Probably in a bad way, since my days will now be consumed by popcorn eating.
I’ve always loved popcorn.
Just ask the good folks at the Mayfair who always bare witness to an ecstatic Hilary running towards them as they give away gigantic bags of end-of-the-night popcorn. Ask anyone who goes to the fair with me. Ask Ariel who was nearly trampled to death at Bluesfest this year when I ran through the crowd in search of a popcorn seller.
Fact: I am investing in my health.
Lets look at the positives. Popcorn is better for you than chips. It’s also significantly cheaper. Okay, so I eat it in bed for breakfast sometimes, but really, doesn’t everyone?
…
But okay, if you aren’t currently a popcorn-in-bed eater, this recipe will convert you. I swiped this recipe off my friend and roommate Brittany who, if possible, would create an at-home version of every single snack food. Her blog is full of delicious, homemade concoctions. Go love it.
Anyways, the other night as Britt, Freya and I were settling in to watch Kill Bill, the former decided to whip up a batch of kettle corn. Even though Freya and I were sharing a large bowl (B separated hers to put nutritional yeast on it, typical), our popcorn was gone in an instant. Really, record-breaking time.
We needed to make more popcorn, and ran over to the corner store in desperation, searching for more corn kernels. They were closed, and we were left with only a half-sized, second serving. Probably wise.
Since that fateful night, uh, less than a week ago, I’ve made three more batches of the popcorn. It is sinfully delicious in every way.
I want to learn German. ICH MÖCHTE SCHRECKLICH GERNE DEUTSCH LERNEN.
(That’s German for “I want to learn German so badly”)
I know it might not be the most practical language, but it is definitely the most fun. And by fun, I mean expressive, angry and passionate. You could be telling your puppy how cute it is and it would still sound like you were furious.
The flammkuchen and fall colours
When in Austria this past summer, I was surrounded by everything German (including delicious bratwurst hot dogs). I found myself able to understand a few of the signs, since English is like bastardized German. Seriously, take an English word, tack about 10 letters on to the front and/or back and mess it around a bit and you have the original German term.
Take for example my two favourites:
– Apfelstrudel = apple strudel
– Schokolade = chocolate
Cool, right? I swear the translation rule also applies to words outside the realms of food, but you know me. It’s all about the dessert.
Anyways, my Austrian adventures were only my first inspiration for this meal.
My second inspiration can be credited to a meal I had at The Lindenhof, a German restaurant in Ottawa’s Little Italy neighbourhood. The trip was just one stop on a moveable feast I attended andwrote about for the blog Local Tourist Ottawa. I could explain all about the gluttonous eve that transpired, but just click the link instead. One thousand words detailing a night of culinary wonder.
Anyways, at The Lindenhof we were served flammkuchen, the very meal that inspired the creation of this pizza-like dinner. According to Alison, the owner of the restaurant, flammkuchen literally translates to mean “flaming tarte.” Another thing I learned was that the tarte is technically a French specialty, originating in the Alsace region of the country. To be fair, the area used to belong to Germany before the end of WWI. Close enough.
The flammkuchen at The Lindenhof
Alison’s thin-crust flammkuchen had a special smoked cheese, bacon and caramelized onions.
And so, rather than trying to create some sort of spin-off adaptation of The Lindenhof’s flammkuchen (why fix something that isn’t broken?), I decided to use the toppings on their pizza to create my own. I’m also at home this weekend, and wanted to make a meal that was familiar enough that my family would still eat it. A pizza dinner is always a safe bet.
After frantically searching the interwebs for a recipe for crème fraiche (which was sold everywhere in Europe, but is nowhere to be found here) and flammkuchen, I was relieved to stumble on Smitten Kitchen’s recipe. Not only is the blog one of my favourites, but it finally offered an alternative to the impossible-to-find creme fraiche. The answer? Half ricotta and half sour cream. Brilliant.
This was a great dinner and super fast to make. It got rave reviews from my family. Even though my dad kept called pancetta “principessa” (the Italian word for princess), I knew he enjoyed it. He did steal lots of princesses off my plate, after all.
PS: I also blame Inglorious Basterds and a fierce Diane Kruger/Melanie Laurent for fuelling my desire to learn German. Thanks a lot, Tarantino.
PPS: if using this recipe, you should note that it made a hell of a lot of pizza. How much? One rectangular cookie sheet and one 9-inch round pizza worth. I recommend you go halfsies if making this just for yourself.
Enough freshly-made pizza dough to feed a small army
As a student, I feel obliged to claim breakfast-for-dinner as one of my favourite things. Living with two roommates who make delicious-looking, healthy pancakes for nearly every meal, I’m frequently reminded of how much I’m craving early-morning food. Late last week, this craving was uncontrollable. I had no choice but to search page upon page of Tastespotting until I found some new fangled breakfast recipe.
Success was achieved in the form of this fantastic chickpea, tomato and roasted red pepper breakfast skillet. Utilizing the exact ingredients I had lying around (including a two-month-old [but still good] jar of roasted red peppers), this meal came together in a flash.
A few lessons learned:
– Parchment paper cannot be broiled. I think I almost lit it on fire.
– Like parchment paper, glass corningware is also not content with being broiled. I ended up cooking this in a wannabe skillet (hence the name), aka a metal pie pan with aluminum foil lining the base.
In other news, broiled eggs are the best thing in the universe. Maybe it’s just me, but eggs that are a little solid on the outside and soft and runny on the inside are just perfect. In fact, I wish I had covered this entire skillet with egg. I will know for next time.
This simple dinner dish ended with sliced avocado and twelve grain toast. A culmination of my favourite things.
And now, a sad excuse…
I’m lacking superb pictures for this meal simply because Mother Nature was conspiring against me. I made this meal one night when the clouds were as dark and ominous and the sun was running off for its early, 6:30 p.m. retreat. To counter this, I brought my skillet out onto the sidewalk to take advantage of the fleeting moments of light.
About two seconds and many awkward passers-by stares later and the sky opened up and the downpour began.
I bolted up the stairs and onto the porch, enjoying my breakfast as the day faded into night.
With every blogging slump, there must be a delicious and inspiring dish to get me out of it.
So here we are. A delicious meal. And a simple one too. As in beyond simple. So simple that I felt like I was cheating, in fact. Maybe I was. I used canned salmon. SHHH. Can snobs have no place here – not on a student food blog. I wasn’t even breaking any rules of the Food Bible, since the recipe that I adapted this salad-like meal from requested that very canned delicacy.
Also, it used quinoa. And not only that, but quinoa of the coloured variety. Totally rad.
I still consider myself a sheltered food lover, and had never actually tried canned salmon before tonight. As is, I only tried canned tuna a few weeks ago when I was inspired by some other-worldly forces to try my hand at making a tuna fish sandwich. Yes, I know, you’re rolling your eyes at me like I missed out on some integral part of childhood school lunch making. I couldn’t help it, okay? My mom’s a dietician and I was picky, choosing the standard peanut butter and jam as my sandwich topping of choice between grades one and 12.
Anyways… turns out canned salmon is not disastrously disgusting and is, in fact, really quite good. Cracking open a can rather than using the fresh stuff also meant that I cut at least half an hour off of dinner preparation time. That meant this meal was ready in – get this – 10 MINUTES. A dinner revelation. It was delicious.
I’m going to compliment myself furiously for a moment (so bear with me): I really, really like these pictures. I’ve been inspired by my roommate Brittany’s photography style (which is stunning), and want to start setting a scene in my photos. Beautiful food + beautiful setting (i.e. an IKEA table, bowl of spinach and dishtowel) = beautiful photos. I hope.
Peanut butter has always been an essential part of my morning routine.
Whether it be a lightly sugared piece of peanut butter toast (my mom got me addicted to this strange combination long ag0) or peanut butter, crackers and apple sauce (my all-time favourite snack food breakfast), peanut butter makes me feel like I’m ready for the day.
Last week, I decided it was time for me to graduate from the realms of my pre-school peanut butter stylings and try something new. Hence the creation of these peanut butter banana pancakes.
Inspiration was also drawn from my roommate Brittany, who makes the best damn pancakes all the time. The girl is a healthy, pancake making machine. Check these out.
Making pancakes also allowed me to use my fantastic, new non-stick pan. It’s seriously gorgeous and I’m already having a passionate love affair with it. It sleeps in my room (but not actually). The pancakes slip-slided off the pan easily and came out perfectly. Well, as perfectly as they can be when the girl making them has a phobia of flipping food in pans. Really, I’m crippled by my fear. Omelettes and pancakes are my arch nemeses.
Even after these were cooked, they still had a great, peanut buttery goodness to them, which I loved. I ate three and took several nibbles out of the remaining few. Make these. I promise your day will be better because of it.
Hilary Makes 