Shelley Civkin

Year-round holiday recipes

Tori Avey’s Honey Apple Bundt Cake before being dusted with sugar powder or decorated with icing. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

Rosh Hashanah may well be in the rearview mirror, but Tori Avey’s Honey Apple Bundt Cake (toriavey.com/honey-apple-cake) is guaranteed to be a staple on your dinner table, no matter the time of year. It’s definitely not your typical yontif honey cake that doubles as a brick. Filled with shredded apples, it not only satisfies your sweet tooth but is off-the-charts moist.

Except for the apple-shredding part, which I do by hand, this recipe is fast and easy. I used to have a food processor with a shredder attachment but I never used it, so I gave it to my niece. I also used to have a Bundt pan, but I rarely used it, so I gave it to my niece. She now has an extensive collection of high-end small kitchen appliances. And I borrow from her. My point is that this cake was a colossal hit at my Rosh Hashanah dinner table, and is one recipe I’ll be making on the regular. You’re welcome.

HONEY APPLE BUNDT CAKE

3 large eggs
3/4 cup honey
1/2 cup white sugar
1/4 cup light brown sugar
1 1/4 cups canola oil
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
3/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp allspice (optional)
dash ground cloves (optional)
4 apples (peeled, cored, shredded)
3 tbsp powdered sugar

Preheat oven to 325˚F. Peel, core and shred your apples.

In a large mixing bowl, beat the eggs until they’re frothy. Whisk in the honey, white sugar, brown sugar, oil and vanilla. In a separate medium-sized bowl, mix the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, salt and spices (optional) together. Incorporate the flour mixture into the liquid, and stir to blend. Fold in the shredded apples (I used Ambrosia or Fuji but you can use any kind you like) and their juice.

Spray your nine-inch Bundt pan with cooking spray, making sure to evenly coat the entire inner surface. Pour the batter into the pan. Since Bundt pan sizes vary (I use a 10-to-15-cup pan), make sure the batter fills the pan three-quarters full or less – don’t fill beyond that or your cake might overflow during baking. Use a spatula to gently smooth the batter on the top so it’s flat and even all the way around the pan.

Bake the cake for 75 to 90 minutes. If you’re using a dark-coloured Bundt pan, it may bake faster, so start checking at 50 minutes. When the edges darken and pull away from the sides of the pan, and the cake is brown all the way across the top, insert a toothpick (or wooden shish kabob skewer) into the thickest part of the cake. If it comes out clean, it’s done. It’s a very moist cake, so it’s easy to undercook it. Bake it a little longer if you’re unsure, but not too long or it’ll dry out.

Let the cake cool for 10 minutes, then invert it onto a flat plate. Tap the Bundt pan gently to release the cake, then let the cake cool completely before you dust it with powdered sugar. Since the cake is moist, it tends to soak up the powdered sugar, so only add it right before serving. I put three tablespoons of powdered sugar into a small handheld mesh sieve and sprinkled it on top of the cake by tapping the sieve. If there’s any cake left over, keep it in the fridge, covered.

If you happen to be a fan of drizzled icing, this next part is for you. To make an icing, sift one cup of powdered sugar into a mixing bowl. Add a quarter teaspoon of vanilla extract and half a tablespoon of water or non-dairy creamer. Whisk the sugar and liquid to blend, adding the liquid very slowly, until it just comes together. Add additional liquid by half teaspoonfuls, mixing constantly, until the mixture has the texture of very thick honey. When you pull a spatula through the icing and it takes a few seconds for the gap to close again, the texture is right.

Pour the icing into a sealable plastic bag. Close the bag, leaving a small bit open to vent, and push the icing towards one lower corner of the bag. Cut the very tip of that corner off the bag. Squeeze gently to drizzle the icing over the cake. Let the icing dry completely before serving – this takes 30-60 minutes. Slice and enjoy!

Another new Rosh Hashanah recipe I tried convinced me that not all tzimmes are created equal. Ksenia Prints’ Russian Jewish Carrot Tzimmes (immigrantstable.com/my-grandmas-russian-jewish-carrot-tzimmes) is definitely a cut above and checks all the boxes for rich depth of flavour. Some of my Rosh Hashanah guests actually asked if they could take some home!

RUSSIAN JEWISH CARROT TZIMMES

2 lbs carrots peeled & cut into 2-inch pieces
7 oz pitted prunes
7 oz dried apricots
zest of 2 oranges, in strips
juice of 2 oranges
4 tbsp honey
1/4 cup brown sugar
3 tbsp butter
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp ground cardamom (optional)
salt to taste

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Blanch carrots in boiling salted water for 5 minutes, then drain.

In a large ovenproof dish, combine carrots, prunes, apricots and orange zest.

Combine orange juice, honey, brown sugar, melted butter, cinnamon, ginger and cardamom (optional), and pour this over the carrot mixture. Toss to coat.

Cover the dish with foil and bake for 30 minutes. Remove foil, stir, and continue baking uncovered for 30 to 40 minutes, until carrots are tender and the sauce has thickened and reduced to a glaze. Season with salt to taste and let rest for 10 minutes before serving.

The orange zest strips become almost candied and the glaze is sweet and slightly spicy. This dish freezes perfectly and offers a deep, rich flavour that only gets better with time. Seriously. You can make it in advance, like I did, then defrost and reheat it in the microwave. No one was the wiser. And everyone was happy.

The $64,000 question is this: Why do we save these delicious recipes only for holidays? Get thee to the oven now!

Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.

Don’t be alarmed, but …

From the “Tribe of Reuben”: a culinary heart-attack-on-a-plate, never mind the trayf factor. (photo by Alan C. / flickr.com)

On the last morning of our five-day trip to Victoria this summer, my husband Harvey woke me at 6:30 with the ominous words: “I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m having chest pain and I’m really clammy.”

Now, this is a man who has gone a few rounds with cardiac opponents like stents, a pacemaker/defibrillator, cardiac ablation and atrial fibrillation. He is no stranger to people poking around in his arteries and veins. And I am no stranger to health anxiety.

So, I leapt into action and tried to get an outside line through our hotel phone. Impossible. Harvey, cool as a cucumber (well actually, sweaty as a hairy guy in a shvitz), says, “Maybe just use your cellphone and call 911.” Within five minutes an ambulance and a fire truck arrived at our hotel room, and three paramedics started assessing him. Obviously, we all suspected a heart attack, G-d forbid, but they had to check everything anyway. Two puffs of nitroglycerine later and the pain subsided.

Off we went to Royal Jubilee Hospital. Which sounds like a place of celebration and festivities – jubilee! It was not. Ten hours and countless doctors, residents, nurses and nurse practitioners later, they announced that it was not a heart attack, but “some sort of heart-related issue.” They suggested we stay in Victoria an extra day, gently informing us that the chances of having another such “event” was most likely within the next 48 hours.

Long story short, we stayed in Victoria for two more nights, then came home. That was a Wednesday. On Friday, at around 10:30 p.m., Harvey woke me up again to tell me: “I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m having chest pain again and my jaw feels tight.”

Like an anxiety-fueled robot, I dialed 911 and off we went to Vancouver General Hospital to spend a thoroughly horrendous two nights in the emergency department. Thanks to a nurse who advocated for us and a cardiologist who finally saw us after 19 hours of waiting, Harvey was promised an angiogram “within the next three days.” Seriously? I caught sight of incredulity in the rearview mirror.

I’m convinced that nonstop praying is what got Harvey an angiogram on the Sunday morning. And what did it show? He had a blockage in the smaller of the two “widow-makers” – a term cardiologists use to refer to the heart’s biggest artery, and the one that commonly causes fatal heart attacks. This is a term that no wife wants to hear. Ever. But, thank G-d, they caught it in time and put a cardiac stent in. To date, it’s still a mystery as to why a fairly recent cardiogram didn’t catch this blockage. Needless to say, this wife will be armed with an extensive list of questions for Harvey’s cardiologist. For the record, I’m not comforted when doctors opine that “sometimes we just don’t know.”

When I asked Harvey how I could possibly tie in his cardiac episodes with my Balabusta column, without missing a beat, he said: “Tribe of Reuben.” I immediately understood the reference to the two Reuben sandwiches he’d consumed that week. I have become very adept at extrapolating the gems that spew forth from my husband’s witty piehole. For those of you not familiar with this culinary heart-attack-on-a-plate, a Reuben consists of corned beef, Swiss cheese and sauerkraut slathered with Russian or Thousand Island dressing, grilled between slices of rye bread. My arteries clog just contemplating this. Never mind the trayf (non-kosher) factor.

Suffice it to say that, while I cannot be my husband’s keeper, I can be the gatekeeper for what we eat at home. And there sure as heck aren’t going to be any Reuben sandwiches darkening our doorway. They might try knocking, but nobody’s going to answer.

In the service of taking on a heart-healthy diet, Harvey will be eating nothing but salads, fruit and vegetables from now on – as if. Me, I’m a dyed-in-the-wool carnivore, so meat is a staple and I refuse to banish it. Given the state of things, I anticipate cooking separate meals for Harvey and me. Imagine my delight. Although I suppose certain proteins in regulated portions would be OK for him, I will have to explain to Harvey that corned beef and salami are not proteins, but rather heart attacks waiting to happen.

Alternative proteins like tofu and quinoa are out of the question for hubby, as you already know. So, my challenge will be to get creative and cleverly hide those loathed substances in appealing-looking dishes. A little quinoa thrown into a vegetable stew. Beyond Beef jumping into the understudy role for lasagna. Tofu masquerading as schnitzel. Not likely. Not ever. Harvey has the nose of a bloodhound and will sniff out these offending pseudo-proteins before you can say traitor.

What’s a wife to do? I could bribe his cardiologist to read Harvey the riot act. Or I could just throw my hands up in frustration and accept the fact that Harvey is a grown man with the capacity to make his own choices, good, bad and otherwise. I just hate giving in to sensible options, so I’m opting for Door #1. Wish me luck.

In the meantime, I’ll explore the big wide world of vegetables and figure out how I can disguise spaghetti squash and golden beets to make them look like Big Macs and Reuben sandwiches. Tonight, Harvey will be eating a salad composed of avocados, blueberries, mangoes, Persian cucumbers and fresh mint, with a healthy homemade dressing. And he’ll love it. The dressing is simple: lime juice. If I’m feeling magnanimous, I might even slip in a small portion of real protein on the side. Depends on whether or not he snuck in a Sabich for lunch while I was out. I’ll be sniffing his breath for signs of falafel and onion before dinner.

Stay tuned for my end-of-summer Greek orzo salad that will satisfy your craving for a salty, sweet side salad that doubles as a main dish. It’ll usher your tastebuds from summer into fall in the blink of an eye. Next thing you know, you’ll be nesting and making sheet pan chicken. Honour the seasons, season your food and eat healthy. Btay’avon.

Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.

A tofu dish worth the effort

A tofu dish worth the effort. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

As far as my husband Harvey is concerned, tofu is a four-letter word. Spoken only in hushed tones. And for sure not in mixed company. If given a lie detector test and asked if he believed tofu was evil – as in, unforgivable and heinous – he would reply unconditionally in the affirmative. And he would pass the test. I, on the other hand, think quite highly of tofu. I have great respect for its versatility, inexpensiveness and health benefits. Granted, it’s undeniably bland when left to its own devices. But zhuzh it up with some seasoning, cover it in sauces and marinades, pair it with rice or noodles, and you’ve got yourself a very respectable, even snazzy, lunch, dinner or snack. Think of it as the tabula rasa of the food world.

The other day, as I was contemplating what to make for lunch, Harvey was busy frying a couple of eggs on his little Proctor Silex one-burner cooktop. (He can’t go near our induction stove because of his pacemaker with defibrillator, so he was on his own.) It was the perfect time for me to indulge in a tofu-forward meal.

Enter garlic sesame tofu from eatwithclarity.com. Sweet, salty and tangy, this recipe is delicious when freshly cooked and hot, and tastes even better cold the next day. The recipe calls for it to be served over rice with steamed broccoli, but I think it would be just as yummy over rice vermicelli noodles. It’s a bit labour intensive – not baked Alaska intensive, but do set aside about one to one-and-a-half hours to make this dish. It’s not a lunch you can throw together in 10 minutes like say, a PB&J sandwich. But, if you have the time, it’s totally worth the effort.

GARLIC SESAME TOFU

tofu
1 tbsp low-sodium tamari or soy sauce
1 16-ounce block of extra firm tofu
1 tbsp cornstarch
3 tbsp breadcrumbs

sauce
5 cloves garlic, minced (I used only 2)
1 tbsp oil
1/3 cup low-sodium tamari or soy sauce
2 tsp toasted sesame oil
2-3 tbsp honey or maple syrup
1 tbsp rice vinegar
1 tbsp cornstarch
4 tbsp water, divided

Preheat oven to 400˚F and line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.

Drain excess liquid from tofu by wrapping it in paper towel, placing it on a plate, covering it with another plate and pressing it down with a heavy object on top (I used a cast iron pan). Let it sit for about 30 minutes. Pressing the tofu makes it crispier.

Cut the pressed tofu into one-inch squares and put the squares in a large bowl. Toss with 1 tbsp tamari or soy sauce. Add 1 tbsp cornstarch, then 3 tbsp breadcrumbs (or Panko), until all pieces are evenly coated.

Put all the tofu squares on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper and bake for about 30 to 35 minutes or until golden brown.

During the final 10 minutes of baking, prepare the sauce.

Mince the garlic and sauté it with 1 tbsp oil in a large non-stick pan for 2 to 3 minutes or until lightly browned. Be careful not to over cook it or it will become bitter.

Add in 1/3 cup tamari or soy sauce, 2 to 3 tbsp honey or maple syrup, 1 tbsp rice vinegar, 2 tbsp water and 2 tsp sesame oil.

In a separate bowl, whisk together 1 tbsp cornstarch and the remaining 2 tbsp of water and then add this to the fry pan.

Heat over low heat for 3 to 5 minutes or until the sauce starts to bubble and thicken.

When the tofu is done, toss it in with the sauce. Garnish with sesame seeds and serve over rice with steamed broccoli (or rice vermicelli noodles). Enjoy!

You could likely make this same recipe using slabs of tofu, instead of cubes, essentially turning it into a fake-steak, but you’d still have to cut it so it’s not too thick. Different presentation, similar result, I’m guessing. Don’t quote me on that.

I’m told you can substitute tofu for all kinds of other proteins in dishes like lasagna, spaghetti and meat sauce, chicken casseroles, etc. That is, unless you have a husband who’s like a police sniffer dog. I tried it once, and Harvey busted me from 10 paces away. Luckily, I got off with a mere warning that time.

Since we’re on the topic of health foods, if you haven’t already discovered hemp hearts (also called hemp seeds), you’ve got to give these a try. For me, they’re the equivalent of Frank’s Red Hot sauce – “I put that sh*t on everything.” These little gems are deliciously nutty tasting and packed full of protein, omegas 3 & 6, amino acids and important nutrients like iron, magnesium, fibre and zinc. Plus, they’re gluten-free, vegan, paleo- and keto-friendly. And, if that isn’t enough to convince you, they’re grown in Canada! Oh, and they’re kosher! Manitoba Harvest is a big producer of hemp hearts, and you can buy them practically anywhere.

These little nuggets of nuttiness are an equal opportunity food – you can put them on salads and on toasted bagels, in smoothies, sprinkle them on casseroles and cereal, and even eat them straight out of the bag by the spoonful. You can bake with them, cook with them and substitute them for breadcrumbs in some recipes.

Manitoba Harvest has an extensive lineup of hemp heart recipes at manitobaharvest.ca/blogs/hemp-resource-hub and I’ll definitely be trying some of them soon. The point is, I used to sneak these tiny protein warriors into our dinners without my hubby knowing until, one day, he relented and agreed to try a “test” spoonful (for the first time, or so he thought). Alert the media: he was instantly and completely culinarily hooked!

Moral of the story is this: don’t try to sneak in a known verboten food unless your partner is even slightly flexible in his/her culinary adventurousness. And, know this: there is absolutely no way to disguise a Brussels sprout. You can purée it, hide it in soup, barbeque it and smother it in maple syrup and feta, but it’s still a Brussels sprout. Like Sarah Palin said: “You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig.” I respectfully submit that this is true of that mini cabbage-like vegetable that Harvey wouldn’t eat if it were the last food left in an Israeli bomb shelter. In all fairness, I feel the same way about okra. I’m only human, after all.

“Royal” mango avocado salsa

Mango salsa on a fish taco. The Accidental Balabusta enjoyed her husband Harvey’s salsa with quesadillas, marinated salmon and broccoli. (photo from jamdownfoodie.com)

Forgive me. I am late to the party. The one that happens on May 5. While Cinco de Mayo is not exactly what you’d call a national holiday in Canada, it is cause for celebration for many people. Note: I am including my husband Harvey. He loves anything Mexican, especially the food. Tamales – excelente! Enchiladas – muy bien! Chile relleno – la mejor! But the food that garners the most points is salsa. Any and all types.

In the spirit of all things Mexican, Harvey decided to make his famous mango avocado salsa. He was swayed in his decision by the fact that we had four-and-a-half very ripe avocados languishing in our fridge, just waiting to be transformed into something fabulous. Who am I to say no to such a perky side dish?

So, off Harvey went to Whole Paycheque to shop for the other key ingredients, which should have included a few limes, cilantro, one jalapeño, a red onion (optional) and a few mangoes. A couple hundred dollars later, Harvey arrives home. He waltzes in, all proud of himself, with blue organic tortilla chips, tequila, all the makings for quesadillas and some MANGOES. I capitalize this fruit because they feature front and centre in this Mexican-Canadian drama. These were not just any old mangoes, bought in bulk with the odd imperfection, scrawny in stature from early picking and a long journey north. These were capital M mangoes. Probably flown in on a private jet.

My first tip-off that these were indeed fruit royalty was their house. Yes, each organic mango came in its own dwelling. Not a mansion, but a respectable-sized condo, made of slatted wood, so the mango could breathe on its journey, nestled among shredded paper (probably also organic). Not only that, but each mango was encased in Styrofoam-like padding.

I took one look at the MANGOES and asked Harvey the fatal question (central to this drama): “Harvey, how much did you pay for each mango?”

Harvey: Silence.

Me: “Seriously, what did they cost?”

Harvey: “They’re worth it.”

Me: “Spill it. Now.”

Harvey: “Look at the bill.” (Harvey slinks off into the living room.)

I feared what I might see. (Note: self-fulfilling prophecy.) After a few minutes of silence, Harvey returns.

Harvey: “I went up to the cashier at Whole Foods and she scanned the first mango. Then, in a hushed voice, so as not to potentially embarrass me, she asked if I knew how much it cost. Proudly, with head held high, I said I did. Then she asked me if I still wanted to buy it.”

At this point, I realized that my husband’s dignity and masculinity were on the line. There was no way he was going to decline buying the mangoes, as though admitting that he couldn’t afford them. He was damn well going to buy those mangoes, even if it meant getting a bank loan or selling a kidney. In true macho fashion, he told the cashier – with mock enthusiasm for these extravagantly priced fruit – “Of course I want them!”

Once he escorted his royal fruit (and other plebian ingredients) home, he entered the house looking like a Golden Retriever who’d just eaten his owner’s socks. Very, very sheepish. Yet somehow triumphant. Once I heard his long, drawn-out confession and his assurance that this would be the greatest salsa ever (do I hear echoes of Trump – “Make mangoes great again!”), what could I do? I might have threatened divorce if he ever did this again.

Without further ado, he got to work. And I hate to admit it, but it was the best darn mango avocado salsa I have ever scarfed down. And I’ve scarfed a lot of salsa in my day. Thank you, Harvey.

MANGO AVOCADO SALSA

2 ripe avocados, peeled and diced into 1/4- to 1/2-inch pieces
2 cups ripe mango, pitted, peeled and diced into 1/4- to 1/2-inch pieces
2 tbsp lime juice (or lots more, if you prefer)
2 tbsp cilantro chopped (or more, if you really like cilantro)
1/2 jalapeño, finely chopped
2 tbsp red onion, finely chopped (optional)
1/4 tsp kosher salt

Other recipes for mango avocado salsa call for diced red pepper and grated lime zest. Use your tastebuds as your guide.

The salsa was the star of our belated Cinco de Mayo dinner, which also included quesadillas, marinated salmon and broccoli, none of which came in its own house. A few shots of tequila later and we were all dancing the samba, la bamba, the rumba and the danza de acatlaxques (just kidding about this last one … I have no idea what it is, but it sounds festive). I no longer cared what the mangoes cost. My anger had subsided (as had their capitalization) and Harvey was no longer in danger of being divorced. Our guests were cheerful and well-lubricated, and a good time was had by all.

Will I ever let Harvey buy mangoes again? Hell, no. But I do let him loose in Costco once a month. I suppose I run the risk of him potentially coming home with a kayak. Or an $8,000 massage chair. Or a $20,000 golf simulator. But he knows in his heart that I’d rip his tonsils out through his ears if he did that. Using common sense (and his fondness for his tonsils) as his guide, the most exorbitant thing he ever purchases at Costco are ribeye steaks. And I’m not going to argue with that! Also, how can I get mad at a man who comes home with a 48-pack of two-bite brownies and chocolate truffles, just because? I realized later that I had no business berating him about those diva mangoes. After all, I wasn’t paying for them. And I did reap the benefit.

The takeaway is this: when hubby overspends on something, let it slide. Unless he comes home minus a kidney. Then you can start worrying. In case you’re wondering, each mango was $13.50. Enough said.

I smashed it! You can, too.

Semi-Vegan Mini Fake Marry Me Cheesecakes, adapted from joyfoodsunshine.com. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

It seems that smashing food is having a moment. And I don’t mean smashing as in the British term for fabulous. I mean literally smashing. Like smashed baby potatoes, which are, in fact, smashing.

The fun thing about smashing various foods is that it’s a way of cooking that’s eminently forgiving. You can incorporate all kinds of spices or marinades and it’s pretty much bulletproof. Full disclosure: I’ve been eating way too many starchy foods lately, and not nearly enough Canada’s Food Guide choices. Enter yummy broccoli, stage right. This particular recipe is taken from Kalejunkie (Nicole Modic). I tweaked it a bit and plan on tweaking it even more next time. I might substitute summer savoury herbs for garlic, or add a bit of sesame oil. Whatever you try, I’m sure you (and your guests) will love it.

LEMON PARMESAN SMASHED BROCCOLI
(adapted from Kalejunkie)

1 large crown of broccoli
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 cup olive oil
1 lemon juiced
1 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp coarse kosher salt
1/2 tsp ground black pepper

• Preheat oven to 425˚ F.

• Wash broccoli and cut it up into small florets, including part of the stems. Put into microwave-safe bowl, add a bit of water and microwave until soft but not mushy. Drain the water off and let the broccoli dry on a paper towel.

• Prepare the lemon vinaigrette by whisking the ingredients together in a small bowl. Set it aside.

• Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, and spread the broccoli florets evenly across parchment. Then, using the bottom of a solid drinking glass, smash the broccoli down until it’s as flat as possible. Repeat with each floret.

• Once the florets are smashed, brush the lemon vinaigrette evenly across all the florets. Then add a generous sprinkle of the grated Parmesan cheese on top of each floret.

• Bake the broccoli in the oven for approximately 20-25 minutes, until the edges of the broccoli are crispy and the cheese has melted. The time will depend on your oven, so keep an eye on them.

photo - Lemon Parmesan Smashed Broccoli, adapted from Kalejunkie. — Lemon Parmesan Smashed Broccoli, adapted from Kalejunkie. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

The recipe says that leftovers can be stored in an airtight container in the fridge for up to one week, but I guarantee you there won’t be any leftovers. Not a chance. These are so good that I’ve passed them off as appetizers, midday snacks and side dishes. My husband and I polished off an entire head of smashed broccoli before dinner the other night. I never knew healthy food could be this good. This coming from the Queen of Junk Food.

Once you feel all high and mighty for having just consumed a full head of smashed broccoli, feel free to blow it all by sampling some mini no-bake chocolate cheesecakes – or fake cheesecakes, as I call them. Any way you parse it, there is no cheese in these, yet they’re not fully vegan either.

Called mini because they’re made in mini-muffin pans, you can actually make these in a regular six-to-eight-inch springform pan if you so choose. It won’t come out like a two- or three-inch New York-style cheesecake, but I never promised you a rose garden, either.

I didn’t try making them in a mini-muffin pan because I didn’t know if I’d be able to get them out of the liners easily. Plus, I only have one mini-muffin pan. Maybe next time. Like pretty much everything I cook and bake, these are easy to make and require few, if any, exotic ingredients. I found this recipe online at joyfoodsunshine.com by Laura.

SEMI-VEGAN MINI FAKE MARRY ME CHEESECAKES
(adapted from joyfoodsunshine.com)

2 cups Oreo cookie crumbs (about 27 cookies, crushed)
1/4 cup butter, melted
1/2 cup coconut cream
6 tbsp maple syrup
1 cup roasted unsalted cashews, soaked in boiling water
1/4 cup butter, melted
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips (or unsweetened chocolate), melted
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 tsp sea salt

• First, boil 2 cups of water. Place the cashews in a glass container and pour boiling water over them until they are completely covered. Let soak for at least one hour.

• Line and grease a mini-muffin pan or grease a 6”-8” springform pan. Set aside.

• Using a food processor or blender, crush the cookies until they become fine crumbs. Mix melted butter and cookie crumbs together until well combined.

• Drop 1 tablespoon portions of the cookie crumb mixture into each well of the mini-muffin pan. Use your fingers to press the crumbs evenly around the bottom of each well. Repeat with each until all the cookie crumb mixture has been used. Put the mini-muffin pan in the freezer so the crust can harden.

• Drain the cashews. Put all the ingredients – in the order listed – into a high-powered blender. Turn on low, gradually increasing to high speed. Blend until all ingredients are combined and the mixture is smooth (about 1 minute).

• Remove mini-muffin pan from freezer and make sure crumb crust is hardened. Add 2 tablespoons of chocolate filling to each muffin well. Smooth with your fingers and press the air out of each well. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours or, better yet, overnight. Top with extra melted chocolate chips, if desired.

If you use a 6”-8” springform pan instead of mini-muffin pans, your cheesecake will still turn out fine, except it won’t have the height of a regular cheesecake. It will only be about an inch-and-a-half high.

In hindsight, I should never have told my husband I was making cheesecake because, the moment he took that first bite, his nose crinkled up, his eyes narrowed and he declared (with no small measure of distaste): “Wait, this isn’t cheesecake!”

I proceeded to (accidentally) call it vegan cheesecake, which really revved up his wrath. Then I corrected myself, because neither chocolate chips nor Oreo cookies are vegan – when you track their lineage, their ancestors have both a face and parents. Fine. Guilty as charged.

I also fed him this bogus cheesecake after chilling it for only three-and-a-half hours, when I should have waited until the next day, so the filling had time to firm up. Make no mistake, this was no kind of version of thick New York cheesecake. But neither was it pudding. That’s why I went with calling it fake cheesecake, following the recent trend of fake news.

Update: Within 24 hours, my husband had willingly helped me scarf down the remaining fake cheesecakes with no further resistance. I’ll let you do the math.

Popeye and peanut butter

The teeny size of these peanut butter banana bites makes you think you’re not eating much, so be careful. (photo from adasheofmegnut.com)

I’m long overdue to share a new recipe or two. With our recent move to a new condo, I’ve been preoccupied with exploring the neighbourhood, trying new-to-us restaurants and cafés, and doing a few renos here and there. Despite the excitement of it all, sleep is still elusive to me. Plus, I’ve been feeling a little tired lately (iron-deficient?), so I figured some iron-rich soup might just hit the spot. I whipped up some creamy spinach soup and immediately felt like Popeye. Or Popeye’s favourite sister. Perfect soup for a cold day, of which we’ve had so many over the last few weeks. You’re welcome.

EASY CREAMY SPINACH SOUP
(from the Spruce Eats)

2-3 tsp olive oil
2 medium Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cubed
1/2 medium onion, finely chopped
1 stalk celery, finely chopped
2 cloves minced garlic
2 cups chicken broth
2 cups milk (or 1 cup milk and 1 cup coconut milk)
1 large bunch of fresh spinach, stems removed
ground black pepper, to taste
kosher salt, to taste

In a large saucepan, heat the olive oil. Sauté the cubed potato, the onion, celery and garlic for about five minutes. Add the chicken broth and milk. Bring to a boil, cover and simmer on low for 10 minutes. Stir in all the spinach, cover, and simmer for 10 more minutes. Cool slightly, then transfer the soup to a blender, 1working in batches. Blend until smooth. Taste for seasoning and serve.

I didn’t use any onion, since onions don’t particularly like me, and I ended up using four cups of chicken broth, since I didn’t have enough regular or coconut milk. The consistency was a bit thin but it was still yummy. And I got a month’s worth of non-heme iron in one go. I’ve learned that potatoes are a nice way to thicken soups, especially if you’re going for something dairy-free.

I had intended to bake challah to go with the soup, but time got away from me and I just couldn’t swing it. At the last minute, the understudy sourdough bread came to the dunking rescue and we had a satisfying meal. Harvey declared the soup a solid success, so who can argue with that? I was worried that the simplicity of the recipe might spell bland, but it was surprisingly tasty.

Skipping right to dessert, I discovered a fun little recipe for Peanut Butter Banana Bites on adashofmegnut.com. It’s crazy easy and can be jazzed up with chocolate chips or melted chocolate. It was billed as a kid-friendly snack but I would never presume to declare something a “toddler snack,” since who among us doesn’t like peanut butter, or chocolate?

PEANUT BUTTER BANANA BITES
(from A Dash of Megnut)

one banana, sliced 1/4” to 1/2” pieces
3 tbsp peanut butter (or almond butter), melted slightly
6 oz mini chocolate chips or melted chocolate (optional)

Line a mini muffin tin with 12 liners or use a silicone mini muffin tin. Put a slice of banana into each muffin liner. Pour one to two teaspoons of peanut butter on top of each banana slice. Top with a few mini chocolate chips or melted chocolate (optional, but, seriously, who would say no to chocolate?). Freeze for a few hours to harden the peanut butter. Then enjoy!

These keep well in the freezer and make for a quick and easy snack. And if you substitute hemp hearts for mini chocolate chips you get an even healthier snack (don’t hate me). I haven’t tried it, but you could probably add some cooked quinoa to the melted peanut butter to jack it up to a superfood (again, don’t hate me). The teeny size of these peanut butter banana bites makes you think you’re not eating much, so be careful.

As for main courses, I’m in a bit of a rut right at the moment. It seems like we have an endless loop of chicken, fish and meat every week. We’re not huge pasta eaters (well, Harvey would eat it every day if I let him), so I feel kind of limited in my repertoire. I can’t eat a lot of roughage and high-fibre foods, so huge salads are out. I think I just need a holiday in the sun, where someone else does the cooking for a couple of weeks and I can recharge.

On the home front, our new condo has an induction stove, which I love. There’s one glitch though. Harvey recently had a pacemaker and defibrillator implanted in his chest, which means he’s not allowed to get within two feet of our induction stove or he might get shocked from the electromagnetic field. This presents a problem for a man who regularly makes omelettes, crepes and other stovetop foods. A natural born problem solver, Harvey immediately went out and bought a single-burner countertop hotplate. And, to my surprise, he’s produced some pretty darn good omelettes. But there are only so many eggs you can eat. I hinted that the hotplate might work well for crepes, but he hasn’t taken the bait so far. I guess we’ll be ordering in sushi and Chinese food until I get my groove back.

For now, I’ll just keep trying new marinades for our weekly chicken, fish and meat. As they say: You can put lipstick on a chicken thigh … but it’s still a chicken thigh. I suppose I could go full-bore Cher (from the movie Mermaids) and feed my husband fun finger foods (read: hors d’oeuvres) for all our meals. That could be a lot of fun. Or not.

Harvey: “What’s for dinner tonight, sweetie?”

Shelley: “Cocktail weiners in grape jelly sauce, and melted brie with walnuts and honey.”

Harvey: “You’re fired.”

Shelley: “Who do you think you are – Trump? You can’t fire me. I’m your wife.”

Harvey: “So, will it be sushi or pizza?”

Bon appetit.

Moving into our new condo

Living in a condominium steps away from the Seawall and the marina is surreal. (photo from flickr.com/photos/nuntz)

Nobody would deny that the concept of a new home is exhilarating. It’s the packing up a lifetime of belongings, and having to sell and give away a plethora of things that plunges you into ice-cold reality. And let’s not forget the joys of the actual move.

A therapist once advised me to “get comfortable with uncertainty.” Hmmm. That’s like saying, “Learn to enjoy having hot oil poured down your back.” I think not. Much as I strive to embrace that pithy advice (and, on occasion, even succeed), I am just not cut out for it. You can only imagine how well I did with our recent move to a new condo.

It’s been almost a month and I still can’t find my passport or oven mitts. Not that I’m planning to travel anytime soon. But I would like to cook.

Without exaggeration, I packed at least 75 boxes and countless bags of belongings to shlep from our two-bedroom apartment to our new place. And lest you assume that we did what most retirees do and downsized – our collective wisdom ushered us into a bigger space. It is a condo with a kitchen large enough to land an aircraft carrier – which has always been a dream of mine (the size, not the aircraft carrier part). But the dream turned into a miniature nightmare when we moved in and I realized that I had next to no general storage space. Hall closet? Big enough to house a miniature turtle. Bathroom cupboards? Spacious enough for an extra roll of toilet paper and some air freshener. But I do have my humongous kitchen, and you can bet that I plan to cook and bake till the cows come home.

If I’ve learned nothing else, I’ve learned that you can’t have it all. You prioritize and maybe get 80% of what you originally wanted. Then, you just have to swallow the 20% and move forward. And get creative. Despite my apparent whining, I am truly feeling blessed and in awe of where we live now. We are mere steps from the Seawall and the marina, flanked by gorgeous condos. We are forced to peer daily at the spectacular mountains and sparkling lights of downtown. I keep asking myself, “Is this really my new neighbourhood?” When I come home and walk down the hall to our place, I feel like I’m in a hotel. Surreal, to say the least.

I had always been fiercely protective of our rental apartment and South Granville – we had great neighbours, little coffee shops where I was a regular, we were walking distance to grocery stores, drugstores, restaurants and the beach. Having lived in that apartment building for 37 years, I was their longest tenant. It was really all I knew. I had not lived in a house since I left home in 1974 to go away to university. Owning a home was always something I aspired to do. Until it became an unreachable reality. Being a single librarian until I was 53, owning a home was a pipe dream.

Then, I married, and we enjoyed our little love nest until October 2023, when we learned that our building (along with half the neighbourhood) was going to be torn down so high-rises could be built. Thank you, Broadway Plan! At first, I freaked out. And then, I started packing. I knew not where we would end up, but the writing was on the wall. Actually, the first indicator was in the summer of 2023, when men started hammering little metal plaques on the trees in our area and spray-painting the sidewalks. It was cryptic, for sure, but the mystery didn’t last long.

In February 2024, the company hired to “transition” renters into new homes held a Zoom meeting with all the tenants in our building. No promises were made, but the starkness of the facts hit us like ice water in the face. Right of first refusal. Financial compensation. Rent top-up. Blah, blah, blah. The one phrase that stuck with me though was TRPP – Tenant Relocation and Protection Policy. Luckily, tenants do have some protection, but it doesn’t solve the fundamental issue of unaffordable housing that plagues this city.

Time passed, we considered our options, I fretted over everything. It was a maelstrom of emotions. It took me awhile to wrap my head around the possibility that buying something could actually be within reach. But, events collaborated, luck joined the party, I took my head out of my nether regions, and, voilà, the unimaginable happened! We bought a condo!

Now, I am trying to “get comfortable with uncertainty” and change (as though change is a dirty word). I got my first test when I figured out that my lovely oak desk, which my beloved father, alav ha-shalom, bought me, wouldn’t fit in our condo. Our second bedroom has a Murphy bed and, well, let’s just say that my oak desk is the size of a blue whale. Living in that big river in Egypt (denial), I hoped against hope that something would happen and either the desk or the bed would miraculously shrink overnight. Not a chance. So, I paid movers to move the desk into the condo and, two weeks later, I paid them to move it to the SPCA Thrift Store. And, while I tried to heed my late father’s advice to “cry over people, not things,” I failed miserably. I had a full-on, deep-dish cry-fest after dropping off the desk. All I could do on my drive home was to talk to my father’s spirit and tell him I love him, and tell him how much I miss him, and how much it meant to me that he got that desk for me specially.

I had to do something to honour my father. So, I decided to toast him. Knowing he liked Cutty Sark Scotch, I spent the next hour driving to three different liquor stores to find it, and was finally successful. It was only then that a sense of calm came over me. Maybe it was the Scotch. Maybe it was my dad telling me it was OK to cry over him. Whatever it was, the desk is now in its new home. And so am I. And both of us are very happy.

And I finally have a big kitchen, in-suite laundry, hardwood floors and I don’t face south.

The search for a new home

A crane lifts a tunnel boring machine part out of the excavated Arbutus Station. With all the changes the Broadway Subway Project is bringing, the Accidental Balabusta and her husband are looking for a new condo – going from renters to owners. (photo from broadwaysubway.ca)

Growing up in the 1960s and ’70s in the then-Jewish neighbourhood of Oakridge, I was certain my future would include a beautiful house and a large yard. And, of course, a husband. Only part of that dream came to fruition, in 2009, when I got married at age 53. Before Harvey came along, I was a single woman making a decent but not extravagant living, and a house was way out of reach for me. So, I rented apartments. For decades. Welcome to my bad-news, good-news story.

As I got older, the importance of attaching myself to the Jewish community became stronger and, as luck would have it, I ended up renting a place a mere seven-minute walk from a shul. And I stayed put for 37 years. Now, faced with expulsion from our apartment because of the Broadway Subway Project, I am struck not by anger or nostalgia, but by gratitude. And maybe a touch of anxiety about having to move at this stage of my life. At 68 years old, I have never owned anything in my life, except a car.

Having a deep-seated faith, I try, I really try to remember that everything that comes from G-d is good. I try, also, to take the mindset of “I don’t understand why this is happening to me, but I know in my bones that it’s good for me in some way.” This imposes a much-needed positive outlook. One that will propel me forward, rather than keep me stuck in a negative “Why me?” loop.

As renters in this situation, we are entitled to compensation by law. However, it’s cold comfort when confronted with the stark reality of having to find a new home. Politicians talk blithely about “affordable, below-market rental housing,” but, in reality, no such thing exists for those who are retired and on a fixed income. In short, living in Vancouver has become an absurd luxury.

As luck would have it, I am a thrifty kind of gal and, over the decades, I have saved a respectable amount of money. So, along with my husband, we have finally decided to buy a condo – in Vancouver. One of the most expensive cities to live in.

Having spent the past while looking for a condo to purchase, I am bombarded by conflicting emotions:

excitement, fear and trepidation. But mostly gratitude. Waking up at 3 a.m. for a full week while battling insomnia, I got to the point where, instead of trying to think of five foods starting with each letter of the alphabet (a trick to induce boredom and sleep), I started to think of everything I am thankful for. I’m happy to report that the list is very long. This is just a sampling.

I am grateful that I can choose between carpeting and hardwood.

I am grateful that I will finally have in-suite laundry.

I am grateful that I will have a bigger kitchen, where I can bake challah regularly and cook luscious Shabbat meals in a space that is larger than a Smart Car.

I am grateful that I can, within reason, afford a condo in Vancouver.

I am grateful that I have friends who are guiding me through this process.

I am grateful that I have the energy to run around looking at prospective homes.

In short, I am grateful that I have choices. Plenty of choices.

It’s common knowledge that Jewish family values begin at home, and that’s what I’d like to continue nourishing and cultivating. From a real home. My home. For now, I am focusing on having faith and trust that Harvey and I will find a comfortable forever home. I have accepted that we may or may not still be a seven-minute walk from a shul. Thankfully, faith isn’t tied to geography. We can practise our Judaism anywhere.

As for the nuts and bolts, the experience of condo-hunting is an eye-opener for me. Little by little, condo by condo, I’m readjusting my priorities, figuring out what I can and can’t live without. Our realtor, thank goodness, has the patience of a saint and the temperament of a golden retriever.

Pragmatists that we are, we’ve started the search for a new home early, long before we are forced to move out of our rental apartment. But, as I’m learning, our property owner seems loathe to put money into a building that will be torn down within two years. So, we are living with stained hallway carpets, communal washers and dryers that rarely work, and balconies that haven’t been power-washed since before COVID. Am I enjoying this? Not even a scintilla. But still, I practise gratitude.

My constant refrain these days is: “It’s not the Vancouver I grew up in!” There are cranes everywhere on the horizon and there’s no telling what will be torn down next. It’s very unsettling. But at least we are fortunate enough to have options.

My periodic anger (which I am trying valiantly to contain) stems from the fact that I’ve lived and worked in Vancouver nearly my entire life and, while I was single until 15 years ago, I could never afford to buy a home. Thank G-d, my situation has changed, circumstances have opened up choices that never existed before, and the planets have aligned, allowing us to finally buy a home.

Now, we just have to find one that meets my simple needs: in-suite laundry, hardwood floors, a good-sized kitchen and not south-facing. I say “my needs” because we can all agree on the universal truth: “happy wife, happy life.” It’s a buyer’s market at the moment, so yippee for us. This whole roller-coaster journey offers a new chapter in our lives; one filled with hopefulness, possibilities and joy. I look forward with gratitude to a beautiful mezuzah on a new door to bless our new home. All I can say is l’chaim!

An alternative to honey cake

Peach-blueberry cake à la Ina Garten, made by the Accidental Balabusta. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

With Rosh Hashanah right around the corner, I’m already thinking of honey cake … but not honey cake. Wanting to ring in the new year with something sweet but not traditional, I found a recipe that might just fit the bill perfectly. Looking around the stores, there is still lots of fresh fruit to be had and, in a final hurray to summer, I decided to indulge in the juicy sweetness of peaches and local blueberries. Add in a few dozen other ingredients and, voila, I produced a cake that my husband declared worthy of a Balabusta column.

Reading the recipe I found online at sweetandsavourypursuits.com, I was initially apprehensive, since the ingredients list reads like a Tolstoy novel. Then I thought, heck, stop being a kitchen-weeny and get the job done. If the internet is to be believed (ha!), this recipe is “adapted from Ina Garten,” the “Barefoot Contessa,” so it was all but guaranteed to be good. And it was. However, I have one caveat: the baking temperature and cooking time are way off. But that’s an easy fix.

Made in a nine-and-a-half-inch springform pan, this cake has got legs. It’s gooey and sticky and holds its own. It’s the opposite of light and fluffy, but you don’t necessarily expect light and fluffy from a fruit-filled cake. Anyway, no more excuses. Just try it. But keep in mind that you will probably need to adjust your temperature up from the stated 350˚˚ F to about 365˚ F or even higher, depending on your oven. The recipe calls for a cooking time of 45 to 55 minutes at 350˚F, but the batter was still wet and jiggly after 55 minutes, so I upped the temperature and just kept adding time until the cake set, which ended up being more like an hour and 15 minutes or so. Flexibility is a must for this recipe. Don’t expect to make it when you’re in a rush. Won’t happen. But darn, it’s worth the time.

PEACH-BLUEBERRY CAKE

1/2 cup unsalted butter at room temperature
2 cups white sugar
2 large eggs at room temperature
1 cup sour cream at room temperature
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground cardamom (optional, and I didn’t use it)
2 large fresh ripe peaches, peeled, pitted and sliced
3/4 cup fresh blueberries rinsed and dried
1/3 cup light brown sugar packed
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cardamom (optional)

1. Place rack in the middle of the oven and heat oven to 350˚ F (as I said above, I would recommend more like 365˚ F or higher – your call). Line the bottom of a 9 1/2” springform pan with parchment paper or lightly grease it. Set aside.

2. In a large bowl, sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon and cardamom (if using). Set aside.

3. In the bowl of your mixer, add the butter and white sugar and beat on medium-high for 3 to 5 minutes, until mixture is fluffy.

4. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing after each addition.

5. Add the sour cream and vanilla extract and beat until smooth.

6. Scrape the side and bottom of the bowl before gradually adding the flour mixture on low speed.

7. Once the flour has been added, increase the speed and beat until the batter is smooth. Don’t over-beat the batter.

8. In a medium bowl, mix the peaches and blueberries with the brown sugar, cinnamon and cardamom (if using).

9. Spread the batter evenly into the springform pan.

10. Add the fruit to the top of the batter by arranging the peaches in a circular pattern and scattering the blueberries in the gaps. (At this point, I was so tired, I just threw the whole fruit mixture on top of the batter.)

11. Bake for 45 to 55 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the centre of the cake comes out clean or with a few crumbs clinging to it.

12. Cool the cake on a wire rack for 10 minutes before running a knife along the edge and releasing the cake from the pan.

The recipe says to serve the cake at room temperature, but who are we kidding? As soon as I could touch the cake without burning my fingers, I was stuffing it into my mouth. The recipe also suggested serving it with sweetened whipped cream or vanilla ice cream, neither of which I had, so we ate it au naturel.

The cake can be stored at room temperature for up to two days and, after that, it should be refrigerated. But, once again, who are they kidding? As if a cake would last two days in our home. Maybe we’re gluttons. Or maybe we just wanted the cake while it was fresh. My money is on freshness. And expediency.

However you parse it, this cake is summer-yummy. And, since I can already feel fall in the air, if I were you, I’d hightail it to your local grocer, buy some peaches and blueberries and get baking. The cake was delicious right from the oven. It was delicious the next morning for breakfast. And it was still delicious that afternoon. Now, it is no longer. I have no idea if it would freeze well or not, but, if so, it would make a refreshing alternative to honey cake for Rosh Hashanah. You could probably substitute berries of any kind in this cake, but I hear that blueberries are a particularly good antioxidant food. If, however, you happen to be pro-oxidant, then skip the blueberries and opt for something less controversial. Whatever. Just try this. Then thank me.

Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.

Mousse and toasties, yum!

Easy-peasy Vegan Chocolate Mousse served up in a teacup. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

I have to admit, I have a soft spot for Donna Reed-type recipes from the 1960s. Aside from being comfort food, they usually boast the honour of containing highly processed foods that are, well, a little short on nutrition. But do they taste good!

One such recipe comes from my cousin Heather. The name says it all: Artichoke Toasties. It appeals to the lazy cook in me because it only has seven ingredients, five of which I always have in my kitchen. But it’s also a surprisingly creamy, crunchy and satisfying appetizer. And, it’s pretty filling too, so you can get away with serving a lighter dinner. Always looking for shortcuts.

ARTICHOKE TOASTIES

12 slices white bread
butter
1 14-oz can artichoke hearts, drained and finely chopped
approx. 1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese
3 heaping tbsp mayonnaise
pinch of salt and pepper
1 clove crushed garlic

Preheat oven to 425°F. Use a drinking glass (2” diameter) to cut circles of bread out of each slice. Butter one side and press the buttered side down into a greased muffin pan, flattening the entire surface. Mix the remaining ingredients together and place a spoonful of the mixture into each bread “bowl.” Bake 12-15 minutes, until golden and crisp. Cool briefly before removing them from the pan.

Not only is it a fun presentation, but it satisfies that salty, cheesy craving we all get now and then. I never promised anyone a low-calorie, highly nutritious, gourmet meal, but I always hope to deliver something yummy.

My next recipe is a no-brainer dessert that will have your partner or guests convinced you went to French culinary school. It’s called Vegan Chocolate Mousse, and it tastes like a fancy-restaurant dessert made with the finest Belgian chocolate … the kind you’d eat while wearing high heels and diamond earrings. Best part is that it’s ridiculously simple to make. As in, it take five minutes. Seven, if you really go nuts with the blending. I never thought a recipe that starts with the word vegan would draw me in, but, hey, first time for everything. You’re welcome.

EASY-PEASY VEGAN CHOCOLATE MOUSSE

1 can (13.6 oz) full-fat coconut milk (or coconut cream) chilled overnight
1/4 cup + 1 tbsp cocoa powder
3-4 tbsp powdered sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
2-3 tbsp liquid from the can of coconut milk
1/2 tsp instant coffee or 1/2 banana (optional)
fresh berries for topping (optional)

Refrigerate the can of coconut milk (or coconut cream) overnight. Be sure to use full-fat canned coconut milk for this recipe – and do not shake the can, because you want the cream separate from the liquid underneath.

Once cold, open the can of coconut milk and transfer only the thick cream part to a bowl. Keep 3 tablespoons of the watery part and discard the rest (or freeze it for later use).

Whip the coconut milk (or coconut cream) until smooth. Add remaining ingredients and whip until it forms a mousse-like texture. Spoon into ramekins or small bowls and chill for a few hours or up to overnight. For a unique and kitschy presentation, I served the mousse in old-fashioned teacups.

Top with whipped cream and raspberries or blueberries, if you’d like.

There is a pronounced but not overwhelming coconut flavour to this mousse, however the cocoa powder dominates the palate. I made this recipe recently and, as I dragged my spatula towards the finish line, I had a strong feeling this was going to be a top contender in my dessert repertoire. Sure enough, it was a huge hit with my guests. As for my hubby, after the first bite, his eyes glazed over and he went into a trance-like state. Then, he came to and hoovered up the rest of the mousse in 30 seconds flat.

Be aware that this recipe only produces three good-sized portions or four scant ones. Given how popular it was, I would likely double or even triple the recipe next time. This was hands-down the easiest, fastest and least expensive dessert I’ve ever made.

One another note … along the way on my culinary adventures, I’ve stumbled upon a few new-to-me kitchen hacks. These tricks eliminate mess, rescue flavours and are just kind of cool, so I thought I’d share.

Dental floss

When you’re slicing certain creamy foods like cheesecake or goat cheese, give plain dental floss a try. It’s thin, so it doesn’t create drag, like the blade of a knife does, and the slices come out clean with just a simple pull of the floss. Caveat: don’t use flavoured dental floss or your cheesecake or goat cheese may come out tasting like mint. Regular, thin, waxed floss will do the trick.

Stop pot from boiling over

When you’re boiling anything on the stove, the quickest way to stop it from boiling over is to put a wooden spoon across the top of the pot. Don’t ask me why this works, it just does. Every time. I think the wood absorbs the steam. But don’t try this with a silicone spoon.

Rescue a salty soup

Next time you mistakenly oversalt a soup, toss in a few pieces of raw apple or potato. Simmer for 10 minutes then discard the pieces. The apple or potato absorb the salt like little sponges.

My best hack

My favourite kitchen hack by far though is this: eat out! Or, stay home and stuff your piehole with artichoke toasties and vegan chocolate mousse.