Where I went on my summer vacation: Toronto

A trip to Toronto isn't usually something I blog about. It takes me anywhere from an hour (on a super good day and the OPP isn't anywere in sight), to an hour and a halfish (on an average day) to so long I can't remember why I ever wanted to venture out there.

There are always exceptions to this, such as meeting a favourite person or doing something interesting or both. This is one of those exceptions.

Like Ottawa, Toronto was very food focussed. Incredibly food focussed. So food focussed I have no idea if I did anything (apart from look for parking) that wasn't food focussed. I think I spent a good six or seven hours eating, drinking and perusing foodish pursuits. There's little wonder why my clothes are just that much snugger.





You know you're in for a good meal when all you have to say is "Yeah, I'm meeting a friend at an Italian restaurant for lunch. Can't remember what it's called, but it's at Richmond and Victoria." and the response is gleeful "Ooh! Osteria Ciceri e Tria!" you know it's going to be good.

We shared the daily antipasti--a sampler tray, if you will. They were my word, they were good. I can remember all but one, but what I do recall--arincini di riso studded with cuttlefish, meatball in marinara sauce, lamb stew with crostini, fig with ham--was fabulous. For her main, my friend had the gnocchi with seafood; I had tagliatelle with duck ragu. We tried two desserts--a hazelnut tarte and a little cake (again, my memory fails).













If you read Jennifer of The Domestic Goddess, you know that we shared a fabulous iced coffee that afternoon. She wrote getting together was like meeting an old friend. It was.

Jennifer and I have been emailing each other, off and on, for years--(this month marks my fourth year foodblogging on Cardamom Addict; Jenn's been The Domestic Goddess for almost six years). We've cohosted events and sent questions and comments back and forth to one another, but in all this time we've never managed to meet.

There was an immediate ease and familiarity--the type that's normally reserved for long lost friends who haven't seen each other in years. We sat at a patio and chatted about family and friends and Ottawa. We talked about blogging and characters who've come and gone in those years. We talked about our current real life adventures. Every once in a while pausing (or trying to out-volume) the Blue Angels as they zoomed over head, rehearsing for the Air show.

Throughout, we were the targets of unwanted attention. No, not the wayward Bay Street crowd. A bee. Probably a relative of the one that harassed Yal and I. Cheeky monkey tried to steal some of my coffee too! That's just what I need...a fixated bee on a coffee buzz.

I could have spent all afternoon chatting with her, but alas, she wasn't on holidays. We parted ways and I found my self on the TTC at possibly one of the two most dangerous-to-me stores in Toronto. The Cookbook Store is one of my measured Meccas. Yes. A store devoted to cookbooks. The usual suspects from Food TV are there, but unlike other bookstores, they don't dominate the shelves. Here is where I find good food writers. Here is where I find interesting titles. Titles appear here, in their original format, before they appear in big-box bookstores, rewritten for the American audience. I left with a copy of Piri Piri Starfish, a book from which I desperately want to cook each and every single recipe.

My restraint at the Cookbook Store was easily voided as I peeked in at a neighbouring kitchenware shop. That peek ended up with me buying a terra cotta garlic keeper and a cast iron corncob printed cornbread tin. I'd seen them in magazines and recipe books and just couldn't resisit.

It was inaugurated the next day with my variant of my favourite cornbread recipe. Using a combination of maple syrup and brown sugar, the bread has a sweet-smoky flavour. I'm sure the niblet pattern discernable in the cute little cobs only helps to make the cornbread even more tasty.



Maple Corn Bread

125g ap flour
1tsp salt
1Tbsp baking powder
1/4tsp baking soda
120g cornmeal
50g brown sugar
1 egg2Tbsp
vegetable oil
225ml milk
125ml maple syrup

Preheat oven to 200C/400F.

Seive together flour, salt, baking powder and baking soda. Stir in cornmeal.

Beat together the egg, sugar and oil until smooth. Mix in the maple syrup and milk. Pour into dry ingredients and mix well.

Pour into prepared 22cm (9") cake pan or muffin tin. Bake for 20-25 minutes or until an inserted skewer comes out clean.


cheers!
jasmine

Oh, and the other dangerous-to-me shop? Well, if I mentioned it by name, I'm sure the percentage of solicitous emails I receive will increase. That's a lot coming from the gal who's also the Sensual Gourmet...But really, I highly recommend them, especially if you're well beyond what regular department stores stock.

What I'm reading:

I'm a quill for hire!

Where I went for my summer Vacation: Ottawa

Gosh, that was a good vacation. Even though I ran around like a madwoman, it was a good kind of "ran around like a madwoman."

It wasn't the same-old-same-old rush to the office, answer calls, shoot off emails, run to meetings while not spilling coffee, impatiently wait in the microwave queue, write this, correct that, tell someone this, tell them this again, queue for coffee, more meetings, more calls and even more emails, try and remember where you parked your car so you can sit in the parking lot that is the expressway home so we can get something to eat before going off to yoga, an interest class, gals night out, boys night in, shopping and try and tackle that room that's been taken over by cartons, broken bits and things the cats hide kind of rush.

It's more of a where can I go, who can I meet up with and what can I see kind of busy:a good, if not fulfilling kind of busy.

I last took the train more than eight years ago. Commuting is different to vacationing, but old habits returned quickly--sitting in the same area, instinctively getting up at the same time, and (most important to me) blocking out all the ambient chatter. Sorry to all those who like to natter at their seatmates while trapped in confined spaces, but for me those travel hours were already booked with Christopher Brookmyre, Bill Bryson, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Monique Proulx (sorry Irvine Welsh, but I just couldn't get to you). Yes, I'm a reader...and darn proud of it. I will say I found it interesting that my seatmates seemed to have an affinity to whatever I was reading at the time: Brookmyre and Bryson had me with (even just temporarily) a very handsome Brit, Garcia Marquez had a dangerously young and handsome Spaniard strike up conversation with me. Oh...and the woman next to me while reading Proulx had some pretty bouncy hair.

Apart from a few minor delays, I arrived at my destination no worse for wear with a bright and smiley Jenny of All Things Edible greeting me. She graciously gave me use of her spare room while I was in Ottawa. After a quick stop home, we met Mary of Beans and Caviar and did what it seems all foodbloggers are doing this summer: we headed out to the cinema and see Julie and Julia (here's my review). I adore these ladies--warm and funny with an incredible love of food--Jenny and Mary, that is...

Afterwards we supped at an Italian restaurant and nattered over a shared plate of calamari. Jenny had a seafood pasta dish, Mary had a chicken dish and I satified my craving for veal piccata. Unfortunately, the restaurant was very dark and the necessary Photoshopping to transform blobs of dark into delicious foods would be onerous...and, to my mind, dishonest--that much tweaking is to me as fake as using sugared lard instead of ice cream in a foodporn picture. I do wish I'd gotten a picture of Jenny and Mary, though.

The next day Jenny took me to the Ottawa Farmers' Market and I snapped picture after picture. Here are just a few:

After spending some time at Michael's grave I met up with some friends for, what else, but food and conversation. My lunch with a colleague was slightly delayed by the maze of closed streets and a parade which forced me to find new ways up to Parliament Hill. Thank goodness he was patient and stuck around for me. A pub lunch's conversation centred around music: blues, jazz, folk, Gordon Lightfoot, Stan Rogers, Bachman and Cummings. It was great sitting down and talking about things that were so far removed from work. He walked me to the patisserie I met a dear, dear high school friend I'd not seen in...um...15 years...I think. It was great catching up, commiserating and cavorting with her.

Yeah...no pictures of those either. Especially of the bee that took a liking to my pear and almond tart as well as my café au lait (remember this, this will turn up in a later post).

It was a fabulous but whirlwind of a trip. Jenny: thank you so much for everything. You and your family are absolutely wonderful.

Veal picatta is an incredibly quick and easy non-recipe recipe dish. Sauted pieces of veal in a lemon-white wine sauce If you don't eat veal, you can easily substitute chicken or even pork, but as I have no such restrictions to my carnivorism I happily toss this together when I get the craving.

Essentially all you need to do is coat thin strips of veal (or chicken or pork) in seasoned flour before frying. Then mix equal volumes of white wine and stock with lemon juice and reduce in the fond-encrusted fry pan. Add lemon zest (and some capers if you wish) and return the meat to the pan for a minute before plating.

When I made the dish I lacked one key ingredient: white wine. Given I was only making enough for 250g of veal, I made an adequate (yet imperfect) substitute of a tablespoon of white wine vinegar, a squeeze of honey, a couple of tablespoons of apple cider and enough water to bring the mixture to somehwere between 3/4 cup and one cup level. I adjusted things to taste and used only as much as I needed--in this case a 1/4 cup. Again, it's not perfect, but I'm not going to run out for a bottle of wine when all I need is a 1/4 cup.

Veal Piccata

500g veal cutlets, pounded thinly, coated in seasoned flour

Olive oil and butter for frying

Juice of 1 lemon

125ml white wine

125ml chicken stock

Grated zest of 1/2 lemon

optional: capers, drained well

optional: chopped parsley for garnish

Over medium heat, fry the meat (in batches, if necessary) in oil and butter until brown. Remove to a plate before adding lemon juice and wine to the pan. Scrape up the fond before adding stock. Bring to a rapid boil and reduce the liquid by half.

Return the veal to the pan; add the lemon zest and optional capers. Cook for a minutes or

so an then serve. If desired, sprinkle with parsley before serving.

cheers!
jasmine

What I'm reading:

I'm a quill for hire!

Film Review: Julie and Julia

I must admit when I first heard that Nora Ephron was making Julie and Julia, a film that combined the lives of Julie Powell (former food blogger) and Julia Child (American culinary institution), I was torn between wanting to camp out at my local cinema for opening night and washing the cat.

In as much as I have fond memories of Julia's confidence (and voice) in her highly influential cooking shows, I never took to Julie's blog or her book. When Jenny of All Things Edible suggested she, Mary of Beans and Caviar and I see the film, how could I turn down a night out with two food bloggers to see a film about Julia and food and blogging?

Ephron mines Child's autobiography (written with Alexander Prud'homme) My Life in France with Powell's blog-cum-memoire Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously for a screenplay that intertwines the two women's stories.

Yes, there are parallels: Julia Child, a diplomat's wife in post-war France, finds purpose in food and along the way enrolls in Le Cordon Bleu and, over the series of years co-authors Mastering the Art of French Cooking a seminal two-volume work that eventually brought Child and French cooking into American homes via television. Julie Powell, a New York City municipal worker answers phones in the aftermath of 9/11, blogs her way through MAFC (Vol. One) in one year as an escape from daily existence and in the process becomes one of the blogosphere's first to find mainstream popularity, sharing her adventures with thousands of online readers.

Production quality is high: Meryl Streep's eery chameleon-like ability to transform herself into any character is amazing and Amy Adams' performance as a disillusioned 20-something is something many can easily identify. Set decoration and costuming are impeccable--important, I think in what is a double period piece, although I must admit that I was partially distracted looking at Streep's shoes and other tricks to give her Child's height.

I laughed. I sympathised. I was hungry. At one point I wanted to go into Powell's kitchen and show her how to poach an egg. At another I wanted to step into Julia's kitchen and give her a hug as she found out her sister was pregnant. Throughout I wished smell-o-vision had been invented because I could just imagine the aromas wafting from both kitchens.

Let's be honest: It's a chick flick. It's a foodie film. It's a film about "finding yourself" (good gravy, I hate that phrase). It's a film about relationships--my heart melted whenever Streep and Stanley Tucci (who played Paul Child, Julia's husband) were together. If you're looking for sex amongst the sauciers, hand grenades in the pomegranates or a gun that shoots bullets instead of frosting...this film's not for you. Really--go see one of the other mindless bits of Hollyweird drivel and leave this to people who cook and eat.

I left the cinema with one thing in mind: "If they release a DVD version that cuts out all the Julie Powell parts, I'll buy it."

Powell's qualities I picked up on while flicking through her various posts as well as leafing through her (still unbought) book which turned me off were more than evident on screen: narcissism, over-inflated ego and her profanity crutch (it's mentioned in passing, probably to keep a PG-13 rating).

For me the cinematic moment that encapsulates Powell's ego was when she found out Child, her idol and the woman to whom she hitched her fame-brought wagon, didn't really care for her or her blog. The reaction was that of an entitled, talentless and overly-protected and overly-lauded little girl who is faced with the cold reality of their mundane ineptitude for the first time: shock/disbelief and sadness (Powell probably went through the other five stages of grief, but there's only so much time and celluloid).

Powell has since argued that the Julie Powell on film is not the Julie Powell in real life. In reading her plea two things came to mind. Minor details like what you did or didn't do in school, as well as who you do or don't hang out with is irrelevant because as many of us who've a few braincells to rub together know: Hollywood makes stuff up so characters and events are interesting to the popcorn-munching masses. The other is: Powell's probably never had her portrait painted by someone without a vested interest in placating her ego. In other words: she doesn't like the interpretation derived from the thousands of words she's committed to pixels and print.

At the same time, the Julia Child on film can border on caricature. If Julia were alive today, what would she think of her cinematic doppelganger? I don't know: the film paints her as knowing her mind, so I'm guessing that she would have voiced her opinions. One thing I'm fairly sure of is she probably wouldn't whine.

What we are presented with are character and feat interpretations as amassed by writers, actors, directors and editors as well as focus groups and marketers. There are thousands of words and hours and hours of film about and by Child, far fewer about and by Powell. I think they did the best they could with what they had. As Kalyn wrote in her review, it would be better if Ephron and her team better translated Powell's culinary and blogging feat to screen. I wonder what pre-FoodTV cookbook authors (aka not the "I appeal to the 18-55 year-old male demographic and those who'd rather look at food than cook food" bobbleheads) have to say about getting published about the treatment of Child's accomplishments.

My guess is Ephron is neither a home cook nor a motivated blogger which is a shame because that part of the film was not handled as well as it could have. It's akin to making a movie about travelling to the moon written, produced (etc) by a team who's never studied the space sciences, but may have looked into a light-polluted night sky. In other words: it lacks consistent authenticity.

One thing I cannot fault is the food. It looked wonderful--even Julia's mountain of chopped onions looked fabulous. I just wanted to eat everything...

In prepping for this review, I decided to revisit Shari's MAFC index. Truth be told I'd love to have done a poached egg dish for this, but I just did Oeufs à la Bourguignonne for Hélène's MAFC event. Being the stubborn person I am, I kept to the egg theme and did a favourite breakfast-brunch dish: Oeufs en cocotte. It's easypeasylemonsqueezey, highly adaptable and is a non-recipe recipe, but Julia's recipe is in the link.

I did two versions: the first had a layer of mushrooms sauteed in garlic butter and the other was prepared in a ramekin lined with shaved salami. I like baking them until the whites are opalescent ad the yolks are thick and creamy...perfect for dunking toast tips.


cheers!
jasmine

PS. I will never hear Talking Heads' Psycho Killer the same way ever again:

What I'm reading: The Heart is an Involuntary Muscle by Monique Proulx

I'm a quill for hire!