Alison Fryer, manager of The Cookbook Store (left) and Even Better Chicken Marbella (right)

I have it in front of me: The original Silver Palate Cookbook by Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins first published by Workman in 1979.

Oh, the memories it brings back. Mostly of being part of the baby-boom generation and of trying to have it all: a career, motherhood, feminism, home-making, looking good in tight bell-bottoms — the list goes on. It was the era of superwoman and a challenging one I realize looking back.

But perhaps paramount in my social set was being the queen of the dinner party who knew how to entertain and, even more important, how to cook a mean meal. Martha Stewart was breaking on to the scene and, even though we joked about her status as a role model for home-making perfection, it was hard to be immune.

So we cooked and we entertained — and then did it some more.

I recall almost falling under the table at the home of friends after dining on rich, gooey cheese fondue robustly laced with kirsch and wine. There was rabbit lusciously braised in red wine spiked with juniper berries prepared by a couple I knew. And yummy, crisp Veal Milanese savoured at another such soiree.

With a degree in languages (Russian and French) under my belt and no job prospect in sight as an interpreter at the U.N. (naturally, I say that in jest), I found myself in Toronto in the mid-1970s with a husband (now ex) and daughter Esther (now 41) in tow.

Happily and accidentally, I lucked into work for Toronto Life magazine as a freelance restaurant reviewer. Then, in 1983 — again, mostly by luck — I was hired as the first food editor at the Toronto Sun.

In 1989, I was wooed away to the Toronto Star where I spent 18 action-packed years as the food editor and then weekly columnist.

Enter the famous Chicken Marbella of my early culinary efforts. And re-enter The Silver Palate Cookbook, the first of several books by the same authors, in which that famous recipe appeared and rapidly became a hit with all and sundry.

I have that trusty cookbook to thank for my cooking experience, in particular trademark dishes of the era that I turned out a rapid rate: Bouillabaisse, Chicken Liver Pate with Green Peppercorns, Beef Carbonnade and Carrot Cake. I have that book to thank for the confidence required to cook for others. I have that book to thank for Chicken Marbella, which I have prepared at intervals — tweaking the recipe as I went — for more than 30 years.

And what a coincidence. I had just tried a new and, I must say, its best rendition when The Cookbook Store in downtown Toronto announced its 30th anniversary celebrations happening this month.

It appeared in a magazine put out by the tireless folk at Cook’s Illustrated with the irresistible title: The Best of America’s Test Kitchen.

Chicken Marbella is basically a twist on the Middle Eastern dish Tagine and is chicken prepared with olives, capers and prunes. It is strong-flavoured but the flavours all complement each other: salty, sour and sweet. This explains its popularity and its staying power.

This version combines those key ingredients into a paste that is smeared on the chicken which is then marinated and is much easier than the original.

This recipe is my toast to The Cookbook Store’s 30th anniversary. Thank you Alison, Jennifer and all the others who’ve made your wonderful store the perfect place to celebrate food and cooking in Toronto for all these years.

Even Better Chicken Marbella

I used some chicken breasts along with boneless thighs, with great results. I substituted about a teaspoon of anchovy paste for anchovies. I haven’t included the 2 bay leaves in the recipe — I feel they’re redundant. The paste can be made ahead and refrigerated.

Paste:

¹⁄₃ cup pitted green olives, minced

¹⁄₃ cup pitted prunes

3 tbsp olive oil

4 garlic cloves, peeled

2 tbsp capers, rinsed

3 anchovy fillets, rinsed

¹⁄₂ tsp dried oregano

¹⁄₂ tsp ground pepper

¹⁄₄ tsp kosher salt

Pinch of red pepper flakes

Chicken:

2 ¹⁄₂ to 3 lb (about 1 ¹⁄₂ kilos) chicken parts (thighs, breasts)

2 tsp olive oil

³⁄₄ cup chicken stock

¹⁄₃ cup dry white wine

¹⁄₃ cup pitted green olives, rinsed and halved

1 tbsp capers, rinsed

¹⁄₃ cup pitted prunes, coarsely chopped

1 tbsp butter

1 tsp red wine vinegar

2 tbsp chopped fresh parsley

Preheat oven to 400F.

For paste, pulse all ingredients together in food processor until finely chopped. Scrape down bowl; pulse until almost smooth. Transfer to bowl.

For chicken, pat dry with paper towels. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Heat oil in large heavy skillet over medium-high heat until smoking. Add chicken, skin side down, and cook without moving until browned, 5 to 8 minutes. Transfer to large plate. Drain all but 1 teaspoon of fat from skillet; reduce heat to medium-low.

Add ¹⁄₃ cup paste to skillet and cook, stirring constantly, until slightly thickened, 1 to 2 minutes. Stir in stock, wine, olives and capers, scraping up any browned bits. Return chicken, skin side up, to skillet; transfer to oven. Roast, uncovered, 15 minutes.

Remove skillet from oven. Use back of spoon to spread remaining paste over chicken. Sprinkle prunes around chicken.  Return to oven; roast until paste begins to brown and chicken is cooked through, 7 to 12 minutes.

Transfer chicken to warmed serving platter. Whisk butter and vinegar into sauce in skillet. Add salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle with parsley.

Makes about 4 to 6 servings.

Kensington Market: my neighbourhood, my family – my first real home.

Located in the heart of downtown Toronto bordered by College and Dundas to the north and south, to the east and west by Spadina and Bathurst, this unique enclave is a quirky, edgy, messy mish-mosh of old and new.

It’s where skinny Victorian row houses stand side-by-side with assorted shops and eateries selling everything from soup and suits to nuts and neckties – with plenty of stuff in between.

Grafitti adorn many of its walls. This feisty tangle of narrow one-way streets obeys none of the usual rules and cheerfully marches to its own drum.

It’s been a safe and welcoming haven for waves of immigrants to this city since it was the predominantly Jewish market more than a century ago.

It’s been a place for merchants to set up shop catering to every influx of newcomers: Jewish, Portuguese, Eastern European, Chinese, Vietnamese, African, Caribbean, South American – and more.

It’s been a microcosm of our multicultural urban scene. It’s unique. It’s real.

It’s a major tourist attraction. And, in spite of scuffles over the years with urban renewal, drugs, fires, the Spadina Expressway-that-never-was and constant change, one thing stays the same: Kensington Market is alive, well and definitely kicking.

But today there’s a battle going on for Kensington Market’s heart and soul. And it’s got me worried.

I was born in Montreal, then spent my formative years in London, England. My family and I returned to Canada in the mid-1960s.

After stints in Edmonton, then North Bay, I found myself in Toronto – a city I found mostly unattractive and unwelcoming. That is, until 1978 when I wandered into Kensington Market on a food-shopping spree one sunny fall afternoon.

 There were chickens squawking in cages on the sidewalk outside several shops on Baldwin St. Nearby, Lottman’s and Perlmutar’s bakeries were busy selling Jewish rye bread, Danishes and bagels.

On Augusta Ave., there were two thriving Zimmerman’s, the famous “egg lady” Cipora Offman and all manner of greengrocers whose wares were displayed in colourful array in outdoor bins.

Shoppers crowded the sidewalks, many of them older women laden down with bags of food. Some were loading bushels of peppers and apples destined for home-canning or baking into cars.

Two hubs of activity were key attractions: European Quality Meat and Sausages with its low prices, famed home-made kielbasa, popular hot food counter and line-ups of meat-buyers waiting to take a number by the door. Down the street, Casa Açoreana, with its wonderful sign, “Nuts Make the World go Round,” was a focal point at the corner of Baldwin and Augusta as a source of coffee, baking ingredients, as well as grains, beans, nuts and seeds sold in bulk.

Then and there, I decided Kensington Market would be my home.

For two years, I lived in the apartment above Courage My Love on Kensington Ave.

Then, in 1980, I knocked on the door of 195 Augusta Ave. – a row house overlooking Bellevue Park — with a yen to buy. An elderly man answered the door. He wanted to sell after the death of his wife but had just taken down the “For Sale” sign. “You must be an angel from heaven,” he said sweetly.

Mr. Anton Germuska sold me the house and I lived there for 25 blissful years.

As a secular Jew without roots – my mother is a holocaust refugee from Latvia, my late father a Montrealer who grew up in the St. Urbain ghetto – I may not have known it at the time but Kensington Market had spoken to me with its warm vibe, its lively ethnic mix and its unspoken refusal to conform.

Over the years, I’ve become part of the Kensington family. As with any family, there are happy and sad times.

In summer, the wondrous patio at Portuguese restaurant Amadeu’s on the corner of Augusta at Denison has long been home to a motley crew of musicians, writers, bicycle couriers, tourists and families out for the day, all enjoying the sun, twilight, grilled sardines, pitchers of beer and Sangria along with lots of kibitzing, laughter and only the occasional fist-fight.

On World Cup soccer weekends, the place is packed and you can hear wild cheers, as well as groans, for several blocks.

When Amadeu Gonçalves, co-owner of Amadeu’s with his wife Celeste, was killed in a car accident in 2008, we all grieved that devastating loss.

Celeste, with the help of her daughter Elizabeth and son Rui, has bravely carried on. Others haven’t.

In April, 2012, European Meat closed its doors after more than 50 years. Young chef Peter Sanagan has moved into the giant location selling upscale, naturally-raised meat that’s locally sourced.

Down the street, Hooked – a small store specializing in sustainable seafood – has opened up in what was once the Jewish butcher shop Max & Son.

A couple of greengrocers are now gone. The egg lady died. And now the building housing landmark Casa Açoreana is for sale for more than $2 million. The Pavao family, who have owned and operated it for 50 years, will likely bow out.

In 2005, I had neighbour trouble and moved to the rural city of Stratford. Five years of trying to adjust to small-town life failed. I returned to the inimitable Market — my real home.

What’s next for Kensington?

For me, it’s bittersweet. I know my neighbourhood is in demand. Realtors have sniffed out big profits. It’s a tourist destination par excellence. The bar and restaurant scene is flourishing. Hipsters hang out at spots like Roach-o-Rama and Urban Herbivore. Condos and other development — including Loblaws and a couple of faceless big-box enterprises slated for the Market’s periphery — are waiting in the wings.

The dreaded word “gentrification” is looming large.

We must embrace inevitable change. But, like the area’s city councillor Adam Vaughan, I want it to be good change.

Grassroots groups calling for action are on the case: Kensington Market Action Committee, Development Watch, Friends of Kensington Market (on Facebook and Twitter), the Kensington Market Historical Society and an active Business Improvement Association. Merchants and residents are concerned.

Let’s help the small independent merchants survive. Kensington was built on hard work and the “mom-and-pop” business plan.

Let’s not forget its legacy described by Jean Cochrane, author of the excellent book “Kensington,”  as “a magnet for the oppressed.”

Let’s restrict liquor licences so we don’t have another entertainment district that comes alive at night — and not in a good way..

If gentrification of a certain kind happens, let’s above all save Kensington Market’s wondrous, unique heart and soul.

Left to right, Marc Thuet, John Higgins and Michael Quinn

“Your body is not a temple, it’s an amusement park.
Enjoy the ride.”
― Anthony Bourdain, Kitchen Confidential:
Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly

Recently, I watched an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s food-and-travel TV show “No Reservations” in which he imbibed copious amounts of what he deemed exceptionally good wine at a restaurant in Croatia. The show ended with him falling off a chair and lying on the ground — seemingly comatose.

The eloquent, urbane and eminently watchable Mr. Bourdain makes no secret of his past struggles with addiction. A heroin addict for several years, he has written about use of marijuana, cocaine and other substances during his roller-coaster career as a chef in New York kitchens. He also chain-smoked on his TV shows until the birth of his young daughter. It is obvious he still enjoys alcohol and not in moderation.

Bourdain burst on to the literary and food scenes in 2000 with his brilliant, ground-breaking book “Kitchen Confidential.” When I interviewed him for the Toronto Star at that time, he told me the life of a chef is “day after day of mind-numbing repetition. It takes a certain type of lunatic to crave that kind of life.” A life he compared to “serving on a submarine” because of “the enforced closeness, pressure and isolation.”

On a panel with Bourdain a few years later at the South Beach Wine & Food Festival was Jonathan Eismann, a chef who has since lost his three Miami restaurants after a tragic 2012 hit-and-run accident in which he killed a pedestrian. Eismann talked about drug use among chefs.

He described how kitchen staff were affected by “different drugs that react at different times of the night. First, the potheads cut themselves. Soon the cokeheads were a disaster and eventually the junkies stood like stone statues at their stations.”

***

I was reminded of all this recently when an Ontario celebrity chef with a top-notch reputation temporarily disappeared without trace or explanation. There were hints in the media that the pressure of his job and life in the stressful hospitality industry — along with some kind of addiction — may have been the reasons.

I discussed this with John Higgins, a well-known chef who spent many years in the industry and is now director of the Chef School at George Brown College in Toronto. In the strong sing-song brogue of his native Glasgow, Higgins gave his take on the topic at hand.

He lists some reasons addiction thrives in the heat of a professional kitchen: Long hours, the pressure of producing good work in a short time, the adrenaline rush, easy access to alcohol and the fact that sensitive, creative types are often attracted to this job. In a nutshell, he confirms the theory espoused by Bourdain.

“People think cooking is easy,” he begins. “It’s not all Food Network — it’s a high pressure job with long hours.”

Higgins notes that some chefs use drugs or alcohol to help “come down” from the adrenaline rush of that stressful syndrome: You’re only as good as your last dish. “Some cooks want to go and party hard and you do that for four or five years and it becomes the norm.”

He continues: “The high that you’re on because you’re busy, you’ve really been moving and you’re being successful and you’re being creative and you’re making people happy, it’s like wow, wow, wow — it’s like Disneyland for kids.”

His antidote is raising awareness of these hazards among people entering the profession. He recommends planning one‘s career and staying focused on that plan. And, most important, having a mentor. His advice: “Get a job working with the best person you possibly can and to go worldwide whether it’s at a fast food place, the Ritz Carlton or the Bellagio in Las Vegas.”

“Everyone needs support,” says Higgins and cites his wife. “She tells me what reality is. It’s respect as well,” he adds: “It’s a tough, tough business with crazy hours.”

Higgins has struggled with his weight over the years and being a chef can be hazardous. These days, he finds walking his dogs and going to the gym are great stress-relievers that offer physical exercise. They give balance in his life: ““I know when I have a balanced life, my weight is good.”

***

French-born chef Marc Thuet knows all about drug addiction.

Talking in his gravelly voice, he openly — and courageously — tells the story of his long-time struggle with it and of his ongoing recovery. Stocky, with spiky blonde hair and a gold ear-ring, he has tattoos on both arms. One reads: “Live the dream.” The other is one word: “Passion.”

Since completing a serious stint in rehab (the last of several) almost eight years ago, those have been his mantras. And, although he admits the cravings are always waiting in the wings, he’s clean and dry.

Thuet has done it all: marijuana, heroin, opium, cocaine, OxyContin, alcohol — and in mind-boggling amounts — for about 30 years. He nearly over-dosed more than once but is here, feisty and going strong, to tell the tale.

In recovery, he has starred in a reality TV series called Conviction Kitchen in which he and his lively partner Biana Zorich employed and tried to help ex-cons, mostly addicts, in their former restaurant. The couple currently own and operate a catering company/bakeries called Petite Thuet in downtown Toronto.

Sitting in my living room, Thuet explains why he is willing to talk about something many would find shameful. “Maybe I can help one or two people to know that life is beautiful and worth living,” he begins. Then, referring to the intricate way he self-medicated for all those years: “I never thought I had a problem. I used to live my life through chemistry.” That life, he adds, was “chaos.”

“I didn’t sleep a lot. I partied a lot. But, at the same time, I worked a lot. I never missed work because of my addiction.” He was obsessed, compulsive and indifferent to others: “If I got a negative reaction, I didn’t care.”

Eventually, he wound up in a dark place. He had been using drugs for several years, unbeknownst to Biana. She finally found out and kicked him out. “I was depressed, had suicide thoughts — it’s the same for every addict. If you don’t hit rock-bottom, you’re not ready.”

Thuet has five offspring including two young daughters with Biana. The latter keep an eye on him. “My kids know daddy doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke weed. A lot of waiters in the city know; they bring me a diet Coke.”

His biggest worry while in rehab was that he would lose his creativity as a chef without the drugs. “I couldn’t wait to come out and cook again. My insecurity at that time was huge.”

The first dish he made without the aid of substances was a sole souffle with caviar. The verdict: “it was excellent.”

As he leaves, I thank this lovely man for our chat. His reply: “My young daughter says, ‘Daddy, you’re like a pineapple — prickly on the outside and sweet inside.’”

From the mouths of babes.

***

British chef Michael Quinn spoke to me recently by phone from his home in Yorkshire. He is using his tragic 30-year descent into alcoholism and the lessons he’s learned during almost two decades of sobriety to help others in the hospitality industry via his foundation called ArkGlobal.

In the early 1980s, Quinn was at the height of his game. He was head-hunted to be executive chef of the high-end Ritz Hotel in London. He was the first chef to receive an MBE from the Queen at Buckingham Palace. He travelled the world as a celebrity and earned the nickname “The Mighty Quinn.”

But, as he says: “There’s another side to the story.” His addiction to alcohol eventually cost him everything and he wound up losing his family and jobless — a homeless drunk hanging out with criminals.

Working in a professional kitchen made it easy to slip into addiction, especially with a family history of alcoholism along with “an over-sensitive nature and a perfectionist streak” that he claims are predispositions. For him, alcohol was the chemical “that filled the hole in the soul and was the missing part of the jigsaw.”

From a social way to unwind after work, drinking became a daily routine from daybreak to day’s end. He cites “wind-down drinking after service” as “the spring-board for many into full-blown alcoholism.”

In those days, Quinn explains, “all kitchens had a beer allowance called sweat pints.” For a long time, he was “a drinking alcoholic — a stand-up drunk. I was a work-hard, play-hard character. And, like most alcoholics, I denied I had a problem.”

But, as for most alcoholics, drinking eventually caught up with him when he crossed “that invisible line.”

Quinn took his first drink at 18 and his last one at 49. By then, he was admitted to hospital and diagnosed with end-stage liver failure. He was given the last rites. “That’s when I had an amazing spiritual experience. My life changed in a flash and I was placed on the road to recovery.”

Quinn has been “free from the obsessive compulsion” ever since. He credits Alcoholics Anonymous for much of that.

Meanwhile, his full-time mission is to help others by taking his message to colleges, universities, hotels and restaurants. “The only way to get around this,” he says, “is to educate young people and to spell out the warning signs. It’s like planting seeds.”

For more info, check: www.arkglobal.org.

NEW YORK — Pinch me!

I’m on the 18th floor of the famous Waldorf Astoria in midtown Manhattan standing beside the hotel’s executive chef David Garcelon while he makes a Waldorf Salad. (You can listen to my conversation with David here.)

Adjacent to the small space we’re in is a spectacular, bling-bedecked ballroom where, he explains, a rectractable roof once meant people could dine and dance under the stars above Park Avenue.

I know Garcelon from his days as executive chef of the Fairmont Royal York hotel in my home-town, Toronto.

A year-and-a-half ago, he moved to New York to be head culinary honcho at the Waldorf — arguably North America’s most well-known hotel. He notes that the two big, vintage establishments on adjoining continents have a lot in common: “They’re about the same size and age.”

Tall, dark and handsome, Garcelon is a calm, articulate fellow used to the pressures of being in charge of a huge operation like this. He’s proud of the way things run and, before our arrival on the 18th floor, took me on a tour of the Waldorf’s huge kitchens, most of which take up an entire floor of the hotel which itself covers an entire city block between Park and Lexington avenues and 49th and 50th streets.

Talking as he works, Garcelon explains how the Waldorf Salad came to be.

“It originally consisted of three ingredients” he begins, “apples, celery and mayonnaise.”

Its origin dates back to the early 1890s and to a man called Oscar Tschirky who was the hotel’s maitre d’. “He was was the Waldorf’s most famous employee,” Garcelon continues. “He was a celebrity, a man about town who wrote cookbooks and books on etiquette.”

He is diplomatic about the real source of the salad: “Oscar was credited with its invention but it was likely first created by chefs — the team back then.”

Over the years, the dish evolved. Celebrated French chef Auguste Escoffier — “the greatest chef in the world,” says Garcelon - added walnuts and put the recipe in his book “Le Guide Culinaire,” in the early 1900s.

Garcelon’s predecessor, executive chef John Doherty, was not a fan and told me a few years ago: “I’ve never liked  it. It’s apples, celery, mayo, walnuts. I think it’s rather unappealing. It’s not for me.” However, making the most of the situation, he changed the dressing, adding yogurt and creme fraiche to jazz it up.

Grapes entered the picture at some point. “I think it needs walnuts and grapes,” says Garcelon. “Apples, celery and mayo need a bit of help.”

The current version, tweaked by him, is “modernized.” It contains two types of apples cut in dainty julienne strips (red-skinned Gala and green Granny Smith for contrast in taste and colour); celery root instead of celery, finely diced; two kinds of grapes (Red Flame and green Thompson) and toasted spiced walnuts for garnish.

The dressing is a fancy take on the original mayo: a champagne vinaigrette emulsified with the addition of egg yolk and goosed with the distinctive, pungent aroma of truffle oil. “The Waldorf is a luxury hotel. We like to use the best ingredients.”

The Waldorf Astoria serves a whopping 20,000 of their eponymous salads a year. The dish has been immortalized in art that runs the gamut of sublime to ridiculous.

Cole Porter lived in one of the hotel’s exclusive towers and included it in the last verse of his song: “You’re the Top.” John Cleese (aka Basil Fawlty of British comedy series “Fawlty Towers” fame) hilariously tied himself in knots trying (unsuccessfully) to produce a Waldorf Salad for an irate American at his somewhat seedy hotel.

I, however, did manage to produce an excellent Waldorf Salad at home — almost as good as the delectable one prepared for me by Chef Garcelon on the hotel’s 18th floor.

Here it is:

Waldorf Salad

I tweaked and, I think, improved a version I found on the Food Network website. I took some cues from Chef Garcelon by slicing the apples in julienne strips (by hand).  I added dried cranberries — a Canadian touch — and used Honeycrisp apples which have delicious crunch and sweet/tart flavour. The dressing is sweet, simple, light and delicious; use low-fat yogurt and mayo if desired. You could use lettuce instead of arugula.

This salad is a winner and is great as a side dish with a hot main entree or as a light lunch served with soup, cheese, a sandwich or whatever takes your fancy.

¹⁄₂ cup walnut or pecan halves

2 large unpeeled apples, cut in julienne strips

2 celery stalks, sliced on the diagonal

8 to 10 seedless grapes, halved (optional)

¹⁄₄ cup dried cranberries (optional)

Juice of ¹⁄₂ lemon

¹⁄₂ cup plain yogurt

2 tbsp mayonnaise

2 tbsp finely chopped fresh parsley or coriander\

1 tsp honey

Grated zest of ¹⁄₂ lemon

Freshly ground black pepper to taste

Baby arugula

Preheat oven to 350F.

Spread walnuts on baking sheet and toast in oven 8 to 10 minutes. Cool; break into small pieces.

In large bowl, combine apples, celery, grapes and cranberries. Sprinkle with lemon juice.

For dressing, whisk together yogurt, mayonnaise, parsley, honey, lemon zest and pepper. (If making ahead, refrigerate until ready to use.)

When ready to serve, toss apple mixture with dressing to coat. Arrange arugula on platter or in serving bowl. Spoon salad on top. Sprinkle with walnuts.

Makes about 4 servings.

Raised without any religion in the North London suburb of Finchley in post-war Britain, it was white-bread, white-collar and Anglo-Saxon all the way. (This is not the case today, I’ve noted on recent visits, in a neighbourhood where kebab shops, curry houses and the Tally Ho! pub rub shoulders in a somewhat seedy multicultural mix).

My late father Mel Schachter grew up poor and tough on the mean streets of Montreal’s Jewish ghetto to become “my son, the doctor” — a profession he once said he chose because “it was the best racket going.”

Between Irving Layton and Mordecai Richler in age, he was a buddy of writer Ted Allen with whom he attended iconic schools of that period — Fairmont and Baron Byng — located in what was then called “The Main” and today goes by “Mile End”, a much gentrified version of its former self.

Feisty and staunch about his Jewishness, my dad, who had no time for those who changed their Jewish last names, was just as adamant about religion, all of which he was wont to call “hocus-pocus.” When I once asked if I could go to Sunday school with my Gentile friends, his answer was succinct: “No, you’re not a Christian.” When I, then about eight years old, expressed my confusion: “So what am I?” his reply was a prescription for identity crisis: “You’re nothing — but, if you were anything, you’d be Jewish.”

My mother Ruth is the antithesis of a stereotypical Jewish mother. She’s a bookworm who recently re-read Anna Karenina in the original Russian — one of five languages she speaks fluently. Refined and elegant, she’s what I affectionately call “low-maintenance.” In fact, I sometimes joke when I phone her once a week: “Mum, you never write, you never call.”

All of this leads me to the way in which both my parents do fit one criterion of Jewishness that’s dear to my heart: a passionate love of food.

A colleague of mine at the Toronto Star, a fellow Montrealer without religious beliefs, called himself “a culinary Jew.” Likewise for me.

Certainly, the pleasures of cooking and breaking bread with others are undeniable. They’re a universal connector. Just ask Anthony Bourdain. Those pleasures are deeply ingrained in Jewish roots and definitely in mine.

All of this is my long-winded introduction to chicken soup, a dish I’ve been preparing and consuming on a regular basis for several years — and especially now in the depths of winter when ‘flu season is at its peak.

There are theories that vitamins, minerals and other substances in chicken soup actually have medicinal properties. For me, it’s about the soothing, delectable, pure and simple taste of this tried-and-true dish that make it pure nectar for both body and soul.

Here’s my recipe:

Sweet and Simple Chicken Soup

Feel free to use this recipe as inspiration and to vary it as you wish. I like to simmer the soup longer than most recipes dictate to get depth of flavour. I also drain it, then chop the chicken and return it to the soup — not a traditional way to do things as most recipes suggest using the chicken for salad or some other use. The parsnip is essential for sweetness, a trick I learned from Toronto food writer and restaurant critic Joanne Kates. I like to use a free-run/organic chicken, as usual.

The superb matzoh balls are from Boonie Stern’s excellent cookbook “Friday Night Dinners.” I use chicken fat skimmed from the cooled soup instead of oil but both work.

1 medium chicken (3 to 4 lb)

I unpeeled onion, halved

2 carrots, peeled, cut in chunks

2 parsnips, peeled, cut in chunks

A few sprigs of fresh thyme

Salt and pepper to taste

Place chicken with vegetables and thyme in large, heavy saucepan. Add cold water to cover. Bring to boil over high heat. Reduce heat to very low and simmer, partially covered, about 2 hours. (There should just be a few bubbles that appear on the surface.)

Drain soup into very large bowl. Remove chicken from strainer (it may have fallen apart) and cut or pull meat from breast and thighs into pieces. Return meat to soup, discarding skin and bones along with contents of strainer. (I sometimes return carrot and parsnip chunks to soup if they’re not too mushy.) Add salt and pepper to soup.

Chill soup; remove congealed fat from surface and reserve for matzoh balls.

Makes 8 to 10 servings.

Matzoh Balls:

4 eggs

1 cup matzoh meal

1 tbsp kosher salt

¹⁄₄ cup chicken soup or water

3 tbsp chicken fat or vegetable oil

Combine all ingrediants in bowl. Chill 30 minutes.

Bring large saucepan of water to boil over high heat. With wet hands, shape mixture into about 20 balls. Gently drop into boiling water. When water returns to boil, reduce heat and simmer, covered, about 30 minutes or until matzoh balls have doubled in size and are cooked through.

Makes about 20 matzoh balls.

Tanya Steel is editor-in-chief of epicurious.com

You know that often mis-quoted saying: “The proof of the pudding is in the eating.” (Misquote: The proof is in the pudding.)

Well, in the case of the new “Epicurious Cookbook,” the proof is also in the making of said pudding — or Miniature Gougeres, Red Wine-Braised Duck Legs, Shaved Brussels Sprouts Salad, Bourbon Chicken Liver Pate and Cranberry White Chocolate Biscotti.

The above were all dishes I made during a recent one-week cooking binge, a binge inspired by one success after the other using recipes from what is fast becoming my go-to cookbook. No mean feat since I have a library of more than 1,000 volumes dedicated to things culinary collected during my more than 30 years as a food writer and broadcaster.

So I knew I’d likely meet a kindred soul when I arrived at the downtown Toronto offices of Random House, publisher of “The Epicurious Cookbook,” to interview its author Tanya Steel. (You can listen to our conversation here.)

Blonde, tall, slim and charming, Steel was at the end of a gruelling day of media appearances. Still, she was up for chatting with me about what is obviously a shared passion: food.

She’s been in the biz for about 20 years with stints as editor at several magazines: Food & Wine, Mademoiselle and Bon Appetit. She was born in the U.K. and came to New York with her family at the age of seven. She still lives in that city with her husband and identical 14-year-old twin sons.

For the past seven years, she’s been editor-in-chief of the grande dame of online food sites: epicurious.com. It has a huge database culled from magazines Gourmet and Bon Appetit along with recipes from chefs and home cooks around the world. Now 17 years old, it was the first site I consulted for recipes and is still my favourite.

The main reason: Its terrific system of reader-rated recipes using the symbolic four forks.

Steel explains how a recipe earns the maximum four-fork rating: “They’re a visual indication of recipes that have stood the test of time. They’re highly-rated, have been made successfully millions of times and are easy to make.”

With a huge stash of four-fork recipes as a resource, choosing the best of the best for a cookbook was no mean feat. Says Steel with a smile: “That’s when the horse-trading began.”

She and a team of editors started with 2,000 recipes; the cookbook has 250-plus. “We began by deciding on themes and categories. It was onerous and exhausting.”

They agreed to divide the book into four seasons, then organized recipes into sections like breakfast, starters, main course and dessert. “We considered reviews from users around the world as well as dishes we make all the time.”

Important to the team were the comments and tips that accompany each recipe. Steel defines a great recipe — one good enough to be included — as having these qualities: “Simplicity, good ingredients and not having overly-done, frou-frou stuff that’s just there to make it seem esoteric.”

They tried to go global with their choices and, she adds, to choose “new takes on classics, dishes you can make using ingredients from the supermarket or farmers’ market that are healthy, seasonal and local.”

Epicurious tracks the most popular 10 foods among users every month. Steel cites chicken, salmon and quinoa as regulars. More surprising is banana bread. There’s a recipe for that made with chocolate and walnuts in her book. (Note to self: Make this soon.)

Cooking for her family, Steel opts for meatless meals three or four times a week for health reasons and loves the cuisines of India, Japan, Thailand and Vietnam.

Asked for favourites from the book, she names Warm Tofu with Spicy Garlic Sauce, curries in general and the Vietnamese Vegetable Summer Rolls.

She notes that studies show a resurgence in home cooking. Food TV and travel partly explain this but she feels there are economic reasons. “People realize it’s cheaper to cook at home than to order in or go to a restaurant.”

Steel is happy to be part of a populist approach to cooking. “The more you cook and the greater confidence you get, the easier life is.”

Amen say I when she adds: “Cooking is the most basic skill we all need to survive and that’s why it’s so important that kids learn how to cook. People need to learn by doing — it’s the only way.”

Check the beginning of this post for recipes I’ve tried from “The Epicurious Cookbook.” Here’s one of them that is now a staple in my repertoire. Enjoy!

Miniature Gougeres (Gruyere Cheese Puffs)

These are fantastic cocktail snacks served as is. You can also fill them with soft goat cheese lightened up with a little cream and laced with herbs — or any filling of your choice. I didn’t bother with the dill seeds — feel free to omit them or to substitute another garnish.

1 tbsp dill seeds

1 ¹⁄₂ cups coarsely grated Gruyère cheese

Cream Puff Pastry:

1 cup water

1 stick (¹⁄₂ cup) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

¹⁄₂ tsp salt

1 cup all-purpose flour

4 to 5 large eggs

For Cream Puff Pastry, in heavy saucepan, bring water to a boil with butter and salt over high heat; reduce heat to medium. Add flour all at once and beat with a wooden spoon until mixture pulls away from sides of saucepan.

Transfer mixture to bowl. With electric mixer on high speed, beat in 4 eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Batter should be stiff enough to just hold soft peaks and fall softly from a spoon. If batter is too stiff, in a small bowl, beat remaining egg lightly and add to batter, a little at a time, beating on high speed, until batter is of desired consistency.

Preheat oven to 375F. Lightly grease two baking sheets or line with parchment paper.

In a small heavy skillet, dry-roast dill seeds over medium heat, shaking until fragrant and slightly darker, being careful not to burn them, 3 or 4 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl and cool. With a mortar and pestle or in an electric coffee/spice grinder, grind until coarse.

Stir Gruyère and 1 teaspoon ground seeds into Cream Puff Pastry mixture and arrange level tablespoons about 1 inch apart on baking sheets. Sprinkle tops with remaining ground seeds and bake in upper and lower thirds of oven, switching positions of sheets halfway through baking, 30 minutes, or until puffed, golden and crisp.

Gougères keep, chilled in sealable plastic bags, 2 days or frozen 1 week. Reheat, uncovered, in a preheated 350F oven about 10 minutes. Serve warm.

Makes about 40 gougères.

Famous American chef Thomas Keller

The sold-out scene at the Isabel Bader Theatre in downtown Toronto on a recent dark and stormy night was akin to a Bob Dylan concert (firsthand experience) or a gathering to hear the Dalai Lama (only hearsay).

In this case, it was a packed house comprised of followers, fans, fellow foodies and a large contingent of up-and-coming chefs.

The man of the moment: famous American chef and restaurateur Thomas Keller who was in town to launch his latest book “Bouchon Bakery” and to be interviewed on stage by manager of The Cookbook Store and food maven-about-town Alison Fryer.

I certainly knew of chef Keller from his several weighty coffee-table cookbooks and via the stellar reputation of his restaurants, especially Napa Valley landmark The French Laundry and the more recently opened Per Se in New York City.

After honing his skills in professional kitchens in France and New York City during the 1980s, Keller quickly made his mark by opening a French restaurant in 1994 in a former French laundry — quelle surprise — in the Napa Valley. He now has six successful, renowned, high-end restos located in Napa, Las Vegas and New York. Add to that three popular Bouchon Bakery outlets and you’ve got a mini-empire.

Keller is a tall, slim man with salt and pepper hair. On this night, he was looking dapper in narrow pants, a tailored jacket and scarf jauntily draped around his neck. He had a mild case of laryngitis but managed to be chatty, articulate and charming for the more than hour-long talk. Before and after, he spent at least twice that amount of time signing books and rolling pins while chatting with each person in a long line-up of ardent fans.

Keller sees his role, at age 57, as a mentor and teacher who still loves to cook but is more restaurateur than working chef.

He is known to run a tight ship where innovation and creativity are encouraged along with a strong belief in the importance of technique.

He has won all manner of prestigious awards and is the only American chef to have been given simultaneous 3-star Michelin ratings for two restaurants: The French Laundry and Per Se.

Alison Fryer introduced him, then added, knowing that many in the audience had dreams of working in a Keller kitchen: “No resumes today, please.”

Keller began with two mantras. The key to being a good chef: “Practice, practice, practice.” His goal these days: “To elevate the standards of the profession.”

His philosophy re: running a restaurant: “The importance of bringing the dining room and kitchen together in a common purpose.”

As a mentor and teacher, he wants those he trains to eventually be better than him — but this takes work on the trainee’s part.

“In the old days, training used to be two weeks,” he said, adding: “When a child learns to ride a bike, you don’t tell the kid you’ll take off the wheels in two weeks and let him fall off.”

Keller sees his role as threefold: “I hire, commit to train the person, then mentor him or her. I see that as the responsibility of being a leader in my profession.”

“Hiring is the most important thing we do,” he explained. “Then we must commit to that person 100 per cent.”

If the trainee turns out to be better than him, he feels his work is done. “For me, this gratification has replaced the gratification of cooking.”

These days, Keller has a whopping 1,000 employees. “I now know only 10 per cent of them by name,” he said.

“It’s easy to open a restaurant,” he continued. “It’s hard to run and it’s a life-long business.” That’s why he’s not sure about expansion at this point.

He attributes his level of success to “our team” and loves the process of collaboration. He initiated the concept of a “cooks’ forum” by which his fellow chefs and cooks contribute menu ideas and have other creative input. “It teaches chefs in their early 20s to be leaders.”

His key advice to budding chefs: “Patience and persistence. Get really good at doing the same thing. Do whatever you believe in and enjoy this time — your options become less as you go up the ladder.”

Last but not least: “We learn more from our failures than from success.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

I tried making chef Keller’s famous Buttermilk Fried Chicken using his brining, batter and then frying method. It was time-consuming and produced only fair results. I think the recipe found online could use more thorough testing. Stay tuned for more on that.

Meanwhile, here’s his deliciously sweet and simple potato dish.

Thomas Keller’s Scallion Potato Cakes

The title of this should actually be singular as, following the recipe from Keller’s cookbook “Ad Hoc at Home,” I found this made one 6-inch cake — a cross between a large latke and rosti. It’s easy to make and is a delicious accompaniment to any dish with sauce such as stew, pot roast etc. It is actually a panacke so I also have quibbles with the name.

1 large baking potato (e.g. russet)

¹⁄₂ cup thinly sliced green onion (about 3)

1 ¹⁄₂ tbsp cornstarch

Salt and pepper

Vegetable oil for frying

Peel and grate potato. Transfer to bowl of cold water; swish to release starch. Remove potato with hands, transfer to salad spinner and spin until dry. Place in medium bowl. Sprinkle with cornstarch; toss to coat.

Heat enough oil to coat bottom of heavy, medium skillet over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium. Add half of potato; arrange in even layer to form about 6-inch pancake.Top with green onions, a sprinkling of salt and pepper, then remaining potato in an even layer.

Cook about 5 minutes or until nicely browned on bottom. Lift cake, add a little more canola to skillet, then flip it and cook about 5 minutes or until browned on other side. Eat while still hot.

Makes 2 side-dish servings.

Some years ago, I spent a few hours in a restaurant kitchen with a young chef called Omar Houmani who was a recent immigrant to Canada from Algeria. The purpose of that evening’s venture: To learn from him how to make couscous.

Standing at the stove in front of an improvised couscoussier — a cheap large saucepan bought in Chinatown in which he had pierced holes and placed tightly on top of a large stockpot — Omar explained how he was going to prepare the couscous. By boiling water in the stockpot, he would steam our couscous in the improvised steamer on top.

In a nutshell, he told me: “The quick couscous people make from the instructions on the package is nothing like couscous,” adding softly but firmly, “That is the wrong way.”

He then proceeded to cook the couscous the right way — twice. The result was absolutely delicious: tender but still al dente mouthfuls — not at all grainy as is the all too ubiquitous once-cooked couscous.

Here’s the recipe.

Couscous The Right Way

Serve with tagine, curry, stew or any dish that has lots of sauce. I spoon raisins or currants on top of couscous during second steaming and serve it garnished with toasted slivered almonds and chopped parsley.

3 cups couscous
1½ tsp kosher or sea salt
1½ tbsp olive oil
1½ cups warm water

Using hands, combine all ingredients in large bowl. Let sit about 15 minutes. Rub mixture gently but thoroughly with hands to separate grains. Transfer to top (steamer) section of couscoussier. Steam 30 minutes over boiling water or stock. Do not cover.

Return to bowl. Add 1 cup cold water. Stir well. Let sit 5 to 10 min. Break up any lumps with spoon. (Couscous can be made ahead up to this point.) Return to steamer; cook about 15 min. or until tender and fluffy.

Makes 4 to 6 servings.

It’s not only couscous that’s an issue here. This is one of my big beefs about standard recipes and the ways most of us have learned to cook. The wrong way seems far too common.

And talking of beef, here is my version of pot roast — few ingredients, braised in the oven, so easy I know the recipe off by heart. And yes, done the right way.

Perfect Pot Roast

Use this as a guide — pot roast is a forgiving dish. Chuck is the ideal beef for this. I like to use parsnips; their sweetness counteracts the acidity of tomatoes. Using a hand blender to puree some of the sauce eliminates the need for a thickener. This is even better the next day.

About 1 tbsp vegetable oil
4 to 5-lb (2 kilo) pot roast, preferably chuck
2 onions, halved, sliced
2 to 3 parsnips or carrots, peeled, coarsely chopped
1 tbsp fresh thyme leaves
1 cup canned tomatoes, with juice
1 cup dry red wine
1 cup beef stock
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 325F.

Heat oil in dutch oven or large heavy saucepan with lid over medium-heat. Add pot roast; cook until browned on top and bottom. Transfer to plate.

Reduce heat to medium; add onions and parsnips. Cook until nicely browned and beginning to caramelize, about 10 minutes. Return pot roast to dutch oven. Add thyme, tomatoes, wine and stock. Bring to boil, cover and place in oven. Cook about 3 hours or until pot roast is tender. Taste sauce; add salt and pepper.

Transfer pot roast to cutting board; cut in thick slices. When sauce is cool, skim off fat. Using hand blender, puree about half of it. Serve at once or place pot roast and sauce in container with lid and chill. Reheat and serve with mashed potatoes, noodles, rice or couscous.

Makes about 6 servings.

Then there’s applesauce.

For years, I prepared this sweet and simple dish in a saucepan on top of the stove by adding water, sugar, lemon juice and cinnamon. That’s the way prescribed by most recipes.

Read my lips: That is the wrong way. Apples are such a delicious, flavourful fruit, why in the world would you add water to them?

As famous Louisiana chef Paul Prud’homme once said on a visit to Toronto: “Water’s mission is to dilute.”

Here’s the way I make applesauce.

Amazing Applesauce

I like to use a combo of apples for variety in taste and texture, e.g. Macs, Ida Red, Cortland and Northern Spy work well. It’s best if some are sweet and others tart. Feel free to use whatever apples are on hand. They can be overripe and not in the best of shape. I bake them in an earthenware pot with a tight-fitting lid.

I taste the apples first and, if they seem a bit bland (fall is the best time to make this as apples tend to lose flavour when stored), I add the sugar and lemon juice. Mostly, I just add cinnamon. I taste it once cooled and add maple syrup and/or lemon juice if necessary.

Baked in the oven — without water — this sauce is basically pure apples.

About 10 apples (depending on size), peeled, cored, sliced
About 2 tsp cinnamon
About 2 rounded tbsp brown sugar (optional)
About 2 tbsp fresh lemon juice (optional)

Preheat oven to 400F.

In large bowl, toss apples with other ingredients. Place in ovenproof saucepan with lid, dutch oven or casserole with lid placed on a baking sheet to catch any juice. Bake about 1 hour or until apples are tender — I like them so some chunks are still al dente. Mash lightly with fork.

Serve with pork or as dessert with ice cream, chocolate sauce or chocolate chips, rice pudding etc.

Makes about 8 to 10 dessert servings.

Joanne Yolles has long been my colleague, friend and baking buddy.

More proof that Julia Child’s advice to young people works: “Get into the food business and you’ll be part of one big family.”

Joanne is a pastry chef whose stellar career in Toronto spans 30 years. Her Coconut Cream Pie remains a trademark dessert on the menu at Scaramouche where she spent 13 years. After an eight-year hiatus raising young children, she worked at Pangaea. These days, she’s a part-time instructor at George Brown College sharing her baking expertise with budding chefs.

And for about 20 years, I’ve been picking her brain about an array of cooking conundrums — with excellent results.

There was an episode involving Tarte Tatin. The two of us experimented over a period of weeks, alternating lively tart-baking sessions in our respective kitchens and varying varieties of apple, cooking methods and types of pan. Our goal: To produce the ultimate rendition.

That was in the late 1990s. Some years later, the same modus operandi was applied to Sticky Toffee Pudding. In both cases, the results were amazing. Recipes for both can be found in the Recipes section of this site.

But happy day! No such effort was required for Joanne’s exquisite Plum Tart.

It appears on Page 80 of the recently-published Toronto Life Cookbook — actually a glossy magazine jam-packed with top-notch recipes from Toronto chefs.

The pre-baked cookie-like crust for this, says Joanne, is a “Breton sable” made with egg yolks and baking powder. The almond filling, she explains, is “a frangipane I’ve often used.” Roasting the plums before baking the tart produces syrup that’s used to glaze it.

I have one word for all this: Brilliant!

The dessert I baked, in between dealing with roofers — an untoward event that caused me to over-roast the plums and over-bake the pastry — looked, in spite of the aforementioned glitches, like a pastry chef had made it. The taste and texture were nothing short of divine.

Joanne’s inspiration, she says, was an Apricot Hazelnut Tart she has in her repertoire. The pastry idea came from a blog called Cannelle et Vanille.

All I can say to you, dear readers, is: Bon Appetit and, on behalf of me and my baking buddy, you’re welcome!

Joanne Yolles’s Plum Tart

I used a couple more plums than the original recipe and baked the tart for less time — both of which get the okay from Joanne. You can make the pastry and roasted plums ahead of time. This moist, delicious dessert keeps well and is wonderful served with ice cream, thickened yogurt or creme fraiche.

Pastry:

6 tbsp unsalted butter, at room temperature
¹⁄₄ cup plus 2 tbsp granulated sugar
¹⁄₄ tsp kosher salt
2 large egg yolks
³⁄₄ cup plus 1 tbsp all-purpose flour
1 ¹⁄₂ tsp baking powder

Roasted Plums:

About 10 firm, ripe purple plums
¹⁄₃ cup granulated sugar
¹⁄₂ vanilla bean

Almond Filling:
¹⁄₂ cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
¹⁄₂ cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs, preferably at room temperature
1 cup ground almonds
¹⁄₄ cup all-purpose flour

Icing sugar for dusting

For Pastry, cream butter, sugar and salt using electric standing or hand mixer until smooth and light in colour. Beat in egg yolks one at a time.

In small bowl, sift flour with baking powder. Add to butter mixture; mix on low speed until dough comes together. It will be soft. Shape into disc; wrap in plastic wrap. Chill at least 2 hours.

For Roasted Plums, preheat oven to 375F. Cut plums in 1-inch slices. Place sugar in 9 x 13-inch baking dish. Cut vanilla bean in half lengthwise; scrape seeds into sugar. Stir to combine. Add plums; toss to coat. Bake in oven 18 to 25 minutes or until tender but still holding their shape. Cool. (These can be done ahead. Syrup and plums should be stored in separate containers.)

Grease 8-inch fluted springform tart pan with butter. Preheat oven to 350F.

Roll dough roughly into 11-inch circle. Place over rolling pin; fit and press into tart pan, patching as necessary. Line with foil or parchment paper; fill with dried beans or pie weights. Bake about 15 minutes in centre of oven. Remove beans and foil. Bake 10 to 15 minutes more or until pastry is golden brown. Cool completely on wire rack.

For Almond Filling, cream butter and sugar using electric standing or hand mixer until smooth and light in colour. Beat in eggs, one at a time. Add ground almonds and flour; mix just to combine. Spread filling in cooled tart shell.

Drain plums, reserving syrup. Arrange plum slices in concentric cicles over almond filling, overlapping slightly.

Bake tart in oven 40 to 50 minutes or until almond filling puffs up and becomes firm and golden brown. Cool completely in pan on wire rack.

Brush tart with reserved plum syrup. Dust edges with icing sugar using sieve.

Makes about 8 servings.

Dorie Greenspan’s French Apple Cake

Easy French Apple Cake
This is inspired by terrific cookbook author Dorie Greenspan’s recipe for Marie-Helene’s Apple cake in “Around My French Table.” It is the easiest and one of the best versions of this tried-and-true fall fruit dessert I’ve made. The apples may remain a tad crunchy if cut in the size prescribed. I like them that way but you could make the chunks smaller. It is wonderfully moist and keeps well. Serve as is or with ice cream, creme fraiche or whipped cream.

³⁄₄ cup all-purpose flour
³⁄₄ tsp baking powder
A pinch of salt
4 large apples (if possible, 4 different kinds)
2 large eggs
³⁄₄ cup granulated or light brown sugar
3 tbsp dark rum, whisky or brandy
¹⁄₂ tsp pure vanilla extract
¹⁄₂ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted, cooled

Preheat oven to 350F.

Generously butter 8-inch springform pan; place pan on a baking sheet lined with silicone baking mat or parchment paper.
Whisk flour, baking powder and salt together in small bowl.
Peel apples, halve and remove cores. Slice apples into 1-inch chunks.
In medium bowl, whisk eggs until foamy. Whisk in sugar, then rum and vanilla. Whisk in half of flour mixture until combined, then half the melted butter followed by remaining flour mixture and remaining butter, mixing gently after each addition so you have a smooth, rather thick batter.
Using rubber spatula, fold in apples until coated with batter. Spoon mixture into pan; smooth top with knife.
Bake on middle rack of oven 50 to 60 minutes or until top of cake is golden brown and a knife inserted in centre comes out clean; cake may pull away from sides of pan. Place on wire rack; cool about 5 minutes.
Carefully run a blunt knife around edges of cake; remove sides of pan. Cool cake until it is just slightly warm or at room temperature.
Makes about 8 servings.
Cake will keep for about 2 days at room temperature and actually improves. It’s best not to cover it as it’s too moist. Leave on its plate and just press a piece of plastic wrap or wax paper against cut surfaces.

Julia Child cooks scrambled eggs for me in her Cambridge MA kitchen in 1999. Her kitchen is now in the Smithsonian.

This story appeared in the Toronto Star in October, 1999, after my visit to Cambridge, MA, where Julia Child, who had become my friend and mentor, lived. She invited me for breakfast. There was an incident with some croissants. Read on:

CAMBRIDGE, Mass. — I came bearing buns: rye sourdough buns I managed to procure in a mad dash moments earlier, after the croissants carefully ordered for this momentous occasion failed to arrive at my hotel at the appointed time. (For that bizarre story, see below.)
Still recovering from that culinary escapade, I was both jittery and elated at the prospect of breakfast chez Julia Child as we drove along her quiet, leafy street a few blocks from bustling Harvard Square one beautiful, sunny morning last week.
In fact, by the time Star photographer Richard Lautens and I reached the door of Child’s sprawling, three-storey, New England-style, wood-frame house, I was decidedly on edge.
But as soon as my favourite foodie, main mentor and, by now, firm friend appeared at the door (on it was a small black-and-white plaque bearing the name of Child’s beloved husband Paul who died in 1994) and welcomed me with a big bear hug, I knew all would be well.
“It’s so good to see you again,” said Child sweetly and, as is her way, looking directly at me. “You look wonderful,” she added in that unmistakable sing-song voice. “Come on in.“
Moments later, our coats were hanging on hooks in the hall, we were invited into the large kitchen and those buns, graciously received with a “Thank you — that’s so nice,” were already out of their paper bag and in the oven.
“Paul and I moved here in 1956,” said Child in answer to my question about her lovely, lived-in, spacious home. “It was built in the 1880s and was once owned by a famous philosopher called Josiah Royce. We bought it for the kitchen.“
Scanning the colourful, cozy room before me, I could see why.
Covering one wall was an array of hanging pots and pans, most of them gleaming copper. “I got those in France,” Child explained. “I don’t use them much; they’re lined with tin and have to be re-done. These days, they’re lined with stainless steel, which is better, but they cost a fortune.“
A big black fridge was decked with a few magnets and a couple of family photos. One large oven in which our buns were warming is, said Child “a Thermidor. I think it’s convection — which I never use.“
Beside the windows, covered in vintage venetian blinds, hung two long racks of knives in an assortment of shapes and sizes — at least 30 of them in all. On an adjoining wall, about 20 metal measuring scoops were suspended, each marked crudely in white-out with the letter “J.“
On the counter nearby stood a royal blue KitchenAid electric mixer. “It’s a heavy-duty one — the best,” chimed in Child.
As we chatted, Child, 87, now slightly stooped (“I used to be 6 foot 2 but I’ve shrunk a bit”) and dressed casually in beige slacks, a burgundy man’s cardigan and patterned shirt, was slowly moving about the room getting together ingredients for scrambled eggs.
The large, rectangular table, draped in a yellow cloth then covered in a layer of heavy-duty, white-striped plastic, was neatly laid out for three.
Rustic white plates, each hand-painted with a red rooster, were set on round straw mats. Each place setting had a large blue-and-white cup and saucer. “We bought most of our dishes when we were abroad,” said Child. “These cups are Danish but we bought them in Norway.“
In the middle of the table sat an oversized, cauldron-shaped, antique silver sugar bowl; beside it a small white pitcher of cream. At each place was a big tumbler filled with orange juice. A Braun coffee maker gurgled in the background as the room filled with the luscious aroma of brewing coffee.
By now, Child had broken six eggs into a bowl and was standing over the stove heating a generous slice of butter in her “non-stick Wearever skillet.“
The large commercial gas range was, she told me, “a Garland. I’ve had it since 1945.“
As she poured the beaten eggs, seasoned with only salt and pepper, into the pan and began stirring them with a white plastic spatula, I realized this was my chance to watch first-hand as Child made scrambled eggs the way I’d once tried — with amazing success — from a recipe in her indispensable book, The Way To Cook (Knopf).
“The trick is to keep the heat low, only to have about an inch of eggs in the pan, to stir slowly so you make a soft custard and to reserve a little bit of raw scrambled egg to add at the end,” Child explained, as she proceeded to do just that.
When the eggs were deemed ready, she moved the pan away from the burner, poured the reserved tablespoon or two of raw egg into it and gave the mixture a couple of stirs.
Then, as if on cue, wielding that spatula, our host exclaimed, “And then a little extra butter for company!“
My offer to pour coffee was graciously accepted. And as we proceeded to savour those wondrously creamy eggs along with the warmed rye buns smeared with butter (a stick of it, untouched when we arrived, was fast disappearing before my eyes) and delectable Robertson’s marmalade from its jar, the conversation flowed.
Here are some choice tidbits from that magnificent morning meal:
• On her health: “I don’t feel myself slowing down. I just got back last night from a two-and-a-half-week media tour across the country. My only problem is my legs; I do exercises for it.“
• On romance: “There’s not much happening at this age but if you know any nubile men my age, bring them on!“
• On cookbooks: “I just keep a few in the kitchen: most of mine and the new Joy Of Cooking plus some reference books. I have more books upstairs but I gave most of my collection — thousands of books — to the Schlesinger library at Radcliffe College.“
• On her mission: “I would like people to take cooking as a serious hobby: learning the basics of how to use and sharpen a knife, cut quickly and easily, how to saute. It’s all very simple — just a matter of practice.“
• On recipes: “There are as many ways to make a dish like coq au vin as there are cooks. I’d like to free people from slavish dependency on recipes to the freedom of knowing the basics.“
• On nutrition: “A few years ago, people were so afraid of their food. Things seem to have calmed down a bit. People were using their emotions, not their heads. I believe in moderation — a bit of everything — and no snacking.“
• On fame: “If you’re off TV for a year, you’re dead — so don’t get a swelled head. Celebrity’s part of the business. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.“
• On entertaining: “I love to entertain. It’s always casual. If I meet new people, I like to have them over here and show them this is a nest of simple folk.”

The Missing Croissants and How I Hijacked a Bag of Buns

Here’s how the croissants intended for breakfast with Julia Child turned into buns.
The day before our memorable meal, I had scoured Cambridge on foot with the help of a map and advice from my savvy friend Jim Dodge — a talented pastry chef and cookbook author who is currently director of food services at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.
After agreeing that croissants from a Boston bakery called Iggy’s would fit the bill, Dodge offered to order them for me since he dealt with that establishment regularly.
Here was the plan.
The croissants would be delivered to the front desk of my hotel between 8 and 8:10 a.m. the next day, ensuring enough time for me to arrive, goodies in hand, chez Child for breakfast at 9 a.m.
The next day, 8:10 a.m. arrived and I was at the hotel’s front desk. The croissants were not.
By 8:20, I was biting my nails. A phone call to Dodge informed me the driver was stuck in traffic but only five minutes away.
By 8:30, I decided I could not wait any longer.
Star photographer Richard Lautens was dispatched to get the car. I decided to wait on the sidewalk and scan the horizon for an Iggy’s delivery van.
Minutes later, a vehicle bearing that name drove down the side street beside our hotel. I ran like the wind, flung open the van’s door and began to babble, “I’m Marion Kane. Where are my croissants — the ones for Julia Child?“
The perplexed, dark-haired, olive-skinned young man at the wheel either spoke no English or was in a state of shock at the sight of a frantic woman who was, by now, rummaging through the brown bags containing baked goods piled on the seat beside him.
He managed to mumble a few words that sounded like, “Miss, I don’t know.…” but ’twas in vain. I had discovered a bag with stickers on it bearing my hotel’s name.
Inside, it appeared, was an assortment of buns and rolls but no croissants.
“These will have to do,” I reasoned. In hindsight, I was incapable of reason at this point as, glancing at my watch, I realized it was 8:45 a.m. Sheer panic had set in.
Clutching the large bag of buns to my chest, I slammed the van door shut and ran back to the front of the hotel where a nervous and confused Lautens was looking for me. “We’ll have to take these,” I gasped, opening the car door. “Let’s go.“
Sorting through several dozen buns as we drove, we agreed the rye sourdough ones — though nothing like croissants – looked best. Eight of them were dutifully offered to a gracious Child and consumed at our wondrous repast.
When I returned to the hotel a couple of hours later, a young woman called me over to the front desk. “This note arrived for you with a package.“
On it was written, “8:30 a.m. Your croissants are late due to problems with proofing.“
I didn’t have the heart or stomach to eat or even look at those pesky, proof-challenged pastries. “Please give them to the nearest hostel,” was my defeated reply.
As for that poor Iggy’s driver, he’s probably still scratching his head over what was behind that short, curly-haired wild woman and the hijacked bag of buns.

Here’s the recipe for those famous eggs as enjoyed by me at Child’s kitchen table from The Way To Cook (Knopf) by Julia Child.

Julia’s Scrambled Eggs

Perfect scrambled eggs are tender and creamy. The secret is to do them slowly over low heat so the eggs coagulate into soft curds. You don’t want the eggs too deep in the pan or they will take too long to cook and if there is too shallow a layer they will cook too quickly. A one-inch layer is easy to handle and a 10-inch non-stick skillet works well for 6 to 8 eggs.

8 eggs
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 tbsp or more butter
1 tbsp or more heavy cream (optional)
3 or 4 tbsp chopped fresh herbs: parsley, or parsley and chives, chervil, tarragon or dill (optional)

Break eggs into medium bowl, adding salt and pepper to taste; beat just to blend yolks and whites.
Set skillet over moderately low heat; add enough butter to lightly coat bottom and sides.
Pour in all but 2 tablespoons of beaten eggs.
Slowly scrape bottom of skillet from edges toward centre with spatula, continuing slowly as eggs gradually coagulate. It will take them a minute or so to start thickening; don’t rush them.
In 2 to 3 minutes, eggs will have thickened into a lumpy custard; cook a few seconds more if they are too soft for your taste. Fold in reserved 2 tablespoons of beaten egg.
Adjust seasoning; fold in butter, cream and herbs, if using.
Serve at once on warm (not hot) plates.

Makes 4 to 6 servings.