Daring Cooks' July Challenge - Homemade Noodles

Steph from Stephfood was our Daring Cooks‟ July hostess. Steph challenged us to make homemade noodles without the help of a motorized pasta machine. She provided us with recipes for Spätzle and Fresh Egg Pasta as well as a few delicious sauces to pair our noodles with!

This month’s Daring Cooks challenge couldn’t have come at a better time. I had been wanting to make pasta from scratch for a while now, and had already borrowed my father-in-law’s pasta machine even before the challenge was revealed (it also came in handy for the Daring Bakers’ baklava challenge).

I started off simple, by following the egg fettuccine recipe provided. The dough was very easy to work with. When cutting the pasta, the strands initially stuck together, and I had to finish separating them by hand. But I floured the next batches more thoroughly, and there were no other problems. I prepared the fettuccine very simply as well, a variation on aglio e olio: some garlic-infused oil, a crack of pepper, and some baby spinach thrown in with the pasta at the last minute. I would have liked the noodles themselves to be a little slicker, but I guess making pasta takes practice.

After that, I just had to make stuffed pasta: so many possibilities! My father-in-law had lent me a nifty little gadget to help with making ravioli.

Once the pasta is rolled, you place it over the cutters and stuff the pockets.

Cover with another sheet, run a rolling pin over, then turn over and press down.

And voilà! Just cut out the ravioli, and you’re done!

For the filling, I sautéed some finely chopped pancetta and portobello mushrooms, then mixed in some parsley, bread crumbs, and an egg. It wound up being a little too dry, and the sage-infused butter I used as a sauce did little to balance it. Normally, I guess one would have added ricotta, but nobody likes ricotta around here…

Ok, they’re not the most photogenic little morsels, either. Again, practice makes perfect.

I finished off this challenge with the dish I am proudest of: homemade ramen. Actually, I didn’t really think of this as part of the challenge: circumstances last week conspired to fill me with an irresistible urge to make ramen, and I spent four days running around looking for recipes and ingredients (when I get the urge to make something in particular, I tend to get a little obsessed). I didn’t think I would get this done before the deadline, but it turns out I was able to serve it for dinner last night.

I’m actually going to make a separate post about the making of this dish, so I won’t go into details here. I’ll just specify that I didn’t go so far as to pull the noodles by hand, which is the traditional way to make these. Instead, I used the pasta machine. So making the noodles themselves wasn’t much different from making pasta, except that the ramen dough was egg-free, and included a hard-to-find ingredient called kansui, or alkaline water.

This was definitely one of the most productive and inspiring challenges I’ve taken part in. Thank you, Steph! The rest of you can look at the challenge recipes here at the Daring Kitchen, and also go through the Daring Cooks’ blog roll to see what other kind of noodles were cooked up this month.

Taking on the Double Down - Sicilian Sandwich

Today, my friend and fellow blogger Victor of Random Cuisine celebrates his blog’s second anniversary. Happy blogaversary, Victor, keep up the good work and the good cooking!

For this occasion, Victor asked some of us to take part in a very unique challenge: to make our own version of KFC’s infamous Double Down. This much talked-about breadless sandwich consists in two fried chicken filets, surrounding a filling of bacon, two kinds of cheeses, and “secret sauce.” While not quite as humongous as Friendly’s Grilled Cheese Burger Melt (a burger in which the bun has been replaced by two grilled cheese sandwiches), the Double Down is still an impressive piece of decadence.

My first thought after agreeing to take on Victor’s challenge was “How on Earth am I going to make this nutritionally acceptable?” I love me some fried food, but something about eating two stacked fried filets makes my stomach quiver in fear (oddly enough, this does not apply to burgers, as I’ve eaten my share of Bic Macs). So, I tried to think of something that could be stacked, and that wasn’t bread – because, of course, that would just result in a sandwich, and would defeat the purpose.

I finally stumbled on an idea while flipping through Stefano Faita’s Entre Cuisine et Quincaillerie: the Sicilian sandwich. Two thick slices of eggplant, breaded and grilled (or fried), and sandwiched around a slice of prosciutto and melted cheese. It sounded like a worthy Double Down substitute.

I followed the principle of the Double Down and used two different kinds of cheese: parmesan and smoked cacciocavallo. I replaced the bacon with crispy pancetta, and my “secret sauce” was a basil coulis. It was a pretty good combination, and very satisfying.

Thanks for the challenge, Victor, and congrats!



Sicilian Sandwich
Adapted from Stefano Faita’s Entre Cuisine et Quincaillerie
Serves 2

One large eggplant
6 slices of pancetta
Two slices of smoked cacciocavallo cheese
A few shards of parmesan cheese
A big handful of fresh basil leaves
Salt and pepper
Olive oil
Bread crumbs


Preheat oven to 180ºC (350ºF).

Make the coulis: Put the basil, salt and pepper in a food processor. Pulse until finely shredded. Gradually pour in olive oil, until you obtain a smooth, liquid sauce. Set aside.

Cut four 1 cm (1/2 inch) slices into the eggplant. Brush both sides of each slice with olive oil, then coat them in bread crumbs. Heat some more oil in a pan over high heat, and fry the eggplant slices until cooked through and browned on both sides. Remove from heat and reserve.

Fry the pancetta in a pan over high heat, until crispy. Remove from heat and reserve.

Divide the parmesan, cacciocavallo and pancetta in two and place them over two eggplant slices. Drizzle with basil coulis, and complete the sandwiches with the remaining eggplant slices. Place on a baking sheet and bake in the oven until cheese is melted. Drizzle more basil coulis, and serve immediately.

Daring Bakers November Challenge - Crostata

The 2010 November Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Simona of briciole. She chose to challenge Daring Bakers’ to make pasta frolla for a crostata. She used her own experience as a source, as well as information from Pellegrino Artusi’s Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well.

I love pies and tarts. I really do. I think, in most cases, I’ll choose them over cake. So this month’s Daring Bakers’ Challenge, crostata, was good news for me! Crostata is a traditional Italian tart, made with short crust pastry. I’ve been wondering what the difference is between short crust pastry and short pastry (or pâte brisée) Apparently, the main difference is that short pastry contains water. And then, you have pâté sablée, which is closer to short crust pastry, but has a higher butter content. So many doughs, so little time.

I made my first ever crostata a few months ago, to bring to a dinner party; while I obviously didn't make it as part of this challenge, I thought I might as well included it here, since I haven't posted about it yet. I used pâte brisée, and made an apple filling. I quite like the rustic look of free-form crostate, and they’re so easy to make. But, although the dough was perfect, I found that the apples were undercooked to my taste.


The challenge required us to make pasta frolla (short crust pastry), which was easy enough to make. It was very crumbly, and I had trouble rolling it out evenly, but it was also quite forgiving, in that it allowed me to patch up any holes or tears very easily.

We were giving free range for the filling. Our hostess, Simona, suggested filling the tart with jam, or pastry cream, before baking it. But I wasn’t in the mood for a jam tart. As for pastry cream, I already knew how to make it, and I tend to prefer it unbaked. There was the possibility of blind baking the crust entirely and then filling it with fresh pastry cream and fresh fruit. That last option was most appealing to me, but it also had the inconvenience of not keeping very long. What to do, what to do?

In the end, I used a recipe from Marcy Goldman’s A Passion for Baking, a variation on the traditional French chocolate silk pie. Traditionally, silk pies require no baking – but since they contain eggs, they are considered a little risky that way. I’m not too afraid of raw eggs (coming from a country where people have regularly freaked out about mad cow disease and dioxin-contaminated chicken, I think I’ve grown a little blasé about food poisoning in general), but I did want my crostata to keep for at least a few days. Marcy’s version features slightly non traditional ingredients, such as sweetened condensed milk, and is baked long enough to ensure safety. “Sounds good to me,” I decided.


Having never used sweetened condensed milk before, I didn’t know what to expect. The thick, gloopy mixture that poured out of the can wasn’t particularly appetizing, but then I’ve learned not to judge an ingredient based on first impressions. And I was right, because this was one of the best tarts I’ve ever made. There was a distinctive malty taste from the condensed milk, but it wasn’t too invasive, and the chocolate was still definitely the star. The crostata was sweet, but not cloying (although I was glad I’d cut out some of the sugar in the crust), and the filling was creamy and almost fudge-like. Fudge in a crust – who wouldn’t love that?

Speaking of the crust, I’d blind baked it for 15 minutes before filling it, as I often have trouble with underbaked pie bottoms. I had rolled it out quite thinly, and it was evenly baked, with a nice, sandy texture that nonetheless held together. I did try to decorate the top with the traditional lattice pattern of dough strips, but because my filling was so liquid before baking, the strips looked like they were sinking into it. It just seemed like a bad idea, so I removed them.


This was a very pleasant challenge, and the pasta frolla recipe is a keeper. Also, the Untraditional French Chocolate Silk Crostata will from now on be one of my go-to recipes for dinner parties. Thank you, Simona, for these discoveries!

Don’t forget to check out the challenge recipes, and to go through the Daring Bakers’ blogroll!

A Strong Contender - Pork Osso Bucco

Ever since I started to get seriously interested in cooking, I’ve known that choosing a favourite recipe would be impossible. Even if we put aside dessert and focus on a single dinner main course, there are just too many options. Baby back BBQ ribs, sweet-and-sour duck breast, my mother’s imperial rolls, Laurent’s pizza, chicken fajitas, steak tartare, pho bo, sashimi, spaghetti a la carbonara with mushrooms, steamed mussels à la marinière… There’s just too much to choose from!

But I have a feeling that osso bucco would definitely be in my top five. My mother often made it for us when I was living at home, and it was always a treat for me. I wasn’t even freaked out by the bone marrow – instead, I relished it.

Osso bucco, for those of you who might be less familiar, means “pierced bone” in Italian. Basically, it is a veal shank, braised in a tomato-infused broth. But, as with most Italian dishes, there are a multitude of variations: there are even tomato-free versions.

I’ve tried several recipes. Often, I purposefully make too much sauce, which we freeze and use with pasta, on days when we are too busy to cook. Traditionally, osso bucco is served with saffron-infused Milanese risotto, but I like to serve it with plain long-grain rice, or couscous. And I like to up the ante on the vegetables, so as to make it an all-in-one meal.

Recently, however, Laurent’s mother introduced me to pork osso bucco. And it was actually really good; the meat had a stronger flavour than veal, but it also held together better. So, when I saw a couple of gorgeous pork shanks at the grocery store, I couldn’t resist buying them and preparing them for myself. After all, they weren’t that much expensive than veal shanks – which, I have to admit, aren’t cheap.

I prepared them as I do veal shanks, with lots of veggies. But I used less liquid than I usually do, so as to properly braise them, rather than stew them. And, oh my goodness, they were good! Tender and succulent, each bite full of flavour. I completely forgot to make the gremolata, the traditional accompaniment of minced garlic, chopped parsley and grated lemon zest, which is served on the side and sprinkled over the meat – but I didn’t miss it until I was nearly finished inhaling my meal!

Happy Easter to you all!


Pork Osso Bucco

Serves 4

4-6 pork shanks (depending on size)
All-purpose flour
Salt and pepper
2 tbsp olive oil
1 onion
120 ml (1/2 cup) dry white wine
4 celery ribs
4 carrots
120 ml (1 cup) diced canned tomatoes
Water, as needed
2 bay leaves


Preheat oven to 180°C (350°F).

Salt and pepper the pork shanks, then coat them in the flour.

In a Dutch oven, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Working in batches, brown the pork shanks, turning them over once or twice as needed. Remove the pork from the pan and set aside.

Reduce heat to medium, toss in the chopped onion, and cook until the onion turns transparent. Deglaze with the white wine, and scrape any brown bits off the pan. Continue cooking until the wine is nearly evaporated.

Add the carrots, celery, pork shanks, and diced tomatoes, and add enough water to just cover the shanks. Add the bay leaves, and season with salt. Bring to a boil, cover, place in the oven, and let simmer for 1 1/2 – 2 hours, until the meat is very tender, and almost falling off the bone.

If there is too much liquid remaining, either remove it with a spoon, or put the pan back on the stove and bring it to a boil until the liquid has evaporated enough for the sauce to thicken. Taste and adjust seasoning.

Serve with white long-grain rice, couscous, or mashed potatoes.

Daring Cooks' March Challenge - Risotto

The 2010 March Daring Cooks challenge was hosted by Eleanor of MelbournefoodGeek and Jess of Jessthebaker. They chose to challenge Daring Cooks to make risotto. The various components of their challenge recipe are based on input from the Australian Masterchef cookbook and the cookbook Moorish by Greg Malouf.

This month’s Daring Cooks’ challenge was pretty familiar to me: I’ve made risotto often. Although I have to admit, for the longest time I didn’t even consider making it: I used to think it was a fancy, complicated dish. But it’s actually fairly simple, albeit a little time consuming.

It’s also extremely versatile, which makes it convenient as hell. I’ve made risotto with smoked salmon and asparagus, aragula and gorgonzola, lemon and mushrooms… For this challenge, I decided to steer away from Italian flavours, and take the fusion road.

Fusion cuisine is not something I do often. I prefer discovering national cuisines and understanding how they work and blend flavours, before messing around with them. And since I always feel like I still have much to learn, I never get around to fusing. But I have come across fusion recipes that worked out extremely well. And it seemed like the perfect way to get creative with this challenge.

One of the requirements was to make our own stock. I delegated most of this task to Laurent, because he is the stock expert in the house. Me, I know how to make stock, but he seems to enjoy it so much more than I do – the exceptions being Asian stocks, such as Japanese dashi and Vietnamese pho broth: that’s my territory.

We used out usual stock recipe, since we know it works with any dish: one whole chicken, a couple of extra breasts, celery, carrots, onion, peppercorns and a classic bouquet garni (parsley, thyme, and bay). And quite a bit of salt. We simmered it at low heat for 3 hours, and ended up with 3 litres of deep, clear stock – along with loads of poached chicken meat, to use in salads.

For my first fusion experiment, I made a Tex-Mex Risotto, with sautéed bell pepper, black beans, corn, red Spanish onion, grated Monterey Jack cheese, jalapeno, and fresh cilantro. But, even though Tex-Mex cuisine tends to use long grain rice, I stuck with Italian Arborio rice, which works best for risotto. The result was really pretty good. And the fusion really didn’t taste weird at all: on the contrary, it felt natural. It might seem like I put a lot of stuff in there, but I always make risotto this way. To me, risotto is always an all-in-one meal, because I find it too filling to be a side-dish. So I always try to incorporate veggies and protein in there.


I took it a step further for my second try: Japanese risotto. Again, I used Arborio rice, because Japanese rice would probably have yielded a sticky mess. But instead of regular onions for the risotto base, I used scallions. And I deglazed the rice with sake, instead of the usual white wine. Finally, I replaced the chicken stock with diluted miso (not too much, otherwise the meal would have been way too salty – but enough to imbibe the rice with umami). I garnished the risotto with sautéed shiitake, and salmon teriyaki.

It came out great, I thought. The slightly salty rice contrasted well with the sweet-and-salty teriyaki – I made a point of not blending the ingredients too much, so as to prevent the sauce from getting everywhere and killing the miso. And the shiitake added a nice chewy texture to the mix. The rice was creamy and moist, very different from the usual sticky rice that comes with Japanese cuisine.

So, thank you to Eleanor and Jess for this fun, versatile challenge! Please check out the challenge recipes over at the Daring Kitchen: there are yummy risotto ideas, including preserved lemon, or pumpkin risotto! And don’t forget to check out the other Daring Cooks’ dishes!

Tex-Mex Risotto

Serves 3-4

For the risotto base:
2 tbsp olive oil
1 medium Spanish red onion, diced
200g (7 oz) Arborio rice
1 tbsp whole cumin seeds
120 ml (1/2 cup) dry white wine
1 litre (4 cups) homemade chicken stock

For the vegetable topping:
1 tbsp olive oil
1 red bell pepper, seeded, cleaned, and cut into strips
1-2 jalapeno peppers, seeded and finely chopped
250 ml (1 cup) cooked black beans, drained and rinsed
250 ml (1 cup) corn kernels, canned or frozen

Final touches:
80 ml (1/3 cup) shredded Monterey Jack cheese
A handful of fresh cilantro leaves, washed and chopped
Salt to taste


Heat the chicken stock in a separate saucepan, until steaming. Keep warm.

Prepare the vegetables:
In a skillet, heat 1 tbsp olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the bell pepper and the jalapeno, and stir-fry until tender. Add in the black beans and corn kernels and cook until heated through. Remove from heat and set aside.

Make the risotto base:
In a large, heavy-bottomed pot, heat 2 tbsp of oil over medium heat. Add the diced red onion and cook until tender. Add the rice and the cumin, and stir to coat each grain in oil. Pour in the wine and continue cooking until the liquid has evaporated or been absorbed.

Pour a ladleful of hot stock over the rice. Cook, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until all the stock has been absorbed. Repeat these steps until the rice is almost cooked to your liking.

Assemble the dish:
In the final minutes of cooking, add the cooked vegetables to the rice and stir them in. Continue cooking until warmed completely. At the last minute, stir in the shredded cheese. Adjust seasoning if necessary.

Serve immediately and garnish with chopped cilantro.


Japanese Risotto

Serves 2-3

For the risotto base:
2 tbsp olive oil
3-4 scallions, chopped
200g (7 oz) Arborio rice
60 ml (1/4 cup) sake
1 tbsp white miso, diluted in 1 litre (4 cups) warm water

For the salmon teriyaki:
60 ml (1/4 cup) sake
60 ml (1/4 cup) mirin
30 ml (1/8 cup) soy sauce
1 tbsp sugar
300g (10.5 oz) salmon fillet, skinned
1 tbsp olive oil

For the shiitake:
360 ml (1 1/2 cup) shiitake mushrooms, washed, stemmed and sliced
1/2 tbsp canola oil
Salt, to taste

Prepare the salmon teriyaki:
Combine the soy sauce, mirin, and sake in a small saucepan. Stir in the sugar and cook over low heat, until the sugar has dissolved. Transfer to a bowl or deep plate, and let cool completely. Add the salmon fillet and marinate in the fridge for 30 minutes.

Remove the salmon from the marinade, shaking off any excess liquid. Make sure to reserve the marinade. In a skillet, heat 1 tbsp olive oil over high heat and sear the salmon to your liking; do not let it get too dry inside. Remove the salmon from the pan, and cut it into chunks. Reserve.

Transfer the marinade into a saucepan and cook over medium heat, until the sauce has thickened considerably (it should form a slightly liquid glaze). Reduce heat and add the salmon, stirring gently to coat the chunks of fish. Keep warm over low heat and reserve.

Prepare the shiitake:
Heat 1/2 tbsp oil in a wok over medium-high heat. Add the shiitake and stir-fry until tender. Salt to taste, remove from heat, and reserve.

Make the risotto base:
In a large, heavy-bottomed pot, heat 2 tbsp of oil over medium heat. Add the sliced scallions and cook until tender. Add the rice, and stir to coat each grain in oil. Pour in the sake and continue cooking until the liquid has evaporated or been absorbed.

Pour a ladleful of hot miso broth over the rice. Cook, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until all the liquid has been absorbed. Repeat these steps until the rice is almost cooked to your liking.

Assemble the dish:
In the final minutes of cooking, add the sautéed mushrooms to the rice and stir them in. Continue cooking until warmed completely. Divide the risotto into individual servings, and top each plate with a helping of warm salmon. Serve immediately.

How to use fresh mozzarella in winter - Pizza Scappata

Laurent’s father is a stereotypical Italian in many ways. First of all, cheese plays a big part of his cooking: he always has at least five different kinds of really good cheese in his fridge. But another of his “Italian” traits is that he is extremely generous – including with his cheese. Whenever Laurent and I come over for dinner, chances are we will return home with a brick of parmesan, a wedge of Oka (often mushroom-flavoured, because he knows I love it), a cylinder of provolone, or a slab of smoked Jarlsberg.

Fresh mozzarella is also a regular part of our loot. In the summer, we rarely get very creative with it, and almost invariably turn to the classic Caprese salad. But in the winter, good tomatoes are hard to find. Furthermore, when it’s chilly outside, I find myself less easily satisfied by a cold dinner: I need something hot to warm myself.

So, how do you make a hot dish with fresh mozzarella, without altogether killing its flavour? Because it seems like a waste to just use it in a gratin or casserole, where grated dry mozzarella (or any number of other cheeses) works just fine…

We recently found a solution in Josée di Stasio’s Pasta Et Cetera: a recipe for pizza scappata. “Scappata” means “escaped,” or “runaway.” Basically, this is a pizza without the dough (which has “escaped”): you make your tomato sauce in a shallow pan, gently melt the mozzarella slices, add seasonings, and you’re done! All you have to do is scoop up the mixture with rustic bread… or homemade focaccia, if you happen to have a little time on your hands.

It’s a ridiculously simple recipe, but it’s just so comforting and homey, we keep coming back to it. Josée di Stasio keeps her flavours basic, with just a little fresh basil. But winter doesn’t just make me want warm meals, it also makes me crave strong flavours and spices. So I like to add things like anchovies and red pepper flakes. Anything works, as long as you can scoop it up easily.

Pizza Scappata
Adapted from Pasta Et Cetera à la Di Stasio

Serves 4 as an appetizer, or 2 as a meal

2 tbsp olive oil
2 garlic cloves, cut in half
One 540 ml (19 oz) can of diced tomatoes
2 tsp tomato paste
1 ball of fresh mozzarella
6-8 preserved anchovy filets, drained
A big handful of basil leaves
Salt and pepper, to taste
A dash of hot pepper sauce, such as Tabasco (or substitute with red pepper flakes)
Crusty bread (or focaccia), for serving

In a large skillet, heat the olive oil over low heat. Add the garlic and let it flavour the oil for a few minutes. Do not let the garlic brown.

Raise the heat to medium-high and add the canned tomatoes. Cook for about 10 minutes, stirring often, until the tomatoes are soft. Stir in the tomato paste and the pepper sauce (or red pepper flakes), and continue cooking until the mixture is slightly reduced. Remove the garlic and discard.

Reduce heat to medium-low. Thinly slice the mozzarella and place the slices over the tomatoes, in a regular pattern. Without stirring, let the cheese melt (cover the skillet with a lid if necessary). This should take 1-2 minutes. In the meantime, coarsely chop the anchovies and sprinkle them over the mixture.

When the cheese is completely melted, remove the skillet from heat. Shred the basil leaves and scatter them over the pan. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper, and serve immediately. Eat directly from the pan, scooping up the mixture with the bread.

Daring Bakers' February Challenge: Tiramisu

The February 2010 Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Aparna of My Diverse Kitchen and Deeba of Passionate About Baking. They chose Tiramisu as the challenge for the month. Their challenge recipe is based on recipes from The Washington Post, Cordon Bleu at Home and Baking Obsession.

I’ve always had a special fondness for tiramisu. I remember the first time I ever tried it: I was still quite small, and my mother had ordered it at a restaurant. I eyed the thick, white, cocoa-dusted concoction with some suspicion: it looked a lot like whipped cream, which I didn’t like. But I tried a bite – and then asked for another. It was one of the first times I found myself enjoying something without having the faintest idea of what was in it.

Tiramisu was also the first dessert Laurent ever made for me. His father has a killer tiramisu recipe, although it’s quite different from the traditional one. Most tiramisu recipes I’ve come across consist in ladyfingers dipped in espresso, and stacked with a mixture of mascarpone cheese, raw egg yolks, and whipped egg whites. Laurent’s family version, however, is egg-free: the filling consists only of espresso-flavoured mascarpone, folded with sweetened whipped cream. It has the advantage of freezing very well, and if you eat when it’s only half-thawed, it’s like eating a really fancy ice cream.

But Aparna and Deeba, our hostesses for this month’s Daring Bakers’ challenge, gave us yet another kind of recipe. And to make it even more challenging, they asked us to make our own savoiardi biscuits (a.k.a. ladyfingers) and mascarpone cheese. Talk about making it from scratch!

This was definitely one of the most interesting challenges I’ve ever taken part in. It was also one of the weirdest ones, as far as my experience was concerned: it’s like practically every isolated part of the challenge ended up slightly wonky and flawed – and yet, when combined, they yielded a perfectly respectable – dare I say delectable – dessert.

First, the savoiardi biscuits. I have a hard time with cookies: they rarely come out perfect. Still, I was less nervous about these, since they were destined to be hidden away inside the tiramisu anyway. I knew I wanted to make individual dessert portions, rather than a full-sized cake, so I customized my biscuits to fit my serving bowls and made them itty-bitty: they were more like ladypinkies, or babyfingers, than ladyfingers.

Making the batter and piping it was no problem: I managed to not crush my whipped egg whites, so the batter was nice and light. I sprinkled it twice with icing sugar, as indicated. However, I failed to properly shake the excess sugar off the baking sheet… You know that feeling, where you not only know something is going to go wrong, you know exactly why it will go wrong, and yet you still choose not to do anything to prevent it? I knew that the excess sugar would caramelize and burn in the oven – everyone knows that. But for some reason, I left it there, as if I wanted to see for myself.

So, inevitably, my savoiardi biscuits ended up with a layer of burnt caramel on the bottom. But the top part was still acceptably light and puffy. Good enough for me!

Next, the mascarpone cheese. Heating the heavy cream in a makeshift double-boiler took much longer than it was supposed to, but apparently I wasn’t the only to have this problem. In the end, I got tired of waiting, poured in my lemon juice, and let everything thicken. Then I drained the concoction and let it hang out in the fridge for 24 hours, hoping for the best. When I took it out, my “cheese” was as hard as ice-cold butter! Fortunately, it didn’t taste like butter… It would have to do.

Next came the zabaglione, an egg yolk-based custard, flavoured with Marsala wine. This also involved a double-boiler. I hadn’t made custard of any kind in a long time, and had forgotten how much they can set overnight in the fridge. So while there were no significant problems with the zabaglione, it was, in fact, slightly overcooked.

I had the same problem with the pastry cream: I overcooked it, and it ended up with something that was almost more like flan, the way it held together.


So, in the end, none of my individual tiramisu components would have been acceptable if they had been meant to be eaten on their own, or as a star ingredient in a dessert. Fortunately, there was no “star” here. As it turned out, the components balanced out each other’s flaws, and came together in harmony. First, I mercilessly beat the stiffness out of my mascarpone with a fork. Then I energetically whisked in the zabaglione and pastry cream, until I had something that was actually almost creamy, instead of mostly lumps. And when I folded it the sweetened whipped cream and saw how smooth and silky it made everything, I knew this was going to be OK.

I wanted to try something other than the usual espresso-flavoured tiramisu, so I made two versions. For the first, I dipped the biscuits in a mixture of blackcurrant liqueur (a.k.a. cassis), simple syrup and blackcurrant syrup (for extra aroma); we’re quite the cassis fans around here. Then I topped it with fresh raspberries – they were ridiculously expensive, but I really, really wanted them in this dessert. I didn’t add anything to the cream, so that I could sample the naked flavour; it was actually really, really good, with just a subtle note of Marsala. I was glad to have cut down on the vanilla extract here and there, as I’m not too fond of it when it’s overpowering.

For the second version, I dipped the biscuits in Bailey’s Irish Cream, and added a handful of melted dark chocolate discs to the cream. Combining Bailey’s and chocolate was a no brainer: they just go together. And this version was definitely better suited to winter.


A final word: normally, tiramisu is ready to be served 24 hours after it is made. But in my case, it tasted much better the day after that: the biscuits had absorbed more moisture, making the textures and flavours blend, leading to a smoother, creamier dessert, whereas the biscuits stood out too much after only 24 hours. But it could just be because my biscuits were a little odd to begin with.

I definitely learned a lot with this challenge. And I was also reminded of a lot (such as: custards and creams don’t need to be quasi-solid before going in the fridge). And I had fun – lots of fun. I want to thank Deeba and Aparna for this terrific challenge, and I recommend that you go to the Daring Kitchen to check out the challenge recipe and the other Daring Bakers’ tiramisu!

Daring Bakers' November Challenge: Cannoli

The November 2009 Daring Bakers Challenge was chosen and hosted by Lisa Michele of Parsley, Sage, Desserts and Line Drives. She chose the Italian Pastry, Cannolo (Cannoli is plural), using the cookbooks Lidia’s Italian-American Kitchen by Lidia Matticchio Bastianich and The Sopranos Family Cookbook by Allen Rucker; recipes by Michelle Scicolone, as ingredient/direction guides. She added her own modifications/changes, so the recipe is not 100% verbatim from either book.

I was so happy to find that our hostess for this month’s Daring Bakers’ challenge was none other than the delightful Lisa Michele! Her blog is one of my favourites, because of her sense of humour, her mind-blowing pictures, and her creativity. And, because of that creativity, I’m not surprised that she pushed the limits of the Daring Bakers by making us turn away from the oven and toward the stovetop: this month was all about deep-frying!

Cannoli are one of those many desserts that I’ve always been aware of, but don’t gravitate toward very often. The last time I had them was at some or other celebration a few months ago (probably a birthday), when my father-in-law brought some from Boulangerie Roma, an Italian bakery here in Montreal. On that occasion, he mentioned that he used to make cannoli himself, once or twice a year, but had fallen out of the habit.

That’s right. My father-in-law, the Italian Super-Chef who lives three blocks away from my place and owns every single kitchen gadget imaginable, is an old hand at making cannoli.

You’ve already figured out that I didn’t do this challenge by myself, haven’t you? And if you remember the last time my father-in-law helped me with a challenge, you’ve probably guessed that I didn’t do a lot of work at all, right? Congratulations, you win a prize!

Initially, I only wanted to borrow his cannoli tubes, which were stowed away in the darkest corner of a bottom kitchen drawer. But he insisted that we make them together and use his kitchen. And since I’m not all that comfortable with deep-frying (I can do it, but I make little girly shrieks throughout the whole process), I was pretty grateful to have an expert around.

So, first “cheat:” I had a lot of help. Second “cheat:” I didn’t really use the recipe we were given (sorry, Lisa Michele!). My father-in-law had a favourite recipe on his bookshelf, and since he knew what he was doing and I clearly didn’t, we used his method. Actually, it turned out to be generally similar to the challenge recipe, except that we used butter instead of oil, and substituted ground espresso for cinnamon (because no one in the family is that big on cinnamon). Third “cheat:” we didn’t let the dough rest, because we were short on time. It didn’t seem to affect the result, though.

This was one of the very few times I’ve ever used a food processor to make dough. I can’t explain why, but I’m very reluctant to use the food processor for anything. I think it has to do with having to take it apart and clean it afterwards. I know how much easier it makes a lot of things, but my first instinct is always to reach for the bowl and wooden spoon. But since this wasn’t my kitchen, I followed suit this time.

Now, normally I would have rolled out the dough with a rolling pin, but… my father-in-law has a pasta-making machine! Of course he does, didn’t I say he has everything? I had never even seen one of these up-close (like the cannoli tubes, the machine was stored away – just because my father-in-law has everything doesn’t mean he uses all of it), and had no idea how it worked. It turned out to be pretty simple, really; maybe a little more time-consuming than rolling by hand, but definitely less strenuous.

The only thing we didn’t have were large round cookie-cutters, so instead we just cut the dough into large rectangles, which we rolled around the cannoli tubes and sealed with egg white. Then, it was deep-frying time!

The first couple of batches came out a little too browned, and without the pretty blisters and puffs one associates with cannoli. But by reducing the oil temperature (which we hadn’t really monitored), we were able to get a beautiful result for the last batch.

I took the cannoli shells home (both puffy and non-puffy), and finally did something on my own: the filling. OK fine, Laurent helped me, but at least I was in control for this part of the challenge. I didn’t want to use ricotta, because no one really likes ricotta around here. In fact, cannoli are the only preparation in which we sort-of-kind-of enjoy ricotta – but why not use something we enjoy in all its forms? Enter: mascarpone.

Mascarpone by itself is too thick and heavy to use as a filling (in my opinion), so we beat it and folded in some sweetened whipped cream. And I had some dark chocolate ganache leftover from a previous project, so I reheated it and incorporated it. The result was a light, silky, luscious concoction that lay somewhere between a mousse and a cream. I am definitely making this type of filling again: I can totally see it in an éclair.

I filled the cannoli shells with a star-tipped pastry bag (I am notoriously bad at piping, but even I could handle this), garnished with crushed pistachios, and sprinkled with confectioner’s sugar. It was finally time to dig in. And to describe the result, I think I’m going to have to use an adjective I rarely utter: heavenly.

The contrast of textures, between the crispy fried shell and the smooth, airy filling, was to die for. I’m also glad we used a recipe which, like the one Lisa Michele gave us, barely added any sugar to the batter (unlike others, which can add up to a cup of the stuff): the neutral shell and the sweet cream played off each other perfectly; even the overcooked shells had a note of bitterness that fit well.


So, it looks like I have taken another step towards becoming an official part of "La Famiglia." I mean, if I can make cannoli (or at least, help make them), it means I’m getting closer to being a Perfect Italian Bride, even if I’m not Italian by birth (no, Laurent hasn’t proposed to me, but that’s just a detail). Pretty soon, I’ll be making my own pasta, growing and canning my own tomatoes, and going on vendettas against those damned Portuguese bakeries.

Long live my (God)father-in-law!

Hehe… I swore to myself I wouldn’t make a reference to The Godfather, because if you’re going through the DB blogroll, I’m sure you’ve read the line “Leave the gun, take the cannoli” at least fifty times – but I couldn’t help myself!

Speaking of the DB blogroll, be sure to go see what everyone else has fried up this month! If you’re willing to face up to the deep-frying pan, go check out the challenge recipe at the Daring Kitchen. And in closing, a huge thanks to Lisa Michele for this awesome challenge!

Post-birthday Baking Bash - Peter Reinhart's Poolish Focaccia

It was my birthday last week. 26. The year you officially turn closer to thirty than twenty. It wasn’t as traumatizing as I thought it would be. After all, getting older also means I’ve had more time to accomplish things; and I’m looking forward to getting more things done for the year to come.

Laurent made me a scrumptious dinner to celebrate, and most of his presents also reflected my interest in food, as well as this blog. I’ve actually been using one of the presents for a few weeks now: a Lowel EGO light, for food photography. I’m still learning to use it optimally, but it has definitely made taking adequate pictures much easier: I don’t have to wait for the sunlight to hit my window anymore!

I also got Martha Stewart’s Cupcakes. I don’t make cupcakes very often, but I’ve always thought of them as a handy treat to bring to a party or gathering, and I have long thought I should learn to make good ones. I haven’t tried a recipe yet, but I will soon!

And the other cookbook I received was one I had been anxiously expecting: Peter Reinhart’s The Bread Baker’s Apprentice. Finally, the secrets of bread baking would be revealed to me!

Well, they may have been revealed, but I’m not sure I absorbed them all. I got the gist of what enzymes do, and why bread formulas are useful, but a lot of details were lost on me. But rather than go over them again, I decided to just go for it and try one of the recipes. I couldn’t wait to get my hands in the dough.

Well, I did have to wait a little bit, because I chose to make the poolish focaccia, which takes two days to make. I wanted to make a type of bread which I had already baked at least once, so that I could tell the difference between Reinhart’s version and the others. Also, Nicole at Pinch My Salt had so much praise for this particular focaccia, that I had to try it out for myself.

So, I made the poolish, which is a very wet pre-ferment composed of water, yeast and flour, and let it hang out on the counter for a couple of hours, as indicated. It bubbled and foamed so much that it looked like it was trying to escape from its bowl and eat my pet rabbit. I then let it chill out in the fridge overnight.

The next day, having dreamt about dough all night (yes, I was that excited), I got to work bright and early. Well, the first step consisted in bringing the poolish back to room temperature – which meant more waiting. After an hour out of the fridge, the poolish had definitely woken up, and was bubbling and trying to push its way through the plastic film I had covered it with. Scary!

After that, I was finally allowed to actually make the dough. I mixed it by hand, and felt that particular glee that you can see on little children’s faces when they’re playing in the mud. It took me a while to accept that cooking and baking are messy businesses – but now that I have, I revel in the clouds of flour and the sticky hands.

There wasn’t much kneading involved for this recipe, as the dough had to remain soft and sticky. I transferred it to the very large brand-new cutting board I had just bought, and proceeded to stretching and folding it every 30 minutes, three times over. Then I let it ferment and grow for an hour.

And boy, did it ever grow.

While that was going on, I was busy in the living room, garnishing the raspberry macarons I had baked the previous day (I literally spent two whole days in front of the oven). Laurent walked by while I was doing that, and gasped in delight at the sight of the lovely little bright pink jewels in front of me (which I will post about some other day). Then he walked into the kitchen – and gasped in shock.

The focaccia dough had risen to ridiculous proportions. I had already noticed that it seemed rather larger than the pictures in the book to begin with, but now it was officially a monster. I still have no idea what could have made it so… alive. Maybe it all started with that freaky poolish… But how would I know?

I transferred it to an oiled baking sheet, and let it proof. The point of this last rise was to have the focaccia fill the baking sheet entirely; but to be honest, it practically filled it from the moment I put it there – it was that big. Still, I let it proof some more, for as long as I could without panicking that my bread would come out too yeasty. But when it looked like this:

even after I had seasoned it and dimpled it with my fingers (a sensual experience if there ever was one), I decided enough was enough, and pre-heated my oven.

So much for Peter Reinhart’s preference for a flat, cripsy focaccia. I knew this was going to be a puffy beast (or, in Reinhart's words, "obnoxiously thick") before I even put it in the oven.

Although, to be fair, it did come out quite crispy – at least on the outside. It had a beautiful colour, and a nice, thin crust. The whole thing was very puffy, to be sure, but it wasn’t as overly chewy as I had feared. And the crumb? It was without contest the best I had ever made: cool and flavourful, and full of airy holes. So really, it doesn’t matter so much that I didn’t get this exactly right the first time: it was still a damn good bread.

I chose not to use overly strong toppings, so as not to mask the taste of the bread itself. I just drizzled on some extra-virgin olive oil, and sprinkled some fresh rosemary, fleur de sel, dried red pepper flakes, and freshly ground pepper. But this is definitely a bread I will make again and again, with endless variations. It’s certainly a lengthier process than the focaccias I’ve baked before, but the improvement is noticeable. Not that the previous focaccias were bad (I will happily continue making them on days when I’m short on time) – but this one is better.

The first third was eaten with vegetable soup. The second was eaten two days later, in delicious BLTs. I’m not sure what will happen to the last third, but I have a feeling we’ll be fighting over it: even though the bread isn’t quite as good as on the day it was made, it will still make killer toast.

I am one spoiled kitchen princess.

What happens in the kitchen stays in the kitchen - Torta alla Caprese

As I bake more often, I find myself growing a little better at covering up my little accidents.

For example, could you tell this cake exploded in the oven?

Actually, it didn’t explode: it erupted. Originally, this flourless chocolate cake is called a Torta alla Caprese, popularized in Quebec by the fabulous Josée di Stasio – but after this ordeal, we have renamed it Mount Vesuvius (you know, the volcano).

Laurent and I have often made this cake together. It’s often our go-to recipe when we need to bring dessert for a potluck. It’s both fluffy and rich, always moist, it keeps like a dream, and contains enough dark chocolate and caffeine to keep you jittery all night long. If I had to take one chocolate recipe with me on a desert island, this might just be it.

The Torta alla Caprese is also very simple to make. It has never let us down before, so I’m really quite confused about what happened this time. As the cake baked, the batter rose so much that it completely overflowed from the mould and covered it entirely. Laurent has been known to be a little heavy-handed with the baking powder, but this was ridiculous.

Well, a major trim with a small knife was enough to make the cake look just about normal again (and we got to eat all the leftover trimmings, tee hee). The people at the potluck never knew they were eating a wannabe-volcano.

Sorry for the poor quality of the picture, but we were in a hurry. I also wish I had a picture of a slice, so I could show you the cake’s wonderful texture. But it never made it back from the potluck, so you’ll just have to trust me: this torta is a pure delight. Go make it. Now.

The recipe is available here in French, but here’s a loose translation:

Torta alla Caprese
From Josée di Stasio’s Pasta et Cetera

Serves 8 to 10

200g (7 0z) dark chocolate, chopped
200g / 250ml (7 oz / 1 cup) butter
60ml (1/4 cup) espresso
280g / 500ml (9.5 oz / 2 cups) almond meal
1 tbsp baking powder
190g / 250ml sugar
5 large eggs
Cocoa or icing sugar, for dusting

Preheat oven to 180 ºC (350 ºF). Butter and flour a 25cm (10 inch) pie mould with a removable bottom.

In a double boiler, melt the butter and chocolate. Remove from heat, add the espresso and let cool.

In a medium bowl, combine the almond meal and the baking powder. Reserve.

In a large bowl, with an electric beater, whisk the whole eggs with the sugar until primrose in colour, about 5 minutes. Incorporate the almond mixture. Then incorporate the chocolate mixture.

Pour mixture into the prepared mould. Bake about 40 minutes, until the cake is firm to the touch. It will solidify further as it cools, so don’t worry if the center still looks a tad soft. Let cool in mould for at least 4 hours.

Dust with icing sugar or cocoa before serving.

The Asparagus Series - Episode Four: Two Pasta Recipes

Help! We are being overrun by plants!

Yes, that’s what my living room looks like right now. Our building is having work done on all the balconies, and so we have been instructed to clear our balcony out. And this was the only place we could store all our herbs. I feel like I’m writing in a greenhouse. Hopefully, we’ll find a new home for the plants soon, because the lack of sunlight can’t be good for them.

Well, the living room may be a mess, but the kitchen, while cluttered, is still completely functional. Which means I still have much to share with you all. So, first things first, what do you say we finish our Asparagus Series? And the final dish (or rather, dishes) will be: pasta!

Originally, I only had one pasta recipe to share: lemon penne with asparagus, which we made a while ago. But, to my surprise, asparagus have made a comeback in the market stalls this week. They are more slender than the ones we had in the spring, but they are just as delicious. So last night, Laurent (who had decided it was his night to cook) made me a shrimp and asparagus pasta dish.

Recipe no 1: Lemon Pasta with Asparagus

Both are very simple recipes, which can of course be modified ad infinitam. In fact, they are themselves variations. The first is taken from Josée di Stasio’s acclaimed Pasta Et Cetera, with the only difference being that she makes it with spaghetti – which we actually did try once, and found that the lemon sauce didn’t adhere to the pasta as much as we would have liked (although, to be completely honest, we had diluted it too much). Josée di Stasio describes this recipe as “something to make when there’s nothing in the fridge,” and that’s about right – sure, it’s better if you have asparagus or mushrooms around, but if worst comes to worst, lemon and parmesan are all you need.

The second recipe is courtesy of another Montrealer, Stefano Faita and his wonderful cookbook Entre Cuisine et Quincaillerie, which translates are “Between Cooking and Hardware.” Despite the title, the recipes don’t require any special equipment, but the book itself is full of anecdotes and useful tips. I’ve borrowed from it a lot, and very few of these Italian-inspired recipes have ever let me down.

Recipe no 2: Pasta with Shrimp and Asparagus

The original recipe called for flambéing the shrimp and asparagus with brandy, but we decided not to go there. For one thing, we’ve never flambéed anything yet. And secondly, I’m still reeling from an experience where an otherwise perfectly tasty shrimp pâté was completely ruined by the fact that the shrimp had been marinated in brandy: it was seriously the only thing to have ever come out of my kitchen that I couldn’t bring myself to eat more than a few bites of. I’m all for incorporating spirits into desserts and cakes, but ever since that day I’ve been a little wary of adding them to savoury dishes. So, for this recipe, we simply deglazed the pan with white wine, and that was that. And we couldn’t find fresh marjoram, so we used dried. Fresh Italian parsley would also have been good.

So, there you go: two very different, but equally flavourful asparagus pasta recipes. And with that, I am officially ending the Asparagus Series, and I promise the next post will be all about sweetness. Stay tuned!


Lemon and Asparagus Pasta
Slightly adapted from Pasta Et Cetera: À la di Stasio

Serves 2

One bunch of asparagus
The zest and juice of 2 lemons
250g (1/2 pound) short pasta
120 ml (1/2 cup) grated parmesan
3 tbsp olive oil
A handful of fresh basil, chopped
Salt and pepper

Combine the lemon juice and zest, parmesan and oil in a large bowl. Set aside.

Trim the asparagus. Cut them into 4 cm (1 1/2 inch) pieces, separating the stems from the spears. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil (you will be using the same water to boil your pasta). Boil the asparagus stems for 2-3 minutes, then add the spears and boil for an extra 1-2 minutes. Remove the asparagus from the pot with a slotted spoon or skimmer, run under cold water and reserve.

Boil the pasta according to the instructions on the box. One minute before the end of the cooking process, add the asparagus to the pot, so as to reheat them. Drain the pasta and vegetables, making sure to reserve about 120ml (1/2 cup) of the cooking liquid.

Put the pasta, asparagus and cooking liquid in the bowl with the lemon and parmesan mixture. Toss to coat. Salt and pepper to taste and garnish with fresh basil.


Pasta with Shrimp and Asparagus
Adapted from Entre Cuisine et Quincaillerie

Serves 2

One bunch of asparagus
250g (1/2 pound) short pasta (such as penne or farfalle)
250g (1/2 pound) raw medium shrimp, deveined and shelled
2 tbsp butter
1 shallot, minced
120ml (1/2 cup) white wine
1 tbsp fresh marjoram, chopped (can be replaced with flat-leaf parsley)
240ml (1/2 cup) heavy cream
Grated parmesan
Salt and pepper

Trim the asparagus. Cut them into 4 cm (1 1/2 inch) pieces, separating the stems from the spears. Boil the asparagus stems in salted water for 3 minutes, then add the spears and boil for an extra 2 minutes. Drain the asparagus, run under cold water and reserve.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook your pasta following the instructions on the box.

Meanwhile, melt the butter in a large pan over medium-high heat. Cook the shallots until slightly translucent, then add the shrimp and asparagus. Cook for 3-4 minutes, then add the white wine and continue cooking until mostly evaporated.

Season with herbs, salt and pepper. Add the cream and continue cooking, stirring often, until thickened.

Drain your pasta and add it to the pan. Toss to combine ingredients and coat the pasta with cream, and sprinkle with parmesan.

Deconstructing Food Bloggers (also, a focaccia)

For once, this post will not revolve around food… but around food bloggers.

When I started this blog a few months ago, I didn’t tell my friends and family right away: I wanted to get things rolling and have some content first (and, if possible, hone my photo skills a bit). But recently, I gave my father-in-law The Chocolate Bunny’s URL. Yes, the same father-in-law who helped me out on the last Daring Cooks’ challenge: it was only fair to show him what I’d been up to with the powders we’d made.

He had some very nice things to say about the blog itself, but one of his appreciations concerns you guys: having read most of your comments, he told me he was impressed by how nice and friendly everyone is.

This got me thinking. It’s true that I have never read a nasty comment on a food blog, or even on a food forum. I think we take it for granted, but think about it: have you ever read something along the lines of “Ewww, that soup looks gross!” or “i hate ur writing, ur blog is boooooring” on a food blog? I think I’d be shocked if I did.

And God knows there are plenty of nasty comments on other parts of the Internet. I have a private blog on LiveJournal, and there are loads of quarrels between members over there. And, as my father-in-law has shown me, even something as apparently innocent as an opera video on YouTube can lead to really horrible comments: not just disagreements, but downright offensive insults.

So what is it about the food blogosphere that makes people so gosh-darn nice? Why is this place such a haven? I can think of three hypotheses, some of which don't quite work:

Hypothesis 1: Food is not a controversial topic.

Most often, when I see people arguing (or hurling insults at each other) on the Web, it’s usually because of social, political, or otherwise intellectual reasons. I’m sure you can all think of touchy topics that generate aggressive comments: pro-choice vs pro-life, gay rights, political opinions, religious opinions, and even tastes in books and music (e.g., Wagner being associated with anti-Semitism, and so forth).

Compared to such topics, food seems like a pretty tame subject. Because it’s more sensual than intellectual (even though we all know a lot of concentration goes into some recipes), people are less likely to see it as a point of contention. You either like zucchini, or you don’t. And it would be pretty ridiculous to write something like: “Glargh! You made Russian stuffed cabbage! You must be a Communist!”

And yet… Is it really that much of a stretch to imagine someone getting upset about food for socio-political reasons? My above example was intentionally ridiculous, but what if someone posted a recipe featuring an ingredient that came from a country under a totalitarian regime? After all, food boycotts are not all that uncommon. Or what if someone made a dish featuring endangered ingredients or wildlife? Food choices do not exist in a vacuum, and they are closer to controversy than we might think.

But despite that, I have never seen vegans make aggressive comments about meat-based recipes on food blogs, for example. Despite the potential for controversy and disagreement, people just don’t seem to go there. Why?

Hypothesis 2: People who like to spend time in the kitchen are happier in general.

I don’t really believe in this one, but I thought I’d mention it anyway. Food bloggers cook, bake, and write about food because they enjoy it. By all logic, people who can indulge in something they enjoy would tend to be happy, and happy people don’t spit venom all over the Internet.

But then, where did the stereotype of the Temperamental Foodie come from? You’ve all seen representations of him/her in pop culture: I can think of the main character in the German movie Mostly Martha (remade in the US as No Reservations), or the food critic in Ratatouille, or even Conan O’Brien’s satirical portrayal of Martha Stewart as the Devil. That stereotype must have some grounding in reality. As much as we would like to imagine that cooks and bakers are all happy and nurturing, that’s probably not true: foodies can be nasty, just like any other group of people. (Not that I personally know any mean foodies, but there must be some out there.)

Hypothesis 3: People who care about food are more sensitive to decorum and etiquette.

Or, in other words, food bloggers are more civilized. Again, the Temperamental Foodie stereotype goes somewhat against this idea, but it still seems like the most plausible theory.

My reasoning goes: if food bloggers go to the trouble of making elaborate, tasty dishes, arranging them with care, photographing them from every angle, and then writing a long, entertaining post about it, it’s because they care about how it will come across to other people (their readers). They care about what people will think of them and of what they do. And this probably shows through when they comment on other foodies’ blogs (because only foodies look at food blogs): if you go around degrading others gratuitously, chances are people will not have a very positive image of you. It’s not hypocrisy – it’s manners. Foodies have manners.

Well, that’s my take on it, anyway. If anyone has other ideas or thoughts on this, I’d be more than happy to hear them.

So I’d just like to close by thanking each and every one of you for being so friendly and encouraging. I’m really having a blast with this blog, and it’s all thanks to you.

And to reward you for reading all the way through, here are pictures of the focaccia I made this weekend:

I used Marcy Goldman’s recipe for Summery Tomato, Zesty Olive and Onion Focaccia, topped with fresh basil.

It was really addictive, a crispy, stronger-tasting take on our usual, traditional caprese salad (oh, basil and tomatoes, how I love thee). Happy days!