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.

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

Habs fever all over the place!!

On the street

At the bank

Tricolore cake at the bank

At the Tavern

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 (most of which I despise).

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Mac

We've been together for 3 weeks now and I can't tell you how much I love him.  He's changed my life.  He's an 8" chef knife but with dimples.  He can do just about anything but heavy work, he's not great at boning, but since he came into the picture, I've barely touched another knife.  Slicing and dicing veg, carving meat, sushi - he kicks ass with super smooth style.  He's Japanese in origin, western in style, swift and light but very comfortable, with a hard, thin razor sharp blade.  I wasn't into Japanese until now.  No one touches him but me and I put him to bed in his box every night, which is something else for a brute like me.  Let's hope it lasts (the edge, us)..  And that he doesn't chop my finger off.

Regular chefs vs. Pastry chefs

I’m a regular ‘hot kitchen’ or ‘savoury’ chef who has worked alongside several pastry chefs from different backgrounds: Italian, French, Quebecois, some with classic training, others who were more home-baker types, young and old, medaled and not. I’ve admired them all, but still, I can’t help but notice the inherent fundamental difference between a true hot kitchen chef and a true pastry chef. I’m not talking about cooks who show up to punch their cards but the ones that live and breathe their vocation. Amongst these cooks, you see two groups: two callings, two people, two beasts. Between them, there is a contrast in temperament, in talent, in likes and dislikes.

I have long been intrigued by the difference between these two types of people and their intricate dynamic, having lived it, studied it and marvelled at it for so long up close. This is what I can say for now about what makes the hot and the cold sit at opposite ends of the food production spectrum.

Pastry chefs need to measure. Cooks hate to.

Pastry chefs operate in MEP mode. Cooks more often than not are under the gun.

Pastry chefs don’t like to have to move at a fast pace, or improvise too much, they do anything to not be ‘in the juice’. Cooks need to fly, are always ‘in the juice’ and get off on it.

Pastry chefs find finicky, monotonous tasks satisfying and soothing. Cooks find them a boring bother.

Pastry chefs like early mornings. Cooks don’t.

Pastry chefs hate yelling. Cooks are used to it. (But you never really need to raise your voice in a pastry kitchen because the bulk of the work is done before hand, where as in the hot kitchen, it is all about à la minute.)

Pastry cooks are soft and fuzzy. Cooks are hard and gritty.

Pastry chefs are polite. Cooks are brutes.

Pastry chefs strive to be Zen. Cooks should, but they’re off the hook and they like it that way.

Pastry chefs show restraint. Cooks tend to excess.

Pastry cooks are always organized and meticulous. Cooks need to be, but it’s more of a stretch, hence they need more discipline.

Pastry chefs are more esthetical, they tend to think more about the look than the taste. So often, they are thinner. And their homes don’t look like cooks’ homes (designer decorated vs. student apartment).

Cooks taste. Pastry chefs don’t.

Cooks smell like veal stock, grease and garlic. Pastry chefs smell sweet.

Pastry chefs have more evenings off. Cooks are jealous of that.

Pastry chefs think they are superior beings. Cooks think they are superior beings.

Tied at the hip in a love-hate relationship, with a lot of mutual respect for each other deep down, they/we still live in separate worlds. We both know a little about the other, having learnt the basics about the adjacent school, and are vaguely interested in the other if only to taste each other’s offerings. We work side by side, share and joke around, occasionally party together, but often get on each other’s nerves. There’s a rivalry between cooks and bakers, just a notch lower than that between waiters and kitchen staff. In face of the other side, we stick together, but amongst ourselves, there are two camps, continually badgering the other, more for amusement’s sake than anything. We swap veal cheeks for donuts; we jump in to help each other out, but laugh at the other’s gaffes over staff meal.

Of course, a good pastry chef can be a good cook and vice versa, if the interest is there. But, in my experience, most often this isn’t the case, especially if a person is really good at one or the other. I find that the better the pastry chef, the least likely they are to be the chef type and vice versa. Understandably, the top guns aren’t usually interested in the other side and they don’t have the time if they’re busy climbing one ladder or the other. Those that are good at both are most valuable to a small kitchen, but we don’t hear about them often. In the upper echelons of the profession, in a high end kitchen or a big operation, Pastry and Hot are necessarily two very different fields.

However different, with modern trends blurring the lines between sweet and savoury, it seems that more than ever, the two should be working together, even outside the small restaurant scenario. The dessert, no longer just a finale, is morphing, multiplying and encroaching into savoury territory on tasting menus, salt and pepper and carrots and balsamic vinegar are showing up in desserts, while chocolate and gingerbread are now common in entrées. We’re more intertwined then ever, and it seems insensible to ignore the other. I suspect that the in-between type might flourish in the upcoming years.

Personally no longer part of a big brigade, I have no choice but to pay attention to and nurture my sweet side. As a savoury cook first, I sometimes find pastry to be a chore, especially if I’m swamped and feel like I could be doing ten other things while I painstakingly roll out butter dough. But at the same time, I think it is important to keep my fingers in the flour. It would go against every molecule in me to order them from the outside, and besides, it’s an endless source of challenge, not to mention humility. I think that a really good cook should be able to bake something, and I think that a person should struggle every once and a while. My pastry dabbling also means that I am not ultimately dependent on anyone, as dessert is an important part of the meal to most. On the other hand, I am more than happy to let a real pastry chef take over when it’s time, say for a wedding, a buffet centerpiece or when I need technical help in transforming a new idea into a plated dessert that doesn’t look like a kid made it . I now collaborate often with a queen (Isabelle Sauriol), who gives me the odd tip, and is big enough to serve my homemade desserts without scorn, making them look better then I ever could. Ironically, she is also one of the few real pastry chefs that can also cook, probably because she has an unbridled curiosity and passion for food. Patrice Demers, Montreal’s hottest young pastry chef (at Laloux, formerly of Les Chèvres) knows how to cook too. Funny enough, he fell into pastry first because the cooking class was full the year he tried to enroll. Maybe some things were meant to be after all.

Generally though, I do think we cooks and pastry people are two different personalities yet cut from the same cloth, like non-identical twins. We love each other but love to assert our individuality and we love to scrap. But we’re definitely two different animals. And like a good balance of girls and guys makes for a better kitchen dynamic, a good balance of hot and cold chef types can make a food team work magic. Here’s to them and to us, to salty and sweet, to hot and cold, to contrasts and extremes, to balance and harmony.. We need eachother and we can do so much together in the name of good taste and good fun.. Cheers.

Jo the stuffer

Chantale and Jo on a roll

sanglichon sausage with black trumpets and cèpe gelée

having fun with sausageI love sausage. I’ve never been a huge meat eater, but I can’t live without all the derivatives, like broth and sauce, the drippings of a roast or sauté, the enticing aromas of a braise, and of course, the nasty bits that make SAUSAGE.

There is something so sexy about charcuterie - the salting, the curing, the occasional smoke, the tactile kneading, stuffing and filling, the tease of waiting for the final result.. There’s the thrill associated with the alchemy at play in the transformation of humble scraps into something exquisite.

Apart from some basic rules you must follow, there’s a major dose of magic and mystery in the process, from finding the proper ratio of flesh to fat to seasonings, to the right temperature and humidity in order to favour the right enzymes, bacteria and molds. You can delve into the romance and history of a regional specialty and try to recreate a traditional recipe, or you can go commando and be as creative as you dare. When it works – wow. At its best, you are rewarded with beautiful firm links to hold and behold that deliver a heady, complex taste you can savour for weeks, or even months. A stash of charcuterie allows you to throw together a gourmet snack or meal in a heartbeat. There’s nothing like a bit of pancetta or chorizo to make a fad dish sing.

I would choose sausage and all its cousins over filet mignon any day. There are all the magnificent hams like Proscuitto di Parma or Serrano (that merit a love-in of their own), patés, terrines and mousses. Strictly speaking sausage, there’s chorizo, merguez, saucisson sec of all kinds (calabrese, rosette, etc.), there’s mortadella, and andouille in all its versions. Come to think of it, I have never tasted a ham or sausage I didn’t like, except for a low-fat lamb-liver concoction once.

I’ve always been drawn to store fronts where sausages dangle, to cold buffets, to antipasto plates, and to sausage books. I find perusing mouth-watering pictures of sparkling sausage and the detailed technique involved incredibly titillating.

And I’ve always wanted to be invited to a sausage party (I’ve only heard of them), but then again, the cleanliness - hygiene aspect, or lack of control thereof, with hoards of people, drinks flowing, a lack of space, and hence possible contamination (all very important considerations in the making of sausage) would probably bad buzz me..

Over the course of my life as a chef, I’ve made sausage here and there - on the job, experimenting at home, I’ve even taken a course.. So, if you don’t count the loose variety, I’ve made sausage on average once or twice a year for 10 odd years. They’ve always turned out, but I’m hardly an expert, which is probably why the urge strikes any chance I think I can make the time, when challenge is beckoning.

So with my last sausage escapade a fading memory, some sanglichon to use up, a mushroom dinner event on the horizon, and a lot of energy coursing through my veins, I felt it was time to make sausage again.

I had forgotten how fun it could be. And how stressful it could be. It didn’t help that I planned it rather poorly, putting 10kg of meat to cure the day before a chaotic schedule with 50 customers booked (big for our shoebox of a resto) ..

The following day, I had no choice, the meat was waiting, and besides, I had extra staff with a stagiare on hand - no problem.

I gathered my meat (several shoulders), some scraps and fat back, cut them up into cubes and put them to cure separately. The rule is 15-20g of kosher salt per kg, with 1-2g of nitrate salt, 5g of seasonings.. Your fat ratio should be at least 30% and you have to make sure you keep your meat is cold. 4C is the upper limit, so -4C (half frozen) is a good place to start, with an ice bath to catch your finished ground meat or at least a quick chill between steps. The remaining specifics vary according to the kind of sausage. Some absolutely require nitrite salt (if they are not cooked), some are seasoned more if served cold, some are ground once or twice or even puréed and bound with an emulsifier. Some are cured and dried, others are cured, smoked and dried, and the simplest are just made fresh and cooked. There are as many recipes for sausage as for stew.. Following a recipe is a good idea, although I can’t seem to do it. A book I recommend is Ruhlman’s recent ‘Charcuterie’ for it’s straight forward explanations and gorgeous photos; it seems to be a good overview of the sausage world using slightly more seasoning than the traditional European recipes I am used to.

Anyhow, so I started by making a reduction of shallots, garlic and red wine, added my spices and mixed them in with the salt and meat. I put the fat in the freezer, my meat in our very cold walk-in, figuring that the next day, I would have an easy time of ensuring my overall mixture would be properly chilled. On the day, I assembled my wet seasonings: more wine, mustard, my sautéed mushrooms. We put the meat through the grinder (on medium) once, added the mushrooms and put it through again. Then we beat it vigorously with the wet seasonings, chilled it some more and started casing (hog’s casings).

That’s when the real fun started – the sausage talk.. It happens naturally as a couple of people start getting their latex covered hands dirty, digging into raw meat, stuffing, receiving and twisting. It takes communication and complicity between the stuffer and catcher for success, and it’s even more fun if a few others are there on the sidelines coaching and being vocal spectators. I was directing the show in all seriousness, hopping in from time to time making sure the kids (Jo, Chantale and Sylvain) got it right, but I couldn’t help but get caught up in the silliness of it all as everyone cracked up at what I was saying, shouting out rebuttal. When you’re doing sausage, the discourse inevitably turns juvenile, at times crude; in fact it was side-splittingly funny for hours.. ‘No, slower, faster, hold it tight, loosen up, you’re too nervous, relax, pay attention, stop thinking too much, feel it, be gentle, you’re going too fast, woah that’s big and hard, wait it’s overflowing, ok now you’ve got it, go go – we’re on a roll, you’re good, we’re good, are you getting tired, don’t stop now we’re almost there..’ You can imagine the rest. In French, it’s much better. It got even juicier with the second batch late at night after service when the wine was flowing.. I couldn’t help but chuckle at customers who might be overhearing the kitchen antics not seeing what was actually going on. It certainly sounded like we were doing a lot more than just making sausage and cleaning up.

The final outcome of our tryst besides a good time: 10kg of less than perfect sausage, and very expensive sausage at that when you count the food cost and labour. The seasoning was spot on though, I couldn’t be happier with that. It was the texture that was disappointing; it was on the dry side. I should have mixed in pork instead of going with straight sanglichon, more fat surely wouldn’t have hurt. Maybe I should have used more liquid and beat it more or used an emulsifier binder, some powdered milk or something. I had always had stellar results before when I was being less meticulous (and probably less cocky too).

Oh well, it was worth it. But now, I can’t wait to go again. This time, I’ll pick a rainy day and use more fat. And I’ll definitely make a party of it, sausage calls for it.

At the Mercy of Nature

Wild mushrooms drive the point home

September 17, 2007

shaggy mane

lepiote lisse

lepiote élevée

larch boletus

In this era of climate change, more of us are starting to wake up to the notion that we are at the mercy of nature. This is something that farmers, winemakers and foragers have always intimately known, and so the best have learnt to respect nature and work with it the best they can. With every season, they find new optimism and pick up a few new tricks, never quite knowing exactly what’s in store. I admire them.

These days, my life as a chef with a set of principles relies increasingly on the bounty in our backyard. With the growing season peaking, this has not been a problem for some time. Now however, the thermometer is dropping and we have a menu event featuring 20 odd kinds of wild mushrooms just weeks away, and so my anxiety with regards to what nature will provide in the last breaths of summer is climbing.

Mushrooms are more unpredictable than anything. I reckon therein lies the spell they hold on foragers and mushroom lovers alike. They are so beautiful, delicious and impossibly difficult to get to know well, always playing hard to get. And no matter how many books you read, or how much time you spend in the forest, you are always one careless step away from being a goner.

That is, if you can find them. This has been a dreadful year for most wild mushroom varieties in and around Montreal . Further north in the Laurentians and in the Mauricie, they seem to have had marginally better luck. Pickers in the Charelevoix and the Gaspesie on the other hand, can’t keep up.

I have plenty of chanterelles and pine mushrooms, a good amount of lobster mushrooms, and assorted boletus. But I’m still waiting for substantial quantities of hedgehog, porcini, puffball and fairy ring.. The oysters, the blue-foots, among others have yet to come into season.. Will they? Will we find them? If anyone can locate them, my François can, but he can’t be everywhere at once and the clock is ticking.. He seems confident that nature will cooperate, but I can’t help but wonder, having witnessed by now how magic mushrooms can be indeed.

So to me, the wild mushroom seems to be the perfect metaphor for the mysterious ways of nature as we live them. It’s a food we can hardly understand, that we can barely cultivate. We’re seduced by it, but scared of it. It’s one of the last examples of nature exercising its power over us. We’ve dabbled just about everywhere we could in our natural landscape, but just when we think we understand something, we try and exert control, at which point nature eventually surprises us. For example, super bugs and antibiotic resistant bacteria, global warming and climate change, industrial food and obesity, to name a few..

Being in mushroom desperation mode, I am in my own personal face-off with Mother Nature and I must bow down and acknowledge the fact that I can’t control the outcome too much. Being so involved with planet earth and the unknown makes me feel like I’m living life in its essence, but it’s exhausting for a worry-wart like me. It would be so much easier to tone down my menu and just order up what I need from miles away.  All I can do is be organized so that I’m ready for anything, and I need to do what I can to liberate François, the real forager, so that he can go out and gather whatever Nature has decided to give us. I need to change my menu according to the finds. But mainly in the mean time, I need to have faith.

There is still a thread of the city girl in me that wants what I want now, nice and conveniently clean and ready to use, but it's wearing thin. Going on eight years in the country now, cooking with the seasons and frequenting grounded types, I've changed into someone who values everything but, and chooses to be at the mercy of nature; it's almost a religion.  My tie to nature, my new reverence for it, and associated requirement for faith all remind me of exactly that. I think this is the closest to feeling ‘God’ that an agnostic can muster. Not unlike what I sensed studying the upper echelons of calculus and biochemistry. To be wowed by a beauty you have the slightest grasp on, to sense a governing omnipresence that you deem in your best interest to worship, to feel like a small part of something much larger and more magnificent, to feel the need to have faith, and to feel better for it.

Even if it’s all about ‘fancy’ food here, living this dance with nature feels important and necessary as a human bean in the grand scheme of things. I also can’t help but feel closer to our ancestors who devoted most of their waking hours to securing their food at the mercy of nature.  And I feel like I've shed a childish or superficial layer or two. 

I lose that connected feeling when in the city too long. I love the city - the people, the stimuli, the freedom, but it can also be decadent and unhealthy. Besides having too many places to go and too many indulgences at my fingertips, it’s more about how easy it is to lapse into a detached state, where I feel grateful and awed less often, more impatient and preoccupied with things that don’t really matter, like traffic. I know it’s time to get back to the country when I forget to stop and smell the flowers, when it makes equal sense to eat a mango as it does an apple in September, or to use a small tree’s worth of firewood without seeing that empty space.. Or when I’m too far to know if Nature is giving me a bounty of mushrooms to cook up..

puffballs!

cèpes (porcini)

François et les chanterelles en tubes

lactaires delicieux

pieds de mouton (hedge hog)

armillaire (pine mushroom)

Stéphanie et les lobsters

If you are interested in our wild mushroom dinner event at La Table des Jardins Sauvages starting October 18th, please visit www.jardinssauvages.com, or view the menu here  http://soupnancy.squarespace.com/recipes-/ and call 450-588-5125.

September 3, 2007

Leonard Cohen taught me this about cooking:  Do not judge.  Just do your thing.  Try and please the person on the receiving end, the consumer of your art, whoever he or she is without any expectations of appreciation.

I think I do this naturally most of the time, but I needed to be reminded that this is the way it should be all the time.  It struck me as I was driving home listening to Leonard after a night of cooking for a bunch of yahoos, feeling exhausted and less than satisfied. As I cruised down the empty country roads, I got to rehashing the night and analysing the food, the customers, my performance and feelings. I pondered the importance of the target audience. Is there such a thing as cooking over people’s heads? And should I really care who I’m cooking for - if they’re doctors, farmers, hairdressers, foodies or among the food challenged? Don’t I just love to cook? Don’t I just love to make people happy? Which is most essential? And when it comes to experts, do they really know better anyway?

As I hummed along to ‘Everybody knows..’ and let all these ideas half consciously swirl around in my head, a certain clarity soon emerged about why I cook, and about the relationship between artist and audience, between host and guest in general. As usual, a few minutes with Leonard made me feel much better.

In the restaurant business, it is commonly accepted that most of the time, we are really cooking for a small segment of the population with our flourishes and fancy ingredients. Let’s say that 5 or 10% of your customers really know food and can tell the difference between Quebec lamb and New Zealand lamb, between consommé and a broth. Even fewer can understand the inspiration, the time involved or detect any complicated technique you pulled out of your hat..

Most chefs worth their salt naturally aim high anyway, wanting to select top notch ingredients and try new things regardless.. Like true artists, they worship beauty, are forever doing their best to push personal limits, and like true nurturers, they want to please no matter what. And it usually pays off if they’re good. Others cut corners and cook to the lowest common denominator, figuring it is a waste to spend resources cooking over the guests’ heads.

Cooks cuss clueless customers all the time. I don’t like to, and I feel like I’ve grown out of that, maybe thanks to the fact that I’ve largely been graced with good customers. But when cooking for a gang of country bumpkins on a bender like tonight, I too get the feeling I may be wasting my time and energy getting too elaborate with primo ingredients and all that extra TLC and professionalism. I couldn’t help but think that I could have served them slop and still gotten all those sloppy kisses as departing thank you’s.

Then again, my relationship with Leonard Cohen’s music made me realize that it is still possible to be touched profoundly by something without understanding every nuance. If I can listen and feel so much in his music despite my musical handicap, then there’s a good chance that some of the culinary inept crowd can thoroughly appreciate a gourmet meal without verbalizing it just so. (Not that I think I’m a Chef like Leonard is a poet by any means btw..)

They might not appreciate it exactly like someone in the business, or like a foodie might, understanding all the little details, but differently - based more on an overall impression, a more sensory or emotive response. ‘Is it yummy or not, did it move me or not?’ When I think of it, there can even be more magic that way.

I always loved music intensely because it elicited such an unexplainable, joyous response in me, precisely because I didn’t understand much about it and never had any musical talent. It was elusive and magical, beyond my reach, and thus so powerful. But a calibre musician would probably think that I could not fully appreciate his or her music, as an experienced chef might feel dismayed by an ignorant guest who doesn’t understand his or her food. I certainly don’t catch every little clever riff or innovation in a tune, but I couldn’t feel more pleasure or enjoy live music more than I do. Likewise, I know plenty of people (I can think of ex-boyfriends here) who love to eat but couldn’t care less if they taste the provenance of the olives or the perfect balance of flavours; they just know that it tastes great, and couldn’t be happier with their food.

Extra knowledge can heighten the experience no doubt, adding layers of appreciation, but it can also take away from the emotional response in the intellectual processing of it, which is why a connoisseur can be so much fussier and more difficult than a neophyte.

Whether it’s music or soufflé on the menu, I think that it all comes down to genuine interest and openness on the part of the recipient, and then skill and generosity on the part of the artist/giver for a successful communion. If you are attentive, eager and grateful of the offering as a taker, you are validating the product, which matters most to the giver. If he/she delivers and you like it, pleasure ensues. But you can like it intensely in a singular way, or the intensity can come from many levels of stimulation, all adding up to something equivalent. No matter how much you know, it’s all about how much you can have fun.

That’s really what it’s all about right. We all know that the best customers are the ones who are having fun no matter how damn smart or cultivated they are. But because fun is so different for everybody, obviously, we should refrain from underestimating the customer, and just be happy when they’re happy, and bothered if they’re not. Even if some ungrateful or uneducated eater thinks you just pulled the dish out of a drawer, they are still entitled to enjoy it however they like. They can ask for it well done or eat it with Baby Duck, while the couple at the next table is doing wine pairing with the finest from their cellar.

My own experience with snooty waiters dismissing me because I look young or perhaps poor, at least not like any kind of a connoisseur, just reinforces the notion of how crucial it is to be non-judgmental for me. And I can be a worthy Leonard Cohen fan too, like Joe Shmoe can be a worthy Ducasse fan. I will strive to do my best as a cook no matter who is at my table, as long as I hear laughter and mmm’s and ahh’s. Anything more is just bonus.

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Tomato bocconcini and wild greens, crinkleroot and balsamic

smoked duck, wild turkey rillettes, wild ginger and nasturtium

sea asparagus

wild ginger

Yay!

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