I really like the word tabouleh. I remember eating it often as a kid. It’s a good quick salad and it works well in a pita sandwich.
We made this recipe with couscous, but you can substitute it for quinoa or bulgur or other grains.
To prepare the couscous, bring a cup of salted water to a boil in a small pot. Remove from the heat and pour in a cup of couscous. Add in 1 tablespoon of olive oil, stir, and allow the pasta to expand for two minutes.
Return the couscous to a low heat on the stove. Drop in 2 to 3 teaspoons of butter and stir until well-blended. Allow to cool.
We got this tabouleh recipe from the Joy of Cooking (2006 edition) by Rombauer & Becker, and we replaced the bulgur with couscous, of course, and we weren’t all that good at measuring, either, so we fiddled with the amounts.
Finely chop 2 to 3 tomatoes, 2 cups of fresh parsley, 1 cup of fresh mint, and 1 bunch of scallions or green onions. See my tips and tricks entry on how to finely chop herbs.
In a small bowl or measuring cup, emulsify 1/3 cup olive oil with 1/3 cup lemon juice. To do this, I took a very small whisk and rubbed it between my palms until the liquid was creamy and custard coloured.
In a large bowl, mix the couscous, tomatoes, onions, and herbs together thoroughly. Toss with the olive oil/lemon juice emulsion and serve.
We spooned the tabouleh into open pita pockets lined with baby spinach and home-made hummus and ate them with Garbage Soup.
The nice thing about soups is they’re dead easy. I filled a large pot with water and set it to boil. I added a few heaping spoonfuls of Knorr Vegetable Stock (I use the powder instead of the liquid because I usually can’t use a whole carton before it goes bad and I don’t like to waste it).
I peeled and chopped a large parsnip and a small turnip (actually a rootabega but who’s checking?) and chucked them in the pot, together with a handful of pearl barley and about a cup of dried white beans. I also added about a cup’s worth of frozen spinach to the mix, as well as the leftover squash and pasta. There was already a significant amount of basil in the pesto that was on the squash (as well as the hazelnuts and parmesan cheese), so I didn’t add any other herbs to the mix. When we eat it we usually add salt and pepper to suit our individual tastes.
Once I got the soup boiling, stirring often, I turned it down to a simmer, medium low, for about two hours, until the beans were cooked and the rootabega was tender.
We only have one set of salt and pepper grinders in the house, and they’re in use pretty much all the time. We like to have them on hand when we’re cooking, and as well when we’re eating, so they travel all over the kitchen, to the dining room, and also the living room.
I got tired of making trips between rooms with all the little items under my arms, and I also got tired of cleaning up the little piles of ground salt and pepper left on the counters and table after putting down the grinders for the umpteenth time.
I think I got this idea from Martha Stewart, but regardless of where it came from, it’s a keeper.
Find a small dish you like and keep all your table items on it. It makes transportation between rooms and counters a one-trip job, and it keeps the powdered spices off your tables and counters. It’s pretty genius.
You can pick this gadget up from any Canadian Tire for about twenty bucks, and I highly recommend it.
Hung pictures look best if they are grouped, and if you line them up along their edges: top, bottom, or sides. Because most pictures are framed differently, this is not as easy as it looks, and the Hang & Level will take the guesswork out of getting it right, as well as the annoyance of poking more and more holes into your walls, or telling your spouse, ‘no, move it a little more to the left. No, that’s too far.’ You get the idea.
Cait: i think it looks so much like spaghetti that i’d be disappointed when it didn’t taste like spaghetti
me: it tastes like squash
Cait: of course it tastes like squash it’s a freaking squash
I have always been intrigued about the physical properties of spaghetti squash, although until the other day I had never tried it. We found a squash sale at Sobeys and decided to give it a whirl. I wrangled up a recipe I had been keeping for yonks out of my magic book of recipes, and I went at it.
The recipe called for 4lbs of spaghetti squash. My scale only goes up to 500g so I had to give it my best estimate. It was supposed to serve 4, so I did some mental math and came up with two squash about the size of my feet (while this may not be a standard measurement for you, it works pretty well for me).
Cut the squash in half lengthwise. The recipe said nothing to me about removing the seeds and stringy bits so I left them in and I regretted it later. I would recommend digging those suckers out with a grapefruit spoon or serrated knife.
Brush the open squash halves with olive oil, then sprinkle with brown sugar, coarse salt, and ground pepper.
Flip the squash halves face down on a rimmed baking sheet and chuck them in the oven at 400°F for 45 minutes. Cool them, in the pan and on a rack, for 10 minutes after that.
Using a table fork, dig out the contents of the squash in stringy little bits – it really is amazing how much this resembles spaghetti – and put the contents in a large bowl. Drizzle with olive oil, then add 1/4 to 1/2 cup of roasted chopped hazelnuts (fun fact: also known as filberts), 1/4 to 1/2 cup of grated parmesan cheese, and 1/4 to 1/2 cup of chopped herbs (the recipe called for fresh cilantro, but I only had a tiny bit of frozen stuff, so I mixed it with some frozen pesto I had made and that was that). I can assume that you would use any herb you had on hand, really.
Toss and serve immediately.
I actually wasn’t too happy with this recipe. The first negative was, of course, the left-in seeds, which, had they been properly roasted like pumpkin seeds, would have been awesome, but because they were still pretty raw, were actually kind of nasty. I also didn’t feel that the hazelnuts added anything special to this recipe. Next time, I would go with slivered almonds or pecan bits, for a milder, sweeter taste. The pesto was excellent of course, but that’s because I have mad skills. The leftovers were better the next day, but I think I will just chuck the remainder in some sort of minestrone and be done with it. Recipe to follow, I guess.
This recipe comes from a book called No Need to Knead by Susanne Dunway. You can get it on Amazon for about 35 bucks. I don’t remember the actual name of the recipe itself, but in my family we’ve always called it Mack Truck Bread. At the beginning of the recipe, there’s a little story about the baker making a pile of these breads and taking them across the street. One of them fell to the asphalt and was run over by a Mack truck. The incredulous onlookers watched as the flattened bread miraculously returned to its original shape. It’s a very durable baked good.
This recipe makes one 9-12″ round focaccia loaf or two 13″ baguettes. Best served hot, though it’s good for toasting the next day if wrapped carefully. After that it gets a little too stale.
In a medium-sized bowl, pour two cups of lukewarm water (in my house, which is very cold, I usually have the water temperature at warm, and it cools from there).
Sprinkle two teaspoons active dry yeast into the water and stir until dissolved.
In a measuring cup, mix four cups of all-purpose flour with two teaspoons of salt. Add the flour mixture, a little at a time, to the bowl of yeast water. Mix with a spoon until combined. The dough will be extremely sticky, and you may find, depending on the weather, that you won’t use all the flour you have at hand.
The recipe says that you don’t need to knead this bread, but I find mixing it a bit with my hands inside the bowl gets all the sticky clumps together and gives my dough a little bit of cohesiveness. A minute of work should suffice.
Place the dough in another, oiled or greased bowl, cover with a towel, and leave in a warm place to rise for an hour or so, until the dough is about twice its original size. Putting it next to a heater works, but make sure the heat isn’t too strong in any one area, because that will actually begin to cook the dough.
Once the dough has risen, you will want to put it in the baking pan and leave it for another thirty minutes or so to rise again.
Brush the top of the dough with olive oil, then sprinkle with salt and some herbs and spices. Play around with the toppings you put on the bread before baking. We prefer the pre-mixed spices you can get in the grocery store, but anything that suits your fancy will work. I have also tried incorporating extra ingredients into the bread, such as raisins or chopped olives. Both work extremely well, and I bet you can make a half-decent garlic bread this way.
I cook this bread in one of two ways. The first way is to plop the bowl of dough upside down in the centre of a large greased cast iron skillet. The dough will expand to fill the shape of the skillet. Bake this at 450°F for about 20-25 minutes. Alternatively, cut the risen dough in half (not an easy or particularly scientific task) and stretch it along the lengths of two greased baguette pans. Bake at 425°F for 20-25 minutes. When the bread is done, it will be golden brown on top and the bottom will make a nice solid sound when you knock on it. If you find the bottom is too soft after baking (for instance, the baguette pan I have doesn’t have little holes in the bottom of it), then put the loaf straight on the rack of the oven for another five or ten minutes to ‘crispen up’ as the Pie says.
In February of this year, as I was procrastinating studying for my exams, I decided to try to dye my dining room curtains, just to see if I could. Before the wedding last summer, the Pie and I painted both the living room and the dining room a cream colour, and the white cotton curtains (from IKEA) I had in there made the room look too stark. We didn’t have the money to purchase new curtains, so something had to be done with what we had.
I thought, why not purple? A rich, deep, eggplant. Yes.
I’d always passed the boxes of Tintex fabric dye in the grocery store and wondered how the process worked. Now was my chance to find out. While I was picking out my purple, I also picked up some forest green (in case the Pie objected to purple) and I read the instructions on the back of the box. It suggested I remove all traces of the old colour or stains on the fabric with the Tintex colour remover, so I picked up two boxes of that, as well as two each of the purple and the green. The dye amount is by weight, and I figured each curtain panel would warrant its own box.
Now, if you know me, you’ll know that I have a tendency to spill, drop, tear, break, or otherwise destroy things. The idea of me in charge of a vat of purple dye was enough to give the Pie arrhythmia, but I promised to be careful. And, to my credit, I was, very careful. Nothing got dyed that shouldn’t have been. I wore long rubber gloves, tied my hair back, and wore my oldest clothing. And I didn’t spill a drop!
In order for fabric dye to set it requires that the water in which it is dissolved be as hot as possible, boiling if at all possible. There was no way I could put an entire curtain panel in even my largest pot, so I needed a new venue. Luckily I had an extra-large Rubbermaid bin, and I set this in the bathtub to avoid spills. I boiled up some water in my big lobster pot, and poured it into the tub. I followed that up with water from the faucet. Fortunately our water heater is brand new and about three feet from the bathroom, so the water that came out of the tap was near to boiling itself. I also turned up the heat in the bathroom (which normally hovers around sub-zero). This was the best I could do.
The instructions on the box also recommended that I dye each piece of fabric separately, but I didn’t trust myself to either time it properly or get a uniform water level between the two batches, and I needed these panels to come out the same colour, so I did them at the same time.
First, I boiled the water and dissolved the colour remover in the tub. I plopped in the curtain panels, which were white, but which did have a few stains and marks on them that could have stood to be removed. I sat on the edge of the tub for the time allotted, stirring my cauldron of smelly, steaming liquid and poking the fabric back below the surface with a long metal slotted spoon (from Lee Valley – I highly recommend them).
When my time was up I tipped out the liquid and rinsed the curtains as best as I could. It is really backbreaking work, and quite hard on the wrists to bend and squish (but not wring) a huge pile of wet fabric from your knees.
I repeated the boiling water process with the purple dye. The powder itself looked black, and billowed up in a multicoloured cloud as I poured it. I was wiping red, blue, green, and black dye particulates off the walls of the shower for a week afterward. Once the dye was dissolved it made an opaque, wine-like liquid that steamed and smelled quite evil. I dumped in my wet, rinsed curtains and poked at them for the requisite amount of time.
Already tired from my rinsing of the colour remover, and solidly bored from having to sit by myself in the bathroom for over an hour, I was not all that enthused about rinsing the newly dyed curtains. The Pie, bless him, helped quite a bit, running the removable showerhead over the fabric as I worked it with my gloved hands. Eventually, after about the ninth rinse, I gave up and put them on an extra rinse cycle in the washing machine.
I figured there wasn’t enough dye left in them to do any real damage to the machine (we had a residual bleach accident when we first moved in that made us reticent to put fabric altering substances in the washer), but there was enough still in the fabric that it might rub off on something else when it was dry. The nice thing about the rinse cycle is that it did a better job of wringing out the fabric than I ever could, so I didn’t have to worry about drips while it was drying.
I hung the fabric to dry, and the next day I hung them in place in the dining room.
They weren’t a perfect job, by any means. There are several patches of white remaining on the fabric. I think this is either the result of me not rinsing them enough after the colour removal stage, or the dye didn’t penetrate that far into the folds of the cloth while it was in the tub. Next time I might just time and measure it better and do each panel separately to ensure better coverage. But for a first attempt, I’m quite pleased with them. They turned out the colour I wanted them to and they really make the dining room much cozier.
Cleanup was nearly a breeze from this experiment. I was very careful to have no spillage, so anything and everything was fortunately contained within the tub. The tub, however, is very old, and a lot of dye worked its way into the tiny scratches on its bottom and sides while I was doing the rinsing. It took some scrubbing with vinegar, baking soda, and borax to get it out, but it was easier than I had expected.
Flushed with my success, I took the remaining dye (the forest green) to one of the lampshades in our living room. This lampshade is one of the cheap ones from IKEA, and is made of paper overlying some sort of plastic. It was getting dingy and dirty, and during the day, when the light was off, it looked quite yellow. I dusted it off with a clothes lint brush and took it into the kitchen. I laid down a garbage bag and then several layers of newsprint on top, and took one of our sponge brushes from the closet. The lampshade was too wide to fit into a pot, and I was concerned that the paper part of it might dissolve if I were to submerge it. Instead, I planned to paint it.
I filled a 4-cup measuring cup with boiling water and emptied in the green dye, which also looked pretty black, and dissolved the whole thing. I let it cool slightly, and then set to painting. I let the sponge brush fill with dye and ran it gently up and down the sides of the shade. I had to let it thoroughly dry between coats so that I didn’t destroy the paper, but I managed four coats before I was satisfied. An unexpected effect was that the paper on the shade was actually crinkled, with wrinkles running here and there along the sides of the shade. The dye darkened the wrinkles more than it did anything else, and so now the shade looks sort of like dark green leather. When the light is on, the lines stand out even more. It’s quite nice, actually. Another decent first effort.