Posts Tagged ‘Grant Van Gameren’

The Death Burger

Death Burger

Hot on the back of our ‘nduja fun over at The Black Hoof last week, I decided to revisit the blisteringly addictive jar of minced Terroni-brand pepperoncinis I had in the fridge.

Other than the ‘nduja and a random side I’d made a few months ago, it’s been languishing in condiment alley, hidden amongst so many other preserved delights.

In the summer (and really, anytime) the one thing I love to cook is burgers, and as the resident Queen of the grill around these parts, I probably cook them about once a week.  I have lots of different versions I like to make, from cheese and jalapeño stuffed chipotle burgers, to tomato powder-infused green chile mozzaburgers, to plain and simple s&p only burgers; there are few occasions where I don’t approve of (or can’t find a way to improve) a burger recipe.

Recalling the cooling sensation of the olive oil and prawns counteracting the ‘nduja heat, I imagined that a lump of cheese would perform similarly.  Luckily for us we had some fresh bocconcinis in the house from the paninis the Everyman and I had made for lunch.  I envisioned a tablespoon-sized quenelle of the pepperoncini hidden beneath a luxurious melting of mozzarella; sweet, spicy, smoky and piquant.  That was all the convincing I needed, so I set to work.

Keeping the seasoning simple, the burger itself was nothing more than organic grass-fed beef, a sprinkle of s&p and some cold water to keep the patties fluffy.  Cooked to a tasty medium rare, during the last few minutes of grilling I topped the burgers with the spoon of pepperoncini and lumps of cheese while I toasted the buns and waited for the melt.  Unfortunately the bocconcinis took too long to liquify, even though I’d sliced them thin, so the burger was a few shades past medium by the time I pulled them off, but miraculously still maintained their juiciness.

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Hot Damn

I went to the doctor yesterday and found out I now have to arm myself with an epi pen.  Boooooooooo!!!!

But, let me back up a second.  For several years now I’ve been having increasingly severe reactions to various types of shellfish.  Something as innocuous as crab, which I used to catch and eat frequently as a child in British Columbia now causes my throat to swell closed and is completely off limits.  A few years later, lobster came to the party and shouted out an enthusiastic allergic ditto.  While I can still eat shrimp and scallops (for now) without any ill effects, for the most part I try to avoid shellfish altogether, because I just don’t feel like taking the risk.  Plus, the one I really loved was crab, and ironically that’s the one I react to the most.

I was doing a pretty good job of avoiding shellfish too, until an intriguing note from Grant over at The Black Hoof coaxed us into returning.  It’d been almost 5 months since our last visit; since the Everyman accuses the place of giving him protein poisoning pretty much every time we go there, we’ve kind of been avoiding it for the last little bit.  That note this week changed all of that…

You see, months ago when I was in the midst of my ‘nduja experimentation, the first person I went to for advice was Grant.  Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to know anything about it, other than the Len Poli resource I’d already been studying.  In fact, I think I may have been responsible for turning him on to the ‘nduja trend (I’ve never asked; perhaps he also admires Chris Cosentino as I do, and heard of it that way).  At any rate, we both ended up making some, and his email this week was to let me know that he’d finally taken it out of the curing room and was ready to start serving it.  I decided to be a little more hardcore with mine, and instead am curing it for at least 6 months, but possibly as long as 12 depending on its consistency at the halfway point.  Regardless, I stll had a foodie’s interest in testing out Grant’s version, so away to The Hoof we’d go.

When we sat down for dinner, the first thing we both noticed was that the ‘nduja dish on the chalkboard was marked as $1.  We both spent some time speculating over whether it was such a risky dish that they were trying to give it away, or whether he just wanted to get people to order it (incidentally, it turned out to be neither – the 3 just happened to rub off beside it)  After consuming a deluxe-sized platter covered in all of our favourite meats between us (guanciale, cheek rilettes, duck mousse, chorizo, lonzino, clove sausage and more) plus a massive bowl of bread, my ‘nduja arrived in the form of a quenelle, sided by smoked spot prawns, (this is where we connect back to my shellfish allergy) halved cherry tomatoes, olive oil and some nice crusty bread.  When I’d seen that it was served with spot prawns on the menu, I spent a good few minutes debating with the Everyman the likelihood of said prawns sending me into anaphylactic shock; I’d eaten them before, but it had been years.  Obviously the lust for ‘nduja won (and luckily no shock was had).  The prawns were heavenly, lusciously smoky, but not overly so, and provided a cooling burst to combat the ‘nduja’s heat.  The strange thing about ‘nduja is that the first bite (which was tiny) was literally so hot I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but the more I ate it, the more addicted I became to it, because it wasn’t a lingering heat.  It flared up fast, but dissipated quickly.  Captivating.  By the end I was wantonly slathering toasted bread with it and mounding prawns and tomatoes on board.  There’s only one word for food this good; stupendous.

Let’s just say I’m looking forward to throwing open my ‘nduja all the more now.  October just can’t come fast enough over here.

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The Foodie 13 – Desert Island Fare

I probably spend more time than is normal thinking about what I would do if I ever became stranded on a deserted island.  I can assure you there’d be no montage of Castaway or Blue Lagoon moments, but if there were other people trapped with me, I imagine it would quickly devolve in a similar manner to Lord Of The Flies.

Because of that, I keep a mental list of comestibles I’d want to have with me if that were ever to go down.  The ironic thing about that statement of course, is that if (heaven forbid) it really did happen, there’s no way I’d be prepared enough to have all these good eats with me.  But a (slightly delusional) girl can always dream, can’t she?  With these 13 paradigms of culinary excellence to keep me company, I’d never be wanting for more.

So without further adieu, but in no particular order…

1- Czehoski‘s bacon poutine - There’s nothing better on a grey and blustery day than digging in to a bowl of this salty, creamy, crispy perfection.  If you’ve never tried bacon gravy before, you’re probably asking yourself, what’s the big deal?  Can it really be that different?  Trust me hombres, it can and is.  This poutine is what dreams are made of… decadent, curd-filled dreams.

2- Fat Willy’s ribs - Fat Willy’s is a little hole in the wall barbecue joint in the suburbs of Chicago.  I never expected we’d fine transcendent barbecue in Illinois of all places, but ever since we came home, I’ve had vivid dreams about the smoky tang I experienced there, sometimes to the point that I’m awakened from chewing on my own pillow.  Delish!

3- Terroni‘s mezzo mezzo - This appetizer platter is constantly changing, but always includes some meat, some cheese, some bread and some fruit or veg, plus a small dish of honey for dipping.  My favourite has always been the roasted pear that’s often a mainstay of the dish, and marries well with so many things.

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La Dolce Vita

The Everyman and I are always on the lookout for new and delicious places to clink a fork and knife in our neck of the woods.  In some ways the search becomes so serious that one might almost consider it a sport.  But don’t worry, no foodies were harmed in the writing of this post!

Recently I noticed a little spot called Negroni going in downwind from Gamelle, but hadn’t any indication of what type of fare would be served, other than my assumptions based on their name.  Since I’m usually pretty open to foodie experimentation, I filed it away in the to-inquire-about later section of my brain and went on with my day.

Over the course of the last few days I found out that Negroni happens to be a casual little panini bar/cafe, operated by the owners of another College St. resto, Sidecar.  This would be right up the Everyman’s alley.  Having spent several of his formative years living in Italy, he’s rather fond of most Italian dishes, prosciutto-laced ones especially.  I’d initially planned to mention it to him as a weekend lunch spot, but while driving home from work on Friday night and discussing what to have for dinner, it just sort of fit.  Knowing that they were only open until 9, we dropped our gear at home, quickly changed and headed down the street for a little pressed bread action.

Negroni is a beautifully small space.  It’s bright, airy and hums with it’s cheerful café-ish, open-door persona.  At 7 pm on a Friday night the room was less than half full but an inviting and comfortable atmosphere still prevailed.  The staff are friendly and overly attentive, though not annoyingly so.  The gentleman serving us noticed I had their card (which I’d grabbed on my way in the door) and asked whether we’d come over from their sister spot.  I just like to collect business cards, but he promised to take good care of us anyways.

After ordering a beer and a glass of wine, we set to work perusing the food carte.  The menu’s not large, but includes a handful of temptation-inducing appetizers, as well as a dozen paninos (which based on their contents I’m hazarding a guess and saying are seasonal).  Being meatavores, we ordered a cured platter to split between us, and were not disappointed.  The quantity was spot on, with only a few delicate slivers of each meat dispensed, plus a small dish of house-cured sweet pickles and onion slices.  The trio of meats included a silky prosciutto, a tangy bresaola, and a sumptuous wild boar cacciatore (reminiscent of the Pingue Abbruzese, actually).  All served with a small stack of their achingly crisp and aromatic ciabatta.  The bread alone is worth coming for, with it’s yeasty, malty, savoury smell emanating from the many irregular crevices.  Eating that appetizer makes me think that the people behind Negroni really get what they’re doing, because it did everything an appetizer should.  By the time we were done we were yearning for more, sated but still possessing a discernable appetite.

When our paninos arrived several moments later, we knew we’d made an excellent decision.  The Everyman’s was a lesson in simplicity, melding prosciutto, bufala mozzarella and oven-dried tomatoes.  My own was a delectable spring-like combination of prosciutto, asparagus spears and taleggio (one of my favorite Italian cheeses ever).  If there’s any problem with their menu, it’s that too many of the options sound amazingly palatable, which is why it took me almost 10 minutes to order.  When I lamented that sentiment to our server, he suggested that we should try them in order, that way when we come back we always know where we are and where we want to be.  This is not a bad idea, and when we go back that’s exactly what I’m going to do, because I just mentally threw a dart at the menu to make my selection this time.  The sammies were served with a superfluous salad of parmagiano, fennel and arugula that was tasty, but I was more interested in concentrating on my sandwich.

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There’s No Place Like Home

Flavored Syrup

Imitation is supposedly the sincerest form of flattery.

I never felt that was the case when I showed up at work only to find another coworker had bought the same purse, belt or other accessory to an outfit that I’d worn the week before.  If anything, it would aggravate me when another person wanted to be just like me.  I sometimes wonder if chefs feel the same way, and I often assume that they do.  So I do feel a little bit of guilt when I take something of theirs and try to make it my own, but not too much…

I’ll admit, on top of creating my own unique dishes, I enjoy going out to restaurants and then recreating (and improvising) their signature dishes at home.  I can credit Grant from The Black Hoof with inspiring me to get back into charcuterie and (I think his name is Jeff) from Czehoski with reigniting my love of mixing cocktails.  Call me greedy, but sometimes I just want to be able to enjoy the thing I want (a drink, cured meat or other) in the comfort of my own home without having to get all dolled up and spending most of my night in a crowded, noisy restaurant.  Sometimes the need to be able to hear oneself thinking outweighs the love of a killer cocktail.

So in honor of that, I give you my take on the infamous Czehoski cocktail.

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Mmm, Liver

Chicken Goji Pate With Freshly Baked Baguette

I love liver…  as long as it’s ground up into an unrecognizable paste that’s been highly seasoned with cream, spices and booze, that is.  For the most part the Everyman won’t eat liver under any circumstances, so when there is pate, it’s usually all for me.

As much as I enjoy a creamy pate, I never quite caught on to the appeal of eating a plain piece of fried liver with onions for dinner.  So I don’t.  Ever.  But every once in a while I do get the urge to play around with pates and create something sumptuous and luxurious out of a piece of meat that a lot of people typically discard.  It just so happened that this weekend I was in that creative mindset…

To the best of my recollection it’s been a few months since the Everyman and I last visited The Black Hoof, but I’d never stopped thinking about that ethereal goji fois mousse we’d gobbled on our last visit.  From the get-go I’d known that experimenting with fois was way out of my budget (specifically because I’d mess it up) so I’d always intended to prepare my version by flavoring a chicken liver mousse instead.  Unfortunately, working with liver is not particularly fun.  It’s cold and sort of slippery-slimy, and it gives off a not entirely pleasant ferric smell.  I know, stop making it sound so awesome that you have to make it right now, right?  But, a goji mousse was desired, so certain sacrifices had to be made.

Once the livers were trimmed and cleaned, they were set aside while I sauteed some chopped white onions.  Once translucent, the livers were added back to the pan with a healthy sprinkling of fresh thyme.  The gojis were reconstituted in a small cup of boiling water (though in hindsight I probably should have just used warmed brandy) and then added to the pan too.  The mixture was sauteed until the livers were cooked through but still mostly pink.  Then the whole lot was thrown into a food processor and whizzed into submission.  While it was spinning about the cream and brandy were drizzled in, along with a modest dash of salt and pepper.  Lastly, (because on occasion I end up with too loose a pate) an envelope of gelatin was added to help firm up the contents.  After thoroughly cooling, I sealed the top of the pate crock with a layer of schmaltz; partly for preservation, but mostly for a little added flavor.  Refrigerating for a few hours helps to properly set the mousse to a spreadable consistency.

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Better Late Than Never

3 weeks ago the Everyman and I returned to Cowbell to make use of that oh-so-pesky gift card of mine.  I’ve been meaning to post our account for some time now, but thought it best to accumulate some time between my discussions of Cowbell, lest you think this website’s been paid off.

While we were there we sat next to a lovely group of visiting Brazilians and the local Torontonians who were showing them around town.  Between translated conversations we were told that they’d been showing their friends around to different restaurants all week, and had been especially looking forward to dinner at Cowbell.  Watching their delight at tasting the food, and sharing tales of other great restaurants with them was definitely a highlight of my evening.  The kindly male who was hosting the dinner with his vegetarian girlfriend gave us a tip for a restaurant in our area that we apparently have to try.  If we have time to make it there in the near future, I will definitely post my impressions.

For our starters the Everyman knew he couldn’t go wrong with a repeat of the amazing polenta fries with chipotle mayonnaise and breasola that he’d ordered on our last visit.  We so rarely visit a place like Cowbell often enough for the same items to be on the menu that the Everyman realized how imperative it was to seize the opportunity while he had it.  Being the indecisive eater that I am (eating out with me is generally a chore because I’d rather have 20 different small tastes than one large portion) I opted to have the housemade charcuterie platter, the meaty equivalent of a cornucopia of flavors.  It’s always fun to compare and contrast the kinds of cured meats being made at Cowbell with the ones going on over at The Black Hoof.  I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there is definitely a marked difference in technique and influence.  On my platter that day I had cappicola, beef salami, finnochio, lonza, guanciale, chocolate elk salami, elk pepperoni and elk mortadella.  I amazed our server by identifying the majority of the items on the platter before he started his schpiel, and then the Everyman told him that I make my own guanciale. He made some comment about how he probably shouldn’t say anything else or he might get himself fired, but he looked a tad awestruck.  I’ve received similar reactions before so it wasn’t anything new, but the truth of the matter is that charcuterie is still a primarily male pursuit.  For the most part I chalk it up to women being more health conscious, but that’s never stopped me before, most people who know me would agree I’m more like one of the guys anyway – I just happen to wear heels.  The standout on the platter was definitely the chocolate elk salami (like there was every any doubt) with it’s ribbons of chocolate curls, peppercorns and musky elky flavor.  I’ll probably have to try making my own game and chocolate creation after being inspired by this.  Ever the champion of meat, the Everyman loved just about everything I portioned off my platter, and was just happy that I was in the mood to share.

For the mains, the Everyman couldn’t say no to the alluring aroma of the numerous Cowbell burgers that were wafting from the tables around us, and ordered the usual with summer sausage and aged cheddar.  As always, I stole his fries, and he only just let me get away with it.  He really seemed to delight in the burger topped with sausage, possibly even more so than the usual topping of pork belly.  My main was a riff on cassoulet with duck confit, baked beans, elk cotechino, shallots and belly bacon.  I enjoyed this, but the flavor of the elk cotechino was a bit too overpowering for me, and I only managed to finish half of it.  Plus, like any sensible woman would, I had to leave room for dessert!  Regardless, it was a wholy satisfying take on a classic, and one that the Everyman even managed to take a nibble of without feeling that tequila effect I’d previously mentioned.

The dessert I chose to end my meal was an orange blossom panna cotta with preserved blueberry sauce.  Admittedly this was a strange choice for me because I am neither a fan of panna cotta or  oranges in general, but I knew that orange blossoms were much more subtle, and to be honest I just didn’t feel like having the same dessert I’d had the last time.  The panna cotta was a hit, especially with a steaming pot of 100 Mysteries tea to wash it down and it inspired me to go home and mess with my own 3 weeks later.

Overall, another outstanding dinner from the folks at Cowbell, who never manage to steer you wrong.  I’m really looking forward to the farm dinner we’re going to this August that Mark Cutrara is preparing out at Dingo Farms, because the man is an absolute genius.  Plus, it’d be really great just to chat with him again, because he’s such a nice man!

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Holy Shnikes!

The word on the street over at Charcuterie Sundays is that Grant and Jen have bought up another property in the area, and they’re bringing The Hoof to the masses!  If you want to read all about it, I suggest you bounce over there and take a look.

From the tone of Grant’s post I can’t tell if he’s serious about the name, but as soon as I read the concept I began salivating profusely.  And here all I thought I had to hope for this summer was being able to get a seat on their patio.  Now I can look forward to a great brunch spot (which if you’ve been reading us, you’ll know I believe has been sorely missing in our area since we moved here).  I guess all I need to worry about now is whether or not I’d be able to get in without being aggravated by large crowds of aging hipsters (a la Saving Grace).  Brunch is supposed to be a fun, leisurely activity, not something you have to queue up for.

I had plans to actually write you a real post tonight, but once I read that news, I had no words.  I’m about the happiest foodie a foodie could be.  But enough rant.  Let’s all bask in the glow of anticipated deliciousness (in the tone of Tiny Tim) God bless us, Grant and Jen! (snerk)

Until next time…

Exclusivity

There seems to be no shortage of fringe dining events and clubs in Toronto lately.

In many cases, the exclusivity of it all really equates to expense.  By that I mean that most of these private dining parties and secret events aren’t really all that exclusive, you just need to be willing to pay (sometimes through the teeth) for them.  From secret supper clubs, to private dining, to charitable events and associations, when it comes down to it, it’s all about money; even when the people preparing and participating in it aren’t.

For example, from what I’ve been hearing lately, the only private dinner club that actually is somewhat exclusive is the supper club that Karen Viva-Haynes of Viva Tastings puts on twice a month.  It’s called 6* (Degrees) Underground and basically in order to score an invite, you have to know someone who knows someone yadda yadda yadda who knows either Karen or Anne from Viva Tastings.  After reading more about it on their own website, I wonder whether having met Karen in her store while shopping there would count.  In the future I just might try to test that theory, since before they decamped from their College St storefront, I did enjoy shopping there.

On the other hand, there’s also Charlie Burger that’s being marketed as an anti-restaurant.  Basically once you sign up on their website they’ll forward you a questionnaire about your opinions on food-related things, and then they vet your answers.  The funny thing about it is that I’ve never heard tell of anyone not being accepted into the fold.  It’s possible that the whole selection process is a gimmick, but the very nature of the events ensures they are semi-exclusive.  We’re not talking about massive banquets serving hundreds of people here, rather 20-30 diners breaking bread in a small, intimate setting.  Since I signed up in February I’ve been invited to 2 events, but have been unable to attend due to scheduling conflicts.  From what I heard of the March event, there were only about 30 seats available but they received over 250 RSVPs (as it’s a first come, first serve operation).  Here’s hoping that the third time’s the charm…

Being a longtime advocate for the pleasures and benefits of slow food in my own quiet way, I finally looked into membership in their Toronto Consortium.  I’ll admit that my decision to sign up was spurred on more by a banner ad for their Do It Slow Banchetto that’s happening next weekend at U of T, than anything else, as I tend to walk to the beat of my own drum.  I don’t really feel I need to be part of an organization to believe in something or practice it in my own way (you too, organized religion), but in this case I think the membership donation not only supports a good cause, but gives me access to attend exclusive dinners like this one.  And it turns out that because the Everyman and I are under 30, our couple membership is almost half the price of the standard one… I guess they’re trying to encourage a new generation of slow food activists to take up the cause, and you can count on me, brother!  If there are still tickets left, I’d be really interested in attending this one next week, even though they run $125/head ($150 without membership).  Past posts over at Charcuterie Sundays have made reference to the fact that The Black Hoof crew are preparing some special charcuterie offerings for the event, too.  Plus Cowbell will be there, and we all know how much the Everyman and I heart them.

And lastly, there’s also the somewhat exclusive nature of events like Outstanding In The Field or soon, Eigensinn Farm.  For Outstanding In The Field, this will be their first dinner in Ontario, but from what I gather it’s expected to host upwards of 200 guests.  So really, it’s more like an open air banquet, and the exclusivity is dependent more on people’s willingness to travel overnight in the middle of the week for interesting food, I think.  The Everyman and I will be there with bells on because Mark Cutrara happens to be cooking for the Ontario installment.  And Eigensinn Farm is supposedly drastically cutting back on the number of dinners they’ll hold a month, in order to focus on their new, low(er)scale venture Haisai.  The place was already exclusive enough what with only taking reservations for 12 diners a night, but now that they’re scaling back to hold only a few nights a month, the waiting lists will probably be astronomical.  At times like this I’m very grateful and happy that the Everyman and I got out there last year (again, best Christmas present ever!).  But it sounds like it will probably be a long time (if ever) before we manage to get out there again.

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Recessionary Times Call For Discretionary Measures

On the back of my post on food stamp spending, I felt it necessary to delve a little deeper into the subject and examine ways one can effectively stretch their food dollars.  I feel like somewhere out there, someone is thinking to themselves, well it’s all fine and good to say it’s possible to live within those restrictions, but does she really do it?  And if so, how?  So, let’s get into the nitty gritty, shall we?

First off, there’s nothing secret about how I manage to live within my means.  Most of the suggestions and ideas are pure common sense, and if you asked anyone who lived through the Great Depression, (like your grandparents), they’d tend to agree with me.  Trust me; in this day and age there are too many people (especially my generation, unfortunately) that are spoiled for choice, but these methods were quite commonplace back then. I often think the reason more people don’t cook is that they take it too seriously.  Cooking is meant to be fun, not a chore, and really, even if you screw it up, (barring incineration) you can almost always eat your mistakes.

One of the easiest methods to adopt is to buy as much of your food as possible in its natural, unadulterated state.  Put simply, that means instead of buying a bagged salad kit, you buy a head of romaine lettuce and toast your own croutons.  Or you put down the baby carrots and pick up a bunch of whole ones (those bagged baby carrots are just normal carrots lathed into a smaller shape, you know)  Or, as previously suggested, buy a whole chicken and break it into the requisite pieces yourself.  One chicken yields 2 legs, 2 thighs, 2 wings, 2 breasts and a carcass that can be thrown in the freezer and used later to make stock or soup and only runs you $8-10.  It may sound intimidating, but after a few tries it’s manageable. Remember; it’s just food.  At the end of the day it doesn’t matter if it wasn’t perfect, because it’s just going to wind its way through your digestive tract anyhow. Another apt comparison; while experimenting with sausage-making earlier this year, I learned it is cheaper (and more reliable) to buy a piece of whole meat rather than buying it pre-ground.  If you happen to have a food mill or a meat grinder, it’s a no-brainer.  Not only can you control the amount of fat that goes into your ground (which is better for your health) you can save yourself some money.  Ground pork can be anywhere from $3.99 to $4.99 a pound, but a picnic shoulder will set you back only $2.99 a pound.  See what I’m getting at here?  This is the premium that the food industry arbitrarily puts on your time.

Another smart idea would be to invest some effort into growing food.  Don’t let lack of a backyard, patio or balcony be a barrier to success.  As seen here on You Grow Girl, Gayla proves that all it takes is a sunny window and an old salad container to grow a lilliputian basket of micro greens (that in a fancy pants grocery store would be $10 a pound).  It also doesn’t hurt to contact your local parks and recreation office to locate community gardens in your area, because they are great places for people with little in the way of garden know-how and access to dirt to get together and learn to grow.  Having been part of one last year, I can’t say enough about them.  They foster community relationships, provide a wealth of knowledge, and beautify public spaces.  Plus, growing from seed can provide the best value for dollar of any of my suggestions.  A packet of seeds typically ranges between $0.99 and $3.00 (though I’m sure there are more expensive ones out there) but contains anywhere from 30 to several hundred seeds (depending on the variety).  Considering that given the right conditions, each seed is capable of producing a whole plant, a $0.99 investment seems like an ok strategy to me.  As we’re moving into spring, it’s also a very timely suggestion.  If you find it too expensive to buy multiple seeds when all you want to grow is a few different plants, pool your resources with friends and share the seeds amongst yourselves (another bonus of community gardening).  As a plus, gardening also has spiritual benefits, and there’s nothing more soothing than a little toil to get back to the earth and centre yourself.

If you really can’t find a way to garden, shopping the harvest is the next best thing.  Whether it’s a trip to your local farmers market, a stop at a highway fruit stand, or just wandering around your grocery store, you’ll notice the food that’s in season is significantly cheaper than the food that isn’t.  And if you can afford the initial outlay of capital, it’s a great time to stock up on seasonal food to overwinter (in the form of jams, jellies, sauces, canned condiments or preserves).  Food at it’s peak is also better for you because it contains more of its nutrients.  To expand on this further, have you ever noticed how expensive strawberries or asparagus are in the dead of winter compared to the first weeks of June?  That’s because it costs money to fly food in from warmer climes where it grows year round (like Peru or Mexico).  You’ll also notice the food that’s traveled farther tends to have less flavor.  On top of that, the more time between the moment something’s picked and when you eat it, the less nutrients its likely to have left.  Buying in season has the added benefit of usually meaning that your food is local (or closer to it), which is good for the community, good for your health and good for the environment.  It’s a win-win situation all the way.

While it’s another method that requires an initial outlay of cash, buying in bulk can be one of the most beneficial ways to stretch a dollar.  Firstly, when food producers don’t have to pay for individual packaging, it allows them to pass on the savings to the customer.  An excellent example of buying in bulk would be connecting with a farmer to buy a side, half or quarter of a whole animal, which is easier than you think.  Not only does this practice allow for greater levels of customization (as you specify what cuts and sizes you’d like made out of your animal), but the cost per pound significantly drops when purchased this way.  For example, earlier this year the Everyman and I purchased a split side of beef.  Weighing in at just under 120 pounds, the side was natural, grass fed, and contained a little bit of everything for just $3.29 a pound.  As the Everyman’s brother pointed out, it’s a great deal, but you either look at it like you’ve bought really cheap steaks (not quality wise) or really expensive ground beef.  I don’t care how I think about it, to me it’s just good forethought.  We bought our side in January and I don’t think we’ve even worked through 20 pounds yet, so at that rate I’d extrapolate that the beef will last almost a year and a half.  Though BBQ season is coming… so we’ll probably see a sharp spike in burger and steak consumption shortly…

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Simple Pleasures

I’ve noticed a bit of a pattern lately.

When Thursday rolls around I’ve been getting an itch to go out for dinner.  Thursdays used to be the one day a week I expected the Everyman to cook for me, and we jokingly named it Survive Everyman’s Cooking night (as he’s a huge Survivor fan). Sadly, I can’t remember the last time we had one of these nights, and yesterday I did not feel like cooking.  Halfway through my day I pinged the Everyman to find out if he was receptive to going out.  My plan had been to call Cowbell.  Unfortunately, it took so long to hear back from the Everyman while I was in meetings that by the time I called, all that was left were the super early or really late seatings.  My hopes dashed, the Everyman and I set to thinking about where we could go for dinner instead that would not be a disappointment after the possibility of Cowbell.

We’ve always had a relatively good time at Czehoski, so when the Everyman suggested it instead, it sounded like a reasonable alternative.  I’d quietly considered The Black Hoof for a few seconds beforehand, but vetoed it on the basis that I didn’t feel like being bloated (there’s nothing wrong with the food, I just always eat too much).  We set off for Czehoski and the thought of a comfort food dinner, (something that their kitchen seems to specialize in) danced in our heads.

When we got there, the Everyman easily chose the burger, (having craved the Cowbell burger before we found out we couldn’t make it there) but I had a bit more trouble.  I knew I wanted to try the poutine, but I had no idea what I wanted to eat with it.  Out of frustration I selected the macaroni and cheese, flummoxed by their drastically pared back menu that left nothing complementary to order with poutine.  I knew the Everyman would inevitably steal half of my poutine anyway, (even though his burger came with fries) so I wasn’t overly concerned about how much food there would be.

The poutine was fabulous.  It was crunchy, chewy and toasty, with a savoury bacon gravy and perfectly gooey, springy curds.  I’ll admit, I’ve glanced at this poutine on the menu pretty much every time we’ve been in, but the thought of the bacon gravy always scared me away.  Last night I found that I’d had nothing to worry about, as it was superb.  I wish I could say the same for my mac and cheese, which was soupy and floury tasting, and in desperate need of texture.  But I didn’t care, I’d had mind-blowing poutine.  As usual, the Everyman’s burger was excellent, and I stole a tiny bite, wishing I had poutine left to go with it.

Our dinner was typical of past experiences at Czehoski; they’re pretty good at preparing most of the things on their menu relatively well.  And they’re a good place to stop if all you want are the simple things.  But I’ll still be going to Cowbell this weekend if I can get in.  Sometimes there just isn’t any other way to satisfy a craving…

Until next time…

Condimentality

Front Row: Grainy Mustard And Red Onion, Back Row: Barbecue Sauce And Lemon Pickle (The Difference Is Indistinguishable)

The culinary hiatus I’ve been on has not only been a boon for clearing my head and reinvigorating my desire to cook, but also a wellspring of inspiration.

In the past, my condiment focus has been primarily on jams or the occasional gherkin pickle, but this last week of photograzing and foodgawking has inspired me to broaden my topping horizons.  Ever since I bought Small Batch Preserving several years ago, I’ve yearned to try some of the more exotic preserves, relishes and sauces hidden within it’s food-stained pages, but I’ve been too busy cooking the things I regularly need to properly experiment with anything new.  Until now…

Our last meal at The Black Hoof encouraged me to give mustard a second chance, and this weekend I finally decided, why not?  Two of my favourite things (which means little considering everything I’ve tried on their menu instantly becomes a favorite) are the mustard seed crusted horse bresaola and the grainy mustard served with lamb headcheese.  After the Everyman and I both raved about the delicacy of that mustard (and accompanying headcheese), it became apparent that I needed to pump out some crunchy piquancy of my own.  A recipe I found on Saveur provided a decent base, but as always, I had to make changes.  The biggest difference was that I did not have the requisite Guinness, so I subbed in another stout (that the Everyman assured me would be similar enough) called Sinha, from Sri Lanka.  Swirling the whole thing together like a strange, lentil-coloured slurry, the concoction still wasn’t so much appealing as it was vaguely intriguing.  I wondered what effect the beer would have on the flavour, having recently fallen in love with a plate of homemade dark chocolate Guinness cupcakes, even though I despise beer.  I still haven’t warmed up to that Guinness cheddar the Everyman’s always raving about, but that’s an entirely different story altogether.  After a few days of soaking on a sunny counter to soften the seeds and meld the flavours, I’ll be able to see what this mustard business is all about.  The first taste is already earmarked for a roasted chunk of pork belly, so I’ll let you know how that goes.

Never content to do things in anything resembling a reasonable quantity, I didn’t stop at one condiment; oh no, not I.  I had to be the maniacal, greedy, overachieving condiment queen who turned out 4 separate items on a Saturday afternoon.  After the mustard was bedded down and tucked in to a bowl sheathed in plastic, I turned my attention to the next item, a basil balsamic barbecue sauce.  The culinary voice prodding me to make this sauce also happened to be that wily piece of pork belly I’d been planning to roast for dinner.  I initially hadn’t realized that the mustard was a multi-day process, and assumed it would be ready for me to use by dinner.  Being that wasn’t the case, I needed a backup plan; which is where this barbecue sauce came in.  After simmering it on the stove for about 20 minutes, a small dip confirmed that I’d never had anything quite like it.  It was tangy and tart, a little astringent, but with a sweet note and a nice, floral basil finish.  I knew then that this would make a killer glaze for the pork during the last half hour of roasting, adhering to it like a deep, burnished lacquer.  Though happy with the end result, I still felt unsatisfied.  There had to be more for me to tinker with than this.

Which is how I ended up pickling red onions slivers, one of the most beautiful vegetables to work with.  The opalescent amethyst rings glittered when the sun hit the canning jar, waiting for their swim in the briny, vinegar bath.  The blue-green-grey of the rosemary fronds provided a lovely sprinkling of vivid contrast.  An error in calculation meant that I had twice as much vinegar as I needed, and no good reason to make more, but the realization did not occur until after I’d already packed and sealed my jar.  In a few days I imagine I’m going to have some mighty strong pickled onions that will most likely require a slight dilution.  What they’ll be destined for, I’m not entirely sure, but they might not be bad with that aforementioned pork belly – after all, those sweet and sour pickled shallots sung with the pork belly I made on Valentine’s Day.

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Tee Hee Hee Oops!

I must admit, I’ve been somewhat lax in updating our web content this week.  Work has been busy, which tends to leave me drained, and unfortunately I’m not at the point in my life where I can afford to blog full time either.  Perhaps someday…

I will be honest though, I’ve spent a great deal of my free time over the last few days on the Foodgawker website.  I think this little break has been for the best too.  It’s given me a chance to recharge my culinary batteries per se, and gotten me intrigued about joining a group called the Daring Bakers who participate in monthly baking challenges and then post pictures and descriptions of their results.

One thing I have been meaning to get around to blogging about is my wrap-up from our dinner at Cowbell last week.  For the better part of this week I was debating whether or not I wanted to write about it, but have since decided that if I start censoring the content of my experiences, I’m no longer running an objective website.  And that would be wrong.  So in the spirit of that, let’s dig right in!

Anyone my age or older probably remembers Kevin, the annoying mascot for Rainbow Chips Ahoy! who permanently etched those 4 words into our collective consciousness.  Our dinner at Cowbell last week contained several rather distinct tee hee hee oops moments.  I must preface my account by saying that I do still love this restaurant and do not fault them in the slightest; if anything, the experience reminded me that they’re human after all :)

To wit, the decision to visit Cowbell came about rather quickly during a wildly spiraling bad day at the office.  When I called to see about a reservation at 2pm on a Thursday, I was not overly hopeful that we would be accommodated.  I felt it a stroke of good luck when I was advised that not only were there seatings free, but the only thing the reservationist wanted to know was whether I thought we’d be longer than 2 hours with our dinner.  I hung up the phone happy and excited for nibbles, but also mildly confused – isn’t the time required controlled by the speed at which the kitchen can provide my food?

When we arrived, we were greeted by a server who remembered us as semi-regulars; always a nice feeling.  We were given a four-top, even though it was just the two of us, and there were other 2 seaters available.  When the server mentioned that the menu might contain other items not listed on the chalkboard the Everyman’s imagination went off on a tangent that a private party was happening at 10 (hence the 2 hour question) and perhaps there was a secret menu.  After a subsequent probing of our waitress, we learned that there was only the one menu, it just happened that they were already sold out of one of the options.  Dang, no secret food for me tonight!  I guess I’ll have to get my fix at Charlie Burger instead.

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