soupnancy

New Year’s resolutions

Bah?

I never really bought into this last ritual of the holiday season, probably because it marks the end of the party, which I’m never ready for.  

Besides, I’ve always been the kind of person that reassesses my life and analyses it regularly, not necessarily waiting for special occasions and specific dates to take a step back and realign, to set goals or put pressure on myself.  I like to be realistic too; I won’t decide to become a patient, morning person overnight or quit smoking if I don’t think I want to or can.  Why do so many people arbitrarily decide to walk into that trap on January 1^st to only beat themselves up soon after.  Wired for self preservation, I tend to avoid setting myself up for eminent failure.  Not that I ever shied away from challenge either. I’m a masochist and a delinquent, but I don’t need to be reminded of it so early in the New Year when I’m still basking in a holiday glow, with a mushy mind and full of optimism.  Timing!

Once way too hard on myself, I have learnt to be more gentle (lax!) with the years.  I don’t put myself up for review as frequently or take on as much.  I’ve learnt to say no.  I no longer aim for ‘perfect’ in many ways, and insist on being true above all.  Be it wisdom or laziness or simply a survival tactic, I am more inclined to allow myself to beat to my own drum, outside of what I was or was supposed to be.  Although increasingly at odds with what I and my youthful entourage figured we should be in 2010, I think I’m happier for it.  Nevertheless, deep down, I know someone needs to be cracking the whip every now and then.  I always wondered why people needed the calendar for that, but I’m starting to understand.

Critically, I can’t help but notice that approaching 40, especially on paper, I am flagrantly flawed with respect to those standards set so long ago; I should have a list of New Year’s resolutions so long it would be entirely overwhelming to tackle them all.  And for what?  Misguided, idealistic kiddie dreams that are no longer my own.  Forget that.  I could pick through the heap though, salvage one or two, upgrade and add them to my perpetual ‘to do’ list, so as not to let them one day accumulate into a pile of bitter disappointment.  To shake things up, perhaps it might be a good idea to play the resolution game.   

So, whoosh with the whip; I will make a short list of resolutions that I can possibly attain, that might improve the lives of people around me, and make me a better human bean, or at least a better cook, which usually does all of the above in some small way.

• I will add one charity to my list, even if I’m broke.  (Must cut down elsewhere.)
• I will not let my hermit country life claim my manners altogether.  ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’, ‘I love you’; plain and simple kindness go a long way.
• I will not go soft when it comes to being green, eco-sensitive and composting, buying local and fair-trade - even if after years of doing so and being a tireless proponent, it sometimes feels futile.
• I will take full advantage of the slow(er) winter season and hash out at least one of my projects on the backburner. 
• I will learn a few new kitchen tricks; I must not fall into a rut. Allot sufficient time for brainstorming. And I will make a checklist of dishes and techniques I need to fine tune.  That’s lame - I always do these things and enjoy it.  But, I should really make use of those hydrocolloids, get to the bottom of that, which I’m not so into.  I am doing a bread class in March, much more useful.
• I will nail down corrections to my gnocchi variations and go back to the basics with jelly; I will add more fat to my sausage, and accept that certain ratios just can’t be tinkered with.
• I will write down recipes for once and for all. 
• I will keep my nose closer to the books and the bottom line, in an effort to be smart business wise at least as much as creatively.
• I will try to shut cupboard doors, close caps and jars and bags and locks tightly enough to not anger François and my co-workers.
• I will consider picking up a paint brush for the first time in my life, and contribute in household renovations, ugh.
• I will try to answer my phone more.
• And see my nieces and nephews, my Mom and Dad more often. 

• Oh, and if I make it through all that, then I should really, maybe do all those other things we’re supposed to want to do like exercise more, spend less, save more, go to bed earlier, quit smoking and drinking and all that fun stuff.. 

No!  I’ll save a vice or two for next year, quand-même.  But definitely, moderation is a sensible and noble goal to embrace.  Everything in moderation, including moderation. 

Here’s to a fabulous and delicious 2010 for you all!  Let’s welcome it in with the best intentions and a couple of meaningful resolutions or not - certainly not too many..  and while I’m at it, a few more sayings because..  Life is too short and time flies. Before over complicating life, it may help to strip down instead, ensure the essentials are covered and nitpick later, keeping this most basic recipe for happiness in mind:

Something to do, something to love, something to hope for.

Cheers and Happy New Year!

May all your joys be pure joys,

May all your pain be champagne.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Sometimes, Less is More

I hope you’re all happily cooking up a storm, or lucky enough to be around someone who is, while enjoying a little time off in the company of people you love. 

After weeks of holiday festivities that involved relatively little time in the kitchen for me, and much less extravagance and fussing overall, I realize what a most wonderful Christmas I had.  Somehow, I didn’t over indulge either - just a tad.  Maybe there is really something to the ‘Less is More’ thing.

I’ve always loved Christmas (minus the excessive commercialism), mostly because it is the one time of year when most people make an effort to slow down and allot time to be with family and friends, to kick back and be jolly, to give and receive.  It brings out the best in most human beans.  Besides, I just love a party, I love feasting, I love carols, I love rituals. I still hold true to sending out cards by snail mail, unsure if anyone really cares.  I’m the anti-Scrooge.  But logistically, it can all get somewhat stressful.  And like most of us (chefs), I can’t help but let the food part take up a lot of space in the ordeal, in energy and dollars spent, in hours slaving and agonizing, wanting it all to be perfect, for everyone to feel spoiled.  But in the end, the food is never all that important is it?  Great festive get-togethers are so much more about people’s spirits, ie. good will, a minimum of pressure and often, a generous amount of wine.  My silly Christmas tree shades I wore on every visit proved more worthy than any one dish I made, ha.

Deep down, I’ve always known that Christmas is not the time to get all fancy pants – special yes, elaborate no.  It must be the momentum of what I do that tends to lead me into special equals fancy territory.  I have the fondest memories of Quebecois reveillons at childhood friends’ places eating macaroni salad, ham sandwiches, tourtière, beans, creamy greens and pickled beets, complete with jiggy music and hilarious drunken uncles.  As a kid, I was always curious about what others were doing and eating at Christmas, so I managed to get myself invited to all kinds of different holiday meals.  I was with Jewish friends for Chanukah early in the month and then on the 24^th,  I had a selection of shin-digs to attend since my peers were largely French Canadian and we, the English oddballs, did our thing on the 25^th  .  Every family had their own unique tradition, all so much more exotic than ours it seemed, and I loved them all!  Sometimes it was ragout de pattes (pig knuckle stew with meatballs) or roast beef on the menu, or lobster, and always pies (paté à viande, paté au poulet, paté au saumon…).  Honestly in Franco-Quebec, the only staple at the buffet seems to be some version of tourtière; they like to put everything in a crust. I am now equally enamoured with the Italians’ succession of fish courses, and the newly discovered Kwaanza, the seven day African celebration of seven principles, featuring a whole new panoply of dishes to bring onto the season’s menu.

I soaked up more than my fair share of Christmas cheer over the years, up until I began working holidays as a country chef, and caterer.  I continued to make a big deal out of Christmas in any way I could, planning ‘before’ and ‘after’ visits and gifts, a turkey for staff meal, Champagne toasts at the end of a shift.  I will always remember forcing my kitchen crew at l’Eau to form a Christmas cracker ring and put on the tissue paper hats, so completely foreign to them, while they thought I was the most ridiculous chef they had ever met and just wanted to high tail it home.  For years, I only dreamed of an English style turkey with stuffing, gravy and mashed potatoes, which I will forever appreciate, whether technically successful or not.

Oh yes, I was supposed to making the point that food isn’t so crucial.  And then I followed with paragraphs of food talk.  Oh well.  That’s because of course, it is.  Good food certainly helps in any situation, bringing welcome punctuation to the array of activities, giving everyone something to talk about, to savour or to offer distraction when the conversation lulls or goes in a dreaded direction.  Especially when there is no crazy weather to talk about like this year, it all being so perfect with the white landscapes, mild temperatures, crunchy snow and decent driving conditions.

The bottom line is that food is very important, and mostly more so than the weather, but not something to get too worked up over.  However much I like to complicate things, I’m eventually learning that the holidays is not the time to go that route. 

Regardless that I was off for a change, I kept things simple (and my engagements to a minimum).  Breaking from custom, in the jam packed weeks leading up to the big day, I didn’t undertake a major production of tourtiere (with my usual confit and mix of game meat) and sweet treats.  (It’s ok to skip a year right?)  That’s only because I was sidetracked, busy trying to keep up with the Christmas markets - making my soups, stew, foie gras, confit, rillettes, smoked duck and stuff, as well as flavoured butters and all our little pots of mustards, jellies, syrups and pickles for the business.  Oh and packaging tisane and mushroom mix.  While it was relatively quiet at the restaurant, everything pre-made and ready to serve or suitable as a quick gift, went flying out the door.  It appears that people are cooking (or assembling fine meals) at home more than going out to restaurants, as well as seeking out food oriented gifts for their friends.

In the process, I made a little more of it all so that I could snag some for my gift packages.  Of course, I officially shopped for kiddie presents because they don’t want duck for Christmas.  Even Morrocan clementines, a step up from the Florida oranges of my childhood X-mas stockings, don’t elicit enough excitement to forgo a trinket or two for the kids these days (what’s the world coming to?). 

When it came to Christmas dinner, I tailored my menu around François’ mom and her desires, all while keeping it simple (she has a mini stove, 6 inches of counter space and a small appetite).  She really wanted a seared foie gras starter for a treat, which I hate to do outside a restaurant kitchen and I was stressing about it, until François ordered me to open my present before dinner - an All Clad fry pan duo.  After setting off the smoke alarm with the foie in my scorching hot pan, we sat down to an iceberg salad with blue cheese dressing, cranberries and almonds.  The iceberg! is not because I’m trying to be retro-trendy but because it’s the only salad green his Mom digests well, apparently (?). Don’t question mothers.  The main course was leg of lamb with Panch Foran pan jus, a red pepper spice condiment I made, du Puy lentil stew, roasted root vegetables, spinach with garlic.  Dessert was a buche with homemade Nutella buttercream, chocolate ganache and wintergreen ice cream.

Quite a minimalist menu for me don’t you think?  Especially that I swiped the dessert from my restaurant Mise en Place, all part of the plan..  For the Hinton clan, everyone chips in (ten siblings and co., c’mon), so I brought soup, charcuterie and dessert (the same dessert).  How smart. 

It turns out that my brothers and sisters have grown up to be quite good cooks too, having not been able to count on me for so many years.  My brother Bruce made a striking buche as well, Liz made the biggest batch of ratatouille of her life, my little brother Dave made a gi-normous Lac St-Jean style deep dish tourtiere, the likes of which I have never seen and all totally scrumptious; Maggie took care of the basic turkey and sides which kicked.  I think my mom’s spiced lentil stew is the best condiment for turkey and potatoes ever - forget about cranberry sauce here on in.  Afterwards, Elsa’s gang fed me with duck, duck fat potatoes and green bean, tomato feta salad; we ate moose with roasted cauliflower, mushrooms and leftovers the next day. Another brother made quiche and salad for a quick meal, all from scratch, and so delicious.  This holiday season, I was touched by everyone else’s offerings.  There is nothing like a homemade dish produced with heart (and good ingredients).  At holiday time especially, a kid brother’s concoction is bound to hit the spot way more than any top chef’s or restaurant meal could.

For New Year’s when I host again, Isabelle the pastry chef will be bringing dessert, so the buche will happily get a rest, but I’ll have to take it up a notch on the savoury side – enough smooth sailing, after all.  As a chef , I can hardly rely on the student-brother factor to woo.  You gotta have oysters on NYE, and seafood too right, charcuterie always, then hmm, I dunno..  There will be venison somewhere.  Cheeses for sure.  For the main dish, François wants lamb again; he bought a whack of shanks that arrived too late for Christmas.  I want to do a game bird, we’ll see.  For this one, we already have a wine plan, starting with a sparkler with elderberry (counter flu), and ending with a layered Quebec version of B52.  You see, François bought two maple liqueurs, so enamoured with the artisan upon meeting him although we never drink that kind of sweet thing; it so happens that I have the perfect little glasses for it that otherwise just sit in my cabinet. 

As the preparations get underway and I’m tempted to add layers of excitement (and work) to the menu, I must keep reminding myself of my Christmas revelation - that it’s not all about the food.  Staying Zen is worth a bit of compromise – be it a course less, or store-bought bread and crackers instead of hand made.  All laid out, nothing plated, no hydrocolloids.  My guests better not be disappointed though.

Forget the quaint neighbourhoods, the plateau and the old port, at least for a night;

Go downtown to Crescent Streest for artful, quality cooking without pretension.

Strange I know, but it’s true.

Even the group menu was stellar

I was there with a crowd of students from the Laval cooking school and a set menu, so it’s not like I was living a normal night out..  I certainly would have ordered much more extravagantly and had a lot more wine, so I figure this experience is only a glance of what they have to offer.  Still, it was extremely good. The food was simple but interesting, technically spot on, very tasty.  I will definitely be back.  I can’t wait.

The menu:

Jerusalem artichoke soup with mustard yogurt foam

-tasted like just that, perfect

Charcuterie plate:

House smoked ham, bresaola, smoked duck, pintade rillettes, paté landais

-all excellent, only the last didn’t WOW

-served with pickled baby carrots, pickled Honey Crisp apples and moutarde violette

Pintade supreme with celery root –mustard purée, vegetables (brussel sprout leaves, turnip slices, yellow foot chanterelles..), and foie gras jus, quince purée

-nice cuisson, truly delicious vegetables; I wouldn’t have minded more sauce, but with the quince and the buttery celery root, there was enough moisture to ensure juicy bites to the end

Green apple, olive oil, white chocolate yogurt mousse with roasted pistachios, green apple granité

-Extraordinary!  Fresh, delicate, deep, surprising, delicious to the last green bittersweet bite.

His signature pot de crème with chocolate cream, cookie and Maldon salt caramel mousse in a mason jar

-scrumptious, sweet and chocolaty, I just love the salt crystals in the decadent mélange.. I had a hard time finishing, but I’m not a sweet girl.  I saw another girl polish off two in minutes.

Mignardises:  Passion fruit marshmallows, coffee chocolates on a stick

I was done with the sweets by this point but still managed to eat my share; they were excellent. 

You must realize - I normally have trouble facing one dessert, let alone two or three; only with Patrice can this go down.  He has a delicate touch, always something sour or bitter or salty or stimulating going on to wake up the taste buds; his desserts aren’t all eggs, butter and sugar, often fruit based and lighter.  I can hardly believe it, but on perusing the menu, I found myself thinking how anxious I was to return to try his other desserts (after the rock shrimp and pork belly of course).

I keep talking about Patrice Demers (he’s just so talented and lovable), but obviously Marc André Jetté holds up his end on the salty side, which of course is the most important, eh!  (Cook vs. pasty jab, c’mon I can’t help it).  I was impressed with him at Laloux too.  As are the rest of the set of Montrealers who pay attention to food, but he too remains modest and earnest, only quietly ambitious.  So rare in young ones today.  They are a marvel to me.  They make me smile on the inside, especially after eating so well.

One little minor thing that perhaps not many people care about, but I can’t help but point out..  For a change, the food tasted like it was supposed to (given what the menu suggested).  This evening, it so happens that I arrived late and had no knowledge of the menu beforehand, but I nailed all the elements in tasting the dishes, exclaiming to my neighbours what we were eating while they were guessing.  The waitress came around to describe the plates before us only to confirm my hunches.  Jerusalem artichoke soup with mustard yogurt foam tasted like Jerusalem artichoke, then yogurt and then mustard, Pintade with celery root and quince - like pintade with celery root and quince!   Honestly, this rarely happens.  In other words, the flavours are clean and pronounced, focused, well orchestrated; they deliver on what is promised.  Besides everything being top notch!  It was only with the lollipop that I found the coffee flavour too subtle (but maybe that was because I was drinking coffee at the time).  They should figure that in though because everyone does and punch it up.

All in all, I have only good things to say.  I’m not one to talk about décor, ambiance or bathrooms, which are all fine, and besides the point.  Especially when there is Quality, Passion, Thoughtfulness and Finesse on the plate!  It’s all there - how refreshing.  This cooking is fine tuned and tasty without too much flafla; they are using great ingredients and taking care of the details in the kitchen.  I just hope the Crescent street clientele can see that.  Ya right, and oh well.  As long as they come in and spend money.  Better yet, I hope that enough gourmands come from across the city downtown to eat some of the best unassuming food in Montreal. 

Imagine that.  Downtown on Crescent St..  How times change. 

And la Montée is right around the corner, another plateau favourite to rediscover in finer digs - next on my (downtown) list.

Don't forget to look for Patrice's new cookbook available in bookstores now!  A great foodie gift.



What’s missing on the menu

My last few dining experiences (if I can call them that) in Montreal have let me down.  And I know that it’s not that there is a lack of quality, variety, or even new hot spots in our dynamic city.  Maybe there is just too much choice - always the latest places to check out, old haunts to revisit.  So spoiled, it’s easy to become blasé, and have high expectations.  It could be that I’m getting old and cranky too. 

Because I am so busy all summer, I am constantly trying to play catch up on the Montreal scene, so when in town, I can’t help but be drawn to the buzz, forgetting the inherent risks attached.  It’s not like anything ever really goes terribly wrong either, no Kitchen Nightmares, nothing to stop me from having a good time. Which I always do no matter what, when I’m out with friends and someone else is cooking. I do realize we eat relatively well in Montreal even on a bad night. 

Still these last escapades left me with a minor ache - a lingering feeling of disappointment mixed with annoyance, that I mostly kept to myself in the name of fun, only to hash it out alone the next day.  I see that there has been a pattern though, a theme to my dining out pangs.

I can only describe it as a lack of Identity and Authenticity in so many of these restaurants or kitchens.  Something not ringing true.  Like the concept and menu is a random combination of borrowed tricks and trends, something rigged, as opposed to an honest, unique expression of the person(s) behind the business.  This translates into a lack of magic that might just leave me feeling blah, unimpressed and disillusioned, but passive.  It is the regular side of cockiness that is grating, that leaves a bitter residue, making me inclined to rant days later. 

What is going on? In some instances, the lack of authenticity might be because there is a business group behind it rather than a chef-owner or family.  Marketing vs. soul.  It also might be that the key players, well meaning or not, are frequently absent, over-extended with other projects and so the follow-through isn’t there.  In other cases, I suspect it’s a whole other story, because there is some young chef and/or manager at the helm who hasn’t yet come into his/her own.  However earnest and eager, they don’t have enough experience to have a real style carved out, with their own principles, or a real understanding of the business.  So they are all over the map, and influenced not only by investors, but by what every other chef and restaurateur around is doing.  Which might account for so many menus on the block reading the same?!

But it’s not even about look alike menus.. I do enjoy tartare after all.  I try not to judge any place by the written menu alone anymore, letting the experience decide.  I’m talking about delivery here, something successful overall for what it is, and harmonious - on the plate, in the ambiance, in the service, in the feel.  Not necessarily seamless, but not all seams.  No need for ten garnishes per dish. And what’s with the sweet salad dressing slathered all over?  In the tartare too?  Please. How about one solid tartare or ceviche or steak instead of ten stabs at a classic; try one kind of oyster, ultra fresh and by the dozen, as opposed to ten types.  One good waiter can replace ten half-wits too.

Warm, courteous and honest goes a long way anywhere, by the way.  So does hip and cool, I suppose, but if that’s your raison d’être, stick with that and don’t go all high falutin` fako fancy pants.

Don’t talk local, regional seasonal when you’re a city kid who has never stepped onto a farm, when you’re not a regular at the market, and just dial up a big purveyor every day. 

If you can’t answer a few simple questions about the wine list, don’t come and pretend you are a sommelier and taste my wine to see if it’s ok.  I love a good sommelier in house for expert wine advice or a lead on a wine to be discovered, but if that isn’t on offer, that’s fine.  I usually know what I want if the list isn’t complex enough to have a sommelier anyway. 

I’m happy to drink and eat whatever the house specialty is, if there is one.  I can be as content with a poutine and a beer or a Cava and a salad, as with a multi-course wine pairing meal.  I just like to know what I’m dealing with.  Don’t pretend to be something you’re not.  It might impress the kids who don’t know better, but I know you’re full of it.. 

I might not mind amateur hour; I might even find it dear and refreshing, if inflected with a touch of naiveté or humility, without the pretence.  It is the attitude, acting like you know it all and are big league when you clearly don’t and aren’t, while charging big league prices to boot.

When I think of the best places in Montreal, and they aren’t all grown-ups, I realize that an essential reason for their hold is that they are true, in fabric and wear; be it lace, leather or nylon, they resonate something you understand.  These gems can be found on all ends of the spectrum - from the well known to your humble neighbourhood favourites.  Say Toque or Chasse et Pêche or Cocagne or La Chronique or Joe Beef, or Pied de Cochon.  Or L’Express, Sans Menu or Detour Bistro.  And so many simpler places that are chef owned or Mom and Pop enterprises (as just about all the ‘ethnic’ restaurants are), including the best take out counters, cafés, breakfast joints and casse-croutes.  It doesn’t mean any of them are perfect or suited to everyone, but they are authentic and ever evolving, in line with the vision and life experience of real people working hard behind the scenes.  Often, they seek out local ingredients and go to lengths to be environmentally friendly without plastering it all over their menu or website, because it’s just a part of caring. And every little thing from the reservation desk to the table settings and the décor, to the meat, the wine and toilets, reflects that personality.  You feel it, you taste it, and are happy to pay for it, whatever it is.  This basic truth seems to elude businessmen jumping into the restaurant world, and young chefs in a rush to stardom. 

With the recent economic climate, the importance of business sense in restaurant operations is omnipresent; but amidst the books, the cut backs, concept changes and creative marketing strategies, we mustn’t forget the rest either. Or to dare to be unique.

I think authenticity is more than instrumental, it is the crux. And it is hard to come by with all the talent and money in the world, but natural enough given the right people in the right place at the right time, who have passion and chemistry, and are backed up by a solid dose of life, blood sweat and tears.  This might not be the only recipe for quality and longevity in a restaurant, surely not the easiest or most profitable – and obviously not what the jet set is after ..  But I know it is the only kind I’m interested in.

I’m not ready to give up entirely on Old Montreal for food, or the prospect of fresh, exciting restaurants in general, but I might hedge my bets better next time.  Actually, I think I’ll take a time out and go for something tried and true before I head out into ‘new’ territory again. 

La Relève?

Know any back-to-the-landers who might be interested in a new life at Morgan farms (Weir, Laurentians)? Or anyone with ideas for a project, coop or business that could tie in?

John and Janice are looking for a solution to keep the farm alive as they step back after years of work building this beauty of an enterprise.  It would be a crying shame to lose this wonderful source of quality Québec, organic food (meat, bread and etc.).  At best, it could morph into something new that keeps the spirit alive, and the infrastructure operational. Anyone with any kind of interest or suggestions should contact them.  

This is the letter they sent to friends and customers:

John Bastian

Morgan Farms

90 Morgan Rd. 

Montcalm, QC                   JOT 2V0

Tel: 819/687-9021 Fax: 819/687-9926

john@fermemorgan.com

www.fermemorgan.com

English copy below

Chers clients et amis,

Depuis plus de 20 ans, mon projet de retraite a été de cultiver de la nourriture santé biologique pour le plus grand nombre de personnes possible. Ce fût une belle aventure, et comme toutes aventures elles arrivent à une fin à moment donné. Ce projet est devenu plus ambitieux que je ne l’avais planifié au départ. On nous a dit à maintes reprises combien on apprécie les Fermes Morgan en tant qu’endroit où on peut se procurer une belle variété de viandes biologiques, ainsi que de produits de la boulangerie faits avec notre farine de grains entiers fraîchement moulue sur place. Nous vous remercions sincèrement pour votre support et vos commentaires durant toutes ces années.

Ma femme Janice et moi arrivons à des nouveaux carrefours dans nos vies. J’aurai 70 ans l’an prochain, et Janice est redevenue de plus en plus active avec sa pratique de Chiropracticienne. Avec l’état de l’économie mondiale actuelle et le besoin absolu d’avoir accès à des aliments biologiques et locaux, nous sommes attristés du fait qu’à moins de trouver une nouvelle solution, nous devrons probablement envisager de cesser les opérations de la ferme. Notre participation dans les marchés biologiques annuels, ainsi que l’ouverture du magasin ne pourrons plus continuer.

Nous vous écrivons, chers clients et amis appréciés, pour vous informer premièrement de la situation et du dénouement possible dans la prochaine année. Nous avons regardé plusieurs solutions afin de maintenir la ferme en opération, mais à date n’avons trouvé aucune alternative viable. C’est pour cela que nous souhaitons diffuser cette information en ce moment et vous demander aussi, en tant que gens qui êtes fidèles à la ferme, si vous connaissez des personnes qui pourraient avoir un intérêt, un rêve à s’impliquer dans la continuation d’un projet comme celui-ci. La ferme est rendue à une dimension où trois couples et leurs familles pourraient bien gagner leur vie avec les activités d’agriculture, de transformation des aliments et de distribution. Parmi les différents édifices inclus sur la ferme, trois maisons sont aussi disponibles en location à des gens désirant s’y établir. La ferme possède une grande infrastructure.

Au sud de nos frontières, nous avons entendu parler de projets où les consommateurs se sont regroupés ensemble pour opérer leur ferme afin de s’assurer l’accès à de la nourriture santé. Il y a déjà un intérêt à la Ferme Morgan d’ouvrir une Co-op, mais pour cela il faudrait une grande participation de consommateurs intéressés à devenir membres, avec une contribution active ou passive.

Si vous êtes intéressés par une participation quelconque, avez des idées que vous voulez partager ou avez tout simplement des questions, svp écrivez-nous à john@fermemorgan.com ou appelez-nous à 819-687-9021. Nous planifions organiser des sessions d’information ici à la ferme et serions ravis de votre présence et participation.

Nous sommes arrivés à un carrefour où nous avons essayé différentes possibilités, et nous n’avons plus beaucoup de solutions disponibles afin de garder la ferme en opération, même pour une prochaine année. Tout intérêt ou solutions créatives sont donc les bienvenus. Nous souhaitons ardemment que le rêve de la ferme puisse subsister, afin de continuer à offrir des alternatives santé et durables d’alimentation. Nous espérons que des nouvelles solutions fraîches se présenteront afin que la Ferme Morgan continue à avoir une longue vie!

Avec appréciation,

Janice et John

Dear friends and customers,

For over 20 years now, my dream retirement project has been to grow organic healthy food for as many people as possible.  And it has been quite a journey, a wonderful journey—and as all journeys are, they come to an end of some sort.  This project grew a little larger than I planned.  Almost all of you tell us that you appreciate Morgan Farms as a place where you can get a good variety of organic meats and baked goods from our freshly ground whole flour.  And we sincerely thank you for your support and feedback these past years.

However, with me turning 70 next year, and my wife Janice getting busy again with her Chiropractic practice, we are approaching a different path in our lives.  With the world’s economy as it is, and the absolute need for local, organic foods, we find this painfully sad that unless we find a solution, we may have to close down almost all of the farm operations.  Our participation at the yearly organic markets and our availability here at the store would come to an end.

We are writing to you, our valued friends and customers, to inform you of our situation and the possible consequences of what may happen next year. These past years we have looked at different solutions to keep the farm operation up and running, but so far have not come up with anything viable. We therefore want to get the word out and ask people like you who have been close to the farm, if you know anyone who may have the dream of becoming involved and continuing this type of venture.  The farm has grown to where several individuals could make a good living from the farming, food processing and distribution activities. Among all the buildings we have, there are three houses that would be available for rent to people settling on the farm.  The farm has a big infrastructure.

South of the border we heard of consumers grouping themselves together to operate their own farm to ensure a good quality food supply. There is an interest already to open a Co-op for which there would have to be many consumers who want to become members, with either an active or passive contribution.

If you are interested in any kind of participation, want to share ideas or have questions, please e-mail us at john@fermemorgan.com or call us at 819-687-9021. We plan to set up information sessions here on the farm and would welcome your presence and participation.

We have come to a point where having tried many different options, we feel we don’t have many solutions left at our disposal to keep the farm open for another year.  Therefore, any interest or creative ideas are welcome. We want very much for our dream of the farm to live on, to continue providing healthy and sustainable food alternatives, and we hope that new fresh solutions come our way for Morgan Farms to continue its journey!

In appreciation,

Janice and John

Describing mushrooms

Hard to do, even for a mushroom girl

I was caught off guard on a Monday morning after a big week end, too early for my head to be functioning in full gear, bombarded with questions about mushrooms.  Granted, this should be familiar territory.  But it wasn’t about how they grow, how to pick them or even how to cook them, this journalist wanted key descriptors, a few ‘best’ adjectives to describe them all physically and flavour-wise.

As a cook who is in love with my olfactory senses, and a slave to them, this kind of thing is right up my alley and usually my strong suit. But obviously I’m no good at putting that across at 10am, and when it comes to shrooms, perhaps not at all anymore. 

You see, I’ve been up to my ears in mushrooms now for months, my fingernails a stained brown, my head swimming in clouds of their aromas as they got wiped down, dried and/or cooked day after day after day.  So completely immersed in mushrooms, it seems I’ve lost all reference points.  After processing two hundred or five hundred pounds of a certain type, you get to know it intimately, and so a chanterelle smells and tastes like a chanterelle, a pied de mouton like a pied de mouton, a bolet jaune like a bolet jaune.

When these mushrooms were new to me, I was struck by their particular personality traits, comparing them to something else I knew better, say vanilla or butter or maple syrup or almonds in flavour, or like eggplant or beef in texture.  Similarly, I used to describe sweetgrass as being reminiscent of vanilla bean, almond paste and freshly mown hay; whereas now when I come across anything with the active ingredient coumarin, it shouts ‘sweetgrass’ to me, because that is my new reference point.  Bitter almond smells like sweetgrass and not the other way around, and Tonka bean smells like sweetgrass on top of layers of coffee and fruit. Pink peppermints smell and taste like wintergreen.  And so an oak barrel can smell like a cèpe to me.

It depends on reference points.  Does lovage remind you of celery or vice versa?  With licorice - does fennel, star anise, Pernod or a childhood candy come first?  It comes down to which form you met as a young one, when a lasting connection was struck - a neural pathway etched out, followed by what you have around you all the time, that nourishes and nuances that engraved network.

We all have our ways (our firsts, our neural pathways, our individual reference points and patterns of taste buds), and on top of that, nature does not deliver constants (hence the magic!).  It’s natural to assume that a carrot is a carrot and an oyster mushroom is an oyster mushroom - but no, and never.  How we interpret an ingredient or sensation is personal and always evolving. 

Thank God for the seasons; they make it more difficult to stereotype or get in a rut.  As the first of each species comes into season, I am excited and alert to the aromas; rediscovering them annually.  And there are variations from year to year, so I pick up on the difference.  The Bolet à Pied Rouge are less fruity this year, more chocolately once dried.  The Polypores are less fresh melon, more savoury corn and chicken, be it in the pan or dried.  But the truth is, most of them fall into their regular frame quick enough and I forget about them as a novelty, they are themselves again.  Only a little less or more so than last year.  A carrot is a carrot and a mushroom is a mushroom, more or less.  Chop, chop.

I forget when I stopped tasting mushrooms as intensely and objectively, or like a normal person, like I’ve forgotten so many things I thought I would never forget, no matter how important they once seemed in understanding the world.  It’s tricky to explain how to multiply or divide when you are decades out of school, or how to put in words the feel of a pan or oven or custard that is at that optimal temperature, when you’re not on the line.  What was a Coprin or Lactaire like before I was so familiar with them?   

I can imagine a seasoned wine taster not necessarily stopping to notice the grassy, citrus and pee notes in a certain white, his/her mind immediately leaping ahead to the sum of its parts, to a Loire Sauvignon blanc.  A tradesman will instinctively tell you a motor is broken or a structure is unsound without necessarily being able to delineate the cues or express his thought process.  Herein lies the difference a wine critic and a wine drinker, or between a talented tradesmen and a talented teacher in the same domain.

Anyhow, if I want to talk mushrooms with anyone who isn’t living mushrooms like I do, I need to be able to offer up more than ‘very bolet’ as commentary.  Especially that beyond the odd old European country hermit, such a person is quite rare, much scarcer than wine connoisseurs in these parts for sure.  So, I have to keep looking back and maintain reference points that allow me to communicate with normal people  And journalists.

I have taught before, I am a critical thinker, I have attuned taste buds, I should be able to do all of this. When I cook something up, or anything wafts by me, I perk up, exclaiming that I’m catching a whiff of this or that.  I notice scents more than anyone, so it’s not that my senses are dull.  It’s just that when it comes to mushrooms, I’ve become saturated and acclimatized, even nonchalant surrounded by such preciousness.  Not to mention that I’m always preoccupied with all that has to be done, so not sitting around pontificating about aroma profiles as much as I would like.

So, maybe it was time to take a time-out.  Feeling like I should do some grounding, I looked back at a few scribbles I had jotted down in my journal in previous years (back when I religiously did that sort of thing).  I pulled down all my jars of dried mushrooms and got to sniffing.  I sizzled up a few fresh batches of assorted mushrooms and paid close attention - smelling, tasting, thinking.  I agreed with my prior assessments, with a few qualifying notes or question marks to add.  For the varieties I had no notes for, I concentrated on evaluating them anew, determining what their principal characteristics were, searching for any flavours or aromas that jumped out at me. I had a hard time.  And it was late in the day, I was at my best, no excuses.  Dissecting the pied bleu, for instance, I found it very mushroomy, a strong mushroom on the scale of mushrooms; it is earthy and nutty (but c’mon Nancy, they all are), but this one is more so.  And not nutty like the delicate almond in a pleurote or a chanterelle, but deeply nutty like a walnut (bitter?).  It smells peppery; is it vegetal peppery or spicy peppery – both it seems.  It definitely tastes meaty.  Can I not come up with better, more precise adjectives? Geez. 

For the record, all mushrooms I taste, I automatically rate in degree of mushroom flavour (delicate to strong: bland like a button mushroom to very potently mushroomy for mushroom lovers only), and then note the accompanying aromas and flavour notes in parallel. Of course woodsy, earthy and nutty recur; sometimes fruity and floral elements too - this is forest floor territory after all, terroir.  In drying, sweetish, lactic, caramelized odours push forward (vanilla, coconut, moka, chocolate, maple, butter).  All this is normal, and so many of them have varying degrees of all these, but then always something else that is unique.  Hard to put your finger on, like nothing else.  Try to describe a truffle, and plus, every specimen is different.  Mushrooms are complex.  Like wines again, a bit from the fruit, a bit from the ground, the trees, the weather, the harvesting and of course the subsequent manipulation. 

Hedgehogs or Armillaires are the best example of cooking changing everything, of special treatment being key. They both need to be cooked slowly (not sautéed over a high flame) to be good; with Armillaires or Lobster mushrooms, you need to add water or liquid, a braisé is best. Otherwise, you will not get any of those incredible aromas.  And for many of the boletes, you only coax them out in drying, and for coprins, in long cooking.  Some freeze well, most don’t; most dry well, some don’t.

I know there is a lot to learn about mushrooms, I am learning every year.  When it comes to their aromatic components, I will never pretend to know it all, even if I could possibly describe them properly.  I could certainly use a little more vocabulary, but I’m not only blaming me or the English language; there’s more to mushrooms than that. If a carrot has 20 aromatic compounds, a mushroom has 200.  Then there’s the glutamates (MSG) and other proteins (natural jelly), all playing into the taste.  Their mystery is not surprising given that they have been around for eons before us; I reckon five or six sets of taste buds probably doesn’t cut it to fully get them.    

All that said, I realize I’m just not good at this anymore.  I should have taken more notes earlier on.  I’m just not fresh enough; I know them too well.  It’s hard to be objective in describing your family; mushrooms are my family.

So before I lose all points of reference and my mind is a mushroom mash and mess, I better take down what I have.  Given my life in funghi (partnered with François, what choice do I have?), it will probably only get worse. 

I’m keen to hash this out now.  Before I put a cap on the mushroom season for once and for all. 

For a little perspective, I recruited my bus-girl Roxane, who is sharp as a tack, betting that she could nail down an aroma or two. I was drawn to the idea of her fresh palette, not in the least tinged by too much knowledge, baggage or bravado, like a cook’s might be. It turned out that her observations often came in line with mine in terms of fruit or chocolate, and even more so once I made sense of her jargon.  She came up with things like ‘it smells like a granola bar’, ‘my grandmother’s desserts’, ‘like apple pie’, or ‘soap’ or ‘like vitamins’.  Which had me trying to figure out if she meant honey or nuts, butter or spice or lavender, so I would quiz her.  The only unsolved mystery was the Centrum thing, I just didn’t understand. All told, her efforts hardly changed much in my big picture, although she really did shine with the dried armillaires -  Candied citrus fruit, spice cake, wow!

Finally, below is a compilation of brief notes, keeping it to a phrase per shroom.  I’m sorry if it’s jumbled (wine people really hate this kind of mixing of aroma and flavour), but I like it this way because that’s how it plays out in real life as they all come together on the palette.  And sorry about the French terms all along, it’s just easier for me (and this is Quebec, this is how we talk).  Any cooking or texture notes are only there if they are exceptional.  With respect to all the boletes (including Cepes, and Agarics as well), I’m talking about the dried form, the rest are for fresh.  In general, the interesting, ‘extra’ aromas only come out once dried.  In fact, only a handful of mushrooms don’t get better once dried, and those are the ones most prized for texture - the Chanterelles, Polypore, Pleurotes, Lobster, Pied bleu. Noble Kings like Cepes, Matsutake and Agarics kick ass in both form.

BTW, Thanks Susan, for the shake, a reminder to keep it real and stay young.   These are for you.

My Mush aroma notes:

Agarics Champêtre                  very mushroom, toast, fruity chocolate (cherry blossom), truffle

Armillaire Ventru                      mild but with a bite, toothsome texture, chemical off notes with high heat; dried: fruitcake, spice, citrus

Bolet baie                                buttery, fruity, excellent, rare (boohoo)

Bolet insigne                            moka, molasses, hickory

Bolet jaune                              toffee, vanilla, coconut, butter

Bolet orangé                            roasted nuts, major floral component (lilac..)

Bolet à Pied Glabrescent          fragrant, subtley floral, honey, caramel, green nutty as in stone fruit pit

Bolet à Pied rouge                   very fruity, vanilla, chocolate, playdo (Rox says apple pie)

Cepes                                     aromatic and meaty (roast beef), soy, vanilla, coffee, c cinnamon, nutmeg

Cèpe des Mélèize                    very sweet, moka, chocolate, vanilla, butterscotch, strawberry ice cream

Chanterelles                             maple syrup, almonds

Chanterelles Clavaires  earthy, meaty, maple syrup, almonds and coconut

Chanterelles en Tubes  hot milk, cappucino, caramel

Coprins                                   meaty, woodsy, walnuts, long cooking best

Hygophores                             apricots, chicoutai

Lactaire Délicieux                    brittle, delicate, floral, walnuts

Lactaire couleur de sui citrus, flowers

Lepiote lisse                            mushroomy, much umami, soy, nuts

Lobster mushroom                   firm texture, not much flavour, but yes lobster, earth, fresh esp dried: fresh, coconut

Matsutake                               particularly aromatic, unique: floral, fruity and earthy all at once, chewy texture, citrus, pine nut

Mousserons                             supremely delicate, coffee, honey, citrus, bitter almond, kirch

Morilles                                   deep and earthy, musty, intense but subtle, truffle, coffee, spice, oreo cookie

Pied bleu                                 Strong, meaty, nutty, sapin, peppery, vegetal

Pied de mouton                        Mushroomy but fresh, acid, buttery even cheesy, cook low heat,        dried: butterscotch, almond paste

Pleurotes(automne)                  delicate, almonds, bbq chicken

Polypore Souffré                     Watermelon, lilacs, corn, lemon

Polypore Poule des bois          Delicate, chewy, melon, corn, almonds

Trompette de la Mort               Sweet and deeply earthy but fresh, complex, truffle, licorice, beurre noisette

Wine pairing, what a headache..

Not that it has to be.

I feel slightly guilty to be griping about wine pairing now, because once upon a time, it was a favourite pastime of mine. I was the biggest advocate, coaxing my poor friends to pay more attention to their wine and to their food, the juxtaposition.  I was nibbling, sniffing, and pontificating away, out loud. Annoyingly going on about how this would go with that, how this could be made to go with that, how we should be drinking this or that.   

At the time, I was also playing around in the kitchen with wine in mind, often composing menus starting from wine as opposed to the traditional other way around.  It was so much fun.  Eyes wide open to this other alchemy at play; I was beginning to understand how I could take a leap up from cooking something great by taking a dish over the top with the right wine, especially if I let the wine lead.  I was on the first, steep part of that learning curve, eagerly attending wine tastings, excited to detect every last note in a wine, and to tweak out every little nuance in my cooking.  I loved the challenge, and found it rewarding; the energy and patience required came easy.  I was devoted to finding the ‘perfect fit’.  Most importantly, I was backed up by a deep wine cellar and a team of sommeliers. Key.

The thing is, no matter how green or cushioned I was then, I believed in it wholeheartedly, and now I don’t.  The ‘perfect wine fit’, that is.  I do in theory yes, but for real life, no..  Of course, I know a wine can elevate a dish, and make it sing, and vice versa.  A wine can also wreak havoc on a dish (and vice versa) or simply lose its character, a crying shame.  From a chef’s point of view, it is worse when the food doesn’t shine because of a stupid wine.  At best, a wine doesn’t get in the way and is something you enjoy drinking, period. 

The bottom line 

I love wine as much as ever, and am just as curious about it in all its variety; I just couldn’t be bothered to spend too much time on preliminary farting around, speculating how it might interact with food in this guise or that. Beyond considering a few basic principles, the truth is only revealed in trying things out; every particular meal and circumstance is unique.  And most of the time, it isn’t practical to return to the kitchen and fuss with seasonings once the wine is open (which I might have readily done before). Personally, my number one consideration in choosing a wine now comes down to what I feel like drinking, perhaps a wine that has peaked my interest that I’m eager to try, or simply something familiar that I happen to be in the mood for.  Number two is matching the body or style of wine with the food - light body with light body, big with big, approximately matching the weight and intensity of flavours.  Obviously, there isn’t much point in opening a whopper of a red with a delicate shrimp or fish dish, nor firing up a pepper steak when a complex, aromatic Riesling is on the agenda.  That’s the bottom line.

On top of that, I do always keep some general guidelines in mind, and I pay heed to the tried and true: classic pairings like Sauvignon blanc and chèvre, lobster and burgundy, as well as personal rules like crisp white most of the time, Riesling with Proscuitto, Oysters with Prosecco, and Chianti with Bolognese, Champagne and good Burgundy anytime. It always depends if food or wine is the priority too; keeping the one that is off-setting the other good, but restrained.

The elements at play - games and headaches 

There are other tidbits I’ve learnt over the years that I bring to the table, the very things I once got off on, but am now calling on others to dismiss, because herein lies the headaches..  Without any desire to play sommelier or pick specific wines, I can’t help but have my opinions on what goes with what, in a broad sense.  I know that my customers often get worse advice from professionals with respect to my food only because I know my food and they don’t.  Knowing the chef’s style is as important as knowing the ingredients.  Many wine guides have people thinking that if there are blackberry notes in the wine, they should be eating blackberries.  Goddamn it, I don’t care what the wine specialists say, it isn’t true.  First of all, fresh blackberries don’t go with any wine, worse than artichokes or asparagus, trust me.  For sure, a fruity wine will go well with a fruity dish, but it might go even better with an earthy dish, say mushrooms or root vegetables.  Often a same taste cancels out a same taste.  A gamey wine can go with a gamey dish, but it won’t be great unless they both have something else to offer.  The wine has to be fruitier than the fruity dish, acid, body and everything else in order.  Acidity, fruitiness or sweetness needs to be more prominent in the wine for success.  Salty food calls for acid and/or sweet.  Acidic food needs acidic wine so that the wine doesn’t fall flat, but fresh and sweet can provide a nice foil.  Sugar (not just dessert, even caramelized onions, squash or corn) can kill a wine, increasing bitterness, sourness and astringency, so something sweeter, but multi-dimensional will compliment; focus on the fruit when you want a dry wine.  Rich food needs a squeeze of lemon, so something fresh fits the bill, but you need body so it doesn’t taste acrid or disappear.  Flesh calls for tannins, and long cooked delicate meat the opposite.  Umami can also bring out bitter/sour notes, but with salt, it can really soften a meaty, tannic mix, and provide surprising links. 

You can often balance a dish with a wine, but I believe most in balancing a dish first (with acid, salt, sugar, umami, heat); not only because food is my priority, but it is the easiest thing you can do to cover your bases and let a wine shine, assuming you are serving a balanced wine with it.  It is trickier to play off the food and wine dance, relying on one to bring out the best in the other.  In this scenario, you really have to think about wine as a condiment, finishing a dish, with a boost or a calming effect, offering layers of flavour.  But for the condiment to work, the players have to be from the same domain in style and in heft. (think girls, boys, ladies, men). 

At the restaurant, my cooking is always flavour forward, yet subtle, with underlying touches of earth and unami, always some sweet or fruit in there somewhere, alongside acid and salt, and religiously somewhere between ‘boys’ and ‘ladies’ in body and soul.  I never serve a big rare steak, so a tannic wine never works.  My food is too delicate for a super oaked wine.  Because of the freshness always, a lighter red is appropriate.  And for the first few courses, a girly white, something tart and aromatic is usually winner (because I start cold and light, and there is always seafood or charcuterie with aromats like wild ginger..).  And a soup and salad of some kind follows.  For the main course, duck or venison usually, a Burgundy, an old Bordeaux, possibly a Merlot or new world pinot goes well - so a lady-like red..  Whatever the ingredients are, I know this is what suits my cooking.  It happens every once and a while in fall/winter when I have a creamy sauce with corn and lobster or pintade that calls for a new world Chardonnay, or a bold dish with sweet harvest vegetables that calls for a manly Shiraz, but honestly, it’s almost never.   I feel like I could give the same wine guide every week and be in the ballpark.  That might be a cop out if I was a sommelier.

Enough is enough

But I know that's good enough.  Despite all the taste experience and mental notes I have up my sleeve, I can't pretend to effortlessly fall upon exquisite food-wine pairing.  Although extraordinary matches do surface, more often than not, they are just Ok, but it never stops me from enjoying the food or the evening, and I’m pickier than anyone.  There seems no point in worrying about every little note.

The ‘perfect fit’ is a lofty goal, and so easily thrown off by a side dish or punchy sauce or some finishing touch by the chef.  It’s even more readily mangled by all the variables that make up a real life dinner, be it at home or at the restaurant.  People showing up here and there, ordering a martini, going for a smoke, munching on this or that, bringing wines they want to drink.  There are people’s varied palettes always at play, their likes and dislikes, and how they eat.  Most people don’t change wines with every course, and the best wine to accompany two or three courses is rarely the same as any of those that would be best for any one dish.  So given the company and the menu, how many wines and what wines should you choose?

The only time an attempt at spot on wine-pairing is realistic is with a one pot meal at home say, and that still requires some forethought, experience and luck.  The best way to play the extreme wine pairing game is in the hands of a well orchestrated professional tasting menu that delivers one wine with every dish, preferably in a top notch establishment where much effort has gone into fine tuning the dishes and the matches.  In this case, it makes sense from the restaurateur’s point of view to invest the time, expertise and money to hash out the details, because customers are coming for that experience and are paying for it.  Finding the kind of balance, complicity and contrast in the elements, the specific recipe and cooking technique, that culminates in the kind of marriage that makes you sit up and take notice ( Hallelujah!) is something. To systematically reach beyond the realm of crapshoot requires work.

The Paradox

With modern-style globally influenced multi-component meals, smart wine pairing is more complicated than most make it out to be, and then, paradoxically, not.  Although technically, it is, with the hundreds of chemical compounds at play; in reality, it actually is not, only because the average person doesn’t care so much.  If you are really tasting what’s in your glass and what’s on your plate, tentatively swirling them around together and thinking about it, you will catch the jiving or jarring notes, and you know how rare the 1+1=3 thing is.  But almost no one does this.  So it doesn’t matter as much as we make it out to.  It’s all about avoiding big clashes, trying to keep both wine and food intact, and optimising synergies.

I think back to numerous catering events where only fine wines were being poured, all carefully coordinated for each canapé or course, only to largely and ultimately pass on muted taste buds and blocked minds.  Besides the odd keener or bored person with nothing else to do, many guests seemed annoyed with the complicated formula, being forced to change wines so frequently.  After all, they just started sipping a delicious Meursault, and now what – something sweet for the foie gras?  Shy to say they were less than enthusiastic with the host’s wine plan, they would hold tight to their glass, and eventually admit that they would rather just drink Champagne or even jump to red.  At many a tasting menu dinner in many a restaurant, I have observed that few people keep up; they’re drinking anything with anything.  Come to think of it, I don’t really like to change wines at every course either.

Another example of misguided wine-pairing efforts: Every week, I witness sloppy wine pairing (funnily working out just fine).. When customers bring my menu to the SAQ and ask a ‘conseiller’ for advice, I discreetly groan at the sight of the wines they show up with.  Just because the ‘expert’ saw ‘venison’ for instance, the unfortunate guest comes armed with a ‘costaud’, tannic Cabernet, which I know goes awfully with my food.  You need more than ‘venison’ as a clue to choose the perfect fit!  And Cahors with duck - stop it already! But if some ‘expert’ told them it was the best choice, chances are they will convince themselves of it.  I’ve seen it countless times.  Even with connoisseurs who pick wines from their cellar based on the menu, they seldom say anything other than that their selections were just right.  Either I have a bunch of Einsteins as guests and I cook magically to match all wines, or I suspect there is some of that subjective, positive feedback, rationalizing normalizer at play (placebo effect), mixed with people not tasting too carefully.  Not that I blame them, and I should be pleased.  If everything tastes good without thinking too much, and everyone is having a grand time, what else matters?  Food and wine are supposed to be fun, not stressful, and just as much about the setting and the people. 

The fact is, the older, jaded me drinks and eats separately anyway - sipping, then devouring, then sipping some more, not too concerned with marriage.  On occasion, in a stolen moment at a tasting menu event or alone say, I silently linger longer, savouring the party on my tongue, thinking long and hard about it if I’m allowed.  But when the company is good, I hardly do more than notice if the wine is corked, adequate or not; I’m definitely not worrying about the perfect match, and none of my friends are ever.

Beyond the odd aficionado, no one wants to go there anyway.  Most diners prefer to nod to the illusion of a perfect marriage, and go on talking. Likewise, people like to let someone else choose the wine, or simply drink what they like to drink.  So even if a California Cab or St-Joseph is not what’s ideal, if that’s what they are used to drinking with everything, then chances are they will prefer it to the Loire Valley red that would be the better mate.  If they hate white wine and three white wines are recommended with the menu, they won’t be thrilled.  They might be won over at Toqué or L’Eau à la Bouche where a professional, knowledgeable sommelier is there to charm them into loving a wine they don’t; but in the real world, forget it..

At Les Jardins Sauvages, I give up 

When it comes to recommending wines for my menu at Les Jardins Sauvages, I find it impossible!  Because there is no simple answer to please everyone.  Because I know how elusive that perfect fit is.  Shoving perfection aside, I still know how so many different wines could do the trick in other ways, so I don’t know where to start.. Mainly, it’s because everyone wants and expects something different.  And I don’t have the knowledge, resources or patience of a sommelier.

Some are looking for a different wine for each course; others want the super bottle to cover the meal.  Groups of 4 or 6 might decide on 3 wines for the meal.  Then of course, there are their individual likes and dislikes, and their respective budgets.  A few are just seeking some general guidance because they have a cellar.  Others don’t know squat about wine but are willing to go the distance to impress their guests, so they ask for specific SAQ numbers, and they will go across town to secure the wines.  Yet others want something reasonably priced and widely available (at the SAQ in rural Quebec). 

So that means I need to recommend a wine per course (7), as well as shorter wine selections of two, three, four or five wines, then another one for that conservative couple who will share one bottle.  And for any suggestions I might have, I need to offer something suitable in several price ranges, never forgetting a red option if I give a white (because Quebeckers still are white weary).  Let me tell you, it’s quite a job.  Only a treatise would do, and that would likely overwhelm the average diner looking for a little help, not to mention take up too much of my time.

Then, there is the inherently problematic nature of my menu..  There’s all the wild stuff, all the greens, so much going on in the multi-course meal.  I don’t mean for it to be the kind of menu that hurts upon reading, but because I need to mention all the wild edibles (what people come for), and the main gist, as well as any allergenic ingredients, it is wordy and rife with terminology, certainly enough to confuse a sommelier (so it’s hard to blame the poor SAQ guys).  I know my menu is sound and balanced on delivery, but with all the ingredients at hand, when I think of wine pairing, I get a headache too.  The fact that I change my menu every week only makes matters worse.  But the changing menu is essential to the quality and magic of dining at la table champêtre, more so than the wine.  My gut and experience tell me that the best thing I can do to ensure happiness all round is to cook to the best of my abilities with the best ingredients and let the gods (wine and otherwise) take care of the rest.

Opting out (or not), for fun

As you can see, I’ve been beating around the block, circuitously building a case to opt out of wine pairing.  I'll continue to follow my own curve, but on a professional level, it’s just too hard to find proper matches for my menus while pleasing all sets of customers.  Especially when I know that it doesn’t really matter in the end!  I think everyone should just bring what they like/want to drink and all should be fine.  If you want to take it up a notch and practice your food-wine pairing skills, then think about it, do some research, consult a sommelier, and have fun with the exercise, which will be reward enough.  You don’t need me.  And I have to stop bugging Bill.

Or maybe I just need a courageous sommelier.  Either way, I’m opting out.  I want to keep wine and food FUN, no more headaches please. 

Cheers.

Fried Green Tomatoes, finally

I have been curious about Fried Green Tomatoes, the recipe, since the mid-nineties when Fried Green Tomatoes, the movie (that I loved so much) came out.  I never got around to trying the dish, probably because I never found myself down south where I could taste an authentic version (which is how I think one should ideally sample anything for the first time).. It also went against the tomato lover and chef instinct in me to not leave a tomato on the vine (or on the counter) and let it ripen to its full potential.  And truth be told, I was sceptical about how tasty a green tomato could really be; one would think the acidity would be overbearing once served hot.  One more thing..  I hardly wanted to destroy the warm and fuzzy imagery concocted in the film, the exquisite deliciousness that resided in my brain.  You see, I was afraid to repeat my Turkish Delight disappointment.  After reading Narnia as a kid, I had made that far-away, fictional sweet out to be the most seductive, tantalizing treat possible in my mind, the ultimate weakness to befall all earthly men and women.. only to taste it years later. To find that it tasted like a perfumey stale marshmallow, and I don’t like marshmallows; what a dud.  It made the story I had been so taken by feel like fluff.  That really hurt. 

In any case, for better or for worse, the time for Fried Green Tomatoes eventually and finally came this summer.  With the rainy weather and so much green tomato talk, the southern dish fell back onto my radar.  Not out of necessity (because luckily, our crop was abundant and plenty ripe), but to satisfy a decades-old nagging question, François and I got down to frying up a collection of tomatoes from the garden one night - some very green, others a paler green, pinkish ones and ripe ones of several varieties.  We did a classic anglaise with flour, egg wash and home made bread crumbs seasoned with herbs, and served them straight up, alongside several other dishes.

All were quite delicious and different, but surprise, surprise - the green ones were indeed the best.  The riper ones were too soft, yummy nonetheless, reminiscent of Tomates Provençale (one of the first dishes we made in vegetable class in cooking school, which also once adorned many a plate in classic French restaurants).  These called out for cheese and texture, say veal or eggplant.  But the fried green tomatoes stood alone - fresh, fragrant, and firm, turned succulent and rich with the buttery breading, a nice contrast.  We used a good olive oil and a touch of butter, but couldn’t help but think that bacon fat would have been killer.  We easily polished off a whole bunch, and François heated up the left-overs in the oven in a myriad of ways in the following days, as a side for steak, and gratin style with melted cheese and olives.

I, on the other hand, came down with 24hr flu that night, a horrible one.  Rationally, I knew the fried green tomatoes had nothing to do with it, but still, I couldn’t face a tomato, green or otherwise for weeks (and I LOVE tomatoes). 

Enough time has passed now, and with the temperature dropping, it’s time to harvest the last of our crop.  We are still picking ripe ones every day but with the remaining green fruit, it is probably better to take them in as is at this point, rather than let them freeze on the vine any night now.  So onto the menu they go.

I will serve them fried in a ‘salade tiede’ with the last of the season’s sea spinach and daisy leaves, with some Terre Promise cheese shavings and bacon, and a crinkleroot (wild horseradish) Caesar style dressing..  Sounds good, no?

Cucumber

If there ever was an overlooked vegetable in the modern culinary landscape - where purple beans, crosnes, chiogga beets and heirloom tomatoes reign, it is surely the humble little cucumber. His new yellow speckled, apple shaped cousin showing up at specialty shops might be peaking some interest, but the familiar green varieties are commonly dismissed, considered bland, boring or indigestible (really? so they say). For whatever reason, cucumbers just don’t elicit much excitement among foodies or even your average eaters. You don’t see them on many chef's menus, do you?

Beating to my own drum, they definitely adorn mine, jazzing up many a seafood entrée or appetizer, soup or salad in summer, and at home they are a daily part of my diet. I love a cucumber salad straight up with an herb salt and a good olive oil, and rejoice in the fresh crunch they bring to so many dishes. Maybe it is the Anglaise in me, but I also enjoy a cucumber sandwich (the only noble use for white bread besides a trashy grilled cheese). I love tossing diced cucumber into a hot soup, spicy curry or rice dish for refreshing contrast - very winner.

An obvious cucumber fan as it is, I was easily won over by the new mini cucumbers by Savoura. Four inches in length, similar to the Lebanese variety I usually buy at select market stands all summer, they are the perfect size - no peeling necessary, no seeds, with crunch, flavour and explosive water content intact. They are produced by a branch in Danville, L’Estrie (the mother house is in Portneuf, QC). The brand also offers little mini packs of three smaller cukes for kids’ lunches (one vegetable portion), available in most supermarkets, very smart for the mom market, I guess. I’ll go for the larger eight-packs holding the slightly more mature specimens with a thicker skin, more flavourful, less perishable.. That's the only thing with these babies, they are more fragile than thick-skinned cucumber from the field, so they won't last as long in your fridge, but being so small and convenient, 'ils se mangent tout seul', shouldn't be a problem.  I’m just happy to have the option of tasty, local cucumbers year round.

The packaging is made in Quebec and fully recyclable, no insecticides or herbicides are used in cultivation either. I can’t help but think about all the energy they use to operate those gigantic (football fields of) greenhouses, but I am told they are looking into alternative energy sources in order to reduce greenhouse emissions.

In any case, I would rather Quebeckers buy from them then pay for the equivalent carbon footprint for a (less fresh) non-local product that is trucked in from the States. Hats off to Savoura and Les Serres du Saint Laurent not just for their cukes, but because they have come along way with their greenhouse tomatoes too. I know everyone likes whining about tomatoes, but honestly, we have a decent choice off season now. I'm up to my ears in our garden tomatoes at this point, so I haven't been checking up on Savoura lately, but I will be in the upcoming monthes for sure.

This is as close as I get to cuddling up to ‘big business’ by the way. I know they have gotten a lot of help from the government, and I wish more little artisanal, seasonal guys were as lucky. Truth be told, I want more than Savoura. But still, this is a progressive Quebec company trying to be as sustainable as possible, putting out a quality product, which in reaching the masses, might help in weaning Mr. Mme. Tout le monde off imported junk in some small way. So, I happily endorse them for that, knowing full well that I will certainly be relying on them come wintertime too. For the occasional fresh tomato, and now for cucumbers too (that you just can’t put up besides in pickle form).

http://www.savoura.com/en/section04.php?no=15

Coups de Coeur this summer so far..

Some expressions are just better in French. How do you translate ‘coups de coeur’?

Highlights-Favourites-Flings of the moment-Things I have a soft spot for right now?

That’s one upside to living in Quebec; we get to dip into the other language for effect, and everyone understands. So anyway, these are some of the things that tickled my fancy and got me excited this summer - the stand-outs. Some are new, some revisited, and not only in the ‘wild and edible’ realm.

Summer is a time of many loves, and my infatuations evolve much more rapidly than the seasons (see previous post:  http://soupnancy.squarespace.com/blog-journalessays/2008/2/6/falling-in-and-out-of-love.html), I could never name them all. Of course, there are annual repeats and constants; I fall in love with sea parsley, cattail and elderberry every year at the same time, and I never stop loving sea spinach, sweetgrass and olive oil year round. In season, Quebec strawberries and Nordic shrimp are givens, as are chanterelles and black trumpets, and just about every other mushroom when their time comes. In parallel to the wild stuff being foraged at the season’s peak, there is the market’s bounty - the fresh radishes, peas and fava, all the baby vegetables, followed by the first ground cherries and ears of corn, the tomatoes and squash - all guaranteed highs.   

 Amidst the regular flurry of beautiful summer ingredients, there are still always surprises - some item that got overlooked last time around or something arrestingly new.. Thanks to the wealth of Quebec’s artisans and the dynamic food world around us today, new products and sources of inspiration are endlessly sprouting up too.

My new and improved nose has only been a help, I have to say; with every bite or sniff, there seems to be an exclamation mark more than last year. When it comes to the wild greens being so marvellous, maybe that’s the rain and not my senses. In any case, here is my list..

On the wild front:

•  Milkweed, the broccoli and the flower: I never paid this wild edible much attention, never got excited about it; now smitten, I wonder why. I’m learning that with the wild stuff, like with getting to know any foreign ingredient, sometimes it’s a matter of time. It so happens that the first milkweed shoots are inarguably tasty and very much like asparagus. I always liked the broccoli for flavour, but found them mushy after the necessary cooking - until this year when I uncovered the way they were meant to be served, in tempura (once blanched). The next stage in the plant’s life is even more enticing, the flowers -so aromatic, intensely floral but with green notes, versatile in either savoury or sweet. I made a kick-ass syrup, a granite, and a vinegar. The delicate buds don’t last long, so we had to act fast; but for a time, they also made a spectacular garnish.

• Day lily buds fresh as opposed to pickled. This year I didn’t pickle any in the caper like fashion (although that’s good too), preferring to serve them in salads and as a vegetable, just blanched and dressed, allowing the crunch and subtle floral/ vegetal/truffle flavour to shine through, along with the fresh petals and oniony dried pistils of course..

• Wild celery: the stalk makes a sipping straw that imparts a potent celery taste, and the dried flowers once pulverized make a natural celery salt (with no added salt) – both perfect for bloody caesers. Add a dash of crinkleroot paste, and you have one wildly delicious, sexy version of the classic cocktail!

• Mugwort, my ‘pizza plant’. I coined the phrase when I first met this plant years ago, because at its best, it smells like pizza, or actually more like fougasse (a mix of olive oil, herbes de provence). I was very curious initially about using it as an herb, but then lost interest because every time I tasted it afterward, it was either bitter or bland. This is the first year that it is as truly flavourful and interesting as that taste memory. The funny thing is that it tastes different in each spot it grows on our property, highlighting how important the ‘where, when and how’ of how a plant is harvested affects its properties (the amount of sunlight and water, the soil, the weather ; François says even the time of day picked). Sabline is another example, in that it is actually edible this year – so gorged with water, the clean cucumber taste is there, without excessive astringency. Yes, I was happy to rediscover the humble mugwort, but this is not an important green in our arsenal; in fact it is considered more of a medicinal plant, and being a cousin of absinthe, it’s probably best kept that way.

• Juniper! Although I have always had a ready stash of the berries(frozen), that are so much better than the bought dried variety, I still manage to forget about them all the time. But, these days, I’m having a hard time making a sauce or marinade without them. Especially alongside the wild berries coming in now, with wine or game meats in a sauce, juniper really blends in well, lending a definite ‘je ne sais quoi’. An experienced palate might detect it, but most people just say ‘yum’, even if they don’t like gin. In a gelée with blackberry atop a mousse de foies de volaille and foie gras, customers accused me of injecting drugs in the recipe, they couldn’t get enough.  

• Sarsaparilla.. I always loved root beer, and I once loved Porto (now too sweet for me), and this native berry tastes like a fruity combination of the two; when used in a sauce or coulis, or as a flavouring, it adds those delectable notes and depth. I bet that would be good with foie too.

• Wine caps (Strophaire à anneaux rugeux) - A noble mushroom variety new on the menu. Introduced to us by fellow mushroom fanatics, I was intrigued, and found them to be so dainty, nutty and delicate. Apparently they grows in wood chips, madly springing up the year after the ice storm, and are cultivated too - no worries, not dangerous. I have to find out more, and am not sure whether we could have enough to put on our mushroom menu anyway, but I’m pretty stoked about this newbie.

• I met the Canada lily for the first time (François says it’s rare in these parts) – what a remarkably beautiful flower – not edible though!

Some Quebec cheeses worth getting excited about..

• Tomme d’Elles de Charlevoix, Maurice Dufour
• le 1608, the now so popular Charlevoix washed rind cheese made from the heritage Canadienne breed of cow http://www.fromagescharlevoix.com/fromages/1608.htm
• l’Etoile Bleu de St-Rémi, my new favourite blue cheese, sheep’s milk
• Terre Promise, which I’ve talked about before, but it’s only gotten better (from the makers of Victor & Berthold, La Racam, Le Fétard) http://www.lanaudiere-guidetouristique.com/La-plaine-agricole/Fromagerie-Du-Champ-a-la-meule/
• Tomme de Grosse Ile  http://www.fromagesdici.com/www/tomme_grosse.asp

Other ingredients:

• Highwood Crossing Canola oil : I fell in love with this oil at l’Eau à la Bouche years ago, but was reminded of it recently thanks to a newspaper article in the Globe.. Referred to as Canada’s EVO because it is cold-pressed, fresh and incredibly flavourful, this is a distant relative to the bland, processed canola oil that is so common. A finishing oil, to be used like the best extra-virgin olive oils, it has a fresh, buttery, nutty flavour, with sunflower seed and subtle sesame notes. I just ordered a 20L tub in the mail. Even with shipping charges, this is a good deal for the quality. http://www.highwoodcrossing.com/index.html

• Pettinicchi olive oils and vinegars: I have long been a fan of these products too, and it is forever exciting when our order arrives for the year, albeit with an ouch (but it’s worth it).. His chilli oil adorns just about every dish I make at home, and is one major reason I could never go completely local. http://www.pettinicchi.com

• Terre Sativa herb salt, and I’m only thinking about because I’m running out.. I don’t use this at the restaurant where I have every fresh herb on hand, but at home, it’s a staple. http://cld.portneuf.com/upload/cld.portneuf/editor/asset/Terra%20Sativa%20fiche%2006.pdf

My ‘coup de coeur’ starter dish of the summer uses all three of the above.. This is a salad that I ate every night at home this summer – little cucumbers and radish slices with Terre Sativa herb salt, black pepper, and chilli oil. Some times I added fresh cheese, or chopped egg or olives, and now I’m slowly moving tomatoes and corn into the mix, while the radishes fade out. Sometimes I change up the oil and vinegar (I have too many favourite oils and vinegars..). You have to love summer for how simple good food can be.

• La Ferme Quebec-Oies: Specialized in everything goose: foie gras, confits, terrines and etc.. I tasted their galantine d’oie (at the Marché du Vieux in Quebec City) and was won over. Clean goose flavour, sooo delicious! (lafermequebec-oies°videotron.ca, 418-826-0942) 

 In the kitchen

• I found a renewed interest and respect for agar.. (I love that it’s Ok to drop the second ‘agar’ now) Years ago, when agar was so very cool, mostly because it was a novel, vegetable source of gelatine that could withstand some heat, I went crazy with it. Only to ditch it eventually, concluding that it was a sub-par gelatine for my uses, and always grainy. It took a couple of years and a class in NYC to find new uses and rekindle some respect. I’ll always be more traditional and tend towards sheet gelatine or eggs for my preparations or any mousse, but I’m a little less biased today. Agar can make a nice liquid gel when you want a scoopable/shapeable sauce, or a vinaigrette with texture. And to set a braised mixture or terrine that you want to serve warm, it is pretty nifty.

• Bamboo steamer. This is a tool I don't call on much, but it came to the rescue when my homemade ravioli were bursting in a boiling water bath and I was in the juice. Sometimes, when you want intense but gentle heat, steaming is the way to go.

• My new favourite tool –a mini slotted spoon. Not holy like a Mac knife or microplane, but still, very useful in the kitchen, especially for plating. I also have a wide, flat topped spoon that is great too for controlled, neat portioning and saucing. Knives are mentioned all the time; the most neglected of important tools in the professional kitchen are spoons (for tasting and serving, slotted or wood, of all shapes, big and small)!

 Dishes, some hits:

Customer favourites

• Cream of Lettuce soup with cucumber, fava bean and bee balm salsa – who would have thought? Usually any soup with mushrooms or wild greens, potato and bacon is a hit.. But with no meat and based on lettuce?? Quelle surprise.
• Scallops. Every scallop dish, whether seared, in ceviche or sashim, it appears you can't go wrong. Paired with wild ginger and sea greens, they especially make for swooning. . No wonder every other restaurant is serving them too, and fish mongers can’t keep up. Bad sign.
• A lobster bisque (Thai style) with sea spinach and cattail (I don’t think it was the wild things here that were winner, more like that heady mix of lime, coriander and coconut milk, and good bisque base of course).
• Strawberry and sweet-grass! Although sweetgrass is like vanilla or almond, good in just about every dessert, this particular pairing soars. I made a shortcake, a pavlova, sorbet and granite, used the mix in coulis, compote and jelly – all lip-smacks and smiles.
• Venison, braised or roasted: I take venison for granted because we have the farm on the property, and so I cook it all the time.. While I don’t want to put it in the starring role every week because I need to change things up, I see that people love it. I think the uninitiated expect venison to be gamey, and so are charmed by the subtle, savoury, better-than-beef quality of the meat. It doesn’t matter if I serve it with a crinkleroot mustard sauce, a wild grape balsamic, a wild mushroom sauce, it’s always a hit. And no matter how creative I like to get, I know I could make a fancy Shepard’s pie every week and customers would be happy. If said rustic dish wasn’t getting as tired as crème brulée in the food world, I might make it more.

 My favourites

• Consommé, wild ginger or mushroom. I realize this is more of a winter dish and maybe I’m ‘in’ because I hadn’t made it in months. But it always excites me more than the customers anyway, who seem just as happy with a typical soupnancy purée type soup, which is so much less work. Why do I bother? Because I like a good broth. Because consommé is cheffy (something you don’t do at home). Because it’s pretty. What I especially like about consommé is the layers of flavour - the idea of boosting my duck broth with extra umph through what I put into the clarification raft like mushrooms or ginger, flavours that you can’t see, but come through strong and clean and clear, pure elegance.
• Crinkleroot French toast (this was a true personal fave); I used it to sop up escabeche but I see it with fresh tomatoes or tomato confit; now, I’m just waiting for the tomatoes…
• Ham and cornbread salad. I love ham and put a lot of love into making it. Customers appreciate it in any given dish, but rarely understand how much work is involved, what special ham it is. Like with the cornbread salad, which is something I have been making since I was a catering young one, I could be using couscous and few would notice. People say yum, but I know the cornbread was for me, more than for them. I tell myself it probably would be less 'yum' if the ham and couscous were store bought.

  Eating oysters throughout summer.

I think this is the first summer that I eat oysters on a regular basis, no matter how oyster-loving we are. Like for most people our age, oysters have traditionally been a fall and winter thing. Even though there has been a good supply for years now in the R-less monthes, and it is better than ever now with the rise in popularity of oyster bars and such. I’m thrilled because they go awfully well with hot weather and sparkling wine, especially our east coast Virginicas. Regardless of how often I try the ‘others’ like the Pacifics or various exotic varieties, I can’t get into that flabby taste; I need the salt, and cold water tang of Malpeques like Coleville Bay, Raspberry Point, Glacier Bay and co..

BTW, An informative and entertaining book on oysters for amateurs and fans, or anyone curious about oysters: Geography of Oysters by Rowan Jacobsen. www.rowanjacobsen.com

Restaurants

• I hardly dined out much this summer, but there was Bistro-Bar Chez Roger, one of François’ favourite spots (by the same chef team as Kitchen Galerie) that I recently got to know: Solid haute bistro market-fare (oysters, terrines, tartares, short-ribs, fish and chips and much more) with good wines, and a great vibe. http://www.barroger.com/

• Tartare table-side! Like in the good old days. And this one was GREAT! At L’Auberge Le Baluchon in St-Paulin, LaMauricie: where the true country setting is beautiful, spa and such comforts included, and there is a refreshing social conscience attached (as far as promoting local producers and Quebec in general, recycling, respecting nature, fair-trade - even healthy and allergenic diets are considered here, poor cooks). The service is earnest and abundant (more than fine tuned); there is a lot to like about this place. Although the food was mostly mediocre for the price, I had that super (REALLY!), nostalgic tartare at night, and in the morning, the best ham sandwich I’ve had in ages at their Eco-café on Berbere bread. Even with just a few things right, because they were SO RIGHT, this Quebec tourist attraction left me with a major sweet spot.

A piece of writing that I thought was fabulous, The Case for Working With Your Hands, by Matthew B. Crawford, A New York Times Article.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/24/magazine/24labor-t.html

Books:

• Apples to Oysters, A Food Lover’s Tour of Canadian Farms, by Margaret Webb There isn’t much true Canadian food writing out there, outside the cookbook, travel and special interest genre.. Here is a uniquely personal account of a cross-country eating tour that celebrates the best of Canada with a focus on a few great artisans more Canadians should know about, who are producing real, good food. http://www.margaretwebb.com/

• Eating at Church, A book of Recipes from Aylmer & Eardley United – Ok, this is hardly a coffee table cookbook and probably of interest to few in the new jet-set world of foodies. But I liked this modest little book mainly for the historical/sociological aspect, because it is typical of thousands across the country in decades past, when the church was so all important in most Canadian lives. I include it here mainly as a reminder of another kind of cookbook, one that isn’t big and glossy or promoting a chef, restaurant or new diet.. For me, it also offered up a slice of nostalgia because I feel like I gobbled up my fair share of this food as a child, not only at buffets in the church hall, but at my parents’ friends homes – hot cross buns, deviled eggs and bean casseroles, recipes that use soup mix and cream cheese, ham spread and jello, cranberry punch and trifle of all kinds - all infused with loads of personality and a sense of community.

• François Chartier’s Papilles et Molecules  I find this stuff fascinating, even if I don’t think it’s so important. Breaking down the flavours in food and wine to chemical components and matching them doesn’t seem to turn up so much more than what we already know from experience or instinct. Granted, there are a few surprises that surface from the mix. In any case, it is gleefully refreshing, even comforting to have science confirm things you already know. And it is inspiring to be led down a different path, say when it comes to rosemary and Alsatian wines.. New ideas open up, only because of his different approach. This is hardly a complete work, but it is ambitious all the same; he has surely done a lot to kick off a whole other branch of wine and food pairing… Even if I know this is not a book I will pick up again and again, I value it now for the novelty, for the odd brainwave it inspired, for all his research. www.francoischartier.com

No - No Julie and Julia!  Haven't seen it yet. 

If only all days out foraging looked like this..

My review of Trish Magwood's book, Dish Entertains, on the Cuisine Canada blog..

http://cuisinecanada.wordpress.com/2009/07/06/dish-entertains/

A super duper dehydrator!

It was made to order by another mushroom dude we know. With 20 plus panels, we should be more efficient than last year, when our little ‘Country Harvest’ home model was operating all day-every day, when every pilot light and clean, hot, aerated surface in the vicinity was covered with wild herbs, flowers and mushrooms. What a mess, what a scramble.

Now that summer is finally upon us, we can almost forget about the damn mosquitoes, as mountains of wild edibles are coming in the door, vying for space in the new machine and time in our hands, and on the stove. There is the dame’s rocket, Labrador tea flowers and wild rose petals to dry for the tisane. There is sea parsley to dry and to make into pesto, nettles to make soup with, and to blanch and vacuum pack for the freezer. Most of the herbs and plants are in for our wild herb oil and infusing as we speak: garlic mustard leaf, crinkleroot, chives, pigweed, sea parsley, angelica, lady’s sorrel.. I’m still waiting on the common yarrow, and a little more sea parsley and crinkleroot. Then there is sea lettuce on the way, to stand in line for the dehydrator, just as the first boletes are showing up. Teeny wild strawberries (although plump this year) are looking good - now that’s a lot of work. If I didn’t work at Les Jardins Sauvages, you can be sure my time with these berries would be in the patch, picking and eating, and that’s all. Just as we’re finishing up with canning pickled daisy buds (another meticulous job), after weeks of working on fiddleheads, it’s time to make jam (already?!). Don’t forget, I only have one real stove. There are cattails to be shucked and turned into broth and flour, milkweed broccoli and shoots to blanch, the marine greens aren’t far behind.

But what a fabulous time for the restaurant, with all that I have to work with, all the edible flowers to use for garnish, all the fresh wild greens to serve up as veg. Last weekend, I put some milkweed broccoli into a tempura/pakora mix - wow, that’s a keeper. Every year, each week of the growing season is a dash of systematic processing, yet amidst it all, thanks to the time put into the more 'artful' dinners, there are always a few surprises, a new trick or two uncovered. I made a nettle-sea parsley pesto tonight, who knows if it will be a thing of the moment, or a true winner.

milkweed brocoli chives along the river fraises des champsThe coming weeks are very busy at the table champêtre; the holidays are here. Yeehoo. So now we have restaurant customers and plants all wanting our attention at once - it’s craziness, in the best of ways. All the better to get us ready for mushroom season. Let the games begin.

cattail daisy buds about to be pickled lamb's quarters (or pigweed) as I like to call it François in his garden Stéphanie after picking live-forever across the river   vine leaves wild rose and labrador tea flower syrup 

I was at the 'WORST Metro supermarket in the world' in our neighbouring village, which means I was desperate; I really only use it as a dépanneur, say for beer or baking soda. When there though, I can't help but stroll by the meat, fish and produce counters only to shudder and gripe. Pity on the manager if he is around. There is nothing remotely natural, organic or artisanal in this joint. Any such talk is met with blank stares, but I can hardly blame the guy; it's his bumpkin customers. Funnily, if you look out the door, there are farms all around.. After ten minutes of walking up and down aisles and aisles of processed food, frozen goods and miscellaneous crap to locate my 'petite vache', I saw IT - a golden tub of DUCK FAT! Nestled up to the battery chicken it was, with no duck meat in sight, but definitely, Lac Brome DUCK FAT - woah! In small town 'Épiphanie. That's when I knew it was time to finally publish that duck fat article I wrote this winter during my food writing class.

Yes, that article some of you heard about, that I laboured over and eventually got tired of. The article that taught me how painful the business of writing can be, and that I should stick to my day job and keep it fun.  Beyond it being a symbolic article for me, it is a celebration of a great ingredient and of Quebec joie de vivre, so better shared than relegated to the soon forgotten pile on my hard drive, I figure..

In my research for the article, I realized that I should have been writing about duck in general, given how crazy or simply curious Quebeckers were about it, and how much misinformation was out there.  Even among the avid duck eaters, many didn't know about the health benefits of duck, what a smart local choice it is, or the difference between the different breeds and the ways of cooking them, let alone how the contraversial foie gras fits into the mix.  Somebody (else) should really write that article, especially for Anglo Quebec/Canada.  In the mean time, no matter how delicious and good duck meat is, we mustn't ever forget about the fat!

Duck fat is back, and crackling hot

Move over bacon. Watch out olive oil. Duck fat has everything to be the fat of the moment. As it sizzles in chefs’ kitchens and flies off store shelves, it is surfacing in contemporary recipes, jazzing up salad dressing and pastries, luxuriously basting turkey, searing scallops, and making soup sing.

Celebrity chef Martin Picard is packing them in at his famous Pied de Cochon bistro and sugar shack in Montreal, where duck fat plays a starring role on his menu. At Les Jardins Sauvages, our country restaurant, I use it in all the traditional ways, uncovering novel uses by the day. I use it to slow cook guinea fowl legs or venison shank, to start off a stew, and to pan fry potatoes or cabbage. It is the main ingredient in my new favourite pie dough. My colleague Benoit, swears by his morning eggs gently coddled in duck fat, and has been known to make the occasional ‘man’s popcorn’ with the stuff. But we chefs aren’t the only ones merrily sopping it up; duck fat appears to have gone mainstream.

I knew something was up when customers started asking me for some to smuggle home. Then I noticed the steep price tag on a supplier list, and at the store. Wait a second; didn’t this stuff used to be free? Speaking to John Bastien, an organic Muscovy duck producer in the Laurentians, he informed me he couldn’t keep up with the demand for confit at his farm kiosque, and so needed all his fat. Now that the classic dish has gone from fancy restaurant fare to cupboard staple, even sold at the supermarket, the fat is a hot commodity, too.

That duck fat is both tasty and a reliable cooking medium is nothing new. It has a long history in cooking and preserving, dating back more than 2000 years to the first domestication in China and was used throughout ancient Rome, subsequently spreading all over. Nowhere did the practice settle as solidly as in south western France, where still today, duck is a way of life, and Gascony butter (duck fat mixed with poached garlic and salt) is slathered onto bread. It is no surprise that the custom followed here, becoming deeply entrenched in Nouvelle France.

Although duck fat would remain a staple in Quebec professional kitchens, up until recently, it was sadly forgotten about at home. It may have once been a key ingredient in an old family recipe for casserole or pea soup, but like in the rest of North America, somewhere in the 70’s people went running from saturated fat in artery clogging fear, shunning suet, lard and butter too.

Since then, we have learned a lot about fat. Now butter is “good” and margarine is “bad”, and the latest studies are confirming that saturated fat is not so evil, something our body needs and processes better than the new trans-fats derived from vegetable oils. And duck fat is king of the animal fats, being high in mono-unsaturates (30% less saturated fat and 50% less cholesterol than butter), having a cardiac-friendly high Omega 3:6 ratio, and cancer fighting CLA’s (conjugated lineolic acid), as with any meat raised on pasture, and not only grain. John Bastien, a proponent of ‘real’ food, and proud of his ducks, was eager to remind me of this, urging me to dig into Sally Fallon’s “Nourishing Traditions” where she debunks the common myths about saturated fat.

Despite the years of effective marketing against animal fats by the soya business, as far back as 1991, food-loving journalists were singing the praises of duck fat and linking it to the French Paradox *. This mystery of how the French, despite their high fat intake, have less cardiovascular disease than Americans was made popular in a 1991 60 Minutes episode. A hot topic ever since, the speculation continues about whether it is the duck fat, the red wine, or the eating patterns that is responsible for the phenomenon.

However promising, it appears not to be healthiness alone that has propelled duck fat onto our culinary radar. A combination of trends has converged in its favour. Fat in general appears to be making a comeback, celebrated on restaurant menus and in books like Jennifer McLagan’s award winning “FAT: An Appreciation of a Misunderstood Ingredient.” Then there’s the food porn, and the popular movement prevalent on the web devoted to decadence and indulgent dishes, like pizza fried in duck fat.

The more serious nose-to-tail eating philosophy being embraced by chefs plays a role too; old traditions are being dusted off for inspiration and economic sense. Likewise, home cooks are hunkering down in harsher times and cooking more, allowing nothing to go to waste. Introduced to Bastien’s duck three years ago, Nathalie Spielmann, a marketing PhD student and avid food blogger, cooks it regularly, reserving the rendered fat to use all over, even rounding out her bouillabaisse with a touch. Smitten, she readily rattles off a list of reasons for loving everything duck. Karine Garcia, a caterer, also recuperates the liquid gold, brushing it on phyllo dough to make a savoury strudel. Eric Gregor-Pearse, a teacher who enjoys perusing food blogs, is hooked on hash browns and a jalapeno-smoked pork belly cornbread featuring duck fat.

Whether familiar with it or not, people interviewed were passionate on the subject, eager to share their stories, or plainly curious. Vendors at Montreal’s Jean Talon market report that shoppers are indeed more sophisticated and adventurous than ever. Back in aprons on their spare time, they are no longer scared to tackle dishes like confit or to throw some duck fat into their saucepan or vinaigrette. Alex Jippa, a nine-to-fiver whose hobby is wine, recently purchased his first tub, being won over by a friend’s recipe for oven-roasted French fries. Potato magic was a recurring theme with the average market goer. Typically wide eyed and salivating at the thought, they exclaimed in pitched voices, things like “Magique!”, “Facilement bon!” or “Cochon!”

Germaine Ying Gee Wong, a film producer and gourmand, has found many more uses, sautéing everything from steak to vegetables in duck fat, relying on it to boost flavour in bland dishes. Elsa Moreau is married to a guy who loves to hunt and drop her with his prize, so it is her choice for braising lean game meats, and to add a light, silkiness to her caribou ‘cretons’. My partner, François Brouillard, says he realized early on how easy it was to make something killer with duck fat to woo the ladies, and claims it has served him well. Similarly, I have turned the most squeamish diners onto gizzards this way, which is hardly clever; I bet cardboard could be made a delicacy with enough time snuggled up to duck fat. Stephanie Simard, a waitress and wise mother of two, reminded me of yet another secret weapon behind the appeal – aromatherapy; “the way it makes the house smell is the best welcoming gift, a way to win over the in laws if there ever was”.

Above all, it is clearly the Quebec “joie de vivre” that has opened the doors to duck fat. Cooks and eaters, from the old school to the avant-garde, rave romantically about it, seduced by the taste and titillating possibilities, soothed by the comfort of old-fashioned simple pleasures. Any health talk was just music to their ears. The beneficial fat profile is bonus.

No wonder duck fat is hot. Irresistible, versatile, and easy to use, it is tried and true, good for the heart and for the soul. Why not add a little crackle to your cooking with a splash? Pour a glass of red wine on the side for good measure, and a toast is in order - to deliciousness, and to our ancestors who knew better than the nutritionists – Cheers!

Recipes available:

Duck fat pie dough, Duck fat potato frittata, Easy duck confit

References and links:

“Study sings the Praises of Duck Fat..”, Molly O’Neil, Albany times Union, 1991

“The duck stops here: duck fat is more like olive oil than it is like butter or beef”, Molly O’Neil, New York Times, 1992

“Fat from fowl is worth a gander, restaurant chefs use duck and goose fat”, U.S. News & World Report, 2000

“And Finally a Word about Duck Fat”, Washington Post article, 2002

John Bastien, Morgan farms: www.fermemorgan.com

“Fat”, Jennifer McLagan: http://www.jennifermclagan.com/book_fat.htm

“Nourishing Traditions”, Sally Fallon: http://www.westonaprice.org/knowyourfats/index.html

“The Truth about Saturated Fat” on my website in Miscellaneous Articles

“French Women don’t get fat”: http://www.mireilleguiliano.com/

“The Gospel of Food – Everything you think yo know about food is wrong”, Barry Glassner

Martin Picard/ Au pied de Cochon: http://www.restaurantaupieddecochon.ca/

Les Jardins Sauvages: www.jardinssauvages.com

My Big Morel - big deal

(I don't know why I'm having so much trouble uploading photos, but trust me, it's BIG, and it's MINE)

I dried it. What else to do with one mushroom? It would make a nice omelette for two, but I was working, and alone at the time.

Unlike most ‘Français de France’, morels don’t excite me that much anyway. Sure, they are delicious, but there are so many other better mushrooms out there. François and I continually marvel at the demand for morels, puzzled by the intrigue surrounding them. What's the big deal? François refers to them as the ‘snob’ mushroom. Granted, they are indeed difficult to find in significant numbers locally - so perhaps, it is because they are so fussy and rare. Or maybe, it's because they have such a storied history in French cookery.  When the French love something, somehow that makes them oh so noble.  Les 'maudits Français' (said with affection) certainly like to regularly remind us of this rule, so it must be true.

Due to this hype that dates back centuries, and the fact that they are on every chef’s springtime menu here (from out west I guess), Quebeckers can't help but get excited about morels, and want to cook, even pick them themselves. Herein lays the problem, or at least a source for more unnecessary morel drama.

Morels need to be identified and cooked properly, as with fiddleheads and most wild things. But with morels, unlike many other mushrooms, a quick sauté may not suffice. Some books will say to boil them for 10-20 minutes first. I personally don’t see the point in that, why bother eating them once all the flavour has been leached out and boiled away. With gyromites and other ‘false morels’ this is absolutely necessary, which is why I do not/will not cook them. But I know chefs and mushroom freaks that have no fear, and swear by them, taking their chances every year.

Morels are slightly more benign, but probably due to their popularity, more people are cooking them (and not enough), and so the odd case of poisioning has been cropping up. I’m only speculating. We haven’t heard of any cases. However, as of this year, the ‘cercle des mycologues’ recommends drying morels for consumption, I guess, being a guide and reference, they are just being on the safe side. I understand that there is a potential toxin that needs a sustained boiling temperature, and there is always a possibility of infestation (worms), which is more gross factor than lethal. Dehydrating does solve that problem, but if you have good morels, and clean them, slicing them open in two (which we always do), you will see any potential critters.  You can give the morels a quick bath in cold water (some add salt), before drying, slicing and wiping. Once clean and inspected, if they are then cooked properly, all should be fine. I get the feeling this edict comes down to protecting the public and all idiots out there, instead of providing information and letting people decide. Like with raw milk cheese, some people choose to avoid it, others dig in with gusto.

Wanting to be smart and avoid any unnecessary morel drama myself, when I was leading a brigade and fresh morels were on the menu, I devised a method the cooks had to adhere to, to make sure the morels were being sufficiently cooked. Instead of letting them sauté, I insisted on a deglazing step, in other words, more of a braise. The addition of liquid (wine, water, broth -depending on the recipe) to the pan, which was then evaporated off, ensured the mushroom was boiling-hot in the center for several minutes.  Then when the liquid was evaporated, we would throw in a nob of butter, and they were just like sautéed, but I knew they were safe.. It so happened that they were tastier this way to boot, probably because the morel is a dry mushroom (not gorged with water like most), and so this complete hydration brings out maximum flavour.

From the market, we have seen how comfortable shoppers seem buying morels, but few know how to cook them. So, we started giving out cooking tip sheets. And we tell people about the cercle des mycologue and their recommendion of dried mushrooms too. Most people at our stall are adventurous types or have already cooked morels for years, so it falls on deaf ears. Deep down, I know morels aren’t more dangerous than driving on Jean Talon or eating American spinach or Thai shrimp, but I believe in information, and people making up their minds about what they want to eat or not. 

I think the best way with morels is in sauce. That way, there is no doubt that they’ve cooked long enough, and no flavour is lost. There is never enough to go around anyway with such pricey mushrooms, so this way, you’re also stretching the flavour. You can always mix in other mushrooms too for economy. Serve the sauce on meat, pasta, toast, anything. .

Morel sauce

Sauté with some minced French shallots in butter and/or olive oil . Let the morels brown a little. Deglaze with splash of wine, and then with a cup or so of broth or a little water. A splash of cream. Reduce. When the sauce is that saucy constistency and the morels have boiled down, add butter or not.. Season with salt, pepper, a touch of lemon or sherry vinegar, a shave of nutmeg. If using dried morels, rehydrate in warm water for 20 minutes and use this liquid in the deglazing step. 

“I have wild garlic in my back yard. What do I do with it?”

“Where can I find ramps in Quebec?”

“How do I pick them?”

“Am I breaking the law?”

“Wow, you have ramps! Can we have some?”

So many ramp inquiries. Let me attack a few.

If you have ramps (ail des bois) in your backyard, I suggest you just cut off some of the leaves. You can chop them up and throw them into any salad, sandwich or dish. I have been using it everywhere in the past weeks: in shrimp or lobster salad, in green salad, on tomato-bocconcini salad, on pizza, in a cheese sandwich, in mashed potatoes or risotto, on warm buttered fiddleheads, in any soup or sauce..

If you want the bulbs, you just dig in with your fingers and feel around, pull gently and slice the bulb at the base. You want to leave the root strings in tact, if you want them to come back. The bulb is good used in the same ways as regular garlic, but it is more delicate, so it doesn't need to be cooked as much or even at all, if you like the fresh, pungent flavour. I know many people who love to eat them whole in their natural glory; they are popular pickled too. While the leaves are to be used as a fresh herb, I think the bulb is best sliced (as opposed to chopped) and just kissed by heat, thrown into the pan at the end, or onto a pasta or hot dish. If overcooked, it loses all its personality.

We mostly just use the leaves though, for several reasons. For one, it is their floral, mild (for garlic) flavour we prefer. And since it is illegal to exploit ramps commercially, we only use them at home, for family and friends. Actually, in Quebec, you aren't allowed to be caught with more than 50 bulbs. Harvesting ramps is banned in Quebec because the plant was disappearing from over-picking. Ramps are a long loved tradition in rural Quebec, and people were eating them to extinction. Since the demand was there, overzealous and ambitious pickers were pulling up the roots, not only for personal use, but to sell. Since it is a plant that is slow to grow and reproduce, it became threatened. If only it was harvested correctly, all would be fine, but unfortunately, there are always a few bad apples to spoil the fun. Meanwhile, in Ontario, New England and everywhere else, they are still regularly ripped out by the roots and sold at markets.

The last reason why François shaves off all the leaves in his patches on our property is to safeguard them from ramp loving thieves! Without the leaves, no one can know the precious plants are there. Plus we are assured of a bountiful return every year. Sure, we will snag a few bulbs over the course of the season, but always ever so carefully.

We need to make some ramp butter after all (usually coupled with the bite of crinkleroot that so happens to grow in unison with ramps) to pull out when a lobster comes our way, or for the odd grilled cheese sandwich. We will put up a batch for François’ family too, and that’s it. For us, ramps are one of the supremely seasonal things that we celebrate for a few weeks and then leave be.

At a catering event last week for a friend, because it is the height of spring, we used them liberally everywhere, and it was a hit. All guests were instructed to munch on a leaf upon entry to break the ice – everyone that night would smell like garlic and that was it. It would surface in every other dish amidst the 8 course meal, and they were drinking Champagne, fine Burgundy, Amarone, Sauterne etc. - no matter. It provided the main joke (and magic) of the evening.

Spring sandwich ramps, Tomme de Maréchal cheese, pickled pepper

tomato-crinkleroot shrimp with ramp leaves and trout lily

As the fiddlehead season peaks, I am just making sure they are on your culinary radar. I wouldn't want you to miss out on such an essential part of spring fever, that first taste of local green crunch. They are now plentiful at the market. François is certainly doing brisk business.

Most people are enchanted, but it's obvious that the poor fern is still misunderstood by many. Some poeple are scared of food poisoning; others have been turned off due to prior poor taste experiences.

Both of these are the result of inadequate washing or cooking. The thing is, fiddleheads need to be washed and cooked in lots of salted water. Many people seem shocked by our cooking instructions that suggest a double blanch(for 2-3 min each), then refreshing them in an ice cold bath. This is our way of optimizing maximum cooking time and water flushing, while preserving texture and colour. Of course this isn't necessary - the key is lots of boiling water. If you boil them in a sufficient amount of water, you can use a shorter cooking time (say 5-6 minutes) instead of the 15 minutes the government agency reccomends. That edict is to scare people from eating them raw and to provide a safeguard against all that can go wrong: not cleaning, or cooking them in a small pot, or happening on a bad batch due to careless picking or from a polluted source.

Besides cooking, the key to taste quality is your source, andfreshness, of course. If you buy fiddleheads from the supermarket that have been bought on the cheap (from who knows where) and then sprayed and sprayed while they wilt away in the display case, then those government guidlines are for you. If you buy fresh fiddleheads from a good source, then our guidelines are fine.

I saw an article on the new Gazette food blog about fiddleheads. http://communities.canada.com/montrealgazette/blogs/shopchopeat/archive/2009/05/05/fiddleheads-now-i-understand-you.aspxThe author claimed she didn't really like fiddleheads but then admitted she had never blanched them before.. No wonder. She was also surprised by the sheet slipped into her bag with cooking instructions. (That's when I knew they were ours). She didn't appear to be completely turned around when it comes to fiddleheads, but she did say that these were the nicest she had come across. Why didn't she mention the vendor, I wonder? Maybe that's our marketing/PR problem. But still, I think that when food quality so depends on the source and/or the producer, all food journalists and shoppers should be taking note.

The more people talk about provenance and question quality, the more it becomes part of mainstream consumer practice, so that ultimately, local producers doing things right will be favoured over hackers, and sketchy food from big industry that is trucked in from afar or from some indeterminate provinence will be shunned. I don't want nutritional numbers on my labels, I want information on the source. At the fish store or at the meat counter, I want to know where a food item comes from; is it wild or farmed, by who and how, organic, natural or not. Ok, I'm ontoanother topic, stop. Back to fiddleheads, before their time is up:

An article on Fiddleheads I wrote for the Cuisine Canada blog: Fiddleheads leading the parade where they do a better job of presenting my work than me, pictures and all.

http://cuisinecanada.wordpress.com/

And more recipes from a post a couple of years back:

http://soupnancy.squarespace.com/whats-cooking-recipes/2008/5/17/fiddleheads.html

Spring has sprung.  These first pictures are from last week.  François worked hard to collect the first ten pounds of fiddleheads (seen below), out in his canoe, wearing his rubber boot - body suit.  Just a few days later, it's an altogether different story, as the weather wants to jump to summer while skipping spring.  The fiddleheads are now out en masse, and eager pickers are following, down on their knees, in full force, working hard on our property.  By next week end, we will hopefully have enough to keep up with the market, where everyone is anxious for something local and green.  The girls are picking greens and flowers too, so more exciting salad mixes are on the horizon.  My kitchen smells green and floral again with the dog's tooth, day lily sprouts and ramp leaves - how invigorating.  All the better as I move into fiddlehead processing mode and swifter business in general - the season is off to a roaring start! 

I will add pictures and notes as the season progresses. 

 first fiddleheads                                     

erythrone, rampsclaytonie de caroline violet

  day lily sprouts live-forever snow crab nordic shrimp candy  

snow crab: worth the work guinea hen, quinoa, asparagus, day lily sprouts shrimp 'sushi salad' with wild greens

I am interviewed on the Cuisine Canada blog:

http://cuisinecanada.wordpress.com/2009/03/27/member-qa-nancy-hinton/

Have you ever tasted a fresh chick pea?

François brought me a pound of the first Nordic shrimp of the season back from the market today, and since this is my “dada” (weakness), I hardly noticed the bag of green things idling on the counter. When I saw them, I became excited again – what, green almonds?? This was almost too much for one night. When he told me they were chickpeas, I was taken aback.

It is not every day that I am faced with a complete stranger in the kitchen, although I love the feeling – the childlike discovery, engaging all the senses in trying to figure out what to do with a foreign specimen. I slid one little green jewel out of its perfect oval pod. It was so loose in its skin like it wanted out, I popped into my mouth; it tasted fresh and herbaceous in the raw state, crunchy like a regular fresh pea. Very nice, but I couldn’t help but think it might be even better. I wanted to cook the lot.

But I had a few guests sitting in the dining room, and I knew that if I got to shucking these babies, dinner would be served hours later. Besides, I already had the meal planned and on the go. I didn’t want to make my dinner party wait. However, as a chef, I could hardly push such a specialty item aside out of inconvenience; I would feel soo guilty knowing that these delicacies were at their freshest only to be sitting in my fridge, their sweetness turning to starch as we ate our fish.

No, now was the time to serve them. So, I decided to throw them into boiling water for a minute or two, then sprinkled them with some salt and chilli oil, thinking how good edamame are that way. Like with whole peanuts, let the noshers do the work. The “kids” could pick on that, sucking the nuggets from their skins themselves, while I fixed dinner. They turned out great - everyone was surprised!

I now know I love fresh chick peas, but chances are I will never shuck another. For most recipes, I will remain with the naked, dried variety. But in season, the fresh peas make for a sublime snack, especially when you leave the work to your guests, which makes them only taste better and go further anyway.