Olive Oil Pound Cake

 
There’s always a mix of anticipation, excitement, and hunger that stirs inside me when I slide cake out of the oven. A puff of hot air hits my face (I always forget to dodge), followed by the magical moment where the cake practically sings “TADA!!” when it’s brought to daylight.

A few times, I’ve baked desserts that I was too disgusted to share. There was an almond citrus cake that looked good on paper, but tasted awful in real life, so awful in fact, it was left untouched on the kitchen counter for a few days till my dad pity-ate a slice everyday for his afternoon tea. I made Earl Grey tea cookies once, carefully selecting a promising recipe, but they ended up looking like cement dog biscuits, a result of my over eagerness in doubling the amount of ground tea leaves to the batter. It was a sad day.

Then there are also happy times when cakes turns out too damn perfect, they looked so good they deserved to be on the front cover of a magazine. Still, watching my friends devour the cakes was the best part of all, how they greedily bit into a piece, leaving a trail of crumbs on the floor, or how they tried to identify all the ingredients in the cake while throwing compliments at me--their mouths still full.

Pound cake definitely falls under the Happy Times category, it has that oomph, that promise to deliver exactly what its name implies: 110% pure richness. This cake is a serious matter, the crumb is undeniably light and airy, yet still carries enough heft to be eaten double-fisted. The golden crust that forms around the cake is my favourite bit, it’s crispy against the teeth, but yields to a dense and moist cake. To sum up: insanely good. 

 

Although I’m a butter purist, olive oil makes for good desserts, its floral flavour is a nice change. This cake is good any time of the day: for breakfast, after lunch when you’re still hungry despite finishing all the contents of your lunchbox, for that time in the afternoon when you’re itching for sugar and even though that chocolate bar sounds really good, nothing else but this cake will curb your sweet tooth. It’s especially satisfying smuggled into a movie theatre because sometimes homemade pound cake is way better than buttered popcorn.

This cake is from Alice Medrich’s latest cookbook, which is sure to be my go-to dessert resource for a while. I made her one-bowl chocolate cake and cocoa brownies with walnuts and brown butter, both were divine and were rewarded rave reviews. I’ve bookmarked other blog-worthy recipes and cannot wait to share them, knowing that they will all be insanely good.

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Recipe here!

Olive Spelt Foccacia

One of my favorite places when I lived in Montreal was a bakery called Premiere Moisson. I loved gazing at the perfectly shaped croissants and the chocolatines, flaky beauties with a sliver of dark chocolate that oozed out in each greedy mouthful. There was a huge selection of breads to choose from, including hearty loaves of spelt, whole wheat, sourdough, flaxseed, plus slender multiseed baguettes and walnut loaves (one of my favourites), plenty of bread to put you in a decision-making-frenzy. If I had enough stomach space, I’d buy them all and eat like a queen.

 
The breads that always caught my attention were the foccacias: bacon and cheese, the sundried tomato, and of course, olive foccacia. Dark purple bits of briney fruit studded in the large, oval bread always makes me swoon (I’m easily smitten, can’t you see?). When I’m in the mood to splurge $4.50 on foccacia that I can finish in less than three days, I do, but other days, I’m much more inclined on making my own. Besides, homemade bread is immensely satisfying.

I was hesitant at how this would turn out since I used half all-purpose flour and half spelt flour, but it worked out perfectly, in fact, the best part was mixing the dough in my stand mixer which can be described in one word: easy! (if you don’t have a mixer, using your hands works too, it’s just messier).

There’s plenty of olive oil in the bread, making it moister than other foccacias I’ve made. The dough is prepared a day before baking and allowed to rise in the fridge overnight, it’s not necessary, but it strengthens the olive oil’s floral flavour. I’m also a kalamata olive-kinda girl. I find them sweeter and more tolerable than their green counterpart, though you’re free to choose whatever variety you prefer. The best part is within minutes this goes into the oven, a deep, intoxicating scent of salt, olive oil and wheat takes over, nearly stopping you from doing anything else.

Next time, I’d make this for a big dinner party and split it with friends, there’s something about fresh bread that is very homey and forgiving. Whenever I make bread at home, I always wonder why I don’t do this more often and once you try this focaccia, you will wonder too.

**By the way, I've joined Instagram! You can follow me at @ButteredupJL

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Beer Chicken and Potatoes with Salsa Verde

 
I've never liked the taste of beer. I have a high school friend who deemed it was like drinking “carbonated piss”, but ever since last summer, I found myself slowly enjoying the bubblyness and developed a newfound respect for pee beer.

A few weeks ago, we got a taste of summer—in March. It was sunny, blue skies, I even drove to work with the window all the way down, letting the warm air blast through my hair. As the temperature continued to rise, I switched on the air-con at home, which would have been effective if I didn’t cook coconut lentil soup for dinner. Apparently burning hot dishes are better left for a cold winter’s night.

I still don’t know the difference between the various families of beer/ale/lagers/pilsners and always look up each one on Wikipedia when curiosity strikes, but I do know one thing’s for sure, beer makes food, both sweet and savoury, taste freaking awesome. 
 

This beer chicken, adapted loosely from Laura Calder’s French Food at Home, is a fine example of how an ordinary can of an everyday beverage can convert you. It’s a simple recipe, so simple in fact, I bet you can do it blindfolded. All you need is chicken pieces (I used chicken thighs—I’m a dark meat kinda girl), wash and pat them dry, then tuck in some bacon and plenty (and I mean plenty) of garlic cloves between the skin and scatter it over the roasting pan. Pour beer over the pan and stick it in the oven for about forty-five minutes, until the chicken is cooked through. 
 
Trust me, fifteen minutes in, your home will smell like a garlicky bacony microbrewery. You will wonder what took you so long to make this dish. You will find it hard, excruciatingly painful even, to wait for the chicken to cook, because at this point, it will smell so damn good. The good news (I promise there’s always good news) is you can crack open the same beer and lounge on your balcony, enjoying the beautiful sunset while your dinner bubbles away in the oven. 




If you’ve ever had drunk chicken, this is what the meat tastes like with a distinct bitter flavour. The chicken is exactly how it should be, moist, tender, juicy, laced with sharp garlic and smoky bacon. I highly recommend you eat this double-fisted, with your elbows on the table, chewing loudly and with a second (or third, or fourth, why stop there?) glass of cold beer on the side--it's the only way.

The words salsa verde have always allured me, its fancy name slides off the tongue like a slick dance move. I used Molly’s recipe which is a slurry of lime juice, cilantro, olive oil, jalapeno and lots of raw garlic, drizzled over plain baby potatoes to give it a kick. It’s not only pretty, but the acidity brings out the brightness in the beer chicken. In other words: try it. If were like me and think beer tastes like fizzy piss, this might just change your mind.

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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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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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