soupnancy

A comment from a recent review of our restaurant brought up a question that often comes to haunt François.

How can wild foods be considered a luxury? Aren't they out of place on a fine dining menu?  

Well, it depends how you define luxury, or what you consider as fine dining, I guess.  

Certainly, foraged food can be inexpensive, even free - if you have the land, the knowledge and the TIME to do it yourself.  But in this day and age, no one has much of either when it comes to getting down on your hands and knees in the woods.  Truffles are free too, if you happen to live in the ideal micro-climate, own a pig (or the right dog) and have nothing to do but scavenge for truffles.

In the old days, when fine dining wasn't even a phrase among common mortals, foraging was an essential and economical way to help feed the family. Like all the old school DIY homemaking skills and traditions, the use of wild edibles has become somewhat of a lost tool and art.  Along with artisanal everything that is old but becoming new again.  These are things our great-grandmothers did all day –  foraging and farming, butchering and cooking from scratch, making cheese, growing heirloom vegetables, composting and etc.  They were necessarily fully in tune with nature, totally connected to where their food came from. 

Thankfully, François’ family never stopped any of this. In fact, the only reason Jardins Sauvages exists is because he kept up what his ancestors were doing for long enough so that trends like Slowfood, and chefs into local, seasonal, fresh food eventually caught up to him.

There was never any marketing, any angle, or calculated, carved out business plan in his case.  However he happened to be making a living from his teenage years onward, he was always serving up the wild things on the side, naturally passionate about keeping his family’s foraging tradition alive and sharing, making people taste and smile.  He has never made any money to talk about doing it.  To the contrary, through the 90’s and for years afterwards servicing chefs, he struggled to make a living.  He carried on nonetheless, persistently exploring new ways to introduce people to his foraged treasures, causing his business to evolve and morph into what it is today.  I am only a part of the last chapter, but coming on ten years now around François, I know enough about the whole deal to size up the issues.

So I took offence along with him to that one little comment in the Voir article that implied that wild foods and haute cuisine (food that costs money) don’t mesh.  Although the write-up was fine (more about that later), the last matter-of-fact statement about how unfortunate it is that these weeds so accessible to all have become elevated to luxury status got our goat.  Although delicately said, and whether intentional or not, it remains a misinformed, misleading, hurtful dig.  Leaving me with much to say on his behalf.

You see, it so happens that in this modern world of mass produced food where the majority of eaters are disconnected from the land, foraged foods actually do deserve luxury status.  Not because we decided this, only because by nature, they just are relatively costly to deal with if you count time as money, which of course is a given, especially today.  Anyone one who dabbles beyond making their own dinner (and even then) will attest to this.  You have to know what you are doing first off, and then take the time and energy to find the good stuff, to be there at the right moment (requiring outings beforehand to prospect and figure out when and where the sweet spots are), to do the hard physical work bent over picking for hours, getting dirty and bitten by bugs.  Then you have to get back to the kitchen and clean and prepare it all.  And every plant and mushroom has it's own schedule.

When you take it to the realm of a restaurant, it is even more complicated.  In our case, it’s not just a couple of weeds from the backyard either, it’s twenty odd different sprouts and greens, several other wild roots and vegetables, the panoply of marine greens, a dozen different flowers, another dozen varieties of berries, thirty kinds of mushrooms.  These wild edibles are labour intensive and you can rarely decide when and where you will harvest them.  It makes menu planning a nightmare for a chef.  And it is hard to find people who are willing to work flexible schedules and game for the physical aspect of the job, let alone to spend the preparatory time and effort to learn beforehand. That's on the picking side.  In the kitchen, there are many sets of hands needed to process the stuff following the same unpredictable, race with nature schedule.   When the cattails decide to be ready, you cannot be at a wedding, on a photo shoot or have a catering gig.

François has been doing it for 25 years professionally, sharing and teaching, providing wild foods, foraged respectfully with care, to chefs and curious consumers, while fighting to make a living throughout.  We still work hard every day at it.  I hope you can see how that comment was mildly insulting, even infuriating.

With fumes coming out of all orifices, François could only rant and rave about taking this journalist out in the woods for a week (or even just a full day) of foraging to enlighten her to the real value of this ‘free’ food.  I tried to calm him down, reminding him of how many people just don’t have a clue about anything green, and all that is second nature to him.

As a chef who has worked in the city ordering stuff for 24hr delivery from purveyors, I can vouch that this foraging thing is WAY much more work, WAY more expensive, but also WAY better.  When I think of garde-mangers across town sticking their hands into boxes of mesclun (made in Chile or China), throwing a bit of dressing and cheese shards on top every two minutes for 12$ a pop, while on the flip side, I consider the work that goes into a salad or dish of the equivalent price at our restaurant, I shudder and wonder what the hell we are doing.   I might also point out that à la Table des Jardins Sauvages, we aren’t just serving weed salad, there is real cooking going on here, as well as all kinds of other locally sourced products on the menu.  When I tally up the labour costs and yields of each harvest, what goes into the enterprise, onto the menu and into each jar or sac sousvide, the numbers tell me we aren’t charging enough.   

I understand that people don’t grasp the work behind wild foods.  If you haven’t done it, you have no idea, as with real food in general.  Be it grass fed beef, artisanal cheese, cultivating organic vegetables or dining out Toque style..  People wonder why these all cost so much, when in fact they are less marked up than so much other crap on the market.  So many people don’t even visit a farmers’ market regularly; have never even met a farmer, let alone a forager, shopping in super-stores, taking it all for granted (all while missing out on the good stuff). 

And if a restaurant critic (albeit with an urban job, this is someone who is supposedly knowledgeable about food) doesn’t see the big picture, then it is obvious that many others would think along the same lines, leaving us misunderstood.

I haven’t forgotten either that I was once a well educated, but stupid city chef who only saw loins or bavettes (as opposed to carcasses), who trusted my suppliers about what was in season (bad idea if you don’t want to be 3 weeks behind or miss out completely).  So how is the average person living a ‘normal’, non-food-centric, urban life to know about the best strawberries, duck or nettles?  When they don’t see country stalls (Blé D’inde, Framboises!) on their way to work..  If they’ve never picked enough wild berries to make a pie in their life, or gotten poison ivy or stung by a cloud of wasps getting dinner on the table.

Even with cooks working in top kitchens in the countryside (Anne Desjardins taught me this), you have to take them out picking mushrooms, or to visit a farmer to make them understand the value of the product that passes through their hands daily.  When they meet the farmer, see his day to day and hear his stories – how much turmoil he goes through living nature’s ups and downs, dealing with the predators, the lack of labourers, the fussy chefs, in order to get it all done and make a meagre living.  I saw the change in cooks when I took them out foraging on several occasions - to see them pick a small basket of mushrooms after a full day's work, and come back to sort, clean and cook, finishing with enough for two people.  Let me tell you, in a few precious hours, they learn to vastly value the product beyond, ‘wow, nice shrooms’, and nothing is going to waste.

With the wild stuff, we’re not dealing with neat lines of cultivated crops that follow the calendar, and even that’s more difficult than most people imagine.  Talk to any farmer about trying to pick his green beans or apples in the time frame without cheaply paid migrant workers.  So much of the food people are used to seeing in super stores is unreasonably inexpensive because it is either massed produced with hidden costs to the environment, to the animals or crops in question given their economical but unhealthly diets, the use of antibiotics and pesticides, and/or because the people working (even the owner-producers) are underpaid. 

Good food isn’t cheap, and it shouldn’t be.  Wake up.

P.S.  Take a closer look at the chain or the random restaurant on your street corner, what they are sourcing and charging for it, and think about that.  Some restauranteurs may be opportunistic; but most can't ask for a fair price for their work.  Otherwise, maybe cooks and farmers would have the same salary and benefits as an average fonctionnaire (civil servant/ desk job).

Voir Article

http://www.voir.ca/publishing/article.aspx?zone=1&section=21&article=71988

As for this write-up about the restaurant in general..  Ok, it’s not the best ever, but not bad at all, and in any case, ‘j’assume’.  For the record, it was one of my worst days in recent history, when the reservations sky-rocketed at the last minute.. I was short-staffed and afraid to come up short on all levels (even food wise); but most stressfully, I ran out of gas (as in no stove) - rigging up a bbq tank to my gas-line for hours, only cooking what was essential (like pie crust) until the guy came (at 6pm) for an extra 250$.  It was a surreal day - the kind of ‘juice’ day that hits you every once and a while no matter how damn well organized you are.  A humbling reminder of how fragile any kind of success is when you are cooking for a living.  In the end, I was just proud to get through that god forsaken day without too many scrapes and apparently happy customers intact.    That’s enough for me. 



At les Jardins Sauvages, we are celebrating Canada Food Day next Saturday, July 31st. 

(Un message en français suit)

This is a national ‘holiday’ celebrating local food and good eating.  On the same day, across the country, both chefs and home cooks (whole villages even) will be simultaneously feasting on menus composed of fresh and local products while raising a glass to our rich and diverse culinary landscape.  Organized by Anita Stewart, acclaimed food writer and long time proponent of Canadian food.  Read all about what's going on from coast to coast here..

www.foodday.ca.

http://cuisinecanadascene.com/2010/07/22/food-day-canada-2010/

Of course, my menu is always focused on local, artisanal and wild foods, but I love this initiative.  We should be eating like this year round both for our health and happiness, as well as for the land.  I like the idea of fostering national and regional culinary pride, and I am all for another reason to get together over good food and wine.  At the height of the growing season, every meal is so easily a celebration!  

Our food day menu can be viewed on the website http://jardinssauvages.com/index.php?nom=menu&res=m&m=31canada10en, or below.

Just so you know, juicy Saskatoon berries have shown up since I posted this menu, as well as a number of other surprises, mushrooms of all kinds too..  So my menu will be overloaded with seasonal bounty!

To reserve, please call 450-588-5125

Menu

July 31st, 2010 

*Canada food day*

Nordic shrimp with wild ginger,

sea asparagus and sea rocket, fava beans,

bell pepper, oxalis and mint

Cauliflower soup with La Moutonnière cheese, sea parsley pesto and bee balm

Salad of wild greens with egg & duck ham (purselane, daisy, sea spinach, day lily), cherry tomatoes, pickled hen of the woods, 

crinkleroot-chia seed dressing

Venison from the farm, hops-sarsaparilla pan sauce, wild mushrooms,

cattail flour polenta, cattail spear

Optional : Quebec cheese plate,

home made bread and chutney

(100g for two, 7.50$ supplement per person)

Wintergreen ice cream sandwich in a sweet clover meringue cookie,

 wild blueberries and Labrador tea syrup

Tea, coffee or house tisane

Fair trade espresso, 4$ supplement

Bring your own wine

75.00$ including taxes, service extra

Your host and forager:

François Brouillard

Your chef: Nancy Hinton

*A Canada wide celebration of local food * www.foodday.ca 

Salut!

Nous célébrons ‘Canada Food Day’ A la table des Jardins Sauvages Samedi prochain,  le 31 Juillet, 2010.

Ce jour, à travers le Canada, comme à toutes les années depuis 2003, c’est la fête des produits du terroir. L'idée c'est de créer un menu mettant en valeur de beaux produits de chez nous, bien manger et célébrer la richesse culinaire Canadienne (et Québécoise) - ensemble les chefs dans les restaurants avec leurs clients, et les gens au BBQ à la maison.  Cet événement est organisé par Anita Stewart, une grande doyenne de cuisine Canadienne. www.foodday.ca

C'est certain que mon menu est toujours basé sur les produits locaux, artisanales et sauvages, mais je trouve cela une belle initiative.  A la hauteur de la saison, c’est si facile de manger frais, d’embarquer les gens et les sensibiliser à la façon la plus saine et joyeuse de se nourrir..  En plus, une fête de plus au tour des plaisirs de la table - pourquoi pas?

Vous pouvez visionner mon menu ici sur le site http://jardinssauvages.com/index.php?nom=menu&res=m&m=31canada10, ou en bas de la page.

Pour réserver, SVP appelez 450-588-5125

Cheers, Santé

Menu

31Juillet, 2010

*‘Canada Food Day’ *

Crevettes nordiques au gingembre sauvage, salicorne et caquillier de mer, gourganes, oxalis et menthe

Soupe au choufleur et fromage ‘La Moutonnière’, pesto de persil de mer, pétales de monarde

Salade de pousses sauvages, oeuf et jambon de canard (pourpier, marguerite, arroche, hémérocalle), tomates cerises et polypore fumé, vinaigrette carcajou-chia

Cerf du domaine, sauce houblon à la salsepareille, champignons sauvages, polenta à la farine de quenouille

Option : Assiette de fromages Québécois,

chutney et pain maison (100g pour deux personnes, supplément de 7.50$ par personne)

Sandwich de crème glacée au thé des bois, biscuits de meringue aux fleurs de mélilot,

bleuets sauvages, sirop de thé du Labrador

Thé, café ou tisane maison

Apportez votre vin

75.00$ taxes incluses, service en sus

Votre hôte et spécialiste de plantes sauvages: François Brouillard

Votre chef : Nancy Hinton

* Une fête nationale de produits du terroir www.foodday.com

Bison

La Terre des Bisons in Rawdon  www.terredesbisons.com

Definitely a good, local alternative to feedlot beef for the BBQ.  Very beefy, lean but quite tender, tasty; I can’t imagine any meat lover not loving it.

The only red meat I normally serve at the restaurant is venison (cerf rouge) because we have a direct source on the property – a farm two steps away, a small production with the finest quality.  I loved Cerf de Boileau when I was at L’Eau à la Bouche (or dining out, it is ‘the’ cerf on top restaurant menus)  – a terrific product and the leader in Quebec, but believe it or not, I don’t miss it.  With such a fine meat in my hands from next door, I never saw the point of bringing in bison, no matter how much I want to encourage local producers. 

We generally get a venison carcass or two a month, depending on the month.  But for most of the summer now, we have been cut off because there were no animals ready for slaughter..  So for my menus, I did lamb, duck, duck, duck and duck, pintade, quail, and more lamb…  I loved the change up, but it came time for some red meat, and like I said, I have always wanted to encourage La Terre des Bisons.  Now, without my regular supply, I finally had a good excuse to put Bison on my menu.

The customers loved it.  Not more than venison though.  They are both delectable but just very different meats. The bison is just like the very best beef.  It screamed out for a marinade and grill treatment.  Even a zesty sauce.  Whereas I see farmed venison to be more subtle.  Ours is delicate and tender, ‘tres fin’.  I never marinate my venison.  I like to leave it au naturel, deglaze and use the pan juices, serve a tasty sauce yes, but not overdo it for the sake of the meat.  This might surprise you.  Everyone thinks that venison is gamey, and so needs a big sauce and a big wine.  Maybe hunted deer which has an indeterminate life and diet, but not our venison.  Speaking wine, I say it calls out for a soft red, a deep burgundy or Pinot noir, or at best an old Bordeaux (with more Merlot than Cab), depending on the preparation.  With Bison, I would let you go all out with a younger, fruitier, more extracted and oaked wine – a Meritage, even a juicy Zin..

As I pick hairs discussing the finer points of Bison vs. Venison, comparing the two meats with wine parallels, I don’t want you to lose the point.  That is, that Bison is delicious; even if a notch below good venison in my books, it is a stellar local product and a smart choice.  Naturally raised, pastured, lean, local, and so importantly more healthy and tasty (and better for the environment) than your average protein.  Realizing how many people are slapping big pieces of meat from the superstore on their BBQ’s these days, I only wish that bison or venison from local producers could meet backyard menus, as opposed to feedlot beef from Costco.



Mother Nature on Speed

Mother nature has us on our toes this year.  Slightly out of whack, in timing and order, we are scrambling to keep on top of it all.  Most sprouts, buds and blooms are showing up early, and then following their natural course at a clip, not leaving us much time to find and pick them, process and menu plan.  Many of the spring greens didn't last long; the leaves were on the trees so fast.  Then again, quite a few spring things and summer plants overlapped, more than usual.  There didn't seem to be much time for daisy leaves and live-forever.

I was barely finished pickling the last of the fiddleheads and it was time for the daisy buds.  There was wild ginger to confit for our sugar, and a juice and paste to be made for cooking and for our flavoured mustard.  And crinkleroot to be made into my house condiment, to be infused in olive oil, and the leaves dried for our salt.  Meanwhile, I was making soup with the stinging nettle, and drying it for the tisane.  Soon enough, I was drying dame's rocket for tisane too.  Now it's elderflower, to dry and make syrup with.  The marine greens are coming in fast and furious (normally July plants), which means drying sea parsley, sea rocket and sea spinach for our wild herb salt, making sea parsley pesto for my year, blanching sea spinach for the freezer. Cleaning and processing the wild garlic mustard (such an abundant weed, but so much work!) was a chore; we're still at it when it should be done with.

As the day lilies are budding; there will be petals by the weekend.  But before considering the petals (which we dry for our tisane and garnish salads with, François' uncle makes jelly with them), I have to find the time to pickle the buds (after making sure they get picked from the adjacent field, spare hands??).  The cattails are out too, and for those prized shoots, we have an even shorter window.  The season will likely be over within days.  And I need to clean, peel and blanch dozens of pounds for my year, not to mention the other ton to make broth and cattail flour with the pollen (flowers) before they explode.  This flour is a staple in my cooking yearround, adding wild flavour (asparagus, corn notes) to my crepes, polenta, pie dough and fritters.  The big spears make a great vegetarian broth for my soups, and the babies get slathered in buerre monté for a terrific little (fun!) side to be eaten like a pogo.  Waiters and dishwashers and anyone with a spare moment will be peeling cattails this week. 

I can't even properly concentrate on the buds or the cattails, because the boletes are starting to show up.  So perishable and so precious, they need to be cleaned and dried ASAP.  Or frozen for sauces and soup.  We go through hundreds of pounds of dried mushroom mix in a year, so a head start there is bonus; we have next to nothing left from last year.  It is always mildly depressing to see how little is left after drying, but the resulting aromas are something else, definitely worth it. 

Needless to say, there is a line up for the dehydrator (and we have a big one), but since we need to prep everything first (clean, pull off leaves, chop..), it all works out.  I wish I could sprout a few extra pairs of hands for the season.  A major chunk of our time from hereon in is devoted to filling and emptying that baby.

Following François' foraging heritage, we are in the business of wild and sustainable anyway for the love of nature and for our own longevity, but I can't help but chuckle at any worries of over-exploitation once you see what goes into it all.  Living the mad, unpredictable, labour intensive process of dealing with wild edibles and them putting up, you clearly see the natural built-in safety for sustainability.  There is no way you can overdo it, when you have to find the stuff and be ready for it when it decides to come, pick it by hand just so, clean it and cook it at its freshest.  The season of anything is over before you can get through the few pounds of stuff you picked, and then it's on to something else.  It's tricky, and not the kind of thing you can organize, control, or attack with industrial zeal, which is a good thing.

In any case, I certainly have an abundance of fresh, local wild edibles to put on my plates, which is beautiful - what I live for.  Summer menus are heaven.  I can't help but overload the menu with too many garnishes, even if I hate overworked dishes.  But when the bounty is there, I feel the need to share the maximum of the season, introducing our customers to as much of the wild stuff as possible, all while trying hard to keep the flavours clean and in order.  What a sweet challenge to have, I must say!

Some recent media..

A write up on us from last Saturday's Ottawa Citizen

http://www.ottawacitizen.com/life/taste+Quebec+wild+side/3144703/story.html

Another blurb on a new website Citeeze

http://www.citeeze.com/blog/citeeze-food-bites-chef-vs-wild.html

There is also an upcoming article in the next issue of Montreal Home/Maison magazine.

François will be on L'Épicerie (Radio Canada show on Wednesday evening) with Claudie showcasing the marine greens which have just come into season. 

And you can often get a glimpse of him on Des Kiwis et des hommes where he makes a regular appearance.  Don't mention his hairdo - they actually like to mess it up more than it already is (!).. I guess they figure a foraging François des Bois should have that 'wild' look.  But his hands are naturally that beat up.

Milk-fed lamb

From St-Julienne, L’Agno et le Lapin, 450-831-3424, lagno_et_lelapin°live.ca

This baby is a gem of a local product that I recently discovered – even the finest lamb I have ever tasted.  It’s like a cross between veal and Quebec lamb: tender, lean but succulent, savoury, delicate and clean tasting.  Even the fat is good.    

Weighing in at 26lb, with a yield of barely 4kg of meat including all the bits like the 30g of delicious tongue - you do not want to waste a bit of this.. It ends up being expensive, but given the quality, definitely worth it if you value good food or can charge for it as a business.  Think of it as Kobe beef or whatever your top meat reference is and then it is cheap.  In any case, of course, you have to make smart use of the carcass.  The tenders are the size of my index finger.  I was surprised to see the head on (I thought that was a no-no since BSE, but I guess the laws are loosening again, especially with non-industrial meat like this.)  I had no way to get to the brain, but for the puny morsel of fluff, I didn’t feel too bad if that’s all I was wasting.  I felt like I paid homage to the little lamb.  After all, with its eyes staring back at me, I had no choice but to do my best. 

  I was afraid much of it would turn out as ‘in between’ meat (too lean to be perfect for a braise, but not necessarily tender enough to be perfect for a quick sear/roast, like the round on beef say.  To be safe, I kept most for pan-searing/roasting/cooking sous-vide.  I braised one shoulder, the shanks, the neck.  Oh my God, was the braise good.  But most of the shoulder and leg was tender enough to cook up as #1 meat too.  I’m torn.  This baby was meant for the rotisserie.  I made bacon with the flank pieces, but also seared up some for myself au naturel, and it was delicious.  You can’t go wrong with bacon treatment, but for this delicate meat, I think leaving it pure might be the best way to go.  The bacon would woo a lamb hater or even a veg head to the other side, but for the rest of us, to be true to the meat, I say -  No marinade, nothing, just a good sauce from the stock/braise jus.  And it appears you can cook it how you want, as long as it is gently - as in a slow, but not so long braise, or a last minute pan-roast or bbq over medium heat.   

Run by two girls my age (yay), this is a small and relatively new enterprise, in this location anyway.  I admire their courage and hard work, but mostly I am just floored by their product.  The heavier lamb (approaching traditional in taste, but still like the best) is bigger, more cost efficient.  Still only sold by the carcass, so you can forget about rack of lamb for all your friends, but who needs that anyway.

They are raising rabbits too; I can’t wait for that.  I am so psyched to have this kind of quality product in my region.   Cheers to Nathalie and Genevieve!



5à7 Slow – the 3rd week of every month

This is a monthy, casual get-together of fine eats with the goal of showcasing local producers, artisans and restaurateurs that are doing something good and slow (delicious and anti-fast food, ie. Quality and old school, hands on, sustainable, green and fair). 

The most recent one (April 21st) was at la Cantine on Mont-Royal, a bistro-boutique.  In collaboration with Slowfood Montreal and hosted by the charming Katerine-Lune Rollet, they held a soirée ‘Comme à la cabane à sucre’ which included six delicious little plates with a maple theme. 

Some people were sitting, some standing, others mingling; every now and again, someone would get up and speak conference style.  Bio-Délices presented their pure organic maple products, the Havre aux glaces contributed a maple sorbet and Intermiel was there with La Gelinotte, their maple eau de vie.  The producers talked about their businesses, while guests devoured a tasting menu inflected with maple and these producers' offerings. 

There was turnip soup with apple and maple, baked beans with maple and duck confit, maple glazed salmon with ‘oreilles de crisse’, ham and savoury bread pudding, a cheddar soufflé, pouding chomeur with caramel and fleur de sel. 

All for 20$, 15$ for members – quite the bargain!  Inventive cocktails and beer and wine were on offer for a supplement. 

Look out for the next one, or better become a member and get regular updates about events.  

www.5a7slow.info

Cantine bistro.boutique

212 Mont-Royal Est, Montreal, 514-750-9800, lacantine.ca

Intermiel

10291 La Fresnière, Mirabel, QC

450-258-2713 ou 1-800-265-MIEL, www.intermiel.com

Biodélices

999 rue Chritophe-Colomb, Thetford Mines, QC

418-423-1143, www.biodelices



Quebec Cheese makers to seek out above others

This is an important list - a list of the best of Quebec cheese producers -  that use real milk and skill in their cheesemaking.  Take it as the slow food, or just 'real food' list.  Funny eh, but gourmet Quebec cheese has become such an industry that now there is good, better and primo Quebec cheese, and big business has tapped into to the market, wanting a piece of the pie.  Even in some fine cheese shops now, there exists industrial type product that has been artificially modified, pumped up with milk solids and this and that.  This is not always such a horrible thing (think Sauvagine), and certainly better than Kraft product for instance, but still, it’s not the same quality as the farmers’ and artisanal cheeses below, a whole different ball game in hands on work and costs.  Sadly enough, it was these little guys that were the hardest hit in the whole listeriosis crisis thing although none of their cheese made people sick, with cheese seized, publicity scares, and major losses of revenue…

You may have forgotten about it by now, but years later, they are all still trying to come back from that, if they survived at all.  Those that made it through are hanging on by a string, but haven’t given up.  In fact, they are fighting back, and along with their supporters, they might have a chance in proving the government agency to be wrong in walloping their industry on a media frenzy call. They have a case in progress..

In the meantime and always, these poor fromagers deserve to be encouraged.  Please seek out their cheeses, if not for politics, just for tasty cheese.  Despite the obstacles, it is these people that are making the best Quebec cheese, not the big companies cuddled up with govt.

Liste des membres de l’Association des fromagers artisans du Québec

Martin Gilbert, Bergerie du Fjord
Louis Arsenault, Fromagerie des Grondines
Michel Pichet, Fromagerie FX Pichet
Réjean Théroux, Fromagerie La Germaine
Rosalice Boivin Côté, Fromagerie Médard
Caroline Tardif, Ruban Bleu
Suzanne Dufresne, Au Gré des champs
Régis Morency, Aux Pays Des Bleuets
Diane Groleau, Beurrerie du Patrimoine
Aagje Denys et Gary Cooper, Cassis et Mélisse
Isabelle Couturier, Chèvrerie fruit d’une passion
Bernard Major, Ferme Chimo
Charles Boulerice, Ferme Petits Caprices
Eric Proulx, Ferme Tourilli
Gilles Blackburn, Fromagerie Blackburn
Paul Landry, Fromagerie Couland
Hugues Ouelle, Fromagerie des Cantons
Charles Trottier et Guylaine Rivard, Fromagerie des Grondines
Guy Dessureault, Fromagerie Domaine Féodal
Martin Guilbault, Fromagerie du champ à la meule
Stéphane Chiasson, Fromagerie du Pied-de-vent
Jean Morin, Fromagerie du Presbytère
Pierre Bolduc, Fromagerie La Station
Jacob Lehmann, Léa Lehmann et Marie Lehmann, Fromagerie Lehmann
Chantale Fortin, Fromagerie Les Petits Bleuets
Madelaine Boivin et Normand Côté, Fromagerie Médard
Ronald Alary, Fromagiers de la Table Ronde
Hélène Cadieux, La Normandinoise
Stéphane Tremblay, L’Autre Versant
Gérald Brisebois, Les Fromages de l’Erabilière
Christian Vinet, L’Isle aux grues
Fabienne Guitel, Suisse Normande

http://www.lbr.ca/documents/200912362530afaq_23012009.pdf

Culinary highlights from NYC, Spring 2010

Locande Verde  http://locandaverdenyc.com/

What a beautiful restaurant in Tribecca; with a lively vibe, professional service and simple Italian--inspired market cuisine at the highest level.  A perfect lunch:  shrimp and white bean crostini, beet, gorgonzola and pistachio salad, fresh ricotta and foccaccia, homemade ravioli, cheese agnolotti with brown butter, peas and asparagus, white fish with a spring vegetable medley and Romesco sauce.  Everything tasted so fresh, pure and expertly prepared.  I would love to return for dinner.

Blue Hill  http://www.bluehillfarm.com/food/blue-hill-new-york

The ultimate dining experience.  Maybe the Blue Hill at Stone Barns experience could make me swoon more, but it’s hard to imagine.  Especially for a celebratory girls’ night out, the Greenwich Village restaurant could not have been better.  And from the elderflower sparklers on, the farm to table concept comes through loud and clear, in the city or not.. D’Avignon radishes and miniature carrots, greens and all, came nestled in a row, suspended from a cute presentation plank to start off the meal.  House Charcuterie was passed around: coppa, saucisson, cured ham..  Spicy kale chips appeared spiking out of their own little presentation block.  Freshly churned butter, whipped lardo with espelette and arugula salt with the cutest mini-baguettes (or giant breadsticks) followed.  A spring salad mosaic with a few fiddleheads, asparagus spears, broccoli rabe. and green garlic shoots strewn about the plate, lightly dressed, was beautiful, so perfect.  A fresh pullet egg with greens, brioche and speck - absolutely decadent.  Pork shoulder and loin au naturel, melting lamb belly, as tasty as lamb fat can possibly be.. All these dishes were so flavourful, yet subtlety seasoned and made to shine with the background green accompaniments and odd flourish -nettles here or a hit of curry there, fresh herbs everywhere, nuts and grains.. 

Most notably, the wine pairing was absolutely exquisite.  All the wines were unique and interesting (with more Chenin Blanc, Cab franc and esoteric grape blends for a given region, than most restaurants dare to do), showing the passion and thought put into the selection.  The delivery really wowed too, offering the perfect mix of descriptive detail sans pretence.  Spot on, smart and friendly (and female) - how refreshing.

I’m used to doing tasting menus and eating great food, but it is rare to see this kind of fine tuned service, original food and wine quality all coming together at the same time to make for something marking, spectacular.  It’s not just about a talented chef or team cooking a good meal or a good room or farm fresh ingredients.  It’s a whole philosophy, personality and authenticity that carries through from A to Z, thanks to staff and ingredients big time, but also management, organization, communication, passion, creativity, and surely much hard menial work.  I know how difficult it is to make the stars align night after night.  Blue Hill sets the bar high and you feel it, taste it, are inspired by it.

Gansevoort Hotel  http://www.hotelgansevoort.com/

Room service breakfast at the Gansevoort hotel - Even if it was just your basic combo of scrambled eggs, potatoes and bacon with toast and a fruit plate at a ridiculous price.  For a change, everything was just right – the eggs buttery, the bacon crispy, the potatoes roasted and crusty but tender in the middle and seasoned.  The fruit was freshly cut, if not from the ripest selection, but fine - so hitting the spot.  Despite the hefty price tag of a room service breakfast, it is easy to be forgiving when you don’t have to get out of your pyjamas for a decent coffee and something tasty, and it’s such a shock when it’s actually good!  Absolute luxury.

Torrisi   212-965-0955, 250 Mulberry St, Manhatten, NY 10012, http://piginahat.com/

A convivial, quality food nook in Little Italy run by two chefs, with charcuterie hanging in the window, lots of mouth watering offerings on display at the counter; dynamite sandwiches (pork shoulder and chicken parmesan), beautiful high-piled eggplant lasagne, silky ricotta and spicy rapini sides, terrific coffee cake.  Flavour forward, fresh American Italian comfort food in a laid back, raucous, neighbourhood feel setting.  This is my friend Barb’s favourite place, and what a gem.  At dinner, they get slightly fancier and do a set menu with wine.  

New York Magazine gives it a thumbs up too http://theapprovalmatrix.com/restaurants/reviews/underground/65478/index.html

Murray’s in Greenwich Village  http://www.murrayscheese.com/ 

At Murray’s Cheese on Bleeker, I stumbled upon the kind of shop that makes me drool -blocks of cheese, logs of saucisson, olive oils and pickled everything!  It’s not like I don’t have all the good cheese I need in Montreal, but I nabbed a few other nibbles here I was more than happy with: Hot sopressetta (Milanos) and pickled green beans (Brooklyn Brine Co.).  I was mostly overjoyed to stumble upon foodie haven amidst the sea of fashion clothing and jewellery shops.  And it is the oldest cheese shop in NYC, and so a landmark, no?

Esca   http://www.esca-nyc.com/

Part of the Batali empire, with Dave Pasternack as chef-owner, this is a fish emporium Italian style; bustling, cozy and beautiful like all the Batali restaurants.  The menu is so loaded with enticing options to the point of mesmerizing.  It’s hard not to over order, plus the portions are big. 

There was excellent crudo (fluke, snapper, scallop, hamachi, oysters, sea urchin - each with their own perfect understated garnish.); a gaita olive aioli was addictive.  Then: superb oysters (Maine and RI) with fresh horseradish -yum, a solid crab salad , a dandelion salad with dandelion honey seasoned just so, barnacles in broth, feather light ricotta gnocchi, Branzino cooked in a salt crust and drizzled with good olive oil.. These were the major highlights of the meal.  A Sicilian fish stew with fennel, olives and tomato was also quite good, as was a hamachi carpaccio, and fried asparagus with egg dressing. 

I loved this restaurant, but for my friends there were a few duds involving less than fresh mussels, under cooked clams, poorly cooked grouper - too bad.  All the girls hated the sea urchin, although most of them were tasting it for the first time.  So there could have been some of that foreign jarring effect at play, like when encountering some new, wierd ingredient that takes getting used to before you get to love (which I like to refer to it as the cilantro effect).  As a chef, I’ve dealt with the spectrum of sea urchin from heavenly to dreadful and I only like it when it is supremely fresh, briny and sweet with no swampy or iodine taste.  However, many chefs I know (especially French) in fact really enjoy this taste, as with with monkfish liver or lobster tamale.  This particular sea urchin was still sweet but finished with a touch of bitterness and that distinctive ‘bottom of the sea’ flavour that lingered.  Although still better than you will find in most restaurants, it wasn’t the epitome of sea urchin, which is I guess is what we were expecting here. A complimentary dish of stewed miniature calamari was a delight, especially texture wise, but there was swampy taste there too (squid ink?).  I just loved the Portugese barnacles though.  Sucking and crunching and slurping to get the meat out of the funny looking paw-like claw all for a snow crab like taste mingled in with the oniony chicken broth it must have been cooked in, was just so fun and delish.  And new to me! Our barnacles don’t look like that.

I also tasted some fun, easy going wines – Arneis, a simple, fresh white from Piedmont, and a Pigato, a minerally Riesling-like white from Liguria. I would definitely go back, but with different expectations.  This is not a temple of gastronomy where everything is perfect (quite elusive anyway), but where there is so much good seafood and wine to be had in a professional, yet festive atmosphere (just as elusive).  And the sea bass REALLY was exquisite.

Street cart fare near Central park– I only had a dog, and it’s not like it was anything special (although Barb scored with a spicy sausage picked pepper number next door), but it’s just so fun to be able to grab a good, trashy nosh on the street, be it a pita or samosa or nuts or whatever).  Why can’t Montreal relax the laws on that front?

New York City never ceases to excite, invigorate, and get the juices flowing.

The first fiddleheads are out!  Not abundant yet, a sparse smattering of sprouts in far off, hard to get out locations, boot suit or not; François has been working hard.  Meanwhile, I helped him with the greens.  Amidst the bumps of fiddlehead clusters trying to break the turf on the forest floor along the river bed, there are tufts of mini-everything - live-forever, stinging nettle, cat's tongue, soon to be carpets of edible greens.  It's muddy, and hard going to get a pound of anything, but it smells like spring!  Intoxicating.

 live-forever

ortie/stinging nettle - the little one

erythrone/adder's leaf/cat's tongueThe live-forever and cat's tongue will go into a salad, the dog's tooth as a garnish.  The fiddleheads will make a salad or fricassée side (probably both).  The nettle will go into soup for sure, and maybe also a pesto/purée type sauce for fish or an egg and ham or smoked duck combo.  We will start drying the greens and flowers too, for tisane and herb mixes.  C'est partie!  As hockey season approaches the end, ours gets kicking.

Spring!

How nice it is to have signs of spring in the air and on the plate!

Day lily sprouts are perfectly ripe; there is a little dandelion, some cat’s tongue and dog’s tooth, a sprinkling of live-forever and spring beauty..  Enough to add colour, crunch and lively spring flavour to our dishes.  François needs his boot suit to cross the river, but at least he’s there.  After all, we are a couple of weeks early for all this excitement.  Crossing the river was the feat this week; he only brought back one ramp and one miniature fiddlehead..  Still, that means that ‘real spring’ is not far off, after which there will be a steady stream of local wild edibles.

Leonard

With spring in my step, there is even more hope for my bread.  Despite the first arrivals of spring greens, I have not been diverted from my bread fixation.  I haven’t stopped experimenting since I got back from bread boot camp.  I’m getting good with the various doughs, judging what’s right given our noble but wonky organic unbleached bread flour from the Moulin Bleu, my temperamental (never hot enough!) oven and the timing of our days.  I’ve added a stone to my oven, invested in proper pans and a thermometer that works.  I’ve gotten to know my Hobart on a new level and my favourite countertop is now the wooden block, best for slapping dough against; I’m constantly covered in flour.  In fact, there is flour in every crack and crevice of my kitchen now.  I’m reconsidering my black wardrobe.

However, as my bread tests move along, I have still not settled on one type of dough or starter for my baguette.  I’m happy with my flavoured breads (mushroom bread and wild herb fougasse for instance) which involve very different, but simple enough doughs.  They are already flying off the shelves at the market, where I do a fresh bread day on Saturday, frozen the rest of the week.  But when it comes to making not so plain, plain bread, it gets a little more complicated.  When you want sour tang and some chew, that proper airy texture, all the variables take on a greater importance.  It seems that it really comes down to the starter for flavour. So, I’ve got old doughs and ferments that I’m playing with, but my new obsession is my natural starter named ‘Leonard’. 

I’m convinced he will give me good bread once he’s matured some.  And yes, I am tending to him way better than my plants - making sure he’s fed, not too hot or cold.  He’s now a week old and he’s been fun to nurture.  It seems second nature when it comes to a baby levain.  It’s clear to me now that this is the kind of mother I was meant to me.  It’s easy to love a levain when you love bread.  Plus: low maintenance, no diapers, a kid that gets its legs in weeks - after which you only need to feed occasionally, and he will keep giving back indefinitely if you are moderately good to him.  It’s still early though.  He better perform.  C’mon Leonard.

Just in case, I’m starting a new one under slightly different conditions, this time with a more masculine name, hoping for vigour and a different character.  I’m thinking wisdom and an artistic sensibility is less what a starter needs than pure strength and an unbridled surge of activity.  Open, diverse and complex, but under control, all somehow harmonious and balanced, with a bit of magic – that’s what I’m after.  What a game.  Why not make it a bit of a competition between guys? 

I haven’t found the proper name for the new guy yet - not that it really matters I guess.  But treating it like the little sphere of life it is and giving it importance in my life with a name can only help.  I think François would like ‘Rambo’ or whatever I call him to come out on top; he is jealous of Leonard as it is.  I will take all the help (and fun) I can get out of my crazy ambitious bread regimen.  Besides, this stuff does make for good dinner conversation at the end of the day.  In certain circles like ours, anyway.   



Australian finger limes

A Wow! of a new ingredient to come across my radar. 

I’m less excited by foreign exotic ingredients and the latest culinary fashions these days, mostly because over the years, I’ve come to realize that they are usually a flash in the pan, and of course because my day-to-day is largely focused on local and wild.  Nevertheless, it’s hard not to be wooed by this little specimen, a rare rainforest fruit at that. 

A thin oval shaped citrus fruit, firm and thick skinned, going from greenish black to reddish brown when ripe, it holds a hundred plus of these golden caviar-like globules that taste like pink grapefruit and rhubarb.  Bittersweet and more acidic than sweet, but aromatic and fresh, gorgeous. Unlike alginate or other seaweed derived spheres, these little bubbles are naturally robust and bursting with flavour; only nature can produce something so simply beautiful. 

All there is to do is cut the baby in half and squeeze some ‘caviar’ onto seafood or chopped salads.  I added some to a cucumber herb salsa for fish and sprinkled some into a crab and shrimp salad.  In an olive, fresh cheese and roasted pepper salad, it also added a nice touch - zip and surprise.  I can imagine it being very winner in a cocktail.  The textural contrast is as pleasing as the bright citrus flavour.  With every odd bite, you get a crunch of explosive citrus zing.

I really love it.  Three dollars a pop at Chez Louis, they aren’t cheap, but one will really punch up a dinner for two or four, so not more expensive than any other luxury ingredient that is used as a flourish – say a fine olive oil or aged balsamic or cheese or shaving of truffle.

www.australianfingerlimes.com



So much to love about bread

My recent bread revelations

In keeping with my ‘one class a year’ motto (taking, not teaching), I spent a week at the Cordon Bleu in Ottawa baking bread.  More affordable than a NYC French Culinary Institute class like I did last year (Hydrocolloids), I was just happy to get out of my kitchen and resource with some learning. And I love bread.  I’ve dabbled in making it throughout my career, but never took the time to really connect with my inner baker.  I figured this would be a good refresher if nothing else.  Not to mention that François also promised to build me an old style stone wood oven if I were to turn out impressive bread on a regular basis.  I won’t hold my breath for that, given his tendency towards dreaming and lofty, well intentioned, but unfinished projects. 

No matter, my bread class proved to be more than just stimulating – I came home fired up.  I’ve been making bread non-stop; cooking seems to be getting in the way these days.  I need to veer back to cooking (my job!) as my priority, but it is obvious that this will be vastly more useful than last year’s high tech class.  And François is only relieved to see I didn’t return with requests for expensive equipment like circulators and nitrogen canisters; all I need now is time and flour.  We already have the best flour – organic, unbleached bread flour from Le Moulin Bleu next door.  Great flour I must say, although it changes everything recipe-wise, needing more water for one - two essentials among the many variables in bread making.  Which brings me to my bread revelations, or just a slice..

• First of all - as a chef, there is no good excuse to not bake your own bread. 

I’ve made a certain amount of bread over the years catering and in restaurants for daily specials.  When I was at L’Eau à la Bouche, we made our bread daily, which made me proud.  I value good bread but figured it should for the large part be left to the professionals, especially in a scenario like mine.  Given my little kitchen at Les Jardins Sauvages - no pastry chef, a bare bones brigade, one stove, a lack of space, an irregular service schedule, not enough hours in a day etc., I thought I had all the excuses for it not to be feasible. Wrong!

Like with everything, it’s about will power and organization.  There are so many kinds of doughs, some you can work a day(s) in advance or not at all.  There are as many ways to make bread as there are cooks and ovens.  Bread is alive, and therefore finicky, but also very forgiving.  It’s all about ‘getting it’, feeling it and thinking on your feet - planning, judging and adjusting.   

Bread is the epitome of science meeting art, like all cooking (and wine making) is.  One of my favourite quotes is thanks to a wine marketing tug:  ‘Perfection is achieved when science and art come together, and mother nature agrees.’

Which is why I dig bread (wine too).  The variables, the process, engaging all your faculties.  Besides the fact that there is nothing as delicious and inviting as a loaf of freshly baked bread.  The aroma!  The pure sensuality of the physical process of mixing, kneading, and shaping, baking and smelling..

After bread boot camp, I came home covered in flour, with aching muscles (we made all by hand – crazy!), and almost wheat weary.  My hotel room was a joke, with loaves covering every shelf and surface; the ‘do not disturb’ sign was in order or they might have thought I was running a catering operation out of my hotel room.  I drove home with a car trunk full of bread (honestly).  But no, like with duck, I don’t think I could actually get sick of bread.  Although I might not feel like eating it for an hour or two at a time, I will certainly not tire of making it.  However, after working so much bloody dough by hand, I am overjoyed to be reacquainted with my Hobart.  I’m all into making bread by hand at home, but at the restaurant, forget about it – impossible!

Some key things I learnt:

• All my bread baking life, I have probably been adding too much flour.  Some (many) doughs are supposed to be wet.  Better to hold back and add more when shaping.  Again, I am thankful for my Hobart for the kneading of wet doughs, because repeatedly slapping slippery, elastic batter on the counter as it flies out of control makes for quite an exhausting mess.

• All doughs are improved by a first step of hydrating a portion of the flour with the water in an autolyse and/or with the yeast in a yeast paste.

• Salt is crucial, not only for taste, but to control fermentation, and so needs to be considered carefully in the recipe ratios, and added later.

• To think ahead – Preferments, poolish or levains (even old dough) are key to a complex loaf.  Like once you graduate from dep wine, it’s hard to go back.  I need to be better at feeding my levain than at watering plants.

• Plan ahead again; low and slow fermentation is best.  With fresh yeast, you can keep everything cold until proofing.

• Keep an eye on bakers ratios and hydration rates to know what to look for, but feel is what it comes down to.  Forget about recipes.

• Shaping is ultra important.  Density. Tight rolls, secure seams.

• There is a time to be gentle and a time to be rough, depending on the dough.  Given my small stature, I thought I couldn’t be brutal enough with dough, which is why I knead with two hands, but apparently I can overdo it.  Vigorous kneading is good with lean dough, but no ripping of the dough ever.  I learnt some effective, gentle techniques that I could only show (slap, fold, roll), but I don’t do videos..

• Looks are deceptive, and tapping for that hollow sound isn’t enough.  A thermometer at 184F is better.  After that, it’s about color.

• Know your oven.  You don’t need as hot an oven as I thought (410- 430F is all), and convection isn’t optimal (dries out the bread), but obviously, you need to be sure that you know the temperature of your oven to be in control.
• And there are many tricks to pump up the heat (stone, nuts and bolts, steam).

• Any added ingredients need to be cut into the dough at the last minute before shaping (after the first rise).

• Turkey is the country that per capita consumes the most bread.

And I will continue learning about bread as I undertake all my own bread making, certainly sharing breakthroughs (and hiccups) here from time to time.  I am working on perfecting my own master recipes given our needs, my schedule, my oven space and equipment.. 

I might not carry on my four kinds of bread a day thing, but I will certainly be playing around, featuring different ones on the menu weekly, while focusing on a couple of tried and true varieties punched up with wild stuff as regular offerings.  If I can keep up, we will even sell those at the market..

I have the wild herb fougasse down; I think I have my dough for the mushroom bread; I still need to work on my baguette.  I have turned out the type of tasty structured dough I want, I just need to tailor it to a suitable schedule so I don’t have to get up at 5am, so I’m thinking I’ll slow down the fermentation, and/or add a flour/kneading step.  I also made a cattail flour-curry soft bread that is a keeper to serve at La Table.  The sweet dough we did in our class is the one barely modified recipe I brought home as a staple, to be used on occasion at the restaurant, for donuts or for the occasional cinnamon bun to make my man happy. 

This budding bread savvy has given me one more tool in my kitchen arsenal, a supplementary source of inspiration, as well as one more way to a man’s heart! Yeehoo.

Bechamel

A mother sauce.  One of the first things you learn in school.  The foundation for so many classic dishes we remember from our childhood, and even from first forays into fine dining restaurants of a certain time..  Sauce Mornay and Sauce Soubise, Vol au vent, Coquille St-Jacques, Blanquette de veau (ok not quite bechamel but same deal, you know what I mean)..  At home, there was Mac n’ cheese, lasagne, moussaka..

Officially dating back to the 1600’s when it got its name in honour of Louis de Béchameil, marquis and domo to Louis XIV, it was certainly made in various versions for many years before.  In fact, others jealously claimed propriety afterwards, frustrated that Bechamel became the name for this staple in a cook’s repertory.

Regardless of its storied history, in the eighties and nineties, this poor sauce was condemned to the category of ‘old school’ and out of style, a dinosaur from the backwards cooking of the pre Nouvelle Cuisine era.  So it was snubbed by a generation or two of cooks - for most of my cooking life it turns out.  Shortly out of school, I learnt that flour didn’t belong in modern sauces; reduction was the key, monté au beurre, a little cornstarch slurry to correct the consistency if need be.  This is how everybody made sauces in the new, cool world once you left cooking school. 

I happily followed suit, loving the juices and essences of the likes of Girardet and Jean Georges Vongrichton for instance, who was so avant garde here at the time.  But I always questioned the proposition that this new method widely used across the board in all chefs’ hands was really all that healthier or even cleaner in taste.  So much reduction and butter to compensate for thickener adds another kind of richness that isn’t starch based maybe, but equally heavy, as in deceptively fatty.  Besides, sometimes, too much reduction can mar a taste.  A certain amount intensifies flavours but after a certain point, aromas are lost.  Anyway.  What did I know.  I quickly learnt to trust my taste buds; I would reduce to the desired yumminess, and for what was missing in body, arrowroot or cornstarch or potato starch (depending on the kitchen) would do the trick.  Some butter at the end does really make a sauce, adding that shimmer and mouth feel and balance, but too much is too much.  Maybe it’s the girl in me, but I just can’t swirl 10 nobs of butter into a sauce, like so many of my male colleagues over the years seemed to have no problem doing.

I do like a pure jus too, which is more fashionable, but it has to be kick ass, and coat the spoon or the garnish, usually meat.  And it depends on the dish.  With certain braises and meaty stews, I just feel like they call out for an old fashioned roux.  With other quick pan roasts or delicate meats, a lighter reduction seems more appropriate.  Even with a lean fish dish and a blandish side of rice and asparagus say, a blond roux based sauce (Bechamel), pumped up with some herbs makes for a major comfort meal.  See that’s another thing, the sides make a huge difference.  If a rich gratin or starchy side like couscous or polenta is on the menu to soak up some jus, than I say more of a thinner natural broth like sauce is called for.  And lots of it.  Although an artistic line of measured sauce might look pretty next to a piece of choice protein, a less picture-perfect ladle of sauce on top of the meat always tastes better, whatever the sauce.

I worked in a Cajun restaurant back in the day when I was a waitress and I remember being intrigued by the batches of dark roux slowly roasting in the oven.  Not because I was so interested in cooking at the time, but I’ve always been a sauce girl, and Christophe’s sauces were amazing.  I wondered if this brown muck was the key.  I forgot about it, and my subsequent training all but removed it from my memory.  But like the powerfully seductive scent of freshly baked bread, toasted wheat flour and a good sauce can lodge in one’s taste memory forever.  I suspect roux is something unconsciously delicious and satisfying to most of us; why ever did we cut it out?

In the last few years, for old times sake (maybe it was for mac n’cheese or chicken pot pie, turkey leftovers, or some such ‘pedestrian’ fare), I got to making a béchamel with the onion studded with the bay leaf and clove, the grated nutmeg - and wow, I thought it was so delicious.  From that point on, I have pulled it out on occasion.  No longer is béchamel an off switch in my brain, nor a bad or ‘uncool’ word.  I’m in.  However, I usually go more the route of a velouté, with duck broth instead of milk, for a ‘lighter’, tastier, more complex version, along the lines of that other trusty mother sauce.  

I’m just saying, don’t forget about Bechamel or any of the mother sauces - or for that matter, tradition and history in general.  In forging ahead with new technology and taste sensations, there is always just as much inspiration and simple goodness to be found in dusty old recipes.



Fried rice revisited

I discovered fried rice right about the same time I fell in love with poutine, at the age of nine or ten.  Poutine was much easier to come by, a bicycle ride away, but fried rice was something I needed to plan out.  It required a trip to the mall which was a long ways away; thankfully it was near my elementary school.  I figured out that I could miss the school bus after school, trek to Place Laurier, and call my parents from there, giving me time to go to the ‘Chinese’ food court counter and order some up, with spare rib juice on top.  All for a buck or two.  Given my meagre allowance at the time - lawn mowing, baby sitting, marble betting and all, I could not afford fried rice and poutine on the same week.  This was surely a good thing for my poor parents who always had their kid disappearing on some food quest or another. 

These noshes were the highlights of any week though.  At home, we ate boring English fare, boiled beef and potatoes, mushy broccoli and healthy homemade brown bread.  Luckily, my neighbourhood buddies and school friends were around to introduce me to all kinds of more ‘exotic’ things – be it paté chinois (better shephard’s pie), ratatouille, rare roast beef and garlicky romaine salad, Vietnamese sandwiches, greek salad and sauerkraut - with their lunches, after school snacks and birthday parties.  Life wasn’t so boring even if I couldn’t make it to the mall.  Altogether, I gradually entered a new phase, where Friday night pizza or KFC was no longer the ultimate treat.  (There was no McDonalds near us then).  Still, I managed my fried rice or noodles every now and again and Americanized Chinese became my thing, remaining a weakness until adulthood when I moved to Montreal and tasted better Chinese.  Then Indian and Thai, and more Vietnamese.  Primo Italian.  And everything else.

Fast forward 30 years.  Although I eat basmati rice by the ton, I make stir-fries and noodles and use Asian flavours in my cooking quite regularly, I still get cravings for the kind of Chinese you can only get at the restaurant, that you want to go out for or order in.  The only problem is that now I live in the country, miles away from Chinatown, and the only available take-out (or restaurant for that matter) offers pizza and poutine.  Although perfect on other occasions, great poutine does not make up for a lack of chow mein.  There is no Chinese - good or bad, to be had in these parts.  I’ve learnt to live without.

On one of those ‘Chinese would be perfect’ nights, when I was perusing the fridge trying to figure out what to eat, in no mood to eat meat or fish, I decided an egg would be my protein, and there were greens, cucumber, and a batch of left-over rice looking back at me.  Fine.  But instead of combining them as is, a favourite meal of mine being rice topped with a mix of cooked and raw veg and a fried egg, I decided it was time to make some fried rice to change it up.  The idea quickly had me salivating so I went to town.

Yum.  Surely better than the fast food of my childhood, this dish truly hit the spot.  And I will be doing it again very soon, trust me.  A perfect trashy treat at the end of a long day, not that unwholesome either, this way..

Sauté garlic and ginger in some oil, add left-over rice and coat well, fry while stirring for five minutes.  Add a pinch of curry and a pinch of five spice and chilli, stir-fry, then add a good splash of soy sauce, fry a few minutes more over low-medium heat.  Add cut up cooked vegetables and heat through.  Crack a couple of eggs on top and mix in.  Finish with scallions and fresh coriander, fresh tomato and cucumber, salt and pepper.

Enthralled with fried rice all of a sudden again, I had to put it on my menu at the restaurant too..  So I dressed it up with wild mushrooms, duck egg, and wrapped it in rice lettuce - a killer side for quail with wild ginger no doubt.

Cough syrup meets dessert

When winter and flu season come around, we often brew up a batch of François’ special tisane to boost the immune system and diminish cold symptoms.  Featuring wild ginger, Labrador tea and tusselage flowers (coltsfoot), it is quite alright.  Sometimes we throw in some calendula.  Citrus and honey are natural additions, even a splash of rum - much better.

It’s hardly tried and true, but that’s because we rarely get sick - thanks to all the wild stuff surely.  Maybe also because we don’t have kids and live in the country.  This year however, that throat-chest cold that went through my circle of friends in Montreal made it to St-Roch.  So I took down the pots of dried flowers and weeds and made a batch of herbal tea.  I also did the chicken soup thing, and pumped up the garlic and chilli dosage in everything, no problem.  I never got sick - as in stay-at-home or work-less-than-50-hours sick, but the scratchy throat lingered.  There is only so much tisane a girl can drink.  Bored, and because everyone else around me was sick, my ears perked up when François got talking about the ancient remedy for cough syrup with wild ginger. 

So I made one.  A light cane sugar and water solution that I infused with a ton of wild ginger (this is expensive cough syrup).  And then I threw in some lemons for good vitamin C measure, and at the end just to steep, some Labrador tea and that awful tusselage, following the tisane trio.  Because I happened to be making wild strawberry-sweetgrass coulis at the time, I added some pulp to my syrup just to give it that familiar red colour and fruity taste.  Otherwise, elderberry would have been a good choice, with its inherent anti-viral properties.  Next time.

The final product was tasty, somewhere between medicinal and delicious like dessert.  I know that if I left out the coltsfoot and lemon rind bitterness, it would swing all the way to dessert.  In any case, this is the best cough syrup you will ever taste.

I am no sweet tooth, and have never been able to ingest cough syrup; ask my mother.  As a kid, it took several people to hold me down in order to get a tablespoon of the stuff in my mouth, as with fish pills.  But this wild, gourmet stuff, I could potentially slurp.  When my throat was acting up this week at work, I just walked into the cooler and took a swig, no fuss.  Other staff members, whether feeling under the weather or not, followed.  (Don’t worry, not directly from the mason jar).  Intrigue, delight!  We were even passing it around by the teaspoon to curious clients.  The general consensus is that it works too!  It certainly soothes the throat, but it could very well be the novelty or the yumminess - the oh so powerful placebo effect kicking in. Not that that is so different from any over the counter medication, I reckon.  So why not go the delicious route with home made cough syrup that doubles as dessert?

Come to think of it, that’s my solution to everything..  I’ll take oranges over Vitamin C pills, and fish and greens over omega 3 pills any day.  A diet big on fruits and vegetables, garlic, ginger and chilli, wild plants and mushrooms with all their phytochemicals and anti-oxidants, on top of small portions of natural protein and fats.. It’s all the doctor ever ordered, and so easy to follow.   Good shopping and cooking is all any of us really need. 

Ok, and an occasional rest.  A hit of ‘cold potion’, tisane or cough syrup made with love can only be bonus when there is a killer bug going around.

I often used to make a ‘cold potion’ in other kitchens I worked, for the cooks as soon as anyone seemed to be coming down with something.  Because the reality of kitchen life is that there is seldom question of taking the day off – you generally have to be on your death bed to acceptably bail on your team.  In any case, the idea of a ‘cold potion’ just ignited the cook in me - the inherent desire to concoct something good for others.  For staff meal, it was time to get creative with a garlicky, gingery, spicy stir-fries heavy on the veg and greens, or a hearty chicken soup.  More practical was a liquid potion, easy to down on the line (there’s not always time for a meal).  Rummaging through any restaurant walk-in, you find the necessary components for a decent remedy or two.  The starting point for any magic healing beverage, hot or cold requires pulling out the ginger, citrus and honey. Ask the bar tender for a hit of hard stuff and/or ginger ale and you’re set.  There are always other tasty, nutraceuticals (Chocolate! Nettle! Mushrooms!) one can throw in.  Now I have a full arsenal of extra wild stuff to add to the mix. 

Cold season is actually, kind of, almost fun. 



Sumac

Vinaigrier in French (Staghorn sumac)

(Rhus typhina), famille anacardiacées

This wild edible only came onto my radar for real last summer after a blog reader asked me why I wasn’t mentioning it among all the other wild goodies..  Good question.  Meanwhile, I had some in my kitchen that had been foraged, dried and ground by François the previous year sitting there untouched.  I had tasted sumac in many Morrocan or Middle Eastern dishes before, I had played with it some as a young cook, but it had never grabbed me, I guess.  It was one of those things that got forgotten about in the chaos of my cooking life, where there is an endless list of ever exciting ingredients to deal with, new and old, and so much to do.. 

No more!

Like with so many things, when you forage it yourself, smell and taste it fresh, go to the bother of processing it, said foodstuff gains in importance and wow potential.  This time around, it was like discovering it for the first time.  Fruity and tart, so complex.  Not just acidic and aroma-less like on that poor rendition of Za’atar bread in my taste memory from the early 90’s.  I’ve also developed a taste for tartness over the years, so maybe that helps in my new found appreciation for sumac. 

Even noble ingredients can get lost in the shuffle especially once the novelty wears off.  I typically go through stages with all ingredients, using a chosen one in every which way, only to brush it aside when something else comes along, until I wake up to it again if it is worthy.  With the wild stuff being our mission, my favourites there never get dissed, remaining on my menu year round - like wild ginger, crinkleroot, sea spinach, sweetgrass.. With others, it takes their peak season to come around, or perhaps a ‘grand ménage’ to uncover a jar on the back of the shelf or a sous-vide bag at the bottom of the freezer, inorder to reintegrate them into my cooking.  Upon review, sumac will not gather dust on my spice rack.  Here on in, it will get the special treatment; now that I know all it can be and do, it will be a staple.

That it is an indigenous shrub whose fruit can be picked in winter is another reason it is big on my mind right now.  Across the river outside my bedroom window, the deep-red velvety clusters hang from the trees, tempting me on a daily basis, inspiring me to put them to different uses, not to mention reminding me that my stash is fast diminishing with all this tinkering.  Skiing by the pretty trees a few weeks ago, François was talking about how we should really get around to a winter sumac harvest to replenish those insufficient stocks we made in fall, when we were too busy to put enough up.  Then the river ice broke, cutting us off from the treasure.  Well, happily, we ultimately were able to get to it, but with a little more work.  My François des Bois had to dawn his snowshoes, cross the bridge at the table champêtre and work his way through the woods and back, requiring a half-day, as opposed to a few minutes out our back door.

Back in the kitchen, we laid them out to dry such as to facilitate rubbing the berries off the comb, and then we dried the berries in a dehydrator for a day, or alternatively in the oven on the pilot light for several days.  The dried berries then get pulverized in the robot coup and spice grinder.  The resulting powder is what I use to cook with, but we throw the dried berries whole into our tisane for a touch of brightness and acidity.  The powder is great in many spice mixes or in a chopped salad, say with beets, celery and endive, or some take on greek style salad or fattouche salad. I’ve used it to kick up and color a coconut foam or froth to go into a Thai flavoured soup replacing the lime, and in fish soup, in berry vinaigrette and granité, in various marinades for fish or poultry, and in sauces (near the end).  It fits any time you would add lemon or balsamic vinegar for flavour and lift without necessarily the matching acidity..  I’ve also included it in my ‘wild’ gremolata along with sea parsley, crinkleroot and wild garlic that I slather on roasts and braises like osso bucco, nicely cutting through the richness.

It turns out that the punch is due to malic acid, the same acid present in apples.  So funny enough, this is a natural (much more fragrant) source for the powder I fell in love with at my hydrocolloids course in NYC last year.  This is more arduous, but definitely more locavore and less expensive than ordering from Terra Spice..  For cooks it is crucial to note that apparently, some people may be allergic, like with vinegar and  pineapple.

For the rest of us, it is one of the few non-toxic red berries out there in our landscape, and it’s hard to go wrong because of the characteristic look, although some of the other sumacs in the family (like Poison Ivy) are to avoid, but they have yellow or white berries, and the bark isn’t as smooth.  With the good sumac, the berries are a red, fuzzy bunch, and when you break off a branch, the gummy sap turns black.  It apparently has several medicinal uses too, including the bark, but that’s not my domain.  Sticking to the fruit and gastronomy, there is enough to do..  The aboriginals made a kind of lemonade with it. 

So, when a Quebec winter gives you sumac and little else, why not make lemonade! 

P.S. I am boosting up my bouillabaisse with it for Valentine’s; I’m convinced it’s an aphrodisiac, at least as much as saffron, oysters and chocolate!

Pimbina, that delicious stink bomb of a fruit

Also known as Squashberry, Mooseberry, or Highbush cranberry in English.

This native bush and berry is abundant in Quebec, but somehow off the radar, largely forgotten.  A part of the scenery, country folk take pimbina for granted, rushing by on their snowmobiles, not realising how precious these berries were to their ancestors, not even noticing how delectable the deer and fox find them. 

The problem may be that they are an acquired taste.  They give off a sour, fruity smell with a hint of funk.. Kind of like a cranberry, but with a touch of something stinky that is hard to describe.. Is it musk?  François says the odour brings to mind a lumberjack’s cabin and sweaty sock; his uncle mentions toe jam(?), I say blue cheese or vomit.  Maybe I’m exaggerating; I happen to be particularly sensitive to sour smells.  And the point of this post wasn’t to turn anyone off of putting a little pimbina in their pot, rather the contrary.    

At this time of year, when every wild edible is resting or covered in snow, the only thing out in the woodlands to eat (besides snow and pine needles, wild life and a little sumac) is this striking berry - a blinding brilliant red on the pristine white backdrop.  However enticing, it isn’t all that aromatic in the raw state and most certainly toxic, but on cooking, whoa, watch out – all those delectable aromas described above push forth, and then some.  No snacking straight from the bush; but no fear, on the stove, this certainly smells like food.  Magically transformed with some heat and a little sugar, it grabs you with its heady aroma – inviting and promising with the mix of fruit, umami, sweet and sour.. if not universally appealing like brownies or chicken soup.

Come to think of it, the squashberry probably wouldn’t get the time of day in summer when all those other easy-to-love berries are around, but thank God for that..  Because it is a jewel in winter, and no less tasty, just different.. It requires a little work is all.  It doesn’t make your kitchen smell so terrific afterwards, but the final product, be it in coulis or jelly form, or even to infuse a sauce, is surprisingly delightful.  Even  ambrosial in a way that a truffle risotto or cheese fondue can be.  Think noble rot.

Historically, this berry played an important role in traditional Quebec cooking (back when everyone was a ‘locavore’), introduced to Quebeckers by the aboriginals, who also used the bark medicinally.  Infusions are claimed to sooth menstrual and other muscular cramps, preventing premature births and reducing blood pressure.  It was rather more important to ‘pure laine’ Quebeckers in the form of pie, jelly, ketchup or wine.  On tasting it in a dish at the restaurant, customers often light up, reminiscing about a late grandmother’s tarte au pimbina.. François’ uncle makes a jelly that sells like hotcakes at Christmas for turkey and tourtière.  

It took me a couple of years to get over the smell in order to really appreciate and understand this fruit.  The scientists say that this behaviour is normal by the way : programmed to be suspicious of something new, it typically takes 7+ experiences to pass the hump, subconsciously recognizing that a foreign substance is ok to like.  In this case, it all paid off; I’m now an absolute fan, and have something local to be grateful for in winter. 

Besides the locavore appeal, I choose it foremost for its uniqueness and complexity, for its versatility too.  That it can conveniently be scooped up on cross-country skis is another bonus.  Actually snow shoes are better because it likes to hang out in humid, lit patches on the edge of the forest, so in covered swamp land, on the edge of gulleys.  They are best picked frozen, so in the fall after the first freeze (before the birds get them), or in the winter.  François says if the winter isn’t too harsh and too much snow doesn’t fall so that the birds and foxes have something else to eat, there can be enough out there for pickings all winter.  But it’s best to be safe and make your stores early season as we did. Anymore to be found like now, is icing on the cake.  The critters only take it as a last resort because they don’t cook. 

The squashberry works both in savoury and sweet; it has the proper chops to accompany a strong cheese, or even a mild one that is rich; it pairs nicely with poultry and pork, game meats and foie gras; it’s killer in desserts, especially those with chocolate or to punch up other red fruits in sweet confections or in vinaigrette.  With apples too, in a pie, crumble, compote or sauce.   

Once you get to know the squashberry, its weirdness fades fast, 'interesting' takes over, and it isn’t long before say a strawberry or raspberry or blueberry seems boring.  New territory maybe but this is not a berry to brush off.  Not many berries are meaty.  There’s chicoutai (cloudberry), another stinky one; but like the cloudberry, this is a berry for grown ups, for Nordic types. The deep flavour and funky notes make it the perfect winter berry – hearty and satisfying.  Just what the doctor ordered when it's cold and gray and you're aching for some depth and soul and major sensation to waive off the blahs.  A hit of something pimbina will do the trick, trust me. 

I wouldn’t want it for breakfast, though.   



My review of the book, Apples to Oysters, by Margaret Webb, a 2009 Cuisine Canada award winner in the Canadian Culture Category.

http://cuisinecanadascene.com/