Recipes Category

Not that my mom is a bad cook or anything

Lovingly Submitted by Lori Myers

(a.k.a.: My mom is an amaz­ing cook … NOW!)

Once, long ago, before my mom actu­ally became a fab­u­lous cook, she cre­ated a truly awful meal. My apolo­gies to her. It might have been my fault!

She was at wits’ end. My brother and I were the choosiest, most finicky eaters on the planet and our head chef was sick of KD and hot dogs. I don’t blame her.

Before pro­ceed­ing fur­ther, I admit here that our demand­ing (and refus­ing) tastes were prob­a­bly what led to the frus­tra­tion pro­vok­ing the din­ner menu in ques­tion. Our ter­ri­ble eat­ing habits were also why, until then, not many adven­tur­ous culi­nary attempts were made in our house. Mom knew no one would eat them.

One day I returned home after an ener­getic post-school romp in the ravine. Hmmmmm. What was that strange aroma waft­ing from the cheer­ful kitchen?

Sorry Mom, the nose knows. This nose in particular.

Do I smell … LIVER????!!!” I asked, com­pletely appalled, and ready for a fight.

Of course not!” replied the quick-thinking bud­ding chef.

You know the old adage: when in doubt, lie. Sometimes it works. (Not on me, mind you, but I always do admire a sin­cere attempt!)

I smell liver!” I screamed. There was an echo in there. And I was ready to run away from home. (Or at least go else­where for din­ner.) (Someone, some­where was mak­ing KD.)

Don’t be silly!” Mom attempted to calm me down.

Yep, that had always worked in the past. Not.

The dish in ques­tion was a fright­en­ingly unsub­tle attempt to con­ceal a bit of pro­tein. The offend­ing sub­stance was actu­ally ground, sautéed chicken liv­ers, in spaghetti sauce (which I already dis­liked, as it con­tained bits of unknown “ingre­di­ents”) (duh!!).

Okay, chicken liver spaghetti. Sure, that sounds like some­thing picky kids would l-o-v-e. Parents, seri­ously: where do you get these ideas?

The rest of the evening passed unevent­fully. That is: no one ate much. Not even the opti­mistic cook. We were mad, the house stank (sorry, Mom), din­ner was truly awful. Mind you, no one left the province.

Liver was never attempted again. Cooking soon became much more excit­ing and adven­tur­ous as the whole fam­ily cul­ti­vated a sin­cere and last­ing inter­est in var­ied ingre­di­ents, and meals other than mac­a­roni. Food became an excuse for explo­ration and fun and shared research … of the eat­ing vari­ety. There were plenty of great meals from then on. And there still are!

This tale about attempt­ing to inflict some vari­ety still comes up often at fam­ily din­ners, because that hor­ri­ble din­ner led to lots of won­der­ful cook­ing. And because I can be a bit of a pest with a bad story. And also because some­how there is noth­ing quite so much fun as a lov­ing fam­ily joke.

The lit­tle exper­i­ment didn’t work Mom, but you more than made up for it!



Bacon Snacks

Submitted by Aaron Phelan

Ok so this is not elab­o­rate, or super healthy or healthy at all but I still get hun­gry when I think of my Mom call­ing me in from play­ing in the yard for ‘Bacon Snacks.’

1. a dozen Melba Toasts or Toasted Bread cut the size of sand­wich halves

2. Place sliced ched­dar on top

We used to get our ched­dar from Maple Dale near Plainfield Ontario. Try it!

3. Place cooked bacon on top and brown in the oven. Now call your tod­dler over from what­ever he’s play­ing with and he’ll love you for ever.



Ingrid’s Famous Lemon Loaf

When I was grow­ing up, my mom had a few spe­cial­ties but one of my favourite treats was her lemon loaf. She would make it when we had guests or some­times just because.

It’s been a while since I’ve had it; years actu­ally. I’ve had other peo­ples’ but, like drink­ing milk at some­one else’s house, it’s not quite the same.

I think it was the zesty sweet driz­zle icing that did it. She poked holes into the loaf, so it would infuse the loaf. Always a treat.

6 table­spoons short­en­ing
1 cup white sugar
2 beaten eggs
grind of one lemon peel
1 1/2 cups all pur­pose flour
1 half tea­spoon salt
1 tea­spoon bak­ing pow­der
1 half cup milk

Beat sugar into soft­ened short­en­ing, a lit­tle at a time.
Beat eggs well.
Add milk and ground lemon peel.
Mix dry ingre­di­ents together and add grad­u­ally to wet ingre­di­ents.
Pour into a greased loaf pan, 9″ x 5″ x 2″.
Bake in pre­heated oven @ 350 degrees.
While the loaf bakes, mix juice of one lemon with a lit­tle less than 1/3 cup of sugar.
Let baked loaf cool for 5 min­utes, then punc­ture it with a knit­ting nee­dle or other pointed
tool.
Pour sweet lemon juice over loaf.
Let cool com­pletely before cutting.

Submitted by Rick Stender



Peruvian Sillao Chicken

By Patty Beiger

Tuesdays were my Elo’s favourite day, because on that day, and that day only, my Ela made “Pollo al sil­lao*” for lunch. So of course when I asked my Ela for recipes I could bring to Canada with me, my Elo blurted out “Pollo al sil­lao!”. Since then I’ve made it for many peo­ple, old and young, some finicky and some not so much, and it is everyone’s favourite, mine included, because it is not just deli­cious, but also simple.

*Sillao is what Peruvians call soy sauce.

For 6 people

INGREDIENTS:
12 chicken drum­sticks
Juice from 2 lemons
1 table­spoon of dry oregano
2 cloves of gar­lic, minced
2 cups of low sodium soy sauce
Pepper to taste

PREPARATION:
Preheat oven to 400ºF.
Combine lemon juice, oregano, gar­lic, pep­per and soy sauce. Do not add salt!
Place the chicken drum­sticks skin up in an oven dish deep enough to hold the sauce
Bathe them with the sauce.
Place in oven and bake for 45 min­utes.
Traditionally served with white rice, but any­thing goes; even fettuccine!



My Bubby’s Cabbage Borscht

BY GAIL GORDON OLIVER

My late grand­mother, Debbie Chodos, who immi­grated to Montreal from Lithuania as a child, made deli­cious soups, and her cab­bage borscht was a favourite. Because she never wrote down her recipes, it took me a bit of time to repli­cate the spe­cific fla­vors of her ver­sion. She used “sour salt” (cit­ric acid crys­tals) instead of lemon juice, and chuck instead of short ribs. And she often elim­i­nated the stew­ing meat alto­gether, plac­ing raw meat­balls into the sim­mer­ing borscht instead, where they’d soak up the soup’s flavours as they cooked. This can be a meal in itself, served with fresh, crusty kim­mel bread (as seeded rye is called in Jewish bak­eries in Montreal) or challah.

Makes 8 servings

2 pounds beef short ribs (flanken), each strip cut in half
1 large onion, roughly chopped
2 large car­rots, roughly chopped
2 stalks cel­ery, roughly chopped
1 clove gar­lic
1 bay leaf
8 cups water, plus more if needed
1 small head green cab­bage, halved, cored and cut into 1/2-inch chunks
2 medium onions, finely chopped
1 large can (28 ounces) whole toma­toes
3 cups tomato juice
2 table­spoons gran­u­lated sugar or light brown sugar, plus more if needed
1 tea­spoon kosher salt, plus more if needed
1/4 tea­spoon freshly ground black pep­per, plus more if needed
2 table­spoons freshly squeezed lemon juice, plus more if needed (or sour salt, adding 1/2 tsp at a time, to taste)

1. In a large pot or Dutch oven, com­bine the beef, the roughly chopped onion, car­rots, cel­ery, gar­lic, bay leaf and water, mak­ing sure the beef is well sub­merged in the water (add more water if needed). Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and sim­mer, par­tially cov­ered, for 90 min­utes, occa­sion­ally remov­ing scum from the surface.

2. Using a slot­ted spoon, remove the beef from the pot and place it in a bowl. Strain the broth through a fine mesh strainer into a con­tainer; dis­card the veg­eta­bles, bay leaf, and any loose bones. Separate the beef meat from the bones and mem­brane; dis­card the bones and mem­brane. Cut or shred the meat into bite-sized pieces; set aside. (Note: At this stage, you may wish to refrig­er­ate the beef broth overnight and remove the con­gealed fat before pro­ceed­ing with the recipe. Be sure to refrig­er­ate the meat in a sep­a­rate container.)

3. In the same large pot or Dutch oven, com­bine 5 cups of the strained beef broth, the cooked beef, cab­bage, diced onions, toma­toes and their liq­uid, tomato juice, sugar, salt and pep­per. Stir well, lightly break­ing up the toma­toes, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, par­tially cover the pot, and sim­mer, stir­ring occa­sion­ally, until the cab­bage is ten­der, 70 to 90 min­utes. Stir in the lemon juice. Taste the borscht and adjust sea­son­ings as needed. Serve hot.

This recipe was first pub­lished in the Winter 2008/09 issue of Edible Toronto mag­a­zine.