Accidental Balabusta

Decadent cocoa brownies

Cocoa powder brownies by Christi Johnstone of lovefromtheoven.com. (photo from lovefromtheoven.com)

And just like that…. I found myself sitting in the living room, clandestinely stuffing a four-inch square of decadent cocoa brownie in my mouth.

It was as though I’d been in a trance, eating on autopilot. But then I snapped to

attention, hearing noises coming from the other room, alerting me to the presence of an intruder (or my husband snoring in the bedroom). I needed to get rid of the cocoa-y evidence, pronto, before I got caught brown-handed. After all, it was 2 a.m. and I had no business eating a stimulant like that when I was already trapped in a spiral of insomnia. But there I was. At least I didn’t pair the brownie with, say, a tiny glass of Bailey’s. Or a hot chocolate. That would have been criminal. I do have some self-control. It might be measured in grams, but still.

The “intruder” stumbled out to use the bathroom just as I was shoving the last bit of evidence into my piehole. I narrowly escaped brownie-shaming by a nanosecond. This is all to say that I have a shameless sweet tooth – it knows no bounds, and certainly has no timelines. I’ve been caught on other occasions scarfing down Cheezies and chips before breakfast (OK … for breakfast). I’ve been castigated at 5:30 p.m. for eating chocolate pudding (it’s considered an appetizer, isn’t it?). I’ve had ice cream ripped from my very hands (alright, maybe not ripped, but forcefully grabbed) right before bed. I cop to it all. Mea culpa. I just can’t help myself.

On that note, I recently heard Dennis Prager, the well-known radio personality, share this pearl of wisdom: “It’s more important to have self-control than self-esteem.” Point taken. I freely admit that my self-control needs a little work, so I vow, right here, right now, to eat decadent cocoa brownies only during office hours. And, since I’m retired, that is open to interpretation. Consider shift work.

As for self-esteem, that’s between me and myself, and I mostly have a handle on it. But self-control affects every part of life and can lead to behaviours that are socially unacceptable, like outbursts of temper, for example. Again, mea culpa. Lack of self-control in overeating can lead to poor health outcomes, and that also needs watching. Personally, I’m guilty of watching from afar. I must get on that.

Being someone who is (luckily?) colon-less in Vancouver, I have the luxury of eating whatever I want and not gaining an ounce. The flip side of that is, well, you don’t want to know the flip side. Suffice it to say that I’ve been known to over-indulge in certain items that are not in Canada’s Food Guide recommendations. On a regular basis. OK, OK, I need to pay more attention to what I am putting in my mouth (otherwise it might fall on the floor or land in my lap).

For now, though, I’m going to share my guilty little secret and be done with it. That translates to: I gave three-quarters of the brownies I made to my niece and only kept a quarter of them for myself. Those of you who are truly observant will notice the reflexive singular pronoun. Used, in this instance, because my husband Harvey has been on a diet for 11 months and has lost 52 pounds. He would no more dream of eating a brownie right now than he would dream of going to a five-star resort in St. Lucia without me. Unless, of course, he was looking for wife number four. Plus, he likes to delegate the eating, so I’m taking one for the team. Alas, the brownies are all for me, and me for them. Eaten at three-hour intervals, it equates to about 1,000 calories per day. For my hips alone. Pure speculation, of course. But I’m willing to risk it.

What I know for certain is that a brownie recipe I recently found – by Christi Johnstone of lovefromtheoven.com – is the bomb. You’re welcome. For your own well-being, do not – I repeat, do not – get on your scale for at least a week after you’ve eaten these brownies. Consider yourself forewarned.

COCOA POWDER BROWNIES

10 tbsp melted butter or margarine
1 1/4 cup sugar (I use 1 cup brown sugar and 1/4 cup white sugar)
3/4 cup plus 2 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 large eggs1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup chocolate chips (optional)

Position your oven rack in the lower third of your oven. Preheat oven to 325°F degrees. Line an eight-inch square pan with parchment paper or just grease the pan.
Combine melted butter (or margarine), sugar, cocoa powder and salt in a large bowl. Allow to cool for five to 10 minutes. You don’t want it too hot when you add the eggs.
After mixture has cooled slightly, add vanilla and mix well. Add eggs, one at a time, and beat until well mixed.
In a separate bowl, combine flour and baking powder and stir to combine. Add the flour mixture to the batter and mix well to combine. If adding chocolate chips (optional), fold them into the batter.
Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out with some moist crumbs attached. Cool on a wire rack.

I won’t even pretend to give you a nutritional accounting of this amazing snack because, even if I did, you’d ignore it. On purpose. I suspect it’s shockingly unhealthy, but, in the grand scheme of things, so is watching too much TV. But does that stop us?

The thing about these brownies is that they’re not overly sweet, like some are. They’re just moist, soft, rich, cocoa-y goodness. I imagine that you could freeze them, but then, why would you want to? More to the point, why would you need to? They don’t last more than 14 hours in my home. On a good day. Less, if there’s milk in the fridge.

I have another fudge brownie recipe that’s also pretty special, but there’s so much sugar in it that it makes my teeth hurt. Not that that’s ever really been a deterrent for me. I love all my brownies the same.

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.

Still waiting for knee surgery

I am not known for my patience. And I’ve been preparing for my long-awaited knee replacement surgery for nearly three years.

I’ve acquired all the necessary post-surgical equipment: expensive ice and compression machine, bath transfer bench, walker, crutches, cane, toilet riser, reacher, long-handled shoehorn, high density cushion, a chair with arms. I attended all the prehab and pre-surgery webinars, got my SPARC parking pass, watched all the recommended surgical and how-to videos (several times each), made a list of what to bring to the hospital and rescheduled a host of medical appointments and personal commitments. I even arranged to “foster” some of my furniture out to friends to clear the way for my anticipated post-surgical walker/crutches. I had meetings with the surgeon, pre-admission nurses, anesthesiologist, physiotherapists and an occupational therapist. I was more prepared for my surgery than Eisenhower was for D-Day. I repeat, I am not a patient woman.

Staff at Oasis (Osteoarthritis Service Integration System) and ASAP (Arthritis Surgical Assessment Program) are my new BFFs. They told me about assistlist.ca, a website that lists used medical equipment for sale. I learned that the Red Cross Health Equipment Loan program has become stricter about who it lends to. It used to be that everyone got their equipment there. Since COVID, anyone who wants to borrow from there has to sign a waiver explicitly disclosing their need for assistance. Luckily, I don’t need their services.

I’m armed with more resources than I know what to do with, so it just makes sense to share them. There are lots of medical supply stores, but the ones who have the greatest variety are Lancaster Medical on West Broadway and Macdonald’s Prescriptions (in the Fairmont building). Best place to buy high-density cushions (and any kind of foam) is Discount Foam on Fraser Street near 33rd. Need an ice/compression machine? Go to the source: ProCare Medical Inc. Just FYI, the Polar Care Wave machine combines the ice therapy and the compression that targets not only swelling but also pain. Apparently, it’s a must-have for knee replacement surgery.

If you have an extended medical plan, check to see what they cover, because this equipment can be expensive. Also check if they cover a private or semi-private hospital room. And don’t forget to get a doctor’s note indicating that you need this equipment for a knee or hip replacement, and include this with your extended health claim. My health carrier insisted that I buy from an actual medical supply store (not, say, Facebook Marketplace) and that the receipt indicate the source, and that my name be on the receipt. You might want to buy your equipment secondhand to save some money, but just remember that your extended health won’t cover it.

I learned that a high-density cushion, which I’ll need post-surgery, is not a benefit covered by my health plan. I also learned that, after knee replacement, all seating must be two inches higher than the top of my knee. That includes the toilet, the bed, all chairs and couches, and the car seat. Seriously, the logistics of preparing one’s home (and car) before surgery seem never-ending. Like making sure that everything you need on a daily basis is within counter-height reach. No squatting to get toilet paper out from under the sink – unless you have a reacher. No going to restaurants without your high-density cushion. No bending over to put on your socks. The list goes on. And on.

To say that I was ready for surgery would be this century’s understatement. Then I got COVID.

Don’t ask me how. It’s one of the world’s great mysteries. I am vaccinated five times. After intense speculation, the only culprits I can point to are either the physiotherapist appointment I had (both of us wearing KN-95 masks) or an elevator (me masked, of course).

It was a Friday morning and I just thought my allergies were acting up. Or maybe I’d been mouth-breathing at night – slight sore throat, stuffy nose, tired, a bit of a dry cough and a headache. Minor stuff. Until I did a COVID rapid home test. I tested positive. I immediately called the urgent care clinic and got a PCR test, phoned my gastroenterologist and proactively got a prescription for the antiviral medication Paxlovid, and waited. Less than 24 hours later, when positivity was confirmed, I started on the medication and was better in five days. My surgery was scheduled for four weeks later – and this was a problem, as I will explain.

I want to make one thing clear. I do not blame my orthopedic surgeon or the anesthesiologist for my knee replacement surgery being postponed three times. I do blame COVID. I do blame miscommunication. And I definitely blame an over-burdened healthcare system. Primarily, the latter.

My husband and I have been crazy cautious and isolating like nobody’s business during the pandemic. The wild card is that I’m immunocompromised, so I’m at higher risk for any kind of infection. But nobody has been more careful than us. In fact, I’m pretty sure I spent more money on KN-95 facemasks, latex gloves and hand sanitizer in the past two-and-a-half years than I have on clothing. By a long shot. Until this point, we went nowhere, saw no one and did nothing. But, as COVID eased up a bit during the summer, so did we. But incrementally. Literally by centimetres. I met a few friends for dinner outside. We traveled to Victoria for four days. Wild and crazy stuff by all accounts.

Having just been told for the third time that my surgery would be postponed, I was devastated. It had to do with a seven-week waiting period post-COVID before getting an anesthetic or surgery, because of the risk of blood clots and pneumonia. Immunocompromised … blah, blah, blah.

All this is to say that I should have listened to a wise woman long ago, who advised that I “get comfortable with uncertainty.” Umm, OK. How exactly do I do that? Apparently, you breathe. And wait. And breathe. And practise mindful meditation. Maybe get a little anxious. Breathe some more. Meditate. Eat. Maybe get a bit more anxious. Breathe. Wait some more. I’m now an expert breather.

The only thing that helps me is holding firm to my belief that nothing happens by accident. Everything happens for a reason. Usually one to which I am not privy. But still. Enter faith and trust – stage right, stage left, stage centre. That’s really my only life raft. Luckily, it’s sturdy and solid and mine for the taking. Anytime, anywhere. Now that’s what I need to practise. Oh yeah, and breathing. Meanwhile, I’ll continue cooking and eating. Stay tuned.

Earn Frequent Fryer points

Mouthwatering air fryer chicken satay with peanut sauce. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

My father, alav hashalom, used to use the Yiddish phrase “Don’t hock me a tscheynik,” meaning, literally, don’t bang my teakettle. But, idiomatically, it means don’t bother me with nonsense. My husband Harvey has been hocking me a tscheynik for months now, in the hope that he’ll wear me down and I’ll finally give him the OK to buy an air fryer. Vos air fryer? Whenever people said air fryer, it conjured up a deep fryer filled with greasy doughnuts floating on the top. Or fatty chicken served with waffles, south of the border. It was about as appealing as an oozing wound.

I didn’t know from air fryers. But then my nephew and his wife got one, and regularly post pictures of the mouthwateringly delectable dinners they produce in their newfangled appliance. Still, I was not sold on the idea. While our apartment is a good size, our kitchen was designed for someone who’s culinarily challenged, petite in stature and not in favour of wasting space. Or, for someone like the character of Carrie Bradshaw, from Sex and the City, who only uses her oven to store sweaters. In short, it’s a galley kitchen that only fits two people, if you turn sideways and suck in your stomach. Our counter space is almost non-existent, yet we’ve managed to find a home for a Nespresso machine, waffle maker, Breville toaster oven, Breville blender and two Henckels knife blocks. I can barely fit a Vitamin C tablet on the remaining space. Still, Harvey thinks we can’t live (or at least not live well) without an air fryer.

After months of fighting him on this, I finally relented. Harvey did his due diligence, researched all air fryers known to man (and woman), then snuck out in the dead of night (notice how I made that all dramatic) and bought one. We got the Instant Vortex six-quart air fryer, which is big enough to hold a smart car. Or a baby buffalo.

As you can imagine, we had to make room for it on our aforementioned miniscule counter. The waffle maker now lives in the closet. The Nespresso machine has taken up residence in the liquor cabinet. And the Breville blender now cohabits with the Henckels Dutch oven under the butcher block. Our little family of appliances resembles a group home for wanton, headstrong youth. But still, we love them all the same.

A week has passed since we installed the air fryer into our humble abode and, well, it’s sheer bliss. I never knew it could be like this. So far, Harvey has made baked chicken thighs, carrots and broccoli, hardboiled eggs, potato wedges and hamburgers. All of which passed with flying (frying) colours, except, I’m sorry to say, the broccoli. It was a stringy, hard mess. The air fryer was literally begging us (OK, so I’m anthropomorphizing) for overtime – or at least a day off.

So, does this make us Frequent Fryers?

Meanwhile I’ve been Googling recipes for air fryer eggplant, tofu (Harvey would rather eat nails) and teriyaki salmon. Then, inspiration struck like yummy lightning – I found a bunch of mouthwatering recipes for air fryer chicken satay with peanut sauce. The deal was sealed. Note that, up to this point in time, I had not so much as touched our new appliance. I’d read the owner’s manual a dozen times though. Not wanting to challenge myself too much – you know, performance anxiety, fear of failure – I glommed onto the easiest, most appealing recipe I could find (credit goes to “Damn Delicious”). You’re welcome.

CHICKEN SATAY WITH PEANUT SAUCE

1/4 cup coconut milk
2 tbsp reduced sodium soy sauce
2 1/2 tsp yellow curry powder (I omitted this)
1 1/2 tsp turmeric
3/4 tsp cumin
3 cloves garlic, minced (I used 2 cloves)
1 tbsp freshly grated ginger
1 tbsp brown sugar
1 tbsp fish sauce (I omitted this)
2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs or breasts cut into 1-inch cubes
1 tbsp canola oil (I used olive oil instead)
kosher salt and ground black pepper, to taste
rice vermicelli noodles

for the peanut sauce:
3 tbsp creamy peanut butter
1 tbsp reduced sodium soy sauce
1 tbsp freshly squeezed lime juice
2 tsp brown sugar
2 tsp chili garlic sauce (I used 1 clove garlic, minced instead)
1 tsp freshly grated ginger

To make the peanut sauce, whisk together peanut butter, soy sauce, lime juice, brown sugar, chili garlic sauce (or minced garlic) and ginger in a small bowl. Whisk in two to three tablespoons water (I used coconut milk) until desired consistency is reached. Set aside in the fridge.
In a medium bowl, combine coconut milk, soy sauce, curry powder (optional), oil, salt, pepper, turmeric, garlic, ginger, brown sugar and fish sauce (optional).
In a large Ziploc bag or large bowl, combine chicken and coconut milk mixture, and marinate for at least two hours to overnight, stirring the mixture occasionally.
Make some rice vermicelli noodles, rinse, drain and let them cool in the fridge.
Soak bamboo skewers in water for 30 minutes before using.
Drain the chicken from the marinade, discarding the marinade.
Preheat the air fryer to 385°F for 12 to 14 minutes, or maybe a couple of minutes longer, depending on the wattage of your air fryer.
Thread the chicken somewhat loosely onto the soaked skewers – don’t jam them together or they won’t cook evenly.
Place the skewers into the air fryer basket, leaving room between each skewer. You may have to do a couple of batches to accommodate them all.
Bake for six to seven minutes, then turn the skewers over and bake for another six to seven minutes, until they reach an internal temperature of 165°F.
Serve immediately with peanut sauce over a bed of rice vermicelli noodles. Garnish with thinly sliced green onion or cilantro, and crushed peanuts.

To say that this meal was a success would be a gross understatement. In fact, I think Harvey proposed to me all over again. Then he offered to buy me a new computer. And a car. Perhaps the exhilaration of this delicious meal has gone to my head. Maybe he just said, “Thanks, it was delicious!” I can’t be sure. But my bet is on a new car.

Hitting the high seas & citrus

Who among us enjoys using a 400°F oven during the summer? That would be: Nobody. Ever. For me, summer is synonymous with barbecuing, which is first cousin to steak, hamburgers, chicken and grilled veggies.

Recently introduced to tuna steaks, I’ve now gone over to the light side. On a recent trip to Victoria, good friends had us over for dinner and served one of the best meals we’ve eaten in years. While most of the component parts were healthy, some were deliciously questionable, in terms of caloric heft (see lemon mousse below). The star of the meal, by a long shot, however, was the marinated tuna steak, grilled on the barbecue. Even though it was more well done than I prefer, it was still juicy, incredibly flavourful and tender. I like my tuna steak with grill marks on the outside and pink rareness on the inside. Most good fish restaurants serve it like that. Despite the variance in preferences, our friend cooked it to perfection. As with all good things, I like to share my enjoyment with others. So, you’re welcome.

You can buy frozen tuna steaks at lots of stores. Fresh is even better, but not always available. For your culinary edification, did you know that Pacific bluefin tuna are approximately five feet long and weigh about 130 pounds? (Think: that’s bigger than me!) Apparently, the world record for the largest bluefin tuna caught was set in Nova Scotia in 1979. It weighed in at a whopping 1,496 pounds. How do you even land something like that? It’s like the Tuna That Ate New York. The tuna we had was cut into petite steaks of about five inches by three inches, and was one-inch-thick perfection.

MARINATED TUNA STEAKS
(serves 4)

4 4-ounce tuna steaks
1/4 cup orange juice
1/4 cup soy sauce
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp chopped fresh parsley
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 tsp chopped fresh oregano
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
salt to taste

In a large non-reactive dish (does this mean it’s even-tempered?), mix together the orange juice, soy sauce, olive oil, lemon juice, parsley, garlic, oregano and pepper. Place the tuna steaks in the marinade and turn it over to coat. Cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. Bring to room temperature before grilling/frying. Preheat grill at high heat, or pan sear on high in a frying pan.

Lightly oil grill grate or frying pan. Cook the tuna steaks for approximately five minutes, then turn and baste with the marinade. Cook for an additional five minutes, or to desired doneness. I’ve read recipes that call for as little as a 45-second-per-side cooking time, so, use your own discretion. Discard any remaining marinade.

Serve it up with a side of guacamango salad (see below), and you’re sure to get a thank you note. Add some tri-coloured baby new potatoes and, voila, just like that, your guests/partner/pets will think you’re Julia Child!

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I can cook and not give people E. coli. I have been known to give my husband and I food poisoning from bad lamb. In my defence, it was a full moon and I was unsupervised. I’ve also been known to accidentally coat snapper in icing sugar instead of flour. Because Harvey and I were in our “courting” phase, he ate it nonetheless. I went out for takeout sushi. This is one of Harvey’s favourite stories. Mostly, I just cook stuff that it’s humanly impossible to screw up. Or, I let Harvey cook and, since he thinks that cooking is like doing a chemistry experiment, I say, knock yourself out Science Guy.

Never heard of my newly created gaucamango salad? Feast your tastebuds.

SHELLEY’S GUACAMANGO SALAD

2 large, ripe Ataulfo mangoes, diced
2 large, ripe avocados, diced
lime juice, to taste
olive oil
fresh mint, chopped roughly
blueberries (optional)

Mix all the ingredients together and tell me this isn’t the freshest-tasting summer salad you’ve ever eaten. Just try me.

As I’ve told you before, this accidental balabusta puts a premium on fast, easy meals, especially during the summer months. And, preferably, recipes that call for fewer than six ingredients, including spices. However, I made an exception for the lemon mousse, which breaches my boundaries for both patience and level of patchkerey. But, man, is it worth it! I usually never try recipes that involve separating eggs, because, well … it’s just dicey. Add in the double boiler element and we’re moving precariously into Ina Garten territory. But my friend’s rendition of this was just so darn good, I couldn’t not try it. If you’re a lemon lover, you won’t be disappointed. If you’re a sourpuss, you also won’t be disappointed.

LEMON MOUSSE DESSERT

2 lemons
1 pouch gelatin powder
4 eggs (separated)
60 grams (or 4 3/4 tbsp) sugar
1 pinch of salt
250 grams (or 1 cup) whipping cream

Wash the lemons. Zest the peel of one lemon and set it aside. Squeeze the juice of both lemons and set it aside.

Separate the eggs. Whisk sugar into the egg yolks.

In a double boiler, heat the egg yolk/sugar mixture and whisk continuously until very hot (but not boiling). If you’re like me and don’t own a double boiler, just set a bowl on top of a pot of hot water instead.

Slowly whisk in the gelatin powder, then add the lemon juice and zest. Put mixture into the fridge to cool, whisking occasionally.

Beat the egg whites with a pinch of salt until firm. Beat the whipping cream.

Once egg yolk/lemon mixture is cooled, gently mix in the egg whites and whipping cream until just combined. Pour into a glass serving bowl for a pretty presentation. Chill in the fridge for a few hours and then garnish with raspberries on top.

This dessert is both fluffy and light, despite all the whipping cream. And the lemon zest gives the richness a welcome bit of texture and zhuzh. This lemon mousse is a spectacular, tart addition to any meal, plus it looks über impressive. Go ahead, boldly go where no accidental balabusta has gone before. Until now. B’tayavon!

May the force be with you

In my world, you can never have enough lamb. Or, to be more specific, lamb shanks. It used to be what I called “fancy food,” for which I splurged only on special occasions, like New Year’s Eve, or a birthday ending in zero. But since the pandemic started, up is down and right is left, and every day that you’re healthy is a day that’s meant to be celebrated. Goodness knows we could all use a little splurging. So, hubby Harvey sold a kidney and bought five pounds of lamb shanks. Lest you think we’re complete chazers, let me add that we had another couple over for dinner. For the first time in two-and-a-half years.

After two years of strict isolation and adherence to Dr. Bonnie Henry’s pandemic protocols, it was a wondrous event, to be sitting less than six feet away from two close friends, masks discarded, acting as though we did this every day. There wasn’t a shred of anxiety anywhere to be seen, and it just felt so normal. To say I felt ridiculously elated and grateful at the same time would not be an exaggeration. It was pure joy. I wondered why we hadn’t done it sooner. And then I remembered … that pesky pandemic. Oh, and my COVID anxiety, which can often be seen from space.

But back to the main event. The lamb. I’d sent Harvey to the butcher to pick up the lamb and, when he returned home, he handed me the bag-o-meat. Which weighed nearly as much as me. I asked him: “So did they throw in a ram for free?” To which he replied: “I told them I wanted the biggest lamb shanks they had.” Long story short, each shank was the size of a small country. Maybe slightly bigger. All of a sudden, my four hours of estimated cooking time was looking more like half a day. Luckily, I’m an early riser.

I hauled out my biggest roaster, proceeded to dirty every fry pan, pot and utensil in the apartment – we’re talking squeezers, mincers, graters, peelers, a multitude of various-sized knives, cutting boards and a healthy shot of Scotch (just kidding about the Scotch, but after it was all said and done, I sure could’ve used a glass) – and had at it.

The recipe, which Harvey found on the internet, is called Tom Valenti’s Lamb Shanks, and it’s spectacular! I won’t bore you with the details – Google it. Never mind that it calls for a bottle of wine, four cups of broth and a whole whack of other stuff. When it was all assembled, I couldn’t even lift the roaster, never mind take it in and out of the oven every 30 minutes for the next five hours. I happily handed over the reins to Harvey to do the heavy lifting. While I sat around and ate bonbons. Not.

All modesty aside, the lamb shanks were a huge hit. But, I was left with cups and cups of gorgeous, rich, winey braising liquid, flavoured with onions, carrots, celery, garlic and thyme, to name just a few of the players. I actually considered drinking it. Is that wrong? Of course, the thyme sprigs might get caught in my teeth.

So, I did what any self-respecting 21st-century cook with a few gallons of leftover braising liquid would do – I Googled it. Which is where I found an article by Mackenzie Stratton in The Spruce Eats, called “What to do with leftover braising liquid.” Imagine that. I learned many things, like the fact that chefs often refer to braising liquid as “liquid gold” because of its ability to transform whatever it touches into something fabulous.

I know some of you will wonder why I bothered keeping the seemingly useless flotsam and jetsam of a meal. It’s because I hate throwing stuff out that I could possibly use. Operative word here is “possibly.” My father, alav ha-shalom, always used to rib me about how thrifty I am. He’s right. I hate to waste food and, if I can repurpose it, why the heck not? When I told Harvey my plans for the braising liquid, he informed me that the army used to call that a “force multiplier.” May the force be with you, too.

If Mackenzie Stratton is to be believed, you can elevate just about any dish with leftover braising “gold.” But first you have to let the “gold” cool overnight in the fridge, then skim off the fat from the top. You’ll be left with a lovely (?) gelatinous bowl of the aforementioned “gold.” Next step requires you to sacrifice your ice cube trays. Fill each one with a big glob of “gold,” freeze them, and then put the nuggets in a Ziploc baggie or in small containers for future use. This is where the “gold” comes in, because at $16 to $18 a bottle for the wine and another $60 for the lamb and the rest of the ingredients, it’s not something you relish throwing down the sink once everyone’s had a good burp.

What all can you do with these little brown, gelatinous gems? You can incorporate them into other recipes, like soups, pasta or grain dishes; use them to poach chicken or tougher cuts of meat; or put them in stews. You can also use them as the supreme weapon of decadence: boil potatoes in the thawed braising liquid, then turn them into the ultimate side of mashed potatoes. I have no words. The drool is dribbling down my chin.

I usually like to include a photo of my culinary creations/discoveries and, well, not to be crass or anything, but Harvey says these “gold” blobs look like something people pick up with those little green baggies on their hand. Need I say more? Now just try and un-see that visual.

Like the thrifty Accidental Balabusta that I am, you might just be on the receiving end of my leftover braising “gold” next time you come for dinner. But you won’t know it. To paraphrase John F. Kennedy: ask not what your lamb shanks can do for you – ask what you can do for your lamb shanks.

Once again, you’re welcome. Bon appetit!

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.

The joys of parchment paper

Greek sheet pan chicken, using a recipe from the website Downshiftology. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

I know it’s pretty laughable that I only discovered parchment paper a few years ago, but there’s always someone late to the party. Parchment paper is your friend, and it’s so ridiculously versatile and handy, I can’t believe I baked without it for all these years! (Although, having been single until I was 53, I must admit to not having baked much in those years.) I even turned my husband Harvey onto it. Now he uses parchment paper for everything. I caught him the other day trying to make a fruit salad on parchment paper. We buy the stuff by the truckload now. It saves on clean up, eliminates the possibility of burned pans, and withstands high heat. Plus, it contains some sort of magic that results in perfect meals every time. Seriously, I haven’t had a fail since I became a parchment paper convert. I know. Crazy, right?

My latest foray into culinary exploration using parchment paper was Greek sheet pan chicken. Harvey tried the recipe first, and it scored a 10/10. Weeks later, he asked me if I wanted to make it and, quite frankly, I couldn’t say no. After all, he’s been making me pancakes for breakfast three times a week, so I was hardly in a position to negotiate. I was just worried that I wouldn’t be able to replicate it. But I sucked it up, donned my Disclosure Diner apron and got on with it. Without a word of a lie, this recipe produces the most juicy, harmonious flavours I’ve had in eons. And there was virtually no clean up – winner, winner chicken dinner.

The recipe is from the website Downshiftology, and it’s by Lisa Bryan. Thank you, Lisa. It’s a wee bit labour-intensive, with all the chopping, mincing, dicing and marinating, but what isn’t time-consuming these days? Caveat: the original recipe calls for feta cheese, but since I don’t mix meat and milk, I omit that. Believe me when I tell you that there’s plenty of salt in this recipe already. Feta compli! Just cook up a side of rice, orzo, quinoa or bowtie pasta and you’re set. Oh, and maybe whip up a salad if you’re feeling inspired.

Now, I know that lots of people prefer the leaner white chicken meat, but thighs are just more tender and moist. You can be the judge, but I can’t be responsible for the cooking time for chicken breasts, so you’re on your own there.

Give this recipe a go, and tell me if this isn’t Mediterranean cooking at its best. I generally have a rule to not use recipes that call for more than five or six ingredients, but I made an exception here, and it paid off in spades.

GREEK SHEET PAN CHICKEN

1/2 cup olive oil
juice of 1 1/2 lemons (about 3 tbsp)
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
6 chicken thighs, bone-in, skin-on
1 medium zucchini, halved lengthwise and sliced
1 yellow bell pepper, chopped into 1-inch pieces
1 red bell pepper, chopped into 1-inch pieces
1/2 large red onion, thinly sliced
1 pint cherry or grape tomatoes
1/2 cup kalamata olives, pitted (more, if you love olives)
1/4 cup feta cheese (optional)
2 tbsp finely chopped fresh parsley

Preheat oven to 425°F. In a small bowl, whisk together the oil, lemon juice, garlic, oregano, thyme, Dijon mustard, salt and pepper.
Put chicken thighs in a bowl (or plastic bag) and pour two-thirds of the marinade on top. Then toss the chicken around in the marinade to make sure it’s well coated. Marinate the chicken for 15 minutes or more.
While the chicken is marinating, put a piece of parchment paper on a baking sheet. Spread the zucchini, bell peppers, red onion and tomatoes onto the sheet and drizzle the remaining marinade on top. Toss together to coat the vegetables.
Add the chicken thighs to the baking sheet and nestle the veggies around them. Bake for 30 minutes.
Remove the baking sheet from the oven, add the olives (and feta, if you’re using it) and then put it back in the oven for another 10 to 15 minutes, or until the vegetables are soft and the chicken is cooked through. You can always turn on the broiler for a minute or two at the end if you like the skin crispy.
Sprinkle the chicken and vegetables with finely chopped fresh parsley before serving.

Not only does this dish look gorgeous, but it’s got deep, rich flavour and the recipe is pretty easy to follow. Of course, if you’re serving it to company, it’ll take a bit of manoeuvring to transfer it to a platter because there are so many moving parts. But it’s a pandemic, so who’s having company over for dinner anyway?

Sometimes, I think to myself: do I really want to bother with all this dicing and chopping and slicing? Operative word: sometimes. This is a treat-yourself-to-a-sumptuous-dinner-and-stop-being-so-lazy kind of meal. Like my dad used to say: you’re the most important guest in your own home. Go nuts. Cook for looks. And taste. Like so many different meals, this one is just as good if not better the next day, since the flavours seem to marry overnight.

As for a pre-dinner treat, why not aim for easy but yummy. If you want to bump up the fanciness quotient a notch, make some toast points (crusts cut off), smear on some mayonnaise or egg mix, and top with caviar. I buy the inexpensive black lumpfish caviar for special occasions and it’s delish. It’ll impress the heck out of your partner, your guests, even yourself. And, you know what? You deserve it! Why should caviar be reserved just for New Year’s Eve or engagement parties? Those poor misunderstood fish roe – they deserve to be showcased all year round. If I weren’t afraid of all the judging that might accompany it, I’d eat caviar every day.

Another caveat: don’t eat this meal before you go for a blood test, because your sodium will be off the charts.

Comfort food for dark times

If the thought of cooking one more boring meal is just too daunting, Google your heart out – there are gazillions of cookbooks out there.

The days are short and dark and all I seem to want to do right now is stuff my face with comfort food. Some days that manifests as peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and some days it looks like pot roast and mashed potatoes. I rarely crave a salad or a stick of celery in this chilly, wet weather. Mind you, I have been tempted (and given into) a huge piece of pumpkin pie. That’s a daily serving of vegetables, right? I’m all about the carbs at the moment. Plus, peanut butter makes my coat nice and shiny. Or so says hubby Harvey.

Like a bear, I’m looking to bulk up for my winter hibernation. Although, when you think about it, we’ve been living through almost a two-year hibernation. It’s called COVID-19. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t found some comfort in over-indulging during this pandemic. Whether the target of our ill-placed attention is food, booze or online shopping, we’ve all been guilty of overdoing it in some way or other. Oh, I forgot to include Netflix, Prime Video and Crave. I do crave my Crave. I don’t know how many hours of my life I’ve given over to this pap. Not that I’m bragging. Actually, I’m kind of embarrassed by it, but, in a way, it’s keeping me sane because it lets me focus on something other than COVID. But enough about the C-word.

My guilty pleasure is doughy, savoury foods, packed with calories. That’s where the Perogy Toss comes in. I got this recipe decades ago from the catering company at Richmond City Hall’s cafeteria, where I often ate lunch during my working days. The recipe is still a winner. Add a salad and you’ve got dinner. Add a glass or two of wine and you’ve got a date.

PEROGY TOSS

1-kg package frozen potato perogies
4 tbsp sundried tomato oil (or olive oil)
3/4 cup minced onion
1 tbsp minced garlic
2 tbsp minced black olives
12 tbsp (3/4 cup) minced and drained sundried tomatoes
4 tbsp minced capers
1 1/2-oz (14-gram) package fresh basil, chopped
light sour cream

Boil salted water in a large pot. Add frozen perogies and boil for four to five minutes (or whatever the directions say). Drain well. Rinse with hot water and drain again. Return perogies to the pot.

In a frying pan, heat the sundried tomato oil (or olive oil) until hot. Add onion and garlic and sauté until onion is soft and golden. Add olives, sundried tomatoes and capers. Stir.

When heated through, add to the cooked perogies in the pot. Heat on low for about one minute, tossing to fully coat the perogies. Add the basil and serve at once. Put sour cream on top, if desired – and who wouldn’t desire that?

Just in case this recipe doesn’t give you your year’s allotment of salt, here’s another one that will not only satisfy your craving for savoury, but holds its own as an appetizer served with pita or crackers. Some of you might be put off by the weird orange shade of this dip, but I’m sure you’ll get past that. If you’re a lazy cook like me, you’ll be happy to know that the only kitchen appliance you’ll need is a food processor.

RED PEPPER & FETA DIP

3 red bell peppers
6 oz feta cheese
2 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp pine nuts

Cut in half and seed three red bell peppers. Place on a broiling pan, skin side up, and broil until skin is charred and blistered, turning over several times. This is what creates that smoky flavour.

Remove the skin from the peppers – some say sealing them in a brown paper bag while they’re cooling for five to 10 minutes creates steam and makes them easier to peel.

Once peeled, put the peppers in a food processor and add the feta cheese, olive oil and pine nuts. Blend till it’s nice and smooth.

Chill before serving. (I mean the dip, but you could also chill yourself with a glass or two of your favourite alcoholic beverage and a bag of chips.)

Serve with pita wedges or crackers. And don’t even think of substituting a different kind of nut. It’s just wrong. It’s got to be pine nuts.

I’ve made this dip for company loads of times and everyone likes it. It’s one of those go-to, quick-as-can-be appies that’s pretty much foolproof. Of course, your guests have to have a taste for feta cheese and pine nuts, but don’t most of us? (Maybe have an EpiPen ready just in case.) It’s definitely got a bit of an unusual flavour, but in a good way. It’s worth a try, if only to expand your repertoire … says the woman who ate the same California roll and agedashi tofu three or four times a week when she was single. However, I’ve since seen the error of my ways.

As you can tell, I’m all about the easy. And, if it tastes good too, score a win. I’ve never been one to fuss about food because it all gets eaten in a matter of minutes anyway, so why bother? I know, I know. What kind of an attitude is that for an accidental balabusta? But, like Popeye said, “I yam what I yam.”

As time wears on with this pandemic, I’m going to need to get more creative with my culinary adventures. I’ve fallen into the chicken, fish, meat, repeat, habit, and it’s getting old. I sure miss going out to restaurants on a regular basis. With the majority of us Canadians being doubly vaccinated, I think we’re moving in the right direction with this pandemic and, hopefully, it won’t be long before we embark on our “new normal.” G-d-willing, it will be an even better, more beautiful “normal.”

In the meantime, if the thought of cooking one more boring meal is just too daunting, get out your mother’s 1970s National Council of Jewish Women cookbook, Google your heart out or visit a bookstore near you, and tackle some new recipes. You might just discover your new favourites. Or maybe try a recipe swap with your close friends. You never know what tricks they might have up their sleeves. Caveat: choose friends whose culinary realm most resembles yours; otherwise, you may find yourself spending hours in the kitchen making some exotic breakfast, when all you really wanted was a new recipe for French toast.

Wishing you well in your hibernation. Don’t forget to turn the heat down, suspend newspaper delivery and stock up on toilet paper. I know, I know – newspaper? (Present company excepted, of course, and the JI is taking the month off, as well.)

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.

Savoury, sweet and simple

Cottage cheese muffins à la Accidental Balabusta, but double the size. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

Looking for a couple of easy recipes to add to your repertoire? But you’re not quite sure what to try? Because sometimes you want savoury. Sometimes you want sweet. But what if you want both? I’ve got just the answer – but it doesn’t come in the form of one recipe. It comes in two. One’s a side dish and one’s a snack or breakfast food. Both punch above their weight, that’s for sure.

With very few exceptions I have neither the focus nor the patience to embark on complicated recipes that call for exotic ingredients and specialty cookware. If I can’t pronounce it and it’s not available at my local Safeway or Superstore, it ain’t happening. (Except for those lamb shanks that I made for Rosh Hashanah, which did call for loads of ingredients and which were, to use my hubby’s words: “The best lamb I’ve ever eaten!” Sorry … I just had a modesty bypass.)

Maybe I’m not the most adventurous eater/cook in the world but I never go hungry. My father, alav hashalom, used to say that I’d eat out of a puddle if push came to shove. I prefer to describe it as having simple tastes.

Good thing my husband didn’t marry me for my cooking. Although it has improved significantly since we got married 12 years ago. When we first met, my idea of dinner was a California roll and Agedashi tofu takeout. We used to eat out at restaurants maybe three or four times a week during the honeymoon phase, i.e. the first four years of our marriage. I kept telling him I knew how to cook; I just chose not to activate that skill. And what do you know. He believed me.

But I digress. Back to the savoury recipe I was going to tell you about. It’s an eggplant side dish or chunky dip and is a perfect accompaniment to just about any meal, be it meat, chicken, vegetarian or fish. It’s a bit time-consuming, but what eggplant recipe isn’t, with all that peeling, slicing and dicing? I’m not a big fan of spicy food so you can up the garlic content as you see fit. I find it’s got just that right combination of salty, spicy, sweet and tart, without being heavy or overpowering. I call it Merle’s Eggplant, after my sister’s friend who gave us the recipe decades ago. Thank you, Merle.

MERLE’S EGGPLANT

1 diced onion
1 large or 2 medium-size eggplants, peeled and cubed
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
14 oz (398 ml) can tomato sauce
a squeeze or two of lemon juice
1-2 tbsp brown sugar

Peel and cube eggplant and set aside.
Fry diced onion in olive oil until lightly browned.
Add eggplant to onions and fry, alternating covered and uncovered, until eggplant is opaque.
Add minced garlic, tomato sauce, lemon juice and brown sugar. Cook on low heat for about one hour, covered.
Refrigerate then serve. Some people like to serve it hot, but I prefer it cold, because I find that the flavours meld even more when it’s been refrigerated. But that’s your call. Try it both ways.

* * *

As for the sweet recipe – cottage cheese muffins – well, it’s a favourite in our home. It’s one of those comfort foods that soothe just about any ailment, from fatigue to sore feet. Aside from being healthy (think protein), they’re filling and super-fast to make, plus it’s one of those recipes that you can make blindfolded with both hands tied behind your back. Eat them hot, eat them cold, eat them with jam, eat them plain.

The only people that won’t like these muffins are the lactose-intolerant. And that can be remedied. I recently found lactose-free cottage cheese at the local supermarket. It’s slightly more expensive, but worth it if you like dairy but not the side effects that can go with it. Knock yourself out with these fluffy, light, healthy muffins. I’ve seen all sorts of variations on this recipe, using cheddar cheese, whole wheat flour, sour cream, etc., but none of them quite matches the simplicity and yumminess of this one.

I would strongly suggest doubling the recipe, since this recipe only makes 12 small muffins. Or just eat several at one go, and explain to shocked onlookers that they’re mini-muffins. Which they’re not, but, never mind. Just look at it as muffin-envy.

COTTAGE CHEESE MUFFINS

1 1/2 cups cottage cheese
2 tbsp sugar
1/2 cup melted butter or margarine
2 tsp baking powder
2 eggs
a pinch of salt
1 cup flour

Preheat oven to 400°F.
Mix all ingredients by hand. Don’t be surprised if the batter is quite thick.
Grease muffin tins or use paper muffin liners. Distribute batter evenly between the 12 muffin cups.
Bake for about 20 minutes or until golden brown on top. They’re ready when a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean.
Eat plain or topped with yogurt, sour cream, berries, jam or whatever. They reheat well in the microwave. But, if there are more than two people living in your home, the muffins probably won’t make it till the next day. They may sound too good and too easy to be true, but I’m here to tell you, they’re the real deal. Sometimes, the most basic recipes are the star of the show. Or at least the crowd-pleasers.

* * *

It’s not the number of ingredients or the sophistication of technique that make a recipe sing. It’s the flavour, plain and simple. So, do yourself a favour and try out these two recipes. Tell them the Accidental Balabusta sent you.

Lamb shanks a savoury dish

Lamb is a rich meal, so count on one shank per person. (photo by Arild Finne Nybø)

This year, I plan to stray from my plebian Rosh Hashanah chicken and salmon, and go all in with lamb shanks. Even as I write this column, I don’t know whether or not we’ll be able to gather with family this year for the High Holidays. But, I’m hopeful. And, after spending a year-and-a-half’s worth of Jewish holidays celebrating via Zoom (or on our own), it’s left me remarkably unfazed. We have to eat, after all. It may as well be yummy. As my father always reminded me, “I am the most important guest in my own home!” So, lamb it is.

Being a shockingly bad liar, I feel compelled to come clean right at the get-go. I have never cooked this dish before. My husband Harvey is the lamb expert at our home. But it’s high (chai) time I stretched my culinary balabusta skills. For the record, I am breaking all my own rules, by making a dish that has more than five ingredients, and which looks like it’ll take a good hour or more to prepare. But we’re worth it. The end result will be a smooth, savoury dish with extrastellar depth and gastronomic nuance. Ha! And if you believe those hyperbolic words, I have a bridge to sell you. But, in all seriousness, it’s one of my favourite meals, rich though it may be.

As you know, if you’re a hardcore carnivore like me, lamb is a very fatty meat. As well, it has a distinctive flavour that you either love or hate. There don’t seem to be many fence-sitters when it comes to lamb. Harvey and I position ourselves squarely in the love-it camp. While we don’t eat it often, we consider lamb fancy food, and usually only have it on special occasions. Like Tuesdays. It plays well with rice, couscous, noodles or potatoes, which makes it an equal opportunity meat. And that’s something I admire in my food.

MOROCCAN LAMB SHANKS

6 lamb shanks
coarse salt and pepper to taste
3 tbsp plus 1/4 cup olive oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
6 large garlic cloves, minced
4 carrots, cut crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces
4 celery ribs, cut crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces
2 tbsp packed brown sugar
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp cayenne, or to taste
1 1/2 cup dry red wine
3 cups beef broth

Preheat oven to 325°F. Season the lamb with salt and pepper.
Heat three tablespoons oil in a heavy pot over medium-high heat. Add the celery, carrots and onion and cook until very soft, eight to 10 minutes.
Add the thyme, cumin, paprika, cinnamon, cloves, cayenne, brown sugar and garlic and cook for three minutes.
Add the wine, then raise heat to high and bring to a boil. Lower heat to medium and add the beef broth. Leave on medium heat while you brown the lamb shanks.
Pour the remaining 1/4 cup of olive oil into a sauté pan. Over medium-high heat, brown the lamb shanks well on all sides.
Transfer the lamb shanks to the roasting pan (or Dutch oven) and pour the braising liquid on top. Cover with a lid or aluminum foil and cook for one hour. Remove the lid/foil and cook two-and-a-half to three hours more, turning the shanks over every half hour until the meat is very soft.
Remove the shanks from the braising liquid and strain the liquid. Skim any fat that rises to the surface, then use the liquid as a sauce.
Serve over rice, couscous or noodles, or with potatoes.

I can say with a fair degree of certainty that this is one of the tastiest lamb dishes I’ve ever had the pleasure of devouring. It’s not exactly summer food, but it’s perfect for fall or winter. If you served it for Rosh Hashanah dinner, you would undoubtedly impress the heck out of your guests. Or whomever you plan to eat with. It’s a labour-intensive recipe, no question about that. But you’ll thank me once the smell comes wafting out of your kitchen and you begin to food swoon.

Like I said, it’s a rich meal, so count on one shank per person. If you’re Israeli, you’ll probably opt to lay it gently on a mountain of rice or couscous, but maybe you’ll go rogue and settle it lovingly on a bed of noodles. We Ashkenazim like our meat and potatoes (a little too much, I’m afraid), so I’ll probably make a side of roasted baby new potatoes. If you go the traditional Ashkenazi route and start with gefilte fish and matzah ball soup, I guarantee you’ll be stuffed to the gills by the time you get halfway through the lamb. But will you stop? I think not. It’s kind of like a marathon … you don’t get halfway through only to say, “I think I’ve had enough.” Oh no, you’ll throw yourself into this Moroccan lamb like it’s a cold lake on a hot day.

As for Rosh Hashanah dessert, if you think anyone will have even a millimetre of space left in their stomach for a little something sweet, think again. I’d say there might even be a vomitorium involved, but we’re not Roman, so … no. Maybe put out some fruit for those who are really feeling gluttonous and want to ring in the New Year with a Gaviscon chaser. It’ll only be a token gesture (the fruit, not the Gaviscon), but you can always have it the next day for breakfast. Mind you, I’m usually so stuffed the following day that I can barely face food until maybe 9 a.m. Decide for yourself. Those little fruit jellies are always a nice touch, and barely take up any room.

Before you start feeling full just reading this, remember that you don’t have to eat every course that’s served during Rosh Hashanah dinner. You’re allowed to beg off the first three and save yourself for the main event. No one will be offended. In fact, probably no one will even notice. Whatever you end up doing for the High Holidays, be healthy, be safe and here’s to a sweet new year full of positive and inspiring adventures. Shana tova u’metuka.

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.

Sweet summer dessert treats

(photo from twopeasandtheirpod.com)

They don’t make ’em like they used to. And, almost without exception, recipes from yesteryear are tastier, precisely because they’re reminiscent of gentler times. When I think Rice Krispie squares, I recall sitting on our old brown couch in the den, watching Ed Sullivan with the whole family. And I longingly remember eating Mom’s cheesy broccoli soufflé during Rosh Hashanah. Or, I’m back in 1966, enjoying a mountain of fried onions with my mother’s world-class chicken livers. And those salmon patties! And how about that creamed tuna in patty shells? Does anybody even eat this stuff anymore? If not, it’s a crying shame.

Maybe it’s a longing for those days when you could send your children out into the neighbourhood armed with only roller skates, in the certainty that they would be back, safe and unharmed, for lunch (or dinner, depending). A time when TV dinners were acceptable and ubiquitous. (I especially liked the one with fried chicken, corn, peas and tiny, unnaturally square carrots, mashed potatoes and canned pears/peaches.) I remember when an hourglass figure was desirable, and women actually ate to their fill. Of course, most of them smoked, too, but that’s a whole other column. I’m talking food right now. Uncomplicated, unapologetic, unfussy food. Anybody remember chip steaks? How about fondue? Sloppy Joes? Pineapple upside down cake? Aspic (now that’s one heinous creation)?

What’s old can always be new again. Especially if you’re willing to look the other way when it comes to nutrition, calories and cholesterol. Some of my favourite desserts are classic 1950s and ’60s numbers. In other words, any recipes that call for Jello or Dream Whip. And, preferably, have fewer than five ingredients.

My dad, alav hashalom, loved one particular dessert I made. Not that my repertoire was so enormous back then, but, still, it was always a winner with Dad. He’d take one bite and look at me like I’d just discovered fire. It was an easy (understatement of the millennium) recipe given to me by a woman I used to work with when I was a librarian at West Kildonan Library, in the North End of Winnipeg. Naturally, I just call it Liz Westlake’s Jello Dessert. I don’t make it very often, because I’m afraid of being shamed by my fancy foodie friends. But, occasionally, I break down and splurge. Let it be known, however, that no one – I repeat, no one – ever turns down a second piece of this dessert. It’s quaint, refreshing and … old-fashioned.

LIZ WESTLAKE’S JELLO DESSERT

1 can (398 ml or 14 oz) fruit cocktail (drained)
1 1/3 cup Graham cracker crumbs
1/3 cup melted butter
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 box cherry Jello

Preheat oven to 375°F. Mix the Graham cracker crumbs together with the melted butter and brown sugar and pat it into the bottom of a springform pan. Bake for five to seven minutes.

Make the Jello according to the instructions on the box and, when half congealed, but still smooth enough to stir (approximately 1 1/4 hours), add the drained fruit cocktail to the Jello and mix it together. Pour this on top of the Graham cracker crust and refrigerate until completely firm. (If you want to get really fancy shmancy, you can put whipped cream on top. I don’t – I’m a purist.)

Even the most kitchen-challenged soul can make this dessert. And I guarantee it’s a winner, especially on a hot day. Once again, you’re welcome.

Now to a sturdier sweet – the ubiquitous chocolate chip zucchini brownie. Anyone who grows zucchini knows that it can take over your entire garden. If you let it. This is all hearsay, of course, since I’m known far and wide to have a black thumb. But I read a lot. And I’ve heard of people whose gardens produce so much zucchini that they sneak out in the dead of night and drop bags of zucchini on neighbours’ doorsteps, then flee into the darkness, nary a trace of their identity to be found. Personally, I just buy mine at Safeway. But I’m getting off track. This dessert is easy, healthy (OK, let’s just say it’s in the general vicinity of health) and satisfying for those with a hankering for chocolate.

CHOCOLATE CHIP ZUCCHINI BROWNIES

1 1/2 cup white sugar
1/2 cup canola oil or vegetable oil
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 cups shredded zucchini (but don’t squeeze out the liquid)
2 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp salt (or a little less)
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1 1/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease a 9”x13” baking pan and set it aside.

In an electric stand mixer, or using a hand mixer, combine the sugar, oil and flour. It will look dry, but that’s OK. While mixing on low speed, add the cocoa, shredded zucchini, vanilla, salt and baking soda. Mix until well combined. Stir in the chocolate chips.

Pour the batter into the greased pan and bake for 28 to 32 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean. The brownies should look set, not mushy. Cool completely on a wire rack. Cut into squares and serve.

Don’t even consider asking me how many calories there are in one square. Think of it as a serving of vegetables. I mean, there is something green in there. Beigey-green? For goodness sake, just enjoy, and stop with the guilt. They’re a nice, moist alternative to regular brownies and you get to feel all high and mighty because they’re [semi] healthy.

If neither of these desserts float your boat, try making your own popsicles. Nothing spells old-school quite like those plastic popsicle molds with the multi-coloured tops. You can over-spend and get the molds at one of those highfalutin, hoity-toity kitchen stores, or you can rock it like it’s 1964 and buy them at your local dollar store. I chose Door #2, and it works just fine. (There’s also the ice-cube tray option, with toothpicks as the popsicle sticks.) There are a gazillion recipes for popsicles on the internet, most of them calling for Greek yogurt, frozen fruit, juice and honey. Check ’em out and keep cool.