Hilary makes food

Corn chowder and baking powder biscuits done right

~ Hilary ~ 1 Comment

As mentioned in my Boston cream doughnut post, I was house sitting for my parents last week as they travelled about and did what empty nesters do. I’m a fairly tidy person overall, but I can only clean on my own schedule. So I enjoy being messy when home alone…the freedom to leave a bowl on the counter and clean it on my own will when I get home from work (without fear of parental or roommate persecution). I love making a total mess of the kitchen when cooking and baking and not having to give whoever walks into the room my apologetic/guilty/sad puppy eyes.

Disaster zone

But anyways.

I wanted soup the other night. And, despite my parent’s soup mugs saying otherwise, I intended to get some. As a side note: my knowledge of Seinfeld and Frasier references are literally the only thing on this Earth that make me even slightly pop culture cool. I am so out-of-touch with the television shows and movies of past and present that it’s embarrassing. But hey, want the Hail Mary said in Gaelic? I’m your girl.

So I made this soup, and, just as I was spooning the corn chowder into my mouth for a final test of readiness, it hit me. There is absolutely no way I can eat this soup without an accompanying carbohydrate. A: Cornbread. Soupy mouthfuls from earlier already had me craving the taste, and what better way to eat a corn-based soup than to bake a cornmeal-based bread?! Global corn shortage? What global corn shortage?

I grabbed my mixing bowl and whisk and was ready to go to town. And then I realized – the process of making cornbread can be hindered when one is not in possession of cornmeal. Alas, in my transition from high school home to new adult home, I moved my cornmeal over and had forgotten to bring it back for this meal.

So I took the biggest cop-out route ever and made a batch of those baking powder biscuits that every child and their dog can make. Well, almost every child. One childhood kitchen memory involves my mistaken substitution of baking soda for powder into a batch of biscuits I made when I was 13. My parents smiled and pretended to enjoy them, while I probably scarfed them down because, like most pre-teens who were madly in love with something (Orlando Bloom, the idea of being Amanda Bynes, purple corduroy bellbottom jeans), I was in love with bread.

Making baking powder biscuits also triggers another childhood memory. Due to the simplicity of ingredients – flour, baking powder, salt and a liquid – it just so happens I had made a similar combination long before the days of mistaking soda for powder. When I was in grade four and obsessed with all things Harry Potter, I used to create “magic potions” out of stuff hidden in our pantry. One of my favourites was combining flour and water to create a pale white goo, a substance that was secretly funnelled into those tiny black film canisters and stored in my closet in hopes of spawning new life). That went about as well as you can imagine.

In the end, the corn chowder was delicious and the extra simmering time added by biscuit-baking worked out swell. Perfect for cold nights, warm blankets, and teeth that don’t want to do much chewing. I drank my chocolate milk out of a mug and felt as though I was a small child pretending to be a grown-up, staring up at my dad while sitting at the kitchen table. This was a great recipe and I definitely intend to make it again.

Speaking with my parents upon their return, it turns out this corn chowder, like my Boston cream doughnuts, was a tribute to their time spent in ‘murica. They had bowls of the famous Boston clam chowder, and I had this. Go figure.

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Cheddar perogies!

~ Hilary ~ 10 Comments

Every so often I blog about something I’ve wanted to make for awhile. I can’t lie, it’s normally sugary items… desserts I’ve mentally bookmarked while unblinkingly surfing page upon page of food galleries.

Homemade perogies were one of the savoury items on my list, and, with my parents having brought me some lovely potatoes from Prince Edward County in southern Ontario, I was given the perfect excuse.

Before we go any further, you must understand my history with perogies.

In my second and third years of university, I used to fiend them. I would buy those big No Name brand bags from the freezer section of the grocery store and sneak into the kitchen at 11:30 p.m. to quietly boil a handful of them before slinking back down to my bedroom to watch television on the Internet. I wouldn’t even fry them – rather, I’d get distracted by something and let them bob around like those floating Pokeball fishing balloons, creating an overcooked disaster. As a result, part of the doughy skin would come off, leaving a starchy residue clinging to the bottom of the pot. I was also once passive-aggressively mad at one of my roommates for half a week after she accidentally polished off my bag of perogies.

To be honest, I thought these perogies were going to be a mess. When it comes to handmade foods like this, I often lack both the patience and precision to slowly seal each individual perogie pocket. Luckily, Wednesday was not one of those nights, and I was able to conjure the motivation to carefully form each and every one of my 20 perogies (except for one of them which suffered a painful-looking potato wound).

Spoonfuls of Nutella and the delicious potato-cheddar filling helped curb hunger and sustain happiness throughout this process.

That oh-so-tasty filling – there was quite a bit leftover, which means I’m making stuffed baked potatoes sometime very soon

Making these perogies reminded me greatly of the two years when my friend Gord and I made dumplings/potstickers for Chinese New Year (year one, year two).

In what way? Well, here, have a venn diagram. See? Very déjà-vu  inducing.

Explanation of that last point:
During year two of dumpling making, a water pipe along Elgin Street where Gord lived exploded (if I remember correctly). The situation that followed wasn’t one ideal for the handling of raw ground pork. We utilized my three-quarter-full water bottle very carefully that day. We used a kingdom’s worth of paper towel and I may or may not have wiped dumpling filling on my sweater.

This recent Wednesday night lack-of-electricity story is far more self-induced. Our dishwasher was running and I tried to boil the kettle for tea. Our kitchen fuse said “adios” to life and decided to act up before I finally found the location of my new home’s fusebox.

I ate these on the wood stoop at the back of my new house. The end of my cooking playlist sang softly from my iPhone, the sun set to that golden sweet spot, and if I shut my eyes I could almost pretend it was still summer.

PS: Hey Macbook – why must you insist on stressing me out by underlining this post’s title word with an angry red squiggly? Deal with it.

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A random mix of goodbyes, memories, and chicken marinated in orange juice

~ Hilary ~ Leave a comment

Well, it’s finally here.

…Okay, it was here 12 days ago, but I’ve been busy…

September.

The idea of this month has been barrelling down the metaphorical Tunnel of Life behind me for a little while. I knew this month, in this year would be difficult. Now I find myself hesitantly reaching for the bottom corner of my calendar, slowly flipping the page from August to September, as though scared of what I’ll find on the other side.

The flip

I’m so consciously aware that I’m nowhere near Ottawa and nowhere near the people or places where I’ve found comfort for the past four years.

I wish I could properly articulate the way I feel right now. But it’s difficult, since it changes by the minute and mood. Most of the time I face some embattled sense of self, half of me willing my body and mind to go forward in an independent, blind flight, the other half pulling me back from the edge, coaxing me with the memories and thoughts of my university life.

The first weekend in September signified the unspoken close of a major part of my life.

Topping it off was the saying of a final Canadian farewell to one of my best friends, Ariel, who is off to pursue her master’s degree in London, England.

Like many of my best university friends, Ariel and I first met because we lived on the same floor in residence. She, room 504. Me, room 514. There were countless slipper-padded, sweatpant-wearing strolls between our two rooms. Plenty of trips dragging a toaster oven behind us like a puppy dog, in preparation for chicken nugget gorging.

A few scenes from our friendship, stolen from Facebook

I knew Ariel was going to be one of my best friends when she helped me carry my heavy Schwinn bicycle up a spiral staircase during one of the first weeks of September 2008. You know the stairs – those steep, more-architectural-than-practical ones that lead up to the Mackenzie King Bridge by the Rideau Centre. If I remember correctly, we almost died/dropped my bike over the rail as a result of laughing so hard.

I met Ariel in Toronto two weekends ago, and we had a wonderful time. We dined on crêpes, relaxed in parks, explored Kensington Market, indulged in afternoon Distillery beers, and avoided jumping on roadside mattresses in the Annex that may or may not have been infested with bed bugs.

A few snapshots from our day

Most my weekend visit was spent in Oshawa, where Ariel is staying at her aunt’s house before jetting off at the end of the month. Here I met her two cousins, six-year-old Zane and five-year-old Kian. Like many children, they were quick to love and the first name of adults were irrelevant, so long as you gave them piggy backs (I did) and allowed them to climb on you like a jungle gym (ouch).

Ariel and I also did a few of the things that have come to define our friendship. We harshly critiqued outfits on Project Runway. I held my breath and crossed my heart as she drove her grandpa’s 200-year-old (only a slight exaggeration) Volkswagen Jetta. We goofed off with water guns. I acted my real age (seven-and-a-half) and bounced about on the water bed as Ariel tried to get to sleep, giggling as I pretended we were at sea.

Ariel’s aunt also made a delicious meal one night – Moroccan chicken inspired by an old family recipe. It was unbelievable, and I promptly copied it at home to accompany this blog post.

Dinner, layer-by-layer

Oh right, and speaking of home…did I mention that I moved out of my high school house?! Big news, and a big change.

Ah yes, so change. It’s happening very quickly. I have no idea where I’ll be a month from now, and that simultaneously terrifies and thrills me. Minor existential life crisis aside, I think I’ll be okay.

But still, four years of university was a long time, and I don’t think you can say goodbye to that phase of life without crying a few tears.

I look forward to what comes next and am happy to know that I’m charging (or at least moving) forward with the same support system as before – friends and family (heck, even this blog in some way or another).

So while I’m sad to leave the past four years behind, it’s with great anticipation that I pursue the next few.

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Cumin chick pea salad with garlic-yogurt dressing (inspired by a Sudbury favourite)

~ Hilary ~ 16 Comments

There’s this great place in Sudbury called the Laughing Buddha.

Thanks for the shot, Google Street View. I love the Buddha so much that I’ve chosen to overlook its choice of signage font.

It’s one of the best hangout restaurants in town, complete with a pizza and sandwich menu that will make you drool and an imported beer list that will have you convinced you can drink all 64+ varieties throughout the course of the summer.

A night’s worth of beer selections at the Buddha (with friends, don’t worry). The beginning of summer – we had such high ambitions!

I first discovered the Buddha back in high school when it was no more than a hole-in-the-wall. Seriously, it was the size of a slightly wider-than-usual alleyway. Its signature pizzas were made in one of two clay (or maybe wood?) ovens and as a result took forever to make. Luckily they were worth it. I used to go with my mom and sit in the dim light and plot the future photography exhibits I would host on its walls.

I returned to town after my first year of university and voila! A new patio. Twinkle lights adorned the overhanging branches and lantern-like mechanisms tall as trees emitted a warm ripple in the air on chilly evenings. The music was the sound of large freight trains clunking along across the street.

A Sudbury-ism. Pin courtesy of We Live Up Here, a really awesome local project that you should check out by clicking this photo

Today the Buddha is big. In addition to the aforementioned patio, there’s a new back room where I experienced the most fun of DJ sets a few weeks ago. Yes, there is room to dance. Pizza and dancing. Heaven is swell, thanks for asking.

Let’s talk patio again. Since it is one of three patios in downtown Sudbury, it is the Friday evening watering hole for the entire city, from hipsters to professionals, toddlers to moms on mom dates. Just as the city’s lone Starbucks was the place to bump into everyone you knew during high school, the Buddha is the destination of choice for the 20-something crowd.

And let’s face it, alcohol > an Americano, just about any day of the week.

Whenever I go to the Buddha on a lunch date with friends, I consistently coerce them into buying the chick pea salad while I stuff my face with the usual suspects (normally the Llama Rama pizza). I then distract them with my wit and charm (hah!) and proceed to pleasantly request that I try their salad. Multiple times. Yes, we would like an extra fork, please and thank you.

Today I was big-time craving this salad. I thought my at-home adaptation was pretty spot-on and I crammed spoonfuls into my mouth like a starving Oliver Twist. I can still taste the garlic and it is absolutely wonderful.

Because dinner tastes better with a side of Instagram, right? Sorry for being that person.

Also: it’s amazing how a good meal can cheer me right up. I was feeling grumbly after lugging a pile of groceries home on my bike, and this ready-in-a-jiffy dinner was exactly what I needed.

Because really, who needs a car?

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Rosemary pork chops with homemade crab apple sauce and sweet potato, celery and apple salad

~ Hilary ~ Leave a comment

*homemade, but not by me, more on that below

–

Hi there. It’s non-vegetarian Hilary speaking. Remember me? Maybe not. You haven’t seen me around these parts for a bit as I’ve been off on summer holidays to avoid the sweltering heat. But the nippy fall breeze is back (ok, maybe not so much this past weekend, but it’s coming!) and so am I. Good to see you again.

Kale and quinoa – favourite summer foods (well, also sweet potato, but it managed to sneak into this dinner…I can’t quit my hot weather food cold turkey, after all) – be damned! Carnivore Hilary is rearing her ugly head.

The entire basis of this meal was formed around a condiment: the apple sauce. This wasn’t your average run-of-the-mill, eat-with-peanut-butter-on-toast (actually very tasty) apple sauce. This was homemade crab apple sauce made by our web editor, Wendy.

I know! Crab apples! Yes, you’re thinking of the right food, those tart little half-sized apples you used to throw at the kids on your block. The ones that you would pitch like a soft ball and hit with a tennis racket. They are one in the same.

For the childhood reasons listed above, crab apple sauce would normally not appeal to me. But because Wendy, a whiz with all things food, made it, I knew it had to be good. Wendy told me it was like your everyday apple sauce but with a kick; more cinnamon and – you’ll never guess so I’ll just tell you – a whole bag of marshmallows melted into the batch!!! Crazy, right? According to Wendy, the marshmallows were to serve as an alternate sugar supplement and were also used to thicken the sauce. Sneaky marshmallows. I love it.

So right, when it comes to dinner food, I always associate apple sauce with pork chops. As it happened, I had some leftover sprigs of fresh rosemary in the fridge, perfect to top off these chops.

Pre-oven
Post-oven

And, as is always the case when I cook meat, I underestimated the time it would take to cook. So here I sit (this is past Hilary speaking), typing out this blog post, eating spoonfuls of apple sauce and listening to my stomach growl. Please don’t even remind me of the homemade pizza my mom made for her dinner, the leftovers of which are sitting idle in the fridge, threatening to turn my saliva glands into miniature geysers.

Anyways, I also made this sweet potato, celery and apple salad to accompany the chops. I thought it would nicely balance the heaviness of the meat. Raw sweet potato is a recent revelation and allowed me to divulge in the fleeting days of my summer foods. If you are a loud chewer such as myself, do not make this salad for any occasion where you need to impress, since the sound of it crunching in your mouth will sound like bones being broken. And I know this is the biggest first world problem EVER, but julienning sweet potatoes = my own form of personal hell.

Sorry the photos aren’t up to my usual standards. It is getting dark oh-so-early and I’ve yet to find the ideal nighttime photo location.

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