Birthday Cake

I am a firm believer that everyone should have a cake on their birthday. No one should be considered too old to be sung to over the glow of candles – be those candles few or many – or to make a wish before slicing and sharing something yummy (and preferably homemade) with their favourite people. It should be an annual right of passage for all of us.

My husband’s recent birthday coincided with the long weekend, our first of the season at his family cottage. Lots of people at Saturday dinner meant I had an excuse to make a big, fat cake. One with lots of layers and lots of icing. One that took two sturdy arms to carry and still felt heavy. I’m always dying to make cakes like this, but an occasion is required. That or two of us would be eating daily slabs of late-night cake for a week. (Oh, and I could. But I settle for my little square of dark chocolate instead).

And so I selected what I believe to be one of the perfect birthday party cakes – five huge, chewy chocolate chip cookies, layered thickly with cream cheese icing. It’s the perfect summer barbecue cake. Only a spoonful of ripe strawberries on the side or a scoop of ice cream would make it better. I suspect you could even successfully layer the cookies with the latter instead, if you liked.

This cake is a great, decadent beast that looks beautiful in its basic form, but is also fun to play with. I tarted mine up with obscene amounts of candy. It was just that kind of weekend. Preceded by a fantastic cottage dinner and followed by a display of fireworks over the lake, it made for a very happy birthday, indeed.

Giant Chocolate-Chip-Cookie Cake
(From Martha Stewart Kids magazine)

To make an even circle of batter, trace an 8-inch plate on the underside of the parchment paper.

4 cups all-purpose flower
1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1-1/2 teaspoons salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1-1/2 cups packed light brown sugar
¾ cup granulated sugar
3 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
2 large eggs, plus 2 egg yolks
¾ cup heavy cream
3 cups semisweet chocolate chips
40 ounces (5 packages) cream cheese, room temperature
½ cup confectioners sugar

1. Preheat oven to 350. Whisk flour, baking soda and salt in a medium bowl. Put butter and brown and granulated sugars into mixer bowl; mix on medium until pale and fluffy. Mix in vanilla, eggs and yolks. Reduce speed to low. Add flour mixture in two batches, alternating with the cream. Stir in chocolate chips.

2. For each of the five layers, drop one level cup of batter onto centre of a baking sheet lined with parchment (keep unbaked dough refrigerated). Using a small offset spatula, spread into an 8-inch circle. Bake until edges are pale golden brown, about 12 minutes. Remove from oven. Use offset spatula to reshape circle. Return to oven; bake until edges are golden brown, 8 to 10 minutes more. Transfer to wire rack; let cool. Can be stored airtight up to one day.

3. Mix cream cheese and confectioners sugar in clean mixer bowl on medium-high speed until pale and fluffy. Spread onto four cookies. Stack cookies, placing unfrosted cookie on top. Refrigerate until frosting is set, at least 20 minutes or up to four hours. Serve at room temperature.

Serves 16.

Barrie's Asparagus

Asparagus season has arrived and I, for one, intend to eat it until I’m quite tired of it. After months of freshness-depravity, I’m feeling especially grateful, as I do every spring, for local vegetables. I was so excited to buy my first batch of asparagus last weekend that I settled on nothing short of four pounds.

Over the past week there was asparagus strudel (for Mother’s Day brunch), asparagus and lemon chicken with rice (weeknight dinner) and grilled asparagus and quinoa salad with goat cheese and black olive vinaigrette (more dinner – and leftovers for lunch). And I’m not finished yet. I have grand plans for pasta (spaghetti with asparagus, smoked mozzarella and prosciutto or maybe a spring risotto) and possibly soup. A poached egg on some of those lovely slender stalks with a thick wodge of buttered toast will make for a satisfyingly simple dinner some night, too. I could go on.

When buying my first big sack last weekend, I headed to Barrie’s Asparagus Farm just east of New Dundee. Tim Barrie is a third generation asparagus farmer – his grandfather had a contract to grow the vegetable for Campbell’s Soup – who harvests roughly 35 acres every spring (plus an acre of rhubarb). Not only do he and his wife Libby pick their asparagus (with the help of a crew that’s worked with them for years), they sell it right to the customer. Every day in May and June, they set up shop in their old barn with a cash register and an old-fashioned scale and, with the help of their four children, do a very steady business.

Though they’ve never had a shortage of customers, “It’s really taking off now because of the population growth in this area,” says Tim, referring to the array of housing subdivisions that have crept their way close to the farm, a stone’s throw from the 401. “Now it’s kind of like farming in the city. We get quite a lot of traffic around here. People have known us, too, because we’ve been in business so long. People’s kids are grown up and now coming to our farm.”

The Barries’ asparagus, while not organic, is, says Tim, “as close as you can get.” No chemicals are sprayed on the vegetable during the harvest season. When the picking is done, they spray to avoid a disease called rust, which, Tim says, would decimate their crops. Their rhubarb, on the other hand, is completely organic.

Tim says they’ve never had complaints about quality, mainly because the asparagus is so fresh – sometimes picked with in an hour of it getting into your hands.

“The imported stuff is woody,” says Tim. “Half of it needs to be thrown out. With ours, you can basically eat the whole spear. There’s no comparison. We figure if we can get someone into our shop once, they’ll always come to us.”

Now there’s a challenge – and a pleasant one. Back away from the grown-in-Mexico stuff and treat yourself to a pleasant drive in the country. Buy a big old bag of asparagus and do like I do – eat it like crazy and get your fill. It’s a long time ’til next spring.
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Community Supported Agriculture

Without a doubt, we’re a population accustomed to eating what we want, when we want it. Whether its oranges at Christmas, bananas for school lunches or mangoes for a Thai salad, when it comes to produce, everything is available all the time – whether the quality or the ethics are there or not.

But what do we really know about the fruit and veg we buy from our local grocers? Some shoppers make an effort to glance at what country their food comes from, others haven’t a clue. But we don’t know who farms it, how it’s been grown, what it’s been sprayed with, or how it’s traveled to us. We live in a cloud of blissful – but somewhat scary – ignorance.

Happily, though, the movement toward eating FLOSS-style, as some have called it (an acronym for fresh, local, organic, sustainable and seasonal), is growing leaps and bounds. Not only are people in our region now more interested in eating organically, but also in sourcing out foods that are locally grown. Many of us, it seems, are developing an interest in knowing who grows our food – and how. Some are taking it a step further by developing relationships with their food growers.

Sure, we can do that by way of our Saturday morning trip to the farmer’s market. Another option, though is through a CSA, or community shared agriculture program. This allows everyday eaters to buy shares in a local farm and share in the harvest. Full shares in a farm typically go for around $500 to $600; that much produce will typically feed a family of four to six. For couples or smaller families, there are often half-shares available, which usually run from $250 to $300. For your money, you’ll get a weekly box of seasonal farm produce from early June right through to late fall.

Some CSA farmers will pack your produce boxes for you and deliver them to your door or to one of several drop-off points around the region. Others have you come up to the farm to pick up, or, in some cases, to choose your own fruits and vegetables. Because the programs are independently operated, often on family farms, each runs a little differently from the next.

There are risks involved, yes – you, like the farmer, are at the whim of Mother Nature. If she wreaks havoc with a hailstorm, for example, you might notice it in your weekly food box. But isn’t that the way it should be?

Christine Aberle and her husband Stephen, of Aberle Farms near Elmira, are in their ninth year of running a CSA program. Christine says the connection between the consumer and the farmer is what motivates them. A CSA customer with Aberle will get a monthly newsletter with recipes, information about how things are growing, and an invite to a harvest party at the farm in September. As a shareholder, they’re also welcome to come up and tour the gardens anytime.

“The biggest thing is that it’s that direct connection to the customer and, for the customer, that direct connection to the farm,” says Christine. “Knowing where the food is grown and who grows it is important.” Furthermore, she says, “It’s fresh, and you’re supporting a local business.”

Stuart Horst, of Woolwich CSA (near Floradale), says he thinks CSAs help to reconnect the urban community with the farming community. Buying a share not only has you eating well for many months of the year, he says, “it’s an investment to support local agriculture.”

Now for the bad news – many of the farms offering CSA programs in the region are full – which, while disappointing to those of us that aren’t on the ball, is a great testament to the growing ranks of the locavore in Waterloo region. A couple are still selling shares, though, and those that aren’t will often take names for next year.

A good place to start is Foodlink, which lists Waterloo Region's CSAs. Also check out http://www.localorganic.ca/.

With some luck and more demand, these programs will continue to grow – and we’ll all be a little more educated about what we eat.
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Anna Tolazzi Artisan Chocolates

Fennel, beer and wild rice, lemongrass, lime, balsamic vinegar. Yummy flavours, all, but you’re probably not thinking about chocolate.

Unless, of course, you’ve visited Anna Tolazzi, Katharina Ortner’s artisan chocolate stall at the Kitchener Farmer’s Market. In that case, you’ll know that, alongside some more mainstream fare – peanut butter-caramel, raspberry paté and liqueur flavours, for example – there are also plenty of exotic confections to be found.

Ortner’s chocolates, sold individually or in boxes of various sizes (from two to 30), are handmade from organic, fair trade French and Belgian chocolate and feature local, handpicked, organic and sulfite-free ingredients where possible. Ortner, a native of Austria, introduces new flavours every week – experimenting is what keeps it fun, she says. She’s always looking for input and welcomes ideas and suggestions for new flavour combinations from friends and customers.

Some flavours are received better than others, Ortner says. People have shied away from the Bockbeer and organic wild rice (tasted good to me!). Salted caramel, on the other hand, tends to do well. Ortner’s own favourites include lime truffle (to die for) and black current mousse with black current paté, made from homegrown fruit.

Not only are Ortner’s chocolates unique in flavour, they’re also beautiful little works of art. A painter, sculptor and printmaker who studied at the Emily Carr University of Art and Design, Ortner tried her hand at being a goldsmith, but found it unsatisfying. She always enjoyed making fine, decorative cookies and had the palate (“I’m a food snob – in a good way,” she laughs) to be making edibles. One thing led to another and she ended up in Kitchener (with partner Mark Resmer, who often mans the market booth on Saturday mornings) making chocolates.

Designing and painting the chocolates, says Ortner, “is my favourite part. If I could spend all my time decorating, it’d be a lot of fun.” She says she originally intended to handpaint each chocolate, but soon discovered that doing so would make them unaffordable. But, she says, “I do try to develop the decoration so that it’s truly one of a kind – a true art edition. There’s a reason why I make these things by hand.”

Somewhere down the line, Ortner and Resmer hope to see Anna Tolazzi (the business is named for Ortner’s late mother, who was Italian) as its own little shop, which they envision being a little different from the norm. For now, though, the market suffices very nicely. “It’s such a great testing ground,” says Ortner. “We’re very happy with it.”

Select chocolates are also available boxed at Vincenzo’s. Me, I’ll be heading down to the market this morning to pick up a little assorted box for my mom. Yep, it’s Mother’s Day tomorrow. I’d say artisan chocolates make for a pretty lovely last-minute gift.
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Rhubarb

I wish I could say I had a fabulous vegetable garden taking flight in my backyard, now that the growing season is upon us. Alas, gardening is not my hobby. Cooking is. But I know the two link up, and so it was with a mix of anxiety and excitement that I recently bought myself a copy of Gardening Basics for Dummies.

The prospect of bringing food from my backyard into my kitchen is an exciting one. In years past, it’s merely been potted herbs from the front porch and – no thanks to me, since it came with the house – my rhubarb plant. As I write this, it’s been growing so quickly I can practically see it moving.

Thankfully, having a rhubarb patch requires no gardening prowess. Most of us luck into them as we do a patch of lily-of-the-valley or a lilac tree. But it’s the surest sign of spring when those fuschia stalks start pushing their way stubbornly through the soil and the green leaves start unfurling. Its appearance is the heralding of the farmer’s market season and of several blessed months of fresh, local produce.

And so for the last few weeks, I have been tiptoeing around the side of my house, watching that rhubarb as it progresses along in its journey, willing it to get big enough that I can snip a few stalks and have my way with them in the kitchen. Pie is far too predictable, so I’ve been digging around for new ideas this year. And I’ve found some good ones.

Among my robust files of snipped-out recipes (so many good intentions!) I found something from Food & Drink called Rhubarb Champagne Cup. This involves making a syrup from rhubarb, sugar, orange juice and water (boil, simmer and strain) and mixing it with some chilled prosecco. Dreamy! I’m heading up to Kingston this weekend with my best girlfriends and I’ll be pillaging my rhubarb patch beforehand so I can take this up to make pre-dinner (or maybe brunch?) cocktails.

I also came across a couple of interesting pork recipes, including Hot and Sour Rhubarb with Crispy Pork with Noodles (in Jamie Oliver’s new book, Jamie at Home – a lovely book for ideas for garden produce) and, of course, an obscene amount of recipes for sweet things – tarts, custards, fools, grunts, crumbles and the like.

The most intriguing one I found was for Hungarian Shortbread, a recipe from Chicago pastry chef Gale Gand from the book Baking With Julia (as in Julia Child). Here you make a rhubarb-vanilla jam and drizzle it over shortbread dough that has been chilled in the freezer and then grated – with a cheese grater! – into the pan. Then you grate more shortbread on top, stick it in the oven and dust the whole thing with some confectioner’s sugar when it comes out. Heaven. I’ll be taking those to the girls this weekend, too.

Between the shortbread, the cocktails, and all that time to sit around and catch up, I should be well-fuelled to hit the backyard upon my return – a slave to the garden of my dreams.
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