Food journal number 53: Citronpaj

Citronpaj is Swedish for lemon pie. I've been craving for this for weeks! This recipe is from Annas pajer (Anna's pies), a cookbook that I bought some months ago together with another baking book. It's the second pastry recipe I've tried from the books I've ordered – the first one is a chocolate-coconut brownie that I've already baked twice, recipe to come [Edit: make that 5 recipes I already made. I forgot that I also baked yellow cake, semla and apple pie]. Honestly, if I had unlimited resources to buy ingredients and – more importantly – unlimited fat-burning capacity, I'd probably bake things more often.

Problems with this recipe: I followed Anna's recipe to the line but somehow, when the time was up, my pie filling was still almost liquid (eggs were too small?). I decided to pop it in for a few more minutes until the surface looked like in her picture (that is, with parts that are caramelized), and until the filling had the firm-jiggly consistency of gelatin. My pie filling still turned out on the soft side – like the consistency of the mascarpone cheese on a tiramisu cake – but it was pretty good! Also, at the back of her book, Anna says the pie dough should pre-bake for 10-12 minutes; in the pie recipe itself, she says 15. I went for 12. Also, one thing that could have made the execution of this recipe shorter by 10 minutes is if I had a food processor. However, the recipe is plain enough that it doesn't suffer from the lack of kitchen appliances, and Anna has a "by hand" option for the food processor-less.

A lovely pie, nice and tart. It's in the refrigerator now to help it set some more. In the future, I'll probably tweak it and find out how to make it more solid... that gives me an excuse to bake it more times ;-) The guests loved it, though.

Citronpaj

Dough:
2 dl flour
1 T sugar
150 g cold butter
1-2 T ice cold water

1. Measure the flour and sugar into a bowl. Cut the butter into squares and cut the butter into the flour with a pair of dull knives, or in my case, a whisk from a blender (does the work of two knives faster). When they start to form oatmeal-sized flakes, add the cold water and cut the dough some more until it almost forms a mass.


This whole process will be made easier with a food processor: just combine the flour and butter and pulse for 6 seconds, add water and pulse some six seconds more.

Either way, transfer the dough into a plastic bag and knead gently into a ball. Don't work it too much with your hands as the butter might melt. Place in the refrigerator for an hour.

2. On some cling film, roll out the dough with a rolling pin until thin. It should fit in a 22-centimeter spring form pan. Line the pan with the dough and cut the parts that stick out (I just stuck mine back in though... why waste precious butter?)

3. Put the whole pan in the freezer for 10 minutes to prevent it from sliding down when you bake it later. Preheat the oven to 200 C and when the ten minutes are up, bake the dough for 12 minutes.

In the meantime, prepare the filling.


Filling:
2 dl whipping cream
2 eggs
juice of 1 lemon
rind of 1 lemon
(thin lemon slices for the top, if desired)

Just mix everything together thoroughly.

Pour the filling into the pre-baked dough, decorate with the thin lemon slices and bake in the oven for another 15 minutes (or more if your pie turns out jiggly like mine).

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Replanting herbs

I'm going to try to find out if we can grow herbs in the kitchen all year. I don't have a reputation for having a green thumb and I've never grown anything from seed. I have, however, grown some decorative plants in the apartment from cuttings, and judging from the fact that they're all still thriving (growing new leaves all the time, too!), I guess that I could be a decent enough gardener to upgrade to edibles. Herbs are a good start; I can buy them grown, they can grow on the windowsill and they require little maintenance. Or so I think.


These are some parsley and chives that we bought from the grocery – you know, those fresh herbs you can buy in tiny seed pots. I found that if you keep them in their seed pots on a shallow basin of water, they actually live long until a point when they start wilting and yellowing. The chives in the picture have actually survived in the apartment for more than a month now. Problem is, I think it was on its way to dying; the leaves are thin and I had to pluck out a handful (literally) of dead leaves. A friend suggested that they needed more soil... Now why didn't I think of that?

I spent last night Googling up how to grow herbs in the kitchen and I seriously considered having a pot of herbs in the kitchen to be here for more than just a month at a time. We also took a trip to a plant store and had a conversation with the gardener, who was very informative. Here are some tips:

- Herbs need a lot of sun, but can also tolerate some shadow (especially parsley). The best situation would of course be if we lived in the same latitudes as the Mediterranean, but in northern latitudes, a window facing to the south would be ideal. Our kitchen window faces west and has a good amount of sun after lunch... in spring and summer. I'll worry about autumn and winter later, but I guess we'd probably have to substitute sunlight with a lamp. If the herbs get too little light, they will grow thin and long ("leggy"); this is a sign that you should move them to a sunnier place.

- Herbs don't like dry air and prefer humid environments. Websites recommend either placing the pot over a basin of pebbles and filling the basin occasionally, or spraying the leaves with water. Alternatively, you could keep the window open, if it's not too cold.

- Herbs need good drainage.The soil can't be too soaked or the leaves will turn yellow. The gardener at the shop assured me that you don't need to line the bottom of the pot with pebbles to achieve this. All you actually need is a terra cotta pot with a drainage hole and one of those neat little saucers to put under it, if you're growing the plants indoors. Terra cotta pots "breathe" and let out extra moisture through its walls. With a saucer, there's no risk of over-watering since water just goes through and fills the saucer when the plant has had enough.

- Herbs compete. Plant different herbs in different pots, and use big pots.


- Herbs need nutrients – the gardener recommended using liquid fertilizer once a week. Finally, I have a use for that bottle of fertilizer we have! Oh yeah, and always wash the herbs before use.

I've followed the instructions... now wish me luck on developing a green thumb or two.

18 hours 22 minutes of sun, to be exact

Guess what this is.


Taken a guess yet?

It's a light blue 560x420-pixel square. Not that remarkable.

What is remarkable is the fact that that homogeneous blue shade is a picture of yesterday's sky. Straight out of the camera, by the way.


It was bit strange to look up into the sky that was, for half an hour, entirely featureless.

Featureless was not a word to describe our midsummer, however, which we spent right there on our balcony. Midsummer – which is celebrating season here in Sweden at par with Christmas – is usually a time to go out with family and friends to the countryside. Usual activities include dancing around a maypole, eating herring, strawberry shortcake and drinking snaps (the latter two to wash away the herring taste, I guess!) We said no to the offer this year; after all, we haven't really enjoyed the fact that we have a balcony yet. I would also like to be able to read fiction books in my free time again, for a change. What better opportunity to be alone in a quiet city, reading a book and drinking cola under the sun? And yes, there's sun now for a change!


Speaking of sun, it is summer solstice today, which means that we have the longest day and shortest night in the northern hemisphere. Sunrise today was at 03:46 and the sun won't be setting until 22:08 (and even then, it wouldn't get completely dark until midnight, and it's much lighter than you think at 02:30). Lots of time to sit out in the balcony, that is.

It's a good place to observe birds from (I can see their nests, and I observe the same birds on the same branches at the same times of the day). I also like to take our "cat" out to "sit" with us, just for fun. While we don't have real cats yet – besides we'd have to cover our balcony with chicken wire to prevent them from falling off by accident, according to law – Lucy the stuffed cat will have to do.


If you're wondering what I'm doing to the "cat", ask Kricke. He should know.

a rainy June

I was watching the news the other day. This month of June, which has been disappointingly rainy and cold (seldom up to 10 degrees before lunchtime!), is the coldest June Sweden has had in 50 years. And we're supposed to be enjoying the summer in the sun!

Caught sight of a bird hiding under a tree in the rain. People stay indoors.

Swedes, though they complain – there's always something to complain about the weather – don't seem all that surprised. Swedish summers mean unpredictable weather. Two weeks ago, it was 27 degrees and sunny on a cloudless sky. Folk took the chance and sunbathed in the parks, and the Swedes walked around town with their faces and bare shoulders gleaming in varying shades and of red. This week, it's back to raincoats and fleece jackets again; sunbathing is the last thing on anyone's list of things to do.

It's interesting to see the contrasts in the city life when the weather changes. Sights, sounds and smells are different. On a sunny day, the city center teems with people. There are heels everywhere, clacking on cobblestones. People are out to see and to be seen, as they walk in the streets or sit and dine al fresco. Skirts and beach shorts reveal bare skin (some men go topless, eager to show evidence that they spent the whole winter in the gym). The city is alive with chatter, laughter and street music – sometimes even reggae, the soundtrack of summer. Somewhere in the park, where people play beach volleyball, there would be a smell of a half a dozen charcoal grills.

But not today. On a rainy and cold day, this all disappears – or at least, are minimized. No al fresco diners, more robust shoes, no volleyball, no bare tops – instead, people are all covered up in dark rain jackets and desperately try to hide their heads under buckling umbrellas. Most people disappear indoors, and outside it's the smell of wet grass that permeates the air. Not great weather for anything else than staying in with a good book (or, alternatively, shopping, if you can take yourself to the shopping mall without your clothes getting all soggy). Actually, I do think it's nice sometimes with a bit of light rain and the cold moist air, even though I wouldn't really mind if it would start being sunny again. For one thing, last Wednesday's grill party had to be done under under a roof (and not on a patch of grass) since it started to rain. For another thing, Marcus had fixed the balcony in anticipation for "balcony days" which haven't yet come.


Please, let July be sunny!

First grill plate of the season

Last week's grill lunch, the first of the season: Pork , onions and tomatoes grilled in foil and grilled skewered zucchinis, served with fries and Béarnaise sauce. A gazillion calories. Yum!

I hope the sun shines down on us tomorrow when we host a grill party here for some friends and acquaintances (and some people whom I haven't met who are friends of Jeline's from her MA program). It will be exciting to see how 10+ people cook their lunch on a tiny 30-centimeter grill!

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Food journal number 52: Carnegie porter

It's been too long without a blog post and my fingers are itching to type something else aside from school papers. It was a very busy May. On the bright side, there was a lot of traveling and free hotel breakfasts in lieu with a course I took while I was out-of-(blogging)-office. My sister Lea was also on a 5-day visit here, but I'll write about that later when she finally sends me the pictures.

Lea? Lea? Are you reading this? Send the pictures!

As usual, there's no better way to break blog silence but to write about food. Or drink. It seems to us that vacationing in Prague and drinking beer to every meal there creates an addiction – or shall we say, appreciation – for beer. A new world of beer opened up for us, where we suddenly weren't limited to drinking Spendrups light beer (light beer being the only beer you can drink and drive with in Sweden, and the only socially acceptable beer to drink in the middle of a workday). This new world of beers also introduced us to a new vocabulary: beers weren't just called pilsners or lagers, but ales, stouts and porters. There were clear beers and murky beers, dark beers and light beers, sweet beers and bitter beers, beers that were spontaneously yeasted, beers that have wheat as part of the ingredient list, beers that almost taste like coffee and go well with chocolate.

... Beers that go well with chocolate? In fact, the label recommends chocolate cake. And the beer would be Carnegie porter, a Swedish-brewed beer with a history.

Hey porter, hey porter! Not with chocolate cake, but with a slice
each of dobos torte (a.k.a. Budapest bakelse)

The history of Carnegie poter begins, according to this beer blog and this Swedish drink consultant, in the 1700s when Scotland was fighting England for freedom. A man called George Carnegie decides to flee to Gothenburg in Sweden, where he set up a trade business. In 1836, his son David inherits a part of the company, buys a beer brewery out of bankrupcy, and cooperated with a friend to create a new brew. It was a hit – probably not least because it could be prescribed by doctors for its "strengthening effects" at a time when all strong beer was banned in Sweden. Coffee was also a rare commodity at the time, and Carnegie porter was said to be a common sight to see in Swedish cafés. It was such a hit that it was even shipped to as far as to Brazil and Cuba. And according to the label – which also hasn't changed since the founding date and is thus Sweden's oldest trademark – they've been using the same recipe from the day they churned the first bottle from the brewery. They have a good reason not to change it, too: in 1992, the 3.5% Carnegie porter was voted the best ale in its class. The 5.5%, which we intend to try next time for comparison, is reported to taste even better – especially with time. The connoisseurs recommend keeping the beer for 10 whole years more to appreciate it at its very best, and the brewers stamp the date on the bottle for the benefit of serious collectors.

If you think keeping beer in cellars is bordering on wine-culture, wait 'til you hear how connoisseurs describe the drink. The website of Systembolaget, the government monopoly on alcohol, describes the smell of the 5.5% Carnegie to be "nuanced, spicy, fruity, with a strong roasted smell with hints of dark chocolate, syrup and coffee". The taste is described to be "harmonic, full of taste, fruity with a definitive roasted flavor and bitterness, with elements of burnt sugar, coffee, and chocolate". Other sites even include descriptions of the beer's color, how to pour to beer to capture the aromas and get a nice foam, and describe aftertastes. Like wine, the descriptions vary slightly from year to year, and depending on how long the reviewers have been keeping the bottles. If you think a career as a wine-taster is too snobby, remember: the beer-taster occupation is still open for you.

Because I'm not such a connoisseur myself, the only thing I can say is: Google for a beer near you that goes well with chocolate cake. It's a whole new beer experience. It's drunk in room temperature, by the way. And it tastes even more refreshing than coffee with cake on a hot day. Since it's dark, foamy, and almost smells like coffee and chocolate, you can even pretend that it's a frapuccino! But really, with a beer that's good with cake, who needs Starbuck's?

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