There’s only two things that money can’t buy…

DSC_0033 smTrue love and home grown tomatoes—the only two things that money can’t buy, according to singer Guy Clark. I could add a few other foods to that list, but he’s definitely right about the tomatoes.

Home grown tomatoes are the only ones we’ll eat any more. Life’s too short to eat the store bought ones. I plant 6 or 7 varieties every year—a couple of new ones, and a bunch of old favourites. Each variety has different uses.

Brandywine is without a doubt, the best tasting tomato on the planet. So good that I plant it every year, even though the summers are really too short and cool for it here. For raw eating, nothing beats a Brandywine.

Delicious is almost as good as Brandywine. It’s my insurance policy; it grows better in cool weather than Brandywine does. I’m sure to get some Delicious, even if the Brandywines don’t give well, or they all get eaten by the birds (they think Brandywines are best, too, and even eat them green).

Amish Paste is robust and prolific. Unlike many other paste tomatoes, it manages well with erratic watering. Fleshy and dry, it makes great sauces.

Russian Red is my prolific, hardy workhorse tomato. It has small fruits with a fine, but not stellar flavour. Its value lies in its ability to flourish in cold weather, ripening fruits long after other varieties have succumbed to frost.

Suncherry is a lovely red cherry tomato that not only fills lunchboxes with juicy goodness, but also dehydrates well, providing us with lovely sweet/tart dried tomatoes all through winter.

Of course, the best way to enjoy a tomato is standing up in the garden, but here’s one of my favourite tomato dishes. This is straight out of Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, by Deborah Madison. Make it with the best tomatoes you have, and don’t use an iron skillet or the tomatoes will taste tinny.

Tomatoes Glazed with Balsamic Vinegar

1 ½ pounds tomatoes

2 tablespoons butter

3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

1 plump shallot, finely diced

salt and pepper to taste

Cut tomatoes into wedges about 1 ½ inches across at the widest point. In a skillet large enough to hold the tomatoes in a single layer, heat the butter until it foams. Add the tomatoes and sauté over high heat, turning them over several times, until their colour begins to dull, about 3 minutes. Add the vinegar and shallot and shake the pan back and forth until the vinegar has reduced, leaving a dark, thick sauce. Season with salt and plenty of pepper.

Cheating the system

Oyster mushrooms1smMy husband cheats. No, not in that way. He cheats to beat the unwritten rule of summer: if we didn’t grow it, we can’t have it.

In summertime, there is so much food coming out of the garden, we don’t allow ourselves to buy treats like mushrooms. All summer long, we eat like kings, but keep thinking, “Boy, this is great, but it would be even better with some mushrooms.”

But this year, we can have mushrooms without feeling guilty about not eating our own produce. A couple of months ago, Ian and the kids “planted” mushrooms.

Hanging in the pump shed, like sides of beef in the butcher’s back room is a row of plastic sleeves stuffed with straw, inoculated with oyster mushrooms. They require no weeding, no watering, no pruning. They don’t take up space in the vegetable garden. We just go out there and harvest beautiful mushrooms—feels like cheating.

Grilled, sautéed, stir fried…doesn’t matter how they are prepared, these delicious little fungi put the crowning touch on our summer menu.

Vilma’s Marinated Eggplant

vilmas eggplantsmVilma was the sister of our host mother during Peace Corps training in Costa Rica. Her partner was a tall Italian with as fiery a temper as Vilma’s; they argued a lot, and Vilma regularly came to stay with her sister when she and her partner weren’t on speaking terms.

While at her sister’s, Vilma would cook, and Ian and I loved her for it. Our host mother’s cooking was often only barely edible. She believed in cooking vegetables well, and in saving time by boiling several days of vegetables at one time, and just keeping them in the pot on the stove. They got mushier and mushier every day, until it was all we could do to choke them down.

Vilma must have learned some culinary skills from her partner, because she made wonderful Italian food. One of her specialties was marinated eggplant. She brought a jar of it with her almost every time she came, and while it lasted we were in heaven.

We never thought to get the recipe from her, so we spent years afterwards trying to recreate that eggplant. Eventually we managed, and now Vilma’s marinated eggplant is a summer staple in our kitchen. It’s simple to make, and tastes great on bread or crackers.

2 small to medium eggplants

1 clove garlic, crushed

½ cup red wine vinegar

½ cup extra virgin olive oil

salt and pepper to taste

Peel eggplants and slice very thin (1-2 mm). Steam until the slices are tender and limp (but not falling apart completely). Whisk all the other ingredients together in a small bowl, and toss them gently with the hot steamed eggplant. Refrigerate at least an hour before serving (the longer the better, as the eggplant will soak up more marinade).

Lemon Cake

cooling cakessmCarrying on with the cake theme, I thought I’d share this Lemon Cake recipe. This is the second year in a row my daughter has asked for lemon cake for her birthday. Though my cookbook collection is truly excessive, I don’t have a good recipe for lemon cake. Since the first lemon cake request, I’ve been tinkering with various recipes, and this year I hit on a winner. This combines ideas from coconut cake, orange cake, and lemon scone recipes to created a very lemony cake with beautiful texture. I used lemon curd between layers for an over-the-top lemon experience. Do take the time to find barley flour—its flavour complements the lemon perfectly.

1 cup butter, softened

1 ¾ cup sugar

4 eggs, separated

grated zest of one lemon

2 ¼ cup all purpose flour

1 cup barley flour

½ tsp salt

2 ½ tsp baking powder

¼ cup fresh lemon juice

¾ cup water

Cream butter. Add sugar gradually and beat until fluffy. Add egg yolks and lemon zest and continue to beat. Mix flours, salt, and baking powder in a separate bowl. Add dry ingredients alternately with lemon juice and water. Beat thoroughly after each addition. Fold in stiffly beaten egg whites. Pour into greased and floured pans. Bake at 180°C (350°F) for 30 minutes. (Makes two 9-inch layers)

 

Obsession with Cake

hobbit hole cake smIt’s that time of year again, when I spend my days and nights obsessing over cake. I suppose there are worse things to obsess about, but had I planned better, I would have spread my children’s birthdays further apart. As it is, with just 12 days between them, it’s a bit of a marathon—a cake for each of them on their birthdays, then usually a third cake for a joint birthday party, all in the space of two weeks.

A few weeks before their birthdays, they request a cake flavour and a theme. It’s then up to me to produce something that will wow their eyes and tastebuds.

I take the task seriously (Ian argues that I take it way too seriously). I plan, I test out new materials and techniques. I even watch the weather forecast—I learned that the hard way several years ago when the large clear candy sails on a pirate ship melted in humid air.

In the days before a birthday, I prepare necessary accessories like marzipan, fondant, and candies. I bake the cake the day before, so it is cool and ready to decorate after dinner. Though the kids know generally what I am making, the actual cake is meant to be a surprise in the morning. I work late into the night, shaping and decorating, then cleaning up the tremendous greasy, sticky mess that only icing can create.

In the morning, I watch carefully for the first reactions to the cake. Did I get it right? Did I capture the vision my children had when they decided what they wanted?

And then it’s all over. Two weeks of frantic obsession with cake, then it’s another year until I get to make another.

 

 

 

Landscape Shaped by Food

DSC_0007 smI’ve thought a lot about the Canterbury landscape over the past year. I’ve been piecing a quilt of the plains inspired by the September 4 2010 earthquake. The huge jog the quake created in the otherwise dead-straight Telegraph Road made me think about its effect on the aerial view of the entire area—all those straight fence lines and hedges shifted. It took a few years for the ideas to come together enough to execute, but last year I began to work on it. I took a satellite image of the area I wanted, projected it onto my living room wall, and traced the landscape onto a quilt-sized piece of paper. Every field was numbered and mapped on a reference sheet—six hundred and two pieces, each one different. Along the Greendale Fault, I cut and shifted the quilt, exaggerating the real break a bit, and creating a subtle disruption in the patterns.

Though the quilt began with a focus on the quake, as I worked on it, I thought more and more about the agricultural landscape itself. For over 100 years, sheep and grain have been the staples of the region. They have left their impression on the landscape. The wedges formed by intersecting roads at Charing Cross were sliced by straight fences and hedges, forming paddocks and fields for sheep, oats, and barley. Today, dairy cows and the centre pivot irrigators that keep the cows’ paddocks lush have overlaid circles on the straight lines of the past. You can see places where the centre pivot has obliterated the geometry of the past, and others where the straight lines limit or slash through the centre pivot. The push and pull of the past and the present.

Satellite photo of the real thing.

Satellite photo of the real thing.

This landscape has fed people for over 600 years. When the first Maori arrived, the native forest provided food like moa and pigeons. As the forests were felled, the region’s rivers and wetlands continued to provide abundant fish and waterfowl. When Europeans arrived in the 1870s, they brought livestock and crops, which thrived on the plains. Though the landscape has changed dramatically, the use we make of it remains. Today, this landscape of food feeds not only locals, but also people in far-flung places like China, Europe, and the Americas. No doubt the landscape will change in the future. New lines will erase the old. But chances are good the new lines will be shaped by food.

Popcorn!

DSC_0034 smPopcorn makes any day special. Have you noticed that? Here at Crazy Corner, we make our popcorn the old fashioned way. First we plant the seeds. We water and weed. We wait and wait and wait. When the plants tassel, we ooh and aah over the beautiful burgundy silk. Then we wait and wait and wait some more. Long about April, the plants dry off, and we harvest the tiny, perfect ears of corn. We set them in the sun, letting the kernels dry, testing them regularly until they pop well.

The loose kernels sit in a jar in the kitchen waiting for a day like today. A day that needs something special. A bored kid, a game of Hunters and Gatherers, and a big bowl of popcorn.

We heat the oil in a glass lidded pot, so we can watch the action. A few minutes of popping and shaking the pan over the burner, a generous drizzle of melted butter, and a sprinkle of salt…and suddenly the blah afternoon sparkles a little.

Our home-grown popcorn isn’t the large-kernelled vapid stuff Orville Redenbacher sells. It’s one of many heirloom varieties. The dainty white puffs are flavourful enough they hardly need butter, and the texture is less like Styrofoam and more like a dry meringue. A real treat on any day!

 

Making the most of our mistakes

cheddarsmA couple of years ago, I was making a batch of cheddar cheese. It was a recipe I’d made many times before, and I was cruising along, not paying enough attention to what I was doing. I sterilised my equipment, warmed the milk, and stirred in the cheese culture. As I put the package of culture back in the freezer, I realised I had used the wrong one! I’d used my mozzarella culture for cheddar! After a moment’s consideration, I carried on with the recipe as usual, making a special note in my cheese records that this one had the wrong culture.

Three months later, with some trepidation, we cut open the cheese. It was incredible—the best of mozzarella and cheddar, all in one cheese. It was a delicious mistake.

I made a note in my records. We named the cheese Bishop’s Corner (a local landmark—a tiny cemetery at a 7-way intersection), and I’ve been making it as one of my staple cheeses ever since.

There are so many cheeses and variations of cheeses, I’m certain that’s how many of them were originally developed. Someone made a mistake, and just carried on in spite of it.

It’s not the only mistake to make it to our dining tables. In 1898, the Kellogg brothers accidentally let some wheat get stale while they were trying to make granola. Instead of throwing it away, they rolled it and toasted it, thus inventing the first flaked breakfast cereal.

Dr. Spencer Silver made the most of a mistake, too, though not with food. In the 1970s he was a scientist at 3M, trying to make a stronger adhesive. He made a mistake and ended up with an adhesive that only stuck lightly. It could easily be peeled off surfaces. But he carried on, eventually using his “mistake” to create the now ubiquitous Post-It Notes.

I’ve made plenty of mistakes that don’t turn out well, but sometimes, in trying to salvage a mistake, we come up with something better than we originally intended. I like to think that our mistakes aren’t inherently bad, and that perhaps it only takes a bit of creativity or perseverance to turn a mistake into a great idea.

 

Eggplant

eggplants4cropsmEggplant is native to a wide region stretching from India through Asia into China. Unlike some of our vegetables, eggplant has changed little over the 2000+ years it has been cultivated. In different times and cultures, a varied and contradictory array of properties have been attributed to the plant. Is it an aphrodisiac, or a cure for diabetes? Does it cause uterine damage, or relieve asthma? Is it the source of leprosy, or a cure for ear disease? Today, various sources claim eating eggplant skin can reduce your risk of cancer, obesity, and heart disease (and there is limited research to back up these claims), but the important thing about eggplant is that it is delicious.

I know, I know, some of you are saying, “Are you kidding? Eggplant is disgusting!” I admit, it can be. Eggplant can be bitter, rubbery, and thoroughly unlikable. Big, mature eggplants you find in the grocery store, shipped from Spain during the winter, are often less than tasty, but there is nothing more amazing than a young, freshly picked eggplant. I seldom need to salt my eggplants (which helps if the fruit is bitter), and I use eggplant in dozens of ways. From January to April it serves as our “meat”. Grated, it thickens spaghetti sauce, sliced thin and sautéed it adds deep flavours to a stir fry, on the grill, it soaks up marinade and turns to a melt-in-your mouth consistency.

My kids like it best as the “fish” in my vegetarian fish and chips. I make up a spicy batter (just as you would for the real thing), and fry big lengthwise slabs of battered eggplant until it’s just cooked and still firm. Served with a generous tray of oven fries, it’s as good as fast food gets.

In fact, one of my favourite bar meals (back when I used to go to a bar maybe once a year) used to be eggplant sandwiches at some place in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Battered, fried eggplant slabs smothered in tomato sauce and cheese in a big sub roll. Mmm!

Yeah, you may think eggplant is good for you, but to me, it’s just plain good.

Do you have a favourite way to eat eggplant?

Veggie Burgers

veggie burgers4 smOne of my favourite ways to eat overabundant summer vegetables is as burgers. After weeks of eating the same veggies over and over, burgers are a great way to make vegetables seem like not just ANOTHER dinner of zucchini (or whatever else we’ve been eating that week). And, of course, there’s nothing better in summer than a good burger dripping with melted cheese and slathered in ketchup!

As a vegetarian, I’ve experimented with a wide array of burger recipes. Some have great flavour, but fall apart when they’re flipped. Others taste dry and dull. Over the years, I’ve combined ingredients and techniques from dozens of vegetarian burger recipes to arrive at a versatile, simple recipe that tastes great, holds together well, and freezes beautifully. This recipe works with just about any vegetable you can grate, and I rarely make it the same way twice, because I use whatever is coming out of the garden at the time.

Here is my base recipe. I’ve included specific quantities as a guide, but I rarely actually measure anything that goes into my burgers—I measure my oats by the handful, and my oil by the glug—the burgers are reasonably forgiving, once you have a feel for what the final consistency should be like.

1 onion, finely chopped

2 cloves garlic, crushed or finely chopped

1 Tbs paprika (or ½ Tbs smoked paprika, or a combination of the two)

6-8 cups grated vegetables (any summer squash, carrots, beets, eggplant—use whatever you have in abundance)

½ cup old-fashioned rolled oats (or up to a cup, if your vegetables are particularly moist)

½ cup fresh herbs, finely chopped (basil, parsley, oregano, rosemary, and/or thyme)

¾ cup nuts or seeds, toasted and ground to a fine powder (sunflower seeds, walnuts, and cashews are my favourites)

1 tsp prepared mustard

3 Tbs sesame oil

1 ½ Tbs soy sauce

½ tsp ground fennel

1 tsp dried oregano

Black pepper to taste

1-2 eggs

½ c – 2 c bread crumbs

Preheat the oven to 375˚F (190˚C). Place nuts or seeds in a shallow pan and into the heating oven to toast. When they’re ready, they will be aromatic and slightly browned. Grind them in a spice or coffee grinder, or in a rotary cheese grater.

While the nuts are toasting, gently sauté the onion, garlic and paprika in a large skillet until the onion is translucent. Add grated vegetables and ¼ cup of water to the skillet, cover and let the vegetables cook until they begin to soften and release moisture, stirring occasionally. Once the vegetables begin to soften, add the oats and cook uncovered until most of the moisture is gone.

Mix all the ingredients except the eggs and bread crumbs together in a large mixing bowl and taste for spicing. Add enough bread crumbs to make the mix stiff, but not dry. Thoroughly mix in the eggs. Form into patties and place on a well-oiled baking sheet. Bake for 25-30 minutes, turning the burgers after about 15 minutes.

To make cheeseburgers, lay a slice of cheese over each burger 5 minutes before the end of baking.

Using the larger amount of vegetables, this recipe makes enough for two dinners for my family of four. The burgers freeze well and make a great dinner to pull out at the end of a busy day. Layer waxed paper between fully baked burgers so you can easily separate them when frozen. Reheat in the microwave or in the oven.