Meat and 'Taters

On Tuesday night we roasted a beast, baked potatoes and steamed carrots. Here's a nifty thing: we got a Beef Chart! From our butcher, we picked up a free copy of a two-sided beef.org poster which explains all the different cuts of beef, the part of the beast that produces each cut, how each type of cut should be cooked (including done-ness temperatures in both Celsius and Fahrenheit), beef trivia, safe practices for handling raw meat, vitamins contained within said raw meat and a picture of a happy, omnivorous family. Despite this very informative chart and the relatively easy preparation of this meal, we totally fucked it up. (Except the carrots which were much less fucked than the rest.) We started this blog to brag about all the cooking we do but I would be remiss if I did not mention the episodes in which we burn things, sever fingers, eat things that the dog may have already licked, add salt instead of sugar or a tablespoon instead of a teaspoon (this only occurs when the substance being measured is a volcano-hot spice) and continue to prepare foods that have briefly come in contact with the floor. It would cheapen the rest of this site to project an image of consistent perfection (like anyone we know was ever fooled, anyway). What follows is a list of everything we did in a less-than-perfect manner on Tuesday:

1. We opened the good wine before we started cooking; should've finished the house wine first and saved the good stuff for the meal. 2. The recipe called for beef tenderloin but we cheaped-out and got inside round. There is nothing wrong with cheaping-out but when faced with roasting it, we had a choice: roast the beast according to the instructions for cooking a tenderloin cut in the recipe for Roast Beef Tenderloin with Wasabi-Garlic Cream [incorrect] or roast the beast according to the instructions on the poster for cooking an inside round cut [correct]. We chose the former. 3. We intended to make cubed potatoes tossed with lemon and scallions. However, instead of cubing the potatoes, we sliced them up with the mandolin just because we have so much fun using it. This shape of potato resists even the best efforts to toss, with lemon and scallions or otherwise. 4. We started cooking the carrots WAY too early. Way too early = kinda mushy. 5. We were forced to bake the potatoes in a kind of gratin with butter and scallions. We did not bake them enough. Some were still raw. 6. The roast emerged from the oven. Beef.org said to slice against the grain of the meat, so what do we do? Slice with the grain. 7. We plated and ate raw-ish potatoes, kinda-mushy carrots and cooked-to-toughness beef with wasabi-garlic cream. The cream was really good; it distracted us from the fact that we may have been eating leather.

Funnily enough, the leftovers were quite delicious. The potatoes were no longer raw and the meat somehow mellowed (because it rested overnight?). The wine was extraordinary: AlphaZeta, a Valpolicella from the Veneto, just north of Verona. Even leather with wasabi couldn't crush this velvety red.

Meh

Pictured below are the Chipotle Burgers of last week. I had high hopes. The apathy I direct at these burgers is proportional to the apathy exhibited by Canadians on federal election day. The papers said that nearly 66% of 33 million people voted and it seemed that there was some pride in this number. Um, why? Relatively speaking, it is better than the voter turn-out in the last two elections (2000 & 2004) but can we not do better as citizens of a democratic nation? For crying out loud, some people in the world would give their left arm to be able to vote in a free and fair election. It astonishes me how some people continue to ignore the privilege of being able to voice their opinion. One voice in 33,000,000 is quiet but is still better than no voice at all. I don't even really know who or what to blame for the lack of interest; the would-be voters? the weather? an imperfect manifestation of a democratic government? evil? Céline Dion? (She is rich. And Quebecoise. She could be a part of a great sovereignist conspiracy to tirgger apathy in Canadian voters with her music. The message could be subliminal, in her songs. Think about it.) Amusingly enough, some people are vehemently dedicated to their apathy. "I don't care. I don't want to care. It doesn't matter and it never will. Also, I love Céline Dion." I would like to see what would happen if their right to, say, travel freely about the country were taken away. And their right to watch TV. Oooh, ooh, AND, the right to eat meat. Now who needs democracy- huh?! Wanna vote? Psych! And, another thing- it's actually insulting to those Canadians who do vote; why should they be forced to carry the burden of being responsible and making decisions for the rest of the population that is too lazy to look out for themselves. Oh sure, The Lazies will accept public medicare or speak freely in public, or accept a Canadian pension, or put money into a tax-sheltered RSP but they are not willing to pay for those privileges with the smallest of fees: getting off of the ass and casting of the vote. Honestly, it is unfair to accept these privileges without having paid; especially when the price is so small. Go ahead and spoil your vote, even, if it means you recognize how lucky you are to live in a place that grants you at least, basic rights and freedoms. Whew, I should stop. Pretty soon, I'll start sounding like Rush Limbaugh. The best part is that as I type this, somewhere in Quebec someone is being "sponsored" by the government to research voter apathy. P.S. I choose to bitch about voter turn-out because if I try to actually discuss the results of the election, it angries-up the blood and I get too upset to type.

Not All Dairy Products can be Microwaved

The photo is flattering—really. If it weren’t for the hunger and effort of preparation, the appearance of Chicken Biryani would have turned my stomach. However, this was one of the most flavourful and interesting dishes we have ever made. The recipe is from an episode of America’s Test Kitchen, which we saw the weekend before. It seemed interesting enough that I braved my no-cooked-raisins rule. Wikipedia tells me that currants aren’t raisins, so I won’t be dropping that rule anytime soon. Under all that rice and yogurt is a chicken thigh, the best part of the chicken. The rice was par-boiled in a spice stock of cardamom pods, fennel seeds, fresh ginger and cinnamon. In the end, those flavours became a pleasant, sweet earthiness, rather than a typical spiciness. The browned chicken, caramelized onions with jalapeno, rice, fresh cilantro and fresh mint were layered in a pot to finish cooking. When topped with the yogurt sauce, it was absolutely divine. We’ll be making this one again soon. I would make it for guests if I were more willing to share. Store the rice and chicken separately from the yogurt sauce should you have any leftovers. This was not obvious to me after three glasses of wine. Jan had the unfortunate experience of eating microwaved yogurt sauce for lunch one day.

Corners of My Mind

A couple of years ago, I visited the Tuscany of my dreams. I have a theory; I believe that a destination –city, beach, country – is whatever one makes of it. For example, one will encounter the same number of people who, when visiting Venice, would call it smelly, over-crowded, touristy, expensive and confusing, as people who would remember it as enchanting, quaint, historic and delicious. What makes these two people see the exact same place and time so differently? I think it might be attitude. Where one person looks at the canals and sees the garbage in the water and a construction barge floating next to the ugly scaffolding spread over a bridge which is supporting the weight of a steady stream of sweaty tourists eating bad ice cream, another person might look and notice the surprisingly fluid motions of someone unloading heavy tiles from a precariously balanced barge, the bright flowers in a window box near the bridge, the sun shining brightly off the water, the tourists laughing and the church bells in the background. I know, because I've been both people. After the traveling I've done, I've learned to recognize my dispiritedness and then force myself to mentally stop, find something beautiful and focus on the romanticism that a place has to offer. It is with this conscious romanticism that I visited Tuscany. Ever since Frances Mayes wrote Under The Tuscan Sun, I've been devouring and re-devouring her books. That she is an exceptional writer of prose is clear, but the way she chooses to describe things seems familiar to me; hey, I know that attitude– it's my romanticism! I suppose one could surmise that it is easy to find things that are beautiful in Italy, with all the art and architecture and food and people, but I think it's more than that. I think her descriptions, and later, my real-life experiences, were rooted in the idea of mandatory enjoyment. At any rate, this "mandatory enjoyment" has made for some lovely memories of places I've been. Every time I eat white beans, I recall that the word "Tuscan" means bean-eater and then I remember a particularly pretty day I spent in Cortona, Tuscany. I visited Cortona because, of course, that is the town near which Frances Mayes lives and I couldn't resist trying to sleuth out some of the places she describes in the book. (Unfortunately, I didn't have enough time to try to find her house but that will be for another day. I continue to collect clues from her books.) It turned out that it required very little effort on my part to see the beauty in that town. It was hot when I was there; I walked up and down steep streets, into cool, shaded alleys and through parks on the edge of the hill town with breath-taking views of the surrounding countryside. This was the first place I had been where I heard cicadas chirping. The sun baked everything and somehow seemed to make the air thicker so that echoes in the town square didn't seem sharp but rather muted. I had lunch on a stone balcony at a trattoria overlooking the piazza; light pasta with tomato sauce, sausages and fresh raw vegetables and a jug of red wine. It was all so charming and so much like the Cortona that I had imagined that I stretched that lunch out for hours, lingering over my meal, watching the people move about below, ordering an espresso, breathing and listening and trying to embed a memory for each of my senses. When it was time to go (to drive off to Venice, in fact) I was strolling instead of walking. I could've very happily stayed there for weeks and not done much more than I had that afternoon. And then I telephoned Ingrid and woke her up to describe how unimaginably perfect Cortona is. The point is, I'm so happy to have had the experience of that day and so pleased when something triggers my memory of it. Like the beans in this White Bean, Potato and Arugula Soup (a recipe from Kansas City, Missouri, no less). The soup was nothing to write home about but it was worth having made it for the delicious little glimpse into my past.

More Envy

Again, my colleagues were envious of my lunch. Ha ha! It is so sweet to flaunt a really, really, ridiculously good-looking lunch. The flip side of that is when we don’t have leftovers and I am forced to join them in their canned soup sorrow. Those are sad times; what are office trolls to do when they don't even have a lunch to envy? Yesterday, it was Pork Stew with Fennel and Butternut Squash. If it isn't already obvious, we are hooked on the squash. It snowed on the weekend so I think that makes a stew taste even better, let alone this one with the perceived buttery flavour, thanks to the squash. Wow, this was tasty: slowly braised pork pieces, tender-yet-crispy fennel, a sublime reduction of stock with onions, garlic, pancetta and wine all sauced over some egg noodles… those poor trolls didn't stand a chance! I love the compliments whilst standing in line for the microwave. I think the only thing that would've made this better is if the pork had braised a little slower so as to make it more tender. It was good as-was but could've been even better if it had been falling-apart-at-the-touch-of-a-fork tender. Though I wouldn't sacrifice the toothiness of the veggies because there is nothing sadder than limp and tasteless veg where stew is concerned. With this, we had a bottle of Folinari Cabernet Sauvignon; we had to open a fresh bottle, you understand, because it was required in the stew. And we had to finish it because it was Sunday and it had snowed and it was just too delicious not to.

Curry is Yummy

I eat this as I write. Once again, we cooked an extra large portion of dinner so as to have leftovers for lunch the next day and right now my co-workers are jealous. Ha! People on the other side of my cubicle (a.k.a. Wrap-around Demoralizer 3000) are asking the air around them "Who brought the yummy food?" And then I brag about the fancy-schmancy Curried Lamb with Potatoes and Mint Yogurt Sauce that I brought. "What did you bring for lunch? Oh, soup? In a can? Gee, yeah, that's too bad. Mine sure is delicious!" We're kind of on an Indian food kick of late. I had a craving in December and haven't been able to shake it. We even had some tasty Indian comfort food at the Granville Island market and yet my palate remains unsatiated. Thus, we have this curry which doesn't even have curry in it! I understand that there as many versions of curry out there as there are people who cook Indian food from scratch. We got our version from America's Test Kitchen and it was quite a decent mélange of cinnamon, cloves, turmeric, cardamom, cumin, coriander, garlic, ginger, etc. but much less spicy than I prefer. Even with the halved jalapeno simmered with the lamb, it still fell short of my expectation of heat. But really, I don't care so much because it tastes marvelous with its mingling of a thousand flavours. Plus, I love lamb; though Marc had a devil of a time removing all the silverskin. Surprisingly, this meal would seem incomplete without the sauce. I never would've thought that a cool, little dollop of flavoured yogurt could make such a significant difference. Last night, I had initially ladled a very small spoonful onto my serving but had to revisit the yogurt because it was so good. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, because sauce in all other forms plays such an important part in aggrandizing foods (i.e. hollandaise, bordelaise, wasabi) but, I mean, it's just yogurt. Who knew?

A Vegimatarian Favourite

At least a year ago I made this lasagna for a dinner with Marcia & Geoff. Meat was not invited to dinner but we didn't notice because of this fantastic version of lasagna with butternut squash and mushrooms. I would argue that it is the portobellos which make the meal effectively "meaty" enough to masquerade as hearty. Of course, the generous amount of ricotta involved doesn't hurt. And fresh Parmesano Reggiano. Anyway, we come back to it again every few months because it looks and tastes so pretty and lasts for days as leftovers. With a tart salad on the side, it's one of my favourite weekend lunches. Plus, now that we have a mandolin, it is so much fun to slice up the squash. How did we ever live without one?

Vancouver

Presently, I am 30. My birthday recently passed. Resistance was futile. Despite my mild dismay at having entered my fourth decade, I had a most excellent celebration. Actually, there were several installments of the birthday celebration but this entry documents only the first: my birthday dinner at Blue Water Café. After New Year's Day, we flew to Vancouver to eat. There are other things we did while there – walk around Stanley Park and Canada Place, ... window shop along Robson, coffee at innumerable and ubiquitous Starbucks – but the primary reason for the expedition was to eat good food. Therefore, I can't not mention at least one other meal we had while there that, though unrelated to things birthday, was excellent. I tried a few years ago to get into Bin 941, a tapas "parlour" on Davie, but it's such a wee, little boîte that I was never able to get in the door, much less a table. Of course, that only increases the desire to go: it must be great if it is always so crowded. So this time, our plan to meet Marc's friend Eva there in the early evening met with success. We didn't get a table but at least we got in the door and were able to grab three seats at the bar. Between us, we shared: Cinnamon chili rubbed Texas Flank Steak - maple syrup chipotle glaze, black pepper pommes frites, East West Crab Cakes - burnt orange chipotle sauce, charred baby bok choy, cucumber salsa, tobiko, Hand cut Yukon gold mountain pepper pommes frites and Mussels steamed with Garlic butter - roma tomato, herbs, white wine. Sadly, I can't recall the wine I had but I think it might have been the Catena Zapata, a Malbec from Argentina. Regardless, it was all divine and well worth sitting at the bar next to the door. After dinner, Eva drove us to one of her favourite dessert bars, True Confections on West Broadway. For 10 o'clock on the first Tuesday after New Year's, it was surprisingly busy. Though they are known for their cakes, I couldn't resist having a piece of what turned out to be a killer Three Berry Pie. But I digress. The actual birthday was celebrated at Blue Water Café in Yaletown. Marc picked out this place from several places short-listed on a restaurant site on the Interweb. We planned to go early in the evening so as to take advantage of their prix fixe menu, which would've been 3 courses for about $35.00. However, after arriving and reviewing the menu and (huge) wine list, everything looked way too good to miss. "Screw it, we'll order what we want". And WHAT A MEAL: we started with a couple of glasses of Champagne accompanied by two sweet Kusshi and two Deep Bay Chef's Creek fresh raw oysters. Then, for me, an appetizer of Duck Prosciutto on an Organic Beet and frisée salad with truffle-sherry vinaigrette, and for Marc, Baked Galliano Island Swimming Scallops with tomato-lemon fondue, capers and parsley. For an entrée, I had BC Sablefish baked in sake & miso, topped with benito flakes and served on octopus ravioli with xeres and Okanagan cherry sauce, and Marc had the Seared Ostrich. Between us, we had a bottle of white from Spain and Marc had to test a couple of glasses of red before deciding on a glass to go with his meal. Finally, we shared three cheeses for dessert- chèvre noir, some Clos de St. Ambrose from Québec, and some Fourme D'Ambert, a mild blue from France. All in all, it was an outstanding meal– exactly the present I wanted. I can't imagine a better way to have spent my birthday with my favourite partner in gluttony.

Spoiled

Oh, the life of a well-fed, attention-laden, spoiled, little puppy. Sam was lucky enough to get a taste of Mom's turkey as it "accidentally" flipped off the cutting board onto the floor. Correction: no piece of turkey actually made it as far as the floor. Even when hindered by the wearing of the loathe-ed Santa hat and Christmas bow, Sam is able to detect and devour any and all turkey-dinner-related items. He would've eaten a napkin had it inadvertently fluttered to the floor. As it was, we were lucky that nobody lost any fingers. Because we are newly enamoured of the macro function on the camera, we have gotten carried away with the close-ups. This would be Mom & Dad's Xmas dinner table: There would be more pictures of the food and a populated dinner table but for the gin.

What Christmas Is All About

How many people, I wonder, would agree that eating and drinking are the best parts of celebrating the birth of a charismatic and convincing fellow two millennia ago? I, for one, am not above celebrating a Christian holiday if only for the gluttony and sloth associated with it. (Ha! 2 of 7 deadly sins in one holiday!) For months, I have been looking forward our Xmas Eve dinner. Before my family planned to spend the season in Calgary, we had been planning a decadent and romantic dinner for two in the glow of the tannenbaum lights. Even after learning that everyone would be in town, the idea of this dinner was too appealing to abandon, even for the fun of a family affair. Sometime in October, I started thinking about ingredients, namely: duck, foie gras and caviar. In fact, when chatting with co-workers about what we wanted for Christmas, they all laughed because they thought I was joking when I said I wanted a great, big, piece of frozen goose-liver fat. I guess not everyone covets foie gras. In the end, it turned out that it would be too expensive and Marc doesn’t really like caviar but we agreed that duck would be divine.
So our menus was thus:

Marinated Shrimp with Champagne Beurre Blanc Valdobbidene, Mionetto Prosecco Duck Breast with Crème Fraîche and Roasted Grapes on Arugula Scalloped Fennel and Potatoes Roasted Brussel Sprouts with Lemon and Bacon Château de Chamirey, Mercurey, Burgundy Molasses Ginger Pudding with Caramel Sauce

And it was everything I dreamed it would be. Part of the fun of this dinner was that we would be able to spend the day in the kitchen together which is my very favourite place to be, with my very favourite person, along with some good music and a little G&T refreshment. I brought out the good silver, passed down from my grandparents, and we set the table to elegance. The wine was particularly dreamy and complemented the duck as though we had chosen it to match, instead of having just pulled out one of our best bottles for dinner. It started with a cherry - almost candy - nose and then finished with tobacco; truly marvelous against the bitterness of the sprouts and arugula and yet it held out against the rich duck and creamy potatoes. Utterly and sublimely superb. Finally, the molasses-ginger pudding is the recipe that we had been trying to perfect over the past year and which Marc ultimately mastered. We didn’t get a picture because by the time we ate dessert, we had retired to the couch to watch Xmas movies and sip Grand Marnier. If this meal is any indication, we are going to have some fine holiday meals. Lookin’ forward to Valentine’s Day.

Edible Xmas

I think it’s the little things that are the reason we get along so well together. So often, I have an idea rolling around in my mind that I don’t voice because I still automatically assume that whatever it is is entirely too geeky or corny to be spoken aloud. And then Marc says pretty much exactly what I’m thinking and I am tickled; I love it when he talks nerdy to me. To this point, I was wistfully imagining making some sweet, little gifts from the kitchen this year when Marc suggested that we make some edible presents for our friends. Perfect! Yay! We combed through the cooking magazines for ideas on what to make and, after sufficiently nerdy research, settled on four targets: port wine jelly, star anise honey, lemon-rose gelées, and chocolate truffles. How very Martha Stewart! However, like anything else remotely Martha-esque that I have ever attempted, it is easier said than done. Thus, as the busy Baby Jesus season descended upon us, we only had time to devote to make three and had to ditch the truffles. First, we made a special trip to Michael’s to obtain vessels in which to put all our delights. Tiny boxes with crisp ribbon, little jars with corked tops and bits of holly and gold wreaths to decorate, and Christmas-y tissue paper in which to elegantly wrap the treats. Then began the cooking. I once made jam but neither of us has ever made jelly. This port jelly was a piece of cake to make but the finicky boiling and “putting up” of the jelly was the hard part. And the scrubbing off of dried sticky jelly from the stove top and floor was unenjoyable. In the end, however, we ended up with four cute little jars of very port-y meat accompaniment. The Honey. Nothing particularly tricky about this and nothing really spectacular tasting. It sure looked pretty, though, in the tiny jars trimmed with red and gold. The gelées were… involved. They weren’t particularly difficult but had to set overnight and then were painstakingly cut into pieces and dusted with cornstarch. Normally, the work wouldn’t have been an issue but it’s hard to find a spare evening during Crazy Season, let alone two nights in a row. Finally, I had to get up one morning at about 4:00am to finish and wrap them in brown paper packages tied up with string. Not one of my favourite things; if we every decide to make them again, we’ll have to use a lot more lemon because they tasted kind of bland. Again, they sure looked pretty, though. Ultimately, it was very fun (and ridiculously sappy) to make these gifts as the beginning of our first Christmas together.