Chocolate Buckwheat Granola

There is a story from my childhood my parents love to retell over and over again. I don't mind hearing it, I always end up laughing at my childish behaviours anyway. So I used to take gymnastic classes when I was around 4-5 years old. Back then, we didn't have a car yet and it was our first winter in Canada as new immigrants from Hong Kong. You can imagine how much of an adjustment it is to go from a humid city to a place that gets walloped with snow and polar vortex and whatever the cruel Canadian winters can throw on you.

Based on my parents' account, they carried me from home to the community centre in the cold, hiking through thick snow as more of the white stuff continued to fall. They remember it was like -15 degrees, despite being bundled up in layers of clothing, it was cold enough to feel your bones hurt. When we finally made it to the gym, I refused to take my class. I didn't have a legitmate excuse, I was just being a stubborn brat and threw a tandrum, bawling when they tried to take off my puffy coat and coaxing me to go play. I relented and continued to cry. They were pissed. They didn't walk all this way in the brutal cold for nothing.

I find this story hilarious, I really was that stubborn (and still am sometimes). This year has been a harsh winter and I've been thinking about this story a lot. I was in Costa Rica for 9 days. It took me almost just as long to get over my stomach flu when I got back. But rejoice! I have my appetite again and have been eating my favourite foods again, including this granola. I eat it almost everyday with plain yogurt. It's crunchy, nutty and the addition of chocolate makes it even better.

It's full of rolled oats, buckwheat, sunflower and chia seeds, shredded coconut, and chocolate and peanut butter. I do prefer another granola I've made before, likening the sweetness. Still, this granola makes for a quick breakfast or snack and also gifts if you're the giving away type of person.

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Acorn Squash Loaf with Streusel Topping

I’m not proud of this loaf. For days it was left untouched on the counter, still nestled in the loaf pan, bundled in parchment paper. It was a beautiful thing the moment I took it out from the oven, a golden sparkly masterpiece, but as it cooled, its spine caved in like an ugly, oblong crater. Even its taste, to me, was lackluster. It lacked that oomph, that spark, that oooh lala! that makes it irresistible to share. 

The recipe was intriguing, it required you to shred raw squash into the batter, something I haven’t heard of and was eager to try. But unless you’re gung-ho about tediously peeling the damn ridges of a squash, don’t bother. Raw squash just isn't the same as it is roasted. Instead, this loaf would have win more popular votes if it included roasted squash to reap its maximum flavor, I'd also double the amount of spices for an extra wallop of flavor. 

The best part of this squash loaf is the streusel topping. It’s not only pretty to look at, but the delicate crumbs add a sweet, grainy texture, giving the loaf just a whisper of sweetness. I wrapped up two thick slices in tin foil for a dear friend who ate them as if he had been on a deserted island for days, exchanging only a few words in between hungry bites, which I take as a good sign. It actually isn't too bad, in fact, I think they would taste even better smeared with peanut butter or if you got it, Speculoos.

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Almond Coconut Granola

There was a time when I was fervently passionate about my profession. I went to school to be a dietitian*, moved to Toronto, but particular circumstances has slashed my love for nutrition. Some days I feel like it's wringing out all my juices, till nothing but the bitter peel is left, even the pulp is a pile of mush lying neglected and tasteless.

Some days, I just want to throw up my arms in the air and call it quits, discard the title that took me 6 years to achieve. Self doubt kicks in, I wonder whether I am really destined to be a dietitian, then, I wallow at my misfortune that seems to have parked a permanent spot in my life.

But yesterday my dad said something to me that put things in perspective. I'm in my early twenties, this is merely but a minor bump in the road, a small hurdle in my career, I am still a dietitian, I need to be positive and find a way over that towering stone wall. Which is true. So true, sometimes I just need a reminder that my life isn't over. It's also a reminder that my parents are very wise and I love them so.

So to make the world a better place and to numb my cocktail mix of emotions, I made granola.

There's been a nip in the air lately. I grudgingly watched the sun cast a blood red sky across the horizon by 7pm instead of 9pm. Even the leaves have started to shed their emerald green colors in exchange for gold and rusty shades. Folks, autumn is upon us and granola is a brilliant way to welcome the new season.

Store-bought granola, to me, is overly sweet or laden with ingredients that you can't pronounce, but this recipe, from Leite's Culinaria is a just the remedy to satisfy that breakfast crunch.

There's cinnamon and coconut to give the granola flavor and aroma. Roasted almonds are crucial, providing a much needed crisp in each mouthful, I added sunflower seeds to amp up the nuttiness. And finally, dried fruits are a must, they add contrast to the otherwise tedious noshing of hard ingredients. I tweaked the recipe by using less sugar, confident that the quarter cup of honey will suffice.



My favorite kind of recipes are the ones you can easily adjust to suit your tastes or whatever is sitting in your pantry. If you, like me, wanted to make exotic granola using crystallized ginger, but they suddenly disappeared because you used them for this and couldn't help but suck on them as a snack, wincing in its spicy heat, you can use other dried fruits. I used dried blueberries, which aren't my favorite, but dried apricots, raisins, and cranberries would be excellent choices.

I had a generous cup of granola with an equally generous amount of yogurt for breakfast, and I must say, even with the early arrival of fall, I think I'll be ok, as long as I have this to keep me satisfied.

*Disclaimer alert! I am a registered dietitian, but this site was created as a space for me to showcase my love for food and photography and occasionally, lament about life, it is not intended as nutritional advice.

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Strawberry Jam

When I think of jam, I think of my dad. With gusto, he would slather on strawberry jam on white bread (which he prefers over whole wheat) either for breakfast or sometimes as a late-night snack. Jam covered every nook and cranny of the toast, instead of seeing a golden border of bread around the red jelly, you would see, well, only the red jelly. There was also evidence of his messy tendencies: jam stains on the plate, a smear on his unshaven chin, the drip on the kitchen floor, and occasionally, a blotch on his pajamas.


I've never really been fond of jam, I find it cloyingly sweet, so much so that it burns my throat. But then this jam came along and I fell in love. L-O-V-E. Like Natalie Cole's Love. It's fruity, chunky, and the cherries taste as though they were just plucked from a tree and tossed with a touch of sugar. And since I've emptied the jar with my spatula, finger, and tongue, I've been a little blue. Nothing to sweeten my yogurt! Nothing to motivate me to wake up in the morning! Life will never be the same again!

I've been hankering over jam for weeks and weeks now and though Bonne Maman is my favorite, it's too expensive here. So, I consulted various websites as any determined jam-maker would do and rolled up my sleeves.


The moment I began mashing the strawberry chunks, releasing it's ruby juices, the kitchen smelled like a trail of grass, golden fields, and fresh berries, an enchanted garden, if you will. But I should have known, making jam isn't meant to be a clean matter.



No matter how many times I rinsed my hands, red sticky blotches always managed to stick to my skin, eventually, I gave up on cleaning every time I skimmed pink foam off the simmering pot of fruit. Much to my mother's disapproval, puddles of juice splattered everywhere on the kitchen counter, I can't help but make a mess (Did I tell you how I tried to paint my fingernails but ended up adding bright pink highlights to my hair?). As the undeniably fruity aroma of berries exploded in the air, I grew impatient, something best avoided when jam jars are sterilizing in a roaring pot of water. The jam wasn't gelling after several tests, so I continued to stir the pot grudgingly.


But finally, I scooped globs of cooked fruit into the jars and had enough jam to give away as gifts. In the morning, I jumped out of bed, and like my dad, dolloped a thick layer of strawberry jam on buttered toast, doing my best to avoid staining my shirt, I leaned over the sink and took a bite. There's only one word to describe eating something homemade and as easy as strawberries stewed in sugar: satisfaction.

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Ridiculously Rich Ricotta

Homemade ricotta is a dream. Its silky and luscious texture slicks down your tongue, leaving nothing but the richness of dairy. This morning, I spread it on toast drizzled with honey and I dare say it was the best breakfast I’ve eaten in a while.

I first tried ricotta in Montreal. This cheese is a rare find in Shanghai, where I spent most of my life growing up, and if it is sold, it’s too expensive. Montreal (sigh) was like the start of a fun musical where the velvet curtain yanks open, revealing colourful spotlights from every direction and the actors bring you to a world far far away from reality. Living there opened my eyes to so many things, including cheese (Montreal is still my Happy Place, though in the winter, there are no blinding spotlights, just freezing winters).


I don’t recall exactly when I first used ricotta, though I’m sure it was in some pasta dish, like lasagna. I also loved that subtle flavour from plain store-bought ricotta and bought it once in a while to spread on slices of baguette topped with figs or jam. It was my little indulgence.

So my mind boggled when I read Smitten Kitchen’s mad easy recipe for homemade ricotta. Anyone can make this. Even a monkey.

And then last night, I made this ridiculously rich ricotta and now my life has changed. I’m not kidding. In fact, I’m warning you that if when you make this, you will never ever want to buy commercial brand ricotta again. You will scoff at the plastic containers idly waiting for their fate in supermarkets. They're nothing--I repeat, nothing compared to homemade ricotta.


All you need to do is boil whole milk and heavy cream, add lemon juice, let it sit and do its curdling magic, then separate it in a colander lined with cheesecloth. Go do some core exercises (like I did, to uh…better prepare me for the good things to come) and after a hour or so, you will have silky cheese in your hands. I stored my cheese in the fridge and in the morning, it thickened to the consistency of cream cheese. The acidity from the lemon juice gives the ricotta a mild tang, the dairy is unbelievably refreshing, almost floral.



The ricotta is amazzzzing on bread. On carrot sticks. On cucumber slices. On raw peppers. I bet it would even be good if eaten off the floor (but it’s not recommended). Depending on what you’re feeling, try it on bread with some olive oil and balsamic vinegar or with slices of fresh peaches, I’m sure that would be divine. Whatever you eat it with, rest assured you will have a cheese so smooth, so creamy, all you can think is: Where have you been all my life?

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Bread with Chocolate and Olive Oil

Long ago, I was part of the varsity tennis team in high school, which granted us privilege to skip school, visit other countries (the most exotic was the Phillippines), and spend a week playing tennis games. Being part of any varsity sport was exciting and special, it was like being given liquid gold.

The team had five girls and every year, we got along splendidly. During the day, we eyed handsome boys from other schools and we cursed under our breaths at the opposing players. At night, we were paired with a fellow team member and stayed with “host families” who became our temporarily care takers.

I was barely a foodie back then, my knowledge of cooking consisted of instant noodles (oh, the shame) and scrambled eggs, I ate whatever my mom planned or whatever tasted familiar. My favorite breakfast was peanut butter on toast with sliced bananas. The Japanese family I was stayed with have never seen this combination of ingredients, but they were kind and smiled politely, ensuring that I was well fed.

When I returned to the guest bedroom to prepare my bag for the day, I found my roommate dressed in our red and blue tennis uniform, sitting on the edge of her bed eating. She unfurled squares of chocolate and wrapped them with white bread, munching quietly with the blinds still closed. They weren't just any chocolate, but the Côte d'Or Mignonnettes, glossy tablets with an elephant mold in the centre.


I was assigned to stay with her again for another tournament, this time we were in Beijing and the host family was German (the father moved to China for work and brought along his wife and children). Our breakfast spread could rival the royal family. Jams, butter, cream cheese, three types of bread, yogurt, milk, juices, a generous selection of tea crowded the table, and then there was the box of chocolate sprinkles. After spreading her toast with butter, my roommate held the white box high above her plate and designed an even layer of decorative chocolate on her bread. Did I mention she was European?

It shocked me that chocolate and bread could constitute a healthy breakfast, let alone a meal that was supposed to provide energy for hour-long matches. Still, she gracefully won her games, helping us win the trophy that year, her breakfast didn't have anything to do with her tennis skills, she was just a great player.



Chocolate and bread have long been recognized as a couple, from nutella to pain au chocolat, it's ubiquitous in Europe and I think it's just starting to gain more popularity on this side of the Atlantic. I think we should start a trend.

This recipe is from Matt Bittman, adapted from Ferrian Adria of El Bulli who serves this as dessert to his staff as part of the staff meals. It's as easy as pie: grate dark chocolate on warm bread, drizzle with olive oil and add a dash of sea salt. What you get is a spruced up version of nutella on bread. The chocolate melts into the little pores of the bread, the oil brings out the flavor of the roasted cocoa beans and then you catch a faint breeze of its floral notes and finally, the salt gives it that final touch, binding salty and sweet. I made this twice this weekend, I'm thinking of making it tomorrow, and again and again.


I can't guarantee this will win you any awards, but if you make this for your special someone, it might just score you something big.

If you're still hungry, you can read my featured blog entry for My Food Geek about some very sweet scones.

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Cinnamon Toast

When I was younger, my favorite afternoon snack was toast. I'd stick white bread in the toaster, press down the lever and step back immediately, lest the toast spring back with a loud POP! When it was ready, I'd spread margarine across the toast, watching little mounds of yellow melt into the pores and glisten in the afternoon light. Each mouthful exploded with the salty sweet flavor of fat.


I am still a lover of toast, but mainly for breakfast. Actually, the only reason I roll out of bed is for my morning meal. I've been living on the same breakfast everyday for weeks now and I'm not ready to move on. May I introduce you to: Cinnamon Toast, a cousin to French Toast. Similar in taste and aroma, but different in style, Cinnamon Toast doesn't go dipping into an egg wash nor gets fried in a pan. All you need is bread, butter, cinnamon and sugar.


I like to toast the bread for a few minutes till it begins to brown. Then I coat a layer of salted butter, drizzle maple syrup, sprinkle ground cinnamon and throw it back in the toaster, allowing the sugar to mingle with the fat and warm spice. Keep an eye on it because burnt toast will ruin your morning, after a minute or so it's time to take it out.




Sadly, I've run out of maple syrup and have been using white granulated sugar instead. It's a lovely substitute. The sugar crystals aren't given enough time to melt, adding a sandy texture to the toast without losing its flavor. I imagine brown sugar would be divine, or if you had honey, you could use that too.

Cinnamon toast, the tastiest start to your day. What's your favorite breakfast?

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French Toasts and a Chocolate Terrine

One of my closest friends Milos came to visit me six months after saying he would. I was excited to see him not only because he’s great fun, but also for the fact that he makes me laugh so hard sometimes--I mean most times--I can’t help but lose control of my bodily fluids (pee, snot, tears).

Prior to his arrival, we had briefly planned not so much what to do, yet rather, what to eat. I suggested French toast since I haven’t had it in a while. And I bet Milos has a syrupy blood running through his veins, he brought over maple syrup and a loaf of soft bread just to grant my request.


On Saturday morning, the slices of bread went for a quick swim in the milky egg batter and sizzled in a pan with some butter. When a golden color slowly appeared on each side, I sprinkled sugar on top and popped them into the oven to broil. Moments later, cinnamon french toast emerged with a carmelized layer of sugar. We settled around my ‘dinner table’ aka as the mahjong table and poured maple syrup over our pieces of toast. Within minutes our plates were empty, glistening with the remains of melted butter and syrup and our bellies full.


One of the reasons why Milos and I get along so well is our insatiable appetite for sweets. It all started when we first met at a mutual friend’s chocolate fondue party. He was mesmerized by my black lace gloves, I was busy stabbing marshmallows and bathing each one into the glossy stream of chocolate. Since then, we ogled at the rainbow array of pastries at bakeries together; we tried new restaurants in Old Montreal and shared lusty desserts. I’ve witnessed him polish off two coconut white chocolate blondies at Juliette et Chocolat and lick the plate clean (on my direction of course). And we’ve made cakes, pancakes, and crepes on several saccharine occasions.


Since I’ve moved to Toronto, I’ve missed sharing food with Milos. So after our French toast project, we flipped through a dessert cookbook and settled on the chocolate terrine. We got started: Milos was in charge of melting the chocolate, I whipped the egg whites. Everything was going smoothly; we played French jazz music in hopes of wooing the terrine. Milos did his moonwalk. I laughed and judged.

The terrine was almost ready to be baked when I skimmed through the ingredient list and realized our blunder. We had forgotten to add the expresso in the first step with the chocolate. I blamed Milos, he frowned and dodged my whisk jab.



We tried to amend our error, only to see the mixture hardening when we added the coffee. Uh oh. We ventured forward and folded the egg whites with our chocolately sticky mass. It didn’t look too promising—it was as though someone had tinkled with Willy Wonka’s chocolate river and emptied a gallon of white foam. We scraped the batter into the pans, and hoped for the best.

When the oven timer went off, the terrine went into the fridge to chill and we kissed it goodnight. The following morning it was our pre-breakfast snack. We hovered over our concoction. It was perfect and hours later still smelled good.


We sliced a piece, Milos purred, “It’s sooo good!” Indeed it was. It had a silky smooth texture like chocolate truffles. But in each nibble, there was a pleasant surprise: the chocolate bits that refused to melt. I suppose mistakes aren’t so bad after all.

There are more food adventures, and I’ll fill you in soon with the chocolate terrine recipe.

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Recipe here!

Maple Syrup and Cream

I have a friend who dips croissants in maple syrup and cream. I know, I was astounded too, as if the amount of butter wasn’t enough of an indulgence.

He pops the croissant into the oven to give it a crisp-boosting treatment. Meanwhile, we arrange a rainbow of fruit on our plates: slivers of cantaloupe, squishy black mission figs, plus glistening grapes and blueberries. Then, Ding ding! Warm croissants are ready.

As the morning light radiates the room, I watch as glugs of amber syrup are poured into a bowl, followed by a teaspoon of cream. He tears the end of his croissant, leaves a sprinkling of gold flakes on his placemat, and swirls it in the shiny liquid before passing it onto me. I take it in one mouthful and I’m blown away. The cream tames the throat-itching sweetness and bewitches the expected caramel flavour. The croissant is fresh: both crackly on the outside, yet retains a firm chew.


Among the many reasons I adore croissants, is how a trace of pastry always manages to stick on the edge of my lips. But it doesn't matter. When a boy you have a crush on shares breakfast with you, he can't help but tilt his head to the side, grin, and lean over to gently brush it off. So don’t be afraid to try new foods--especially when sweets are involved--sparks always fly.

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Sunday morning: Croissants for Breakfast at Premiere Moisson

A brush of expresso breaks the calm foamy milk of a café au lait sitting before you. Roasted coffee wafts and mesmerizes you. It is almost dreamy, staring into the cup teeming with softly popping bubbles. But something else distracts you, a croissant aux amande.

Next to the coffee lies a large golden nugget, liberally dusted with icing sugar and a shower of slivered almonds. Feel its weight in your hand and realize it needs the support of all ten fingers. Inhale the sweet smell of butter. Open wide to greedily meet each buttery layer that encases almond cream. Grainy sugar crystals melt into the silky sheets of fat and flour, causing your lips to turn upwards in a smile. Dive in for another nibble, and jagged pieces of pastry stick to the roof of your mouth, but alas! MM! What was that? A hint of sexy dark chocolate dissolves on your tongue. A nibble transforms to a bite, a bite becomes a bigger crunch. Each morsel, each chew, a sheer delight. The only culprit is the archipelago of icing sugar stuck to the sides of your mouth--don't worry, just wipe them away with the back of your hand. And you might as well use your forefinger to lick up each remaining crumb on your plate. Oh, don’t forget to sip the café au lait slowly while pondering for your next croissant.

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