Who loves chocolate knows that it is not just something you simply eat with heavenly pleasure. It is alive, it breathes and has a heart beat. Just one bite and suddenly you reach an intimate connection. That’s when it ceases to enchant your throat and starts a diaologue through words of aroma, essence, gusto, pungency, savor, spiciness, sweetness, bitterness, tang and zing. I’ll stop here.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Three Little Roosters in a Little Tin Pan
My sister asked me what I was making for lunch today, I tuned a cute jingle and said “three little roosters in a little tin pan”, with this I’ve come to the conclusion that my three year old nephew’s nursery songs have insanely brainwashed me.
The choice of the little roosters is strategic. They cook faster, they are far more juicier than chicken, no carving involved and nobody fights over who gets what. At my house, the three of us love drumsticks and wings, guess who always gets stuck with the chicken breast? Let’s just say that serving a little rooster to each table person = portion/taste/peace and strategy.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
You can find so many recipes on scones out there, of all types, shapes and flavours. This one is an extra that will pile up on others but with one difference. I’m for fresh at all times, seasonal fresh and if possible, straight from the garden. If I don’t have the ingredient that makes the difference, I bookmark the recipe and save it for when I do. Blueberries are one of those.
Monday, January 7, 2013
A Different Pizza
The other day I came across my mother’s recipe book. It’s been a while since the last time I read through it, I almost forgot all the recipes she collected throughout her life. Pages and pages of handwritten recipes, notes, corrections, highlights, magazine cut-outs. Wrinkled paper, folded corners, sticky notes. Oil stains, chocolate fingerprints, sugar crystals and flour, rubbed in creases. Pages have yellowed and some recipes are now smudged but it’s all there...my mother’s favorites, her testings, food I’ve grown up with. I see her cooking, her apron wrapped tight, the light in her eyes, I’m holding her in my hands, she’s in between those lines. Page 26. Pizza di Scarola (Escarole Pizza).