Hochepot de Queue de Boeuf, otherwise known as Oxtail Stew

They say third-time lucky. I admit I’ve posted this recipe twice before. But this time, I’ve deviated from the simple instructions found in an old French cook book intended for experienced chefs. Here, I’ve set out all the ingredients off the top. Then I’ve broken down the steps in a sensible order.

You can find my reworked recipe in my post of November 11, 2013, sadly, a few weeks late for Remembrance Day 2017. Better late than never.

Moroccan chicken stew

Vinny’s summer vacation

Summer is in the air and Vinny and I are heading for the great outdoors. That means you won’t likely be hearing from us here again till September rolls around.

We leave you with a one-pot dinner idea that you can make for a crowd over the summer.

Hasenpfeffer! A rich rabbity stew from Germany

Prepping sausage for hasenpfeffer

My regular readers will know that our Frozen in Ottawa dinner is well in hand. This, my fourth post on the subject, answers the question, “What should we serve for the main course?”

The man of the house wanted to feature his winter stew-making skills, well-honed in our climate. He suggested “Hasenpfeffer,” a dish he had recently cooked for the family with success. In fact, I thought it was the best stew he had ever made for us. But… what kind of meat is that, you might wonder.

Remembering old soldiers with Clementine’s oxtail stew

Lest we forget…

In honor of Remembrance Day, on what would have been my dad’s 97th birthday, I’m re-working a dish from 2013 that originated during the Second World War.

Hungry enough to eat an ox?

Most times we settled for a turkey… but not always!

I owe my on-line existence to a mining engineer. Without Bill’s passion for food as well as rare minerals, I wouldn’t be blogging today. It was Bill who took his daughter Sharon, my alter-ego,  under his formidable wing and taught her to cook.

Sundays would see Bill in his tiny, lemon-hued 1950s kitchen pouring over one of his many fish-splattered and chocolate-speckled cook books. Sharon was there, too, in her pleated skirt with her blouse hanging out, helping him find the canned pineapple bits, the dented