I’m
a Niagara girl
wherever I roam
and this kinda stuff
makes my house
smell like home.
food
flavour vs taste
“The typical consumer believes that naturally flavoured processed food is somehow healthier than artificially flavoured processed food. The distinction is laughable… Flavours are value-neutral from a health standpoint. They are chemicals. The only difference between a natural and synthetic flavour is the source material and derivation process. Take cherry for example. What gives cherries their ‘cherriness’ is a molecule called benzaldehyde. To make natural cherry flavour, you start with cassia, a tree bark related to cinnamon and, using chemical-free processes like pressure and steam, extract from it cinnamic aldehyde. This can then be converted into benzaldehyde, the base of natural cherry flavour. To make an artificial cherry flavour, you extract the benzaldehyde from coal tar on petroleum using chemical processes. The molecules resulting from both processes are identical, although the natural flavour costs ten to fifty times more to produce.
“Aside from flavour, the other ingredients in ‘all natural’ foods—starches, proteins, fats, etc.—are often dramatically modified from their naturally occurring states in order to produce products that better withstand the intense processing required to manufacture safe packaged food. ‘All-natural processed food’ is an oxymoron and a myth… But the idea that it’s better for you is deeply ingrained in society. It’s become a key to success from a consumer-acceptance standpoint.”
—excerpted from ‘Frontiers of Flavour’ by Nelson Handel (The Walrus, June 2005)
how to spend a day in peterborough
If the day is Saturday…
…start with the market.
Buy potaotes from the Potato Guy who has a dozen different varieties at least and can tell you the history and origins of every single one. He will also tell you which ones make the best potato salad, the best for mashed, scalloped, boiled, baked, fried, potato-pancaked, you name it, he will tell you. He is the Potato Guy.
Buy mushrooms from the [you know what’s coming…] Mushroom Guy. Only in this case it’s the Mushroom Gal. But she’s not there in person in winter [though her ‘shrooms are]; in winter she’s in her lab figuring out how to cultivate morels. I think she’s doing a PhD in mushroomology. Seriously. The Shiitake are always spectacular. And the Portobello are fresh and don’t need their insides scraped out before you eat/grill/sautee them the way they do when you get the ones from Outer Mongolia at the grocery store.
Buy chocolate from two lads who call themselves ChocoSol and whose [better than fair trade] endeavours are worth supporting. Not to mention the chocolate. Which is worth eating. Expensive, but that’s because it’s ethical and real. And that is the price of ethical and real food. The recipe is simple: buy smarter, eat less.
Buy clean, fresh greenhouse greens from the guy right near the entrance at a tiny table where you never know what he’ll have from week to week, but you know it will be excellent.
Buy apples from the St. Catharines guy, also apple cider; and for god’s sake, don’t forget the pulled pork pastry from The Pastry Peddler or a jar of freshly jarred honey—or cheese, or perogies, farm fresh eggs, homemade pies and cookies, sausages and a few samosas.
Buy flowers to feed the soul.
Remember to thank the buskers for their delightful ambience.
And be absolutley stunned that you spent all your money but applaud yourself for spending it so wisely and in a way that will directly help others, rather than helping already-doing-just-fine-thanks grocery store gazillionaires who bully farmers.
Make a mental note to get cat food on the way home.
Visit a 94 year-old uncle who has a fractured femur but that doesn’t stop him lighting up at the bag of mudpie chocolate cookies you bring him from the market. [p.s. bring him reading material also; Harlan Coban is a good choice.]
Have lunch at Elements. Have the wild boar pate. Have the mussel and fish stew. Have the vino verde. Smile. Sit back. Breathe. Be thankful.
Pop into Titles Bookstore. Buy a copy of something local.
Decide against visiting the many second hand bookshops on George Street [you can’t do it all] and walk west, along the river instead. If you see litter, pick it up. If you fancy a sit down, well then, for pete’s sake, sit down. [Make a note to try the patio at the Holiday Inn once the weather heats up; lovely view.]
Walk all the way to the art gallery, one of the best you’ll see anywhere, where you might find an exhibit by the students at PCVS, a local, downtown high school under threat of closure—and then wonder at the madness of the powers that be.
Choose as your favourite, an installation comprised of one large pink velveteen sofa with dark and ornately carved trim, above which are four standard paint-by-number style formal landscape paintings in gilt frames, each of which has been over-painted in Norville Morriseau style interpretations of ‘landscape’.
Second favourite installation: a text written on the wall, denouncing art. Heart-breaking in one way, given that the artist feels there’s no point in art because no one really gets it and it changes nothing. Oh dear. I want to find this person and say: it doesn’t matter. Do it anyway.
Admire the light.
Walk back along the river to your car and make a mental note to wear better shoes next time.
Stop to take pictures of a dilapidated building that was once a place to eat and drink and be merry.
Go home. Eat, drink and be merry.
[But not before picking up some cat food, otherwise there will be hell to pay.]
◊♦◊
More Travel:
Prince Edward Island
Miami
Montreal
Niagara Region
Chile
Stratford
Vancouver
here is a day
It begins with the light.
Different this morning, although not really anything you can single out. The sun comes up, shines; the sky is blue, the trees are naked.
The grass still shivers and the only blooms are the brave-hearted snowdrops. But something has changed.
It’s spring.
No matter what the calendar says, no matter if there’s a blizzard tomorrow—a corner has been turned. The squirrels know it and so do the doves, the neighbourhood stray and the fly that landed on my arm today as I sat reading on the patio. It’s like hair. One day it’s perfectly fine, like it’s been for weeks or months, and the next [and you will never know how this can happen] it’s changed and it needs a cut and it will not be fine again until you cut it.
Spring arrives like that. Overnight. And suddenly everything is different. Regardless of weather, it will not be winter again until the last month of the year.
So we go for a walk on this beautiful spring day, Peter and I.
We walk to the grocery store to buy some baby food for Jake The Cat who’s a bit plugged up with shedding-his-winter-coat hairballs; my cat book recommends a recipe involving a veggie/meat blend along with melted butter, psyllium husks and water.
It’s about twenty minutes, if that, through a ravine and a park where, amongst all that loveliness, somehow people decide to just drop things and carry on.
We carry bags to scoop up the debris.
Back home again, I bake what could be my favourite thing in the world— today I use (local, frozen from summer) cherries.
And while I do, the sun shines in on my beach glass [and sunshine on my beach glass makes me happy…]
I read outside.
And I read inside.
I vacuum downstairs, but not upstairs.
I write a little. Not a lot.
And too soon the sun is on the other side of the house and making those end of day shadows on the guy across the street’s garage door and the wall in the living room and I put chicken wings in the oven and shrimps on the barbie…
— and Peter pours glasses of wine and today’s light will soon be gone but it was here and it was spring light, and before it fades and turns suddenly too cold to sit outside comfortably…
…I sit comfortably.
Happy spring.
Note: Jake The Cat ate his ‘recipe’ and, later, things cleared up nicely. [In case you were wondering.]
because it’s sunday
“…Wake early one Sunday and smell the person sleeping next to you. Do it. Lean over. The inside of the neck will do, just below the ear. Take a deep breath. The knowledge of this scent is lodged in the deepest part of your brain.
“Breathe deeply, if only to remind yourself of why you are where you are, doing what you’re doing.
“Now go into the kitchen. Throw two eggs into a bowl with a cup of milk and a cup of flour. Add a quarter teaspoon of salt and a tablespoon of melted butter. Mix until smooth, but don’t overdo it.
“Pour the batter into buttered muffin tins, filling the cups no more than half-full. Put the tins in a cold oven. Turn on the heat to 450F. After fifteen minutes, turn the oven down to 340F. Wait for fifteen minutes more.
“This recipe comes from the Fannie Farmer Baking Book by Marion Cunningham. It’s an important book, with clear recipes and much new thinking. For example, prior to Marion, popovers, were always started in a hot oven. This is a small thing, but one which changed my life.
“While you’re changing yours, make some coffee and squeeze a couple of oranges. Do want you want with a pear or a pineapple. Get a tray ready to take back to bed.
“Now open the oven. It will make you smile. They don’t call these things popovers for nothing. They look like little domes, golden brown and slightly crispy on the outside.”
~From Comfort me with Apples, by Joe Fiorito (McClelland & Stewart, 2000)
(p.s. If you like this, here’s more from the same book.)
the harvest hokey pokey
There’s a sense of urgency at this time of year. Something primal, a scrap of DNA left over from hunter-gatherer days that makes us forget there are grocery stores [and, bonus, they’re open all winter!]. We see produce, feel a chill in the air, think: uh oh, frost, starvation, scurvy, ice storms, must stock up, and before we know it we’re surrounded by heads of cauliflower and cabbage, bunches of beets and carrots, more green beans than seems right, zucchini and peppers, potatoes, eggplant, onions, broccoli, did I say carrots?, celery—celery root for god’s sake. And it has to be hauled home all at once because next week might be the week the farmers are no longer at the market or all they’re selling is those crocheted toilet paper roll dresses.
It starts small. You put up the odd jar of relish, quince jelly, pear and apple butter, you feel organized in that way you feel in the garden in spring—when the weeds are just starting to show, when plucking one here and there is enough to keep things tidy and every year you think: heck, this isn’t so bad, I must be getting better at being organized [uh huh]—and then suddenly there’s so much fresh food in the house it’s impossible to imagine eating it all and one day it seems entirely normal—what? what’s the problem?—to be making vats of borscht in your pyjamas at six on Sunday mornings, all day spaghetti sauces, cranberry, rum and raisin conserves before lights out; jars of pickles and marmalades taking precedence over everything, over reading. The pop of lids is both a joy to behold and annoying and your back throbs and the vinegar makes your eyes water but the good news is that should you fancy a bit of cheddar one December evening, you will be able to eat it with a green tomato and apple chutney. Not to mention a rosemary infused carrot if the mood takes you.
And that, dear friends, is what it’s all about.
So happy harvest trails and best of the season!
GREEN TOMATO AND APPLE CHUTNEY
(makes about 6 – 7 8oz (250 mL) jars
(from Well Preserved, by Mary Anne Dragan)
1 lemon
5 C finely chopped green tomatoes (1.2L)
2 C finely chopped apples (457 mL)
1 C finely chopped onions (240 mL)
2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
1 C currants (240 mL)
1 C brown sugar (240 mL)
1 C cider vinegar (240 mL)
1 TBSP mustard seeds (15 mL)
1 1/2 tsp dried chili flakes (7.5 mL)
1 tsp salt (5 mL)
1 tsp ginger (5 mL)
Prepare the preserving jars.
Slice the lemon very thinly, discarding the ends and seeds. Chop very finely.
Combine all the ingredients in your preserving pot. Simmer over medium heat for 25-30 minutes, or until thickened. Stir often to prevent sticking, especially during the last 10 minutes of cooking time.
Remove from the heat. Spoon the chutney into hot, sterilized jars, leaving 1/2 inch (1.2 cm) head space. Wipe the rims clean. Seal according to manufacturer’s directions. Process the jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes.
(A traditional English condiment, this chutney is excellent in a sandwich with any type of meat or cheese. It is a great accompaniment to beef dishes such as meat loaf, scrambled eggs or macaroni and cheese.) ~ from Well Preserved, by Mary Anne Dragan
in the reprieve between the last heat tsunami and the threat of the next… :)
…I made the following:
a mess;
steam;
high-end hors d’oeuvre!
Plus, the extra dill makes a delicious smelling two dollar bouquet…
lunch time read: georgian bay gourmet summer entertaining
I love old cookbooks. Oldish. My favourites being from the 40’s through the 80’s. Depression era ones are also good, but there’s something irresistible about all that apres war poncing about with the discovery of avocados and kebabs and mandarin oranges in syrup; the way corn flakes and potato chips are used as crust, maraschino cherries and olives are tossed onto everything and platters of undercooked hams, shellacked and skewered with slices of tinned pineapple and unripe honeydew melon. Oh the things you can do with tuna! Or, when in doubt, throw some cream or sugar or liquor into whatever you’re making, and while you’re at it have a swig yourself!
A deliciously hideous pseudo-culinary flamboyance that continued for decades, seeming to peter out only with the arrival of celebrity Chefs and food channels and all-of-a-sudden real food from places beyond the British Isles.
There’s something comforting in all that kitsch, all those olives. Takes me back.
Happily, my most recent acquisition, Georgian Bay Gourmet Summer Entertaining, contains all of the above-mentioned
in one form or another, plus people are smoking in the accompanying pictures. It not only took me back to an era, its cheerful everyone-must-have-fun bonfires and boating banter delivered me vicariously to some oddly frenetic cottage where placemats and napkins match and an aproned woman in pumps is all Martha in the kitchen morning til night while three year olds play with lawn darts and a guy in a safari jacket swills rum-laced pineapple juice and burns enormous olive-studded hamburgers. The book was published in 1983 when, evidently, no one was eating local or seasonal as any kind of rule. Lots of jellied salads, tinned fruit and things with marshmallows where marshmallows should never be—but as well, many gems, like a tomato and basil soup with gin, frozen watermelon daiquiris, and bits of trivia such as Georgian Bay has 30,000 islands and is the world’s largest fresh water inland bay. And pears—who knew they ripened from the inside out?
One of my favourite items is something called a Disaster, made by putting popsicles and ice cream into a blender til smooth then “pouring into glasses”. Admittedly, I was hot and thirsty while reading the book, which gave Disaster some added appeal. I haven’t tried it yet. Thinking about it now I see how it might be brilliant or… it could live up to its name.
Ah well, if it’s no good I’ll float some marshmallows, add a maraschino cherry or a splash or three of cognac.
Will report once the experiment has been conducted. :)
Happy weekend!
nettles, napa, nasturtiums, swiss chard, carrot sprouts, coriander, kale, dandelion
Lunch, freshly picked, as yet unassembled.
veggies from the sea
My new favourite food.
I’ve tried a few other sea veggies but dulse is my hands down favourite. It comes in two forms: leaves, like the picture—which lightly sauteed in coconut or olive oil, go crunchy and make a great side to anything. Had them with eggs the other day—delicious, especially if you like your food with undertones of beach wrack and fog.
Also comes in flakes, which I sprinkle straight from the bag onto salads; packed with iodine and protein and other good things and—as if all this isn’t excitement enough—it eliminates the need for salt.
Only down side—I haven’t yet found a Canadian brand. Surely we produce this stuff on our own nautical peripheries??
Suggested reading while eating sea veggies: Drinking the Rain, by Alix Kates Shulman
Matilda Magtree 