Good morning, friends- care to take a little trip with me? One that starts with butter and flour, and meanders through strawberry fields bordered by chocolate woods, perhaps dusted with a little sugared snow? Come along then, we’ll be travelling photojournalist-style.
I have been dreaming about this quiche for a long time. So long that it was originally titled the Green Springtime Quiche, back when my mind first conceived of it in May. I daydreamed of a creamy filling packed full of green goodness, held together by a flaky butter pastry. Quiche is hardly a throw-together meal at the best of times, but I think you’ll agree that three months is a long time to wait, even for quiche. Read more…
Several years ago, I went on holiday with my family to the furthest reaches of Cornwall. We stayed in a 200-year-old farmhouse just steps from the sea, rode around on open-topped buses, trekked the coastal path for hours on end, and discovered cultural and archaeological gems at every turn. What else? Oh yeah- we ate. Read more…
I always like Sunday lunch to be an event. Even if it’s just Andrew and me, I tend not to turn to leftovers at this particular time of the week. Instead, it’s a time for experimenting with new recipes, often elaborate multi-step ventures. For lack of a better word, I like my Sunday midday meal to be “fancy”. Read more…
I’ve already mentioned my dislike for cooked-fruit desserts here on Kitchenist. It’s the texture: fruit should be crunchy (apples), or crisp (grapes), or at the most pleasantly yielding (bananas), but never a soft, mushy mess. Try as I might, I’ve never been able to get over this hangup. As a consequence, pies have been off the menu for most of my life. Sure, I’ll take a lemon meringue one or a yummy chocolate version, but an old-fashioned apple pie? Forget it. Read more…
Those of you who follow my Sunday shopping posts will know that I’ve been buying a lot of strawberries lately. I can never resist them at the market- all plump and red and juicy, mocking me with their deliciousness. Well ok, maybe they’re not mocking me, exactly, but it does seem that they have some particular hold over me. And a little fruit personification never hurt anyone, right? Read more…
This morning’s breakfast, made with the leftover danish pastry dough. Otherwise known as perfection. Read more…
I’m well aware that “danishi” isn’t really the plural of danish. But it’s my blog, and I’ll use my Eleisms as and when l please. (It’s a good thing I don’t talk about large mammals here very often, or we’d get into the whole moose/meese thing. I’m quite passionate about that.) Danishi is a term my friend MH and I coined during university, when the only acceptable reason for going to a lecture at the ungodly hour of 8am was the promise of a cup of coffee and a sweet treat from Tim Horton‘s. Read more…
I don’t think I ever had cheesecake until I was a teenager. At least, I don’t remember having it before then. Growing up, dessert was a rare occurrence. My parents were fond of the classic “Why don’t you have a piece of fruit?” line. Well, a piece of fruit is all fine and well, but what I wanted as I child was dessert, and I hope you’ll forgive me the assertion that eating something after dinner doesn’t make it dessert. Read more…
