Spring Onion & Spinach Pancakes + Thinking about my father

MY FATHER

***

Sunday afternoon’s skies were dark and dreary, as if a blanket of clouds had prematurely descended even before the day had really even begun. In addition to cold winds and single digit temperatures, it started to rain – fine pellets of rain that caught your breath in the cold winter drafts.

Being continents away from my father, he in Singapore and I in Argentina, I didn’t get a chance to celebrate Father’s Day physically with him; I’d called him a day earlier to wish him, and just hearing his contented voice made me happy despite the distance.

Spring Onion & Spinach Pancakes

My father and I aren’t really “phone-people”, in the sense that we don’t exactly spend hours on the phone catching up with each other.

Sometimes we email, in short, quick sentences, fast and to-the-point. Other times we text over whatsapp, him telling me about his latest stock market investment and asking whether I would also like to invest; other times me asking him how things are back home with his answer almost always being some variation of “I’m good, things are fine, don’t worry.”

Sometimes he reads my blog posts too, and then emails me on how awesome he thinks it is that I’m pursuing what I love, both writing and cooking, and I feel myself swell up with pride and confidence and love.

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You see, my dad isn’t the most expressive person I know.

Growing up, I think my dad always feel the need to impress my grandfather with his achievements in life, and when he became a father himself, he rarely praised us when we did well, and at most he would show acknowledgement with a slight nod and a soft “hmm”.

Over the years, my dad has softened alot and is definitely much more expressive; still, I know that he has always been proud of us, his children, and despite our lack of phone communication, I know he loves us very much too.

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I’m extremely proud of my dad too.

He was the skinny little boy who had to start working at an early age at my grandfather’s provision shop – my dad worked as the delivery boy, and also served in other odd jobs that the shop required. Later, he went on the study and complete his ACCA course while working full time with a small little family to take care of. He then went on to work for a Dutch tank storage provider where he literally climbed the corporate ladder one rung at a time to eventually become its financial controller.

My father is probably the most hardworking person I’ve ever known; he’s always reading (whether his iPad, or iPhone or the newspapaers), or doing some kind of course, sometimes at the expense of relaxing and just enjoying the act of doing nothing; but I suppose life has instilled so deeply in him the importance of continuous self-improvement, that at 60 years of age, old habits sure die hard.

Because he had to work his way through school and pay for his own further studies, my dad has also always been very conscientious about the way we spend money, and his job as a financial controller makes it second-nature for him. We learnt as kids from a young age that to spend money on something, we had to justify it fully; and later in life, I’ve realized that this was a virtue that I’m extremely grateful for.

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Perhaps the one thing my dad allows himself to indulge in is food.

While he doesn’t dine in ridiculously expensive and fancy Michelin-star restaurants, once in a while he enjoys going out to a nice Japanese or Italian restaurant with my mum and siblings, and he also certainty enjoys the very frequent ice cream cone, as well as snacking at the local hawker centers. It’s not uncommon to find him bringing home bags of soybean curd, fried noodles and sometimes vegetable fritters, sitting in little brown paper bags on our kitchen counter, tempting us to eat.

***

SPRING ONION & SPINACH
PANCAKES

***

When I learnt how to make round vegetable fritters the other day at cooking class, I inevitably thought about my dad, and his love for local Singaporean hawker center food. I knew I wanted make them at home, but instead of shaping them like round balls, I wanted to make them like savory pancakes that were easier to eat and cook.

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I’ve taken up quite a liking for spinach these days, because it’s such an easy to use and healthy vegetable, and because one seemingly small bunch of spinach actually amounts to quite a lot of spinach leaves, which can be used both cooked and raw.

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To make this snack, all you really need is a bunch of fresh spinach cut into thin shreds and very roughly chopped spring onions, which are mixed in a light batter made of flour, milk, oil and eggs, and then seasoned lightly with powdered nutmeg, and a dash of salt and pepper.

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Mixed all together, they create the batter for this incredibly easy but filling snack.

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I love the brightness of eggs and their ability to gel things together – in this case fresh spinach and spring onions. Eggs always make me happy, and they have the power to brighten up every kitchen.

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A little thing to take note of when making the batter – the batter should have some consistency; if it is too liquid, it might be hard to shape the pancakes into small circles (they might expand too much). But don’t worry, there’s a quick remedy – if you find the batter lacking in consistency, just add in a few more tablespoons of flour and mix well until you get the right consistency.

The easiest part comes after the batter and the vegetables have been mixed together. Scoop a small amount of batter and then pour to form a circle in a pre-heated greased saucepan. Now wait for it to cook, as it turns a light golden brown, eat it warm and enjoy.

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{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

Baked Curry Fish Fillets + Reliving the intensity of India

RELIVING
THE INTENSITY OF INDIA

***

Curries, while found in abundance and variety all across Asia, somehow always remind me of India.

Incredible India, whose streets are incessantly filled with cars honking hello to each other, where buffaloes, cows, goats and cars share the same lanes, and where it’s not uncommon to see a sauntering elephant greeting you with a lift of his trunk from the roadside.

India, whose vibrancy and color is flaunted in its women’s beautiful saris, shining brightly against their rich chocolate-colored skin, and whose pulse beats so strongly you can feel the vibes everywhere – full of life, urgency and rush.

India, the country which is estimated to have a third of the world’s poor, was where I came face-to-face with poverty on the streets so stark it made me withdraw in horror, and then reminded me of how much I have to be grateful for.

Baked Curry Fish Fillets

The first and only time I visited India was in September 2009, courtesy of a work trip with other colleagues from the Standard Chartered Bank International Graduate program.

We’d touched down late in the night, passed through the customs at the Chennai airport, and then found ourselves being greeted by a massive crowd of excited faces in the arrival hall. It was a hot autumn night in south India, with the air thick with humidity, and mostly, I recall our voices being drowned in the incredible symphony of honking cars which went on throughout the night and day, often without any pleasant tune.

During the next three weeks in India, we worked, but we also traveled, visiting tourist sites such as the famous Taj Mahal, the city of Jaipur, and mainly just exploring with the spare time we had left between work weeks.

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***

THE HEART OF POVERTY

***

In a spur of activities and new experiences, I remembered one thing – that the intensity of India left me permanently impacted.

A slum situated next to a five-star hotel was nothing out of the ordinary. Walking along the streets, I saw a white-bearded almost naked man sleeping at a bus stop, his nails long and grey from the grime and dirt of the street – he was one of millions who would call the roads their home, drifting in the heart of poverty.

I later learned more about the Indian caste system, whose members were separated into difference caste levels depending on luck or misfortune. It deeply saddened me that those in the lowest caste, mercilessly labeled the “untouchables”, were born with an innate resignation to their fate – that their lives would be confined to where they were born, with futures which would never be better than those of their forefathers because they wouldn’t be able to upgrade to a better social class.

I was tugged by countless street children begging for a coin, or a note or two, as they followed us tourists, who for them, were their only source of income. I remember being struck by the depth of poverty in a country making headlines all over the world; I was amazed by how many companies had set up shop and outsourced their services to India; and I was mesmerized by the intensity of it all.

I watched in fascination as women dressed elegantly in brightly-colored saris walked alongside my tour bus in the Indian countryside, with large pots of water perched intricately on their heads, balanced only by a single hand as they strode down the dirt path. They looked so regal in their beautiful saris, like ballerinas en pointe, despite living such a harsh, backward life.

It seemed like there was always some sort of noisy commotion going on in the streets, and for the first-time first-world visitor, this can result in a rather unsettling experience.

Too many people and vehicles and animals were moving on the roads all at the same time; it was an art to cross a permanently busy street whose traffic showed no signs of slowing down, ever. People were shaking their heads and gesturing so much that I often got lost in thought halfway through conversations, wondering why Indians shake their heads when they were saying “yes”.

There was the distinct smell of ghee, too – the clarified butter used so abundantly in Indian cuisine. A smell so rich and thick and overwhelming that it hits you in the face when you enter a sweet shop, leaving you momentarily giddy. Sitting at the back of a tuk-tuk zooming through the crowds gave me an insider view of India, as the driver took short cuts through back alleys and corners so dark and deserted I wondered if I’d get to my destination alive.

***

INDIA’S RUSTIC BEAUTY

***

Despite all the frantic running around and concoction of noises and sights that distract and disorientates, there was a very rustic beauty to India that inevitably touched my heart when I was there.

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In the midst of the mess and never-ending noise, there were always smiling faces showing off bright white teeth. People were so incredibly friendly and earnest to help, always saying yes while still shaking their heads from side to side. I’ve learnt that the head-shaking is a cultural thing. And there was a rare peace in spite of all the commotion.

And of course, there was the amazing amount of spices and curries, for which each region and province could be identified with.

***

BAKED CURRY FISH FILLETS

***

Just like the rest of India, its curries are made up of so many things; spices and herbs and ingredients – each family possibly had their own curry recipe; and while the curries are almost impossible to tell apart – except for varying tones of brown or yellow or green – they each carry their own distinct tastes and smells.

And curries always remind me of India’s melting pot of activities, differences and contrasts.

I haven’t made curry in the longest of times, but thoughts of India and the increasingly cold weather eventually dragged me to buy ingredients for this dish of baked curry fish fillets which I first tried at Pelusa Molina’s cooking class.

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The thick curry which forms the base for the dish is relatively simple to make, and requires just a handful of ingredients. Apart from fish fillets of your choice, the rest of the dish only include onions, tomatoes, curry powder and coconut milk.

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Using a medium-sized saucepan or skillet, all you need to do is gently heat up a small chunk of butter until it melts and  starts to sizzle softly. Then add in the onions and cook them over low heat, moving them around the pan once in a while to make sure they don’t stick. Once the onions turn slightly transparent, throw in a spoonful of curry powder and stir well, then add in coconut milk and stir some more, still over low heat. See how easy it is to make this curry? It’s the sort of curry that you can use with all types of meats and vegetables of your choice, and in this case, let’s get on with the fish fillets.

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After a quick seasoning of the fillets using only a sprinkling of salt and pepper, place the fillets in a baking dish and cover them with the curry you’ve already made. Bake them in the oven until the flesh is white throughout, and then serve with fragrant fresh rice and a sprinkling of parsley.

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{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

Jackie’s Honey Oat Bread + Making each day count

MAKING EACH DAY COUNT

***

Last week was an emotionally tough one for me.

After what started out as a normal, calm week, I went to work as usual last Thursday morning, said hello to the doorman who guarded the building, and then headed to my office, only to receive news half an hour later that the poor doorman had passed away from a heart attack on the job.

It was shockingly hard news to take.

Even though the only relationship I had with the doorman, Marcos, was a hi-and-bye one, I’d seen him at the building every day, and the reality of the situation hit me particularly hard because I’d never experienced something so tough so close.

The hardest thing for me was seeing the pain so sharply reflected in the faces of Marcos’ family, and watching them collapse in tears and heartache, after realizing that the horrible news was real and irreversible.

I remember hugging Marco’s wife, as her large body trembled with sorrow and disbelief, and her, clutching tightly onto me, afraid to let go once more. I witnessed the tear-streaked face of Marcos’ daughter, as she sat surrounded by her friends, shaking at the harshness of the situation. I saw the weariness on Marcos’ son’s face, like a light had been abruptly switched off inside his soul.

Marcos’ sudden departure, as with all departures in life, made me wonder.

Because life is short, and no one knows how long any of us has – I wonder, what difference do I make in this world?

Speaking to Juan about my thoughts and feelings about Marco’s passing, I challenged both of us to make full use of every day of our lives.

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I thought that I should challenge all of us as well – Make each day count.

Does every day of your life count? Do you do something for others that makes a difference in their lives? Did you sit and listen to the woman whose heart has been broken after her husband left, just because she needs a listening ear? Did you offer a smile to the homeless woman on the street, because there was nothing else you could offer? Did you tell the people you love that you love them?

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Life’s unexpected news and events are like that; and we have to learn to rejoice in the beauty of life, to grieve together when a loved one is gone, and to find comfort in the smallest, loveliest things that we’re blessed to have.

***

JACKIE’S HONEY OAT BREAD

***

In a week of tough news and difficulty understanding why certain things happen to good people, I found comfort in Jackie’s honey oat bread.

Jackie blogs over at La Casa de Sweets, a food blog that is as beautiful as it is practical. While exploring her amazingly pretty site dedicated to sweet foods and desserts, I stumbled across her original honey oat bread recipe.

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Remember the honey oat walnut muffins that I made a while back? They were filled with the tastes of nature – sweet wild honey, textured oats and crunchy walnuts – all in a bite-sized muffin. I’d enjoyed them so much and wanted to make something similar again.

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Now Jackie’s recipe for honey oat bread calls for similar ingredients to those used in my muffins, but she used brown sugar instead, and because I liked the idea of a loaf of honey oat bread so much, I just had to try making hers. I made a couple of tweaks to the recipe, but its essentially still the same as Jackie’s with just minor modifications.

Honey Oat Bread

In her recipe, Jackie calls for yoghurt, and specifically Greek yoghurt, but because I didn’t have any, I used whipping cream – the closest substitute I could get in my kitchen at the moment. I also used slightly less brown sugar than indicated and topped it up with a bit more of honey, so that the taste of honey would really come through when you bite into the honey oat bread.

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Once both dry and wet ingredients have been well incorporated to form the batter, carefully pour the batter into a well-greased loaf pan, after which you generously sprinkle more oats to cover the entire batter surface, which makes the loaf look immensely pretty once it’s baked.

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Moist with a sturdy crumb, the brown sugar used makes this loaf look more like bread made of chocolate as opposed to honey and oats, but I loved the contrast between the dark brown of the bread with the beige oats on the top. The increased amount of honey also worked its magic – every bite was filled with the taste and smell of honey, so naturally rich and sweet that it really wasn’t necessary to eat the bread with anything except on its own.

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It’s the kind of food you can really call “comfort food”, the sort that leaves your stomach filled and your heart brimming with warmth.

And in the tough past one week, this was my comfort food.

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{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

Guest Post at Food Loves Writing: The Joy of Writing

Food Loves Writing guest post - The Joy of Writing

Since the earliest days of Dish by Dish, I’ve admired Shanna’s work on her blog, Food Loves Writing, as well as her heart-warming book “Written Together“, through which she brings us on a journey showing how cooking’s like love, and how she and her husband Tim started off as food blog friends and finally ended up walking down the wedding aisle together.

Amongst the other few blogs that I consistently read, Shanna’s heartfelt prose, honest-to-goodness sincerity about life and her take on real food, is the kind that instantly draws you in. There’s no room for pretense, only humble thoughts about the situations we live in and authentic, friendly chats, which make you feel like you’ve known her forever.

So you can imagine that I’m sooo thrilled to be guest posting at Food Loves Writing about the joy of writing!

There, I talk about how I started writing, and why I write. Here’s a quote from the post -

“So every time I’m amazed by something, I write. I scribble about the warm, golden rays of sunlight that stream through my window on a bright summer morning; or the plump, blushing peaches in the farmer’s market. I journal about the emotions being stirred up inside when my job security seems uncertain; or when the future seems so blurred, and the only thing I’m sure of is the present. I put down on pen and paper the beauty of the dark, intense velvet night sky that greets me when I step out of the office, my face cold from the winter chill.

What I’m saying is that I write, because it’s a part of me; I write because I cannot imagine life without writing. I don’t write to show off writing skills or flowery vocabulary. I don’t write to meet a deadline. I write, because, more than anything, it’s the best way I can connect.”

Do me a favor will you? Head on over to Shanna’s site to read the entire post -  and then explore it a little bit more because she creates such refreshing beauty with her writing and real food recipes! Trust me, you won’t regret it. Thanks so much for letting me share my thoughts on your site Shanna! Big hug, Felicia.

Homemade Strawberry Ice Cream + Learning to love the questions

LEARNING TO
LOVE THE QUESTIONS

***

Do you sometimes wonder what kind of things you would do if you didn’t have any limitations?

When I’m lost in my own thoughts and day-dreaming about endless possibilities, I wonder what it’s like to free-fall from a helicopter, and have my heart in my mouth for those few seconds before releasing the parachute, and then floating steadily high above all those buildings and trees which now look miniscule from where I am.

I ask myself what it would be like to give up a steady-paying job and then travel the amazing world we live in – this one where so much wonder and colors can be seen on the streets of India, and where the Northern lights seem so surreal and completely natural at the same time – and just enjoy the present without worrying about where the next paycheck would come from.

Homemade Strawberry Ice Cream

What would you do if you had the power to, or no fear of doing so?

I’d like to write a book someday.

It’s something I’ve been confessing for years; even long before I started blogging with so much commitment. I don’t have a degree in literature nor do I have a masters in journalism. The desire (or more accurately, the need) to write is born out of a necessity to express myself; to connect with others at a deeper level; and to free those thoughts trapped inside my head.

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But while I have yet to develop an idea for a book, which is really not as easy as it seems, and is much longer and complicated than just many blog posts strung together, at least I’ve started practicing.

It feels like I’m sitting on the bench right now, even after years of practice, wondering when my turn will come, before I actually get called to the court and play the game.

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But no writer is born overnight; it takes dedication, patience and the art of waiting.

It means waiting for the right time while crafting ideas along the way, putting in effort day after day, even if no one sees it. It’s just like practicing your tennis serve alone, late into the wee hours of the night, or making bread over and over again until you achieve the texture and consistency you aimed for, or painting one painting after another until your own style comes through.

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Nicole from Eat This Poem quoted Rainer Maria Rilke in her thought-provoking post,

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.”

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And that’s how I feel right now.

There are many questions in my life – what will my life be like in the coming year? Where in the world will I be, in which country will I make my home? When does the time come for me to write a book? What should I write about? How can I leave a difference in the lives of those around?

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But before all these questions can be answered, I’m learning to “love the questions themselves”, enjoying each day that is the present, and knowing that if I sow seeds of hard work and effort, the future will unravel itself in the most beautiful ways possible.

Meanwhile, every day is a chance for us to make use of time the way we best see fit; my mantra this year to try new things; and in the process, learn so many things about myself I wouldn’t have otherwise.

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Today, it’s making homemade ice cream, which really is much easier than it seems, even if you don’t have an ice cream maker.

And while I’m not such a fan of ice cream, I do tend to cave in where fresh fruits are involved.

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I do crazy things sometimes.

And because I was so charmed by all the ice cream recipes out there now that it’s summer in the United States, I decided to make strawberry ice cream just as the Argentine winter starts (when temperatures actually call for hot chocolate instead of frozen ice cream), and when strawberries are actually much more expensive than usual, because they are out of season.

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The best part is that it doesn’t take much preparation at all, and if you have a sturdy, electric blender, homemade ice cream is just a couple of hours away.

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Of course, take note that homemade ice cream does not have the antifreeze proteins that are usually added to store-bought ice cream, it may not be as creamy as the latter (some parts may feel “icy”). However, it turned out pretty well for the first time, and I’d definitely recommend you to make it, even if it’s just to see what homemade ice cream tastes like.

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{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

Mediterranean Meat Sauce Pasta + Recalling my beloved Italy

Italy, the land which I first fell in love with, seems like a distant dream that is eternally shrouded in midst and early morning dew, but at the very same time, feels as tangible and as real as the air which I breathe.

It was the place where I knew after two weeks of traveling with friends – hiking through colorful and bright Cinque Terre, walking on the bridges of exquisite Florence, being crammed together with other tourists trying to get snapshots of Venice, or just strolling around Bologna – that I wanted to return and live there, not as a tourist on a one-week travel itinerary as packed as a shopping list, but rather, as a foreigner enjoying the pace and life of ordinary Italian citizens.

I was fortunate enough to see Italy in the bright, glorious summer of 2007.

Never-ending sunrays and an excitement bubbling inside me were perhaps the reasons why Italy has such a special place in my heart. I was about to start my exchange semester in Mannheim, Germany – but first, some traveling had to be done.

I remember falling head over heels in love with how the Italians spoke; their hand gestures and non-stop facial expressions fascinated me. It was the first time I was traveling in Europe with friends and without family, I felt free as a bird and was determined it would be an adventure I wouldn’t forget. The bold colors of the small houses in Cinque Terre, a portion of coast on the Italian Riveria, and the salty sea air filled our afternoons as we lay on rocks bigger than us, our bodies glowing golden from the heat of the summer sun. Venice and her canals, dotted with working gondolas transporting people on their day-to-day affairs, was romanticism at its finest. I remember sitting on a bridge in Florence, alongside Faye, and as we contemplated the sunset in the dusty pink evening in one of Italy’s most visited cities, I felt like the luckiest person in the world.

Yes, there are times that beauty can really be that overwhelming.

Mediterranean Meat Sauce Pasta

It wasn’t hard for Italy to impress me with her old, historical architecture.

Some parts were broken and sagging from the burden of history, lined with fracture cracks – I often wondered how much longer would these buildings still stand, but then I realized these cracks were like wrinkles on a lady; proof of age and experience, and of a lifetime of lessons that I had yet to know.

I was only 22 back then.

Yet, even though I only stayed in Italy for two weeks, it seemed like such a gloriously long time.

I felt I was finally starting to understand the place (despite not understanding the language), when I was torn away from the boot-shaped Mediterranean country.

Now, almost six years down the road, I’m still filled with dreams of returning to live in Italy one day.

You know how sometimes you say something over and over again that it almost feels real? It’s like that with me and Italy. I’ve told so many people that I want to see and feel Italy like a resident would, not as a mere tourist, that I feel deep inside me it will come true, soon.

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So many of my memories of Italy are filled with images of pasta and us stuffing ourselves full like hungry school kids.

I remember sitting at the cliff-top restaurant overlooking the breathtaking landscape of Cinque Terre, and savoring every mouthful of my seafood tomato spaghetti. In Venice, we moved from one trattoria to another sampling various pastas (raviolis, spiral pasta, whatever goes); and then spent quite a bit of time marveling at shop windows, gaping at the numerous colors and shapes that dried pasta came in. Later on in Bologna we feasted on bowls and bowls of spaghetti bolognese (we couldn’t resist trying the sauce which supposedly originated there).

Perhaps the one souvenir that I took away with me when I left Italy that summer of 2007, was an insatiable love for pasta; of almost every kind (although I prefer plain pasta to stuffed pasta anytime). Because of that, every time I make pasta at home, and particularly so when I use a sauce full of the tastes of the Mediterranean, I feel for a brief instant, that Italy is a little bit closer to me.

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For me, Italy – whose people were born knowing the pleasure of doing nothing, and whose citizens grew up on pasta and pizza, and cheeses and olives and tomatoes and wine – is synonymous to a traditional kitchen brimming with the aroma of tomato sauce bubbling gently in the pot; plump with the rich, red flesh of freshly peeled tomatoes. Italy is what I associate with olives and olive oil and freshly-grated cheeses, and when I smell these fragrant aromas, I feel momentarily transported back to Italy, to its sunshine and salty sea air, and streets filled with trattorias serving piping hot pasta.

Last week was one of those times, when I made this incredible pasta dish, one which has all the right elements I look for in a pasta – taste, texture, and smell.

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Essentially a very simple dish which uses the freshest of ingredients for the sauce – tomatoes; fresh basil leaves; minced meat straight from the butcher – this is possibly one of my favorite ways to eat pasta.

This Mediterranean-flavored sauce is packed with an incredible amount of flavors – from the intensely sweet tomato sauce, sliced black olives, and sauteed onions and garlic, all mixed together with minced meat that has been stir-fried until browned and cooked. The aroma emanating as you prepare this dish is just heavenly; so rich and thick you could breathe it all in and there would still be more. Then throw in some fresh basil leaves, sliced into thin green ribbons, and let them wilt as their flavor gets impregnated into the sauce.

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I like the choice of a short, spiral pasta for this meat sauce.

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I find the cockscrew-shape with a tight helix helps to better retain the sauce, which clings obligingly without letting go.

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Mixing the pasta and the sauce, thick from at least 20 minutes of gentle stewing on low heat, the dish looks incredibly simple, perhaps even bordering on plain.

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But the moment you try it, the rich flavors explode in your mouth like New Year’s Eve fireworks.

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To jazz it up slightly more, I like to sprinkle some grated cheese over, for extra taste and color.

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Pasta is perhaps one of the most beautiful things in the world, and this amazing thing that it does to me, transporting me back to Italy in a single instant, is just incredible.

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{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

Mushroom Spinach Quiche Cups

It gets dark too early around here these days.

When I leave the office at 6.30pm nowadays, I’m greeted by a sky so dark and intense it feels like night has already fallen. With the earlier sunsets also come chillier, colder temperatures, announcing the inevitable arrival of winter, which will sweep in majestically and mercilessly in about three weeks.

In this part of the world, deep in the Southern hemisphere, everyday gets shorter by a minute, and the sun creeps away earlier than we would like. While our friends in the Northern hemisphere are celebrating spring and the upcoming summer holidays, it’s quite the opposite for us. And in Argentina, where the tango was born, these darker months seem like a never-ending chorus of a sad and melancholic tango song.

It’s easy to understand why there are more cases of depression in winter; the lack of sunshine and impossibly low temperatures are hardly encouragement for the soul.

But as I’ve learnt in painting over the last couple of years, it’s extremely crucial to create contrasts in colors and shades, alternating between bright and dark, pale and intense, going from one extreme end of the color scale to the other.

Mushroom Spinach Quiche Cups

And because I know how lessons from different facets of life can be applied in almost all other facets, I’ve decided to brighten up these dark soon-to-be-winter days with warmth and brighter colors, all of which can be created in the kitchen.

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I’d chanced upon this recipe for quiche cups from Manila Spoon a while ago while surfing food blogs, and because it seemed easy enough and healthy too, I’d bookmarked it for sometime in the future, not knowing that it would eventually come in handy in these wintry days.

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This is a simple snack made from sauteed button mushrooms, cooked fresh green spinach, shredded cheese, eggs, and a little bit of cream.

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Isn’t the spinach just so beautiful?
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Mixing the ingredients together, you then form the mixture to be baked.

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The mixture is then poured into a muffin mold, then baked for 20 to 25 minutes in moderate heat, resulting in cute little yellow quiche cups, these snacks make such delightful eating.

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I loved the contrasts in colors – dark, caramelized brown and an intense forest green against a bright sunshine yellow.

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It filled my kitchen with golden sunshine and my stomach with a warm, delightfully healthy meal.

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It also transported me back to summer, to nature and to warmer times..

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I’ll assure you once again, this is definitely a snack you’ll want to try..

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{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

Caramelized Onion Quiche

THE THINGS THAT MAKE ME
HAPPY

***

I smile to myself when I see a pair of auburn-bronze maple leaves on the floor, Autumn leaving its trail in my path. I melt like cold butter in a warm pan when I see an old couple holding hands, their eyes filled with years of love for each other, and when the wind rustles the yellowish-brown leaves on the trees I dance so very slightly, swaying to their happy tune.

My heart skips a beat when I hear Juan’s voice at the end of the day, when we’re both done with work and are free to talk and spend some time together. And I feel like I’m on the top of the world right now, because my mum and my sister are coming to visit me in July (I’m jumping up and down in sheer ecstasy! Just imagine it!).

There are a gazillion tiny things that make me happy; you can safely say that it doesn’t take much for me to be contented. I’m the girl who gets tipsy after one single glass of crimson red wine (the cheap drunk in other words); the girl who gets tickled by and laughs at most jokes; and the one who daydreams of writing a masterpiece one day. I’m also the girl who falls in love with art and beauty after completing one acrylic painting after another.

I’m the kind who gets excited over buying and using a pasta machine, and then exclaims to the world that she’s made pasta for the first time. Or the one whose enthusiasm bubbles over from trying steak tartare (raw meat in its essence) and loves her friends for making it.

And you know, I’m also the one who can’t wait to tell you about this amazing quiche, made of sweet and salty caramelized onions which melt in your mouth.

***

CARAMELIZED ONION
QUICHE

***

Caramelized Onion Quiche

This quiche is for onion lovers, and if you’re like me, for whom the one thing that my pantry always has is onions, then trust me, you’re about to fall head over heels in love with this.

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Sauteed over low heat until they turn from a bright greenish-white to a very pretty transparent caramel brown, onions cooked this way have become a favorite of mine. The exquisite salty-sweet taste, combined with the fragrance of the caramelized onions, is a truly pleasurable experience.

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Obviously, the highlight of this quiche are the caramelized onions, which, once mixed together with a couple of beaten eggs and whipping cream, and then sprinkled with salt and pepper to taste, are distributed on a tart shell. But the tart shell (or crust) is also extremely important – a crunchy homemade crust made from well-kneaded dough and baked to crispy perfection makes every bit the difference.

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Now, do me a favor will you?

Please, please, please don’t buy pre-packaged tart shells if you can afford the time and effort to make your own – once you’ve learnt how to make your own tart shells from scratch, the joy and satisfaction you get from kneading and rolling the dough, and then later biting into the crispy crust, will never ever allow you to go back to buying pre-made ones.

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The first time I made a tart shell from nothing but flour, butter and eggs, and whipped up the savory French tart Quiche Lorraine, I found that I enjoyed cooking at a greater level. The second time I made a tart shell for a strawberry & lemon mascarpone tart, I fell in love with baking all over again.

And now, the third time I made one for this caramelized onion quiche, I’ve come to realize that cooking has become my therapy – something I dedicate time to because it makes me feel liberated.

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Once the tart shell is golden and the quiche has been baked for 15 to 20 minutes, take it out of the oven. You could eat it plain like this, and feel the onions dissolve in your mouth.

Caramelized Onion Quiche

Or you could also sprinkle on some freshly shredded cheese if you like, return the quiche to the oven for a couple of minutes to let the cheese melt just a little. Then eat it warm, savoring every bite of it.

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{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

Homemade Ciabatta Bread

ATTEMPTS AT
HOMEMADE BREAD

***

Ever since I got hooked onto the idea of making homemade bread, I’ve made bread in my kitchen several times, each experiment with different recipes, flour types and even yeast variations.

But somehow each time the bread came out just so-so. You know, bread that is still edible, not rock hard, but it just never amounted to something which evoked a feeling of complete satisfaction in my being.

I’m sort of a bit thick-headed like that.

While some others may decide very practically to give up doing something that seems futile (I mean, buying bread is so much easier than laboring over it for hours in the kitchen), I plunge right into the challenge of attempting to make bread for the fourth or fifth or sixth time (I’ve lost track already).

I like to say I’m a determined girl who just doesn’t stop until she gets what she has aimed for.

Whichever way you see it, I’m so excited (and even more relieved) to tell you that, finally, after numerous trials and errors, I’ve finally, finally found a recipe for keeps.

To be honest, I’d been feeling disappointed at how so many tries at homemade bread have turned out unsatisfactory, and while not entirely giving up hope that I’d one day find a recipe that I actually like, I’d sort of stopped searching.

***

HOMEMADE BREAD
{FINALLY A SUCCESS!
}

***

Yet life’s beautiful in that way. Just when you stop desperately searching for something, you miraculously find it right before you in the most unexpected ways possible.

And so, just like that, I found the perfect homemade bread recipe staring at me in my face last Friday afternoon, when chancing upon one of the blog posts I receive in my news feed. The recipe had found me in a state of exhaustion, after a long and grueling week of work and activities, and as I stared back at the recipe, I wasn’t quite sure if it was a mirage of my imagination.

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Michelle had apparently also been on a similar search for the perfect homemade ciabatta bread recipe, and after countless failed attempts at making bread, she’d eventually made one so beautiful it took my breath away. In case you’re wondering what ciabatta is, it’s basically an Italian white bread made from wheat flour and yeast. Ciabatta is somewhat elongated, broad and flat and is baked in many variations.

I’ve come to trust Michelle’s blog and her recipes which are almost always very well-instructed (you almost feel like she’s right there with you in your kitchen, holding your hand), and the last time I used one of her recipes to make these lemon squares, it turned out amazing. You can imagine that I didn’t even hesitate in printing out the ciabatta recipe and make bread as soon as I could.

That night, despite my physical tiredness and being on the verge of catching the flu, I found myself drawn to the kitchen, working elbow-deep in flour, water, olive oil and yeast.

If you’d seen me, you might have burst out laughing – my hands were sticky with off-white colored bread dough that resembled more like thick, creamy glue than dough that would eventually transform into bread. I almost panicked – the last thing I needed after a long and tiring week was almost half a kilo of inedible glue-like dough that I had to throw away.

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Thankfully, Michelle had explicitly stated in the recipe that the stickiness, while not very welcomed and comfortable, was to be expected, and that, if I stuck through with it, I wouldn’t regret it. Her calm, motherly advice was enough to reduce my fears and I carried on kneading, with very wet and sticky dough clinging to every one of my fingers – I felt vaguely like Spiderman for a brief, day-dreaming instant.

With the dough kneaded and finally rested so it could rise, I was tethering around the house in nervous anticipation. Juan says I have a problem with waiting, and I give him credit for that. You see, I’m that sort of person who will peer anxiously through the glass window of the oven every two minutes to check if a cake is ready, and then open the oven every five minutes to poke a toothpick through the batter. Likewise, you can easily imagine that waiting almost two hours for the dough to rise was excruciatingly difficult for someone with anxiety issues (or rather, trouble being patient).

Ciabatta Bread

When the time finally arrived for me to place the risen dough on the baking tray, it had already doubled in size to become a large, fluffy ball of white.

Splitting the dough into two roughly equal parts, I sifted flour on top of them and let them lay on the greased baking tray, now tinged a bronze-brown after years of endless baking. The two rounded rectangles of dough eventually rose to twice their original size, after which I eagerly stashed the baking tray in the pre-heated oven, warm with enthusiasm of a potential success.

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Some thirty minutes later, during which I spent pacing up and down the kitchen and crossing my fingers for the recipe to work, I nervously opened the oven door and peered in.

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Two beautiful, golden brown loaves of homemade ciabatta bread lay waiting for me, from which emanated the rich, wholesome smell that you get from bakeries.

It was incredulous. It was unbelievable. They looked too good to be true (my skeptical mind and past failed experiences agreed).

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Using a spatula to tap on the loaves, I heard the desired hollow sound the recipe said to check for – amazing! It was now done and ready to be tested.

Warm, floured and fresh, the loaves of bread were cut into thick, chunky slices.

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It was airy and light, the way I like bread to be.

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It tasted of nature and of all things homemade.

It reminded me of the farm in New Zealand, where I’d eaten my first piece of homemade bread with my family years ago.

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It was heaven.

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{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

Unfried Crispy Potato Wedges + What’s in our hands

WHAT’S IN OUR HANDS

***

Every once in a while, I’m reminded of how cooking is so similar to life.

There are days that I open the kitchen cupboard wide and peer at the bareness of them; an emptiness which leaves behind a hole so black and dark, I can’t help but close the cupboards. And maybe because it’s late and the shops have already closed, I have no choice but to open the cabinets again, hoping there remains something of substance in the darkness.

That’s what we do when life presents us with situations like these – we take a fresh new look at what we thought we had (or did not have); we search once more for what we used to know and relied on; we stare hard at the little that we have in our hands, and we make do with it.

***

UNFRIED CRISPY POTATO WEDGES

***

And so, on one of those bare-kitchen nights, I was digging around my cupboards when I found myself with just four large potatoes, whose skins were still dark with the dirt from which they had been pulled. Uneven, dirty ovals who were almost sprouting because of the time they’d been left there, these potatoes were hardly the most appealing of ingredients.

But, as in many circumstances of life, there sometimes aren’t many options to choose from. And between going hungry or eating potatoes, I’d rather eat potatoes all my life.

I’d been keen on experimenting a new method of cooking potatoes I had found on Rock Recipes, one in which results in the potatoes looking like crispy fries when in fact they’d been baked in the oven.

Unfried Crispy Potato Wedges

So with these humble potatoes in my hands, I set out peeling them, until all the dirt and almost-sprouts had been removed.

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I like my potato wedges chunky and thick, uneven and unique. So with my knife in hand, I cut them in any way I fancied.

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While cooking potatotes may sound like a toddler’s task, I’ve realized that not all potato wedges come out cooked the same.

According to this new recipe, the secret in creating a crispy potato wedge was to boil the potatoes in generously salted water for a couple of minutes before baking them in the oven. That’s the little trick that many people don’t know about.

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Once partially-cooked in the salted water, the potatoes go straight into the oven after being tossed in salt and pepper. Leave them to roast, and they eventually come out beautifully golden and crispy.

So crispy that you can hear the crunch when you bite into them.

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If you have some cream cheese and some chopped spring onions at hand, I recommend that you mix them together to form a dip.

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I assure you that the combination of both cream cheese and spring onions will elevate these crispy potatoes by several notches.

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Imagine this – golden and crispy on the outside, and melt-in-your-mouth soft on the inside.

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They’re so, sooo, good.

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{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

A Taste of Croatia…and more

It’s not often that other people open up their houses to you, invite you in and then cook a three-course meal thoroughly-prepared with much dedication and labor. So when the occasion occurs, I’m overcome with gratitude and touched by the gesture of hospitality.

***

MY COLLEAGUE
JORGE

***

Remember Jorge, my Croatia-born colleague who has been living in Argentina for most of his life? He’d brought some Andean Locro and smoked pork ribs to the office last year where we were treated to a new culinary experience. He was the guy with multiple names – Jorge, George, Juri, Jure – it was one and the same person.

Out of pure generosity, Jorge invited a couple of us over to his place last Friday, to enjoy the start of the weekend over home-cooked authentic Croatian food, deep conversations and very good Argentine Malbec wine.

Julia Child, the legendary American chef who revolutionized cooking in America, and author of “The Art of Mastering French Cooking”, once said, “You don’t have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces – just good food from fresh ingredients.”

I’m right with Julia on that, and I believe that simple ingredients, together with plenty of dedication while cooking can create some of the best meals ever.

However, I’ll have to say that there are exceptions to the rule – such as this case, where Jorge prepared an incredible feast last weekend, with burek as the starter, djuvec for the main course, and a dessert of baklava.

Don’t be fooled by the names of these dishes – while their names are short, preparation for these isn’t quite so easy. Among these three dishes, the only one I’d heard of before is baklava, and I’d tried it at a Greek Canteen.

Jorge lives in San Telmo, a historical neighbourhood in Buenos Aires which attracts many tourists. Captured in a black and white photo, the plaza Dorrego in San Telmo used to look like this (and still does).

San Telmo

Sitting in Jorge’s living room, whose dark wood parquet floor hinted at its history – one which goes all the way back to the times of the Second World War, in the 1940s – we began our culinary tour and got more than just a taste of Croatia.

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***

OUR CULINARY JOURNEY
BEGINS

***

Burek is a type of tart made of thin, flaky phyllo pastry, and according to Wikipedia, was most probably invented in what is now Modern Turkey, in the Anatolian Provinces of the Ottoman Empire in its early era, to become a popular element of Ottoman cuisine. A burek may be prepared in a large pan and cut into portions after baking, or as individual pastries. The top of the burek is often sprinkled with sesame seeds.

Meet Jorge, our host for the night – in this picture he was using a towel to explain how he folded the phyllo pastry to prepare the burek.

Jorge

To give us options to choose from, Jorge had prepared two distinct flavors for us to try.

Both flavors were uniquely Mediterranean; one leaning more towards to a Greek-inspired palate – with crumbled feta cheese and fresh mint leaves;  the other with a greater tendency towards Italian flavors, in my opinion  – stuffed full with plump olives, tomatoes and bacon.

Burek

While both types of burek were delicious in their own right, I found myself enjoying the Italian-flavored one a little more – I’ve always been a fan of the tastes of Italy, and anything that vaguely reminds me of the boot-shaped country which holds my heart captive is definitely a thumbs-up.

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After the very filling appetizer (mind you, we were only five and had finished almost three-quarters of the burek), we were served djuvec, the main course. It was presented in a beautiful brown clay pot filled with pieces of pork loin and assorted vegetables, all mixed with a base of long-grain white rice cooked in homemade vegetable stock, and stewed over low heat in the oven.

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Jorge stressed over and over again that the magic of djuvec lay in the vegetable stock; made with roughly chopped, fresh vegetables (including onions, carrots, leek and some others) boiled over low heat for a couple of hours, producing a delicious, rich flavor that those cube stocks cannot imitate.

Djuvec

We were officially stuffed by the time we were done, and we hadn’t even reached dessert yet – the one dish I’d been so excited for when Jorge had first invited us for dinner.

Baklava is a rich, sweet pastry made of layers of phyllo pastry filled with chopped nuts and sweetened with syrup or honey. According to Wikipedia, it is characteristic of the cuisines of the former Ottoman Empire, and those of Central and Southwest Asia. While I’m not one for overly-sweet foods, baklava is quite delicious, in very small amounts. The fillings of baklava may vary on the chef, and in Jorge’s case, he spared no expense in buying the finest ingredients from the San Telmo market – there were walnuts, raisins, dried figs, a bit of apples and Marraschino cherries, all drizzled in a thick, rich syrup made of honey, lemon juice, ginger and vanilla bean.

Eating just a small piece was more than enough – not because it wasn’t good, it was in fact really exotic, but there was only so much we could eat.

Baklava

And so, while our stomachs rested, conversation flowed; about the history of Argentina, entropy and various other topics, amidst sips of red wine and gusts of the crisp autumn night’s breeze.

There is a saying in Argentina – “Panza llena, Corazon contento” – which means that a full stomach results in a contented heart.

In this case, we were more than contented. A dinner had brought us on a virtual tour through the Middle East and south of Europe. We’d been honored by the valuable company of Jorge, an extremely knowledgeable man, whose knowledge had been amassed through hours of reading and a mind constantly craving to learn new things.

We left, our stomachs full, hearts contented, and minds enriched.

Thank you Jorge for the incredibly amazing meal and your very warm hospitality!

Strawberry & Lemon Mascarpone Tart

THE LONG-AGO DAYS OF
HIGH TEA

***

It’s funny how our experiences with food create memories specific to us; and then sometime along the road of life, these precious memories that were crafted so long ago suddenly re-surface, and in order to re-live them, we end up re-creating the food which first brought these thoughts of reminiscence into our lives.

When I was much younger, probably in my early teens, my siblings and I would happily tag along when my Aunty Adeline invited us to one of her “high tea sessions” – these events usually involved an entire afternoon of lazing in a lounge of a grand, expensive hotel, where we’d stuff our stomachs to our hearts’ content, with anything from local Singaporean cuisine to egg mayonnaise sandwiches, cheese and crackers and cakes of every imaginable kind. I adored reveling in the feeling of living an aristocratic life, even if it were only for an afternoon. Amongst my favorite of these memories were us going to Shangri-La Hotel’s Rose Veranda lounge for its large varieties of 100 over teas, where we’d each order large pots of exotically-flavored teas, passing the afternoons sipping on premium tea, reading books and talking about life.

Alongside copious amounts of freshly-brewed teas from India, China and other parts of the world, I liked to eat a pastry or two.

I’d always had a soft-spot for fruit tarts, whose fresh fruits lay glistening with the shine of melted icing sugar so generously sifted over them. Fruit tarts with a faintly sweet short crust pastry base – belying a hint of icing sugar intertwined with butter and flour, upon which lay a thick layer of lemon curd or mascarpone cheese mixed with lemon zest, and then decorated with a generous amount of pretty, freshly-cut fruits, singing of abundance and summer.

And while I have and probably always will have a preference for savory foods, like these beef & chicken tacos, or this basil walnut & ham spaghetti , fruit tarts have always been my weak spot.

When I think of fruit tarts, I think of Nature’s summer-time produce; of sunshine and happy days; of memories in a long-ago time capsule. Topped with rich, fleshy and bright fruits, these pastry tarts are the one type of dessert that I cannot ever resist.

***

STRAWBERRY & LEMON MASCARPONE TART

***

Strawberry & Lemon Mascarpone Tart

For the longest of time, I couldn’t find fruit tarts available in Buenos Aires – not the way I remembered them at least. 

And as I obsessively thought about these sorely-missed fruit tarts, I was flooded with a dam of memories from those “high tea” days, in a time far away in Singapore, the  Southeast Asian city-nation where I grew up in and which I dearly miss because it’s where my friends and family mostly live.

Strawberry & Lemon Mascarpone Tart

When you’ve been thinking about eating a particular food over and over again, and it’s hard to resist the opportunity to make them when you come across a recipe that actually seems relatively doable.

Strawberry & Lemon Mascarpone Tart

That’s precisely what happened when I stumbled upon Carol’s recipe for a blueberry and lemon mascarpone tart on her blog, A Cup of Mascarpone. It was literally manna from heaven – a recipe delivered straight to my doorstep. I couldn’t, I just simply couldn’t draw away from the thought of making it that very same weekend. Naturally, when Agustina and Pablo invited us over for dinner on Saturday, I decided I had to perfect excuse to make this tart – and to bring it over for dessert.

Strawberry & Lemon Mascarpone Tart

If you haven’t made a tart before, in the sense of forming the dough and later kneading it, then flattening it and eventually making the empty tart shell from scratch, you don’t have to be afraid.

There’s a first time for everything, particularly so in the kitchen, and just like the first time I made tart shells, which made me fall in love with kneading and baking all over again, there always is a reason to try something new. There’s really no magic in making a tart shell from nothing, with the only necessary ingredients being patience, a bit of common sense and a strong desire to do it well.

Ever since I made Quiche Lorraine from scratch, I’d been itching to make another tart – I just didn’t know which. So it goes to say that when the opportunity presented itself in the form of a Carol’s fruit tart recipe, I jumped at the chance with my both hands waving frantically in the air.

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When kneading, I’ve realized that the most important thing for any beginner kneader is to pay close attention to the texture of the dough.

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Never, ever adhere rigidly to a tart recipe – what I’m saying is that recipes are more of a guidance; if you think you have to follow the recipe to the letter, it may go against you.

This is because depending on the type of flour being used, you may often require more flour, or more liquid (water or eggs or milk), and sometimes, through trial and error, you’ll find that the experimentation will require a bit more of both before you acquire the desired texture.

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Once the right texture has been achieved, flattening the dough with a rolling pin is easy; the secret trick lies in flattening it over floured plastic wrap, so that when you lift the dough off the surface, the wrap comes along with it, and can easily be pulled off after, making it much easier and less torturous to transfer the flattened dough to the tart mold.

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While I can’t promise you that the first time you make a tart shell it will not break, I can definitely say that these things come with practice, a very willing heart and hardworking hands.

A quick note of advice – when making fruit tarts, it’s often best to use fruits in season, largely because they will be fresher, and partly because they will cost less than when out-of-season. I had made the error of deciding to make a strawberry tart at the end of autumn, when strawberries are the most expensive and almost impossible to find. After searching in various supermarkets, I finally found two packets of beautiful, bright red strawberries …thank God! So please take my advice and learn from my mistakes; make fruit tarts only when you are sure you can find the fruits you want.

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Depending on the fruits you use, you can form patterns of varying kinds; and while using strawberry slices to decorate may not be the easiest of tasks (blueberries don’t require any genius in arranging), strawberries call for creativity and can produce a very pretty looking crimson-colored tart, something which you could proudly bring to a party and unveil as your culinary masterpiece.

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You can eat this strawberry and lemon mascarpone tart alone, or sprinkled with a dash of icing sugar. You can eat it with your bare hands or with a fork.

Strawberry & Lemon Mascarpone Tart

Basically, what I’m saying is that anything goes. It’s still so good either way.

Strawberry & Lemon Mascarpone Tart

{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

5-Minute Molten Chocolate Mug Cake

THE IMPENDING ARRIVAL
OF WINTER

***

Last night was one of those nights which seem to belong more to mid-Winter than late-Autumn, when the cold winds reach past your jacket and layers of clothes, chilling you to the bone.

You know, the kind of night where everyone on the street has their hands stuffed in their pockets, and their faces turned downwards to the ground in order to keep the cold from reaching them. Heavy showers from the day before had led to a drastic fall in temperatures, after an unusually humid and warm afternoon.

This was one of those dreadful nights that mark a before and an after, leaving no room for doubt that the change in seasons was nearing, ushering in the impending arrival of winter, my least favorite season.

A season when trees line the streets like empty shells, devoid of life or color; a period when the sun withdraws from the sky earlier than necessary; and when the only thing you look forward to is the passing of the months, to be able to transition into spring, where the ground brings forth new life again.

You probably know by now that my Asian upbringing and culture has trained me to prefer savory to sweet anytime, but every once in a while, I’m struck with the insane craving to eat something incredibly, decadently sweet and rich. Times when I’m feeling homesick or extremely tired and need a quick and potent boost of energy; times when I need a break from too many salty and savory foods (rarely); or times when it’s so cold out there, only something thick and warm and sugary can thaw me back to life.

The problem with these moments is that I barely have anything that sweet in my kitchen; it’s sort of like an emergency supply that you never think you’d need.  So naturally when these sugar-craving moments unexpectedly strike; in the most forceful and random ways possible, I’m left searching around in vain for something to soothe the craving.

***

5-MINUTE
MOLTEN CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE

**

But, thank God for the Internet – probably the most marvelous and amazing invention of the last century.

Thank God for generous food bloggers who share their tried and tested recipes, so people like me can learn from them, and in case of emergencies, whip up something quick.

A couple of weeks ago, I chanced upon a recipe that seemed too good to be true – you know, just like the late-night advertisements that promise you weight loss in 7 days, or other ads that tell you it is possible to get a degree in 3 months.

When I first saw this recipe, I snickered to myself – who was the recipe trying to kid? I mean, it promised a molten chocolate cake in 5 minutes (too quick and too instant!), and wait, here comes the best part – all cooked in the microwave oven (real cooks don’t cook in the microwave oven, do they?!).

Molten Chocolate Mug Cake

Ok, here’s my secret. I’ll be honest. Deep down, I’m quite the sucker for these kinda of ads, and easy, fuss-free recipes (in the microwave or not) – I’ll try them no matter how doubtful I am of their results!

So with the recipe bookmarked and saved for a future sugar-craving emergency, I promptly forgot about this molten chocolate cake.

BUT…

The craving struck last night, unplanned, unforeseen and completely randomly again.

This time I was prepared – I went to the recipe I’d bookmarked in Melissa’s blog ChinDeep, and set about preparing this cake – timing myself to see if all it really took was five minutes to make.

5-Minute Molten Chocolate Mug Cake

Oh my word. My goodness. It held true to its promise.

In a world of never-ending advertisements that guarantee services and products that they eventually don’t deliver, this was a complete miracle. A MIRACLE!

5-Minute Molten Chocolate Mug Cake

It really took just all of FIVE MINUTES to create.

From batter to molten chocolate cake.

5-Minute Molten Chocolate Mug Cake

All in one mug.

Made in the microwave oven.

5-Minute Molten Chocolate Mug Cake

This was heaven.

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Bliss in an instant.

5-Minute Molten Chocolate Mug Cake

{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

Nooks & Crannies of Buenos Aires: Malvón

So it goes to say that my Saturdays and Sundays typically only start after the sun has already risen to its highest.

When the laughter of children playing in the neighbor’s backyard lingers outside my window, through which I squint in the stream of warm golden sunlight.

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Because lazing in bed is not a luxury I can afford during the work week, it has become some kind of a self-imposed weekend ritual. Exactly, like someone else would do yoga or play tennis every Saturday or Sunday morning, I have cultivated a habit of savoring and relaxing in my sheets, knowing it’s the weekend without rigid schedules crammed full with appointments or meetings.

What do I do in my weekends?

Here’s where I’d like to introduce a bit of my Buenos Aires to you.


Mi Buenos Aires Querido
{My dear Buenos Aires}

Buenos Aires, the capital city of Argentina, where I have been living in for the past 3 years, is probably the epitome of a city with a strong café culture. Just like you would experience while leisurely strolling in the city of Paris, beautiful European-style architecture line the streets, and every corner surprises you with a different, homely café (where they actually serve traditional coffees instead of the trendy frauppucinos you find in franchises like Starbucks or the Coffee Bean).

Cafés and bars of all kinds have sprouted all over Buenos Aires, but particularly so in the chic Palermo neighborhood where I live. Over the past decade, the Palermo neighborhood has become the home to thousands of cozy cafés and little quaint eateries, whose charm lies as much in their decor and interior design as in the food and service itself.

Brunch has also become an increasingly fashionable and trendy concept, which most of the upper middle-class has adopted as part of their weekend routines. The concept of brunch has already been long-implemented in Singapore (where I’m from), and I’d grown up loving the idea that breakfast and brunch could be eaten in the same meal, at the same time. So moving to Buenos Aires in 2010 didn’t change that for me. In fact, I started going out for brunch even more – the choices and varieties here seemed endless. Plus, Juan had also quickly fallen in love with the concept of brunch, so we spend quite a few weekends exploring new delis, bars and cafés.

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Over the last few years, I’ve found myself fascinated and enchanted by restaurants and cafés with a whimsically rustic charm. Vintage furniture, old-school decoration and distressed wooden walls just make any place look so much more beautiful.

About a year ago, Juan’s colleague recommended that we try a café-restaurant located at the outskirts of Palermo.

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Because neither of us are the kind to give up a chance to explore a new brunch place, we jumped at the opportunity to do so, and I was promptly blown away by the concept of Malvón.

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Located within the heart of the shopping outlets in the up and coming neighborhood of Villa Crespo, at the outskirts of Palermo,  Malvón’s infrastructure exuded the exact rustic, historical charm that drew me in immediately.

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Created to incorporate the concept of old-school Buenos Aires infused with a more modern, contemporary style, and retaining the design of an old house, Malvón is the sort of place where you’d enter with a group of your best friends and chat the afternoon away over pancakes, muffins and scrambled eggs, with the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee lingering in the air. It’s also airy and large and interesting, a house filled with warm laughter and good vibes but spacious enough for you to have your own space. Definitely perfect for some alone time as you pore over your latest book, at peace with the world as you savor the fragrance of baking croissants and fresh wholesome breads.

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The moment you enter the coffee-store, you feel like you’ve entered another world. One in which hardwood floors creak as you walk over them. To the right is an entire display of the day’s fresh baked goods, all so pretty and alluring you wish you could eat every one of those loafs of breads and muffins. Keep walking down and the hallway leads to a center room with an old fireplace and decorated with vintage vinyl-covered chairs, where the plain walls show off photo frames displaying black-and-white photos. Further off to the back is another large, spacious room, which gives way to the outdoor patio, ideal for soaking up some golden sunshine during Spring and Summer.

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We’d settled in the center room, next to the antique fireplace, a corner which gave us a good view of almost everything in the place.

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In plain sight was the kitchen, where the chefs were busy cooking and creating amazing dishes.

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Diagonally across us were various groups of people, each engaged in Sunday afternoon conversations.

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The best part? The large, stained glass window right above us which flooded the place with glorious sunlight.

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After I finally managed to absorb the beauty of Malvón, we ordered from an extensively large brunch menu – scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, french toast, muffins – you name it, I believe they have it. I can’t remember what Juan ordered, but mine was an absolute delight, complete with a starter of corn muffins and ginger-flavored lemonade.

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I’d ordered button mushroom frittata topped with arugula leaves, brie cheese, caramelized bacon strips and walnuts. A tasty contrast of sweet, savory and spicy, it was probably one of the best brunches I’ve had in a long, long time.

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Malvón’s charm comes with a price of course – for brunch, it’s at almost 100 pesos per person (this price will definitely increase with time because of Argentina’s infamous inflation). But I’d recommend it to those who don’t mind paying a little for a rustic, old-school journey back to the past, and of course, a frittata or two.

Beef & Chicken Tacos

If I could visit one other country in Latin America, it would have to be Mexico.

Living in Argentina, I’ve visited Uruguay, which is just a couple of hours by ferry from Buenos Aires, and I’ve seen Brazil’s famous Rio de Janeiro city and walked on some of its beautiful sandy beaches in Buzios. But I’ve never gone further north than Brazil. I’d love to visit Cuba for its hot and sexy salsa dancers, or Puerto Rico, where many of their locals have made it big on the music scene. Colombia calls with its national parks and naturally-breathtaking beaches too, but still..

It is Mexico which stands out from the crowd.

Not really because of my fond memories of Speedy Gonzalez, the cartoon of “The fastest mouse in all of Mexico”, nor because of the extremely cool “sombrero” hat Mexicans traditionally wear. Maybe it’s because of the beautiful Teotihuacan’s Mesoamerican pyramids, whose glory is definitely more astounding in real-life than in photos.

Plus, a really good friend of mine, LSY, an avid traveller and probably the most well-travelled person I know, had stayed in Mexico for a couple of months, and fell in love with the country. According to her, it’s more developed than most people would expect, the people are very friendly, and contrary to general perception, it’s not as dangerous as the movies make Mexico out to be.

But really, I’d like to visit it for tacos – the Mexican snack made famous all over the world.

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And so what if there may be the danger of drug rings and mafias (if the movies are accurate in their description of Mexico)? I’m still keen on visiting it one day.

Even if the only thing I do is to eat tacos.

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Lots and lots of them. Whether with yellow corn tortillas or cream-colored wheat tortillas.

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It doesn’t really matter.

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I can’t even remember when I first fell in love with these Mexican tacos – these baby wraps are just so fun and easy, and finger-licking delicious.

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And I imagine, in my make-believe version of Mexico, that Mexicans could possibly be among the happiest people in the world, eating their tacos all day long. (Of course, I may actually have a distorted reality of Mexico, and perhaps Mexicans don’t even eat tacos that much. But really, can you tell me tacos don’t make you happy?)

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While preparing the ingredients can take up quite a bit of time, the colors are definitely a sight for the eyes.

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You can mix and match ingredients, use all kinds of sauces, spicy or not. You get to decide what kind of meat to fill your tacos with, or if you’re vegetarian, scrap meat altogether. It’s like a game where everyone sits around a table crammed with bowls of colorful ingredients, waiting for you to pick and choose. Corn or wheat tortillas? Completely your choice. Guacamole alone or guac with tomatoes and onions? Your choice again. With cream cheese or not? Shredded cheddar or some other variant of cheese – everyone gets to decide for themselves, and put together their own made-to-order taco.

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I’m not sure eating a meal could get any more fun than that! ENJOY!

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P.s. don’t you just love the taco racks I used? They’re so incredibly practical! Your taco just stays impeccably neat and pretty! These were the lovely taco racks that I won in a giveaway hosted by Lindsay from Normal Cooking!

{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}

Steak Tartare – A Raw Meat Culinary Adventure

Juan and I just had one of the most exotic culinary experiences this weekend.

Let me tell you how it all began..

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About a month ago, Juan and I met up with a couple from the Czech Republic, Wiwienne and Michal, friends of our mutual friend, Rob.

Rob had told us about Wiw and Michal’s plans to move to Buenos Aires from Sydney and we were excited to be meeting them. New friends are always welcome, and we love playing hosts to fellow foreigners in Buenos Aires.

After our initial first meet up over a meal at Don Julio, a famous parilla in the posh Palermo neighborhood, where we hit off really well, we arranged to rollerblade at Palermo Woods last weekend. After an hour of blading and warm, golden autumn sunshine, we settled for lunch at another parilla in Palermo, and did a good amount of chatting and eating.

Somewhere in between, the conversation steered towards how good beef was in Argentina, and Wiw wondered aloud why, in a country whose beef has achieved global recognition, the menu never served steak tartare.

Juan and I had no answer to that. Mainly, because it was the first time we had heard of it. Wiw and Michal later explained to us that steak tartare was essentially made from finely chopped or minced raw beef (or horse meat), often served with onions, capers and seasonings, sometimes with a raw egg yolk, and often on rye bread. Historically speaking, the legend is that the dish is named after the Tatar people in Central Asia who ate raw meat as they rode their horses. It was made famous in France where they marinade the meat in wine and spices then chill it.

And the next thing we knew, Wiw and Michal had invited us over to see their new loft and have a dinner of steak tartare (the beef version). Juan and I weren’t sure exactly how enthusiastic to be about eating something so raw.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve always been keen on trying new cuisines, being exposed to different cultures since I was young. But raw beef, with raw yolks sounded a bit toooo exotic.

Still, I was psyched up for this dinner – it’s been a long while since we had the anticipation of eating something extraordinary, completely novel and which even stirred up some extent of fear in our hearts (and stomachs).

So despite our doubts and apprehension about eating raw meat (which sounds so incredibly carnivorous), we accepted their invitation, and as Saturday night drew nearer, we got even more excited – me out of enthusiasm, and Juan out of fear.

When we finally arrived at their beautiful apartment at 7.30pm, early for dinner by Argentine standards, but a good time to have a look at how steak tartare is prepared, we were greeted by a candlelit table with an entree and beautiful glasses of red malbec wine.

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The starter was made of sliced vegetables (including carrots, cucumber, mushrooms, celery and red bell peppers) paired with an absolutely to-die-for garlic cream (really a concoction of cream cheese mixed with some milk and chopped garlic). Snacking on the appetizers and the amazing garlic cream, together with beautiful glasses of red malbec wine, we soon got into the mood, as Wiw and Michal started getting ready to prepare our main course.

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They’d spent the afternoon going grocery-shopping, and the main ingredient was beef tenderloin. Not too much, just around 150g per person, with all fats stripped away.

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Michal first washed the beef (in case of any external germs), and using their super-sharp, brand-new kitchen knife, he started shredding the meat into thin red threads, after which he chopped the meat with a force only possible from a guy as tall as he was (he is about 1.90m tall).

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With the meat all prepared, he chopped up red onions in rings, which were to be used decoration on the plates, to hold the other ingredients.

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Wiw preparing Tartare Steak

The other ingredients (according to a Swedish recipe) included yellow mustard, and more red onions, capers, beetroot, pickles, all diced to perfection. Later, with these ingredients forming an external circle, Wiw and Michal arranged the meat in the middle of the plates, leaving a small crater where they eventually located the raw egg yolks.

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It was truly a sight to behold.

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It was art on a plate.

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I’ll tell you a secret – during the entire course of the preparation, while I was busy peering over Wiw and Michal’s shoulders and watching them chefs in action, I think Juan was breaking out in cold sweat, while trying to act cool, calming his fears with as much wine as he could possibly drink on an empty stomach.

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Of course, we were meant to eat the meat, mixed up with all these ingredients, together, over oven-toasted bread frothed with garlic on the side.

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I have to be honest – eaten like that, over fresh, warm bread, the raw, chopped up meat actually tasted alot nicer than Juan and I had originally anticipated.

It was sort of like eating pate, or maybe even raw tuna, intertwined with crunchy red onion bits, sweetened by the maroon beetroots, and spiced up by the sourness of pickled cucumbers and vinegared capers.

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Trust me, it was really, really good. Don’t believe me still? You’ll have to try it to believe it. Thank you Wiw & Michal for opening up our culinary world!!

{CLICK FOR RECIPE…}