Pasta with Squash and Brown Butter

When I was forced to cook for myself back in my undergrad years, and soup noodles with boiled bok choy and canned sardines was getting tedious, I would escape from dorm and stay with my cousin Sandra in downtown Montreal for the weekend.

We would pore over food magazines, Epicurious, cookbooks or just bounced dinner ideas back and forth based on our cravings. One food magazine we flipped through for inspiration even in the frigid December was a summer issue of Donna Hay. She’s my first food idol, her pictures are always alluring, simple and clean, her menu ideas entertaining and fresh.

A while ago, Sandra had dated a tall, handsome fellow with the finest manners, even the Queen couldn’t stifle a crush on him. He had a sexy, deep chuckle to compliment Sandra’s shrill laughter and he always made her smile in a way that even her eyes twinkled. For her birthday, he bought her Donna Hay’s Instant Cook and on the inside front cover scribbled in thick black Sharpie was a love note that went something like this:

Happy birthday, may you cook many more drool-worthy meals…so you can share it all with your friends, especially me. 

I treated that cookbook like my own, I studied each page like a textbook, furiously bookmarking recipes that caught my attention. Sometimes I used my old Canon point and shoot to photograph a recipe like the eggplant ricotta and parmesan bake.

However, my impatience to have my own cookbook grew too strong. One quiet morning, I succumbed to my unrelenting desire need for the beautiful books, so rather than memorizing the chemical structure of branched-chain amino acids and how many ATP are produced from 1 glucose molecule (Biochem anyone?), I jumped on Indigo.com and purchased not one-but two Donna Hay books. I convinced myself: they are an early Christmas gift…the shipping is free…I’ve been mostly frugal this month! 

Soon enough, a slender cardboard package arrived at my front door. I tore threw it like a kid on Boxing Day and jumped up and down. They might not have endearing notes scrawled on the inside, but they belonged to me, and it wasn’t long before I bought more of her books including Entertaining and Modern Classics Volume 1.

One of the things I love about Donna Hay is the inspiring, easily adaptable recipes. I first made this pasta on Thanksgiving weekend back in October (we Canadians celebrate the holiday a month before our neighbors). If you were here on the East coast, you may recall how oddly warm that weekend was, so warm in fact, I sat outside on the balcony in my pajama shorts and a t-shirt (short sleeves! in the fall!) and slurped my pasta with the sun beaming on my face. And of course, the best part of this dish is the brown butter. Did I get your attention? Repeat after me folks, brown butter. Brown butter. Brown butter. I don’t think I need to explain, it really is the best thing ever.

 

The brown butter is laced into every noodle, the squash accentuating its caramelized flavour and the parmesan tones down the sweetness with its salty pungency. This sauce is so phenomenal, so brilliant, it will knock your socks off. Don’t wear socks? Pants! It will knock your pants off!

The procedure is a breeze: golden fat is slowly melted to a beautiful deep color, turning your kitchen into a nutty, sweet heaven. Then this liquid gold is tossed with pasta and cubed squash plus a generous handful of sharp parmesan. Tada! That's it.

Just remember, brown butter makes everything taste ridiculously good. If it was drenched over cardboard, I bet you would like it too (but not advised).

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Recipe here!

The Drake Hotel

Roasted brussel sprouts and mashed butternut squash was the selling point for lunch at the Drake Hotel. I haven't eaten the bitter green orbs in months, and I missed them. I indulged in 3 consecutive days of Happy Belly Time for Winterlicious—a food event where over a hundred restaurants have a prix fix menu, showcasing their sumptuous food at a reduced price. The Drake Hotel was one of our destinations.

I expected a lavish hotel with tall ceilings and moldings along each corner and arch, but I was wrong. The setting was rather a piece of contemporary art itself. A turquoise wall, loud orange and black vintage wallpaper on the another wall, mirrors rusting at the back side. Ceiling lights covered with coral reef shaped material to dim the dining room. “In/Out” printed outside the kitchen doors, always swung open by busy servers. Climb up the staircase and spy a bust of a large man with his back facing you. He is balding, as evidenced by his pepper gray hair--it's strange and just out of place.

It's an odd setting when all the elements are added up, I'm sure there's a reason but I just don't know. I can only reason what I eat.

My hands shook as I eyed menu, I was hypoglycemic, absolutely famished, I had skipped breakfast for this meal. I chose Caesar salad with garlic croutons and anchovies, followed by grilled skirt steak with mashed butternut squash and roast brussel sprouts (!!). And finally New York style crumb cake with pear and ginger compote.

The Caesar salad was lacking crisp and freshness, but the croutons were excellent, garlicky without being too overpowering, and I kept digging for more croutons beneath my bed of lettuce. The skirt steak was pretty awesome, a huge slab of meat running with juices and topped with tangy Montpellier butter. The brussel sprouts were roasted with charred bits, my favorite way its made. The main course lasted us nearly an hour just to finish. We were talking, sipping coffee and mimosas, admiring the adorable little girl with the fedora, and trying to get the waiter's attention to pick up our empty dishes.

When dessert finally came, my jaw was exhausted from the meat chewing exercises. I was bulging full but determined to finish what I started. Yet its such a shame to finish the meal with a disappointment. There was nothing “New York” about my New York style coffee cake. It was rock hard. It should be renamed Gobi desert style sand cake. The pear and ginger compote was mediocre, and lacked any sort of syrup. The cake begged for a sauce to soften the texture. On the bright side, my companion's apple strudel came with homemade milk and honey ice cream. Now this was worth loosening my belt for. It was fresh, creamy and not throat-achingly sweet. We ordered 2 extra scoops which came 10 minutes later, we oohed and ahhed and dove headfirst into our new and improved desserts.


Winterlicious you have been fun, I enjoy going about town eating and critiquing. When the snow melts away and the grass is greener, I look forward to wining and dining for Summerlicious

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Recipe here!