Milky The Marvelous Milking Cow commercial from 1978

The 2006 version of Milky the Marvelous Milking Cow comes with attacheable milking pump equipment, antibiotics, and hormones to increase milk production(Pus and blood not included).

All kidding aside, I love the fact that such a toy existed. I used to be obsessed with farms when I was little and even drew up a plan of my dream farm, which I still have somewhere.

First Annual Leslieville Catfish Festival

What: First Annual! Leslieville Catfish Festival
When: Saturday, September 30th, 2006
Where: Jimmy Simpson Park, 870 Queen Street East
Organizers: Cajun Corner

The weather was not really conducive to being out and about without an umbrella but while the cold wet gusts chilled Beth, Susannah and I to our bones we could not pass up on this opportunity to attend a catfish festival that promised a cook-off and eating competition, as well as entertainers and other food vendors within close proximity. That is eating and tasting proximity.

Spicy shrimp, corn soup, pepper jelly, hot sauces, and quilted crafts were only some of the goods under canopy tents for consumption, perusal and purchase. There was a really good friendly neighbourly vibe throughout the park as everyone seemed to know everyone, and were very chatty.

I really wished I had entered the catfish eating contest. I totally would have won. I won a milk chugging competion in grade ten and my younger brother once won a cherry pie eating contest, so obviously I am a natural. It took awhile for the meagre three competitors to chomp on the 3 pounds of fried fish because the battered strips were seemingly pipping hot. Had I been a contestant I would have employed the strategy of mashing the strips with my hands to release the steam and cool the temperature of the fish before stuffing my mouth. Next year I say.

Unfortunately the organizers did not anticipate many (hungry) people, and while the event didn’t seem to have much of a turn out by my standards, they ran out of catfish by 4 pm. Needless to say I was very disappointed. Thankfully we made buddies with one of the losers from the eating competition and he allowed us to sample one of his leftover fish strips. The coating was crisp, had some crunch and was tastefully seasoned. The catfish was even still warm. Thanks T-Bone!

All in all a good first try and I can only imagine the festival being better next time. Pencil in this event in your calendar for next year y’all!

Plum clafouti

I finally made a plum clafouti with one of the baskets of Italian prune plums from my parents’ backyard that my dad unloaded on me. He wanted to give me more but I had to draw the line somewhere. I have a bad habit of procuring more produce than I can consume and often enough some of it ends up in the compost although I am reluctant to throw bad food out(I’ve had to have wilted green onions, smelly basil, mushy mint, a single chicken wing, leftover tomato and eggplant bits practically wrestled from my bare hands. I still lament over their loss).

Clafoutis are a French custard-like pastry tart, very similar to Far Breton a baked good from Britanny (Bretagne) that my mom used to bake all the time while I was growing up. Far Breton is more flan-like and made with pitted prunes. Clafoutis originate from the Limousin region in France.

I got the recipe from Gourmet Magazine, which for the most part I followed, except for one little change which might have made a difference tastewise.

Ingredients:
1/4 cup sugar
3/4 pound Italian prune plums; halved and pitted (about 12-16 small prune plums)
3/4 cup milk
3/4 cup 10% cream
3/4 cup flour
2 eggs
1 egg yolk
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/2 vanilla bean
Vanilla sugar for sprinkling

I preheated the oven to 400 degrees and heavily buttered a 9 inch glass pie plate. After sprinking the plate with sugar, I distributed the plum halves, skin side down. In a blender I first blended the milk, cream, flour, eggs, egg yolk and a dash of salt well, before adding the 1/4 cup of sugar and scrapped vanilla bean from the pod. I steeped the leftover pod strips in sugar to make vanilla sugar, which is a lovely accompaniment to coffee, yogurt and what have you. It’s great for just smelling. After a good whirl in the blender, I poured the fragrant batter over the plums. Popped the pie plate in the oven and baked it for about 45 minutes until it puffed up a lovely golden colour and the juices of the plums were running and bubbling.

The flesh of the plums were originally a beautiful vibrant green. Once baked, the purple skins turned the fruit pink in colour. The scrapped vanilla bean flecks were a really nice touch too. I sprinkled some of my vanilla sugar on top of the tart before serving. So easy. So simple. Not too sweet. Perfect for me.

Tabülé

Overall I am not a big fan of the eateries and food places in the Yonge and Eglinton area. I find many of the restaurants and take-out places either overpriced and the food often mediocre. I know the restaurants cater to a specific crowd and that I shouldn’t be complaining too much being that the place is crawling with either business people or yummy mummies in lululemon pants pushing bébés in expensive strollers.

However I am a fan of Tabülé. It’s a Middle Eastern place close to Davisville Station on Yonge, that serves all kinds of kebabs, babaghanoush, hummus and pita sandwiches. It’s a favourite with my co-workers and pleases the meat lovers and vegetarians in the office.

I went there for the first time a few weeks ago. I liked the fact that we were served complimentary bowls of pickles, pickled radish and olives to munch on while we waited for our orders. A huge deal when when the local dim sum place and the Japanese Korean restaurant that shall remain nameless in the area charge for tea (a travesty if you ask me and very telling of the food business in the area).

I ordered a delicious fresh squeezed lime and mint juice. Refreshingly tangy I had a hard time sipping my drink in order to save some to consume with my main, and only, course.

Which was Ontario lamb kebabs, perfectly seasoned and cooked medium rare, and served with salad lightly tossed with a lemony vinaigrette and rice topped with fried crispy onion bits. All for 9 dollars(15 dollars at dinner). A good deal considering the quality and area. The rice with fried onion was quite tasty and almost upstagged the lamb. My co-workers, were equally happy with kebab kefta (charbroiled ground mixed lamb and beef with onions, parsley, garlic and spices), eggplant pita and other goodies. A feat.

Tabülé Middle Eastern Cuisine
2009 Yonge Street
Toronto
(416) 483-3747

The personal

It’s very hard for me to write about food without making it somewhat personal, as is my inclination, contradicting my need to be guarded. Ever since I can remember food has been the chief means to communicate with those around me, and the way people in both of my families, especially my father’s side of the family, communicate and express their feelings and affections. There aren’t many declarations of “I love yous” but certainly many urgings, forced feedings, and implorations to eat more, and then some more.

My grandmother just died rather unexpectedly and I’ve been grappling with a mixed bag of feelings and flooded with memories of moments shared. I was as close to her as one could possibly be close to her. She never said how she felt about me and rarely said anything kind, preferring instead to criticize and give unsolicited advice.

Naturally my most positive and loving memories of her are mostly centered around eating and food preparation. I was able to spend some time with her in Vietnam in her hometown of Long Xuyen and have fond memories of her doting over me; buying roast pork(usually reserved for special occasions) especially for me from the meat shop and having her pick choice pieces which she’d place in my rice bowl; insisting on cutting up my favourite fruit while I sat and watched her, and numerous other occasions which probably don’t seem worth writing about.

Many little moments which may seem insignificant to some but mean so much to me.

We bonded, and I know she was very happy that I came to see her and she made me promise to visit her again, preferably husband in tow next time she said. This is a promise I obviously can’t keep.

I found myself, soon after learning about her death, putting up a bowl of fruit, tea and flowers by the windowsill, and burning incense in my apartment. It felt right, although this ritual of ancestral veneration practiced by my father’s family never felt as such before, being that I am not the least bit religious. I remember as a kid I’d stare at the altar at my aunt’s house for hours and see the spread of food and tea prepared for 6 or so diners, and picture ghosts (one of which would be my grandfather) sitting around the marble table, conversing and eating, while us, the living were only a few feet away. I am not sure what it all means, my practicing this act, and if it’s simply just my way of feeling connected. For the moment though I can’t help but feel a little comforted.

Ontario harvest

This past spring and summer I’ve been the recipient of more home grown garden fruit and vegetables than I can possibly eat. Most of which has turned up in pies, salads, soups, curries, stews or just consumed as is.

Our landlord has this massive vegetable garden and every two or three days Steven and I get bags filled with tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, gourd-shaped zucchinis, and tangy wine grapes left at our door.

My dad and mom still give us basil, mint leaves, hot chili peppers of various sizes, and just recently Italian prune plums, which are waiting to ripen. I might bake them in a clafoutis or stew them. I am not sure yet.

Steven roasted one of the zucchinis with olive oil, oregano and roasted garlic for dinner. It was delightful and tasted much more different than the zucchinis we normally get from the supermarket or fruit vegetable stand. The seeds inside were large and tasted nutty. The flesh was sweet and ever so fresh.

Local, organic and non-mass produced produce not only connects us closer to the process of food production, but highlights the fact we are for the most part deprived of the diverse taste within a type of fruit or vegetable. Supermarket fruit and vegetables to an extent numb our senses and have normalized our perception of what a cucumber and tomato tastes like or ought to taste like. A lot of us have become used to bland and tasteless tomatoes all because of mass production, accessibility and privilege, many times at the expense of biological diversity.

That being said, market globalization has also allowed us to have access to ‘exotic’ fruit and vegetables, that weren’t available 10 years or even 5 years ago. I remember, when I used to work in a big chain grocery store, being amazed at the fruits and vegetables from halfway across the world being sold. Toronto, being a large urban centre, and home to over a hundred different ethnic and cultural groups, has created a demand.

While there is an element of disconnection, not to mention the other complicated and contentious issues related to globalized food production, I cannot say I am ready to only eat locally and give up imports. At least right now.

I see how having access to mangosteens, lychees, longans, rau muong, and other types of vegetation, connects my parents back to their native country(even if they say it’s better in the ‘homeland’ ) and culture, and allows many others to keep cooking and eating their own cuisine, but also opens people to other parts of the world as well to an extent. There’s an element of pleasure and comfort involved and I think it’s very important for people to be able to maintain their diets and heritage should they choose to even if they or their ancestors moved to Canada many years ago.

That being said, after having been to Vietnam, and tasted mangoes and bananas fresh off the tree (since I’ve been back to Canada, I’ve seldom indulged in banana as I’ve been spoiled and wrecked), I wonder why I’m so tied to eating not so good fruit and vegetables and whether I can or ought to give it up.

I don’t have it all figured out and I am obviously mixing up a lot of issues I haven’t even really begun to think about extensively, but certainly will think about some more.

In the meantime I will eat the last of the good Ontario peaches and tomatoes from Pasquale’s garden.

Winona Peach Festival

Ever since I heard about the Winona Peach Festival in Winona, Steven’s hometown and a suburb of Hamilton, I’ve been wanting to go, dying to go, envisioning peach pie eating contests, fried dough, foot long hot dogs, midway games and rides, arts and craft booths and petting zoos. I’ve never been to any small town Ontario fair or festivals and feel I’ve been missing out on this experience. This festival is pretty notorious and if you google “peach festival” the first link that comes up is this particular event.

So after bugging Steven incessantly about taking time off and going all summer, I finally wore him down and off we went to attend the festival and visit his family.

It was windy, chilly and it looked like it was going to rain any minute but that didn’t deter us nor hundreds of other people. We checked out the booths selling homemade pillows, kooky garden decorations and jewellery, stared at the teenagers hanging out in packs, and did loads of people watching before scanning the numerous food vendors for good eats. After hemming and hawing over our food options, we bought fresh cut fries with gravy and cornbeef on a bun from the Stoney Creek Minor Hockey league food stand to start with. I almost got a steak on a bun and chicken parmesean, but in the end decided to save some room in my stomach for the infamous peach sundae.

Am I glad I did. The sundae was jammed packed with vanilla ice cream, slices of ripe peaches and thick whipped cream. I was unbelieveably full afterwards.

Not that it stopped me from eating some more. Because then we found something even better. Much better. We stumbled upon a truck near the performance stage (which featured a band that played covers of Led Zeppelin, Sheryl Crow and Violent Femmes) that made fresh potato chip ribbons. I am a potato chip fiend, and seeing the cook place potatoes on this metal contraption that spun the spuds into thin ribbons and throw them into the sizzling hot oil I couldn’t resist.

The potatoes came out pipping hot, crispy and a bit pliable, just perfect. We sprinkled them with sea salt and added a few dashings of malt vinegar. Heaven on earth I tell you. If all else fails, Steven and I are thinking of buying trucks and starting our own potato chip truck business in downtown Toronto. We’d be billionaires.

To finish off our evening we played bingo and bought a large basket of fragrant and juicy peaches, of which we consumed half by the next day. And only because we gave the other half of the peaches to Steven’s mother.

Although there wasn’t a petting zoo like I originally had hoped, and we missed out on the Miss Peach pageant, the food more than made up for it. And I feel I got a little taste of Canadiana.

Winona Peach Festival
August 25-27, 2006
Barton Street & Fifty Road
Winona, Ontario

Bonjour Brioche OK

I have this vivid memory of being six years old or so, and coming indoors exhausted after playing with the neighboorhood kids all afternoon, and the aroma of heavily buttered, gruyère cheese and ham sandwiches baking in the oven permeating the house. My mom would often make croque monsieur for my brother and I. I loved the crunch of the toasted bread between my teeth and the way the strong cheese would just ooze out and the saltiness of the ham. It’s just such a typical French treat for me and to this day the smell of buttered toast evoke memories of my mother’s arm around my shoulders while my little brother and I munched on warm toasted sandwiches.

So after hearing all the hype, from reviews and personal recommendations, I decided to hop on my bike and cycle all the way to the east end to try out the food at Bonjour Brioche, a French-style bakery and breakfast/brunch joint.

I have to say I was rather disappointed and don’t really see why people were lining up to get in. The food wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t special and definitely not worth eating on a wobbly patio table, squeezed between other diners and practically sitting on their laps. I suppose I may have also been spoiled, having lived my formative years in France and thus have eaten good patisseries and croissants galore. I am difficult I admit.

I had a large café au lait, freshly squeezed orange juice, and ordered  the croque madame, “toasted brioche layered with ham and gruyère and topped with a fried egg”, sister to the croque monsieur of my childhood. It also came with two slices of baguette. It tasted fine I suppose, but the brioche wasn’t toasted enough to my liking. It was not the golden buttery toast of my childhood.

I had a chocolate croissant to finish my meal with something sweet. The pastry was flakey but too skimpy on the chocolate filling. I would have liked it better too if it was more buttery. It didn’t taste much different than the croissants you can get at Loblaws. I also ordered a few plain croissants to go and was also disappointed because even though it met my personal criteria of the butter soaking through the paper bag, the croissants didn’t wow me. I judge bakeries by their croissants so according to my tastes Bonjour Brioche receives a C+, maybe a B, in my book of pastry goodness. 

Oh well. I might go back to try out the clafoutis and tarts, but would probably rather go to Rahier Patisserie or Clafouti.

Bonjour Brioche
812 Queen Street East
Toronto
(416)406-1250
Cash Only

Ode to Onigiri

I am addicted to onigiri which is essentially a triangle shaped rice ball wrapped in seaweed (nori) with filling found in Japanese and Korean grocery stores. Mia, who is in Japan by the way, introduced them to me a couple years ago.

The rice comes filled with many ingredients such as: ume(sour plum), salmon, ginger pork, grilled eggplant, unagi (barbecued eel), spicy chicken, beef bulgogi, spicy tuna, tuna kimchi and ecetera.

My favourite onigiri du jour is the tuna kimchi. I love the taste of the spicy cabbage, and the combination of the rice and seaweed. The crispyness of the nori, softness of the rice and tender firm filling also go together to make an interesting and pleasing texture that plays out in one’s mouth.

Onigiris are wrapped in such a way so that the seasoned nori stays separate from the rice, and thus dry and crunchy until consumption. Ingenious. Unwrapping them, especially the ones at Little Tokyo and Sanko, can sometimes be a hassle if you’re uncoordinated. Part of the satisfaction and fun comes from this process of unravelling.

Here’s a step by step illustration of me unwrapping the onigiri goodness for your viewing pleasure:

	The Korean onigiris come with instructions and numbers on the wrapping.
	I like this part the best, when you’re first sliding the cellophane off.
	SO CLOSE!
	DONE!

I eat them almost every day. To my dismay, they run out of them quickly at all three stores that I go to, and I’ve been known to frantically look all over and under boxes in case an onigiri or two might have escaped out of the cardbox box they are usually stored in.

Onigiris make for a tasty snack and are super cheap ranging in price from 1.25 to 1.50. Eat them the day of while they are freshly made or attempt to make your own.

P.A.T. Central
675 Bloor Street West
Toronto, Ontario
(416)532-2961

Sanko Trading Co.
730 Queen Street West
Toronto, Ontario
(416) 703-4550
http://www.toronto-sanko.com/

Little Tokyo
199 Augusta Ave. (in Kensington Market)
Toronto, Ontario
(416)921-1328

Ghee-licious! Lahore Tikka

So a couple weeks ago, a bunch of us went down to Little India, on East Gerrard. My friend Steph was in town with her “manfriend” as she is apt to say, and she organized a get together. It was hot and extremely humid, and due to a few misunderstandings and communication issues, it took us awhile before we arrived at Lahore Tikka House. But we got there, hungry and cranky.

The building, or should I say compound, that comprises Lahore Tikka is frighteningly huge, with many tables inside and a huge patio filled with picnic tables and little lights strewn around outside. Countless servers are rushing in and out, carrying stacks of hot plates and there are people milled about everywhere, blocking passageways. In fact it was a bit daunting the first time I went to Lahore, and it took me a couple minutes to figure out how it all worked. Basically one has to go inside, push yourself towards the cash register which is surrounded by hungry patrons, order food, take a number, find a table (any table!) on the premises and place the number on top, and the servers just magically find you.

One of the things I love the most about Lahore, is that when one goes to the bathroom one gets to see all the tandoor ovens fired up and the chaos that happens in the kitchen. Lahore has been in the middle of renovations since what seems forever, but despite all that it is always filled with people and appears to be a staple for many locals and also the 905 crowd. I love to go on weekends because there’s live music at night, and hoards and hoards of South Asian families go, many of whom are dressed up, giving a sense of perpetual celebration in the air. I think I like the atmosphere more than the food.

While the flavours are similar to other Indian/South Asian places I’ve frequented, the food at Lahore (which is named after the second largest city in Pakistan) is quite different. The flavours and seasoning for the most part seem to be much more complex and thorough, and the dishes really rich. I am not sure exactly, but Lahore appears to incorporate a compelling combination of coriander, cumin, cinnamon, chili, cardammon and what have you, and are less reliant on hot spices than their peers. Also they use ghee, clarified butter, with wild abandon, often drowning everything in it. It’s heavy on the stomach and I see why people may have an aversion to certain dishes or the place itself.