“I am my own worst critic” is my understatement of the century. In my opinion, I can do everything worse than you. I never have a good word to speak of myself, and when one is spoken of me, I usually have a trick up my sleeve for convincing you that you’re wrong.  Three-plus decades of attempted perfectionism has yielded a girl who doesn’t know how to relax and not needle out flaws. You name a category, I tell you how I just don’t measure up. It can be exhausting, but thankfully for you, the people most exhausted always have a PhD at the end of their names.

In the context of this blog, my urge to needle and prick means I’m an insecure, amateur cook who has found relief in New York City talking about the food that I eat rather than the food that I make. As much as I can find great satisfaction in pulling something culinary off, especially if it’s for a guest, I get anxious prior to the pots and pans coming out. Food is just food, I know, but I don’t want to be serving fucked-up food to a person that I care about or photographing ugly food for you, dear readers.

A guest in the house brought out my caretaker, and with it, my need to care through food. You’re sleeping on my couch? I’ll make you a meal even when my little devil tells me it’s going to be  a flop. (I do give myself brownie points sometimes for trying.) Given that my guest was from Edmonton, and I’d still not heard a peep from any Edmontonians about any newfound love of burrata cheese, I had ingredient number one. I was introduced to burrata a few years ago in Vancouver and fell head over heels instantly. “Mozzarella that gives birth to creamy strings of heaven” would be my second understatement of the century. Slapping it on some bread with a bit of salt and a bit of sweet was… my best idea ever. After one bite, I beamed. After two, I reminded myself that no, I hadn’t read about this somewhere. I DID IT. Of course, there are prosciutto, peach and mozzarella creations all over the internet, I told my devil. But my creation had burrata. And balsamic mayo.

For about an hour, as my guest and I enjoyed the sandwiches, joked, and caught up, my needle stayed in my pocket and my devil shut up and read “The New Yorker.”

Prosciutto, burrata, and peach sandwiches
Use amounts based on how many sandwiches you want.  One standard ball of burrata could be used for about three sandwiches.

Crusty bread, such as ciabatta
Prosciutto, shaved
Burrata cheese
Fresh peach, sliced
Fresh basil leaves, roughly torn
Balsamic mayo*
Olive oil
Salt and pepper

Slather one slice of bread with balsamic mayo. Layer prosciutto, then peaches, then a few basil leaves.
Cut ball of burrata into chunks. It will be messy. Just go with it.
Layer cheese on sandwich. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place second piece of bread on top.

*Balsamic mayo: In a ratio of about 4:1, mayonnaise to balsamic vinegar, mix well and add one garlic clove sliced in half lengthwise. Let sit in the fridge for at least 15 minutes. Remove garlic before serving and mix again.

It seems meatballs are having their moment in the sun. Or should I say in the oven, or on our plates? Much like the fatigued cupcake has proven, you know when New Yorkers start lining up in droves for something, it’s a thing. Big or small. Swedish, Greek, or Italian. Nestled next to a heap of starch in the form of creamy potatoes or on top of old smoky all covered with cheese. Beef, turkey, pork, or lamb. We want to eat them. We will line up for them. Sadly for me, unlike my New York City counterpart, lining up at the Meatball Shop is not an option when little balls of perfectly seasoned meat are required. So to the kitchen I go.

Spaghetti and meatballs make regular appearances at our dinner table, as do little Greek lamb keftedes with fresh tzaziki, but Sweden had not made its way into the international ball rotation yet. That is until I received my September 2011 issue of Bon Appétit. A recipe for Swedish meatballs from NYC’s Smörgås Chef, combining beef, pork, and yes, bacon, made Sweden a tough competitor in my kitchen meatball Olympics. Perfectly seasoned with the nutty aroma of nutmeg and allspice, and bathed in a rich and creamy gravy, these little meat treats are perfect next to a heap of mashed potatoes. In my kitchen, proper mashed potatoes means put through a ricer, and mixed with plenty of melted butter and warm cream. With some buttered fresh peas on the side, and of course the essential IKEA lingonberry jam, Sweden is winning gold as of late. Like they weren’t already stylish and fabulous enough. I recommend enjoying with a side of Jens Lekman.

Swedish Meatball (from www.bonappetit.com)
Serves 6-8

1 cup fresh breadcrumbs
2 1/3 cups low-salt beef stock, divided
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
1 cup minced onion
2 thick slices bacon, minced
1 pound ground beef
3/4 pound ground pork
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
1 1/2 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons sour cream, whisked

Mix breadcrumbs and 1/3 cup stock in a small bowl. Set aside. Melt 1 Tbsp. butter in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add onion and sauté until browned, about 10 minutes. Transfer onion to a large bowl.

Wipe out pan and return to medium heat. Add bacon and cook until crisp. Using a slotted spoon, transfer bacon to bowl with onion. (Reserve bacon fat.) Add next 8 ingredients to bowl with onion mixture, mixing with your hands to blend. Fold in breadcrumb mixture. Using a 1 Tbsp. measure, roll meat mixture into balls; transfer to a rimmed baking sheet.

Melt 1 Tbsp. butter with reserved bacon fat in a large heavy pot over medium-low heat. Working in 3 batches and adding 1 Tbsp. butter between batches, brown meatballs on all sides, about 6-8 minutes per batch. Transfer meatballs to a plate. Drain all but 2 Tbsp. drippings from pot. Whisk in flour until smooth paste forms. Stir in 2 cups stock; bring to a simmer, whisking often. Return meatballs to pot. Cover; simmer until meatballs are cooked, 5-6 minutes. Remove from heat, whisk in sour cream, and stir to coat meatballs.

One of my first far away adventures was to Chile. Just after final exams wrapped in my third year of university, I flew standby with my two besties to go visit our other bestie in Santiago. Of all the sacrilegious crimes, I was a vegetarian when I went. Yes. To the meat capital of the world. No completo hotdogs, no chacareros, no meat empanadas. I need a re-do. Luckily my meat aversion is well behind me, and some years ago at a little long gone Edmonton restaurant called Churros King, I met the Lomito sandwich. Tender pork, sauerkraut, avocado, mayonnaise, tomato. Piled on a tender Chilean bun, it really is a perfect sandwich.

This week when my sweet uncle showed up at my door with a dozen (still warm) buns from the Chilean owned Latin Bakery, I could not get the Lomito out of my head. With a bit of “Lomito” googling and a quick call to my Chilean bestie who is happily back in Edmonton, I was set. I opted for slow roasting the pork and it really turned out gorgeous. Falling apart beautiful. As a bonus, the pan fried pork leftovers made a yummy companion to soft scrambled eggs the next morning. I can hardly wait to make these sandwiches again. For friends.

Lomito Sandwiches
serves 2 1/2

1 pork tenderloin
2 cloves of garlic
2 avocados
1 tomato
olive oil
sauerkraut
mayonnaise
Chilean buns (or ciabatta buns would be an appropriate substitute)

For the pork:
Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Place whole pork tenderloin in a covered roaster or dutch oven. Fill water to almost cover. Add a few generous pinches of salt, freshly ground pepper, and the 2 whole garlic cloves. Slow roast the pork with the lid on for 2 hours or more. Remove from the roaster and shred. If you wish you can smash the soft roasted garlic and add it to the mix with a little of the remaining pan juices.

For the fillings:
Smash the avocados and add a squeeze of citrus if you plan to let them sit to prevent browning.
Thinly slice the tomato and sprinkle them with kosher salt and a drizzle of olive oil.
Warm the sauerkraut.
Warm the buns in the oven.

To assemble:
Pile the warm shredded pork on the warm bun. Top with sauerkraut, tomato, avocado, and loads of mayonnaise.

Oh, and don’t forget a stack of napkins.

To meat! Cin cin.