whoopie pies

In case you haven't noticed by my 'olde English' spelling, I'm Canadian. While there aren't any appreciable differences between Canadians and Americans at first glance, the subtleties are what Canadians notice and often ruminate about...or should I say 'aboot'? It comes with the territory of living next to 'the elephant'. Judging by some of the hilarious dialogue on 'Flight of the Conchords', our predicament is much like that of the New Zealanders and their proximity to Australia.

But I digress. My mission today is to discuss my newly discovered love affair with the whoopie pie. Here in Canada we grew up with something called a Jos. Louis, a packaged treat that never really called out to me as a child. Chocolate not being a particular passion of mine, I was more of a Twinkie girl; and if chocolate was forced to be a part of the equation, I'd choose a Hostess cupcake anyday. 

A few months back I was watching an episode of 'Martha' - crazed, hooting audience aside, she still offers some great content - and a couple of ladies from Maine were on the show baking off their signature whoopie pies. Martha had tried them when she was on vacation in Maine, and declared they were the best whoopie pies she'd ever eaten...so of course I had to give them a whirl.

My husband, having a serious addiction to chocolate (he has to eat a piece in some form every day), was celebrating a birthday, so I thought this was the perfect sweet to honour him with. The recipe was straightforward enough and called for only two items unfamiliar to my kitchen: a muffin top pan and a jar of Fluff . While I'm not a fan of using 'fake' ingredients in my cooking, I have a dark side that craves gutter food in all its glory: poutine, wings, jalapeno poppers, the list goes on. Which is really why the whoopie pies were so compelling: transforming a variety store sugar fix into to a home-baked surprise. So Pygmalion!

Unfortunately as I began cooking, it became apparent that Eliza Doolittle was not giving up without a fight. The batter for the dough was very thin and required the structure of the muffin top pan to contain it. The pan had to be well-buttered and lined with circles of parchment paper to facilitate the release of the cakes once they were baked. After retrieving the baked cakes from the oven, they were allowed to sit for about 10 minutes before I began what proved to be the masochistic process of removing them from their shallow graves. There was no question these cakes would be tender and moist, but almost to a fault. At every nook and cranny of the pan they stuck, while I patiently, oh so patiently, tried to cajole them out with an offset spatula. It was a heart-breaking exercise, and it didn't stop there. The parchment circles, though coated in butter, behaved as though they were sheets of glue. It was carnage.

If it weren't for the look of anticipation on dear Joe's face, I might have flung my arms up in surrender; but one has to soldier on for those we love. A few of the cakes made it out relatively unscathed, so they were set aside as the 'tops'. I spread a buttery slick on a sheet of parchment paper and laid down my broken cake bottoms, gluing them back together Humpty Dumpty-style with the marshmallow filling. An ice cream scoopful of the filling was plopped on top of each bed of cake and topped with their better-looking siblings. When reveal time came, the birthday boy was none the wiser. It was so worth the effort: these are now his favourite special-event treats.

Recently the New York Times ran a recipe for whoopie pies from Zingerman's Bakehouse in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Considering the source (both newspaper and bake shop), I knew it was worth trying. Also intriguing was the fact that this cake batter was thick enough to be scooped onto a sheet of parchment. I questioned how such a flour-dense batter would fare against the impossibly tender cakes of the Cranberry Island Kitchens recipe, but I was up for some low-stress baking. Conversely, the filling in this recipe was entirely homemade - no jars of Fluff here. So, seeing as I was in a pinch for time (a pack of feral hockey fans were about to descend on the house to watch the 'big' game - whatever that means), I decided to borrow the easy components of each recipe to make one stress-free whoopie pie. The combination of the Zingerman's cakes and the Cranberry Island Kitchens filling was, while not as ethereal as the original recipe I'd made, still a delicious, zero-anxiety alternative. Good enough for a bunch of hockey fanatics...and me.

whoopie pies
Adapted from The New York Times & The Martha Show
Makes approximately 12 pies

I doubled the original recipe for the cakes and they turned out fine, so of course you can half it and the filling recipe to produce only 6 pies. Also, because there are two separate recipes at play here, you may find you'll end up with more cakes than filling. These cakes are still tasty on their own, but you can always spread a layer of chocolate-hazelnut spread on the extras to make things interesting. Very interesting.

Ingredients for Cakes:

1/2 lb (1 stick) butter, at room temperature
2 cups light brown sugar
2 large eggs
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 1/2 tsp baking soda
2 tsp sea salt
4 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup cocoa
2 cups buttermilk

Ingredients for Filling:
Makes 3 3/4 cups.

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
2 cups sifted confectioners' sugar
1 jar (7 1/2 ounces) marshmallow Fluff
2 tsp pure vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a mixing bowl, cream together the butter and brown sugar. Add the egg and vanilla extract and beat until light and creamy. In a separate bowl, whisk together the baking soda, salt, flour and cocoa. Add dry ingredients to butter mixture in three parts, alternating with buttermilk, and combining well after each addition.

Using an ice cream scoop or a spoon, scoop out 24 1/4-cup mounds of batter and place about 6 inches apart on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Bake until tops are puffed and cakes spring back when touched, 12 to 14 minutes. Remove from oven and cool completely before filling.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream together butter and sugar until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add Fluff and vanilla and continue mixing until well combined.

Using an ice cream scoop or spoon, place 1/4 cup buttercream on flat side of each of 12 cakes, spreading it to edges. Top filled half with another cake to sandwich the buttercream. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 3 days, or wrap individually and freeze for up to 3 months.

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I love dill. This doesn't exactly distinguish me as possessing an extraordinary palate, I know. Thing is, the taste of dill is one of Joe's most deep-seeded hates, so it's become an illicit herb in our household. I can sneak a pounded-to-a-pulp pinch of cilantro into a bowl of guacamole, but a single frond of dill embedded in an 8-serving casserole will give rise to an expression best described as "sucking on lemons". Not what I'm looking for (nor is he for that matter). Problem is, I'll never learn. I keep hoping against hope that he will get over this aversion and finally embrace the grassy, astringent tang of dill. It is such a distinct flavour that it becomes the signature element of any dish it's in. Consider Swedish meatballs, or pickles, or deviled eggs. There's just no omitting it from a recipe, which means omitting the recipe altogether. Feh, I say.

This conflict came to roost once again while I was watching an episode of Sarah's Weeknight Meals on PBS. Michael Psilakis, chef/owner of Kefi, Anthos and Mia Dona in NYC, was preparing a Greek meatball soup which brought back fond memories of an Avgolemono soup I'd made years ago. This 'sister soup', with the addition of rice-studded meatballs, called out to me on a very deep level. 

There was a problem from the get-go: the dish called for a fair amount of dill in both the meatballs and the broth. Forever optimistic - nay, foolish - I felt I might be able to get away with the dill in the meatballs, so long as I held back with the broth. However once I began to cook, I kept marching forward like a blank-eyed zombie, uncontrollable in my urge to dill all that was in my path. In the end, it was all too much dill even for an enthusiast like myself. Of course Joe took one sip and that unfortunate expression took hold of his sweet face, so there I was left with an eight-serving potful of soup all to myself. Crazy stubborn and a hater of waste, I powered through that soup. I ate it for lunch and dinner for three days while sating Joe with grilled paninis and other simple fare to keep him alive. After the last drop of soup was slurped with great relief, I was still left with a few meatballs. In the freezer they went until I was ready to reinvent them.

Cut to two months later... With a bag of whole wheat dinner rolls on the counter and few options in the fridge, I thought a very loose interpretation of a slider might be in order. I reheated a couple of meatballs and spread some mayonnaise and - dare I say it - lemon dill mustard on the buns. Always open to rejection, I thought that a hamburger-style presentation might lure Joe to give one of these a try so, with a hand of restraint, I used plain old yellow mustard on his. For me, this was a yummy reinvention; no unpleasant memories of dill-overkill were brought to the fore. Not so much for Joe - he wouldn't even take a bite. So I scraped the yellow mustard off of his wee burger and added a nice, thick gloop of lemon dill mustard. Mmmmmm.

greek meatball sliders

Adapted from sarahmoulton.com/weeknight meals

Makes 20-24 sliders

The meatballs are poached in a broth in order to cook the rice, but it also happens to result in a very tender meatball. After the meatballs are cooked, the stock can be strained to remove any bits of meat and frozen for future use.

2 quarts chicken stock
5 bay leaves
Kosher salt
Finely milled black pepper
1 lb loaf country white bread, crusts removed
2 cups whole milk
2 lbs ground chicken or turkey (preferably dark meat)
2 large eggs
1/4 cup grated fennel
4 shallots, finely chopped
3 tbsp roasted garlic puree
2 tbsp parsley
2 tbsp dill
2 tbsp mint
1 tsp grated lemon rind
1 cup short grain rice
4 eggs, separated
1/2 cup lemon juice
Extra virgin olive oil

20-24 soft whole wheat rolls

Combine 2 quarts water with the stock, bay leaves, and desired amount of salt in a large stockpot and bring to a boil over high heat. Break the bread into pieces and place in a bowl; add milk and set aside.

Combine chicken or turkey, eggs, fennel, shallots, garlic puree, parsley, dill, mint, lemon rind, and desired amount of salt and pepper in a large mixing bowl. Squeeze excess milk from bread; add bread and rice to meat mixture. Using an ice cream scoop, form equal size meatballs and transfer to a baking sheet. Drop meatballs into boiling stock, reduce heat to medium and poach meatballs until rice is cooked, 1 to 1 1/2 hours. 

Remove meatballs from broth and drain on a rack lined with paper towels, making sure all excess moisture is drained away. If necessary, reheat in a 350 degree oven for 10-15 minutes. Split bun, spread with mayonnaise and mustard of your choice, and top with meatball.

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chana punjabi

I look forward to the New York Times weekly food section with a considerable amount of excitement. Sad? Maybe, but I'm okay with that. I love the simple yet sophisticated recipes they lean toward; more often than not they nail it right on the head.

Of particular interest recently was a chickpea curry offered up by chef Heather Carlucci-Rodriguez of Lassi in NYC. She claimed this was her favourite dish at the restaurant and often finds herself sitting down to a bowl of it when looking for comfort and sustenance.

When I read over the recipe I knew I had to make it, like, yesterday. There's one thing I'll lay out for you right now before you think you can get this on the table in 30 minutes or less: it takes a total of 1-1/2 hours to bring to the table. Pleeeease don't be scared off. Only about half an hour of that is actual hands-on work; the rest is stovetop simmering, requiring you to give it a stir every 10 minutes or so. It is so worth it. It satisfies in the way that a bowl of soup does when the cold penetrates your bones, yet the flavours and aromas bring to mind colourful saris and crippling hot weather. I'm not saying you'll feel like you just returned from a vacation in the subcontinent after setting down your fork (or spoon...or right hand), but there's something transportive about the sweet spice in the air that helps takes the edge off of these last days of winter. If only for a moment.

chana punjabi

Adapted from New York Times, March 4, 2009

Serves 4

Curries tend to intimidate people because the ingredient lists are usually quite long. I know I used to feel that way, but I've learned to review the instructions as a barometer for the labour and time required instead. As with all recipes, get everything set out and prepped beforehand so you're not scrambling once the pot is on the burner.

1 tbsp vegetable oil

1 medium onion, chopped
2 tsp minced garlic
1 tsp minced ginger
1 small Thai bird chili, chopped
2 large tomatoes, chopped  (or 5-6 canned plum tomatoes, drained & chopped)
1 1/2 tsp paprika
1 tsp salt, or as needed
1 tsp ground coriander
1/2 tsp garam masala
1/4 tsp turmeric
1 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 15-ounce cans chickpeas, drained
2 tbsp minced cilantro (optional)
Cooked rice for serving (optional).

In a medium saucepan over medium-low heat, heat oil and add onion. Sauté until translucent
and soft, about 5 minutes. Add garlic, ginger and chili, and sauté until soft and fragrant, about 3
minutes. Add tomatoes and 1/4 cup water. Cover and cook until tomatoes are very soft, about 5
minutes, then remove from heat.

Purée mixture in blender or food processor until smooth. Return to pan and place over medium
heat. Add paprika, 1 teaspoon salt, coriander, garam masala and turmeric and saute for 3-4 minutes. Add lemon juice and chickpeas and bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low.

Cover and simmer until sauce is thick and chickpeas are soft, 45 minutes to 1 hour. Stir pan
about every 10 minutes, adding water as needed (up to 1 1/2 cups) to prevent burning. When
ready to serve, sauce should be thick (but not pasty). If necessary, uncover pan and allow sauce to reduce for a few minutes, stirring frequently, until desired consistency. Adjust salt as needed, and stir in cilantro, if desired. Serve as is or with cooked rice.

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wheat-free, butterless brownie bites

Okay, these aren't exactly beauty queens, but they're definitely congenial. Delicious, in fact. It should said that I am not allergic to wheat. No food allergies to speak of, actually. I'm just intrigued by all the buzz I've heard about Babycakes Bakery in Manhattan, which specializes in allergen-free (wheat, gluten, dairy, etc.) baked goods that actually taste great. Since I haven't been to NYC in years (sigh), I had to take it upon myself to try out one of the few recipes proprietress Erin McKenna has allowed to be published. It's a test run of sorts to determine whether her upcoming cookbook is worthy of purchase. (Since my cookbook collection now tops one-hundred, I have to be very selective about any newbies entering the house.)

These brownies were super easy to make but they do require a few special ingredients, all of which can be found at most health food stores. Of course it's recommended you use the best quality cocoa powder you can find. When chocolate is the star of the show, make sure it's an A-lister! Because I couldn't find the dairy-free chocolate chips of my choice (which, incidentally, were rated #1 in a Cook's Illustrated chocolate chips taste test), I used high-quality semi-sweet chocolate chips. The chips weren't minis, but that didn't seem to affect the recipe adversely.

Although I liberally coated the mini muffin pan with oil, the little devils still stuck in the pan. I was able to pry them out by running an offset spatula around the edges and gently scooping them out, but many of them lost a little of the base in the process. (Perhaps that's the point of using mini chocolate chips: you don't get larger puddles of melted chocolate to inhibit a solid base from forming in the pan. Just a thought.) Anyway, this resulted in a lot of remnant-nibbling on my part since I hate for things to go to waste. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. To avoid the same fate, I would recommend lining the pans with mini muffin liners.

brownie bites

Adapted from Food & Wine, August 2006

Makes 24 brownies

vegetable oil cooking spray

1/2 cup plus 2 tbsp Bob's Red Mill gluten-free, all-purpose baking flour

1/2 cup sugar

1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 1/4 tsp baking powder

1/8 tsp baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 tsp xanthan gum

1/2 cup applesauce

1/4 cup canola oil (I used grapeseed oil)

1 tbsp pure vanilla extract

1/2 cup dairy-free mini chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Line 2 mini muffin pans with mini muffin liners and spray with vegetable oil spray. 

In a bowl, whisk the baking flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda, salt and xanthan gum. In another bowl, whisk the applesauce, oil and vanilla; stir into the dry ingredients. Stir in the chocolate chips. Spoon the batter into the muffin pans, filling them 3/4 full. Bake for 15 minutes, or until set. Let the brownies cool in the pans for 15 minutes, then turn out onto a rack to cool completely.

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solo salad

Don't feel sorry for me - I like to dine alone. Okay, it's not the alone part I'm seeking, it's just that I like to eat exactly what I want to eat once in a while. So when you live with a man with food issues - and to be fair, who doesn't have them? - that means dining alone. Rather, that means saving those 'just for me' dishes for when he's out playing hockey or attending a 'Book Club' meeting (which, and I'll explain at a later date, doesn't entail reading books).

These solitary dining experiences are never about elaborate preparations or decadent ingredients. Quite the contrary. It's pretty low-on-the-foodie-totem-pole stuff: raw vegetable salads... veggie burgers with pickles... spooning peanut butter out of a jar... woops, I've told you too much, haven't I? Sorry, but life isn't always pretty.

All of this leads me to one of my favourite 'just for me' meals which I indulged in - and that's a very misleading way to put it - the other night when Joe was at the rink. It started out as a quick lunch I used to assemble at a green grocer's salad bar when I was attending university. Perhaps it's a Proustian thing, but I still think it tastes great. It requires a bit of advance preparation only in that I rarely have heads of red cabbage and cauliflower, carrots and cucumber all hanging around in my fridge simultaneously. The great thing is that all except the cucumber seem to last for an eternity in the fridge, so this is an effort that can keep on giving. You can rinse, break up, shred and chop a week's worth of the vegetables and keep them in a covered bowl in the fridge and take a portion with you for lunch, or switch it up and make a stir fry one night.

This is by no means mind-blowing food - just healthful and yummy on a most basic level. Add or delete any vegetable you wish, just be sure it's a vegetable that actually tastes good raw (which for me eliminates broccoli and green beans). I'm including a recipe for a buttermilk-herb vinaigrette I currently choose to suffocate all that is good and pure with, but a green goddess or something-more-pious-dressing would be equally delicious.

solo salad

Serves 1 very generously

1/2 cauliflower florets, broken into small pieces

1/4 cup thinly sliced carrots

1/4 cup English cucumber that has been halved lengthwise and thinly sliced (peeled or not - your choice)

1/2 cup thinly shredded red cabbage

1/4 cup canned chickpeas (rinsed and drained)

1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese

2 tbsp toasted sunflower seeds (the shelled variety)

Toss all ingredients in a medium bowl with dressing of choice.

buttermilk-herb vinaigrette

From marthastewart.com

Makes 1/2 cup

1/4 cup buttermilk
2 tbsp white-wine vinegar
1/2 tsp coarse salt
1/4 tsp ground pepper
2 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 cup chopped fresh chives, tarragon,
or dill
1/2 tsp chopped thyme, oregano,
or marjoram

Whisk together buttermilk, vinegar, salt, and pepper in a
bowl to combine. Slowly whisk in oil and herbs.

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inaugural post

Well, I've finally done it. I've joined the world of blogging. To tell you the truth, I'm pretty green even as an observer. Sure, I've checked out blogs here and there over the past few years, but it's only in the last several months that it's become a 'problem'. I'm crushing big time on this wonderful and democratic venue where people can exorcise (and exercise) their creative impulses, and I've been so inspired by the many blogs I've linked my way to.

So, what do I plan to tackle on this blog? Well, a little of everything really. My passion for cooking, decorating, photography...whatever muse strikes on that particular day. My hope is that I can offer at least a smidgen, dash or spoonful of the inspiration that has been provided me by the talented throngs out there in the blogosphere. So off we go!

carrot risotto

I've had my eye on this recipe for a short spell (and please don't let the dull image turn you off). It jumped out at me as I hungrily scanned through a recently-arrived issue of Everyday Food. Like many foodies, I look forward to the arrival of a subscribed food magazine like most normal people look forward to a vacation. Since I was sitting on a 4-pound bag of multi-colored heirloom carrots purchased from the farmer's market the previous weekend, now seemed like a good time to get stirring. I know the addition of carrots seems a bit weird (when I told my husband Joe what was for dinner, all he offered me was a raised eyebrow), but let me assure you the combination is quite delightful. There's a healthful sweetness that cuts through the rich creaminess of a typical risotto, not to mention that lovely shot of color really brightens things visually (again, lousy photo notwithstanding). It should be pointed out that it's important to saute the onion and carrot long enough to really soften, as any hint of a crunch in a smooth, creamy risotto would be rather unpleasant. Of course the process of de-crunching is helped along as it simmers in the broth.

In what I believe was a nod to 'these uncertain times', the original recipe called for cost-conscious long-grain rice . I dismissed that idea and chose arborio rice, opting as I almost always do for creamy indulgence. I had also been poring over some articles written by the always illuminating Heston Blumenthal for The Times (UK), and found one on the subject of risotto. Generally deferring in all matters technical (and otherwise) to Mr. Blumenthal (The Fat Duck food poisoning scare aside), I incorporated some of his suggestions as well. So, in a final thumbing of the nose to health and frugality, this meant the addition of a scoop of mascarpone cheese at the end of cooking. Oh, and Joe loved it.

carrot risotto

Adapted from Everyday Food, January 2009

Serves 4

2 cans (14 oz each) low-sodium chicken broth

4 tbsp butter

1 tbsp olive oil

1 1/4 cups arborio rice

1 medium red onion, finely diced

6 carrots, grated

salt and pepper

1/2 cup dry white wine

1/2 cup parmesan cheese

3 tbsp mascarpone cheese

In a medium saucepan, add 2 cups water and chicken broth and bring to a simmer over medium heat. 

In a large saucepan, heat 1 tbsp butter and olive oil over medium heat. Add rice and stir, cooking until there's a faint toasted aroma and the rice crackles, 2-3 minutes. Add onion and carrots and season with salt and pepper, stirring until softened, 5-7 minutes. Add wine and stir until evaporated, 1-2 minutes. 

Add a ladle full of broth, stirring until evaporated. Keep ladling in stock, stirring and allowing the liquid to evaporate after each addition. Never allow the rice to stick to the bottom of the pot. Check for doneness after 18 minutes. The rice should be neither too soft nor have any 'bite' left: it should just give when bitten into. Note: You may still have some stock left. Conversely, if you need to continue cooking but have used up all of your stock, just add water. Just be sure to bring it to a simmer first.

Once the risotto is cooked, take it off the heat and add the remaining 3 tbsp butter and parmesan cheese. Stir vigorously until everything is incorporated, then fold in mascarpone cheese. Taste for seasoning, and allow to stand for 2-3 minutes before serving.

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