Our wedding cake was made up of layers of chocolate and banana swirl – a Chunky Monkey cake, if you will. I am truly a sucker for the flavor of bananas which, despite being one of the most popular fruits in the world, seems to have a fairly under-appreciated flavor. When picking through the Runts, I would always eat the tiny bananas first, grab all the yellow Mojos and drink all the banana milk. I would, pardon the pun, go bananas for that taste.

Whenever grandma and I would go shopping when I was a kid, I would always try to convince her to buy the cheap, brown paper bags loaded with overripe bananas. “What would we make with them?” she’d ask. “Bread?” I’d reply, as if there were anything else you could possibly do with overripe bananas. To this day, I still like to keep overripe bananas in my freezer, to throw into a smoothie, milkshake, or to have on hand when a craving for banana bread resurfaces from my childhood.

When bananas have passed the stage welcome for snacking and cereal, they grow ideal for baking. Their flesh turns creamy as the starches break down and their flavor grows more pronounced, complex and acidic. At this stage, bananas help yield ideal components for leavening and flavoring a delicious loaf of banana bread. To further increase their flavor, and simply for convenience’s sake, I like to freeze the bananas and thaw them again when they are needed, easily slipping them out of their blackened skins and whirring them into the batter.

Since I find that baking a banana “loaf” ends up with the outside a little too dark by the time the inside sets, I like to make mine in an 8×8″ cake pan and then cut it into wedges instead of slices. Individually wrapped, they’ll keep for snacks throughout the week, and when they grow stale, become the perfect fodder for French toast.

Banana Bread

• 1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 2 eggs
• 3 large bananas (very ripe, frozen and then thawed)
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
• 3/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees with the rack positioned in the middle.
2. Cream together the butter and sugar with an electric mixer until light and fluffy.
3. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating to fully incorporate into the mixture, then beat in the bananas and vanilla.
4. Sift together the flour, salt, baking soda, baking powder and cinnamon. Mix this in to the wet ingredients until you can see no traces of flour.
5. Using a rubber spatula, transfer the batter to a greased 8×8″ cake pan with the bottom lined with parchment paper, and bake in the center of the oven until it has set and a toothpick can be inserted into the center and come out clean, about 30-35 minutes.
6. Allow to cool slightly, then turn onto a wire rack to cool completely before storing.

Bananas share a common aromatic compound with cloves. The addition of a pinch of clove helps to heighten that banana flavor.

I’d hazard to guess that Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup had a more profound effect on America’s food choices than Julia Child. I think I can count the amount of people that actually eat it as a soup on one hand, it might as well be called, “Campbell’s Casserole Sauce.” My mom prepared tuna noodle casserole quite regularly and I always loved it. I think it’d been more than 10 years since I’d last ate tuna noodle casserole, so I decided to whip one up from scratch.

Making tuna noodle casserole from scratch leaves the flavor profile open to interpretation. That is, you’re free to choose flavors beyond the realm of, “Campbell’s Cream of…” Still wanting the creamy, comforting satisfaction that the Campbell’s version provided me in my youth, I went with a leek and lemon infused bechamel, but there’s really nothing stopping you from making tuna noodle casserole with pesto, tomato sauce or whatever your heart desires. Think outside the box (er, can.)

Tuna Noodle Casserole

• 8 ounces penne
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 2 cups thinly sliced leek (white part only – about the yield of 1 large leek)
• 1 stalk celery, thinly sliced
• 1 clove garlic, crushed
• 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 2 cups warm whole milk
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 tablespoon whole grain mustard
• Zest of 1 lemon
• 2 tablespoons fresh dill, finely chopped
• salt and white pepper
• 2 six ounce cans of chunk light tuna, drained
• 1/2 cup fine bread crumbs
• 1 ounce Gruyere, Emmenthal and/or Parmesan cheese, grated

1. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.
2. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the penne to al dente. Do not over cook or you will have one mushy casserole.
3. Meanwhile, melt the butter in a large pot over medium-low heat and add the leeks, celery and garlic with a pinch of salt. Sweat the mixture until the leeks are softened and their liquid has been released and evaporated.
4. Add the flour to the leeks and stir to coat. Cook off for a minute.
5. Add the milk to the leeks, 1/2 cup at a time, whisking to work out any lumps each time.
6. Raise the heat of the leek pot to medium-high and add the bay leaf, mustard and lemon zest. Cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture thickens. Remove from heat, discard the bay leaf and season to taste with dill, salt and white pepper.
7. Reserve 1 cup of the pasta water and drain the pasta. Combine the sauce, pasta and tuna, adding the reserved pasta water to create a creamy consistency, coating all the pasta.
8. Transfer everything to a casserole dish and top with bread crumbs and grated cheese. Bake until top is golden brown, about 15-20 minutes. Cool slightly, cut into wedges and serve.

Feel free to make your own substitutions. As long as the quantities of pasta, tuna, butter, flour and milk remain the same, everything else is more or less fair game.

Shannon and I watch a lot of movies. We recently signed up for Zip (the Canadian version of Netflix) and now we’re almost ritualistically watching as many movies as possible to make our membership fees seem like an even better value. More movies than we can comfortably watch in a month costs us less than the price of a night out to the theater.

When we do make it to the theater, a comparatively rare occasion for movies that seem to have real merit, I am a total stickler at the concession stand. I joke about how, when we have kids, she’s going to take them to get popcorn and they’ll refute with, “No way! That’s how they get you!” and ramble on about inflated prices and sodium levels, forcing you to drink over-priced beverages as a consequence. (I’m fun.)

The same issue would arise at the rental outlets, standing in line and eyeing the microwave popcorn. That stuff’s not as bad as the movie theater variety (do you know how much fat is in that stuff? I’ll give you a hint, it’s more than a Big Mac!) but it’s still typically loaded with hydrogenated palm oil and a bunch of other unnecessary additives.

So, I make popcorn at home. A pound of popcorn kernels, purchased in bulk, costs me less than $2 a pound, and a pound of popcorn kernels produces a lot of popped popcorn. I’m not much of a snacker, but popcorn is my go-to snack if I feel like being a glutton and totally stuffing my face with something without much consequence. Popcorn isn’t the least bit filling, but it’s fairly high in fiber and low in calories, providing it’s not close to deep-fried.

For the longest time, we would add Splenda to our popcorn, in an effort to duplicate the flavor of kettle corn. I’m a sucker for salty and sweet combinations (Peanut Brittle, for example) and this satisfied me for a while. Tonight, I decided to figure out exactly what real kettle corn was and how to make it. Not surprisingly (at least to me), kettle corn originated from Dutch settlers in Pennsylvania, who used Dutch ovens (“kettles”) to make it over a fire. The first three recipes I found on the Internet all had the exact same ingredients and method, so I tried it. Let’s just say that the results yielded more smoke than edibles and you can’t trust the Internet. After a couple of tries, I found a winning combination. Maybe it just tasted better because it tasted like victory, but oh man, fresh kettle corn is heavenly! I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go back now.

A while ago I had a revelation that using ghee (clarified butter) for making popcorn would give popcorn a buttery flavor without having to add more butter on top of the oil it was popped in. Tonight I learned that the first invention of a popcorn making machine used a combination of clarified butter and lard to pop the kernels in. Sometimes, left to my own devices, I can be onto something – even if I’m only on to the techniques of early 19th century America.

Finally, for those of you that would rather just pop a bag in the microwave and set a timer, a recipe to do just that. Aside from eating, popcorn does have other uses, like being used for makeshift strings of garland to hang on Christmas trees, but since squirrels just ravaged our Jack-o-Lanterns this week, I think I’m going to think long and hard before I put up edible decor in the future.

Old-Fashioned Kettle Corn

• 1/4 cup vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup popcorn kernels
• 1/4 cup white sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon salt

1. Heat a cast iron Dutch oven (or similar heavy bottomed pot) over medium-high heat with lid on, containing the oil and a couple of popcorn kernels. When you hear the kernels pop, the oil is ready.
2. Remove the lid, add the remaining popcorn kernels and sugar, stirring quickly with a wooden spoon to coat. Put the lid back on and, shaking occasionally to prevent sticking, continue to cook over medium-high heat until popping reduces dramatically.
3. Remove the lid and sprinkle over the salt. Put the lid back on, give the pot a shake and then dump the contents into a bowl for good eating.

For ease of clean up, when the pot has cooled (to avoid cracking), fill it with water and bring to a boil and scrape off any caramelized sugar with a wooden spoon. Since the sugar adds so much depth on its own, it is unnecessary to use very much salt to bring out the flavor. Add a couple of honey roasted peanuts in there if I’m coming over.