tomato_kumato

Today, I made doughnuts for the first time.

It was a learning experience.

When I lived in Massachusetts, one of our favorite things to do was to run to Smallack farms and get a box of apple cider doughnuts. They were dipped in cinnamon sugar, and they were just about the best things ever. And we didn’t even feel bad about eating them, because we figured that running to the farm and eating a box of doughnuts essentially cancelled each other out.

I wanted to participate in Peabody and Helene’s doughnut challenge, and I got very excited, because there is a market near my house that is only opened on Wednesdays and Sundays, and they sell amazing apple cider. I actually even had a recipe for cider doughnuts from Peabody’s archive that I had been wanting to try for awhile. In my eyes, the planets had aligned, so I got up bright and early on Wednesday, went over to the market, and picked up my ingredients. This is when the learning started.

1. I need to get a one cup measuring cup. Or learn to count. I can’t be sure, but I think I only added two and a half instead of three and a half cups of flour. The dough was more like batter, and I tried so hard to roll it out before I decided that it just wasn’t going to happen.

2. I am not afraid of boiling oil. But I should be. As I was trying to get the temperature right, I ended up scalding the bottom of my pot, making a couple of rejects when the oil wasn’t hot enough, and standing against the wall while the few inches of shortening in the bottom of my dutch oven boiled to five times their original height and threatened to take over my kitchen.

3. The rejects taste awesome.

The Canadian came in to ask me some questions about photoshop, and he took a bunch of the doughnut holes (AKA Tim Bits… Tim Hortons… any Canadians out there? OK. Moving on.) which he enjoyed quite a bit. After awhile, I got a nice rhythm going… but then I was out of dough. So… yeah.

Rejects and Timbits.

Link to Recipe: http://www.culinaryconcoctionsbypeabody.com/2007/10/12/the-joys-of-fried-dough/

Way back in September, when I was still just exploring Rue Cler, and my butcher hadn’t yet started making fun of me for the sheer amount of meat I buy (I like feeding other people!) I found these at Les Halles, my produce market. They were tiny and slightly pink, and I thought they were so adorable that I had to have them.

When I was growing up, we had steamed artichokes as big as baseballs, one per person, as an occasional side dish. We dipped each leaf in mayonnaise, and then my mother would cut the choke out so we could eat the heart. I haven’t eaten artichokes like that in a long time. For a moment, I thought that these artichokes were destined to be like those, but then I remembered some marinated, roasted artichokes we bought this summer at the Italian deli. They were coated in extra virgin olive oil and roasted with salt and black pepper. So that’s what I did with these little babies. So tender that only the tips and a few of the outside leaves had to be torn off before roasting, and then I ate them whole.

OK… I know I shouldn’t have fallen victim to a trap like this, but I had to. I know, I know… it would have been so much cheaper to just buy berries by the pint… but it just looked so cute! At the market on Rue Cler, they call this a Berry Bouquet. I bought one and ate it for breakfast with fromage frais (this French yogurt-ish stuff that I’m a little bit obsessed with). I guess it’s a bit of a last vestige of summer…

So now that I’m back in the swing of things, and I’m partway through the reformatting of the site (so exciting!), and even though next month is going to bring in the two new themes (a new novel filled with recipes and a seasonal food), I’ve decided to devote the rest of this month to last month, the month I spent in Paziols, in the south of France.

Paziols is about an hour from Perpignan, very close to the Spanish border. The town itself is tiny, barely warranting the small épicerie and café that serve as the town’s only establishments. However, what the town lacks in variety, it brings with its fresh produce, which brings me to the peaches.

Every Monday, the woman from the town hall who announced all events over the loudspeakers posted at the corner of the square would call out the arrival of the peach lady… but if you were still at home when you heard the announcement, good luck to you at getting any of the produce. This woman would arrive each week with her truck stuffed full of flats of peaches and apricots, as well as homemade jam… and while the goods were more expensive than their cousins sold at the épicerie, nearly the entire town lined up each week bright and early to purchase. When we finally got the hang of it and beat the crowds, lining up with the housewives at 7:30 am, we understood.

I may never look at a peach the same way again. These ones were perfectly soft and downy on the outside, with a goldenrod color throughout the sweet, soft flesh, and a perfect juiciness that sent us running to the porch to finish eating as we leaned over the street. The flavor was concentrated, pure, peachy goodness. We would buy dozens of them, and I would eat nothing but peaches on Monday and Tuesday, slicing them and covering them in fromage frais, the full-fat cousin of Greek yogurt with a slightly sour hint that is so popular eaten with brown sugar or honey.

Now, back in Long Island, my favorite summer fruit is leaving something to be desired, but if I close my eyes, I can almost taste it… I learned the way that peaches are supposed to taste this summer, and I don’t think I will ever think of them the same way.

Drool-worthy, ain’t it?

This is the counter of Mike’s Deli, one of several Italian food counters at the now-infamous covered market at Arthur Avenue, in the Bronx.

Only a few years ago, this was not a neighborhood you wanted to enter if you didn’t live there, and even now, it’s pretty hard to get to, even from the nearest subway station. But the trek is totally worth it.

Not only is this area of the Bronx still populated by real Italians, but they are willing to share all that is good and holy in the realm of Italian food… which brings me to the market, and Mike’s.

Mike’s is famous in the Belmont community, and even outside of it for providing amazing quality Italian meats, cheeses, and cold antipasti. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been sent up to Mike’s with an order so long that I had to bring the toughest male friend I have to help me haul it back downtown.

But, if it’s possible, even better than the food is the atmosphere. I know, it doesn’t seem possible. It’s just a deli, right? But it’s one of my favorite places on Earth, and I’m not the only one to say it. I think that most of the credit for this goes to the proprietor, Michele Greco. Famous in the community, Michele always remembers his customers, and is always proffering a slice of cheese or meat taken off what he’s slicing while you peruse.

I have to say, sometimes my absolute favourite snack is a little slice of Parmigiano-Reggiano or some prosciutto di Parma. And I’m not above a half-hour voyage to get it.

Living in cities is amazing. Every day, there is the opportunity to see something new. Not everyone takes advantage of these opportunities; I know for a long time I didn’t, but I decided recently that I probably won’t be in Toronto for much longer after I graduate, so for the few years when I can call this wonderful city my home, I should take advantage of it.

I suppose it helps that I have a friend who is constantly up for doing new, fun, sometimes strange things. He is the same friend who came with me to Lancaster County, PA a few weeks ago, so when I saw that there was a Mennonite Christmas Festival at the Harbourfront Centre here in Toronto, I knew that he would be up for it. What I didn’t expect was that he would be up for tasting mincemeat pie when I jokingly suggested it.

I was a chicken and went for hot apple cider, which was delicious. As anyone who knows me is well aware, and as my friend pointed out, I am a sucker for any cider: hot or cold, soft or hard. I have to say that even though my friend assured me that this particular mincemeat pie was of the vegetarian variety, I was glad I stuck with my cider.

Ok… so… I died a little bit.

That’s not exactly true (although I have caught a lovely flu, which makes me cough like someone with TB and whine every few minutes to my roomate, “Miiiike, I’m dyyyying,” to which he responded, last night, “So die already!”, but I digress.

I did have a huge slap in the face that was reality when I got back from my road trip, and I haven’t had much time for anything besides writing term papers and studying for finals for a little while now.

However, dear reader, I did have these pictures of weird coloured cauliflower that I took at a Farmer’s Market in Bird-in-Hand, PA a few weeks ago, so I thought I’d throw them up here.

Never fear. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve for before I head home for Christmas: to keep up with this theme, I’m headed down to a Mennonite Crafts Fair right here in Toronto this weekend, and we’re throwing a Christmas party on the 8th (by we, I mean me, and my friend who, up until this point has subsided mainly on Kraft Dinner, but who is very, very eager to learn how to roast a turkey).

P.S. Don’t think I forgot that I promised you all apple dapple… you’re not going to want to miss it.

I am still sans camera, so the words in this post are going to have to do. I may come back and edit in some pictures later. Hopefully I’ll have my little baby back and functioning soon!

This weekend, I took a nice walk from my apartment to Kensington, taking advantage of some of the last nice, sunny days. I did most of my grocery shopping, but the butcher I usually use was closed, and considering the fact that one of the other two smelled like a farm, and the last one was very poorly stocked and didn’t have what I was looking for, I went down a few more blocks along College to Little Italy.

When I first moved to Toronto, last year, one of the first things I did was to hit the city’s website (toronto.ca) and look for Little Italy. I’ve always felt that no matter where I go, the Italian neighbourhood of a city will always feel somewhat like home.

I spent a lot of time in Little Italy last year, mostly because it was so close to home. I did most of my grocery shopping at the Magnolia Specialty Foods Store, which I sadly discovered this weekend was closed. A little more expensive than most grocery stores, Magnolia made up for it in quality. All of the name brand olive oils I recognized, San Marzano canned tomatoes from Italy, and beautiful produce filled the small store, and I know it will be missed by the entire neighbourhood (a lady who was reading the notice with me shared my sentiments).

That is one of the nice things about Little Italy; much like the country it’s named for, the people who live here are friendly even to strangers. People are known to hang out in Caffe Diplomatico and meet random strangers while enjoying a piece of pizza or an espresso and biscotto.

I finally arrived at my destination, Grace’s Meat Market, at Grace and College to procure ground veal. I walked up to the counter and asked about it, and the woman behind the counter looked at me, pondering, and then called into the back in Italian. A man in a white butcher’s coat came out and looked at me, repeating my order, “Ground veal?”

“Yes,” I answered, worried that I had come all this way in vain.

He looked at me one more moment, then rolled up his sleeves and asked, “How much?”

The fact that this tiny meat market will grind meat to order for customers, even such a paltry amount as I needed, reminded me why I love this community. I brought my wares straight home and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening making my bolognese sauce, canning most of it, but serving some over some artisinal orecchiete that I picked up at Grace’s.

Orecchiete Bolognese

As with most recipes that have been passed down, there is really no exact recipe to this. Taste as you go, and if something doesn’t taste right, adjust. Here’s a jumping off point, to get you started.

Brown half a pound of ground veal in extra-virgin olive oil in a sturdy dutch-oven or similar large pot. Remove the veal and keep it warm. Sweat one sweet onion, finely chopped, and one carrot, also finely chopped, in the same pot, until very tender and sweet. Season with salt, pepper, dried oregano, and dried red pepper flakes. Use a pair of kitchen shears to cut up the contents of two cans of whole San Marzano tomatoes and add them to the pot. Add a tablespoon of tomato paste and a teaspoon of sugar. Bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat to low and cook, uncovered, stirring from time to time. Once the tomatoes have mostly broken down, add the cooked meat, and cook for an hour or two. Sauce can be stored in tupperware in the fridge for a week, or canned and frozen (or kept in the cellar).

When ready to serve, heat the sauce in a saucepan while your pasta cooks in salted water. Add a little bit of cream to the sauce, and stir in the hot pasta. Serve with grated Parmesan or Pecorino cheese.

Kensington Market. *sigh* A known mecca within the student population here in Toronto as a place to go for cheap clothing and cheaper weed, I go not for the sketchy, strung out scenesters, but for the wholesale markets. Kensington is a dream come true for any foodie, with at least one, if not two or three specialty shops carrying anything and everything under the sun, from fruits and veggies to imported cheeses to fish and meat, even imported foods one cannot usually find, like Italian amaretti cookies and Mexican chipotle chiles in adobo. A neighbor to Chinatown, and not a far walk from Little Italy either, once near Kensington and College streets, you can get anything and everything your little heart desires.

Kensington Market only spans a few blocks, but within these confines, there are virtually no cars (most people park in Chinatown). Vendors stand in front of their stores, knowing that with all the choice out there, a typical shopper could have any of many assorted reasons for choosing a particular shop.

As for me, I am loyal to several vendors. I frequent Oxford Fruit for fruits and veggies, mostly because everything in front of the store is always so fresh-looking and bright, but also because when I buy enough food that I expect to be forking over at least $40, I end up paying no more than $25.

I like Global Cheese for cheese just for the sheer variety, although I have hit nearby Cheese Magic a few times.

Seven Seas Fish and Coral Fish are right next door to one another, but I usually hit Seven Seas, because it smells less fishy, and they usually have a better selection. Both stores, however, have large glass windows, and if I see something I like at Coral, I may duck in there.

I’m including a picture of the Augusta Egg Market to illustrate the extreme variety of goods found in Kensington. OK… that’s a lie. I’m including it because it’s hilarious. I went in once, just to confirm my suspicions. Yup. It just sells eggs.