Another lame chef move

I love to bake but do so rarely, mostly because I live alone and so the responsibility of eating the baked goods falls to me, but also because baking really is a sharing thing. Anyways, when it comes to birthdays we always make Nana's famous sour cream-chocolate cake, and it was my turn this weekend to get it looking good for my brother's 40th.


One of my dearest friends is a professional pastry chef and he has tried to explain to me on more than one occasion his "foolproof" method for making Italian buttercream, which he swears is the very best for cake frosting. But I must admit that on a Saturday afternoon I wasn't in the mood for buttercream. I was in the mood for a nap. So I made my cheater's frosting -- just whipped chocolate ganache -- and glazed the whole affair with straight-up mocha ganache. The cake was frosted in less than 15 minutes. Rich, oh man, yes, almost too rich to eat. But pretty enough. And I got my nap.



Cheater's Frosting: Bring 250 mL whipping cream to the gentlest simmer. Pour over 8 oz chopped bittersweet chocolate and stir until melted. Let cool to winter room temperature, about 19 C (this can be sped up by using an ice bath). Whip on high til fluffy.

Cheater's Mocha Glaze: Bring 250 mL whipping cream to the gentlest simmer (does this sound familiar?). Pour over 8 oz chopped bittersweet chocolate and 1 - 2 tbsp instant coffee. Stir until melted. Let cool just a bit then pour over the frosted cake. Put it in a cool place to set (the back porch works well so long as the dog/raccoons/neighbours aren't sniffing around).

Steak Rules

Ok, another cookbook on the way, What to Do With Your Keg Leftovers. Because really, besides my bottomless-appetited Brit, who can finish the whole 16-oz ribeye? (and don't ask about ordering another, smaller steak; at the Keg, it's ribeye or nothing). To wit:



Supper last night -- leftover steak on baby arugula with instant marinated mushrooms (more on them another day), avocado, parmesan. Said leftovers have also starred in excellent sandwiches and as Dijon-slathered finger-food for The Hungover. As if the original meal wasn't wonderful enough, this beauty actually lasts 2 distinct meals. Sigh of love.

The Way to an Irish Girl's Heart

Words not really required here. The Brit boiled-then-pan fried chips (proving he is British), and served them with easily the nicest roast chicken that has ever emerged from my circa-1952 Eaton's Viking oven. I mean come on.

Le Long Weekend

Oh, I can hardly wait. We've got the next 3+ days mapped out:
Friday night: Spicy chicken curry at my place, with tons of rice and I really hope there's enough hot lime pickle in the fridge.

Saturday: egg salad sandwiches for breakfast in the car heading north, then corned beef sandwiches for our mid-ski break (plus a warming dram from the hip flask), then roast chicken with salad, garlic bread and potatoes once we get home.

Sunday: the fridge is loaded with eggs, good prosciutto, cheddar and other breakfast-related goodies. Then after a few warmer-uppers at the pub, we'll head to the bistro for a quiet little lovey supper. I've been dreaming about chicken liver paté.

Monday: finally got my hands on a set of Lincolnshire sausages from the good butcher. The Brit is in charge of this one. There may well be something called Toad-in-the-Hole in my near future....

Chili, close up

OK, let's just chat about chili. REAL TEXAS chili. No beans, no carrots, no mofo tomatoes, you mofos. Meat, chilies, cumin (arguable), garlic, water. C'est tout.

Anyone who has read A Bowl of Red understands that the pursuit of REAL TEXAS CHILI has nothing to do with beans, sweet peppers or ersatz grocery store chili powder. It's about slowly braising good meat with the purée of a motley, sacred, half-mad melange of rehydrated chilies. It's about serving boiled pinto beans on the side, with Fritos or freshly made cornbread. It has nothing to do with vegetarians, potluck suppers, or church bazaars.

And if anyone says anything about tofu, TVP or tempeh, well.....watch out.

A hunk of beef fat, $30 of minced venison, six anchos, 4 guajillos, 3 de arbols, 1 miscellaneous dried-on-top-of-the-fridge-by-Sean chili, a shit-ton of fresh garlic, paprika and oregano, half a bottle of beer, 4 days and a wee smidge of very fine cornmeal = REAL TEXAS CHILI (soo very far from Texas I can hardly admit it).

Lunch

Years ago I gave my dad a copy of John Allemang's great book The Importance of Lunch, which he continues to quote from to this day. Sometime around then, my brother dared our dad to list his Top 10 foods (Dad is a slave to the Top 10 list, though he usually refines the food-related ones -- "top 10 desserts" etc). Deep in the list, somewhere near #5, Dad listed "cheese", which Dylan argued wasn't allowed, saying "that's like saying your favourite food is lunch".

Long intro: in a few words, suddenly, I am in love with lunch.

I am at my desk right now delaying the pleasure of a steak sandwich stashed in the work fridge. It's just the leftovers from our Saturday post-ski Keg dinner (while the Brit eats his whole 16-oz ribeye, I (shame, shame) have to bring the back half of mine home). But between 2 slices of my favourite bread (Premiere Moisson's carré au lait) one caked with pesto and mayo, the other with grainy Dijon, and OH MAN, it's going to be great.

The other day I had leftover beef bourguignon with a slice of sourdough and some baby carrots. Yesterday, some toast, a slab of wonderful pate forestière and an orange. And while I was making today's sandwich, I was already dreaming about tomorrow (there's an avocado on the counter which will be perfect, some 5-yr-old cheddar in the fridge, and a tomato). Lunch! It's the new dinner.