Blue Jean Chef

It was the late 1970s when my father gave my mother the gift he really wanted for Christmas. Indeed, it was really a gift for the whole family. We would all be able to use it and we would all reap its benefits. My father gave my mother the largest, most monstrous microwave ever built for Christmas in 1977. It was a Panasonic microwave and it was at least as big as the conventional oven that was currently built into our kitchen wall, about half the size of the desk I’m currently using.

I had never even heard of a microwave before.

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I’ve been making a lot of salads for myself lately. They’ve mostly been lunches and I’ve been using up everything I have left over. I have a particular fondness for foods like this - those that use up leftovers. You can do this easily with salads, omelets, frittatas, pizzas, quiche and the like. It’s gratifying to clean out the fridge and have a delicious meal at the same time. Here’s what I made with Thanksgiving leftovers - mixed greens with leftover brined turkey breast, roasted red beets, segments of clementines, sliced almonds and a beautifully stinky Stilton given to me by a friend. Of course, you can add any combination of ingredients you might have lying around your kitchen. Dried apricots are especially good with the vinaigrette.

The vinaigrette has become one of my favourites and uses two prepared condiments: Stonewall Kitchens’ Bourbon Molasses Mustard and Palette Fine Foods’ Chili Honey. Here’s the recipe for the vinaigrette:

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Egg sandwiches don’t always have anchovies inside, but they did when I was a kid.

My family has never been terribly devoted to outdoor activities, despite growing up in Calgary with the Rocky Mountains near by. We moved to Calgary from England in 1975. Upon our arrival, my father enrolled the entire family in cross-country skiing lessons. I expect he was thinking that it would be a nice activity for the family to do together in our new very cold home. I spent most of those lessons wrapped around my mother’s leg, which seriously hindered both of our successes at the sport. I think that was the last outdoor sporting activity I remember doing with my family.

Most of my childhood friends’ families were avid skiers and would often go away for the winter weekends to ski at all the nearby (and sometimes not so nearby) ski resorts. My family was different.
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I tasted Christmas this morning – first time this year. I had a Clementine. It was juicy and delicious and made me think of pine needles, candy canes, foil bows, and Christmas stockings. I always find it amazing how a particular food item, like music, can transport you to a time or place in your memory. It is truly one of the pleasures of eating.

Every Christmas, I always had to wait until everyone in my family was, not only up and out of bed, but showered and fed breakfast, before I was allowed to open any Christmas presents. It was a cruel and unusual punishment. To compensate for this, however, my stocking was fair game as soon as I opened my eyes. I always found it at the foot of my bed when I woke up, and every year I explored its contents on my own before anyone else was awake. Then I would take it into my parents’ room to show them what I had received, not realizing that they probably had a good idea of that already.

I always found a Clementine in my stocking.
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I had a great time teaching in Wayne, New Jersey last week at Adventures in Cooking. Thanks to all who attended. Here are some tips that I compiled to help with throwing an hors d’oeuvres party.

Hors D’Oeuvres Tip Sheet

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There are so many great pizzas out there, but this is one of my very favourites. A pizza stone in your oven will significantly improve your results, creating a crispy crust and decreasing your baking time. If you’re not a big fan of mint, try using basil in its place.

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This recipe is an adult and sharp-looking version of an old university classic - the “jello-shot". Served on a slice of lime, it is a great way to get a holiday party started.

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Although it was a surprise to me, this was the favourite recipe of the students in the hors d’oeuvres class at Adventures in Cooking last week. Turkey meat instead of beef or pork lightens up this little appetizer, and using the Porcini Spice Rub from Palette Fine Foods adds a great boost of flavour. Roll these as big or as small as you’d like, but be sure to adjust the cooking time accordingly. If you do decide to make large meatballs, it is better to cook these in the oven rather than on the stovetop.

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Christmas is coming. It’s time to dry orange peels.

When I think about the Christmases of my childhood, I don’t recall the stockings I received, the trees I decorated, the gifts I gave, or the carols I sang. When I think about the Christmases of my childhood, something that immediately comes to mind is sorrel, a West Indian beverage brewed from the leaves of a plant in the Hibiscus family. My mother would make sorrel in two different batches, every year in December, and only in December. One batch, spiked with rum, was for my father. The other batch was unadulterated and left for my brother and me to fight over.

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Here’s a recipe to make So-real Sorrel. This recipe calls for a large amount of leaves in proportion to the water, so if you make this batch relatively sweet, you can use it as a concentrate and dilute it to taste. That way, you won’t have as much to store in your fridge. Enjoy!

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For any of you interested in hosting cocktail parties in the near future, I’ll be teaching an Hors D’Oeuvres class in Wayne, New Jersey at Adventures in Cooking on Thursday, November 18th. Check out their web site for more information.

QVC is live television, 24 hours a day, so if you happen to be up at 1:45 am EST tonight, so will I! You’ll be able to see me on QVC. What will we be presenting? Well, you’ll have to be watching to find out! Here’s a photo from my last appearance.

I’ve had The Precious. Have you?

I once had a chef instructor at culinary school who always put a “the” in front of general objects when he should have used an “a”. “Have you ever seen the cow?” when he really meant “Have you ever seen a cow?” It always made us snicker or raise an eyebrow in class. He was an interesting man. I suppose perhaps he might have had a specific cow in mind, but if so, we certainly had never seen it.

I was reminded of this chef instructor the other day when a friend of a friend brought a jar of The Precious as a house-warming gift on a visit. I’d heard of The Precious from my friend before and was intrigued and interested to try it. Who wouldn’t be intrigued by something with a name like that? Having “the” in front of “Precious” implies that it is the only one. It isn’t just “Any Old Precious” or “The Other Precious” – it is THE Precious.

The Precious is a condiment.

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This chutney is certainly NOT The Precious, nor does it aspire to be. That recipe is well-guarded and I hope it always remains so - precious. This recipe, however, is for a tasty tomato chutney that can be used in the same fashion. Great with strong cheeses, hot or cold meats, and try it as a sandwich spread.

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My grandmother made the very best trifle. I suppose everyone says that about something their grandmother or mother made, but this time, it’s true. My grandmother didn’t have a large repertoire in the kitchen. She repeated things often, and since we all know that with practice comes perfect, it is only logical that with all the repetition, my grandmother’s trifle was perfect.

I have a photo of my grandmother on my bookshelf. In the photo she is 91 years old and is sitting in a wheelchair outside the church at my brother’s wedding. She didn’t need a wheelchair, except for a day like that when she would be on her feet for a long time. She was all dressed up, wearing a new hat bought especially for the occasion. I hadn’t seen Nana for some time when this photo was taken, and we were both very happy to see each other. That day was the last time I ever saw Nana – she had in fact told me it would be – so the photo means a lot to me. When a young friend saw the photo he said “Wow. She looks like a real old English grandmother.” Indeed, she was a real old English grandmother, and she made the best trifle I’ve ever tasted.

I’m not alone in my opinion –

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I grew up with tea. For as long as I lived at home, I had at least one cup of tea every day of my life. Tea was the appropriate beverage for every occasion. It was especially appropriate first thing in the morning. My mother would bring me a cup of milky tea when she came into my room to wake me up every single day. Indeed, she had a “Teasmade” right next to her bed which woke her up. I have never seen a machine like this since those days. It was an electric alarm clock with two pots sitting behind it. One was a metal kettle which sat on an electric burner. This kettle had a spout that curled over into a ceramic tea pot. My mother would fill the kettle with water at night and put tea bags in the ceramic pot. She would take cups and saucers to bed with her, leaving them on the bedside table with the appropriate amount of milk and sugar for each person already inside. When the alarm would go off in the morning, the water would start to heat up, boil, and eventually move through the curled spout, ending up on the other side in the tea pot. The tea would brew for about 5 minutes and then Mum would have tea, having stepped not one foot out of bed. Then she just had to distribute it throughout the house to my brother and me as she started her day. Tea was a “good morning thing”. Coffee came around much later in my life.

Tea was also a “nighttime thing”.

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Tune in to QVC between midnight and 1 AM EST tonight to see yours truly on live television. I’ll be there; will you?

I remember the first time I brought home a really good frying pan. It was an All Clad 10 inch skillet with stainless steel interior and brushed aluminum exterior. I put it on the stove, turned on the heat and pre-heated the pan. Then came the moment… I tossed in a tablespoon of butter and just watched. I watched the butter start to melt and slide, slide down across the pan away from me. There wasn’t a single scratch on the stainless steel inside, and the butter looked like it was floating over ice as it drifted so slowly across to the other side. In fact, I’ve described this moment by comparing it to a hockey puck gliding across a newly iced rink. Beautiful. It was a moment, and it only ever happens once in a pan. After that first use, the pan gets a little scratched up. They aren’t big scratches - indiscernible to the untrained eye, but even the slightest scratch will prevent the moment from recurring. That was my first incident of true pan love.

It’s ironic and unfortunate, but those who cook for a living aren’t usually the ones with the beautiful cookware at home. I worked as a line cook for a few years. As a line cook, I rarely cooked at home. Cooking at home wasn’t as easy as cooking in the restaurant. Not only was it more difficult, it also required more planning and took more effort. At work, we were able to wander into the walk-in and choose from our own personal grocery store to create whatever we were in the mood for creating. Sometimes, the food ingredients were already prepped by a prep cook and all we had to do was turn on the heat and cook. Then of course, when the cooking was all done, we didn’t even have to clean up! Restaurant cooking was very different from cooking at home. Cooking at home meant you had to plan a meal and then go do the dreaded shopping. I think that was where I was started to lose interest, but it was completely lost when it came to grabbing a pan to use. I never had decent pans at home in which to cook. As a line cook, used to commercial cookware, I couldn’t use my pans at home. When I stopped working in restaurants and started working in a retail cookware business, I was able to earn points towards fine cookware. I started cooking at home more often.

The All Clad brushed aluminum 10 inch skillet was my first. I still own that pan, and I’m sure I always will. I have developed my love of pans. Indeed, my career now involves selling cookware. I don’t consider it selling as much as sharing my love of fine cookware and providing everyone with good pans in which to cook. Perhaps that is just my own way of justifying the fact that I’m really a salesperson. Still, I do truly love fine cookware and believe that it directly contributes to successful cooking experiences. I’ve added to my collection extensively over the years, and will continue to do so, but I will always have a soft spot in my heart for my 10 inch skillet.

In general, I am not a very political person. I don’t really take a firm stand on issues. I did, however, stage a personal boycott of the artichoke for years in the mid 90s. This was not an idle stand. I did not come to this resolution without reason. I had experienced the artichoke – stood up to it, fought with it, lost the battle, rose again to challenge it, struggled, seen it hurt those close to me, and to what end? Having lost one French paring knife, and with blackened, blistered and sometimes bleeding hands, I ended up with what? I’d withered away the leaves from a vegetable the size of my hand and was left with the small, pale green inside of the artichoke – the heart. All that work for such a small pay off. It doesn’t have an outrageous or even notable flavour. Tossed in a salad or into a casserole, it even seems to get a little lost. Was it really worth the effort?

My experience with artichokes, and the eventual reason for the boycott started in France.

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