Chilled Cucumber Soup

During these dog days of August, turning on the stove can prompt the question "are you freakin' nuts?"

Ok, ok, full disclosure: we live in hermetically sealed central air comfort, with very little sun making it through our condo's windows thanks to the building directly south blocking out most of its rays. It's hard to remember eating this soup in our old hot, bright Annex apartment. I almost want to romanticize that place in the summer; we were dependent on fans, fitful breezes, cold washcloths on the back of the neck, cool showers, and creative array of no-cook dinners - cold soups, salads, sandwiches and lots of ice water to keep from overheating. However, as much as I don't miss the discomfort of heat alerts, there's something about central air and double-paned glass that divorces me from the season, and pretty much homogenizes the entire year once I'm home. I wish I was as brave as Oliver Broudy - his Salon.com article articulates my love-hate relationship with the HVAC unit.

It's kind of a shame as I eat this cucumber soup - some of its point is lost if I'm not sweltering as it eat it. It's filled with so many cooling elements - cucumbers, of course, yogurt, and mint. Making it is laughably easy, with peeling and removing the seeds of the cucumbers the only step that takes a few minutes, and the rest of the recipe is as simple as making a smoothie. Lately I imagine eating it on a sunny patio, or in someone's leafy backyard. It just doesn't get any better than that.

2 ½ English cucumbers, peeled
1 cup no-fat chicken broth
2/3 cup chilled plain yogurt
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tsp lemon juice
1 tbsp finely chopped chives
2 tbsp shredded mint
4-5 drops of Tobasco
salt and freshly ground pepper

Cut cucumbers in half and remove seeds with a teaspoon. Cut cucumbers into 3/4" slices.
Purée cucumber, chicken broth, yogurt, garlic, lemon juice in a blender until smooth.
Stir in chives, mint and Tabasco; season to taste with salt and pepper.
Place covered blender jar in fridge to allow soup to chill.


Adapted from Food in 15 Minutes, Marie Claire, Gillian Duffy, year unknown

Panzanella!

Not sure why, but I can't write or say Panzanella! without putting an exclamation mark after it. Could be some welcome giddiness about the arrival of summer.

This is also known as Tuscan Summer Bread Salad, and it's a great salad to bring to a potluck barbecue. That's exactly what I did - the background of this photo is my brother's patio and yard. This salad made a wonderful side dish to the fantastic burgers he grilled up.

I was inspired to make it after a particularly summery and delicious episode of Barefoot Contessa. One of the nice things about having a laptop with wireless internet is that I can surf while I'm watching TV, and within moments I had found the recipe on Food Network's website.

I was glad to have a good reason to make this huge salad - its yield is 12 servings - since there are 21 of us (11 adults, 10 kids) when the entire family gets together. Like any salad, it's all about proportions, so it wouldn't be hard to reduce the ingredient amounts to serve two, but the sight of this large bowl brimming with bright vegetables, huge croutons and torn basil was amazing.

How Much Kitchen Stuff Do You Really Need?

You should read this great article by New York Times columnist Mark Bittman - A No-Frills Kitchen Still Cooks.

As for me, thanks to not having much storage space or an unlimited amount of spending money (who does?), I've built up my modest kitchen collection slowly. As much as I would love to be seduced by name brands and houseware stores filled with tempting gadgets big and small, I've always asked myself "Do I really need this?" and "Where am I going to put it?" I don't cook very often, so that honest self-assessment plays into my decision making too.

It seems that the people I know fall into two broad categories. Those who get on with cooking, several times a week, no matter how basic their kitchen, and those who fantasize about becoming a fantastic cook - someday, when they get a huge kitchen, with six gas burners, convection oven and a central island for prep.

One of my favourite, although slightly bitchy, things to do when I've been invited to the wedding of a mere acquaintance (can you smell the gift grab?) is pore over their registry. One couple springs to mind. This was a long lapsed slight friendship with the guy, hampered by distance, compromised further by us having little use for his choice of bride. Although I found her opinionated, tactless and rude, I nonetheless attempted to befriend her. Trying to find common ground at a cottage weekend, we talked about food, and I discovered that her ability to cook consisted of recipes found on soup can labels, macaroni and cheese from a box, and ordering pizza. His culinary knowledge wasn't much better. While I helped other cottage guests with dinner that night, I sprinkled chopped rosemary and crushed garlic cloves over cubed potatoes before placing them in the oven. "What's that green shit?" he demanded, fear of the unknown wrinkling his brow.

I'm sure it won't surprise you to discover that their wedding registry was filled with dream kitchen items, and indeed, I heard that a few years later while buying their house, they equipped their kitchen with every bell and whistle you can imagine. All that to make "chicken with mushroom soup sauce".

On the other hand, some of the best home cooking I've ever eaten has been produced in the tiniest apartment kitchens. The cooks I'm thinking of have used every inch of space in their kitchen in the most efficient way possible. Calm, matter of fact and uncomplaining, they use their standard issue, apartment-sized electric stove, pots and pans picked up in Chinatown, and wash dishes in five minute bursts to make more room on their tiny counters.

I fall between those two categories. Procrastination can be incredibly irresistible if you feel the need to acquire all sorts of gadgets before committing to producing something creative - this can be true of photography, music, visual arts, as well as cooking. "I can't make that Thai green curry until I have a food processor". However, although my kitchen has received a slight upgrade over the years thanks to my slow but steady collection of kitchen stuff and renting a condo with all the modern conveniences rather than a crappy decades-old apartment, the amount of cooking I do has not changed at all.

Ultimate Comfort Food - Lemon Linguine Carbonara

While the weather has drastically improved for the past few days, my mood has not. Nothing to kvetch about really, just a jumble of everyday concerns are making me grumpy and irritable. Enter the mood healing powers of lemons, pasta, parmesan, cream and bacon.

It had been quite a while since I had made Lemon Linguine from Nigella Lawson's How to Eat. Normally I slot it in on fend-for-myself night, because Jeff doesn't like it; he finds it bland. One night, we wandered moodily together through a small grocery store near our apartment after an especially bad workday. I knew I had to make something for dinner that was fast, extremely delicious and hedonistic, and simple enough that the little store would carry everything we need. Lemon Linguine crossed my mind, and I remembered that we still had half a package of bacon leftover from Sunday's big breakfast. A-ha! Bacon! We both love bacon, and I hoped that it would turn one of my favourite solitary meals into something we could both enjoy.

I quickly bought some cream, parmesan, and lemons, got home, married Lemon Linguine with a Carbonara recipe, and a dinner hit was born. We really shouldn't have this very often, and if the weather stays as mild and sunny as is expected, I think this is the last time we'll have it until the fall - it's far too rich for the hot weather that's just around the corner. But tonight it was perfection - soporific bliss.

We have it with a green salad dressed with oil and lemon juice vinaigrette to assuage the 'heart attack on a plate' connotations.


Linguine - as much as you need for the number of people eating
2 egg yolks
5 tablespoons whipping cream
5 tablespoons grated parmesan
zest and juice of 1 lemon
small knob of butter
5 strips of bacon, cut into bite sized pieces
1 shallot, finely diced

Cook linguine according to package directions. While the pasta is cooking, fry bacon in a small pan, adding the diced shallots near the end of the bacon's cooking time.

While the bacon and pasta are cooking, combine the egg yolks, cream, parmesan, lemon zest and juice in a bowl. Add a pinch of salt and a grinding of pepper to taste. Set aside.

Before draining the pasta, take a measuring cup and hive off about 3/4 of a cup of the pasta water. Drain pasta, return pasta to pot, add knob of butter, stir until melted. Add the eggy, creamy lemony sauce and mix until every strand of pasta is coated. Add the bacon and shallots. As you are mixing the pasta, add some of the cooking water to loosen everything up. It may not look like it needs it, but by the time you plate the pasta, you'll be glad you did, as the cheese continues to melt. You don't want any chalkiness here, just a luscious creamy, eggy, lemony, bacony pasta.

Eat as soon as possible.

Note: the beauty of this dish is that you can play around with the quantities of each ingredient - if your sauce seems runny, add more grated parmesan, if it seizes up as you are mixing it, add more cream and lemon juice.

Food Obsession - Alice's Pastryland

I'm taking a food writing course at George Brown College right now - and one of my classmates brought in samples from her side business as her "show and tell" this week

She makes Dark Chocolate Pretzel Toffee and god is it ever good. The salty hit from the pretzels is a revelation in the midst of the rich chocolate and wonderful toffee. We munched our way through all of her samples. I took an extra one home ostensibly for Jeff, but really for myself.

After I'm finished that second sample, I'm going to visit her e-store on Etsy.com and buy at least one half pound box. I suggest you do the same!

February is for Lovers (who can stay awake, that is)

"...he or she lucky enough to have a lover in frigid, antsy February has cause for celebration indeed.” - Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins

Beef Tenderloin. Garlic mashed potatoes. Fried mushrooms swimming in butter. Dense, fudgy chocolate cake. The whole bottle of red. Sound romantic? Think again. Such a heavy menu is likely to result in you and your sweetie resting on the sofa and watching TV "for just a few minutes" only to be startled awake by a blaring infomercial at 2 AM. And worse, if only one of you drifts off, it's a recipe for resentment, not romance.

Even though Valentine's has passed, February is a great month to get a little closer to your significant other. Social calendars aren't as crowded; it's cold outside and the perfect time of year to stay indoors. Spend a Saturday at the market, cook together and linger at the table. This menu is full of light, sexy courses, without much prep or long cooking times, all bonuses if you want to stay frisky. It's more fun if you take your time while preparing and eating each course together before starting the next. Pink champagne would be nice here – cheeky and fun.

Antipasto Platter

Lots of textures and flavours in this starter. One of you can arrange the proscuitto, bocconcini and strips of roasted red peppers while the other prepares and dresses the arugula. You can buy roasted red peppers at the market if you don't feel like roasting them yourself. Dave Lieberman offers this recipe in Young & Hungry: More Than 100 Recipes for Cooking Fresh & Affordable Food.


6 to 8 slices of prosciutto, thinly sliced
1 roasted red pepper, cut into thin strips
Marinated Bocconcini (recipe follows)
Arugula dressed with balsamic vinagrette (recipe follows)

Arrange on a large platter. Serves 2.

Marinated Bocconcini
8 to 10 bite-sized pieces of Bocconcini
1 tbsp (15 mL) extra virgin olive oil
a pinch of salt
a small grinding of pepper
1 tsp (5 mL) of chopped fresh rosemary

Drain off liquid that bocconcini are packed in. In a small glass bowl, toss with olive oil, salt, pepper and rosemary. Cover and refrigerate for at least two hours, if possible.

Arugula dressed with Balsamic Vinagrette
1 small bunch of Arugula
1 tbsp (15 mL) of extra virgin olive oil
a few pinches of salt
a few grinds of pepper
2 tbsp (30 mL) of balsamic vinegar

Wash, dry and tear up the arugula. In a medium sized bowl, toss with olive oil, a few pinches of salt, a few grinds of pepper, and balsamic vinegar.