Making sorbet mountains out of strawberry molehills (now with basil)

Outside of Quebec City in Canada lies a mysteriously beautiful little island that poops out the best strawberries this side of the planet that are not genetically engineered; it is called l'Île d'Orléans (Island of Orleans).

My cousin, RayRay, and my brother, Subordinate Chow along with Minimai picked a mounded box of fresh strawberries from l'Île Orléans and only ate five from the box cause they had gorged on them at the U-pick and refused to eat any more.

And of course, the garden is once again overrun with basil.

Pair these two annoying harvests together and you've got music, or at least this strawberry and basil sorbet.

Strawberry basil sorbet, always dairy-free. The ice cream scoop (a lovely gift from La Popoteuse) looks like it was involved in a murder. Because it was. 

In trying to figure out what to do with the strawberries, I learned that the main difference between sherbet and sorbet is not just a couple of letters! They both use pretty much the same ingredients (sometimes including alcohol, used to lower the freezing temperature) but the key difference is as follows:

• Sherbet: Contains milk, gelatin, or egg whites, usually butterfat content between 1% and 2%. 
• Sorbet: No dairy, egg or gelatin. Good for the lactose intolerant. 

So here's to getting rid of an excess of strawberries, especially overripe ones.

Strawberry basil sorbet
(makes about 1 litre)
Inspired by Alton Brown and A Cook and a Geek

• 2.5 litres of whole strawberries
• 1/2 cup (125ml) granulated sugar 
• 1/3 cup (75ml) light corn syrup (** corn syrup is less likely subject to crystallize than simple sugar syrup **)
• Handful of basil leaves
• 3 Tbs (45ml) lemon or lime juice
• 1 to 2 tsp (5 to 10ml) lemon or lime zest (use a Microplane grater to get finer zests (not an endorsement... just saying))
• 2 Tbs (30 ml) vodka (** makes it easier to scoop but is optional **)

1. Blend the bollocks out of the strawberries in a blender or food processor.
2. Add to the blender the sugar and syrup, vodka, lemon juice and zest.
3. Roll up the basil leaves into cigars to slice them thinly without crushing them (chiffonade), then put them in the blender and pulse until evenly combined. 
4. Freeze in ice cream/frozen yogurt, as per the instructions for your contraption.

Russian vodka is an excellent solute for freezing-point depression and post-exam depression. 

(And for those who hate basil, such as Frawley, you can refrain from using basil and instead use something like mint (using about the same amount) or experiment with lavender or pepper (though frankly, picking strawberry seeds from your teeth is enough of a pain in the arse that probably does not complement picking ground pepper out at the same time...)).

Bonus photo: [Left] My cousin RayRay and brother Subordinate Chow at Montmorency Falls circa 1989 and [right] circa 2013.  

When life gives you basil, make lemonade

Lemon and basil are two flavours that, like Oscar and Felix, Balki and Larry, Harold and Kumar, stick to each other's craw, but complement each other despite their differences.

After all, lemon (c. limon) and basil (Ocimum basilicum) sing together on pasta, quinoa, chicken, vinaigrette, AND one can even grow lemon basil – even Mother Nature knew that the felicitous pair of flavours would be awesome.

[Basil lemonade. The floaties are edible: it is just basil and eyeballs. Or ice cubes.]

Gourmet magazine's basil lemonade recipe on Epicurious.com, however, had me wondering whether or not this might be a palatable potable. I was (as I ever am) skeptical.

I had just pruned the unruly basil plants in my yard, and needed to do something with them. or they would be relegated to pesto again.
The result, ladies and gentlegerms, is one of the best lemonades this side of Canada. And it's only "one" of the best because I didn't put any vodka in it.

[Lemon, lemon, lemon, lemon, lime.]

Basil makes the lemonade fragrant and because it's infused rather than cooked, the herb's volatile oils are not destroyed.

(Few things I would edit in the recipe though: use slightly less sugar, and trying Thai basil for more punch in the teeth. Sweet basil still works amazors. Winner!)

[Lemon rind strips and basil, post-flavour seepage.]

The Roast of Tomato McPomodoro, esq.

Who doesn't love tomatoes (aside for those who are deathly allergic to them)? With over 7500 varieties, these chubby little red a55holes really seem to have latched onto our culinary apron strings* and permeated our digestible landscape like someone passing bad gas in an elevator, except it lasting 500 years.

Sometimes, I don't love them because 1) like rabbits, they multiply in such abundance during that short harvest period that you can't eat them fast enough, 2) there's only so much tomato sauce one can eat before imploding, and 3) you can't play Scrabble against them without making a mess.


[Oven-roasted tomatoes ready to eat.]

Luckily, you can roast these bastards down to size for later consumption through our barren winter months (though evidently, not barren of snowfall).

For three pounds (3-4 lbs) of fresh tomatoes (I used Romas as they are meatier and less juicy and because I had a buttload of them from the CSA basket, but you can use whatever you like —  adjust the roasting time).

1. Clean them.
2. Halve them lengthwise.
3. Toss tomatoes with a generous spoonful of coarse salt, pepper,  +/- 3/4 cup of olive oil  as many cloves of garlic as you want (whole, or crushed or minced -- it doesn't matter cause the vampires won't come near them anyways).
     
   [A55holes.]
4. Spread them on parchment lined baking sheets with the cut side up (evaporates better). Drizzle with more olive oil. You will probably want to use parchment or aluminium foil because it's a biznatch to scrub clean otherwise.  
5. Slow-roast them in the oven at 275F for about 2 hours or 300F for 1h45 or 225F for 4 hours —  it really depends on how patient and hungry you are, and how you like the tomatoes (burnt or less burnt).
6. Once they're as done as you like it, let them cool, and then eat them. 

You can store them in jars and keeping them either frozen or storing them in the fridge (for up to a week, maybe two —  depends on how dry the fruits are).

* In the early 1500s, tomatoes (pomodoro) were introduced to Italy but used as Martha Stewareseque tabletop decoration because it was thought they were poisonous, and only the very poor Neapolitans ate them. Who's laughing now?

Fresh harvest: blueberries

What's better than locally grown wild Quebec blueberries?

[I wish I had picked these myself]

Locally grown wild Quebec blueberries cozily taking refuge under a blanket of whipped cream.*

[I did, however, eat these ones myself]

Small, portable, and handsome, Vaccinium cyannococcus (bleuets if you're a local) are best when plucked from their bushy low-lying branches by maiden handservants in petticoats and fontanges.

Make no mistake – there are cultivated blueberries in this belle province as well, and it's important not to confuse them with the wild ones which are indubitably sweeter, more flavourful and tinier in person, like your favourite celebrity.

Luckily for us, the spring weather was sh!tty this year and all crops in our part of Canada were late, which means blueberries, normally abundant early August are still around now, mid-September.

Check out some regional quebecois recipes for our blue, blue friends.

*Though the BEST blueberries in the world are those from Saguenay-Lac-St-Jean. I will fight anyone who dares disagree.

arugula and you!

gardeners know that if there ever was an annual garden green that was as prolific as the quiverfull, it would be arugula (also called rocket though i don't know why).

despite its evil superpowers to procreate like rabbits, arugula is deliciously bitter, flavourful and earthy. it's great in mixed green salads to give some bite and palatial, er, titillation. your gluttony is only bound by your imagination!


[gluttony as defined by fresh homemade pasta with arugula pesto and some sort of stunted cherry tomato]

when the arugula overruns my garden as it does every year*, i let my appetite for weeding run rampant and then make this arugula pesto with the reapings (more out of necessity than want). i mean, there's only so much arugla one can eat in a week before one's skin turns a tint of green.


[ready to rumble!]

arugula pesto
2 cups (500ml) arugula leaves
1 cup (250ml) coriander**
2 cloves garlic
1/2 tsp (2.5ml) capers
1 Tbsp ground nuts (pecans, pine nuts, almonds... if you toast them it brings out the nutty flavour)
1/2 tsp (2.5ml) salt
ground pepper to taste
1/2 cup (125ml) olive oil

1. pulverize: stick everything but oil in a food processor or hand blend it with an immersion blender.
2. finish: blend in olive oil.
3. store: store in an airtight container, such as a mason jar, and top it with a bit more olive oil. should last for a month or so (maybe longer).

* if you walk around chinatown here, you'll notice arugula growing everywhere where there's greenery. great for foragers and freegans.

** crazy it up! add a bit of tarragon, mint, basil or other herbage to make up 1 cup (250 ml) avoid using grass (though if you have fond memories of eating grass after getting tripped by soccer bullies into the sidelines, that's your prerogative).

fresh harvest: bloomin' tomatoes

first tomatoes of the season!

oh, ly-co-per-si-cum
so rotund and sweet!
unlike my chewing gum,
you are great with lunch meat!

fresh harvest: apples

apple season means picking loads of delicious apples fresh from the local orchards (which are a-plenty here, like hobos in the streets).


this year, i decided to pick my apples from the bin at the market because it was faster, closer, as cheap, and just as good quality (if not better) than the u-picks. cons: you don't get as much variety and you don't get to stuff your face with apples while buying them from the stand.

using alton brown's recipe for a pâte brisée crust, i set out to make two pies at a time (one for someone's birthday party and the other for my un-birthday).

things i discovered on this pie-making feat:

1. having hard alcohol handy makes the medicine go down (and the keeps the flour in the crust from glutenizing quickly as opposed to water).
2. a sharp peeler makes a huge difference.
3. apple corers make things go way faster.
4. a helper makes things go twice as fast!

also using alton's super apple pie recipe as a guide, i used the standard fare of cinnamon and nutmeg for spices and also added freshly ground cardamom. AB's recipe called for some stupidly named spice called grains of paradise which i have no idea what that is, but after a little research i found could be substituted with cardamom.

that said, the only remaining thing about the pie pictured above now is that photo...

fresh harvest: basil

garden season was pretty crappy this year, but still managed to get a few yields of sweet basil. last harvest turned into a batch of pesto (which kind of looks like a bowl full of discombobulated peas, but tastes nothing like it).


pesto alla genovese is usually made with genovese basil, but the sweet basil variety is similar in flavour so an adequate substitute. adequate, i say, because i don't think i've had genovese basil before.

pesto alla genovese

makes about 2 cups

6 cups loosely packed basil
2/3 cup pine nuts (toast them lightly and let them cool, if you like)
8 garlic cloves
1/3 to 1/2 cup grated parmesan
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup olive oil

process everything except the olive oil until the mixture is well ground together.



note: if you want to freeze this, you might want to omit the cheese until you thaw it out, but it should freeze fine with the cheese.


mangiamo!