Category Archives: writers

THIS IS HOW IT’S DONE

Restaurant critics have a tough job; one of the toughest. Pete Wells is surely one of the best because wow: I haven’t laughed this hard in ages. People often forget that food criticism can be art, too. It’s not just a public service, it’s entertainment. I lost it over his description of their dessert:

“Is the entire restaurant a very expensive piece of conceptual art? Is the shapeless, structureless baked alaska that droops and slumps and collapses while you eat it, or don’t eat it, supposed to be a representation in sugar and eggs of the experience of going insane?”

Damn, I hope no one thinks that about our Alaska! Brilliant and witty, every single line.  And does Guy Fieri’s new, abysmal restaurant reminds anyone else of George Saunders short story?

[NY Times via Bartek]

MONTREAL GAZETTE: PURITY IN A DISH

I recently wrote about our epic and magical trip to Provence for the Montreal Gazette. I loved reminiscing about all of our gorgeous adventures in the countryside. I also came to the worthwhile realization that the best part of the trip wasn’t our time at fancy restaurants or hotels, but the handful of days when we rented a tiny apartment overlooking the ocean and cooked all of our own meals from vegetables I bought at the market. (I not-so-secretly want to live in Sanary-sur-mer forever).

You can read the full story here. And I’ll be posting photos from our trip to France for the rest of the week!

D.I.Y. GRAND AIOLI

Our friends Radwan and Raia weren’t able to make it to my Kinfolk dinner, so we replicated the grand aioli feast for them right in their home! Afterward, I wrote another column for Offerings honoring this tremendous, life-affirming dish. My last Offerings piece focused on Provencal mussels, so I guess I’m on a bit of a southern France kick! Read on:

Of all of the sacred Provençal traditions, the fierce, garlicky aïoli is one of the region’s most beloved, mystical and legendary rituals. Frédéric Mistral, the lyrical 19th century Provençal poet, wrote that “aioli intoxicates gently, fills the body with warmth, and the soul with enthusiasm. In its essence it concentrates the strength, the gaiety, of the Provençal sunshine.” (He even had a Provencal journal dubbed L’Aioli, so enamored was he of the dish).

In the summer, Provençal villages gather outside for a festival celebrating their local saints and crops of garlic. This culinary orgy is called the aïoli monstre, or The Grand Aïoli, and the feast constitutes a spectacular entanglement of fresh vegetables, seafood, and garlic. This beauteous meal — surely the most sumptuous, color-soaked way to celebrate summer and local harvest — includes a bevy of seasonal ingredients, like beets, carrots, green beans, artichokes, radishes, potatoes, snails, clams, octopus, and salt cod. The only rule is to use the freshest and best ingredients available.

Of all of Provence’s iconic party dishes (bouillabaisse, couscous, and bagna cauda being other notable Les Plats de Festin), aïoli is my very favorite. In Mireille Johnston’s essential tome The Cuisine of the Sun, she writes that these “superdishes” require “exuberance in the planning, many guests to enjoy them, a certain solemnity at the table, and a long siesta to recover from them.” Aïoli pairs up perfectly with my love of parties.

But perhaps a rounded platter heaped high with of boiled fish, raw vegetables, and globs of garlic mayonnaise does not inspire lust in you, so trust me when I say that this will be one of the most lavish, sensual and extraordinary feasts you will prepare all year. It’s a living rainbow on a plate. (In Simple French Food, cookbook writer Richard Olney says that the thought of aïoli “transports a solid block of the meridional French population to heights of ecstasy”). And in the hot summer months when you are loath to turn on your stove, you’ll be relieved to have on hand such a simple, straightforward recipe.

A proper aïoli comprises three main ingredients: egg yolk, garlic, and olive oil. Each must be of impeccable quality, or else there is really no point. Most importantly, look for garlic that is firm, crisp, and sticky. Once it gets a lengthy turn in a mortar and pestle, the garlic will be transformed into a smooth and creamy paste. (Toss any bulbs that are sprouting or feel limp, as you really want the best and brightest specimens). Be creative and loose with the sauce accompaniments, but think variety of color (saturated fuchsias, grassy greens, marigold yellow, shocking orange) and preparation (raw, boiled, steamed, roasted, grilled). If your guests are worried about their pungent breath — and their breath will be pungent — offer sprigs of parsley or mint at the conclusion of the feast. But we’re all in this together, you know?

Recipe notes: I rarely use a recipe when making aïoli, but a good rule of thumb is two cloves of garlic per person and 1 egg yolk for every four people. For those who have never made an aïoli before, I have a sneaky shortcut: a teaspoon of good Dijon mustard, whisked into the yolk-garlic paste, will help stabilize your mayonnaise as you whisk the oil in. You’ll never have a broken aïoli again.

Le Grand Aïoli

Serves 8 people

For the aïoli:

16 garlic cloves, peeled (the “Music” variety, found in most Ontario and Quebec markets, is a delicious Canadian option)

2 egg yolks, at room temperature

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

2 cups extra virgin olive oil

Juice of 1 lemon

Handful parsley and chives, to garnish

Salt, to taste

 

—Using a sharp knife, roughly chop garlic into big chunks.

—Move to mortar and pestle, and pound steadily using broad sweeps with your wrist. Add a liberal amount of salt, and the garlic should begin to break down after several minutes into a smooth, thick paste.  (If you don’t have a mortar and pestle, a food processor is an acceptable substitute).

—Scrape the garlic into a medium-sized bowl and whisk in the egg yolks and mustard until smooth.

—Using a steady hand, add oil in a steady stream, at first drop by drop, and then faster, whisking constantly and furiously. The aïoli will actually thicken, not thin, with the addition of the oil emulsion. (Note: if the sauce breaks, you can whisk in another egg yolk to get it smooth again.)

—When the sauce looks thick and glossy, whisk in the lemon juice. Add salt to taste.

—If eating immediately, garnish with chopped parsley and chives. If not eating right away, cover with plastic wrap, pressing right on the surface, and refrigerate.

 

For the trimmings, mix and match the following:

Mixed seafood (2 lbs each boiled salt cod, snails, clams, and grilled baby octopus or squid)

6 beets

1 bunch carrots, trimmed and halved lengthwise

1 bunch radishes, trimmed and halved

1 head cauliflower, broken into florets

2 lbs cherry tomatoes, washed and trimmed

8 new potatoes (smaller potatoes like fingerlings would be lovely too)

2 fennel bulbs, sliced thinly on a mandoline

2 lbs green beans, trimmed

8 artichokes, trimmed, boiled and quartered

2 lbs baby squash, trimmed and cut lengthwise

2 lbs asparagus, stalks trimmed

4 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and quartered

1 bunch flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped

4 lemons, sliced

 

—Prepare the vegetables that you would like cooked. For example: roast cauliflower florets, baby squash, and asparagus spears in a 425 degree oven, or until golden and crisp. Boiled green beans in salted water for two minutes, or until tender. Roast beets for an hour, then peel and quarter. Boil new potatoes in salted water for 20 minutes, or until tender.

—Let everything cool, and set aside.

—Other vegetables, like tomatoes, carrots, and fennel, will be better raw, and just require a good washing and trimming.

—Using the largest platter you can find (and you may need two or three platters depending on number of ingredients used), and keeping each ingredient separate (don’t mix them together!), artfully arrange the various ingredients on a platter in heaping clusters.

—Spoon aïoli into a small dish and place at the center of platter.

—Serve immediately, and with a bottle of cool, crisp Provencal rosé (I love bottles from Château de Pibarnon, Domaine Tempier, and Domaine Du Gros’Noré).

DA BOLOGNA, SUBURBAN HEAVEN

I avoid downtown pizza at all costs — my reports for Serious Eats are a good guide for Montreal’s best spots — but what do you do when you find yourself famished, near the Bell Centre, and without a clue of where to eat?  We had just tried a ton of wine with reZin, and I was starving, so we took a chance on Arlequino, which isn’t supposed to be that terrible (Anthony wrote about it for the Mirror back in the day and liked it, so it probably used to be better). Mostly, I wanted to see how the glut of downtown corporate joints measured up to the homey suburban spots I adore.

Well, for a revealing compare-and-contrast, check out my two recent stories for Serious Eats. Exhibit A: Pizza downtown. Exhibit B: Pizza in the burbs. What a differences a few kilometers makes!

SAMPLING DOMAINE DE CHASSORNEY

Hey, wine buddies! Adam recently wrote a fascinating write-up of some Chassorney wines that we tried at the new Hambar. (I took the photos!) Our friends at reZin are importing a great selection, and I really loved the Burgundies we sampled, which are unsulphured, totally natural and biodynamic. Read it here! Then have that Volnay at Joe Beef — so yum!

HOW TO COOK MUSSELS LIKE A PRO

[An excerpt from my latest column for Offerings, on our trip to Provence and eating mussels with Alain Pascal, and making them, again, at home...]

The French have mastered what has taken me years to accept: the most wonderful food has actually been manipulated very little. (Think steamed snow crab, or a radish tartine). The ingredients are already the best they’re ever going to be, and all a smart chef does is nudge it into its final stages of bliss.

An example: My first night in Provence, I attended a dinner at the home of a winemaker living in the Bandol region. As the night went on, we were plied with more and more Mediterranean treasures: cool glasses of copper-colored rosé, half-stale baguettes smeared with almond-mint pesto and tapenade, slow-roasted tomatoes infused with parsley and garlic, grilled fluke drowning in local olive oil. It was extremely simple — country food, the winemaker would have insisted — but executed with the kind of passion and elegance I have only found in people truly in love with eating.

That evening, I ate my first Provencal mussel, plucked from a wide, shallow iron pan which rested directly on an outdoor fire.  They were the most complex, rich-tasting mussels I’ve ever had, but the ingredient list was surprisingly short: the freshly-harvested bivalves, scrubbed clean, a thick paste of garlic, a generous amount of olive oil, and a few branches of rosemary. As the mussels heated over the fire, they released their briny liquid within, flooding the pan with greyish ocean water. We lifted mussels out of the pan with our fingers, pinching out the orange flesh, and tossing the black shell onto the glowing embers of the fire as if it were our personal trash can.

Of course, you don’t need to have an outdoor fireplace to revel in a properly cooked, plump mussel. Unlike most seafood, mussels are crazy cheap and extremely plentiful when in season, so you can serve gigantic amounts of them for an impressive effect. They’re also one of the most environmentally sound types of fish or shellfish around, and they’re super easy to cook. So yeah, this cheap bivalve is pretty amazing.

French cooks like to layer mussels into tarts, bake them into omelets, or cream them into soups. But when I’m cooking for a big group of friends, the easiest way to get maximum impact is to steam mussels gently into submission, and serve them alongside a no-frills starch, like garlic bread, roasted potato wedges, or pasta (either go tiny, like orzo or fregola, or go long and skinny, like spaghetti). Piled high into individual bowls, steamed mussels are spectacular main course, and cost a fraction of its pricier ocean pals.

[Recipe notes: As with most shellfish, mussels must be alive up until the moment of cooking; they become quite unpalatable once dead. Always cook them the same day you buy them. When going through the shells, discard any that are not shut tightly. And after cooking mussels, be sure to toss any mussels which haven’t opened completely during the steaming process.]

Provençal Steamed Mussels

(Serves 4)

5 pounds of mussels

2-3 tablespoons good olive oil

2-3 tablespoons salted butter

10-12 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped

2 shallots, minced finely

3-4 branches rosemary, left intact

½ cup rosé wine (only buy something as good as you would drink in a glass)

¼ cup mixed fresh herbs (use a combination of basil, tarragon, flat-leaf parsley, chives, or whatever is in season)

Salt and pepper, to taste

Lemon wedges, to serve

1-2 tablespoons Pastis, optional

—Rinse and thoroughly scrub mussels in three changes of water to remove “the beard,” barnacles, and all sand and grit. Set aside.

—In a a deep, stainless steel pot, heat olive oil and butter over medium-low heat. Once shimmering, add shallots and garlic, and turn the heat down to low. Stir until lightly golden, about five minutes. (If using Pastis, add to the aromatics and cook until reduced, about 30 seconds.)

—Add the mussels (depending on the size of your pot, you may have to do this in two batches). Add rosemary branches, a few hefty glugs of wine, and shake pot vigorously.

—Place lid tightly on pot and let mussels steam. As soon as they have opened (about five minutes), they are finished cooking.

—Finish with a few pinches of salt, a grind of pepper, and a dramatic toss of fresh herbs.

—Ladle mussels and its attendant liquid into shallow bowls. Serve immediately with crusty, fresh bread and lemon wedges.

TARTIFLETTE SNACK

Adam and I had a lot of fancy food when we were in Provence, so it figures that one our most memorable meals was actually a cheap wood-fired pizza made in the back of a truck. It was inspired by the Savoyan “tartiflette,” a creamy, rich gratin made with potatoes, lardons, Reblochon cheese, and crème fraîche. If only I could find thin-crust pizza this good in Montreal! Read my report at Serious Eats’ Slice here.

OFFERINGS: FANCY ON THE CHEAP, VOL. 1

[A few months ago, I started writing for the righteous noise zine Offerings, which is edited by a group of my Toronto friends. It's worth it just to read Doc Dunn's far-out astrology readings, trust. Anyway, they asked me, however, not to write about music, but food. I thought hard about column ideas and eventually came up with 'Fancy on the Cheap,' a series of short little essays centering on the quandary of how to bring luxury into your life when you are as perpetually broke as I am. The first column was on DIY creme fraiche and my very favorite cake in the world — Lulu's walnut gateau, which I love so much I have also written about it for Kinfolk Magazine — and I've reproduced it below, here! Enjoy. Oh and the photo above — there's a jar of creme fraiche in there somewhere.]

Great restaurant food, as we all know, can be fantastically expensive. Perfect for the 1%, but not for the average citizen whose financial state tends to oscillate between “despairingly broke” and “mildly poor,” with occasional spikes of “temporary, illusory wealth.” My experience as a baker has taught me sneaky ways to still enjoy elusive culinary luxuries, and this column is all about sharing those strategies with you.

Over the years, I’ve learned that it’s often the simplest things that are the best. I live in Montreal, a pricey dining city, so I prefer to spin my own culinary magic in my humble apartment. I gravitate towards pastry and confection, and cheapish ingredients like flour, eggs, and sugar let me play around as much as I want. (Dirty secret: Some people substitute margarine for butter, with no one the wiser).

In the last year or two, I became obsessed with the curmudgeonly, indomitable, brilliant food writer Richard Olney, whose legendary volume Simple French Food singlehandedly changed my life. (You want cheap and easy? Make his luscious, neon-hued ratatouille in the height of summer). One of his finest cookbooks is Lulu’s Provençal Table, which features gorgeous, inventive recipes straight from the brain of the eponymous Lulu Peyraud, the second-generation proprietor of Provence’s famed vineyard, Domaine Tempier.

I was immediately drawn to Lulu’s recipe for walnut gateau, which has a complex, mysterious flavor and an unleavened, moist crumb. Despite its rustic origins, this is a delicate, elegant puck of a cake, impressive in its simplicity. I make it often, for birthdays, dinner parties, or just for myself, and it never disappoints. The ground walnuts and butter are worth the splurge, and the results are grand.

Even better is pairing a slender wedge of gateau with homemade crème fraîche, which seems difficult to make but is disturbingly easy. Store-brand crème fraîche is prohibitively expensive; this is a no-brainer way to enjoy it at a fraction of the price. This tangy, lightly fermented crème is terrific with everything, and it’s an effortless way to fancify pantry soups, potato salad, salad dressing, pot roast, or a bowl of cut fruit. Try finishing your next sauce with a dollop of crème fraîche; its high-fat content will ensure that your sauce will not curdle but stay silky and supple.

Please, bake this gateau for your next dinner party, and serve it with a cheap, cold bottle of cider or ice cider. It’s just great restaurant food, except you get to pick the music.

Lulu’s Walnut Gateau

(Recipe slightly adapted; serves eight)

8 tablespoons butter, softened

1 ½ cups white granulated sugar

Pinch salt

5 eggs, at room temperature

½ lb walnuts, ground finely

¼ cup carrot, grated

2/3 cup all-purpose flour

1 orange, zested

—Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Lightly butter a 12” cake pan, and fit a circle of parchment paper at the bottom. Set aside.

—In a medium-sized bowl, cream butter, sugar, and salt until smooth. (This can even be done with a wooden spoon if you have the fortitude and forearm strength).

—Add eggs, one at a time, stirring with a wooden spoon.

—Then add nuts, gently folding them in, then carrots, then flour, then orange zest, until just combined, being careful not to overmix.

—Pour into pan, and bake 40 minutes, or until set.

—Slightly cool in the tin, and serve immediately with a big spoonful of crème fraîche.

Crème Fraîche

1 cup heavy cooking cream (look for 35% fat)

1 tablespoon buttermilk

—Gently bring the cream to just warmer than room temperature, stirring occasionally.

—Remove from heat, and stir in 1 tablespoon of buttermilk.

—Transfer cream mixture to a clean mason jar, and loosely screw lid on. Leave in a warm area (I keep mine on my kitchen counter) overnight, or at least 8-12 hours.

—Remove lid and give a good stir with a fork. The cream should have considerably thickened.

—Screw the lid on tightly, and put in the fridge. Let sit for at least 12 more hours.

—The crème fraîche has finished its brief ferment, and is ready to eat. It should last in your fridge, tightly closed, for at least a week.

—Note: Now you have a lot of leftover buttermilk, right? I use leftover buttermilk for quick breads like scones, muffins, or cornbread. Don’t let it go to waste!

DIY DIM SUM

When I visited my parents in Hong Kong over the holidays, I was blown away by the delicate and very beautiful dim sum. They were honestly works of art.

Here in Montreal, dim sum is not as impressive, but it’s still an important part of weekend rituals for a lot of Chinese families. Though I love going out for dim sum too, I wanted to see if I could replicate the event at home instead. (I prefer a good dinner party over going to a fancy restaurant any day!)

I wrote about making dim sum at home for the Montreal Gazette this week. It includes (my own!) recipes for har gow, shumai, and gai lan. It was so much fun to do the research for this story, and I’ve been encouraging absolutely everyone I know to give this a whirl the next time they get a craving for dim sum. It’s easier than it looks, and so fun!

Read the story here.

(Thank you Marie-France Coallier for your stunning photos!)

A FEW SLICES

A quick pizza-related announcement: I have two new posts over at Serious Eats Slice, on Magpie Pizzeria and Le Gros Jambon. Check them out here and here! Smoked meat, mustard, and pickles may sound like disgusting additions to a pizza, but I promise you, it works — it’s kind of my favorite pie in the city right now! Also, I didn’t get a chance to mention the exquisite baked goods selection; the stuff they make there (like sticky buns and cake doughnuts!) is totally what I wish I could make at Le Pick Up, if only I had the time and means.