I cannot express to you the sheer genius of this dish, for both it’s thrilling simplicity and for its ability to make me salivate Pavlov-style every time it crosses my mind. I am not exaggerating in my assertion that this is possibly the best weeknight dinner ever.

This is likely to be at least partly due to the fact that brown butter is my secret lover. Yes, since I discovered it – in it’s toasty, golden lusciousness – I have been entangled in a turbulent affair consisting of one breathtaking, buttery moment in the kitchen after another. *Don’t tell Adarsh. I try to play it cool around him when brown butter is present.

Please – go do the following, it will change your life. Go lop off a hunk of butter, park it in a frying pan, and watch the magic as it goes from yellowy, frothing, buttery-ness to a clear, brown liquid with an intoxicatingly sweet and nutty aroma. Toss in some hot gnocchi, or fettuccine, or your butter-vehicle of choice. But for goodness sake, toss something in. Quickly. Or you may find yourself lapping it straight from the pan. And you don’t want to be caught in that position.

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Plantains may look like bananas, but don’t be fooled. They are deceptively un-sweet, much firmer, and are used for cooking. They are never to be consumed atop cheerios, or smothered in peanut butter between slices of bread, and they most definitely do not belong in a chocolate-studded muffin (not that that ever happened to me or anything…). Not to mention, you would probably throw away a banana that looked like a perfectly ripe plantain – they are ready to use when the skin is black!

I fried some plantains to serve with jamaican jerk-seasoned pork chops. Hot, salted, and with a wedge of lime, they were a perfect complement to a Caribbean-spiced main dish. The flavour is starchy and only slightly sweeter than a potato – really not at all what you would expect from something that looks like it donned a Chiquita sticker in its lifetime.

The trickiest part of using plantains (besides mustering up the patience for them to turn black) is peeling them. It’s easiest to cut them into thirds, make a slit the length of the skin, and unwrap it with the aid of a paring knife. Cut it up into quarter-inch rounds, on a bias if you wish, or into lenthwise strips instead. Watch them carefully when frying – they go from perfectly golden to burned in no time. (more…)

When you you haven’t been for a run since last weekend, you have been wearing your laundry-day socks for three days, and you are behind on at least three chapters’ worth of readings in Nutrition textbooks, what better time to bake cookies? I think it is a logical priority. And when white chocolate chunks, toasty walnuts, and chewy coconut are tucked into a rich cocoa cookie batter, how could you not expect the results to be rapturous?

The batter whips up in minutes, with the help of a standing mixer. Just beat everything together in steps, and fold in the add-ins with a wooden spoon. I used a tablespoon to drop mine onto cookie sheets, but I would make that tablespoon slightly more heavy-handed next time. As made, they turned out to be fairly itty-bitty, (against the magnitude of a typical chocolate craving) but still scrumptious – making their dainty size forgivable. Also, do flatten them, or they will be more like macaroons.

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It’s ten a.m. on Sunday, where will you find me? Lingering over several cups of creamy coffee while still in my flannel jammies and wool socks. I’m probably contemplating a bouncy walk along the seawall with my flakey adolescent Irish Setter, or a novel under a blanket in my sunroom, bathed in buttery, mellow winter light. I’m a firm believer that Sundays, like shortribs, should be done slowly.

There’s just something about the aroma of your efforts filling your kitchen for hours before dinner time that make braising such a worthwhile cooking endeavour. This recipe is incredibly easy and results in a wonderfully satisfying, comforting and downright delicious stew. I really love the subtle sweetness and gentle heat that the cinnamon adds to the rich, mellow beef. The sauce becomes luciously flavourful, and the meat develops a fall-off-the-bone texture after being simmered slowly in a warmly spiced bath of winey tomato and garlic. There is something about this dish that I find incredibly soul-satisfying.

This particular recipe is adapted from Mark Bittman’s Beef Stew with Cinnamon, from his cookbook The Best Recipes in the World. I must admit, I am dubious if not downright snobbish about any book who’s primary selling feature is the number of recipes it contains. But Mark is just a man of super-human talent and ambition, and his work produced my most favorite go-to book for new ideas. Of his “more than 1,000 International dishes to cook at home” – a good number have already found a place on my plate and in my heart. (more…)

The pumpkin-storm hovered over the food blogosphere for a long time. It started around here at the beginning of October, for our Canadian thanksgiving, gained momentum through Halloween and the American harvest holiday, and was still just going at full speed for Christmas. Pumpkin scones, breads, cookies were ubiquitous. Pumpkin pies, cupckakes and cheesecakes? Omnipresent. The festive veg even wriggled its way into less expected hosts, such as chili and brownies and curry and white chocolate blondies and bread pudding and whoopie pies… Phew! But for some reason, I just wasn’t feeling it.

Maybe it was just me being defiant and expressing my non-acquiescence to what everyone else was doing. But for whatever reason, I kept my palate entirely clear of the autumn favorite. However, now that the squash and co. storm is over, I find myself really lusting after a good, moist pumpkin muffin – in all its sweet, spicy, comforting, glory. So here I am in January, humbly seeking out recipes for everyone’s favorite October vegetable (the one that I snootily shunned during proper gourd-centric months). (more…)