It was the late-‘70s and, a divorced single mum of a young daughter Esther (now 40 years old, married and a successful therapist living in B.C.), my career as a food writer was germinating.  I was also learning some hard life lessons. While dealing with a lot of painful change, I was about to find my calling.

As often happens in my life, serendipity was about to strike.

Driving through Kensington in 1980, I decided to knock on the door of a Victorian row house on Augusta Ave. a block north of Dundas overlooking Bellevue Park. I don’t know what made me do it except that the location was perfect and the house looked well maintained. Here’s what happened.

An elderly, sweet-faced gentleman came to the door. I asked if he wanted to sell his house. He replied in a Polish accent: “You must be an angel from heaven — and yes.” It turned out he had lived in that home for 50 years and raised a family there. His wife had just died. An attempt to sell the place had failed. $80,000 later, I bought that house with my then-partner.

For the next 25 years, it and Kensington Market were my home — and I mean that in every sense of the word.

The babysitter for my younger daughter Ruthie, now 24 and about to graduate as an RN, lived across the park. The public school she attended for 10 years was a few blocks away. I bought impeccable food of all kinds from local merchants whom I called friends. Amadeu’s, the wondrous Portuguese restaurant opposite my house, had the best patio in the city, a delectable steak sandwich and luscious grilled squid. It was my second home.

Mine was the ideal world to inhabit for a wandering Jew and fledgling member of the food media.

Following a recent five-year stint in the town of Stratford after Ruthie left home, I’ve returned to live in Kensington. What possessed me to think I could replace the colourful, vitally warm, feisty mix that makes this neighbourhood unique?

Back on home turf, I’m also well aware that the one constant about this inimitable place is change.

There used to be live chickens outside the shops on Baldwin St. when I arrived. For a few years in the early ‘90s, an infamous spot a few doors from me called the Tropical Paradise attracted more than its fair share of police attention — mostly in the middle of the night. The “egg lady” Cipora Offman ran the famous family business on Augusta at Nassau for many moons until her death in 2008. Max & Son, a landmark little Jewish butcher shop became Sanagan’s Meat Locker three years ago. And the amazing emporium Sassmart, still there, was once a crowded, elbow-to-elbow haven for shoppers seeking a myriad of housewares and house-coats.

Wave upon wave of immigrants to Toronto have made Kensington their favourite place to shop — and, in some cases, live — for generations. Today, what was called “the Jewish market” is home to South Americans, Chinese, South Asians, Portuguese, people from the Caribbean and other diverse cultures.

And on Saturday, April 7 — two weeks ago — a Kensington landmark, European Quality Meats and Sausages, located at 176 Baldwin St. in the market’s hub, closed its doors for the last time.

Last Day for European Meats in Kensington

In preparation for an audio documentary on the changing face of Kensington, I took to the streets, microphone in hand. (That lively piece documenting a historical moment will be on this site in a few weeks).

Shalom Kenigsberg has been the general manager of European Meats for 43 of its 53 years.

He concedes that business has been going down of late. “There’s a different kind of people,” he explained as we sat in owner Morris Leider’s wood-panelled office on the second floor, boxes of rubber gloves, pictures and other stuff already packed in boxes on the floor. “It used to be family-oriented here. Now it’s single guys, yuppies. The area has changed quite a bit. It’s going downhill.”

Long famous for their in-house, Eastern European-style smoked and cured meats — kielbasa, picnic hams, pork hocks and the like — European Meats has lost much of its former clientele to the suburbs. Gone are the days when there were line-ups outside and it took 45 minutes to have your number called.

Shalom says the huge three-floor shop is like home to him after all this time. “I’ve seen this place more than I’ve seen my wife and kids. But, like everything else, it’s got to come to an end.”

Tom Mihalik, the tall, spiffily dressed owner of renowned clothing store Tom’s Place a few doors away, loves to talk and does it well.

His father opened a place in 1958 on nearby Kensington Ave. selling used clothing and furniture with $500. “He was a peddlar in Hungary. Here in Kensington, he became known for used white shirts, tuxedoes and fur coats.” Ironically, those are sought-after items today in the Market’s many popular vintage stores.

Tom came to work at the store 10 years later at age 12. Today, he has a whopping 10 to 12,000 men’s suits in stock — rack upon rack of them.

“For me, the Market is home,” says Tom. “It has a lot of free spirit.” On a personal level, “It means a lot to me to come to work each day and see the pictures of my mother and father that hang by the cash register. I think about how hard they worked.”

As for European Meats closing: “It’s a great loss. They were probably the busiest meat store in the country at one time.” Then he  quickly adds: “They will be missed but the Market will stay alive. You cannot kill the Market. The Market is here to stay.”

Sal Borg, owner of Sanci’s — wholesale purveyors of vegetables and tropical/fancy fruit — is in the warehouse at the back of the storefront and house where his mother Frances Borg still lives. In between answering the phone and dispensing orders, he chats with me.

Sal’s Sicilian grandfather built the place in 1929 as a retail tropical fruit store and banana-ripening warehouse. “We were the token Gentiles back then,” he quips referring to the largely Jewish population of Kensington at that time. “There were also Portuguese, Italian — a mish-mash of people — and these days, Africans, Oriental and West Indian.”

Today, it’s a different picture. “There are lots of WASP-ish, trendy, long-haired health food fanatics.” The Market, he says, used to be “a village” but is becoming “a quaint little place in the middle of Toronto, more of a destination for tourists.”

Peter Sanagan, 35, opened Sanagan’s Meat Locker, a tiny 400-square-foot shop in the former Max & Son’s location on Baldwin St. three years ago. He sells local, naturally-raised meat and is typical of Kensington’s new wave of young merchants who are filling a special niche.

He chose this location because he loves the Market. “It’s a food-centric place with so many different cultures.” The closing of European Meats, says he, “is unfortunate. It’s a landmark for the area and draws a lot of business.” He sees the need for Kensington to upgrade. “Every 15 or 20 years, a place needs a fresh coat of paint and to renew itself.”

I’ll give the last word to 79-year-old Morris Leider who opened European Meats at a small shop on Baldwin St. on Tuesday, November 15, 1959.

Looking somewhat frail and his voice breaking, he speaks to me on his store’s closing day. “I haven’t slept for four nights. I grew up here. This was my second home.”

Morris is trying to find positions for some of his 20-plus employees at his main location in Etobicoke, a couple of whom have worked in the Kensington store for more than 40 years.

He says the people who own Essence of Life a couple of blocks away have bought the building and equipment therein. He hopes they continue to sell meat.

He feels bad about leaving. Meanwhile, he’s trying to heed his wife’s words. “She told me it isn’t the end of the world.”

It isn’t the end of Kensington Market either. Just another reminder that it’s best to say a fond farewell to things that must end and try to embrace change.

Maybe a cup of tea and a couple of mandelbrot/biscotti will help.

Frances Borg’s Mandelbrot Biscotti

Frances Borg (nee Sanci), whose son Sal still runs Sanci’s wholesale operation specializing in tropical fruit, is in her 80s and lives at the back of the vintage store that her family opened in the heart of Kensington more than 80 years ago. She gave me this recipe in the late ‘90s for a feature article I was writing for the Toronto Star when I was the food editor for that newspaper. They are a cross between the Jewish mandelbrot and Italian biscotti — richer and crumblier than a traditional mandelbrot, twice-baked in keeping with both cookie’s mandatory baking method. Unblanched almonds still have the peel on them. A standing electric mixer works well for this.

¹⁄₂ cup butter, at room temperature
¹⁄₂ cup vegetable oil
1 cup granulated sugar
4 eggs
2 tsp finely grated lemon rind
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
¹⁄₂ tsp vanilla
¹⁄₄ tsp almond extract
4 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
¹⁄₂ tsp salt
1 ¹⁄₂ cups chopped unblanched almonds
Coating:
¹⁄₂ cup sesame seeds (optional)
¹⁄₂ cup granulated or fruit sugar

Preheat oven to 375F.
In large bowl, using electric mixer or hand mixer, beat together butter, oil and sugar until smooth. Add eggs; beat until thick and pale yellow. Beat in lemon rind, lemon juice, vanilla and almond extract.
In another bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt. In three batches, add flour mixture to butter mixture, stirring to form a soft dough. Stir in chopped almonds. Divide dough into two pieces. Using your hands, roll each pice into a log about 15 inches long and 2 ¹⁄₂ inches wide.
For Coating, in small bowl, combine sesame seeds and sugar; sprinkle mixture over logs. Press logs onto work surface to coat evenly, making sure coating sticks to dough.
Place logs about 3 inches apart on large greased baking sheets. Press dough down with hands to flatten slightly.
Place in oven; bake 20 minutes. Remove from oven (Do not turn oven off.) Cool slightly, about 5 minutes.
Gently transfer one log to cutting board. Using sharp knife, cut diagonally into 1 inch-thick slices. Repeat with second log. Place biscotti on baking sheet. Return to oven. Bake 15 minutes or until golden brown.
Makes about 32.

Brilliant Brussels Sprouts at Toloache

I recently spent four glorious days in midtown Manhattan.

For two of those, I was pretty much closeted in the Roger Smith Hotel attending back-to-back seminars at a cookbook conference.

And apart from a few heart-wrenching hours spent watching the stunning but tragically haunting photos and videos of the holocaust at the Museum of Jewish Heritage, there was no other agenda.

That meant plenty of time to do what I enjoy most when visiting New York: Walking the bustling streets wearing comfortable shoes while checking out all and sundry, in particular the food.

Since our hotel was on Lexington Ave. near Grand Central Station, Ross and I stuck to that vicinity.

One evening, we stopped for huge, steaming bowls of luscious ramen at Sapporo (perfectly acceptable though not as authentic as my favourite spot Ippudo), our mandatory fix of sublime steak frites at Le Relais de Venise, mountains of meat amid the hubbub at Virgil’s Real Barbecue (good but not great) and a surprising couple of dishes at the popular eatery Toloache, home to Mexican celebrity chef Julian Medina.

Grasshopper Tacos at Toloache

Those two dishes were Grasshopper Tacos that tasted — well, like tacos filled with fried grasshopper — and a much more toothsome, room-temperature appetizer comprising quartered, fried Brussels sprouts tossed with vinaigrette, toasted pumpkin seeds and crumbled queso fresco that was sweet, simple and delish!

I have long been a big Brussels sprouts fan and have, of late, been championing this undeservedly underdog veg with some like-minded souls on Twitter (hashtag #brusselsprouts).

Back home in Toronto, I fiddled with — and, I think, improved — a recipe I found for Toloache’s sensational dish on the terrific Epicurious website. Here it is:

Toloache’s Brussels Sprouts with Pumpkin Seeds, Queso Fresco and Sherry Vinaigrette

The restaurant uses baby Brussels sprouts — they are sweet and delicious — but regular ones will do. Queso fresco can be found in Mexican food shops — it’s a soft white cheese ideal for crumbling into warm salads like this one.

Sherry Vinaigrette:
2 tbsp sherry vinegar
¹⁄₄ cup canola oil
1 tbsp finely chopped shallots
1 tbsp Dijon mustard
Kosher salt to taste

Salad:
3 to 4 tbsp vegetable oil
4 cups quartered Brussels sprouts
¹⁄₄ cup crumbled queso fresco
¹⁄₃ cup toasted pumpkin seeds
Kosher salt to taste

In small bowl, whisk together all ingredients for Sherry Vinaigrette.

For Salad, heat oil in large skillet over medium heat. Add Brussels sprouts and cook, turning, until lightly browned, crisp on the outside and still firm on the inside. Transfer to paper towel.

Place sprouts in serving bowl while still warm. Stir in Sherry Vinaigrette., then queso fresco and pumpkin seeds. Add salt if necessary.

Makes 4 to 6 appetizer or side-dish servings.

I arrived at the door of Judith Jones’s compact, six-room apartment in a classic brownstone on New York’s Upper East Side to the sounds of enthusiastic, high-pitched barking on the other side of the door.

It was her little white and furry Havanese dog Mabon who was happy to see me and proceeded to jump up and down as I entered the cozy place where she’s lived for several decades.

It was a few weeks ago and I’d been attending the wonderful, first annual Roger Smith Cookbook Conference in midtown Manhattan.

On Day Two of that lively two-day gathering, I managed to find a seat at a jam-packed session called The Cookbook Editor’s Role.

On that panel were the interesting editor-in-chief at Hyperion Elisabeth Dyssegaard, Rux Martin, senior executive editor for Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, and the person many of us had come to hear: Judith Jones.

Ms. Jones spent more than 50 years as an editor at Knopf. She worked her way up during that time making a name for herself as the person responsible for publication in America of The Diary of Anne Frank and as editor for literary greats like John Updike, Anne Tyler, John Hersey and William Maxwell.

Most famously, her eye for original talent led to the discovery of Julia Child when a manuscript for the iconic cookbook Mastering the Art of French Cooking came across her desk, having been turned down by other publishers.

After speaking loudly and firmly to Mabon, who eventually ceased his sociable antics — but not until he cheerily chewed a package of gum from my purse — Judith told me how her long-time collaboration and deep friendship with Julia began.

She grew up in a well-educated, genteel family with homes in Vermont and New York. Now in her late 80s, she has bobbed silver hair, a deep, gravelly voice and understated sense of humour. She is soft-spoken, elegant and gently opinionated.

When Julia’s name enters the conversation, her face lights up.

“She was the one who got me started,” Judith begins, referring to her eventual role at Knopf as a key editor of cookbooks by authors like James Beard, Marion Cunningham, Marcella Hazan, Madhur Jaffrey, Lidia Bastianich, Edna Lewis and Nina Simonds.

She continues: “Julia used to say, ‘Judith, you and I were born at the right time.’ When that manuscript landed on my desk, it was kind of an answer to a prayer. I’d been looking for just this kind of book.”

That two-volume ground-breaking tome, first published by Knopf in 1961, was Mastering the Art of French Cooking. These days, its sales have spiked, especially among young people, due to the recent film “Julie and Julia” starring Meryl Streep.

“Julia wrote it with two French women,” Judith recalls, “but she did most of the writing, the research and the thinking.”

For her part, the book made Judith realize her simmering passion for food. “I got that awakening. It was more than about cooking. It was with a relationship to food and a way of life I was so drawn to.”

That way of life, in particular the French love of things culinary, was germinating for both women when they spent younger years in Paris, not together but on separate adventures.

Julia Child’s story is told in the lovely book My Life in France co-written by her grand-nephew Alex Prud’homme from audio recordings he made in California at the end of her life. Julia Child died in 2004 at age 91.

A small stint by Julia on public television in the early ‘60s was a spark that ignited her culinary career. “People said, ‘Get that woman back on television.’ It was just a natural talent,” Judith recalls with a smile. “What was so refreshing was that she was so totally herself. She shared all she had learned — but, most of all, a real love of cooking, something sensuous and visceral.”

Julia’s TV cooking show on PBS soon became a hit and her enthusiastic antics in the kitchen garnered a huge following.

Judith tells how someone asked Julia why she massaged the chicken’s breast with butter. Imitating the latter’s memorable, plummy tones, she repeats the answer: “She said, ‘Well, I think the chicken likes it.’”

Julia’s voice wasn’t as evident in Mastering the Art as it would be in later books, all edited by Judith.

“That book wasn’t written in the first person,” she begins, “and I think Julia tried to keep her personality down. It wasn’t until later books that her personality emerged. By then, people knew her from television.”

Here are more topics Judith and I discussed during my visit to her home:

On cookbooks: “I can’t imagine not being surrounded by cookbooks. They’re my friends. I think cookbooks are an evolving thing — they’re not perfect. There’s a lot to play with in the electronic age. I have an iPad but haven’t yet learned to use it. The Internet is good for young cooks. But I still love cookbooks and want to go to bed with them.” She feels there too many cookbooks: “They’ve become such a big commodity and everybody is getting into it. It’s become a whole new territory and there isn’t much new now.”

On recipes: “I think you use them to learn techniques and rules. Then, like a dancer, you can pirouette on your own. If you don’t understand those rules — what cut of meat to buy, for example — you’re not going to have the equipment. It’s true of any art form. People don’t like to think of cooking as an art form — but I do.”

Pet peeves about recipes: “One is the way recipes are written. A classic example is ‘In a bowl, combine first mixture with second mixture.’ First of all what’s ‘In a bowl’ doing upfront? You wouldn’t speak that way. And what do you mean by ‘combine’? Do you fold it in, beat it in? Julia always used to say: ‘Beat with a wire whisk and don’t beat too long — you don’t want too much air in it.’” There’s also ‘Set aside.’ It’s the most ridiculous thing. What are you going to do, throw it all out after you’ve done all that work?”

Celebrity chefs: “I don’t like to be mean. Celebrity chefs are good if they get somebody into the kitchen. But I just wish there were more serious shows — like Lidia Bastianich — where you just enjoy and learn. The emphasis on competition and hurry, hurry, hurry is just exactly what we don’t need.”

On her kitchen: “I have a 25-year-old Garland gas stove. And an open ‘apothecary shelf’ for dried goods, rice and all the different beans. I like having them visible to see if they’re running low and for inspiration. I think a kitchen should be warm and not so clinical — everything put away as if it were shameful.”

On why Julia was special: “Julia’s special gift was her enthusiasm. Americans have such a strong love/hate relationship to food. They’re always looking for something that’s bad for them. Look at the whole gluten craze. Everything has to be gluten-free. Julia would say: ‘If you need the vitamins, take a pill.’ She’s not going to spoil her cooking for the vitamins.”

On cooking for one: Judith’s husband and collaborator Evan died in 1996. Since then she has lived alone. “I had written my memoir (The Tenth Muse: My Life in Food) and the last chapter talked about being alone now. I’d chosen recipes that typified recipes in my life.” Her next and most recent book is The Pleasures of Cooking for One. “The supermarkets are so against you. They make you feel like you’re a pariah. Why can’t you buy two big pork tenderloins? If I buy that bunch of broccoli, I’ll have to eat it all and get to hate it like George Bush. I began to strategize. It was such fun thinking through the week how not to waste food — and very creative.”

On cooking for her dog Mabon: “I just bought two shoulder lamb chops in a package. It was too much for me so I gave half a chop to him. It’s such a help. This dog loves everything. He immediately sniffs out the meat, eats it and then goes back to the vegetables.” Her next project: A book about cooking for one’s dog.

On Julia Child’s best advice: “Pay attention, eat moderately, don’t eat too much between meals and just enjoy. That’s what it’s about.”

The Way to Cook was Julia Child’s favourite of all her books. It’s also Judith Jones’s — and mine. Here’s a superb recipe from it.

Split Pea Soup

This is absolutely delicious and, though time-consuming to make as the stock takes about 3 hours, extremely easy. Julia gives the option of using ham bones and leftover scraps from a smoked ham; I used a large smoked pork hock bought from a European butcher, with terrific results. You can make the ham stock ahead if desired. I chilled it for a few hours before making the soup itself  in order to remove fat from its surface. Adding salt to the soup may not be necessary depending on the ham you use.

Ham stock:
1 large smoked pork (ham) hock
About 12 cups water, leftover ham braising juices and/or chicken stock
1 cup each: chopped carrot and onion
1 large celery stalk with leaves, chopped
3 bay leaves
A few sprigs of fresh thyme
5 cloves (optional)

Place all ingredients in large saucepan. Bring to boil; lower heat and simmer, partially covered, about 3 hours. Strain, discard solids and refrigerate. (I reserve the pork hock before straining, remove and discard its bone, skin, fat and gristle, then chop the meat coarsely and refrigerate to add to soup later.)

Soup:

3 tbsp butter or vegetable oil
²⁄₃ cup each: diced celery and onion
¹⁄₂ cup each: diced carrot and rutabaga or parsnip
3 tbsp flour
1 ¹⁄₂ cups yellow or green split peas
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Melt butter in large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add vegetables; cook, stirring, about 5 minutes. Stir in flour; cook, stirring, until blended, about 1 minute. Remove from heat. Add ham stock and split peas, stirring well. Return to stove; bring to boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to low; simmer, partially covered, about 1 hour or until split peas are tender. Add salt, if necessary, and pepper.

Puree soup using a hand blender, food mill or food processor. Add reserved chopped ham to soup. Serve garnished with chopped fresh parsley, if desired.

Makes 6 to 8 servings.

While I scribbled away using the old-school journo’s tools of the trade — a pen and paper — he, Nick Robinson, was calmly taking notes on some kind of tablet, checking in with Twitter and probably his e-mail at the same time.

We had a brief chat, exchanged cards and, upon my return, began following each other on Twitter and connected on LinkedIn.

Much of the talk at the conference, not surprisingly, was about the future of books in general and cookbooks in particular. I knew about ebooks, have friends who use kindles and have heard of apps (I know, that’s hard for some to believe) but am new to the concepts of “enhanced ebooks”, “the reflowable ebook” and “bundling”, all of which are, say publishers, agents, booksellers and others in the know, the next big things.

Nick writes about this better than I could and here’s the link.

The conference is named for the Roger Smith Hotel where it took place: a funky old establishment with two teeny elevators and vintage, shabby-chic decor, located on Lexington Ave. between 47th and 48th St.

The sold-out event consisted of panels that ran three at a time throughout the two days with wine and nibblies at noisy, sardine-packed soirees in the hotel’s compact cafe area each evening.

It was lots of fun chatting with the mainly young crowd of 100+ attendees. Many were endeavouring to break into the competitive world of culinary communication by blogging. Many were aspiring cookbook authors.

Panels were of assorted ages. Most were movers and shakers among America’s — for the most part, New York’s — culinary, literary and other food media types.

Here are some highlights from the panels I attended:

Eat and be Satisfied: Jewish Cookbooks Past, Present and Future

Mitchell Davis, a Canadian now living in New York and working for the James Beard Foundation, entertained us with his chosen theme: Jew Food and the Challenge of writing a Cross-Over Jewish Cookbook. The term “Jew food”, Mitchell’s proposed title for his most recent book was considered politically incorrect and thus nixed in Favour of The Mensch Chef, a spoof on Julia Child’s The French Chef.

The first Jewish cookbooks to appear in America were kosher, emphasized thrift and were written by housewives. Among early titles and one of the most successful is one of my most treasured books given to me by my mother many moons ago: The Settlement Cookbook. “It was not kosher,” said Mitchell of this 1901 tome, “and became less Jewish with each edition.”

Predicting Future Trends from Current Data

Chaired capably by feisty New York agent Lisa Ekus, this panel discussed some of the issues addressed in Nick Robinson’s blog cited above.

Book topics that are currently hot: 10-minute appetizers; dessert pops (any confection on a stick); doughnuts; healthy food; flexatarianism; back to basics; budgeting; ethnic food.

Panelists agreed that the use of apps for recipes is a big trend. They urged food media to “take their passion to the social media.” One panelist advised “writing two good blogs a week, not four bad ones.”

Pointers from Lisa for would-be authors: “Decide where your heart is. The best books are written by a passionate, knowledgeable person.” Then, as an aside, “There’s a lot of fake passion in social media.”

She also said, “Don’t be afraid of working with a small publisher. Look outside the mainstream. I love university presses.” Generalists, she notes, are having a hard time so, “find your niche.”

As for marketing, bundling (buy a book and some version of the ebook is free) and the sale of cookbooks in supermarkets and cooking stores like Williams-Sonoma are definitely growing trends.

Brave New World: Who Needs an Old-Fashioned Literary Agent?

The mostly young and darn smart bunch of women on this panel were impressive in advocating that the answer to the above question is a resounding “Everyone.”

Chaired by Sharon Bowers of The Miller Agency, they claimed that agents are becoming more, not less, relevant. She said: “Ultimately, real books will go away, as we know them. They’ll be like the wood-stove.” In this rapidly changing environment agents fulfill an important role in “getting the best deals for clients. We’re creating a new language every day.”

She cited “new frontiers. There are things like enhanced ebooks and apps for which publishers must pay extra.”

Agents can also put chef/authors together with a writer, recipe developer and photographer. The key, all agreed, is for an author to have a voice and concept. Personality and storytelling are key. The rest can be developed.

Happily, all endorsed my requirement of a cookbook: That the recipes be good and that they work.

The Cookbook Editor’s Role

I attended this panel for one reason: To hear and meet Judith Jones, until recently a senior editor and vice president at Alfred A. Knopf but, most famously, the woman who discovered Julia Child.

If you saw the film Julie and Julia, a young Judith Jones received the manuscript for Mastering the Art of French Cooking after it had been refused by others in America and realized she was onto something.

“Julia was so visceral,” said Ms. Jones who is now in her late 80s, obviously savouring the memory of her dear friend and giving an example. “When  someone asked Julia why she massaged a chicken before cooking it, she replied: ‘I think the chicken likes it.’”

“It’s a different world out there now,” Judith continued, “but it’s still about connecting with each other.”

She has little time for food television or the cult of celebrity chefs. “Chefs ruling the world of food is nonsense. They get signed up for a cookbook and someone else writes it.”

She likes to be hands-on as an editor: “When I did a book with Lidia Bastianich, she came with her mother and her mother’s boyfriend and we spent three wonderful days together cooking and eating.” She calls such collaboration “an intimate working relationship.”

Judith admits things are changing in the cookbook world. “We have to work with what’s happening. The cookbook is still an imperfect tool. I’m all for ways we can enhance cookbooks but I still want to take it to bed with me.”

Last but not least, she concluded: “Publishing isn’t really a business — it’s a hobby.”

My Audio Interview with Judith Jones

The day after the conference ended, I found myself at Judith Jones’s Upper East Side apartment, microphone in hand. That interview will be part of a podcast soon to be posted on this site. And look for an imminent blog post about that amazing experience.

The Conference Cookbook

Conference organizers — a diligent, friendly lot who did an excellent job — had a great idea — to seize the day and put together a cookbook called The Cookbook Lovers’ Cookbook (well-priced at $15 U.S.) comprising recipes from participating foodies.

I am currently working my way through it and will share more happy discoveries in this blog as I do.

I couldn’t resist this one mainly because of the appealing name. It is from cookbook author, blogger and former executive editor of Cook’s Illustrated magazine Pam Anderson who came up with it by adapting a popular cassoulet recipe from her  book Perfect One-Dish Dinners. It did not disappoint.

Shove-it-in-the-Oven Chicken Stew

This is a cinch to make and delicious. If your potatoes are large or even medium in size, cut them in smallish chunks so they cook through. I used fresh thyme leaves instead of dried tarragon.

2 lb/1 kilo boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut in large pieces
1 1/2  lb/750g baby new potatoes, halved
1 large onion, cut in chunks
1 lb/500g portobello or brown mushrooms, cut in chunks or halved
4 garlic cloves, sliced
¹⁄₄ cup olive oil
2 tsp dried tarragon or thyme
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup chicken stock
¹⁄₂ cup (35%) whipping or (18%) table cream
¹⁄₄ cup Dijon mustard

Preheat oven to 425F.

Distribute chicken, potatoes, onion, mushrooms and garlic in large roasting pan. Add olive oil and tarragon; stir to combine. Sprinkle evenly with salt and pepper. Roast in oven about 45 minutes or until potatoes are soft.

Transfer roasting pan to top of stove over two burners set on on medium-low. Stir in chicken stock, cream and mustard. Simmer to heat through and blend flavours, a couple of minutes.

Garnish with chopped fresh parsley and serve with crusty bread and a tossed salad.

Makes 6 to 8 servings.

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.

So dear readers, as is my wont, I am about to share the fruit of my labours. In this case, it’s two recipes.

First, a superb dish called Roasted Cauliflower “Steaks” with Crunchy Parsley-Pine Nut Bread Crumbs from a big, gorgeous new cookbook called “Roasting” by Molly Stevens. These are so delicious, I wonder where this clever idea has been all my life. I now keep extra amounts of the crumb topping in my fridge to spinkle on all manner of cooked veggies, salad, soup, meat, fish — almost anything except dessert.

Second is the delectably gooey, chewy Macaroni and Cheese with Roasted Butternut Squash that appeared on the cover of the February, 2012, issue of Chatelaine magazine. This is not a low-cal dish by any means but it is a tad healthier than most versions because of the chunks of roasted squash that inundate it.

Here are the recipes, in both cases slightly tweaked by me. You’re welcome!

Roasted Cauliflower “Steaks” with Crunchy Parsley-Pine Nut Bread Crumbs

I make extra bread crumb mixture to scatter on any dish that could use it and use whatever bread I have on hand, whirred in the food processor, to make coarse crumbs. I used fresh coriander instead of parsley and dried cranberries in place of raisins — I find both ingredients add extra zip. I streamlined the method by toasting the crumbs and pine nuts in a skillet instead of in the oven. Adapted from “Roasting” by Molly Stevens.

I medium head cauliflower

¹⁄₄ cup plus 1 tbsp olive oil

¹⁄₂ cup fresh (i.e. home-made) breadcrumbs

3 tbsp pine nuts

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

¹⁄₄ cup chopped fresh parsley or coriander

3 tbsp golden raisins or dried cranberries

1 tsp finely grated lemon zest

Preheat oven to 450F.

Remove leaves from cauliflower. Cut core from base so it is slightly recessed but do not remove. Stand cauliflower upright and cut in slices about 3/4-inch thick. (Pieces will likely crumble off; don’t worry.) Place slices and crumbled bits on baking sheet lined with silicone liner or parchment paper. Drizzle with ¹⁄₄ cup olive oil. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Turn to coat.

Roast cauliflower in oven, turning once or twice to brown evenly, about 30 minutes or until tender.

Meanwhile, make crumb mixture. Add remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil to medium or large skillet. Add bread crumbs; cook over medium heat 8 to 10 minutes or until golden brown. Place pine nuts in small skillet; cook over medium-low heat until browned, about 5 minutes. Cool crumbs and pine nuts.

Place pine nuts, parsley, raisins, lemon zest and a pinch of salt in food processor. Pulse until coarsely chopped. Transfer to bowl. Add toasted crumbs; stir to combine.

To serve, transfer cauliflower to warmed serving platter. Just before serving, sprinkle with crumb mixture.

Makes about 4 servings.

Macaroni and Cheese with Roasted Butternut Squash

From February 2012’s issue of Chatelaine magazine. I roasted the squash slightly longer than the recipe prescribed, 30 instead of 18 minutes. You could use any short pasta.

About 3 cups (half a medium) peeled, finely diced butternut squash

1 tsp olive oil

2 cups dry elbow macaroni

2 tbsp butter

¹⁄₄ cup all-purpose flour

2 ¹⁄₂ cups milk

1 tsp Dijon mustard

¹⁄₄ tsp salt

Pinch of cayenne pepper (optional)

1 cup grated white cheddar

1 cup grated mozzarella

¹⁄₂ cup grated gruyere

¹⁄₃ cup panko bread crumbs

Preheat oven to 400F.

Toss squash with oil on baking sheet. Bake in oven about 30 minutes or until tender, stirring halfway through.

Cook macaroni in pot of boiling water until al dente, about 8 minutes. Drain.

Melt butter in medium saucepan over medium heat. Whisk in flour. Gradually whisk in milk, Dijon, salt and cayenne. Stir until mixture comes to boil. Remove from heat; stir in macaroni. cheese and squash. Transfer to baking dish. Sprinkle with panko.

Place under broiler until top is golden brown, about 3 minutes.

Makes about 6 servings.

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.

Hot on the heels of this came two work-related setbacks. In both cases, I didn’t see them coming. Both triggered strong emotions. Both made me doubt my judgment, something that’s been shaken up since I quit the corporate world in 2007 after 18 years as food editor/columnist for the Toronto Star, Canada’s largest newspaper, and embarked on my intrepid, often lonely, frequently bumpy path as a fledgling freelance food sleuth.

And so I am trying, in middle age (happily, immaturity and hair dye keep me young) to handle these new challenges: financial insecurity (I’m self-employed but haven’t yet given myself a paying job) and what I can only describe as the steep learning curve called Life.

The ongoing lessons are many, most of them learned the hard way. But enough about me.

In the litany of mishaps from recent weeks are some that befell others.

My boyfriend Ross’s mother Betty fell down the stairs on Christmas Day eve and broke her femur. Thanks to some nifty surgery, she is on the mend.

Then the cruise ship Costa Concordia hit rocks off the Italian island of Giglio. On it were Ross’s sister Laurie and her husband Alan, celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary. Thankfully, they survived; others were not so lucky.

Meanwhile, as I am wont to do in difficult times, I recalled the upbeat words of my dear late friend and mentor, Julia Child: “Don’t look back. Look forward.”  

Then I took to the kitchen and cooked up a storm - the best way I know to soothe my troubled soul and one highly recommended by the inimitable Ms. Child who famously said: “Cooking is the best work there is. You get to eat the results.” (Read to the end of this blog for the fruits of this labour.)

Also comforting in troubled times is breaking bread with those I love. One recent, rainy Sunday eve, this pursuit took me to Little India accompanied by my daughter Ruthie and her girlfriend Usha.

Usha, whose heritage is Sri Lankan, suggested dinner at Moti Mahal, a casual cafe-style eatery that’s been a popular haunt in that ‘nabe for many moons. For some reason, I overrode her idea in favour of the nearby Udupi Palace, home to the dosa: a giant thin and crispy curry-filled crepe I was craving on that particular night.

For once, my restaurant radar was off. I should have known things might go wrong after noting bulbs for the word “Palace” were defunct on the Udupi emporium’s outside sign. Lukewarm, underwhelming dosas with too little, underspiced filling followed. Oy vey!

In an effort to save the evening — nothing puts me in a bad mood like inferior food — I suggested we move on to Moti Mahal where Usha had mentioned the desserts are terrific, especially something called Ras Malai.

Wow, the noisy diners dipping into oversized thali plates while enjoying lively conversation crowded into the utilatarian booths couldn’t have been having more fun. When Usha came to our table bearing a bevy of desserts, nor could we.

Ras Malai is a sweet, creamy “patty” made from milk swimming in a sweet, creamy sauce with little chunks of chopped pistachio floating therein. I hate the term “comfort food’ but this delectable confection could give it a good name.

The following week, I informed Ross that Moti Mahal was calling my name at dinner time. Alas, it was Tuesday night and the place was closed.

En route home along Queen Street East, I saw the sign “Edward Levesque” and remembered eating at that resto almost 10 years ago. Home to clever chef/owner with the above name, its food, I recalled, was refined downhome cooking — just darn good, real food. The room is pretty and tranquil.

After a short chat with the chatty Mr. Levesque, who recognized me after all this time, we sat down to eat. Ross’s creamy Chicken Pot Pie was old-fashioned, crowned with perfect pastry and resplendent with juicy chicken and green peas in a creamy sauce. A side of skinny, crunchy fries was simple, salty and superb; my Duck Confit was above average.

But dessert was the crowning glory: a rich, moist wedge of Orange Almond Cake topped with luscious Lemon Confit and a dollop of whipped cream.

I am a food sleuth and sleuthing is my game. So I asked chef Levesque about this dish. Yes, you guessed — I wanted the recipe.

He was discreet at first, saying a pastry chef makes his desserts. Then he offered up a few clues. “I think it’s an old recipe that originally called for clementines.” Then the name “Nigella” came up and some key info: that the oranges/clementines are cooked whole before being incorporated.

Back home, I took to the Internet. It quickly served up a trademark recipe from Nigella Lawson for Clementine Cake. I made it the next day and served it with Lemon Confit: a recipe shared with me on this sleuthing trail by my pastry chef buddy Joanne Yolles. It and a scoop of Loblaws divine Crackle ice cream were the crowning glory.

By the way, a week later Ross and I returned for dinner to Moti Mahal where we each dug into a thali platter — mine with goat curry, his with curried chicken but both including cinnamon-infused basmati rice, delicious and not-at-all-slimy, spicy okra, cauliflower potato curry, top-notch naan and chile-laced raw onion pickle. Delish — and we’ll be back.

So here’s that cake from Edward Levesque followed by the Lemon Confit that I plan to make regularly and use to garnish all kinds of desserts.

Clementine Cake

I used organic sugar, which is light brown rather than white, and whole unblanched almonds (skins on) which I ground in the food processor to resemble coarse crumbs.

5 or 6 clementines, preferably seedless (about 1 lb/500g)

6 eggs

1 cup plus 2 tbsp sugar

2 ¹⁄₃ cups ground almonds

1 heaping tsp baking powder

Place clementines in medium saucepan with enough cold water to cover. Bring to boil; reduce heat to low and simmer, covered, for 2 hours. Drain and cool. Remove stem ends, halve and remove any stray seeds. Chop coarsely, skin and all.

Butter and line 8-inch/2L springform pan with parchment paper. (If you don’t have the paper, butter and dust with flour.)

Preheat oven to 375F.

Beat eggs in medium bowl. Add sugar, almonds and baking powder; mix well. Add chopped clementines; stir until combined. Transfer mixture to prepared springform pan.

Bake in oven about 1 hour or until tester inserted in centre of cake comes out clean. Cool in pan placed on wire rack. Remove rim from pan.

Serve thin wedges of cake with a little Lemon Confit (recipe below) spooned on to each wedge and a scoop of ice cream, whipped cream or thickened yogurt. (This cake tastes better the day after it is made and keeps well stored covered in a cool place.

Makes about 12 to 16 servings.

Lemon Confit

I definitely recommend Meyer lemons for this — their robust sweet/sour taste is ideal. I used a mandoline to slice the lemons.

3 or 4 Meyer lemons, very thinly sliced

1 cup sugar

1 ¹⁄₄ cups water

Preheat oven to 300F.

Arrange lemons in small baking dish.  Combie sugar and water in small bowl. Pour over lemons. Cover with foil; cut small slits in foil.

Bake in oven about 2 hours.

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.

Especially treasured are those 100 or so that I keep close at hand on shelves I had built for this purpose in the important room where it all happens: my compact, cozy kitchen.

Breaking open a cookbook I haven’t used before is lots of fun. In this case, it was Friday Night Dinners, the latest offering of many by my long-time friend and esteemed colleague Bonnie Stern.

As is my wont, being a food sleuth and all, I asked Bonnie shortly after the book came out (oy vey, that was three years ago) to name her favourite recipe from it. She didn’t miss a beat: “The brisket,” was her reply.

Yesterday, I took the large thawed brisket bought some weeks ago at my trusty Kensington Market butcher Sanagan’s and, Bonnie’s book in front of me, proceeded to assemble ingredients. They were few, sweet and simple. Everything was on hand in my pantry including an almost untouched bottle of Port.

Almost four hours later, when Ross and I came home from a neighbourhood meeting to the beautiful aroma of braising beef, the brisket was ready. Accompanied by mashed potatoes and peas, it was delicious — lashings of rich, wine-infused sauce and tender, juicy meat.

We now have dinner for several days including fodder to fill luscious sandwiches. This would also be a great dish to serve at Chranukah (aka Chrismukah), the minimalist fusion festive feast I favour!

Thank you Bonnie. I’ll be in touch for more recipe tips!

Friday Night Brisket

6-lb/3 kg double brisket
1 tbsp Dijon mustard
1 tbsp kosher salt
1 tbsp pepper
1 tbsp paprika
1 head garlic, separated into cloves, peeled
3 large onions, sliced
1 cup Port
2 cups dry red wine
1 cup beef or chicken stock, or water

Spread brisket with mustard; sprinkle with salt, pepper and paprika.

Place garlic and most of onions in bottom of large Dutch oven. Place brisket on top. Top with remaining onions. Add Port, wine and stock. Bring to boil. Place parchment paper directly on top of brisket. Cover tightly with lid or foil.

Bake in preheated 350F oven at least 3 to 4 hours or until meat is fork-tender. Remove lid and paper; return to oven and cook 30 minutes more or until brisket is browned.

Remove fat from sauce. Serve brisket sliced with sauce and onions.

Makes about 8 to 10 servings.

And now for something completely different — but equally good.

Mairlyn Smith is among my best buddies in the Toronto food world. She’s a generous colleague, a great cook, terrific recipe creator — but, best of all, she’s funny!

An alumnus of the Second City comedy troupe, she gets my jokes and is quick to respond hilariously with her own. We’ve shared many a laugh together, often over the phone when we catch up on what’s cooking in both our lives.

Here’s a fantastic recipe from her latest book Healthy Starts Here! Again, the recommendation came from the horse’s mouth, namely the brilliant author herself.

Breakfast Grab-and-Gos

Once you’ve got the ingredients which I found, believe it or not, at my local supermarket, these are a cinch to make. I often keep one in my car or purse for emergency noshing, any time of day. I did most of this in no time in my standing mixer.

1 ¹⁄₂ cups oat bran
1 ¹⁄₂ cups large flake rolled oats
1 cup whole wheat flour
³⁄₄ cup ground flaxseed
¹⁄₂ cup steel-cut oats
2 tbsp wheat germ
2 tbsp cinnamon
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup dried cranberries or blueberries
¹⁄₄ cup chocolate chips (at least 60% cocoa mass)
¹⁄₂ cup coarsely chopped walnuts
¹⁄₄ cup packed dark brown sugar
2 eggs (preferably omega-3)
4.5-oz/128-mL jar strained prunes baby food
¹⁄₄ cup canola oil
1 tbsp pure vanilla extract

Position rack in middle of oven. Preheat oven to 375F. Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper.

Mix together oat bran, large-flake oats, flour, flaxseed, steel-cut oats, wheat germ, cinnamon and baking soda in large bowl. Stir in cranberries, chocolate chips and walnuts.

Whisk together brown sugar, eggs, prunes, oil and vanilla in medium bowl until well blended.

Add sugar mixture to oat bran mixture; stir until really well combined.

Scoop batter into rounds a bit bigger than a golf ball (a 1/4-cup/60-mL ice cream scoop works well). Place on baking sheets about 2 inches/5 cm apart. Flatten with hand or back of damp spoon until about ³⁄₄ inch/2 cm thick. (Batter will be sticky).

Bake in oven 13 to 15 minutes or until medium-brown. Cool slightly on cookie sheets before transferring to wire racks to cool completely.

Store in airtight container up to 2 weeks or freeze up to 3 months.

Makes about 20.

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.

The pride and joy of my former abode was its cookbook library: a room I had specifically designed to hold the 1,200 or so cookbooks I had accumulated during my almost 40 years as a member of Canada’s food media. Many of those — 18, to be exact — were spent as food editor/columnist for this country’s largest newspaper the Toronto Star where I received review copies of cookbooks on a regular basis.

With a yen to emulate that bodacious British TV cook Nigella Lawson, who often flips through books languidly searching for recipes in her elegant room assigned specifically for this, I relished the way I’d meticulously organized my library in sections: by country, region, ethnicity, vegetarian, single subjects, Jewish, vintage (an early edition of Mrs. Beeton, four editions of the Joy of Cooking etc.), grilling, TV chefs — and on it goes.

Let me explain how important cookbooks are to me.

You know that question: If your house was on fire, what would you run back, braving the life-threatening hazards that accompany such an event, to retrieve?

My answer is clear and requires no thought: My family photos, many of which include pictures of my mother’s relatives murdered in Eastern Europe during the holocaust; as many of my vintage coats and dresses as I could carry; the slim file folder containing her favourite recipes given to me by my mother on my 21st birthday, and treasured tomes like the two Julia Child cookbooks signed for me by my dear late friend and mentor.

Luckily, I keep those two cherished books close to my side at all times along with 100 or so other “go-to” cookbooks that reside in my kitchen.

Those few shelves also hold the three books I’ve penned: Best Recipes Under the Sun (from my stint as food editor for the Toronto Sun during the ‘80s); The Best of Food (a collection of favorite dishes from my years at the Toronto Star published in 1995), and Dish, a collection of my most popular Toronto Star columns and their accompanying recipes. Only the latter is still in print — see the home page of this site for details.

Also in my kitchen are books by local food maven Bonnie Stern; the huge volume of multi-tested recipes from Cook’s Illustrated magazine called The New Best Recipe; books by Ina Garten (Barefoot Contessa); The Bon Appetit Cookbook; Julia Child’s The Way to Cook; books by Giada de Laurentiis, Nigella Lawson, the folks at Chez Panisse, Mario Batali and the unstoppable Jamie Oliver, among others.

‘Twas thanks to that gorgeous, Mockney-talking British TV chef and prolific producer of cookbooks that I eventually twigged to the fact that something was amiss with my cookbook library. Looking for an early Naked Chef book from his early days, I noticed it was missing. And so the story of intrigue, suspense and betrayal began to unfold.

Moving my library from one house to another was one mean feat as box upon box was brought to my new home. Unpacked on to shelves built by my man-friend Ross, the books had definitely diminished. In a nutshell, many of them were not there — absent, gone, missing in action.

Among them: Jane Brody’s books on healthy eating; Sheila Lukins’s books penned after her Silver Palate days; baking books by Rose Levey Beranbaum and Alice Medrich; Canadian books by the likes of Rose Murray, Elizabeth Baird, Anne Lindsay and Michael Smith.

My initial reaction to this was confusion. When what had happened sank in, that quickly morphed into rage. I soon discovered that items of houseware were also nowhere to be found — a stockpot, food mill etc. etc.

I’ve calmed down now and am busy replacing key books with the help of Alison Fryer, my buddy and longtime manager of Toronto’s trusty Cookbook Store.

Making lemonade from lemons, I’ve learned a few valuable lessons. Think before you commit what seems like a generous act. Be careful whom you trust. Be business-like in dealings that involve your possessions, especially prized ones.

As for cookbooks, I am in the process of stamping my name in them. And there’s been a discovery, that although even seemingly obscure books have come in handy for reference during my long career as a food writer/broadcaster and still do, I may not need as many. In other words, this experience has made me assess how many and which books I really need.

For more on this, watch for an upcoming blog on my chat with Alison Fryer about all this.

Meanwhile, here’s a recipe from an author whose books I was forced to replace and who appealed to someone’s sweet tooth!

Rose Levy Beranbaum’s Flaky Cream Cheese Pie Crust

New York ace baker and prolific cookbook author Rose Levy Beranbaum is a guru to those in her field. Popular with professional chefs and home bakers alike, she is a stickler for detail. Baking is one area of cooking where this is crucial — a tablespoon more of less of baking powder can mean success or failure. Talking of which, she specifies “non-aluminium” baking powder in her recipes (available at some health food store) as she claims the regular stuff gives a bitter taste. I used the standard stuff for this, with fine results.

Ms. Beranbaum specifies that the butter be frozen. Mine was chilled (straight from the fridge) and worked well.

Beranbaum says this is her favourite pastry recipe. I feel the need to add a warning: It works like a charm and is wondrously easy to handle, then roll out. However, when baked, it is delicate — almost cakey — and will leak if a liquid filling or raw fruit is used in the pie or tart. I have the burnt pan to prove it after using raw apples!

However, this recipe is great for a free-form tart filled with roasted apples and a custard layer between it and the fruit.

4 oz/125 g (¹⁄₂ cup) cold unsalted butter, cut in chunks
1 ¹⁄₃ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
¹⁄₈ tsp sea salt
¹⁄₈ tsp baking powder
3 oz/85 g (¹⁄₃ cup) cream cheese
2 tbsp whipping (35%) cream
2 tsp cider vinegar

In food processor, blend together flour, salt adn baking powder. Add cream cheese; process until it resembles coarse crumbs. Add butter; pulse until peanut size. Add cream and vinegar; pulse until mixture clumps to form dough.

Scrape dough on to lightly floured work surface; shape with hands into flat disc. Cover in plastic wrap; chill about 45 minutes before using.

Makes enough for 1 large one-crust, deep-dish or free-form pie.

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.

Mum lives in Primrose Hill between Hampstead and Camden Town in north-west London (U.K., of course) and is a busy bee.

A former high-school biology teacher, she volunteers at the local primary school helping young ‘uns learn to read. She attends a group of “egg-head” (my words, not hers) seniors who take turns giving dissertations to each other on topics relating to history, politics etc. An example: my mother’s presentation on the Dreyfus case.

She takes classes in Italian once a week, something she’s been doing for about 20 years together with her friend of 50+ years, Angie. When asked recently by me if she is fluent in that language by now, her response came with a shy smile: “Well yes dear, but I enjoy it — and we always go for a nice lunch afterwards.” Lunch that usually includes a glass or two of wine.

Interspersed with all this is the occasional coaching she gives assorted young people in German and Russian, just two of the other five languages she reads, writes and speaks fluently.

A scientist with a master’s degree, she once explained cloning to my son-in-law Nathaniel Richman.

And wouldn’t you know it? My dear mum is also a fantastic cook, one of the reasons, I’m sure, that I became a food writer/broadcaster who has a passion for all things culinary.

So naturally, my mother and I share recipes, discuss food and enjoy eating out on my annual visits to the U.K.

In between, we have a tradition that I treasure. Even though I could likely read it electronically, mum sends me the Observer Food Monthly by snail mail every time it appears.

Reading it is something I relish for both its educational and entertainment value. The OFM’s food writer-in-cheif Nigel Slater is one of my heroes. (If you haven’t read his beautiful memoir “Toast,” please do.) Photography in this glossy, info-packed mag is daring, innovative and gorgeous. The stories and columns are clever beyond belief. And there’s always a recipe or two that I make, usually with great success.

This year’s October issue was the annual round-up of awards for chefs, restaurants and innovation in food. As usual, it’s a keeper. As usual, the winner in the reader’s recipe category is superb. Here it is:

Chicken Pistachio Curry

This recipe from Maria Kuehn produces a delicate, delectable dish great served with mashed potatoes or, more traditionally, basmati rice. I streamlined and, in my opinion, improved the original by tweaking it slightly. To peel tomatoes, drop into boiling water briefly until skin loosens. The combo of chicken, pistachios, chiles, tomatoes and cream is divine. Yer welcome!

¹⁄₄ cup shelled pistachios
2 or 3 small fresh chiles (bird’s eye, Thai), seeded, chopped
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, chopped
2 tbsp chopped fresh ginger root
¹⁄₂ tsp turmeric
1 tsp fennel seeds
4 tomatoes, peeled, seeded, finely chopped
1 ¹⁄₄ cups chicken stock
3 tbsp whipping (35%) cream
¹⁄₂ tsp ground cardamom
8 chicken thighs, skinned, boned and cut in chunks
Salt to taste
Juice of half a lemon
¹⁄₂ tsp garam masala
Half a bunch fresh coriander, chopped

Pour 1 cup of water into small saucepan; add pistachios. Bring to boil; boil 6 minutes. Drain. Rub to remove any skin. Add to mortar with chiles; pound with pestle until mixture forms paste.

In large skillet or saucepan, heat oil over medium heat. Add onion; cook for 2 or 3 minutes. Add garlic, ginger, turmeric and fennel seeds; cook about 3 minutes. Add pistachio mixture; cook about 2 minutes. Add tomatoes, stock, cream, cardamom and chicken; reduce heat to low and simmer 16 to 18 minutes. Add salt, lemon juice and garam masala. Transfer to warmed platter or large bowl; sprinkle with coriander.
Serve with mashed potaatoes or basmati rice.

Makes 4 to 6 servings.

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.

No doubt the feeling is made even stronger by the fact that much of its population seems decidedly Jewish — and, of course, many of its lively citizens are, as am I.

So Ross and I recently decided to make the trip — his first time, my umpteenth — before the bone-chilling weather that is New York winter closed in.

We travelled by car to Ithaca, another of my most beloved spots south of the border, then took the Cornell campus bus to mid-Manhattan. (On the way home a few days later, we stayed overnight at the super Statler hotel in Ithaca and re-visited the excellent restaurant in that burg called Fine Line bistro where the goat cheese/spinach crostini are alone worth the trip.)

Anyhoo, eschewing the more well-known, trendy dining haunts of NYC — Momofuku, Locanda Verde, Jean-Georges and their ilk, all of which I’ve frequented on other occasions — we found ourselves at Le Relais de Venise located near our hotel on Lexington near 51st St.

This was serendipitous for several reasons: I adore steak frites, the restaurant’s specialty; the price is right ($26 a person for that delicious dish), and the ambience is unassuming, welcoming and comfortable with excellent service.

But best of all, the concept is sweet, simple and truly brilliant. The Relais (its odd name comes from the original, still-existing sister restaurant in Paris by that name where the former inhabitant of the establishment had this name) has no menu. They serve steak frites and that’s it. (Read on for an exception to this rule: a dessert selection that is decidedly memorable).

The only decision here is how rare or well-done you’d like your steak: a good-sized piece of sirloin bathed in a delectable creamy, mustardy, herb-laced sauce accompanied by those mandatory frites. The latter are skinny, perfectly cooked and downright divine. The steak and frites are served in two portions so that, explained our lovely server, “they don’t get cold.”

As I wondered where this place has been all my life, we were handed the dessert menu. “I recommend the “tower of power” advised the aforementioned server referring to a dessert officially listed as Le Vacherin de Relais.

Wow, what a thing of beauty and a taste sensation! Rounds of home-made meringue piled high between chocolate and vanilla ice cream and chunks of hazelnut, all doused in a dark, velvety, bittersweet chocolate sauce.

When we returned to Toronto, I suggested to a couple of chef friends that someone open a restaurant with this streamlined steak-frites theme here. So far, no takers.

A few days later, still nostalgic for New York, I encouraged Ross to watch one of my favourite movies with me in our cozy TV room: The Sweet Smell of Success starring Tony Curtis and Burt Lancaster. This magnificently dark and edgy film evokes NYC, albeit several decades ago, like nothing else.

Not bad until I can savour the real thing. Come spring, it’ll be “Big Apple, here I come!”