Chocolate for lunch (and maybe breakfast too)

-->

When I was a kid, one of my favourite sandwiches involved peanut butter and chocolate sprinkles. Yes. Chocolate sprinkles. But not the cheap candy ones you can get anywhere. I grew up with Dutch chocolate hagelslag, which have a richer chocolate flavour and are required to contain at least 35% cocoa to bear the name. Like just about everything in your life when you’re a kid, this seemed completely normal. I’d eat them on sandwiches, on toast, or on Dutch beschuit rusks (twice-baked, crunchy bread).  It wasn’t until I brought one of these sandwiches to school and was met by confused stares that I realized it wasn’t the norm for most people.

This is probably a good time to mention that I’m not even Dutch, a fact that only added to my classmates’ confusion. My grandfather worked for the Canadian government and as a result my mom’s family lived all over the world. The Netherlands happened to be one of those places and for one reason or another, those traditions stuck more than others. We snack on hagelslag and stroopwafels (thin waffle cookies pressed together with a syrupy center), receive chocolate letters in our stockings at Christmas, sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in Dutch, and those with underdeveloped taste buds devour double salt—dubbel zout—licorice. (I am not one of them. Imagine a black licorice jujube, but throw in a teaspoon of salt. Disgusting.) 

But back to the chocolate sprinkle sandwiches. In the Netherlands people eat hagelslag on bread for breakfast the way other people eat toast with jam. The website for De Ruijter, makers of fine hagelslag since 1860, will tell you that the average Dutch person consumes about 1 kilogram of chocolate hagelslag per year, that it’s the most popular condiment in the country, and that said country will eat more than 600 million chocolate hagelslag sandwiches a year. I would fit right in.

It seems to have developed out of nowhere, and for a country whose food culture was born of fishing and farming, it’s a bit of an anomaly. With meals heavy on pea soup, meat, potatoes, and the occasional cheese, the chocolate sprinkles look wildly out of place.

Yet with that in mind, another kind of sprinkle made of anise seeds coated in sugar (muisjes) appeared in Dutch tradition as early as the 17th century. Anise was believed to promote lactation, so muisjes were eaten to celebrate the birth of a child, and coloured pink and blue accordingly. Muisjes translates to mice and the name comes from the anise stem that sticks out of the tiny sugar ball like a tail. And, yes, they were eaten just as their chocolate counterparts—on a slice of bread or a beschuit. Who needs cigars when you have sprinkles on toast?

Whatever the origin, they still make a fantastic sandwich. I’ve eaten my fair share of muisjes as well, but the chocolate remains my favourite. There’s something that feels a bit naughty about eating chocolate sprinkles as part of a meal that isn’t dessert, something satisfying and playful. And maybe that’s the key to their origin. In a country with such practical staple foods, people wanted something a bit more fun.

-->

Sunny and warming up nicely

Oh, hello there! Yes, it's me again. Surprised? I am. But as I sit here, drinking my coffee, having just eaten some rather wonderful pancakes, I feel the need to share said pancakes with you. It's a lovely day outside; sunny and warming up nicely. Spring is on it's way this time, I'm sure of it. No more surprise snow that refuses to melt for weeks. And I am coming out of hibernation at last.

This morning I was inspired to make pancakes. I love breakfast and so rarely get the chance to sit and have a proper breakfast. So I decided to take advantage of my morning off. This recipe was adapted from How to Cook Everything. I began with the basic recipe for fluffy pancakes, substituted some of the white flour for buckwheat flour, and threw in a mashed banana. And, voila! Light and Fluffy Buckwheat Banana Pancakes.

I love when improvised recipes turn out well and these turned out even better than expected. The banana and buckwheat play off each other nicely, the sweetness of the banana tempering the buckwheat, which has a tendency to be overly earthy at times. Rather than substitute the entire quantity of white flour with buckwheat flour, like the recipes suggests, I opted for half and half. I wanted the buckwheat to be present, but not kick you in the mouth and take over. And the bananas, oh. They hovered at the edge, subtle, just hinting at their presence, not overwhelming the senses as bananas sometimes do.

They were the perfect start to the morning. A light sweetness to accompany the light breeze drifting through the window, making the whole apartment smell like spring. This bodes well for the day ahead.

Light and Fluffy Buckwheat Banana Pancakes

1 cup milk
4 eggs, separated
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup buckwheat flour
2 tbsp sugar
Dash of salt
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 mashed ripe banana

Beat milk and egg yolks together. Mix dry ingredients. Set both aside.
Whip egg whites until stiff, but not dry.
Combine milk mixture and dry ingredients. Mash banana and add to batter.
Gently fold in egg whites until fully incorporated.
Heat skillet and melt butter in pan. Pour some batter into the pan and cook until bubbles form on the surface. Flip and cook until browned.
Add syrup and enjoy!

Granola Parfait

I was toying with the idea of starting this post with an apology because it's been delayed far longer than I intended. However, it's going to get monotonous if I keep allowing ten days to lapse between posts. So I'll just say that I'll try my best to keep them coming, but I make no promises. Onward then.

Today I am addressing one of my favourite breakfast treats. Well, actually I'll eat at it just about any time of the day. It is the yogurt parfait.

First experienced at Starbucks with fruit and granola I was enamored by the first bite. Truly, fruit, yogurt, and granola belong together. The wonderful thing about it is its versatility. If you're like me, you're a bit of a creature of habit, but at the same time get bored by constant, unending repetition. Herein lies the secret of the yogurt parfait. You can change up the yogurt, you can change up the fruit, you can change up the granola, all the while keeping the essentials the same.

My personal favourite combination involves Greek style plain yogurt (the unsweetened kind), a good squirt of honey, homemade granola, and whatever fruit I have lying around (though I'm partial to strawberries). The tangy bite of the yogurt perks up your taste buds for the smoothly sweet honey. Strawberries add their own sweetness and occasional tang. Bananas are divinely sweet, lending a softness to both flavour and texture. Granola adds complexity and, of course, that ever satisfying crunch. But don't take my word for it. Try it. Change it.

Opt for plain yogurt sweetened with brown sugar (like my sister Laurelle). Toss in some fresh blueberries, or dried fruit in winter. Dried cherries are my absolute favourite in the dehydrated fruit department. And the granola. If you make it yourself there truly are unlimited ways of changing it. Even if you don't, store bought varieties abound. So take your pick.

Ever since making the granola we sell at work I have been preoccupied with the desire to make my own granola. I know. I don't think anything epitomizes hippie food more than granola, let alone homemade granola. But so be it. There are so many things you can do with it to make it your own. Change the nuts, change the seeds, change the spices, add whatever dried fruits you want. Seriously, you won't be disappointed.

Just to get you started here's a recipe that I adapted from Jamie Oliver. He calls it Honey Cherry Granola, but I left the cherries out since Laurelle didn't want them. Of course any dried fruit will do. So I'll just call it Honey Bunch Granola. Perhaps it's a bit too quaint, but I like it anyway.

Honey Bunch Granola
Adapted from Jamie Oliver

2 tbsp vegetable oil
6 tbsp honey
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 tsp ground cardamom
3 3/4 cups rolled oats
1/4 cup sliced almonds
1/4 cup chopped pecans
4 tbsp sunflower seeds
4 tbsp flax seeds

Preheat the oven to 300F.
Mix together the oil, honey, vanilla, and cardamom.
Toss everything else together, then add the liquids. It's easiest to use your hands to mix it together. This ensures that everything is well coated.
Spread the mix out on a baking sheet and bake for 25 minutes.

Jamie Oliver recommends 6 tbsp of cherries. You can, of course, add any dried fruit you like. Just make sure you add it to the granola after it comes out of the oven. Otherwise you'll end up with some seriously dried out fruit. The original recipe also calls for sesame seeds rather than flax seeds. I don't really care for sesame seeds so I switched it. The cardamom was my addition and can be substituted for cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, whatever you want really. The flavour of honey (buckwheat, wildflower, etc.) will also change the flavour of your granola, so experiment with that until you find one you like best.

Really just play with the recipe. And eat it any way you want. While I wholeheartedly recommend it with yogurt it would be delicious eaten with milk as a cereal. Or even just in handfuls as a snack. Let me know if you come up with any fantastic or inspired innovations of your own.

For breakfast, for lunch, for whenever: c'est parfait.

Peachy Keen

"The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning."
-Tuck Everlasting, Natlie Babbitt

August always reminds me of Tuck Everlasting and that first opening sentence. It is a sultry month, and the word itself seems weighed down by the humidity that accompanies it. August. It sounds thick and heavy, barely ruffled by a breeze. It sounds like the electric buzz of cicadas as they hum in the trees. It sounds like a bonfire, like the crack of ice cubes in a cold drink, like stillness. And it tastes like peaches.

In fact the peaches were early this year. Truthfully, peaches are far from being my favourite fruit, but I saw them in the store, looking up at me from their basket, only $2.99. How could I resist? Sixteen peaches for only $2.99 is hard to pass up. I've eaten a fair few already on their own. Their softly fuzzy skin giving way to teeth with an almost inaudible crunch. Juicy and sweet, with only the slightest tang nipping playfully at the edges of your tongue.

But sixteen peaches is a lot for one person. So I needed more ways to eat them. They have served as a nice accompaniment to arugula salad, with goat cheese and pecans. Then my mom gave me a recipe for peach pancakes. They served as my lunch today.

I'll admit. They're not pretty. It turns out making pretty pancakes is not my strong suit. They always come out lumpy and deformed. Like amoebas. I had a lovely image in my mind. Perfect, round pancakes stacked like Pisa on my plate. Alas, it was not to be. My first attempt at flipping one resulted in this:

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is a pancake. Not an omelet. Though it bears uncanny resemblance to one. In any case they still tasted good. Fluffy and light, as pancakes should be, with cornmeal added for colour and texture. (Where would we be without cornmeal? It's so versatile) And delicious chunks of peaches. Softened by the heat, their sweetness heightened, the corners that poked from the batter lightly caramelized. They burst into summer between your teeth, surrounded by tender pancake.

Perhaps you will have more luck improving their appearance.

Cornmeal Peach Pancakes
From Anne Lindsay

3/4 cup cornmeal
3/4 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1 tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
2 eggs
2 cups milk
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 1/2 cups chopped peaches

Mix the cornmeal, flours, sugar, baking powder, and baking soda.
Beat eggs until light and stir in milk and oil. Pour into flour mixture. Add peaches and stir until just incorporated.
Heat skillet over medium heat, grease with butter, and cook the pancakes until the batter bubbles on the surface. Flip and cook until golden brown.

I cut this recipe in half and it was still way too much for me to eat on my own. Also, I had no whole wheat flour, so I just used all purpose. They turned out fine, though I feel the whole wheat would serve to round out the flavour more fully.

On an separate note, I made more strawberry soup and froze it in popsicle molds. They are delicious. It's slightly tangier when frozen. I didn't strain out the seeds, but I think I might next time.

So here's to popsicles, and peaches, and a hot, sultry August.

Carrot Muffins

Success! Ladies and gentlemen the long awaited and previously promised carrot muffin recipe. This was a bit of a journey. It certainly was much more of a journey than I anticipated when I set out to make carrot muffins. To think this all stemmed from the fact that my mom gave me left over carrots before going to Newfoundland. Who knew?

I tend to not be a very patient person when it comes to baking, in that if a recipe fails, I tend to give up entirely on that item, not wanting to go through the process of finding a recipe that actually works. So the fact that I went through four (yes, four) different recipes until I got to this one is a step forward for me. And might I add totally worth it. Because these muffins are sooo good.

I began this recipe with skepticism. Admittedly I was beginning to give up on the carrot muffin. I had to buy more carrots for crying out loud. I went from trying to find a way to use extra carrots to having to buy more carrots. On the bright side I now have a fabulous carrot muffin recipe.

They are deliciously moist in the middle while the top crisps up beautifully around the edges just as a muffin top should. Their subtle sweetness is tempered by the hint of cinnamon and ginger, which with every few bites gives you a kick in the taste buds. And the crunch of pecans beautifully compliments the cakey texture. Just look at that crumb!

And that muffin top! I ask you, have you even seen a more beautiful top on a homemade muffin? I didn't think so. Just wait until you taste it! I'm planning on bringing them to work (as I do with much of my baked goods, otherwise they end up on my waist), but after devouring the first one I seriously questioned this intention. Really I want to keep them all for myself. But in the avoidance of ill-fitting clothes, I'm going to share. I may need to make a new batch tomorrow. These won't hang around long.

Carrot Muffins
Adapted from Anne Lindsay

1 1/2 cups flour
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar, packed
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp salt
2/3 cup canola oil
2 eggs
1 1/4 cups grated carrot
1/4 cup pineapple juice
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp honey
2/3 cup chopped pecans

Sift together the dry ingredients (everything up to and including the salt).
Mix together the rest of the ingredients except the pecans.
Add wet to dry and mix until moistened. Beat mixture for about 1 1/2 minutes.
Stir in the pecans.
Fill a dozen muffin cups not quite to the top and bake at 350F for 25 minutes.

To test the doneness of your muffins press you finger gently on the top the middle muffin (it will bake the slowest). When it bounces back, they're done.

Eat all on its own, or with butter. Or really any way you please. Share with friends if generosity strikes. You may not want to, but baked goods are really better shared, aren't they? That's what I'll tell myself. Even as I want to lock myself in a room with them and eat the whole dozen all in one go.

A La Dad

For the most part the meals of my childhood were made by my mom. I have the utmost respect for her because of this. She nearly always cooked from scratch, blessedly avoiding the prepackaged, Hamburger Helper-esque meals that most of my friends were eating. She also managed to put up with my sister and me who were woefully picky as children. We were more content to eat frozen par-cooked tortellini than real food (I still do this, though no longer in stead of a meal). Despite what I may have avoided eating as a child, I credit my mom for passing on her love of food. Now it's the two of us rolling our eyes at the picky eating habits of my sister, and sometimes my dad, rather than her attempting to find something to feed her children at which they won't turn up their noses.

Although she did a lot of the cooking there were certain things that were specifically a la dad if you will. He is particularly gifted at making grilled cheese sandwiches and Kraft dinner, which may not sound like much of an accomplishment, but for the longest time I wouldn't eat either of those things unless they'd been made by my dad. This used to irk my mom. After all, it's just Kraft Dinner. But he always makes the cheese sauce to just the right consistency and always manages to crisp up a grilled cheese sandwich perfectly without burning it. I still haven't mastered the grilled cheese sandwich. I always burn at least one side of it. Always. I think I'm too easily distracted.

He also used to make this concoction involving chicken, mushroom soup, and rice. I used to love this dish. The rice mixed up with the soup and the chicken and baked into a casserole type thing. The thought of it alone is now enough to trigger my gag reflex. Even just writing about it has made me slightly nauseous. I actually think my dad's love of mushroom soup, whether eaten as soup or baked on top of toast, is the reason that I can't even stand to look at it anymore. I simply ate it too much (though never on toast, I'm happy to say).

I just realized I'm making it sound like he's not a very good cook, which is inaccurate. He's great on the barbecue. Summer is full of food a la dad. Sliced potatoes with rosemary, delicious shrimp, chicken kebabs. And on the stove top he can fry up some mean bacon (another thing I much prefer when cooked by my dad). But if there's one item of food he has changed irrevocably for me it's scrambled eggs. I know scrambled eggs sound kind of boring. You can't step into a decent breakfast joint in North America without encountering scrambled eggs, but he does them differently. They contain the magical, if somewhat humble, ingredient of Cheez Whiz. Yes, it is decidedly un-gourmet, and processed beyond the point of meriting the title "cheese", but these are delicious eggs.

For the longest time my sister and I were under the impression that this was how all scrambled eggs were made. The Cheez Whiz was a given, as are many things that you encounter as a child until you find something different. Needless to say, my sister and I were being set up for great disappointment. I don't remember where we were exactly, I think out for Sunday brunch, when we had our first encounter with non-Dad scrambled eggs. We rushed up to the eggs with our plates and piled them on, such was the excitement that scrambled eggs inspired. Then we put a forkful in our mouths. It was a horrible experience. Like getting salt when you're expecting sugar. Except we were expecting cheesy and moist where we got bland and dry. When we asked what was wrong with them my dad replied simply that there was no Cheez Whiz in them. We responded with blank stares. We also never got scrambled eggs at brunch again.

Some people find this strange, even repulsive. I think a lot of it has to do with the nature of Cheez Whiz. It's a vibrant orange 'cheese' spread that doesn't even really taste like cheese, enough said. In my scrambled eggs is the only place I'll consume it. But to this day it's also the only way I'll eat scrambled eggs. Even when I make them this way myself they don't turn out quite the way my dad makes them. That could be all in my head, but I think they're like the Kraft Dinner and grilled cheese sandwich. He just has a special touch that makes them perfect.

Scrambled Eggs A La Dad

2 eggs
2 tbsp milk
1 tbsp Cheez Whiz

Whisk together the eggs and milk and pour into a heated, buttered pan. Cook the eggs until they start to solidify. Add the Cheez Whiz and stir to melt and mix evenly with the eggs.
Feel free to add more Cheez Whiz if desired. Of course you could also add less, but I think it would rather defeat the purpose of including it in the first place.

Serve on toast, or an English muffin (as I did this morning), or just by themselves if you so desire. Really anything bready will work fabulously. Sometimes my dad will throw on some ketchup, though I'm not sure I can, in good conscience, recommend this. But, to each his own. Enjoy.