This cheese stands alone

The remote and picturesque hamlets along the north shore of the St. Lawrence River, east of Quebec City, are steeped in the lore of early Canada but no story captures the imagination quite like the tale of Hercules of Charlevoix. Legend has it that Jean-Baptiste Grenon was so strong, he resisted being hanged by General Wolfe’s troops through sheer brute force. In frustration, they finally gave up and let him go, earning him a place in the history books and the nickname Hercules.

Grenon’s feat of daring and strength continues to be celebrated in a regional cheese named after him. Produced by the Labbé family in the quaint village of Baie-St-Paul using milk from a small herd of 30 Jersey cows, Hercule de Charlevoix is not strong in taste. Aged for 18 months, it has a mild, creamy but complex flavour, with hints of nut and lemon, and a silky texture. It is like a European mountain cheese in style and could easily hold its own to a Gruyère or Comté. This cheese stands up well to ham in a sandwich and matches well against mustard on crusty bread. It would pair nicely with pears and honey, too but to really evoke the spirit of Jean-Baptiste, I recommend eating this unique Canadian cheese alone.

Wild About Mushrooms

To forage for mushrooms on the forest floor is to connect with your inner wild pig because to find these elusive treats you must get down on the ground, your eyes and nose pointed earthward, and get dirty. Very dirty.

The prey you are stalking may be silent and still but hunting them requires as much skill and patience – maybe even more – as it takes to bring down big game.

In your porcine state, you will happily spend hours mutely scrambling down misty hillsides and through damp woods, carefully rooting under fallen leaves and nosing into dark crevices – all in your quest to coax these masters of camouflage out of their subterranean lairs.

You will brave insects, incur stings and scratches and stare down all manner of woodland creatures and creepy crawlies. You will willingly embrace rot and decay because mushrooms are nature’s necrophiles – and wherever there is death on the forest floor, you will find them thriving.

Deep in the woods, your primitive animal imagination will thrive in a fairy world of toadstool rings, a magical place where fungi’s modern scientific labels are discarded in favour of more whimsical identifiers such as hawk’s wing, cow’s nose, witch’s butter, chicken of the woods, slippery caps and flames of the forest.

You will find mushroom hunting a largely silent endeavour, broken only by the occasional grunt and groan that is, until you find what you’re looking for and then you will hear your primal yell echo off the surrounding rocks and trees.

There are few activities that bring out the primitive hunter-gatherer in us more than foraging for edible fungi and you will want to devour the earthy fruits of your labour soon as possible. For this reason, wild mushrooms are best enjoyed at the edge of the woods, if you can manage it, prepared as simply as possible on a Coleman stove and served picnic-style.

If you absolutely must wait until you get home, spread your haul out on a tea-towel, on the kitchen counter, and leave it for an hour or so to give all the tiny creatures residing in fungal gills and folds a chance to crawl away into the corners of your kitchen. My friend Kerry taught this very effective 'shroom cleaning method! After that, simply brush off any large chunks of remaining soil or forest matter and start cooking. Whatever you do, don’t go all hygienic and try to wash the mushrooms thoroughly. This will ruin them and, considering the primal effort you put into obtaining them, any concerns about swallowing a bit of dirt would be a bit silly at this point.

Whether you’re eating mushrooms out in the woods or at home, there is one critical rule of safety you should always adhere to: never eat a wild mushroom you can’t confidently identify. Only a few hundred of the world’s thousands of varieties of fungi are actually edible. Some of them are seriously harmful and eating them can lead to a swift, painful death which ranks wild mushroom dining up alongside sampling fugu is an extreme gastro-sport. This definitely helps explain why so many mycological societies darkly call their end-of-season member soirees "survivors" banquets.

In my more adventurous foraging days, I lost my nerve a couple of times while staring at a seemingly innocent shroom and second-guessing my identification. Of course, this doesn’t stop folks like me from going a little hog-wild and heading out into the hills every season.

When I get a good batch, usually of chanterelles, eating them fried up in olive oil and butter and served on toast or tucked into a fluffy omelet is usually enough to satisfy me until I can cook up the rest of my haul in more involved dishes such as soup, risotto or a rich sauce for roast beef, poultry or game. My measurements for the following dish aren’t very exact because I eyeball the ingredients in my rush to get my wild mushroom fix.

Mushrooms on Toast

1-2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
10 -12 ounces mixed wild mushrooms (chanterelles, porcini, matsutake, oyster, etc.) roughly chopped
1 tsp garlic, minced + 1 whole clove garlic, sliced in half
1 tsp fresh thyme, roughly chopped
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 – 2 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp medium-dry sherry
Slices of sourdough or other crusty bread.

In a large frying pan, heat the oil. Add the mushrooms to the pan, making sure not to crowd or layer them. Toss the mushrooms to coat with oil. Add garlic and fresh thyme and toss again. Add a pinch of salt and ground pepper. Sauté gently for 3-5 minutes. If mushrooms begin to dry out, add a bit more oil. Add the butter. When it is melted, stir to incorporate. To finish, add the sherry. If you would like the mixture to be creamier, you can toss in a couple of tablespoons of water, or chicken broth if you have it handy, and let mixture simmer for 1 or 2 minutes longer. Adjust salt and pepper as necessary, to taste.

Note: mushrooms are very accommodating and you can make variations on this dish by adding shallots instead of garlic, substitute dry white wine or the juice of half a lemon for the sherry, throw in a handful of chopped Italian parsley and/or a few red chili flakes like Jamie Oliver does in his book Jamie at Home.

While the mushrooms are cooking, slice the bread into thick pieces. Rub one side of each piece with the slice of garlic. Toast the bread lightly under the grill (or over the stove if you are preparing this outside). If you don’t want toast, you can leave the toasting step out. Put each slice on a plate, spoon the mushrooms over them, let out a big snort and start scarfing them down!

Apples

Apples, Byward Market, Ottawa, Fall 2008

Macaron Madness in Paris

I’ve decided that if Paris were a pastry it would be a macaron. This revelation hit me recently while looking through photos of my trip to France in May where I worked my way through at least a dozen of these dainty confections.

Some would argue that the architecturally complex millefeuille or the decadent éclair are more sweetly symbolic of the city of light. Others might consider Proust’s sentimental madeleine a more apt gastronomic parallel. I disagree. Paris and macarons are a natural match.

For one thing, macarons, like the French capital, are gaily coloured and full of rich flavours. If there is a confection with joie de vivre, it is the light and airy macaron. And this little cookie is also packed with sex appeal. Don’t believe me? Just try walking past a display of these treats without being seduced into eating one.

Macarons are believed to have been invented in Italy in the 8th century and should not be confused with the American coconut-based cookies known as macaroons. Macarons are a delicate mixture of egg whites, icing sugar, granulated sugar, almond powder and colouring sandwiched together with jam or cream.

In this sense, macarons resemble the inhabitants of Paris in that they are thin-skinned and crusty on the outside – and ever so slightly intimidating -- but once you break through their brittle outer shell, these tasty pastries, much like Parisians, are all intense, gooey sweetness and love.

Despite the plethora of online content devoted to the subject of making your own macarons, the other thing they have in common with Paris is that it is impossible to recreate the real thing at home. There is just no substitute for the experience of eating a fragile arôme de Rose-flavoured macaron on the sidewalk outside Ladurée on the Champs-Élysées – just as nothing matches a visit to the city of Paris itself.

Another attribute that Paris and the macaron share is that both lend themselves easily to innovation. Each season, the city’s patisseries compete with each other to introduce new macaron fillings and ever more unusual and exotic flavour combinations. These often reflect new global gastronomic influences proving that the even the most classic of French confections, like Paris, continues to evolve and grow while retaining all the charm and taste that keep those who love it coming back for more.

Macarons now come in a seemingly limitless array of colours and flavours. Nowhere is this more apparent than at Ladurée, the venerable Parisian pastry shop and café where Pierre Desfontaines, in the early 1900s, first thought to take two almond meringues and fill them with silky smooth ganache to create what today, in essence, is a really classy Oreo cookie. Ladurée is Mecca for macaron-crazed fans in Paris. It offers dozens of flavours including the basics (and best sellers) chocolate, vanilla, caramel and pistachio plus seasonal flavours like anise, basil lime, lily-of-the-valley and white chocolate. Ladurée’s original flavours this year included cotton candy, apricot ginger, orange saffron and strawberry poppy flower.

Filmmaker Sofia Coppola is said to have been so inspired by the jewel-toned hues of Ladurée's macarons that she used them as the colour palette for her film Marie Antoinette. Macarons hadn’t yet been invented when Marie was queen of France, but if they had, my guess is she would have reconsidered her edict to "Let them eat cake” in favour of this addictive little creation.

My new favourite destination for macarons is the Patisserie Sadaharu Aoki on the Left Bank. The Japanese-born chef is a fusion master who has been shaking up the Parisian pastry scene in recent years. His sweets may look like classic French confections but they taste decidedly different. Aoki’s unique treats are infused with Asian flavours that include matcha (green tea), yuzu (citrus), sesame and sweet red bean paste. He also produces hazelnut, raspberry, chocolate, orange and other more conventional-tasting macarons favored by traditional palates.

But the award for most inventive macarons must go to legendary patissier Pierre Hermé. I arrived in Paris just as his wasabi and grapefruit macarons were making their debut. They join his other intriguing flavours of olive oil and vanilla, rose, and chestnut, and his best-selling chocolate and passion fruit. At Christmas last year, his seasonal macaron collection of black truffle, balsamic vinegar and chocolate foie gras sold out quickly.

There is no telling what intriguing taste combinations Aoki, Hermé and the other pastry chefs of Paris will come up with next. It seems macarons, like the city that made them famous, are limited only by the imagination.

Sucre à la crème

I went back to Ottawa for a few days last week and found that the brilliant canopy of scarlet and canary leaves I’d walked under near my mom’s house in late September had collapsed to the ground into deep, brown heaps. With the best of fall over in eastern Ontario, I had to content myself with afternoon walks in tepid sunlight and listening to the strangely satisfying sound of fallen leaves crunching under my feet.

I found more comfort in a big slab of sucre à la crème that my mom brought home from the office one day. Sucre à la crème, or sugar cream in English, is a traditional fudge from Quebec. The little squares of pure cream sugar, sometimes flavoured with a hint of maple, are a rich, sweet but simple treat that really seems to suit the cool fall season. Luckily for me, the wife of one of my mom’s colleagues, Louise Perron, excels at the art of making sucre à la crème. She regularly sends batches of it to the office to satisfy the many sweet-tooths on staff – including my mom who manages to bring home some to share…most of the time. Louise’s recipe is prepared in the microwave, making this the ultimate quick sugar fix.

Sucre à la crème Louise

1 cup soft brown sugar
1 cup white sugar
2 Tbsp butter
1 cup 35% cream
1 tsp pure maple extract (or vanilla)

In a large microwave-safe bowl, stir together the brown sugar, white sugar and cream. Microwave at full power for three minutes. Stir the ingredients and microwave at full power for another three minutes. Stir the ingredients again and microwave for another three minutes. Add the maple extract (or vanilla) and the butter. Using an electric mixer, beat the mixture for around two minutes. Check the texture and beat more if needed.

Pour the mixture into a square glass baking dish and allow to set. This recipe does not call for the mixture to be refrigerated but many others do, for around 1 hour or so. When set, you can cut this into squares to serve but Louise suggests leaving the sucre à la crème in a block until just before you are ready to serve, or eat, it because it will keep fresh longer.

Give peas a chance!

As a child, I loved the fairy tale of the princess and the pea.

I think it was idea of sleeping high atop 20 mattresses that intrigued me more than the tiny vegetable that caused the princess such a bad night’s sleep but I guess I’ve admired peas ever since.

I’ve been sadly neglecting my blog of late for no other reason than I’ve been doing too much cooking and eating and not enough writing during the fall harvest season.

One of the late summer recipes I’ve been wanting to share comes from Canada’s über chef Michael Stadtländer who is renowned for his ability to elevate less celebrated vegetables like the pea to high art.

I’ve been whipping up his version of cauliflower & pea soup with brown nutmeg butter for a couple of years now and it has become one of my favourite dishes to make in the early fall when the days are cooler but not quite cold enough for those dead-of-winter root-veggie-heavy soups.

I like the simple combination of creamy cauliflower and fragrant nutmeg butter studded with playful green peas that pop in my mouth. This soup is perfect dish for those who, like me, are not quite ready to dig out sweaters and scarves and leave summer behind.

Cauliflower Soup with Fresh Peas, Chervil and Nutmeg Butter

½ head medium-sized cauliflower
750 ml chicken stock
1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
2 Tbsp butter
1 generous handful fresh blanched green peas (or frozen)
1 Tbsp chopped chervil (if you can’t find this herb, use parsley)
2 Tbsp 35% cream
1 bay leaf
Brown nutmeg butter (recipe follows)

Sauté onion in butter. Add the cauliflower, roughly chopped (reserve some florets for garnish). Over low heat, add chicken stock and bay leaf. Simmer for 45 minutes.

Remove the bay leaf and add the cream. Purée and strain the soup.

Meanwhile, blanch the peas in salted water, for a maximum of two minutes. (They should soften, but retain their sweetness.) Lightly steam the remaining cauliflower.Season the florets with nutmeg butter and chervil. Pour soup into bowls and garnish with peas and cauliflower.

Nutmeg Butter

In a hot pan, melt 1 Tbsp butter. Remove it from the heat, add freshly grated nutmeg to taste and reserve. Note, you can freeze any leftover butter for later use.

Autumn Squash

Autumn gourds & squash, Byward Market, Ottawa, Early October 2008