Lemon Rosemary Muffins

I have a theory about muffin eaters. I believe that the world is divided into two types of people: Muffin Split Top/Bottom Eaters and Just Give Me My Muffin Damnit Eaters. The latter of which of course, are people who don’t care much for muffin-eating artistry and mindlessly hack their way through whatever muffin they have in their hand (the horror!) while sipping plain coffee in the other. They don’t give much thought into its texture, flavours, nor the harmony of ingredients, instead, they leave a trail of precious muffin crumbs behind them while rushing to wherever they have to be.

The former category, the Muffin Split Top/Bottom Eaters are people who are much more refined, they study the craft of not just muffin-eating, but muffin-making, muffin-mixing and let’s not forget, muffin-paper-liner-situations. You know what I’m talking about, those paper liners that cling desperately to muffin bottoms, a clear sign it’s over, you’re doomed, the muffin will taste rubbery and heavy with fat, leaving a thick film of grease on your tongue. Oh woe is me! Sometimes I lie awake at night tossing and turning, mulling over this catastrophic problem. Am I the only one who feels so strongly about muffin-paper-liner-situations?

But back to the Muffin Split Top/Bottom Eaters. as you may have deduced by my fine category name, these people split the muffin into two, one side being the muffin bottom, the other is the muffin top, and if you are well versed in muffin craft, it is the best part of muffins. The crackly top is almost crumble-like, rough and crispy along the golden edges, because really, it’s the only reason why muffins are made. I’d share with you a recipe for Lemon and Rosemary Muffin Tops, but I’ll save that for a later time, like when the world is coming to an end and we’ve hit a muffin top crisis. 

Which brings me to these muffins. Ever since this beauty, I’ve been toying with the idea of using rosemary in a baked good again, I devoted hours of serious research on Google, but failed to find something that held my attention for more than two seconds. Then I looked to my trusty friend Epicurious and stumbled on a recipe for lemon muffins. It originally tops the muffins with raspberries, which I left out and replaced it with lemon sugar, which is essentially a simple mash of lemon zest and sugar and my new favorite thing.

The last few desserts featured here haven’t been aromatically strong, so I’ve missed the smell of butter and sugar doing its magic, but within minutes in the oven, my home smelled like a candy factory. The lemonyness is undeniably good in the muffins, the crumb is delicate and soft (which I suspect comes from the oat flour), and the muffin top is glorious, sprinkled with the lemon sugar, it’s a beautiful glistening crown.

The rosemary isn’t obvious here, it’s so subtle you have to squint your eyes and tell your taste buds to search really hard for it. I was hoping for the same gentle herbyness that knocked my socks off like this rosemary olive oil cake (swoon!) though I think the generous amount of olive oil helped bring out the rosemary, because this time, the sugar seemed to overpower the herb. Either way, these lemon muffins are superb and deserve a permanent spot in your recipe arsenal, and don’t worry, we can all sleep well tonight, muffin-paper-liner-situations have no place here.

*Psst! I've been mentioned by Acquired Taste Magazine! It was the highlight of my week and there's more good news coming soon--stay tuned!

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Recipe here!

Rosemary and Dark Chocolate Olive Oil Cake

For the longest time I’ve been mixing, beating, creaming and aerating cakes, cookie batters and egg whites with an electronic handheld whisk. It’s been with me since my parents bought it for me and has tagged along in the 13 places I’ve called home over the years. When it’s not busy whisking, its bottom can be detached to function as a food processor or a blender (though I sadly lost that part in Montreal).

 

Though my mixer has served me well, I’ve spent many hours on my laptop yearning for KitchenAid mixers. I’ve also hung out at The Bay for much longer than socially acceptable admiring the rows of mixers that light up the kitchen department as if they were trophies.  I’ve swooned over the limited edition satin copper mixer at Williams-Sonoma, a spotlight directly over it, casting a magical aura over it.

Then, as if Santa missed the deadline, a KitchenAid mixer arrived at my doorstep. I was still asleep but roused awake when my mom, confused, repeated to the deliver boy: we didn’t order it, I didn’t order it! Turns out a good friend of mine generously bought it for me and had it sent to my door. I wish I could tell you I tore open the box like a grizzly bear on Ritalin, but I didn’t. Instead, I waited 11 hours later to rip through the packing tape and cardboard, I swear bells and angels sang as I lifted the mixer from its styrofoam shell and placed it carefully on the corner of my kitchen counter beside the rice cooker. It’s a thing of beauty and a lovely addition to my baking arsenal (move aside handheld mixer!)

I would totally spoon it to sleep, take it everywhere I go like a security blanket, and take it out to parties, but I don’t think its what normal people do. I do however, look forward to many years of mixing, pouring and quicker clean-ups with my brand-spanking new mixer, knowing that there will be plenty of breads and desserts (maybe I’ll successfully master macarons) to whip up in the very sweet future.

Take this cake for example, I don’t know what takes me so long to amble my way through my ridiculously long list of Must Make Now, but I’ve got to thank Heidi for this amazzzing creation. The cake is part herby, part sweet and a riddled with chunks of rich chocolate, in other words, nothing could go wrong.

With the recent plummeting temperatures, nothing beats the woodsy, rustic smell of rosemary and in combination with olive oil, it’s simply sensational. Not to mention that this cake is mostly whole grain (which is even better if you’re into that kinda thing). The best part are the crunchy granules of sugar and itty bitty bits of rosemary that you would think is overpowering, but rather, infuses a smoothing flavour in just the right amount. Trust me when I say you ought to make this. Like now. Stat. 1, 2, 3, GO!

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A Dinner to Please Any Crowd

One major epiphany I had in my university days as I swam languidly in cookbooks, finding my passion for food and cooking, was the magic of something called slow-roasted tomatoes. I don't recall exactly how I came about making them, but I do remember sinking my teeth into one, still warm from the oven. My heart skipped a beat, I couldn’t believe the candy-like juices swirling in my mouth and how the flavor of seemingly innocent everyday tomatoes had increased ten-fold while sunbathing in the oven. It was like my first kiss, that excitement, that rush to do it again, how it wasn't at all like what you expected.

Cooking tomatoes at a low temperature for an unusually long time concentrates its sweetness, turning even butt ugly tomatoes into the white swan of all tomato cookery. You don’t even need a recipe (but I'll give you one anyway), just fresh, meaty tomatoes, the Roma variety will do the trick. All you need to do is halve them, gut out the seeds and juices, brush with minced garlic, sea salt and olive oil, roast at 200°F for at least 5 hours. It will look pretty dull for a while, but soon, its skins will shrivel and the peppery scent of tomatoes will linger as you cook the rest of your dinner.

I served them as crostinis for my friends this weekend as an appetizer. I rubbed garlic onto baguette slices, topped with slabs of the wrinkled tomatoes adorned with basil. There was a loud orchestra of crunching and bread munching across the table, including a mumbling words that sounded vaguely like “Mmm...SOO...good!” If there was a tomato god, I suspect he would approve and feast on these crostinis everyday.

For the main course, I decided on parsley risotto with roasted mushrooms. I don't make risotto often, but I've always been obsessed with its creaminess, its warmth, its comforting goopy texture. I like trying new recipes and wanted to take a swing at Jamie Oliver's risotto for a while, and it did not disappoint. The herb does duo duty with its vibrant pop of color while perfuming the rice with grassy notes, and when it reaches your mouth, it releases its sharp, clean flavors, reminiscent of dashing meadows and sunshine. Button mushrooms enhance its earthiness, adding a slight meaty texture to the otherwise smooth risotto.

  

But no dinner is complete without a side of vegetables and roasted cauliflower could be your new best friend. They were crispy on the outside, yet still soft to the teeth, caramelized even, and entirely transformed from your old stand-by of raw vegetable sticks. Despite the explosion of miniature white trees descending on the counter, when I chopped them into bite-sized pieces, they charmed me 30 minutes later, sizzling in the pan, fiery hot and seared to golden perfection. 

When the time came for dessert, oohs! and ahhs! chimed from the dining table like a christmas choir as I unfurled the Earl Grey-Infused Chocolate Tart. Then, as if on cue, the salted caramel sandwiched between the chocolate ganache and the pâte sablée (short pastry) oozed out like hot lava, only it wasn't hot, it was a cool, dark liquid, sticking to your fingers the way only good things should.

As I sliced triangles onto mismatched dessert plates, my friends exchanged excited chatter. Sadly, I lost a good amount of the caramel, as evidenced by the pool of copper liquid moving amoeba-like from the pan, to the cutting board, to the granite tabletop.

Armed with forks, we dug in. Though it was more like we hammered in. The pâte sablée was rock solid and stubbornly refused to break apart, but oh dear gawd, was it goood. I could feel every muscle, every ligament, every bone in my body relax. Even my brain shut up.

The ganache was cold to the tongue, but it melted ever so slowly, teasingly, just like Lindt truffles do so well. The caramel cut through the sweetness of the chocolate like a knife, bestowing it with notes of amber and a hint of salt. The buttery crust added a stark contrast to the silkiness of the other layers, its crumbly, sandy, even nutty texture, reminded one friend of the Almond Rocha candies. 

For a few moments, it was quiet. There was only the clinking and clanging of forks scraping empty plates for caramel. There's no denying it, this is a sinfully rich dessert and may leave your friends clamoring for more, but one thing's for sure, I will definitely be making this tart again and again.

But the best part of all was the rhythm of chit-chat, the eruption of giggles, the tension when someone reached the climax of a story, and the undeniable chemistry between my friends was something I haven't felt in a while. At least not in my own home. The last time I hosted a dinner party with friends was nearly two years ago, in Montreal. It was something I loved, bringing friends together made me very happy, very satisfied, solidifying my home. It's taken sometime and a few unexpected turns to get to this point, but I can safely say, that I've settled in Toronto. It feels like home.

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Recipe here!