The Cookbook Chronicles:

A Thief Among Us

2011-02-03T13:28:00.002-05:00

Things go missing in Mexico--pale skin, iPods, drugs, people. You leave something out in the open, unattended, and the next thing you know it's gone. People just take shit.

Last February I left my Lacoste flip flops beside my chair at the beach and when I went to pack up and go home they had vanished. Gone. I had to hail a cab to take me home. I wasn't about to traverse the dirty Vallarta cobblestones barefoot.

Even at work you don't want to leave anything valuable overnight--it most likely won't be there in the morning when you go to retrieve it. Tex, one of the managers, "lost" his aviator sunglasses the day he arrived back in town. He came into Joe Jack's, put them down and poof. Gone.

A couple weeks ago Ari, another server, had her iPod swiped from the bar. It's really kind of crappy. The thief or thieves are my co-workers. People I see almost every day. People I like. People I'd like to trust but how can you? A couple ruin it for everyone.

Sunglasses and iPods are one thing--kids stuff really--but now the thief is getting serious. $500 was stolen from the sous chef's purse two weeks ago. She's been with Joe since he opened the Shack five years ago and is one of his dearest employees. Stealing from Brisa is like robbing Joe's own mother. And then slapping her in the face.

Joe was so mad when he found out. He even offered $1000 to anyone who might know what happened. No one stepped up.

And then Tuesday night things got real serious. $3000 was nicked from the safe. I don't know all the details but there's only a few people in the restaurant with access to it, and obviously, these are some of Joe's most trusted employees. People who have been with him for years and who's jobs mean more to them than a few thousand dollars.

The speculation game is on.

Was the safe left open? Does someone else know the combination? Was it one of people who know's the combo? Is the thief the same person who stole from Brisa or someone else? Who had the opportunity and the motivation? Who will be the worst dressed at this year's Academy Awards?

It's anyone's guess.

I just can't wait to find out. Until then the rumor mill will be working harder than a hustler on the beach. And that's hard work! I've done it.

That's Not My Name

2011-01-22T14:13:00.003-05:00

At work the other day Joe says to me, "Ryan how long have we known each other? Over a year, right?"

"Ah, ya. That's right," I said.

"So what's my last name?" he asked.

A trick question I thought, so I paused a moment then replied, "Richards".

Joe shook his head in that distasteful way when he's appalled at the ignorance of someone.

"No? It's not Richards," I said.

"Richard is my middle name. Jack is my last name," he said.

I had edited a press release for him earlier in the week and changed several attributions to "Richards says"--tipping Joe off on my supreme lack of knowledge. I am writing a cookbook for the man after all. I should know his name.

My friend Paulina, and one of Joe's favorite employees was standing at the bar when this happened. I laugh as I tell her that I thought Joe's last name was Richards.

Her face is blank.

"Isn't that his last name?" she asks me.

Wasn't just me then. I feel a little less stupid.

The first lesson I ever learned in journalism school was that if you ever got someone's name wrong in a story you automatically failed. No question.

Good thing nothing's been sent off to printer at this point. And for your reference his full name is Joe Richard Jack.

Paulina and I both agree that Joe Jack Richards rolls off the tongue much nicer.

Anyway, here's the recipe for Spinach and Artichoke Dip--perfect for a Super Bowl party or something similar I suppose. It's damn tasty is all I know. Test it out and let me know what you think.

Spinach and Artichoke Dip

Makes 4 to 6 servings

2-1 lb. bags (1 kg.) spinach

3 Tbsp. (45 mL) butter

2 Tbsp. (30 mL) finely chopped onion

1 clove garlic, minced

1/4 cup (50 mL) all-purpose flour

2 cups (500 mL) heavy cream (35%)

2 tsp (10 mL) fresh lime juice

1 tsp (5 mL) Tobasco sauce

1 tsp (5 mL) salt

3/4 cup (175 mL) grated parmesan cheese

2/3 cup (150 mL) grated Gouda cheese

1/2 cup (125 mL) sour cream

1 jar artichoke hearts, chopped

Tortilla chips for serving

Preheat oven to 400˚F (205˚C).

Remove large stems from spinach and steam for 1 to 2 minutes. When cool enough to handle bunch spinach into balls and squeeze out excess water (spinach must be very dry). Chop and set aside.

Melt butter in a large sauté pan. Add garlic and onion and cook for 3 to 5 minutes or until onion softens. Sprinkle flour over onions and stir with a wooden spoon, cooking flour mixture for about 1 minute.

Slowly whisk in heavy cream, a little at a time, whisking constantly to prevent lumps. Bring slowly to a boil to thicken mixture, then add lime juice, Tobasco, salt and parmesan cheese. Remove from heat and add Gouda, sour cream, artichokes and reserved spinach, stirring to combine.

Pour spinach mixture into an oven-proof dish and bake for 15 to 20 minutes or until dip is hot and bubbly. Serve with tortilla chips.

Un Chingo of Work to Do

2011-01-14T14:03:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, while writing the recipe for Frijoles de Olla (our house beans) I came across a word I didn't know so I plugged it into Google Translator. The list of ingredients called for un chingo de sal. It's some sort of measurement for salt but "what's a chingo?" I wondered. Turns out it's a shitload. Literally. I laughed. I'll have to ask Joe or the Lolas if they can be more specific. Though maybe we should leave it like that--those kinds of measurements work for Jamie Oliver.

Today I wrote the recipes for Cucumber and Carrot Coleslaw and Rice Pudding, bringing the grand total of completed dishes to 17. If I'm to stay on my target I need to get another three recipes done by the end of the week.

I had a couple of friends from Provincetown staying with me earlier in the week, so instead of writing I was hitting the beach with them and downing copious amounts of tequila. Por que no? Kelly and William are on a three-month journey through Mexico, Central and South America. You can follow their blog at http://whereintheworld-wk.blogspot.com/. I can't wait to find out

how the 356 hour bus trip from Guadalajara through Mexico City then on to Oaxaca turns out.

Anyway, back to the chingo of work I have on my plate.

Last time I posted the recipe for Mean Joe's Greens thinking

everyone could use a little veggie and some fiber in their diets following the glutinous holiday season. Now that that's over, lets indulge again with this totally delicious (almost scandalous) dessert recipe. We keep in the fridge upstairs by the waiter station and some staff members (I won't say who) nick small bowls of it and eat it undercover. It's has the texture of pudding when it's cold and is a toss-up as to which way is better.

At Joe Jack's we serve it hot with a small bowl of whipped cream and rum (which we pour the chocolate mixture over) and a few little almond cookies.

Mexican Hot Chocolate

1 orange

4 cups (1 L) whole milk

1/2 cup (125 mL) heavy cream (35%)

1/4 cup (50 mL) granulated sugar

2 Chiles de Árbol or 1/2 tsp (2 mL) crushed red chili flakes

1 cinnamon stick

1 Tbsp. (15 mL) whole cloves

1/4 tsp (1 mL) black peppercorns

1 lb. (500 g) bittersweet chocolate, chopped

1/2 cup (125 mL) cocoa

1 1/2 tsp (7 mL) vanilla

Peel rind from orange with a vegetable peeler and add to a large stockpot with milk, cream, chilies, cinnamon, cloves, peppercorns and sugar. Slowly bring mixture to a boil then remove from heat.

Place chocolate in a bowl and pour cream mixture through a mesh sieve to catch spices. Stir mixture until chocolate melts and all the cream is incorporated. Stir in cocoa and vanilla. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

Heat about 1/4 cup (50 mL) of the chocolate mixture per person in a nonstick pot or sauté pan, stirring constantly to prevent it from scorching. Pour chocolate mixture into small cups and serve with a spoon.

Mean Joe's Greens

2011-01-03T14:17:00.005-05:00

I could think of much worse places to write. Thisis the view from my work station and where the words for Joe Jack's cookbook will be digitized. It's also where I watch Spanish soaps and countless episodes of any of the CSI franchise when I need a break.

The garden is progressing nicely. The cilantro seeds I planted a couple weeks ago are now sprouts about 3 inches high, while the rest is my roommate Alfonso's doing, for which I can't take credit but enjoy nonetheless.

True to my word I woke up this morning, brewed a pot of coffee and came up here to bang out a few recipes. I've managed to get three done--2 salads and a ceviche--and since it's the New Year and many of us over-indulged during the holidays, the one I'm including today is for Mean Joe's Greens. A fantastic salad to help us detox, or at least get some fiber in our diets.

So please test it out and let me know how you like it. These recipes are all Joe's but I'm translating them from Spanish and adapting them to make at home. At the restaurant the Lolas (ladies who prep everything) make the vinaigrette in huge quantities so I've had to scale the ingredients down and make adjustments to suit 4 people instead of 40. As well, the greens and veggies at the restaurant aren't measured, the cooks just "eye" everything, so I've had to come up with those measurements on my own.

So go guinea pigs, get out there and start cooking. I need your feedback.

MEAN JOE'S GREENS

Serves 4

Vinaigrette

1/4 cup (50 mL) fresh lime juice

2 shallots, peeled and minced

1 1/2 tsp (7 mL) granulated sugar

1 tsp (5 mL) red wine vinegar

1 tsp (5 mL) Dijon mustard

1/2 tsp (2 mL) salt

1 1/2 cups (375 mL) extra virgin olive oil

Salad

2 heads Boston lettuce

1 head radicchio

1 cup (250 mL) arugula

2 plum tomatoes, seeded and coarsely chopped

1 carrot, peeled and thinly sliced

1/2 field cucumber, peeled, sliced lengthwise then cut into half moons

To make the dressing whisk together lime juice, shallots, sugar, vinegar, mustard and salt in a medium-sized bowl. Slowly drizzle in olive, whisking vigorously until combined. Refrigerate until ready to use.

To assemble salad wash and dry the lettuce, radicchio and arugula then place in a large bowl with tomatoes, carrot slices and chopped cucumber. Pour over enough of the vinaigrette to coat the salad then toss evenly and serve.

The Cookbook Chronicles

2011-01-02T21:46:00.006-05:00

I'm watching some Spanish nighttime drama with a hot soccer player named Santiago Something. He plays for Real Madrid with a Beckam look-a-like and just got tossed out of the game for some crime on the field I couldn't follow.

I'd like to say I'm trying it as a sort of Spanish immersion program, but truthfully it's because I'm lazy and too tired to get up and change the channel.

While the beginning of the season got off to a slow start, the holidays have been busy. (Last night was officially my best night at the Shack, cash wise). Fantastic. I'm finally making money, but damn, my body hurts. (Though a couple nights of tequila abuse during the Christmas festivities haven't helped heal the body either.) So tonight is about bad Spanish TV and getting some rest. Tomorrow begins the Joe Jack's Fish Shack Cookbook "Come-Along-for-the-Ride-While-I-Write-It" Blog.

It's gonna be huge.

Up until now I've been a little casual about getting recipes written and laying down the other sections of the book, and if I'm going to pull this off by the end of April I need to write more and procrastinate less. And so I'm going to add more work to my plate by blogging about writing the book while I do just that.

I figure if I make a commitment on here than I have to follow through. And so, I've got approximately 90 days to write 80 or so more recipes and document what it's really like to work--and eat and be entertained--in Puerto Vallarta's busiest restaurant. (Plus a bunch of other stuff that'll need to be in it too.)

Anyway, tune in tomorrow for the first entry and join me and Joe (but mostly me! ha) as I write his book. I promise to make you hungry. As well as offer up recipes and other pages from the book as I write it.

Test the recipes at home and let me know how they worked out. Tell me what questions you have about buying and cooking fish--or anything else you want to know. Maybe it'll end up in the book.

And yes, if you're wondering, I did just watch Julie & Julia. So maybe I got a little inspired. Sue me. Just read me. Oh, and buy the book when it comes out.

Tell Santa To Bring Scotch

2010-11-25T11:39:00.004-05:00

When someone sends you free whisky you accept it. Then you drink it, write about it and plug the nice folks at MasterOfMalt.com for sending it in the first place.

Master of Malt sells whisky from all over the world (think Sweden, Ireland and the USA to name a few) and posts it right to your door. It's a fantastic service for any whisky aficionado who likes rare, limited edition and hard-to-find malts. But now they've raised the bar and offer samples of nearly every whisky they carry so anyone, aficionado or novice, can order online and receive a 30mL dram taste of said whisky. (And they come in these great wax-sealed sample jars.)

It's a wonderful program and a great way for you to sample something you've never tried before for a fraction of what a whole bottle would cost. If you like it, order a whole bottle, if not, you're only out five, maybe 1o bucks.

And for the whisky lover on your gift-giving list this season it makes the perfect present. Send him a selection of unique whiskies like Miyagikyo, a 20 year-old spicy malt from Japan with a rich caramel colour and a soft, smoky finish. Or the 26 year-old Bowmore Single Cask from Scotland. It's a rich, full-flavoured whisky with a fruity, vanilla-caramel taste with just a hint of peat.

But these little drinks by the dram are also an ideal gift for someone who is new to the world of whisky and wants to be able to try a bunch of different malts without investing a month's salary in his new hobby.

Bottom line: check out www.masterofmalt.com and send Santa your whisky wish list. Christmas never tasted so good with booze in the mail.

With Friends Like These

2010-08-06T11:00:00.014-04:00

Apart from living at Patio since July 4th and waking up in cold sweats from waitress-related dark dreams, I've had some visitors from My Home and Native Land drop in on the Provincetown scene. I'm feeling lazy and want to get to the beach this afternoon before I have to return to the mojito mines, so here are some pics from the the last couple weeks on the sand dune.

Carrie and I have been friends since high school and when she learned I was in Ptown she decided to ditch her husband and two kids for a few days of freedom. She became a "townie" on her first night. We were riding back from the A House and she crashed her two-wheeler on Commercial Street, falling off onto the sidewalk outside Shop Therapy.

Bike accidents are a right of passage in this town.

Here we are at Herring Cove before hiking across the moors and dunes to get to the beach. In three days Carrie accomplished a lot; lost on the bike trails; saw Showgirls--her first drag show ever; danced surrounded by shirtless men at the A House, witnessed a dead skunk being removed from under my deck; and ate an oyster for the first time.

Where else on earth?

A week later Stacey dropped in for her first trip to the Cape and we met for drinks at Pepe's. It was a weekend jaunt for her and her friends Amy and Kristy who drove up from Brooklyn. (Stacey and I became friends one summer schlepping 99-stamped burgers at Wayne Gretzky's in Toronto.) Kristy snapped this pic with Amy's iPhone using an app that casts this fantastic glow.

Any photographer will tell you, lighting is everything.

This morning I bid farewell to my folks who arrived Monday. They came down for my birthday, which officially was yesterday but celebrated all week. Wednesday morning a gaggle of us sipped mimosas and wolfed down lobster Benedict at Edwige where Louise (mom) snapped this photo.

L-R, William, Kelly, Eric, me, Hunter and Will.

Later Wednesday afternoon the Eastland boys threw me a little Cape Cod-style backyard party. We slugged back potent Rose Kennedy's (vodka, cranberry, lime and soda) and slurped down oysters on the half shell. Instead of cake Eric whipped together a lemon-tequila meringue pie. Soon-to-be a new Cape tradition. Amaze-balls.

The best lemon pie I've ever eaten and a recipe the world needs. Stay tuned, it'll show up here at some point.

If you read one of my earlier blogs you'll know my summer is unofficially sponsored by Rolling Rock, the delicious lager from Pennsylvania. Hunter found me this bucket at the Unitarian Church bazaar. Best $2 birthday gift I've ever received.

My 35th year on this planet is off to an incredible start. With friends and family like I have, getting older only means I appreciate them more.

Drinking more is merely a coincidence.

Servers with Special Needs Deliver Outstanding Bistro Fare

2010-07-23T13:07:00.009-04:00

It's rare you find a restaurant that does everything right. One that can transform a mere meal into a truly exceptional dining event, where every detail is seamlessly carried out and the food so exceptional that you as a diner only focus on your enjoyment of it.

I wish I could say this about PB Boulangerie in Wellfleet, Mass. The food is bang on, top shelf, fantastic. The service so lacking it's silly. A friend thinks it's on purpose. Done so the stand out dishes stand up for the attention they deserve. I don't buy it.

Perhaps there's a volunteer organization on the Cape that helps servers with special needs find employment. I suppose the training program is horribly underfunded.

The decor of the newly opened bistro, just off route 6, hits the right mix of comfortable and chic. Mustardy yellow walls adorned with copper jelly molds, Parisian posters and even a horseshoe crab wall sconce create a warm and casual room. Sage green booths edge dark cherry wood tables on one side while a snaking bar caps the other. Bar patrons have the best view of the open kitchen where Chef Philippe Rispoli executes some of the best food found anywhere I've eaten on this sand dune.

Cooks in crisp white jackets and royal blue caps move effortlessly in their stations preparing deliciously simple plates, like shaved prosciutto, Parmigiano Reggiano and melon--triangles of cantaloupe cut so thin you can see through them--all strewn out on a long bed of peppery baby arugula.

And while the kitchen staff seem relaxed and confident the servers look as if one false move might land them in an over sized stock pot for tomorrow's soup du jour. Our waiter, red faced and perspiring, loses his train of thought on his opening line.

"Would you like something to drink or. . .,"

Or what? Were not sure.

Bottled water is poured almost immediately but our cocktails take another 20 minutes before they're in front of us, delivered finally by the hostess we befriend.

Serving is not an easy job but at a restaurant where the food is so exceptional, (a lemony tuna ceviche shines on a raw platter of local oysters and clams) a good waiter can guide his customers through the evening with ease, knowing whatever item they order will please them.

Our petrified server just can't seem to get it together; we don't get to taste the bottle of wine we order he just pops the cork and pours. Empty glasses linger on our table until we physically hand them to someone passing by. We're sure she worked there though, her face also visibly stressed.

But the faux pas don't start and end with our server, there's other oddities at play. A basket of house baked bread, including an amazingly soft and crunchy cranberry batard (a bastardized baguette) arrives with a dipping plate of churned butter, olive oil and an ice wine vinegar, yet side plates seemed to be 86'd from the room. We haven't been overlooked, they're not on anyone's table.

When a complimentary platter of amuse bouche is delivered--toasted country bread squares topped with thin slices of creamy foie gras and dollops of red pepper marmalade--again, no plates accompany it. Drips of jam run down our fingers and finally end up staining our place mats.

Hot-out-of-the-dishwasher plates are set down in front of us before the chilled platter of seafood arrives; and it's only when the table is reset with salad forks and knives that we realize we ate our apps with dinner silverware.

None of this matters at a truck stop diner or say, a Denny's, because it's well, cheap and easy. Twenty eight bucks for a seafood platter deserves to be served with side plates that won't cook the clams. I guess having plates at all should have made us happy.

It's a good thing Rispoli's cooking can shut up even the most judgmental of patrons. We're silent except for a few contented sighs when our entrees arrive. Buttery roasted cod tops pureed potatoes and leeks and wins the entree war, while a seared tuna encrusted with black pepper and served over crunchy veggies in a light yet fragrant broth is a close runner up.

The portion of shrimp risotto could use a little more heft but its fresh lemon flavour and perfect consistency make up for its size, though the spring peas were a little more al dente then they should have been.

Rispoli's best was actually saved for last. Tender crepes Suzette swim in a pool of vibrant orange flavoured syrup, their combined heat melting a single scoop of vanilla-flecked ice cream. A dark chocolate cream accompanies a baseball-size beignet, a warm and chewy vehicle for the intense sauce.

At this point our waiter has been banned from our table--the mutual loathing so evident Rispoli's wife steps into finish serving us. We cringe for a moment thinking we've perhaps been a little too harsh, then come to our senses. If the food wasn't so good we wouldn't be so critical.

The Bear Blog

2010-07-15T11:16:00.005-04:00

"What's bear week?" asked a 60 year-old woman dining with her husband in my section last Saturday night.

"Do you know what a bear is," I replied?

"Well I know what a bear is. . ." she answered.

"Do you know what a gay bear is?" I asked.

She looked at me with a blank but curious face. "Bears are large, hairy, bearded guys and this is their week in town. The circuit boys packed up their Louis Vuitton valises and rolled out this morning and the bears took their spot."

"What's a circuit boy?" the two of them asked in unison.

"Oh, well, they're the gays with the perfectly smooth bodies, all sculpted and plucked and tweezed, sporting designer sunglasses and looks of mild disdain."

The both nodded, taking it all in.

I then told them about the Baby Dykes from Memorial weekend, Women of Color week, the leather daddies descending in October, and of course Carnival and (woop woop!) family week.

This week, town is overrun with big, hairy, manly men woofing at each other as they strut down Commercial toward Burger Queen.

Pool filters are working overtime.

A friend witnessed four grapefruit-sized hairballs extracted from the Ptown Inn filters on Monday and Possum snapped this shot earlier today at the Boatslip. We hung on the deck--no way was I getting in that stew.

There's not enough bleach in town to clean that pool. But in a good way.

My friend Addam invited me on the Bear Boat Monday for a sunset dance party. We set off from MacMillan Wharf on the Provincetown II with 900 burly men at 5pm, cruised into the bay then out into open water.

Addam and I are of similar height and build so we had to dance with elbows out, taking up as much space as we could for no other reason but survival. At one point all I saw were the nipples of giant bears towering around me. I could have stared at those for days.

Last night Possum and I turned the tables. He doesn't have any issues in his 6'3" frame but I can easily get lost on the dance floor so we jumped up on go-go boxes at the Paramount and danced the best two hours of our lives. Hundreds of bears thumping in unison to Kelly Rowland's Commander--it was like throwing a teddy bear picnic in a steam room with a massive sound system and $3 Rolling Rocks. You could see the testosterone in the air.

And because we were wearing matching sailor hats from a mariner-themed bear party we attended earlier, some of the revelers assumed we were hired help. Possum left with a sweaty crotch full of cash and I hopped down off that box with a not-so-crisp single.

I don't care if it was a pity dollar, I kept it anyway.

Bears aren't known for their genorous tips so I'll take what I can get.

86 Social Life

2010-07-05T13:50:00.003-04:00

I'm glad I got my fun in last weekend.

Fourth of July kicked my ass and most of my coworkers at Patio. I've never heard so much screaming in that kitchen as I did last night around 8pm when it came to a standstill. Every one of the 200 seats in that restaurant was full and order tickets were cascading from the expediting printer to the floor. Roxanna was trying to get food out but the kitchen literally stopped cooking. They were so far behind and had no idea had to dig themselves out.

"If you're not running food get the FUCK out of the kitchen," yelled Joaquim (Mr. Patio) at one point.

Waiters and busboys scattered like roaches. I kept my back to the scene plugging yet another order into the clog jam.

I asked Dwight, working the salad and dessert station, to fire me some bread for a table when Roxanna turned to me and barked,

"Don't fucking talk to the kitchen, I'm the ONLY one talking to the kitchen. I WILL slap you."

I turned on point and retreated.

Then things got better. Before they got worse.

The fireworks were beginning to blast up from the bay creating a mass exodus from the restaurant. Finally allowing the kitchen to dig itself out of the weeds and the waitstaff and support staff to catch its breath. It lasted all of 20 minutes before the masses re-descended. We filled 3/4 again at about 9:45pm then the rain started.

Not enough to even wet the sidewalk but enough to send customers into panic mode, jumping tables to secure a spot under an umbrella to avoid a couple drops of rain. And after already working 12 hours I was mentally and physically spent. Nothing left in the reserves.

I worked straight through yesterday hoping to get an early cut so I could go out and at least have an hour of a social life at the A House. But it didn't happen. Instead servers who only worked the dinner shift were getting cut and cashing out while those working doubles were still taking tables at 11:30pm. I'd had it and the look of disdain on my face screamed it loud and clear.

That's when Possum coined this posts title, "86 Social Life".(86 is resto speak for running out of a menu item). And from that vantage point it looked like we were kissing ours goodbye.

But Possum had a plan and talked me down from the proverbial ledge. We cashed out at 12:45 and raced on our bikes to the A House. Good thing we know a couple of the bartenders; Flabio hooked us up with four Rolling Rocks the minute we crossed the threshold and Eric hooked us up with a couple more on the patio bar after last call.

I've said it before but it pays to know people in this town. Bartenders especially.

We even got two songs on the dance floor. Gaga's Monster and Madge's Like a Prayer, this year's last track of the night. It's played every night just before the lights come on and they kick us all out onto the street.

Next on Possum's agenda was Spiritus pizza, where everyone gathers after last call. When I say everyone I mean every gay man in town who's been out that night. It's not just about pizza, it's about the final chance to scoop up a date for the evening. Literally a couple hundred people gathered in the street and out front of the joint, scarfing down slices and rehashing the nights events.

Nobody, not even us wanted to hear tales from the Patio--that's why I'm telling you.

Okay, finished venting, now off to work.

Blessed are the Few

2010-06-30T11:55:00.014-04:00

I just spent two perfect Ptown days.

This past weekend was the Portuguese Festival culminating with the Blessing of the Fleet on Sunday. For more than 50 years boats of all shapes and sizes crowd the harbour and get in cue for the bishop who tosses some holy water on your vessel blessing it (and you, I would think) with prosperity and safety on the high seas. I'm not religious but who couldn't use a little blessing from time to time?

The bishop and his buddy were stationed on the top deck of the slow ferry, the other decks crowded with tourists and well-wishers witnessing hundreds of boats in various stages of party.

Originally meant for the fishing fleets who harvest the waters off the Cape to provide for their families and feed the town, now the BotF is just an excuse to get out on the water and kick off the summer with the first of many nautical hoot nannies.

And boy did we have fun. My friend Rachel invited me to join her and her friends on a pontoon party boat she was renting from Flyers in town. Here's a self portrait with Will and our Bulgarian friend Julia, who's also a Patio employee.

The pic below shows just a hint of all the boats in the harbour with the Pilgrim Monument in the background.

Sunday was hot and hazy and the water in the bay so warm we headed to long point where we anchored, all of us diving off the boat and only coming back to it for beer and other refreshments.

Then on Monday Peter, myself and his friend Ben and Becky headed to Herring Cove beach at the edge of the bay. I muddled us a huge batch of mojitos, packed it in the thermos and we spent the day jumping the waves and lying in the sun.

The battery on my camera died so I don't have any pics of the day but here's a bunch from Dan's Mexican Fiesta Birthday last week.

Here's Lawrence, one of the Eastland lads having a good belly roll while sipping his manly Mexican brew.

And this is Meredith, Dan's beautiful sister presenting the gorgeous tropical fruit platter to the ravenous guests--half of which ended up on the lawn (fruit that is).

And below is Eric and Hunter (a.k.a. Possum) sharing a, um, moment I guess. Eric's excellence in baking created this seven-layer rainbow cake--spectacularly delicious!

And of course, the birthday boy Daniel taking a good whack at his condom and candy-filled pinata. Ole baby!

Margarita University

2010-06-23T11:25:00.005-04:00

I learned a few things in Mexico this past winter, like you should always negotiate cab fare before you get into a taxi and that men should never wear thongs on the beach (or in private, really). But the most valuable lesson I left with, was how to make the perfect margarita. And because summer is officially here I feel compelled to share this knowledge.

I'm also inspired because we're celebrating Daniel's 30th birthday today with un grande Mexicana fiesta at Eastland. I should be there now helping prep the refried bean tostados, the tomatillo enchiladas and the shrimp in agua chili--but first the world needs to know how to make a kick-ass margarita.

I catered a little feast for some friends during my brief Toronto stopover between Vallarta and Ptown and my friend Jamie asked how much bar mix to use in a marg. The simple answer is none. Use only fresh-squeezed lime juice when making margaritas and you'll never be disappointed in the results. Bar mix or sour mix or bar lime is pure evil in every way. It's full of sugar and synthetic flavour and even letting it sit next to a good bottle of tequila should be punishable with jail time. Bartenders who use it in cocktails should have their speed spouts sealed shut and their liquor license revoked.

But I digest. . .

For the best tasting margarita start with good booze. I like to use a reposado--a mid-level tequila that's aged in oak barrels for at least three months, which adds flavour and softens that harsh edge common with un-aged (blanco) tequila. Basically, the better your tequila tastes the better your margarita will.

Start by squeezing the juice from 1 1/2 limes into a cocktail shaker. To that add about 1/2 ounce of agave nectar or simple syrup. (You can find agave nectar at health food stores or in the organic section of your supermarket or you can make your own simple syrup by dissolving two parts sugar into one part water.) Next add about two ounces of tequila and 1/2 an ounce of Cointreau, then fill the shaker with ice. Shake the bejesus out of your marg then pour into a salt-rimmed cocktail glass. And don't skimp on the salt either--use a good quality sea salt or Kosher variety--something that will enhance the flavour of your cocktail not distract from it by burning your tongue.

Insert straw, garnish with a lime wheel and a dash of smugness. Then go forth my pupils, into the summer and make happy everyone who sits at your bar. With this recipe it's impossible not to.

Stay tuned for pics and more recipes from Dan's party.

Cha cha cha!

The Road to Wellfleet is Paved with Lemon Tarts

2010-06-16T18:32:00.008-04:00

I'm rendering some baby back ribs and sipping a glass of Chianti as I write. One more hour in the oven and the ribs will be fully cooked and tender, at which point I'll transfer them to the barbeque to brown 'em up and add some more flavour.

I'm using a really simple technique and only a few ingredients. First I seasoned the rack with a little S&P and liberally sprinkled on smoked paprika. Then I doused them in a tablespoon or two of cognac and massaged all the flavours into the flesh before laying the ribs over a sliced onion and five or so cloves of crushed garlic. I wrapped it all up in aluminum foil and shoved it in the oven at 350 degrees F for an hour.

That brings us to the Chianti (La Striscia, 2008, a full-frontal fruity mama with a not-too-dry finish) and the last two paragraphs. I've reduced the oven to 250 and will cook them for another hour.

Now I wait. And write.

Today was my day off and I spent it exploring. (Had I remembered that my camera battery died last week at Will and Roxanna's wedding, I would have had pictures to document my day and show to you. But that's not the case so you'll have to rely on my vivid retelling to conjure your own images.)

My roommate Peter, The Boys of Eastland and at least half the town keep raving about this new bakery in Wellfleet so I hopped in my bird-defiled Mazda 3 and hit the highway. Wellfleet is about 20 minutes from Ptown and until today I new exactly two things about it: the local fisherman harvest oysters in the bay and PB Boulangerie churns out some damn fine confections.

Peter returned home one day last week with chocolate cream-filled eclairs from said bakery and barely the heel of a former baguette he devoured in the car on the drive back. Delicious and amazing. In that order.

And the people have caught on too; they're lining up for the tarte au citron and waiting 20 minutes for fresh country loaves to come from the ovens. I picked up one of those pale lemon tarts and asked the woman behind the counter to make room in the box for a fresh fruit tart as well. I'll tell you what they taste like as soon as I finish those baby backs but the simplicity and elegance of them reminds me of the Queen of Tarts in Toronto. If their flavour measures up to their aesthetic I should be in for some good sweetness later.

I might even share with Peter.

Okay, I just yanked the ribs out of the oven and peeled back the layers of foil--the fat has been perfectly rendered and the meat is tender. You can tell this by the pool of fat oozing from the foil and the bones wiggling freely from the meat.

Too the grill!

I'm going to cook them over a low flame for probably 20 minutes, turning after 10 minutes until they have some nice charred bits and a cool flame-broiled colour. Then I'll brush them with some of Annie Natural's Organic Smoky Maple barbeque sauce that I picked up at the Ptown Stop 'n' Shop.

I'm on the second glass of Chianti now. Which explains the state of my dessert. When I went to grab the tart box from the refrigerator I stumbled a little and the box fell to the ground, half smashing its contents. Oops. Might as well drag my finger through the lemon curd smears on the side of the box, right? It's perfect. A smooth and light consistency, creamy texture and a great balance of two parts sour to one part sweet.

Okay, don't let me burn the ribs. Seriously.

Beach Weddings and Random Goings On

2010-06-09T17:43:00.008-04:00

I'm going to my first social engagement of the season tomorrow evening. My friend Will is marrying my manager from Patio Roxanna. On the beach across the street from Eastland, 7pm. I'm hoping the weather holds out for them--it's going to rain like a bitch tomorrow and I don't know if there's a plan B.

Enough about them. . .

Getting to the beach today was out of the question. The lazy sun decided not to come out on my day off so I hit Commercial St. to find a shirt for the nuptials. First I stopped into Drinks a great new store carrying chic bar ware, drinking vessels and related boozy material, including books. I dropped off a copy of Cooking with Booze and Entertaining with Booze when I first got to town and they've decided to carry them both in the store.

With that good news I decided it necessary to blow the cash in hand on some well-deserved retail therapy. Marc Jacobs, Item and All American Boy, here I come.

Success on a skinny brown leather belt at MJ and a military style navey and white plaid linen shirt from AAB. With 10 bucks left in my pocket and a hole in my stomach I crossed the street to the small wharf food court to Big Daddy Burritos. For all the stuff stuffed into my chicken, black bean, brown rice, homemade salsa, guac, sour cream, hot sauce burrito it still needed S&P at the table. All those things and still not enough flavour?

Bid Daddy might also consider grilling his namesake wraps. A crispy outer tortilla layer and a heated centre is what I want on a Mexicali menu. He did throw in a free iced tea, so that was nice.

Anyway, it's not only cloudy but it's cool today so when I road passed Patio the, um, 100-seat patio was nearly vacant. I waved at Vasile, resident food runner, waiter, bar back, bus boy and default go-to guy whenever you need a question answered or something done. He waved back.

Vasile is one of the gaggle of eastern Euro staff. Roxanna (Romanian) and I counted 15 nationalities on the roster at Patio this summer. Bulgarian, Russian, Macedonian, Moldavian, Kazakhstanian(??), Cuban, Jamaican, Mexican, Canadian, American, Austrian and a few more I can't remember right now. It's pretty cool.

And because this blog is a random mess of silly day-to-day goings on I'm going to leave you with my favourite new musical discovery, country harmonists Ladies of the Canyon. Download Follow Me Down, Haunted Woman, No Deliverance and Every Minute. If you like melodic twang from pretty girls you'll like this Montreal quartet.

And one more bounce. . . to some pics I snapped last week when the weather was gorgeous and I got the better part of an afternoon in at the beach. Nature porn, nature porn, nature porn.

Barking Dogs, Dancing Queens and Delicious Brews

2010-06-02T13:46:00.009-04:00

Memorial Day kicked my ass.

What a weekend. I totaled 47 hours schlepping mojitos and lobster mac 'n' cheese at the Patio (funny, it wasn't the Bud Light and Boca Burger weekend I thought it would be). All told, it was long and tiring but for the most part the Baby Dykes were well behaved and decent tippers. I made a month's rent in four days, I ain't complaining.

And even though working 12, 13, 14-hour days is exhausting, going home to bed afterward isn't an option. Being all wired up and needing to blow off steam (and down a few beers, rightfully) myself and co-waiter Hunter headed to the A House each night after our shift.

Last call in this town is 12:45am so it doesn't leave a lot of time to hangout, dance and drink when we'd finish out cash-out at midnight. Ordering two beers at a time is how you get that done quickly.

The Atlantic House is where everyone goes on the weekend to dance, drink and fall in love--an old kindling building that gets really crowded and equally steamy. Good thing its got a sprawling back patio and ice-cold Rolling Rock, which is turning out to be my beer of the summer. From small town Pennsylvania it's a crisp and easy drinking lager--ideal for quaffing in hot situations.

Although, Sam Adams Summer is up there too. A not-too fruity wheat beer from Boston's famous brewery. Were serving it at Patio and I've gone through a half-case personally since I've been in town.

For something a little more bitter and hoppy I picked up 12 Harpoon IPA. I'm still on the fence a little about this one. It definitely fills a moment but it does have a robust bitter finish and I'm not always in the mood for that.

You know how that is.

Bring on the Summer Whites

2010-05-28T14:29:00.008-04:00

I'll get back to you Tuesday after I recover from my first Memorial Day weekend but it's shaping up to be a real trip.

I'm working tonight then three doubles in row; Saturday, Sunday and Monday and the Baby Dykes have already descended on Ptown. It's girls weekend here in the Cape and young college-aged lesbians are here to drink, drink, drink--among other things I'm sure.

The weather looks like it'll be warm and sunny for the duration which means we'll be running our butts off at Patio, going through cases of Bud Light and truck loads of veggie burgers.

Earlier in the week I drove an hour down the Cape to Hyannis (Kennedy's anyone?) to stock up on uniform supplies. I left with bags full of white polo shirts, khaki shorts and a blindingly white pair of Converse. I took this picture of them before I wore them to document their condition. I'll take another shot at the end of the summer so you can see just how hard I kicked it here this summer.

Before I left Toronto I took this shot of my Chuck Taylors--the shoes I wore through at Joe Jack's in just three months. And some people think I live a life of leisure. I just choose to live in leisure towns and while most of the time it feels like vacation the reality is these little legs of mine are constantly on the move.

Like now.

I'm off to work but before I sign off here's a few pics of my cottage life this summer. And yes, you should be jealous.

Until Tuesday. . .

Housing: check!

2010-05-25T16:29:00.004-04:00

Just back from the beach with a bit of a buzz. The Eastland boys made a picnic with corn on the cob, steamed shrimp and a selection of local beers and we made the two minute trek across the street to the sand then sat ourselves down.

If there's a better way to spend an afternoon I don't know what it is.

I also found a place to live so that's peeking my mood on this pristine Cape day. (The sun is intense, the tide's receding and the air around here smells like a mixture of briny ocean and lilac. One of the most beautiful places I've ever been. It's nature porn everywhere.)

Okay now back to business.

Yesterday, Eastland's Realtor Joe Somethingorother dropped by the house to move some things into storage for the boys. We started talking and he mentioned he still had a one bedroom unit available for rent. I met him at his office on Commercial St. just after lunch and walked a few blocks so I could check out the space. The place would run me $5200 and take me to mid-September. Not cheap. But that's Ptown and finding housing here's a bigger bitch than the local drag queens.

The location was pretty good; a couple blocks from the beach and a few blocks from Eastland. The apartment was simple, in a cheap motel room kinda way, but my options were that or sleep in my car. Besides it's only for a few months, so what the hell.

Joe was going to draw up the contract and I had to go get a cheque so I jumped on my bike and road back to Eastland. Upon my arrival I met Peter, my new room mate.

Him and his friend John were walking past Eastland and got to talking with Kevin in the front yard. Peter is renting a two bedroom cottage about a 3 minute bike ride from Eastland. I keep bringing up Eastland because I really don't want to leave. I mean I sleep in what's called the Princess room--a floral and lace pantry off the dining room, with little space and even less privacy--but this house and it's contents couldn't be better.

Oh, and the woman who used to own this place died in that room.

But it is a big frat house with a constant rotation of guests, visitors, tricks, maids, lawn guys, friends and foe. I need my own thing and so it's time to go. And my new place is fantastic.

Before I could get back to Joe Realtor and pay for the shack he was hawking I thought I would check out what Peter's place was all about. I walked in and changed my mind immediately.

A gorgeous cottage, not fancy but spacious and adorable and filled with original art. And while the other place came complete with nothing but a dingy bathroom and two single beds my new place has it all: washer/dryer, dishwasher, cable, internet, BBQ, a large deck, parking. And the best part? A queen size bed free of lace and frills.

I'm home.

Today, Tomorrow and the Next

2010-05-21T23:03:00.003-04:00

The Patio's opening party last night was a whopping success and a lot of fun. They through me on the satellite bar mostly pouring wine and beer and mixing simple cocktails. I sold $1200 in less than three hours and pretty much solidified my spot there this summer. I churned out more drinks than the main bar and outsold them too. And so far, it seems, The Patio's opening party was one of the best this season.

We made sure people got fed. At a lot of the other parties I attended this week the food played second fiddle to the cash bar. Some cheese trays at one. A few cupcakes at another. The Patio on the other hand shucked 500 oysters, served lobster roll crostinis, tuna tartar and a bunch of other hors d'oeuvres I didn't get to try. I did wolf down half a dozen mounds of lobster salad from the crostinis and a few fresh oysters. Then washed it all down with a giant caipirinha (Brazilian booze, lime and shuga). All in all a good night.

Then, I hit the ground running this morning and started training at 10am. My shift ended at 9pm. A bit of a wild day learning the computer system, the food menu, cocktails, how the kitchen works, where everything is stored, how to set up the place and tear it down, what coworkers to avoid and those I should make friends with.

Exhausting really. But energizing too.

The Patio is definitely going to be busy this summer and I'm going to be working a l0t.

Perfect. It'll keep me out of trouble. Mostly.

I'd like to elaborate but another episode of The Golden Girls is on and it's like religion around Eastland, so I've gotta go.

Oh, and I think we're getting up at 6:45am for high tide to put Ursula (Eastland-boy Kevin's new ski/fishing/leisure/party boat) into the water. Or at least someone's getting up that early.

If I know what's good for me I'll be up to.

Job: check!

2010-05-20T14:16:00.007-04:00

Snapped this pic on my way to Cafe Heaven this morning where myself and a couple of the Eastland boys went for breakfast. I couldn't resist.

Okay, this is going to be short and sweet. I'm officially employed. Woohoo!! Much thanks to Will who put in a great word for me at one of the spots he's working this summer.

Yesterday I met with the manager as well as the owner of The Patio (www.ptownpatio.com), a busy, casual spot right smack-dab in the middle of town on Commercial Street. As you can probably guess it's got a large, street-front patio, decked out with stainless steel tables and white chairs, accented with bright orange and navy umbrellas. It has a modern Cape Cod feel with white-washed walls and floors with soft blue mosaic tiles above the bar.

Roxanna, the manager, called just after 1pm today to offer me a job. Three days in and my list of things to do has one check mark on it. I'm feeling pretty good. That, combine with the gorgeous weather today (sunny and warm) is making for a damn good Thursday.

I'll fill you in on the food once I've had a chance to taste some of it, but of course it's big on seafood. I should know more if just over an hour, when I go in for my first shift. I'll be splitting my time there between tending bar and serving. Tonight is the opening party and I'll be working a satellite bar, serving mostly wine, beer and easy cocktails like Cape Cods (vodka, cran) and Cuba Libras (rum, coke).

Okay, gotta run and get ready for my first shift but before I sign off, acai berry (Absolut Acai) may or may not be an excellent antioxidant. Scientists are still figuring that out but it is a small, black berry produced from the acai palm tree. It's also supposed to help you lose weight (there's the Oprah connection) but the verdict is still out that too. Consuming it in the form of vodka had gotta be good for you. It just has to.

Day 2 Ptown

2010-05-19T09:21:00.008-04:00

Here I am freezing. It's 9:41am. I'm drinking coffee and watching Regis and Kelly with my roomies. Well, my short term roomies anyway. The coffee's strong and the company moving a bit slow. Myself included.

Freezing because in Fahrenheit it's 54 degrees outside. Raining and windy. That's about 12 Celcius or just plain damn cold. The weather combined with the events of last night are making for a quiet morning. Though the second pot of coffee is definitely helping.

But let me back things up a little and show you some pics from the last few days. I arrived in Provincetown on Monday at about 5pm after a beautiful drive through Vermont and New Hampshire. The sun was shining and the music loud; perfect driving.

As soon as I rolled into town I made it to the beach and snapped this shot. Today doesn't look like this outside. Doesn't matter, that ocean and all its bounty are still there.

Next move was to grab a beer of course so I found the closest bar, The Crown and Anchor where I cozied up and ordered a Stella. My friend Will arrived not long after, shaking his head.

"Why y'all sittin' in here paying for drinks when they're serving free food and cocktails next door?" he asked in his North Carolina accent.

What could I say to that? We headed across the bar into another room where Absolut was holding a tasting for industry folk. I'm not industry yet, but I'm working on it. The vodka girls were mixing up cosmos and muddling cocktails using Absolut Citron, madarin and the new acai berry flavour. (I'll find out what acai berries are and tell you tomorrow. I think Oprah has something to do with its sudden popularity.)

At the muddling bar you got to choose ingredients from a long lineup of fresh berries, mint and limes, mush it up yourself then hand it to the bartender who would add the Absolut Acai then finish it with whatever mix you fancied.

I liked the combo of mint, lime and blueberries topped with lemonade and soda and a healthy shot of Absolut.

If the weather clears at all today I'm going to get some resumes printed and hit the streets. I've got a few leads on jobs and need to follow up on them. But I'm quickly learning how this town works. You need to meet people and talk to people and I've definitely been doing that. Three parties in two days and another one lined up for tonight.

The lead up to Memorial Day weekend is when all the local bars, restaurants and guest houses throw their opening parties, serving up free food and free drinks. Or at least cheap drinks. And because things like jobs and housing happen by word of mouth and recommendation in this town, I've got to be at these parties. The hardest work, I tell ya.

Okay, I gotta go. It's now 12:35pm and I've been writing this post for the last three hours but the cobwebs are clearing and so is the weather. It's time to get things done but I want to share a few more photos before I sign off today.

This is Eastland (The Facts of Life anyone?) where six of my newest friends are living for the summer and where I'm staying until I find a roof of my own. Eastland is across the street from the beach and possibly my new favourite place in town.

Below is my giant plate of fried oysters that I enjoyed yesterday for lunch. We drove out to Wellfleet, about 20 minutes down the Cape to a roadside resto called JP's. Or PJ's. One of those. The plate must have had more than a pound of deep fried oysters, chip wagon style fries, creamy slaw and a crispy dinner roll. A great way to start my food journey this summer.

And below is Kelly, one of Will's housemates slurping down a 1 1/4 pound lobster and getting the deal of the day, paying less than $20. He ate everything. Even the shell.

I would have too.

Brace yourself Ptown: Here I Come

2010-05-10T12:40:00.004-04:00

"Your imagination is your preview of life's coming attractions." Albert Einstein

I came across this gem of wisdom last night while reading my weekly horoscope. I consider Georgia Nicols (www.georgianicols.com) my personal astrologist and look to her Sunday email blast as the barometer for my week, month and year ahead.

The Einstein quote rings true. How do you imagine yourself and what do you see in your future? (Sorry if this is sounding a little like The Secret.)

A little back story to get you up to speed. While working and playing in Mexico this past winter I got the idea that a purely hedonistic lifestyle is not just a helluva good time but also entirely achievable. You don't get any closer to hedonism than living in a vacation town, where everyone is relaxed and happy and in search of the "best night ever!". So, in four days time I'm setting off for Provincetown, Massachusetts and another season by the sea. And all I really have is my imagination.

No job and no bed. Yet. Nothing for sure except the great unknown. And how much fun is that? It's the greatest stew of feelings: fear, excitement and anticipation all bundled up in a few suitcases and my Mazda 3. But to tell the truth I'm not going into this without a couple pages of crib notes in my pocket. I'm staying with a friend until I find a roof of my own and I have at least some lukewarm leads on jobs. I'm not worried.

People often ask how I was able to spend four months in Vallarta. My answer, "If you want something bad enough you make it happen." Sounds simple and it is. Or can be. It was in Mexico and I'm hopeful my lucky streak will continue.

At least that's my tone now. We'll all know soon enough how simple it is for me to land a job in a restaurant or bar. A winery maybe? Hell, hauling lobster traps even. Who knows? At this point I've only imagined myself dancing around a beach fire, roasting corn, slurping back fresh oysters and downing a few micro brews. That's not a bad start.

The Best of Mexico

2010-04-18T12:33:00.005-04:00

I started this blog last Wednesday and never got it finished. Here it is. My last Mexican adventure report.

I'm hanging out one last time in my outdoor living room. I might cry a little.

It's a perfect Vallarta day. A clear blue sky and a very comfortable 30 degrees. I might just hangout on the sun deck for a few more rays before I go for lunch then depart for the airport. My flight home leaves at 5:40pm. I said farewell to the beach and the ocean yesterday.

Okay, now I'm really going to cry. Leaving paradise ain't easy. And those are just a few things I'm going to miss about Vallarta. Having spent four months here I've made a lot of good friends, had way too much fun for one person and indulged in many gluttonous activities.

Here are a few other things I'm going to miss.

Bacon-wrapped hotdogs—if you’re gonna eat a hotdog (and I’m not talking an all-beef jumbo frankfurter, but a skinny little wiener’s wiener) then you best be rolling it in delicious pork candy. One of these and a quesadilla after the bar, it’s like eating the best of what North America has to offer for preemptive hangover food.

Serviettas—Mexicans are obsessed with these tissue-paper like square napkins. And now I am too. They collect the sweat from my cold bottle of Pacifico and clean my fingers after eating beef and bean quesadillas outside Farmacia Guadalajara. The funny thing is you need to use a dozen of them every time you eat so these little scrunched up bits of stained tissue litter your table (or Styrofoam plate) at every meal.

Bags—Of juice. Salsa. Even mojitos. Get fresh-squeezed orange juice at a stand before work? Plastic bag with a knot tied around a straw. Spill-proof, cheap, and more earth-friendly than Styrofoam cups. Order tacos to go? Salsas come tied up in little bags. Want a mojito to go at Joe Jacks? Normally you’ll walk out with a plastic cup but if you ask Tanque (king of the bar) nicely he’ll pour it into a bag for your walk back to the hotel.

Staff meals—almost every night after the last customers left the restaurant the kitchen staff would prepare a meal for whoever wanted to partake. Platters of grilled mahi mahi or Mexican lasagna or shrimp fried rice would be laid out on table 35. We’d all gather up on the terrace, wolf down some food, have a beer or two, smoke cigarettes and occasionally get high. The waiters would be gathered plotting what bar we’d go to. The kitchen staff were just taking a long needed break from the craziness of the line before they returned to tear out the entire kitchen and hose it down. Another two hours work ahead of them.

Joe Jack’s amigos—what a group! Some of the craziest and funniest people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. We worked hard and drank even harder. There were secret affairs, ass-kickings, burgeoning resentment and admiration. Love and hate. Drama. Good times.

Simon—five month old Jack Russell terrier. My roomie and great friend Alfonso’s newest sidekick is one of the cutest, most well behaved and quiet puppies an owner could ask for. We shared a lot of naps.

Vallarta sunsets—sounds cheesy but damn they’re great. On days when I worked lunch I’d get off at about 4pm, grab a couple Dos Equis and head to the beach. Nothing’s better than a jump in the ocean after schlepping food and drinks all day, downing a couple beers and watching the sun slide into the pacific.

Lessons en Espanol

2010-03-31T12:39:00.006-04:00

I'm officially on vacation. No longer working, I can focus on my Spanish and in turn impart some of my education of the language on to you.

When I arrived here in December my Spanish consisted of two words: si and gracias. After three months I've managed to add a few more words to my vocabulary, many of them slang and taught to me by my coworkers at the Shack. I became fairly fluent at words used in the restaurant. The majority of staff at Joe's is Mexican and other than the servers, they don't speak English. It made communicating difficult but somehow I managed to fit in. They all thought I was loco (crazy) but most of them are loco too so we didn't need language to bond.

Some favourite words from Vallarta:

Piojo/pioja (pee-yo-ho/pee-yo-ha) A "cheap bastard". Also the word for lice. Commonly used at Joe Jack's to describe poor tippers, generally Canadians and especially French Canadians. Sorry fellow Canucks but we have a bad reputation in Vallarta and having worked in the industry for the last three months I can honestly say it's deserved.

No mames (no mom-ees) Vulgar slang meaning "no way!" The literal translation is "don't suck me" and it was a long-running source of humour at the Shack when someone in the kitchen would say "no mamis!". It was then my cue to follow with "Si mamo, y a domicilio. Bien rico." Which translates to "Yes, I suck! At my place. It's really tasty." This joke never got old.

Porfa (pour-fa) Colloquial term used as an abbreviation of "please". Tourists say "por favor", locals say "porfa".

Quisiera (key-sarah) "I would like". This is my most frequently used word. "Quisiera una cerveza porfa." "Quisiera una margarita." "Quisiera un hombre!"

Caliente (kali-n-tay) Means "hot" as in temperature but when used to describe yourself or another person it means "horny".

Mas (mass) "More." Comes in very handy at the bar. "Una mas, porfa". "Dos mas Corona. Gracias."

Por que, no? (pour kay, no) "Why not?" Should we get another beer and dance at Manana until 6am? "Por que, no!"

Hodgepodge of Happenings

2010-03-23T14:21:00.006-04:00

It's the beginning of the end. This is my last week of work at the Shack. Three months has flown by in a blur of red snapper, mojitos and coconut pie. I'm going to miss that place but I'm also ready for a new adventure. The wheels are in motion but I'm not disclosing my next destination until I tell my parents.

I'm 33 years old and yet I feel I need to let them know before they read it on the internet. They're coming to PV April 2nd so I'll tell them in person. Not that they will try to talk me out of anything I want to do but I did get an email from my mom this morning. It read:

"Hope things are still going great with you and Mexico is still the place you want to be. Hard to believe that you have been gone so long, and yet it has gone by rather quickly (miss you close by though). "

Kinda tugs at my heartstrings.

I'll only be back in Toronto for the better part of a month before heading out again to explore the food scene in another beach town for a few months. The beginning of another great adventure. But don't worry, you're all invited to tag along for all the delicious details. Well, most of them anyway.

On another note, and to change the subject, I just submitted a piece to Holmes magazine (Mike Holmes that is) on everything a guy needs to know about steak. It's 2000 words on cows, cuts, cooking and the mountain of beefy stuff you should know about man's favourite meal. It'll be published in an upcoming issue--I'll be sure to let you know when it hits newsstands.

And speaking of steak, have I mentioned how good the one at Joe Jack's is? It makes my list of new favourites in PV.

Five Pepper Steak: Actually it's 10 peppers. The 8 oz. filet mignon is first seasoned with 5 peppercorns (white, black, green, pink and Szechuan) and grilled then topped with a sauce made from 5 peppers (moron, hungaros, guerros, poblanos and guajillo). I dream of this steak.

Taco Rellano: A stuffed poblano pepper with octopus and shrimp, deep fried then made into a taco. Ridiculously good. Located on Aguacate between Cardenas and Caranza. When I remember the name I'll update this post.

Churros: Deep fried, star-shaped tubes of doughnut, rolled in cinnamon sugar from the vendor outside the clock tower church on Aguacate. They cost 1 peso each and wolfing down 10 on my way home from work is never an issue.

Mi Cafe Sandwich: The signature sandwich at this new cafe just a block from my house is killer. Fresh ciabatta stuffed full of turkey, pesto, shredded carrot, cucumer, cheese and served with three house-made sauces (garlic, chipotle and creamy basil) along with crispy wedge potatoes and fresh fruit.

Citrus Cloud: One of the best desserts I've eaten. Maybe anywhere. Ever. Lime-licked custard cooked in a ramekin like a creme brule would be, except where the brule should be is a soft and delicate sponge cake. The signature dessert at Archie's Wok, one of my favourite restos in PV serving up some of the best Thai food I've ever had.

Choco Banana: Frozen bananas from this eponymous corner cafe get dipped in chocolate and rolled in a myriad of toppings like coconut or chopped pecans. Simply perfect.

Victoria: a Vienna-style amber beer from the makers of Corona it's refreshingly malty with a good hoppy flavour to boot. The best part? You can buy a 60 oz. bottle at Bolero (local bar for Joe Jack's staff) for 50 pesos.

That's Not My Name

2010-03-12T11:35:00.008-05:00

I booked my flight back to Toronto last week. My plane lands at 6:50am, April 15.

I'm sad.

With only a month left in my working vacation I feel there's so much more I want to do and so much more I could have already done. There's so many more restaurants I need to visit and hundreds of taco stands I still haven't found.

And so many things you guys don't know.

Let me start with my nicknames:

Chaparrito-means shorty in a term-of-endearment kinda way.

Chichifo-the name given to Mexican hustler boys trying to land a rich, white daddy who'll pay for a month in a swank, ocean-front condo. Or grandma's very expensive heart medication. Or, perhaps just settle for margaritas on the beach and dinner at Fajita Republic.

It's not a nice thing to be called but all the Mexican's laugh when they see the word emblazoned on the bracelet I wear--a New Year's Day gift from my roommate Alfonso.

When Joe first saw me wearing it he asked in one of his short, angry tones, "Do you know what you're bracelet means?"

I said sure, "Hard-working entrepreneur, right?" Then walked away.

Ryanna-because I sing along to every song on the iPod. I can't help it, Joe's got good taste in music.

Deyanira Rubi-a pole-dancing, feather boa-sporting character created by one of Mexico's favourite morning talk show personalities. Deyanira, has lobbied the Mexican government to make pole dancing, the country's national sport. She argues that many families in Mexico are supported by wives and mothers that strip and without them, Mexico would be bankrupt.

A couple of the bars in this town would be bankrupt without me. Considering cervezas only cost 20 pesos, or about $1.75 that's saying something.

Although, I've taken a bit of a break this week to recoup. I had three nights last week that ended between 5am and 7am. That's a hard lifestyle to keep up with and not enough coconuts in this town to cleanse me of my sins.

And now the weekend is here. I've rested enough. Besides, a flock of new planes is arriving as I type. I can't let the new vacationers down. I have responsibilities and I know what they are.

Wish me luck amigos.

Coconut Detox

2010-03-05T12:27:00.004-05:00

Coconut, I hear, is a wonderful detoxifier. My friend Robbie, from Montreal, is in PV for a month and eating a whole coconut everyday to cleanse his body, mind and especially his colon.

He buys his from an old man who sells them across from Rizo's, the grocery store in Zona Romantica. The old guy taps the water for you, which you drink, and then he cracks the nut into pieces so its easy to eat. The secret of this guy is that he keeps his nuts in the shade. Warm coconut water is like cat piss, according to Robbie.

I have yet to try the old man's cracked nuts but I'm seriously thinking about it. I wonder how many I'd have to eat to cleanse the toxins out of my system? Mexico may not have enough coconuts.

I love coconut and so do chefs, bakers and vendors in this town. Two of my favourite coconut dishes we serve at the Shack. Shrimp in aguachili is one of Joe's ceviches and probably the most interesting. First he halves raw shrimp then tosses them with cilantro and shaved fresh coconut before dousing the whole mixture in a blend of coconut water, lime juice and serrano chilies.

If you let the shrimp sit in the aguachili it will eventually cook from the lime juice but it's better to just pile a shrimp and some strands of coconut onto a tortilla chip and eat it raw.

For the less adventurous there's the coconut pie. Not coconut cream pie, but coconut pie. A 3"-high wedge of delicious, not-too-sweet coconut tossed in the lightest of custards, just to bind in all together. We serve it with a dollop of real whipped cream and the people go crazy.

One was delivered still warm from the bakery on Wednesday. I sold a piece to everyone of my tables. Actually I didn't have to do much selling.

Then there's the candy man vendor from the beach. He sells these sweet and sticky coconut logs, almost like a macaroon but soft and chewy. It's the perfect beach snack, especially if I'm sipping on a Miami Vice--such an old lady drink but so damn delicious. It's half pina colada and half strawberry daiquiri. It makes bartenders hate you.

I love it. Coconut too.

It's a Fish Shack Freak Show

2010-02-23T13:13:00.008-05:00

It's been three weeks since my last post. Miss me?

It was about that time when one of our bus boys, Diego, got into a fight one night after work and got the crap kicked out of him. He's okay now. But it meant for almost two weeks that we were short a major part of the team so all the waiters had to pick up an extra shift busing tables. This meant working seven shifts in six days.

I've haven't had two days off in over a month. And so, on my day off I head to the beach and leave the laptop behind.

At the same time one of the servers, Ivette, had a few too many mojitos during a shift and was suspended for a week. The rest of us had to pick up the slack, meaning more double shifts for everyone. An eight-hour dinner rush is rigorous enough, tack on another four or six hours to that and it makes for one helluva long day.

Tack on another few hours of drinking afterward (to unwind, of course) and then do it all over again the next day. Staying sober in this town in not an easy thing to do.

And the thing is, it's pretty much been like that since I started working at Joe's. I had only been there a couple weeks when Tanque (Tank) the main bartender just upped and vanished. He's been at the restaurant since day one and works double shifts six days a week. Very important cog in the wheel.

One day, he didn't show up for work. Wouldn't answer his phone and no one (that I know of) knew where he was. The rumour is that he was in some kind of trouble and escaped to Baja to hide out. In a cave on the beach, no doubt. Ari, who's both a server and bartender had to pick up all of Tanque's shifts, leaving us short a waiter.

We only use fresh lime juice in all of our margaritas and mojitos and the bartender goes through hundreds of limes a day. Have you ever seen what prolonged exposure to citric acid can do to your hands? It ain't pretty. Ari was not only exhausted from working no-stop but her hands were being ravaged as well.

Then, 10 days later, Tanque was back. I never got the full story (or any part of it, actually) and frankly it's better not to know. In Mexico, too much information can be a very bad thing.

But somehow it all ends up working out. We all just dig in and keep the wheels turning at Joe Jacks, pumping out close to 400 meals a night. In a place that only seats about 80 people, its a fast-paced and sometimes grueling environment. And yet it's fun somehow. The insanity of it all and the constant pressure, mixed with a crazy cast of characters means there's never a dull moment.

And I'll take drama over the mundane any day. I also know that my time here is brief and in a little over a month I'll be leaving it behind. There's comfort in that. Believe me.

I Feel Like Crepe

2010-02-04T14:26:00.005-05:00

Well, it's another cloudy day in paradise. It's been raining off and on, but mostly on, for the last three days. Very unusual weather for Puerto Vallarta in February. I don't mind so much because I live here (short term, anyway) but the beach-goers are starting to go loco.

The forecast for today, according to the theweathernetwork.com, was to be sunny and 28 degrees. And the sky this morning looked promising so I packed my bag and headed to the beach. I walked on the sunny side of the street, which I usually don't do, but I figured I'd better not take my chances with this weather. Good thing too. As soon as I stepped on the beach the clouds rolled in.

Then the rain came.

As I stood sheltering under a palapa at the Blue Chairs I grew hungry so when the clouds finally emptied I packed up my soggy towel and headed home for lunch.

Then I remembered the couple I served last night at work. In their twenties, from San Fransisco in PV to plan their wedding for October. They're a couple of food freaks and were telling me all about their favourite places. Jefferey's, they said, served one helluva good fruit crepe. One that would change my life.

I'm sorry but I can't remember the last time a pancake caused me a revelation. I'd certainly give it go though.

The fruit; chopped fresh to order. The batter; mixed new for each whole wheat crepe. Accompanied with fresh yogurt, granola and drizzled with honey.

Oh baby, sign me up.

And as you can see that's one damn fine job Tony Jefferey is doing on the griddle (that's his wife looking on). Today's fresh fruit includes banana, papaya, red delicious apple and strawberries. First he pours the batter and lets it cook for a couple minutes before folding it in half. Then he layers the fruit before folding it again in half, the fruit warming slightly from the heat of the griddle.

It took me all of five minutes to polish it off, nearly licking the tiny streaks of yogurt and honey left on the plate. One of the most fragrant honey's I've ever had; an intense buckwheat flavour.

Amazing brunch.

Life changing? I'm not sure about that. But I will be back to Jefferey's just to see what else he can spin up on that griddle.

email msg. to mark

2010-02-01T22:28:00.004-05:00

Sunday January 31, 2010

Re: How are ya?
...
From:
Ryan
...
Add to Contacts
To: Mark

Good to hear from you. PV is fantastic of course. Yesterday I drove up the coast with a friend and we hung out in a fun little hippy town with a nice beach then stumbled across a polo game so we got our big hats out of the car and sipped mint juleps while watching the ponies. Most of that's true. ;)

then we went out and partied like rock stars til 6am. i have to go to work in an hour. yeesh!!!!

But everything's great. Working a lot, going to the beach whenever I can and wearing as clothing as possible.

I can't wait to see pics from Friday. I was thinking of you guys and wishing I was there. But I'll be home just after Easter so maybe for April's show I'll bring Mona back.

Say hi to Michael for me--talk to you soon!!!

rjxo

The View from Here

2010-01-23T15:04:00.012-05:00

Here are some recent shots I took from my fourth floor sun deck when I was up there the other day, well, sunning. I have a 360 degree view of my neighbourhood from up there.

The tan is coming along very nicely, thanks for asking. . .

I took this shot of my pineapple water (frozen chunks of pineapple and water) facing north west. Look at that sky.

I'm living in Zona Romantica, one of the oldest parts of the city and its a neighbourhood, close to the beach and full of um, both rustic places and new condos. A true mix of Mexicans and gringos. It's a 20 minute walk to the beach and about 15 to Joe Jacks from here.

This is a house across the street and below is the neighbour next door.

Here's my outdoor TV room on the third floor. I spend a lot of time up here watching reruns of That 70s Show and Fantasy Island and napping on my afternoons off.

And yes, that is a creepy manequin in the corner. My roommate Alfonso is going to make her "art" one day. In the meantime she scares the birds away, and most guests.

Here's one of the best air-brushings I've come across. This car was parked outside my house the other night. Just having the Virgin Mary under my window helped me sleep better.

email msg. to lynn

2010-01-21T15:49:00.000-05:00

Re: checking in
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From:
Ryan [Chat now]
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Add to Contacts
To: Lynn

Hi Lynn,

Good to hear all is well and that you guys are getting a reprieve from winter. I must say the weather in PV is very tolerable. Most things are, except the propane delivery trucks that drive around in my neighbourhood all day playing their super loud jingle. Luckily most days i'm either at the beach or at work.

I'm planning on staying through March, heading home around Easter. I'd love to have you stay another month if you're in no rush to move.

What do you guys think of Leslieville and Riverdale? Or have you had time to explore much?

Talk to you soon,
--
Ryan

This is Total BS!

2010-01-19T12:21:00.008-05:00

Who likes Brussels sprouts, right?

Imagine how much you'd like them if it was your job to peal the leaves from 20 kilos of the micro cabbages on New Year's Eve?

I finished work at 4pm on NYE only to stay at Joe Jack's for another 2 1/2 hours pealing BS. I seriously considered letting my steak knife slip, allowing it to sever the vein in my wrist. It wasn't just me though, it was every waiter, bus boy and manager doing the job.

Thankfully sprout season has almost run its course and the final crops are coming off the fields. Our pealing duties will soon be over. Just ask Paulina my co-worker how that makes her feel? I snapped these pictures yesterday in the waiter station while the two of us were on pealing duty.

Good thing for us. Not so good for our customers as the Warm Parisian Bistro Salad will soon come off the menu. If the thought of Brussels sprouts triggers your gag reflex this salad will make you a convert. If you're that rare being who's already a devotee of BS than you're in for a recipe that will more than satisfy your next craving.

Joe didn't actually give me the recipe for this salad but it's pretty easy. And sorry, but it's gonna be up to you to for measurements and quantities.

~bacon
~red onion
~Brussels sprout leaves
~medium-hard boiled egg
~red wine vinegar
~croutons

I will give you a little tip on pealing sprouts. Cut off the root bottom then take a paring knife and remove the core. The leaves are much easier to remove when the core is gone.

Start by sauteing some chopped bacon until the fat is rendered. We use lardons at the resto (big, thick pieces) so use thick cut bacon or pancetta if you can. Toss in some thin slices of red onion and saute for a minute or two. Then add the leaves of the Brussel sprouts, tossing around so that every leaf is coated in the bacon drippings. Add some pieces of egg. Here's the secret: a semi-soft yolk will add a touch of creaminess to your salad. Add a splash or two of red wine vinegar to the pan and toss once more. Pour out into a bowl and add a few croutons on top for crunch.

So damn easy and so bloody good. Hands down the best use of BS I've ever had the pleasure of eating.

email msg. to keira

2010-01-17T18:56:00.005-05:00

january 17, 2010
5:50pm

not sure if you read my blog but thought u'd appreciate the head of the last one.

hope all is well honey bunches!

i've got the night off so going to costco and the mall. should be fun! beautiful day today after the tornado we had on friday. an actual tiny little tornado touched down in the bay. a manager got a picture of it. of course it was my day off on friday.

might have adopted a kitten. one was on the sidewalk near my house last night on my way home from work. i didn't have the heart to walk over it. so the plan is to drop it off at the spca asap. every second it's here is dangerous. it's clawing at my fingers as i type these words. lost interest. back. no wait.

fucking hilarious. how was your weekend? celebrate the book?

miss you love you

rjxo

p.s. here's a link to video of the tornado on youtube, taken from amapas beach where I hangout.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWOkBcD85m4

Two Tickets on the Hot Tamale Train

2010-01-14T11:58:00.003-05:00

I've eaten so many great things since coming to Mexico four weeks ago, I only wish computer screens came with a scratch and sniff application. If you haven't had lunch yet, this abbreviated list of some of my culinary highlights may be a form of torture.

~Shrimp and bacon tacos from El Bacalao.

~The Red Cabbage restaurant's Chicken Mole Poblano and the amazing carrot chutney.

~Soft and chewy, cream-filled coconut doughnuts from the bakery on Basillo Badillo.

~Joe Jack's whole red snapper with its mound of roasted garlic and chilies--and that crazy-assed lime and brown butter sauce its finished with.

~The roasted rabbit in tomato sauce from Trattoria Michel.

~A chipotle chicken sandwich from The Coffee Cup.

~Fresh pineapple with lime and chili from the vendors on the beach.

~And of course an after-the-bar pit stop for BBQ'd pork and pineapple tacos at Tacos Pancho plus a cup of hibiscus water for rehydration.

I can go on and on and on.

I love the food in this town; from the grilled mahi mahi on the beach to the taco stands in the streets and the inexpensive restaurants everywhere. The best part is I have yet to even take a small bite out of the great food scene in Vallarta.

So far one of my favourite meals was a lunch Alfonso and I prepared at home last week. His niece who visited from Monterrey over New Years brough two bags of homemade tamales with her. If you're not familiar, tamales are a soft corn bread stuffed with any number of ingredients and wrapped in corn husks.

In our case some were filled with shredded seasoned pork while others revealed a pocket of spicy refried beans. Accompaning our mound of tamales was gaucamole and tortillas. We washed it all down with papaya water, a blend of fresh papaya, mandarin orange and water.

This meal was also very special because tamales are usually only enjoyed at parties or larger celebrations, prepared in large batches by mothers and grandmothers. To enjoy them for lunch on a Thursday afternoon is completely hedonistic.

Before I leave Mexico I'm going to find a grandmother who will teach me how to make tamales. That will be reason enough to celebrate.

New Years and New Friends

2010-01-05T14:14:00.003-05:00

Christmas in Puerto Vallarta passed by with little fanfare. Sure there are still decorations up in hotels and restaurants and bells of red and gold garland hanging from the street lights on my street, but the celebration of Christmas itself is much more sedate here than in Canada.

I worked right through the holidays, giving out information on the beach about all the gay parties happening for the week leading up to New Years, and then at Joe Jack's, busting my butt for eight hours a night. So Christmas ended up passing me by almost completely unnoticed.

And you know what? I think I'm okay with that. I went out with my roommate Alfonso for breakfast on Christmas morning to Coco's Kitchen, a great local open-air spot just seconds from the beach. I ate scrambled eggs and French toast and bacon with lots of maple syrup. We wished each other a very Feliz Navidad as we sucked back mimosas and chased thosed down with black coffee.

Now New Years Eve on the flip side--and frankly the whole weekend--was celebrated here like it was 2012 and the world as we know it was coming to end. Fireworks up and down the beach at midnight then again at 2am. Partiers out in the streets until the sun came up and clubs full until then.

I worked lunch at Joe Jack's until 4pm then had to stay to peel Brussel sprouts for 2 1/2 more hours. More on that later. Afterward I went back to my apartment for a couple cerveza and to meet my houseguests for the weekend. Alfonso's niece Fernanda flew in from Monterey with her friends Doravida, Ulysses and Octavio. They are true Mexicans; incredibly friendly, warm and of course, ready to party. Though I'm sure NYE had something to do with that as well.

They mostly don't speak English and mi hablo espanol pocito so we did what we could to get to know each other before I had to leave them behind and head to the party I was bartending at.

Latin Fever was one of many parties happening for NYE and the promoter, Gilles Belanger, is a fellow Torontonian. He needed a bartender for the night and so I volunteered. The money was great, I danced all night and I drank for free. But the best part was the view from the fourth flour of the parking garage where the party was being held. I could see the lights of PV from a 360 degree vantage point and it was the ideal spot to watch the fireworks going off all around us.

The next night we hit the Malecon, the oceanfront commercial strip and headed to a great Cuban bar, La Bodeguita del Medio. Complete with live Salsa band and possibly the best mojito I've had here so far. The bartenders and Joe Jack's make a mean mojo but the secret at La B del M is the Havana Club rum they use. The best in the world.

Januaray 1st on the Malecon was as packed as I've ever seen it. Mostly locals and Mexicans enjoying the sound of the waves mixed with the beats spilling out of the clubs that line the strip. Many of them mixing their own cocktails and cracking beers from styrofoam coolers. Everyone out enjoying their friends and family and in one of the greatest cities anywhere.

And to me, that's what Christmas should be about. Spending time with the people you love. I celebrated with my family before I left Canada and then I came here and celebrated again with some new friends.

Who needs gifts when you've got that?

Sandy Apple

2009-12-27T11:12:00.003-05:00

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

2009-12-19T15:28:00.001-05:00

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

2009-12-10T10:26:00.014-05:00

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!

2009-11-18T12:15:00.005-05:00

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

2009-04-21T15:05:00.009-04:00

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.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

2009-04-20T14:26:00.006-04:00

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

2009-04-02T11:16:00.005-04:00

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

2009-04-01T14:27:00.008-04:00

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

2009-03-24T12:43:00.001-04:00

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!

2009-03-20T12:42:00.002-04:00

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!

2009-03-17T14:54:00.004-04:00

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

2009-03-10T12:35:00.012-04:00

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

2009-02-04T13:14:00.002-05:00

“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

2009-01-21T14:10:00.001-05:00

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

2009-01-20T11:56:00.001-05:00

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

2009-01-19T09:39:00.001-05:00

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

2009-01-16T11:10:00.002-05:00

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

2009-01-15T10:58:00.003-05:00

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

2009-01-14T10:25:00.002-05:00

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!

2009-01-13T11:12:00.002-05:00

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!

2009-01-12T09:31:00.002-05:00

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

2009-01-09T11:36:00.011-05:00

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

2009-01-08T12:45:00.002-05:00

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

2009-01-07T18:38:00.002-05:00

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

2009-01-06T11:40:00.001-05:00

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.