Linzer Blitz Torte

I moved to Shanghai when I was eight, it took me a while to adjust to the cultural shock of crazy fast taxis, the thick smog that hung stubbornly above the city’s skyline, and people who stared at me with big, curious eyes like I was a foreign creature that dropped out of the sky. 

My dad had been living in China for a few years and didn’t want to be apart from his family anymore, so my mom and I packed up and left Toronto to settle in Shanghai. On my first night, I cried so hard my eyes swelled up, my nose ran like a waterfall, my lungs hurt from trying to stifle my bawling lest my parents heard their distraught daughter. But I couldn’t help it. I was upset, lonely, terrified, and so confused.

Soon enough however, I grew comfortable living in the busiest, noisiest, and one of the most exciting cities in China. I loved my school, my friends, even the mad taxi drivers became an important characteristic of the city. Since graduating high school in 2005, I’ve kept in touch with a small group of friends, including one friend who lives in here in Toronto and who I like to introduce with: “I’ve known her since grade six!” That’s 16 years, just two years shy of the legal drinking age in Quebec. That’s more than half my life. That’s big.

But what’s even bigger, is her recent good news, news that prompted me to scream in my seat when I received her text message followed by an immediate phone call to wish her and her now fiancé congratulations on their engagement (she was so happy I could hear the smile in her voice). Last year, seven of my friends got engaged, though this time, because of how long I’ve known her, because of our history, because she’s seen me through my worst and my best, it makes it all the more special. She’s loyal, compassionate, a good listener and always knows what to say after you find out that your ex has a new girlfriend. I’m thrilled for her and its news definitely worth smiling about.

Here's something just as exciting, a treat that will make you weak in the knees and dizzy with joy: Linzer Blitz Torte. Ain't that the coolest name? A blend of ground nuts, warm spices, topped with jam and baked till dark brown is sure to make you the most popular girl/boy in the room (pinky swear). The crust is at first crispy, then it becomes chewy from the delicious combination of nuts, flour and butter. The jam on top is an inevitable sticky, gooey mess on your fingers, but it heightens the playfulness of these linzertorte squares and there’s plenty of cinnamon in here, plus ground cloves which adds to the warm charm of these sweets. 

The first time I made these, I moaned--outloud. Then, went on to have a second piece. I usually have good self-control, but these torte squares have an irresistible quality that makes me reaching over for more, and that's saying a lot. I gave away the first batch and had to make these again to devour for myself share with you.

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Recipe here!

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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Recipe here!