sesame miso banana bread

sesame miso banana bread

It’s safe to say most bakers have a favourite banana bread. For years, I did. The recipe, based on a beloved Jean Pare standard, made its way into our wedding cookbook so family and friends could make it, too. Through the years, that bread used up many a turned banana bunch on our kitchen counter.

You probably can tell where this is going.

Last year, Food & Wine published a recipe for Miso Banana Bread. I was so intrigued; mainly because I often buy massive containers of miso with great intention to scrape through the whole thing, only to throw it out a year later minus that heaping tablespoon used for soup, worried it’s turned. Ever consistent, I carted home a big tub of white miso on a recent trip to Tokyo and it’s been staring me down from the condiment shelf ever since.

From a perspective of balance, the recipe just makes sense; we often use salt in sweet recipes for balance, and vice-versa. A deep, umami base of miso is just right to balance and add complexity against the cloying sweetness of banana, which sometimes can make a loaf taste one-note.

The recipe benefits from a full quarter-cup of miso and four mashed bananas, for heady banana overtones and tender crumb. I add a generous topping of crunchy sesame seeds for even more depth. Having now made the recipe twice, I can confirm I prefer it with the sesame addition, and a few other modifications: a second flour for depth, decreased sugar, no added salt and a shorter cooking time. The original recipe is excellent if you prefer a sweeter, denser, more cake-like loaf.

Sesame Miso Banana Bread

Modified from a July 2016 Food and Wine recipe


  • 1 stick unsalted butter, softened
  • 1/2 cup white sugar
  • 1/4 cup white miso
  • 1/2 cup buttermilk
  • 2 large eggs
  • 4 medium-size overripe bananas, mashed
  • 1 cup flour
  • 3/4 cup whole wheat flour
  • 1 tsp baking soda
  • 1/2 tsp baking powder
  • 1 Tbsp raw sesame seeds
  • 1 medium banana, sliced in half lengthwise


Preheat oven to 350° F.  Prepare a standard metal loaf tin with parchment paper overhanging the sides.

Using a stand mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream the butter, sugar and miso at medium speed until fluffy. Scrape down bowl.

Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, whisk together dry ingredients: flours, baking soda and baking powder.

At low speed, add to the stand mixer buttermilk, then beat in 
the eggs. Beat in the mashed bananas (the batter will look curdled). Add the dry ingredients and mix until just blended.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and sprinkle sesame seeds across the loaf, concentrating more in the middle. Arrange the banana slices over top as pictured.

Bake for about 75 minutes, until the top of the loaf is burnished and a toothpick inserted comes out clean. Allow to cool on a rack for 30 minutes before gently pulling from the pan and slicing.

Keep the bread, wrapped on the counter, for up to three days. It also freezes like a dream for later thawing and toasting.


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electric winter slaw

32320815972_02466ac392_oMost times, I’ll post a recipe here on a whim; when a dish has repeatedly turned out especially well, or has become a kitchen standard.

In the case of this salad shared to Instagram at the height of New Year’s resolution season, I have received so many emails and messages and requests for the recipe that I feel obliged to share.

The Electric Winter Slaw has three components: (1) shredded red cabbage dressed in tangy miso-soy-lime dressing; (2) spicy shredded citrus-nigella-ginger carrots; and (3) flash-marinated sesame-cilantro cucumber. It sounds like a lot of work and components, but is mostly just a bit of chopping and whisking to some good music and kitchen conversation.

Each element of the salad is great solo, but combined create a winter salad with a rainbow of flavours and satisfying crunch. Store the three components separately so they don’t bleed together, then plate for easy lunches and sides.

Electric winter slaw with sesame & miso

Austin and I joke that each year we get a deluge of one vegetable in our winter farmshare as a challenge. 2013/4—year of the rutabaga; 2014/5—celeriac; 2015/6—golden beets; and this year, purple cabbage. This slaw was originally conceived in an effort to get through the deluge. Make a double portion for a full head of cabbage and eat it for lunches all week long.

Makes 6 generous lunch portions


For the Miso-soy-lime cabbage slaw

  • 4 Tbsp neutral oil
  • juice of 1 large lime
  • 4 tsp white miso
  • 2 tsp sesame oil
  • 2 tsp maple syrup
  • 2 tsp ginger, grated
  • 1 Tbsp soy sauce or tamari
  • 1/2 large head red cabbage, shredded
  • 2 clementines, peeled and chopped
  • 1/2 medium red onion, thinly sliced

For the Shredded citrus-nigella-ginger carrots

  • 2 Tbsp rice wine vinegar
  • 1 Tbsp ginger, grated
  • 1 tsp nigella seeds or black sesame seeds
  • 1 tsp red pepper flakes
  • fine sea salt, to taste
  • 3 large carrots, finely grated or shredded

For the Sesame-cilantro cucumber

  • 1 tsp sesame seeds, toasted
  • 1/4 cup cilantro, finely chopped
  • 1 tsp red peppercorns, crushed
  • 1 Tbsp soy sauce or tamari
  • 1 Tbsp lime juice
  • 1 tsp sesame oil
  • 1 large English cucumber, very thinly sliced (with a knife or mandolin)

As garnish

  • additional sesame seeds
  • lime wedges


For the Miso-soy-lime cabbage slaw: Combine all ingredients, except produce, in a large bowl and whisk until emulsified. Add the cabbage, onions and clementine. Toss to coat, and set aside to marinate.

For the Shredded citrus-nigella-ginger carrots: Combine all ingredients, except carrots, in a large bowl and whisk until incorporated. Add the carrots, toss to coat, and set aside to marinate.

For the Sesame-cilantro cucumber: Combine all ingredients, except cucumber, in a large bowl and whisk until incorporated. Add the sliced cucumber, toss to coat, and set aside to marinate.

To serve: On a large serving platter, heap piles of each salad. Sprinkle with more sesame seeds and serve with fat lime wedges.


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winter harvest muffins


As a kid, mom had a cookbook that was a sacred part of our kitchen, a slim circa-1983 spiral-bound volume by Jean Paré called Company’s Coming: Muffins & More. This book was dogeared and batter-splatted and thumbed through unconsciously by our entire family; a centrepiece of the kitchen bookshelf.

It produced our favourite treats — lemon loaf with a craggy tart-sour icing top, crumbly coffee cake, Holy Grail banana bread… and especially muffins that featured vegetables. Mom loved these — she tasked Eleni and me with grating zucchini and carrot and parsnip and their contemporaries for any and every quick bread and muffin and loaf.

A few years back, I happened upon a copy at a used bookshop, and made Muffins & More my own. My volume isn’t quite as well loved as mom’s, but all the same inspires simple, wholesome baking from my kitchen. This cookbook was and is brilliant for its adaptable recipes, a reminder that baking can be an uncomplicated and generous home pursuit.

In mom’s honour (and in true Jean Paré fashion), these winter harvest muffins are packed with every last bit of our farmshare — grated carrot, parsnip, apple — and jewelled with dried apricot, raisins, walnuts and pumpkin seeds. They are a hybrid of a few recipes perfected through the years — and importantly, adaptable. The root vegetables can be subbed at will, the sweetener forgivingly interchanged, the mix-ins optional and rotating, depending upon what’s on hand.

Making this type of muffin inevitably ends in a call to mom — to wax nostalgia about stained cookbook pages, and muffin tins with a loving patina, and little girls perched high on countertops grating carrots and wielding wooden spoons. Sure enough, she’s probably just made some of Jean’s banana bread.

Winter Harvest Muffins

This recipe is based loosely on a few recipes collected and melded over time; mostly adapted from techniques in Muffins & More, with the smart additions of olive oil and honey borrowed from Melissa Clark’s Lunchbox Harvest Muffins.

As I note above, this is recipe forgiving, as muffins should be. Be sure to approximate the same quantities of wet ingredients (1.5 cups assorted grated wet/root vegetables) and mix-ins (1 cup assorted dried nuts/fruits), and everything should turn out okay!

Makes one-dozen midsize muffins


  • 1/2 cup whole wheat flour
  • 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1/8 cup bran
  • 2 tsp baking soda
  • 1 tsp ground cinnamon
  • 1/2 tsp grated nutmeg
  • pinch salt
  • 2 large eggs
  • 1/2 cup olive oil
  • 3 Tbsp honey
  • 1 small apple, grated (~1/2 cup)
  • 1 small carrot, grated (~1/2 cup)
  • 1 small parsnip, grated (~1/2 cup)


  • 1/2 cup raisins
  • 1/4 cup unsweetened shredded coconut
  • 1/4 cup assortment (I like walnuts, pepitas and chopped dried apricots)
  • demerara sugar, to top (optional)


Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line muffin tin with parchment or liners, if desired. 

In a bowl, whisk together dry ingredients: flours, bran, baking soda, spices and salt.

In a large bowl, combine the eggs, olive oil, honey, apple, parsnip and carrot. 

Gently fold the dry ingredients into the wet until just combined. Add mix-ins: raisins, coconut and nuts, reserving a handful to decorate the muffins, if desired.

Fill each cup 3/4 full. If desired, top with mix-ins and a sprinkle of Demerara sugar, for crunch. Bake on middle rack for about 25 minutes until an inserted toothpick comes out clean.

Cool on a wire rack. Serve immediately or wrap in saran and foil for lunches or to freeze for later snacking. 


A full index of recipes featured on Some Infinite Thing

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Choosing and using a farm share (CSA) service

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yiayia maria’s avgolemono

avgolemono soupAs a girl, I was fascinated by avgolemono, the broad term for a creamy lemon-egg sauce we use to finish all manner of Greek dishes — from cabbage rolls to poached fish to meatballs to stuffed grape leaves. While the cabbage rolls take a close second, my favourite preparation has always been avgolemono soupa, a five-ingredient soup that belies its simplicity.

This soup is our salve for all ailments and woes; this soup is food we eat to honour and nourish our bodies.

My namesake, Yiayia Maria, makes her avgolemono in a massive and dented metal pot, starting with the whole chicken that forms the soup’s broth. She’ll extract the swollen carcass and pick the meat, showing her island upbringing, where not a shred went wasted. Into the pot of broth: the rice, then separately whisking the lemon and eggs to a frothy ordeal that thickens the soup. With care and by the ladleful, hot stock is whisked into the lemon-egg mixture, bringing it to temperature so as not to curdle.

Then, the magic: the lemon-egg mixture joins the soup pot, and with barely a turn of the whisk transforms the broth to a lemon-yellow cream that coats a spoon. Always, I watched this step with intensity and interest, amazed that a little protein and acid could turn thin broth into something entirely other. (To this day, any similar culinary slight of hand fills me with glee: bechamel sauce thickening, ouzo made cloudy by ice cubes, gelatin setting milk into panna cotta.)

That was that. The soup heaped into bowls, pulled boiled chicken at the side to add at your preference. How water, chicken, rice, lemon and eggs can be so perfect is a mystery, but one I’m willing to accept.

25311170634_bcc8dd1dec_oYiayia Maria’s Avgolemono Soup

I make Yiayia’s soup with chicken stock following my favourite Cook’s Illustrated/Smitten Kitchen method, as I love the gelatinous richness you get from slowly simmered chicken wings. Otherwise, it’s true to her traditional recipe. If you prefer lighter broth, work from a whole chicken carcass versus just wings.

I’ve provided an optional garnish of braised bitter greens for the soup, playing off the Greek tradition of horta, boiled wild greens (and one of my favourite foods). It’s decidedly not traditional, but a scoop at the bottom of your bowl is the perfect bitter-rich foil to the bright soup.

Makes 8 generous bowlfuls


  • 1 recipe’s worth Perfect Uncluttered Chicken Stock (you will need: 3 lbs chicken wings, 1 onion, 1 garlic clove)
  • 3/4 c short-grain white rice
  • 3 lemons, juiced and seeded
  • 4 large eggs
  • salt and pepper, to taste

Optional bitter green garnish

  • 1 Tbsp olive oil
  • 8 cups bitter greens, washed and trimmed (e.g., dandelion, chicory, spinach, kale)
  • 2 garlic cloves, minced
  • salt and pepper, to taste


In a large stock pot, bring chicken stock to a rolling boil. Taste for seasoning (it should be generously salted).

Add rice to stock, stirring frequently until cooked through, about 20 minutes.

While the rice cooks, whisk together the lemon juice and eggs in a large bowl until pale yellow and frothy.

One ladleful at a time, slowly whisk hot stock from your pot into the lemon-egg mixture. The purpose here is to bring to mixture to temperature so it doesn’t curdle and cook (like scrambled eggs) when it hits the broth.

To the stock pot, add the tempered lemon-egg mixture in a gentle stream, whisking constantly. Within 60 seconds or so, your soup with turn a beautiful opaque yellow hue and start to thicken.

For the optional bitter green garnish: In a shallow pan, heat olive oil over medium and add the greens and garlic, salting well. Cover and allow to wilt, about five minutes. Finish with a swirl of olive oil.

Serve immediately, or allow to thicken further by sitting the soup at room temperature. If serving with the greens, heap a little pile at the bottom of each bowl before filling with soup.

Because of the rice leeching starch, avgolemono will continue to thicken in the fridge and leftovers will be a no-less-delicious but creamier soup. You can see this distinction in the photos included with this recipe: the lead photo has a just-made broth-y soup, whereas the second image shows a soup thickened with time.


travelogue | champagne, france (march 2016)

Champagne France TravelogueNew to the travelogue series on Some Infinite Thing? See past travels!

From the moment I turned 29, Austin was plotting how we would welcome my 30th. I’m his elder by a year and a month, so he sets the tone for how we celebrate new decades.

One evening, he shot up in bed as we were reading and exclaimed to me: “It’s obvious!” He continued, “where else would you celebrate turning 30 than by drinking Champagne in Champagne?!” I could toast to that.

Austin set about planning a 30th birthday celebration that would start in the Champagne region of France, eventually working up to Belgium and the Netherlands over the course of 10 days in March 2016.

He snagged some cheap mid-week tickets (YYZ to CDG), which added a couple bonus days to our initial plans for a week-long trip. We boarded a Wednesday night flight and slept/movie binged through the flight, landing mid-morning.25949434130_ba3096f4ba_bKnowing our intent was to circumvent Paris (nothing against Paris — it’s one of our favourite cities — but that wasn’t the point of this trip) we caught a TGV to Reims from Charles de Gaulle. The ride took about an hour and led us into the quaint downtown station.

We checked into our Airbnb rental, a simple, well-designed little apartment right near the Reims city centre. We set out to find a late lunch, opting for tartine and moules frites along the main stretch, given the off-hours dining time. As we often do when we arrive timezones east, we headed home to rest and acclimate to the difference.

26129871452_d6799b78f9_b 25949421770_dbffd82cda_b reims france airbnbReims (pronounced “rahnse”) is the big city of the Champagne-Ardenne region of northern France, and along with neighbouring town Epernay, forms the commercial hub of the region. The region has five administrative areas for grape-growing purposes, as has been drilled into my brain from these last few years of wine school: Aube, Côte des Blancs, Côte de Sézanne, Montagne de Reims and Vallée de la Marne. (This Wine Folly post offers a great primer on the Champagne region.)

For our first full day in Champagne, Austin booked a private tour of some of the smaller houses that required special arrangements to visit, through a company called La Vigne du Roy. For those of us used to the North American model of wine tasting (show up and taste) the by-appointment-only system in many of France’s wine regions may come as a surprise. It’s why we opted for the services of a reputable guide to help plan our itinerary.

Our guide, Katya, a St. Petersburg native who had lived in Champagne for almost two decades, met us at our apartment just after breakfast to start the day. Through the day, she switched effortlessly between perfect French, Russian, English and Italian — I’m always impressed to see a fellow polyglot in action, but especially one with a flawless command of so many languages. 26156008251_4f9b060813_b reims ponson champagne 26222304285_5a5808b814_b

We started our day by visiting a small producer, Champagne Pascal Ponson et Fils in Coulommes la Montagne, about 45 minutes from Reims. The drive through the narrow cobblestoned streets and misty vineyards on the Montagne de Reims was incredible — stripped of their vines for the winter, you could really see the age of the old and spindly plants braced into the slope.

We walked into Ponson’s bottling facility in full swing, bottles being filled and capped for second fermentation. Descending into the small cellar, we encountered two riddlers at work — hand riddling bottles on old-style pupitres (riddling desks). This was something I’d only ever read about in textbooks! Even amongst quality producers, few modern ones undertake all their riddling by hand, due to both the expense of manual labour and expertise required.

We moved up to a small tasting room where Katya poured glasses of each house variety — Prestige (Pinot Meunier dominant) with a floral, fragrant nose; Grand Reserve (1/3 of each varietal in the classic style) with a golden hue and honeyed nose; Rose Gentes Dames (Pinot Meunier dominant rose) with a long red fruit nose; and the Cuvee de Domaine (or house blend, Chardonnay dominant) with a fine bubble and structured, toasty nose.

Another difference between wine tasting in Europe and North America — they don’t spit! I’m used to having a spit cup by my side during extended tastings, but Katya was horrified at the thought. Bottoms up!

We continued to our next stop, another small producer based out of the village Ecueil called Champagne Nicolas Maillart. Though the facilities were closed to the public, Katya had full range of the cellars, production facilities and tasting room, ensuring we took our time to explore every nook.

After touring the labyrinthine cellars beneath the property, we sat down in the tasting room for a truly extraordinary tasting of all eight wines on offeras well as some special vintages on hand that she opened for us to taste comparatively. It’s not every day one gets to comparatively taste 10+ styles of a house’s Champagnes! Blissful.maillart champagne france 26129867032_e65365ae90_b 26196387856_dee8f75205_b

By this time, we needed food, so Katya dropped us at a bistro back in Reims for a lunch she had arranged. Coq au vin for Austin and dorade in beurre blanc for me — with more Champagne, of course — and petits fours for dessert.

We continued our afternoon in Reims proper — where many of the big houses are located — opting to visit Taittinger. Katya noted she preferred to visit small producers because “once you’ve had a tour with one big house, you’ve seen them all” but acknowledged it was important to visit at least one commercial-scale producer, to get a sense of the sheer volume of production. (We’d visit Mumm on our own the next day, and further understand her perspective!)

26222298415_ea575361e3_oWe lucked out at Taittinger with a fabulous guide — an expat Brit who lived and breathed Champagne and ate up our dozens of questions with aplomb. The chalk caves beneath the property were like nothing else I’ve experienced — endless, soaring and stacked dozens deep with every last vintage, many under lock and key. It delighted me to no end to place my hand on the consistently damp and chilled chalk walls of the caves, nature’s perfect temperature regulator for these special wines.26156000721_b145ce4b1a_oAfter exploring the caves, we returned to the tasting room to sample Taittinger’s Chardonnay-dominant house style. I’ve always enjoyed their house style on previous occasions, so it was fun to experience a familiar wine in place.

We returned to our apartment sated from a day of bubbles (“When again will we drink so much Champagne in one day?!” I gushed to Austin… “Tomorrow?” he replied. Touche…) for an afternoon nap.

With evening’s arrival, we dressed for dinner at a restaurant just down the street, L’Alambic, whose dining room is housed in an old Champagne cave once part of Reims’ vast networks. It was a simple little seasonal menu executed with care, which we paired with what else but more Champagne — a zero dosage style bracing with salinity.

The next morning, we again set out with a guide to explore two small Premier Cru producers based in the town of Hautvillers, where Dom Perignon is entombed. We started at a truly mom-and-pop operation, Champagne Fernand Lemaire — so small they lack a website — to tour their tiny cave and taste their wines. These were of exceptional value and perfectly suited as a food wine.25949415400_72a3e2267a_o.jpg25619644583_3928eb14e6_oFrom there, we took time to explore Hautvillers on our own by foot, notably the abbey where Dom Perignon first “tasted the stars”, as in the infamous (if fictitious) tale. Perignon is entombed at the abbey’s altar (above photo), which was something incredible to behold after reading so much about his important position in Champagne’s history and lore.25619643833_95c9e2402e_o.jpgFan-girl moment passed, we continued to JM Gobillard et Fils, which was both Austin and my favourite winery over the two days. We sat at their beautiful barrel table, sampling everything on offer. We both were blown away by a 20 euro (!) Blanc de Noirs wine that drank well beyond its price point. We still regret not shipping home several cases to have on hand for anytime-celebrations…

We retuned to Reims for an afternoon us two, starting with a big lunch at Bouillon des Halles, a brasserie recommended to us a couple times during our stay. We opted for their market menu, which was impeccably fresh and well priced — with fish, fresh pasta, house-made terrine and simple salads. There’s nothing fancy about northern French fare — it’s just thoughtful and simple — which I so adore.

Post-lunch, we digested with a long walk to the part of town where all the big houses are congregated, opting to visit Mumm as a comparison to the previous day’s Taittinger experience. It very much followed the same formula — a detailed account of the house’s history, tour of the caves and finish with a few iconic offerings in its tasting room.25619642593_d3f0efeaf9_o.jpg26129857372_f818b305ed_o.jpgWe realized at Mumm that we lucked out with our previous day’s guide, who seemed much more knowledgeable and excited by his wines. By this point, we understood Katya’s earlier point that one or two big houses is plenty. For any visitor to the region, I would suggest picking a favourite big house, then devoting the rest of your time (and money) to the endless options amongst tiny Cru and Villages producers.25949418140_69d9120f35_o.jpgThat afternoon, we ambled through the city centre, along our way gathering provisions for a picnic dinner at home — the best cheeses, meats, bread and produce we could find — coupled with a bottle of that wonderful Blanc de Noirs from Gobillard.

During our walk, we stopped off at the iconic Notre Dame de Reims with its famed stained glass windows, including Chagall’s blue glass. After watching the sun set into the cathedral’s warm facade, we retreated to our apartment for a final night in Reims before heading north to Brussels the next morning.26155995081_3826a1ba09_o.jpg25949416500_5c25281ef0_o.jpgAustin and I discussed at length on our train ride — was 2.5 days and six houses of varying size and complexity enough to experience Champagne? Yes and no.

Yes, in the sense that you eventually fatigue, in two ways.

First, information fatigue. Most tours/guides assume very minimal prior knowledge of Champagne on the part of visitors, which is completely understandable. But if you’ve already studied the region, its history, production, varietals and such, it becomes tedious to hear the same entry-level information presented over and again.

Second, palate fatigue. Your tongue can only take so much bracing, acidic liquid before it stops tasting anything at all, and Champagne is as bracing and acidic as wine gets! By the second full day, I was spitting about 50% of what we consumed and even then, I was at the precipice of what I could intelligently enjoy.

No, in in terms of depth and breadth.

First, any oenophile could spend days with these small producers and still not touch the surface of Champagne’s complexity. I could see returning with a sommelier or buyer in order to visit producer after producer for tastings.

Second, we didn’t experience the breadth of the region, no doubt. With more time, I also would have visited Epernay to experience either of Moet & Chandon or Veuve Clicquot’s famous houses. There are a handful of excellent restaurants in and around Epernay that we would have tried, time permitting. Further, it would have been great to venture deeper into the distinct regions to understand their equally distinct handling of grape varietals.

All said, I return to Austin’s adage to “save something for next time.” Champagne is a special place, and one I see us returning to at all times of the year to witness the cycle of production.


We loved our reasonably-priced Airbnb rental in the heart of town


L’Alambic for simple French cooking in a beautiful setting

Bouillon des Halles for impeccable market fare (also visit the market next door!)


Consider Katya at La Vigne du Roy for an informed, personalized tour of the region’s small Cru producers

Use a guide like Cris Event to build a tour around Hautvillers, the home of Dom Perignon

Visit a big house or two in Reims (TaittingerMumm, Ruinart) or Epernay (Moet & ChandonVeuve Clicquot), and ensure you make reservations in advance

See the historic Notre Dame de Reims, the seat of coronation of France’s kings

Other Resources

Step-by-step guide to building a travel itinerary

How to pack a capsule suitcase

Some tested tips for a successful Airbnb booking

Snaps from our travels on Instagram



32368682265_20ba898853_o.jpgOur household is a meat-eating one.

I spent over a decade of my life as an anemic vegetarian (who by benefit of science and persistent testing finally learned my body does not readily absorb non-heme iron). In other words, I reject plant-based iron sources, like dark greens and legumes. I was saved, literally, by animal protein. I still have my blood tested regularly and don’t ever receive my “perfectly average” iron levels without a silent thanks and cheer to the doctor who figured out my omnivorous destiny.

Animal protein always will be an important part of my diet to stave off anemia, and I consume at least a little bit each day.

But sometimes our former vegetarians surface (my husband, too, was a vegetarian for a sizeable part of his 20s) and we enjoy meals built around plant-based protein. We’ve had two vegetarian dishes recently that were so excellent I’m compelled to share: a cassoulet and citrus-radicchio farro salad that were fortifying weekday meals for mid-winter’s chill.

31683641494_e66d42d0a7_o.jpgVegetarian Cassoulet

This fresher take on heady cassoulet (one of my favourite southern French dishes), inspired by this recipe, is a perfect winter meal, replete with sturdy vegetables, dark greens, mushrooms and navy beans. We served it topped with crisp fingerling potatoes in place of the traditional breadcrumb topping. We go the extra mile to soak and cook beans from scratch, because while canned is great in a pinch, you can’t beat the texture of a fresh bean when it’s the star of the show!

Feeds two for dinner, with leftovers for lunch


  • 2 Tbsp olive oil
  • 2 medium onions, diced
  • 2 celery ribs, diced
  • 3 medium carrots, peeled and diced
  • 3 large garlic cloves, minced
  • 8 ounces assorted mushrooms, quartered (we like cremini and shitake)
  • 1 head curly or lacinato kale, shredded
  • 1/2 c dry red wine (something mid-body like pinot noir or gamay)
  • 3 c navy (or other white) beans
  • 1.5 c vegetable broth
  • 1 large sprig rosemary, or several sprigs thyme
  • sea salt and pepper, to taste
  • 1/2c toasted walnuts (optional, to serve)


In a large, shallow dutch oven, heat oil over medium. Add onion, celery, carrot and rosemary/thyme and cook about 10 minutes until vegetables are soft and translucent. Taste and season. 

Add the garlic and mushrooms and cover about five minutes until mushrooms have shrunk and released their moisture. Taste and season.

Place kale over mixture and cover again for about five minutes to wilt the greens. Taste and season.

To the mixture, add wine, beans and broth. Cook uncovered for about 10 minutes, until the beans are creamy and liquid has started to absorb.

Using a potato masher, mash a quarter of the beans to thicken the sauce, if desired.

Serve sprinkled with toasted walnuts, if desired.  We topped ours with roasted fingerling potatoes for more heft.

32368682265_20ba898853_oCitrus-Radicchio Farro Salad

Farro (spelt) is one of my favourite grains. I love its toothsome quality, deep nuttiness and ability to make a vegetarian meal feel substantial. Paired up with two winter stars: beloved blood oranges and the bitter foil of radicchio, this salad keeps getting better as it sits in Tupperware waiting for weekday lunches.

Makes 4 generous lunch portions


For the dressing:

  • juice of 1 medium blood orange
  • 1 Tbsp red wine vinegar
  • 1 Tbsp dijon mustard
  • 1 Tbsp maple syrup
  • generous salt and pepper, to taste
  • 5 Tbsp olive oil

For the salad:

  • 1 medium blood orange, peeled and segmented
  • 2 medium tangerines, peeled and sliced thinly crosswise
  • 1 small head radicchio, shaved
  • 2 c cooked farro
  • 1/4 c dates, pitted and chopped
  • 1/2 c parsley, finely chopped
  • 1/4 c sliced almonds, toasted


To make the dressing, whisk together all ingredients except oil. Slowly add oil in a stream to emulsify.

To make the salad, toss in a large bowl all ingredients with dressing, reserving some orange slices and almonds for garnish. Taste for seasoning and adjust as needed.


an ode to shortbread

world's best shortbread cookiesWhen I was a girl, shortbread were standard issue in my mom’s Christmas cookie offering. Hers were tiny snowballs, studded with toasty, resinous walnuts and rolled in powdered sugar—the unassuming but delicious backbone of the cookie tin.

Perhaps because of this, I always imagined shortbread as the elegant adult of the Christmas cookie party—unfussy, subtly sweet, full of really good butter, and delicately cooked to blonde. 

My favourite shortbread is the roll-and-cut variety. There’s something smart but playful about choosing a shape—a star, Christmas tree, snowflake, diamond—and making dozens of identical snappy cookies to stack high and dust with powdered sugar, like snow.

I also favour a lightly-sugared shortbread that straddles the line between sweet and savoury. My preferred recipe uses a scant 1/2 cup sugar for four-dozen cookies, and can be coaxed further into the sweet realm with the aforementioned dusting of snow.

My preferred flavour combination is a holy trinity of orange zest, crushed hazelnut and pink peppercorn, which is just savoury enough and gives a moment of pause as you tease out the different notes. The peppercorn infuses the dough gently, providing a nice background warmpth, while the citrus pops and the hazelnut lends heft.

That said, the nut + spice + fruit formula is endlessly adaptable. Other combinations to try:

  • pistachio + green cardamom + orange
  • coconut + saffron + lime
  • walnut + lavender + lemon
  • pine nut + rosemary + Meyer lemon
  • almond + dried cherry + candied ginger
  • pecan + thyme + dried cranberry

Shortbreads always find a way into my cookie tins. I hope this sweet-savoury take on the tradition inspires your own.

world's best shortbread cookies

Orange Hazelnut Pink Peppercorn Shortbread

Makes about 4-dozen small cutout cookies


  • 1/2 cup whole hazelnuts (or other nut)
  • zest of 1 large orange, about 1 Tbsp (or other zest)
  • 1 tsp crushed pink peppercorn (or other spice)
  • 1/2 cup granulated sugar
  • 1 tsp vanilla extract
  • 2.5 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 tsp fine sea salt
  • 1 cup (2 sticks) cold butter, cut into 1-tablespoon pieces
  • powdered sugar, for dusting (optional)


Preheat oven to 325°F.

In a food processor, combine hazelnuts, sugar, orange zest, peppercorn and vanilla extract. Pulse until hazelnuts are finely chopped. Add flour and pulse further to combine.

Add butter to processor a few pieces at a time, pulsing to combine. The resulting mixture will be mealy and likely will not stick together, depending on your ambient humidity.

Transfer dough to a large bowl and knead until smooth and held together. If the dough will not come together, add water in 1 teaspoon increments until combined, but this is likely unnecessary. 

Divide dough in half. If storing for later, wrap in cling film and allow to come up to temperature for about 30 minutes before rolling.

On a floured surface, roll dough portions to 1/4-inch thickness. Cut out with desired shapes.

Place cookies 1-inch apart on a parchment-lined cookie sheet. Chill sheets in freezer for 5 minutes before baking.

Bake for about 12 minutes until bottoms are barely sandy in colour. Transfer to wire rack to cool.

If desired, dust the cooled cookies with powdered sugar.

alternate method to cut shortbread

Tips for Successful Shortbread

  1. Don’t fret if the dough feels a bit dry and crumbly, just knead a bit more. This is preferable to adding water for a tender-crumbed cookie.
  2. Minimize re-rolling by maximizing the cuts you make in the dough. I try not to re-roll dough more than once, as the extra flour lends tough cookies. Instead, I suggest slicing your final pass into a diamond or square shape (instead of an odd-shaped cookie cutter) to minimize wasted dough (see photo above).
  3. For even baking and minimal spread, pop your cookie sheet (with raw cookies on it) in the freezer for five minutes before baking.
  4. Light evenly-coloured shortbread are preferred. If yours are darkening too quickly, reduce oven temperature to 3oo°F.