Peppers, Panic, and Invisible Sauce

I did it. I made the asparagus pasta dish with orange pepper and sun-dried tomatoes. But not without incident. I had all the ingredients, minus the fresh oregano - really, who has fresh spices on hand - and even arranged them around me as if I was on a cooking show. I had little dishes of chopped pepper ready to go, a neat pile of cubed cream cheese, and even an audience consisting of a captivated 4 year-old and an interfering 2 year-old. I felt good. The skillet was heated. The ingredients were ready. Well, almost. When giving quantities or measurements in a recipe, certain descriptions are hardly helpful. 450 grams of fresh asparagus, for example. How about telling me an approximate number of stalks? That would seem to make more sense. However, using the beautiful picture to make an educated inference, I think I came close. About that picture...

I understand that magazines have special people to make the food in pictures look good. But really, when the real thing deviates so drastically from that unattainable image, it's very discouraging. Especially to the cook who is using the picture as a measure of success for every step in the recipe. Does this look right? Are my peppers the right size? Needless to say, my final product did not exactly resemble the model on the page. Which made me feel bad. Like I'd already failed before even tasting the dish.

One last complaint about the actual recipe: when the instructions say "stir until sauce is slightly thickened" it would be helpful if said recipe actually produced some kind of sauce. Then the already frazzled cook would not have to mutter things like, "What sauce? I don't have any sauce! How come I have no sauce? Did I miss something?" Panic is so not-helpful in the kitchen.

I did manage, however, to complete the recipe (invisible sauce and all) in time to serve my family their incredible dinner. I liked it. A lot. Hannah did not. She proceeded to spit out every bite of pepper or tomato that snuck into her mouth. To be truthful, she didn't just spit them out. She gagged. She made faces. She commented that this was "asgusting". To my relief, she did like the noodles. So all was not lost.

I Say Piccata

I've been a bit negligent in the kitchen lately. I haven't been diligent about trying new recipes and that doesn't bode well for becoming an accomplished chef (or even a competent cook). So, to make up for my lassitude, I am attempting three new recipes in one week.

First, I will try an asparagus pasta complete with sun-dried tomatoes and orange peppers (add two more items to the list of vegetables I have never purchased before).

Second, I will make a lemon-chicken piccata. I have no idea what a piccata is, but it sounds quite advanced. I like the way the word rolls off my tongue, too. Piccata.

Third, I will test-drive a recipe for home-made pizza. This one isn't really a stretch for me, because we make pizza often, using our bread maker. This time, however, I will be making the dough without the aid of any equipment. Just thinking about it makes me feel a bit more domestic.

Introducing Colour to the Kitchen

A few days ago I prepared a simple dinner that almost made me pull out the camera. For someone who used to only cook about 4 different dishes, there hasn't been a lot of variety or colour around the kitchen during meal preparations. However, in assembling the ingredients for this tasty meal I had an array of bright colours neatly piled on my white cutting board. Okay, by "array", I really mean 3 different colours - but it was striking, nonetheless. So, what did I make?

I started with marinating some chicken in pure lemon juice (squeezed straight out of a lemon) and Montreal Chicken Spice, which I would later barbeque to mediocre perfection. Colour #1 = bright yellow halves of lemon, sitting at a picturesque angle.

Then, I chopped up some mushrooms to saute with sugar snap peas in teriyaki sauce. So delicious and simple. Colours #2 & 3 = brilliant white paired with intense green. Add in the lemon rinds and there you have the photo opportunity. Or what for me would be a photo opportunity.

I also had some rice simmering, but it was not picture-worthy. All in all, I have to admit, I felt a little Martha Stewartish. If only I had concocted some type of home-made dessert to complement the meal. Maybe a nice chocolate souffle.

To Blanch or Not To Blanch

It's been almost a week since my last post, and although I've been busy, I have not abandoned my project. In fact, I tried another new recipe which further highlighted my ineptitude around the kitchen. Not complete ineptitude, I can handle some basics - I just lack a certain finesse. That finesse including a few possibly basic cooking terms. Like blanching. To me, that means "turn white". Thankfully, my recipe provider understands the need to explain the instructions in her recipes.

Example: blanch the spinach (dump it into boiling water for a short time)

I appreciated the additional explanation, as attempting to turn the spinach white would have been a fruitless endeavour; however, for a short time, is rather vague. How long is a short time? 30 seconds? Seven minutes? I certainly had no idea. And, as we've seen, previous vague instructions like "add some cornstarch to thicken" did not cue my cooking common sense to kick in.

Rather than mess up another recipe, I asked someone in the staff room. Ah, apparently, a short time is about a minute, or until the spinach is limp. Helpful. Then I asked my next question, which in hindsight, even I admit was embarrassing: "Would it be about the same amount of time for frozen spinach?"

Pre-cooked, frozen spinach. Given a second to think about it, I could have answered that one myself. But the fact that my brain even entertained the thought long enough for my mouth to spew it out is rather telling. These things do not come naturally to me!

Enough about the blanching. Here's what I actually made, and spinach aside, I had no other hiccups.

The Recipe: 
Ham and Spinach Quiche

1 cup cubed ham

1 small package of spinach, blanched in boiling water. Squeeze out water from the wilted leaves. (Or 5 cubes of frozen cooked spinach -- don't forget to squeeze out the extra water.)

1 cup grated Cheddar cheese

Scatter the above ingredients in to pie shell.

In a medium mixing bowl :

4 eggs

1/2 cup milk

Pinch of black pepper

Beat together and pour over pie shell crust and filling.

Bake @350 for 35-45 mins. or until center is set. Cool for 10 mins. before cutting.

* You may sub in any cooked veggie you like in place of the spinach (i.e., broccoli, asparagus, etc.).