If you’re an American coming to Canada for the first time, the most shocking thing about the transition is how little of a transition it is. Sure, people are generally more polite and there’s some “Queen” person on the money and the recycling is better coordinated–but on the whole (and I apologize to the Canadians in the audience for saying this), it’s really not all that different, at least in southern Ontario.
The one thing that continues to disrupt my general sense of just having moved to the American Midwest is the incredible pricey-ness of dairy products. As I understand it, because the standards for dairy production are much higher here–rGBH is illegal, among other things–cheese, milk, butter, yogurt and so on are noticeably more expensive. A standard block of cheddar cheese, for example, will run you between $5 and $7. Those are Canadian dollars, of course, but it’s an increase nevertheless. Don’t get me wrong: I’m happy to know that I’m not ingesting artificial growth hormones on a regular basis, and I’m even happier that the price of dairy here keeps local farmers in business. But it does make cheese into a special indulgence–which, when I think of it, is really kind of nice.
So the other day, Josh and I were trying to figure out how to use the half a block of cheddar cheese we had left over from the Shepherd’s Pie episode–and to use it in such a way as to make something filling, since we had embarrassingly little food in the house. I thought of Mac-n-Cheese right off the bat, of course–but this, too, seemed that it was not to be, as we were out of milk. We did have roughly a cup of buttermilk left from making biscuits, but the macaroni recipe I had called for 3 cups of milk. Still, we had nothing else in the house and even less money than dairy products…so, reciting Josh’s motto that “buttermilk makes everything better,” I decided to wing it.
I made a quick roux with a little butter, flour and dry mustard, then whisked in the lone cup of buttermilk, an egg, most of the cheese, some diced yellow onion, paprika, salt and pepper. To that gooey mess we added the cooked pasta, plus–at Josh’s urging–some diced tomatoes. After putting it in a casserole dish, I baked the whole thing for half an hour.
I’ll be honest–I was a little skeptical. Buttermilk is sour-smelling, thick, and (let’s just come right out and say it) a little lumpy sometimes. I couldn’t imagine that baking it would result in anything but sour-smelling pasta…but I was entirely wrong. It was rich, and creamy, and full-flavored. In fact, I think I may like mac-n-cheese done better with buttermilk: it takes less cheese and milk, and delivers an even more satisfying flavor.
So, the moral of the story is this: listen to Josh. Or, failing that, remember to stock up on buttermilk, because it really does make everything better.
I realize that it’s not much to look at, but this is perhaps unsurprising, given that even the traditional shepherd’s pie is just a bunch of stuff piled in a casserole and baked. This one uses a combination of red lentils and TVP as the “meat” part of the filling, which are cooked with onion, garlic, carrots, celery and green peas, and seasoned with thyme and fennel seeds. The potatoes are mashed with buttermilk, and the whole thing is topped with a sharp cheddar cheese (or “old cheddar” as they call it up here), which is then melted and browned under the broiler. It’s old-style comfort food, and absolutely worth the extra cooking time (which, all told, comes in at less than an hour).
Josh and I “discovered” the Flatbread Pizza (whose name, by the way, bears witness to the fact of its accidental hybrid status, midway between two delicious creations, and yet never fully either) when attempting to learn the ropes of our new oven. If you bake at all, you know that temperature gauges on ovens are in fact dirty, dirty liars, since every oven’s heat range is like a unique little snowflake with the potential to burn the crap out of whatever you’re making. Learning the whims of an oven takes time, and since we’ve only been with ours for a few weeks now, our attempts don’t always turn out as we anticipate. A week or so ago, when Josh was making the crust for some pizza, a too-hot oven resulted in a crunchy rustic flatbread that definitely wasn’t pizza crust. In my ongoing quest to save money, I insisted that we find a way to salvage it (“I’ll eat it! It’s only a little burned!” were my exact words, I think)…and the Flatbread Pizza was born. Interestingly, making the crust this way–directly on a pizza stone that’s heated to around 500 degrees–results in something that’s much closer to the pizzas we had in central Italy than anything I’ve seen here. Anyway, after we bake the crust (which tends to puff up and get a bit ugly, even when docked), we top it with sauce and mozzarella, plus whatever combination of items we like. We’ve found that simpler is usually better, however, so last night we did one with tomatoes (from Ontario!) and basil, and one with sauteed Cremini mushrooms and red bell pepper. Crunchy, flavorful and–even better–cheap.
