I remember the day I was strolling through Kensington Market in the heart of downtown Toronto and realized that, for the first time in my life, I’d found that place called “home”.
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.
For some reason – probably as an antidote to stress, this being the onset of that silly season – I’ve been cooking a lot of late, in particular trying new recipes from books by my Toronto foodie friends.
If you’ve read the previous blog – my tragic tale of the missing cookbooks – you’ll understand why the tomes in question are dear to my heart.
I know the name Ruby Watchco keeps popping up in this blog – and it’s for good reason.
The meal Ross and I enjoyed there one Saturday night a couple of months ago was simply stellar, “simply” being the operative word. The uncomplicated, vibrant flavour and texture combos of each and every dish from the sensational salad with still warm buttermilk biscuits to a wondrous baked apple bathed in silky sabayon were all that good food should be.
Yesterday, Andrew Coppolino, host of The Food Show that airs on Sundays from noon to 1 pm on Kitchener radio station 570 News, warned listeners that things were about to get wild, wacky and weird when he introduced me and Antony John.
(Listen or download here. Warning: there is about 20 seconds of dead air at the beginning of the recording.)
I thought one addiction to a Wanda’s Pie in the Sky confection was quite enough. I speak here of the Dulce de Leche Macaroons jokingly dubbed “crack cookies” by the baker-in-chief herself Wanda Beaver. These yummy little creations (dusted with a white powder that is, in fact, icing sugar) consist of a rich brown, delectably chewy exterior that encases an oozy filling of luscious caramel.
It’s been two months and I’m gradually settling into my new home located in my old neighbourhood: downtown Toronto’s best village-within-a-city, Kensington Market. (By the way, this downsized version of my former Kensington house looks, said a friend recently on staring speechless at my chandelier/mirror/and cherub-bedecked living room, “a lot like New Orleans.”)
This summer, I finally made the move back to Toronto after giving Stratford, Ont., – the well-known rural home of Shakespeare, swine and swans – the five-year college try.