Spring Lamb Stew with Fennel

 

Once in the midst of a seemingly endless winter, I found within myself an invincible spring.

-Albert Camus

 

Spring has finally arrived in Colorado!  I didn't know if it would happen this year.  We seemed forever locked in an eternal winter, despite my spring state of mind.  But, the last week has been one of transformation.  Warm and sunny, the grass is verdant green, and the Brandywine apple tree in my garden is finally bejeweled in rosy pink buds.  I can hardly wait until they burst open and fill the garden with the ethereal aroma of apples and roses.  This metamorphosis has been so sudden I wonder if I'll wake soon and find it's all a dream.

Though our days are filled with sunshine, the nights are still cool and the mountain peaks are still frosted with a layer of clean snow, glowing like alabaster in the fading sun.  Nothing warms up a cool spring evening like a bowl of lamb stew.  It's something I crave when the weather begins to warm, and I set the table out under the trees.  We're still wrapped in sweaters and scarfs at dinner time, but it's nice to eat outside again.

I found a few gorgeous heads of fennel at the market yesterday, lacy and delicate.  They seemed to call to me as I passed by and I couldn't resist.  I also picked up some plump spring peas.  Tender and sweet, they taste like rain.

I prepared this stew in the slow cooker, but it can just as easily be prepared in the oven.  Just cut the cooking time in half, and use a cast iron Dutch oven with a tight fitting lid.  When cutting the fennel remove the leafy tops and reserve them for garnish.  Cut the bottom off the bulb and peal away any browned or discolored spots on the outer layer.  Slice the bulb in half lengthwise, and then cut each half into 3 or 4 wedges making sure each piece is held together by a bit of the core.  This will insure that it stays together during cooking and will look nice on the table.  Serve the stew with a good, hearty loaf of bread to sop up all the beautiful juice. 

Brunch with Red Pepper Tartines

I'm not a breakfast person.  I never have been.  In fact, I don't become hungry until at least ten in the morning.  So one of the great pleasures of the weekend, for me, is to sit down with my family over a lavish weekend brunch, late in the morning at just the time hunger finally comes calling.

 

I roasted bell peppers last weekend - loads and loads of them - so that I could make this roasted red pepper soup.  I had a few left over, which I marinated.  The result was this red pepper tartine, which graced our brunch table Sunday morning.  Sunny and bright, these are like the rays of summer sunshine that dance on my bedroom wall just as I'm opening my eyes.  The peppers are roasted under the broiler until they're charred and smoky.  Then, tossed in a simple balsamic marinade, they sit in the fridge overnight.  In the morning, when the coffee pot is half empty and I've finally changed from my bathrobe, all that remains to be done is the simple job of cooking the eggs and assembling the tartines.  And, since the extent of my morning cooking ability doesn't extend far beyond that, I call this the perfect morning meal.

Mother's Day is this Sunday.  Perhaps there's a special mom in your life who would enjoy a roasted red pepper tartine for brunch.  I know there's one in mine.  Wishing all you mom's a very lovely day!

Dinner Party + Comfort Food

 

Kale is something we never ate growing up.  In fact, my mother grew large and verdant bushes of kale in her vegetable garden to feed our green iguana who lived in a gigantic cage in the basement.  (One of the many exotic pets that populated my childhood.)  Oh, but we didn't know what we were missing!  These days I just can't get enough of it.

I threw a dinner party last week.  The menu was simple and all about comfort.  A rustic meatloaf, loosely based on this recipe, but with a little surprise embedded deep within - hard boiled eggs, a signature of my grandmother's hearty meatloaves.  Simply place a third of the meat mixture on a baking sheet and lay three hard boiled eggs lengthwise down the center.  Then mound the remaining meat on top and around the eggs, and form it into a loaf.  The kids enjoy getting their "surprise," and I enjoy the memories when I slice into the loaf.

Garlic mashed potatoes were served alongside, smothered in a rich, meaty gravy.  There was also a warm loaf of whole grain, farmhouse bread, and these mushrooms, doused in wine and lots of garlic.  I needed something light to complete the meal, but with enough body to hold its own against the bold flavours of the evening.  This kale and apple salad was just the thing.  Raw, organic red kale that was almost too beautiful to cut; tart gems of dried cranberries; sweet honeycrisp apples; and a fabulous cranberry-cinnamon goat cheese from La Bonne Vie to top it off; all dressed in a simple, sweet raspberry-balsamic vinaigrette.  The perfect hearty salad.  I could eat this every day!

Upon my children's request, for dessert I made these charming little raspberry shortcakes, topped with curls of bittersweet dark chocolate.  They're something we saw as we walked through a bakery several weeks ago, and my kids have been dreaming of them ever since.  You know kids - once they get an idea in their heads, they just can't let it go.  Of course, the ones in the bakery weren't safe for my little, peanut allergic sweetheart, but mine are.  And I bet they tasted just as good.  The ultimate comfort food.

With wine and laughter that flowed late into the evening, followed by smooth, dark coffee and deep conversation, the dinner party was a smashing success.  I'm already planning my next one.  'Tis the season for entertaining!

Roasted Beet and Apple Soup

Few simple pleasures compare to sitting by the window during a spring rainstorm with a bowl of steaming soup and perhaps a chunk of crusty bread for dipping.  Here in Colorado, however, most of our "rain" this time of year is white and fluffy.  Still, I'm drawn to the window, and I love to indulge in soup while I'm watching the snow fall.  Last week we had several days of wet, snowy spring weather and I couldn't help but satiate my craving for soup. 

I'd picked up some fresh, ruby beets from the market a few days earlier, and they seem to be just waiting to be roasted and turned into a warm and aromatic soup.  So, after a harrowing drive on icy roads that morning to drop my son off at school, there was nothing more soothing than roasting beets in the oven until sweet and fragrant.  Then I simmered them with apples and puréed it into a comforting Roasted Beet and Apple Soup, topped with a rich dollop of crème fraîche.  A sure cure for my frayed nerves.

Most recipes call for roasting the beets in their skins.  I, however, find it much easier (and cleaner) to peel the beets with a vegetable peeler before cooking.  By roasting them first, until the sugars begin to caramelize, you add a dimension of flavor that you just can't get by simply boiling them with the apples.  Of course, if you're in a hurry you could certainly skip this step, but the flavor just won't be the same.  To complement the sweetness in this soup I add one whole star anise, which I remove just before blending.  It adds a hint of spicy warmth that pairs so very well with the beets and apples.

The snow began to melt early that afternoon, and by evening the sun was peaking out from behind the clouds.  A warm breeze was blowing and the air smelled fresh, moist and clean.  A typical spring day here in the mountains of Colorado.  Snow is in the forecast again for Wednesday, and I'm thoroughly looking forward to making this soup once more.  I hope it brings as much warmth to your rainy (or snowy) spring days as it does to mine.

Date Night with Chicken & Figs

The kids were out, the house was quiet, and I was planning a romantic night at home with my husband.  Something elegant, but not over the top.  A simple, delicious meal with a good glass of wine: Carmel Road chardonnay - a favourite from a long time ago.  In the slow cooker, the chicken simmered in wine and herbs all afternoon, enticing us with tempting aromas that filled the house, a tantalizing hint of what was to come. . .

I'm sharing some of our favourite date night recipes at  Homegrown & Healthy today.   Click here to see them and to read the post.  Wondering what to do with the leftover figs?  My husband likes to dip them in chocolate for dessert.  Or how about baking this chocolate & fig cake?  A sinfully sweet ending to a lovely meal.

Sea Salt and Vinegar Kale Chips

In an attempt to add more dark, leafy greens into my family's diet, I've been experimenting with kale.  Since kale is one of the healthiest vegetables around (with anti-inflammatory benefits, antioxidants, known cancer-preventive nutrients, detoxifying abilities, and compounds to enhance eye and lung health - to name a few), and since my family has been battling illness for over a week now, this nutrient-dense food was exactly what we needed.  The deep green kale in my market was absolutely fresh and beautiful last week, and I couldn't resist buying a large bunch with the intention of making Colcannon, a traditional Irish dish of potatoes and kale mashed with heavy cream (my go-to kale recipe).  However, when I got home I was inspired to do something quite different.

I keep asking myself, Why has it taken you so long to discover these?!  Kale chips have been making their way around the blogosphere for some time now, but only recently have I begun to cook it this way.  Something almost magical happens when kale is roasted in the oven.  The bitter flavour is tamed and becomes rich, hearty and organic.  The tough, woody leaves become light and feathery.  I'm serious; these nearly melt in your mouth. 

Kale chip recipes abound in heaps and droves on the internet, and perhaps it's a recipe that's been "overdone," but I was so happy with how these turned out that I just had to share.  I hope you don't mind.  I wanted to keep my chips simple, while enhancing the earthy flavour of the kale in a subtle and sophisticated way.  Malt vinegar was the natural choice.  Additionally, I infused the olive oil with garlic over very low heat and used the finest French gray salt I could find.  That's it!  A few simple but extraordinary ingredients, half and hour in the oven and you have a fabulous homemade snack with a list of nutritional benefits too long to name.  If you've never made kale chips before, I highly suggest that you do!

"These are sooo good!" my son exclaimed as he sat down for his afternoon snack.  Needless to say the entire bunch of kale was gone in a few minutes.  I call that a success.

Santa Fe Green Chile Stew

We spent the week before Easter exploring Santa Fe - a town that is at once both comfortably familiar and mysteriously foreign.  A town so full of contradictions, as is all of The Land of Enchantment, that I find it impossible to wrap my head around.  Yet,  I spent my childhood summers playing in the mountains outside of town and it always feels like home.

The sidewalk in front of the Palace of the Governors (the oldest building in the United States, by the way) is covered in brightly woven blankets, each adorned with an assortment of handmade, Native American goods - rose gold necklaces, turquoise bracelets set in bright silver, soft leather pouches of all sorts and sizes,  wooden drums, cork guns, and trinkets for the children, and Eve's favourite - pretty dolls with long, black hair, their dresses the brightest rainbow of colours.  The local peddlers sit behind each blanket, nestled into the warm, adobe wall.  Bundled tightly in blankets and hoods, their friendly, weather-beaten faces are creased with smile lines and their eyes glow warmly despite the cold wind that blows in fierce gusts down the street.  The sound of laughter floats our way from the plaza nearby.  A hundred local children are chasing the pigeons from benches and fences and watching them fly to the safety of the eves on the palace roof, squawking their disapproval.  And, though it's Monday afternoon, a street band plays festive music in front of the obelisk in the centre of the plaza.

 

The Cathedral Basilica of Saint Francis of Assisi is an imposing building just up the street.  The doors remind me of those at the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, Italy.  Inside, the building opens up like some of the most beautiful cathedrals in Europe.  The walls are lined with stained glass images of the saints, and incense and candle wax perfume the air.  We watch quietly as a family lights a candle for a loved one, and I think how could anyone not feel at peace in a place like this? 

I don't want to leave, but it's late, and I know my parking meter is running low.  The wind catches our hair as we push the majestic doors back open and we're reminded, once again, just how cold the wind can be here in early spring.

 
We decided to get a late lunch at the Blue Corn Cafe (133 Water St.) before heading out.  A place that's renown for the spice of their green chile.  I was so impressed by the care with which they handled Eve's allergies, and though they don't have an allergen menu, I felt sure that Eve's food would be safe.  I had the Green Chile Stew, which was a tantelizing mix of all my favourite New Mexican flavours - hominy, pork, potatoes, and of course green chiles.  It was served with a thick, homemade flour tortilla and a fresh sopaipilla.  After one bite it was clear why this place is famous for their spice.  My tongue was on fire!  But it was delicious, none the less, and I knew that I must recreate this dish at home.  Ideas began swirling in my head.  I'd tone down the spices just a bit and freshen it up with cilantro and lime. 

So here it is: my version of Santa Fe Green Chile Stew minus the extreme heat. I served mine with homemade, baked tortilla chip seasoned with a bit of lime and salt.  As I ate it, my heart was back in Santa Fe - a memory brought to life again through food.  I hope you will enjoy it, too.

Cardamom Spiced Orange-Poppy Seed Cake

Exotic.

Deep.

Earthy.

Rich.

Growing wild in India, and the world's third most expensive spice, cardamom is one of the oldest spices know to man.  It's renown for its healing qualities, especially when it comes to the digestive system.  It's also known for its unique ability to cool the body when hot, and to heat the body when cool.  A feast for all the senses, it's a powerful aphrodisiac.  For that reason, it's said that Cleopatra bathed in water steeped with cardamom pods.














So, in this season of fertility and rebirth, I knew I wanted to highlight the sensuous, earthy flavour of cardamom in my Easter menu.   Since cardamom pairs so very well with oranges, and I happened to have a few oranges left in the fruit bowl on my counter, I decided to combine the two in a rich but fluffy coffee cake, perfect for Easter brunch or any springtime celebration.

 

The method I use to prepare this coffee cake is a little different from that of other cakes in that the butter is "cut" into the flour with a pastry blender.  This results in a light, pillow-y texture similar to that of biscuits.  A salty, streusel topping melts into the cake as it bakes, and the poppy seeds are neatly suspended throughout, providing a tantalizing crunch and a hint of spicy bitterness in every bite.

Joyous Easter! Happy Spring!

When life hands you lemons . . .

"Life handed him a lemon,
As Life sometimes will do.
His friends looked on in pity,
Assuming he was through.
They came upon him later,
Reclining in the shade
In calm contentment, drinking
A glass of lemonade."

-Clarence Edwin Flynn, 1940

Lemonade is great, but let's face it, there are days when you need something just a little stronger.  While I'm not an advocate for drowning your cares in a bottle, I am a big fan of lemons so when life hands me one, well, I turn it into limoncello.

At this time of year the market shelves are dripping with lemons, sunny and bright.  It's time to make limoncello again.  I look forward to it every year in wet and windy March.  Outside the snow is still swirling in misty clouds around the mountain peaks, and here in the foothills the wet wind blows down the mountain side in ferocious gales that rip the tree branches apart and tear down fences.  A stormy afternoon is the perfect time to make limoncello.  Like a ritual I preform once a year, I put the kettle on for green tea as I clean the lemons.  Then I settle myself in front of the window with a very sharp knife and begin peeling them.  All ten of them.  It's a bit of a process, and you need to be fairly meticulous about removing every last bit of white pith from the peels, but it's worth it. 

When the clouds finally part, resplendent light dances across the peels on my cutting board illuminating them like brilliant flecks of sunshine. The steam from my tea still rises, and the smell of lemon permeates the whole house - fresh and clean, like spring.  Then, just as quickly, the sun disappears and the wind howls once again.   Still, the lemon peels are radiant.   Now do you see why I save limoncello for March?

Limoncello is an Italian liqueur that's traditionally served as a digestivo after a large meal.  Serve it well-chilled in two ounce portions, and store it in the freezer.  I've made this version every March for years.  It's from Giada de Laurentiis's book Giada's Family Dinners, and it's so good why change it?

Now, what do you do with the ten peeled lemons that you're left with?  Make lemonade, of course.

Forbidden Fruit and The Devil's Chocolate Cake

Sometimes I just need a piece of chocolate cake.  Just one small piece.   I don't want a large, supermarket cake - full of artificial everything and sweetened beyond to human limits of taste.  I don't want it seducing me to eat just one more dry slice.  I don't need it tempting me, a devious serpent coiled among the apples in my refrigerator.  I don't want to hear it slyly hissing, Eat me, eat me, from across the kitchen as I pour my morning coffee.  No, I want to eat just one sinfully decadent piece and be done with it.  But if I am only going to have just one piece, it had better come from one gloriously rich and indulgently moist cake.  Complete, intense satisfaction in just a few bites.

Are you like me?  Do you ever want to lose yourself in that one piece, letting the luscious flavour of chocolate, the deep undertones of dark coffee, the enticing aroma of pure vanilla swirl around you like a sacred wisp of incense offered to an ancient god?  Heady, intoxicating, yet smooth as silk.   If that sounds like what you need right now, this is the cake for you.  It's intense and small - perfect for a group of four - and it wont take up residence in you refrigerator.  The perfect one time indulgence.

This recipe is an adaptation of my great-grandmother's Devil's Food Cake.  I've made it richer, deeper, sexier.  The figs are for my husband.  A man who's been known to dip whole figs into creamy milk chocolate as a late night snack.  And, since figs are rumored to be the forbidden fruit of the garden, what better way to adorn the devil's chocolate cake?  Are you tempted . . .