My Sanctuary

Jan 2, 2011 by jennifer

I truly enjoy cooking. Simply being in my kitchen makes me smile. I don’t need fancy chef’s knives or stainless steel appliances to make me happy. What I have in my kitchen these days is good enough. As long as the stove and oven are in respectable working condition, I have some small amount of counter space and good ingredients; I’m one happy camper.

Leith and I spend most of our Sundays in our cozy apartment, him on the floor in the living room with his Hot Wheels and remote control R2D2, along with a few cooking pots and Tupperware. I’m in the kitchen, with my head in the oven, or my hands in a bowl.

It’s a rather tranquil time for us, punctuated only by the noise of the Kitchen Aid whirring or every so often or the oven timer chiming. He walks around, toting a small copper pot, filling it with various impedimenta, pretending to cook, and munching on whatever I have to hand at the time.

We make up dinner as we go along, depending on what is left in the fridge and how much energy I have to expend on cooking. And of course depending on how much energy he has and how much attention and entertaining he requires. Lately dinners have been a-little-of-this and a-little-of-that, experiments that for the most part, end up as scrumptious meals.

I love dishes that use a lot of different components. When I can take a bunch of different ingredients that at first glance might not "go" together and come out with something delicious, I think I have done my job. When everyone at the table leaves happily smacking their lips, or wanting seconds I feel a warm happy sensation creep up from my own satisfied tummy.

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Summer’s Harvest, Revisited

Nov 12, 2010 by jennifer

Every summer, for about as long as I can remember, my parents have planted tomato plants in their backyard garden. That’s what Victoria Day is for — as long as it’s not pouring rain or freezing cold (both good possibilities up here in the great white north) — planting the vegetable and herb gardens.

On the south side of the yard, where the sun shines the strongest and where the soil has grown vegetables and herbs for more than forty years…that’s where they go. I would make the trip to the nursery and pick out each plant as though it might be a piece of beautiful jewelry, carrying them home in the plastic trays, watching them bounce up and down on the seat next to me. The smell was always what I loved most in the beginning — the smell of freshly growing tomato plants is something beautiful and simple…it’s the smell of sweet and savory combined in one.

Big Boys, Beefsteaks, Romas, Lemon Boys, San Marzanos, Pastes. Pick them late, having allowed them to ripen on the vine in the summer sunshine and bathe in the late August rain. Walking out to the yard at daybreak, after an early morning watering, the grass damp beneath your feet…picking a tomato fresh from the wine and smelling it in your hands is pure heaven. Taking it inside and eating it immediately on a toasted bagel with a little cream cheese and freshly cracked black pepper is divine.

BUT: keeping them (well, some of them) and drying them out with garlic and rosemary or pepper and lemon zest or just by themselves, and saving them for 6 months in the fridge, waiting to be used in a recipe like sun-dried tomato pesto, is unspeakably gorgeous and undeniably rewarding.

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Utter Joy

Nov 3, 2010 by jennifer

I used to be dreadful with accepting change. Having a child, I am now a roller-with-the-puncher, a flyer-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of gal; the parent of an utterly astounding kinder. I always knew having a child would change my life. I knew that having a child would probably change the way I ate and the way I cooked – for myself as well as for him. I knew I would be the type of A-personality mum who made her child’s food with both gratification and determination…it’s purely who I am. Remember: I’m not good with change.

I just don’t think it ever dawned on me how thrilled I would be on the day my son ate something I had made for him. When he clapped his hands in excitement and smiled a heart-felt grin at me in appreciation when the food was ready. Or that when I put his dinner on the table and he exclaimed, "Mama, you made this? By yourself? It is good", just how much those words would tug at my heart strings. And amazingly, all this was in reference to real food � not macaroni or chicken fingers. Food, with a capital "F", that required prep time and cooking and spicing and even, dare I say it… presentation.

And lo the Domestic Baby was born and henceforth he shall be named "Leith" and he shall be called "Leithy" and "Leith-o the Potato" by his mother – mainly just to bug him.

My son is a foodie – at the ripe old age of nearly 4 �. He knows the difference between the boring low-fat cheese that mummy eats sometimes to make sure her jeans will continue to fit and the really good, well-aged cheddar she chops up for him to eat with his lunch. He is well versed in the sweet, salty, hot, sour paradigm and loves the flavours with vim and vigor. He has a weakness for chopped tomatoes in olive oil with a touch of salt and pepper, and adores hummus and baba ghanouj. This child will eat onions and broccoli and cauliflower. He won’t snub fish or chicken or lamb or beef and loves him some beef bacon, freshly fried, next to two, perfectly runny, sunny-side up eggs. And best of all – and this is the thing that makes my heart sing – he loves his mama’s cooking. Shepherd’s Pie, Turkey Burgers, Roast Chicken in Tomato-Basil Sauce and oh, please don’t you dare forget about mama’s Spaghetti and Meatballs.

I knew I could cook before I had a baby – of course I could cook. And I knew I enjoyed cooking for other people, it was just who I was. But now, I plan out meals that the two of us can eat together – that King Leith-o can eat and enjoy and expand his already blooming palate with. It was a challenge at first but now it comes as second nature to cook something he will eat and I will enjoy. It’s amazing, really…and something I had never expected would bring me such complete and unreserved delight.

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Not Quite Green Eggs

Oct 26, 2010 by jennifer

"Breakfast for dinner" is a phrase that is turned quite often in my parents house. My mom LOVES it (but at her own concession, the woman worships anything that might come with bacon), my dad enjoys it a lot, and my brothers? Well, "Bacon and eggs? Now? You mean for dinner? Um, okay, why not?" is sort of their general attitude. Actually "why not?" seems to be their general attitude about everything, I think…they’re men. So I grew up in a house where breakfast for dinner was a semi-regular occurrence and I became rather attached to the idea myself.

Leith has wholeheartedly embraced this idea and eggs are probably one of his favourite meals. He likes his eggs every-which-way-but-loose, to be honest.

Ew "loose eggs"; that is not a good mental image.

But, to get back on track, my son loves him some eggs. He likes them scrambled, sunnyside up, sunnyside down, coddled, boiled, poached, omeletted, frittataed, deviled, quiched and even mini-quiched…and recently we have been reading a lot of Dr. Seuss at bedtime and last night he requested green eggs and ham for dinner.

These crustless miniature quiches were the perfect substitute. Filled with spinach (to make them green, of course!) and made to be the perfect size for little hands, little forks and little mouths. He was very excited when I put his dinner down in front of him; he immediately pointed out that they were green and that we could eat them in a box with a fox. It was an entertaining dinner.

We like green eggs and ham! We do! We like them, Sam-I-am! And we would eat them in a boat. And we would eat them with a goat… And we will eat them in the rain. And in the dark. And on a train. And in a car. And in a tree. They are so good, so good, you see! So we will eat them in a box. And we will eat them with a fox. And we will eat them in a house. And we will eat them with a mouse. And we will eat them here and there. Say! we will eat them ANYWHERE! We do so like green eggs and ham!

Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am!

(I love you Leitho)

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I Can Smell Happiness

Aug 15, 2010 by jennifer

I adore blueberry season. Blueberry sauce for ice cream, blueberry pancakes, blueberry smoothies, blueberry bars, blueberry jam, blueberry pie, blueberry muffins and blueberry loaf. I can’t get enough of those brilliant little indigo spherical bursts of tender sweetness. They are also very good for you, containing vitamins A, B1, B2, C, as well as niacin, potassium, calcium, phosphorous and iron. Yummy AND healthy hasn’t come along very often in my lifetime.

I also love Rosemary season. There is something about the smell – like pine but slightly more appetizing – a woodsy pine with just a hint of zesty lemon. The scent is actually thought to function as an antidepressant and has shown to improve concentration and memory.

One might not think that these two powerhouse ingredients would work well together. I thought differently this weekend when I brought both home in my fabric grocery bag from the market. The smells of the few smashed berries that had somehow managed to escape their basket and the strongly scented herb linger in that bag, hours later.

I considered walking around with it on my head all day and then it hit me (literally, with the bag over my head I stubbed my toe on a chair leg). Why risk bumping into things just to have that aromatic combination within my grasp…? Why not simply bake them together…? Make the scent combination into a flavor combination? Ah-ha. The light above my head clicked on. I cleared my schedule and immediately got down to work.

A sweet-savory focaccia was born. I may not be considered the mother of invention, but this has certainly brought me ever-so-slightly closer, I believe. I know you don’t believe me, so you’ll just have to try it for yourself.

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Back in My Kitchen

Aug 11, 2010 by jennifer

Lately there have been days that I don’t even make it into the kitchen…which for me is extremely difficult. Many days I’ll grab a coffee while on my way to work after dropping Leith at school, to drink along with a yogurt for breakfast. Lunch these days is almost non-existent and is, more often than not, eaten while submitting payroll or editing reports at my desk. By dinner I’m famished and craving something hearty and delicious – that also takes little or no effort on my part.

But when do I have time to cook? In between work and taking care of the "wee beastie" there is very little time left for me to hang out in my kitchen and cook for pleasure. In fact, I think my spice rack has forgotten who I am and my baking cupboard is definitely feeling abandoned. And of course our local Chinese take-away and Pizzeria are both getting way too much personal attention lately.

This is why the other night after I had fed Leith (a thrown together dinner of baked cod, rice and roasted vegetables), given him a bath, read him his favourite book and tucked him into bed with a dinosaur in one arm and a dog in the other, I wandered out and said hello to my kitchen. We reacquainted ourselves while dancing a sultry tango involving chopping, sauteing and mixing. I smiled as I stood there in front of my stove. And even though I was tired and my back hurt, it was like coming home after a long absence to enjoy all the little idiosyncrasies that go along with spending time with an old friend.

And what better to make than comfort food when what I sorely needed was consolation and affection? A slightly grown-up and healthy adaptation of the frozen chicken pot pie I always crave when I’m tired and sick and don’t want to cook, this is comfort food at it’s best. Simple, delicious and not too heavy this pie hits the spot in a way that neither pizza nor Chinese food ever can.

Making it at night and refrigerating it until the next day gives you a meal that only needs to be baked in the oven for 30 minutes – how much easier does dinner get?

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Calamity Jane

Jan 9, 2010 by jennifer

When I was little I was quite accident prone; my father’s nicknames for me were Calamity Jane and Murphy’s Law — I’ll give you one guess as to why. Now that I’m grown, it’s not that I’m suddenly full of grace, either. It’s more likely that I hide my accidents a bit better and look before I leap more often than I did when I was a child.

I remember writing an autobiographical essay for an English assignment in grade ten. The teacher had asked for a mini-biography (at age 16 it couldn’t be anything but short!) to teach us about writing in the first person, in the past tense. I thought it would be a funny twist to chronologically list my calamities rather than bore people with stories of how I got a dog when I was a kid or how my cat ate my brother’s bird. People respond to misfortune; it makes them laugh in the face of disaster — this was the wisdom of a 16 year-old.

Disaster #1: My brother dropped a drinking glass on the floor of the kitchen (which was marble) and it smashed into a thousand pieces. He cleaned it up, but once I walked in there I “found” the last remaining shard of glass with my foot. My parents thought it might work its way out (does glass ever really do that?) and didn’t take me to the hospital for a few days. When it was still stuck in there later on in the week my mom decided to trot me off to Sick Kids and had the doctor remove it. I got a lollipop and balloons — my brother was jealous and I still have a scar.

Disaster #2: I was in kindergarten and we were at the park playing one day. I loved the slide; I could go up the stairs and slide down that thing for hours on end. Swings made me dizzy for some reason and the jungle-gym was an accident waiting to happen (to me at least), so the slide was my best friend in the park. One day I slid down just as the teacher blew her whistle that signaled everyone to freeze so she could do a “head-count”. I froze. The guy behind me did not. He slid on down that slide, smacking me from behind, pushing me off. I landed badly and cracked my left ankle. I was on crutches for at least 6 weeks (after my mom rushed me to Sick Kids to have it looked at, x-rayed and bandaged). I got another lollipop and balloons. I also got some seriously special treatment at school – pretty much everyone was jealous.

Disaster #3: My father was replacing the glass pane in the door at our cottage. He started to remove it and was called away for a minute. I came up from the lake and wanted to get into the cottage, having no idea what my father had been working on. I tried the door. This door is sticky (yes, it’s still sticky) and you really have to give it a good YANK to open it. I did this and that top window pane came completely loose, fell from the door frame and almost sliced off my right thumb. My parents (being quick on their collective toes) wrapped my hand in a dish towel, treated me by dunking my hand in a large measuring cup full of slightly diluted hydrogen peroxide (ouch!) and Tylenol. No stitches. No antibiotics. No doctor. Why ruin a perfectly good family vacation by driving an hour or two to the closest hospital?! I do have to add here that my thumb is still attached to my hand and works just fine although it does sport a rather large scar and has some nerve damage. NO STITCHES. I swear, I was a miracle child. Eventually my mom took me to Sick Kids to have my thumb looked at – they said it was healing fine and wouldn’t bother with stitches anymore. I got another lollipop, some balloons and was sent home. No one was jealous.

Disaster #4: My older brother and I were at the supermarket with my mom and we were bored. He decided that pushing me around in the cart would be more fun than following my mom around the whole time. Then he decided – without clearing it with me first – that pushing me around wasn’t good enough. He decided that pushing me around really, really fast would be much more productive, and all of a sudden we were going Mach-5 around the Dominion. Admittedly, it was fun. Until the cart hit the fruit stand and everything went black. I opened my eyes and there were a half dozen grocery store employees standing around me as I lay, bruised and scared, UNDER the over-turned cart. Needless to say my mom didn’t take both of us shopping together again…ever.

While these are hardly the only “disasters” I encountered as a child, I always manage to recover each time I scrape my knee or fall up a flight of stairs (it happens more often than I’d care to admit). Comfort food comes in really handy on days when you slip in the shower or stub your toe on every corner you come across…and lately I seem to be the Queen of Comfort Food. This bread is the perfect thing to serve along with some really good corn chowder or even a hearty beef stew. It’ll keep you warm, keep you safe and keep you full.

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Boxes, Boxes

Aug 25, 2009 by jennifer

I’m not a "hater"…at least I don’t think I am, anyway. I don’t hate most things that most people I know happen to hate. I don’t mind traffic or waiting in line in the bank. I am perfectly fine with Brussels’ sprouts, snails and yes, even hospital food. Hatred is something I reserve for precious few things in life and honestly, I can only think of one thing that falls into that category right now.

I don’t think there is anything I loathe more than living out of boxes. Perhaps I dislike the packing of said boxes…or maybe I hate the act of having to purge prior to packing those boxes. It’s difficult to decide; thankfully I get to do all three things simultaneously these days.

Everything suffers when you live out of boxes.

Wardrobe: I wear basically two or three "outfits" because everything else is packed. I have limited things to wear to work and try to pretend they are different by wearing my hair differently each day so no one will clue in (right…).

Entertainment: the television and all of its accoutrements are packed. Enough said. Even Leith’s books are packed, forcing me to read "Guess How Much I Love You" every. night. like. clockwork.

Diet: my cookbooks are out of commission (see above). My kitchen is also packed, save for a few cracked plates and cups and old cutlery. Even my beloved KitchenAid is packed up in its box, waiting by the kitchen table, to travel to its new home. I swear if I never see another take-away menu or box of frozen hamburgers again it will be too soon.

It’s times like these that I am happy and just a little bit proud of something I did way back in December, not thinking at the time that it might just be a decadent life-saver come August. You might recall my recipe for Chili Pepper Jam. I gave jars, along with jars of Cranberry Chutney to some very lucky people. I kept a few to myself, hoarding them for use on special occasions; a dinner party here, a cheese tasting there, a quiet, candlelit meal for the two of us once.

As I was packing the kitchen pantry the other day I came across one last jar of the Chutney. I had been thinking of ordering pizza for dinner but spotting that ruby-red jar spelled out an amazing dinner instead. As we munched on our left over roast chicken sandwiches with chutney and goats cheese on rosemary buns from the local bakery, I smiled. I was thinking about how I’d found the jar and how I might not have noticed it if I hadn’t had to pack that day.

I suppose I don’t hate packing after all.

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One Night

Jan 14, 2009 by jennifer

The frigid air rattles against the kitchen window, trying to get in, as I stir a pot on the stove. Its contents bubble and roll and I think briefly about climbing in and allowing the soft, warm food to envelop me. The daydream ends in a cacophony as Leith tumbles into the kitchen, rambling in his own two year-old language about cars and dinosaurs and trains. He’s managed to wrap them all up in a "blankie" (nee tea towel) and would like me to put them to bed.

Various inanimate objects all tucked in nice and warm, dinner is finally ready and Leith and I gather ourselves together at the table, one of us in a highchair with a sippy cup and plastic plate, the other with a wine glass and cutlery without rubberized handles. S. is at school tonight so we are on our own, which, admittedly, is nice, though he is missed by both of us.

After dinner a warm bubble bath is in order for Leith and a few of his "baby dinos"; a treat for him. His bath is a treat for me as well because I get to sit in a cozy bathroom and read while he splashes, washes and thoroughly enjoys himself – tiring himself out completely at the same time. A pair of dino pajamas and a good-night story later and Leith is in bed and I have the house – and the evening – to myself.

What to do…?

I have turkey stock in the fridge that needs one more strain before it can be frozen. I have chutney and chili jam in the cold room that still needs to be labeled. I have recipes that need organizing and weekly menus and grocery lists to update. There are dishes to do, laundry to fold and of course emails to answer and voice mails to attend to. And I could easily go on…

I decide to reheat those delectable kernels of creamed corn from dinner that Leith enjoyed so very much, park myself on the couch with a bowl and a spoon and enjoy my one evening alone and do absolutely nothing. I didn’t even turn on the television. It was heavenly. If S. hadn’t returned home, chilled to the bone and tired from a very long day at school I doubt I would have parted company with that couch for at least a few more hours.

The corn by the way, reheated one more time, banished his chills and brought a smile to his face. Food just seems to have a way of curing that which ails you.

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Grilled to Perfection

Aug 11, 2008 by jennifer

Somewhere in amongst the trips to the pool, the treks to the cottage, the seemingly unending backyard cleaning, the outdoor home repairs and the hours of watching the Olympics, I find time to cook. I love summer cooking for its simplicity: meat + grill = dinner. I find the scents of summer cooking irresistible: all those fresh herbs, fruits and vegetables make me lightheaded (in a good way). The flavours of summer are diverse and splendid…and tempt my palate well into the cool crisp months that follow.

S. and I have a deal that lasts from early April until late October. Actually, who am I kidding, it’s an all-year-round arrangement, much to his chagrin. If I marinate the meat and put together a side dish, he is more than willing to take to the outdoors and grill our main course. Sometimes I will peek out the kitchen window or lean out the back door to see him strutting around the backyard, congratulating himself on a job well done. He is artfully arranging steaks or chicken on the barbecue in order to achieve maximum beauty with his precise grill marks.

I benefit from this display of gastronomic masculinity not too long after as he proudly presents a plate of perfectly grilled meat. Even though he claims not to know what he’s doing some of the time dinner always turns out perfectly cooked, deliciously presented and amazingly delectable.

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Summer Cooking

Jul 22, 2008 by jennifer

I feel as though I am MIA these days…but really I’m not! I’m just spending way too much time in my handsome, newly fenced-in back yard and my not-so-lovely kitchen, lounging outside in the sun and inside cooking up a storm. I have also been hiding, peeking out at the extreme weather we have been experiencing this summer, serving up some serious summer comfort food to my hard-working "boys".

I have been working on some truly delicious recipes (coming soon!) and reading some seriously amazing cookbooks (reviews coming soon!) so be sure not to stray too far. To tide you over, here are a few of my all-time favourite savoury summer recipes:

Tomato, Onion and Goat Cheese Tarts
These small tarts are perfect for a picnic or a nice cool evening when you don’t mind using the oven (or the toaster oven!).

Barbeque Chicken Wings
I think that chicken wings are the ideal acompaniment to watching a summer baseball or softball game – at the park or in the living room.

Coffee Marinated Steak
This is a cottage favourite. Rich and robust, perfect with grilled vegetables and garlic mashed.

Deviled Eggs
What backyard party is complete with these little treats?

Spicy Seared Scallops
This dish is simple but delicious – my favourite combination!

Lemon-Garlic Grilled Shrimp
These shrimp are so good you will peel them while you eat them and lick your fingers all night long.

Caprese Salad
If you can wait until your garden tomatoes come into season this is the perfect use for them. Otherwise pick up some fresh Ontario Beefsteak tomatoes at the market.

Chicken Fajitas
Fajitas are easy on the stove or the grill and are always delicious!

Maple Mustard Moose Wings
A Canadian version of "Buffalo Wings" that’ll make you want it to be Canada Day all over again!

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Me Without Mittens

Mar 19, 2008 by jennifer

Something happens to me this time of year…for some reason I become giddy and full of energy as the days become longer and grow just a little bit warmer. It might be the promise of better times ahead (it’s been a tough fall and even tougher winter) or the idea of seeing all the trees begin to bud. Perhaps it is the idea of paring down the wardrobe to one sweater (rather than three) and one jacket (rather than two) and wearing shoes rather than boots once the weather starts to pick up. It may even be the lovely long weekend coming up that revolves around food and chocolate and candy and family. It may be the nearness of my birthday… I can’t quite put my finger on what it is exactly but I am pretty pumped about spring finallycoming.

Spring is looming. You can feel it on the street when the breeze blows just a bit lighter and slightly warmer. It is right around the corner, just waiting to surprise you with melting snow everywhere and kids (including my own) jumping in every puddle they come across. The stores are stocked with Easter decorations and candies and April is less than two weeks away. Spring is without a doubt on its way.

I practically live off of soups and stews during the cold winter months. Heavy, meat and vegetable-laden concoctions that have oodles of time to simmer on the stove while I huddle inside of a pile of sweaters. But once the temperatures start to run upwards and the sweaters start to come off I still crave the comfort of soups…just on the lighter, greener side. Soups like this one keep me hopeful that spring is just around the corner and keep me warm down to my toes until the temperature outside warms up a bit more.

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