This blog post list contains the most recent blog posts from The Messy Baker in reverse chronological order. You can also browse by recipe category or use the search function.
A friend has a theory that my family is part vampire. We are unnaturally pale and live a very, very long time. I am about to disprove this theory. I don't shrink at the sight of garlic. In fact, I grow it.
This is garlic straight from my garden. It's shaggy and covered in dirt. Not at all like the pristine white bulbs you find in the supermarket. It hasn't been trimmed or cleaned yet. I wanted you to see what it looked like straight from the earth.
I started growing garlic a few years ago because the only option at the supermarket was spongy, bitter bulbs from 10,000+ kms away. I haven't looked back. And as with most things, I keep learning as I go.
This week's Gastropost challenge was to "recreate or revisit a food experience that will refresh sunny memories of summers past." With strawberries and peaches already covered, my mind went to corn — a food that leaves me conflicted. In season, corn-on-the-cob means both the height of summer and its dreaded end.
The following essay was published in the Globe and Mail a few years ago. I think it's time to pull it out, pluck the corn silk from between its paragraphs and see how it goes. The recipe follows. We never had any exotic toppings when I was a kid. It was just plain butter and salt. And plenty of it.
I don't know if there are the Fortex pole beans or the Maxibel French filet beans. I suspect they are a mix. I can't tell because the vines are so thick the leaves obscure the labels. Plus, I was too busy picking beans to bother looking. Regardless of their official name, these are the first crop of beans from my section of The Family Plot. Back in May, I planted them with one recipe in mind. Today I got to make it.
A few months ago, Monica Bhide made me a variation of her Green Beans Subzi, a spicy vegetable dish with lots of flavour and crunch. She strayed from the version in her cookbook Modern Spice, and added coconut chips for extra crunch because she knows I like texture. Since that meal, I have searched for coconut chips and come up empty handed. Unable to locate this ingredient, I substituted extra large coconut flakes. They aren't exactly the same, but I'm not about to complain.
When a spring frost destroyed much of the tender fruit crops in Ontario, I was afraid I wouldn't see a local peach this year, let alone one that delivered a true peachy taste. Fortunately, I was wrong. While the size of the crop may not be large, the peaches are beginning to roll in, and they are sweet, flavourful and juicy.
After the intense heat of the past few weeks, I couldn't bring myself to turn on the oven. Too impatient for ice cream (and with a cracked filling that made me temporarily sensitive to hot and cold food), I decided to make something very simple with my first batch of peaches. Something that would also let me experiment with the new basils I have in the garden. Alongside the opal, leaf, and Thai basils, I planted lime basil and -- get this -- lavender basil. While the lime basil had a bright, citrusy taste, the lavender version was surprisingly mild and had a floral scent that screamed out for peaches. So I obliged.
Hold my hand. I'm very nervous. Today is a big day. A. Very. Big. Day.
First of all, it's my sister's 2nd wedding anniversary. (Happy anniversary, Allison and Dale.) That's not rattling me, although I do shudder when I recall putting her wedding cake together during a heat wave. Secondly, I'm on CTV's News at Noon today, talking about galettes. Sure, I worry about forgetting a key ingredient or tripping on my way to the car. But that's not making me antsy, either. Being a guest there is always fun.
No. I'm wringing my hands and flapping about like a puffin in a wind storm because I'm about to make It real. Once I announce It there will be no turning back. I can't unring that bell. What exactly is It?
I landed a book deal. With HarperCollins Canada.
There. I said it. So now, I guess it must be true.
This is a zucchini flower from The Family Plot. While we raised plenty of eyebrows planting the garden, we weren't sure we could raise so much as a baby carrot. Much to everyone's surprise, the beans are clawing their way up the poles, the radishes are duking it out for territory, and the tomatoes stagger under the weight of their green fruit. Meanwhile, the zucchini plants bloom quietly in a corner, hoping no one will notice until it's too late. Sorry, Zucchini. We're onto you.
I've been itching to try zucchini flowers for years but haven't had access to the main ingredient -- ephemeral zucchini blossoms. Every summer, I feel a bit jealous as a I read the culinary triumph of others with their battered and deep fried blossoms, or their stuffed-and-pan-fried flowers. I nearly choke when food writers get "bored" with this precious ingredient and skip the cooking altogether, opting to sprinkle julienned blossoms into salads and soups as if they were nothing more than a common herb.
Blueberries and corn? Really? Yes. In salsa? Oh my, yes. Make that a big, fat blueberry yes.
The photographer in me loves the colour contrast. The eater in me loves the crunchy texture and sweet-sour flavours. Add lime and cilantro to the mix? Oh, I'm there. I'm so very, very there.
In retrospect, I wonder why the combination surprised me. After all, cornmeal and blueberries are a natural match, so corn itself isn't a stretch. My surprise merely proves what I have long suspected — I'm missing a lot of culinary opportunities thanks to my near total ignorance of Latin cuisine. But all that's changing thanks to Sandra Gutierrez, author of The New Southern-Latino Table: Recipes That Bring Together the Bold and Beloved Flavors of Latin America & the American South(University of Northern Carolina Press, 2011).
What exactly is New Southern-Latino Cuisine? It's easier to tell you what it's not.
Fingers, don't fail me now. I'm trying desperately to spell Paulette Phlipot's last name right. It shouldn't be that hard. After all, there are no accents requiring complex keystroke combinations. However, decades of typing have engrained certain patterns in my brain. My fingers struggle to put an "l" immediately after an "h," especially when they know an "i" is coming up fast. My fingers want to buy a vowel. Sorry fingers. Slow down and spell it right.
As I mentioned in my previous post, Paulette Phlipot is the photographer behind the bold images found in Ripe: A Fresh, Colorful Approach to Fruits and Vegetables (beautifully written by my colleague and friend Cheryl Sternman Rule). Her last name is misspelled and mispronounced as much as my first name. To help pronounce Phlipot, Paulette shared a clever mnemonic. As a child she was a gymnast. "I flip, oh!" For those who own the book, her photos make you want to "flip-o" through the pages.
Now that we have that issue cleared up, let's talk about the photography.
By now, you've likely heard a lot about Ripe: A Fresh, Colorful Approach to Fruits and Vegetables written by Cheryl Sternman Rule and photographed by Paulette Phlipot. You've likely seen some of its in-your-face photographs, read excerpts of the light-hearted writing, and possibly tried one of the delicious yet accessible recipes. If not, you've at least heard it's organized by colour, so the fruits and vegetables appear according to the rainbow, not course.
But what you might not have heard is the story behind the book itself. Yes, Ripe is an unusual book, but not because of the obvious. Yes, the writing is crisp. Yes the photographs make you see food in a new way. Its sum is greater than the whole because of the unusual collaborative relationship between author and photographer. Look at the book's spine. It says "Rule & Phlipot." When I interviewed Cheryl, she explained how Ripe came into being. And what happened before the writing and photography even began made all the difference to the outcome.
[caption id="attachment_7789" align="alignnone" width="500"] En Papillote (French for "in parchment") makes for tender rhubarb in no time.[/caption]
As if Friday isn't reason enough to celebrate. Today is the first anniversary of Lynn Ogryzlo's The Ontario Table, and I'm one of her virtual guests.
I'm pretty chuffed to be asked to take part. Not only do I enjoy a party, I like hanging out with Lynn, even if it is online. First of all, she spells my name right. Granted, with a surname like Ogryzlo, you're probably sensitive to such things, but it still earns her bonus points. Secondly, she loves my doughnuts, and last but certainly not least, she takes one of the most sensible approaches to eating local I've ever seen.
Instead of giving you the stink eye if everything on your shopping list doesn't comply with the 100-mile diet, she simply issues a $10 challenge. The concept is easy. Each week, spend $10 of your grocery money on local food. That's it. Small (locally grown) potatoes, right?