soupnancy

Kitchen Haikus, and why not?

http://www.epicurious.com/articlesguides/blogs/editor/2008/11/kitchen-haiku.html?mbid=rss_epilog

Here are mine:

Happy meal

Visit a farmer,

Go out foraging the woods,

Make a ‘happy meal’

The seasons

Take in the seasons,

Hop on the roller coaster,

Feel, see, and breathe God

Ratatouille

Eggplant, tomatoes,

Squash, garlic and TLC,

Alas, Ratatouille

The best things in life

Good food and fine wine,

Best friends and a blazing fire,

Ain’t nothing better

The kitchen dance

Feel the heat, chop-chop,

Cook your best, dance, sink or swim,

Cheers with beers, laugh, cry

Thanksgiving

A roasted turkey,

Mashed potatoes and stuffing,

Thanksgiving, comfort.

Mother Nature is a riot

Sunshine and flowers,

Storms, magic mushrooms and bugs,

Marvellous nature

Our senses tell us all we need to know

Salty, Sweet, Tart, Bitter,

Savoury, Spicy, Filling,

Necessary, Food is life.

I have been so busy all summer and fall (yes, in the weeds) that I haven’t written all that much. Actually, what I have is a number of unfinished pieces – half hashed out ideas or stuff I wrote but never bothered to post. Now, looking back, most of it seems dated. Being excited about the seasons and the science of happiness related to that - Ugh! Maybe it will come back to me one day, who knows.. In the meantime, I’m happy to see the busy season go and I don’t care about the science behind it. I wanted to write all about our mushroom festival – the ins and outs of the up and down season that it was, the varieties that wowed, those that didn’t show up, the hits and misses, recipes, highlights - all while it’s fresh in my mind, I have loads of photos. But I don’t have the energy, or the desire.. Although it was a huge success, it is the climax of our season (that starts in spring) and I’m ready for a break, not to mention eager to be cooking and thinking about other foodstuffs.

Amongst all the scraps of paper and half written posts, there is this one that remains timely only because in this business, the weeds are the kitchen are the weeds. I got writing one night in response to a post by Shuna (on Eggbeater), and I went off on a tangent or two, but I still think it’s worth posting, even if it only gets you to read her (now old) post.

I love it, Shuna - so dead on. Please see her post about cooks in the weeds, especially if you are a young cook. http://eggbeater.typepad.com/shuna/2008/10/the-weeds-resta.html

Here, we call ‘the weeds’ being ‘dans le jus’ or ‘in the juice’, but it’s all the same: that kitchen reality of relentless and unpredictable pressure that can make or break a cook, that reveals our experience and competence, our strengths and weaknesses, that inevitably weeds out the unfit, sending misguided newbies running for greener pastures, that makes the rest of us stronger and always on our toes, trying/needing to be better all the time.

No matter how much you want to coddle your carrots or your greens or your quail eggs or your dough, the fact is, it all has to be ready ‘Yesterday’, despite the fact that it’s hot outside and the dough isn’t cooperating, that the fridge is AFU and your greens half froze in the cooler, or that the silpats are sticking and the oven is full, that you’re one scallop short, or that the dishwasher hasn’t shown up or the fish guy hasn’t arrived. And none of your team has eaten, pissed or had a break with no window in sight. Still, the show has to go on, customers are hungry, they are there expecting the best, you HAVE to deliver, you have to be ready, you have to have a pocket of solutions when...

The ‘weeds’ or ‘the juice’ is exactly what work experience is all about. You aren’t even a cook, let alone a chef, out of school – no, not until you have years of weeds under your belt. And then as a chef, you still deal with that monster, being put to the test regularly, but you also have to train your cooks to deal with it, and as Shuna so eloquently puts it, there is no one way. Some need to be coached big time with words or with side by side action, but ultimately, all cooks have to ‘sink or swim’. No matter how much you learn, how well you are prepared, the weeds will come and you will have to deal. Best be as prepared as you can (MEP, MEP, MEP), and then be ready for anything. But then you will still need good judgement to negotiate those ominous weeds, and a good relationship with your fellow workers who might have to jump in to help when needed (solid team dynamic), all of which requires humility and social skills, and of course resourcefulness, passion and stamina throughout.. Who ever said cooking was easy? If only people really knew what was behind all their beautiful, delicious dishes. Oh yeah, that’s what the food network is on to, not that a few screaming chefs and cockroaches do it justice.

I clearly remember my first real cooking job (Quartier Latin, garde manger 15 years ago), where I tasted the ‘true - out of school’ weeds for the first time. I was a top student, but all of a sudden, I was NOTHING, useless. Always in the juice, I started and finished every shift in a sweat, daily on the verge of tears, I really wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to do this ‘crazy business’. I prayed to just get through the day, chop fast enough, get those tartares and salads and escargots and blue cheese beignets out quickly and just so, not forgetting all those damn squid and brains I had to clean, making the crème brulées, the fussy pear tart and etc., all while passing under the radar of the French chef I hadn’t impressed because I didn’t know what a ‘cul de poule’ was (why do I have to be anglo?) and because I couldn’t turn a mushroom for crap (what is the point of turning mushrooms? I still don’t know.) It was boot camp for sure - physically exhausting, mentally draining, a whipping of the ego, a whipping dans tous les sens. Especially because I had another full time job in a similar kitchen on the side (I was eager and driven), where luckily, I had a slightly softer chef in charge who still pushed me to the limit, but was supportive and empowered me; no matter, I was still always in the weeds.

Anyway, at the Quartier Latin, where I was terrified stiff, my saving grace was the incident when he asked me for a brunoise when he wanted a macedoine, scolded me but then realized I was right, coupled with the fact that the following night, I cut my finger off and taped it all up solidly without letting on and worked the night, only going to the hospital at 1am (it was too late for stitches), and then I think I made a surprisingly good staff meal for a rookie to boot. All to say that I passed the hump, I started getting pats on the back. That bit of extra work and recognition kept me going; maybe I could do this after all, I thought, just MAYBE I did have at least some of what it takes. The juice came again every day for hours at a time, and I still never knew if I would survive, but somehow I did. Then I’d go to my other job and go through another gut wrenching service, days, weeks, months on end. If I had stopped for a minute, I may have gotten weak and bailed, but before I knew it, the adrenalin rush, the steep learning curve, the exciting food we were cooking, the team spirit, that kitchen stadium battle feeling with its sweet highs, had taken hold of my soul. I finished the year stressed out, with a foot problem and a back problem, but I was almost a cook. I had worked all the stations, I could make all kinds of dishes, even menus, but it still wasn’t easy - managing the rush, the juice, the weeds. There were the Radio Can lunch rushes at Picolo, the hundreds of brunches at Winnie’s, my catering events that started hours late, the non-stop chit machine at the Tavern, then the stars and reputation of L’Eau à la Bouche.

As a somewhat seasoned cook at l’Eau, I still wasn’t out of the weeds. Instead of volume and non-stop chits, it was all of a sudden about important details, a brigade, managing up and down customer flow, staff and inventory, living up to Anne’s reputation. The pressure never abated, the looming weeds never left, staff meal at 5pm – forget about it. Now at Les Jardins Sauvages, although simpler in format, and me better equipped with experience, I’m still constantly in fear, and I can rarely manage a 5 min. break, let alone staff meal. Definitely, a lot of that pressure is self imposed, but mainly it’s the nature of the beast - professional cooking is wrought with details, time limits, perishables and PEOPLE, ie. Ten zillion things that can go wrong, especially if you’re striving for high standards. And I don’t want to/can’t bang out food. None of this would be worth it if we banged out food.

Who wants to bang out food? And so, I plan and I organize and I fret; I feel like I do everything in my power to minimize the weeds (all while cooking them), but they still keep cropping up. That’s life, as they say, especially in a restaurant kitchen. I have no choice but to do my best to avoid them at all costs, but I do embrace them too, it’s a part of what makes this crazy life tasty, keeping life exciting, keeping you sharp. How to pass that on? I don’t know. It’s just years in a kitchen. Stick it out, and it comes. Stick it out, you’ll understand. All chefs can relate 100% to Shuna’s post, it’s so good.

Now, I have a small kitchen, I’m there every night manning the stove, searing the meat, making the sauces, I have a set menu. All that means I have more control, minimizing disasters that aren’t my own fault, but there’s a lot more to a meal than meat and sauce, I still need good staff. And again, because I only have six burners, limited space and a small staff, I am flirting with the weeds because I push the limits with my complex menus; cooking everything that needs to be à la minute, stove space is calculated from the time we arrive, every countertop is always in use. I get an allergy or a kid (pasta), and there goes two burners.. If tables are staggered due to late arrivals – I can’t be searing scallops and deer at the same time, nor can I be plating scallops and deer at the same time (space, staff). So, even my supposedly serene kitchen is ripe for weeds. But not like in a big one with a brigade and a big carte, or another small one with no brigade and a line up.

Oh, but I remember.. Over the years, I can think of so many juice nights, most of which you get through and sit around afterwards and have beers in relief; everything is fine after the fact, a happy blur. But there are certain scenarios that if repeated don’t wash down with a pint of beer. There’s the cook who is NEVER ready, that always needs bailing out, that relies on it, that won’t last. But it does happen to all of us too, to tank, to almost not pull through until someone on the team comes to the rescue, and it’s classic that - the uber talented cook who ends up sinking because of his ego because he is working alone, in contrast with another perhaps less talented cook who is friends with everyone, who jumps in here and there, often to save the day. A cook like that provides a kind of glue in a kitchen, so much more valuable than sheer talent I now understand. Like a chef de partie who can tell you exactly what the score is, that we are in the shit, that there are exactly 3 pintades left with 5 on order, that we are low on this or that, or that so and so is fucking up, or who can fess up and ask for help. You have to be quick, on the ball and a good cook, but if you can’t take the heat and say it like it is when the shit hits the fan, you take the team down. Like Shuna says, in the weeds, it’s the team that counts. As a result, I don’t choose my staff the same way anymore (when I can choose). But really, I don’t care about CV’s or credentials or even talent really, it’s more about being smart (in a general sense), quick, tough, passionate, dedicated, and most importantly, having a good personality that fits with the team and the place - all the better to get through the weeds together.

The 'artist' in me

I’ve often heard writers talking about a story taking control of them, how once the plot is drawn or the characters outlined or even that they sit down to write, they feel no choice but to resign to that new life taking shape.. They might step in to guide, to shake things up, but mainly they are just along for the ride..

I always found this bizarre, even unbelievable. I know it takes incredible imagination to be a true author or storyteller, but to let go that much, and end up with a masterpiece?? Maybe I don’t understand how to let go that much, and so can’t completely relate.

However. I relate a teeny bit which is why I am writing this. I’m not talking about elevated artistic expression here, no novellas or grand works of art - only menus, nothing important, only a chef’s thoughts. In any case, I do feel like my ‘artistic’ sense is taking up more space lately.

I’ve always considered myself more of a logical, order-phyllic (academic, scientist) type, but with a definite artistic side in my desire to feel unbridled, my need for creativity. I was always creative really, but in a very structured way, and in a very personal way; it’s not like anyone was ever watching. I would draw, I would sing (bad idea), I would write, but I had to work at it. Even as a doodling kid, I worked hard. I stayed up late after my homework writing songs, poetry, and drawing, until I discovered sports and regular high school pursuits (sex, drugs rock and roll, more or less) and got side tracked. Meanwhile, I found math and science which was seductively much more straight forward than all the artsy stuff, and being coaxed by the establishment, I fell into step and followed that path. That’s what the smart people should be doing (the thinking of the time), that’s where you got the pats on the back… It was easy for a while; little did I know that it would lead me on a big detour. Soon enough, I would find my way back in touch with my artistic soul in cooking, although it took ten years or so, and then some.

At first, I took on cooking like any other class or challenge, very studiously, like an academic, but I quickly learnt that my senses had to be engaged; this was different, invigorating, overwhelming. As a young cook, I read so much, I cooked so much, I slaved and I dreamt so much, and years down the road, I think it eventually all came together. I was brainstorming all the time, reading, jotting things down in a journal.. I could always come up with ideas or new menus on a daily basis, or write something when I sat down to do so, but it’s because I already had a handbag of inspirational material to work with from my relentless collection of stimuli, an arsenal of ideas just waiting to be hashed out. Maybe I was moving too fast for the artist in me, or perhaps learning what I had to in order to be able to make the most of it.

Nowadays, I am that same person, but I have to say I fly by the seat of my pants more, I am less influenced by what I see and read, I go with the flow more, I take more risks. Or maybe I take fewer in a way, because I’m less adventurous (in terms of attacking new trends or technologies for the sake of it), I don’t know. It comes down to the fact that I’m less rational, I'm doing whatever I feel like in the here and now, be it because of the forager’s finds, because of a day-dream, or because of something great I tasted in a casse-croute or in an old fashioned French restaurant that struck a chord. I’ll riff on a quirky recipe I saw in some sketchy cookbook or even in Chatelaine, or it might have been a molecular gastronomy acolyte that lit a spark. That’s nothing new, all chefs can’t help but be affected by what’s going on around them, there's definite osmosis going on all the time.  But there is less going on around me than ever before and I’m paying attention less and less; my moves are more spontaneous, not calculated. The other night it was after watching a foreign film (not food related at all) that my jostled mind started spewing out ideas. I honestly don’t know what I will be cooking next. That’s the thing. I’m acting more like an artist than ever.

I guess it’s part experience, growing up, and being comfortable in one’s own skin, then part my environment being conducive to letting the artist in me out..

But not quite.

I am short staffed right now, I know my budget, I know my constraints, but I push those limits all the time. I never want to do the same thing twice; I’m always doing new things when it would be more sensible to go with the tried and true. I keep complicating my menus even when I don’t want to, in that I don’t see it as necessary or even adherent to the style I want for myself, beyond it not making business sense. I absolutely hate it if I have to produce a menu more than a week in advance, because I’ve found that when I do that, when the time comes, I don’t feel like cooking whatever I had planned weeks before - no, now I feel like cooking something else and it feels wrong. When I sit down to write my menu for the week, I have ideas swirling around in my head, maybe even some written down (on my ‘to try’ list), but I honestly don’t know what it will end up as before I’m done. And then, I’m like, what the hell, that’s so much MEP! So then, I might do a more practical rewrite, take off homemade pasta, inject Israeli couscous, take off sausage, inject rillettes etc., but more often than not, I don’t. I guess I kind of like the challenge, the ride.

Intellectually, I feel like my style is simple, but I can’t help but notice that although I am not using much fussy technique or big frills, practically speaking, my menus are infallibly intricate: I keep adding subtle layers of flavour, background ingredients, new or old fashioned multi-step recipes in spite of myself. Several times this summer, I cancelled an engagement or a day trip away from the kitchen to stick around in order to reduce my stress and space out my workload, but then found myself adding a few labour intensive components to my menu, or deciding it was all of a sudden imperative that I defrost the freezer, do inventory or do some tests, because now there was the possibility of swinging it. One step forward, two steps backward; my to-do list for the day has to have a few too many items on it, it seems.

The manager/partner side of me is critical of all this. I know that professional cooking and the restaurant business is very little about art, more about organization, manual labour, management and accounting, even common sense. Nancy , why not reproduce some of your more successful, you-can-do-in-your-sleep dishes instead of inventing new ones each week? Nancy , why make your crackers or bread or pasta when you can buy them? Maybe then, you could take the time to clean the fan, and anyway, is it really necessary to degrease the fan twice a week? Nancy , why not cut down on the complexity of each dish, either in the number of steps, or at least in the number of à la minute motions in dressing (labour) for each dish, then you might not have to worry so much about your staff? Nancy , why not cut down on the number of ingredients period? Nancy , do you really need all those expensive top end ingredients when your mission is the wild stuff?

But I feel that no and yes, I am who I am, I cook how I cook, I follow my inclinations, and I can’t (don’t want to) do otherwise. I need to be true to that passion, I need to be evolving. Which is why I am here, that is, still bitten, and in the woods at Les Jardins Sauvages. I have been doing it my way for a while (even with Anne, I worked this way, never really cooking anything I didn’t want to, always with recipes/menus/compositions that came from the heart, from some ingredient I was enamoured with, from some technique I wanted to explore, from some old dish that spoke to me that I wanted to reinvent – that she agreed with, of course). And at the Tavern before, I was free creatively too, only limited by my naiveté and by the somewhat conservative customers. Of course in both places, I had to keep the clientele, establishment and purpose of the restaurant in mind, but in each moment in time, I was fully committed to that particular job while continually pushing my limits. Now, I have another set of constraints, but I have more of an open template that I’ve been slowly moulding into my own (based on François’ reality). All to say, I could not be cooking at some mega star hotel in Dubai or any of those top jobs I was once offered with the freedom I have here and with ingredients I believe in, like I have here. Years in the making, and thanks to the present circumstances, without me realizing it, the artist in me has been unleashed.

In a setting where I finish my own sauces and sear my own meats, with a set chef’s menu, I can change things on a whim, I can do as I like, and ultimately, I know that the food is better for it. It’s so personal, so cooked with love, so true, so in the moment, not to mention the underlying quality of the ingredients from local artisans I love and those foraged by my guy and his team.

What a great way to cook. But I know it’s not the most profitable way, or the easiest way. The day to day logistics of pulling this off in a small country kitchen, amidst fluctuating business and a shortage of resources, often means a lot of stress for everyone involved. An artist maybe, but I’m no peace-and-love, piece-of-cake to work with, more like a whirlwind of seriousness and pressure on the job. But at the end of the day, when everyone is happy, the customers wooed and satiated, the staff paid and proud, the resulting sense of accomplishment and gratifying exhaustion makes it all seem worth it. To me anyway. Until the next day when I’m in the juice again.. but don’t have time to think, just do-do-do until the curtain closes and that rush comes again. Maybe François who pays the bills and runs around like a chicken with his head cut off trying to keep my larder stocked and check off my many lists, has more than the occasional second thought. Poor François, he courted a chef who seemed like she had her wits about her, and he ended up with an unpredictable artist. Especially that he is one of sorts too, it all makes for a colourful life, both in business and outside.

Yes, at times it indeed seems like a crazy life, and not much of one outside the restaurant, which would no doubt be made simpler without any artist in the equation. But then would it all be worth it? The endless hours sweating it out, with so little stability or security, so much peddling and damage control, so few days off..  Then again, there is so much excitement and action, and so much beauty, so much gratification, so many good people, so much good food and wine, so many laughs, so many more highs than lows..

No, I wouldn’t have it any other way; that’s me, that’s us, that’s this business. And besides, it just might be that ‘la vie d’artiste’ ‘malgré tout’, is the best elixir ‘dans un monde de fou’.

Caprese Salad

To fiddle or not to fiddle

I’ve just eaten the same simple tomato salad, three nights in a row, and wow. I’ve been eating pretty solid tomatoes all summer, but they are tasting soo great right now. I might just be clinging onto the last tastes of summer as the nights get colder. I’m already sad to see the greens go (I bought some cultivated arugula last week for the first time), but with the abundance of late harvest veg, it’s not feeling like such a big deal yet. Not to mention that I’m forever distracted by the stops and starts of the mushroom season (I’m still waiting on half the varieties). But oh, when the tomatoes go though, that will be tragic. Good thing I love autumn. And good thing I managed to find the time to execute my annual ‘Operation Tomate’, canning 60L of tomato sauce, without which I don’t know how I would ever survive winter.

As I sat there admiring my wall of brilliant red mason jars, revelling in my fresh tomato thoughts after finishing off yet another lip smacking tomato salad, I thought I should get some of this tomato love on paper. But then I realized that I’ve done that many times before. I put down my pen and paper and began catching up on my internet reading material, until I came across this. What, why, no, you have got to be kidding!? I had no choice but to pick up my pen again.

Check it out - A beautiful deconstructed, reconstructed (however you want to call it), nouvelle ‘Insalata Caprese’! Peeled heirloom tomatoes, injected with basil oil, mozzarella balloon filled with tomato water foam, olive oil powder, basil gel "leaves", balinese sea salt.  http://www.playingwithfireandwater.com/foodplay/2008/09/insalata-caprese.html

Kinda neat, but really, why bother? These chefs are CRAZY.

Maybe I’m just getting old and lazy.. Maybe it’s because the summer season is winding down and the tomatoes are at their best, and that I was still relishing the lingering tastes of my most delicious field tomato salad with fresh cheese, a good EVO with chili and coarse salt. Or maybe it’s just that I had just finished a crazy week in the kitchen cooking more complicated food (but nowhere near as complicated as that Playing with fire and water stuff above).. Altogether, the idea of fiddling with the Caprese at this time of year just irked me.

Don’t get me wrong, I do love to fiddle. And sometimes you have to fiddle with food to make it special. Sometimes too, you just feel like tinkering because you’re a cook and that’s what you do; and sometimes you just have no choice because customers are paying for something they can't make at home. But at other times, all that fiddling can be counterproductive, and seem just plain wrong.

The point of manipulating and cooking ingredients (ie.fiddling) usually involves necessary transformation to a more palatable form or at least embellishment of some sort. With perfectly ripe produce though, it more likely only means time lost and inherent denaturing of the product.

This ‘Caprese Salad’ is only the slightest example of how far out the new wave of a certain breed of chefs armed with the latest in molecular gastronomy, their powders, gels and talent have taken modern food. Not that it’s a bad thing. I’d have to taste the dish; however, honestly right now, I fancy just reading about it while munching on real tomatoes - that François carefully selected which then sat and ripened on the counter until eating them messily as is, was THE ONLY option.

Not to say that I don’t appreciate the contributions of these cutting edge cooks. This level of fiddling requires creativity, research, refinement, and skill. Although I do think they are insane, I have enormous respect for the lot, especially the original leaders like Ferran Adria, Wylie Dufresne, Heston Blumenthal, and Achatz, and now including this new bunch online (more approachable, but just as serious). I was once a disciple of the chef set, curiously exploring it all myself, convinced that this marriage of science, technology and traditional cooking was the epitome of haute cuisine, the ultimate. I have since lost the thread, I’ve been lapped and left behind by the whole movement, yet I still tune in somewhat out of curiosity, for the mental exercise, more than anything.

The one thing that continues to unsettle me about this new trend is the underlying goal of complete and utter transformation, the implicit denaturing of real food, not to mention the use of all the gums and powders associated with the processed food industry. Although cuisine has always been about transformation and all these tricks are basically just new tools and techniques for chefs, it’s just TOO MUCH fiddling for me. It clearly does not mesh with the parallel trend of fresh, local, seasonal ingredients, the shortening of the distance between farm and plate and the shunning of industrial, overly processed food. No, this direction is akin to a swing of the pendulum back to acrobatics for the sake of acrobatics, as in the old French style of chaud froid, and sculpting food, that I thought we sensibly left behind for the sake of taste.. Food can always be a canvas, but that’s not not always in our best interest. Our parents and grand parents didn’t seem to think that playing with our food was such a good thing either.

In any case, the contrast between this fancy Caprese Salad and the simple one before me, which could not have been better at this moment in time, drove my conviction home, leading me yet one step further from ‘molecular gastronomy’ in principle.

My cooking style at the restaurant lies somewhere in between these two in terms of degree of fiddling. In fact, I am constantly torn between the fiddle and fiddle-not camps; out of respect for the ingredients, out of principle and practicality , I hold back, while my artistic sense, curiosity, drive and desire to please, tug me the other way. I’m forever scolding myself for over-complicating things, forever struggling to find that balance in composition that best shows off the ingredients, that best represents our style and concept, that will humbly wow and surprise, all while being true to myself, creative but grounded, straight up but not boring..

(The extent of my fiddling with the Caprese (at the restaurant): Arugula, pickled hedgehog, smoked duck, boletus oil, wild grape ‘balsamic’, mushroom salt )

Even as I try to keep my fiddling to a minimum with my feet firmly planted in the woods as opposed to a fancy lab-kitchen, I shall likely remain plugged in and fascinated by the likes of Ideas in Food, Playing with Fire and their nouveau style Caprese Salad.

The Ideas in Food team http://ideasinfood.typepad.com/

is a favourite source of these antics and reflections. You can tell despite the convoluted technique they use, they have true passion and a reverence for top ingredients. They never cease to amaze and inspire me; they get me thinking wow that’s clever! (or occasionally wow, that’s ridiculous!). I admire their hard work and dedication to their mission (ie. my full inbox). And they come up with the darnest of things, often brilliant and surprising ideas and combinations of ingredients that get me excited. There was the coffee pasta lately that I found intriguing even if I am not a fan of flavouring pasta dough because it cuts the gluten and usually involves a waste of resources as flour really deadens the flavour. But they used a hot water dough, and I also couldn’t help but think that a certain wild mushroom stuffing would rock with the coffee. Then there was their creative and practical notion of speed-infusing with sous-vide which isn't all that new, but they are really working it. On the flip side, there is the occasional combo that elicits an ugh, like bananas and marrow.. They were at their best when describing the creative process the other day, which I thought hit the nail on the head when it comes to exposing a chef’s thought process (and really who better than them).. But then the next post offered up some banality like ‘Guess what, cooking vegetables in their skins provides more flavour’. At times like this, I can’t help but think they are so off in their own bubble of a deconstructed world of beakers and scales, that they sometimes forget about the real world and real food. Similarly though, many ‘regular’ cooks are so caught up in a routine that they forget about all the possibilities for new flavours and pure fun out there.

The truth is that there are many more hits than misses, and either way, it is exciting stuff. Obviously, I love that they (and people like them) are there to be pushing limits and exploring novel ideas. Although I have no desire to cook like that anymore, I do admire them and thank them all for stretching my mind in the subtlest of ways. I don’t know about fiddling so much with the Caprese Salad, and I still believe in ‘real food’ way more, but good on them for carving out a niche and making the culinary arena more dynamic. Wouldn’t it be boring if everyone out there was serving up the same Caprese Salad au naturel, no matter how fresh and sustainable. I suppose there’s room for all kinds of food and people, chefs, restaurants, and Caprese Salads out there. All dressed up listening to classical music, in some exotic locale on vacation, the new-fangled Caprese salad might work better at seducing me than the simple one I want at the end of a hard summer’s night in the kitchen... It all comes down to good tomatoes, time and place, and who’s doing the fiddling.

P.S. Can you tell I like the word 'fiddle'?

The stars of summer

Now that the novelty of all the sprouts, greens and flowers of spring and early summer has worn off, now that interesting salads are commonplace, and now that I’ve done such wild edibles as cattail to death (in broth, in soup, as a side, in batters, doughs both savoury and sweet), there is a whole new set of foodstuffs, those that mark summer’s peak, that have come in to steal the show..

This dish just about sums it up: Sea spinach, corn, scallops, with tomato crinkleroot sauce  

As does this one: Corn and wild mushroom chowder with sea spinach

Or this one: Wild berry butter cakes with vanillagrass semi-freddo

Yes, my heroes of summer are:

Sea spinach and co.

The star of late summer is the grand arrival of the Marine plants: sea spinach, sea asparagus, sea rocket, marine plantain..

 Baby sea spinach, sea asparagus and marine plantain

Spergulaire

The first tender sprouts I tend to use raw, even though I really prefer it all cooked, if ever so slightly. Sea asparagus is best in a crunchy ‘seaweed like’ salad; sea rocket is piquant and mustardy, so more of a condiment- I keep that raw and throw a leaf here and there for bite, or make salsa verde.. Marine plantain is fun blanched then tossed with spaghetti or in a veg julienne.. My all time fave is the sea spinach, which although great raw, is even more amazing wilted with some garlic and chilli, as well as in soups and stuffings (anywhere you would use spinach) – basically, this is just super-duper spinach, nutty, salty, peppery, so green, so tasty.  

Mature sea spinach at its best

Mustn't forget about the Wild berries, an infallible high point of summer, and it has been a phenomenonal season so far to the delight of many pie makers and jammers (the little old ladies on the side of the road), and me. There’s nothing like sitting in a big patch with your favourite kid(s) and stuffing your face.

It was an excellent wild strawberry season, if you have the patience to pick more than you can eat (not me), or are willing to pay the big bucks for someone else to (no choice).

Also a very good black raspberry season, although the cultivated raspberries seem to be having trouble.. In some parts of the province, the strawberries, raspberries and blueberry seasons have oddly overlapped; here they came in rapid succession and abundantly; now, its the saskatoon berries and little wild blueberries.

Of course, my desserts have been all about the berries all summer, with some flower scents here and there, the occasional hit of chocolate..  Since I am not the biggest sweet tooth, Berry centric 'light' desserts are my favourite kind, and with wild berries, gorgeous on their own, you don't need to pull out many fancy pastry chef moves to make a killer dessert.  

Frozen berry soufflé, elderberry pannacotta, berry rose petal granite, vanilla-grass berry compote stuffed butter cakes, berry lemon curd tartlets with Labrador tea, berry pots de crème, and a 'wild' tiramisu to name a few of my summer sweets.. Berries everywhere, and always with something chilled and zingy on the side, of course.. For a refreshing dip into some cool talk about ice, chilling and the science of cold, read the master Harold McGee’s article  http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/06/dining/06curious.html?partner=rssyahoo&emc=rss..

And Mushrooms bien sur!

We are now officially rolling on that oh so familiar, exciting rollercoaster that is the wild mushroom season, a quickly accelerating course of foraging hits and misses, of guesswork and grunt work and high fives, as François and co. scout his spots province wide, tracking what’s going on where, betting on the next score.. I never know if he will show up with 1lb or 50lb for me to process. And I’m having to fight for my share, as the shrooms fly off the counter at the market. The summer varieties are just starting to boom around here, but in some parts of the province, there has been too much humidity, making it hard to find a pristine patch.. My François des bois has not had much trouble though, keeping me busy with the steady influx of his pickings: chanterelles of all kinds (girolles, flocons, en tube, black trumpet), yellow and red foot boletes, clavaire, polypore, lactarius, Amanite des césars (very rare), even the first puffballs (very early!). Thanks to fellow mushroom freak friends around (and new ones at the market), we have rediscovered some less noble shrooms we hadn’t been using, but that upon retesting, have agreed that they are quite tasty (Boletus American and bolet veiné for example). Sorry, for my lazy lack of English terms.

All to say it’s looking really good – leaps and bounds over last summer to be sure (not hard to beat). Fresh mushrooms of all sorts dot my menus and I’m slowly starting to dry, pulverize, infuse, sauté, pickle and etc, to put up stores for our infamous quickly approaching mushroom event. Now, if only the rain would let up abit, just a bit.. All this rain has been good for the greenery and forests, but enough is enough.

Some brown plates (mushroom dishes): Venison with chanterelles, peas and curry leaf, Wild mushroom stoganoff..

Even I know there is more to life than mushrooms.. 

Hand in hand with the offerings from the wild, come the colors and tastes from the farmer’s fields, from the markets and roadside stands, where even if they are struggling a little more, EVERYTHING is in season. Well, just about everything is out.. Starting with the Lettuces, Peas, garlic and onions, Green beans, Carrots, new potatoes, Kohlrabi, celery, cabbage to the short-lived Fava beans..

 Beatiful peas!

You know it's summer when your MEP board is a still-life..

Grelots picked in our backyard.

François coming in the door with an armful.

Corn on the side of the road

So exciting (the favas), but then you shuck a sack or two or three, and well, that’s enough, time to move on to other beans.. I served them in a fricassee with lobster, corn and sea spinach, in a salad with corn, purselane and smoked duck, and in soup with homemade bacon and sea parsley, keeping a few for later.. My peas won’t last though, like corn, I can’t hold back from using them all over when I have them.

Alongside the green beans (Jade, extra-fine) and yellow flat beans out now, there is the king of summer, early corn, always so sweet, can’t get enough. But it remains to be seen if it will really be a good season...

With summer squash and eggplant out, I am getting into caponata, ratatouille and vegetable gratin mode.. A fun part of zucchini season is frying the blossoms, stuffed or not. I’ve ditched the tempura for an old-fashioned fish and chips style fritter batter (but using cattail flour) and panko, and quite like the results. Not as light, but very crisp and chewy, very satisfying, and a better bet in this humidity.

Zucchini gratin with bee balm ricotta and sea spinach, fried blossom (with cattail flour)

Being the tomato lover that I am, there is still that little something missing for a totally and utterly complete summer orgasm – tomato greatness.. Despite all the good little greenhouse tomatoes all summer, as the first field tomatoes appear, it’s impossible to not get excited about the ripest of the field tomatoes and heritage breeds around the corner, weehoo.. Summer isn’t over yet.

But I bet my little dehydrator wishes it was..

All summer long: Operation dehydration

This little baby is going 24/7, poor thing, drying everything from rose petals to day lily pistils to nettle and elderberry flower, making for a room deodorizer that reflects the seasons.. Now that the mushrooms are taking over the electric device and the ovens too, the ambient scent has changed from floral to well, mushroomy, possibly peculiar to the uninitiated. I wonder what the customers think. They say it’s charming and cool, but..

To dehydrate all the stuff we need, we have no choice but to resort to more natural, old-fashioned methods as well, using any hot dry space we can find.. We have door frame size screens filled with powdered bulrush, various leaves and flowers stacked in an airy hot box with holes, as well as nets of stuff in our attic.. Now, again, if only it would stop raining..

With a dry finish (fingers crossed), this might ring in as a very fruitful season. All I can say is that as wonderful as summer is, I can’t keep up. For the first time in ages, like one might dream of summer in winter, I can’t help but have my moments when I think wistfully of winter, when I’m not in this mad dash and dance with nature, when everything is done, there is no fresh harvest, and a day off isn’t so difficult to come by. Not that I’m complaining really, because cooking has never been this much fun, truly. I think I say that every year at this time (what cook doesn’t?).

But if anyone knows of a good cook for hire, a dishwasher, forager, salesperson, secretary or masseuse, please let me know - I could use them all, and now.

A breath of fresh air, a bright future, a diamond in the rough

I’m happy to report that there is hope yet – on the work front and in the youth of today (la relève). Just when I’d almost given up on finding good help, a young kid blew in to knock my socks off.

What a breath of fresh air. Throughout my weekend of juice in the kitchen, I remained in a relatively upbeat mood and finished elated, thanks to things going off without a hitch despite being short-staffed, but mainly from having my faith restored even for a night. The source of my elation – a teenager who came in to do the dishes. I’ll call him my diamond in the rough.

I saw from his first night how hard working, positive and curious he was. The next night I had him helping in the kitchen, doing odd jobs like peeling cattails and potatoes, decorating plates. He worked diligently, never asking for anything, was poking his nose into my pots, keenly observing and tasting; I could not believe how ‘allumé’ this kid was. And he hails from a backwoods small town, knows nothing about food or cooking or gastronomy or wild plants. I gave him his first taste of Reggiano, alongside a number of artisanal Quebec cheeses, he also tasted duck, scallops, veal cheek, not to mention a multitude of wild greens and roots for the first time. He was thrilled with each bite. He had no idea what a scallop was but asked if he could taste it raw! I'm used to having to cajole or threaten students into tasting anything remotely exotic, let alone raw.. In service, he danced the kitchen dance with ease, never getting in the way, aware, following cues and jumping in, executing any task I’d given him exactly. It was so impressive for a kid who had never been in a professional kitchen or taken a class. I could not have asked for more even from a ‘trained’ cook out of school. It was obvious this kid ‘had it’. This never happens, I’m never impressed, this kid was something else. I began coddling him like crazy - I’ve never been so nice to any newbie. In the early phase, I’m usually annoyed most of the time and more concerned with discipline, starting off on the right foot, laying down the law, seeing if they’re cut out for it before investing too much.

What had me so rapt, what was I so worked up about, why was I being so nice all of a sudden? It was his keen eye, ear and nose, the ability to think on his feet, to catch on quick. An unbridled curiosity, a hungry nature, an open mind, and smart questions (not useless ones, so commonly asked without thinking first - that just break my concentration and sap my energy..) His politeness, hard work and stamina, with no special needs on the side. He was eager to try anything and everything. The pressure didn't seem to bother him, he was sharp and optimistic the whole way through, he naturally knew when to buckle down, when to talk, when not to talk. He evidently had a tough composition, but a sweet disposition. Here was a (smart) kid who was simply happy to be working and learning. Come to think of it, this package shouldn’t be such a rare thing, but trust me, it is, especially so young.

diamonds

Most restaurants I know are looking for cooks, farmers are equally short of labourers, businesses across the board are in relentless search of enthusiastic, reliable workers at every level. Although there is technically a shortage of skilled workers, among the candidates available, it’s not necessarily that talent is lacking, the problem is more to do with attitude, work ethic, passion, dedication.. We’ve all gotten used to expecting less, having to retrain and retrain, accepting that one out of every ten employees will amount to anything, in this industry in particular. They all want big pay and glory off the get go, too many days off, with no concept of paying their dues.. It’s a common dialogue among chefs, restaurateurs and business owners in general. The times, they are a changing and fast, albeit for the good in many aspects, but we can’t up-end our whole operating order overnight, at least not until people are willing to pay way more for their food. So it’s all about doing your best with what you’ve got, damage control, avoiding the bad apples, making the most of the good eggs. Thankfully, a good egg makes up for a few bad apples.

Back to this good egg, my diamond in the rough. I showed him how to hold a knife for the first time; he was so determined to be able to cut like Jonathan (my beloved apprentice and pseudo kid, now a seasoned cook) - he was intently studying his every move and then going at it with such determination. After we’d cleaned up, he also helped with the dishes, never looking at his watch, never asking for a break.. While his peers are out being delinquents, uninterested in working for minimum wage, he’s happily busting his ass.

He was so proud at the end of the night when we gave him 2 oz of wine to cheers with us (he’s underage after all) and all the staff was complimenting him. He told me how fun he found the kitchen, doing so many different kinds of cool things, being a part of a team, seeing happy customers.. I understand how it would beat cutting grass or strictly doing dishes, but he seemed genuinely pleased, even bitten. And I’m quite sure he didn’t understand how brilliantly he had done. I was beaming for his mother.

I know better than to get my hopes up so quick, but what the hell, a girl needs to find her diamonds wherever she can, and regardless of what happens next, this one made a difference in realigning my disillusioned outlook with respect to kids today.. And I was reminded once again that I really can/still/do love teaching..

P.S. After I wrote this, I couldn’t help but think of Jonathan in his early days as my apprentice at l’Eau.. I wrote about him too a while back (you’ll see some common threads I’m sure). http://soupnancy.squarespace.com/more-food-writing/my-mentor-and-my-apprentice.html

Market treats

One major bonus about my François des bois being at Jean Talon market (besides him being out of my hair) is that he comes home every day with something great to eat. He’s always been good at that, but now it’s not just greens. He is so conveniently close to a dazzling array of fresh ingredients, some sources that we know and love already, among others that he is discovering by the day.

Gaspé style cooked lobster from AtkinsI would never think to buy my lobster cooked, but François convinced me that this guy at Atkins really knows how to cook lobster and he cooks hundreds a day (big ones!), in highly seasoned water in the Gaspé style (with sea salt and seaweed) – and he was right, it’s pretty damn good. Visit Les Delices de la Mer on the south side of the specialty aisle. The lobster kiosk is across from the main store, which is also a good source of fish, scallops and shrimp in season. They aren’t just purveyors of fish, they are actual fishermen and family here..

nutmeg from Philippe de VienneKnowing how much I love spices, François brought me some nutmeg from Philippe de Vienne’s shop (which has been a gaga place of mine since it opened years ago). I carried my jar of 'noix du paradis' around for days, taking a sniff every now and again, even sleeping next to it. The nutmeg was still in its shell so it shook like a rattle and smelled like malted chocolate, vanilla and spice. When I cracked one open, the most fragrant little nutmeg ball was revealed, which grating became a pure joy - I’ve never tasted nutmeg like this. I finally understood the subtleties in difference between mace and nutmeg, having the juxtaposition in my face. I honestly could not stop grating or smelling it or talking about how much I loved it. You could tell François was pleased with his buy; he may as well as given me a diamond ring.

Philippe de Vienne’s Olive et Épices is THE store for olive oils, spices and beautiful kitchen knickknacks/gifts. His other store, La Depense a few doors down is also an interesting stop for curious minds, and a good source for specialty and ethnic dry goods. Say, gram flour or Israeli couscous..

I feel fortunate to have a steady supply of dry ham (proscuitto) from the Cochon tout rond (whose stall is right next to François’), whom I’ve already mentioned here at least once; I also love their chorizo. Their proscuitto has become a staple in our fridge, amazing as a part of a late night charcuterie/cheese platter in lieu of dinner or in a salad, pasta, or atop pizza.

François loves his veal chops, and that means regular visits to Veau de Charlevoix (Charlevoix veal), pricy but worth it. On another night, it could be organic suckling pig from Pork Meilleur; both these are in the specialty aisle.. Fermes Nord-Est close by has small production natural meats too, such as bison, beef and chicken.. François has yet to bring some home - we can’t be eating meat every night after all, but I have visited their farm, met them and know I can recommend them.

He’s also regularly coming home with a new cheese he’s discovered either from Qui Lait Cru or Fromagerie Hamel.. His latest buys were meant to impress me, and they did, but thanks to Yannick I already knew them.. There was the new Baluchon Reserve from Ste-Anne de la Pérade and the Bleu d’Elizabeth from the townships, as well as my beloved Alfred de Compton, his default addition to make sure I was pleased, I guess.  There is also the Tomme de Marechal and the La Moutonnière farmer's sheep's milk cheeses who have stalls of their own in the specialty or organic aisle (Le Clos Vert, Le Soupçon de Bleu (a creamy blue), and the classic La Moutonnière bleu (which I prefer).

For the organic milk he likes, he goes to a little Produits du Terroir shop in the specialty aisle, next to the olives place. He brought me delicious fresh yogurt in a glass jar from there too that I used in a panna cotta that was so exceptionally tasty, I figured it must be the yogurt.  About those olives next door - delish! Especially the goat cheese stuffed green ones.   

Being the fruit lovers we are, we have our spots for fruit even off season (we lose locavore points here). Of course, I put up our rhubarb and wild berries for use at the restaurant, but I do enjoy the odd fresh berry in the morning off season, and well, François power eats fruit all the time. We get most of our seasonal fruit in the country, but in between, a few good sources at the market are key; especially at this time of year, where it’s summer just about everywhere else - it’s hard to resist the taste of a good melon, cherry or pear when it’s been so long.. François is very fussy about his fruit, and takes much care in selecting each piece (he is very good at sniffing out that perfect melon). He likes Eric Lecuyer ‘Le King’ on the north side of the second aisle for a reliable assortment of berries; in season, he has everything from blueberries to currants to ground cherries. For mangos, melons, pears and apples, he likes Trottier, that famously long established family of apple growers, and apparently they usually have good Quebec tomatoes too. They have a few locations around the market, the main one being in the main cross aisle.

At the moment, Jacques et Diane Remillard are selling potted plants, herbs and such in the third aisle, but at the height of summer, they will be in their regular space in the second aisle selling their vegetables and herbs.. They are old friends of François’ and a favourite source of harvest vegetables for us.

Then, there are the farm fresh eggs form Chez Petrin that arrive daily; they also sell honey, maple, and strangely enough (but very useful to know), the beans for cassoulet, all varieties of dry beans in fact.

Once and a while, the women in François’ life get treated to a bouquet of fresh flowers from Chez Daniel, but I like the more frequent wild ones just as much..

There is always the Marché des Saveurs for Anicet’s honey and Cuvée du Diable honey wine, which I love to cook with since L’Eau à la Bouche, or for some other Quebec product I need for a menu, be it cider or Quebec style porto.. Of course, they have much more than booze, it being THE place to shop for Quebec ingredients and gifts, to bring visiting friends, or when you just want to discover or rediscover some new Quebec product.

Perhaps François is so good at surveying the market because he’s not at his stall; I suspect that the girls (Isabelle, Marie Claude and Stéphanie) are doing the bulk of the work while he schmoozes.. You have to understand that he spent much of the nineties here as a farmer who also happened to sell some weird, wild things on the side (which is where Normand Laprise discovered him), so he knows the market, the long established businesses, the family farmers from the peddlers (as he calls the distributor/sellers who don’t know farming and get all their stuff at the Marché Centrale). As a result, he can spot the ruses, the sheisters, the places I now know I should NOT shop at..

Now that’s a real forager for you - as good at the market as in the woods.. François du Marché meets François des Bois - Lucky me.

François and all his foraging greatness aside, there is more to the market than what HE likes.. I like Birri (and so do other people I know who are serious about their food) for all their specialty veg and herbs. I remember the day a couple of years ago when I happened upon their stall (in the first aisle, center), which was spilling over with a variety of beautiful eggplants and squash laid out in their glory.. Granted it was late summer abundance, heirloom tomatoes and all, but I spent over an hour there fondling the stuff, walking off with more than I could carry, elated by the freshness and beauty of my original finds.

There’s the mainstay Capitol, one of my friend Barb’s favourite spots for meat, cheese and miscellaneous dry goods. Of course, she is dating an Italian guy, but he’s a cook and she’s a market regular.. I second that it would make a handy épicerie if you live in the area, especially if you’re into charcuterie, cheese, antipasto and pasta (who isn’t?). She also claims that the new pizza place (Venizzia) on the northwest side of the market is amazing, can’t wait to check it out.

I can’t help but mention Pain Doré; even if they can be spotty, and seem to have suffered as a brand in expansion versus the compounding competition. Everyone seems to prefer Premier Moisson or some artisanal bakery but if in the vicinity, I still gravitate towards Pain Doré for a ham sandwich or a baguette. Maybe it’s nostalgic since I once long ago ate a Parisien (ham, butter and dijon ) with great satisfaction daily. They don’t make it quite the same anymore and now the sandwiches seem to always be made in advance (?!), but the memory lasts.. Or maybe it’s just because I like their bread. I swear I do. It’s happened that I’ve been in some far off restaurant in a village in the Charlevoix or in the Laurentians and loved the bread; where do you get your bread, I ask? Every time, Pain Doré, mademoiselle.. It hasn’t happened lately, but still, I’m loyal.

And being the sucker for books that I am, I have a hard time not dipping into the cookbook store when at the market.. Anne Fortin’s store at the east entrance to the new wing reminds me of a French version of the cookbook store in TO in feel, with its small quarters stacked with a rich and wide array of titles and topics for the serious food book lover.. Digging is required, but many gems are to be found, in both official languages.. She has also opened a used-bookstore nearby, L’Occasion Gourmande (366 rue de Castelneau Est, 514-759-9143).

One last treat from the market is the TV show upstairs, Des Kiwis et des Hommes, a Radio Canada morning food/variety/talk show (that thankfully replays late night) hosted by the lovable duo, Boucar Diouff and Francis Reddy. They have a weekly host chef cooking, as well as other guests including artists, politicians, activists, interesting people all round, and for an hour and a half, they hang around the kitchen and chat about current events, sit at the table to attack a philosophical topic of the day or talk about music; they regularly tour the market and visit farmers, they clown around and stop to offer food for thought.. It’s an eclectic show that does border on cheesy at times, but definitely grows on you. I am mostly fond of it because it takes place at the market and exudes that market spirit, alive with the pulse of the people and food in all its diversity, throughout the ups, downs and intricacies of real life. They entertain and remind us of the good things in life at our fingertips in the heart of the city.

In short, I hope I've given you enough good reasons to visit the market, Jean Talon in particular, today! 

A visiting tour to producers, while waiting for the snow to melt:

Inspiration everywhere.. 

Rice lettuce, the first sprouts, curry leaves!

I had a very stimulating cooking week. Although we did get our first pickings of wild things to cook with, the excitement mostly came from others’ offerings this time. Travelling is a sure source of inspiration always, even if you only drive 30min out of your bubble. Spending time with passionate, hardworking artisans and farmers is the most rewarding of all, and luckily in Quebec you don’t have to go too far for that. I spent a day visiting a few of these special people, and came back on fire.

My first stop was at les Jardiniers du Chef with Pierre André Daignault. He’s been supplying top restaurants with micro-greens and specialty veg for years, and the place is like a well oiled machine, laid back and mature, yet with an innovative energy still omnipresent. As I sprinted around the greenhouses, sniffed and tasted, I was reacquainted with many old favourites, only more perfect and beautiful, and came across many new items of interest. The winner of the day was his rice lettuce (laitue de riz), like a delicate looking head of romaine that really tastes like sweet fragrant rice. Amazing raw, I could sooo imagine it cooked, silky and toothsome, more deeply flavourful. There was green garlic with an outside bulb you remove leaving what looks like a baby scallion that tastes like a ramp. There was pied de poule (chickenfeet), a thin wiry, but tender green that reminded me of young sea asparagus in texture but with a mild neutral grassy taste. I tasted a nutty Japanese spinach, peppery cress, a number of novel edible flowers, numerous micro-greens, and marvelled at all his still beautiful roots (skirret, chervil root, baby carrots, Chiogga beets, Jerusalem artichokes..). When I got back to the restaurant, and then at home, I prepared as much of my bag of treats in every way I could to sample it all at its freshest (yes, cooking at home after a 15hr day..). Thankfully, I had enough customers the next day to try a few more things out. It was my first taste of summer-like abundance in a while, when you have too many beautiful things to work with, it’s a struggle to fit it all on the menu. I made a little salad with the chicken-feet, some slivered daylily sprout, celery leaf sprouts and crinkleroot oil to accompany my smoked fish rillettes and gravelax on a wild herbed breadstick. I stuffed pintade with boletus and wrapped it in rice lettuce to cook it sous-vide, I also stuffed the pintade with the rice lettuce and seared it after the slow poach, which turned out to be even better. The cress and green garlic adorned a braised lamb and gnocchi dish with curry leaf. I was so pleased I left a gushy message on his answering machine. 

guinea hen stuffed with boletus and rice lettuce, jerusalem artichoke purée

Daignault's microgreens

smoked fish rillettes, gravelax, chickenfeet and day lily with crinkleroot

prepping pintade

Daignault's ail vert

The next stop was Gaspor, St-Canut farms for milk-fed piglet. I hadn’t visited since they automated their operation. Alexandre Aubin, the most charming pig farmer to be sure (although as a result he does more PR now while co-owner Carl Rousseau tends to the pigs) explained the new feeding system and showed me the cute little piglet families in different stages. They raise them to 28kg or 9-10 weeks in comfortable conditions, only milk fed, and air-dry for 48hrs after slaughter. Although still a relatively small production, they are steadily expanding, and they supply fine tables across the country, in New York and beyond. Their piglet is succulent, every part of it, and the fat is a soft, creamy white. I used to get their whole pigs when I was at l’Eau, where it was a work of love finding a way to use it all up; now they sell major cuts, so it’s more accessible. Even if I found the little piglets cute, actually hilarious (they are so playful and squeaky), I can’t wait to get my hams going.  www.gaspor.com

Fromagerie Yannick: Piave on the left

Fromagerie du Marché St-JeromeOn the way back, we stopped at Yannick’s Fromagerie du Marché in St-Jerome, the ultimate cheese shop where big wheels of perfect cheese grace the countertops and knowledgeable, passionate people are eager to introduce you to all of it. I really came for a chunk of my new favourite Piave (raw cow’s milk from Venetie, Italy, kind of Parm like, but ultra nutty), but also left with a Mont Tuilly Suisse tomme (raw cow’s milk) and a raw sheep’s milk Portugese pate molle that is curdled with natural cardoon enzyme (Azeitao), as well as some Lenoir Lacroix (terrific locally roasted and blended fair-trade organic) coffee. Yannick was there, so we had to chat it up, the guy is everything you want to know about cheese in a handsome, suave, soft spoken package. He looks more like an architect or a banker than a cheese specialist and always wears a crisp blue shirt, but he knows his stuff. He pointed me to the most promising of the new Quebec cheeses on the market, and reminded me of the best of the old that have succeeded in mastering consistency. On the subject of the Alexis de Portneuf (owned by Saputo) semi-scandal, Yannick explained that the additive in question was in fact just a a milk component, cheese by-product that is normally thrown out, not something altogether unnatural, and that with their investment in this technology, they were actually doing a good job at making commercially produced cheese. I still think that they should not be marketing themselves as artisanal, and that information is all the consumer needs; I would rather choose a small farmer’s cheese anyway, but at least it’s good to know I’m not committing some food ethics crime by eating a slice of the award winning Sauvagine. However, with all the other incredible veritable farmers cheeses in his shop, it’s not even an issue. His heart is in the Alps , in Spain and Portugal , but the Quebec selection is stellar, all the cheeses are selectively sourced, optimally cared for and served at their peak. His shops (he has two in Montreal too, one on Bernard and one on the West Island ) are heaven for a cheese lover, definitely worth a trip. He really elevates cheese to noble, edible art, thereby doing justice to the artisans behind it all.

first spring pickings

François' first sprouts

micro dandelion

On the home front, things are just as exciting, definitely heating up. The snow is melting quickly, and this week, François brought me my first real basket of stuff. He might have had to work hard and dig deep for it, but it was impressive - daylily sprouts, a little dogstooth and daisy, crinkleroot, a few tabouret des champs tops, some micro dandelion (the only kind I can imagine eating) and a couple of dozen violets, just enough to jazz up a few of my dishes and make my plates look pretty. It’s hard to believe that in a few weeks, these treats will be almost taken for granted as things really start sprouting in earnest and the fiddleheads take over officially launching the party of everything green, fresh and local. All in time.. If spring had come sooner, maybe I wouldn’t have made it to Daignault’s, and I wouldn’t have found love in rice lettuce.

snow receding to reveal day lily sprouts

day lily sprouts

dogstooth or adder's leaf

My last hit of the weekend was the lamb dish, this one thanks to my Man Siva, a dishwasher and prep cook extraordinaire I used to work with at the Tavern years ago.  Among all his other lovable traits, he is also my curry leaf connection.  Looking for a little excitement on my menu (this was before my producer trip), and with Stephanie St-Jean's lamb coming in (Ferme d'Elevage La Petite Campagne), I couldn't think of a better time to call on him.  Wow, I had almost forgotten how much I LOVE the stuff.  Barb thinks it smells like eggs, and although I do pick up some sulfur like notes, I find it very nutty smelling, more like sesame..  I braised the shoulders with the curry leaf, and once cooked, everyone said it smelled like maple syrup.  Anyhow, it was delicious, atop some homemade gnocchi with Mr.Potato's (M.Berard) potatoes that have a natural mushroom aroma with a touch of nutmeg -oh ya.  Sometimes you don't have to travel any further than down memory lane for some inspiration.  Inspiration is everywhere.  A sure sign that spring is here indeed.  Hallelujah!  Now if only the Habs would win.

Good bye winter food

This weekend, I’m in spring cleaning mode. After my maple menu which was heavy on roots, duck, ham, beans and maple of course, I’m ready to move to lighter fare, even if spring isn’t fully here yet (it’s snowing outside). Nonetheless, there is reason for optimism. The river ice broke last weekend to a loud thundering boom, causing customers to run out and witness icebergs crashing down, alongside the resto amidst the river swell. It looks like the worst is over and we might avoid major flooding after all. François has already picked a few flowers and sprouts (just to show off) despite the huge snow banks on the property. He’s convinced that spring will happen quickly, and that it will be a good one because the ground never froze completely with all the insulating snow, and the slow seep meant the earth stayed gorged with water. He is especially excited about what that promises mushroom wise. To prove his point, he showed me a handful of plants that stayed green all winter, as well as day lily bulbs that are already 6 inches long and white as endive beneath the snow.

The snow is slowly but steadily melting, but in the meantime, I will have one last go at the winter stuff. I’ve cleaned out my freezers and walk-in, removing the last of our stored roots, as well as any winter left-overs. I have 6 grey bins of sous-vide bags and various containers of soup, sauce and ice cream to unload. It’s all good stuff, but I need to move on. Solution: time to throw a party. On an off night when there is no hockey game, of course. It will be a ‘Spring Cleaning Buffet’ for staff and close friends of les Jardins Sauvages. Free food, BYOB, a campfire – a winning recipe for a good time, and a therapeutic, formal good bye to winter food for me. Friends will be happy and my fridge will be ready for the arrival of spring things. I will joyfully cook and eat cassoulet, tourtiere and the like for the last time this year, providing a symbolic shift to spring and summer cooking for me.. Ça va faire du bien.

One last winter feast, my spring cleaning menu

Mixed charcuterie: Duck rillettes, Foie gras torchon, smoked duck, veal tongue

Mixed pickles, preserves and mustards

Sausage, olives and spiced nuts

Cured fish platter: cured brochet, char gravelax, smoked cod

Smoked salmon mousse on toast

Tomato crinkleroot bruschetta

Mixed greens with house vinaigrette

Asian style vermicelli salad with asparagus and egg

Gnudi with sea spinach, parmesan and rosé sauce

Game tourtiere

Cassoulet with my homemade sausage and ham

Venison ragout

Crepinettes of duck confit, gizzard and liver stuffing

Roasted root vegetables with gremolata sauvage

Root vegetable and wild greens gratin

Chocolate elderberry mousse cake

Pecan maple tarts

Buche

Various wild flavoured ice creams and sorbets

I had to throw a few tomatoes and greens in just to balance this meat-heavy stick- to- your- ribs menu ; I hardly want anyone to get killed in this rite of passage from winter to spring. Loosen the belt buckle, crack open the wine, and let’s go. One last winter binge and I’ll be officially ready for spring.

While in spring cleaning mode, I'll unload the last of my winter pictures too..

a wild deer spots me

Moments before the ice broke

François making tire for the kids

creamy pea and nettle soup

pea and nettle soup with smoked ham and maple sap foam

char, cured and smoked with root veg remoulade and pickled buds

Quail, wild ginger maple sauce, sesame soba noodles and quail egg (poached in maple sap)

Balsamic-Maple glazed duck, mini cassoulet

just about the last of the root veg

A pretty winter soup: beet, cabbage and foie gras ravioli

cooking ham

rabbit two ways, root veg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

venison, wheatberry mushroom risotto

melting the snow

Looking ahead to spring:

My menu this week (April 19th) shows a lighter touch, a whiff of spring in the air.  I am planning a full fledged spring festival menu for the two first weeks of May.  You can also view that here; I will be announcing it this week.

http://soupnancy.squarespace.com/display/ShowFiles?moduleId=1746648&directoryId=244758&SSScrollPosition=0

For Easter: Eggs and God

Easter usually means that spring is in the air, but this year, we’re not quite there yet. It somehow seems premature to jump on the spring bandwagon and cook what the food media dictates to be Easter fare. We’re a long way from local peas, asparagus and ramps; hell the maple season is barely upon us (all that snow needs to melt away from the trees before the sap can run). I’m still plugging away with my root veg and put up wild greens, but I do have a ham curing, some fresh rabbit and a big block of Martin Guilbault’s Terre Promise cheese to play with, can’t complain.

Easter is a celebration for most people, but with different religious traditions (or lack there of), it means something different to everyone otherwise. To me, it has always been above all, a time to be thankful for and to celebrate the egg in all its fabulousness! See my previous post, ‘My Easter Ode to the Egg’ http://soupnancy.squarespace.com/blog-journalessays/2007/4/6/my-easter-egg.html

my duck eggs

In honour of the egg in all its forms, I invite you to view an egg slide show to get to know some more good eggs.. http://www.gourmet.com/food/2008/03/eggslideshow

And if you’re cooking something for Easter, maybe consider an egg dish..

Some of my favourites in what’s cooking.. http://soupnancy.squarespace.com/whats-cooking-recipes/

Now to my egg epiphany! More precisely, I happened upon a moment of clarity thanks to the egg, as I was cooking up a MEP storm on Good Friday listening to CBC. Gospel music was playing while I cracked my eggs for a bread pudding (with wintergreen, chocolate and wild berries).. I paused to bow to the egg, true to my Easter tradition of egg appreciation, but then I couldn’t help but think that no matter how wonderful the egg is, Easter could/should mean much more to me. After all, I am a minister’s daughter who never goes to church and has a hard time remembering what all the hoopla is supposed to be about besides lamb, ham, turkey and chocolate. So, I got to contemplating God, religion and the universe; the eggs lead me there.

You see, MY GOD IS AN EGG, a magnificent artisanal cheese, a biodynamic wine, a perfect ham. My god is real food pulled from the earth, the alchemy of cooking, a sublime taste, the uplifting scent of wild flowers, the soothing, energizing warmth of a hearth.. Anything that can yank me out of my body, profoundly touch me with awe, turn me to putty and I don’t quite know why. My god is in the marvel of childbirth, the dawn of a new season, a bird in flight, the absolute peace found in nature. My god is the harmony of an orchestra, the bliss of a good meal with friends, the comfort of a meaningful exchange or embrace. It’s the exaltation of being struck by beauty, moved by art, connecting with words, or being high on life. My god is the whole truth, the missing link; my god is love, grace, serenity and hope. My god is care, thoughtfulness and trust, the glory of giving all of oneself, feeling gratitude, being humbled, feeling lucky, honouring integrity. It is the power to create, to receive, to dance. My god is also the sound of an anthem in a crowd, what I feel in a church and at the hockey arena; and definitely, my god is all of Leonard Cohen’s hallelujahs.

My god is a real force, but not a being in our image, not a ‘he’ or a ‘she’ or a ‘Jesus’ or a ‘Mohammed’, not even a higher power. My god is all that is beyond our grasp, what eludes science and all our constructs. It is the struggle between good and bad in all of us, the intangible, and the inexplicable. It is soul, intuition, faith, hope, healing, instinct, and the placebo effect. It is what we refer to as nuance or ‘je ne sais quoi’, it is what makes a carrot healthier than the sum of its nutrient parts. It is what makes people use words like wow!, fate, soul-mate, spirituality, karma, guardian angel or devil.

My god is all that we inherently know to be important and true but don’t and maybe can’t know; it’s the thread that binds us.

I am surprisingly fine with this kind of all encompassing and impossible-to-pinpoint god, mainly because life has taught me the limits of our human design. The study of cooking, biochemistry, anthropology, math, physics, chemistry, philosophy, art, etc., not to mention the school of real life and hard knocks all offer up some incomplete truth.. They are all legitimate paths that eventually require us to take a leap of faith, to accept something or just believe because it feels right. We all instinctively know there’s something more. We need a god, so we find one however we can, bring it into our heart (or let it free), put one foot in front of the other, hopefully do some good and sleep better at night.

I’m not sure about that last one, but still.. Some kind of belief system can be a settling and powerful thing. Besides, I hear it’s very positive for longevity and for the community. I also hear that meditating is the end all, but I can’t do it for the life of me. Let’s just say that I am not spiritually predisposed. I never cared what happened in other solar systems or where we go when we die; to me there is so much right here-right now to figure out - priorities right? Nor am I puzzled by the fact that life isn’t fair. It doesn’t bother me that we might have originated from a random explosion of elements and that everything about our life is random. I am all for positive thinking, but I always felt that praying was kind of bogus and weak.

Nonetheless, I do have my questions. Being a student of the sciences before anything else, I once thought math could explain everything, and I was way too logical to ever be open to the idea of gods, angels, out of body experiences, psychics, or even psychology for that matter.. The ultimate power of nature, the success of biodynamics are parallel examples that may have recently helped awaken me. Listening to a scientist (labelled quack) named Rubert Sheldrake on Ideas positing a force field that connects all living things was a tipping point (something else!) for me. Maybe a lot can yet be explained by science, but my gut tells me that there will be no end; we will never really ‘get it’. I know enough to know I know nothing. What I think and feel now is as good as anything.

I’m nowhere near reading horoscopes, but now that life as a cook has brought me in closer touch with my senses and to natural phenomena, I now tend to take my brain less seriously, and am more sensitive to all kinds of inputs. As a result, I feel an octave more alive, like I’m able to see things more clearly and believe more freely. I am ripe for a god of sorts. I no longer need to understand everything, but I do still need to compartmentalize my experience, to rationalize faith, and really, I just need to address the elephant in the room for once and for all. Let me call it God.

Heavy stuff you might say. I, on the other hand, feel light as a feather. I’ve rarely had such a good day cooking.. The bottom line is that appreciating an egg is taking one step closer to God. Happy Easter!

Favourite Tastes and Smells: Making my list and checking it twice..

The other day, much to my delight, someone asked me what my favourite foods were. I got thinking.. so many things came to mind, it was overwhelming. I focused more carefully, tasting in my head, categorizing, prioritizing, and continuously revising my list. Days after I had answered that straightforward question, I was still in the process, hanging on to the pure pleasure of it. Although it is obvious that food is perpetually on my mind, the truth is I don’t indulge in so much food porn these days, my official list hadn’t been updated in my while. In real life, the simple question of what your favourites are is something that only really comes up when you’re getting to know a new boyfriend or maybe a new friend who is a foodie.. In any case, it’s a great conversation to have, even if it’s only with yourself. As the famous saying goes, ‘an unexamined life isn’t worth living’, right? Reminding yourself of the things you love underlines that love, and the good life in general.  It's good karma to be grateful. 

So go for it. Think happy thoughts. What are your favourites?

New tastes may come along all the time, but it takes a while and many hits before one can make the top ten, so for most of us, the foods we identify with the most lean towards old-time comfort foods. As I discussed in my Falling in and out of love piece not too long ago, I’m less easily seduced by the new, fancy and trendy these days, and so mine are mostly on the humble side too : Arroche de mer (sea spinach) with garlic, tomatoes with olive oil and fresh ricotta on black bread, any good bread and butter, old fashioned ham, grilled cheese, BLT, sausage sandwich with choucroute or any good sandwich in fact (even cucumber sandwiches on white bread), green olives, pickles, caponata, scrambled eggs, rice pilaf, fried rice or steamed rice with egg and garnishes, Peking duck, duck confit, consommé, tonkinese soup, nordic shrimp, garlic and chilli pasta with smoked duck, poutine, eggplant curry, buckwheat crepes, caviar, blueberries, almond croissants, black licorice, coffee..

Seeing that I was having so much fun with this, after deciding on my favourite tastes, it only seemed natural to progress to my favourite smells. Memorable tastes are unique, complex things, all built on multiple sensory and mental inputs, and inseparable from our life experience. Smell is something slightly more elemental, although just as closely associated with life experience, and complex in itself (every identifiable scent comprising hundreds of chemical compounds). But still, taste is smell and then some. One’s favourite smells should be an even more personal thing then, closer to our true identity. I wanted to dig deeper.  And I enjoy making lists, can you tell?

I really only got going later on that night.  You see, lately I have been haunted by phantom smells when in an otherwise odour free zone, often when suffering from insomnia. When my mind is being its hyperactive self, it seems that my nose neurons have decided to join the party. One night, lying in bed, I could smell roast chicken like I had one coming out of the oven next to my bed. Weird, I know, especially that I don’t even particularly love chicken (but I had walked through a chicken cloud that day). Sometimes, odours stick with me. In any case, here, instead of counting sheep to coax myself towards sleep, I decided to try to make myself conjure up my favourite scents to forget about the chicken, which got me back to my favourites list making.

The scents I was after: Fresh coriander. Fresh wild ginger (think Thrills gum). Fresh air (ie. Laundry off the clothesline or the smell of your kids when they come in from playing outside). Wait, these are all in the revitalizing category (which I didn’t necessarily need to bring up at this point), but to be fair, they are my tops.. Then there’s Woodsmoke. Forest floor. Lavender. Vanilla (but only a real pod infusing in cream). Fennel braising. Sweet peppers roasting. A ripe melon, a ripe peach. Citrus peel. Black peppercorn. Green tomato plant smell. Porcini, most boletus in dried form. Bacon in the skillet and coffee brewing. A young wine, a good Beaujolais or Burgundy.  Green tea incense (my only fake smell). Ok maybe not, there’s magic markers and just about every men’s cologne on the market.

I could go on forever with the smells I love, I am just so touched by my sense of smell. Of course, that means I can’t ignore the many smells I hate, although this imagery can’t be good for my sleep either: rotten potato, valerian, veal stock, sour vegetables, sumac, seal meat or seal boots, manure, frying oil (McDonalds and co.), the corner of Decarie and Sherbrooke (which combines that old fryer oil smell and that of gas), mothballs, mildew, patchouli, bleach, new car interior..

Ok enough. I’m beginning to feel a little indulgent and childish with this endless exercise. Fun stuff though, (lower) brain candy for a foodie. Not necessarily a successful sleep aid, but a good daydream and break from the more challenging, heavier thoughts of real life as a grown up.. I better get back to that upper brain stuff for now.

My friend Nathalie was going on nostalgically about shelling peanuts and it struck a chord.  More than just Peanuts: 

http://foodwithapoint.squarespace.com/journal/more-than-just-peanuts.html 

I would have left a comment there if I could have, instead I'm posting here.. 

Her peanut post resonated with me because I've been through the same over the years in rediscovering the most basic of things.  It is really kind of crazy that we've forgotten that peanuts normally need to be shelled, that chicken breasts come from a whole bird, that oranges and chocolate come from hard labour afar and so therefore should be a treat.. (not so with our parents, who we thought were so backward). 

This is all because we're now used to life in the fast lane where we want everything easy, convenient (and paradoxically more expensive..)  Then again, as her story attests, it doesn't take much to wake people up..  Cracking open some nuts, making something in the kitchen from scratch, visiting a table champêtre where you see your meal from farm to table, all to realize a basic truth beyond nostalgia - that that's the way it was always supposed to be. (And very similar to what our parents or grandparents knew). 

People wouldn't be so fat if they had to shell their own nuts or deep fry their own potatoes, and they would surely eat less meat if they were close to the process (ie raising or hunting the animals or at least paying the fair price for wholesome meat).  So like she said about peanuts, I encourage people to slow down and do the old school thing, but all round..  When every bite is more earned (because you worked for it) or more meaningful (because you made it from a family recipe or got the ingredients from artisans you know), or just more fresh (because you peeled the nuts yourself or got your meat or veg from the farm), for sure it will taste better.  Then, it's not even about nostalgia or romanticism, it's better because it's the real thing. 

I can't imagine how anyone who stops long enough to think or taste would want to live life any other way.  And certainly, the more that people choose to eat real food, the less difficult it will be to live life that way, even in the city.  I'm not saying it's the end of the world if you buy a few déjà shucked nuts because you're on the run or for a recipe, but only realizing that it shouldn't be the norm is something.  We have the luxury here to not be always thinking about where our food comes from, but I don't think it should ever be too far from our thoughts - it's just not natural, ethical or tasty.

BTW, François, like my Dad, has always eaten nuts out of the shell, a nut cracker always handy.  One of the reasons I love him.

Falling in and out of love with foods..

Amy Sherman’s post about a fellow blogger Breaking up with Butternut made me chuckle. http://www.epicurious.com/articlesguides/blogs/editor/2008/02/breaking-up-wit.html?mbid=rss_epilog It’s nice to know that other cooks and foodies go through the same thing as me.. I too left the butternut for a short time when I met all his super exciting cousins, but I came back.

I fall in and out of love with vegetables all the time. I just have too many loves to pay due respect to all of them regularly. I have my annual affairs with seasonal veg like sea asparagus and corn, and during the growing season, I switch lovers every other day. Then there are the new discoveries regularly coming into the picture to vie for my attention, while the humble steady friends inevitably get brushed aside or even dumped.

In winter, I settle down and have a chance to revisit with old friends. Lately, I have rekindled ties with cultivated mushrooms after being so caught up with the wild varieties for close to a decade. This year I’m back to my old roots (celery root and parsnip), not bowing down to the Jerusalem artichoke whenever he enters the room, and now that I’ve met ‘the potato guy’, I will never ever forget about potatoes again. I recently picked up again with peanuts, pine nuts and cashews (in that order) after being so devoted to the almond for years. With my fresh coco, fava and edaname put up for the winter, I had almost forgotten about dried beans, which are perfect for a winter cassoulet, accompaniment or hearty soup. I’m still in a lBasmati phase, while Jasmine and an Indonesian long grain I once loved wait in line, the short, medium, black and sticky way at the back, almost forgotten. If I didn’t make the occasional risotto for clients, my carnaroli might be history.

I go through the same routine with vinegars and oils. I fell out of love with balsamic vinegar ages ago, favouring a good sherry vinegar or cider vinegar, until I was charmed by a certain one that I began using everywhere. I was then inspired to make my own simile version with wild grapes, and I’m back to using all of my favourite vinegars equally; they each have their specific role in my life. The same goes with finishing oils, sea salts, spices and herbs, meat and fish –all foodstuffs in fact, even wines and restaurants. I dabble here and there, changing favourites in cycles, adding new ones, ditching others. There is temptation everywhere, and a little promiscuity and experimentation with new kids on the block is a necessary part of a culinary life worth living. Some infatuations fade fast, others linger on to become a part of the family. I have less room in my pantry and on my menu than in my heart, so the less versatile, less than stellar ingredients must get the boot.

Industrial chicken and beef are long gone, never to be missed. Flavoured vinegar, caper berries, avocado, pine nut and hempseed oil, as well as most exotic fruit were all once bright, shiny and enticing, but didn’t last long in my kitchen. Asparagus is only beautiful for a month or two of the year, I easily forget about it the rest of the year. But I could never break up with the tomato (only move from variety to variety or from grower to grower). I can’t imagine ever leaving the Muscovy duck for another bird, or French shallots for any other allium. Wild ginger and crinkleroot (wild horseradish) will be with me forever, but so will regular ginger root and horseradish; they are so different, I need them all. Most edible flowers no longer hold much appeal except for nasturtium and elderberry. Sea spinach, chanterelles and porcini I will always hold dear. No matter how eco I try to be, I can't imagine ever letting go of my lemons, my roasted almonds or my favourite olive oil. 

No matter how good you have it, monogamy can get boring. Because my everyday is all about cooking with wild and local ingredients, I can occasionally be easily seduced by something common and bland like Boston lettuce, or some exotic imported treat (like a Roquefort or Comté..as opposed to a Quebec cheese) for a short fling.. It’s the greedy ‘grass is always greener’ phenomenon mixed with endless curiosity and appetite.

Of course, I can’t help but be intrigued by something new I read about or taste. Ruth Reichl was talking about this mini tangerine that Alice Waters brought her that made my mouth water. Heirloom varieties of bean, apple or tomato make me dreamy, as I imagine an even better bean, apple or tomato than the ones I know. As if I need more pig love, I’m dying to try true gianciale, an Italian cured pork charcuterie that is key to Pasta Allamatriciana which I’ve unwittingly always made with bacon or pancetta. Apparently in the Middle east , India and Greece , they eat a form of salted, dried yogurt – sounds yummy; how different from feta is it I wonder? VJ Vikram makes a braised goat dish with ajwain and kalongi curry, which I’ve never heard of – now there’s something to explore.. Then there are all the ‘molecular gastronomy’ powders and techniques that I’ve barely experimented with. You see how many thoughts of new tastes have me twitching?

There are new things on the market all the time, and more foodie talk circulating than ever about ‘new this’ and ‘must try’ that. So it’s only normal that so much breaking up is going on, that old favourites are being forgotten in favour of the latest flavour. Even if I’m still a bit of a ‘gidoune’, I think I’m on an opposite path, a slightly more loyal one. I’m obviously still into travelling and evolving taste-wise, but I’m less and less interested in food gossip and slower to jump on the new food trend bandwagon than before. I haven’t even tasted Kobe beef yet if you can believe it. Part of my slowing down has to do with more time in the country and my locavore leaning, part of it is just growing up. I’ve already had many adventurous eating and cooking years and too many flings. Sea urchin, tomatillo, Meyer lemon, smoked paprika, bison, goose liver, agar agar, tonka bean and molecular gastronomy are all examples of prior relationships that although fun, turned out to be fleeting. I might be happy to meet up with them again for a brief encounter, but I can live without them, mainly because I have enough right here to explore and keep me stimulated.

And so with time, and so much coming back to exes after break-ups, I have come to value my closest, dearest companion ingredients the most, and learned not to take them for granted. I have gotten to know myself, have grown more selective and am less likely to be wooed by what’s new, trendy, rare or expensive. I wouldn’t break up with home-grown boletus for truffle or morels just because the food snobs deem them superior. I wouldn’t substitute Nordic shrimp for any other more ‘noble’ crustacean, or snow crab in season for any other crab just because ‘they’ say it’s bigger and better. I am fiercely loyal to our Atlantic Malpeque style oysters, regardless of how many flashy Pacific and European stars are touted on menus about town. I don’t care to taste another kind of salt, I have my five favourites, more than enough for all purposes, and if I want to add a flavour, I will do it myself thank you. After flirting with every kind of basil or mint out there, I’m back to the classic peppermint. I don’t need another thyme besides the English one. I’ve realized that for every twenty things that come out, one might potentially have staying power.

You only find true love by really living, which means trying and tasting with an open mind. Luckily with food, many lovers are allowed, and they will always have you back after a tryst with some young hot thing. In any case, the really good things, whether old or new, stand the test of time and continue to charm for years. While some come and go, others become as essential to your well being as air, water, sleep and coffee in the morning.

The Elements of cooking

January 2008

Michael Ruhlman has a new book out called ‘Elements of cooking’ with a blog to accompany it. blog.ruhlman.com/elements_of_cooking/ It’s all about the basic principles of cooking, as in let’s put the recipes aside and try to understand what’s going on. I love that approach, and I think it’s especially relevant these days in the era of flashy food TV, when foodies are heading to the kitchen armed with star chef signature recipes and no hand me down knowledge from their grandmas. The emphasis in the food media is on the recipe, like that’s all it takes to turn out a successful dish. Even professional cooks themselves are busy getting carried away with new techniques while young cooks are leaving school without knowing how many millilitres are in a cup, focused on creating or on how fast they can chop. Just about everyone has lost sight of the basics.

But the beauty about the basics is that once equipped with a certain understanding of them, you rarely need a recipe for more than inspiration, you are liberated, and better equipped to play around, to troubleshoot when something goes wrong. And for the professional, a look back to the basics is only a good reminder tool to help make sense of all the new stuff going on. The oft overlooked underbelly of fine cuisine is the unglamorous, ‘boring’ study of the elements, essential to any cook.

So, yes – let’s study water as a vehicle and cooking medium and let’s talk about the ‘aromats’, the common building blocks of soups, sauces and braises. Let’s review the different kinds of cooking methods, the different cuts of meat, let’s delve into the process of thickening things and emulsifying things. Harold McGee’s article in the Times about heat (the invisible ingredient) is another perfect example of some basic information more helpful to any home cook than some fancy recipe.. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/02/dining/02curi.html?_r=1&ex=1357102800&en=8a147e3904430a08&ei=5089&partner=rssyahoo&emc=rss&oref=slogin

Breaking things down into the elements, we can look at the properties of ingredients and pick apart basic technique, but in effect all we are doing is drawing on what generations past have done, and allowing science, as it slowly catches up, to qualify it some. In our imperfect grasp of food and cooking phenomena, knowledge of the classics or culinary history in general is still key, science secondary. Knowing that something has been done for hundreds of years a certain way does have some merit, which doesn’t mean we can’t dissect it, try to understand it and riff on it. With empowered superchefs and molecular gastronomy the rage, novelty and science are in the forefront, so tradition and history are easily sidelined, especially here where we have little tradition and history. Yes, every once and a while, there might be a true modern improvement or invention, but mostly we’re just revisiting the old with new eyes. The way I see it, keeping that tie to the past is a big part of what’s fundamental, and something that's become clear to me with time.

Of course, it’s natural that a cry for ‘the elements of cooking’ would strike a chord with me. As a cook with a scientific background, I’ve always been someone who is drawn to the how, the why - I ask questions. In my early days, even now, I read passionately. If I look to a recipe, I look at 20, I look for common threads, I draw my conclusions, form a mental master recipe of general guidelines before trying anything. I gobbled up Harold McGee’s ‘On food and cooking’ in 94 when it was the only thing out there on the science of food and cooking. I always gravitated towards general manuals over cookbooks, to publications like Cooks Illustrated over the flashier recipe dense magazines. I tackled the concepts before taking down crates of chicken or peeling tubs of potatoes, the opposite path of most cooks. But performing the menial tasks in a kitchen are just as important as grasping the elements, hence the common prejudice against the ‘theory’ side. But you just can’t turn out consistently good food or climb the ranks in a professional kitchen without both.

That said, I certainly didn’t move forward thanks to my speed and technical skills or any fancy French CV. Besides being organized and being a fighter (which every cook requires), my force has always been more idea based. My focus has always been on the big picture, and so slowly, a certain creativity and vision has come along with it, however immature. But I always knew that it was a knowledge of the basics, both in terms of science and tradition, that would enable me to see the links, to see that such and such is just a derivative of such and such, that an ingredient is flavouring and not a building block so that it can be changed, how to pick apart or create a recipe, etc.. Hence my mission of ‘Desperately Seeking Truth’ through constant reading and in my need to go commando in the kitchen. It’s all an effort to clear up some of the fuzz in my big picture, to connect more dots, to find another piece to the puzzle. And to have a better ally when trying new things, a bridge between the old and the new..

I’ve noticed that when I stray too far from planet earth by getting too experimental and flaunting or forgetting some basic principle, it inevitably backfires and I resurface feeling stupid. I am personally somewhat of a schizophrenic in that I jump forward wanting to try it all, and then I back up and cherish the old ways. I’m dying to make spheres out of beet-wild ginger juice, wanting to push limits; then again, I’m very into lying down next to Escoffier. I love tradition and simple food, but I love stretching the brain and tasting new things. I go through my push-pull phases, always playing around, rarely doing the same thing twice, making up recipes when I could easily follow something tried and true. Then again, I want the focus to remain on taste in my cooking, and on the products we have, not on any of my kitchen antics. Nonetheless, within every freshly executed dish or unscripted kitchen exploit, eventful or not, lie a few kernels of truth to add to my arsenal of cooking knowledge, a line or two to draw on my map. You see, a reverence for the elements of cooking keeps me grounded while spurring me on to new challenges, truths and tastes.

In contrast, following recipes blindly doesn’t offer anything beyond a crapshoot at something edible. It is actual cooking, critical thinking and paying attention to the principles at play that make for real progress and satisfying time in the kitchen.

So, next time you find yourself tackling a recipe for which you don’t have all the ingredients or the proper equipment, plough forward anyway, use your head and learn from it. When you pick up a cookbook, take the time to read the background information on the recipe if its there. Repeat the same recipe a few times with alterations in ingredients or technique, and see what happens. Try to free yourself from the fear of failure and the printed recipe by grasping on to the bottom line, or just by having fun.

On the other hand, if you are working the line in a kitchen, then just listen to the chef and think about it all later. Sometimes too, it doesn’t hurt to be forced to do something foreign to your own thinking if only to learn why you would never choose to do it the same way in the future.

Understanding everything is impossible, which is why cooking is so endlessly fascinating. Maybe understanding the elements is not everything, but trying to seems like a natural starting point and the eternal home base for cooks. It can prove an undeniably powerful tool, is definitely enriching, and not at all boring. It wouldn’t hurt all cooks to pay attention. I welcome more books like Ruhlman’s The Elements of Cooking to the culinary landscape.

There’s so much interesting stuff being published (along with the junk) these days – its overwhelming and heartening. Maybe one day, we’ll actually understand as much about food and cooking as we do about microchips and putting men on the moon.