le sauce

banana cream pie

 

The reason this recipe even made it into my dinner party is because you can make almost all of it the day before. Being someone who often forgets to think of dessert when planning a menu, and someone with a healthy fear of from-scratch dough, I wouldn't advise you to take this on if I thought it would be more trouble than it was worth or that it would cause too much stress. But the truth is, it's kind of perfect for when you have company coming over, since there's only 5 minutes of pre-serving work, which is nice since a finishing touch before serving seems to add an air of specialness, I think (a little fluffing and primping before showtime) and, honestly, I can't imagine going to the effort of making this pie, easy but time-consuming, unless it was a special occasion like a dinner party.  It's for when you're pulling out all the stops.

Oh and about the final result? It's the most banana-y banana cream pie ever, and the only thing I might change next time, is to try it without a chocolate crust, because I just wanted the banana flavour to sing even louder. I wished I had more. I wish I'd spent more time caramelizing the top with a torch, but I was too anxious to split this open, building as I had been, on and off for a whole day. Please make this when you invite me over. I'll bring very, very good port to serve with.

(See how this recipe fits into an indulgent deep-winter dinner party menu.)

Banana Cream Pie with Whole Grain Chocolate Crust
(Via Bon Appetit)

Filling
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons unbleached all purpose flour
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 cups whole milk
4 large egg yolks
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, diced
1 tablespoon dark rum

Crust
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1/3 cup (2 ounces) bittersweet chocolate chips
1/4 cup unbleached bread flour
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
2 tablespoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) chilled unsalted butter, diced
2 tablespoons orange juice
1 tablespoon (or more) ice water
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Nonstick vegetable oil spray
7 bananas (about), peeled
Additional sugar
Whipped cream (optional)
Chocolate sprinkles (optional)

Filling
Whisk first 4 ingredients in heavy medium saucepan until no lumps remain. Gradually whisk in milk. Add yolks; whisk to blend. Scrape in seeds from vanilla bean; add bean. Whisk over medium-high heat until pastry cream thickens and boils 1 minute, about 8 minutes total. Remove from heat; whisk in butter and rum. Remove vanilla bean. Transfer mixture to bowl; press plastic wrap onto surface. Chill until firm, at least 4 hours. DO AHEAD Can be made 1 day ahead. Keep chilled.

Crust
Combine first 7 ingredients in processor. Blend until finely ground. Transfer to large bowl. Using fork, cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Mix orange juice, 1 tablespoon ice water, and vanilla in small bowl. Sprinkle over chocolate mixture, tossing until dough comes together in clumps and adding more water by tablespoonfuls if dry. Using floured hands, gather dough into ball; flatten into disk. Wrap; chill dough at least 2 hours and up to 1 day.

Preheat oven to 375°F. Spray 9-inch-diameter glass pie dish (including rim) with nonstick spray. Roll out dough between 2 sheets of parchment paper to 12-inch round. Peel off top parchment. Using bottom parchment as aid, turn dough over into prepared dish. Peel off parchment. Fold overhang under and crimp crust edges decoratively. Pierce crust all over with fork; freeze 10 minutes.

Line crust with foil; fill with dried beans. Bake crust 20 minutes. Remove foil with beans. Continue to bake crust until dry and firm to touch, about 10 minutes longer. Cool crust completely on rack.

Spread 1 cup pastry cream over bottom of crust. Slice enough bananas into 1/4-inch-thick rounds to cover cream in overlapping circles. Cover bananas with remaining pastry cream. DO AHEAD Can be made 6 hours ahead. Cover and chill.

Slice 3 (or more) bananas on slight diagonal into 1/4-inch-thick ovals. Arrange in overlapping circles atop pie. Sprinkle with sugar. Caramelize, if desired, using handheld torch. Alternatively, cover bananas with whipped cream, sprinkle with chocolate sprinkles, and garnish with additional banana slices.

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.

jibaritos with guava paste

Months ago I learned what a jibarito was, when I came across it on a blog. I bookmarked the recipe for this grilled cheese sandwich that uses ripe plaintain in place of bread, but I could never make it--I was missing a key ingredient. And then a few weeks ago, my aunt walked into the kitchen with it: guava paste! Her friend brought it back with her from Guyana and gifted it to my aunt, who spread the jelly on toast as you might any other. And true to her generous nature, she brought some over with me, not knowing I'd searched for it in vain for some time now.

It was fitting that we made the jibaritos together--she cooks plantain but had never had it like this. Sections of the plantain roast in the oven before being pressed flat and pan-fried like a common grilled cheese sandwich. The guava paste is just the thing--brining out a little of the sweetness in the plantain and pairing so well the cheese as fruit preserves do. Having had it now, I can tell you that any jelly would make a decent substitute for guava paste, and jibaritos are special. The texture of the plantain, dense and almost fiberous, separates it completely from grilled cheese sandwiches in my mind. Jibaritos are a whole other new, delicious thing to enjoy and to crave suddenly and fixatedly a few times a year. You're welcome.

grilled halloumi with grape-walnut relish

The whole summer went by and I didn't grill any halloumi! Quite remarkable since some summer's I do nothing but. We bought two bricks of the stuff to take to a barbeque a few weeks ago, that we ultimately couldn't attend, and the shrink-wrapped bricks have been sitting around in my fridge ever since. (Luckily, it's not a fresh cheese and in North America, its sold packed in brine and sealed air-tight so it lasts a long time if refrigerated and unopened.)

Halloumi gets ooey and runny when heated, while still holding its shape and without separating like some cheeses would. It's not like I need a recipe for it when it's perfection simply brushed with oil and heated in a pan. (Aaaand, as it turns out, I already have several recipes and ideas for halloumi to begin with.) But I've never paired it with something as strong as rosemary or as sweet as grilled grapes, so I found this recipe intriguing. It's a great balance of flavours and salty halloumi still gets to be the star, with walnuts and grilled bread adding texture and making it a meal. It's something that's ideal for summer when you're likely standing over a barbeque weekly, but I found it works perfectly well using a grill pan on your stovetop too.

Grilled Halloumi with Rosemary-Grape-Walnut Relish and Garlic Bread

(Via Fine Cooking)

YS Note: *While this recipe instructs you to use an outdoor grill, you can easily make this on the stove using a seasoned or well-oiled grill pan or even a non-stick skillet. You can take all kinds of other liberties with this recipe too, like I did, opting for thyme over rosemary and using baguette slices.

1 medium red onion, cut into 3 to 4 thick slices 
2 Tbs. plus 4 tsp. extra-virgin olive oil 
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper 
12 oz. halloumi cheese, cut into 3/8-inch-thick slabs (or aged provolone, cut into 1/2-inch-thick slices) 
2 large cloves garlic, minced 
1 small loaf ciabatta (about 8 oz.),cut into 1/2-inch-thick slices 
1/2 cup walnuts 
1 tsp. minced fresh rosemary 
1 large bunch seedless black or red grapes (about 1-1/4 lb.) 
2 to 3 tsp. balsamic vinegar 

Prepare a high gas or charcoal grill fire.*

Drizzle the onion slices with 2 tsp. of the oil and lightly season them with salt and pepper. Pat the cheese dry and drizzle with 2 tsp. of the oil. In a small bowl, mix the remaining 2 Tbs. of oil, the garlic, and a pinch each of salt and pepper; brush the mixture evenly over one side of the bread slices.

Meanwhile, toast the walnuts in a small skillet over medium heat, stirring frequently, until golden-brown, 4 to 5 minutes. Coarsely chop the walnuts while still hot and transfer them to a medium bowl. Mix in the rosemary.

Put the onion slices and bunch of grapes on the grill grate. Cover and grill, turning once, until the grapes are bursting and the onions are grill marked, about 10 minutes. Transfer the grapes to the bowl with the walnuts, and the onions to a cutting board. Use tongs to simultaneously pull the grapes from their stems and crush them, dropping them into the bowl. Chop the grilled onions and add them to the bowl. Season to taste with the vinegar, salt, and pepper.

Clean and oil the grill grate. Put the bread and cheese on the grate and grill uncovered, turning once, until marked on both sides, 4 to 5 minutes (about 1 minute if using provolone).

Divide the cheese, bread, and relish among 4 plates and serve immediately.

Serves 4 as an appetizer or 2 as a light dinner

grilled onigiri in a green tea broth

(Ochazuke with Yaki-Onigiri)

I'm going to tell you what you might be thinking as you read through this recipe anyway.... this is seemingly odd combination of mild, punchy, salty and sweet flavours. I agree. But, you know how people are always talking about balancing flavours? There's a lot of complimentary tastes happening here, and a predominently warm, soothing texture. It requires you to perhaps get one or two ingredients that you might not always have in your kitchen, but substitions are welcome. But before we get to that, and in case you're unfamiliar with it, let's say hello to onigiri.

Onigiri are balls of rice made with freshly cooked, starchy, sushi rice or other glutenous, short-grain rice, and they often hide a little treat in the middle. Tuna, seaweed and, as in the case here, omeboshi (pickled plum) paste, are common fillings, and onigiri are often triangular in shape. Here's how to make them and here's why mine are rectangular:

1. Cook your rice.


2. While the rice is hot, use wet or oiled hands to form your shape, or better yet, an onigiri  mold. Create an indent in which to add a tiny amount of fillling, then enclose the filling with rice and work the shape while the rice is still hot, otherwise the grains will not stick to each other well or be easily maliable.


3. Hot rice is too hot to handle! Having no onigiri mold, I tortured myself for as long as it took to make two onigiri and they were less of a triangular shape and more shaped like the outline of searing pain. I couldn't bear to work the shape long enough and when they cooled to just punishingly hot, the grains were no longer cooperating. Thus, I turned to the smallest little yet deep enough mold I could find to accomodate a 1-cup scoop of rice, and that ended up being a rectangle plastic container. Yours might be a measuring cup, single-serving yogurt container or you may go out and get an onigiri mold! In any case, make sure to oil your mold so you can tap the packet of rice out easily.

If you are running out to get seaweed, just the right tea or that onigiri mold (wow, you are hardcore) for this recipe, please do get omeboshi paste. I recently wrote about its sharp, deep, briny flavour which I love, and combined with that subtle, warming tea, salty seaweed and those caramalized shallots and scallions...well, you'll have highly pleasurable, balanced spoonfuls in your bowl.

the ingredient: umeboshi paste

Ripe Japanese ume plums, salted and stewed down with shisho leaves. That's all this is but I can't really imagine a substitute and despite eating it semi-regularly, I still struggle to describe it. It's pickled, so its flavour is concentrated, briney and sweet--and overwhelming in large amounts, in my opinion. But it seems not everyone thinks so, since I've read that in they're often eaten for breakfast in their whole, pickled form. Wow. That would definitely wake me up. The whole umeboshi are also sometimes added to the bottom of a glass of shōchū, which is more up my alley.

I've found the perfect place for umeboshi in a new recipe that I'll share with you in a few days. But in the meantime, I highly recommend spreading a little of the paste onto toasted nori, topping it with shaved beets, carrots, sliced avocado, crunchy sprouts and a drop or two of balsamic vinegar. Talk about the whole being greater than the sum of its parts.

curried pineapple

There's a whole roster of foods that I tried for what I thought was the first time in my life, that I "mmm" over and ask my mom how it is that I've never had this before, to which she responds with:

(quite tersely) "I used to make this all the time those days (referring to my childhood) and you never liked it."

I imagine I might not have like pineapple curry those days. Depending on how ripe the fruit it can be a very sweet dish but it will still be tart too. It's balanced but still bold and I have no doubt that when I had it back then, it was spicier than I could handle too. But that's up to you and I to control now that we have the recipe. My mom uses coconut milk in her version, but I fell in love with this in adulthood when my cousin served it to me at her house, and she uses water for her curry which I prefer. Milk seems to knock back the tanginess a little, so proceed as you wish. 

Don't be intimidated about using a fresh pineapple if you can get your hands on a ripe one. Simply trim a thin slice from the bottom to stand it up, cut off the top and the peel cuts away evenly with a sharp knife. My first time doing this, my mom and aunt berated me for wasting too much good flesh with my cuts, and they showed me that you can cut just a thin strip of peel away and dig out any really deep eyes with the side of a peeler, just like you would when peelng potatoes. The shallow marks don't even need to be dealt with. 

Once you've peeled and trimmed your fruit on both ends, look for that white ring of core in the centre and cut around it. The core is too tough for this curry, but it's edible and delicious so don't waste it. The day I made this with my family, we sliced up the centre, sprinkled it with salt and pepper and it disappeared in seconds. It was a nice taste of things to come.

mango salad with hazelnut and lime dressing

My little cousins (well, they're really my cousins' kids) are strange. I think. This is not the kind of salad I'd expect them to like, and in fact, I warned them against it because of the red bird chili sprinkled through it--I had even more in mine than I cite in the recipe below. 

At first I thought they were asking if they had to try some of it, since it was laid out with the other food at a recent family event and the kids in our family are always encouraged to try everything.

So I said, "Oh, no, don't worry, it's too hot for you."

"But we can try a little, right? And if it's too hot, we don't have to take any more."

"Errr...ok...."

Seriously? They wanted a salad of fruit, nuts and herbs, that might be too hot for them? I was so not that sophisticated when I was eleven. There was also a nine-year-old, the sole vegetarian in her family for years by her own initiative, who raved about my olive oil cake with sauternes. But that's a story for an upcoming post. Weird, I tell you. In a good way.

But you, I fully endorse this recipe to you. I am biased, but I love it. It's nutty from the toasted almonds but because the base of the dressing is hazelnut oil. The most lip-smacking part comes from the lime flesh that is added to the dressing. Having made it both with and without, I swear it makes all the difference. I sometimes partake of mango salad at Thai restaurants, even though I know there's a little fish sauce spiking the flavour. This is the perfect vegetarian version, equally complex, balanced and delicious in it's own right. Again, biased, but I have to say, I prefer this one! Let me know if you agree?

blue-grey semifreddo

I've been shut out of the homemade ice cream party for too long, and I've been a little bitter about it. There are some great artisan ice cream shops nearby, but someone will tweet about their homemade black sesame ice cream and my toes will curl in excitement and then in jealousy. For one thing, I'm desperate for some black sesame ice cream, plus think of all the flavour possibilities. I want to play too, damnit. I didn't think I could, since I don't want to buy (or find room in my kitchen for) an ice cream maker, until I remembered the ice cream that doesn't require one. The semifreddo.

With a semifreddo (literally, "semi-cold") you simply pour your mixture into a container, cover and freeze. It's as delicious as ice cream and just as rich--even richer. You whip heavy cream and add it to your flavour and egg mixture (a sabayon) and freeze it. It creates a very mousse-like texture that doesn't totally freeze. It's somewhere between a mousse and softened ice cream, and its extreme richness will be the only thing saving you from eating a whole batch at once. 

But on to the flavour: blue-grey. Blueberry and Earl Grey tea flavour, that is, just like a killer smoothie I ordered from tea shop near by. They customize fruit smoothies with any of their teas and that's the combination I picked. I loved it, but even more fragrant than Earl Grey, which is a black tea with bergamot (a type of orange) oil, are the spin-offs that also add Seville orange rind and various flower petals. My favourite is Russian Earl Grey which adds both orange and lemon rind, lavender petals or sometimes cornflower and lemongrass. The flavours compliment the blueberries so well in this semifreddo--subtle but present in every mouthful.

Traditionally semifreddos are served as a terrine, and I did pour half of my batter into a rectangle mold to do the same. The rest I poured into a glass container with a lid to be scooped out just as you would ice cream. If you choose to do the same, you can serve this semifreddo in a cone, bowl, or, fittingly for this recipe, a teacup. Cute, huh? Too cute??

curried jackfruit

Doesn't this look like curried beef or goat? Jackfruit is the meatiest non-meat food you will come across--young jackfruit, that is. It grows in South Asia and the young fruit has a mild flavour and is never eaten raw. It's cooked for hours in curries or stews, or it can be seasoned and roasted (some people prepare it that way for jerking it or for sandwiches or tacos). Ripe jackfruit, on the other hand, is sweeter and tender. I've snacked on it plain or in a sugary syrup which is how you sometimes find it in cans. But do not buy jackfruit in syrup for this recipe. You want fresh, brined or frozen jackfruit for this savoury and slightly tart curry.

Here's the thing about this curry: it takes 4 1/2 hours to cook and the ingredient list may seem long and a little foreign. Do not let that put you off. Once you gather the ingredients, you put them all into a pot, cover it and let it simmer--that's all. No fussy tempering, browning--not even any oil to toast or fry anything--although if your spices are not fresh, you may wish to add them to the pot first to wake them up before proceeding. I'm going to take you through how to prepare whatever jackfruit you can find and introduce you to the only other possibly new-to-you ingredient so you can make this delicious, deep curry with confidence. Everything you need to know is in the pictures below.

If you head to the frozen section of your favourite Chinatown or Asian grocery store, you can probably find frozen jackfruit (top left) that you can thaw at room temperature in a few hours and squeeze all of the water out of through a strainer. Cut only the toughest part of the core from the centre, and discard (top right), leaving the rest to hold the flesh together. Then cut the remaining flesh into 1 1/2-inch pieces. Or, you might be able to find some young (also referred to as green) jackfruit in jars, brined (bottom left), which are already cored and cut into pieces that you only need to rinse and drain in a colander. Simple.

The special, mild sourness in this curry comes from another fruit, the strange-looking, hard, dried pieces you see above (bottom right), called goraka, in Sri Lanka. As far as I can tell, goraka is fairly unique to Sri Lankan curries, like fish curries, and the little tang that it provides gives those dishes a special stamp. Fresh goraka looks a little like a small pumpkin but its sections remind me of citrus fruit. When those sections are dried, they become the dark pieces you see in the picture. You can find goraka at Sri Lankan grocers, larger Indian and South Asian grocers or online. I am lucky enough to have dried goraka from my uncle's garden in Sri Lanka! If you can't get your hands on any, tamarind is an acceptable substitute.

There! The rest is a matter of adding your prepared jackfruit to a large pot with all the dry spice and leaves, and tossing them well before adding some coconut milk and lots of water. This simmers, covered, for hours over very low heat and all you have to do is remember to stir it a few times an hour. The curry will thicken up and stew down, and you'll be left with a fork-tender, meat-like textured jackfruit. Serve over hot rice with other Sri Lankan curries or on its own. Oh and a tip--the seeds, little, tender, oval pods, are the best part! Save them for the favourite person at your table (even if that's you, ha!)