Made with älska: Mormor’s Swedish Hotcakes

Saturdays are for Hotcakes

Every Saturday that I wake up at my grandma’s house, I can depend on one thing: there will be hotcakes. When my brother and I were kids spending summer vacation with my grandparents, she would even deliver them to us by spatula (one at a time, hot from the pan) as we sat watching cartoons in the TV room.

As a teenager, I would wake up at noon and the cast-iron pan would still be waiting on the stove, with a pitcher of batter beside it. And as a college student, I could roll out of bed around 1 pm and yet, I could always count on hotcakes.

Even now, as a married 33-year-old woman, not much has changed. Well, I get up much earlier and actually sit at the table instead of the couch, but the idea is still the same.

The pitcher of batter is still waiting by the stove and my grandmother will be standing beside it, waiting for the oil to get hot. Then she’ll drizzle in the batter and slowly move the pan so that it spreads out flat. I usually hover beside her while she makes the first one — just like I used to as a kid when we would find shapes and animals in almost every hotcake.

Then she’ll wave me over to the table, where she’ll serve me one hotcake at a time, right from the pan, each one balanced precariously on the spatula.

If you’re curious about the idea of the hotcake, thinking it looks very different from the pancakes you might know and love, you’re right. They are very different. Swedish hotcakes are like a cross between a crepe and a pancake. They are fairly thin, which is why they seem to taste best rolled up with syrup or jam inside, but they are not at all delicate.

Jam-filled goodness

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Swine & Wine: Happiness is a roasted pig

Pig Roast in the Red Hills

As I get closer to celebrating my 5th wedding anniversary with my husband, I think about how lucky we are that we found each other. While all the usual reasons come into play — yes, we make each other laugh, blah, blah, blah — the main reason is our obsession with food. By obsession, I mean that our conversations so often revolve around menu ideas, ingredients, cooking techniques and food in general, that any normal person would probably want to shoot themselves.

Beyond mere “foodies,” our love for all things culinary is a bit more intense because (as a chef and a meat sales rep, respectively) we are both firmly planted in the industry.

So, when he was personally asked to cater a pig roast for 120 people for Archery Summit Winery, I was thrilled to be involved. Their wines are fantastic and their tasting room has the best view I’ve ever seen in Oregon. And roasting up a couple of pigs in the summer sunshine and cooking with two of my favorite people (my friend DB also helped out) sounded like a great way to spend a Sunday.

The event actually took place in the Archery Summit vineyards at Red Hills. This is what we were surrounded by:

Soon all those seats will be filled with hungry people!

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Waffles & Mimosas with Fictional Friends

My friend Oliver and I are obsessed with Gossip Girl. Well, to be honest, we are obsessed with Chuck and Blair. They are just too beautiful and perfect for each other.

Last night we watched the final three episodes of the latest season and decided to indulge in a waffle and champagne dinner while we watched. If you follow Gossip Girl you will know that they are always eating waffles. Rufus, Dan’s father, is apparently infamous for his amazing waffle brunches, so every other episode shows someone chowing down on a plateful of them. And it’s made us increasingly jealous, especially since they always seem to be sipping on champagne too.

We may not live on the Upper East Side — or in New York at all *ahem* — but that didn’t stop us from putting together a pretty kick-ass spread.

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And there were riots in the streets of…Montreal?

While on holiday in Montreal, we were unknowingly caught in the midst of the thousands of students and citizens protesting the government.

The Université du Québec à Montréal (UQAM) is a public French-language university. The campus is the main stage for a majority of the recent riots and protests.

Even with all of the great food we ate while in Montreal, our best vacation stories came from some totally unexpected events. Actually, let me clarify — unexpected to us. Like the worst of Americans, we didn’t do much research about Montreal except for menu stalking, map reading and guide book skimming. I could tell my husband, as we walked through the Parc du Mont-Royal, all about the Croix that stands proudly on the side of the mountain. But I couldn’t tell him why, on our first night in town, we had to fight through a stream of police cars just to get to our hotel…

These are a couple of cop cars in a line of nearly thirty. All of the police inside the cars were dressed in helmets, ready to jump out if necessary.

After a fabulous dinner at the Liverpool House we caught a taxi back to our hotel. However, every street for at least a mile was blocked off by cops and the sound of sirens filled the air. We were befuddled, thinking maybe there had been a terrible accident or a drug bust.

Our cab driver was not too much help, as he was one of the few people we encountered who spoke only French. He just kept driving, trying to get us closer to our destination, throwing up his hands in frustration every time we were stymied by yet another group of police.

The next day, in true vacation style, we forgot all about it. The streets were calm and the sun was shining, so we headed out from our hotel, the wonderful Auberge le Pomerol, to walk around the nearby Plateau area. After hours of meandering, eating and drinking, it was dark when we decided it was time to make it back. As we got closer to our hotel, the streets became more and more packed with people. Some were walking while others were almost running, but one thing was consistent — they were all headed in the opposite direction that we were going. At first we thought, hey, the guide book was right — the people of Montreal like to party. Here we were, heading home to sleep, and literally thousands of people were just leaving their houses!

Canadian riot police in all their gear

That’s when we heard a rhythmic thumping coming from in front of us and saw a row of riot police slamming their batons on their shields. A cloud hung over them from slowly dissipating smoke bombs and pepper spray. The people who had passed us must have been right in the center of the madness. We bolted into an alley to watch for a while before deciding to try to make it the last two blocks to our hotel.

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Mission Accomplished: An epic feast at Au Pied de Cochon

Ever since my friend DB gave us a copy of the Au Pied de Cochon (PDC) cookbook, my husband and I have been a little obsessed with chef Martin Picard. We watched the DVD that came with the book several times, even playing it for our friends last Thanksgiving. Picard spends a majority of the video eating copious amounts of foie gras and drinking wine — two interests we definitely have in common.

We also watched the “No Reservations” episode where Anthony Bourdain ate so much food at PDC, he started to turn green. Towards the end of the segment, he was taking just one bite from each plate and wearily waving the rest away. The best part is seeing Picard in the kitchen, threatening to send out more and more foie gras. I admit we (foolishly) laughed at Tony’s inability to keep eating, thinking we could do better.

So when we made our own travel plans to Montreal, Au Pied de Cochon was, quite honestly, the only place we had to go. There were no ifs, ands or buts. We would be dining on duck in a can one way or another, come hell or high water street riots.

Luckily, we were able to make a reservation for the second night we were in town. And since we knew we were about to be killed with food, we made sure to walk a few miles around Montreal’s Plateau area as a warm-up. It didn’t help.

Clearly, we underestimated the extravaganza that is PDC. We didn’t stand a chance against all of this:

To Start:

Bison Tongue with Tarragon Sauce

Cromesquis de Foie Gras — deep-fried foie nubbins — best thing ever!

Next was the “salad” course:

Freshly Shucked Scallop with Fiddlehead Ferns and Beurre Fondue

Salt Cured Foie Gras with Potatoes & Gruyere on a Flaky Pastry

Our next dish, an evening special, was supposedly “foie for two”:

This was the dish that put us over the edge. The server told us it was 350 grams of foie gras, but when the Le Cruset pot came out and we peered into it, my husband and I shared a look of wonder and fear. Along with the chunks of ham, pineapple and potatoes, there was a whole lobe of roasted foie gras nestled in the pot. It was absolutely ridiculous.

And I will straight-up admit I hit a wall during this dish and tapped out after only eating about six ounces or so of the actual foie. But my husband managed to almost finish it. He really is my hero.

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Lesson Learned: Smoked Meat at Schwartz’s

So a while ago I posted about a colossal mistake I made while in New York City. I committed a sin that I still have a hard time thinking about. On our final day in the city, we made the pilgrimage to Katz’s Deli where I ordered a cheeseburger. Yes, yes, I know. It was a terrible idea but I was really too hungover to think straight and so I ordered poorly.

Today I knew better.

Schwartz’s is on everyone’s list of places you must eat while visiting Montreal, and my husband and I were determined to eat there at some point on our vacation. So today we headed straight from our hotel to St. Laurent and waited in a short line to get our food to go. Our order was simple: two smoked meat sandwiches and a cherry soda. Of course, it should be noted, Schwartz’s doesn’t even give you the opportunity to make a regretful decision. Their menu is concise.

We walked out ten minutes later, past the huge line of people waiting to be seated, clutching a brown bag full of meat gold. We meandered over to the entrance of the Parc du Mont-Royal and then took a nice seat in the shade to enjoy our lunch.

It was divine.

When the meat is this tender and juicy, all you need is a squirt of mustard.