le sauce

first taste: hot cocoa in the murry kitchen

Childhood picture books, stories and TV shows that depicted food and dining made a real impression on me. Illustrations of steaming bowls of pasta or a piece of toast smothered in purple jam gave me my first taste of foods I'd yet to try, and are sometimes still the archetypes I hold food up to today. Instead of simply reminisce, I'm going to bring those dishes to life the way I imagined they'd be.

On a dark, stormy night, on her journey to the kitchen from her cold attic room, Meg had time to get down on herself about everything from her mousy appearance, to her IQ level to her recent scrap with bullies at school. This girl needed a drink! She knew it, and decided on hot cocoa. That this was a romantic choice, for a young girl, chilled, a little scared and a lot bummed out, was only part of the appeal to me as I read those opening pages in A Wrinkle in Time. There was also the accepted adult-ness of the whole situation, because who should be heating up milk in anticipation of both Meg and her mother showing up in the kitchen in need of some, but the "baby brother" of the family, Charles Wallace, wise and weirdly intuitive beyond any human's years. He goes on to offer to make Mrs. Murray a liverwurst and cream cheese sandwich and Meg a tomato sandwich but they had me at hot cocoa. 

Don't get me wrong, I loved every page of the popular sci-fi novel and I still do. (I just downloaded the audio book read by the author, Madeline L'Engle herself. There were parts that still scared me when I listened before bed. "There is such a thing as a Tesseract!") But it was the first "scene" hooked me, no question. The idea that you could wake up in the night and have a luxurious snack--that you could dirty a pan at that hour to boil milk for cocoa (how much?? who had cocoa powder at the ready? I'd have to work for months to first explain to my parents that it was the opposite of Nestlé Quick, that no, microwaved chocolate milk would not cut it and then try to source it because there was no way their half-hearted wild goose chase would be successful. And God help me if it was expensive...), and that your family would join you instead of chasing you back to bed yelling about the hour and rising early for school/jobs in the morning--that was fantasy I ate up as much as any other part of the book.

I don't blame my parents for not knowing what hot cocoa really was, how to make it, or how it differed from hot chocolate which was a little more widely known (read: marketed). I had a chalky mug or two of cocoa that I tried to enjoy (read: use to transport me to the Murry's kitchen and their entire messed up, brilliant, multi-time+space-dimensioned adventures). But we can do better today. 

First, on hot cocoa, CHOW notes the same, that while "...hot cocoa is sublime. At its worst, it’s chalky, watery, and too sweet. This version, provided by François Payard, of François Payard Bakery in New York, is definitely in the former category: so creamy, rich, and chocolaty that it’s a suitable stand-in for dessert.

2 tablespoons cocoa powder (such as Weiss)
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup whole milk
Granulated sugar, to taste

Bring chocolate powder, fresh cream, and milk to a boil; stir; and pour in a cup. Add sugar if desired.

Note: For a lighter version, use 1/3 cup fresh cream and 2/3 cup skim milk."

And An Enlightened Palate adds: "Hot cocoa lacks the creaminess and luscious mouthfeel of  a cup of hot chocolate, but it is more concentrated and has a more chocolaty taste...there is less vegetable fat (natural cocoa butter) in the cocoa than there is in shaved chocolate...fat coats the palate and minimizes flavor."

And offers a different method (note the technique):

2 teaspoons dutched cocoa powder ( we prefer dutched process cocoa because we feel that these cocoa powders have a deeper flavor, darker color and a smoother texture that blends flawlessly in hot beverages.)
2 teaspoons sugar
2 tablespoons cream, not heated
6 ounces boiling water

Optional: whipped cream or mini marshmallows for garnish

Place the cocoa powder and sugar into a mug and mix well. Add the cream and stir into a smooth paste. Add the boiling water and stir until the mixture is smooth and well blended. Ladle the hot cocoa into a mug and garnish if desired.

And, though this wasn't a contest, there is a winning technique in my mind. An Enlightened Pallette's method resulted in the best cup of cocoa I've ever had--the blend and pour method made for a deliciously creamy cocoa and it came together in seconds with water from a kettle and no pot to stand over. It was perfection with just one tweak that I would add to either recipe...

...a tiny sprinkle of salt.

Charles Wallace probably saw that coming.

...

I thought of Katherine, whose illustrations you've seen here in the past, as soon as I wrote this post. I hoped she would agree to bring Meg and the Murry kitchen to life and I hope you love her illustrations in this piece as much as I do. For more of her delicious illustrations, check out Drawn and Devoured.

...

cocktails for the most wonderful time of the year

It's time. At least in my head. The start of December hearalds the start of the holiday season to me--and let me be clear: I'm not talking about a specific religious, cultural or consumer celebration, I'm talking about the sum of the parts. The mishmash of many reasons to celebrate, many traditions and a general acceptance that we're all going to eat and drink way too much, dress in our finest, deck out our homes and be festive--that's what I relish. I do all of those in fairly equal measure and I cook and entertain (or contribute food and hosting help) even more in December than most other months, but yet, what I've never committed to is serving up a good house cocktail. I'm always well-prepared with wine, beer, standard (good) liquors but other wonderful hosts are much better at greeting me at their door with a special tipple to start things off right. I'm changing all of that this season. Here are my picks for house-made holiday cocktails this year:

 

My mom and aunt hardly drink but they never turn down what they call a beer "shandy". Their version is beer mixed with ginger beer, gingerale or often just orange juice. When I saw this more refined beer cocktail, I made it with them in mind. They came to stay with me last weekend and perhaps the idea of settling in loosened them up enough to have two (unheard of), or, more likely, it was so good they went back for more. The Sidewalker (pictured above) is made with brandy, apple cider, maple and wheat beer. Yum. 

Did you know that a REAL rum punch was made with arrack?! Wait, do you even know what arrack is? I only know about it because my parents eyes always go wide at the mention and they warm me not to touch the coconut-sap distilled liquor. I think that back home (Sri Lanka) they saw too many people topple over after a touch too much of this potent stuff. However, I'm excited enough to make what's considered to be authentic rum punch to have my first arrack experience. Wish me luck, Mom and Dad...   

 

I can gulp down gin martinis faster than I'm proud of--not because they're that smooth, but because I love them. That's why you shouldn't serve it to me when I come over. Everyone wants their guests to feel warm and fuzzy, not pickled before 8pm. You should serve me this spin on a classic gin martini, which uses bitters instead of vermouth. I like to think that even people who enjoy bitters, like I do, are forced to sip and savour, making this the perfect drink to serve to guests for a slow and easy entry into an long, fun night.

 

And since you'll already have bitters on hand, and hopefully some bubbly, what better time to whip up a classic Champagne cocktail? There's still no other drink that says special than a flute of bubbly and the bubbles go on forever in this one. Salute!

my mom, the vintner

From an actual, late-night phone call from my mother a few months ago:

Mom: Guess what I'm making right now!

Me: What?

Mom: Wine!

(Of course.) My mom and her next-door neighbour both garden and cook enthusiastically. They grow an impressive, complementary selection of food throughout the summer and surplusses are frequently shared between each other. This summer, the neighbour insisted my mother take some of her grapes and make her own wine--as the neighbour herself does. She offered both the grapes and the recipe. And my mom agreed. That's right. These two South-Asian women, great cooks but non-drinkers, made wine this summer.

While I was impressed, I can't say I was hopeful. My mom doesn't even like wine and she would agree wholeheartedly that she has no frame of reference for the stuff. How to tell if she was successful then? She would need a wine-drinker to tell her, right...?

You know what came next. I don't know if the grapes, the recipe or the Vintner could have used some help but, well, this wasn't my "type" of wine, shall we say. Trust me, she won't feel bad when she reads this--I think she took a little pleasure from making me try it. She likes it, and my aunt likes it too. But then again, the biggest compliment I've heard them give any wine ever was "Mmm! It's sweet!"

I won't be quick to encourage her to make another batch, but I love my mom for trying.

tea time

Mid-October, already and no denying it's autumn. One is entitled (required?) to have tea and an indulgent snack in the afternoon from now until spring, right?

Favourite pairings...

black Ceylon tea + ginger cookies

reeeeally black, but not tannic, unsweeted ceylon black tea and juggary

red rooibos tea (with sugar and milk!) and spice cake

green tea and chinese egg custards

jasmine tea and thin, sweet biscuits

earl grey tea and a whole lotta steamed milk and honey

 

red tipple

It seems that I'm drawn to red cocktails lately, which is a little surprising. I've judged them by their appearance and often been right--it seemed that any cocktail that wasn't clear or amber in colour was sweet, and sweet's not really my thing. But recently I had a red cocktail with rhubarb bitters, another with red vermouth balanced with lots of citrus and so on... and I decided there was a whole new world of red cocktails that were as serious as their hue that I needed to try. Here are a few I hope to attempt at home--brilliant colours and easy ideas, all of them.

The Bleeding Heart Martini, which is a marriage of two things I love: classic martinis and pickled beets! Brilliant and almost sinister--you have to check out the photo in this recipe. It totally lives up to its dramatic name.

The Negroni is a classic that's similar in make-up to the martini above, but the addition of Campari gives it its distinct taste. This recipe suggests you can top it with Prosecco too, and either way, its an easy drink that calls for just a few ingredients found in any well-stocked bar.

This red drink is a little sweet with simple syrup but I am intrigued by it. First of all, the recipe is by Jim Meehan (of PDT and  Grammercy Tavern fame), and secondly, the Black Cup is like a Pimms Cup with port!

Remember, red is not just for "love". Forget Valentine's Day and serve these bloodshot spirits on the night of the spirits instead... Mwaahahahhaa... (Halloween. Get it? I know. It's not spooky if I have to explain it...)

re-baking: oil cake (olive oil and sauternes cake)

It's so rare that I crave anything sweet, but going through pictures of this cake was torturous. I can still remember how enjoyable it was, the sweetness of the sauternes and dense yellow flesh, even though I made it weeks ago. The bottle of sauternes is still at my parent's house, where I'd made this last time and where I'm headed again this weekend. I really have no choice but to make this again while I'm there--it's the only way to exercise this craving.

That's right, I'm voluntarily going to bake this again! Not just bake because I promised I would when I started the le sauce baking academy. I have to admit that I'm more confident around a bowl of flour and eggs than I was at the start of all of this, but I still approach each new recipe with more than a little trepidation. The first cake, a genoise, was not easy. Thankfully, this olive oil cake was not that difficult. The two results were quite different as you'd expect, with olive oil replacing butter as the fat in this classic.

This is the famous recipe of Alice Waters and, not that I could, but I wouldn't change a thing. I ended up taking it to a family gathering and the rich, thin slices fed many, all of whom were unanimously enamored. It pleased a visiting aunt so much that she reminded my mom twice to get the recipe from me, and it had my cousins' kids, pre-school to pre-teen alike "mmm-ing" over it. 

And what I loved almost as much as eating it was admiring it beforehand. It depresses in the centre (Alice warns us it will) and gets all droopy on the edges, like the quintessential cake animated in kids' books and TV shows. The kind of thing I'd expect Baker Smurf to be whipping up during Saturday morning cartoons.

 

tempting: illustrated guide to cocktails

 

You might say I'm just sticking my toe in the vodka when it comes to cocktails. I'm far from a mix master yet I've never thought of buying a guide before. But an Illustrated Guide to Cocktails, illustrated by Elizabeth Graeber and authored by Orr Shtuhl, however, has swayed me. I can't resist a fun illustration and this book seems to have that in spades. Just look at the cover. A fox saddled up to the bar, with a martini in one paw, looking like he's had quite the day. Talk to me, fox! I'll have what he's having. And while I'm at it, I may just have to have this book too. You too? You can order it here, and see more pics from inside this beautiful book.

real lime cordial (for a true gimlet, of course)

When I came across this piece in The New York Times on how to make your own lime cordial as a means to creating a perfect gimlet, my mouth puckered and my breathing slowed and I can't tell you for sure but I'd bet my pupils dilated. I get very excited about the idea of making something from scratch that is better or more authentic than a store-bought version I'd never considered trumping. It's why making ricotta, mayonnaise and mustard at home was such a revelation for me. But bringing gin into the mix and the promise of a true gimlet--the likes of which I've never had before and may never be able to order at an establishment, no matter how fine--had me clearing time in my week to make real lime cordial. Immediately.

It's a three day process that takes very little effort, though it seems I missed out on the hardest part. First, I bought more limes than I ever have before, washed and scrubbed them meticulously (the idea of "conventional" (read: sprayed) lime rinds steeping for days in something you're going to drink should drive you to do the same), after which I had to finish another task...so I asked James if he could please, well, just peel these limes with a vegetable peeler like the article called for. The author insisted that this was simpler than using a microplane, and resulted in better flavour since a little of the bitterness of the peel was needed, and you do remove a veil of pith no matter how carefully you peel away. Turns out a peeler making its way down small, round limes is a recipe for mishap. There was some cursing (I'm sure my name was cited) and a loud trip to the bathroom to retrieve a bandage, on which James passed me working at my desk and asked sharply, rhetorically, "Have you ever peeled small, round limes with a vegetable peeler??" He'd already gone to the trouble of juicing them, the next step in the process, and you can imagine how that went after he'd nicked himself. It's too bad he doesn't like gin drinks as much as me or this might have been all worth it to him...

a random sip of an elderflower sidecar

The first long weekend of summer is upon us in Canada and yes, that means it's time to garden and barbeque. But it's also time to sip drinks on the patio in the sun! Provided this seemingly endless stretch of rain breaks, you can find me in my backyard this weekend sipping this elderflower sidecar. It's a CHOW recipe, and there's a comment on their site that questions the authenticity of this as a sidecar. I'm not a sidecar purist and I didn't care to debate it after I tasted it. It's delicious, floral and speaking as someone who prefers a bitter cocktail, it's not too sweet at all.

My bottle of elderflower liqueur was smuggled in from the US last year, but for those for those of you in Toronto, the LCBO finally carries St. Germain now. I highly recommend grabbing a bottle, it's worth it just for its looks. Aside from cocktails like this, it's nice sipped on its own and a splash at the bottom of sparkling wine is an easy apéritif.    

Elderflower Sidecar 
Via CHOW

1 part Cointreau or other orange-flavored liqueur
1 part freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 parts brandy
3 parts St-Germain* elderflower liqueur
Ice

Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker. Shake vigorously and strain over fresh ice into a chilled cocktail glass. Serve.

the original dry gin martini, in a stunning glass

Apparently the original dry gin martini called for a lot more vermouth than I think belongs in mine. If a London dry gin is the reason, then I'm anxious to get my hands on some and see for myself.

But even more than this drink in my hand right now, I want that beautiful, curvaceous cocktail glass.

Happy weekend!

Original Dry Gin Martini

via Saveur Magazine

1 1⁄2 oz. London dry or Plymouth gin
1 1⁄2 oz. French white dry vermouth
2 dashes orange bitters (preferably Regan's Orange Bitters No. 6)
Strip of orange peel

In a large glass, combine gin, vermouth, bitters, and 2 cups ice. Stir for 15 seconds and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Twist a strip of orange peel over the top and drop it in.

Makes 1 cocktail.