Liege waffles were probably the thing that seduced me most about Belgium. The smell, primarily. That glorious aroma of hot, yeasty waffles caramelizing on heavy iron grills at every corner. I remember my first one ever. I followed my nose like a pig on a truffle. I was served a piping hot Liege waffle in a little waxed paper square and I was a changed woman.

These are not waffles like we are accustomed to in North America – which are basically pancakes cooked in a waffle iron. No, Liege waffles are magical.

They are dense and quite bread-y; thick and chewy and studded with pearl sugar. Pearl sugar which gets pressed into the deep waffle pockets by a blazing hot, heavy iron waffle press – caramelizing it into pure magic. Continue Reading »

…incidentally, Osama Bin Laden is, too. But that’s another story.

I have a crush on Belgium. I lived there when I was an awkward seventeen year old. As any former exchange student would agree, your exchange country will own a piece of your heart forever. Belgium is where I became aware of the world outside of my hometown. It is where I learned to hold my beer and say unladylike words in several foreign languages er… transitioned from teenager to (semi) grown up. It is also where I became vividly aware of the pleasures of la gastronomie européenne – read: flaky pastries, crackly bread, good wine, and the best chocolate in the world. Today I am sharing with you a dramatic breaking news story involving some seriously incredible Belgian ice cream…

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There’s something to be said for a cake that you can whip up at 9 o’clock on a Friday night, after a serious doozy of a week, when you need some baking therapy that requires little to no brain power. By the time this past weekend hit, I think anything requiring technique or poise in the kitchen would have had induced some kind of cerebral short circuiting – I imagine there would have been sparks, probably some twitching and likely even drool.

Okay fine, so there might have been drool anyway. Continue Reading »

Yesterday I went for a run. I was about ten minutes in when it dawned on me that lying on the beach would be more fun. Yes, it was actually warm enough to lie on dry, warm sand and listen to waves while the spring sunshine dusted my nose with freckles. It was heavenly. The hope that summer is around the corner induces butterflies in my stomach, like a 13 year old who knows her crush is coming to the party. I live for sun. Maybe Vancouver isn’t the best city for me. Or maybe I should just transplant myself to Mexico for the 5 rainy months of the year… not a bad idea, really…

Anyway, with the breath of sunnier months warm on my cheek, I think it is appropriate to share the summer anticipation with a recipe for ice cream.

Photo by Nico Alary.

This vanilla ice cream is the ice cream that gives my ice cream machine most of its exercise. Wow ice cream three times in one sentence. Too lazy to change that.

Even now that my machine is broken, it still faithfully churns out this incredible manifestation of what this ice cream is meant to be. The store-bought stuff doesn’t hold a candle. The recipe I am devoted to is by Mr. David Lebovitz, the god of the frozen dessert in most opinions, my own included. Continue Reading »

I possess a guilty pleasure in the form of fried dough. I actually go to the summer fair every year for the sole purpose of acquiring and consuming those scrumptious, hot mini donuts, covered with cinnamon and white sugar. YUM. It is a rare indulgence, so I think it is acceptable that these fritters literally made me giddy.

The batter is made by gently stirring flour into softly whipped egg whites. Bits of ginger- and cinnamon-coated pear are folded in, and dropped by spoonfuls into sizzling oil. They are then tossed, still warm, in cinnamon sugar and served right away. Crispy and tender and delicious. And the cinnamon/ginger combination really makes the pear sing.
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