Author: Hilary

Cinco de Mayo 2012: Pico de gallo guacamole and beef and black bean enchilada bake

~ Hilary ~ Leave a comment

Hello everyone.

It has been quite the two weeks since we last spoke. Since my April 27 post (womp womp), I’ve moved 489 kilometres north, transferred four years worth of personal pack-rat belongings into my high school bedroom (which I promptly redecorated and rearranged as to not seem like I was back in grade 12. More on that later), and finished the first two weeks of my post-graduation “adult” job with CBC here in town.

Whew. Now that I’ve at least partially settled in, I hope to cook more for myself and family, and blog more as a result. I’ll be the first to admit that the past two weeks have come as a bit of a life shock. One Monday I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom in my pajamas laughing at The Devil Wears Prada and the next I was waking up early and donning my three-quarter-length “adult” GAP pants. Yes, that’s how I define adulthood. By the length of my pants. Clearly I have a lot to learn.

Anyways.

Yes, as this post suggests, this meal was indeed made last Saturday, a full week from today. I am hanging my head in shame, (and simultaneously lapping up a mug of coffee, a liquid which BAM, I have become addicted to. I’m a real journalist now. FYI I also measure adulthood by the amount of coffee one must consume).

This is the first meal I made upon my glorious return, and it happened to correspond with two events: Cinco de Mayo and my dad’s birthday. I’ve informally celebrated the former ever since taking spanish in grade nine, and love the day because it gives me an excuse to sing and dance to this song while cooking (I think I link to this tune in every Mexican-style meal I make…). As for my dad’s birthday…well Tex-Mex style food is one thing my entire family can agree on. So here we are.

When scribbling out my grocery list for dinner, I was terribly worried. In Ottawa, it’s likely that all things Mexican would have been sold out/in low demand at the grocery store because all the yuppies in my neighbourhood would be having themed taco nights. Then I remembered: I live in Sudbury now. People do not care about themed holiday meals. More tortillas, jalapenos, and avocados for me!

The first two courses of the Cinco de Mayo/dad’s birthday fiesta turned out perfectly. My dad kindly volunteered to be the hand model for these photos, so long as he got to eat each styled, guacamole-filled chip. Every ounce of credit for the dip’s success goes to this brilliant Pioneer Woman Cooks recipe. She is a goddess.

Dad hand. I am of the impression that he deliberately created several blurry photos, just so I would have to re-shoot them with different chips.

Oh boy, the enchilada bake was awesome too. It didn’t collapse and sink in upon cutting, nor did my plate fall off the deck when I took the picture you see at the bottom of this post (this is actually a serious risk!!!). Tiny celebrations.

Enchilada layers, illustrated. A four-storey Tex-Mex tower

Oh right, also regarding the enchilada bake: I used a February 2012 Canadian Living recipe, but my kitchen obedience pretty much stopped there. I was worried the original ingredient amounts wouldn’t make enough, so ended up tossing in some quinoa, extra black beans and corn. All resulted in me stuffing my 8-inch casserole dish to the maximum capacity, and pressing down on the tortilla layers as saucy bits came bubbling up. BUT IT WORKED.

My dad said it was exquisite. I don’t think a knock-off Tex-Mex dinner has ever been described in such a way, but hey, I’ll take it.

Next up: A whole pile of carrot cake. And then a post about how I’ve decorated my bedroom, because, you know, I have nothing better to do except take pictures of my ceramic elephants and marble collection.

After that: Mother’s day. May is fun.

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Creative cookie gifting (and the end of my undergrad degree)

~ Hilary ~ 3 Comments

Yeah, this happened. Because I am a domestically-inclined five-year-old in disguise. Last week I finished my undergraduate degree in journalism at Carleton University. Yikes, I know. The combination of me hitting 22 and graduating all within the same two-month span has been enough to send me spiralling into a tiny quarter life crisis, filled with existential self-reflection moments that normally involve me lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Ee. But away from all, I have many people to thank for my undergrad success, and these cookies pay tribute to just a few of them: my professors and one former boss. Before you start rolling your eyes (too late?) and calling me an apple polisher, though, please know that I think nice, helpful people deserve to be appreciated. These cards and cookies are my thanks, and nothing more. Journalism is a great little department, and these cookie receivers have always had their doors open to my questions, concerns, and rants. So to those professors, thank you – the passive voice is still something I’d be writing in (hah, get it?) if it wasn’t for them. Oh yeah, this was also an excuse to use up some baking supplies before I left, score! PS: buying a set of half-a-dozen brown paper bags from your friendly corner convenience store is a great way to package all baked goods. These ones were inspired by my friend Martha.

Futon = cookie organization tool

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Red lentil burgers with aioli

~ Hilary ~ 1 Comment

At this very moment (Sunday afternoon, 3:08 p.m.), my kitchen is a cacophony of smells. I’m studying for the final exam (Natural History of Ontario, literally a bird course (you wanna know anything about sandpipers or warblers? Come at me.) of my undergraduate degree and taking a break in between every lecture to bake/cook something. This, dear friends, is why I should not be allowed to study at home. As a result of my “study breaks” the smell of these burgers, pumpkin cupcakes, and fancy chocolate chip cookies is now wafting up my nose and into the parts of my brain that are trying to focus. Focus failure. Blog instead.

It turns out that cleaning out your cupboard provides plentiful opportunities to get creative with vegetarian burgers.

Out of all that’s left in my pantry, a huge bag of red lentils has been the most difficult to use up. I only ever put them in one thing, and that’s this spicy sweet potato peanut soup (more delicious than it sounds) that for whatever reason I’ve never blogged about. Since I went peanut soup crazy this past winter, I bought loads of red lentils to stock up. TOO MANY.

Another thing: A very upsetting thing has happened. My beautiful non-stick pan (the love of my life, second only to my bicycle) is no longer completely non-stick. I’m not sure when it happened, though it was likely sometime in between the accidental use of metallic objects on the surface and the multiple times when it has rested unclean on our stovetop, adorned with little bits of fried egg. Whatever combination of things caused it, the pan has now managed to nearly destroy quite a few things, including my should-be-flawless black bean burgers.

So I was cautious when I made these. I brushed the pan ever so lightly with a silicon brush dipped in oil. I was patient. And even after one of my burgers crumbled into two (part my fault, part the pan’s), I fixed it up gently.

When life gives you sad, broken burgers, make pictures that show-off said burger's innards

Sometimes when things fall apart, you just need to take a deep breath and put them back together again.

Making vegetarian burgers: synonymous with the lessons of life.

These were very, very good.

PS: these photos were taken in great haste. My camera battery was bleeping a threatening red and my stomach was grumbling. Sorry!

Operation Clear Cupboard: 3/4 cup red lentils, bread crumbs

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Taking time to get lost

~ Hilary ~ 3 Comments

Sometimes I do things other than eating.

—

It makes me happy to know that after four years in a city I can still discover places I know nothing about.

This is my Sunday afternoon.

Mild temperatures and moody skies entice me into an afternoon of bicycle exploration. To be fair, it doesn’t take much convincing. Adventures on my two-wheeled steed are one of my favourite ways to spend my day.

What starts off as a short loop around Sussex turns into four hours of solo, cycling serenity. An afternoon of discovering all things old and older in Rockcliffe Park.

I first fell in love with this heritage neighbourhood when I was assigned to cover the area for my third-year multimedia journalism class at Carleton. The beautiful brick houses and sprawling lawns drew in my eyes and imagination, and I loved the twists of the parkway balanced just so on the side of the Ottawa River escarpment. Away from the history and homes, the area is breathtaking and raw.

I start in the actual Rockcliffe Park, wedged between ambassadorial residences and the river. It’s the park with the Rockcliffe Pavilion, where I picture endless nights of midnight picnics.

I’m about to head on my way when I see a faint trail through the trees and shrubs. It leads off the road and into some pretty looking forest area. Obviously I investigate.

I drag my bike over the oak leaves and mossy stones. I wonder if this mesh of decomposing vegetation and fresh new life beneath my feet has been seen this season. My head darts around with every clumsy branch snap, my imagination too active from nights of reading and watching The Hunger Games and Game of Thrones. I make a promise that I will return to this place next with friends. (editor’s note: the picture below is from my Wednesday afternoon spent in such place).

Returning to my bike, I weave my way through the backstreets of Rockcliffe and end up in another park area where tiny flowers have sprouted out of the grass. Post-adventure research tells me that I was in the Rockeries. A group of children run around a strange set of ruins – a pair of columns that have begun to crumble to the ground. They’re all that remains of Ottawa’s former Carnegie Library.

The path I take next is one I stumble on accidentally – a steep decline off the left of the paved NCC bike path. The gravel path is clearly well loved by families, joggers and handholding couples. I ding my bell at all three as I cruise by.

I eventually get to an old brown cottage emblazoned with the Rockcliffe Yacht Club logo. On this day when rain sits heavy in the skies, the boating launch pad is almost completely abandoned. Here, I’m living a writer’s cliché, camped out on the yellow grass with my Moleskine, listening to the river lap against the ragged rocks and broken branches. I don’t care. The only thing that reminds me I’m still in Ottawa is the occasional jet ski whizzing by or the whir of traffic on the parkway a few hundred metres away.

It is the discovery of these almost-secret, new-to-me places that make me want to seek out others. Not just in this city, but beyond. I think that’s the best part about getting lost – it’s wonderfully satisfying no matter where you are.

So please, explore.

Birthday cake-in-a-jar

~ Hilary ~ Leave a comment

On a scale of one to ten, one being foods like cauliflower and lamb (sometimes I feel as though I’m the only meat-eater on the plant who doesn’t like the latter) and ten being arugula, mushrooms and cookies with a dash of lemon, cakes in jars rank in at a 12.

I hope that sentence made sense. I’m worried that it did not, so let me summarize.

Cakes baked in cute little jars are wonderful.

I was in a baking mood this past Saturday. Having made another batch of cookies for my special cookie gift bags (that post is coming up), I decided I didn’t want to leave the kitchen. The stove was making my legs feel fuzzy and warm. So, I did what any reasonable person would do, I decided to bake a cake. Luckily my baking buzz lined up perfectly with my friend Emily’s birthday.

I’m not sure what was once in this jar. I suspect it was marmalade, however, all reminders of its former life were erased when I used it to carry hummus to school when we ran out of Tupperware containers. What a multi-functional little jar.

I’m mildly concerned that the end product was too much cake and not enough icing, so I’ll have to work on tweaking my cake-in-jar logistics for next time. Oh yes, there will be a next time. I’m thinking some sort of layered trifle.

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