Asparagus Salad with Parmesan and Lemon-Dijon Dressing

It is thisclose to spring.

Sure, we’re in the middle of that weird part of the changing seasons when the weather flip-flops between sun and beers on patios, followed closely by fat flakes of snow coating the landscape. But even in these confused days of shifting temperatures and growing impatience for that first flush of green, I want to at least taste like spring has arrived.

I’m eager to shrug off the winter comfort foods — braises and creamy pastas — for the fresh flavours that come with the changing season. I want to nibble on green shoots and tender vegetables that are harbingers of longer, warmer days to come.

So, forgive me, because I’m about to cheat.
Asparagus

Here, it is not yet asparagus season — that’s still a good six weeks or so away — but I just need that first taste of it.

If you are more patient than me, feel free to bookmark this for later. But I won’t tell if you reach out for a bunch of asparagus at the grocery store because you’re also looking for something light and green to cleanse the winter palate.

Lemon, with its inherent brightness (which I argue makes it good for any season), matches well here and also seems to herald the changing of the seasonal guard.

It’s a perfect match with asparagus. Even in the colder months, when I crack and buy some to roast in a hot oven with a drizzle of olive oil and some salt and pepper, I will squeeze over a wedge of lemon or two to add some zing and cut the richness.

For spring, though, I want asparagus in salad form.

While we often think of steaming, roasting or grilling the green spears, it’s perfectly tasty without any heat being added to the mix. Sometimes I make salads by peeling off thin layers of the stalks to create ribbons. Other times, I make this salad, where I slice them into coins and add a bit of crunch with some walnuts and salty richness from some Parmesan cheese.

I came up with this recipe for Asparagus Salad with Parmesan and Lemon-Dijon Dressing when I was writing Pucker, which, it’s hard to believe, has now been out for about 16 months. At turns it feels like years and year ago, while in others it feels like I was just working on it, just seeing the designs, just holding my own copy for the first time.

I still find it a little hard to believe that I wrote a book, even more so when I stumble upon it in stores or get tweets from people about what they’ve made or how they’ve made some recipes their own. (Thank you to all who have tweeted or Instagrammed their dishes; it is so rewarding and I’m so grateful.)

So, maybe this is weird, but sometimes I crack my own copy to make something (why reinvent the wheel, right?). And right now, that’s this salad. I apologize in advance if making it — and talking about how it’s pretty much spring now — brings on the next great snowstorm. In that case, take the asparagus and roast it off instead. Just don’t forget the squeeze of lemon at the end.

Asparagus II

Asparagus Salad with Parmsan and Lemon-Dijon Dressing

Asparagus Salad with Parmesan and Lemon-Dijon Dressing

As published in Pucker: A Cookbook for Citrus Lovers, Whitecap Books (2014)

  • 1 bunch asparagus (about 1 pound/500 g)
  • 4 to 5 green onions, sliced
  • 1 cup grated Parmesan
  • 1/2 cup walnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped

Dressing:

  • 2 tablespoons lemon juice
  • 2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
  • 1 teaspoon honey
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
  • 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Chop off the rough ends of the asparagus and then slice crosswise into 1/4-inch coins, leaving the tips intact. In a large bowl, combine the chopped asparagus, green onions, Parmesan and walnuts.

In a jar with a lid or in a small bowl, combine the lemon juice, Dijon, honey, salt and pepper. Shake or whisk to mix thoroughly, then add the oil and shake or whisk again until the dressing has emulsified. Pour most of the dressing over the salad and toss. Add more dressing as needed. Serve immediately.

Serves 4.

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Julia Child’s White Bread

It was a bit hilarious, in retrospect, to be all, “Hey everyone! I’m blogging again!” and then disappear for six weeks.

There have been a few adventures in the time in between that I will be posting here, but the truth of the matter is that this has been an odd time with lots of rampant emotions, perplexing reactions and reflections. I will also get to that at some point. I’m just not quite ready.

And, frankly, I haven’t really been cooking much.

I’ve been eating a lot of sandwiches, though, and copious amounts of toast. Toast with mashed avocado, flaked sea salt and freshly ground pepper; toast with peanut butter, sambel olek, lime and roughly chopped cilantro — it’s kind of like peanut sauce on toast and it is absolutely addictive; toast with thin slices of tomato and a sprinkle of Crazy Jane’s Mixed-up Salt, which has salt and spices all mixed together and is a family favourite that I believe we can only buy in the US now. (It’s also fantastic on avocado.)
Avocado Toast

Sandwiches made from salami and razor-thin slices of cucumber stacked high; havarti and turkey and lettuce with a slathering of grainy mustard; cheddar and homemade basil pesto.

So, yeah, #carblife.

At some point in the last several days, it occurred to me that maybe I should just make my own damn bread. For one, so I could avoid going to the grocery store where I was likely to do some completely unnecessary impulse shopping. (On my list of things to do, near the top, is a kitchen cupboard purge because, good lord, I have way too much food in here.) For two, I needed something to do and getting my hands dirty — so to speak — seemed like it could be therapeutic. It was either that or deep clean the bathroom and one of those had the fringe benefit of resulting in an apartment smelling like fresh baked bread that I could slice while still slightly warm and swipe over with butter before eating it over the sink. The bathroom could wait.

Julie had recently posted a recipe for Hy’s cheese toast that I had mentally bookmarked and in it she linked to her own post from a few years ago on Julia Child’s White Bread, which sounded just about perfect for what I needed.

I love fancy sourdoughs and rustic loaves of no-knead bread but sometimes I just want a good, old loaf of white bread. The bread of my childhood when I would be sent to the neighbourhood bakery to pick up six loaves — thinly sliced — to get our family of six through the week.

Bread, as baking projects go, is barely any work. Exactly the kind of project I also needed.

Mix, knead, take a two hour break, punch, fold, take another break, bake, cool, eat.

Since I’m utterly useless at kneading and since I have a KitchenAid mixer, I didn’t even have to worry about trying to manipulate a shaggy dough into a smooth ball. Though I do love the tactile nature of kneading, so even after the machine had its way with the dough, forming it into a smooth lump, I still took it over to my counter to get my hands into it and knead a few turns.

It is also one of those things that is so damn satisfying. Checking on the dough and seeing how beautifully it has risen always makes me feel so accomplished and pulling it from the oven all lightly golden makes me proud. Plus, there are other delights along the way, like the way it makes the apartment smells and the satisfaction of punching down the dough after that first rise, hearing the hiss of air escaping.

This recipe, unsurprisingly, given Julia Child certainly knew her way around a kitchen, is easy and the bread comes out like a champ. I felt almost guilty feeling proud for how well they came out because there was almost no effort.

Almost guilty.

And then I ate that first slice, still slightly warm, and any guilt disappeared in the joy of eating freshly baked bread.  

Risen dough

Punched doughLoaves about to rise

Risen loaves

Baked bread


Julia Child’s White Bread

  • 2 1/2 cups warm water, divided
  • 1 tablespoon active dry yeast
  • 1 tablespoon sugar
  • 6 to 6 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 2 teaspoons salt
  • 1/4 cup butter, softened

Pour 1/2 cup of the water into the bowl of a standmixer affixed with a dough hook (or, if kneading by hand, a large mixing bowl) and stir in the yeast and sugar. Let sit for 5 minutes, until creamy. (If the yeast doesn’t do anything, toss it and start again after buying new yeast.)

Add the rest of the water and 3 cups of the flour. With the mixer on low, mix until well blended. Add the remaining flour and the salt and let the mixer continue to go on low until it’s combined. With the mixer still going, add in the butter, a couple of blobs at a time until completely blended. Turn the mixer up to medium speed and let it knead the dough until it is smooth and elastic, about 8 minutes or so, checking occasionally to ensure it’s not crawling up the hook.

If desired, knead for a few turns on a clean counter, form back into a ball and return to the bowl.

Cover the bowl with a clean towel and let rise until it’s doubled in size, about 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

Butter two 4-inch x 8-inch loaf pans. Punch the dough down and divide in two. Pat each piece into a rectangle a little bit bigger than a regular piece of paper — about 9 inches by 12 inches. Fold it in thirds, using the shorter side of the dough, like a letter. Place in the prepared pans, seam side down and kind of tucking under the ends. Cover again and let them rise until they’re, well, shaped like loaves of bread, about an hour.

Preheat the oven to 375F and set the rack in the centre of the oven. When the loaves have risen, bake for about 30 to 35 minutes, until they are a nice golden brown.

Remove from their pans and let cool on a rack.

Try to resist waiting to slice, or your bread will squish. I managed 45 minutes and it was still warm enough to melt butter, but not so warm that the loaf couldn’t resist slicing.

Makes 2 loaves.

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