Banana-Cinnamon Dutch Pancakes

Long time no see, blogosphere world. Although I won't be making regular posts in the near future, I thought I would share this really simple recipe for Dutch pancakes.

Until I went to Holland recently, I had no idea that the Dutch have their own take on the all-American breakfast food. Although Dutch and American pancakes bear some similarities, they are also remarkably different. For one thing, Dutch pancakes are very rarely eaten for breakfast, as they're (surprisingly!) extremely filling, although with the way portion control works in North America though, I doubt this would stop anyone here. More often, Dutch pancakes are eaten at lunch or dinner, with two diners sharing the meal. Another departure from its American cousin is that Dutch pancakes can also be savory. In fact, pancakes stuffed or cooked with salmon, chicken, beef, ham, vegetables, cheese, etc. are just as common, if not more so, than their sweet apple, banana, chocolate counterparts.


When I was in Amsterdam, I went to the Pancake Bakery at Prinsengracht 191, which happens to be just further north along the same canal where Anne Frank House is located. The Pancake Bakery is a cozy, dim lit establishment that is busy during the day, but positively bustling at night as the crowd of locals and tourists spill out of the restaurant and down the cobbled streets by the canal. Needless to say, as much as I enjoy American pancakes from time to time, I would choose Dutch pancakes over them, hands down, every time.

This recipe is a variation of what I had while I was in Europe. It's very amenable to your own additions or experimentation, of course.

For the prep

• Cost: $3-4 dollars for two people. Maybe less.

There's not a lot you'll need to make these pancakes, which is actually part of what makes them so awesome. I was able to wake up and put these together with what I could find in a very sparsely supplied kitchen. In fact, I had intended to make regular pancakes, but there was no baking powder (among other things). There were bananas on hand, but feel free to use whatever you can find (just make sure you dice anything that will take a while to cook into small enough pieces that it will cook relatively quickly-- these pancakes don't have a long cooking time).

Cooking

Ease: 4/5

You will need:

• 1 egg per person
• Flour (approximately 1/2 c per person)
• Milk (again, approximately 1/2 c per person)
• Vanilla (optional)
• Sugar (optional)
• Banana, thinly sliced
  
• Cinnamon

Beat the egg thoroughly with a whisk. Begin to add flour to the egg mixture, about 1/4 c at a time. Mix thoroughly each time you add the flour so the batter remains smooth. You want to keep adding flour until the batter is extremely thick, but not like a ball of dough.

At this point, add your vanilla if you want to use it, and begin to add milk to the batter, 1/4 c at a time. Again, beat the mixture thoroughly each time to incorporate the liquid. Keep adding a little bit of milk at a time until the batter is about the consistency of eggnog. It will be thinner than your regular pancake batter. Make sure it is watery enough that it will spread evenly and thinly in a pan.

Add the bananas and cinnamon (to taste) to the batter and mix until combined. These pancakes aren't sweetened, and if you think that'll be bland, you can add a tablespoon of sugar at this point as well.

Heat a large, nonstick skillet on medium heat and add a little oil. Pour enough batter into the pan so that a thin even layer of batter covers the bottom. It will seem a bit like making crepes. After about a 60-90 seconds (they cook quickly, be careful!) you'll need to flip the pancake. Run the spatula around the sides to loosen the edges, the slide the spatula under and flip the entire thing with a quick wrist motion. This can take a little practice, since the pancake is large and thin, but a quick, decisive motion will get it over easily. The bottom of the pancake should be golden brown.
Cook for an additional 60-90 seconds and remove the pancake from the pan.
Repeat the cooking process with the remaining batter.
Serve with syrup and other pancake fixings. This particular pancake is awesome with Nutella (as long as you're not deathly allergic to hazelnuts... )



The Result
A Dutch pancake is kind of like a very thick crepe. The consistency is a bit of a cross between regular pancakes and crepes, although the taste is significantly egg-ier than either. Because it's thinner than a regular pancake, it's easy to think that it won't be very filling; however, don't underestimate them! Neither BM or I could finish two medium-large pancakes.
On the other hand, maybe because they're so much thinner and have relatively little flour involved, I didn't feel as bloated or stuffed as I would have with regular pancakes. The natural sweetness and the kick of the cinnamon really work with the neutral pancake base.

The Verdict
Super easy to make, it would take between 10-20 minutes from start to finish to serve two people. Every thing you need is likely to be hanging around your kitchen, it's a great idea for a last minute brunch.

• Guilt: Low. No sugar, involves fruit? What is there to feel guilty about?

• Servings: As needed. The one egg per person rule works very well for this recipe, and the rest of the measurements can be adjusted accordingly.
  

• Leftovers: Who eats pancakes for leftovers? N/A

• Taste: 4.5/5 (Oh so close to that perfect score...)

The good: Easy, quick, cheap, and super tasty. Use whatever you've got on hand.

The bad: People will constantly call them crepes.

Gnocchi in a brown butter garlic sage sauce.

The first time I had gnocchi, I thought it was the most boring food in the world. I admit that the fact that I made these gnocchi myself out of instant potato flakes may have had something to do with this (I was 18 at the time, and just learning to cook for myself). Most gnocchi recommendations I've seen are pretty bland; that is, they say you should cook the gnocchi and serve it with some tomato sauce. I've consistently been underwhelmed by gnocchi (except I LOVE saying the word because it sounds so... cute!).Recently I'd been contemplating the neatly packaged gnocchi in my supermarket and I decided to give it another try. After reading through a few recipes online, I came up with this recipe of my own. I love the bright summery colors and flavors to this traditionally heavy meal.

Prep

You can find everything in this recipe easily in your local supermarket. Gnocchi, depending on the brand and what's in it, is located both in the fresh pasta section and the dried pasta sections of the store. I don't know if it's just a placebo effect, but I liked the taste and texture of the refrigerated stuff much better than the brands that were just hanging around the shelves. A one pound package usually costs between $2-4.

• Cost: $6-7
  

Cooking

This recipe uses pretty simple ingredients. You'll need:

• 1 package of gnocchi
  
• 1 chicken breast , sliced (just under 1 lb)
• Zucchini (depending on the size of the zucchini, you may not need the whole thing)
• 1/2 cup mushrooms, sliced (about 5 mushrooms)
• 1/2 red pepper
  
• 2-4 cloves of garlic (to your taste), minced
• 2 tablespoons fresh sage leaves, chopped
• 4 tablespoons of butter
  
• Salt, pepper, red chili pepper flakes, and parmesan cheese, to taste
  

Start by boiling water to cook the gnocchi. While that's going, you can do all your chopping and mincing.

Heat a large skillet on medium heat. When it's hot, add the butter and melt it in the pan. Once the butter is melted, add the sage and garlic, and heat briefly (everything will smell pretty awesome at this point).



Then, add the chicken and cook until the chicken is no longer pink. Be sure to watch the pan and stir frequently or things will burn. I did manage to burn my stuff slightly, since I had my pan on too high of a heat. I also had some leftover chorizo from a paella I made last week so I threw that in too, just so I didn't waste it.

Once the chicken is cooked, add your vegetables and toss to coat. Season everything with some pepper and add the red chili pepper flakes if desired.



Your water should be boiling, so add the gnocchi so it will cook. Gnocchi cooks relatively quickly so you'll have to watch them; they float to the surface when they're done. Use a slotted spoon to drain the water and transfer them to your pan of vegetables and chicken.

Toss everything together to coat and heat through until the vegetables are slightly soft.


Dish up the gnocchi, and top with grated parmesan.
Annnnd you're done!

The Result


I don't like my gnocchi overly soft; I like it better when they have a slight chewy texture to them. I don't know if that's proper or not though haha. Overall, I really enjoy this dish because it's super simple to make (it takes me less than 20 minutes total to make this meal for myself; I halve the recipe and cook it twice in a week to avoid having to reheat leftovers). I have to say, I like gnocchi with a butter based sauce much more than with a tomato sauce. The garlic gives everything a flavorful punch, and the sage brings an earthy, but fresh taste to the sauce. Adding vegetables, and yes, a little protein, definitely adds some interest to the whole dish, both in flavor and texture. I think this dish would work equally well with shrimp if you didn't have chicken on hand. I'm also curious to see how it would taste with basil instead of sage, and how adding some toasted walnuts might create a textural contrast. I'm starting to see a whole new array of flavor combinations that might work well with gnocchi after all.
Do I still think gnocchi is boring? On it's own, yes. Personally, I think cooking gnocchi means having to think ahead of time how you're going to compensate for the dismal plainness of the flavor of gnocchi. It's probably also important to get a gnocchi that has a good texture potential, or else it just feels like balls of mush in your mouth. Gross.

• Servings: The full recipe should feed 2-3 people, easily, for a main course portion. For more than 2 people, consider supplementing with a salad, bread, or the promise of dessert :)
• Leftovers: I've never had good reheated gnocchi. Not recommended.
  

The good: A nice showcase for seasonal vegetables, definitely helping you get a few of your recommended fruit and veggie servings. Lots of flavor, and super easy to make. Pretty inexpensive.

The bad: The butter sauce! So guilt inducing. Be sure not to add too much butter, it takes surprisingly little to give everything a good coating. But, a little indulgence once in a while is ok, right? Also, I don't have much use for my left over sage... anyone have some good recipe ideas? Also, no leftovers :(

So, this is the first blog post I've managed to finish since I've moved to my new apartment! I've been having some motivational issues to write. The new kitchen is pretty great though, and being so close to the farmer's market is really inspiring me to cook and think about trying new ingredients and recipes (as lame as that sounds).
That said, hopefully I can finish up some of my other posts to share, but look forward to a new travel blog post soon :)!

Beijing, Beijing

When I create a mental image of Beijing, it is one that it is on the cusp of the old and the new.

As I'm sure you're all well aware, Beijing hosted the 2008 Summer Olympics. In preparation for the event, the city inevitably had an incredible push towards modernization. In the first 30 minutes of riding the tour bus on that cloudy Monday afternoon, I thought to myself, "This feels like any other major American city center, except everyone walking along the street is Asian." In addition to the landmark "Water Cube" and "Bird's Nest" constructed for the Olympics, Beijing also boasts some impressive modern architecture, the largest railway station in Asia, and gorgeous luxury hotels.

But to say that Beijing is a modern city center would be a mistake.

What is it, that creates dissonance in the attempts to classify Beijing into a category with other major cities I may have visited in the past? Is it the pagodas that dot the skyline, the unmistakable presence of the Forbidden City at the heart of this busy metropolis? Is it the hawkers selling food in cluttered side streets at sunset, presenting neat rows of barbecued meat or candied fruits on skewers for purchase? Or is it something more subtle and insidious, like the ever present vendors pressing cheap toys and souvenirs on tourists unfortunate enough to make eye contact with them? Is it something in the voices of the beggars that dot the streets outside high traffic tourist attractions? Is it the ramshackle appearance of derelict stone buildings, falling apart at the roofs but apparently still housing families withing? Is it in the way the streets are punctuated by the presence of the green uniformed military? Sometimes it's just one or two soldiers standing at lazy attention, other times it's an entire squad marching crisply in unison down the sidewalk, demanding wordlessly that pedestrians yield and move out of their path.

Without a doubt, Beijing has its faults. There's definitely an issue with pollution, and the city is somewhat dirty. It didn't really feel safe. There are reminders all over the city of the poverty and underdevelopment still plaguing China as it tries to turn itself around. Traffic is always congested as taxi drivers, motorists, cyclists, and buses turn a 3 lane road into a 5 lane free-for-all, competing with one another to navigate the concrete arteries and filling the air with the sound of angry honking.

But, also without a doubt, Beijing is beautiful. The cherry trees that line the road were beginning to bloom the week we were there (late, due to an unseasonably cold spring), sending brilliant splashes of scarlet and pale pinks around the urban landscape. The temples and pagodas speak of centuries of history, culture, and tradition that it is difficult not to be moved by. Despite the fact that this is, without a doubt, a bustling center for business and modernization, there is an organic feel to the city that isn't entirely unpleasant.




Hold on! Isn't this supposed to be a food blog?!

Unfortunately, I can't speak as much to the food as I'd like to. The flight between Hong Kong and Beijing found me with some kind of stomach bug (and, for the record, I have to say Air China is completely out of their minds for providing air sickness bags that are sealed at the top prior to use). I was ill for the better part of 4 out of the 5 days we were in Beijing and ended up eating very sparringly (and having to be careful with what I wanted to venture to test my already rebelling stomach with). Also unfortunately, because we were with a tour group, we ended up eating wherever they took us, which was not always traditional Beijing style food. Furthermore, since I was in a tour, we ate in a group and this resulted in me not taking pictures of most of the food.

Compared to Hong Kong, I would say that overall, food in Beijing is cooked with more oil, and more salt. The beer is ridiculously weak. I was happy to try the peking duck while there, but was disappointed by the leanness of the duck and the thickness of the pancake wrapping. Maybe I've become too accustomed to the way peking duck tastes here in Canada. There seems to be a fondness for fatty pork, and a predisposition towards vegetables, fish, and chicken. Street vendors are much more common in Beijing than Hong Kong, selling everything from grilled corn and roasted sweet potatoes, to skewered meats and candied sour fruit. Several booths boasted octopus tentacles, ready to be grilled to order. We were warned, however, that being unused to the local bacteria, we would likely become ill if we ate from many of these vendors.

On the last night we were in Beijing, my parents and I went out on our own to try a local restaurant along what I swear was being nicknamed "White Person Street". I have no idea why it's called that, although the street itself is beautiful with it's hanging red lanterns. There was not a white person to be seen, at least when we were there.



The restaurant we chose was recommended by someone at the hotel we were staying at, and had an outdoor wood pit roasting sweet potatoes, sending their aroma wafting throughout the entrance corridor. Although still greasy, I have to say this was the best meal I had in Beijing (and not just because I was no longer sick, finally). We tried a few dishes we couldn't get back at home, including this "bacon" wrapped in pancake, a lamb dish, and a spicy chicken stew.





The food was quite good, though the dessert was nothing to write home about. Other tables were ordering pots of crayfish, whole roasted ducks (with the carcass wrapped for the customer to to take home and make soup with), and steamed fish.

Some tours are good, and you'll be lucky when they bring you to some reasonably good places to eat. But, it's always best to look for a tour that allows you one or two meals for you to explore the city on your own and be responsible for your own meal. You may have to pay for your own grub, but that's the best way to discover what the local appetite has to offer.

I'm relieved to have finished this blog; I've been working on it since getting back home two weeks ago. It was a lot harder for me to conceptualize Beijing over Hong Kong.

Hello, Hong Kong

Can you write about Hong Kong without romanticizing it?

When I was younger, I hated coming to Hong Kong. It was loud, smelly, and worst of all to a small child, it was foreign. When I came back this time, and it's been over 12 years since I've been back, I was told repeatedly that the only thing to do here is eat and shop. Which is kind of true.

But Hong Kong, I'm realizing, is a city of many faces. It is a city of stained and weathered high rise apartment buildings, where hundreds of people are crammed into tiny flats. People dry their clothes by hanging them by, and outside, their windows. In the center of the city, the financial district looms with it's state of the art architecture. Men in crisp business suits and women in branded high heels hurry past angular old men struggling to push a large and unweildy carts full of deliveries. The disparity here is jarring. By day, the lines of the city can seem grimy and desolate. By night, the digital landscape flickers to life in neon reds, golds, and greens.
But as a child, what I remembered the most is the smells. Walking down the street, you catch the smell of gasoline and exhaust from the trucks rumbling down the impossibly narrow alley ways, then the pungent smell from a stall selling fresh fish, displayed fresh (and still bloody) on ice. Hurrying through the subway station, there is the unmistakable smell that arises whenever a large number of people are crammed into a small space, then suddenly the sweet smell of a bakery by the escalator heading up to the street. On any given block, you can catch the sharp scent of dried medicinal herbs, a whiff of fresh cut flowers, and the heady aroma of incence from a small shrine, perhaps hidden in a small alcove just out of sight.
Hong Kong, to me, is a jigsaw puzzle; eating in Hong Kong can be much of the same experience. If you know where to look, you can find almost anything to eat here. Of course there's high end dining here, but I've found that my best experiences with food here has been in locales that I would normally label as questionable.
My dad's childhood school friend led us down an uneven concrete staircase, through a dark alley filled with rickety old booths, and into a narrow cross street. At the corner was a non descript eatery with an open kitchen and folding tables. They seat you whereever they can, so you end up sharing tables with strangers as you hurry through your meals. My dad's friend ordered us bowls of beef brisket noodles, and congee with mixed meat. By mixed meat, I mean mixed organs. I managed to try everything but the intestines which I was still too squeamish to try. It actually wasn't bad at all, and I've learned to simply do my best not to think about what I'm eating if I suspect (or in this case, know) that it's something I'd rather not be putting in my mouth. It usually works. I'll eat almost anything as long as I can't readily identify it (thus, why I couldn't eat the intestine--intestines always look like intestines, even when chopped into tiny pieces). When we left the restaurant, it was 1 PM, which is lunch time in Hong Kong. The line curled around the restaurant as people waited for seats.

Because I've been eating mostly with my extended family or family friends, I haven't had the opportunity to take a lot of pictures of my food (I have no idea how to ask my great aunt to wait while I photograph a pot of fish head stew). But I've tried duck and goose feet since being back (similar to chicken feet, mostly just skin, cartiledge, and bone--usually quite salty because of the sauce and spices). I also tried fish head (from the previously mentioned fish head stew; I didn't really want to try it, but my great aunt put it in my bowl, and I decided it didn't LOOK like fish heads, so I managed to eat it, and not be rude). I've also had a vegetarian meal at a Buddhist temple. Despite my inclination to like meat, it wasn't bad. Tasted like a lot of chili sauce and tofu.

The baked goods in Hong Kong are pretty great. I'm glad to be in Hong Kong and old enough now to WANT to eat Chinese style cuisine, instead of constantly insisting that I be taken to a Western style restaurant. Although, I HAVE heard that the Western style food is different here; I'd like to try it one day, but it's impossible with my family. Before I go, I'd really like to buy some "gai dan jei" (straight translation is roughly something referring to small chicken eggs) which are small cakes made in a mold that are shaped like eggs. They're pretty great, but I have to find a hawker that sells them. I saw some the other day on the street corner, but we were in a rush...If I manage to snag some, I'll take a picture and update this post.



Next post: Beijing, and Beijing food.
Sorry for any typos, I haven't had time to proof read and it's past midnight here...

Steamed Mussels

I know I've been terrible at keeping up with updates (and I apologize, because things aren't going to get better as we head into March), but I'm writing now with a confession to make.
I'm a murderer. A mass murderer, to be exact.
I can't say I've ever had to kill anything I've eaten before. My parents bought and cooked a live crab once, and I thought it was the most horrible thing ever. Before the tragic end to its life, I watched sadly as the poor crab lethargically waved its legs and blew bubbles in the kitchen sink where my parents let him pass his final hours. Since then, I've resolutely avoided cooking anything small enough that it can be bought live.
Until now. I went over to JM and RW's place and steamed mussels for the first time ever.

For the prep

• Cost: $20, or approximately $7 a person.
• Ingredients: 4/5

JM and RW are from the East Coast (a foreign land to me, I admit), and I relied on their expertise regarding mussel purchasing. Mussels are actually readily available in most supermarkets no matter where you live, although their price will likely increase the further they have to be shipped. All mussels I've come across have been shipped in from PEI. Look for mussels in your grocery's seafood section or fish counter. Make sure they're stored either on ice or in water: YOU MUST BUY YOUR MUSSELS LIVE.
I was surprised at the price of mussels, in that I thought it would cost a lot more. I went to the farmer's market where they were being sold for $2.99/lb. Since we were cooking enough so that it would be a meal for three people (one of whom can apparently consume over 2 lbs of mussels on his own), we ended up picking up 4.5 lbs.
The rest of the ingredients were very standard, and can easily be found hanging around your fridge.


Cooking

• Easiness: 4/5

I'd never cooked mussels before and JM typically boils them, but this time we agreed to try steaming them. We had a brief discussion of which method would be more humane, but decided not to dwell on things too much. I did do a quick search on the methods for steaming mussels, and kind of combined a few recipes together to come up with this.
Obviously I had more mussels than what I'm listing this recipe for; we did ours in two batches and doubled the recipe.

You'll need:

• Mussels (2-3 lbs)
  
• 1 cup white wine (I used sauvignon blanc, as I often do)
• 2-3 cloves garlic, minced (more if you like garlic)
• 1/4 medium onion, finely diced
• 3 tbsp butter/margarine, divided
• Pepper

A few things about the mussels. You might want to give them a quick rinse or scrub, especially if they've got a lot of barnacles or other unpleasant sea adornments on them. Don't store your mussels in fresh water, as it will kill them, and you do want them alive.
As you go through rinsing your unfortunate friends, check for any mussels with obviously cracked shells and discard them. Look for mussels that are not tightly closed. Pick these guys up, and see if they start to close after you touch them. JM harassed several of them with a butter knife, sticking the blunt end in and gently poking inside (GENTLY) to see if he could provoke the shell closing response. You can also set these individuals aside while you sort through the rest of your pile, and see if they close after a moment or two. Throw out any mussel that does not clam up; they're already dead.

Melt 2 tbsp of butter in a large pot over medium heat. Add the onions and cook until they start to become translucent. Add the garlic and cook for an additional minute or two.



Add the wine to the pot, and turn the heat up to high. As the pot heats up, add your mussels to the pot.

Make sure they're evenly distributed, and put a lid on the pot. Wait until the liquids inside are boiling, then reduce the heat to medium and simmer for approximately 5 minutes, or the mussels all open up. Unfortunately (or fortunately), JM and RW's pot has a clear glass lid so I could watch the entire affair. I felt pretty horrible watching all the shells start to open up, I admit.

When the mussels are done (i.e., all the shells are open), take them out and set them aside (we just put them into a separate bowl and put them into the oven to keep warm).

Turn the heat back up to high and simmer the sauce to reduce it. You'll notice there's a lot more liquid than you originally started out with in the pot; this is because mussels release liquid as they cook. This liquid is pretty salty, so we didn't add any salt. At this point add the pepper, or any other seasonings you'd like. Add the extra 1 tbsp of butter to thicken the sauce. Other recipes I saw suggested adding heavy cream to the sauce, but we just let it be. After another 5-10 minutes, we decided the sauce was done.

We had the meal with some french bread to round out the massacre. I mean, dish.



The Result


I tried not to look too closely at the mussels while I was eating them, because I think they look kind of creepy. But, the sauce was flavorful and garlicky, and the mussels tender, if tender is the right word to use. Maybe "juicy" is more appropriate. We pulled the mussels out of the shells with our fingers (they come out with little resistance) and dipped them into the sauce before consuming it. Not using utensils made the entire experience extremely visceral.
Mussels are chewy, and they do taste like the sea. I really enjoyed the entire experience, and thought it was a worthy result in the end. Next time I cook mussels, I'll probably do it in a similar way, although I'd like to figure out how to serve them over pasta so I don't need to gorge myself on so many mussels to get a meal. I wouldn't recommend this for someone who dislikes seafood, but it's surprisingly easy to do at home (who woulda thought?), so give it a shot!

• The guilt factor: Pretty high. The sauce has got a considerable amount of butter in it, and mussels, despite being a good source of a whole load of vitamins, are not surprisingly high in cholesterol.
  
• Servings: If all you're having is mussels, 2 lbs or a little more should be enough to feed two people, along with some bread.
• Leftover rating: n/a. I'm pretty sure mussels are something you don't want to be eating a day or two later.
• Taste: 4/5, could have used some other herbs for flavors.

Overall rating: 90%

The good: Easier than I thought to cook; great flavors, even if there IS room for improvement.

The bad: High in cholesterol; guilt of watching all those mussels die in the pot.

Adventures Down Under: Cooking Kangaroo

It all started at the meat counter.

Well, the meat counter at St. Lawrence Farmer's Market, to be honest. J and I were browsing through the various vendors, pausing to look into the display cases as we chatted. Most of the fare was pretty standard: bright red slabs of beef ribeye, rows of marinaded and stuffed chicken breasts, and pale rounds of pork tenderloin. The selection is plentiful, and a couple vendors also sell some less common offerings, namely, game meats: bison striploin, rack of venison. But one counter in particular caught our eye.

This particular butcher imports some pretty exotic stuff. Well, exotic to me at least: camel, wild boar, ostrich (though I'm aware you can buy emu from a local farm just outside Calgary). J and I looked at the meat. We looked at each other. I don't know who came up with the idea first, but the question hung in the air:

What if we tried to cook one of these meats? What if we tried to cook, say... kangaroo?

At first we balked and laughed as we walked away. But the idea was there, and suddenly it didn't seem like such an impossibility. Half an hour later, we'd agreed that we'd at least try it out, and made plans to try it out the next week. In the end, we had to wait two weeks for the next shipment to come in, and then we were off on our Australian adventure.

I did do some research online about how to cook kangaroo. Sadly, the information seems a little sparse, and what little I could find seemed somewhat non-specific. A few sites suggested I import Australian marinade. Others just vaguely indicated that I should marinade in "Australian flavors". A couple sites had some recipes, where I figured that they were treating the kangaroo the same way they would any other red meat. The only consensus was that since kangaroos are a game meat, not to cook it past medium rare (would that even be possible if you bought ground kangaroo?).

The big day arrived. We stood nervously at the counter, and a butcher with a friendly smile came to help us.

"We want to cook kangaroo," we declared. "We have no idea what we're doing."

The butcher was pretty patient with us. He asked if we'd rather cook the ground kangaroo (apparently very versatile, one of the few recipes I found was from Emeril Lagasse, and he made kangaroo pie-- by pie, he really means dumplings though) or the loin. We went with the loin, because really, who doesn't love a good, thick piece of meat? He gave us some suggestions for a marinade (apparently regular BBQ sauce would work just fine), and reminded us not to overcook it or it would get tough. Just under a pound of kangaroo meat cost us $20. J claimed it looked like liver.

In the end, this is the marinade I came up with. Measurements are approximate, since I really just poured things in randomly and hoped for the best.

1/4 cup red wine
2 sprigs fresh rosemary
2-3 tablespoons soy sauce
3 cloves of garlic, sliced
pepper
(I'd also throw in some crushed red pepper flakes next time)
1 tablespoon olive oil

After thawing the meat, we let it marinate for about 2 hours in the fridge.

Then, we stuck it into a 400 F oven for just over 20 minutes, and the meat came out slightly more rare than medium rare. The entire time we were preparing the meat, J let out some sounds of distress. I guess I sympathize. When I was trying to figure out how to cook the kangaroo, I read somewhere that kangaroos have to be left wild. Apparently they can't be farmed because herding them causes them to keel over and die from fear. That piece of knowledge seemed rather depressing.

In the end the marinade and the cooking method both worked out. We had some braised swiss chard and steamed rice for side dishes; the chard was a particularly good choice since it's earthy flavor really stood up to the taste of the kangaroo. The truth is, both J and I sat looking at our plates in silence for a long time before we worked up the nerve to try it. I was terrified it was actually going to taste like liver.

Kangaroo, it turns out, has a texture similar to most red meats. J's roommate and her boyfriend said it was more tender and juicier than beef (though that might have been more of the cooking method than the truth of kangaroo). Even though it was extremely lean, it wasn't very chewy; I also tried a small piece that had fallen off the main loin and ended up cooking faster, but that wasn't especially chewy either. The taste is definitely gamy, and somewhat musky. Oddly, it did remind me vaguely of liver, although that might have been because J kept insisting it looked like liver earlier. It definitely didn't taste like anything I've ever had before; you'll have to try it for yourself to know for sure.




Overall, it wasn't unpleasant, and I'm glad we ended up trying it. Next time, I'd like to try a marinade that compensated a little more for the gaminess of the meat. I'd eat kangaroo again, but it wouldn't be my first choice on the menu.

The Turkey Misadventure

I don't eat a lot of turkey, except MAYBE at Thanksgiving. At Christmas, my family usually does some kind of roast (roast beef, roasted leg of lamb, etc.). Furthermore, I've never been the kind of person who sees turkey as an exciting substitute for chicken, or likes turkey burgers. I've never even tried turkey bacon (can anyone who has tried both tell me if it tastes remotely similar to the real thing?). Nevertheless, one of my recent goals has been to learn to cook non-holiday turkey. This of course means cooking a turkey part, rather than the whole bird, and my first project was to master the turkey breast.

By the way, I'm sorry for all the random rotation on my images. I can't figure out how to fix it yet.

For the prep
I spent: $10
Ingredients: 2.5/5
Before I moved, I could never find bone-in turkey breast at the store. After I moved, I was able to find it, but the truth is, most supermarkets don't seem to always have it. This is probably because most people like boneless meat these days (it's getting harder to find bone-in chicken breast too). Then I went to the farmer's market on Saturday (one of my favourite places to visit back home AND in Toronto) and l0 and behold: turkey breast! Everywhere! With the bone-in, and of the 5-6 lb variety described in the book! But, I did have to go out of my way to find it in abundance. Furthermore, it was the most expensive item by far: over $7 for a piece that was about 700 g.
Everything else was pretty easy to find except all-spice berries. In the end I gave up and just used ground allspice.

Cooking
I used the recipe from foodie Ted Allen's book, "The Food You Want To Eat". I adore this book, mostly because I adore Ted Allen (B can attest to my squeals of joy anytime he appears on the Food Network). I didn't make the chutney he recommended with the recipe, but I followed the brining procedures. I halved his recipe, because my turkey breast was less than 2 lbs, and the recipe was recommended for up to 6 lbs.

You'll need:
Water
1/4 c. salt
1/4 c. honey
half a head of garlic
3 sprigs fresh thyme (which I didn't have so I used dried rosemary)
2 bay leaves
1 tsp black peppercorns
1 tsp allspice berries (which I substituted with ground allspice)
1/4 c. white wine
1/4 c. celery leaves (I plucked them off the celery I had in the fridge)
1 tbsp margarine/butter
Your turkey breast

The first step is to brine the turkey breast. People have told me about brining and the wonders it's supposed to do for meat texture and flavour, so I've really been wanting to try this out.

Take your salt, thyme, bay leaves, peppercorns, allspice, garlic, and honey and combine them in a small saucepan. I couldn't figure out if I should take the peel off the garlic or not, so I left it on. Add enough water to cover halfway up the garlic. Bring the mixture to a simmer, stirring to dissolve the salt.
This was where I went wrong first. When I made the brine, it was 11 PM, and I was dead tired. Without reading the recipe I added the wine to the mixture at this point. Don't do this, the flavours changes just slightly, and it makes your kitchen (and in my case, the entire apartment) smell like fermenting alcohol. Also, keep an eye on your mixture. Mine didn't slowly start to simmer and then come to a happy roll: I turned around to put away the honey, and when I looked back an unhappy brown froth was threatening the edge of my pot. Bad news. It looked and smelled weird.


Stick the pot into the fridge, let it cool for about 30 minutes. The book recommends using ice cubes to help the process, but I have no ice tray to make ice cubes, so I just left in the fridge for a little longer. Meanwhile, take your turkey breast and fit it snugly into a large pot or bowl. Pour your chilled mixture over it. Add the celery leaves and wine. Add enough cold water so that it covers the meat. Put it into the fridge overnight.

When you're ready to cook the turkey the next day, take it out and dry it a little. Pre-heat your oven to 400 F. Brush or spoon the 1 tbsp of margarine (melted) over the skin and put it in a V-rack in a pan. A V-rack is an adjustable metal rack shaped, surprise surprise, like a V that you can buy at most department stores; it's shape holds up whatever you're cooking and allows the grease and fat to drip off the meat and into the pan below. For this reason, don't forget to line your pan with some foil for easy clean up.

Here's where things got tricky for me. The recipe was for a big piece of meat; mine was almost 3 times smaller than the cited bird, so obviously I would need to make some changes. No one cooked turkey exactly the way Ted Allen does, so the internet was no help. This is actually the second time I've tried this and the first time I overcooked the thing. This time, under my dad's advice, I stuck the bird in for 10 minutes at 400 F to sear the skin. At this point I set off my fire alarm, probably because the grease was smoking in the oven and had filled my apartment. This resulted in frantically opening the window (thankfully it wasn't too cold out) and fanning the alarm.
I reduced the temperature to 350 F and cooked for another 20 minutes. This was not sufficient: the meat near the bone was not cooked. I stuck it in for another 10 minutes, but even so, I ended up eating the meat further from the bone and saving the bone and residual meat for soup and pasta. Also, the skin didn't crisp up the way I hoped.


I also discovered I have NO IDEA how to carve turkey breast. There seems to be no logic in getting nice, even slices, especially with that bone in the way. My efforts are so laughable, I have not even provided you with a picture of my finished result. I also really hope I didn't give myself salmonella.

The Result
Based on what I had been told, I was really expecting more pizazz from the brining. The flavours were nice, but nothing mind blowing. The turkey seemed moist, and is probably protected a little from overcooking due to the brining, but at the same time, if you know what you're doing you should be able to come up with moist meat anyways, right? I'll take my dad's Thanksgiving turkey over my meagre attempts to date. In the future, I might keep the temperature at 400 F for 15 minutes and cook for 25-30 minutes at 350 F after that.

Guilt factor: Low. Turkey is relatively good for you, the breast is white meat. I had it with some garlic dill mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli with Parmesan cheese.
Servings: Close to 2 lbs of meat is A LOT for one person. I'm going to say 3 for the size of breast I used; I did only eat one serving of the breast though and relegated the rest to pasta later on.
Leftover rating: 3.5/5. Unless you're planning to save the rest of your sides to keep along for second meals, it's hard. You could always make turkey sandwiches though!
Taste: 3/5

Overall: 75%

The good: Healthy, easy day-of cooking.

The bad: Requires day-before prepping (although it is easy), flavours aren't super great, turkey breast a little hard to find. Here, at least.

Chocolate Souffle

Welcome to the new decade!
A bone of contention in my family has always been over soufflés and whether or not there's an easier, more foolproof way to do them. Soufflés in general are one of those notorious culinary items that seems to have red warning lights all around it. Popular belief is that so much as looking at the thing the wrong way can result in a deflated dessert. My dad is a staunch believer that soufflés can only be made to order, just before baking and serving them. This seemed to be a popular sentiment I found on the internet while researching this recipe. But that can't be completely true, can it? I mean, some restaurants serve soufflés not only for dessert, but as savoury main courses as well. Making each of them to order just wouldn't be practical. Thus, this Christmas, I set out to see if I could create a soufflé that would rise even if the batter had to sit over the course of Christmas dinner (about 6 hours).

For the prep:

• I spent: less than $5
• Ingredients: 4/5 (because of special equipment deduction)
  

Soufflés, in general, seem to have a pretty simplistic ingredient list. I made enough soufflé for four people for a reasonable price. My recipe didn't call for any unusual ingredient items that you wouldn't be able to find in your pantry or at your local supermarket (for those of you who don't keep chocolate stocked in your kitchen at all times).
One thing you will have to invest in, however, is something to bake your soufflés in. I used the ones I found in my parents' kitchen, which were about 10 oz in size (or even a little larger than that). A good individual serving sized ramekin would be 6-8 oz (or 3/4 to 1 cup). You can find them at supermarkets (the ones I actually own, I bought from Superstore) or department stores, and I found them to be quite inexpensive (a couple dollars each for a 6 oz ramekin). On the bright side, these ramekins can also be used for other desserts (like molten lava cakes!). Or for chip dip, if your soufflé doesn't turn out and you vow never to attempt them again.

Cooking:

• Easiness: 2/5

I used this recipe from Epicurious.com to get me started on my attempt. Here's what I ended up needing:

• 1/3 cup sugar, plus about 2 tbsp extra
• 5 oz bittersweet chocolate (this is the equivalent of 5 Baker's Squares)
  
• 3 large egg yolks
• 6 large egg whites
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• Butter or margarine
• Milk
• Lemon juice

As it turns out, soufflés aren't really as horrible as people make them out to be. This was my second time making soufflés, and I didn't find it to be as touchy as I'd always thought it would be. However, there ARE certain points where it's possible to botch things, and there are a few techniques that are handy to hang onto during the course of the recipe.

First you want to prepare the ramekins you're going to bake the soufflé in. This wasn't recommended by the particular recipe I followed, but several other sites included the following advice: coat the inside of the ramekins with a thin and even layer of butter. Add a spoonful of sugar to each ramekin and shake around to cover the layer of butter with a layer of sugar. Supposedly, this helps give the soufflé a bit of a crust. Put the finished ramekins into the fridge (I don't know if this is necessary or not, but it seems to be a good way to prevent a warm kitchen from ruining your work).

Separate your eggs. Be sure to remember you need SIX whites, but only THREE yolks. Put the three extra yolks away where there won't be confusion later. You can use them in something like scrambled eggs or molten lava cake later.
Separating eggs always makes me nervous, mostly because a bad break can mean spilling a pierced yolk into your already separated whites (especially horrifying when you're only had one egg left to separate). I used to try to separate my yolks out by passing it between the two halves of the egg shell while simultaneously pouring out the white, but my ability to make a clean break in the centre of the egg is questionable. Although it's a lot oogier, it's much easier to break the egg, pour the entire thing into your cupped hand, and gently shake your hand back and forth to coax the egg white off of the yolk. This can sometimes take a bit of time (and pleading), as part of the egg white inevitably clings to the yolk. Be patient and gentle. So far, I've found this to be the best way to separate eggs.

Heat a pot of water on the stove so it's barely simmering. Place a bowl to cover the top of the pot (you're essentially creating a double boiler; the bowl should fit snugly over the pot, so be sure not to use on that's too small). In the bowl, melt the chocolate, stirring occasionally. When I did this, my chocolate mixture seemed to be kind of thick and chunky, and it only got worse the more I tried to heat it. Since I knew that the mixture would thicken even more later, I added about a teaspoon of butter and a splash of milk to smooth the chocolate out. I also added a teaspoon of vanilla to enhance the flavours.

Remove the bowl from the heat (be careful not to burn yourself on the steam from the simmer water below!) and add the three egg yolks. They say to add the yolks at room temperature, but I kind of just added them in while they were still a little cool. Stir to combine. The mixture will stiffen; set it aside.

Now it's time to beat your egg whites. The eggs whites are essentially what will make your soufflé rise in the oven. Beating egg whites causes them to be fluffy, essentially because you're creating a lot of tiny air pockets. Putting those air pockets into the oven (i.e. when baking the soufflé) will cause the trapped air to expand due to the heat, thus causing the soufflé to rise. Thus, it's important to get the right consistency of egg white in order for the physics of the soufflé to work. The issue with doing soufflés in advance is that long periods of waiting time allow the opportunity for all those little air pockets in the batter to deflate, leaving no air to expand and push the soufflé up. (Check out Lex Culinaria as my source for this soufflé science tidbit). Deflation can be avoided by adding a stabilizer (in this case, an acid) to the egg whites. This will encourage the air pockets to keep their shape over time.
Using a large mixing bowl, use an electric mixer to beat the egg whites (I found this site to be really helpful with guides for different consistencies to look out for). You can also do this with a whisk and some elbow grease, but it'll be a lot easier with the joys of modern technology. Before you get started, add a pinch of salt and some lemon juice to the egg whites. The recommended amount of lemon juice is about 1/4 tsp of juice per egg white, or 1.5 tsp total. Start with the mixer on medium speed and beat the whites until they can just hold soft peaks (there will be a peak when you lift the beaters, but, it will flop over limply; I know of no other way to check your egg whites than to stop the beaters and lift them). At this point, start adding the 1/3 cup of sugar slowly. Once you've added all of the sugar, turn up the mixer to high and beat the egg whites until they hold stiff peaks: this is when you can lift the beater and the whites hold a firm point. I've read that you should be careful not to over beat your eggs, since they can get dry and lose their elasticity, which will result in flat soufflés. You'll know you've gone too far if your whites look dull instead of glossy.

Add a big scoop of the whites to your chocolate mixture. The actual amount is not important, you just want to add a little bit of the whites to the chocolate to make it easier to work with. Fold in the whites to chocolate, then transfer the chocolate mixture to the bowl with the rest of the egg whites. Fold in the egg whites so they're thoroughly mixed in, but don't overwork the batter! If you're unsure of how to fold in egg whites this is a pretty good video demo, just remember your egg whites should be a lot stiffer than hers are (I don't fold exactly like this, but whatever). The consistency of your batter should be reminiscent of chocolate mousse.
Once the batter is finished, spoon them evenly into the prepared dishes. The dishes should be at least 3/4 of the way full (this is so when it rises, you'll get enough volume to get that nice cap on top). I wasn't baking my soufflés for about 5 more hours, so I just covered them with saran wrap (with the wrap NOT touching the batter) and popped them into the fridge.

I was a little unsure of the baking time required, since I was using a smaller dish than the posted recipe. I preheated my oven to 400 F. Before I popped them into the oven, I ran my thumb around the edge of the batter; this is to ensure even rising for the soufflé (thanks to Gordon Ramsay for that pro tip :p). I baked them for around 15 minutes; a more appropriate time (especially since my batter had been in the fridge) would have been closer to 20-25 minutes. My soufflés ended up a bit undercooked; hopefully if I had cooked them a little longer I would have gotten a bit more height.

The Result:
Well, as you can see, my soufflés did rise, despite having been in the fridge for several hours, so apparently you can make soufflés ahead of time (MYTH BUSTED!). The flavour was pretty good, and using the bittersweet chocolate ensured that it wasn't too sweet. In the future, I'll be sure to adjust my baking time accordingly. If someone can tell how to tell the soufflé is cooked without opening the oven, I will be eternally grateful :)
In summation, to make a successful soufflé, the key is in the egg whites! The flavour base is really just an incidental. The next challenge: savoury soufflés!!

Guilt factor: Eh, it's dessert, what do you expect? I'd say pretty low, considering everything. Besides, chocolate is supposed to be good for you isn't it? (Yes, yes, I know. That's mostly only true for dark chocolate).
Servings: 4
Leftover rating: n/a. Who eats leftover soufflé??!
Taste: 3.5/5

Overall rating: 60% (for the recipe I used, not the result).

The good: Easy to find ingredients.

The bad: I ended up making quite a few modifications to recipe to suit my purposes. A couple things came up during the baking that made me alter the recipe on the fly, and if I hadn't done research before hand, I would have run into quite a few stumbling blocks using the Epicurious recipe (for example, when the chocolate didn't melt smoothly). It's good if you've had a lot of experience with soufflés before, but it's pretty bare bones so I'd supplement it with other resources.

Stay tuned to Food-to-nom! Coming soon: an exciting and exotic food experience :)