My first (and heavily procrastinated) Catching Up 2005 blog is up, and you'll find it right here, back dated August 3rd.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Spinach and Cheese Whatchamacallits
I wish I knew what these things were called. (Maybe someone will be kind enough to write in and tell me.) They certainly are good though – possibly made better by the fact that they are the first things to come out of my kitchen in a long while. I blame it all on the upcoming move: my lovely baking pans have had to be packed away, leaving me with only my baking sheet to rely on. Don’t get me wrong – I almost never use my bundt pan…but since it’s been packed, I’ve thought up about 30 different, ornate, gourmet creations that hinge on that very pan. Of course, when I unpack it, all those ideas will be long gone, and my bundt pan (among others) will languish in the back of my cupboard for months on end. As usual.
I wish I had more to say about this recipe, but its isn’t even my own! I got it from A.’s mom while she was staying with us – she was even gracious enough to de-egg the formula so I could eat some. I remember loving it the second I took a bite – gooey and oozing and still warm from the oven, I suddenly understood why A. reminisced so fondly of this dish.
So today, when I saw a package of frozen spinach and a roll of filo sitting in my freezer, I knew just how to get rid of them. Not only are they going to be a warm, comforting treat for us after being out and about in rapidly-chilling Toronto, they’re also meat-free which makes them a perfect gift for our vegetarian friend M. However, whether or not they actually make it over to her depends on A. and his stomach.
I hope she won’t be too disappointed.
Spinach and Cheese Whatchamacallits
1 package frozen, chopped spinach (thawed)
1 cup feta cheese
1 cup cottage cheese
1 brick cream cheese
1 package filo pastry, thawed and cut lengthwise into quarters
¼ cup melted butter
1. Mix spinach, feta cheese, cottage cheese and cream cheese in a bowl and beat till mixed.
2. Drop one tablespoon of the mixture onto the end of a filo strip, and fold filo strip over the filling into a triangle.
3. Place triangle, seam side up, on a lined baking sheet and brush with melted butter.
4. Repeat till all filling and filo is used.
5. Bake triangles in oven at 350 degrees for 20 minutes, or until tops are browned.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Introducing: In The Pink!
I can hear the groans – not another food event to keep track of! – but bear with me. This one really is different: it’s for a good cause!
I’m so proud to announce the birth of In The Pink, an online food blogging event that I’m hoping will raise breast cancer awareness. The premise is simple: make anything you would like (as long as it’s pink, of course!) and blog about it. It’s not mandatory, but you are all definitely encouraged to post a picture of yourself showing your support in something pink, and to dedicate your pretty pink creation to someone if you wish. The most important thing is to have fun though, and to know you’re doing something worthwhile at the same time!
Send me links to your post anywhere between the 7th and the 9th of October via email at emily_loke@hotmail.com (be sure to reference In The Pink in the title of your email). If you have questions, feel free to email me or leave a comment at the end of this post.
Good luck with your cooking - I can’t wait to see the beautiful delicacies you guys will pink up!
xoxo,
Emily
Update: There is now an In The Pink FAQ post for those of you wanting more specific information.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Hello again.
I realize this entry is long, long overdue. No more excuses, I promise – my blogging resumes from this point on, hopefully never to be so rudely interrupted by life and all its trappings ever again. I know, I know: how dare I take off without a word and leave you on your own for a whole month or more without explaining why I had gone and if I ever were coming back, right? To properly explain myself, I’m going to have to digress from the culinary topics I usually try to keep myself confined to and be very, very honest. I know this is a food blog, and isn’t a dumping ground for my personal problems, but I think you have a right to know.
Everyone’s life is full of ups and downs. It’s not something we really think to complain about for the most part; we consider it a fact of life and accept the downs that come with the ups and relish the time we spend lingering in that happy medium, normality. For some of us however (well, me, in this case), normality fails to shows up to mediate and offer respite between the constant seesawing of life for stretches at a time.
I’m not trying to play the pity card here, I promise: while the downs (one in particular) have been horrible, the ups have been terrific and have kept me going when all I wanted to do was collapse.
Yes, collapse. Collapse and cry and beat my fists against walls.
You see, I found out this summer that my nanny, the woman who raised me from birth, has been diagnosed with a terminal case of cancer. Her husband who also used to take care of me had passed away the year before. I hadn’t known because my mother and I had fallen out of communication when I had moved here to Canada and she had moved to Hong Kong. We only found all this out when my mother called her on my behalf after a dream I had had about her.
As you can probably guess, there is a lot of guilt I’m dealing with right now for not staying in touch, for not being there to say goodbye to someone I loved so much, for not even being able to be in Singapore to spend what little time is left with someone I’m about to lose. Though the depression I feel doesn’t look like it will dissipate any time soon, I’m making progress just by being able to type out these words – a month ago, A. was worried he’d have to lean how to decipher sobs.
A.’s been a huge, huge Up. He’s not only been a shoulder to cry on, but also has been inhumanly patient with me, accepting that when-I-want-to-talk-about-it-I-will and never pushing me to get-on-with-the-healing-process-already. I don’t know how he does maintains his ever-cheeriness about everything despite living with a person who may as well have a storm cloud over her head, but he does.
Another Up in my life was my mother’s visit about a month ago. I’m going to eventually get around to posting pictures of the culinary excursions we made while she was here, so won’t ruin it today for anyone. My mother, who is just as emotional as I am about my nanny, has been super-practical as always about it all, reminding me daily that there are things that are out of my control – something she says everyone has problems dealing with when tragedy strikes (I told you she was practical).
The other Ups that have kept me hanging on may not seem to be monumental, but as we all know: it’s the little things that count. My friends D and M have provided me with a constant supply of girlie humor, fun and activities that have served as much-welcomed distractions from my wallowing. They’re the reasons I’m forced to get out of bed and go to the gym, or to the dog park, or mall or lunch instead of lying in bed all day (which I’d probably do if I could – at no benefit to myself).
After reading through all this personal information that definitely does not belong on a food blog, you’d be happy to know the last Up I’m going to mention here (there are more, lucky me) is a food-oriented one: I’ve finally begun to sell my baking. Before you crack open the champagne, you should know that this isn’t a huge deal for anyone but me (and of course my parents who are deliriously happy that I’m making steps – however small – towards finally supporting myself). I haven’t started a company, opened a store or signed a contract with Starbucks. I’m just casually selling baked goods at a tiny store manned by a guy who is probably allowing me to do this so he gets tax breaks. The $12 I’ve made so far (hey, I only started yesterday!) is definitely nothing to whoop about, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve accomplished something really special.
So there you go: those are some of the main reasons I haven’t been around for a while. I hope you’ll find it in your hearts to forgive me for being so tardy about writing. I can’t promise I’m going to put blogging at the top of my to-do list from now on, but seeing as how good I feel to finally get all of the above off my chest, I’m going to make a point to do it more often.
I hope to see more of you, too.
Everyone’s life is full of ups and downs. It’s not something we really think to complain about for the most part; we consider it a fact of life and accept the downs that come with the ups and relish the time we spend lingering in that happy medium, normality. For some of us however (well, me, in this case), normality fails to shows up to mediate and offer respite between the constant seesawing of life for stretches at a time.
I’m not trying to play the pity card here, I promise: while the downs (one in particular) have been horrible, the ups have been terrific and have kept me going when all I wanted to do was collapse.
Yes, collapse. Collapse and cry and beat my fists against walls.
You see, I found out this summer that my nanny, the woman who raised me from birth, has been diagnosed with a terminal case of cancer. Her husband who also used to take care of me had passed away the year before. I hadn’t known because my mother and I had fallen out of communication when I had moved here to Canada and she had moved to Hong Kong. We only found all this out when my mother called her on my behalf after a dream I had had about her.
As you can probably guess, there is a lot of guilt I’m dealing with right now for not staying in touch, for not being there to say goodbye to someone I loved so much, for not even being able to be in Singapore to spend what little time is left with someone I’m about to lose. Though the depression I feel doesn’t look like it will dissipate any time soon, I’m making progress just by being able to type out these words – a month ago, A. was worried he’d have to lean how to decipher sobs.
A.’s been a huge, huge Up. He’s not only been a shoulder to cry on, but also has been inhumanly patient with me, accepting that when-I-want-to-talk-about-it-I-will and never pushing me to get-on-with-the-healing-process-already. I don’t know how he does maintains his ever-cheeriness about everything despite living with a person who may as well have a storm cloud over her head, but he does.
Another Up in my life was my mother’s visit about a month ago. I’m going to eventually get around to posting pictures of the culinary excursions we made while she was here, so won’t ruin it today for anyone. My mother, who is just as emotional as I am about my nanny, has been super-practical as always about it all, reminding me daily that there are things that are out of my control – something she says everyone has problems dealing with when tragedy strikes (I told you she was practical).
The other Ups that have kept me hanging on may not seem to be monumental, but as we all know: it’s the little things that count. My friends D and M have provided me with a constant supply of girlie humor, fun and activities that have served as much-welcomed distractions from my wallowing. They’re the reasons I’m forced to get out of bed and go to the gym, or to the dog park, or mall or lunch instead of lying in bed all day (which I’d probably do if I could – at no benefit to myself).
After reading through all this personal information that definitely does not belong on a food blog, you’d be happy to know the last Up I’m going to mention here (there are more, lucky me) is a food-oriented one: I’ve finally begun to sell my baking. Before you crack open the champagne, you should know that this isn’t a huge deal for anyone but me (and of course my parents who are deliriously happy that I’m making steps – however small – towards finally supporting myself). I haven’t started a company, opened a store or signed a contract with Starbucks. I’m just casually selling baked goods at a tiny store manned by a guy who is probably allowing me to do this so he gets tax breaks. The $12 I’ve made so far (hey, I only started yesterday!) is definitely nothing to whoop about, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve accomplished something really special.
So there you go: those are some of the main reasons I haven’t been around for a while. I hope you’ll find it in your hearts to forgive me for being so tardy about writing. I can’t promise I’m going to put blogging at the top of my to-do list from now on, but seeing as how good I feel to finally get all of the above off my chest, I’m going to make a point to do it more often.
I hope to see more of you, too.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
SHF #11: Coffee
When I first learnt to appreciate coffee’s potent ability to prolong my waking state, I was extremely abusive of it: chasing three espresso shots with three tequila shots was my way of kicking off a night of clubbing. I can’t imagine where the inspiration for that combination came from, or how I could ever think that was a smart thing to do, but I was thankfully young enough then for me to now write it off as one of youth’s many follies.
The next stage in the relationship was less abusive. As my passion for clubbing mellowed out, so did my lifestyle and my drink of choice. Since espresso was all of a sudden too overwhelming for me, it was no wonder that when I discovered ice-blended maraschino-cherry-infused mochas it was love at first sip –they were the perfect drink to nurse while one was deep in conversation about boys. Though the buzz that the hint of coffee generated was nothing compared to the fluttering of teenage hearts, everything about the drink (from its pinkish hue to its innocent sweetness) made it the closest consumable thing to love for me. Even now, I can’t think of a more perfect beverage to be in love over.
Today, for coffee and I, our relationship is all about acceptance. I haven’t progressed past the puppy love stage of my coffee drinking, but my stunted growth in the relationship department doesn’t bother me: I’ll proudly admit to not wanting coffee without chocolate, sugar and cream. Life is just too short to not give yourself what you want.
A Note: Before I forget, thanks so much to this month's host, Ronald, for being so gracious about accepting my tardy entry.
Black Forest Éclairs
(but only because the recipe for Black Forest Ice Blended Mochas is copyrighted.)
Choux Pastry
1 cup all-purpose flour
3 tbs unsweetened cocoa powder
2 tbs sugar
1 cup water
1/2 cup butter
1/4 tsp salt
4 eggs
Cream
2 cups whipping cream
¼ cup maraschino cherry syrup
1 tbs instant coffee powder
½ cup icing sugar
1. In a saucepan, bring water and butter to a boil on medium heat. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
2. Toss in the flour, cocoa powder, salt and sugar, and mix vigorously with a wooden spoon till mixture leaves sides of pan. Remove from heat and cool till just warm to the touch, about 10 mins.
3. Mix in the eggs, one at a time, till mixture becomes a smooth but slightly sticky paste, then transfer to piping bag with a 1 inch nozzle.
4. Pipe éclairs about 4-6 inches long, about 3 inches apart, and bake for 35 minutes.
5. Remove from oven and cool on wire racks.
6. Slice off top of éclairs and hollow them out.
7. In a mixing bowl, dissolve the coffee crystals in the maraschino cherry syrup and then add the whipping cream.
8. Beat on high till mixture becomes whipped cream and then transfer to a piping bag with a star nozzle.
9. Pipe cream into the bottoms of the éclairs, and then cover with the tops.
10. Garnish with icing sugar or melted dark chocolate, if desired.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Catching Up 2005
My prolonged absence from this site was the result of a brief period of hyperactivity in my life, the beginning of this period marked by my mother’s arrival and the end of it by her departure. Life sometimes takes over and leaves you wondering at the end of each day where the time went- the past three weeks have been that way for me. Though I know I shouldn’t have to justify the lack of recent entries, I feel I owe it to you all to fill in some of the blanks.
Thus begins my short series called Catching Up 2005, an allocated cache of blogs that were meant to be up already. Some were half-written and never completed, some began with pictures but never progressed past that stage, some are still shimmering memories that have to be caught and tamed into text.
Hopefully, they'll soon materialize into the proper posts that they were always meant to be.
Thus begins my short series called Catching Up 2005, an allocated cache of blogs that were meant to be up already. Some were half-written and never completed, some began with pictures but never progressed past that stage, some are still shimmering memories that have to be caught and tamed into text.
Hopefully, they'll soon materialize into the proper posts that they were always meant to be.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Let Them Eat Cake (I'll Have Something Else)
It wasn’t an easy task growing up as the kid who couldn’t eat eggs. For the most part, I was left unquestioned about my allergy and managed to live a very normal egg free life, but there was always that one day of the year where my hypersensitivity would antagonize me to no end – my birthday.
When I was little, kids at my school would always have their maids show up at recess time with a huge cake for the teachers and students in their class. These cakes were always boxed in huge, crisp bakery boxes which were tied with a multitude of colourful ribbons and would be proudly displayed on a table in the canteen while a chorus of hungry voices sang for their supper. I always foolishly went to these canteen celebrations, nursing some silly hope that the box would be opened and a birthday jello would be revealed. Or a birthday mound of candies. Or heck, a birthday pizza even – something, anything non eggy that I could eat. Needless to say I was always sorely disappointed.
The really stinger was that the same thing would happen on my birthday, because I would always stubbornly insist on having a cake despite my allergy. Not having a birthday cake at a birthday party? The idea was too ludicrous to entertain. Plus, what sort of horrible whispers would circulate on the morning of the next school day if there was no cake? Children are evil, evil people. There had to be cake.
Much to my mother’s credit, she never took an I-told-you-so attitude towards my initial instance on having (and later inability to eat) birthday cake. Each year, she’d spend the night before the party baking and icing some elaborate and theme-coordinated spectacle-on-a-plate. She’d even let me pick the flavour (always chocolate), fully knowing I would never be able to eat it, and would always make sure there was a birthday-something-else for me to eat while everyone was having cake.
Her tradition of birthday-something-elses continues to this day, long after my birthday parties stopped. I’ve had birthday fudge, birthday ice cream profiteroles (made with egg whites), birthday cheesecakes, birthday truffles…the list goes on. This year, I was pleasantly surprised with a birthday mango jelly that my mother made on the sneak (which is impressive, given that she, A. and I were at that point living in a one bedroom apartment together) just when I had thought she’d have forgotten. Silly me.
It’s taken me a long time to make peace with my egg allergy – like I said, it wasn’t easy being the kid who couldn’t eat cake – but having a mom who made an allergy sufferer feel special instead of excluded made all the difference. Lesson of the day: It doesn’t matter what your birthday cake really is, as long as it was made with love and has a mound of candles in it.
Happy Birthday to Me.
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