Quince Jelly

So, in the end, the aforementioned jelly actually turned from green to rose-quartz pink to amber to rusty red. As the colour changed, so did the flavour. In its raw, green state, quince are eye-wateringly sour. Once clear and red, the jelly is sweet with a tart top note. The four cups of sugar helps.

The recipe came from Joy of Cooking. According to Joy, quince is packed with pectin so doesn't need certo. Just quince, sugar and water.

Chop fruit in half and place in a heavy bottomed stock pot. Don't worry about amounts - the formula for this jelly is based on the amount of liquid you have after simmering and straining. Add enough water just to cover fruit, but not enough so the fruit floats. Bring to the boil then simmer gently till soft, about 1.5 hours.

This is where things get creative. Fill a jelly bag, or failing that, line a big bowl with a double layer of cheesecloth or, in my case, my baby's muslin receiving blanket. A clean one. Spoon the mashed fruit into the bag, then tie the corners around a broom. I put the bowl in the sink, then lifted the broom horizontally so the bag was dangling above the bowl, catching the juice. I supported the broom with upside down shopping buckets and cookbooks. I can't believe I forgot to take a picture.

3-4 hours later I had 6 cups of pinkish, opaque juice. The pulp in the bag went into the green bin.

Joy suggests making jelly with just 4 cups of juice at a time, approximately 3/4cup -1 cup sugar per cup of quince juice. You can also freeze the juice and make jelly another time.

Put the juice in a large saucepan and bring to the boil with the sugar, whisking constantly at first to dissolve the sugar. Chill a little plate in the freezer. Skim off any white scum as it forms. After a while - 20 minutes? - drip some juice onto the chilled plate. After a minute, push the puddle of juice with your finger. If it wrinkles as it's pushed along, it's ready. Look elsewhere for more serious instructions.....

Pour mixture into sterilized jars and cover as you like - wax or with lids and rings. I used the latter (jars and rings can be sterilized and re-used, but lids can only be used once). I boiled the sealed jars in a pasta pot, lifted them out with tongs and let them cool. As I washed the dishes I heard the lids 'pop', one by one. A good sign the seal worked.

Et Voila!

Departures and Returns

This is my aunt Sandra. She is holding one of her weavings which reads:

I

am

becom

ing

more

centered

as I

recom

mit to

being

in the

studio

as my

way

of life

Sandra's studio is a sun drenched white room. Inside is her loom, stacked fabrics, shelves filled with labeled storage boxes, and her journals, so many of them. This room is a work of art in itself. The order, the colours, the peg board pinned with cards and inspiration. The weaving that lies within the loom looks like a beautiful plate of food, half eaten, left momentarily because the phone is ringing. But plates of food will eventually disappear; weavings grow and remain.

My studio is the kitchen. It's where I go to collect my thoughts. To hide from the chaos outside. To create. Eventually what is made will be eaten, broken down, wrapped and reheated.

Sandra's work includes found objects. Ropes, fabrics and other treasures washed up on the shore. She finds beauty in what is discarded. Sometimes this happens in the kitchen. I have a bag of quince from my friend and neighbour Genevieve. She picked the fruit from her tree in the backyard. Last year the fruit fell to the ground. Today, in my kitchen, it's becoming jelly. Soft, pink jelly.

DEPARTURES AND RETURNS - Sandra Brownlee - opens at the Mary E. Black Gallery on Marginal Road, October 29-December 22, 2009

waffles + Tavi

This post is nothing more than a celebration of giggles in the kitchen. I'm not usually into laptops at breakfast, but this morning it was worth it. Over waffles (the joy of cooking kind), we read Tavi's latest post. Tavi is a 13 year old fashion blogger who recently made the cover of Pop Magazine. She figures this exposure will bring new readers to her blog, so she decided to welcome them with a video that makes her look "smart and sophisticated". It made my 3 and 5 year old break into fits of laughter and inspired them to dance. Not very many things can tear them away from waffles in the morning.... check it out. I love being inspired by 13 year olds.

Sophistication 101 from Tavi G on Vimeo.

Love letter to the Brookfield Bakery

Dearest Brookfield Bakery,

My sister was married last week and my sole responsibility was dessert provider at her rehearsal dinner. One sister provided smoked pork chops for the barbecue (www.theporkshop.ca); older sister and aunt Sue made big, colourful salads. I love to bake; it's what I do when I'm happy, sad, procrastinating, or hungry. But this job was different. The baby I was carrying was supposed to arrive two weeks before. He was late; I was tired. This is where you come in, Brookfield Bakery.

I ordered all my favourites - blueberry pies, chocolate macaroons, almond bars and, of course, Brookfield brownies. We plated the desserts and served them to the guests seated within the white tent, perched along the banks of the Northumberland straight. The wind was blowing hard that night, and the little candles on each table were fighting to stay alight. Everything was enjoyed under the moonlight, but the brownies went first.

The brownies I make are the rich, dark, almost flour-less kind. Yours are the opposite. The bottom is toffee-like, the middle is moist and chewy. The icing isn't cloying; it's milk chocolate perfection. In theory, they don't suit my dark chocolate tastes. But they win me over, every time.

Thank you, Brookfield Bakery, for doing my baking for me. Every new mother needs you, and so does every bride.

Yours forever,

Lindsay

Brookfield Bakery Ltd

Brookfield, NS B0N 1C0

(Cross Street: Smithfield RD and Camden RD)

Phone: 902-673-2434

*Look for the 'open' sign

Fid - one of Halifax's first restaurants with a farmer's market inspired menu - has just relaunched with a new look and new menu. It's less formal, more bistro-like (0r 'resto' as they call it) but still serves up the same fabulous local fare.

Today's edible art came in the form of a cold cauliflower soup with a drizzle of curry oil and a sprinkling of edible flowers. Corn-flower blue on creamy yellow. It was almost too pretty to eat. Almost.

http://www.fidresto.ca/

Manchego and Membrillo

The trip to Barcelona could have gone in many different directions, but the two boys under five and the 27 week pregnant belly set the tone. No long lingering meals in tapas bars washed down with sips of Rioja. No cava with my Serrano ham. No Neil Young under the stars at the Primavera music festival. No ‘once in a lifetime’ meal at El Bulli.

But that’s ok. When your ankles look like stuffed sausages, afternoons under the olive tree by the pool aren’t so bad.

Before dinner we’d put a tray of local cheeses together – Mato de Montserrat, Garrotxa, and Manchego. The smell of verbena filled the air and fat lemon slices - fresh from the tree- bounced in my aqua. And the ankles were elevated. Muy bien.

Manchego is a slightly salty cheese, but the taste depends on maturity. The Spanish love to pair it with its best friend, dolce de membrillo. Together, the two become more than the sum of their parts.

Membrillo is a sweet paste made from quince. It’s sold at cheese counters in blocks and placed along cheese on a cheese board. We bought this one at Boqueria in Barcelona. Layer it upon fresh bread and a slice of manchego, and really, we’d practically forget there were boys beneath our deck chairs playing with plastic soldiers.

freestyle puff pastry

There's nothing like the infectious enthusiasm of fresh passion.

This morning I was swimming lengths with my fellow cougars. Every 50 meters coach Gary, (AKA 1976 Olympic swimmer who's just discovered his kitchen) would shout out something about puff pastry.
Or knife cuts.
Or a restaurant he'd like to visit. Had I been there?
I love it. I get to stop hyperventilating while simultaneously reflecting on why the puff pastry covering his chicken pot pie didn't last well in the freezer. 50 meters later I figured it out. He thawed it, then froze it again. No double freezing Gary. Then he tells me not to lift my hands too high while doing the crawl. I look like a synchronized swimmer circa 1986.

Through it all I learn about feeling the water. Some hands are better at finding slow water to pull -the slower it is, the more control we have over pulling through it. when it's done properly, it's artistry.

Kind of like cooking.

CBC radio's the current recently aired a documentry on the subject- the art of feeling water, that is:

"There is a certain kind of person who is a little different from the rest of us. They exist on land, like the rest of us but they live ... thrive in the water. On land, you might pass them by. in water their movements are strong, graceful and intuitive. They can take our breathe away.
The Current's Chris Wodskou is not one of those people. But he wanted to find out what makes them tick especially elite athletes in aquatic sports such as swimming, diving and synchronized swimming ... people whose success depends on how well their minds and bodies can mesh with water. And so this morning our Watershed series submerges itself in their world. Chris Wodskou's documentary is called Water Babies.

http://www.cbc.ca/thecurrent/2009/200904/20090430.html

I'm no elite athelete, but I can trade cookbooks for coaching.