy, so the simplest thing for me to pull together as part of my recentring was a pot of curried roasted squash soup. Like most soups (and most things I cook), I made it on the fly. I roasted the squash when I got home, let it cool overnight and made the soup the next night, after work. The end result was sweet and spicy, creamy with a bit of an edge. Exactly what my body craved.

Curried Roasted Squash Soup
Yield approx 1.5-2L, depending upon how thick you like your soup.

Ingredients
1 acorn squash (pepper squash), approx 1kg (2lbs)
a little oil for frying
1tsp (rounded) (6-7ml) curry powder
0.5tsp (2.5ml) turmeric
1 onion, finely chopped
0.5 thumb (2.5cm/1") ginger, grated
2 garlic cloves minced
water
0.5tsp (2.5ml) Worcestershire sauce
1tsp (5ml) vinegar
salt
black pepper
chilli pepper (to taste)

Optional:
finely chopped coriander leaf or flat leaf parsley, for garnish
sour cream, for garnish

Method
Preheat oven to 170C/325F. Lightly oil a foil-lined cookie tray.

Cut the squash in half. Scoop out the pulp and seeds.

Place the squash halves, cut-side down, on the oiled foil-lined tray and bake for about an hour or until the flesh is fork tender.

Remove from oven and let cool. When the squash is cool enough to handle, peel off and discard the rind. Chop the flesh into large chunks.

Fry the curry powder and turmeric in oil until fragrant. Add the onions, coat with the curry mixture, and cook until soft and translucent. Stir in the ginger and garlic until they release their oils.

Add the chunks of cooked squash, and give the pot's contents a good turn or two with a spoon. Pour in enough water to cover the squash. Turn up the heat and let the contents come to a boil for about 10 minutes. Turn the flame down to a simmer, lid the pod and let blurble for about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

By this point the squash should easily yield to the pressure of a wooden spoon, if not have totally disintegrated. Either mash the squash, blitz with a hand whizzer, or puree the soup, in batches in a blender.

Return the soup to the pot. Over a flame, thin with more water to a desired consistency. Stir in Worcestershire sauce and vinegar. Add salt, pepper and chilli powder (if using) to taste.

If you wish, serve with a dollop of sour cream, chopped coriander leaf or parsley.

cheers!

jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Faux Chicken Pho

Hot cold hot cold hot cold.

This has been a very odd winter. For the most part we've had above-freezing temperatures, punctuated by the occasional reminder that this is Canada, at the time of year of short days and long nights with howling winds and fluttering snowflakes.

When temps vacillate as they have, people fall ill. It seems as if every third or fourth person I speak to is sick. Snuffly, feverishly, earpluggingly, barking like a mad seal coughingly, cracked voicingly and goopily sick.

Many of us grew up with the notion that chicken soup will cure whatever ails you. I think that's doubly true with Indian, Chinese, Thai and Vietnamese soups filled with warming spices and revitalizing herbs.

Like many soups, I think a good pho can be made with what you have on hand--your choice of veggies and meats. The key, I think is in the broth--sweet, salty, hot and slightly sour. Once you get the broth tasting as you wish, the rest is up to you.

Chicken Pho
Serves 2-4

Ingredients
For the Broth
625ml (2.5c) chicken broth or stock
2 garlic cloves, minced
1.25cm (0.5") ginger, grated or minced
1 star anise pod
2dspn (20ml/4tsp) nam pla (fish sauce)
1tsp (5ml) brown sugar
1-2tsp (5-10ml) soy sauce, to taste

For the sustenance (suggested)
Rice noodles, cooked
Shredded chicken
Carrots, raw and thinly sliced
Deep, leafy greens, such as kale, chard or spinach, raw and chiffonaded
Mushrooms, raw and thinly sliced (or, if using enoki, broken apart)
Green onions, thinly sliced (both the green and whites
Red chilli pepper, such as bird's eye/Thai chilli, minced

Bean sprouts
Coriander leaf, chopped

Method
Add all the broth ingredients together and bring to a gentle boil, then reduce the flame and let simmer for about 15-20 minutes

To serve
Add as much of the sustenance to each bowl and ladle stock over top

Notes:

• You can substitute turkey for chicken
• You may want to fish out the star anise before serving, but you can leave it in the pot, so it can keep flavouring the broth

cheers!

jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

The carbonnade that wasn't: Chicken and Ale Stew

It all started with beer. And beef.

No, this isn't a wayward tale that begins in a pub and finishes with me communing with a herd of Waygu, pouring Methuselahs of Sapporo into their four-chambered gullets...

Although that could be fun...if a brewer or a beef farmer wanted to sponsor me on such a journey, I'm open to discussion...

But I digress.

It's winter, in Canada. Snow blankets the ground and at times a fierce wind chills me to my very core. In my world, it's not salad eating season. I don't want lemonade or iced tea. I don't want sushi. I don't want mellons dripping with honeyed juices.

I want hearty, long-cooked food with earthy and rich flavours. I want beef. I want oniony and mushroomy gravies. I want beef-stuffed oven-baked pastas. I want giant burgers with poutine. I want hot chocolate...and this is the only time of year I really crave...beer. Not just any beer. Stout--deep, rich and heady with chocolaty notes. Oh, it's lovely stuff.

But I'm not much of a drinker--the occasional half pint (yes, I'm the one who orders half a pint while out), but then the rest of my cravings go into food: cakes, stews, breads.

Knowing how well beer and beef play together--beer-braised beef, steak and Guinness stew, beer-based sauces on barbecued steak--I fixated on Carbonnade à la flamande: a lovely, rich oniony Belgian beef and beer stew. I looked at a few recipes and cobbled together a plan.

I executed that plan.

I wasn't enamoured with the result.

Don't get me wrong--it was good: the beef was tender, the herbs and spices were and the aleish broth was oniony and and sort of rich. It definitely wasn't deep and lush as I'd hoped. But it was good.

When I revisited my plans and did more research into carbonnades, I found my error.

In all my frenetic note-taking, I didn't pay attention to what sort of Beglian beer to use. I should have used a dark brew. I bought a six-pack of whitbier. In other words I bought something better suited for lighter and crisper summertime sipping than a sturdier and darker pint.

Oh well. I looked at my remaining bottles of Hoegaarden. Truthfully, I read my remaining bottles of Hoegaarden. Two words caught my attention: orange and coriander.

Truthfully (again) I didn't pick up those notes when I tasted the ale. Mind you, I also don't pick up the plummy, oaky, peachy or other notes wines are purported to have.

But I digress (again).

I can work with coriander and orange and beer. I can work with those ingredients with chicken and mushrooms. I also happened to have a couple of links of Alsatian sausage in my freezer, from one of of the butchers I usually frequent, and though their peppery-clove spicing would also compliment the other flavours.

Every velvety and meaty mouthful combines sweet and spicy, with just a little bit of latent sourness from the ale and the mustard. The aromas hint at citrus and clove, in all its chickenny and sausagey goodness.

It may not be a carbonnade, but it was warming and made my tummy incredibly happy.

Chicken and Ale Stew with mushrooms and sausage
Yield: approx 2L

Ingredients
For the marinade:
2 cloves garlic, minced
0.25tsp salt
0.5tsp black pepper
1tsp ground coriander, toasted (see notes)
0.25tsp ground cloves
1 sprig, thyme
juice of one orange
500ml (2cups) Belgian pale ale--approx 1.5 bottles (I used Hougaarden)

For the stew:
500g (1lb) bonless, skinless chicken (dark and light meat), cut into bite-sized chunks.
200g (7oz) mildly spiced sausage (I used Alsatian-style sausages), sliced into coins (optional)
butter or oil for frying
1tsp ground coriander, toasted (see notes)
0.25tsp ground cloves
2 ribs celery, finely chopped
2 carrots, finely chopped
4 onions, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
salt
pepper
500ml (2c) chicken or vegetable stock
2 sprigs thyme
1 bay leaf
1Tbsp brown sugar
2-3Tbsp whole grain mustard
4Tbsp soft butter
3Tbsp all-purpose flour
grated zest of one orange
a handful of chopped parsley (optional)
500g (1lb) mushrooms, sliced

Method:
Mix the marinade ingredients together and pour over chicken pieces. Let sit while you brown the sausage coins in batches in a large, heavy-bottomed pot. Remove the browned meat to a plate. Brown the marinated chicken in the sausage fat (adding additional oil or butter, if needed). Remove the browned chicken pieces to a plate.

Over a medium flame, add the coriander and cloves to the hot fat and fry for about a minute, until the air is perfumed. Add the celery, carrots and onions to the pot and cook until the onions are transluscent. Add the garlic, some salt and pepper and stir for about 30-45 seconds, until the garlic scents the air.

Add the marinating liquid and bring to a boil. Add the sausage, chicken and chicken stock. Stir in the brown sugar and bring it back to a boil. Add thyme sprigs and bay leaf. Lower heat and let simmer for about an hour (or longer, if you wish).

While the stew simmers, sauté mushrooms and set aside.

When the stew is done simmering, make a beurre manié with the flour and butter by kneading them together into a paste. Add a ladle or two of the stew's liquid and stir into the butter-flour paste. Stir this into the stew. Turn up the heat and bring the stew back up to a boil and let boil for a few minutes. Fold the mushrooms, orange zest and chopped parsley (if using) into the stew.

Serve over boiled, buttered potatoes, egg noodles or rice.

Notes:

• To toast spices, simply put them in a dry frying pan and place over a medium heat. Stir occasionally until the oils release their scent.
• If you don't have mild sausage, you can totally omit it or use a smaller quantity of chopped, bacon--say four rashers--or ham (100-150g).
  
  
  cheers!
  jasmine
  I'm a quill for hire!
  
  
  
  

Roasted Carrot and Parsnip Soup with Coriander

If necessity is the mother of invention then, leftover food is the mother of...well...different food.

It's winter and I cocoon in the warmth of my home. Enough food to feed a hockey team rolls out of my kitchen: Beelzebub's maw offers breads, casseroles, roast chicken, baked chops and lots and lots of roast veggies every few days.

It all gets eaten, sometimes frozen for a rainy day. Leftovers get played with--sometimes successfully, sometimes not. This is a successfull dalliance.

The other week my own poor planning left me without any exra meat or potatoes, but an overabundance of oven roasted carrots and parsnips.

I stared at them for a while. I'm sure a roast carrot and parsnip quesadilla could have done the trick, but I wasn't enthused. I could have baked some chicken legs or perhaps fried a quick steak, but for whatever reason neither of those options seemed satisfying either.

Falling snow and a quick wind put me in the mind for a hearty soup. The vegetables were roasted with warming spices of cardamom, coriander and cumin and the idea of turning them into a burnished gold soup was exactly what was called for.

As with most soups, I think this is really a non-recipe recipe: create a flavour base, add liquid, add the veggies boil and purée. Add more liquid, if needed.

My only tip I (and it's really not my tip, as I've seen it mentioned in chef interviews and recipes) is to add a bit of carrot juice after puréeing, to add a bit of brightness to the taste as well as colour.


Roasted Carrot and Parsnip Soup with Coriander
Yield approx 1.5l (6 cups)

Ingredients
flavourless oil
0.5tsp black mustard seeds
0.5tsp ground coriander seeds
0.5tsp ground tumeric
0.5tsp cinnamon
1 onion, diced
2 garlic cloves, minced
2.5cm (1") piece of ginger, minced
300g (2c) roasted carrots and parsnips
(4c) hot vegetable stock, plus more, if needed
2tsp vinegar or lemon juice
375ml (2.5c) carrot juice (optional)
salt and pepper (to taste)

Garnish (optional)
sour cream
coriander leaves (cilantro), minced

Method
Heat mustard seeds in oil over medium heat until the seeds begin to crackle and pop. Tip in coriander, tumeric and cinnamon and fry for about a minute. Add the onions (and more oil, if necessary) and fry for about a minute and then add the garlic and ginger. Continue to cook until the onions are translucent and limp. Add carrots and parsnips, stiring until everything is well coated. Pour in stock and vinegar and stir. Lid the pot and let blurble away for about 15 minutes or until the vegetables are heated through and yield to a wooden spoon. Take off the heat and let cool for about 10 minutes (or longer, if you wish).

Purée the soup in a food processor, immersion blender or a jug-style blender until it’s as smooth as you prefer.

Return the soup to the stove and simmer over medium heat. Add extra stock and carrot juice (if using) and stir. Balance flavours to taste.

Serve hot with optional dollop of sour cream and chopped coriander leaf stirred into each bowl.


cheers!
jasmine



I'm a quill for hire!

*Blush*: Butternut Squash and Apple Soup with Bacon

The thing about foodblogging--or many other types of blogging, I suppose--is it's quite a solitary endeavour.

I sit here, alone, in my basement TV temple, my laptop perched on my lap, unfurling my thoughts as I type away into the ether. I never quite ask "is there anyone out there?" I know there is. Who you are is mostly a mystery to me.

Some of my regular visitors are known to me--they comment, email or talk to me via Twitter. Many are anonymous passers by who find me through links, Internet searches or simply by accident. But then there are those who stop by on a regular basis who are quiet voyeurs to parts of my life. I often wonder about this last group--who they are, why they visit and why they return.

Every once in a while someone uncloaks--I always feel a bit honoured when they do. Sometimes when they say "hi," I'm a bit amazed at who's dropped me a line.

Imagine my surprise when I received a note from an editor at CanadianLiving.com, asking me to participate in an article featuring their favourite bloggers. Seriously. Me?

They've followed my pixelated rants and escapades for years and decided to include me with some of food blogging's finest voices and photographers. Angie, Béa, Clotilde, Dara, Hillary, Ilva, Jeanette, Kalyn, Matt, Melody, Paula, Peabody and I all shared some of our kitchen aventures in a piece about ingredient phobias. You can read it here.

A couple of weeks later, I received another note. A writer for Taste Magazine, a local quarterly food journal contacted me for a feature she was pulling together about local foodbloggers. One of her colleagues has read me for a while and suggested that she track me down. And track me down she did. She came to my home and we had a lovely natter over some lemon-blueberry buckle. The article also profiles Charmian and Andrea; we've all contributed seasonal recipes for cold winter months. The magazine's editor was kind enough to flip me a pdf, so I can share it here.

In case you don't have Adobe Acrobat, here's my recipe that appears in the Winter 2010 edition of Taste:

Sweet, tart, creamy and just a little bit smoky, this hearty, cool-weather soup was inspired by Trish Magwood's sweet potato-chipotle soup, Jennifer McLagan's pumpkin and bacon soup, and Molly Katzen's curried apple soup. By leaving out the bacon and sour cream it easily becomes vegetarian-friendly: sauté in oil, use vegetable broth and garnish with fresh sage. Like many soups, its flavour improves if allowed to steep for at least a day.



Butternut Squash and Apple Soup with Bacon
Yield: Approximately 2.5 litres /10 cups

Ingredients:
150g (4-6 strips) streaky bacon (or pancetta), chopped
flavourless oil, such as canola or safflower (if needed)
2 medium cooking onions, diced
1 celery stalk, diced
2.5ml (0.5 tsp) dried sage
2 garlic cloves, minced
250ml (1 cup) white wine
1kg (2lbs) butternut squash, peeled, seeded and chopped
500g (1lb) tart cooking apples, such as Granny Smith or Jonathan, peeled, cored and chopped
250ml (1 cup) apple juice or cider
1L (4c) cold vegetable or chicken stock or broth
cayenne pepper (optional)

To serve:
sour cream (optional)


Method:
In a four-litre (four-quart) pot, fry the chopped bacon over medium heat until crispy. Using a slotted spoon, remove the cooked bacon and drain on kitchen towels, leaving the bacon fat in the pot. Keep the bacon pieces aside for garnishing.

Add the onions and celery to the hot fat—you may need to add a splash of oil, in case the bacon is particularly lean. Stir occasionally to lift up any browned bacon bits that have stuck to the bottom of the pot. After about five to eight minutes, the onions will be translucent. Add the sage and garlic and stir for about 30 seconds, or until the garlic releases its scent. Pour in the wine and stir for about a minute or until the alcohol evaporates.

Add the chopped squash and apples to the pot. Stir well, coating the pieces in the onion mixture. Add the apple juice and enough stock to cover. Bring the mixture to a boil and let simmer until the squash and apples are easily pierced with a fork—this will take about 15-20 minutes.

Remove from heat and let cool for about 10 minutes (or longer, if you wish). Purée the soup in a food processor, immersion blender or a jug-style blender until it’s as smooth as you prefer. For a chunky texture, you can mash the ingredients, by hand, with a potato masher.

Return the soup to the stove and simmer over medium heat. Add cayenne (to taste), if using. Balance and adjust flavour to taste: honey to sweeten, white wine or white wine vinegar to add a bit of sharpness, salt, pepper, additional sage or other herbs to round out the flavours as you see fit.

Serve hot with a dollop of sour cream stirred into each bowl; garnish with crisped bacon.


Notes:
- For a deeper, smokier taste, fry the bacon until soft and do not remove it when you add the onions (etc). Purée all together. Fry extra bacon, for garnishing.

- For a more pronounced apple flavour, use hard cider instead of wine.

- Much of the soup’s flavour will come from the broth. Use homemade if you have it, but store-bought broth, concentrate or bullion cubes work just as well.

- If you are puréeing hot soup in a jug-style blender, remove the centre piece from the lid, keeping a folded towel over the opening. Process in small batches by starting on low and slowly increase the speed. This will help to lessen the steam’s pressure from building in the jug and could reduce the possibility of hot soup exploding from your blender and onto your walls, counter, cupboards and you.

cheers!
jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Butternut squash, bacon and apple soup

Apologies to those who are looking for one of my usual life-based missives. The fact is said life, such as it is, has taken over and I've been left flicking through photographs and recipes to find something to offer. Quite honestly, if I didn't, you'd be left with that not-so-exciting slow cooker pork sandwich recipe I'm not-that-excited about.

Earlier this year when I reviewed Jennifer McLagan's Fat I noted her pumpkin and bacon soup was okay but needed something more. I liked the contrast of a silky pumpkin soup with crispy bacon crumbles, but I just thought the flavours could be a bit more.

After playing a bit I came up with this recipe, based on McLaglan's recipe and others written by Trish Magwood and Molly Katzen. It's relatively quick and more than easy--the most laborious part is blitzing the soup, but really a masher would do if you want something a bit more textured. The result is a combination of sweet, smoky and savoury silkiness that's perfect in cool autumn, winter or even early spring nights.

Enjoy!

Butternut squash, bacon and apple soup
Yield: Approx 2-2.5 L (8-10c)

4-6 rashers bacon, crumbled and fried to a crisp, with its fat reserved
2 onions, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
500g (approx 1lb) butternut squash, peeled, cored and cut into chunks
2 tart apples (Granny smith, for example), peeled, cored and cut into chunks
250ml (1c) white wine
1L (4c) vegetable stock (cold, preferably)
250ml-375ml (1-1.5c) apple cider or juice
cayenne pepper (optional)

Cook the onions until translucent in the bacon fat. Add the garlic and stir until its fragrance is released. Pour in the wine and stir until the liquid has evaporated.

Add the bacon, chunked squash and squash and give the pot a good stir. Add the apple juice and enough stock to cover. Let blurble over medium-high heat until the squash and apples are soft.

Remove from heat and mash or blitz with a blender (stick or jug) until it is as smooth as you wish. Return to the heat and add as much hot pepper as you wish. Stir, taste and balance flavours as your palate dictates.



Note: You can decide not to blitz the bacon with the soup and simply sprinkle a few shards onto the soup before serving.




cheers!
jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Guinness onion soup with bleu cheese croutons

My liquor cubby betrays me. Friends' collections of wines and scotches are on show. Some have bar selections that allows them to live out their mixologist fantasies.

Me? I have a tiny little cubby behind a teak door. Gin, vodka and cognac always have their places; at least one can of Guinness is in the fridge. That's it. That's all. Quite utilitarian in a way. Everything else is incidental and only in when gifted or when needed.

People who know me well aren’t that surprised to know this. I don’t drink that much and when I do it’s usually one of the above, but it’s my taste for Guinness is what throws some people off. It’s an acquired taste, one which I took to immediately.

Friends once mocked my half pint glass of dark liquid, assuming it was a cola and not a “real” drink. I told them it wasn’t and they didn’t believe me. I offered them a sip as proof. Eyes wide, and barely able to swallow, they went back to their rum and Cokes (heavy on the cola).

I can only describe this tar-black stout as meaty, rich, and with flavours that remind me of roasted coffee beans or cocoa beans. And it’s smooth. Very, very smooth.

In the kitchen, my favourite stout gives a depth to chocolate cakes and steaky stews that usually appear near St. Patrick’s Day. This year’s stew’s been sopped up and the cakelettes have yet to appear, but this year I’ve added to my Guinnessy repertoire.

Onion soups topped with cheesy toasts are a weakness: poking the cheesy lake with my spoon, pushing the bread into the broth, the savoury-sweet melange of a hearty broth and sweet onions, made with wine or stout, it’s all good as far as I’m concerned.

I looked at a number of recipes when I came up with this one. The soup part itself is rather easy to muddle through without a recipe—simply caramelise some onions and add a mix of beef broth and Guinness, with some bay leaves and thyme—but versions with bleu cheese croutons held my attention. I cubed the bread and made a batch of croutons to be used and snacked on, but you can simply lightly pre-toast a slice, fit it to the mouth of your soup crock, sprinkle it with blue cheese, a bit of olive oil and a grinding of pepper and then pop it under the broiler for about a minute.


Bleu Cheese Croutons
Per serving

1 stale slice of bread, cubed
1 tsp bleu cheese
olive oil
black pepper

Preheat the broiler or set the oven to 200C/400F.

Stir the bleu cheese into an overflowing tablespoon of olive oil until smoothish. Add a good pinch or two of pepper. Toss the bread in the mixture.

Tumble the cubes onto a foil-lined tray and pour any remaining oil mixture over the bread.

If broiling: set under the broiler for about 60-90 seconds, or until golden.

If baking: bake for about 10-15 minutes or until golden.


Guinness Onion Soup
Yield: approx 1.3L (5c)

1kg (2lbs) medium cooking onions (approx 4-6 onions)
2-3 garlic cloves, minced
butter
olive oil
salt
pepper
330ml (1.3c) Guinness (or other stout)
750ml (3c) beef broth
2 bay leaves
0.75 tsp dry thyme
1 tsp brown sugar
1 Tbsp white wine vinegar

In a pot, put the onions, garlic, a pinch of salt and some pepper and enough cold oil and butter and cook until the onions are soft and caramelised.

While the onions are browning, reduce the Guinness to about 200ml (a bit more than 0.75c).

Add the reduced stout to the onions, along with the broth, thyme and bay leaves. Bring up to a boil and then let simmer, uncovered, for about 30 minutes. Add sugar and vinegar, stir well and balance flavours to taste.

Serve with bleu cheese or cheddar croutons.

cheers!
jasmine


I'm a quill for hire!

When you give a mouse a cookie II: Lamb, prune and almond tagine with honeyed caramelized onions and couscous

Tag-ine. You’re it.

Sorry. I couldn’t resist.

There was one rule for the potluck: bring something from a cuisine from which you normally don’t eat. Okay. There were two: list the ingredients beside the dish.

I suppose the challenge was easier said than done.

In the week prior to the lunch, I’d already partaken in Scandinavian, Italian, French, Mexican, Southern US, Thai and Vietnamese, along with the ubiquitous “Canadian” fare (foods that if I thought over long and hard I could ascribe to a region, but really: when you’re at the point of gnawing off your own leg, as long as the meal’s ready, edible and within reach, do you really want undertake a genealogical search on what you’re about to put in your mouth?).

Instead of challenging myself to a cuisine, I decided to revisit an underused-in-my-kitchen ingredient, and from that find some sort of national or cultural theme.

I’m not sure why I settled on lamb. As an unashamed carnivore who doesn’t practise ageism (apart from best before dates), I’m fully aware of the controversy of such a choice for a communal meal. But at the same time, it is a favoured meat in so many parts of the world. With so many options that lay before me—Chinese, Indian, the swath of Arabic-speaking nations, countries that lie on the Mediterranean’s northern shore—I decided to throw caution to the wind and simply cook.

Thanks to the genius that is Claudia Roden, I quickly became fixated on Morocco. I’d spent a day in Tangiers two lifetimes ago and fell in love with it as only a 16 year old school girl could. In Arabesque, I found two dishes that immediately leapt to the head of the queue Tagine Bil Barkok Wal Loz and Keskou Tfaya—Tagine of Lamb with Prunes and Almonds and Couscous with Lamb, Onions and Raisins.

Flicking between the two recipes, I quickly realised they could easily be combined into one. The prunes and almonds would be kept along with the couscous and honeyed caramelised onions. The couscous Claudia calls for is plain, but mine is usually made with stock, whole spices and raisins. A happy marriage of her two dishes, I think.

Moroccan stews or “tagines,” borrow their name from shallow round clay cooking pots with conical lids. If you don’t have the eponymous cooking vessel, you can simply use an aptly-sized lidded pot. Sweet and hearty, tagines of lamb and prune are the most well-known fruit tagines outside of Morocco, and often served with couscous and hot, buttered chickpeas.

Lamb, Prune and Almond Tagine with Honeyed Caramelized Onions
Serves 8

5-6 onions (approx 1.25kg (2.75lbs)),
Flavourless oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
1tsp ground ginger
4 whole cloves, bashed lightly
3Tbsp ground cinnamon, divided
1kg (2lbs) boned lamb shoulder, trimmed of excess fat and cut into 2.5 cm (1”) chunks
Copious amounts of black pepper (start with 3Tbsp)
Salt
Water (approx 1.25L (5c))
400g (14oz) moist pitted prunes
A good, solid pinch of saffron threads (about 0.5tsp)
40g (3Tbsp) butter
1Tbsp olive oil
2Tbsp runny honey
100g (3.5oz) blanched whole almonds
3-4 drops sesame seed oil

Finely chop one of the onions and tip into a large heavy-bottomed pot with four tablespoons oil, garlic, half the ginger, cloves and one teaspoon cinnamon. Cook until the onions begin to turn translucent. Add the meat and brown on all sides. Cover with water, add about two tablespoons of pepper and a few heavy pinches of salt. Bring the pot to a boil and then reduce the flame and leave the meat to quietly simmer for about 1.5-2hrs.

Meanwhile, prepare the caramelised onions. Thinly slice the remaining onions into lunettes, place in a wide, shallow pan with 250ml (1c) water. Cover and cook over a low flame for about half an hour. Unlid, turn up the heat and continue cooking until all the liquid has evaporated. Add the butter, olive oil and stir until the onions caramelise to a warm, deep brown. Mix in the honey, one rounded teaspoon of cinnamon and a good pinch of salt.

Toast the almonds in a few drops of oil until golden. If you wish, you can roughly chop about half the nuts, or leave them whole.

The lamb is ready when it is tender and can be easily pulled apart with your fingers. When so, give the pot a stir (you can remove any scum that's floated to the top, if you wish, but it's not necessary) and add the prunes, remaining cinnamon, saffron, another teaspoon or two of pepper, the caramelised onions and stir again. Let simmer and thicken for 30 minutes.

Taste the thickened tagine and balance flavours to taste. Stir in the almonds and a few drops of sesame oil.

Note: Beef can be substituted for lamb.


Couscous is semolina made from ground hard durum wheat which is then sprinkled with water and then rolled in flour, and is Morocco’s national dish. The couscous found in Western markets is the pre-cooked, instant variety that requires some boiling water and a relatively short steaming time. Properly cooked, couscous is light and fluffy and can be served with meat or vegetable dishes, or can be sweetened and used in desserts.

Couscous
Serves 8

500g (3c) couscous
Pepper
Salt
A couple of handfuls of sultana raisins
5cm (2-inch) cinnamon stick
4-6 cardamom pods, lightly crushed
600ml (approx 2.5c) vegetable broth, off the boil
2Tbsp flavourless oil
A couple of teaspoons of butter (optional)

Mix the couscous, raisins and spices together and then pour the hot broth over the grains. Mix well. Cover the bowl with cling film, a lid or simply put a dinner plate over top. Let the grains swell for 10 minutes.

Mix in the oil. Rub the couscous between your hands, above the bowl, letting the grains separate and tumble back to the bowl, breaking up any lumps.

Preheat the oven to 200C/400F.

Tip the couscous into an ovenproof dish and pop it into the oven for about 15 minutes (or until it begins to steam). Before serving you can, if you wish, stir in the butter, as you fluff the grains with a fork.

cheers!
jasmine


I'm a quill for hire!

Black Bean and Back Bacon Soup

I love retreating to my kitchen at any point in the year, but in mid-winter's depths, it's particularly satsifying. Even in a winter as mild as our current one, pottering in a warmed kitchen, aromas from slower-cooked foods wafting throughout the house is more than comforting.

There's a sense of accomplishment to be had when making a meal that requires a number of steps and components. Take lasagne for example: bechamel and tomato sauces, meat and (or) veggie fillings, pasta-making for those inclined--a delicous and hearty winter dish, to be sure, but also one that can eat up the better part of a day in preparation and cooking.

Unfortunately, my life does not allow for the daily luxury of hours of cooking for one meal; often I'll spend a Sunday sastifying my need to ponder my way through several days' worth of meals: a Sunday roasted chicken transforms several times over until even the scraps are done--sandwiches, quesadillas, soups, pastas and salads.

But more and more often, my lazy cooking Sundays are becoming less and less frequent. I'll still bake my breakfast pastries, but the grand meal with built-in chameleon-like properties doesn't happen as regularly. On days where I can't fiddle with ingredients, I turn to hearty soups and stews to satsify me throughout the week. The fact the flavours improve as time passes is a benefit. The fact that it only takes one or two minutes to reheat and have a satisfying meal, coupled with half a bagel, is the greater beneft.

I see most soups as non-recipe recipes, and often what I do is just tip in ingredients in quantities dictated by my mood and my pantry. I tend to like my bean soups on the viscous end of the scale, so I use a lesser quantity of stock, but if you like a more brothy soup, by all means add more liquid. There are days where I'll balance it with Thai sweet chilli garlic paste or with a bit of maple syrup. I find bacon of all types salty, so I rarely have to add more salt, but it's up to you.

I don't think of this soup as a starter dish--it's far too body strengthening for that, but thinned out, or with lesser quantities of beans and bacon it could do. The flavours are deep and warming--the perfect thing when hunkered in, catching up on work or simply hiding out from the world with a good book.

Black Bean and Back Bacon Soup
Serves 6-8, depending upon appetite and cook's generosity.

300g dried black beans, soaked overnight
chopped onion
sliced celery rib
minced garlic
0.25-0.5 tsp ground cumin
0.25-0.5 tsp ground corander seed
0.25-0.5 tsp dried oregano
0.25-0.5 tsp cayenne pepper
0.25-0.5 tsp black pepper
0.25 salt
1.5-2L vegetable stock
4 slices (200-ish g in total) uncooked back bacon, chopped
1 bay leaf
A few shakes of Worcestershire sauce
chopped coriander leaf or flat leaf parsley for garnish (optional)

In a fresh change of water, cook the beans. While that happens, sautée the onions and celery in the spice mix. When the onions have softened, add the garlic and stir until the garlic's sent is released. Remove the onion mixture from the pot.

In the same pot (or a different one, depending upon how many dishes you really feel like doing), add the stock and chopped bacon. Bring this up to a boil and then turn the flame down to a simmer. The bacon will begin to scum--that is a foam will float to the top. Skim the scum from the top. When the frothings have stopped, return the onions to the pot and add the bay leaf, and let simmer.

When the beans have softened add to the stock and let simmer for at least 30 minutes, but quite honestly, the longer the better. Add a few splashes of Worcesterchire. Taste and balance flavours to suit your palate. Garnish, if you will, with chopped coriander leaf or flat leaf parsley.


cheers!
jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

The contraption: Slow Cooker Chicken Cacciatore

I asked Santa for a slow cooker.

My thinking, of course, was since I'm doing more pot lucks where I can neither pop home to get my prepared dish, nor have access to a proper stove, a slow cooker was the obvious option. I can either cook it during the day in some accessable space, or keep whatever I've made the night before warm enough to be palatable.

Santa heard. Santa bought. Santa delivered.

I'm now the owner of a seven quart (6.5L) slow cooker.

I fully realise that me (single and childless) owning such a vessel is akin to Kate Moss owning a 38G bra: wishful thinking at best, delusional at worst.

That's what Santa brought, so that's what I'm going to spend the next year of my life learning how to use.

My introduction to the contraption was akin to setting myself down in front of a blind date. After years of listening to friends and colleagues go on and on about how wonderful it is, and how we'd probably get along, there it sat across from me, all shiny and full of promise. I even found a recipe which I adjusted to better suit my palate.

And like many a blind date, I'm left wondering why on Earth I got my hopes up.

Problem number one: I read the instruction manual. Apparently only qualified operators are allowed to use it. How does one become a qualified operator? Well, one must read and thoroughly understand the manual. No testing. No certificate. Not even a tinned bit of Edward Elgar by kazoo.

I guess if I burned my condo down because I thought I understood the instructions, the manufacturer is trying to absolve itself of any liability. By their logic I obviously lack the necessary mind-reading skills deduce the manual-writer's intention, regardless of what he, she or it committed to words. Talk about a Catch-22.

Problem number two: I bought a couple of slow cooker cookbooks, both of which strongly suggested I brown meat and do some pre-cooking. This baffles me. I thought the entire idea of a slow cooker was essentially a one-pot, wham-bam-forget-it-ma'am type way to feed myself and the invisible army that my slow cooker's capacity dictates.

By the time I was done browning the meat (and by choice the sauteeing mushrooms and onions) I realised that I could easily finish the entire meal in about an hour or so, leaving the pot to quietly blurble away on a nearly invisible flame just to keep it warm. Regardless, by the end of it, I had three pots to wash.

But this was my first slow cooker meal. As per the manual, I didn't preheat the cooker and tipped everything into the pot.

Problem number three: My name is Jasmine and I'm a home cook. I adjust flavours as I go. I know even though these two carrots came from the same bag, this carrot over here could be more carrotty in taste than that one over there. I know that this chicken over here may have actually had the opportunity to walk around before it met with its Marie Antoinette-like fate, where as her cousin was probably stuck in some cage somewhere before she became a cellophaned carcass in the bigscarymegamart's meat case. In other words: ingredients are subject to variations in flavour. I may need more sour, less salt and maybe some sugar than a recipe calls to make the flavours balance. I don't know until I start browning and mixing and sniffing and tasting.

Slow cooking doesn't really allow me to do such adjustments. Every time I open the lid, I need to add 20 minutes of cooking time. Three lifted lids means an extra hour of cooking. So, in hopes of not adding cooking time, I prayed to the kitchen gods that I balanced out the flavours correctly before I turned on the contraption.

Good gravy.

Which leads to problem number four: This is a mightily wet cooking method. Whereas most stews and saucy dishes I make benefit from slow cooking but also reducing liquids to produce clinging, thick, flavourful sauces, my first venture into slow cooking left me with a very wet, soup-like stew. Of course I could add a thickener: a beurre manié or cornflour, but they lack the flavour building that evaporation brings. I must admit that when I reheated leftovers the next day, I tipped everything into my wok and simmered it for about 20 minutes. I was happier.

Before I did that, I tasted it.

Problem number five: Everything tastes the same. The carrots taste like the chicken taste like the mushrooms taste like the peppers. Maybe it's my innate Canadianness, but I think dishes like soups and stews are better when you can actually appreciate and identify individual ingredients, and how well they work together, as opposed to tedious homogeneity.

I know. It seems weird and somewhat wrong. This elevated concept of dump and heat "cooking" is my 2010 project. It's a bit more than that. I'm trying to convince myself that this contraption is not a waste of space, nor a waste of Santa's hard-earned money. My books tell me this thing is much more than an overblown soup-maker, and can make puddings and cakes as well as roasts and ribs. Wish me luck. I think I'm going to need it.

Slow Cooker Chicken Cacciatore
1.5 kg chicken, cubed into 2-3cm pieces
225g sliced mushrooms
1 rib celery, sliced thinly
1 carrot, sliced into thinnish coins
2 onions, sliced into lunettes
1 bell pepper, slivered
3 Cloves garlic, minced
1 x 796ml tin chopped tomatoes
1 tsp white wine vinegar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp black pepper
0.5 tsp dried thyme
0.5 tsp dried rosemary
Olive oil

Saute onions and mushrooms until soft. Remove to cooker.

Brown chicken in olive oil, remove to cooker.

In a slow cooker, place the carrots, celery, pepper, tomatoes, garlic, thyme, rosemary, salt, pepper, chicken broth and chicken. Cover and cook on high for 3-4 hours.




cheers!
jasmine


I'm a quill for hire!

Comfort and Restoration: Chicken Broth

School's back in, the weather's turned cold and sniffles are everywhere. Add the current H1N1 meme to the mix and people are queued for injections, emptying shop shelves of antibacterial everything and screens of e-mails proffering "helpful hints" as to how to spot and avoid the 'flu, including giving up hugging and handshaking in hopes of "staying healthy." (Bah to that I say. Bah)

Watercooler talk has turned from the latest political discussions on pensions, media ownership and why Canadians didn't show up to greet Charles and Camilla to whether or not we'll be jabbed, whose child has been bedridden and what our individual bits of preventative and/or curative voodoo we each practise.

Regardless, when illness hits--whether it's a cold or a flu--many people turn to the revered chicken soup to, at the very least, make one feel all warm inside. Granted, some people grab a tin off the shelf and simply heat what marketers, bean counters and dieticians have dictated. Others zhuzh it up with bits of this and that. Others make it from scratch.

Me, I'll waver. If I happen to have any homemade stock in the freezer, I'll use that as my soup base, otherwise I'll doctor up store-bought.

Even though homemade soups are, I think, non-recipe recipes, mine generally start off the same way: chopped onions, sweated to translucency, garlic and then when it perfumes, add liquid, veggies, whatever meats, spices and herbs and then simmered until ready. That's what I call a "normal" soup.

Unsurprisingly, my curative broths contain a mélange of various peppers, seeds, herbs and roots. Little doubt remains of the South Indian under-, mid-, and over-tones in each spoonful. Veggies are whatever I have on hand, same for starches (noodles or rice), meat is (really) optional...but poaching a chicken breast or thigh in cartoned broth to give the illusion of a home made soup isn't unheard of.

Every once in a while, when I've collected enough chicken bits--wing tips, bones, bits of carcass--in my freezer, I'll start a stock.

No. I don't pretend to be some domestic goddess clad in a gingham dress feigning some ill-placed sense of moral superiority.

Stockmaking: It's easy. It basically looks after itself. It tastes better than what's found in tins or cartons. It's time consuming. It's cheap.

Stocks are also non-recipe recipes too. Put veggies, animal bits, and basic spices in a pot and more than cover it all with cold water. Heat, scum, heat some more, scum some more. Let it simmer until the veggies and bones have had all their innate goodnesses extracted...or as much as you want extracted. Strain, if desired. Use what you need within a few days; freeze the rest.

The recipe below is essentially the above, but quantified to a certain extent. I must admit to being sheepish about finished quantities, because of the variables of the amount of cold water you start off with and how long you let it boil (and, as a result, evaporate). Regardless, it's a worthwhile exercise, on a cool autumn night, before flu season sets in.

Golden Chicken Broth
yields 3 or more L of finished broth

1.2kg chicken, washed and jointed
2 medium cooking onions, skin on, quartered
3-5 garlic cloves, halved
1-2 carrots, cut into big chunks
1 celery rib, cut into big chunks
1 leek, cut into big chunks
2 sprigs parsley
1.5 tsp black peppercorns, crushed
salt

Place all ingredients in a stockpot or a Dutch oven and cover with 4-6 litres of cold water, depending upon the volume capacity of your pot. Set the hob to medium-low.

After about 30-45 minutes, a layer of scummy foam will set itself on top of the water. Remove and discard as much of it as possible, while trying to keep as much of the schmaltz in the pot. Increase the heat to medium and continue removing scum every 30 minutes, until there's no more to be scummed.

Let boil, uncovered, occasionally and lazily stirring whenever the mood strikes. From time to time slurp some from your tasting spoon checking not only for salt, but also for desired depth of flavour. By my books, the stock is done when all the veggies yield to the slightest pressure of tongs, a spoon or fork. The total cooking time could be anywhere from four to six hours, depending upon your kitchen gods and how deeply flavoured you like your stock.

When done, remove the chicken herbs and veggies from the pot. If desired, strain through cheesecloth to clarify the broth.

cheers!
jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Comfort and Restoration: Steak and Guinness Stew

Okay...I know what some of you are thinking...why on Earth would the daughter of an excellent South Indian cook find Steak and Guinness Stew comforting? No, I have no relatives from the Emerald Isle lurking in the deep recesses of my lineage (yet about 15 St. Patrick's Days ago, I was declared Irish by an employer at his annual St. Patrick's Day sloshfest (really...lawyers throw the best parties)).

But comfort lies within habit and tradition.

Whether it's the first cone of the season at the local independent ice creamery, the unwavering Thankgiving menu, annual food fests (like the Elmira Maple Syrup Festival) or even those weeks when shop shelves are laidened with seasonal goodies like Cadbury Creme Eggs, there's a sense that most (if not all) is right with the world when certain edible things appear when they should. Yes, seasonal eating--spring asparagus, summer cherries or October cranberries also count.

Then again, there's an equal sense that all (if not most) is right with the world when certain edible things we'd rather never see again appear when they should (or shouldn't). For some it's Christmas fruitcake or perhaps endless piccalilli canning sessions...for me it's birthday foreboding fed by my mother's obsession with Black Forest gateaux (shudder).

For the past half-decade or perhaps longer, March seems incomplete without Steak and Guinness Stew. It's warming and hearty and leaves the house smelling absolutely heavenly. Yes, it started off as part of a St. Patrick's day thang--and it still is. But now the chocolate-mint cakes and hot chocolates are secondary to the day's foodish symbolism in my mind. It also helps that I absolutely adore Guinness...but that's neither here nor there...or maybe it is.

The first time I had Steak and Guinness pie in our local pub I fell in love with it. Or should I say...I fell in love with their original version. That was when they first openened and were a bit more...creative with their food and used...umm...better...ingredients. After a year or two economics or boredom or a new chef (or perhaps a combination of any of the aforementioned) found the recipe changed...the gravy was no longer as unctuous, the filling no longer as mushroomy, the steak no longer as steaky (beefy:yes; steaky: no). It was no longer the dish I fell in love with...so I decided to create my close-to-perfect love with very satisfying results (how many women have not so secretly wished they could engineer such a feat? Trust me, it's easier with food than it is with men).

Like all favourited recipes, there have been tweaks over the years--sirloin steak instead of stewing beef, moving most of the cooking time to the oven instead of leaving it on the hob. My veggie mix changes, depending what needs to be used up in my veggie drawer. Peas, carrots, parsnips all work well. This year I planned well in advance and popped the marinating cubed meat in the freezer, thawing it the night before I made the stew. Like all soups and stews, this is tastier a day or two after cooking.

Steak and Guiness Stew

Marinade:
1 fat clove garlic, minced
1Tbsp mustard powder
1tsp black pepper
1 440ml tin Guinness

1.25 kg steak, cubed
oil
butter
500g mushrooms, cut into chunks
1tsp salt
1tsp black pepper
4 medium globe onions, slivered nose-to-tail
2 fat cloves garlic, minced2 celery ribs, diced
750g mixed vegetables
1 798ml tin diced tomatoes (get the type without added herbs and spices)
1 440ml tin Guinness
500ml beef broth
1 156ml tin tomato paste
1tsp paprika (hot, preferably)
3 sprigs thyme
2 sprigs rosemary
2 bay leaves
4Tbsp soft butter
3Tbsp ap flour
3Tbsp Worcestershire sauce

Mix marinade ingredients together in a zippy bag and add steak cubes. Let marinate overnight at the very least, but I've frozen the meat in the marinade with wondrous results.

In your Dutch Oven, sear the cubes on all sides and set aside--depending upon how much fat there is in the meat, you may need to glug a little oil in the pan beforehand. Do not throw away the marinade.

Melt oil and butter together; add salt and pepper. Tip in mushrooms and sauté until lovely and soft. Remove the fungi from the pan and set aside.

Tip in the onions, adding more fat, if required. Caramelise to a light golden colour. Add garlic to the pan and mix. When the kitchen is perfumed with garlicky goodness, stir in the celery for a few minutes, before adding the mixed veg. Cook for 10 minutes.

Preheat your oven to 140C/275F.

Add the seared meat, with its juices to the vegetables. Pour in the marinade along with the diced tomatoes, Guinness, and enough beef broth to cover. Stir in the tomato paste. Add the papricka, thyme, rosemary and bay leaves. Stir well. Let the mixture come up to a boil and keep it there for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Lid the pot and pop it into the oven for 90 minutes.

Just before your timer dings, knead the butter and flour together.

After the dinger dings, put the pot back onto a medium-low flame on the hob. Remove about a cup's worth of liquid and mix it with the beurre manié (the kneaded butter and flour) and pour back into the stew. Stir well. Add the mushrooms and Worcestershire sauce and simmer for 20 minutes before serving.


slainte!
jasmine

Milk Calendar Mondays: Vibrant broccoli soup

Sometimes I wonder where bland diets come from....not medically-necessitated bland diets, but diets that lack interesting flavours and textures.

And yes, I'm fully aware that "interesting" is a highly subjective term...I find the works by English Renaissance dramatists interesting, am fairly sure not everyone shares my literary diversions.

I suppose those who prefer foods deficient in...sparkle...may not have been exposed to said sparkle. Maybe they think sparkle is frightening in the same way people are afraid of roller coasters or bungee jumping: that's nice for some, but not for me, thank you very much.

I don't think there's a problem with the occasional settling for something a little less than wow. At the very least, you appreciate the wow even more when you (deservedly return to it). Unfortunately, there are some who decrease their culinary sparkle so subtly they don't realise they've lost their sparkle. They stop cooking for themselves and become increasingly reliant on lowest common denominator prefab foods (cafeteria offerings, the frozen foods aisle), a mood strikes and doesn't let go, they get lazy and find the walk to the spice cupboard just too far...

So, when I spied this month's dairy calendar recipe (Vibrant broccoli soup) I wondered how...sparkly...it would be. The ingredient list didn't put it into the "Oh my dear word, what on Earth were they thinking" category...but it didn't fall into the "Oh my dear word, this looks as if it has real potential" category either. It did fall into the "Oh my dear word, they think a bit of garlic and chilli flake is daring...no, wait, they think Swiss Chard and Cheddar are daring...so sans bitter greens and pretty much universally accepted cheese this is...um...lowest common denominator."

I will say this. It is a good recipe for a basic thick veggie soup. You can sub a number of veggies for the broccoli (I immediately thought of cauliflower and carrot, but you can probably do a whole host of other flavours and colours) and play with the spicing. It was quick and very easy. It was also reminiscent of institutional food...like what you get in hospital or on certain airlines: inoffensive and lacked sparkle.

Oh well...



cheers!
jasmine