Quinoa and Black Bean Burgers with Lemon and Horseradish Aioli

It’s not often that I make dinner for one. I am the primary cook in our house, but the duty does rotate and we have 2 nights a week that we declare “scrounge nights” where no one has to cook and we all just forage, finishing up left overs, or making a PB&J to be eaten on the couch or behind a laptop. We usually do a good job of eating together as a family unit and it’s something that I, and I hope everyone else, enjoys. Then there are the rare nights when everyone is out and it’s just me. On these rare occasions I don’t usually default to peanut butter on crackers or a quesadilla, in fact I usually try something new, partly because it means the kitchen will be empty and I can make a mess and take my time but mostly because total flops and “failures” are easily forgotten and aren’t compounded by the supportive and optimistic smiles as things get pushed around plates. “No really,  it’s …good.”

I’m pleased to say that these meatless wonders were neither messy nor time consuming, but the biggest win of all was when my niece Justine ate one as a late night snack, hastily wrapped in a tortilla. Justine is a hard one to please when it comes to new foods. She is a texture-phobe and has made her feelings well known when it comes to commercially available veggie burgers. She visibly snarls in the face of a pre-frozen rice-heavy veggie option and would much prefer a grilled portabello atop a chicken breast or hamburger than alone. As she sat down to her snack I promised her she would like these seed and quinoa filled patties. She looked slightly dubious until I gave her the full run down of the ingredients. In her matter of fact way she replied, “Well, I like ALL those things, so …..” She bit in, her eyes went wide, and she exhaled a long and satisfied “Soooooooo goooooood!”.

That’s all I needed to hear.

Quinoa and Black Bean Burgers 

Good in a burger bun or pita, over salad greens or topped with a fried or poached egg for brunch, this recipe makes ten 1/3 cup burgers. 

1/2 C green (raw) pumpkin seeds

3 Tbsp sesame seeds

1 Tbsp poppy seeds

1 Tbsp chilli powder

1 tsp curry powder

2 Tbsp whole wheat flour

1/2 C goat cheese

1 egg

2 C cooked black beans, divided

3 C cooked quinoa (from 1 C uncooked)

In a large bowl, combine spices, flour and seeds. Add 1 C black beans and the goat cheese. Mix well, add the egg and continue to mix until smooth. Stir in remaining cup of black beans and quinoa.

Pack into patties (I pressed the mixture into a 1/3 C measuring cup). Set formed burgers onto a parchment lined baking sheet and chill for 15 minutes.

Fry, 3 minutes per side, in a hot pan with 1 tsp olive oil until crisp. Serve immediately.

Lemon and Horseradish Aioli

3/4 C mayonnaise

2 Tbsp sour cream or Greek yogurt

1 tsp very finely grated lemon zest

2 Tbsp finely minced chives

1 Tbsp prepared horseradish (use 1/2 tsp if you are grating your own fresh)

Combine all ingredients and mix well.

On community, love and the power of momentum

Love.

It has to be, without much question or argument, the most common topic for all of humanity. No single phenomenon has held humankind more spell bound than these four letters. No one is immune. One way or another, it finds us. We search for it, we long for it, ache for it and when we get it, we never want to let it go. And when the one(s) we love are gone, it becomes impossible to imagine how to go on.

Community.

For most of this month I have watched my twitter feed erupt with outpourings of love, generosity, respectful silence and hope for Jennifer Perillo and her daughters. I have never met Jennifer, but her reputation as a gifted member of the food blogging community precedes her. When I read the news that Jennifer had lost her husband Mikey to a sudden and unexpected heart attack, I could not help but stare at my twitter feed and refresh it over and over again as her colleagues and friends began the emotional dialogues of support. Like so many of them, many of you who may be reading this, I was dumbstruck imagining that loss. No words. Just empathy, understanding, and honestly, though strangely, love. Love for Jennifer, a woman I have never met and love for her their two little girls.

Love.

For those of us who have lost someone we love we know about paralysis; the the deep white silence that comes to fill the void when there is nothing to say, no way to change things, no possibility of bringing them back. We know the silence, the fear, the five stages of grief, the sleeplessness, the heartache. We know how it feels to believe in nothing, to feel forsaken, to fall back into ourselves and wish that it was us and not them. We know how it feels to have cried out all our tears.

Momentum.

And yet, we live on. In time the hollow fills again. We grow and change. We begin to reawaken and see the world in full colour. How can that be? How can such tragedy be overcome? Love. Slowly we begin to move again, to gather momentum until we are no longer suspended in heartbreak, but living, breathing and laughing again.

Love.

In the wake of Jennifer’s particular situation, this generous community of bloggers has come together and started an incredible movement that has gained astonishing momentum in a short period of time. Not only is this community there to nourish Jennifer and her daughters with support and well wishes, Shauna Ahern and Bloggers Without Borders have set up an incredible fund for Jennifer to help with all the pragmatic and logistical details that come with such a loss (instant-single-motherdom being just one of them.) You can read more about this beautiful project here.

Love.

Whether you know the depths of loss, or only the depths of love, please join this generous community by clicking right here and making a donation for Jennifer and her girls. You can also bid on a variety of items and services generously donated by fellow bloggers and readers. Stay connected with Jennifer and the whole community on twitter with the hashtag #afundforjennie and give a bit of your love to this project.

Lavender Lemonade

An odd thing happened yesterday: I was home alone with nothing in particular that I had to do. No people, no plans, no restrictions. Sure, I could have done some laundry or spent some hot humid hours weeding the garden, but a solo day with no distractions and the possibility of total relaxation is too glittery a gem to squander on chores. So what did I do? I worked on a quilt I am making for my friend Meghan’s baby girl who we will get to meet in November when she finally gets around to being born. I also made some plans/preliminary designs for a quilt for my niece Lizzy with some gorgeous fabric I bought on etsy at this little shop. I puttered, I pottered, I lazed and I wrote. I also worked on a couple of recipes, one of which I will share here. For the other you’ll have to wait until mid-week.

So… not only was I home alone with my thoughts, it was one of the hottest days so far this summer. By mid morning I had the curtains closed to hold out the blazing sun, the fan cranked and I was keeping cool in the studio, which faces north and never gets sunny. As I put away the sewing machine I remembered the little zip-top bag of lavender blossoms and the case of sparkling lemon mineral water in the pantry. Not only was I mentally half way to highball heaven, I had all the fixings at my fingertips for what I am calling a Lavender Lemonade Fizz.

I promise you, it couldn’t be simpler. A quick, sweet syrup steeped with the blue-grey lavender buds, poured over ice with lemonade (and gin if you’re feeling in the mood). Dead easy. Good for what ails you. Delicious. Good for scorching summer afternoons (alone or with friends).

Lavender Lemonade Fizz

1 part Lavender Syrup

1 part your favourite gin (optional)

8 parts sparkling lemonade

Pour lavender syrup and gin into the bottom of a highball glass. Fill with ice, top up with lemonade.

Or just make a pitcher full. They’ll be quickly consumed, don’t worry.

Lavender Syrup

1 C water

1 C sugar

1/2 C lavender blossoms*

Heat water, sugar and lavender blossoms over medium high heat until the mixture reaches a gentle boil. Boil 1 minute. Turn off heat and allow to steep for 30 minutes. Strain through fine strainer into a clean container that can be tightly sealed.

*When buying food grade lavender I opted for ‘organic super’. The organic made sense since flowers are so often heavily doctored with pesticides and the “super” seemed to be about the colour. The regular organic lavender was a much more grey/brown colour and didn’t have the same beautiful grey/blue. I wanted the colour to come through in the syrup so I opted for the “super” and I’m glad I did, as the colour of the syrup turned out very nicely. 

Summer Salad with Roasted Corn & Avocado

This house has always smelled the same, and smells most like itself in the summertime. The high, hot sun bakes itself deep into the asphalt shingles and that slow creeping heat slides down through the walls, the floors, so much so that even the basement tiles become less chilly. With that warmth, comes a cache of memories, hanging, gallery-style in the warm air. I have known seventeen summers with this house. I’ve seen it’s lilac hedges fill in, watched the night sky from it’s front stoop, slept and wept and dreamt in its rooms. It would be impossible to count the number of family dinners around its table, and more impossible to forget the family who have sat there, sharing a meal and a laugh, some who will never return.

The dining room table stands at the house’s heart. It is wide and round, a great, old oak relic, a memory from the farmhouse of my childhood, resurrected in the city of my youth. At any chance, without prompting, my grandfather, now nearly ninety, will tell you the story of how he bought that table at auction in 1952 (or was it ’47?) for eight dollars. He’ll tell you that it’s solid oak, and run his hand over the tabletop and remark that it needs refinishing.

When the whole troop is here the table spreads and seats almost everyone, but it wasn’t always that way. By the time there were enough kids old enough to feed themselves and fill the card table in the living room, I was too old to join them. I’ve always slipped in to a seat at this table, preferably by the wall, at the window. This is an especially pleasant vantage point in the summer months when the evening sun is too low and still too hot to eat in the yard, and that old oak table fills up. With your back to the west wall you can catch the breeze from the window in your hair and stave off the heat as you sit elbow to elbow, proverbially breaking bread.

You could cover my eyes and spin me until I couldn’t stand and then lead me into this house and I would know precisely where I was. It’s not the colour on the walls, or the corner cabinet full of Granny’s pheasant-patterned china that makes it so familiar. It’s not the birds nest on the mantle or even that weathered old table, it’s the smell. Like a fingerprint on glass, it is clear and unique and wholly recognizable. But like a fingerprint, it is mysterious in its specificity. Without a particular quality to describe, I cannot quite articulate it for you. I only know that the summer heat brings it out like no other time of year, amplifying the magic and silence of this house. Its what makes the space feel known, what prompts the stories and memories. It is a part of the quiet moments and the raucous laughter. For me the smell of this house in summer is the shimmering thread in this family’s tapestry, woven over nearly two decades, so much of which we have spent simply chatting around an old table, pouring more wine and serving up summer salads.

Summer Salad with Roasted Corn & Avocado

The roasted corn in this salad is most efficiently achieved on the barbecue, but a couple of careful minutes on a hot griddle pan or under the broiler will do the trick. Aim to cook the starchiness from the corn as well as achieving a flavourful partial char which is both pretty and delicious. 

2 ears of corn, shucked, roasted and cut from the cob

1 large red bell pepper

1 large yellow bell pepper

2 ripe avocados, peeled, pitted and chopped

1 tomato, chopped with seeds removed

1/2 cup chopped scallions, green parts only

Juice of 1 lime

pinch of red pepper flakes

sea salt and pepper to taste

Stir together the corn, peppers and scallions. Season with lime, red pepper flakes and salt and pepper. Add avocado and stir gently before serving. Garnish with lime wedges for extra zing.

Serves 4-6