The "You know I usually don't like Brussels sprouts, but I love these Brussels sprouts" Brussels sprouts dish

Many things don't make any sense to me.

Fahrenheit temperatures.
Euchre.
Directionals (as in North, South, West and East).
American football.
Trooper's Raise A Little Hell used to sell saltines*.
The apparently 6'3" non-cook who designed my kitchen.
Dan Brown's literary career.

For years I never understood how people can *not* like Brussels sprouts (or brussel sprouts). I mean really. They're cute and leafy. They're teeny little cabbages that grow on sticks...and we all know foods on sticks aren't just fun, but they taste better.

The first time I had Brussels sprouts they were curried--very simply done--lightly steamed and then sauteed with onions and masala. How anyone could not like that was unthinkable. A bowlful of those spicey sphere-ishes and I'd be as happy as Beanie with a turkey leg. I thought everybody liked Brussel sprouts.

Then I started hearing stories about slimey concoctions whose funk would make a grizzly bear in heat reach for the Febreeze. Tales about the little tiny cabbages boiled for an hour or so were enough to send me screaming out of a room in the same way as I would should Celine Dion magically appear, offering to sing me any stanza from her screechy songbook.

Who would ever treat such vegetably emeralds with such disdain?

When the exbf told me that one of his online followers uploaded a post about beautiful green orbs that beckoned him/her at the grocer...and then taunted him/her in the fridge because...well...he/she doesn't actually like Brussels sprouts, I knew I had to upload this post sooner rather than later.

This is the "You know, I usually don't like Brussels sprouts, but I love these Brussels sprouts" dish.

This is the dish that's won converts every time it's served to new people who theoretically don't like Brussel sprouts.

This is the dish that My Dear Little Cardamummy tries and tries again to replicate, but can't somehow do it (here's a hint: follow my instructions...but then again, she's not online so that bit of advice won't really help her)

It's a variant of my earlier dish made with sausage and potatoes, and makes good use of a leftover boiled potato or two. It's not an incredibly labour-intensive dish. Really: sitting at a table discarding yellowed leaves and slashing the stem ends really isn't onerous and allows for a good think or chat. Frying bacon and potatoes...that's nothing. And the veggies just steam themselves.

Even though you can make with two pots -- one to steam the veggies and one to do up the bacon and potatoes -- I do the entire dish in one vessel (my wok, to be specific). The trick to this dish is to not over cook the sprouts. Apparently this is easier said than done. The embryonic cabbages should be a bright green and still firm to the tooth with a little bit of give...I suppose slightly crunchy, but not squeaky, if you get the nuances. Once the leaves yield too easily to the tooth, you know you've cooked a bit too far.


Brussels Sprouts with bacon and potatoes
serves 4-6

500g Brussels sprouts
3-4 rashers streaky bacon, chopped
cooking fat (butter, oil, bacon fat)
300-400g cubed potatoes, steamed or boiled and cooled
1-2 cloves minced garlic
Black pepper
Salt
1 onion, julienned
1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce (or to taste)
Chilli pepper flakes (optional).

Clean and trim the sprouts by removing any yellowed outer leaves and slashing an "x" the stem end (if the sprouts are small) or slicing in half (if they are large).

Fry the bacon until crispy. Remove the bits, leaving the fat in the pan.

Tip in the potatoes (in batches, if necessary), adding more fat if necessary. Add onions, garlic, salt and pepper. Fry until browned and crispy and remove.

Pour about 60ml (quarter cup) of water with a healthy pinch or two of salt into the pan. Tumble in the prepared sprouts, cover and let steam for a few minutes until the sprouts are vibrant and barely cooked. Drain the water and add the cooked bacon and potato-onion mixture.

Pour in the balsamic vinegar and a splash or two or three of Worcestershire sauce and give everything a good stir. Adjust seasoning to taste, adding chilli flakes if desired.


cheers!
jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

*Really. What part of this song says "crumbling crackers in soup is a rebellious and uber-kewl thing to do"?

My own causality dilemma and bacon-wrapped asparagus

Do I eat asparagus because it's wrapped in crispy bacon or do I eat the bacon, because it coddles roasted asparagus?

Granted it's not a question on Aristotle's scale but it is a question I ask myself every time I reach for a bundle of spears.

I was never really a fan of asparagus. My first exprience was not hopefull--overboiled to waterlogged flacidity, each stringy and bitter and acrid bite worse than the last. The next time was as a creamed soup, a palid greyed green that only hinted at its once vital jade,. The taste was no better than my introduction.

For year my culinary life was spent avoiding asparagus. I was mostly successful--the only times it appeared on my plate was when I went to fundraiser some other gala-like celebratory dinner.

Don't ask me exactly how I was introduced to bacon-wrapped asparagus. In all likelihood it was a fingerfoodish appetiser. Those pancetta-wrapped spindly spears opened my eyes to the vegetable. But it also opened my eyes to the fact that often, disliked foods can be transformed by pairing them with different flavours and/or cooking techniques. It also helped me realise that, as far as asparagus is concerned, girth does matter...and with these, the thinner, the better...for dinner at least.

Yes, I hear some of you...it's not the asparagus you like: it's the bacon.

Well, there's little doubt that bacon (in whatever form) makes many otherwise revolting foods a lot more palatable, and if all it takes is a rasher to help me vary my veggie intake from time to time, that's not really a bad thing, is it? As with many vegetables, roasting asparagus carmelises its natural sugars, which plays well with the strip of streaky, salted, smokey goodness.

Over the years I've prepared this dish many, many times--sometimes as a side dish, sometimes as an appaetiser, sometimes with roasted potatoes as a dinner on its own...but dipped into the squidgey yolk of a poached egg, these roasted, baconed roasted spears are simply delicious.

Bacon-wrapped roasted asparagus is another non-recipe recipe. Simply wrap trimmed spears in the bacon of your choice and roast in an oven until the bacon is cooked to your liking. Depending upon your particular kitchen gods (and your oven's temp), it could take 15 minutes or 25.

Bacon-Wrapped Asparagus
Serves up to 4


16 asparagus spears, washed and snapped of their woody ends
4 rashers of streaky bacon or slices of pancetta
freshly-ground black pepper

Divide the spears into bundles of four, wrapping each one in a rasher.

Place on a foil-lined baking tray and pop into a medium-to-hot oven--350F-400F (170C-200C) for about 15 minutes or until the bacon is cooked.

Dust with freshly-ground pepper before serving.

cheers!
jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Happy Cinnamon Bun Day!

When our darling Glamah of Coco Cooks Tweeted today is Sweden's National Cinnamon Bun Day, I grabbed hold of this opportunity to coax my latent (and totally fictitious) inner Swede out and celebrate with the rest of my bun-baking brethren and my sweet-toothed sistren.

No...I didn't start playing dollies with a root veggie...nor am I part vegetable (regardless of the quality of my writing some days).

It's been a while since I've had a cinnamon bun. Why? I must admit I've gone off them. Wherever I go, coffee shops and cinnamon bun emporiums try to convince me that insipdily sugary, tar-sticky, bready turbans mortared with icing so thick, one could restore parts of Hadrian's Wall with them.

Don't get me wrong, the first time I had one of those mall kiosk cinnamon buns, I was quite enamoured. Time passed and doughnut and coffee shops, grocery stores and cafeteria versions popped up and morphed what was a happy little swirly pastry into a Frankensteinesque Type-Two Diabetes inducing meal of a snack just put a bitter taste into my mouth.

Swirls of golden dough, filled with cinnamonny-sugar and dried fruit or nuts, glazed with a brushing of butter-dampened sugar. That's the kind of cinnamon bun I prefer.

What better to celebrate Sweden's foodie feast day than to remind myself of the buns I'd happily come home to?

I've written about cinnamon buns before, but I thought a new version was called for. This one's a little more straightforward, but easily adaptable --change the almonds to the fruit or nut (or combination) of your choice. Glaze the top with any flavour or any toffee or icing.

I must admit I wasn't fully paying attention to the buns as I cut them. Sometimes counting to 12 is beyond me. Sometimes 14 is easier than 12. I quite like the effect, away from the ordered three by four order these things usually demand. Instead there's an organic movement borne of living yeast pushing the dough to fill every possible nook of the pan. Some big. Some small. Deeper golden flecked with spots of bright slivers My tray of buns is, hence, oddly reminiscent of van Gogh's Starry Night.

It's a good version, with a slighty marzipan-ish flavour, adapted from Anita Stewart's The Flavours of Canada. Absolutely easy, yet takes much of an afternoon to make--most of that time taken up with proofing. A trifle, really, given you are returned with a house filled with bready and cinnamony scents.


Almond Cinnamon Buns
Adapted from Mrs. Peterson's Cinnamon Sticky Buns from The Flavours of Canada by Anita Stewart
(yield 12)

To bloom the yeast:
2 Tbsp hand-hot water
1/2 tsp sugar
1 dspn active dry yeast

For the dough
2 eggs, well beaten
100g sugar
110g butter, melted
pinch of salt
150ml hand-hot milk
420g ap flour
canola oil (or other flavourless oil)

For the filling
75g brown sugar
1tsp cinnamon
1dspn butter, melted
100g flaked almonds

For the glaze
2 Tbsp butter, melted
3 heaping Tbsp icing sugar
splash almond extract
2-3 Tbsp milk or cream

Bloom the yeast for 10 minutes or until a healthy, frothy head develops.

Whisk together the sugar, melted butter, salt and milk; add the eggs and bloomed yeast. Mix well. Add the flour, in thirds, beating well and scraping down the bowl between additions.
When all the flour is incorporated, lightly dust your counter with bench flour and knead for about 5-10 minutes or until the dough is elastic and as soft as a baby's bottom. Place in an oil-slathered bowl, cover and let double in size in a warm, draft-free place...about 90 minutes.

Mix the cinnamon and sugar together.

Line a 23cmx35cm (9"x14") lasagna pan with parchment paper. Butter the parchment.

Turn out the dough onto a floured surface. Knead for about five minutes and let rest. Give it the two-finger poke test*. When it passes, roll the dough into a 20cmx35cm (8"x14") rectangle.

Brush the dough with the melted butter. Sprinkle with spiced sugar and strew with almonds.

Roll up the sheet, so you have a fat, 35cm log. Cut into 12 pieces and place roughly 2.5 cm (1") apart in the prepared pan. Cover lightly and return to the warm, draft-free place until doubled in size...about one hour.

Preheat oven to 350F/180C.

Bake for about 15 minutes or until the buns are golden.

Brush the tops with melted butter, while the buns are still hot.

When the buns have cooled a little, but still warm, mix the melted butter, icing sugar and almond extract together. Add a little cream to thin it out. Drizzle over the warm buns.

* Two finger poke test: Poke the dough with your index and middle fingers to a first-knuckle depth. If the dents fill in, let the dough rest a little longer and try again. If the dents keep, you're good to go.


cheers!
jasmine


I'm a quill for hire!