Sandy Apple

Have you ever tried to eat a candy apple on the beach? Not an easy thing to do. Or a smart thing. But "smart" and "beach" don't always go together. Like pasty Canadians who expose their vitamin D deficient bodies to gamma rays of tropic sun or the questionable costume choices of other shameless beach goers.

Sand just seems to stick to everything and work its way into every nook and cranny.

But I digress. . .

Today is my sixth and final day of training at Joe Jack's Fish Shack in beautiful Puerto Vallarta. Amazing food and an even more colourful cast of characters working there. It's fast paced and crazy busy and a helluva lot of fun.

It's been a whirlwind of a trip thus far and as soon as I get more time to write, you'll hear all about it. But for now I've got to get to work.

Chao mi amigos!!

Eat PV

Dec. 18, 9:16pm



Have you ever tried to eat a candy apple on an airplane? Me neither. But I am seriously considering it. It was a gift from my friend Chris. Homemade. Covered in caramel, drizzled with chocolate and dusted with pieces of crushed up candy cane. It’s wrapped in dollar-store cello and tied with fancy ribbon bought from a very fancy store in Yorkville. It’s sitting in the side pocket of my backpack which is stowed under the seat in front of me.



It’s not that my airplane meal was a total bust—the buttery crackers and strip of Cracker Barrel cheddar were nicely piquant with a pleasant finish. Great balance of texture too! My roll on the other hand tasted like the flight attendant fished it from the bottom of her Christmas stocking last year. If I chipped off small pieces and sucked on them long enough it almost tasted day-old.



But what can you really expect? Meals at 38, 000 feet have never been anything to blog nicely about, and in this day of low-rent travel just being offered something hot—and for free—seems like a real luxury. And speaking of free, the nice people at Sunwing even offer up some booze. So far I’ve been able to imbibe in a semi-cool squirt of Canadian Champagne and a complimentary half-cup of red wine to enjoy with my lasagna. That’s right folks, that red, fleshy looking stuff in the white tray is veggie lasagna. Mmm mmm good.



It was between that and chicken with mashed and veggies. I’ve always been a little leery of poultry on a plane. Chickens can’t fly so it just seems to go against nature. I knew the only edible item in that tray would be the taters and looking at the leftovers of my seatmates, I was right. Frankly, neither choice was the right one.



I suppose it’s not really fare to start a travel-food-adventure blog from a Boeing 737. I could recount the subtle nuances and depth-of-flavour of my Terminal 1 lunch for you but I won’t. Let me just say the pint of Molson Canadian was the highlight.



But none of this matters at all really. I’m just killing some down time during my flight to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico where I’ll be spending the next three months working in a fantastic restaurant called Joe Jack’s Fish Shack. My plan is to write it all down—the city’s incredible food scene, night life, beach days and anything else that strikes my fancy. You see, the world is literally my oyster. Now, can I get a side of Mahi Mahi and some octopus to go with that?



And although I can’t literally share my meals with you, I’ve cleared some seats at the internet buffet. It’s time to eat PV!



Oh, and that candy apple in my pack? I’m going to save it for the beach. Who knows, maybe I’ll find someone to share it with.

Best Booze of the Season

Yay! It's the busiest time of year for the booze companies which means new products, new flavours and new packaging for some. For others it's the same ol', same ol'; switching things up with revamped cocktail concoctions and tying it all up with a fancy red bow.

Luckily, my loyal readers, you've got me. I've sifted through the bottles piling up on my desk. I've poured and tasted. Twisted and mixed. Spit. Swallowed. And of course savoured, to come up with my picks for the best booze bets this Christmas.

First up: Bombay Sapphire Cranberry Collins.

I may be the spokesperson for Bombay Sapphire, so ya, I'm a little biased but damn this is a fine cocktail.

First, fill a Collins glass with ice. Add about 1 1/2 oz. Bombay Sapphire, a squeeze of fresh lemon juice, 1 oz. cranberry juice (white or red) a glug of simple syrup (equal parts sugar dissolved in water), then top with soda.

Sure, the ingredient list is a little long but the outcome is worth it. To save time, mix up a pitcher of these and store in the refrigerator. Oh, and those Turkey Sliders with Lemon and Rosemary Aioli? You can find the recipe at: www.bombaysapphire.com. Look under "Inspired Entertaining for Winter".

Next up is Absolut Vodka. No new flavour and no spokesperson contract, just a shiny new bottle. And who doesn't love a little sparkle under the tree, or on the bar for that matter? This year's limited edition bottle cover is a magnificent blue disco ball. Hang the empty cover from the middle of the dance floor or set in the middle of the table. Who needs a pine-bough centre piece when there's pretty vodka to decorate your party?

Okay, enough of the hard stuff. If liqueurs are more your speed (breakfast cocktails, anyone?!) then the new Mocha flavour from Kahlua might just find its way to your Boxing Day coffee cup. This dark chocolate edition to the Kahlua line is the best of the lot thus far. Both French Vanilla and Hazelnut flavours were launched a year or two ago and added very little to the Kahlua brand. Fad flavours with little staying power. Mocha on the other hand is just what my doctor ordered and this one could stick around for many Boxing Days to come.


Try the Kahlua Mayan Raspberry: shake 2 oz. of Kahlua with 6 raspberries and some ice in a cocktail shaker to crush the raspberries. Strain into an ice-filled rocks glass, top with soda and garnish with a raspberry or two. Or tip the bottle into your Starbucks' latte. Makes shopping, baking, caroling and wrapping all the more enjoyable.

And finally, if boozy gift-giving is on your to-do list, a bottle of premium Scotch is sure to be a welcomed edition to any adult's stocking. A single malt from The Macallan family is ideal for both seasoned whisky drinkers and juniors alike. Its line of sophisticated whiskies offer something for everyone and in every price range. Scotch aficionados enjoy the complex flavour notes and richness of The Macallan family, while the entire line is peat free (most Scotches are made with barley that is dried over burning peat). This creates a whisky without that signature earthy smokiness, that can overpower a novice palate and makes for a more accessible whisky.

Here's a pic of me and my boys (David and Gordon) at The Macallan tasting in October. Our choice was the ultra premium 18 Year Old. Our palates are very refined. What can I say?

Bottom line: get thee to your local booze emporium! Wander the aisles and find something new. Drink it yourself. Give it away. Or share it with friends. Tis the season.

Bake, Batter and Roll!

One of the most creative and uber fun food styling jobs I've had in recent months was for Robin Hood flour. 2009 marks the 100 year anniversary of the Canadian company and to mark the occasion it decided to set up a bake shop for moms and kids. Located on Eglington Avenue near Bathurst Street in Toronto, the Bake, Batter and Roll bake shop is running until November 22, 2009. It's been so greatly recieved that there are no longer any spots available but moms and kids can still create all the great cookie and cupcake recipes at home. Just go to www.robinhood.ca/bakeshop for recipes, videos and shopping lists!

From the top: Spaghetti and Meatball Cupcakes, made with strawberry jam, Crispy Crunch Bites and white chocolate shavings.

Aquarium Cookie, made with coloured licorice, rock sugar and royal icing.

Pizza Cookie, made with strawberry jam, licorice, sugar-dipped marshmallow slices and frosting.

Bug Cookies, made with royal icing and coloured sugar.

Baby Bird Cupcakes, made with coloured coconut, cookies, candy corn and Mike 'n' Ikes.

Eating Fries with Arnold

Unfortunately I can't loiter in bed til noon on a regular basis. Today I was up at the crack of 8am! I went to bed just after 11pm so I still managed a good 9 hours of superfine sleep. Once I was showered and smelling good I built a damn fine latte, poured it into my travel mug and hit the streets with Jack for an invigorating morning stroll.

You see, Gary Coleman was waiting for me.

Yep, Arnold from that iconic '80s sitcom Different Strokes. Just don't bring that up in his presence; apparently it's a bit of a sore spot--even after almost 1/4 century.

Gary flew in from Salt Lake City, his current place of residence, last night to be on set this morning for a New York Fries campaign. I'm the guy they called in to stuff the box with fries.

I didn't have to buy the potatoes. Or cut them. Or even fry them. Just arrange them attractively in a NYF container. For a food stylist this is a plum job.

Sometimes I wonder how I ever happened into this life of mine? It's a little random and a little inconsistent but a helluva good time.

And because my French fry arranging skills are pretty stellar I sat back and watched the drama unfold over wardrobe (way too big), his wig (also a little large) and a makeup artist who had to keep doing touch-ups because Mr. Coleman's nose was a little runny.

I wish all my days were this excitingly uneventful. But I'm beat, it's time for a nap.

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Keep your eyes peeled for the ads which will be out later this spring. It's all part of NYF's 25th anniversary.

"After 25 years, some things are still fresh."

Lattes in Leslieville, Breakfast in Bed

As a hedonist I think it’s important to keep things real so I’m writing this post from the comfort of my queen size. It’s now well past noon. When my alarm sounded at 8am I snoozed it, then I reset it for 8:30am, before turning it off completely. I don’t know why I set alarms for days when I don’t have to get up? It’s really just an exercise in guilt.

But I don’t feel guilty. There’s a steady stream of rain coming down outside my bedroom window and Jack (my three year-old Boston terrier) has done little more than reposition herself (yes, Jack’s a girl) for comfort over the last few hours. She’s not a fan of getting wet and is much happier passing the day under a goose down duvet (yes, under) than traversing puddles and squatting in damp patches of grass.

I’ve learned a lot from her over the years.

So what does this lazy-ass attempt at writing have to do with food? Or booze? Does it fall into the “beyond” category?

I am enjoying a delicious café latte intermittently between key strokes. That must count for something. Nothing makes me happier than starting my day with a latte—and it just so happens to be the way 90% of my mornings (or afternoons, on occasion) get started. And while I’ve never been a professional barista, my technique for making Italian coffees is down right passable. I mean, I could get a job at Starbucks if I wanted.

I was out for coffee with my friend Ryan yesterday and he introduced me to a fantastic place in Leslieville. Of course some of the details, like the name of this out-of-the-way spot, seem to escape me. (But thanks to Robin who commented below, it's Merchants of Green Coffee) Tucked away on a warehouse-y street beside the Don Valley Parkway, just north of Queen Street, this charming café buys only fair trade coffee and roasts its own beans daily. You’ll never be drinking brew from yesterday’s roast. While that might not mean much to some people, it ensures the best cup of Joe possible, as the longer coffee beans sit around after roasting the more bitter they become.

It’s like holding your mom’s purse while she shops for sweatshirts at Cotton Ginny. Just kidding, love you mom.

But I digest. . .

Wood beams, old plank floors, red velvet curtains and a smattering of round tables and cushion-y benches combine to create a warm and completely unpretentious atmosphere.

My companion raved about this place’s macchiato so he ordered one for himself and I stuck to my usual, a latte. If I was going to judge this spot (and I was) I needed a solid baseline from which I could establish my opinion. I’m not a huge fan of foam and I steer clear of cappuccinos for that reason. I’m also a creature of habit, especially where beverages are concerned.

I’ve never enjoyed a macchiato before, but after tasting Ryan’s yesterday, I’m a convert. What a magnificent bevy—all strong and espresso-like but with just a bit of steamed milk to soften the acidic and bitter edges.

My latte tasted great—all creamy, with hints of dark chocolate and roasted nuts—but it was closer to a cappuccino, arriving with much more foam than a latte should. It’s when I brought this up that Ryan laid out the Italian coffee guide for me. You see his dad used to own a coffee shop so he’s well versed in the proper proportions of espresso to milk. I’m passing on this handy-dandy guide so that you too can judge the barista skills of others. Or make kick-ass coffee at home. Whichever makes you happy.

Americano

Prepared by adding hot water to an already extracted espresso. This destroys the crema (creamy foam) and is different from an extra-long espresso which is called a lungo. Flavour and taste vary depending on how many shots of espresso (single or double) and how much water is added.

Cappuccino

Prepared with 1/3 espresso, 1/3 steamed milk and 1/3 foam.

Latte

An American invention no less, the latte is prepared with 1/3 espresso and 2/3 steamed milk with a small layer of foam. A ghetto latte is created by a cheap MF who orders an espresso in a tall cup than uses the free milk at the café to build his own latte.

Macchiato

Macchiato simply means “marked” or “stained” and it refers to a shot of espresso that’s stained with a small amount of steamed milk, about a 1 tsp. (5 mL) or so.

Pull Up a Seat at the Recession Bar

This piece originally ran in The Globe and Mail on Wednesday March 11, 2009 and I was going to link to it but it still hasn't made its way online—so here's the piece, in all its glory, complete with a kick-ass banana pudding recipe.

Bargain Bar

Economic gloom and doom—not to mention an unending winter—have you reaching for the bottle? Too bad you can’t afford the Grey Goose anymore.

Yes, gone are the days of trolling the liquor-store aisles, cart at the ready, seeking out the new, the exotic, the vintage. Who can justify a triple figure booze tab in these uncertain times? For most Canadians, replenishing the California cab stock falls firmly in the category of “frivolous.”

Now is the time to get creative where your liquor cabinet is concerned and rediscover some old favourites. Bottles fall out of fashion, and once their sweet elixirs have satisfied a cocktail fad or hot recipe they stand forgotten under a layer of dust, relegated to the back recesses of the cabinet with only a few sad shots left to their name.

It’s those sweet liqueurs—the Chambords, apricot brandy and crème de banane—that linger for years. But you drank them once and you can drink them again. Or if, say bad memories render that impossible, many can be used to tasty end in the kitchen (since restaurants are no longer part of the budget, either).

And the rule is one bottle out, one bottle in, right?

First on the list is Chambord, a delicious black raspberry liqueur from France and housed in a gorgeous (albeit space-eating), bulbous bottle, decorated with bits of gold plastic. It was likely purchased to shake up the highly satisfying French Martini—a mixture of two parts vodka, one part Chambord and one part pineapple juice—which is a pleasant way to enjoy it again.

But its potential doesn’t stop there. It can add great flavour to a raspberry vinaigrette. Add one part Chambord to two parts extra virgin olive oil, one part red wine vinegar and a dab of Dijon. Season with some salt and pepper, and you’ve got a versatile and economic salad topper. Other liqueurs like sambuca and limoncello, or fortified wines like sherry and port can also add great flavour and depth to a mound of mixed greens.

Add a minced shallot or toss in some of your favourite fresh herb to build on the flavour.

With St. Paddy’s day just around the corner now is the time to bust out that bottle of electric green crème de menthe but please don’t pour it into your pint glass. Sweet and minty cocktails are a hard sell so either enjoy it over ice after a heavy meal as it helps cleanse the palette and aid digestion, or better yet, use it to flavour chocolate truffles.

You can use brandy, Kahlúa, Cointreau or any number of spirits but the combo of rich dark chocolate and cool mint holds a significant place in many a confectionary repertoire (Grasshopper Pie ring a bell?). And despite what you may think, truffles are neither complicated nor laborious.

Simply heat 1 cup (250 mL) heavy (35%) cream until it just comes to a boil. Remove from the heat and pour over 1 lb (500 g) of chopped dark chocolate—the best your thin wallet can afford. Let sit for 30 seconds, add an ounce (30 mL) of crème de menthe and 2 Tbsp (30 mL) butter, then stir until smooth.

Cool in the refrigerator until solid then use a teaspoon to scoop out small portions and shape into balls. Roll truffles in cocoa powder or chopped nuts and voila, fancy-pants truffles with just a hint of mint.

That bottle of peach schnapps, years forgotten now, may be what’s left from your Fuzzy Navel days but there’s a reason that trend gripped the ’80s like Michael Jackson’s sparkly mitt—it tasted pretty damn good. For an updated version of the classic cocktail combine one ounce peach schnapps with ¾ ounce triple sec in a tall glass filled with ice. Top with equal parts orange juice and cranberry juice and garnish with a few frozen cranberries.

Your bottle of crème de banane may date back even further (Chocolate Monkey and a swing on the dance floor at Studio 54 anyone?) and with its candied banana flavour it can dominate even the most complex of libations, but used to its full potential as a banana flavouring in a traditional cream pie or pudding recipe it’s the perfect addition. Save the Chocolate Monkey shots for really tough times.

Old Fashioned Banana Pudding

• 1/3 cup (75 mL) sugar
• 2 Tbsp + 1 tsp (30 mL) cornstarch
• Pinch salt
• 3 large egg yolks, lightly beaten
• 1 cup (250 mL) milk
• 1/4 cup (50 mL) evaporated milk
• 1 Tbsp (15 mL) butter
• 3 Tbsp (45 mL) crème de banane liqueur
• 1–2 bananas thinly sliced

Whisk the sugar, cornstarch and salt together in a medium saucepan. Whisk in the egg yolks, then gradually whisk in the milk and evaporated milk until smooth. Cook over medium heat until foaming subsides and mixture thickens, about 8–10 minutes, whisk¬ing constantly. Remove from heat and whisk in the butter and banana liqueur. Cool 5 minutes, whisking periodically to prevent a skin from forming.

Spoon some of the pudding into the bottom of four dessert glasses, add a few banana slices and cover with remaining pudding. Cover surface with plastic wrap and cool completely before refrigerating for 3 hours or until chilled. Serve with a dollop of freshly whipped cream and drizzle with just a touch of Kahlua, if desired.

The Fresh Test

I’m not one to make fun of others—to point out culinary foibles or food-related faux pas. I’ll judge you on fashion, etiquette, design choices, manners, drug habits, self control, partner selection and moral inconsistencies, but kitchen matters are off limits.

Judging the shortcomings of others is truly one of life’s joys, especially when it’s some highfalutin chef whose obvious efforts fall short of his desired outcome. Or some pompous fashion house whose latest collection ends up setting the standard of what not to wear. Riffing on those kinds of idiosyncrasies couldn’t be more enjoyable.

But when a friend invites me over for dinner I wouldn’t dream of tearing him down for his efforts. And that’s the reason—the effort. Someone opens his door to you, invites you in to share food and drink and conversation, there’s no room for culinary judgment. It’s just not polite. Don’t think it. Don’t say it. And for gawds sake, don’t write about it.

Ya’ll know where this is going?

Well just last week I was invited to some fellow curlers’ home for dinner before our Wednesday night game. I must point out that this is the first meal we’ve ever shared together and perhaps the last, if they read this.

Now Brad and Patrick are two of the loveliest people you would ever have the privilege of dining with. And the fourth dinner guest, Mark, also a fellow curler, as equally charming.

Besides the delightful company and swank surroundings (they live in a gorgeous home in Toronto’s Beach neighbourhood) the meal was absolutely great. We first mingled around the kitchen counter, sipping Chianti and nibbling on jalapeno hummus, marinated olives and old cheddar. For the main course we enjoyed barbequed salmon—each filet adorned with a charred lemon wheel and served with goat cheese mashed potatoes and perfectly al dente asparagus and steamed carrots.

It was simple, real food that not only looked good but tasted great. Fresh and colourful with textural interest, prepared simply—exactly what a good meal should be.

It wasn’t until dessert that the train derailed.

Now, I’m exaggerating a little for literary effect just to drive the point home. And because my hosts have thick skins and a wonderful sense of humour, I know I won’t offend them. Well, I’m hoping anyway.

A deliciously smooth and creamy New York style cheesecake was placed in front of us for dessert. The boys layered it with a 1/4 inch of thick caramel and Brad decorated each piece with two shriveled up and wilted blueberries. Now the lights were dim and I had indulged in at least a couple classes of wine, so I didn’t really notice the state of the berries until the conversation suddenly turned to the sad, puckered fruit.

However it was too late. I’d eaten both of mine and looked around to see that each of my companions rolled their berries to the side of the plate while they finished their dessert.

“Well you weren’t supposed to eat them. They were just for decoration!” roared Brad.

“What do you mean don’t eat them? You put them on my plate!” I laughed back. “Of course I’m going to eat them.”

While presentation is incredibly important, the freshness of your ingredients out weighs any decoration, no matter how esthetically necessary you perceive it to be. Everything on your plate should be edible. If you, as the chef wouldn’t put it in your mouth then it shouldn’t be on the plate. And if a guest decides not to eat something then that’s his choice, but he should always have the choice.

But what a great blog topic this would make! Thanks for the inspiration guys.

And I’m not too worried about a future invite—they’ll step up next time. And besides I brought a really nice bottle of wine.

Things That Make You Go Hmmm

I’m always thinking about my loyal readers. Your needs and wants. Your desires. I’m just that selfless, it’s true. So, I’ve compiled a few questions that have come in over the last couple weeks from “peeps” just like you. Why help one person when you can help nearly a dozen?!

Q What’s the truth behind best-before dates, can you let it go for a couple weeks once it’s past its expiration?

A The greatest gift my dad ever gave me was common sense. I consider expiration dates guidelines that shouldn’t override good sense. If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, it’s probably a duck—the same rule applies for food. If it looks bad, smell it? If it smells bad, throw it out. If after the sight and whiff test you still can’t tell, taste it, then trust your gut.

Q I received a bottle of icewine for Christmas from my boss and I know it’s very expensive but I don’t like icewine. I thought about re-gifting it but is there something else I can do with it?

A Icewine (like female pop singers) is one of the greatest and most delicious products this country produces and best enjoyed in 2 oz. pours with sweet desserts like sticky toffee pudding or Banana’s Fosters, for example. If I still can’t convince you, pour ½ oz. of icewine into the bottom of a champagne flute and top with a dry sparkling wine. I call this cocktail a Niagara Gold and it can make a cheap bottle of bubbly taste like the good stuff. It’s delicious served at wine and cheese parties, to congratulate newly engaged couples or to help pass a Tuesday evening.

Q My second wedding anniversary is coming up and instead of going out for dinner I’d like to make a great meal at home. Any suggestions for something not too complicated?

A Of course. First, buy my new book, Entertaining with Booze. Second, turn to page 73 and voila!, a menu for The Perfect Romantic Dinner. Start off with a simple butternut squash soup (homemade or store bought) and garnish in the centre with some cooked lobster meat tossed in a little cognac—a wonderfully sophisticated starter that couldn’t be easier. For the main course medium-rare beef tenderloin for two (a.k.a. chateaubriand) served with Béarnaise sauce and a side of green beans steamed in white wine and tossed with slivered almonds and orange zest. And for dessert, a small cream puff tower drizzled with bourbon caramel. Serve with the best champagne you can afford and prepare for an onslaught of amorous advances.

Q What’s your take on eating local? It sounds great in theory but do you think it’s actually practicable?

A I’m all for a local diet and it’s definitely doable in many parts of the country if you’re an unapologetic carnivore—Yorkshire Duroc pork from Norfolk County, Ontario, Wagyu beef from southern Alberta, Brome Lake ducks from Quebec’s Eastern Townships—but a lot of fruits and veggies (especially in winter) are imported, and I, like many others will not be giving up Hawaiian pineapple or Spanish clementines any time soon, not to mention French wine or Belgian beer.

Q What’s a new lasagna recipe to try? I make a traditional version with Bechamel sauce and meat sauce but I’d like something a little different.

A I’m a creature of habit myself and have been making the same lasagna recipe since I was in high school—one that uses crumbled Italian sausage instead of beef in the Bolognese sauce—but it’s delicious so I keep making it. Sausage meat is already seasoned so you’re starting with a great flavour base and it’s veggie friendly, meaning you can add almost anything to the sauce—I’ve made it with caramelized onions and sauteed spinach or portobello mushrooms, roasted garlic and red wine—to keep it interesting. But don’t let that stop you. Use chorizo or lamb sausage and create something all your own.

Livin' the Life!

It’s Friday March 20, 2009, the first day of spring. A gorgeous blue sky keeps tempting me outside as sunlight washes over the sides of my neighbours’ homes. It’s been a long time coming, this change of the seasons. Too damn long. But winter is the past and I for one, never linger there for long.

Life’s way too short.

I was reminded of this very fact yesterday while taking in an afternoon flick with my mom. She was in town for two days and while we Crate-and-Barreled our way through the first day, we decided a matinee would be a perfect afternoon diversion for the second.

And you can’t help but think of your own mortality while watching One Week, the Canadian indie film starring Pacey—you know, Canuck hottie Josh Jackson. Sitting there watching the beautiful scenery of this country go by on the screen, you question not only your mortality, but more important things like happiness. True happiness.

Are you living the life you thought you would? Are you living the life you want?

Yikes! Heavy stuff for a Friday, but there is a point.

In One Week, Jackson is diagnosed with an extremely aggressive form of cancer and before he can even consider entering treatment or becoming a patient he buys a secondhand motorcycle and heads west from Toronto in search of meaning, a point, adventure—anything that’ll make him feel alive.

The big question posed to the audience: “What would you do if you had one day, one week or one month to live”?

No light fare—that’s a six course turkey dinner with extra stuffing. I’m full just thinking about it and unless you’re really faced with that kind of news it’s a bit of quagmire conjuring up a true, honest answer. Though even contemplating the possibility has gotta be good for the soul.

What would I do? Well, I wouldn’t be wasting my time blogging to you people. That’s for damn sure. I’d get out there and live. Really live.

I’d talk to strangers. Try heroin. Swim in Lake Ontario.

I’d rent the Coco Chanel suite at the Ritz in Paris and spend a small fortune on a bespoke suit from Saville Row.

I’d dine at the French Laundry in Napa, The Fat Duck in London and Spain’s El Bulli.

I’d head north, venture beyond the tree line and drink a bottle of scotch while I watched the northern lights.

I’d throw a party and cater the hell out of it.

And I’d spend a day in complete sobriety, just to see what it’s like.

What would you do? Seriously, with a week to live what does your list look like?

Then don’t wait for chronic illness to get you up off your ass. Start living. Really living. If life isn’t about being happy, then what the hell is it for? We only get one chance at this thing.

I for one am pretty damn happy and more or less living the life I want but there’s always more—more to do, more to see, to explore and experience. I’m starting now.

Today I’m going to talk to a stranger and learn something about him. A story or a dream. Something that’ll connect two random human beings. Some common link. A bond. Anything.

And who knows, maybe he’ll turn out to be a heroin dealer?

Street Eats Go Global, FINALLY!

Bring on the kebabs.

But don’t stop there. Biryani, jerk chicken, souvlaki and other ethnic bites will soon be available on the streets of Toronto, seriously upping the ante for the tube steak peddlers.

Finally, after years of lobbying for more diverse food on our fare city streets, which actually reflects the people and palate of Toronto, us folk who love to dine al fresco, will have a bit more choice this coming spring.

And hopefully it’s only the beginning.

For far too long hot dogs have defined Toronto’s street food, mainly because rigorous provincial health regulations make it nearly impossible to sell anything else. Wieners, and the like, are pre-cooked, seriously lowering the risk of food-borne illnesses. Thankfully, there’s a hardworking group of passionate foodies in this city (Councilor John Fillion and chef Brad Long among them) who’ve plugged away tirelessly to change what dishes can be sold on our streets.

Announced as a pilot project by city hall, dubbed Toronto al a Cart, the program selected eight new street vendors from a pile of 19. The new vendors will be stationed at hotspots around the city and offer hungry passersby Thai, Korean, Afghan, Middle Eastern, Greek, Persian, Caribbean and Eritrean cuisine.

But don’t fret, the eight lucky applicants selected had to win over a tasting panel of city chefs, as well as navigate tough food safety, nutrition and legal terrain in order to win one of the coveted spots.

It’s not all smooth sailing though. For this program to take off people have to fork over their lunch money, which in these recessionary times is one of the first things to go as more people brown bag it to work.

Competition is high.

You can score a hot dog for as little as $2 on the street—these vendors will be hawking their fare around $5, and for as much as $7.

And apparently the tubular vendors are not very happy with al a Cart at all. See, they were closed out of the competition even though their organizing party said it would take little to retrofit existing carts that would be safe to offer different foods. Still, they weren’t allowed to submit applications and feel they’ve been black balled from the process.

Look for some real street-based food fights to wage in the coming months. You’ll probably find them going down at the locations below—where the new vendors will be facing off against old. Let the games begin.

• Mel Lastman Square (Thai: pad thai with fresh rolls)

• Metro Hall (Afghani/Central Asian: chapli kebabs)

• Nathan Phillips Square (Central Asian/Persian: biryani)

• Nathan Philips Square (Greek: souvlaki)

• Queen’s Park (Middle Eastern: chicken/beef kebab wraps)

• Roundhouse Park (Eritrean: injera)

• Yonge and Eglinton (Korean: bulgogi with seasonal kimchi)

• Yonge and St. Clair (Caribfusion: jerk chicken)

The Seafood Chronicles

It’s Tuesday. I don’t know about you but I certainly feel like a cocktail. Not that I have much to complain about. Life is good. I’ve recently returned from a week in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico where, as any good hedonist knows, is a fantastic place to enjoy cocktails. And I myself, along with my traveling companion Mr. Jamie Slater, a.k.a. “Ida Slapther” indulged several times in delicious blended margaritas—delivered direct to our very favourite palapa.

While out for dinner at one of our new favourite restaurants, Joe Jack’s Fish Shack, we sampled the house specialty, a tasty and refreshing ginger mojito. We needed the digestive aid of the ginger to help sooth our bloated bellies.

On our first visit to Joe’s I ordered the self-proclaimed “famous seafood chowder”. A hot and hearty bowl of soup isn’t something I normally crave in 20˚C weather but I’m a bit of stargazer, especially when it comes to food. I had to see if this was indeed the Meryl Streep of chowders or just a tart of a soup named Paris, meant to seduce pink-faced tourists like me.

To my culinary delight this soup had balls to back it up. A tomato-based, Manhattan-style chowder so complex and layered in its seasoning I don’t know where to begin to describe it.

It’s like sitting around a campfire and someone throws a bag of spices onto the fire which may or may not include fennel, cumin and paprika. Then someone else throws on a bag of dried poblano peppers and a bushel of tomatoes.

Into that smoky and charred broth is pieces of melt-in-you-mouth octopus, swollen shrimp, pacific lobster and mahi mahi—all locally caught and fresh beyond compare.

The abundance of affordable fish and seafood in the markets in PV is one of the reason’s Joe Jack came to PV from his two successful digs in San Francisco and Los Angeles and opened his eponymous resto.

Lucky for us.

His fish and chips have become legendary in the three years since he opened and while neither Ida nor I tried them, we can both hail praise for the battered fish tacos. Three huge pieces of mahi mahi, thick and crispy coated, topped with a smooth and refreshing avocado and coriander puree, smoked-pepper salsa and crunchy slaw. For less than $10 CAD, it makes over-indulging very affordable.

There’s a vibe about Joe’s that instantly puts you at ease. A vibe that brings you back. Well that and a waiter Ida and I called Jaun.

It’s a vibrant place and servers are constantly running past with tall glasses of sangria; delivering dessert cups filled with Joe’s amazing ceviche; or doling out thick pieces of coconut pie. Had we had room for dessert it would have graced our table too.

Thankfully, it gives us good reason to return. Well, that and Juan.

www.joejacks-fishshack.com

My Horoscope Made Me Do It

“Um...what’s going on with your blog? Are you practicing restraint on your updates?! :) I miss it!”

That’s an email I received yesterday from one of my devout readers, and a huge fan of my blog, a.k.a. my friend Chantel.

Not that I needed someone to point this out to me. I know I’ve neglected my loyal readers—all five of them. But I’ve got a good excuse. My horoscope made me do it.

Seriously.

Georgia Nicols, www.georgianicols.com, my personal astrologer—seer of things unseen and hearer of silent influences, not to mention one helluva accurate eccentric—has to take some of the blame. She makes eerily good calls, like the time she confirmed that I would be traveling to Scotland, or when she “saw” that I would write my first book.

A couple weeks ago she told me that I would be tired. Damn if she wasn’t bang on.

I started reading Georgia’s horoscopes when I worked at ELLE Canada magazine, where she still pens a monthly column. Before she came into my life I periodically browsed my personal blurb in the newspaper and often sought out Rob Brezsny’s column in Toronto’s alternative weekly, NOW magazine. But to be honest I could never understand what the hell Rob was talking about. His horoscopes sound good in a literary, esoteric kinda way, but I couldn't wrap my brain around his wacked metaphors and downright wacky meanderings.

Georgia on the other hand is straightforward. I know exactly what she’s talking about and she makes me laugh. She’s witty and fun and I follow her weekly. I could follow her daily but seriously that seems a little desperate. I’m quite happy with my Sunday email that lets me know what’s in store for me in the coming week.

While I read my horoscope regularly I’m not a total fanatic. It was a couple weeks ago that Georgia pointed out that the sun, my astrological planet, is furthest away from my sign (Leo) right now, and because of this I need more sleep. The sun is the source of all energy and since its teeny, weenie rays are having a hard time getting through to me it’s meant a reduction in my energy and in turn, my posts. Eerie, right?

No matter this was a couple weeks ago—I’m holding onto this astrological nugget and riding it out as long as possible. I’ve nodded off a couple times just writing this entry. It’s useless to fight the stars.

I’ve also been busy.

Getting ready for my CityLine gig—which airs Monday February 9, 2009—took a couple days out of me. Sourcing gorgeous décor items, sparkling dinnerware and creating simple recipes is exhilarating and exhausting. Shopping is hard work, I don’t care what anyone says. Being fabulous, even harder. But my hard work paid off. The segment, which I taped this past Monday was a huge success and everything from the black and white table setting to the butternut squash bisque with lobster and cognac, looked wonderful.

The only glitch is that my centre piece, a white ceramic vase in the shape of three guns, back-to-back, was considered too edgy and had to be removed. It’s from a company out of Britain called SUCK UK www.suck.uk.com and the design is based on antiwar imagery from the 1960s that shows firearms being used in non-violent ways. Perhaps for a “Singles Only Valentine’s Day” segment, it sends the wrong message.

I’ve also been busy prepping for “He Said, She Said with Ken and Mary Jo”. We start shooting tomorrow and then are back Monday February 9^th and continue shooting three episodes per day for the following two weeks. It’s going to be manic AND a helluva good time. My plan is to keep all of you updated with daily posts from the set. The makeup disasters, the wardrobe malfunctions and the food flops (there’ll be some, I’m sure!).

Anyhooters, it’s good to be back. And it feels good to be missed, if only by one person. (There’s a signed “He Said, She Said” apron in it for you Chantel!)

According to my horoscope, Georgia predicted this too.

From today: Something to do with your work is about to change in a dramatic way.

How could she know that I was actually going to do some work today? Creepy.

Obama Stew Served with a Side of Hope

How can you think of food at a time like this? Seriously, I’ve been hard-pressed to find something worthy of posting to this space. Food, while inspiring and comforting, joyous and necessary, seems, well, a little lame right now. Trivial and frivolous even.

America swore a black president into office yesterday and the world has been changed forever. Barriers overcome. Doors opened. And a wave of hope and inspiration swept out over the Washington Mall to the rest of America and the world at large. We watched history unfold live on TV, or the internet, or on the radio—and that doesn’t happen everyday. It doesn’t even happen every year.

On Monday a CBC Radio reporter lamented that she wasn’t around for Woodstock or Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech, but that she felt the energy in D.C. from all the pilgrims who made their way from out of state or out of country for the inauguration, and it must be similar to those other historic events.

Whether or not Obama make’s a good president is beside the point. It’s not going to be an easy ride, that’s for sure and he’s gonna piss off some people, but it’s not really about that. Not right away. He’s sending out a message of hope and rallying change and that’s some powerful stuff. He’s an A-class motivator and if he can keep up his reign of inspirational enthusiasm he might just have a chance at leaving an A-class legacy.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Not even Barack could inspire hope for investors yesterday as the Dow had its worst Inauguration Day drop in history. Though starting at the bottom has its advantages. Just ask Dubya. Wait, right. He started at the top. Forget it.

One thing about yesterday’s inauguration that I find strangely abrasive is all the mention of God. Two ministers were included in the event and Obama himself mentioned the Holy One at least a dozen times during his 18-minute speech. As a Canadian it grates a little. Just like Trudeau said “the state has no business in the bedrooms of the nation”, so it applies to the temple, mosque, basilica, or what have you. Who cares about God? Is He going to win the war on terrorism or pull the real estate market outta the outhouse?

It got me thinking. America is cool with a black president, and is open to having a woman in the White House. Heck they might even go so far as to elect an openly gay man or a Korean-American lesbian (hey you Maggie Cho!) but what the hell would they do if an atheist ever tried to make a run for it? I’m thinking all those doors that just opened might get closed, dead bolted and barricaded pretty damn quickly.

It seems His Holiness really does wield a lot of power in that country. He brought along hurricane Katrina, the freakishly steroided Carrot Top and oh-so-slimming Spanx. Perhaps he could also see the benefit of removing his presence from the Oval Office? Maybe take a chapter from His Canadian constituents who believe that political decisions should be just that, political, and not confused with spiritual judgment.

If Obama has taught us anything it’s that there’s always hope. Even in America.

Supersize Me, You and Everyone

We’re getting fatter. Fatter and fatter, day by day, year after year. Fatter than all generations before us. Perhaps a subconscious human behaviour to cull the heard, control the population and confirm Darwin’s theory once and forever. Survival of the fittest, at its most literal.

The Spam factory in Austin, MN is churning out more canned ham than it has in decades. Now, before I get a lawsuit thrown in my lap from the good people in the tinned meat business, I’m not saying Spam is specifically making us fat, but our reliance on processed, high calorie, large portion food is the culprit. And with a recession bearing down on us it’s likely that cheap, high cal comfort food is only going to get more popular, continuing to expand our waistlines, give us heart disease and put us in the ground earlier than any generation before us.

Who says there’s nothing positive in the newspaper?

It’s not just canned pork products either. Apparently we’re seeking solace in the familiar and the fattening: mac ‘n’ cheese, meat loaf, mashed potatoes, chocolate chip cookies and chocolate cake.

Don’t get me wrong, I love these foods and there’s nothing inherently wrong with them if enjoyed with restraint (there’s that damn word again)—reasonable portion size with some veggies thrown in every now and then. But see, that’s part of the problem: portion size. It’s growing with our guts—or vice versa. Either way, over the years what could once feed a family of four, now feeds one hungry MF.

According to new research reported in last week’s Globe and Mail that looked at recipes from the Joy of Cooking over the last 70 years, calories are way up and portion sizes too.

The study covered some classic recipes like beef stroganoff and chili, that have appeared in every edition since its first publication in 1936, and found average calories are up 63%, and a nine-inch apple, which once served eight, now serves six.

It gets better.

In 1975 a brownie recipe made 30 pieces. Today the same recipe only makes 17. That means what we think of normal today, was half the size 30 years ago. Oink.

This has been happening slowly over time—starting after the end of WWII and continuing through the ’50s and ’60s—but according to the study portion sizes have jumped by more than 32% from 1996. Double oink.

The “more, more, more” mentality of North Americans (and the Brits) feeds this behaviour. We want everything and we want it now and we want more of it. The sad part is that it doesn’t even have to be good, just big. Hog-size, if you will.

And I’m as guilty as the next guy. I’ve written two cookbooks that pretty much encourage indulgence. With lines like, “full fat is best” and a chocolate soufflé recipe that makes four servings but is meant for a romantic dinner for two isn’t helping anyone practice restraint. In fact, it’s pretty much the opposite, and I apologize. Sincerely I do. But full fat does taste best, dammit.

I think the real culprit is a combination of serving size and lack of exercise. We eat like pigs then drive to 7-11 at 3am for Taquitos and Mountain Dew. It’s disgusting.

Fortunately I’ve been blessed with the metabolism of a 14-year-old sprinter, but I also try to take the stairs over the escalator, stop eating when I’m full and make wiser choices at the grocery store.

I’m not good all the time and my speedy metabolism will slow eventually. At which point I’ll have to make some serious changes in my own eating habits. But for today I’m going to supersize my lunch—who knows how much longer I’ll be able to get away with that?

Ryan's Responsibility Lecture

I write about food and booze with a lighthearted and laidback approach. It’s a fun subject and one that I’m lucky enough to know a lot about. I sometimes think that I have the best job in the world—I’ve turned what was once my hobby into a career. I work for myself and don’t have to answer to anyone on a daily basis. It’s pretty plum.

Creating new cocktails is a hoot and spending the better part of a day in the kitchen can be exhilarating and wildly creative. I’m not stuck behind a desk dreaming about being the master of my domain, I’m actually doing it. And doing it in an area that’s centered around having a good time.

I don’t think of myself as a serious person but I know when I’m on a photo shoot taking a “bite” out of a Toblerone bar that I can be pretty damn serious. And once in a while it hits me that what I do (promote drinking, if I drop the euphemisms and pretense) does require some responsibility. Booze and the abuse of it can have tragic consequences, as we heard a lot last week with charges being laid on two bartenders, a manager and directors of a private resort in Muskoka.

Three young men were killed July 3, 2008 after spending the afternoon at the Lake Joseph Club sucking back drinks before getting into one of the guy’s Audi’s, speeding down the road and crashing it into the lake. Nineteen year-old Nastasia Inez Elzinga was also in the car but managed to escape and swim to shore.

It’s all pretty horrible. These guys were between 19 and 20 and were just beginning to start their lives as adults, but they made a really dumb choice. It’s also pretty horrible because one of the bartenders charged was an acquaintance of the group. He was a friend who just kept serving them drinks—31 in total in a three-hour time period. It works out to a little more than one drink per person every half hour. I’m a guy who can hold his own and having seven drinks in three hours would leave me with a pretty damn good buzz. It could knock others out cold.

As a server of alcohol, whether it’s in a bar, restaurant or in your own home, you are responsible for your guests and their safety once they leave. People need to take responsibility for their own actions—I’m a firm believer in that—but the law also places responsibility on the shoulders of those who serve booze, and rightfully so. Booze impairs judgment.

The tragedy of this case hits home because it’s really just a succession of bad choices. And we’ve all made bad choices, especially when we were young and considered ourselves indestructible.

They were served too much, they drank too much and then they piled into car.

Part of the discussion surrounding this case has involved the rural nature of the resort. As someone who lives in the Big Smoke I’ve got options getting home after a night of irresponsible drinking—public transit, taxi or by foot. These options don’t exist outside urban centres, and while it doesn’t excuse anyone’s actions, the lack of choice makes driving drunk almost a default option, despite the fact that we all know we shouldn’t do it.

Whether or not the directors of ClubLink, the company that owns the club, should be charged at all in this case is a whole other box of crap. They weren’t present for any of what happened on July 3rd, yet their names appear on the liquor license so the OPP is holding them partially accountable.

We’ll find out more on January 27 when all 16 people appear in court to hear the charges, until then, please make smart choices and be responsible. Booze is a helluva good time but it has a way of making us do stupid things. Just look what it’s done to that Olsen twin.

A Matter of Taste

The good people at Matchstick Inc., a Toronto-based PR and marketing firm called yesterday to ask where my posting on Ketel One vodka was located. See, back in the early part of December, Matchstick and Ketel One teamed up to do some booze-on-the-street-type outreach. They invited a bunch of bloggers, writers and “influencers” to take part in a vodka tasting at the swank, yet rustic, Kultura restaurant on King Street.

Then December got crazy and I never got around to posting my thoughts on the event. Here goes:

My date for the evening? BFF Jamie. He’s not only a helluva good time but he knows the ins and outs of cocktail creation and has sampled enough vodka in his days to make a Russian babushka blush. Perfect companion for an evening such as this.

After climbing three flights of stairs we enter the cozy, loft-like bar on the top floor of Kultura, check our coats and make our way to the bar for our free welcome cocktail. A classic vodka martini for me, a (surprise, surprise) dirty martini for Jamie. Lots of olives in both.

As a Ketel One virgin I was both delighted and impressed with my first sip—the smooth elixir sliding over my tongue, warming my throat and leaving a clean yet complex taste to linger. The deft hands of the bartender must be applauded—a perfectly balanced and well chilled martini is an art form, and this woman new her craft. Though to be fare, free cocktails usually help infer a favourable impression from me.

We continued to sip our cocktails, nibble a couple hors d’oeuvres and pose for the hired paparazzi, while cozying up on the black leather sofa in the corner. In front of us were poured three brands of vodka, Ketel One, Grey Goose–America’s favourite premium—and the juggernaut they call Absolut.

Tasting the Ketel One first I instantly enjoy the clean taste and subtle. It’s warm but it doesn’t burn and is wonderfully smooth, nuanced with delicate floral and citrus notes.

Sipping Grey Goose next is disappointing. It’s the premium brand I keep in my freezer but after Ketel One it feels thin on my palate and kicks me with a heavier note of alcohol. It’s not as complex or flavourful as the previous. It seems that gorgeous frosted bottle is more about good looks than safeguarding a truly premium product.

With just a tiny bit of digging you learn that Grey Goose is really just a lesson in superb marketing. Started in 1997 by billionaire Sidney Frank, GG was created specifically for the American market and situated in the Cognac region of France for its perceived cache. The French make good stuff, non?

It’s not that its crap vodka, but in this world of prepackaged pop stars and targeted products, a little history and tradition goes a long way with this booze-taster.

Ketel One is a family-owned, Holland-based company that dates back to 1691. It’s now run by Carolus Nolet, the 10th generation Nolet to steer the distillery, and it’s steeped in tradition—the secret recipe is only known to a few select people—and has a mandate to focus on quality over quantity.

Sure, all of this info was fed to the room of “influencers” by our hosts but it doesn’t make it wrong or untrue. In fact it’s kind of warm and quaint, don’t you think? (See how easily I’m influenced.)

As for the Absolut? I’ll just say it’s best used in mixed drinks and leave it at that.

After we finish the tutored tasting we linger awhile longer, enjoy another round of martinis and mingle with the crowd. All red-faced and droopy-eyed Jamie and I decide Ketel One will be our new vodka. It’s delicious, well priced and we’re big fans of many products from Holland. We also bought into the back story like any impressionable drunk would.

It wasn’t until we gathered our gift bags that the lingering taste of Ketel One went from sweet to bitter. A free gift bag is very generous, whatever’s inside, don’t get me wrong, but there was a difference between the invitee’s bag and that of his guest. I went home with a 375mL bottle of my new favourite vodka, while Jamie exited with an airplane-size bottle of Ketel One.

It left us with a cheap impression of the brand and the event but Jamie brought up a good point. How is he supposed to spread the gospel on Ketel One if his take-away isn’t ample enough to share with someone else?

Ask a Foodie

People are more curious and knowledgeable about all things food and drink and I get a lot of questions thrown my way. I love "playing" the expert, so keep 'em coming. Nothing's too silly or seemingly simple. Here’s a few doozies that I answered in the most recent issue of 2: The Magazine for Couples.

Q: What are some easy appetizers or hors d’oeuvres I can make at the last minute?

A: A slice of English cucumber with a dollop of pesto and some softened goat cheese is always a good last-minute snack to serve drop-ins. Or, pile some clean and dry strawberries (caps still attached) on a platter. Drizzle with sambucca and sprinkle with freshly grated black pepper, then stand back and enjoy the oohs and aahs of your guests.

For something a little flashier and carnivorous grill up some Mojito Lamb Popsicles. Slice between the bones on a rack of lamb to produce individual “popsicles” then marinate in a mixture of 2 parts lime juice, 1 part rum, a handful of chopped fresh mint and a spoonful or two of sugar (unrefined is preferred) for at least an hour. Season with a little salt and pepper then grill a few minutes per side and serve tapas style. Make an extra mojito for yourself.

Q: I keep hearing to wash my veggies before I prepare a meal. What does this consist of? Is rinsing enough? Or what kind of soap is safe to use?

A: Briskly rubbing fruit and veggies with your hands under cold tap water is generally effective in removing most dirt and surface microorganisms. Never use detergents or bleach as produce is porous and will absorb the chemicals. You can buy all-natural veggie wash sprays in most major grocery stores that are effective in removing wax, soil, chemicals and pesticides but nothing is 100% guaranteed. Make friends with local farmers who have good, sustainable practices and buy directly from them when you can. You should also prepare produce on a separate surface than you use to cut raw meat and remember, if something looks bad, it probably is, so don’t put it in your mouth.

Q: What is duck confit? I’ve seen it on restaurant menus and want to try it but I’m a little apprehensive.

A: Confit means to preserve and it’s one of the oldest methods of storing cooked meat without refrigeration. Though no longer needed for its preserving power, it’s still popular because of its delicious flavour. Duck confit is the leg, salted and herbed then cooked slowly, submerged in the fowl’s rendered fat. After which it can be cooled then stored in the fat. Good confit should have crispy skin, succulent and fork-tender flesh that’s packed with flavour but doesn’t feel oily in your mouth. And no, it’s not Jenny Craig approved.

Q: My mother-in-law takes great pleasure in my kitchen disasters. What can I do to shut her up for good?

A: French cooking always impresses, but so does confidence. Turn your disasters into show-pieces with a little imagination and quick thinking—a sprig of fresh herbs and a dollop of something can go a long way to mask most flaws. If that fails use the grandkids as pawns.

What do you want to know? Post a question — I’ll answer it on my blog but it also might end up in the next issue of 2.

The Hedonist vs. Restraint

Yesterday I did not drink. I did not smoke. I did not eat out. Or order in. And I did not have sex.

For a hedonist it doesn’t get much worse than this.

I ate vegetables AND fruit. I read. Went for a walk. I even drank four glasses of water and went to bed before midnight. Alone.

“Happy freakin’ January Ryan, this is your new life.”

Okay make this crazy ride of sobriety stop, I need to get off! I think the lack of toxins, stimulants, depressants and hormones coursing through my booze-thinned blood are making me sick. (The sad part is it’s probably true.)

If you read last week’s post about restraint then you know that instead of making a resolution, I’ve chosen restraint as the word that will help guide me though 2009. Choosing a word instead of a specific resolution seemed so broad, so liberating. Little did I realize that it would be so broad. So damn liberating.

It applies to so many things but worst of all it applies to all the many things I love about life.

There’s the angel on my right shoulder telling me not to over eat. To drink more water and swill less booze. To cut down on the smoking and ramp up the physical activity.

Then there’s the devil on my left shoulder saying, “Where’s the fun in that?”.

I hear ya Lucifer. Let’s make cocktail and think about how we might restrain that little angel. Together we can take her.

A frigid day like this calls for something spicy. A piping hot Mayan Coffee will do nicely. This is the signature drink from our “Bookworms and Booze” party in Entertaining with Booze—and perfectly enjoyed during the day.

Combine one ounce Kahlua and half an ounce of Goldschlager in a specialty coffee glass and top with hot coffee. Finish with a dollop of whipped cream and sprinkling of cinnamon, if desired.

Sip slowly and enjoy. And think about that gym membership you’re glad you didn’t buy.

Public grooming: bad. CityLine: Good!

What to write, what to write? It’s not easy you know. I don’t want to take up word space just because it’s there. Blabbing on like a Vanity Fair essay seems like a waste of time—both yours and mine—so I won’t do it.

“If you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all”, right? Wise words. And widely used by mother’s explaining to their children that hateful speak is very unbecoming. Same applies here. If it ain’t good, what’s the point?

So I’m always thinking of you, my loyal reader, and how I might be able to offer you something new—like a steamy casserole recipe, say, or, something trendy such as Brazilian rum and the hot cocktails to make with it.

But when it came time to write today’s post I must say, I was a bit at a loss.

Shall I regale them with tales from my virgin expedition to T&T Supermarket this past Friday? (Condensed version: prepared sushi, dumplings and spring rolls, YUCK!; fish counter, butcher shop and frozen items, YUM!)

Should I share my thoughts on etiquette and human behaviour, before launching into a 1000 word diatribe encompassing the foods one should not consume while waiting in the reception area of a local spa? (Falafel anyone?)

Let’s say it together:

“I will not eat a falafel sandwich at the spa.” Repeat until behaviour becomes habitual.

It’s like those oblivious folk who clip their finger nails on public transit. How is it that you just fell off the turnip truck and landed right beside me on the subway? The logistics of making that happen seem overwhelmingly difficult, yet here you are, shooting razor sharp pieces of dead skin cells at weary city travelers, with no conscious thought on the utter repulsive nature of your actions.

But like I said, nothing good, nothing at all.

And it just so happens that there is a wedge of good shoved into the middle of this January Monday.

Seems I’m going to be starring in my own episode of, wait for it, CityLine. Yes, starring thank you.

The call came in right as I was hankering down to write terribly mean things about the stupid actions of mediocre people. (There’s always tomorrow.)

After speaking briefly with the producer she scheduled me for the February 9, 2009 show. I’ll have seven minutes to razzle-dazzle ’em with fun and entertaining ways to celebrate an oh-so-trendy, anti-Valentine’s Day.

Yep, that’s right. Instead of long-stem roses, heart-shaped boxes and cooing couples, I’m going to show all the single ladies how to celebrate in style and hold onto your dignity! That last part might be tricky.

It’s great news because CityLine doesn’t open their doors to new talent everyday and if I create seven minutes of the most compelling Canadian lifestyle programming this side of The Dini Petty Show, I just might become a recurring guest expert. How fab!

Let me know what you’d like to see on the program and it just might happen—live on TV (okay, live-to-tape but who’s keeping score?). Delicious new champagne cocktails? Quick and easy recipes for a “Singles Only” themed party? Or, how to hire a “hit” on your ex and keep your hands clean perhaps?

Whatever it is, let me know.

No query is too big or too small and no question is stupid. Stupid is mentioning fingernail clippings in a food blog.

He Said, She Said -- Season 2!

Sometimes the gods smile down at you, offer a little nudge of support and seem to say, “Well done kiddo, your hard work is paying off.”

(It’s much more appreciated than when the neighbours below you bang on the ceiling with the end of a five iron because, apparently, you’re making too much noise being a good host.)

But back to me and my good news. The W Network ordered another season of He Said, She Said with Ken and Mary Jo and guess who’s going to be the food stylist? Nope. Guess again. Guess again. Nope, guess again.

Oh, for the love of gorgonzola, me!

Why is this such good news? Because in this time of economic nay-saying and all around doom and gloom, two-and-a-half weeks of steady work on a TV show (in February no less) is a little beacon of hope in some very choppy waters.

Also because it’s a helluva lot of fun.

We’ll have a newly designed set and whole new set of challenges, pumping out four episodes a day. I just hope Ken doesn’t bring Napoleon and Josephine, his vicious twin Chihuahuas, packed in their Louis Vuitton carrying case, back to the set. I still don’t have any feeling in the tip of my left index finger from a wild nip courtesy of Josephine.

THE BACKSTORY

Due to some scheduling difficulties with the original stylist for the first season, I was whisked in to set the tone and look of the food during the first week of filming last May. I would have loved to stay on for the remaining two weeks but alas, sometimes you only get small breaks in life. (Though I have had some big breaks—leg, finger, jaw—in my life.)

Anyhooters, I’m kind of a big deal. And (apparently) a hard act to follow. After leaving some pretty big All-Clad pots to fill, it seems the original food stylist, and the one who took over after my week-long stint, turned out to be a little difficult to work with. According to sources close to the story, she made a couple crew members cry.

I only ever tried to get them to pee their pants, not throw down their aprons and stomp off the set. Sometimes being a nice guy does pay off.

Now if Debbie Travis would just call back I could walk down Queen Street and pick up that gorgeous mirrored piece of pop art I saw yesterday—and contribute a little something back into the economy.

You might not always get what you want, but sometimes, just sometimes, you get what you need.

The Cheatin' Game

Today's brilliant stream of consciousness is all about fooling your dinner guests. What fun. My friend Chantel is much too ambitious for her own good (novelist, magazine editor AND publisher, professor, freelance writer, and of course, blogger) -- http://chantelsimmons.blogspot.com/ -- and it seems she has little time to spare in the kitchen. She loved yesterday's rambling about tarting up Tetra Pak soup, so much so she posted the following comment:

I LOVE this!!! From that pic, I would never know it was the boxed soup. I've got my book club meeting on the weekend and no time to cook -- do you have another cheat up your sleeve that I can pass off as pretty without spending more than 20 minutes?

Do I? Cheating is one of my favourite pastimes (zip it Betty): euchre tournaments, tax returns, dinner parties, et al.

So, when I sat down to reply I realized this topic could fill an entire year of posts and warranted more than a quick blurb hidden in the comment section. Here goes.

Hopefully the members of Chantel's book club are full-on meat eaters because one of my new favourite apps to serve over the holidays was London Broil Stuffed Yorkshire Puddings. The original recipe comes from the New Year's Eve party in Entertaining with Booze and isn't complicated but does require marinating, reducing said marinade into a sorta demi-glace, and for the ambitious, making your own Yorkshire puddings. Takes a little longer than 20 minutes but damn are those stuffed puddings delish!

But let me show you how to cheat the pants off this recipe and come out looking like a pro.

First go out and buy frozen Yorkshire puddings. Yes they exist and the one's Presidents Choice make are pretty damn fine examples -- they're imported from Yorkshire, England no less.

The original recipe calls for flank steak, a good and inexpensive cut of beef but it needs marinating to add flavour and impart tenderness. If time isn't on your side, purchase a cut that already has flavour (striploin) or is already tender (filet). Personally I like a filet (sans bacon) for this especially if you plan on serving them as hors d'oeuvres. The soft texture of the filet allows guests to easily bite through the meat without the use of a knife and fork.

Brush your steak with a little extra virgin olive oil and season liberally with coarse sea salt and crushed peppercorns. Then grill, fry or broil up the steak just until it's rare or about 125 degrees F on a meat thermometer.

A six ounce filet will fill approximately four Yorkshires and you'll probably need two to three stuffed Yorkshires per person. Cook the steak ahead of time, wrap in foil and refrigerate until ready to use.

Heat your oven to 400 degrees F. Slice the steak into thin strips, stuff the frozen Yorkshires with the steak and place on a cookie sheet in the oven for five minutes. The Yorkshires crisp up beautifully and the meat warms and cooks gently to a perfect medium-rare.

I like to serve these with a mixture of equal parts Dijon mustard and horseradish, spooning just a dollop onto each stuffed Yorkshire. Garnished with a small sprig of thyme or rosemary and you can almost picture Martha wetting her pants.

If Chantel plans to serve the butternut squash soup with this meal, I'd forgo the starch and just plate the Yorkshires with a fresh side salad tossed in a simple balsamic or red wine vinaigrette.

Done and done.

Soup'd Up

On the menu today for lunch? Tetra Pak butternut squash soup with a side of buttered toast, thank you. Sexy, no? I was too depressed to cook. To get all creative and whip up something gourmet, like a smoked Gouda grilled cheese with spiced tomato chutney or a thinly sliced filet mignon Panini with horseradish Dijon, melted Oka and topped with freshly picked mâche. Instead, it’s boxed soup and toasted 12 grain. Wooohooo!

My internet connection was down. Allllllll daaaaay. It’s paralyzing. It means I can barely do any work (sniff!) but it also means avenues of entertainment and information are also cut off. No email, no website, no communication, no porn, no recipes, no info, no nothing.

The worst part? It’s not technically my internet connection so I can’t even complain (to an ISP anyway). I steal my wireless from a few peeps in the ‘hood who don’t have secure accounts and for the most part—for the better part of four months actually—there’s been few interruptions. It’s at times like these I consider breaking down and paying the Man for my own private account. But I won’t ’cause I know it’ll come back. It always does. (You’re reading this aren’t you?)

So, while wracking my little brain this morning on what I could accomplish I decided I’d scan some recent media coverage of Entertaining with Booze and get it ready to post on my site. I couldn’t post it in fact and soon lost interest. I then decided I’d write my blog but couldn’t think of a starting point. I might as well just go back to bed. But physical fitness is top of mind—being January and all—so I walked up the street to the Matty Eckler Community Recreation Centre for a swim. Never been before but what the hell, I’ll try anything once. And maybe, just maybe the tepid water would inspire something brilliant.

Nope, guess not.

After splashing away in the water and attempting a few hapless laps of breast stroke, I toweled off, put on too many layers of clothing and trudged on home. The slush underfoot and the blanket of fresh snow in the neighbourhood was somehow nostalgic and made me think of tobogganing as a kid. Rushing home afterward, wet and cold, cheeks rosy and hands numb, to my mom’s kitchen where an offer of hot chocolate would surely be made. Mmmmm, hot chocolate. It’s the prefect winter day for a cup of homemade cocoa. Maybe something fancy with a twist of orange peel simmered in the pot? Or a couple cardamom pods? Cinnamon stick or pinch of cayenne, anyone?

Well, we’ll see.

I’m kinda full from lunch and the cocoa craving I once had subsided thanks to that big bowl of butternut squash soup. But that soup got me thinking. A dollop of crème fraiche, a sprinkling of Ancho chili powder and a bright blue napkin really classed that girl up. So much so, you could pass her off as the first course at a dinner party with no need to tell your guests she came in a box called Tetra.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about “from scratch” and have a delicious (you betcha!) butternut squash bisque in my new book, but I’m also a realist and know that sometimes homemade just isn’t possible. This is where the food stylist in me comes out. With the right vessel and a simple garnish even packaged food can look great. Does it taste as good as homemade? No, but that doesn’t mean you can’t spice up the boxed variety. A little S&P go along way.

As for the “tarting” her up part, I really did that for you. How thoughtful, I know?! I wanted to share something so easy and so quick to show what a little finesse can do to something as simple as pureed squash. No crème fraiche? Use sour cream. No sour cream? Crumble some gorgonzola or sharp white cheddar. Look in your pantry, in your fridge, under the sink. (Okay, maybe not under the sink.) Just get creative and you’ll be fine.

I used Ancho chili powder but I could also have sprinkled paprika, cumin, chopped fresh rosemary or chives, or any other number of herbs to brighten her up and add an extra note of flavour.

And that attractive blue napkin? A leftover from my New-Year’s-Eve-On-A-Dime party where the bought decorations came from a dollar store.

Not mind blowing stuff I know, just food for thought. Okay yuck, gotta go.