Category Archives: Restaurant
Joe Warwick and his book: “Where Chefs Eat”
Scanning the line-up of panelists for this year’s Terroir Symposium, held recently in downtown Toronto, Irish-raised Londoner Joe Warwick’s photo and bio stood out among the roster of famous chefs, well-known restaurant critics and culinary academics.
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’ve written about the wondrous little downtown Montreal wine bar called Pullman before. At that time, I also noted the wisdom of gleaning tips from those who work in restaurants when it comes to sleuthing a locale’s top spots to nosh.
I’ve been meaning to make the trip to Orillia — a place you can’t miss about an hour’s drive north of Toronto en route to Muskoka’s cottage country — for many years.
The reason, of course, is food — in this case, one of my absolute favourites: butter tarts.
Two weeks in London (U.K.) last month wasn’t long enough to sleuth the hot ‘n’ happening food scene in that fair city.
My recent annual visit to London (U.K.) was the best yet. And, as a long-time defender of British food — yes, this in the face of doubters and haters who think gray roast meat and overcooked brussels sprouts typify that island’s grub — even I was surprised at the high quality of chow (almost) everywhere we ate.
I have long dreamed of eating at famed Berkeley restaurant Chez Panisse.
At an Association of Food Journalists gathering in the Napa Valley more than a decade ago, I tried, without success, to find a way to make that pilgrimage.
The last and only time I had been to San Francisco was in 1968, a year after the so-called summer of love.
My then-husband John Kane had a friend living in Haight Ashbury which I recall as a hotbed of head-shops, tie-dye T-shirts, peace symbols and crunchy granola. I also recall buying my first item of vintage clothing in that lively neighborhood: a fur jacket that I wore until it fell apart and was the bellwether of a sartorial style that is my chosen one to this day.
Mexican chef Francisco Alejandri at his eatery Agave y Aguacate in Kensington Market.
I don’t need another reason to rave about my favourite Toronto ‘nabe and longtime home: feisty, gritty and never-dull Kensington Market. But hey, now I have one.
I know the name Ruby Watchco keeps popping up in this blog — and it’s for good reason.
The meal Ross and I enjoyed there one Saturday night a couple of months ago was simply stellar, “simply” being the operative word. The uncomplicated, vibrant flavour and texture combos of each and every dish from the sensational salad with still warm buttermilk biscuits to a wondrous baked apple bathed in silky sabayon were all that good food should be.