For as long as I can remember, I have always planned my travel around the delectable indulgences that await.....even when travel means walking down the block.  As a young girl, my best friend lived up the street, and we would plan our slumber parties with promises of what our parents would cook for dinner. Her Italian parents would be required to make their delicious home made pizza for my visit, if I could swear she would have my Mom's chili at the next all night giggle fest. It was an excellent elementary school epicurean exchange. At her house we would watch Purple Rain for the hundredth time, watch her brother play with his Star Wars figurines, dress up our Cabbage Patch dolls, and stay up way too late until we were too giddy to sleep, and in the morning Lino, her lovely father, would make us breakfast. Now with a young palette that had not been readily exposed the sharp Italian cheese, zesty Italian sausage, and other such savory delights for breakfast, I was not so sure about the special breakfast he made for me the first time: frittata. Loaded with Italian sausage, asparagus, parmigiano, and fresh herbs, it was a tad sophisticated for my not yet sophisticated taste buds, but as a wee shy thing, I said it was delicious when asked. So every single time I stayed over after that, it was frittata just for me! I learned to love it, and of course now, I can't get enough of its savory fillings and light fluffy goodness. I think of Lino every time I scavenge the refrigerator to  throw together the eggy delight. Boxing day morning, with ham, green onion, fresh basil, parmigiano, aged cheddar and a touch of truffle oil, it was frittata time. The beauty of the dish is that it is well adapted to whatever you have in the refrigerator for a lovely morning treat. I often use Italian sausage, prosciutto, spinach, arugula, roasted pepper, and of course any cheese I can find. Today's went something like this....

Pre-heat oven to 425 degrees. Heat a small non-stick pan (that can go straight into the oven) with a touch of olive oil on medium/high. Add a handful of diced ham, 2 finely sliced green onions, and saute. Add whisked egg mixture of 4 eggs, salt, freshly cracked pepper, torn basil leaves, drizzle of truffle oil, freshly grated parmigiano and aged cheddar to the pan, lifting the edges with a spatula to allow the uncooked eggs to flow to the bottom.  When the frittata is partly cooked (2 to 3 minutes), transfer the pan to the oven. Bake until puffed, golden, and set, 4 to 5 minutes. Remove and allow to cool slightly. This serves two perfectly with a little rye toast and some fresh pear on the side. Perfetto!

It was five years ago this Christmas that I started giving cookies away as gifts.  On a budget and with a long list of people I wanted to give to, baking seemed a good choice.  Not only was I being thoughtful in the it’s-the-thought-that-counts kind of way, but I was also giving time and love. 

Love, hey?  Maybe not so much. 

My bake-a-thons become like a night of heavy drinking.  The next day I swear “I’m never going to do that again.”  My nausea comes in the form of the dishes upon dishes waiting to be cleaned.  My headache is the flour and sugar and spices that coat the floor.  The spins occur as I curse my inadequate kitchen equipment.

But like any good party, the fond and fun memories come to the fore as the headache fades.  And the next time you are in a similar situation, you don’t pass on the wine.  Hangover shmangover.

 

I’d do dishes upon dishes upon dishes for the feeling I get when someone says they enjoy my cookies.

 

 

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Whipped shortbread is my “must.”  It’s the only cookie that holds any Christmas nostalgia for me.

Without fail, Christmas dinners at my aunt’s old house would end with movement toward the basement for cozy couches and a wood-burning fireplace.  Festive festive.  My little girl ears were always overstimulated with adult conversation and a crackling fireplace.  Respite from the storm?  A jaunt to the furnace room where the deep freeze lived.  I would be on tiptoe as the frozen coffin revealed its cold wonders.  A tin would be reached for and opened right there and then.  Whipped shortbread branded with red and green maraschino halves.  Solid, cold, white like snow.  The tin would be brought to those round the fire for late-night snacking and added holiday indulgence.  My preference was always for the one I ate while the freezer top closed.  Cold on my lips with a noticeable bite; the butter not yet warm enough to leave greasy fingertips in my warm embrace or melt too quickly in my mouth.  Like a nice Christmas kiss.

 

 

 

I’ve left the maraschinos in the 1980s. 

 

Whipped Shortbread

 

1 pound unsalted butter (454 grams)

1 cup icing sugar

0.5 cup cornstarch

3 cups flour

1 tsp vanilla

 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. 

Cream butter. 

Sift together icing sugar, cornstarch, and flour.

Beat together dry ingredients, butter, and vanilla until the consistency of whipped cream (I use only a handheld mixer, hence the cursing.)

Drop by teaspoonful onto parchment lined cookie sheets.

(I flatten slightly with a fork.)

Bake for 8–10 minutes.

 

Makes 60+ cookies.

 

 

Pudding, custard, flan—variations on a theme I love:  creamy.  I’m happy set in front of a bowl that contains any variation of these variations.  A plastic cup of the Bill Cosby J-E-L-L-O incarnation has even been known to float my boat.  My favourites though have to be the rich eggy recipes that are little more than cream, sugar, and egg yolks; the ones that give it up to the Old World by being baked in a bain marie.

Like any pumpkin dessert, I find it hard to resist a crème brulee when confronted with one.  The pleasure of cracking the sugar crust is legendary, but my enjoyment tends to end at that.  Shards of sugar always end up in my back molars or pushed up against my front teeth, my wayward tongue more of a hindrance than a help when trying to pry the melting shards free.  Crème caramel is an obvious solution, but that damn caramel can be so tricky and I can be easily turned off by wobbly cream.

Looking for a dinner party recipe that could be adjusted for three, I made what essentially is a sugarless crème brulee.  Pots de crème.  Chocolate, yes, but that’s just a formality of flavour. 

Eggs + sugar + cream.  All there.

And what else?

Whipped cream.

I simply cut this Epicurious recipe in half.  Didn’t do the espresso as I’m not big on mocha.  Added a lightly sweetened, lightly vanilla’d whipped cream.

 

 

I could tell you that you need to use a dark chocolate with x% of cocoa solids from such and such a brand, but why stress?  Sometimes you’re in the bulk foods aisle and the easiest thing to grab is dark chocolate wafers or chips.  Of course a better chocolate will yield something better.  Do so if you like.  But, unless you’re baking for Pierre Hermé, I’m sure your guests or friends or lover (or yourself) won’t be offended if you use the chips.

 

 

Although it *would* be nice if at the end of a rainbow there was a pot of gold, I’d be just as happy finding a pot de crème.

 

 

Once again, bundling up in my fur trimmed pretty winter coat, purchased in the treasure filled Pedder Building in Hong Kong, I'm feeling sentimental about travel, far off adventures, and the good food that always accompanies such delights. The towering architecture from the Peak, the illuminated night skyline, and the view of Hong Kong island from Nobu at the Intercontinental, are the things I can't take home with me. Luckily though, the sashimi salad at Nobu is the little piece of my Hong Kong trip that I can relive at home.

The Matsuhisa dressing on this signature dish has become a kitchen staple that is simple, delicious, and immensely versatile. It's the perfect combination of sweet and salty, and is packed with flavour. Add that to thinly sliced, crisp, ice bathed vegetables, like radishes and turnips, with a side of perfectly seared tuna, and you have Nobu at home.

The recipe can be found in Chef Matsuhisa's cookbook "Nobu Now" or at: /recipes/2008/10/nobus-tuna-tataki-sashimi-salad-matsuhisa-dressing-recipe.html For the dressing, I have found that Keen's Hot Mustard powder is also quite successful if you are unable to track down the Japanese style mustard powder. And of course the salad can be adapted to any and all vegetables that you fancy, and in this sub-zero weather, perhaps best enjoyed with a bowl of hot miso?

There are few things more delightful than a proper cocktail with good company. I met my first Pimm's Lemonade while visiting friend's in London, and have been smitten ever since. The closely guarded recipe for Pimm's No. 1 Cup, which is the gin based aperitif that is the basis for the tasty concoction, has remained top secret since it's inception 1840. It's fairly easy to find in quality liquor stores in the aperitif section.

The perfect Pimm's lemonade goes something like this in my kitchen... Pretty highball glass + 3 ice cubes +  2 sprigs of fresh mint + squeezed lime wedge + squeezed lemon wedge + 2 cucumber slices + 1/3 Pimm's + 2/3 gingerale + a quick stir = cocktail heaven

Sometimes the most delicious meals are the simplest, and in the spirit of simply tasty, I present the ham bun in all it's glory. I will admit that my first reaction the proposition "Do you want to come over for ham buns?" was not one of excitement and anticipation, but I would soon have my mind changed. Trusting that my aunt and uncle, who whip up a batch of cookies like they're making toast, and a turkey dinner on a whim because they woke up in the mood for Christmas, would only be extending the excited invite for something divine, I headed straight over. Since that salty day, it's become a comfort food staple that feeds the masses, makes for days of post ham enjoyment, and almost always leads to jambalaya a few days later...but that's a whole other story.

So here's the breakdown...a bone in ham, slow roasted with about 4 inches of water in a covered roasting pan at 350 degrees for 4 hours, sliced up while it's still hot from the oven and served on soft kaiser buns (we require the sobey's kaisers)...add butter, medium or aged cheddar, mustard (I fancy plain old French's but grainy is nice too), and pickles (Claussen's please). And don't forget to drink some water before you go for the second bun in an attempt to avoid the midnight in the desert wake up call.