Time To Try Something New

I've been cooking in professional kitchens since I was 14 years old. That's 27 years cooking just about anything and everything that I can get my hands on. But there is a short list of things I've always wanted to do in a kitchen but never have. With a few days off from the golf course, it was time to tackle a couple of them.


The first is to cook pork belly. This beautiful cut, also known as "unsmoked bacon" is famous for it's rich and unctuous mouth-feel. A mainstay in Asian cuisine, I have always found the idea  of cooking pork belly to be daunting. It is completely outside of my experience, but it is a challenge whose time has come.


The second is to use a pressure cooker.When I was a kid, my mom had a great big one in the cupboard, but I don't ever remember seeing her use it. I've always thought of pressure cookers as a little dangerous and maybe a bit outdated. No longer really needed in the modern kitchen. But when a good friend passed along a brand new beautiful Kuhn Rikon to me, I knew it was only a matter of time before it would get used. (This of course, is much to my Dalocalwife's chagrin. I think she was expecting explosions, structural damage to the house and 3rd degree steam burns.)


I headed down to T & T Supermarket in Richmond Hill and picked up a beautiful 2 lb piece of pork belly and some lovely vegetables, as well as a little snack of steamed pork buns and shrimp dumplings. Needless to say, the dim sum didn't make it home.

I had hunted for recipes for cooking pork belly in a pressure cooker, but didn't find any that I liked. They were wildly different in times and technique, so I decided to just wing it.


I skinned the pork and rubbed it down with a mixture of salt, freshly ground black pepper, cayenne pepper and Chinese 5-Spice powder. I then set to browning the belly over medium heat, in hopes of rendering out some of the fat and giving it a richer flavour. As it cooked, I started on the rest of the prep.


Green onions, garlic cloves and ginger were the aromatics of choice. Nothing too finely cut, since I would be straining them out later.

 A quick search through my cupboards turned up my broth ingredients: vegetable stock, 5-spice powder, oyster sauce, sesame oil, soy sauce, demerara sugar and last but not least some Sweet & Spicy Tabasco for a bit of kick.

I got the ginger, garlic and green onion sauteing in the pressure cooker. Once they were softened and fragrant, I added the pieces of browned pork belly and then the broth ingredients. I brought it all to a boil and then slapped on the lid. Once the cooker had come up to pressure I turned the burner down to medium-low heat and sat back and waited for an hour to pass. (Keeping a close eye and ear out for explosions and the like.)

After an exciting hour watching the valve, I pulled the pressure cooker off the heat and gave it a good 20 minutes to cool down. When I opened it up, after releasing the last of the pressure, the smell was exquisite. Sweet and spicy at the same time. I checked for tenderness, using the handle of a teaspoon. It went straight through, without the slightest resistance. (I have to admit, I might have giggled.) I transferred the bacon to a container and then strained the cooking liquid over top. I transferred it straight into the fridge to give the pork a chance to firm up overnight. I closed the fridge door and reluctantly headed for bed.

After a restless night, which included 2 trips to the fridge to peek at the cooling pork belly, I was ready to get started.

First, I transferred the cooking liquid to a pot (discarding the fat on the surface) and began reducing it to make my sauce. I sliced the pork and laid it on a rack on a baking sheet. It went into the oven under a low temperature broiler to further render out some fat. A pot of plain rice went on the stove and I prepped the vegetables to go alongside.


As my vegetables started to cook, I brushed the slices of pork belly with the reduced cooking liquid and returned them to the oven. I would do this 5 times, each one giving more shine and stickiness to the slices.

All that was left was to assemble the dish. After mounding the rice on one side and the vegetables on the other, I gently laid the glazed slices of pork belly on top. The remaining sauce went into a side dish and it was time to eat.

The meat was incredible. It had that beautiful texture that you only find in certain very special cuts, like lamb shanks and beef short ribs. The vegetables and rice made a perfect foil for the sweet, sticky pork. So fatty and rich, it was exactly as I had hoped. The resulting sauce was sweet and fragrant, tying the whole dish together.

Without a doubt, I will be cooking more pork belly. And as for the pressure cooker, I now understand. It is a unique piece of equipment that is going to see a lot more use in my kitchen at home.

I HATE BRUSSEL'S SPROUTS (DaLocalChef)

Horrible, nasty, mushy, smelly mutant children of the cabbage world.

Growing up, there was no food I feared more than the dreaded brussels sprouts. Dessert was always conditional in our house. Finish your dinner and dessert was your reward. If I came home from school and saw a cheesecake or bag of Oreos on the kitchen counter, I knew that my mom had pulled out the big guns. And that meant there was something nasty coming for dinner. And the king of nasty....was brussels sprouts.


Then, a few years ago I came across the technique of separating brussels sprouts into individual leaves before cooking. It was in a cookbook by Alfred Portale from his New York restaurant, Gotham Bar and Grill. All of a sudden, brussels sprouts were a revelation!! A quick blanch and chill and next thing you know, you have an amazing ingredient.













Tonight, it was time to try something new. A quick hash of fingerling potatoes, onions and celery made a great start. A couple of slices of left-over roast beef were diced up and set the stage for adding the final ingredient; those beautiful brussels sprout leaves!

Last but not least, a couple of over-easy eggs to finish the dish. It looks good, but believe me....it tasted so much better!!!

What Not To Do at 11:30pm on Christmas Eve! (DaLocalChef)

I'm sure that this could be a long list.

• Don't decide to take up chainsaw juggling.
• Do not paint yourself blue and go door to door as Santa Smurf.
• Do not use your wife`s Epi-lady to trim your beard.
• etc..................

However, I have learned from experience that one thing you should definitely not do at 11:30 P.M. on Christmas Eve is decide that you want to revive the family tradition of cinnamon buns on Christmas morning. While a nice and generous gesture, it needs to be reserved for a more appropriate time! Or so I found out........ the hard way.

It was late on December 24th, fresh from the traditional German Christmas Eve celebration at the in-laws, and stuffed full of knackwurst and potato salad, that I found myself craving something sweet. A quick trip to the kitchen revealed a world of sweet sticky choices, but none were what I wanted. Then as I brushed by the fridge, my eyes lit on one of the spice jars attached to the freezer. CINNAMON! Of course. Suddenly, all the memories came flooding back. Christmas morning, with mom pulling the hot, bubbling tray of cinnamon buns from the oven. That wonderful smell of sweet yeasty happiness flooding the house. That was it. I had to make cinnamon buns. It can`t take too long, can it?

Within a few minutes, thanks to the joy that is my heavy-duty KitchenAid mixer, I had a ball of sweet yeast dough proofing in a warm oven. Within 45 minutes it had puffed up light and fluffy and I had the rest of my ingredients ready to go.

I glanced over at the clock, somehow expecting it to be 12:30. maybe a quarter to one. Ummm, no. It was already 1:30 and I wasn't even close to being done. SO I put my head down and got to work. I rolled out the dough and brushed it with a generous(read excessive) amount of softened butter. Next came the brown sugar and cinnamon mixture. The smells were already transporting me, and I hadn't even turned the oven on yet! A quick roll and then I sliced them up and transferred them to the pan I had prepared for them. A wrap of cling film and into the fridge to rise overnight.

Time for one last check of the clock, on my way to bed. It couldn't be later than 2, could it? 2:27!?!?!? You gotta be kidding me!!! I crawled into bed and settled in for what I hoped would be a good night's sleep.

That plan for a good night's sleep failed to take into account Christmas morning, excited children and an equally excited German Shepherd. At 6:45 I crawled out of bed and pulled out the buns for a last rise before the oven. They smelled so good, even cold from the fridge. But that was nothing, compared to the smells that filled the house as they baked. And when they came out of the oven, I was taken back to those Christmas mornings I missed. It took every ounce of self-control I had to let them cool, before grabbing the first of many I ate that morning.

As I stood in the kitchen, watching my wife and kids licking happy cinnamonny goodness from their fingers, I knew that the late night had been more than worth it. I had been able to conjure up the magic that my mother had brought to every Christmas morning, and then shared it with those that I love.

We celebrated our first Christmas in our new house this year. It was a magical time. We began what will become our own family's memories and traditions. What my mother started has now become a part of my family's traditions and hopefully will someday pass on to my kids' families as well.

But from now on, I'm getting a much earlier start!!!

Dinner From Inspiration to the Plate (DaLocalChef)

You never know where the idea for a dish will come from. A whiff of brandy and duck fat from the foie gras at the next table. The jewel-like sheen on a mound of salmon caviar. The ginger-tinged memory of a grandmother's special molasses cookies. Inspiration can be found anywhere, if you let it.

For this meal, the inspiration was....a casserole dish.


Ever since my days at the Cordon Bleu, I have loved enamelled cast iron casseroles. You know the ones. Heavy, solid, strong. Just picking them up brings to mind the wonderful dishes they are so perfect for. Coq au vin. Beef bourgignon. Dishes that speak of warmth, of comfort and of home. A few weeks ago, I bought a beautiful one. 5 quart. Deep garnet red. I brought it home. I washed it. I placed it on a shelf, where I saw it every day. But I didn't use it. The time may not have been right. Maybe I just didn't have the right ingredients. Perhaps I just wasn't ready. But when its beautiful colour caught my eye this morning, I knew it was time. I looked through my freezer, fridges and cupboards and the dish began to take shape in my head.


Turkey sausages from the freezer. Flavourful, while still being low in fat. (Even inspiration can have some practicality!) A can of chick peas from the pantry. Onions and garlic from their wooden cabinet. A trip to the store brought peppers, zucchini and eggplant. Bay leaves and the last of the summer's basil, nearly forgotten, tucked away in the back of the freezer. And of course, a bottle of Italian red. Well, half a bottle at least. Just enough for both pot and cook to get their due.

With all the instruments assembled, it was time for the music to begin. A slow browning of the sausages, then to be removed as the vegetables took their turn. But not the garlic of course. Not yet. As the juices began to flow and the onions started to caramelize the garlic joined in. Just a brief moment, until that beautiful odour began to fill the room. Then a flood of crimson wine, dousing the garlic and at once raising it to another more intense level. As the wine reduced, the chick peas tumbled over themselves into the dish. The sausages returned, along with stewed tomatoes, the bay leaves and basil. The satisfying weight of the lid covered all and for the next two hours the oven held all within its loving heart.

In that time, all was transformed. The vegetables melted into sweet richness. The sausages played give and take, spreading their meaty goodness while being infused with the accents of wine and herbs. Chick peas lapped up all the flavours, becoming butter-soft pearls. The aroma was of all those ingredients and at the same time of something else. Just as separate instruments come together to change sound into music, so too did all the components produce a scent that was, at once of them, and yet beyond them as well. A dusting of grated parmesan to finish and it was done.

A frame of simple buttered pasta. Nothing more to say.

In Memory (DaLocalChef)

Three and a half years ago, my Nan, Esma Wilson passed away. Not a day goes by without me thinking of her. When faced with moral decisions, I still say to myself, "What would Nan do?" She was an amazing lady. Tough when she needed to be, but filled with more love than I ever thought possible. I miss her, and I always will.


As a child, I knew that my Nan was magic in the kitchen. I loved everything she cooked. But above all things, I loved her molasses cookies. Deep brown, crisp and ever so slightly salty. They were the best cookies in the world. And there was always a big pickle jar of them sitting on the kitchen counter.


Last winter, my Aunt Karin gave me a little plastic bag of cookies when I came to visit her. She had made Nan's molasses cookies. The sight and smell of them was enough to start me crying. I took one bite, and I was in the old family house on Champlain Street, sneaking cookies out of the jar as the family listened to my cousin play the piano. And there was Nan, catching me with a quick stare, and then shaking her head when I moved to put the cookies back.


I came home, and tucked the few remaining cookies away in the freezer, grabbing a half-cookie when I felt in need of a pick-me-up. Last week, I ate the last 2 cookies. Then I asked Aunt Karin for the recipe.


I never expected to feel as nervous as I did when I began the recipe. These were NAN's molasses cookies. Messing them up was not an option. I took my time, and hovered over them like a mother hen as they baked. Once they were done, I sat down with a small stack of them, and a glass of milk. They were just as I remembered them. And I wasn't in my Nan's house.


She was in mine.