Jan 022016
 

Over the Christ­mas break I made a couple of dips, one of which got bet­ter reviews than the oth­ers. This is not a recipe for pur­ists, since a real tapen­ade should have anchovies in it, but I did­n’t have any and my fam­ily does­n’t like them anyway.

None of the quant­it­ies are exact. The sun-dried toma­toes were loosely packed in the meas­ur­ing cup and I did­n’t meas­ure the olives, just drained the can and tossed them in the food pro­cessor. I did­n’t chop any­thing before put­ting it in the food processor.

  • Approx 2 cups black olives (con­tents of one can, 398ml size). I used Cali­for­ni­an black olives since those were in the cup­board, next time I’ll prob­ably use Kala­mata olives.
  • Approx 3/4 cup oil-packed sun-dried toma­toes; let most of the oil drip off but not all of it.
  • 5 cloves of garlic.
  • 2 tbsp capers

Pro­cess in a food pro­cessor until finely chopped. If it’s too dry, add a few drops of olive oil (or oil from the sun-dried tomatoes).

Dec 112013
 

My Mum used to make ginger beer on the farm. We would seal it in the glass bottles with bottle caps that you tapped on with a ham­mer, try­ing hard not to break the glass. A bottle or two would occa­sion­ally explode dur­ing the fer­ment­a­tion pro­cess, which was excit­ing, and messy.

I’ve taken to mak­ing it. Home-made ginger beer is a refresh­ing, fizzy drink, much less sweet than com­mer­cial soft drinks, with a pleas­ing zing. There is a small amount of alco­hol in it due to the yeast-mak­ing-bubbles fer­ment­a­tion step, but it’s min­im­al. The pro­cess of mak­ing it is fun, teaches the kids some­thing about chem­istry, and is much less messy with the advent of PET bottles.

The pro­cess is reas­on­ably simple. You start with a ginger beer plant (actu­ally a fungus yeast and a bac­teri­um; more details here). You feed it ginger and sug­ar every day until it’s ready, then add the liquid to a mix­ture of water, sug­ar, and lem­on juice. Bottle, store for a few days, and enjoy!

There are a num­ber of places on the inter­net you can get a ginger beer plant. I made my own; as a con­sequence it may not be a ‘real’ ginger beer plant, but giv­en the ginger beer it pro­duces is good, I’m not bothered by that fact. There are lots of vari­ations; this is the recipe I follow.

To make the plant, put the fol­low­ing ingredi­ents in a jug or jar.

  • 8 organ­ic sul­tanas (golden rais­ins). You need organ­ic (or oth­er unpro­cessed, if you’re lucky enough to be able to get them) to get access to the nat­ur­al yeasts that live on the sul­tana skins. Mod­ern pro­cessed sul­tanas are too clean and don’t have those yeasts on them, so the ginger beer won’t fer­ment properly.
  • ¼ cup lem­on juice. Use real lem­ons to get the juice, not some­thing that comes in a bottle. Organ­ic is nice, but not necessary.
  • 1 tea­spoon grated lem­on zest. Make sure you wash the lem­on first to get rid of any coat­ing that might inter­fere with the yeast.
  • 1 table­spoon sug­ar. I use white sug­ar, but you can use any type.
  • 2 tea­spoons ground ginger. You can also grate fresh ginger if you like, but I find that’s too much work. 
  • 2 cups water. I usu­ally use ordin­ary water, since our tap water isn’t too heav­ily chlor­in­ated. If you would­n’t drink your tap water, use bottled or filtered (but not distilled).

Stir, and cov­er the jar loosely with a cloth. You want air to get in (for the nat­ur­al yeasts) but not bugs (in sum­mer this is a mag­net in my kit­chen for fruit flies). Keep at nor­mal room tem­per­at­ure. Feed every day with 2 tea­spoons ground ginger and 2 — 4 tea­spoons of sug­ar (I use 4, you may like it slightly sweeter or less sweet). After a couple of days, you should notice some bubbles in the mix, and even a slight smell of fer­ment­a­tion as the nat­ur­al yeasts go to work on the sug­ar and ginger. The plant will be more act­ive in sum­mer, when the kit­chen is warmer.

After a week or three (the peri­od depend­ing on how much time I have in any giv­en week), make the ginger beer. You will need around 12 one-litre PET bottles. If you don’t have those at home, a loc­al beer-brew­ing shop will be happy to sell some to you, com­plete with the caps. Wash in soapy water, and rinse to get the bubbles out. You don’t need to ster­il­ise the bottles, I find the usu­al deter­gents to be adequate.

In a large pot, boil 5 cups of water with 3 cups of sug­ar. Stir to make sure the sug­ar is all dis­solved, then take the pot off the heat. Add the juice of three fresh lem­ons (yes, the pro­hib­i­tion against bottled lem­on juice applies here too). If you have small lem­ons, make that the juice of four lem­ons. Place a clean cloth (an old lin­en tea tow­el, for example) over a sieve or colan­der and pour the ginger beer plant through the cloth into the pot. Squeeze the cloth to get as much liquid out of the plant and into the pot as pos­sible. Add 7 litres of water to the pot (same com­ments on the water as above; I use tap water). Bottle the ginger beer, leav­ing some space at the top of the bottle for expansion.

The con­tents of the cloth are the ginger beer plant itself. Take approx­im­ately half of it, put in a clean jar with two cups of water, and feed. I also put anoth­er couple of sul­tanas in at this stage. This is the basis for the next batch of ginger beer, so feed every day as before. Give the oth­er half of the plant to someone, or add to your com­post bin. The plant gets bet­ter as it ages, so it’s worth­while keep­ing it going rather than start­ing new each time.

After a couple of days, you should see some small bubbles in the bottles, and the bottles should be firmer. This stage may take a couple of days longer in winter than sum­mer. You can drink the ginger beer at this stage, but it tastes bet­ter if you can leave it at least a week.

Jun 102012
 

It was the newly six-year-old’s birth­day party yes­ter­day. I booked a pack­age at a loc­al com­munity centre that provides party lead­ers, games for 45 minutes in a gym, and a private room with tables and chairs for lunch and cake after the games. The party lead­ers did all the dec­or­at­ing and clean-up after­wards, as well! I organ­ized most of the food for the ran­dom assort­ment of around 20 kids, aged between 4 and 6, and their par­ents. Which meant provid­ing stuff the kids would eat, and stuff the par­ents would eat.

One thing I dis­covered a couple of years ago: most kids love grape toma­toes and sug­ar snap peas, even if some insist on open­ing the lat­ter and only eat­ing the mini­ature peas inside. Those all dis­ap­peared quickly again. The cheesy crack­ers went, the grain+seed glu­ten-free crack­ers were mostly ignored. The adults loved the wal­nut-olive tapen­ade (recipe from Eat Like a Dino­saur: Recipe & Guide­book for Glu­ten-free Kids) but the kids mostly ignored it. They went for the mini bagels with straw­berry cream cheese instead; the occa­sion­al kid pre­ferred the the plain cream cheese. My hus­band made 70 small chick­en kebabs which I paired with the “not pea­nut sauce” almond-but­ter based satay sauce from Paleo Com­fort Foods: Homestyle Cook­ing for a Glu­ten-Free Kit­chen (since there are a few kids with pea­nut aller­gies in the group). Some of the kids ate the kebabs, the par­ents ate a lot, and the remain­ing few were pol­ished off by the party help­ers after the kids and par­ents had had their fill. I also made car­rot-beet­root frit­ters (those are beets for you North Amer­ic­ans), which the par­ents liked and the kids mostly ignored. I thought they were good, and even bet­ter with a dol­lop of tzatziki on them.

For dessert we had store-bought mini­ature cook­ies, and my son made marsh­mal­low lol­li­pops. Let’s see, sug­ar, coated with sug­ary white chocol­ate and dipped in even more sug­ar? What 6‑year-old could res­ist? Very few, as it turned out, although a couple of kids in the group don’t really like sweet things and turned down the marsh­mal­lows. These were the same kids who turned down birth­day cake afterwards.

The birth­day cake was a basic min­im­al-flour chocol­ate cake, with lots of frost­ing and sprinkles. I like these basic cake recipes; they’re the sort where when the cake is almost done you can turn off the oven and leave it overnight to fin­ish and cool down. Light sponges that need pre­cise tim­ing are too much work I find; things hap­pen and I don’t get back to the oven in time and they’re dry and hor­rible. A dense, rich cake has a lot more lee­way in terms of bak­ing, and a small piece goes a long way as well.

After­wards, the kids all piled out the door to the lawn out­side the com­munity centre and ran around for half an hour, a lovely end to a fun party. As I’m writ­ing this, my daugh­ter is hav­ing a long nap, recov­er­ing from all the excite­ment! And we still have lots of cake, satay sauce, and a few frit­ters in the fridge.

Jan 292011
 

With a picky four-year-old who loves veget­ables but won’t eat much else (she won’t touch pizza or sushi, for example), and an elev­en-year-old who’s only slowly start­ing to appre­ci­ate veget­ables and fruit (but loves both pizza and sushi, as a typ­ic­al Van­couver kid does), meal­times are often a struggle. On a whim a few months ago, I made fon­due and dis­covered how pleas­ant a peace­ful meal where every­one cheer­fully eats what’s in front of them can be.

Cheese fon­due the way we make it is simple, and reas­on­ably healthy, as long as you have no lactose-intol­er­ant or vegan people at the table. I slice up whatever veget­ables and fruit are around, and every­one has some bread and lots of veget­ables or fruit to dip into their cheese. There’s some­thing about the com­mun­al dip­ping that’s attract­ive, the col­ours of the veget­ables and fruit con­trast with the creamy sauce that each piece is coated with, and nobody keeps track of just how much every­one eats. 

Cheese fon­due is laugh­ably simple and quick to make. I make it in the fon­due pot on the stove (we have a gas stove) so there’s less wash­ing-up after­wards, and start to fin­ish it takes about 15 minutes.

I always wash and slice the veget­ables and fruit first. The staples on the table are an apple, some sug­ar snap peas, a bell pep­per (cap­sic­um) or two, some broc­coli spears, some cherry toma­toes. If we have oth­er veget­ables or fruit that won’t fall off a fon­due fork too eas­ily, those go on the table too. A loaf of good hearty bread, or a crusty French baguette, are also de riguer.

The fon­due itself has 400 — 500 g of grated cheese (about a pound) for four people. We like the clas­sic gruyère and emment­al (as well as a mix­ture). Brie is good too (cube it rather than grate it, and toss the rind as it won’t melt). Old ched­dar is a little too sharp for some, a milder ched­dar is bet­ter. After grat­ing, toss the cheese with about 2 table­spoons of flour. Heat slightly more than a cup of white wine (some­thing with some fla­vour that isn’t too sweet, such as riesling, gewürztram­iner, pinot gris, or pinot blanc) in the fon­due pot until it bubbles gently. Stir in the grated cheese + flour, stir until the cheese melts and the fon­due is smooth and reas­on­ably thick, serve.

We’ve tried lots of dif­fer­ent com­bin­a­tions of cheese, wine, and veget­ables. Exper­i­ment­ing is part of the fun.

Jul 242008
 

It seems that August is con­fer­ence sea­son, at least for me. More pre­cisely, one week in August. First Bal­is­age in Mon­tréal (for which the online regis­tra­tion is clos­ing next Fri­day) August 12–15, and then Vinocamp here in Van­couver, at the UBC Botan­ic­al Garden, on August 16th. I’m speak­ing at the former, and help­ing organ­ise the lat­ter (for which num­bers are lim­ited to 120, so don’t wait too long to register). The premise for Vinocamp is a friendly con­fer­ence about wine, put on by a bunch of tech­ies; this is its first year. Both con­fer­ences should be fun! Enter­tain­ing as well as edu­ca­tion­al, and a cer­tain amount of good food and wine in both loc­a­tions. I can cer­tainly think of worse ways to spend a week in August.

Oct 272006
 

When Eve was vis­it­ing a few weeks ago, she said that someone was tour­ing gro­cery stores in her area teach­ing people how to eat kiwifruit effi­ciently. I expressed some scep­ti­cism that this was neces­sary; she assured me it was. For fun I decided to do a photo shoot of how to cut and eat kiwifruit the way I learned as a child in New Zea­l­and (it also gave me an excuse to play around with host­ing pic­tures on Flickr). So here you have the series, enjoy! I do find that kiwifruit from New Zea­l­and taste bet­ter, the ones from oth­er coun­tries seem to be less intense and juicy. If they’re not ripe when you get them, put them in a paper bag with an apple to ripen. They keep for some time in the fridge but taste bet­ter at room tem­per­at­ure. Once the skin has star­ted to wrinkle, eat without delay as they are on their way to being too soft and squidgy. I have made kiwifruit lem­on­ade for a party which is fun (the green col­our is start­ling to many people) and a good way to use up squidgy kiwifruit.

uncut kiwifruit kiwifruit cut in half start scooping
first portion scooped out first half eaten almost done
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