Cooking

Reasons to Believe: All things Creme Fraiche, Mascarpone and Ricotta

Domestic goddess that I am. I’m in red raffia heels. OK….wedges. I feel like Nigella. Creme Fraiche on the go, 2 fruit cakes in the making (last Christmas’s success), this time the recipe is adjusted to include some Maltina and pureed lemon sugar. Its the creme fraiche that I’d like to start off with. Thankfully, my feet are not hurting…..and I admit, it is time to drop the charade and take off the shoes.

I am confused as to exactly what chemical reaction has gone on with my ultra-pasteurised whipped cream and reconstituted buttermilk.

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Something has definitely happened. The mixture is thick, thicker than the double cream consistency yesterday. It looks dollopable…… and at the bottom of  my glass some liquid has collected – whey to the initiated.

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Spiced Apple Sauce

Out with the old, in with the new.

Ditch the cinnamon sticks and sweet fragrance of warm spice. Replace it with heat and heart. Crisscross apple sauce….you’ll have no regrets.

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The Anatomy of an Artichoke

Note: The exploration for this post was done in 2011 while I lived  in The Netherlands. Artichokes haven’t appeared in any store aisles in Nigeria (that I’ve come across anyway….). I am sharing it because I unearthed some ‘gems’  in the process. I hope you enjoy reading it.

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—–♥♥♥♥♥—–

None of my memories, sleeping or waking…have been consumed with artichokes of any sort. Globe or Jerusalem, pickled, boiled, fried or grilled. Australia’s cooking doyenne, Stephanie Alexander says in her book, ‘The Cook’s Companion’, a compendium of ingredients and recipes for the Australian kitchen ‘Artichokes have a reputation of being tricky to prepare and fiddly to eat. As a result, many food lovers have yet to tackle their first boiled artichoke’.

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Carciofi alla Giudia with Fried Lemon

She spoke of me. A food lover terrified by thistles and thorns….of the artichokes.

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‘Simmer & Stir’ Christmas Cake

No corny statements about how quickly Christmas has come this year.No, none. Only cake. A fruit cake. The likes of which I’ve never made before. Dreamt of making….yes but one of those dreams which die hard and early.

I grew up with Fruitcakes every Christmas, lovingly made by Mrs O, a friend of my mum’s. A master baker, she would start her preparations months before the cakes were delivered, gratefully received and devoured.

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Slices of cake don't come more perfect than this, do they?

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The Taming of The Stew

His cries of ‘spice, spice’ herald new beginnings, but at only 4 years old…this little man knows it not. This is the first proper ‘thing’ to come out of our new kitchen ( long before our delicious churros which have been followed by cupcakes and pizza. I’m thankful I can still cook and bake!), or ‘shrine’ as my younger sister calls it. It could pass for one. Small, and walls bedecked with ‘oddities’ that might look like instruments of war…to the uninitiated – roasting needles, an old ice-cream scoop, whisks and a metal jug that some may consider fit for a rubbish heap. Not me.

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Spiced Pumpkin Churros for Thanksgiving

I’m thankful for autumn and fall. For churros. For pumpkin puree. For pumpkin churros. For sugar, and chocolate and spice. For taste notes called toffee and caramel. For New England autumns, for deep-fried. Dough.

I’m thankful for new beginnings, for children that love freely, for hope, for joy.  For life. And the occasional wave of pain.

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Churro rings...or donuts

I’m thankful for homecomings, imperfect as they sometimes are.

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Still Here

Checking in…..what can I say. Sorry? Pray for me? I’m slugging away…..

Have you moved before?

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358 brown boxes have…..turned to dust. Mostly. There’s stuff everywhere. Terrifying it is. Read more…

Raymond Blanc’s Tomato Essence (Only Partly Daring Cooks)

We fell into bed just after 8pm in Bedroom 2 of our transit house, exhausted by the day’s events. While the day was not dotted with drama, it had been a long one for us all – the first day of school for the three children, and the first time in all the schooling years that I wouldn’t be the one to see them off on Day one, some with streams of tears, holding on to Mama’s skirt and saying ‘I want to go home with you Mama’. Papa instead had the sole honours.

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An Ode to Burrata

If fresh buffallo mozarella and provolone cheese jostle for the gold medal of Italian pasta filata (spun paste), then burrata stands without question in platinum position. And worthy of an ode.

Burrata, burrata
Where art thou, oh burrata
On aisles and cold shelves
In Italia and beyond
You – burrata are found in the best
company of cheeses money can buy
 
Blessed are ye, oh cheesemakers of Puglia
And blessed are the fruits of your vats
Mozzarella di buffalo, Provolone
and cheese above all cheeses -
Burrata.
 
Cheese like ‘Pregnant bellies’
Tummies full of ritagli (scraps) and panna (cream)
Your name is like butter to my ears – soft and warm
Your skin -  smooth and stretchy like ‘white’ velvet
You are fresh and sweet with the essence of youth
Tangy and the creamy and best eaten within two days
 
Burrata, dear burrata
Soulful cheese to all
Caseophile or not

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Daring Cooks Go South Indian With A Feast

If you are acquainted with Indian food, like I thought I was then consider this question I pose to you today: Is Indian food countriversal (like universal but for countries)? Is it?

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Well I certainly thought it was. Sipping on a mug of steaming ginger tea and chatting with friend and neighbor I reeled off all the Indian dishes I loved so – Tikka Masala, Tandoori Chicken and on and on I went. Dishes that my old friends and neighbours had lovingly prepared for me time and time again.  

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