Beautiful musings of flora and fare.
This post is a not for profit collaboration with Mealshare. All thoughts and opinions are my own.
I could sit here and lecture you all about sharing, giving and ending youth hunger but lets be frank. The reality is most of us want to enjoy our first world lives…dinner out with friends and family. But I know We ALL Want to make a DIFFERENCE. Which is why the concept behind Mealshare is brilliant.
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Koreans can’t bake.
That’s been my insecurity since starting this baking journey. That I’m Korean. And unlike my fellow caucasian friends, I have no family pie recipe or a mom that baked chocolate chip cookies with me on Saturday mornings. The only things I baked as a child were Pillsbury crescents from a tin or boxed Duncan Hines. Baking from scratch was never a part of my family growing up.
Instead, my Saturdays consisted of Korean language classes followed by math drills with Sargent Shin… and his chopstick wand. After math, my sisters and I would get to watch some TV whilst stuffing thousands of Korean dumplings called “mandu”. Okay. Maybe not thousands but god did it ever feel like thousands! Only after all the mandus were stuffed and our math drills were done correctly, were my sisters and I allowed to bake Duncan Hines Classic Yellow Cake. And if we were really lucky, my mom would have bought the chocolate icing in a carton for us to ice the yellow cake with. As a child, baking this cake and devouring it was my escape, my utopia, my moment of being unkorean.
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As I continue on my Stems & Forks journey, I’m learning that my recipes are truly about taking the ordinary and making them extraordinary. Such as this weave brioche. I’ve taken this classic weave bread and doubled up on the layers by having 4 tendrils of dough rather than 2 crisscrossing. In fact, altogether there are 8 tendrils weaving in and out, creating a kaleidoscope of sugar, dough and buttered sesame seeds. If you love a more “pillowy” bread, feel free to make this into a two-roll (but with 4 tendrils) bread. I just love having loads of buttery sesame seeds intertwined with the brioche.
I know you’re thinking, “This looks hard!” I assure you it’s not! If I had to compare it to another task that might seem initially difficult- it’s like sewing a button. Actually, I don’t know how to sew a button. Rewind. Erase. It’s like learning to tie a shoelace. It seems complicated at first, but once you get into it, you’ll find your groove and it’s a cinch. A kid could even weave this bread. It’s that simple. You just need to follow the steps. And the pictures below will make it a no-brainer. I promise.
I don’t say this often, but this has definitely become one of my favourite recipes. I made this on a Friday but photographed it the following day. It was still moist and wonderful. Now I say it’s enough for 5-6 people, and with that being said, my husband and I finished it with a pot of coffee in less than an hour. But I guess my husband and I don’t qualify as normal people. We have no self-discipline when it comes to deliciousness! Make 2 if you expect company.
Wishing you and your family a happy Easter, Passover, Spring.
Bon App!
2. Take about a quarter of the filling and spread leaving about half an inch on the edge
3. Roll up nice and tight
4.With a sharp serrated knife, cut the rolls down the centre middle in half lengthwise.
6.Overlap the tendril pairs so they are alternating with the overlaps
My mother in law would probably pucker her lips till they turned white and wrinkled much like her backside exit if I ever told her what I did to the base of her crêpe recipe. I asianized it.
For the old school Belgian or Frenchie, crêpes are a kind of sacred dish. My mother in law has never deviated from the simple recipe of just flour, eggs, milk, sugar. She normally serves it with some cassonade (brown sugar), nutella or some jam on the table. I remember once serving crêpes for lunch with sour cream, bacon and chives…and yup the puckered backside lips appeared. “Quelle horreur” she exclaimed. Awww…. Always love her candour! She skipped the bacon and cheese and went straight to the cupboards to grab the brown sugar. She refused to even try! Old school and I forgot to mention, stubborn.
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Kimchi, pancetta, kale, spinach and chèvre in a crusty, flaky buttery pastry topped with an egg – who can resist such a plethora of flavours? This delightful dance of sweet/savoury, rich/acidic, chewy/flaky and hearty galette is my interpretation of Omurice. I was inspired by this childhood favourite comfort dish originally from Japan. Omurice is essentially fried rice crowned with a paper thin omelette, with ketchup slathered atop. Koreans have adapted it by adding kimchi (of course), along with a mish-mash of proteins, seafood or veggies in the rice. Omurice can really be made of anything. So long as it’s fried rice blanketed by an omelette. Its name is a quintessential example of Gairaigo which basically means a transvocalization. ‘Omu’ for omelette, and ‘raisu’ for rice.
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Every now and then, I whip up gnocchi with brown butter and fresh sage drizzle. Add a bit of fresh parmesan and cracked black pepper and my mouth is singing. Or I’ll roast beets and toss with some goats cheese and walnuts. Often I’ve wondered if I could translate the sage/butter/cheese/beets/walnuts into a cake and finally I did. I know what you’re thinking. Betty’s finally lost her marbles. She’s trying to make cake from a salad.
Well, I did and it was sublime. The golden colour from the beets gave the cake a beautiful soft golden hue. The taste was sweet yet subtly earthy, crunchy yet creamy. The closest thing I can compare this to is carrot cake but less sweet with loads more elegance.
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With in-laws living in Waterloo, Belgium we usually spend a couple weeks in the summer to visit so my husband Pierre can get his fix of Belgian cuisine whilst the in-laws enjoy their grandkids. Pierre has now been living in Toronto for 12 years and gets home-sick every now and then. Well, its mainly the food he misses. As do I. Once there, he easily eats the tomate aux crevettes grises (small, grey, flavour-packed shrimps prepared in a hollowed tomato), or Américain préparé (Belgian version of steak tartare) daily for lunch. Then of course there’s Belgian street food – frites with so many different sauces (Samurai and Américaine sauce are our faves), Mitraillette (a baguette with meat or sausage, topped with, grated carrots, lettuce and French fries smothered with Andalouse sauce) and my daughter’s favourite, Belgian waffles.
For those of you who haven’t been to Belgium, its one of those countries where the majority of the restaurants and street foods are consistently excellent. There are way more hits than misses. After personally experiencing the food and culture, its easy to understand why a Belgian expat would become home sick. I often find myself craving certain restaurants or dishes from Belgium. Not to mention even basic groceries such as their high fat butter and fresh eggs with sunset hued yolks.
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I have this recurring nightmare that’s been haunting me for decades. I’m in a bakery surrounded by delectable and mouthwatering mounds of pastries. Croissants, cakes, pies, macarons and muffins piled high in baskets and platters in varying hues of browns and beiges. I can see steam wafting from the butter croissants and fresh icing still runny, dripping off the danishes. It’s one of the most beautiful and delicious sights ever. I’m overwhelmed by the wondrous selection and I can’t decide which to eat first. Chocolate torte first? Then I won’t have space for the tarts. I’m so torn. This indecisiveness goes on and on and feels as if the entire night of dreaming is spent trying to decide which pastry to taste first. Then the dream becomes a nightmare. I awake without having made a choice. My indecisiveness leaves me empty handed. As I’d slowly awake to reality, I’d be filled with regret for not having sunk my teeth into one of those heavenly pastries.
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