Author: wellfedemily

Meatball soup with kale and chickpeas.

~ wellfedemily ~ 4 Comments

Our apartment faces north, and when there aren’t clouds over the North Shore you can see the mountains over the rooftops of the buildings across the way, and it’s very nice except when you look down and then it’s mostly just alley. A tree blocks the light from the living room window, which faces east, and the only two other windows on that side are in the bathroom and the bedroom, and there the blinds are always drawn because it’s possible to see into at least ten other apartment bedrooms from there. Lately, there hasn’t been much light, and this place feels dark. At night it’s nice, because our rooms are not very well lit, so the yellow light of a few table lamps creates warmth, and the glow of a few candles makes us seem more attractive. But during the day, lately it’s just been grey.

November is an ugly month. It’s the warm-up to the holiday season but the sparkle isn’t here yet, and I’m impatient. I want glitter, not rotting leaves, and Christmas songs and puddle-free sidewalks that shimmer with fresh frost, and to be able to wear my sweater with the reindeer on it already. I don’t like dark hallways or radiators that tick like bombs. There is a chill, for sure, and the smell of snow in the air, though none has fallen yet. I don’t want to do anything but sit around in my flannel pajamas and eat soup.

Fortunately, this is an easy, hearty soup recipe, with meatballs for comfort, kale for health, and chickpeas because I love them. It’s best if you make your own stock; it’s not mandatory, but the smell of bones and veggies and herbs simmering in your kitchen for an hour or two is comforting, and will do magnificent things for your mood some drab November evening. This will come together pretty quickly; if you make the meatballs ahead of time you can have this steaming in bowls on your table in under fifteen minutes.

Kale and meatball soup

(Serves six to eight)

Meatballs

(Makes about 30)

  • 1 lb. lean ground beef
  • 1/2 cup dry bread crumbs
  • 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
  • 2 cloves minced garlic
  • 1 tbsp. good olive oil
  • 1 egg
  • 1 tbsp. chopped fresh parsley
  • 1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
  • 1/2 tsp. dried chili flakes
  • 1/2 tsp. ground black pepper
  • 1/2 tsp. salt

Soup

  • 1 tbsp. good olive oil
  • 1 onion, diced
  • 2 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 cup dry white wine
  • 8 cups beef stock
  • 4 cups (packed) chopped fresh kale (about one bunch)
  • 1 19 oz. can chickpeas
  • 1/2 cup Parmesan cheese
  • 1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley
  • Salt and pepper, to taste

In a large bowl, combine beef, bread crumbs, cheese, garlic, oil, egg, parsley, Worcestershire sauce, pepper, chili flakes, and salt, and squish the whole thing around with your hands, just enough to mix the ingredients and no more. Roll this into balls about one-inch in diameter – you should end up with 28 to 30 balls.

Meanwhile, sauté onion and garlic in olive oil until translucent. Add wine and stock, and bring to a boil over medium high heat.

When stock begins to boil, reduce heat to medium, and add meatballs. Simmer for five minutes, then add the kale and chickpeas, and simmer for another five minutes. Just before removing from heat to serve, stir in cheese and parsley. Taste, adjust seasonings as needed, and serve with additional grated Parmesan and a few drops of good olive oil.

This is best with crusty bread. Almost all things are.

Potato and kale “Dutch” quesadillas.

~ wellfedemily ~ 1 Comment

At work, stress is a good thing and I do well (I hope) because there are deadlines and because they’re paying me to do stuff and I genuinely feel pleased with myself when I do a good job. It is the exact same feeling I had in the third grade when I aced a spelling test, even though no one ever gives me stickers now and when I am bad I don’t get sent out to the hall to read and think about how I could be nicer to the kids who didn’t get all their words right. Actually, when I am bad now I don’t get any attention at all, which might be the worst punishment there is.

I know I am supposed to do whatever it is I do all day, and sometimes there’s pressure, but on the whole I feel competent and satisfied for completing tasks successfully. Unfortunately, these warm fuzzy feelings do not translate to the rest of my life, and when faced with optional deadlines, things I impose on myself, like an application to grad school, I am a tornado of self-doubt and despair. All of a sudden those short stories and articles and chunks of longer prose that I’ve convinced myself could be a real novel someday are worthless. They are well-edited, but they are crap, I’m sure of it.

These thoughts are short-lived and easily suppressed by food and wine, but being in the middle of them is awful, and after meeting Friday’s deadline, I spent the weekend in recovery, eating and napping and drinking bourbon and wearing stretch fabrics and not doing the dishes.

But we got an extra hour of sleep this weekend, and I’m feeling like a lot like myself again. And it was Meatless Monday, which has become a routine now, so we ate an easy meal and watched three episodes of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” and now I’m listening to The Beatles and Lil Wayne, and in just a little while I’ll be in the tub with AJ Liebling and Between Meals: An Appetite for Paris.

I call the meal Dutch Quesadillas, because it’s a weird combination of boerenkool (mashed potatoes and kale) and Gouda and tortillas, all things Nick loves. It’s easy and comes together in about 40 minutes. Great for lunch – you can make them ahead and heat them anytime – or for dinner when you’re a frantic shell of your former self and need an evening of potatoes and cheese to get back on track.

Potato-kale quesadillas

(Serves six.)

  • 3 tbsp. olive oil, divided
  • 1 large onion, diced
  • 2 large or 4 medium Russet potatoes, diced
  • 4 cups kale, packed, chopped finely
  • 2 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1/2 cup plain yogurt
  • 1/4 tsp. nutmeg
  • 1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper
  • Salt, to taste
  • 2 cups grated Gouda (smoked if possible, or cheddar)
  • 6 large flour tortillas

Over medium-high heat, sauté onion in two tablespoons of olive oil until shimmering. Reduce heat to medium-low, and cook until deeply browned, 25 to 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, boil potatoes until fork tender. Stir in chopped kale (I cheated and whizzed mine in the food processor for about 20 seconds) and let cook in the boiling potato water for about three minutes, and drain the whole thing. Mash potatoes with remaining olive oil, garlic, yogurt, nutmeg, cayenne, and salt.

Spread the six tortillas out and divide potatoes evenly. Sprinkle with the cheese, then with the onion, and then fry over medium heat until each side is golden and cheese has melted. Serve with sour cream or yogurt and avocado.

Guest post: On being raised by hippies

~ wellfedemily ~ Leave a comment

I invited Lara from Food. Soil. Thread. to do a guest post here while I’m supposed to be frantically assembling the last of my MFA application (not taking Facebook quizzes about which “drunk writer” I’m most like … Ernest Hemingway, FYI, which I think means I deserve an MFA and that I should never own guns).

I read Lara’s blog regularly, where she posts recipes for delicious, different things like West African Chicken Stew and squash with peanuts and tofu. We have a lot in common, I think, except that I am maniacal and probably a degenerate, and she is calm and quilts and seems reasonably responsible. We might both be Pacific Northwesterly hippies, or yuppies, but you can definitely find us both at or near farms. Go visit Lara, and be sure to say hello!

***

Hippie credentials

By Lara of Food. Soil. Thread.

My husband and I have been arguing for years about whether or not he is married to a hippie. He insists, rather urgently, that he is most definitely not married to a hippie despite such evidence as my frequent trips to hot springs, the eating of tofu and hummus, an aversion to chemical cleaning products (“What’s that smell? Is that air freshener? Are you trying to kill me?!“), and an intense dislike of Hummers and all that they represent. I continue to insist that I am a hippie, mostly because I like any attention from him even if it is negative.

But now I am starting to wonder … what is a hippie nowadays? Does being a hippie in the 21st century require that you wear patchouli and not shave your armpits even when you have access to a razor? Do non-hippies dress their babies in tie-dyed onesies and shirts that say “locally produced” too?

The indoctrination begins early: vaguely political onesies.

Maybe the modern hippie is just a yuppie-hipster. Some of the things hippies and yuppie-hipsters have in common include recycling, organic food, and shopping at farmers markets. They think the Prius is cool, and the yuppie can afford one.

Being a modern hippie is of course all my mother’s fault. To read about my hippie origins, hop on over to my blog where I have provided my evidence, along with a recipe for granola.

Too many things!

~ wellfedemily ~ 2 Comments

Here I am! In case you were wondering, that is. I’ve been busybusy lately, without even enough time for laundry or scrubbing the bathtub, and doing both is becoming necessary and uncomfortable but will simply have to wait unless Nick will do them, but he’s got dishes to do and the kitchen floor to wash and I hope he’ll just do it all without complaining or mentioning that I made all the mess, but I’ve come to understand that’s not really how marriage works.

And I wanted to come up with something original for you for Meatless Monday, but to be honest? It’s a mushrooms on toast kind of day, and this is a recipe I don’t mind recycling. I cut out the bacon for in honour of Meatless Monday, but if you use smoked cheese you won’t even miss the meat. It’s delicious, but more importantly, it’s easy. I think it bears repeating.

We’ll be eating a lot of these sorts of meals this week – quick things with stuff we have on hand. Not that that’s any different from how things usually are around here, but it could get pretty sad toward the end of the next two weeks. The deadline to apply for my MFA program of choice is this Friday and I need to get my life in order if I’m going to make that date. Also I am supposed to write something for an exciting new site that was just launched today – visit foodie.ca for food writing from bloggers across Canada. I’ll be contributing twice each month, and any day now.

There are other things, but I’d planned for this to be a short post. I’ll check in real soon. How are you?

On choosing a pumpkin if you are six.

~ wellfedemily ~ 6 Comments

If you are six, the pumpkin you choose for your jack-o-lantern is extremely important. You must not choose the wrong pumpkin, but you are lucky, because there is a perfect pumpkin out there for you, and if you are patient you will find it.

You are not of the unfortunate age yet where you have to buy your own pumpkin, so rest assured that when you find your perfect pumpkin, it will be yours. Also, at six you may depend on your charm if your arms are too small to carry your perfect pumpkin and you need help. At 26, your toothless grin will be significantly less adorable. This is perhaps the only wisdom I can offer confidently to anyone.

There will be some very good pumpkins. There will be more bad ones, and some that look good from far away on one side but when you get close they will turn out to be rotten and squished. You will think a particular pumpkin is perfect, but it won’t be quite right when you think about it, once you start imagining the face you’ll carve into its flatter side.

Someone might suggest something boring and practical to you, like picking a pumpkin you can carry yourself. She might even suggest that a green pumpkin is good enough, and maybe even sort of nice if you think about it. But you know better. That green pumpkin isn’t nice. It’s green. And who wants to settle for the convenient pumpkin, if you could even call it that, because is there anything convenient about an unsuitable pumpkin? That is not what jack-o-lanterns are about.

So you will wander off, on your own, with the hope that your perfect pumpkin is in another place.

And then you’ll think that you’ve found it.

You will be surprised to discover that pumpkin rolling isn’t as easy as you thought it would be, and that just out of your line of sight there is a ditch and once you get there, you will be dismayed to discover that you cannot cross with your pumpkin. It wasn’t the right pumpkin, though. You just thought it was, but don’t worry.

There are a lot of other pumpkins. Better pumpkins, even.

The most important thing, though, is that you are six.

When you are six, someone will look after you, and when you find your perfect pumpkin, your enthusiasm will be infectious. You will talk about the jack-o-lantern you will carve, and you and everyone else will know that you made the exact right decision. Because ultimately, you did. That is the thing about six-year-olds and pumpkins.

There are some things they just know.

Pumpkin and red lentil dahl.

~ wellfedemily ~ 12 Comments

This morning blew in with ferocity, and I discovered too late that today was not a day for stockings.

And as I walked to the bus, everything from the knees down caught the spray on the wind and was freezing. But I was smug, because I knew this was coming and planned accordingly. Maybe not my outfits, but I planned our meal and it was perfect. Take that, nature – I had plans to warm my bones before you even thought to try and chill them.

So, here we are again! Another Meatless Monday, another blog carnival, and another delicious meat-free dish. For bonus points, it’s also vegan!

Pumpkin and red lentil dahl

(Serves four to six, generously)

  • 1/4 cup vegetable oil
  • 1 medium onion, chopped
  • 5 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 tbsp. (heaping) minced fresh ginger
  • 2 jalapeño or other hot peppers, minced
  • 1 tbsp. ground cumin
  • 2 tsp. chili powder
  • 1 tsp. mustard powder
  • 1 tsp. ground turmeric
  • 1 tsp. ground coriander
  • 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
  • 2 lbs. pumpkin (or other winter squash), peeled and cubed
  • 2 cups red lentils, rinsed
  • 1 14 oz. can coconut milk
  • Water
  • 2 tsp. salt, or to taste
  • Cilantro for garnish

In a large, heavy-bottomed pot, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add onions, garlic, ginger, and peppers, and sauté until onions are translucent. Stir in cumin, chili powder, mustard powder, turmeric, coriander, and cinnamon.

Add pumpkin and lentils, and stir to coat in spices. Pour in coconut milk, then enough water to just cover pumpkin and lentils (three to four cups). Add salt. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally, then reduce heat to medium-low and cover. Cook for 25 to 30 minutes, until lentils have swelled and broken, and most of the liquid has been absorbed. Taste, adjust seasonings as needed.

Let rest, uncovered, five minutes before serving.

Serve with rice, garnished with sliced lime, cilantro, dried chilies, and yogurt. Sop up the warm, slightly sweet and spicy stew with warm, naan bread, either store-bought or homemade, and if you’re going to make homemade, this recipe is pretty excellent.

Feel smug. And enjoy, preferably with a cup of tea or a glass of chilled off-dry white wine. Fail to miss summer, perhaps for the first time this season.

Broccoli with tofu and peanuts.

~ wellfedemily ~ 5 Comments

To be honest, I only started eating broccoli recently. There are only a few things I have decided there’s no getting over, and I really thought broccoli would be one of them. But when you compare it to actually gross things like green peppers (why not just choose red?), raw bananas (potassium mush phallus), or even – ick! – raisins (most of which are probably dead flies, and there’s no arguing with me on this one), it’s not so bad. It’s actually kind of okay. And you don’t even have to drown it in cheese sauce, though if you did it certainly wouldn’t ruin anything.

So how did broccoli, with its tendency to taste like damp socks that’ve been festering inside rubber boots all day, manage to make the cut?

Well. Let me tell you: It doesn’t have to taste like damp socks festering in rubber galoshes. The secret is to not cook it to death. It must not lose its texture or brilliant green colour; it must not turn to putrid swamp mush. Kept tender-crisp and bright, it’s actually (and I never thought I’d say this) DELICIOUS. And with peanuts? Well, well. It’s (and I never thought I’d say this) DINNER.

And so we have another Meatless Monday recipe. Check out the blog carnival over at Midnight Maniac for other meatless recipes!

Broccoli with tofu and peanuts

(Serves four.)

  • 1 cup unsalted peanuts
  • 1 1/2 lbs. broccoli
  • 2 tbsp. peanut or vegetable oil
  • 1 shallot, minced
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 tbsp. minced fresh ginger
  • 1 cup diced red bell pepper
  • 1 350 g/12 oz. package firm tofu, cubed
  • 1/2 cup natural peanut butter
  • 1/2 cup soy sauce
  • 1 tbsp. sesame oil
  • 1 tbsp. sriracha (or your favourite hot sauce, to taste)
  • 1 to 2 tbsp. dark brown sugar (if you’re using conventional peanut butter, you may not need this; taste before adding the second tablespoon)
  • 1 tbsp. fresh lime juice
  • Fresh ground pepper

First, toast your peanuts in a pan over medium heat. Watch them. Diligently. When they start to smell like roasted peanuts, turn golden, and sweat, remove them from heat and set them aside. Divide into two piles, and chop one pile.

Blanch chopped broccoli by plunging it into boiling water, boiling for two minutes, and removing immediately to ice water, where it should sit for a minute. Save 1/2 cup of the blanching water. Set aside.

In a large pan, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add shallot, garlic, and ginger, and sauté until just golden.

Meanwhile, mix peanut butter, soy sauce, sesame oil, sriracha, one tablespoon of sugar, and lime juice. Taste. If it needs more sugar, add more. Add pepper. Taste again. If it needs to be spicier, add more sriracha.

Add red peppers to the pan, and tofu. Stir one third of the peanut sauce into the pan, and add a quarter cup of the blanching water to thin. Cook until peppers have softened, about two minutes. Add broccoli, and then remaining peanut sauce. Stir to coat, then toss in whole peanuts.

Serve over rice, sprinkled with remaining peanuts. Taste. See? It’s good. Broccoli is good. Amazing.

 

Persimmon oatmeal cookies.

~ wellfedemily ~ 3 Comments

I have had a headache for three days. THREE DAYS. I think it’s the combination of too much to eat this past weekend and too little sleep, and whenever I can’t sleep my arthritis gets uppity and my mind races and all of a sudden I’m imagining worst-case scenarios like the student loan people beating down the door and shooting my cat because they want Nick and I to pay a combined total of $998 per month in loan payments so we’re always coming up short because that is too many dollars and they would shoot the cat, I just know. So, to counter that, I have been taking melatonin by the handful to get sleep, and Nick says that you really can take too much of that.

So, sleeplessness, oversleep, chemicals, joint pain, and never enough caffeine, and my head hurts. Also, logic has gone right out the window. With it, focus and discipline. Also, I’m a complainosaurus.

But because of all this, and because I had nothing to do tonight, I made cookies, and now I am happy and the universe promises to right itself. Tonight I will get a good sleep. Or I will smother the cat in a valiant attempt at saving her from my bad dreams. Either way, the apartment will smell like cookies!
These are made with persimmons, because we get a lot of those around here when they’re in season. Peel them first with a paring knife, and mince them fine. Their mindblowing sweetness is tempered here, balanced with salt and spice, and they make the cookies chewy and delicious. They’re crisp outside, and soft in the centre – all good stuff here.

Persimmon oatmeal cookies

(Adapted from Fannie Farmer. Makes about three dozen.)

  • 1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
  • 1 1/2 cups brown sugar
  • 1 tbsp. fancy molasses
  • 1 egg
  • 1 cup finely chopped persimmon
  • 2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1 tsp. salt
  • 1 tsp. baking soda
  • 1 tsp. cinnamon
  • 1/2 tsp. powdered ginger
  • 1/2 tsp. ground cloves
  • 1/2 tsp. nutmeg
  • 2 cups uncooked oatmeal (not the instant kind)

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Cream together butter, sugar, and molasses. Add egg, and beat until thoroughly combined. Add persimmon.

In a separate bowl, combine flour, salt, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg. Pour gradually into wet ingredients, beating all the while. Add oatmeal slowly, and beat until well mixed.

Drop by tablespoons onto greased cookie sheets.

Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, until slightly puffed and golden. Cool on racks. Eat almost immediately.

The autumnal spiciness of these will make any kitchen smell just wonderful, curing headaches and cookie cravings. I’m taking a plate of these to bed, where I’ve got a cold glass of milk waiting with a book by MFK Fisher, and by tomorrow I expect I’ll be a superhero. You too?

Happy Thanksgiving!

~ wellfedemily ~ 4 Comments

It’s Thanksgiving here in Canada, and we’re all over the place, feasting as if we’ve never feasted before, and wearing pants with elastic waistbands.

I met friends for dim sum in the morning, and then headed home to goad Nick into getting up and dressed and signing a card.

For some reason, the cat bathes Nick rather frequently. She either thinks he’s her kitten, or is absolutely disgusted by him and feels compelled to clean him every chance she gets.

At my parents’, we were greeted with the smell of turkey and a table full of Lego, which would ultimately become somethingorother with Darth Vader or something. Apparently it’s a boy thing.

Dad’s getting pretty good about not stabbing me when I reach in to tear pieces of meat while he’s carving the thing. He sets the crackly skin at the edge so I can reach it without putting my hand at the pointy end of the knife.

I think he’s mimicking behaviour he sees from his aunt and uncle. That’s a soft cider, by the way.

Happy Thanksgiving! I hope yours is full of cats and turkeys and Lego, and that you get to bed at a reasonable hour, before indigestion sets in. If you’re in America and aren’t going to be having one of these for another six weeks, then Happy Thanksgiving in advance!