Here, for no rea­son other than I’ve made these two dishes lately, are two great recipes I’d like to share.

The first is from Cal­gary food writer Cinda Chavich’s nifty cook­book The Girl Can’t Cook (White­cap). It’s a sweet and sim­ple veg­e­tar­ian con­coc­tion that makes a tasty light lunch or sup­per served with salad.

White Bean Slather  Read more…

When my daugh­ter came back from a recent trip to Sri Lanka, she brought some loose black tea in a plain paper pack­age. Know­ing that this coun­try, for­merly called Cey­lon, is prime tea-growing land, I had high hopes for those aro­matic leaves.

I was right. They brewed up the most deli­ciously bal­anced, flavour­ful yet not at all bit­ter, slightly sweet cuppa. With milk and a lit­tle sugar, as I like to drink tea, this was unequalled.  Read more…

When I was grow­ing up, my job at din­ner­time was to set the table and make the vinai­grette for a salad my nutrition-conscious mother served with each meal. It was your basic ver­sion: 2 to 3 parts olive oil to lemon juice or vine­gar some­times with a lit­tle mus­tard whisked in, salt, pep­per and, mum always insisted, a good pinch of sugar.  Read more…

A cou­ple of years ago, I moved to Strat­ford, Ont., a lovely city of 30,000 about an hour-and-a-half’s drive south-west of Toronto nes­tled in the snow belt on the scenic river Avon amid farm coun­try. It’s home to a famous the­atre fes­ti­val, pig farm­ing, car part fac­to­ries and a well-known chefs school. A real town with enough eccen­tric­ity to wel­come a vintage-clad urban type like moi who’s wont to call it the land of Shake­speare, swine and swans.  Read more…

When my younger daugh­ter Ruth was grow­ing up, we had sev­eral din­ing out rituals.

For much of the ‘90s, Fri­day night meant din­ner at Bar Italia located on the Col­lege St. strip of Lit­tle Italy. The attrac­tions were many: Plain pasta for her with only but­ter and a dust­ing of parme­san, a glass of robust red wine for me along with roast chicken or grilled steak. Foc­ca­cia dipped in olive oil laced with chilies or the excel­lent antipasto were manda­tory starters.  Read more…

My brother Eric and I were both born in Mon­treal. We didn’t live there long as the wan­der­ings of our aca­d­e­mic par­ents began soon after, tak­ing us to Hal­i­fax, Nova Sco­tia, fol­lowed by Lon­don, Eng­land, where we spent 15 years and then back to Canada in the late ‘60s.  Read more…

I’ve long been expert at sniff­ing out a good recipe. After all, I’ve done it pro­fes­sion­ally for more than 25 years and as an intrigu­ing hobby for most of my adult life.

So when I recently met Judy Tro­gadis, a friend of my good pal Vis­nja Brcic, it wasn’t long before we were talk­ing spanako­pita, that delec­table, deservedly famous Greek pie made with phyllo, spinach and feta that’s often served as a snack at par­ties.  Read more…

For me, fall means food fresh from the tree or field. In par­tic­u­lar, it usu­ally entails a visit the St. Lawrence Val­ley — the tiny vil­lage of Brin­ston an hour’s drive south of Ottawa, to be exact — to visit my nanny Eve­lyn Smail and to savour apple sea­son at its peak.  Read more…

Any­one who knows me and/or my writ­ing will have gath­ered that I’m a bit of a barfly. I mean this in the most rep­utable sense of the word, i.e. that my favourite place to quaff a glass of wine and eat good food is at the bar of cer­tain estab­lish­ments.  Read more…

When­ever I cross the ocean to visit my mother in her lovely North-West Lon­don neigh­bour­hood of Prim­rose Hill, we set out for din­ner on our first or sec­ond night together to the won­drous nearby Greek restau­rant called Limo­nia. Always packed, it is a local favourite with celebs and reg­u­lar folk alike.
Often I order fish, sou­vlaki or lamb in some shape or form. The food is always good, the ambi­ence com­fort­ably ele­gant and the wel­come warm. It’s a rit­ual dear to my heart.
On our last visit, I sud­denly remem­bered my late dad’s favourite Limo­nia dish called Kleft­iko: a Greek tra­di­tion that was orig­i­nally made by bak­ing lamb secretly under the ground so the cooks in ques­tion would not be attacked by their ene­mies.  Read more…