I hate wasting food. This is one of the times when allow myself to use the word “hate”. The five second rule has a long extension in our house. My heart breaks when I open that mystery tupperware in the back of the fridge to discover that a special leftover that I was coveting for my lunch, has grown a fuzzy sweater and has to be put out of its misery.
Turns out that a couple of these veggies were not squash but a cucumber like veggie that I had not tasted before. So after this photo, I replaced them with more squash. I then used my new favourite veggie in a rustic Greek salad to accompany the pasta.
I love the abundance of this time of year and we are delighted with our garden share basket every week but I am very careful to set aside hearty veggies like carrots, beets and potatoes to enjoy in a week or so and focus on the more perishable items. Recently I blanched and froze cabbage leaves to make cabbage rolls in the future and I have been grilling and freezing our squash varieties to try to keep up.
Last evening though I concocted a new use for zucchini and sunburst squash. The family loved it including an intern from out-of-town who is living with us until Christmas.
The quantities in this recipe are approximate for two reasons: a) by the time I get to test the recipe again, the urgency of the season may have past and 2) less stock or more vegetables will only change the consistency, not the taste.
A great deal of the marvelous flavour comes from the bacon and renderings, so if I were to convert the dish to a vegetarian recipe I would delete the bacon, use a vegetable oil and add more onion and garlic to punch up the flavour.
I am writing this as part of the Canadian Food Experience Project which began June 7 2013. As we the participants, share our collective stories across the vastness of our Canadian landscape through our regional food experiences, we hope to bring global clarity to our Canadian culinary identity through the cadence of our concerted Canadian voice.
My Dad was a first generation Canadian. He was born in Poland and raised in what is now called the Czech Republic. He arrived in southern Saskatchewan (approximately 75 miles south of Moose Jaw) with his Mom Felicia and his little brother. His Dad had settled a couple of years before, undoubtedly because of having seen the notice below:
Every person who is the sole head of a family and every male who has attained the age of 18 years and is a British subject or declares his intention of becoming and British subject, is entitled to apply for entry to a homestead. A quarter-section may be obtained as a homestead on payment of an entry fee of $10 and fulfillment of certain conditions of residence and cultivation. To qualify for the issuing of the patent, the settler must have resided upon his homestead for at least six months of each of three years, must have erected a habitable house thereon, and must have at least 30 acres of his holding broken, of which 20 acres must be cropped. A reduction may be made in the area of breaking where the land is difficult to cultivate on account of scrub or stone.
They settled in the community known as Limerick. My Grandma cleaned the homes of other families while Grandpa continued to work their land and build their little farmhouse. At the same time, my Dad and Uncle attended a one room school house where the most difficult task was learning to speak English. When the Second World War was declared, the brothers enlisted in the air-force, eager to defend their new country. My Dad survived the crash of his aircraft in Europe. My Uncle never did make it overseas, haven been killed when his training plane crashed into a hill not far from Moose Jaw.
Her stove looked a great deal like this but is less ornate.
As time went on, my Grandma moved into a house in “town” where she grew geraniums on every window sill and white lace curtains floated in the breeze. She had a big old stove that took up most of her kitchen. It would be filled with coal in the morning and then sticks of wood would be added as the day went by. The beautiful appliance included a cistern where water could be heated and held. A pot of soup or stew could be placed on top and brought to a rapid bowl and then moved to a cooler area of the cook-top to simmer the morning away. I can distinctly remember the amazing tastes of Grandma’s potato soup, prune dumplings served with melted butter and cinnamon sugar and freshly killed chickens fried in boiling lard- producing the crispest and juiciest chicken I have ever tasted.
Baking was more problematic as the oven had one temperature and could not be adjusted or moderated. But she stilled managed to produce the most delectable bread, buns, apple pie, poppy seed roll, thimble cookies and this, her prized cake that we simply callPoli sh Cake. When Sister #3 was researching the origin of the recipe for a cookbook that she is writing, she found that similar cakes had Jewish origins, so she has surmised that Grandma must have obtained the recipe from a Jewish neighbour in Poland.
Acquiring this recipe was a task in itself as Grandma did not write any of her recipes down. My sister-in-law observed Grandma making this cake on one visit and took notes while trying to get Grandma to be as specific as possible. Years later, Sister #3 took those notes and started recipe writing and testing. Here are the results:
Truth is, I didn’t know precisely where Georgia was until I got out our big atlas that resides in our living room and is pulled out frequently for my enlightenment. You might say that I am geographically challenged. Good friends of ours invited us over for a taste of Georgian cooking as she had spent time in that country and picked up some culinary favourites.
Her husband helped me get up to speed with an excerpt from his 2006 blog post:
A Georgian Table
There are two legends that Georgians tell to explain the creation of their country, and fascinatingly, both involve food. In the first, the Georgians claim that when God was distributing land to all the peoples of the Earth, they were too busy feasting and drinking to show up at the appointed time. When they finally arrived, they were dismayed to learn that all the land had already been given away. They explained to God the reason for their delay, and God, obviously recognizing the value of a people who would rather be feasting than fighting over land, took pity on them and gave the Georgians the part of the Earth that he had been reserving for himself – naturally, the most beautiful part. In the second legend, God took a supper break while creating the world, and became so involved with his meal that he inadvertently tripped over the high peaks of the Caucasus, spilling his food onto the land below. This land blessed by heaven’s table scraps was Georgia.
We were not observing supra, which is a feast when a huge assortment of dishes are prepared, always accompanied by large amounts of wine.
These feasts are said to go on for hours but we didn’t have hours, just a bit of time before the boys had to go to bed.
At this meal we enjoyed a lovely salad and a delectable marinated and grilled pork. But to be honest, what I was fascinated with and couldn’t get enough of was the Khachapuri which I understand is their version of cheese bread and is a a staple of Georgian kitchens.
Sarah referred to her Nani’s recipe when she described to me how Khachapuri is made. A simple dough is prepared with the inclusion of Balkan yoghurt. In a separate bowl the cheese filling is mixed together from feta, butter and eggs. Sarah mixes and kneads her dough in her bread maker. Then she splits the dough into eight equal parts. She rolls out each portion and then places 1/8th of the cheese filling in the middle. She then folds the edges up around the filling, pinches it together and flattens back into a thick disk. These dense cakes are then heated in a dry frying pan 2-3 minutes per side. Oh my, I couldn’t get enough of these.
The meal and the Khahapuri tasted like the perfect blend of Eastern European and Middle Eastern cooking. When I did a little bit of research on the history of Georgian fare, these are the two primary influences of the region’s cuisine.
A gorgeous trifle was served next. One of the boys tried very patiently to wait for dessert.
Kath’s quote:“Anybody who believes that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach flunked geography.”-Robert Byrne
I was reading through a blog post from last week and realized that I had not posted a recipe which I had promised. This turned out to be one of the hits at the recent baby shower that Daughter #2 hosted for the Wee One.
I find it mighty hard to leave all this behind.
Truth is, the appetizer was a bit of a fluke. I wanted to do some of my prep while out at the beach house to lessen my responsibilities once I got into town. So I snooped around the freezer and found a pound of bacon. I discovered that I still had some California figs left when the producers graciously sent them to me. I tried a ricotta at first with no success-too mild and impossible to stuff without a pastry bag so I rattled around a little more in the fridge and found this deliciously salty cheese that I was going to brown in a fry pan and serve with taco chips. Best of all, it was firm enough to be cut into little sticks and then pressed into the fig with ease.
When my Mother-in-law offered up a bucket of strawberries that she had just picked and then I found that rhubarb was being delivered in my garden share hamper, I knew immediately that I would combine the two and make a crisp or a platz. D had other ideas. He thinks that rhubarb overpowers the delicate taste of freshly picked strawberries and I now know that he is correct. I have to guard against being overly frugal. I am constantly trying to “stretch” ingredients, even free offerings. D thinks that it is his American heritage that has instilled his love of pie. Perhaps too, because his Mom makes the best darn pies I have ever tasted. Living up to her legacy and his memories is a challenge, but one that I am happy to take up.
I will admit right here that I take one major short cut. I often pick up frozen pie crusts when they are on sale. This way I can quickly take advantage of fresh fruit when it is offered up. There is no way that I could ever recreate D’s Mom’s crust (or Sister #3’s for that matter), so I do not even try. The rest of the recipe is D’s Mom’s though. It is as easy as pie (tee hee) to throw together.
Completely fill the bottom of a baked pie shell with the choicest strawberries.
Mash remaining berries and combine with sugar in a heavy-bottomed pot.
Place over medium heat and bring to a boil, stirring frequently.
In a small bowl, whisk together cornstarch and water.
Gradually stir cornstarch mixture into boiling strawberry mixture.
Reduce heat and simmer mixture until thickened, about 10 minutes, stirring constantly.
Pour mixture over berries in pastry shell.
Chill for several hours before serving.
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Kath’s quote: “Strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries thrive here. From these they make a wonderful dish combined with syrup and sugar, which is called ‘pai’. I can tell you that is something that glides easily down your throat; they also make the same sort of ‘pai’ out of apples or finely ground meat, with syrup added, and that is really the most superb.”An immigrant living in Beloit, Wisconsin, wrote to friends back in Norway (November 29, 1851)
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