Fresh Cracked Pepper

There’s only one problem with getting into fitness: inevitable weakening in the face of the supplement craze. As I watch my fellow triathlon trainees squeezing gels into their mouths, it’s easy to give in to the notion that I need the stuff. I continually have to remind myself that real food should be enough for any body. Beyond the protein (powder) shakes that help me meet my protein requirements minus much meat, there’s no creatine, glutamine, ecdysterone, 5-HTP, or anything else I can’t pronounce or made up of more numbers than letters in this body.

This is why I have been combing blogs and books, and experimenting with combination after combination of natural ingredients to bring you a collection of only the best homemade energy bars. This is why I will continue to experiment, posting the worthy results under this new series. I hope you appreciate the results: many craisins were harmed in the process.

Most of the popular commercial energy bars are chalk full of weird ingredients, and taste like chalk to boot. Exceptions are Larabars and most Clif Bars, which will cost you a (however chiseled) arm and a leg to consume regularly. Making a whole pan of your own is a matter of less than 5$ and 10 minutes in the kitchen. Stock up on oats, pressed barley, coconut, honey, peanut butter, nuts and dried fruits, and you’ll have everything you need on hand to whip up any number of my bars. Keep them on the counter for a week, or wrap ‘em in foil and freeze them for that 3-week away hike.

I like to alternate recipes to keep me from getting bored. Some bars are baked, which tend to be lighter and crispier, while the unbaked ones resemble the chewy commercial type. The baked ones are more cookie-like, while the pressed ones tend to be sweeter and more intense.

The unbaked ones (like the recipe I am sharing today) need a lot more sticky binder than you’d expect to keep them from falling apart. Please don’t make the mistake I did and try to cut down on the peanut butter! If you’re worried about fat issues involved in 1 whole cup of peanut butter, cut the bars into small cubes…that’s all you need for a quick jolt on the trails anyway!

These bars are dense and satisfying, perfect mid- or post-workouts over an hour long. (Before a workout you’ll want to have some more complex, or slow-burn carbs for sustained energy.) They are sweetened with all-natural ingredients–honey, dried fruit, and natural peanut butter. Honey is made up of fructose and glucose and is a simple, or single-molecule sugar. This means that it enters your bloodstream quickly–translating to more energy bang for your buck.

Athletes take note: carbs (formerly known as sugar) are your friend and fuel. And heck, they’re a lot cheaper than filling up your car. Remember that it is also important to consume simple carbs after a workout, when your muscles are needing to restock their glycogen stores. (See this article for more information than you care to read here.)

All that aside, they’re just plain tasty and convenient. And they fit perfectly in laptop bags, glove compartments, and even dainty purses.

Continue reading ‘Homemade Energy Bars I: Whole Grain Chews’

Why is life always like this? Just when I start getting used to the weekly regularity of Mark’s Monday evening antics in the kitchen, he goes and leaves me.

Don’t panic, dear readers! We’re simply taking the month of June to pursue separate economic endeavors that have dragged us away from our happy existence. <pout> This arrangement will undoubtedly be good for the regularity of posting, for my writing in general, and for my discipline with tri-training. It won’t be so much for meeting my daily goofiness/hugs quota.

And so, a little tribute to Mark’s wonderful Monday concoctions is in order:

If you’re the one who usually take the reigns in food preparation, you’ll know how utterly fantastic it is to have dinner prepared for you. I think just as many women fantasize about Alton Brown and Mark Bittman as men do about Angelina Jolie.

It’s not the labour I most appreciate the break from (see picture on the right) – it’s the mental energy expended in planning and executing a pleasing and nourishing meal (see picture on the left). Don’t get me wrong, at least half of the pleasure I take in food is thinking, reading and talking about it. Maybe it’s that very pleasure that, when suspended for a moment to allow me some non-food-oriented thoughts, charges through to my palate when it beholds a meal made by someone else. Hence my love for everyone else’s salads (which always taste better than mine), for my mother’s cooking, for great restaurants.

Among the many enjoyable things about the past few May Mondays have been two meaty meals, prepared by my sous chef himself. Since we eat an 87% vegetarian diet (yes, that’s an exact percentage), these morsels of protein shone in their bath of tangy marinade. My muscles and my tastebuds cheered for hours afterwards.

The lamb was local, pasture-raised and organic, thanks again to Wendy of Sweet Grass Farms. When you seldom eat meat, you really appreciate the good stuff. Michael Pollan catches the sentiment better than I could, reflecting on his first experience of shooting a wild animal: “Respect for what is points us in the direction from which we came–to that place and time where humans looked at the animals they killed, regarded them with reverence, and never ate them except with gratitude.” Hm.

Continue reading ‘Mark’s Monday Marinades’

While the red cabbage may not get points for being the most superficially alluring vegetable to grace the produce shelves as of late, inside it’s got something else going on. Past the skin of the red (or more accurately, purple) cabbage lies the intricate story of its growth. Past the clean edge of the knife is a cruciferous labyrinth that I wish for a moment I was small enough to walk.

Though usually associated with Eastern European dishes, red cabbage fares well in all sorts of international cuisine. I’ve seen it on Mexican menus, and in Asian concoctions like the Gado-Gado I will share with you today. Gado-Gado is dear to me. It reminds me of a certain roommate who introduced me to it years ago, and also of health. One blustery evening in Winnipeg I returned home from a vigorous workout to find this colorful dish waiting for me by candlelight. It had everything: protein fiber, and too many vitamins and minerals to name. It nourished me fully, in body and spirit. With crunch, nuttiness, saltiness and sweetness shining through purple, orange, green and white, Gado-Gado is a little world on a plate.

According to various sources, gado-gado means either “fight fight,” “hodgepodge,” or “to mix together.” It’s fascinating how words breed meanings often different from the original; to mix, to argue. But let’s not get too wrapped up in specifics — we’ve got some hodgepodging to do. For Gado-Gado, in all its mystery, is really just salad with peanut dressing.

After the preparation, the layers unfold, starting with a base of Wehani rice and the illustrious cabbage:

Continue reading ‘gado-gado’

We all have them, those kitchen dreams and gastronomic aspirations of greatness. Most everyone who’s ever made a meal–and actually enjoyed it–has at least one creation that taunts them: Try me. Perfect me.

The second one is where it starts to hurt.

Don’t label me a perfectionist too quickly though. I love experimenting in the kitchen even when the results are far less than perfect. Chalk it all up to experience, to I’ll never do THAT again. Throwing last night’s leftovers together with some pasta, marrying unlikely combinations up in a whole wheat wrap for a quick lunch, laying the contents of the crisper to rest in an impromptu omelette. But perfection, ah, that is an entirely different story.

It’s probably because of the simple fact that a person’s standards will rise proportionately to their experience. Climb a couple mountains and soon you’ll want Everest (or at least Temple.) Start drinking fresher coffee and soon you’ll want to roast your own. Run a few miles here and there and soon you’ll be signed up for a 10k. It seems this progression is part of human nature. It’s great to be an amateur climber, coffee drinker, runner, cook. In fact the word amateur is from the French for “lover of.” But I also think the desire for excellence lies dormant in all of us.

Bread has become my terminus ad quem, the Mecca to which all my baked things march. Over the last year or so, bread has risen to the top of my list of things I want to be really good at. The more loaves I attempt the better my ideal loaf gets. With mediocre and failed loaves jousting for rule of my counter, this process has paved the road to greatness with frustration. I tried a bread maker and hand-kneading. I tried recipes from Betty Crocker herself. I copied down meticulous steps from internet bread sites and researched yeast brands. My loafs ranged from sticky-gluey to coarse to bland. Maybe they weren’t all that bad, but through it all, something just didn’t seem right.

That was before I discovered Rose Levy Beranbaum, who has since become my personal bread guru. Since picking up her 2003 The Bread Bible at our local library, my bread joy has risen proportionately to the number of her loaves I’ve tried. I’ve never been so at peace with my Kitchen Aid mixer.

My first loaf was her Basic Hearth Bread, a simple, artisan-style loaf which came in rather handy for some impromptu vegan brunch company. The rustic dough was springy and supple and so tasty it disappeared before I could photograph it.

The second was a billowy sandwich bread entitled Cracked Wheat Loaf. With the addition of lecithin, it stayed tender for days. It was great for sandwiches and even better toasted. The only change I would make would be to soak the bulghur in less water next time to yield more crunch.

Because Rose’s recipe style is so well-researched and technical, I chose not to recopy her recipes here. Instead, this series of posts is going to serve more as a journal of my walk through the Bread Bible. It just wouldn’t seem right to try to represent her massive work here: her breadth of scientific and artistic knowledge, evidenced through meticulous instruction on pre-fermenting, mixing, dividing, shaping, slashing, glazing, cooling, slicing and storing, is just better done on the pages of a book.

Opening with the invitation, “this is my bread biography,” Rose chronicles her love of something so simple, something that most of us take for granted, packaged and neatly sliced on the shelves of the superstores. Any cookbook author who writes “Could it be that I’m only completely happy now when a bread is happening somewhere nearby?” deserves my allegiance, if not for her techniques alone, at least for her sense of the life of food. Her invitation to find a favorite recipe, vary it a little, re-type it in your own words, and share with others as your offering– “your bread”–made me feel an instant kinship with her. She notes that bakers say “the sound of the crust crackling as it cools is the bread’s song.” When I heard this sound coming from my first loaf of Basic Hearth Bread like a cozy campfire (see below) I was surprised. I was delighted to find out later that it’s a sign of a job–and a bread–well done.

If you are interested in not just baking but truly understanding bread, I highly recommend her book. Look for it at your local library (a great place to help break a cooking rut without breaking your wallet) or bookstore–you won’t be disappointed.

I’m sure it had already been invented, but my mom and I like to think we coined the special hybrid term pizzadillas – a delightful cross between a pizza and a quesadilla, or simply an open-faced quesadilla. So I figure if we can coin a term like that, I can coin another one: the mango-dilla.

The other night when we became suddenly hungry at 8, we decided to see what we could “throw together” together in the kitchen. The result? What I often call “accidental gourmet,” something you’re really not expecting to taste that great but somehow just does.

It went kinda like this: Hmm, homemade whole wheat tortillas in the freezer. Hmm, leftover tropical fruit salsa. A chunk of blah cheese that just might go the distance. Cilantro, check. Green onion, check. Now for the protein. Cans of tuna? Can we do this? But wasn’t that salsa created to go with tuna (steaks) in the first place? So why not? I dug into the can, keeping the fish in chunks rather than breaking it up like you would for a tuna-salad sandwich.

Thanks to the Mexicans for inventing a cuisine that’s so flexible, colorful, fresh and easy. Barely any chopping, 5 minutes in the toaster oven (for me) and the frying pan (for the hubby) and off we were to Oaxaca. Or even Syracuse, where it’s at least as warm. Ole!

Continue reading ‘mango-dillas’

We have this iconic cookie in our family called the Googly Bun. My late Grandpa Ward coined them so, many years before I begun to appreciate their sweet burst of dates. I know there’s a story behind their name that now eludes me. (Ward family members feel free to comment.)

I grew up with those old-school cookie tins mysteriously appearing on the counter at the Ward family cottage. You know the ones . . . round, with pictures of butter cookies of the decidedly NOT homemade sort clustered on the front. Every time I lifted the lid of one of those tins I feared those hideous cookies staring back at me. But ohhhh I was a lucky child. I’d inevitably find instead any number of home-cooked things. If I was especially lucky, they would be of the Googliest sort.

I confess that I didn’t actually like the date-filled cookies Ahem Googly Buns until around the age of sixteen, when my tastebuds started to pine for things more nuanced than nachoes and alphagetti (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Up until that point they were somewhat grown-up cookies. They were oatmeal, after all. Good grief. For any self-respecting kid it was chocolate chip or peanut-butter, thank you very much.

My first attempt at replicating these was my first big move away from home, to Vancouver. I was gathering with new friends one night for a potluck. But this particular potluck had a theme — intentional consumption. We were instructed to bring something special, something with a story. After I had listened to a woman reminisce about the soup she ate every day in Thailand, and after we had passed around a gourd of Argentinian Yerba Mate, I pulled out the Googlies. They were hard little pucks then, for I was a fledgling baker. But those people I barely knew indulged me, and convinced me that they liked my cookies. I’m sure my Grandpa enjoyed every minute of it.

Because even the best things can always be made better, I set out on a search for a slightly softer, lighter cookie than the one I’d grown up on. Over at Elise’s blog I found what looked like a reasonable candidate. I did a test run of a few plain ones, and I was an immediate convert. If you don’t have the time and energy for the date filling, just make these. They are TO DIE FOR. And that’s coming from someone who, in the great arena of cookie options, still leans heavily towards those of the chocolate chip variety. These cookies, straight from the oven with the perfect hint of whole grain sweetness, might just be good enough to change your mind.

(I apologize for the shameless Will Smith reference in the title. Forgive me, I’m a child of the 90s.)

Continue reading ‘gettin’ googly wit’ it’

Since reading Michael Pollan’s magical chapter on foraging, I’ve been tempted to brave soggy spring forests on the hunt for mushrooms and other edible treasures. So far, this has remained a pipe dream. Good writing can do that to you; when words trump experience, armchair adventure is born.

As good as his prose is I still haven’t got my hands into the dank earth beyond my doorstep. As convincing his argument for the virtue of growing and gathering, I still haven’t turned over a single fallen tree, hoping to catch the flash of creamy mushroom-flesh it might conceal underneath. But on Saturday morning I did vacate the armchair long enough to indulge in some foraging of my own: at the Regional Market.

With bags in hand, my market mate and I set out after so many other Central New Yorkers to see what new bounty Spring had cobbled together. Flowers and herbs spilled out of the covered sheds as sunlight poured into their place. Seedlings boasted bright green sprouts, as if coveting our affection from their plastic beds. All the usual suspects were there, from the bread- to the buffalo-people.

With a pound of PDH Farms ground bison, a dozen of my favourite free-range eggs, and some locally-grown onions jostling for space in my bag, I was ready to be on my merry way.

Until this: “oh look Jen, fiddleheads!”

Adding to its unapologetic whimsy, the word was spoken with such delight and wonder I was drawn immediately to the bag of coiled greens resting at my friend’s fingertips. Though we hadn’t found them growing wildly ourselves, someone had, and we had journeyed past the supermarket to find them. We each procured a meagre ¼ pound for a simple lunch without breaking the bank.

I think I spent more time photographing these alluring young ferns than I did preparing them. It turns out that they flourish in our region, and all the way up to the Canadian Maritimes. The first fruits of the Ostrich Fern, edible fiddleheads turn up only in the Spring – and usually far from grocery store shelves. As I held a tender coil, gently removing the papery brown chaff that still clung to it, I felt as though I was holding a tiny piece of the force of life. Each baby fern breaking through the Spring soil is turned inward on itself to protect it from the still-harsh temperatures. As if accustoming to its new world, they will slowly open, revealing their fluted leaves to the elements in triumph over even the mighty omnivore. But until then, sauteed and sprinkled with some Parmesan Reggiano, they will make for a mighty fine lunch.

*my new dragonfly garden gloves also make an appearance (as background material) in this post

*see Wild Harvest for more information on fiddleheads, as well as cooking and handling tips

Happy 5000 to me, Happy 5000 to me, Happy 5000 to me-eeeeeee, Happy 5000 to me! (for maximum effect, sing to the tune of Happy Birthday).

The rumors are true: freshcrackedpepper has been visited 5000 times in 3 months, not counting our household’s own visits. A HUGE thank you to everyone for supporting this small endeavor to share my kitchen and my life. If it’s any indication, my other blog has been around for 2 and a half years and has just over that many visits. I stand encouraged.

In addition to self-publishing, the Internet has also made it possible to find out how people find you. When a website receives visitors, it is possible to track information about them — not their names but their general location and search terms they used to find the site. And so, in celebration of my big 5000, I wanted to share a David Lettermanesque Top Ten of some of the Google searches that directed visitors here. These have provided great entertainment around our household. I also have a comic to share, the hilarity of which might only be fully appreciated by other bloggers. (One of which who deserves credit for providing it.)

Without further ado, Ladies and Gentlemen,

I present to you the Top Ten (verbatim) Google searches leading people to freshcrackedpepper.com!

10) over mixing problems with quick breads (ok, this one’s legit)

9) sumatra tarbarita peaberry (someone actually searched the specific bean name? must be geeks like us)

8 ) recipes you can make with 3 bananas (gotta hand it to them for the narrow search terms)

7) kombucha earthy smell (not sure if that’s a good thing)

6) rice arborio autobiography (I didn’t know rice had such a story to tell! or could write, for that matter)

5) monarch pass law hot cross buns (huh?)

4) roast chicken vegetarian (someone needs to re-evaluate their vegetarianism)

3) westcott canola spray (our street has it’s own brand of canola oil spray? Now that’s eating local!)

2) cracked pepper gives you gas (my, that’s unfortunate. Beano, anyone?)

and the number 1 Verbatim Google Search leading people to freshcrackedpepper.com:

1) christian couples theme parties (and I thought they were more resourceful than that — what’s wrong with Bible studies and board games?)

And now for the comic . . . hilarious because it’s somehow (and ever so sadly) true.

courtesy of xkcd.com

One year ago today I was in a plane headed across the world for Delhi. I knew little then of the pleasures India had to offer, in spite of frequent visits to buffets on Ellice Avenue. I knew little as I relaxed for 15 hours in the cool aircraft — watching movies, chatting idly, and eating out of tiny geometric platters — of the variety and intensity of experiences awaiting me.

In a tribute to the year anniversary of our honeymoon, I decided to cook up some curry to honor that wild and indelible trip. Though we didn’t visit the south of India, this recipe is inspired by the cuisine of the southern state of Goa (go-ah), known for its seafood. (The regions we visited boast plates of either Mughal-inspired lamb and chicken or the vegetarian dishes reflecting the Hindu reverance for all life.) Goan food is characterized by the addition of creamy coconut milk and fish to traditional curries.

I found the recipe over at Eat Like a Girl — a pretty blog with a wonderfully cheeky name — which I’ve included for fun. Since today was a double-whammy training day however, I used this recipe merely as inspiration, making it even easier than it already was. We had purchased some pre-cooked frozen shrimp (oh the lows I stoop to in the name of a sale!), and so integrating it into this dish was a no-brainer. I must say though, next time I would spend the extra 3 minutes and cook raw shrimp; our little guys tasted a bit like a long-forgotten cocktail ring rescued from the bottom of a freezer. Oh well, chalk it up to a cheap protein source.

And thanks to the genius boxes of spice mixtures we found recently at our local Indian grocery store, this little cyclist had no spices to measure or grind when she arrived home starving. Having adapted this recipe to the slow-cooker earlier in the day (not to cook the sauce but simply to keep it warm), all it took to deliver the aromas of India to our palates was tossing the shrimp into the simmering sauce, a pot of my hubby’s perfect every time basmati rice, some fresh cilantro, and a table set with cooling yogurt and sweet chutney.

I was unfortunately too hungry to reflect on it properly then, but thinking about it now, the happy dance of chili, cumin, turmeric, fenugreek, cardamom, caraway and cloves on my tongue will always take me back to that radiant land. A land of scents and tastes and heat unimaginable, a place of passion and devotion, a destination where two young lovers set out on the journey to eat and love (and survive!) in the most important of ways — together.

good thing I didn’t sacrifice him to the Ganges, otherwise who would’ve made me rice?

Continue reading ‘Goan nostalgic for shrimp curry’

Sometimes you just don’t have time for a sushi party. Sometimes, when you’re surprised with July in the guise of April cool food is what you crave. Add to the mix an apartment that manages to keep itself 8 degrees hotter than the day’s high, and no one’s getting this good looker anywhere near her cooker. (All this was reported before Darling Husband brought home a portable air conditioner. No more boiled Jenny for dinner! And forgive me for calling myself good looking; I just couldn’t resist the saying.)

When the conditions are so, it is time for scattered sushi:

The other day a brief but precious rainfall interrupted some steady summer temperatures with a (I didn’t actually say this in April, did I?!?) refreshing cool. I seized the opportunity to turn on my stove – something I don’t dare when it’s over 25 (77 for the Yanks) – to make some sushi rice. I have a foolproof recipe that I swear takes half the time it does in any fancy-pants rice cooker.

At dinner time all we had to do was slice up a third of a pound of fresh salmon Mark darted out to grab, a half avocado, some scallions, a red pepper, and a bit of cucumber and our dining room morphed into our very own sushi bar. A funky paper lantern recently purchased from the Ottawa IKEA, and a bottle of French Chenin Blanc from an empyreal friend rounded out the meal nicely.

You don’t have to know how to make sushi for this meal. All you need are the ingredients for sushi, and you’re set. However, once mastering this meal, it’s just baby steps to the real thing. But when you MUST HAVE SUSHI NOW and aren’t feeling picky about appearances, this is a noble substitution — not to mention aesthetically pleasing in its own right, the ingredients in your bowl distinct in their raw purity.

Instructions follow, but for those of you interested in making the rolls and all, check out my collection of how-to videos:

• over the pond these women win for the best accents, best rice making info, and great rolling advice.
• In this one the chef does it a little differently than we do, using a half sheet of nori instead of a full. But he has some great tips I can’t wait to apply, like spreading the rice and cutting techniques.
• this one is haphazard but cute, reflecting how I usually roll it.
• this one provides incredibly thorough steps on how to make nigiri.
• You want to learn fast? this one will teach you, in true Japanese rapid-fire form!

Continue reading ’sushi for the scattered’