Seven Layer Salad

Recently I was having a conversation with some friends about strange things to eat-- we were exchanging meal recipes from our childhood that our parents forced us into (scrambled eggs with ketchup), things our friends ate that boggled our minds (Eggo waffles with maple syrup and ketchup), and things we had read that just sounded terrible (lots of things from this blog, and anything involving canned pineapple).

Overall, though, the running theme of the conversation was mayonnaise in all its possible iterations with no distinction to be made between mayo, Miracle Whip, and 'salad dressing,' a term I never heard until I moved to Kentucky and even then didn't really understand. Let's be real: use of the phrase 'salad dressing' to apply to something mayo-like is up there with 'relish' vs. 'pickle relish' on the list of Kentuckian concepts I don't understand.

I wish I liked mayonnaise, really I do. It would be nice not to have to avoid it on sandwiches every time I go out to lunch. I don't care that continental Europeans eat mayo on their french fries, I don't care that it's the main component of tartar sauce (more on that later), and I definitely don't care that there seems to be a difference, technically, between mayonnaise and Miracle Whip. I don't like it and nothing will change my mind. The weirdest part about all of this, though, is that we realised, over the course of our conversation, that all of the strangest recipes we know of are only weird because of the condiments involved... and usually, that condiment is mayonnaise. Peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches, crushed pineapple and mayonnaise on white bread, and of course the mayo-slicked strangeness of Coronation Chicken salad, almost everything we could think of was mayonnaise related.

So, because I can't ever leave well enough alone, I started to analyse what it is that makes mayonnaise so terrifically off-putting. So I listed the ingredients to myself and suddenly I realised: all of the ingredients of mayonnaise are in an average cake. If you added cocoa powder and flour and baked a jar of mayo, you'd come out with a chocolate cake! (By all likelihood, a terrible one, but a cake nonetheless). I mean, think about it: eggs, lemon juice or another acid, and oil. It's all the ingredients you add to a box of cake mix to make brownies! I'm not sure what this means, but I'm sure I've stumbled upon something, because seriously, eww.

Now don't worry, I'm not asking you to make a mayonnaise cake... yet. But I made my own rules for this blog, so I have no one to blame but myself when things go awry, and go awry they did when it came time for this salad. Luckily, I don't have a trifle dish (but I'm excusing myself since I know for a fact that Eleanor didn't have one either), and if I did, I don't think I would deign to defile it with this mayo monstrosity. Even more luckily (for you), I've tweaked the recipe below to make it less terrible and indeed, more delicious. But I'll forgive you if you don't rush right out and make it, seeing as it's more or less just 'house salad.'

Scotland's been hit by a heat wave of epic proportions this week, though-- yesterday was the hottest July 1st Britain has ever seen, and in a country where air-conditioning is considered an innovation that causes head colds, we're powering through 24 hours a day of mid-20s (Celsius) temperatures.

It's seriously amazing. So if you, too, are in the midst of a summer heatwave-- or you just need something healthy to pair with all the flag cake you're going to eat this weekend-- make this salad and enjoy it. I promise, tweaked as below, it's pretty delicious. Plus, it's an easy tweak to make it vegetarian (or vegan!) and still get all the flavour from the great veggies that are all in season this time of year.

The verdict:

3 spoons out of five. This is delicious, light, and healthy and I highly recommend it. But I have a hard time giving more than three stars to a recipe I have been making (unknowingly) since I first learned how to salad. 

The recipe:

Seven Layer Salad

the directions:

In large serving bowl, layer lettuce, tomatoes, mushrooms, peas, cheese, and onions.
Place dollop of mayo in the centre of the top layer.
Chill for 20 minutes, then serve with salad dressing of your choice on the side (the mayo will make any vinaigrette into a slightly creamier, less tangy dressing, instead of being the only flavour in the salad).

Yields 2 large dinner salads, or 4 petite side salads.

the ingredients:

2 little gem lettuces, shredded
1 handful smallest tomatoes
1 c sliced mushrooms
8 oz frozen peas, thawed and drained
Sprinkle of sharp cheddar cheese
1 small red onion, sliced thinly
1 heaping spoonful mayonnaise or Miracle Whip
Salad dressing of your choice (we used balsamic vinegar with honey)

Chocolate Soda

Remember last week when I made chocolate banana milkshakes and tried to claim that Eleanor must have saved the recipe (which was included in a Quik advert) so that she could make the shakes with her grandchildren? Yeah, I was wrong.

Upon further inspection, I realised that the second recipe included in the pamphlet is, in fact, basically an egg cream.* ('Ah, an egg cream!' says everyone over the age of 50. 'what the hell is an egg cream?' says everyone else).

An egg cream, as I learned the only time I ever visited Queens, is a drink containing neither eggs nor cream and sold mainly at soda fountains, mainly in Brooklyn, mainly in the mid-twentieth century. When I was in New York a few years ago, I met up with a friend in Queens and he took me to an adorable coffee-shop-cum-soda-fountain, and I knew I had to get an egg cream because it was the only drink on the menu I hadn't heard of. Honestly, it was a little disappointing. Kind of water-y and strange (because you never expect milk to be fizzy), and somehow not super flavourful. I didn't blame the restaurant: I just figured egg creams weren't for me.

But then I remembered that they involved milk and soda water, and I thought I'd better look them up again before I made any big-time declarations about how Quik had invented this weird drink. Sure enough, this recipe is just an egg cream with a scoop of ice cream, and now I'm pretty sure Eleanor actually saved that silly Quik advert so she could make herself an egg cream anytime she wanted it (she was, after all, a Brooklyn native who lived there throughout the heyday of the egg cream in the 1930s, 40s, and 50s).

Now, before you're turned off because the phrase 'egg cream' sounds like a thick, custardy drink, know this: the great thing about egg creams is that they're really light-- perfect for summer. I daresay you could even drink one of these on the beach without worrying about going into an ice cream coma.

As for the recipe: If you happen to be the one person in one thousand who owns a set of parfait glasses, now is definitely the time to use them. Pop one of those suckers in the freezer, find yourself a pretty straw, and go to town. Allegedly, when egg creams were invented, you could get a chocolate or a vanilla one-- but I have no idea what the vanilla one had in it to make it vanilla. Just the ice cream, maybe? Or some kind of vanilla syrup reduction (yes, please!), but either way I think this is a question that demands more research... if only I could find a bottle of Quik.

*Here's a fun egg cream fact: when I looked them up to find out the recipe, I learned that no one actually knows why they are called egg creams (seeing as how they contain neither of those ingredients). Explanations vary from 'maybe they used to be made with all those ingredients?' to 'maybe they were (inexplicably) named in French as chocolat et crème, and Americans misheard it?' I'm unsatisfied by both of those explanations, but I do like the idea that even back in the 1800s, naming something in French immediately made it more desirable.

The verdict:

4 spoons out of five. This is a surprisingly refreshing take on the milkshake-- one that doesn't require me to get out my food processor, UK power converter, and all the accoutrements that go along with it. Plus, it's less filling and won't leave you feeling like a beached whale after you drink one. Make one tonight and then phone up your favourite honey for a date to the sock hop-- you're practically re-inventing the 1950s after all.

The recipe:

Chocolate Soda

the directions:

In tall glass, combine milk and chocolate syrup, stirring briskly until blended.
Add club soda, pouring gently.
Top with a scoop of ice cream and enjoy!

Yields 1 generous soda.

The ingredients:

¾ c milk (I recommend semi-skimmed/2%)
3 tbsp chocolate syrup or more to taste
½ c club soda
1 scoop ice cream

Under the Wire Cheesecake, or, Quick and Easy Cheesecake

I'm tired of cheesecake. It's never been, like, my favourite dessert (looking at you, chocolate cake with vanilla frosting), but I've always been pretty ok with it. Making one a month is a bit much, though. Especially when they're all plain.

But here we are in June, and it's time for the next installment of The Cheesecake Saga. As I've explained in previous entries, there is nothing that says 'friendship' to me quite like cheesecake. Maybe it's the influence of The Golden Girls, maybe it's the fact that you couldn't eat a whole one by yourself unless you're going through a terrible breakup, and even then it would probably take you a few sittings... maybe it's just the successful marketing campaigns of casual dining chain restaurants like Olive Garden and Red Lobster (which were, unashamedly, my favourite two places to eat as a small child), but regardless of what causes it, cheesecake to me sings of girlfriends, sleepovers, late night chats and long laughs over silly memories and ridiculous stories.

So when I realised it's the last day of the month and I still haven't made my June cheesecake, it was pretty appropriate that I just parted ways with my best friend of the last ten years, Emily. Emily and her fiance were in the UK for work-related reasons, so of course we made some time for fun-related things and explored the Scottish Highlands all weekend together. We stayed in a castle, ate cullen skink and full Scottish breakfasts, drank a lot of whisky and coffee, and explored a lot. But most of all, I got to spend three amazing days with my best friend, less than a month before her wedding. She's on her way back to the US now, so I won't get to share this cheesecake with her, but if she was here, we'd make a gluten-free version, pour ourselves another cup of coffee, and tease each other mercilessly over all the stupid things we've done, stupid boys we've loved, and stupid ideas we've had. Can you tell she's my favourite?

Emily lives in the California Bay Area now, so we're 8 time zones apart, but it doesn't stop us from regular Skype dates and endless email chains. Maybe that makes it even more appropriate that this recipe is from The Stars & Stripes, a magazine published for expat military families living a world away from all of their friends and family.

In fact, the introduction reads:

'And here's one especially for Mrs. R. Fruda of Holiday. It's guaranteed good by Mrs. Howard Black of St. Petersburg, who discovered it published in the Stars and Stripes while she was in Germany. She baked it, saved it, and now it's yours.'

Emily started her own bakery last year (making desserts far more delicious than mine), so the idea of friends sharing recipes is something that will always bring her to my mind. But where I treat cooking like a choose-your-own-adventure novel, substituting ingredients at will, trying things to taste instead of by measurement, and combining recipes when I can't find one that satisfies my whims, Emily believes baking is a science: her cooking experiments follow strict instructions and are carefully calculated, planned, and meticulously recorded so that they can be re-created (or avoided) anytime. I should really take some cues from her.

This cheesecake is already my favourite one from the box, and here are all the reasons why: it doesn't require a springform pan, it doesn't involve ricotta or sour cream or milk, the ingredients don't have to be brought to room temperature, there is no water bath, and it cooks in less than half an hour. None of which have been true with any of the first four Recipe Box cheesecakes I've made.

The verdict:

5 spoons out of five. A toasted graham crust, a filling just lightly sweetened, permission from the recipe to top the cake with cherries, and a perfect, creamy texture without leaving you feeling like you ate a brick of cream cheese; this cheesecake is the easiest and best cheesecake you'll make this year. Make it, bring it to work or share it with your best baking friend and enjoy.

The recipe:

Quick and Easy Cheesecake

the directions:

Preheat the oven to 162C/325F.
Whiz the crackers in the food processor until they are a fine crumb.
Mix crumbs with melted butter, 2 tbsp sugar, and a sprinkle of salt to form a loose graham crust.
Pat this gently into the bottom and up the sides of a pie pan and set aside.
Beat eggs until pale yellow and thick, then set aside.
With the same beater, beat the rest of the ingredients until smooth and uniform, scraping sides frequently.
Add the eggs and beat well until smooth.
Pour over crust and smooth top.
Bake for 20-30 minutes until the middle jiggles only slightly when the pan is nudged.
Let cool and top with pineapple or cherries before serving.

the ingredients:

1 ¼ c digestive biscuit or graham cracker crumbs
2 tbsp melted butter
½ c + 2 tbsp sugar, divided
2 eggs
3 packages cream cheese (I used 540 grams, and it was the perfect amount to fill my standard-size pie pan)
1 tsp lemon juice
½ tsp vanilla
Cherry pie filling or 'Thickened pineapple' for garnish