The Six Days of Comfort Food: Day Six

Chocolate Chip Cookies.
Math has never really been my forté, but especially lately. I've been distracted and nearly forgot that 1+1+1+1+1 does not equal 6. Perhaps The Six Days of Comfort Food should include more than five posts.

So here I am, conquering arithmetic and talking about cookies. These cookies, to be specific, which are my favourite recipe of late. I love them because they are thick, soft, and chewy, all tough traits to find in the amateur cookie-recipe world. I almost always use dark chocolate because the dough is quite sweet, and usually add toasted hazelnuts since nut-ified cookies are always better. Unless I've been asked to bake for nine bake-sales plus a football team, I almost always half this recipe.

How many days ago did I make these? One. How many kinds of chocolate did I put in them? Two. How many times have I made these now? Three. And how many did I eat fresh out of the oven? Four. Take that Math 11 and my crappy exam score, look who's countin' NOW.

The Six Days of Comfort Food: Day Five

French Toast.
Panettone - the large, domed, bread-like cakes filled with dried fruit - are everywhere during the holiday season in Italy. Stacked like precarious castles in the grocery store or swinging from Italians' hands as they stroll down the street, they are as much a part of the festive season as Christmas lights (and you should see how far they go with lights here). I was given one, or should I say re-gifted one, when some friends left, and it's a lot to take on alone. Very tasty, but really quite huge.

I sliced into it on Christmas morning and spread it with butter (I prefer to slot it into the 'bread' category, not cake, therefore justifying the extra fat) but only managed to get through about 1/16 of it. Solid effort Anderson, but not good enough.



This morning I put a serious hurtin' on it by making French toast. Now a few days old and ever so slightly stale, the large wedges of Panettone were perfect for soaking up milk and eggs and fried up beautifully golden in butter.



I also used some of Naama's leftover Challah, then drizzled it all with the vanilla bean-infused maple syrup that Linds brought me from Vancouver.





There you go, French toast made with Italian and Jewish bread and covered in Canadian sugar. Comfort breakfast at its finest.

The Six Days of Comfort Food: Day Four

International Christmas Eve.

Last week most of our class was homeward bound, but in Parma there remained a small and eclectic group of UNISG-ers who decided to celebrate the holidays together. On Christmas Eve I had Emily, her parents and sister (visiting from the US), Naama (from Israel, this was her first Christmas ever), Natalie and Chris (from Arizona) and Sung (from South Korea) over for dinner. While our potluck dinner may have been far from Traditional, in anyone's books, it was absolutely comforting.

Each dish was to be savoured, though I think everyone in attendance would agree that the culinary coup of the evening was Sung's Rib Cake. I know the name puts a strange vision in your head, so let me explain.

Last week, during one of the many rounds of goodbye drinks at Tabarro, Sung told me about his idea. Inspired by our friend Yui's 'Sushi cake' she'd made for Carey's birthday (layers of rice and sushi toppings in a springform pan; clever, gorgeous, and sooo tasty), Sung decided to do something similar with his famous Soy and Grappa-marinated ribs. When he made them the first time, way back when Barney Haughton visited, they were such a hit with the ladies that I dubbed them Sung's "Panty-Remover" ribs. Seriously, I think he received about eight marriage proposals that day.

So at Tabarro he laid out his plan: he'd layer cooked rice in a cake pan, cover it with a layer of ribs, then broil it all in the oven to caramelize the top and make the 'icing.' I went home, fell asleep, and dreamt about it. Actually dreamt about the Rib Cake. It was on.



On Christmas Eve Sung arrived, looking dapper as usual, and into the oven went the cake. It broiled beautifully, the sauce on the ribs browning and rippling and inspiring awe amongst the small crowd gathered round to watch.





At the table it unmoulded beautifully and was drizzled with the leftover rib sauce, then eaten with Naama's rich homemade Challah, Emily's cozy sage/sausage/white bean soup, Natalie 'Dairy-fest" cheese and potato gratin, truffled cheese, wild boar salami, roasted veggie and feta salad, and gingerbread cake with caramel sauce and cookies for dessert. Otis Redding serenaded us with White Christmas and we ate'til we could eat no more.



The Andersons weren't here for Christmas and that's never easy, but I still got to be with family. Family that makes rib cake. It was a lovely, memorable Christmas Eve and I hope yours was the same. Buon Natale.

The Six Days of Comfort Food: Day Three

Mac and Cheese.
As my time in Parma nears its end, I often find myself gripped by a sudden, overwhelming panic. These 'episodes' end with me standing in my favourite shop and handing money over the counter in return for a heavy bag. It's cheese. I've been overtaken by cheese panic.

For a year I've grated Parmigiano Reggiano over my pasta with reckless abandon, and only a month ago realized that this kind of satisfying liberality will soon be over, replaced by the calculated, make-100-grams-last-all-month kind of cheese mentality I had before. Compared to the cost of Italian cheese in Canada, they practically give the stuff away here for free. Stinky, soft, hard, round, square, aged, or fresh, cheeses crowd the counters of both speciality shops and regular grocery stores screaming "Buy me! AND me! Why not? You can actually afford it!" I will miss this only slightly less than I miss my friends, and I miss them badly.

So, for the third day of Comfort Food, my friend Catherine suggested Mac and Cheese. This kind of thinking is why I'm friends with her. It was the perfect excuse to buy four kinds of cheese to put in the sauce and some rustic bronze-dye pasta to soak it all up.



I modelled the sauce after that of Janice Beaton (my former boss at JBFC) which they serve in the Mac and Cheese at her restaurant FARM. I used Taleggio, Pecorino Stagionato, Parmigiano Reggiano and Gruyere, did not hold back on the garlic or dijon, and replaced the breadcrumb topping with more cheese. Because apparently I felt I hadn't yet used enough.

It was really cheesy, I was really happy, and I made so darn much of it that it's been comforting me for several days now. Someone's gotta eat it.




Thanks to Kirsten Teel for her lovely shots o' the Mac and Cheese.

The Six Days of Comfort Food: Day Two

Paninopalooza.
A panini in Italy isn't always a panini in North America. In fact, panini (multiple) are what you get when you have more than one panino (singular), and this word means 'sandwich.' Just any ordinary sandwich, whether it be a cold ham and cheese or something grilled like you get back home. Language lesson aside, if you pick the right ones, Italian sandwiches can be the perfect comfort food on a cold, drizzly day.

Last week during dinner with some Italian friends, we were advised that before leaving Parma we must try two panini in particular. After a lazy morning indoors, we decided that this afternoon we would bundle up, go for a walk, and fulfill our promise to seek these sandwiches out.



First stop: Enoteca Fontana, for The Principe (Prince) Panino. Judging by the number of dark wool coats we battled through to get to the counter, every businessman on Via Farini and beyond come here for lunch. I ordered from the nine-armed bartender, then elbowed my way over to the sandwich counter and passed off my receipt to the equally-busy panini maker.



A few minutes later we held The Principe in our hands: generous slices of prosciutto and parmigiano grilled between two slices of oily focaccia, exactly the sort of sandwich you'd expect in Italy, especially Emilia-Romagna. It was a salt feast, and very satisfying.



Second Stop: Pepen, for the Spacca Balli (spelled wrong I'm sure, but literally translated as "ball-buster.") Apparently this has something to do with the number of ingredients in it, hence making it a difficult order. There weren't actually that many though, but who knows. Can't argue with tradition.



We again fought our way into the crowded shop, ordered, and were handed a toasted roll filled with roast pork, lettuce, tomato, spicy ketchup and mayo. It was really good, though not as good as when Kirsten pointed out the shop 'decorations' on the wall behind the sandwich counter. These were several posters of naked women, staring down at the cutting boards below and providing sexy inspiration for the men at work. It must be effective, because the guys at Pepen were super cheerful.

The Six Days of Comfort Food: Day One

Chicken and Dumplings.

A few days ago, amidst the trauma of class-mate farewells, my friend Emily emailed me and suggested we make this recipe from Pioneer Woman. I, sitting hungry at my computer and wearing multiple sweaters to keep warm, decided this was the most brilliant idea I'd ever heard.

Because she's Emily, this recipe involved:

Going to the farmer's market in the morning and purchasing a whole chicken, which she proceeded to butcher herself (First time! Skills!) and used the feet to make stock.



Next, we went ice-skating with friends, because things always taste better when preceded by some sort of chilly, wintery activity. If the option's available to you, cross-country skiing is also highly effective for maximizing the enjoyment of comfort food.





Post-skating we donned comfy pants, mixed up Ginger-Whiskey cocktails, and began browning the chicken. Emily looked after the bird while I chopped vegetables and made the dumpling dough (which is stupidly easy, by the way).




Once everything had been chopped, browned, stirred, shredded, dropped, steamed and simmered, we dished up the first (of several) helpings to share with our friends Carey and Yui. It was comfort food at its finest, and the nicest way to spend a frosty Friday evening.



If you're not feeling quite as ambitious as Emily, you could easily skip the butchering and buy pre-cut chicken pieces and broth, or just make the dumplings to drop into any favourite soup or stew. We also used apple juice instead of apple cider, and sprinkled each bowl with some freshly chopped Italian parsley.

This is a great recipe to make as a pair, with one person tending to the chicken while the other prepares the rest. Then make it even better by sharing with friends! Day One of The Six Days of Comfort Food was a comfort indeed.

Ciao. Arrivederci. A dopo....

....goodbye.

Our school-year has come to an end. Accompanied by many Long Hugs, Quivering-Lower-Lips and Tears, these farewell words have been choked out so many times in the past week that the whole class is exhausted. At least I am. I’ve spent a year living, cooking, eating, drinking, dancing, travelling and learning with twenty-six people whom I'm going to miss terribly. I'd like to take this opportunity to say thank goodness for skype.

A few of us are staying here for the holidays, and with the endless goodbyes, distance from home, and recently-fallen snow, Emily figured we needed something nice. Something warm. Something to be eaten while wearing sweatpants and curled up on a couch. Last night she made Chicken and Dumplings, and as we ate it everything did feel better. It was the kind of meal you concentrate on, savour, one which doesn’t allow you to blindly fill your belly while chattering away or worrying about other things. It demands your attention and rightly so, because it was amazing.

Inspired by this hug of a meal, I have decided on a project. Chicken and Dumplings will be Day One of The Six Days of Comfort Food, dedicated to the UNISG FCC-A Class of 2011. Post one coming soon.



A dopo mie amiche.

You Don't Have to be Chained to the Stove all Day, Just Set the Timer and You're on Your Way!

I'm perplexed. Nearly fifty-five years ago, Frigidaire produced this film about the Kitchen of the Future.

If this was their vision in the 50's, then surely they must have intended it for my mother's generation, the baby boomers. It therefore should have been the kitchen of my childhood. This was not the kitchen of my childhood.

WHERE were the eggbeaters descending from cupboards? WHERE were the cakes that came out of the bubble-top oven with their icing and candles already on? And my mother? WHY wasn't my top-hat-wearing father escorting her into the kitchen where she'd twirl around and press buttons then dance off to go play golf and tennis while the meals cooked themselves?

Frigidaire, I'm seriously disappointed.