Comfort and Joy

I'm tired when I finally arrive back at home, and want nothing more than to sit, relax, and enjoy that it's the end of the day.  Well, perhaps a bit more than nothing more... a glass of wine and good smells coming from the kitchen are also a nice touch.  Home is where the heart is, so they say, and home is where all my stuff is according to the late, great George Carlin.

Home is my soft place to land, where my comfort lives, and where I get to get comfortable.
 
There has been a lot of talk for the past few years about comfort foods and how people crave them, even possibly need them.  I know I do.  Whether it's a matter of outta-sync hormones, or a busy day stressing about stuff, or crappy weather, or even just ingesting too many diverse and fancy foods -- all of which could contribute to this feeling of having to self-medicate by eating; it's a fact, research hasn't quite pinpointed the exact cause, but it is scientifically acknowledged nowadays as a real phenom.  And we all eat at funerals.

Sometimes I really, really, want comfort food.  And there are times I know I actually need comfort food.

But what is it?  Everyone has their favourite indulgence, either based on childhood memories or a singularly memorable meal, or particular flavours they love.  It should be fairly simple (although it may take a while to prepare), maybe a bit rustic or peasanty.  Cheese seems to be required, or at least a creamy texture somewhere, and carbohydrates -- lots and lots of carbs, presented in bread or rice or potatoes or ice cream.  Which explains why fast food is so prolific, in its attempts to replicate comfort food and the fact that it is readily available.  However, if Tom wants sauerkraut soup, Mickey D's is not going to dish it up for him, and I've never found fastnachts at Tim's prepared the way my Mennonite grandmother made.  For most of us, if we want our comfort food we either move back in with Mom and Dad (unlikely, as they're relishing their retirement in unlikely ways), or figure out how to make it ourselves before curling into a fetal position.

Luckily, there are grown-up, sophisticated comfort foods to alleviate our hungry angst and disguise our childish behaviour.  It's called pasta.

Think about it, what's not comforting about pasta?  Carbs, sauce (creamy if you like), cheese, rustic, and simple.  It tastes good, it fills you up, and if you make it yourself it's cheap (so you can stop stressing about that)!

When Tom thinks he needs to make me comfort food, he turns to pasta.  And when I thought it couldn't get any better than having a thoughtful, caring husband making me comfort food, he got a pasta machine and started cranking out homemade pasta.  Wow.

There is nothing better than fresh pasta.  Forget the stuff the supermarket tries to pass off as fresh, forget even Vincenzo's lovely, lovely stuff.  Fresh is better.  Way better.

Tom's Home made Carbonara

Here's what he did to make Carbonara.  For the pasta he mixed 2 cups of flour, 3 eggs plus 1 yolk in the food processor, scraped out the dough ball, wrapped it tightly in plastic and let it sit in the fridge for about forty-five minutes to get it relaxed.  The dough was then put through the pasta machine on the #7 setting a few times to knead it, then setting the machine consecutively lower each pass all the way down to the #2 setting.  After dusting the sheets with flour, he stacked them, rolled them, and then cut them into noodles and let them dry while starting the sauce.  

A few slices of prosciutto were chopped and fried crisp, then taken out of the pan and drained on a paper towel.  At the same time, he started boiling salted water for the pasta.

While the pasta was cooking (which only takes a couple of minutes, as it's fresh-made), he melted 2 tablespoons of butter in the first pan and then tossed in the finished pasta.  Over all he poured a mixture of 2 eggs that were whisked with 1/4 cup of half and half cream, and then sprinkled a couple of heaping spoonfuls of grated Parmesan cheese.  After tossing and cooking this for about two minutes, he added the crispy prosciutto.  Just before serving, he finished the plate with chopped parsley.  All in all, it took about an hour to prepare right from scratch -- but if the pasta was pre-made, the time would be cut to about 15 minutes, tops.

So easy, so satisfying, and so right....this is heavenly!

The Greening of Brigadoon

It's been threatening to rain all weekend.  Threatening, but not really happening.  I hate this, not because we don't need the rain (we do), or that I can't amuse myself indoors (I can), but simply because it makes me crazy.  If the weather can't make up it's mind, then how am I supposed to?

I'm very weather conscious, that is to say I'm Canadian, eh?  I can tell when a storm is on the way, well before the weatherman.  I revel in good weather, loathe the bad stuff, and have been known to occasionally hide in the basement.

By the way, I have instructed my parents, who live in Meaford (100 miles straight north of here), to call me if there are tornado warnings as I subscribe to Bell and don't get the local tv station (and how idiotic is that, Ma Bell?).

But I digress...what I really wanted to post about is how the weather affects our food choices.  We want to eat food that's in season, yes, and I also think it's rather silly to cook a roast in 90 degree weather.  I don't usually want to eat -- or cook -- a roast in the dog days of summer, nor do I want to eat corn on the cob in January.  Not only are tomatoes less tasty in the winter, it just wouldn't seem right for me to eat a kitchen-sink sandwich (you know, a big ol' tomato sandwich so juicy-drippy that you have to eat it over the sink) at any other time than a hot summer day.  For that matter, some recipes are impossibly compromised by weather, too.  I have told Tom repeatedly that I cannot make a lemon meringue pie on a humid day.  I remember a friend's German grandmother who would go outside to check the air before baking anything.  How professional chefs perform in wacky weather is beyond me.

And I digress again...I really, really want to post about the amazingly early spring we've enjoyed, and how everything is blossoming way ahead of a normal season.  Last year Tom and I had the crazy idea to plant veggie seeds for the first time in ages, and so we did and, amazingly, had some success (as well as failure) and we've been anxiously awaiting proper planting temperatures to try again now.  For the record, the failures were:  beets, leeks, some nasturtiums in bad places, tomatoes (it was far too wet last summer) and summer turnips.  Success was found -- and celebrated -- in leaf lettuce, arugula, baby spinach, carrots, peppers, spring onions, sunflowers and lots and lots of herbs!

We loved going out onto the deck right from early summer and all season long to cut fresh lettuce and herbs, and the flavours were incredibly, dizzyingly delicious.  It was like eating sunshine.  Now that spring seems to have arrived, we're hungry for more.

In the meantime while waiting, Tom tried to start seedlings in the house. I had tried this many, many years ago, and gave it up as being a royal pain in the ass. That said, I'm a miserable indoor horticulturist (Tom says he couldn't stand the sound of houseplants screaming under my care):  let's just say that my best greenwork is done outdoors, where I think it belongs.  I even sought out the advice of one of my clients, Reg, who is a lovely elderly Welsh gentleman gardener who still considers himself a bit of a novice at the tender age of eighty-three.  His advice on starting seeds indoors?  "Don't bother".  Anyways, Tom got busy with pots and potting soils, special plastic mini-greenhouse kits (he loves TSC), and seeds (he loves the Ontario Seed Company)  for herbs, tomatoes, leeks (ever hopeful, he is), and checking out "how to" info,  et al.  And after all of his loving, patient care including taking over my laundry room and taking them outside during the day and bringing them back in at night, they sprouted! And then flopped over, dead.  Most didn't even get past the cotyledon stage.  All that dirt, all that work, for....?

However, only two weeks ago, he was inspired, weather-wise, to plant spinach in a couple of planters on our deck.  And, despite having the ups and downs of temperatures, they're growing like gang-busters.  Could be because they're a cold-weather crop.  Or  maybe because they're outdoors.  Whatever....I can't wait for the first taste of summer!

And, just so you know, Brigadoon is the name of our subdivision, which I've always found poetically ironic for myself...as where else would a woman named Cyd live?

And if you don't get that, well, you're just too damned young.  Look it up on the internet, 'kay?  I don't have time to explain it to you.

Crab Cakes

The view from here

I had been craving some good seafood for a while, but Tom kept complaining about the price...and he's right, it can be very expensive.  As with most of the meals we make, we want quality, fresh ingredients to cook a memorable dinner -- not that there aren't times when kd and wieners will suffice -- but seafood, well, it's gotta be good.

We are lucky (some would say spoiled) to have an excellent fishmonger around the corner from our home, Caudle's Catch, so he stopped in the other morning to see what was on tap (hah, what was on sale), and came back with a small plastic tub of fresh wild crab flakes.  Really, I thought?  Peeling  back the lid, however, removed any doubts as the scent was incredibly delish; you could almost smell the sea!

Funny thing, though, as he was chatting with our neighbour Ruprick later in the day, they realized that they'd just missed each other at the store.  It turned out that Ruprick bought halibut and some prepackaged batter stuff and was planning a nice supper for his lovely Newfie wife.  This detail is important later in this post.

Anyways, Tom kept griping about the price -- $13.00 for about one pound of crab flakes -- and I kept telling him to knock it off and make me the best crab cakes ever!

He began with about half a pound of the crab dressed in an old bay spice that he'd concocted (including coriander seeds, all spice, paprika, dry mustard, cloves, mace, bay leaves of course: using an old electric coffee grinder to grind 'em up), lemon juice and zest, and worcestershire sauce.  After letting that stand for a few minutes, he added just enough mayonnaise and Panko breadcrumbs to develop a soft pattie consistency, and then pressed the patties in fresh breadcrumbs to coat them for a crust base.

By the way, did you know that the best way to clean an electric coffee grinder (that is, when it's been used for grinding things other than coffee) is to whiz bread and/or bread crumbs through it?  It works.

Back to the cooking...I was assigned to salad duty, as I am, as he says, "the salad queen" (I know, I know, but somebody's gotta do it), so I created a dazzling baby spinach and arugula greek-style frisee to offset the sweetness of the crabcakes.  Tossed with an olive oil vinaigrette, a few cherry tomatoes, slices of black olives, red onion and some feta cheese -- yum!

Next, he made the dip by whisking together mayonnaise and roasted garlic (yeah, we're crazy, and we often have that handy in the fridge), adding horseradish and some hot pepper sauce.  A little salt and pepper and voilá, good eats!

Tom gently fried the crabcakes in a little bit of oil, I poured the chardonnay and set the table, and we enjoyed another lovely April evening.

Crab cakes with Roasted Garlic Dip and Greek-style Spinach and Arugula Salad

Oh, and Ruprick?  Turns out he had bought haddock, not halibut, and the packaged breading mix was crap.  Ooops.

So let's get started..

The other night, over a lovely dinner at the end of an early spring evening, Tom, my husband, said, "You know what you should do?  You should start a blog that records what I cook for you."

Now, really, why would I want to do that, I wondered aloud.  "Because", he replied, "I need to be able to remember how I cooked certain things, and since you're the writer, you can record it."

Since I don't remember how much wine I'd consumed at that point, I will allow that perhaps the idea had some cache, and so I mentioned it to my cousin (who is a blogspert in her own right with several blogs of her own), who came over and set me up with this format -- not that I couldn't have figured it out by myself, but it's been years since I gave up the office/computer work and who needs the hassle -- she did it in five minutes.

And so here I am, trying to fill up the blank space in front of me.  Where oh where are we going with this?

Tom and I are foodies, sure enough, but not gourmets.  Over our marriage of over 30 years, we have discovered that we share a passion for good food, good wine, and great company.  Dinnertime is our soft landing place where we disassemble our day, plan and dream, dish the dirt.  Dinnertime is anticipated, and not to be missed.  There are certain rituals (music, setting the table, don't answer the phone) that insulate us from the world at large at least for a short while.  We refuel, refresh, and re-connect.

We relax while banging pots on the stove, share a laugh or two while we slice and dice.  Grab a glass of wine, sometimes we dance.

Hmmm....this does sound rather idyllic, doesn't it?

Well, yes, dammit, it is!  But it took time to get here.

First, we had to learn how to cook.  I relied on a mishmash of cookbooks and magazine recipes interspersed with family favourites.  Tom did his best work in hamburger.  I preferred to bake.  We got by, with one rule I always insisted upon:  cook in season.   And then Tom was inspired during a period of unemployment where he became so bored that he started watching The Urban Peasant, James Barber.  James' simple food philosophy got Tom off the couch and into the kitchen.  After a few successes, a cook was born!  He took over the grocery shopping, my spice rack, the freezer; re-arranged cupboards and his beer fridge.  He flipped through my cookbooks and tried his hand at baking bread.  It was all good, but of course when he got a job the kitchen was relegated back to me.  Actually, we compromised and started a tradition of "handing off the ladle", whereby he would cook from Thanksgiving to Easter, and I filled in from Easter to Thanksgiving (not a bad plan, either, as both of us got a break at least half a year).

And we continued to push ourselves to learn more and improve.  We started going to the Kitchener Farmers' Market every Saturday morning, entertained friends with dinner parties, explored the Liquor stores, checked out new restaurants with exotic cuisines.  I grew an herb garden, he found a spice vendor.  At about the same time, the Food Network was created and the organic craze exploded, and it seemed that suddenly everyone was into food!

Leftover roast beef, gravy, garlic mashed potatoes, and sauteed herbed carrots.

Wine is a spanish tempranillo. Yum!

....So, let's get started with a game plan.  I'll attempt to record the food my husband made for me, so he'll remember how he did it, and maybe, just maybe, we'll all eat well.

By the way, this is photo of a dinner of leftovers, which should always taste as good, or better than, the first time 'round.  These did!