Baja Adventures -Limons

We’ve returned from our two weeks in Baja. The East Cape area is not Cabo – thankfully. It’s not really a place for tourists, either. Rather, it is home to a few small towns and farms hanging on the edge of the Sierra de la Laguna mountains and desert, desert, desert leading straight into the ocean surf. Other than the locals it is filled with sportfishers, rich Americans, and a few divers. Along with my entire family we rented the home of one of the Americans. This meant we could cook on our own instead of relying on taquerias and the few restaurants around (but those were good too). It also meant I could make many, many lime pies.

Aside from a lot of time spent walking the beach looking for shells and sea glass or swimming there wasn’t much to do. We drove around on the rally certified sand roads and sketchy Highway 1, visiting nearby towns and the hidden gems we could hike to. Mostly we played with all the kids (5 kids under the age of six), tried to read, and ate and drank - a lot. We took turns cooking and making the margaritas. There is actually quite a bit about our trip that I want to share. Today I will focus on the limes.

Limons: tiny green orbs of tart, sweet sunshine. In Baja they called them limons; they looked like key limes to us. Fantastic in a margarita, but irresistible in a lime pie. We saw the limes in the supermercado and bought a dozen every day or two.

So began the hunt for the rest of the ingredients for the pie. Generally this involved trying to pretend to read Spanish labels and hoping someone had heavy cream or graham crackers. Eggs, no problema. Zuca (sugar) no problema, Leche Light (condensed milk) no problema. Graham crackers were a challenge. I had settled on using some other random cookie to make crumbs when my mom hit another mercado and found some graham crackers. Heavy cream was never found, delivery of dairy products random in that area.

We were lucky that the kitchen in our house was relatively well-stocked. After the first pie I found the citrus juicer. Phew, that saved my fingers and a fork a long time spent juicing those teeny limes. And while there was no fancy microplane rasp, I did have a choice of zesters. I am pretty sure that it wouldn’t take as long to make the pie here, with access to pre-made crumbs or at least a food processor that works.

We did miss the whipped cream accompaniment, but we survived. Yeah, it was pretty rough. In total I think I made 4 pies. I think the recipe may have come from Martha, but I've made it for so long that I can't remember. Each one gave us the emotional equivalent of a sigh after the kids were all in bed. And for myself and my sister-in-law, it also gave us breakfast a few times, strength to fortify us for the swimming, tantrums, and innumerable sandwiches we tackled every day with the kids.

Now that we are home I intend to make this again this weekend. We are having the neighbours over for a thank-you dinner. They did shovel the walks and bring in the mail, after all. The least I can do is feed them pie, with whipped cream.

Key Lime Pie

(serves 8)

1 ½ cups graham cracker crumbs
4 tablespoons sugar
6 tablespoons melted butter
½ cup fresh squeezed lime juice
1 tbsp fresh lime zest
4 egg yolks
14 ounces sweetensed condensed milk

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Combine crumbs with 2 tablespoons sugar. Stir in melted butter until well combined. Press into 8 inch pie plate. Bake 12 minutes. Remove oven and set aside to cool.

2. Reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees. Combine remaining 2 tablespoons sugar with lime juice, zest, egg yolks, and condensed milk. Mix until well-combined. Pour into cooled crust. Bake for 12-15 minutes, until just set.

3. Cool completely and serve with whipped cream.

The Emotional Eater

The perfect brownie can make anyone feel better. I've been feeling the need to eat a lot of brownies lately. Not that I need more things brown in my life, what with the mud flat currently surrounding the house. And the mud piles in the backyard and the muddy paw prints and footprints littered over the hardwood... But these brownies really do make you feel better.

They are dense yet still a bit cakey. They are fudgy but not heavy. They are a hug in a square crumbly package. With a glass of milk at lunchtime or a stiff scotch at bedtime they fill you with love. Sure I have a great Hubby and the girls can do that too, but the perfect brownie is just for me.

It's hard to not feel better when you start with chocolate and butter. Seriously, not much gets better than that, on their own or melted together in fantastic richness. I need to make them without the Monster around or else she takes them both and messes up my measurements.

Okay, maybe it's not just her who snitches tastes along the way... Somehow it is naughty when I dip my finger to lick the chocolate, and just messy and fun when the Monster does it.

When all is said and done and the oven brings out the chocolate scent the hugs begin. It is almost painful to wait for them to bake and cool. Warm brownies are more fudgy, but I prefer them cool and dense. A good brownie can make you feel comforted and warm, a bad one leaves you cold and cranky.

About 13 years ago I worked at a health food store with a bakery in it. Beyond the granola and ultra-healthy food, we specialized in items for people with restricted diets. At one point that summer the chef and I took on a mission to create a healthy brownie. We tried multiple substitutions like carob for chocolate, fake eggs, brown rice syrup, and more. None of them worked. This was before some good gluten free recipes were readily available. Eventually we decided that we would go back to basics and make a recipe with real food - butter, eggs, chocolate, brown sugar, and unbleached flour. This was before the slow food movement or Michael Pollan. You know what? They were amazing brownies! Sadly I lost the recipe in the post-university moves.

After experimenting with many recipes I finally found The One. It never fails me, it's fast, has only a few ingredients, and results in a perfect brownie. The recipe comes from a cookbook I picked up on a trip to New York. Broke and spending an afternoon with a quilting friend in Brooklyn I picked up The Brooklyn Cookbook. Really just a hardcover community cookbook, the book is filled with personal anecdotes and recipes from locals. The perfect brownie comes from this book.

What makes a bad brownie? To me that means anything that is not chocolate related inside. No nuts for me, I hate the sudden change in texture when you bite into a brownie with nuts. I don't like glaze or icing because it changes the mouthfeel. On a cupcake yes, but not on a brownie. I've added chocolate chips, even mint ones, and raspberries before, but it's not my favourite. Just a plain, simple brownie, thank-you.

The Perfect Brownie

(adapted from The Brooklyn Cookbook)


4 ounces unsweetened chocolate
1/2 cup unsalted butter
3 eggs
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup flour

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and grease an 8 inch square baking pan.
2. Melt the chocolate and butter together in a bowl set over a pan of simmering water. When melted set aside and let the mixture cool.
3. Beat the eggs with the salt until foamy. Gradually add the sugar and vanilla, beating until the mixture is creamy. Quickly stir in the cooled chocolate mixture, then the flour. If you are going to add anything like chocolate chips or nuts (!) this is the time to do it.
4. Pour into the greased baking pan and bake for 20-25 minutes, until the center is set but still a bit giggley. Cool before cutting.

Backseat Adventure - Glamorgan Bakery

When you return to the memory of tastes it is easy to be disappointed. Too often the memory is linked heavily to the event or the circumstances of the taste. The brioche aren’t as rich as they seemed when they were a luxury in your days with a limited student budget. The meringue cookies you cherished on your bakery visits are more sweet than blandly crisp, more cloying than any adult should enjoy. Then there are the dinners, marked by romance, birthdays, or trips that can never be replicated. But sometimes, just sometimes, something is as good as you remember.

My brother-in-law, B, and I had this discussion over the weekend. A birthday present for my mother-in-law brought Hubby’s family to Banff for a weekend of eating and laughing at the children, with some swims and a hike thrown in. With a need to get my girls out of the house I decided to take them to Glamorgan Bakery, to stock up on B’s favourite cheese buns for the weekend.

Glamorgan Bakery is a Calgary institution. Since 1977 the owners have been churning out buttery goodness to Southwest Calgary. Hubby’s family grew up a relatively short bike ride away and took advantage of that quite regularly. It wasn’t until B and his then girl-friend and now my preggo-sister-in-law came to visit us shortly after we moved that I was properly introduced.

All I can remember B talking about was the cheese bun. How it was filled with cheese and butter to such an extent that the bread dough involved seemed superfluous. For a man who practically survives on any variety of cheese on bread – pizza, grilled cheese, melted cheese on bread dipped in ketchup – the Glamorgan Bakery cheese bun was his idea of perfection.

Then came the sugar cookies. We came for the cheese buns and we will return again and again for the sugar cookies. He says that he remembers eating them as a child, although I find that hard to believe because my mother-in-law is a fantastic baker. But then, fueled by a childhood memory, he went back to bakery and tried the sugar cookies, . Shockingly, they were better than he even remembered.

The Monster was enthralled by the selection of the bakery -colorful cupcakes, the overwhelming scent of butter and chocolate, and too much selection in the cookie department. I went straight to the counter for the cheese buns and she went straight to the sugar cookies. More precisely, the brightly coloured dinosaur cookies. How can you say no to a happy 2 year old? She got her cookie, promptly sat down on the floor, and took a bite. And then another and another. Two men were enjoying their coffee at the tiny counter for that purpose, oblivious to the joy of a sugar fueled toddler at their feet.

The dinosaur cookie was bigger than the Monster could handle so sadly I had to help her finish it. Let me rephrase that, I thought the cookie was too big and too good so I forced her to share it with me. Seriously, these are the best sugar cookies I’ve ever had. Not so much cookie as sweet butter that someone like Ferran Adria or Heston Blumenthal decided to serve in a crispy form. So I went back yesterday and bought more. Some for me and some for a girlfriend who was hosting us for tea in the afternoon as Little Miss Sunshine and I escaped the mess at home. By the time I got to her house the butter had stained the brown paper bag they came in and one cookie was missing. Good thing I bought more for dessert.

Taste Adventure - Figs

Call me boring, weird, or simply odd, but I hate Fig Newtons. Nothing about them is good. They are dry, pasty, and boring. And the fig filling? Just gross. But like most commercial food based on a real food, I figured the taste of the real thing would be enough to make me wonder how they can even put said fruit's name on the commercial product. Nope, I now think figs are gross too. And the Monster agreed with me.

It rather surprises me that I've never had a fig before, at least consciously. There had to be some snuck into salads at high end restaurants, or in a tagine. Nope, not that I can recall. And I am thankful for that. Otherwise I would have had a spoiled meal and not discovered some damn tasty frozen yogurt.

After we cut up a fig to try the other day and both spat it out in disgust I had to figure something out. I'd paid money for the damn things, I wasn't throwing them out. Then I remembered a old issue of City Palate that had a feature on figs (Julie?) and I'd actually pulled some recipes to try. Because I am a firm believer that roasting makes almost everything taste better I went with the recipe for Roasted Fig Fro-Yo. I did end up halving the recipe because that was how much yogurt I had in the house.

Huge success! The fro-yo was rich and sweet and oh so creamy. Did it taste like figs? Not the gross ones we had, but it definitely tasted like more than plain fro-yo. The Monster happily ate hers with a glass of pear nectar for a post-dogwalk snack. For me, it was the perfect accompaniment to the last of the apple pie my mom made for us on the weekend.

Roasted Fig Fro-Yo
(adapted from City Palate July/August 2008)

500 grams thick plain yogurt (Liberté Mediterranée)
1/4 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
4 fresh figs, stemmed and halved
1 tsp canola oil
2 tsp honey

1. Drain the yogurt in a cheesecloth lined sieve set over a bowl for at least a few hours, preferably overnights.
2. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Spread the figs in a single layer in a small baking dish, drizzle with the oil and honey. Roast for 20 minutes, or until soft. Press through a sieve and discard the skins. Set in the fridge to cool.
3. Once the fig mixture is cool stir it into the drained yogurt. Freeze in an ice cream maker, according to manufacturer's directions.

For futher fro-yo adventures, check out this crazy video!