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Twenty-one nice places to eat and drink

January 6, 2012

When people I only see at Christmas parties lie to me and tell me I’ve lost weight, I usually laugh and say “Don’t worry, I’ll find it again.” Oddly enough, no one said it this season. Looking at this list of just some of places where I ate while travelling in 2011, I’m starting to understand why. Keep in mind, this list does not include restaurants in my home city, not to mention pizza deliveries.

With the exception of two places (a pub with an amazing selection of beer in Washington – I didn’t have the food so I can’t judge – and a restaurant in Istanbul with so-so food but a spectacular view – The picture above of the Blue Mosque was the view from our table), these, in no real order, are places I would not hesitate to eat at again. In fact, I can hardly wait.

The list…

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Golden beet salad

December 18, 2011

We’re having a little dinner party tonight for some old friends who are moving away and a few others who either want to wish them well or, were simply attracted by the promise of free food. Either way, this is one of the dishes they’re getting  (along with Italian onion soup and a roasted pork loin stuffed with spinach and pancetta) and it’s so good that I wanted to share it right away rather than let it stack up with the dozens of other recipes I keep meaning to post. I promised Italian food but this salad, made with grainy Dijon mustard and maple vinegar, might be a stretch. Maybe if I say it in Italian – insalata di barbabietola – I might get away with it.

Golden beet salad

Serves six

2 pounds golden beets

1 teaspoon grainy mustard

4 tablespoons maple vinegar

1/2 teaspoon sugar (optional)

1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil plus a little more to drizzle over beets before roasting

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat oven to 400 F

Wash beets and trim tops if required. Place each beet on a square of foil wrap large enough to wrap the whole beet. Drizzle olive oil over the beets and seal the foil. Place in the oven for 45 minutes or until you can slide a blade easily into the beet. Remove and set aside to cool. When cool, cut the skin off and dice the beets into quarter inch squares.

Meanwhile, combine mustard, maple vinegar, sugar (if using) and whisk to combine. Add olive oil while whisking. Toss the beets with the dressing and serve at room temperature. Enjoy.

Island time

January 7, 2011

There’s nothing quite as restorative as some time in the sunshine. Good food helps as well.

We had plenty of both during our extended Christmas stay on the West Indian island of Antigua. Now, I’m so relaxed, it’s hard to get moving again.

A few culinary highlights of our trip:

The Antiguan black pineapple. A skinnier version of the one we’re used to in North American supermarkets, it is also much sweeter. You can buy them at roadside stands in the lush, south part of the Island where they are grown or, you can find them at the public market in the capital, St. John’s. Alas, they don’t export these juicy  little gems.

The beef carpaccio at Sheer Rocks in St. Mary’s Parish on the south-west coast. It was sublime and the location –  a stepped terrace perched on the edge of a cliff – is outstanding for a special night out. The evening we were there, the Caribbean was rough and it was amazing to watch the surf pound the rocks by candlelight.

The roti at Roti King in St. John’s. We asked a policewoman for directions when we got lost looking for a Caribbean restaurant the guide-book recommended (turns out it had closed), and she told us we were headed to the wrong place and promptly walked us several blocks to Roti King, the place people in the know go to for lunch.

As you can see, it is nothing fancy and we may not have ventured in on our own if we hadn’t had such a glowing recommendation. The service was not particularly friendly but the place was packed with Antiguans, not tourists, and the smell of the curry was compelling.

The rotis were huge, cheap and delicious. I had beef, L had chicken (the kids, of course, ate at one of the two Subways, which have recently invaded the island). I can’t wait to go back for seconds.

Now, back to reality (and the kitchen).

A wishbone for Edgar

October 26, 2010

Anyone who has been following the narrative on one of my favourite blogs,  she eats bears, is sitting on the edge of their kitchen stool in anticipation of this weekend’s big event. The gentle rhythm of Marysol’s blog has been punctuated by a bit of tension of late as she prepares to open her own little restaurant, Edgar. It’s hard not to admire someone who has a dream to pursue her passion and then has the gumption to leave her job and do it. And now, after reading along through the trials and errors, we can all look forward to Saturday’s opening. And the food looks great.

So, Edgar, best wishbones for a grand opening and a prosperous future.

After the flood

October 24, 2010

Drywall is up (did it myself so, don’t look too closely), painting is done, shelves are up and they have been stocked with new food.

Two weeks after a leaky pipe caused havoc in the kitchen, wrecking the walls and causing the pantry shelves to collapse (olive oil gives a lovely sheen to slate floors), things are finally back in order.

Time to start cooking again.

Chez Piggy carrot salad

August 29, 2010

This is the first recipe I have made from The Chez Piggy Cookbook, despite the fact it will always be my favourite restaurant and I have had the book for years.

Chez Piggy was opened in 1979 in a refurbished limestone stable by Zal Yanovsky and his partner Rose Richardson. Both Zal, who was the co-founder and lead guitarist for The Lovin’ Spoonful, and Rose are gone now but the Kingston institution lives on. I started going there in 1988 when, as a grateful starving student, I won a $25 gift certificate in a raffle. I used it to buy dinner for L where, my courage bolstered (and, I have always assumed, her resistance lowered) by a nice bottle of wine, I proposed.

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Braveheart (or, how I ate a giant puffball)

August 21, 2010

(Loosely based on a true story)

One bite. One  timid, tentative bite and I wait.

I wait for the deadly neurotoxins to wreak havoc on my nervous system, throwing my body into spasms of agony before, hours later, screaming and frothing at the mouth, my internal organs surrender to the inevitable and, one by one, shut down forever.

Nothing. Another nibble.

Perhaps could it be worse than that? Maybe there won’t be spasms but just a slow, creeping paralysis. Starting in my toes and,  after many anxious days,  leaving me a motionless living corpse destined to be bed-ridden for decades, passing the time by blinking out the answers to Sudoku puzzles with my eyelids.

Why am I so fearful? After all, I have eaten street food in places as diverse as Bali (where I’m pretty sure the dishes were “washed” in the “stream” that ran along the road beside the cart), to Ramallah (take-away falafel in the back of an armoured SUV). Wild mushrooms, it seems, are my limit; a kind of fungal Rubicon I dare not cross. I am no culinary Caesar.

Until now. Another bite. Nothing. L and the 17-year-old Gaping Maw who lives in our basement are munching away happily with no ill-effect. I relax a little and eat some more. Fear begins to fade. I wonder why I waited so long. Every year in late summer giant white puffballs emerge overnight in our little patch of woods by the lake. And every year I promise myself I will pick one and cook it and eat it. But some deep-rooted, atavistic fear always prevents me.

Until now. I take a large, fearless swallow of puffball, perfectly done in tempura. It’s not really what I had expected – a little nutty, a texture more like cheese or tofu than mushroom. It’s good. Read the rest of this entry »

For the wine-loving (meat) smoker

June 30, 2010

Saw these in a little shop in our village and immediately picked up a bundle without even looking at the price, which turned out to be around $7 with tax. “They make a perfect hostess gift,” the sales clerk said. “Maybe so,” I replied, “but these are for me.”

Okay, there’s one born every minute. I soaked two of these – they are made from the staves of used oak wine barrels – in water (the label suggested soaking them in wine as an alternative. Yeah, right) and put them on the charcoal grill when I made a flank steak for four out-of-town colleagues looking for a free meal. Have to say, I couldn’t taste the wine (in the meat at least). The oak, however, gave the meat an intense smokiness and everyone raved about the flavour. So, we decided to do our best to empty another barrel for future barbecues.

Red meat gets a reprieve

May 23, 2010

Finally, a scientific study that suggests hamburgers may not be that bad after all.  The conclusions, published in the journal Circulation, found that there was no causal link between red meat and heart disease. This fantastic news comes to us from very smart people at Harvard so it has to be right. The study suggested that it is sodium and chemical preservatives that contribute to heart issues, not the meat itself. So, bacon, ham and sausage are still culprits. And red meat is still a suspect in some colon crimes so, it’s not off the hook yet.  But at least you can eat a hamburger to your heart’s content.

I can say, after a juicy half pound of  due diligence of my own, that a hamburger tastes just as deliciously bad for you as it did before the latest study.

Here’s my version, made with grass-fed Lincoln Red beef from the farm we support as CSA members. Yes, it does have bacon on it, but it is our favourite artisanal bacon made without nitrates. These are best cooked on the barbecue (seared and then moved to indirect heat to cook through) although I sometimes fry them in a pan and finish in the oven (350 F).

I will have to stop calling this burger the Heart Stopper (at least until another study comes out).

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Empty Bowls and an empty nest

May 1, 2010

According to family tradition, this is the second weekend of cottage season for us. According to our 14-year-old daughter, traditions “evolve” and we shouldn’t expect to drag her to the lake every Saturday when she could be at the mall with “normal” people.

Just about everyone we know who has a summer place warned us this would happen. I guess I was naive enough to believe that our daughter would be the exception that proved the rule or, cynical enough to believe that I could overcome her reticence with bribes.

I’m learning that it takes a lot to bribe a 14-year-old girl. When did kids’ clothes get so expensive?

We did mange to get to the lake last Saturday (our daughter had a sleepover birthday party) for the most important part of our cottage-opening tradition, the Festival of the Maples. On the last Saturday of April the main street of the beautiful little town of Perth, Ontario fills to capacity with thousands of people. Residents say hello to the folks they haven’t seen since fall and the first summer migrants, like us, stop in on the way to the cottage to have a bite and stock up on a fresh batch of syrup for the (we hope) long summer ahead. The weather gods always seem to bless this festival and by mid-afternoon the season’s first sunburns are starting to show. But it’s worth it, if only for the fudge.

All really good traditions have component parts and, for us, the one thing we absolutely must do at the maple festival is have lunch at the Empty Bowls tent. For a $20 donation you get a bowl of soup and a hand-made bowl (made by a local potter) to take with you.

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