Marion Kane, Food Sleuth®
It’s that blah mid-winter time of year and, for me, a bumpy patch on the meandering path of discovery.
The obvious antidote: cooking up a storm in my compact Kensington Market kitchen.
Much of this culinary cure for whatever ails my troubled soul is inspired by recipes from cookbooks and food magazines, both of which are on-and-off addictions.
It’s been a rough few weeks.
In mid-December, my wise therapist, inspired spiritual teacher and beloved friend Terry Flynn died. It was sudden and unexpected. Although he had been diagnosed with the dreaded disease called ALS (Lou Gehrig’s), Terry assumed he had months, maybe more, to live. I miss him with all my heart.
For some reason — probably as an antidote to stress, this being the onset of that silly season — I’ve been cooking a lot of late, in particular trying new recipes from books by my Toronto foodie friends.
If you’ve read the previous blog — my tragic tale of the missing cookbooks — you’ll understand why the tomes in question are dear to my heart.
It all began about a year ago when I gave two people I had no reason to distrust full access to my large, fully-furnished house while I was away.
All went well for several months during which time I would visit the place occasionally to pick up mail and move items to my new place — mostly clothes, work-related stuff and some important papers.
My mother Ruth Schachter (nee Nisse), age 88, is one live-wire.
She reminds me (and others) of the cute little old lady in the original “Ladykillers” starring Alec Guinness and a young, dashing Peter Sellers. White-haired and blue-eyed, that sweet, seemingly innocent, slightly scatter-brained octogenarian is far more savvy than she looks. ‘Nuff said.
I can’t go for too long without a visit to my favourite place: Manhattan.
There’s something about the buzz, hubbub and hum that permeates it both night and day — not to mention the food aromas emanating from food carts and eateries at every corner — that make that place feel like home.
I was already juggling a couple of things I wanted to do on a recent mid-week night when I stopped by The Cookbook Store to check out the latest offerings and chat with its resident maven/manager and my longtime buddy Alison Fryer.
I’ve been championing Brussels sprouts for many moons.
Some time in the 1990s, when I was food editor for the Toronto Star, I penned a piece on “underdog foods” in which I named those that have a bad rep, some of them for no apparent or justifiable reason.
The list included these items: Liver, prunes, turnips, tofu, tapioca — and Brussels sprouts.
My nifty new office — not as big as it looks — at CSI
When a reader of this blog e-mailed me with a question about my recipe for Jewish Chicken Soup — the best medicine I know for whatever ails body or soul — we had an exchange about the source of that recipe: my esteemed colleague and longtime restaurant critic for the Globe & Mail, Joanne Kates.