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.

Thinking 'Bout Drinking Halfway Through The Day

So, I’m eating leftover tuna casserole and listening to “the coldest you’ve ever been” stories on CBC Radio while I type these deep thoughts. Suddenly I feel more Canadian than I have in a long time. And to paraphrase some lyrics from one of my favourite Canadian singer/songwriters, Kathleen Edwards, “I’ve been thinking ’bout drinking halfway though the day”. I’ve opted for a wholesome glass of 1% milk to accompany my lunch but there just might be a cocktail in my not-so-distant future.

Ah, winter! The real season for pickling.

Instead of making a new year’s resolution I’m taking the lead from my friend Stacey who, instead of making a resolution to say, quit smoking, she chooses a word to guide her through the coming year. Last year’s word was liberate, so my friend got to work and liberated herself from a job she didn’t enjoy; an apartment she grew out of and a few extra pounds she grew into. So, my word for 2009 (with the help of Stacey) is restraint.

I’m a bit of a hedonist (if you haven’t guessed already) and nothing makes me happier than feeding my habits, be they of the food and drink type, or otherwise (I’ll let you guess the spectrum). What I’m trying for the year ahead is to show some restraint when feeding the hedonist side of my personality. Eat a little less, smoke a little less and, um, drink a little less. So far, so bad. Hence the theme of this post: delicious cocktails you should enjoy NOW!

Screw restraint, momma needs a drink.

My drink of choice during the holidays was the Caipirinha; a truly simple muddled bevvy comprised of raw sugar (or brown), lime and cachaca. Cachaca is Brazilian rum, distilled from sugar cane but with a distinct flavour that falls somewhere between tequila and white rum. Considered Brazil’s national cocktail, it’s easy to see how this drink has caught on in that country and is gaining momentum in Canada. It’s delicious, easy to make and cachaca is becoming widely available in North America. Look for it in the rum section of your local booze shop.

For the perfect Caipirinha cut half a lime into four quarters and place into the bottom of rocks glass with one to two teaspoons of raw sugar. Crush the lime and sugar with the end of a wooden spoon or with a muddler (blunt-ended wooden tool) squeezing out the lime juice and releasing the essential oils in the rind. Cover with as much crushed ice as the glass will hold and pour over one and a half ounces of cachaca. Stir and enjoy.

Because this drink doesn’t get diluted with mix you might find the first sip a little potent. Don’t fret my friend. Hold the glass in your hand, allow the ice to melt slightly then take another sip. It slowly, but surely, turns into one of the most enjoyable, and drinkable, cocktails this side of Rio.

Damn, just writing that made me thirsty. I’m off to the market to pick up a bag of limes. While I’m sipping my Caipirinha perhaps I’ll think of a new word to guide me though 2009. Something a little more hedonistic than restraint.

Prohibition Casserole

New year, new you, right? Well, sorta. I find in winter, especially post-Christmas-binge and New Year’s over-indulgence that I start to crave simple food. Comfort food. The types of dishes I was weaned on as a kid and the same things I still whip up myself 15 years after leaving the cradle of my mom’s home cooking. Comfort food is different things to different people. For me it’s tuna casserole; the old standby supper dish that spun around the turntable on the Panasonic Genius microwave in my parent’s kitchen, heating up to feed us on frozen January nights.

It’s not classy and it’s certainly not sophisticated. It’s not remotely healthy, or even inventive. And for some, like my ex, it’s not even remotely appealing. (For him, beans on toast conger comforting suppers growing up.) But for me it makes my mouth water and my stomach lurch in anticipation while it’s baking (sorry mom, no micro for this kid) and it makes me happy. Not school-girl-giggling happy, but a contentedly satisfied kinda happiness. One that’s warm and sincere.

My mom’s version of this dish is a little simpler than the interpretation I made today but the two main ingredients hold true; canned tuna and Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup. I came across these two bastions of the canned-food era while raiding my parent’s pantry over Christmas. They high-tailed it to Florida and left me alone to snoop and shop in one of the best stocked aisles of any grocery store: their root cellar. It holds the “overflow” from the main kitchen and a coffin-sized deep freeze worth $10,000 in steak alone. So, while browsing the shelves I came across a healthy supply of solid white tuna and a corner stocked with more condensed soup than any household should lay claim to. Just seeing those cans together was somehow soothing and I knew right away how their existence would play out.

So why Prohibition Casserole? Because some things don’t need booze and tuna casserole is one of those things. I thought about it. Of course I thought about it. I think about booze all the time and how it can turn the lamest of dishes into meals worth savouring slowly. But tuna casserole doesn’t need to be tarted up or made fancy. She is what she is and I for one won’t be changing her anytime soon. Unless I get truly inspired.

To make the version I made today you’ll need to sauté half a diced onion and two ribs of celery, diced, in a little bit of butter for a couple minutes before adding a few cloves of garlic, sliced, and half a red pepper, chopped. Season with a little S&P and add to a large bowl with your can of tuna (water and all). Flop out that gelatinous tubular mushroom mixture (a real chef would at least make his own sauce) and stir in a can of milk. I had some buttermilk in the refrigerator so I used half of that and half milk. Grate in a little fresh parmesan cheese and taste for seasoning.

Now, boil up some noodles, be they penne, macaroni (mom’s fave) or fusilli etc. I never measure anything so you’re probably looking at using two cups or so. Cook until they’re a firm al dente (they’ll soften further in the oven), drain, and pour into tuna mixture. Transfer to a casserole dish and top with bread crumbs (I used crushed up Ritz crackers, just to be fancy) and bake for about 30 minutes in a 375 degree F (190 degree C) oven.

While it’s baking mix yourself a cocktail. A Bloody Caesar would be a complimentary choice (and considered a side salad too).

Serve piping hot from the oven, garnished with chopped celery leaves and a side of self-satisfaction.

*Tomorrow, beans on toast so fancy you’ll freak.