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The Spices of Lifeby Marion E. RaychebaIf you are a purist about herbs and spices, stop reading now. This topicthe shelf life of dried herbs and spiceswill infuriate you. That goes double if you insist on fresh, just-picked everything. Most reliable sources (Google or any cookbook) will tell you things like this: One year for ground spices and dried herbs. A year and a half or so for herb and spice mixes. Two years for whole spices and dried herbs. Three years for whole seeds and roots. Four years for whole spices wait, haven't we been there already? It gets very confusing and, truthfully, I've always thought the time estimates were related more to the need to move stock than results in the kitchen. That's why I have my own rule: "Sniff it." If there is any scent, it's still usable. If the scent is fading, use double or triple the measure called for. When the scent is gone, it's probably time to discard. Of course, it helps to have a world class sniffer as do I. If you don't, you probably have a friend who does. Ask around. Your budget will thank you. First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 28, No. 4, April 2017.Soft Touchby Marion E. RaychebaYou may think of Rice Krispie Squares as nothing special. I think of them as Treasured Treats. Mom didn't make them oftenboth Rice Krispies and marshmallows were expensive luxuries on the Prairies. Today I make them two or three times a year, adding dollops of corn syrup and generous sprinklings of cinnamon and nutmeg. Of course, I get rave reviews from family and friends. And then there's Marshmallow Square made with Borden's Eagle Brand Sweetened Condensed Milk, graham cracker crumbs, unsweetened coconut, and marshmallows, another expensive treat Mom made rarely. I know the source: Magic Recipes from The Borden Company Limited of Don Mills, Ontario, published, I believe, in the 1950s. But the Treasured Treat that exists now only in my memory is one Mom used to bring home from her extremely rare trips to "the city" (Regina). It was bakery-made, which was a treat in itselfa log roll of chocolate cake spread with melted marshmallows. My siblings and I could barely stand the suspense and excitement on the day she was due to return. So now you know. I really am a soft touch after all. First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 27, No. 11, November 2016.The Finer Thing in Lifeby Marion E. RaychebaLike most women of her upbringing and circumstances, Mom cooked and baked everything every day. Three meals a day, plus packed lunches, for everyone in the family (and a hired hand during harvest season). Soups, stews, roasts, casseroles, jellied salads, pickles, puddings, breads, buns, cookies, tarts, pies, and squares. We took all these delicious things for granted. So, what counted as special? Dainties for teas and bake sales. Yeast doughnuts sprinkled with sugar. Chocolate Chiffon Cake with Fluffy Seven Minute Peppermint Icing. These were made rarely. Why? Usually, they took a lot of preparation and then a full day's work. Often, they required separating eggs. Usually, they required pastry flour and icing sugar and, thus, sifting. Always, they required more careful measuring and attention to temperature and time. No slapdash, by guess and by gosh, it will be done when it's done here. And so today, I still define "fine baking" by the Rule of 3: Pastry Flour + Icing Sugar + Sifting = Fine Baking. This Rule of 3 is closely related to another Rule of 3, namely, A Cup of Tea + A Tasty Treat + A Friend = Comfort & Joy. First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 27, No. 7/8, Summer 2016.The Awkward Angelby Marion E. RaychebaThere seemed to be no baking beyond Mom's scope and skill. Every day featured something made from scratch. Strangely, however, she was stumped by the Angel Cake. Which explains why, at age 15, I faced humiliation and despair. It was my first (and only) year in Home Economics. At year-end, students had to select a recipe, bring all the ingredients, make the dish, and be marked on the result. Mom urged me to tackle an Angel Cake. She believed, naively, with an expert on hand, I would learn "the secret." I did everything right, but the result was, like Mom's, half as high and twice as dense as desired. Still, it smelled lovely and so I resented it greatly when my teacher wrinkled her nose as she prodded it with a disdainful finger. At that moment, I proved to be truly my mother's daughter. I set humiliation aside, put on a happy face, burbled about how wonderfully it had turned out, and insisted Mrs. S. taste it. And I stood there until she did. Honour was satisfied. From then on I did as Mom did. Avoid Angel Cake if possible; if not, choose Duncan Hines . First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 27, No. 5, May 2016.A Rum Goby Marion E. RaychebaMany people claim to bake that Canadian Classic, the Butter Tart. What they produce are pale imitations. You shall never find better than my Mom's. Of course, one must start with superior pastry made by someone with magic fingers (like my Mom or me). And one must use salted butter, melted to just the right temperature, and deep, dark Demerara sugar. And no nuts. But the two secrets that set our tarts on the Pedestal of Worship are steaming the raisins and using real rum. You scoff? Read and learn. Use light-coloured, seedless raisins. Boil enough water to cover. Stir occasionally. Make the filling. Drain the raisins. Mix. Spoon into the shells. Pop into the oven. The result is a hold-together, not-quite-runny consistency because, as Mom explained, the heat from the just-steamed raisins starts cooking the filling before the tarts even reach the oven. As for the rum, use it. Real rum, preferably a really dark rum. Screech, if possible. And be generous. At least half a cup plus a splash if you're making two dozen tarts. The result will be a Rum-and-Butter Tart with a rich, deep flavour that reaches right into your soul. First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 27, No. 3, March 2016.Rhapsody in Bananaby Marion E. RaychebaThe banana has never been my favourite fruit. The aroma is unappealing. The texture verges on the slimy. It ripens so quickly and is a magnet for fruit flies. The name is so easy to misspell, especially with all those "ans" in English (banana) and French (banane). I keep it on my shopping list, however, because it does offer good nutritional value. Experts agree the banana is a fine source of Vitamin B6, manganese, Vitamin C, potassium, and dietary fibre. Also, a banana a day, sliced into his breakfast bowl, keeps my husband happy. It seems a small price to pay for marital harmony. More critically, mashed ripe banana makes a marvellous Banana-Walnut Muffin, especially when baked with butter, Demerera sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and allspice. It is also the key ingredient in my Mom's famous, feather-light Fiesta Banana Cake (also delicious as cupcakes). So, over the years, I have warmed gradually to the banana. What really tipped the balance, however, was the day I found the perfect fabric in the perfect dreamy, creamy colour for the perfect drapes in my new apartment. "Yes!" I exclaimed, as soon as I saw it in the sample book. And the name? "Rhapsody Banana." First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 27, No. 1, January 2016.Potayto-Potahtoby Marion E. RaychebaAn early memory is planting potatoes on our family farm in Saskatchewan. I was probably five or six. Holes were dug in long rows and wrinkly potatoes chopped into chunks. We children were told to walk a row, dropping chunks into each hole. There had to be at least one eye in one of the chunks. I remember taking my task very seriously. I also remember sacks of potatoes arriving eventually to carry us through the winter. I have no idea of the variety, but I remember vividly what Mom did with those potatoesboiled with and without their skins, baked, mashed, pan-fried, scalloped, in soups and stews, even deep-fried. Leftovers (rare) were a secret ingredient in her featherlight "Spudnuts" (raised doughnuts) and richly moist Mashed Potato Chocolate Cake. Years later, I hit the mother lode: Yukon Golds grown by Willis Shank in Stouffville and brought to the St. Lawrence Farmers' Market every Saturday. Sadly, Willis retired recently, but his gift to my palate and plate remains an enduring legacy. Say potayto or say potahto, I'll never call the Yukon Gold off. First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 26, No. 11, November 2015.Turnip Trash Talkby Marion E. RaychebaHow I hated the turnip, bitter in taste and smell,
disgusting no matter how much sugar Mom added. But the rule was eat something
of everything or no dessertnot an idle threat. First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 26, No. 9, September 2015.My Love Affair with Mushroomsby Marion E. RaychebaIt became official in France, in the mid-1970s. The
mushroom had captured my heart. In particular, the cep, more particularly, the
cep sliced, sautéed in butter and garlic, and served in the village of
Les Eyzies de Tayac in the Dordogne region of France. This is where one goes
for something altogether more intellectualprehistoric cave paintings and
other important archeological artifacts (think Neanderthals). First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 26, No. 7/8, Summer 2015.The Aw(e)ful Onionby Marion E. RaychebaSlippery, slimy, and totally disgusting. I was not a
fan of onions, especially when chopped, browned, and slipped into meat loaf,
for example. I would sit, nose wrinkled, picking out these gross bits. When I
accused Mom of an unspeakable crime, she would turn from what she was doing
and, invariably and all innocently, say, "Now how did they get in
there?" First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 26, No. 5, May 2015.Party for Oneby Marion E. RaychebaRibbon sandwiches! To me, they still signal
sophistication and glamour. Mom made them only when it was her turn to
entertain her lady friends to tea. Now, I understand why: Easy, yes, but
labour-intensive. First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 26, No. 3, March 2015.The Long and the Short of Itby Marion E. RaychebaThe fanciest my Mom ever got when baking Shortbread
was putting a bright green or red maraschino cherry on top. Today, I follow her
tradition, although my "fancy" comes in the form of colourful candy sprinkles.
In everything else, I remain faithful. After all, it took some considerable
effort to master this deceptively simple and delectable treat. First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 25, No. 12, December 2014.What's Old is Ever New (and Still Delicious)by Marion E. RaychebaWhen my Mom made Devilled Eggs, I'm certain she
didn't know the recipe can be traced back to Roman times. Or that in France
they are called oeuf mimosa. Or that the Dutch and Swedes call them
"stuffed eggs." First published in Food for Thought, East York Meals on Wheels, Vol. 25, No. 11, November 2014. |
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