Cooking with Bonnie

You know when you go to someone's house for dinner and - from the minute you walk in the door - it's like a big, warm hug? 

That's what cooking with Bonnie is like.



Bonnie is Bonnie Stern, Toronto's pre-eminent cooking doyenne. Cooking and eating with Bonnie is like being with your best friend, mother and favourite chef all rolled into one. I went to my first Bonnie Stern cooking class years ago. It was a demonstration class about Mediterranean food. I had never heard of charmoula or Israeli couscous, didn't like lamb, thought watching food being made rather than making it myself wouldn't be any fun.

Bonnie changed all of that, but more importantly changed my attitude towards entertaining at home forever. Always generous with her wisdom and advice, Bonnie encourages her students to ask questions while she cooks. On that night, a woman lamented: “When I have guests over, how can I get the plates to the table so that they’re still hot?” Bonnie smiled and said gently: “Your friends are so happy to be at your home and having someone else cook for them, that they’re not worried about whether the plates are hot or not.” Wise words indeed.

Since that long ago evening, I’ve been blessed to get to know Bonnie personally, and to be invited to her home. The welcome is always enveloping, the food always delicious and the hospitality like family. But last night I was reminded about what Bonnie’s real gift is – the ability to share her passion and love of food, of genuine hospitality even with strangers. At a corporate cooking class with my colleagues at Bonnie’s school, I was both proud friend and eager student: making almond pesto for a gorgeous beet and fresh mozzarella salad, happily slurping cold soba noodles with fat grilled shrimp, setting the table and folding napkins with my co-workers, and finally sitting down to a feast that we helped create with Bonnie's magic.

As always, Bonnie managed to distill the evening's pleasure into simple words of advice: "When you have people over for dinner, make them part of the experience - draw them in. When everyone contributes to the final feast, even if it's as simple a task as cutting the bread or dressing the salad, it tastes even better."

Bon appétit to that!

Carmelised Onions

I've been making Brie with carmelised onions for years.  Eating Bonnie's pizza last night, slathered with carmelised onions on quick puff pastry and laced with Gorgonzola, I was reminded that carmelised onions are just about good with anything.  Double this recipe, freeze half and use liberally for anything from grilled cheese sandwiches to my favourite - a full wheel of Brie cheese, top cut off and spread with onions and baked until meltingly soft at 350F (about 30 minutes).



2 tbsps butter
8 cups sliced onions (about 4 large)
1 tbsp minced fresh thyme
4 garlic cloves, chopped
½ cup dry white wine
½ tbsp sugar

1. Melt butter in heavy very large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onions; sauté until just tender, about 6 minutes. Add minced thyme, reduce heat to medium and cook until onions are golden, stirring often, about 20 minutes.

2. Add garlic and sauté 2 minutes. Add ¼ cup wine; stir until almost all liquid evaporates, about 2 minutes. Sprinkle sugar over onions and sauté until soft and brown, about 10 minutes. Add remaining ¼ cup wine; stir just until liquid evaporates, about 2 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Cool.

Making a (French) Toast to Brunch

Is there a meal more perfect than brunch?  A bit of a sleep-in, strata or other gooey eggy thing done the night before, fresh coffee brewing and baguettes bought - or better yet - hot from the oven.  Sizzling bacon, wrapped around rosemary spears.  Portobello mushrooms, taleggio cheese melting off them in a Dali-like wave, redolent with thyme and a touch of garlic.

A bit too much food - didn't need the berry bircher parfaits after all. A lazy meal, lingering and nibbling and - yes - just half of that pain au chocolat, please.  Fresh flowers on the table, sunlight streaming in the tall tall tall kitchen windows. 



A reluctant departure, a leisurely clean up and best of all - the better part of a Sunday afternoon and the New York Times to dive into.  Don't throw out that last piece of French toast! I'll share it with you.

French Toast, Two Ways
The egg dip below makes enough for roughly half a large pannetone and a few slices of French baguette; it's so good you'll need to make more.

1 large pannetone (I used a chocolate pannetone for a decadent version)
One day old French baguette
About 1½ cups milk
About ¼ cup cream (light or heavy, depending on how really decadent you want to be)
Grated zest of one large orange
1 egg
Pinch salt
Butter for cooking
Maple syrup for serving

1. Cut as much pannetone and French baguette into thick slices as you will be cooking, and set aside.

2. Combine the next four ingredients and whisk lightly until egg is well incorporated. The mixture will be thin.

3. Quickly dip the bread slices into the egg mixture so that they are "wet" on both sides.

4.  Heat a large non-stick skillet over medium heat and melt some unsalted butter in the pan until the surface is glistening.  Place the bread slices in the pan and cook gently until golden and slightly crisp. Turn and repeat.

5. To serve, pile the French toast on a sunny yellow platter, and let the guests dig in. 

Cook....


And flip....


Don't forget the maple syrup!

A Pilgrim’s Progress

pil•grim (\ˈpil-grəm)
n.
1. A religious devotee who journeys to a shrine or sacred place.
2. One who embarks on a quest for something conceived of as sacred.

For what seems like forever now, I have been trying to make a good (read: it works) sourdough starter. I’ve chronicled the recipe (mix flour and water; stir); the first attempts (and there were several pre-blog I am sad to report); the seemingly right bubbly sour-smelling (Richard uses another word I’m loathe to print) mixture.

Yes, somewhat like a pilgrim seeking enlightenment, I am on a quest for that most sacred of things: the perfectly baked, lightly browned and heavenly tasting loaf of bread, made from my very own sourdough starter.



Thus far all I have to show for my journey is one defeated, slighty sticky empty mason jar. 

So, as any good student should, I am going to hit the books.  Surely, amongst all of those many and sundry cookbooks of mine, one will yield the map that will lead me to the Holy Grail?

A Blog-Worthy Oatmeal

Belt tightening in effect. Back to a 40-30-30 diet. Steel cut oatmeal, slow cooked and satisfying, especially on a very dark and even colder winter's morning, is the wise and wholesome choice.

But … 6 a.m. comes awfully early and that snooze button is conveniently close. Trixie is burrowing between us on the down comforter, her purrs louder than a pesky alarm clock, signaling me to stay a while longer.  Baby, it’s cold outside.

The perfect solution is really s-l-o-o-o-w cooked oatmeal. Overnight, in fact. No matter what time I reluctantly roll out of bed, it’s ready and waiting, deliciously warm, perfectly cooked and amazingly good for you.

Overnight Oatmeal
serves two over two mornings

1 cup steel cut oatmeal
2 apples, cored and cut into medium size dice (I love Honey Crisps)
4 cups cold water
1 tsp salt (or more/less to taste)
¼ teaspoon cinnamon or to taste
Brown sugar or maple syrup for serving

1. Preheat oven to 225F/105C.



2. Combine oatmeal, apples, water and salt in an ovenproof casserole dish. Cover and place in oven.



3. Cook for 8 hours overnight, or until oatmeal is cooked to a creamy consistency. Stir in cinnamon.

4. To serve, sprinkle with brown sugar or a dash of maple syrup, or go for the purist version and have it as is (my choice!)

Yum.

So long to the holidays...

Abundance of food;

indulgence matches desire...

the scale rests heavy

As I say goodbye to the parties, the gifts, the exuberant spirits and sagging tables, I say a fond farewell to the season’s offerings with my haiku homage to festive feasts.

…And pay tribute to one of my favourite dishes of the season, courtesy of the New York Times. Double it up, spread it over several evenings replete with crusty French bread, and, as Florence Fabricant suggests, “pour an earthy, rustic red from the sprawl of the Languedoc, many of them balancing fruit and tight minerals without making huge demands on the wallet.”

Spiced Chicken Liver Mousse
Serves several as an appetiser; or two with nothing else to eat for dinner and a healthy regard for the joys of rich food cut to the quick with gorgeous red wine*

6 to 8 tablespoons chicken or duck fat, or clarified butter
1/2 teaspoon black mustard seeds
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 pound chicken livers, connective tissue removed
1 medium onion, chopped
1 inch long piece fresh ginger, peeled and slivered
1/4 cup amontillado sherry
1/3 cup heavy cream
Salt and freshly ground black pepper.

1. Melt 3 tablespoons fat in a 12-inch skillet. Add mustard, cardamom and cumin and sauté until spices sizzle and are fragrant. Add livers and sauté over medium-low heat, turning, until cooked but still pink inside, about 10 minutes. Remove livers from pan.

2. Add 2 tablespoons fat, onion and ginger to skillet and sauté until soft, about 5 minutes. Add sherry, simmer about 5 minutes until somewhat reduced, stir in cream and cook until it starts to thicken. Transfer livers and contents of skillet to food processor and process until smooth. Season with salt and pepper.

3. Spoon mousse into a crock or bowl and smooth the top. Melt 2 tablespoons remaining fat and pour onto surface of mousse. Use an additional tablespoon of fat if needed to cover the surface. Refrigerate at least 4 hours before serving. Scrape fat off before serving, or mix it into mousse.

Yield: About 2 cups.

*based on a true story

Signs of Spring

It's -16C today. With the wind chill factor it feels like -27C. At the start of the year and in the deep of a Canadian winter, spring feels like a distant dream.

Except… for the unexpected quirks of nature. Our house is filled with Christmas greens - containers full of evergreens, pinecones and deep rich red dogwood branches. On the first day of the year, with the fireplace full of the ashes of the year’s first fire, there was this…



Our dogwood branches, full of green shoots and hidden energy, springing to life in the chill of winter.

Oh glorious Spring…can you really be that far away?

Turbo-charged Turducken!

With the Open House behind us, Christmas Day - and 14 guests for dinner - loomed large.  And fresh turducken - that weirdly wonderful combination of turkey, duck and chicken - was finally in my sight lines for the main course.

Fiesta Farms was the go-to place, as weirdly wonderful as turducken.  A 9 lb. turducken seemed a reasonable amount for 14 people, even accounting for the three vegetarians.  And who better to assemble it for us than Danny, the charming and enthusiastic butcher at Fiesta?



Here it is, pre-cook, in all its fleshy glory:



Umm, maybe we should have gone with the 7 lb....



Into the TurboChef...an extra pan to catch the drippings...



Let me digress a moment while the TurboChef does its magic. 



Our uber-cool, custom red TurboChef makes me happy. The snappy look is by frog design, and while I roll my eyes at their description of the design process - frog sought the honest voice of the consumer audience - it worked. I don't know that it's my "honest voice” that responded to the appeal of the TurboChef. I just know that cooking a perfectly juicy roast chicken in less than 30 minutes can’t be beat. Or having deeply rosy rack of lamb done and cut into chops in less than 10.

So there was no question in my mind that our first turducken would need to be made at warp speed in the TurboChef. 



Setting the oven for a turkey didn't seem quite right - the darn turducken looked more like a veal roast on steroids than a stuffed turkey.  Hmm...veal roast...that seemed like a good setting to try. The temperature was right - 350F.  The time sure sounded good - two hours.  And the results?



Delectable!

To table, everyone...

The Remains of the Day

Not....one...photo.

Of the 80+ guests, all in festive spirits and hungry as bears.  Of the 21 delectable dishes artfully arranged on the dining room table, buffet style.  Of the oh-so-pretty house, done up with Christmas greenery, a big old fat real Christmas tree and lots of love.  Of the kitchen island, laden with sparkling glasses, lined up soldier-straight, next to choices of cheery punch, or more grown up prosecco, red or white wine. Of the kitchen, put to work under the watchful eye of Ian, juggling food prep along with the team of four servers.

Yes - sadly - the new kitchen's inaugural first ever Open House - and our 14th - will have to live on in memory only.  There's still time to share the delectable recipes though and of course I seemed to remember to take photos before - when all the cooking was underway - and after...

Baby potatoes for three cheese fondue:


Marinated and pre-seared lamb chops for pistachio-crusted lamb "lollipops":


Tunisian bean dip being swirled into submission:


And the very generous expression of our guests, who support our holiday tradition of bringing a donation for the Daily Bread Food Bank:


Well, Christmas dinner - and our first ever turducken - are just around the corner.  Watch this space for the results!

Only one more sleep!

Haven't posted for a while - we have been in a whirl of activity getting ready for tomorrow's Open House.  It promises to be record attendance, and we are ready! 

Cookie baking and decorating complete: check.






Agonising over, selecting and then cooking what will end up being way too much food: check.





Getting the house beautiful: a given!

Now it's time to sleep and pray for a green Christmas.

Start Me Up Redux

According to S. John Ross, a sourdough starter should take three to four days to form.

This is what I had after 48 hours...

Here's the thing.  When I broke the dough "seal" that had bubbled through the nailhead opening at the top of the jar, it had the right smell.  A pleasant sour or beery smell.  Plus it looked right:



I decided to take a chance, feed the starter again, and see what happened that evening.


 
Same thing.  Same crusty top. Same delicious bread-y smell.  Same great bubbly look.



Re-read S. John Ross.

Here's the gist: When your starter develops a bubbly froth, it is done. You have succeeded. If this sounds brain-dead simple, that's because it is. People who didn't believe the Earth was round did this for millenia.

Hmm.  Guess I'm brain-dead this week.  Seems the starter was done two days ago.  So my lovely starter is now in the fridge, collecting hootch.  God and time permitting, I'll tackle a sourdough loaf this weekend.