Living without the Java

With the whole incubating life thing happening I’ve been trying to broaden my hot drink horizons beyond the coffee, the only view I’ve had most of my adult life. While coffee isn’t exactly banned from the diet of the gestating, it is frowned upon, and The Banker now starts backing squawking noises everytime I reach for the java. Much easier and more conducive to domestic tranquillity to take a caffeine hiatus for nine months. The three points I quickly found out in my post caffeine awareness were (in order); 1) the speed of my speech is highly connected java intake – I now sound more like a grown up person, less like a chipmunk 2) Decaf doesn’t cut it. Really. Ever. It’s just not the same 3) I still have the urge to be holding and sipping a steamy drink. I imagine this is like ciggie smokers who once quit are forever sticking tooth picks and other oblong objects in their mouths.

So to assuage my beverage fixation I moved on to the other heavy of the café world – tea. Strictly speaking tea is a bit of a lateral move in the attempt to avoid caffeine – lower octane then the java generally but still leaded. However if we move past the drinks made with the traditional tea pant Camilla Sinensis (Black tea, White tea and Green Tea) there are options to consider. Now before I get clobbered by the technically correct police, I know that I’ve wandered outside the classical boundaries of tea but today I’m going to be a heretic. So back to my quest of beverage – automatically out are the fruit teas which seem to have proliferated lately. I enjoy my fruit juice cold; steaming strawberries just doesn’t do it for me. I wanted something a little complex, something interesting and grown up – not sweet simple and cheerful.

My grail was found at The House of Tea, a truly charming store in Rosedale. The proprietress was both interested in my plight and fully versed in her stock; within minutes the choices were narrowed down. Red teas, made with the Roobis plant, had underwhelmed me on previous occasions but with the addition of bergamot the red earl grey developed a more interesting profile and counteracted the sweetness I’ve always found off-putting about the drink. This was what I wanted – something to wake up with and be neither slammed with flavor nor lured back to sleep.

Now onto the wine substitute……

The House of Tea

1017 Yonge Street

Toronto, ON M4W 2K9

(416) 922-1226

Pasta Imperfection

Making fresh pasta is not something you should feel compelled to do unless you enjoy it. While their are certain things in the kitchen where the cost to benefit ratio is so high that even if I don’t particularly feel like doing the work I’ll force my lazy self to because the result is so much better than the purchased equivalent (i.e. stock, pasta is not like that. While it isn’t hard work, it does take a fair amount of time and require a lot of fiddly maneuvering with the delicate noodles. If that doesn’t sound like a swell afternoon to you, I recommend buying some good fresh pasta at the grocer: making it will annoy you and the meal will taste of frustration. That being said I enjoy the process. It’s a kick producing refined and pretty noodles from such rough beginnings.
If you are into trying to making your own pasta, do it in bulk. That way you can enjoy playing with the dough when the whim strikes you, freeze the bulk of it and reap the rewards for weeks. It’s much more fulfilling. I don’t get to uptight about making machine perfect pasta – how will people know it’s homemade and therefore to shower you with adoration? Much better to have a pleasant rough look about it, I think (The Banker would say I’m rationalizing my love of disorder – potatoe, potato).
For the pasta dough I rely on the 100g flour to 1 egg ratio. After kneading until the dough is lovely and supple, feed it through whatever pasta roller you have on hand (I do not recommend rolling by hand unless you are interested in the amount of muscles one’s forearms contains – do so and you’ll be acutely aware of each within an hour) Do roll through each gradient several times (I do three). Dough is not a pushover, it resists manipulation and requires plenty of encouragement. In today’s effort I made ravioli, filled with spiced butternut squash. Simply put, I lay the sheets of rolled noodles on the floured counter, plopped little balls of the filling at 3cm intervals, wet the remaining noodle surface and folded it over to close the envelop. You can get little gadgets to make this ultra uniform, but again that goes against everything I believe in, both in and out of the kitchen.
Freezing is not tricky. Best practice is to lay the ravioli on a floured baking sheet, not touching, and only after the little suckers are completely frozen, transfer the noodles to bags. Spending the time and effort only to have your efforts coagulate into one doughy ball can be the definition of frustration – avoid it. To make table ready drop in salted boiling water for around 5 min, mix with desired sauce and serve.

Union Gets the Big Three

I’ve struggled to write about Union, the new kid on the Ossington block. For one thing almost everybody already has and in glowing praises. At The Post, Gina Mallet, who typically hates everything, loves it. Corey Mintz, generally a kinder softer soul, also rains down the accolades. And even Chris John over at the Globe (whom I really don’t pay attention to) gives the fledgling resto a solid thumbs up. Winning the praise of triad of Canadian media is no small feat; I think Claudio Aprile may have done it years ago with Colburne Lane but if memory serves Gina was a little more cranky and a lot less adoring (for the record I find an adoring Ms Mallet to be a little scary – it screws with the natural order of things). However done it has been and Chef/Owner Paul Teo not only pulled the hat trick with the critics he also created unheard of anticipation of through the use of his Blog detailing the tumultuous (and much delayed) birth of his baby. In fact, in light of the sheer volume of the press generated I Mr. Teo ever wants to get out of the culinary sphere I see a shining future for him in PR land.
So finding something new, something original, to say in the storm of words is tricky. If I had a contrary viewpoint, some disclaimer to rebut the written masses maybe it would be easier. Fact is, Union deserves its accolades. It is simple, clean with an interesting menu that is exceptional. Fully and completely the real deal. Better yet it has one of the rarest qualities in a Toronto eating establishment; a committed and knowledgeable staff. Never, outside of being served by the owner, have I had servers guide me through the menu, both food and wine, with such enthusiasm and care. And when The Banker couldn’t resist the oysters and added an impromptu third course the server actually beamed as she contemplated the wine he already was drinking (a lovely limey sauvignon) and the shellfish matching up. These are people who know their stuff and take great pains to ensure that the meal that you eat at their establishment is the most enjoyable it can be.
Not to mention that the food kicks ass. It’s neither cutting edge nor predictable, instead relying on thoughtful dishes with novel touches keep both the palate and the brain engaged. The starter, a cold melon and sweet pea soup starts all sweetness in the mouth with a granita consistency. Just when you’ve written it off as a decent palate cleanser the chili oil steps up, kicking the chilled mouth into overdrive. The silky scallop garnish lends substance and a pleasing contrast, all smoothness next to the courser soup. The main I chose (as did every other reviewer) was the ribs and pork belly. If it was up to me the ribs themselves would have been a more than sufficient dinner. These are grown up ribs with integrity and texture – while tender and delicious they fall off no bone. The flavours are not smokehouse sweet but rather evoke bistro, a tomato base with an herbaceous depth. The pork belly was the under achiever of the meal with little to say. It did not offend but by no means met the standard of its plate mate. Starches were served family style with traditional frites sharing space with smashed potatoes.
Union, with its service and food, is at least a two trick pony. Still a baby on the Toronto scene it should be interesting to see how it deals with the weight of expectations that are now foisted upon it. I imagine if Paul Teo has managed to get this far, he may still has a few aces up his sleeve.

Cream Kills

For me this has been the Summer of Ice Cream. Inhospitable weather aside this city has seriously upped the ante in producing stellar frozen bliss and I have had to crown a new favorite. Tumultuous stuff indeed.

I have long been a devoted fan of Greg’s roasted marshmallow ice cream. It's both insanely delicious and endorsed by the New York Times (and you know how I feel about that publication). The last two years though have been a little lackluster; I fear Greg (the nicest man you’ll ever meet) has gone low fat on me. The flavor is still there, but lacking is that unctuous rich mouthful I demand from my frozen desserts. So, sadly I bid Greg’s adieu and looked for greener pastures.

Through happenstance of location I landed on the Queen East outpost of Ed’s for the bulk of the season. It’s a great spot for people watching and the gelatos are almost too pretty to eat, all vivid colours and lushness in the case. Sticking to the Italian end I have to say Ed’s never disappointed, but neither did it overwhelm. Good but not great, so the road again we hit.

Pay dirt was found not ten blocks east at Cream. Banking on becoming Toronto’s foremost provider of dairy goods Cream is serious stuff. First and foremost the ice cream is dense and flavourful, with all the flavours feeling honest, not invoked by a chemistry set. While they have some more 'out there' concepts (French toast ice cream with candied bacon?) it was the straight up chocolate that won me. This was chocolate ice cream that let the cocoa be the pronounced flavor, not dulling the lovely bitterness with sweetness. This is revolutionary. Which by the way from their literature (an ice cream place with literature – how could I not love?) they are bent on starting - a movement to bring the power of the dairy to the people of Toronto. Bringing awareness Cream is and doing and in a very, very compelling and delicious way.

This is much much better then you think it will be

I’m not a fan of vegetarian soups as a rule. With a few exceptions soups, in my opinion, need the body that the cartilage and marrow in stock give them to be truly satisfying meals. For this reason alone it’s surprising that not only did I cook the soup below but tremendously enjoyed it. It’s simple and to the point, a basic Pasta E Fagioli but it delivers in taste, heartiness and satisfaction. Moreover it’s a great way to incorporate some beans (apparently a good thing) into your diet and impress your vegetarian friends. The starch in the bean gives the dish real substance while the rosemary and onions lend significant flavor. It’s a great mid week meal with serious left over opportunities and cheap to boot.
Note – when it says salt to taste do so, and taste often. The base liquid in this soup is water with zero flavor so you want to ensure that the seasonings that you do add are sufficient to carry the dish.

Pasta E Fagoli

1 Cup of dried beans soaked overnight
½ cup of olive oil
1 onion, fine dice
3 cloves of garlic, in paste
1 teaspoon of chopped fresh rosemary (the dried stuff really doesn’t cut it in this soup)
1 cup peeled chopped tomato (or use canned if the grocery options are dismal)
¾ small pasta (think macaroni or farafelle or those cute little shells)
Grated Parmigiano-Reggiano to taste
Salt and pepper to taste

Method:

1. Rinse and simmer beans with fresh water (about 4 cm above the beans) for 1 ½ hours at a low simmer
2. In large stock pot or dutch oven heat oil at medium heat and sauté onions until transparent, then add garlic, rosemary and continue until onions have a nice golden colour. Reduce heat to low and add tomatoes and cook about 20 minutes or until the liquid in the tomatoes cooks off.
3. Add beans plus the bean cooking water, salt and pepper to taste, and simmer the whole shebang for 2 hours.
4. About 15 minute before the soup is done boil pasta a little underdone and add to the pot.
5. Serve with cheese and lots and lots of good crusty bread.

The Transition of the Theives

In the toniest part of Toronto five stores for decades have provided the pantry staples, bread & cheese, seafood, meats, fruits & vegetables and pastries (which are a staple in my house). The stores, affectionately (or not) called the Five Thieves were an institution. They were staffed by quirky characters who stuck around for years (actual butchers sold meat) and owned by operators who were deeply invested in the operations of the store – often found mopping or stocking. Regulars were known by name, and by cuisine types. The stores themselves were a bit of a muddle; all old wood counters and hidden corners. It was elitist and expensive but everything tasted amazing and everyone had a relationship with everyone else. I unabashedly, and without irony, loved those five stores. I worked for years in All The Best Fines Foods (the cheese and bread store) mooned over the perfect produce at Harvest wagon, begged the butcher for bacon on post indulgence mornings and saved all my grocery money to buy oysters at Pisces. So take whatever I write about the current state with a grain of salt; I am by no means an unbiased observer.

I have problems addressing the current state of The Five Thieves; while they are all individually alive and kicking the changes that have occurred in the last two years have indelibly changed, to me at least, the texture of the space. And some of that may not be a bad thing – the stores were spatially a mess, inaccessible to the differently abled and working off the electrical infrastructure of a bygone era. Change probably needed to happen one way or another and two years ago it happened in a big way. The stores, one by one, moved into portable trailers while the spaces underwent massive overhauling. One store Patichou, jumped the boat early to avoid the construction and moved across the street. The rest dutifully transplanted into their charmless temporary digs until their space, new and shiny, was complete. The once quaint and cozy block took on the air of an overcrowded construction zone.

Halfway through that process is where we currently are and that is the reason for this moderate angst session. From what has been completed the general gist can felt of the ‘new and improved’ Five Thieves and my general impression is, well, shiny. Lots of glass, loads of stainless steel and the industrial chic look is very strong. This wouldn’t be a negative quality in a new concept store but giving the charming old ladies such a dramatic facelift doesn’t seem to respect the bones of the original. Interlopers have also intruded into the club with a floral store adjacent to Olifes, the butcher (which was also sold to a new owner) and Montreal Bread Company taking the location formally owned by Patichou (bringing to mind the question of whether one block really needs multiple sellers of $9 sandwiches). Familiar faces are still around but the uniqueness of the establishments has been watered down.

All is not doom and gloom. Final decision must be rendered once final work is complete. I suppose I feel towards the stores much like anyone who goes back to a childhood haunt and finds that it no longer lines up with the pictures they hold in their mind. However The Five Thieves of old were more than their space – they were a small but lively community of food loving characters and eclectic and colourful customers. With any look the community will thrive again in its new shinier home.

Canning - The Final Frontier

I have a habit of not following recipes. It’s a well documented habit and one, until I learned some kitchen fundamentals, got me in a fair degree of hot water, both figurative and literal. Now as a reasonably accomplished cook I fearlessly tread into the great mystery that is intuitive cooking. Most of the time.

One big exception to my laize faire kitchen style is the great project that is home canning. Here tradition and a healthy fear of botulism keeps me lock step with whatever guide I choose, and nary a toe off the path do I tread. Perhaps it was the extensive section on food borne pathogens in Kitchen Theory 101 or an honest to god phobia of the dreaded botulism (it seems to me to be deeply unfair that something you can get from carrot juice can severe your nerve pathways) but I am nervous canner. So much so that I have been sitting on all the equipment for two years now, afraid to take the final step and actual preserve something without my mother (the world’s best jam maker) overseeing.

Well circumstances this week developed in such a way that at the same time that The Banker was making a case for the removal of all unused kitchen equipment (of which we may have an slight accumulation) an over exuberant purchase of fresh peaches sat on the verge of rot on the counter. The urge to validate my gadget shopping and save the fruit overpowered my canning dread. Action was taken.

Results? As of yet no death or destruction. The process was not nearly as hairy as expected. Once the peaches were prepped (blanched, skinned and sliced) all that was required was boiling them briefly in a simple syrup. The canning itself was strangely gratifying; once the jars were sterilized and filled they were capped, returned to the boiling water and allowed to sit there for 15 minutes. In all honesty the best part was when the jars, once removed from the water, made lovely popping sounds, indicating the seal had been set by the cooling temperatures inside. It was at that moment I felt a sense of kinship with pioneer women of old, putting food away for the dark times ahead. Which lasted exactly three days until curiosity (and hunger) overtook, and cans were opened and consumed. It was however, an extremely dark three days.