Archive for the ‘Nonsense’ Category

Go For The Gold(en Arches, That Is)

The Golden Arches

During the last few weeks it seemed like you couldn’t swing a cat without being subjected to the Vancouver Olympics in some way, shape or form.

As someone who is generally not a huge fan of sports in any respect, I’m sure you can imagine how exasperating I found the 24/7 coverage, especially when you stop and consider how much time, effort and money goes into what amounts to a glorified international pissing contest.  However, the Everyman is a huge lover of sports, so there was a fair amount being viewed in our household during those 16 days.

One food-related topic that received quite a bit of press during and after the games was the validity of having McDonald’s as a prominent corporate sponsor.  Many have chimed in and been rather vocal about this, including those who wished that we’d showcased uniquely Canadian cuisine, instead of pandering to the lowest common denominator.  GFR even had some random 12 year old write a (rather unedited) rant about the whole affair, the gist of which boiled down to shame on us.

Far be it from me to be a shit disturber, but with the exception of the whole First Nations/Burgergate saga I’d have to say I respectfully disagree and might even (sort of) be on the same side as McD’s(!) for once.

I know.  You’re all shocked and dismayed about how that could ever be possible.  Well, it goes a little something like this…

(more…)

Won’t Somebody PLEASE Think Of The Children???

First off, I don’t have kids, nor do I ever want them.

In fact, if I’m to be brutally honest, I’d have to say that I generally despise the smarmy little buggers (with the exception of the kith and kin of a few friends or relatives of mine, that is).  For comfort’s sake I usually prefer to keep a fair amount of distance between me and the lot of them with their bad manners, foul mouthes, entitled attitudes, short attention spans and constant orbit of gadgets and technology (/rant).

That being said, there’s been a lot of talk about children in the media lately.  There’s plenty of discussion surrounding the obesity epidemic that’s facing their generation and how as a society we need to focus our energies to improve and shift their current fate.  Mrs. Obama has her Let’s Move initiative, Alice Waters has the Edible Schoolyard program,  and Jamie Oliver’s recent TED Prize wish was to teach every child about food.  Of course, that’s merely a sprinkling of the many projects attempting to tackle this multi-faceted problem, but these 3 just happen to be some of the most highly visible.

On the surface they all sound like rather noble causes, and certainly there is a degree of credibility behind the idea of educating children about food and exercise in order to stem the tides of an obesity related epidemic.

And anyone who has seen the promo clip of Oliver’s upcoming show (specifically the kids that don’t know the difference between potatoes and tomatoes at around 1:16 in the video) should be able to grasp the positive ramifications when kids get switched on about food.

However, the point where I often find myself flummoxed is when people start talking about banning, outlawing, taxing or restricting certain foods deemed to be “unhealthy” from school premises  in order to achieve that goal.

(more…)

Silencing My Inner Critic

I grew up in a restaurant family.

While other kids got to have play dates and scheduled outings with their moms and dads, I enjoyed an absentee relationship with mine; 2 of 3 being terminally addicted to their kitchens.  In the years that my parents were together I barely saw my mom because she’d leave for work while I was still at pre-school and not return until 2 or 3 in the morning.  After my parents separated, my mom and stepdad were too busy chasing their restaurant dreams to worry about things like family all that much, so I lived with my dad and only saw them a couple times a year.

Despite many wonderful things I learned and was inspired by during my time in their restaurants, the one thing that continues to irk me to this day is the overly critical nature that they’ve imbued in me.  It was never more evident in them than on the rare occasions when we would go out to eat as a family.  Rather than enjoying the brief time we had together, they would categorically pick apart whatever we were eating, regardless of whether it was a cheap trattoria or a fancy French bistro.  They’d then move on to analyzing whether they could make a particular dish better, and consequently discuss how to do so.

It drove me nuts.  Had I been older it probably would have driven me to drink, but at that young age all I could muster was a withering roll of the eyes.  I didn’t see them often, so all I wanted was to make the most of our time, but they never let up.  For years I vowed I would never be like them, determined to be happy with whatever was set before me, instead.

But, over the last few years I’ve found their somewhat unsavoury trait rearing its ugly head more and more in my demeanour.

Between working in their kitchens and stints at culinary school I’ve had plenty of time to develop an overly picky palate.  In a lot of ways it’s been for the best; I’ve gained a certain level of disdain for junk, fast and pre-packaged food-like substances in favour of slow (or what I like to call real) food.  On the flip side, it also makes friends and lovers (unnecessarily) nervous wrecks when feeding me, and coworkers assume I’m some sort of snob because I choose not to eat their hydrogenated oil filled crap or corn syrup laden goodies.  Even though I’m relatively quiet about my beliefs and standpoints on food (preferring to internalize rather than proselytize) most people assume I’m some sort of elitist crank or cow hugging moon maiden, anyhow.  That I don’t care what anyone thinks of me or my habits seems to stymie them all the more.

I often try to rationalize that I’ve only taken on the best parts of this annoying habit from my parents.  Instead of critiquing things for how bad they might be, I strive to only indulge in tastes of ridiculously good food because I think it satisfies your body, soul and cravings more.  Of course, that’s a mantra that’s easier said than done…

(more…)

Truly Outrageous

Yesterday afternoon I had the chance to watch episode 2 of Hugh’s Chicken Run, which is a BBC show that features Britain’s own Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall (of River Cottage fame) exposing the realities of commercial chicken production.

I intended to write about this yesterday, when I could still feel the fire of indignation in my belly, but the more retarded of our 3 cats chewed through the power cord on my laptop charger, thus leaving me without access to the interwebs.  My ranting has likely grown a little more subdued than it would have been immediately following the show, but it still raised questions nonetheless.

In the second episode, Hugh takes a group of people he’s convinced to raise chickens on a tour of a poultry-rearing facility that he’s constructed as a small-scale model of the difference between conventional and free range birds.  He fills half of the giant shed with 1,600 chicks destined to have a relatively charmed existence, while the remaining 2,400 or so( of the 4,000 birds he starts with) are crammed into the same size shelter on the other side of the barn.

The free range birds obviously have a little more space because there are less of them on their side of the shed, but they also get perks like bales of hay to roost on, balls to play with, CDs to peck at and access to the great outdoors.  What might seem like small concessions make a world of difference to these birds, as is evidenced by the flock of perky, upwardly mobile chickens pecking and scratching around.

By contrast, the conventional birds were much more cramped in their space, and had no “toys” to play with at all.  After several weeks they could barely walk, having eaten so much (during the 23 hours a day they’re encouraged to eat) that the poor birds had grown faster than their legs could support.  The carpet of bird shit was so heavy that apparently the barn stank of ammonia and many chickens were getting “hot spots” on their legs and feet (which is a pleasant way of saying they were being burned by the chemical reactions of so much shit coming into contact with their extremities).  Having so many birds confined to such a tiny area also increases the chance of illness infesting a flock, so any time a sick or slow bird was found, it had to be removed.

On top of that, Fearnley Whittingstall discusses how he has to cull many chicks because they are smaller than the rest and won’t make “market weight” at the same time.  Because this unfortunately represents no profit, they must be dispatched.  Throughout the show you can see him becoming increasingly shaken with each cull, but on the conventional side, birds are only given 5 to 6 weeks to live and one cannot risk the safety of the flock with ideals.

(more…)

Christmas: In Cookies

As I get ready to go off into the great white yonder to spend Christmas at the Everyman’s family’s cottage, I’d like to leave everyone with my best wishes for a wonderful celebration, and some pictures of the holiday edibles that will be gracing our dessert table this year (courtesy of yours truly).

No matter what you may get up to tomorrow, I wish you all the best in doing it!

Dutch Apple Pie Bars

(more…)

Ho Ho Holidays

Well, festive readers of the internest…

It’s about that time of year when I seriously kick into high gear baking mode.

So, with that in mind, I’ll be signing off until the new year.

I wish you all a safe, silly and delicious holiday.

I’ll be seeing you on the other side.

Until next time…


Penny For Your Thoughts

Occasionally, PR people have taken to contacting me when they have things they would like reviewed.

In some instances, they’ve invited me to free dinners, or asked me to cover things like Conviction Kitchen, or even the launch of a new chef cookbook.

Recently I even had the wonderful people representing Pom Wonderful send me an envelope of coupons in order to sample their new line of juices.

Just the other day a representative for a company called Pop Chips asked if she could send me a few samples bags to try.  The irony here, which I made her well aware of at the time is that I don’t typically enjoy salty snacks all that much.  However, she was fairly confident that her product would be the one to change my mind, so she sent them anyway.

All of this is a roundabout way of saying that I will occasionally be giving my 2 cents on products; but only if I like them.  Things that I don’t care for are never going to see the light of day here, which is why you’ve never seen me covering the opening of the latest chain restaurant like so many other Toronto bloggers (also because I would rather throw up than eat at a chain restaurant, but that goes without saying).

I know there are a lot of people who think that the PR business is this big, dirty machine, and in some ways, I suppose it does come off as a little sleazy.  Let me reconcile that by saying that I have never been the kind of person who is swayed by anyone else’s opinion.  It’s great if someone has an opinion (and everybody does) but it’s not going to make up my mind for me about anything, in the same way that other people might look to restaurant, movie or product reviews.  That being said, my opinions should never be the deciding factor in making your own decisions, either, because just because I like something doesn’t mean that you will.  If anything, I hope that if I find something that’s worth sharing, it will do nothing more than to highlight its existence, which will allow you to draw your own conclusions.

(more…)

The Self-Correcting, Sliding Scale Of Deliciousness

Imposter

Taste is a funny thing.

Have you ever noticed how you loved a certain premade food until you tried its homemade counterpart?

I find this happens to me all the time.  So much so that I sometimes make a concerted effort not to eat something in its homemade form that I already love just so I can continue to enjoy it.  The best examples I can draw on for this would be chocolate bars.  Even though I don’t eat much in the way of mass-market chocolate anymore, I still enjoy the occasional 3 Musketeers or Crunchie, and have no intention of learning how to make the various components by hand (purely for the sake of time and my lack of it) thus the reason I shy away from most handmade candy bars and choose to focus more on pure chocolate instead.

Certain simpler tastes from childhood, like Kraft Dinner (which I rarely, if ever consume anymore, preferring Annie’s Homegrown if we’re talking packaged) or a yellow can of Habitant pea soup no longer satisfy for no reason other than that any homemade version is leaps and bounds better.  In that regard, I often choose to go without until I’m in the mood to prepare something, rather than settle for an inferior product that’s not going to cut it.

Most recently I had this “aha” moment with a Jos Louis.  Ever since I was a child, Jos Louis’ were the sweet of choice when I happened to be granted a special treat.  And again, though I don’t eat them as often as back then, I still occasionally nibble them (usually when I’m sick and in need of childlike comforting).  The only difference was this time after one bite of the chocolate-coated cakey pastry, I’d lost that lovin’ feeling.  You see, the week prior I’d made homemade whoopie pies for the first time, and having that fantastic taste memory so near to the top of my consciousness made the store-bought cake pale in comparison.

(more…)

The Foodie 13 – 13 Things You Didn’t Know About This Foodie

Beet-or and Fun-ion

I know, I know, I know.

It’s been like forever and a day since I last posted a Foodie 13.  The funny thing about it is I actually have one that’s completely written that I’d prepared back in August for while we were on vacation, but I just haven’t felt like publishing it since then.

Between work, Taste T.O. and various other ongoing stuff, I haven’t really had much of a chance to devote to this medium.  I heartily apologize.

Since I’ve been running this website for nearly 2 years now, I suppose it’s about time that I tell you all a little more about who I am and what makes me tick.

So, without further adieu, let’s take this opportunity to get a better acquainted, shall we?

(more…)

Seriously. What The Fuck?

Why?

When I was a teenager, my mom and stepdad owned a small bistro in a little town in Ontario cottage country called Dorset.

Dorset, for those of you who aren’t aware, is in the general area of Huntsville, Bracebridge, Gravenhurst, etc.

One of the things it is most famously known for is an old general store called Robinson’s.  These days, that general area (though Huntsville specifically) is also known as the hometown of the fabulously glam-rockesque Hawksley Workman, not that we’re keeping track or anything…

Now, during the summer that I was working at the bistro with my parents, I spent a great deal of time handing out advertising (menus and such) in front of Robinson’s.  And back then (nigh on 13 years ago), Robinson’s was an old fashioned general store with bits and bobs and handicrafts.  I’m not sure when during the last 13 years it merged with a Foodland store to provide a greater selection of groceries to the cottaging masses, but I’m sure you can sense how that in and of itself offended my sensibilities.  It seems that over the years, the little things that made Robinson’s unique have been slowly falling away.

So, I’m hoping you will also be able to understand how I found myself standing in the produce aisle at this Robinson’s/Foodland blend last week, full of moral indignation.

(more…)

Superfood Or Supercrap?

Powdered Acai

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that nutrition-based food claims make me more than a little uncomfortable.

It seems that for every “scientific” paper that proves the benefits of consuming a certain type of food or nutrient, there are still others disputing it.  In a way it’s no different than the claims made by the multi-billion dollar diet industry bent on pushing yet another new faddy regimen.  Every few months new research surfaces to show that some thing (that until recently had been a workaday foodstuff) has been catapulted out of obscurity and into the limelight.  At times it makes me wonder if all of these studies are in some way connected to each food’s saavy marketing board…

In the last few decades, we’ve had studies revering margarine and vilifying butter.  Years later, butter faced a (luke-warm) reprieve, if only due to the fact that research arose stating that margarine had gross things like trans fats in it.  Then there was the jump on the olive oil bandwagon, backed up by research into the healthful Mediterranean diet.  And on, and on, ad naseum.

Which then prompted a string of books about why one culture’s diet was better than another, including French Women Don’t Get Fat, (a book a well-meaning friend once brought me to stave off boredom while I was sick) that among other things advocates living off a watery leek broth when you’ve overindulged (real healthy… snerk!)  Or the (more than a little smug) rebuttal Japanese Women Don’t Get Old Or Fat, which I bought for the express purpose of seeing what exactly they would claim was better in their “lifestyle” book than the French one, but 3 years later, I’ve yet to get past page 2.

The revolving door of nutritional recommendations doesn’t stop there, either.

(more…)

Where Have All The Farmers Gone?

At the beginning of this year’s growing season, I was frequenting several farmer’s markets a week.

Some might consider that overkill (and they wouldn’t be wrong), especially since my approach to food shopping is not at all European, or in the style of purchasing only what I require at the time.  Over the course of the past few months I’ve progressively whittled the number of markets I attend down to one regular Saturday morning trip.  For someone like me, with a constant desire to have it all, that’s no small feat.  But it was made somewhat easier once I started to open my eyes and discard my naiveté about our markets and how they are generally operated.

Year after year, the number of farmers continues to dwindle as society becomes more technologically advanced and urbanified, yet they must exist somewhere, otherwise who is growing our food?  A great, bitter and secret irony in Ontario is that many of the people that you’ll find at your local farmer’s market aren’t actually farmers at all, because strangely enough, not all markets require such a criteria of their vendors.  While it’s true that the artisan purveyors at the market have been on the downswing for a while, one thing I always had faith in was the fact that the person selling me my food at the market was connected to it in some way.  Unfortunately, in a lot of cases those people lounging around under tents in parking lots and wooded areas are just as likely to have picked up that produce at the local food terminal as they were to have harvested it themselves.  I’d read about the prevalence of this dishonesty elsewhere before, but stubbornly refused to believe it was true.  Yet, the more I started to inquire about the provenance of the food or a vendor’s involvement in producing it, the fewer answers I was left with.  The last straw finally came when I asked a “farmer” what variety of vegetables they were selling and how they were grown, and all I was met with was a blank stare. Any farmer worth their salt or the products in their pickup could tell you which varietals they sweat blood and tears growing for the last few months. Or weeks later when I showed up to another notable market, only to find bananas (not a product that grows in Canada, even) and sweet corn (this was in the beginning of June before the corn would have even been tall enough to eat) available on the tables.  And if these faux-farmers are just buying up skids at the food terminal, how is that any different than if I were to purchase said food at a supermarket?  My faith in the process having taken a hit, I immediately stopped shopping at any vendors that were unable to provide answers to the simplest of questions.  In effect, if they are selling that food under false pretences, why should I believe any other claims they might make about it, like whether it’s local or organic?  How is one to know?

In Toronto a body of concerned citizens exists to vet the farmers that sell at their markets; they formed an organization in 2007 called My Market, and their goal is to ensure that the people selling you the food are the people who grow that food, which also helps to certify that the food is actually local.  The My Market locations (there are 5) are not exclusively organic, but they are a step in the right direction towards keeping our food dollars within the community.  The market that I visit each week happens to be a My Market, and while there are a few things that seem to be missing (decent bread, a meat or sausage vendor and blueberries) the motley group of 10 to 12 vendors are always happy and friendly, and exhibit exorbitant amounts of passion when discussing their wares.  Not only will they talk your ear off about the latest assortment of fruit and veg from their farms, but they have the dirt under their nails and smeared over their boots to prove it.  In this day and age, authenticity still counts for something, after all.

And that is something I can feel good about.  So now you know where I spend my Saturday mornings, but what about you?

Until next time…

Around The World In 80 Bites

It’s been a while since the Everyman and I went on vacation.

We started our relationship by going on a roadtrip to Ottawa for a concert, then to Cuba for a friend’s wedding, but the last true vacation was to Panama in 2007.  Last year we did a few 4 day jaunts to the US, but they’re kind of a tease because as soon as you start getting relaxed you have to turn around and go home again.  We’ve been meaning to take some time off this year, but between the two of us starting new jobs within the last 9 months, it never seemed like the right time.  We’ve done a few long weekends this summer, but haven’t gone any further than our recent drive to Bradford for the Outstanding In The Field dinner.  This year, it’s been all about the staycation thus far, unfortunately.

We’ve been discussing a few potential places for several months, having narrowed it down to a long weekend in the Carolinas, a 7 to 10 day journey to Spain, and the decadent CuisinArt Spa in Anguilla.  The Carolinas might still be possible this year, but Spain requires a bit of advanced planning, since I’d have to visit El Bulli and the reservation wait list is notoriously long.  I’ve been thinking I should put our names down now for next year, even. On the other hand, the CuisinArt Spa is prohibitively expensive, so I don’t think we’ll be going there any time soon, but it’s certainly nice to dream.

Earlier this summer I wanted to take a short sojourn to Montreal or Ottawa during some time off, but the Everyman claimed ignorance once the time came, so we didn’t end up going anywhere.  When he happened to come home last week and tell me that we were going to go to Quebec City for Labour Day weekend, I was ecstatic.  Before even contemplating any sites to see or things to do, I hit up the Quebec Chowhound board to mine for edible recommendations.  I do enjoy travelling, but realistically, tourism is just something I tend to do between meals, which are really the star attraction for me.  One thing I’ve come to realize about myself is that no matter where we’re planning to go, the first thing I have to nail down is where I’m going to eat.  It’s the mark of a true foodie, I suppose…

We’ll be arriving on Friday around lunchtime, and returning to Toronto on Monday around the same time, so that leaves us with 9 whole meal opportunities!  So far, I’ve managed to gather 7 recommendations in the vicinity of our hotel (Chateau Frontenac) from haute cuisine to café fare, but I imagine we’ll just be stopping in to random places that we find.  Because we both have allergies and very rusty French, we have to be somewhat vigilant about not patronizing restaurants that do not provide English menus, because there’s always the chance that we’ll miss something and fall ill.  I had wanted to go to either Restaurant Toast! or L’Utopie, but the Everyman wasn’t a fan of the menu at Toast, and L’Utopie’s website does not have anything listed in English, so we’ll have to see once we get there.  It’s sort of a drag, because I was really looking forward to going to one of them, but I hear the food at Le Clocher Penche, Le Pain Beni, Cochon Dingue and Le Billig is fabulous, so hopefully I won’t be missing much.  The Everyman’s brother and wife did a trip to Quebec City for their anniversary recently, and they said the food was fantastic, but everything was over the top rich, to the point that by the end all they wanted was salad.  I’m hoping to mitigate that excess by sourcing a few vegetarian options for lunches, or alternatively packing an impromptu picnic or two.  Regardless, I’m sure the easy access to poutine and pain au chocolat will mean I’m 10 pounds fatter by the time we come home, but sacrifices must be made.  It’s a good thing I’ve been eating all this vegetarian food lately, I guess!

Of course, if any of you out there on the interwebs have recommendations, I am all ears!  Just drop a line in the comments, it would be much appreciated.

Until next time…

  • Archives

  • Categories

  • Tasty Topics

  • Nifty Links

  • Colour Commentary

  • Proud Member Of

  • Other Published Writings

  • Profile of Friendly Magnolia Fine Foods
  • Review of The Palmerston Cafe
  • Review of The Stockyards
  • Seasoning, Flavour, Herbs, Spice
  • Profile of Alba Lisa Gourmet Foods
  • Preservation Culture
  • Review of Little Tibet Restaurant
  • Toronto Food Delivery Services Comparison
  • Toronto's Best Wings Comparison
  • Review of Poutini's House Of Poutine
  • Review of Cafe Diplomatico
  • Book Review of Earth To Table
  • Review of 73 Stirs
  • Toronto Cannoli Comparison
  • Book Review of Kitchen Scraps
  • Profile of Sweet Flour Bake Shop
  • Toronto Mincemeat Comparison
  • Book Review of Good Food For All
  • Book Review of The Edible City
  • Visual Victuals

    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image
    rotating image