sybarites

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?

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?

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 bonito 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.

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.

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.

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.

Oh, the potlucks. This season precipitates the making and sharing of food like no other. Elsbeth and I were trading stories about food witnessed at these events and her top pick is Mormon Fluff, a.k.a. Ambrosia salad. (Apparently, in Southern Alberta, it is known as the former. Weird.) Green Jello™ mixed with canned fruit cocktail and cool whip; because it’s green, it totally counts as a vegetable. My top pick is a tie between the Mystery Meat Balls that someone always brings in a crock pot swimming in an unidentifiable gravy/BBQ sauce, and Boogers-on-a-Stick, which I have only witnessed once. B.O.A.S. consists of stick pretzels poked into watered-down Cheez Whiz™ made green with food colouring. I tried one on a dare and kind of gagged.

Anyway, Marc and I attended his department’s potluck xmas party last weekend. Everyone was assigned a course and I have to say that the resulting meal was pretty outstanding. There were many cheeses and meats, wine, breads and dips, “junior high” punch, salads, ribs, casseroles, butter chicken (I think), tiramisu, apples with caramel, trifle, cheesecake, cookies and port. And lots of other very good, very insulation-inducing stuff. The award for Out-Fucking-Standing goes to the maker of the slow-cooked spare-ribs whose name I don’t remember but which starts with a ‘V’. Out-fucking-standing, V. People were still eating spare-ribs long after dessert and that is the most telling sign of a potluck winner.

Once the ice was broken, the kids at the party, who were decked out in their xmas finery, all played together amongst the adults (and the not-so-adult). On the way to the party, I’m told that Greta proclaimed that she was very brave and was not shy at all which, it turns out, was a bit of an exaggeration. She was shy but learned to be brave, thanks to Carl and his challenge to a chugging content. Witness: Exhibit A, below.

These two were responsible drinkers because they both sat on their bums to drink, were careful not to spill and didn’t drive home.

I think it must be obvious by now that we are not shy about the meat.

In the course of our culinary adventures, we are, at the very least, dedicated omnivores. However, I took this a step further in my last post in which I made mention of the “responsible meatatarian”. Allow me to elaborate: I consider myself a responsible meatatarian; someone who eats meat but does so in such a way as to limit the negative impacts of doing so as much as possible. I work at making sure I know where my meat comes from, how it lived and ate and who is selling it to me. In other words, I’m pretty particular and am aware that any choice that I make to eat meat has the potential to make a broad eco-socio-economic impact. I don’t want to go off on a rant here but the minimum amount of research that I have done (really, tip-of-the-iceberg stuff) has helped me to make the decision not to capriciously consume food. I appreciate meat and, lucky for me, I also have the luxury of being able to make a choice about what I eat. (And for the record, I really appreciate the vegetable family, too. I respect the people who choose to eat them exclusively and who, in turn, accord me the same respect as an omnivore.)

That being said, I thought it would be interesting to look at irresponsible meatatarianism. (Plus, we didn’t cook last night so I’ve got no pictures and no recipes to blather on about.) Ergo, here is my list of (arguably) The Top 7 Most Irresponsible Meatatarians (That I Was Able To Find In A Couple Hours’ Worth of Google Searching):

Number Seven
Truly remarkable, this is a story about a 115-lb woman from New Jersey who ate 11% of her body’s weight in burger. I actually don’t consider her so much an irresponsible meatatarian as I do the pub and its owner who are responsible for creating this crazy-huge meat sandwich. So I guess it’s a tie: Denny’s Beer Barrel Pub and Katie Stelnick.

Number Six
Interesting that people choose to challenge themselves with the amount of food they can consume in one sitting. I think the description of this affair is what qualified it on my little unofficial list.

Halfway through the burger, I started to slow down. “Sweet Lord,” I complained, “This is like trying to eat a cow hit by a produce truck.””My plate looks like a roach coach exploded in a mustard factory,” Todd observed.

By this point, the burger looked like something out of a John Carpenter film. It was not easy to be eating mutant zombie flesh, even with the cheese.

“I’m having a hard time here,” I said a few minutes later.

“I’m getting the meat sweats,” Todd said, dabbing at his forehead with a filthy napkin.

This was a war. Covered in fluids and flesh, we determined to slog it through. With great difficulty, I finished the rest of the burger, including the quarter-pound of loose condiments that had dripped onto the plate. Scooping that mess into my mouth was the worst part: a greasy casserole of bacon, oily mushrooms, and fried onions.

To his credit, this guy wrote an extremely colourful description of the experience – especially the “greasy casserole” part which, even without the pictures, was enough to trigger a brief wave of nausea. (I can practically hear Chris suppressing the dry heaves as he reads this.)

Number Five
“Badlands” Booker eating a burger that is larger than his head.

Number Four
The Smoke Meat Marathon. While in Montreal, this guy challenged himself to eat as many versions of the smoked meat sandwich as possible. Tasty though these sandwiches can be, I feel pretty bad leaving behind so much food on a plate, let alone meat. I can only assume that he didn’t finish each sandwich he tried which would mean wasted meat which would point to an irresponsible meatarian.

Number Three
I think Hardee’s deserves to be Number Three on this list because not only do they make the largest, most calorie-laden fast food burger on offer today, but they target a most apathetic demographic. People! Fear the burger! Save yourselves!
(BTW, I totally looked up where the closest Hardee’s is. If I drove for, like, 8 straight hours, I could get one of these burgers in Montana.)

Number Two
Sonya “The Black Widow” Thomas. I love that the people who enter the competetive eating circuit give themselves nicknames. Witness American greats like Eric “Badlands” Booker (a.k.a. Number Five on this list), Ed “Cookie” Jarvis, “Hungry” Charles Hardy, and Rich “The Locust” LeFevre. She holds a number of world records for eating and, incidentally, her inspiration for becoming a professional competitive eater is Number One.

NUMBER ONE
The Hot Dog King himself, the champion and inspiration of irresponsible meatatarians everywhere, Mr. Takeru Kobayashi. Seriously. 53½ hotdogs. In 12 minutes. Seriously! How is he not dead? Of nitrate poisoning and/or choking and/or heart attack? Scientists should study Takeru and make sure that he isn’t a super villain. I can’t even be reprehensive here as I am overshadowed by sheer amazement. I am agog. And I kind of want a hot dog.

Disclaimer: I admit that I got pretty carried away on the burger theme but there is a mountain of evidence documenting the irresponsible meatarianism out there and the burger just seems to be the vehicle of choice for unadulterated gluttony. When/if I ever decide to make a list like this again, I promise to explore other forms of outrageous meat-eating.

And now, we return to India – kind of – with Chicken Coconut Curry Soup. Hmm. On second thought, maybe this is Malaysian. At any rate, it’s authentic; I can tell because the recipe called for eight minutes in the pressure cooker. Those don’t see much use inside North America (relative to the microwave, anyway) but I understand that they are very much a staple tool of the non-Western world. Frankly, I’m not even sure I would recognize a pressure cooker if I saw one in real life. The first two words that pop into my mind are: dangerous and 1950’s. Like James Dean. Or drag racing. What does one even look like? [enter Interweb]

Clearly, this is the fancy-pants Paris Hilton of the pressure cooker world because it is shiny and coordinated:


And this is it’s ugly medieval cousin, Iron Maiden Pressure Cooker:

And crazy, old Aunt Betsy:

But I digress. Lacking a pressure cooker, Marc opted for a gentler method of simmering the chicken in cocount milk, chicken broth, lemongrass and curry. Chicken thighs are always a good choice for soup and they didn’t let us down. It’s true that the cooking time was a fair bit longer than if we had been using Old Besty, but it wasn’t unreasonable and affected a pretty mean curry soup. A quick squirt of lime before serving was perfection.

Incidentally, we polished off a bottle of La Vieille Ferme with a couple of healthy helpings of the curry. Again, with La Vieille Ferme. What can I say except that it is great and inexpensive and made even greater by the fact that we get a discount if buying twelve or more. Eleven more to go!

P.S. Notice, we finally got the macro function of the camera to work.

We return to Mexico this week with Spicy Roasted Vegetable Soup with Toasted Tortillas. Being responsible meatatarians, we try to sprinkle our weekly menu with more eco-socio-supportive (and cheaper) vegetarian meals and this one goes even one step further to be vegan.

On the surface, this appeared as though it might be quite a lot of work for a weekday but it was deceiving; with two of us working on it, it wasn’t half bad. Most of the work involved roasting the vegetables but pretty much everything else got a brief turn in the blender before joining the roasters and happily simmering away for a couple of hours to produce a marvelous, spicy, hearty soup. The small amount of chipotles that we added really went a long way and brought a tangy, smoky flavour to the rest of the veggies. The squash gets the runner-up prize for adding chunkiness and a little bit of sweetness to balance the spicy. And I always love a spritz of lime on top of Mexican flavours- it just brings such brightness to a dish.

Tasty as this meal was, I’m afraid I could never, EVER be a vegan. If forced, I might consider being vegetarian but, to quote local musician Kris Demeanor “I’d rather live in hell than live a life without cheese.”