Raspberry Crumble Tart with Speculoos

Yesterday it was 41⁰C. 41!!  It was sweltering hot and I loved it but then it made me absolutely dread winter. Sorry I couldn't help it, I had to bring up that horrid word. I'm not excited at all for my thick puffy coat, or having to scrape ice off my car, or those awful bitterly cold gusts of wind numbing my face. I'm only mildly excited to make butternut squash soup and wear cozy sweaters and leather boots. Please please please weather-people, make winter short and bearable this year. 

In an ode to summer, I made this tart. The recipe caught my eye right away, it seemed easy enough, no pastry dough required, the tart layer is the same as the crumble topping. I wanted to bake using summer fruits before they all disappear. I also tweaked the recipe just slightly to make it my own: I browned the butter before mixing it into the cookie base and spread a layer of Speculoos to compliment the tart base before adding the raspberries on top (I bet Nutella would be a delicious substitute/addition too). 

The tart comes together easily, the hardest part for me was evenly pressing the cookie base to the tart pan and ensuring the sides also had a good layer of dough. This takes a certain level of patience that I don't normally have, but I kept telling myself I wanted to make it look good, so I kept pressing on (pun intended).

The tart is a beautiful tart to look at and to eat. The browned butter really sings in the tart base, giving the whole thing a lovely caramelized flavour. The tart also has sandy texture from a mixture of brown and white sugars, reminiscent of a raw shortbread cookie. After I finished wolfing down my first slice of tart, I carefully cut pieces from the remaining tart sides to nibble on it...and then I kept picking at the crumble topping for a solid 5 minutes before I shamefully decided to stop. The cookie base was the perfect vehicle for the sweet raspberries. I'd reuse the tart base for another recipe, like a chocolate ganache or a lemon curd filling.

Also, as the recipe warned that this is best eaten within the first couple of hours after it's done. The tart bottom soaks up the raspberry juices, making it soggy. I ate it the next day, it wasn't so bad and tastes even better with some thick Greek yogurt. Mmm...summer!

Tweet

Recipe here!

Strawberry Pop Tarts with Fresita Icing

I grew up mostly in Shanghai, where imported food from the States back then was considered in my mind, a treasured thing. My family rarely shopped at the Supercity Market where a majority of their products were imported, they preferred to go to the local supermarket to buy food instead. If I brought lunch to school, I cringed at my leftovers from the night before (rice, rice, meat, rice, veg, rice, rice—what a bore and yet I still eat the same lunches these days). I envied my classmates that ate pastrami sandwiches and sipped on juice boxes covered with colourful animal cartoons. The best part of lunch time though was near the end, when they shared their treats. Sometimes it was pop tarts, or Rice Krispie treats, or Fruit-by-the-Foot, or my personal favourite, Fruit Gushers.

It was important to sit within arms length to these friends so I could get the first piece. They were always so generous, passing out their treat as if their house was made of candy. As we stuck out our tongues to compare whose mouth had undergone the most serious colour transformation caused by the Fruit-by-the-Foot,  I always wondered in awe who in their right mind would give away these sweets? I’d keep it all to myself. 

Sometime in middle school, I happened to get my hands on my first box of pop tarts. I had studied the bright blue box from side to side and top to bottom, reading the ingredients, admiring the logo, I was so amused at the packaging as if it were a shiny new toy. I tore open the top flap and grabbed a pop tart, wrapped in its thin silver package, ripped the silvery wrapper to reveal the most beautiful pop tart. I licked the chocolate glaze, savored that strange powdery chocolate flavour and inside the pastry was a pudding-like chocolate filling. It was freaking awesome. 

I haven't had pop tarts again since after moving back to Canada for school, the baker in me scoffs at buying precooked pastries when I can make them at home. See? I can make little tarts too! They're not quite picture-perfect, since I prefer the ‘rustic’ look and didn’t spend the time to meticulously measure out the pastry dough to ensure each rectangle was the exact size, but don't judge a book pop tart by its cover, they are heavenly. 

The combination of sticky jam with shortbread-like pastry is addictive, they are especially good warm from the oven. Also, the pastry really does shine here. It’s buttery, flaky, and surprising easy to make (which is a big deal compared to my many horrid experiences making pastry dough from scratch). 

I used Fresita wine in the icing on these pop tarts too. The wine is a blend of Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc and Moscatel and is mixed with fresh strawberries. The sparkling wine is a little dry but has a strong fruit flavour to give just enough sweetness. 

Fresita is refreshing on its own and tastes amazing chilled, I sipped on few glasses while sunbathing on the patio. The wine also goes well with desserts and is delicious with these strawberry pop tarts. I love that I can hold my Fresita in one hand and a pop tart in the other, no plate required. I would imagine the Fresita would be a good base for making sangria, You can find Fresita at the LCBO. 

Tweet

Recipe here!

Eggplant Tarte Tatin with Black Pepper Caramel

Eggplants were one of those foods I despised as a child. My face twisted in disgust when I saw that my parents had ordered them at a restaurant, they looked like fat worms slouched over each other, lurking in a dish smothered in some sort of gooey sauce. I hated their weird silky texture and imagined how easily they could slip down my throat, latch onto my esophagus and multiply by the dozens. Ugh. I begged my parents not to scoop any for me (along with onions and cooked carrots, my other childhood food aversions).

Then as I grew older, I started to enjoy the purple vegetable. I don’t exactly remember the turning point, but suddenly stopped dreading the sight of them when we dined out. I actually liked their slipperiness, how they slithered in my mouth bursting with a salty, chili sauce riddled with ground pork. That’s still my favourite way to eat them, especially with a bowl of rice soak up all the garlicky sauce. 

I’ve never had them in a sweet dish and I think we can agree, eggplant rarely comes in a dessert form, but thanks to my friend Claudia who sent me this recipe, here we are with eggplant tarte tatin. Does that sound heavenly? It tastes awesome by the way. 

The vegetable is shredded then sliced into thick matchsticks, boiled with butter and sugar until golden. The eggplant turns into luxurious pieces, reminding me of ripe pears but still retaining that familiar peppery bite. Blackened bits of eggplant clung to edges of the tart, which I picked at uncontrollably. The puff pastry is a superb vehicle for holding the eggplant candy (Ha! Never thought I’d use those words together) and besides, everyone loves flaky crusts.

Who would have thought caramelizing vegetables, let alone the humble eggplant, would transform it into a toffee-like substance? These could totally count as your serving of daily vegetables. 

Tweet

Recipe here!

Leek and Bacon Tart

My mom and I have a deal. Once a week, I make dinner. Usually it’s Sunday when I have the time to ponder over what I want to eat. It usually begins with what my tastebuds are craving, or sometimes I zero-in on a single ingredient and the meal gets planned around that. In this case, I had the sudden urge for leeks. I don’t usually cook with them, but I’m a sucker for their silky texture when they get caramelized.

I always have a mental idea what to make, though it’s usually not concrete till I get to the grocery store and see what options I have. This week it was pretty easy, I knew I wanted something handheld and crispy and a tart seemed like a good choice. As most of my recipe searching goes, I Google recipe ideas and keep clicking till I find something that hinges between simple and interesting. This tart seemed only a natural pairing and the best part, it calls for only a handful of ingredients and is easily customized to whatever you like. 

I cooked down the leeks with bacon, infusing the green and white ribbons with salty meat, layered it over puff pastry, sprinkled it with cheese and added more bacon so that it would crisp and curl in the oven. I’d add fresh thyme if I had any on hand too.  My oh my, was it deliiiicious.

This past weekend, Milos, a good friend of mine from Montreal was visiting and what better way to welcome someone than with a lovely dinner? I made a different version of this tart using caramelized onions, cheddar cheese and cherry tomatoes, serving it with roasted zucchini and mustard salmon. Everything disappeared quickly, a testament to how tasty it was, even though the tomatoes made the tart soggy. Next time I’d roast them first, releasing their juices before adding them to the tart. My mom preferred the leek and bacon version, but continued to tear off just the edges of the tomato tart despite my encouragement to take the whole slice.

Milos was eager to recreate the tomato-based tart with his girlfriend back home, and asked what other ingredients he could use. I haven’t tried it before, but I’d suggest spreading the pastry with pesto, sundried tomato paste, tapenade, or goat cheese, and topping it with sautéed vegetables (as long as they’re not too soggy) would be equally wonderful. If you find someone who dislikes crispy, cheesy, vegetable-y eat-with-your-hands food, let me know and I’ll gladly have their portion.

Tweet

Recipe here!

Meyer Lemon Tart

My dad is visiting for a month from Shanghai. He works there, mom and I live here. We picked him up from the airport Saturday night, drove home, mom made a feast and by the time the dishes were cleaned, the table wiped down, it was still 8pm. My dad’s eyes were red and he was fighting to keep them open, it was 9 in the morning in China. So to help out, we took him to a popular dessert café in Richmond Hill, teeming with shrieking teenagers and lovey dovey couples. 

When the waiter set down our order of tiramisu ice cream on top of Bailey’s cheesecake and waffles with fresh strawberries and vanilla ice cream, my dad’s face brightened instantly, he dug in and couldn’t stop raving how fantastically enormous the portions were, how perfectly smooth the ice cream was on his tongue, and how it didn’t melt right away so he could fully enjoy both plates at once. He had forgotten about his jet lag and proceeded to finish the cake, nearly licking the plate clean.

I inherited my dad’s insatiable sweet tooth. Throughout the day, my mind doesn’t shut up about sugar. I’ve fantasized about meyer lemons since reading about them everywhere. They’re hard to find here, but when I stumbled on them in a grocery store, I skipped straight to the cashier and immediately searched for recipes to use their intoxicating properties. They smell unlike any other lemon I’ve used, more floral with a sweeter juice. I first used them in a pound cake, grating the zest into the thick batter and even diced up lemon skin, throwing it into the mixing bowl to make the most of my purchase. The cake was a little dry and though it smelled like a lemon garden as it rose in the oven, it wasn’t special enough.

Nonetheless, I still had four lemons left.  I love tart crust; a crumbly cookie texture with a sweet, creamy filling always makes my day. I’m not a fan of making them however, tart crust requires patience, patience and more patience, something I strive to have one day. I get restless molding it evenly into the pan. The dough can be finicky, uncooperative, a plain nuisance. I’m bored just writing about it.

And yet, tarts rank at the top of my favourite things to eat. Savoury or sweet, I like them all. This meyer lemon tart is extremely lemony, there’s plenty of lemon juice and zest, so much that the lemon curd darkens to a nearly golden complexion. But next time, I’d separate the pulp from the juice to yield a smoother lemon curd, a crucial step that made the other lemon tart so satiny and irresistible. This crust is easy to work with unlike other recipes I’ve come across. I later found this useful article that I’ll definitely refer to in my next tart-making-escapade.

Still jet lagged, my dad ate the few remaining pieces of the tart after dinner, standing up, with a mug of tea in hand. He fell asleep on the couch thirty minutes later, his head bowed down, loud snores in rhythmic timing, a reminder of how good it feels to see my dad again.

Tweet

Recipe here!

Alice Medrich's Lemon Tart

As a child, I was a pro when it came to buffet dining. I knew the drill: arm yourself with a large plate, still hot from the plate warmer, scan all buffet tables, taking mental notes of the most enticing items to prioritize your time (Ooh! Beet salad! My favourite! Ooooh! Potato salad with canned corn! MMM roast chicken thighs in barbeque sauce! Halibut with lemon! and DILL!) Buffets are a child’s paradise, a picky eater's dream, no need to be forced to eat whatever laid on your plate and you could control exactly how much to eat.

Naturally, what makes or breaks a buffet is based solely on the dessert table. Some places have only a handful of items to choose from: store-bought cookies, cheap blocks of chocolate and vanilla cake slathered with pink saccharine frosting, and sad pieces of wobbly green jello under ghastly flourescent lighting. Shameful, I know.
 

 
The secret to the best dessert table is offering too many items, so many in fact, you can’t decide. For example, there must be at least five cakes, a layer cake, a fruit-based mousse cake, a flourless chocolate cake, a marble cake, even this cake are all acceptable selections, and keeping them intact is essential, none of that pre-sliced business please. A self-serve ice cream bar always wins my heart, not only because you get to mix and match flavours, but it gives you the culinary freedom to make it even unhealthier by sprinkling in chocolate chips or colored sprinkles, ladling over fudge and caramel sauce, drowning your ice cream in cookie crumbs, honeyed nut clusters, or if you must, maschino cherries.

On the other side of the table, there ought to be a spread of bite-sized sweets: homemade cookies and bars (mmm Nanaimo bars), macarons (if that trend isn’t over yet), madeleines, éclairs and chocolate truffles are all welcome here. When I was younger, one thing I was never able to resist were the mini fruit tarts.

I loved the precariously arranged fruit over a buttery crust and the pastry cream that oozed with each greedy bite. I was careful though, I'd strip each tart naked, picking off each blueberry, raspberry, peach and kiwi slice one by one, licking off the glazed sugar, then scooping out the rich cream with my fingers, leaving me with the best part of all: the crumbly cookie crust. Sometimes eat this slowly, as I liked how delicate they were, but most times I’d swallow them whole before moving on to my next dessert. I told you I was pro.

It ain’t easy making a tart I tell you. I’m an impatient person, I rap my fingers on the table when I’m waiting for my dinner, just the other day, I nearly threw a tandrum waiting for my prescription to be filled, I curse at stupid drivers sometimes (It's not road rage, I just think there are a lot of stupid people driving stupidly). However, preparing the tart crust is a true testament to how patient I am when it comes to desserts. I don’t mind bending over the table, meticulously smoothing out the dough till it looks immaculate. Looks are everything. 

This was already my third attempt at tart-crust-making. When I pulled this tart out of the oven, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It retained its structure, supported the lemon curd (which I’ll get to in a minute), and it smelled heavenly. 

Years ago, I made a lemon tart quite unlike this one for my roommates. It wasn’t the prettiest looking crust, it resembled the Rocky Mountains, jagged and unpredictable, but the filling, oh! It was beautiful. Yellow and plain, it puckered your lips like a sour candy, the texture was like lemon soda. I couldn’t believe how awesome it was. All six wedges of the tart had disappeared in minutes, my guy roommate, happy and full, murmured a marriage proposal, the best compliment any home baker could receive.
 

I can’t promise if this lemon tart can have that same effect on your friends, but I’m certain everyone who digs into this will be pleased. This beauty is from Alice Medrich's book Sinfully Easy and Delicious Desserts and features a rich, sandy butter crust with a thick filling of lemon curd. The curd is a fine balance between sour and sweet, it's fragrant, smooth and contrasts against the crumbly bottom, the kind of thing suitable for any buffet.

Tweet

Recipe here!

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.

Tweet

Recipe here!

On xmas eve

I am not Christian. My family doesn’t believe in religion. Xmas dinner does not entail hours spent in the kitchen slaving over roast turkey, potatoes and squash based meals. However, I am a believer in butter. The sweet warm scent of garlic and onions has a serious Pavlovian effect on me, my salivary glands activate, my mouth floods with drool, and open my craw waiting to be fed.

I jump at the chance to cook for friends. I can’t think of a better way to experiment that recipe I bookmarked eons ago. With the help of my kitchenaid, we cooked up a xmas dinner for his family. I was absolutely famished at the end of the night. But it was so worth it.


There was this roasted red pepper tart from the Chocolate and Zucchini book by Clotide. Candy-sweet peppers blended with the salty anchovies and spread atop buttery pate brisee.




There was this potato and leek with tarragon soup. Chunky cubes of russet potatoes laced with cream and yogurt in each spoonful, it was a playful combination of tangy and buttery richness.



Then came the bacon-wrapped maple pork loin. Surely the encasing of meat over meat was effective: everyone couldn't stop raving through each porkful how deliciously moist the meat was. Before roasting, the meat was rubbed generously with sage and I particularly loved its unmistakeable earthiness that shone through in each bite.



Vegetables were roasted sweet potatoes and parsnips plus rapini gratin. I particularly loved the gratin. I have previously shunned the green plant from my diet, cringing at its intense bitter taste.


But eureka! All it takes is a few minutes of boiling the vegetable and plunging it into ice water alleviates much of the harsh flavor. Of course, adding plenty of gruyere is like magic: it will taste like heaven.


Dessert was a slice of pear tatin (or upside down pear cake). The cake itself was moist and dense in texture. The pears, soft and yielding. But ooh the honey. How it sang! It was the star in this gateau.

I love cooking seasonally and I just happened to flip to this recipe from this book given to me for my birthday from my beloved friend, Naoko. I in a fitful of giggles upon unwrapping the gift, totally enraptured by the gorgeous photos in the cookbook. I also loved how Naoko had already done her homework: she had cleverly stuck in post-its on recipes for me to try! When I had the chance to take in the book, I fell in love with the way Guy Gedde describes the essence of Provencal cooking: fresh and localingredients, and understanding where food comes from. There's even a whole chapter on cheeses!

So how did you eat your way through xmas?

Tweet

Recipe here!