It’s a Wonderful (Bagel) World

November 9, 2007

When my younger daughter Ruth was growing up, we had several dining out rituals.

For much of the ’90s, Friday night meant dinner at Bar Italia located on the College St. strip of Little Italy. The attractions were many: Plain pasta for her with only butter and a dusting of parmesan, a glass of robust red wine for me along with roast chicken or grilled steak. Foccacia dipped in olive oil laced with chilies or the excellent antipasto were mandatory starters.

Perched on stools at the bar, we became fixtures and favourites with bartenders Steven, Giuseppe and Mark. Ruth’s Shirley Temple-ish beverage came printed on our bill as “1 Ruthie.” Read more…

Good Munching in Montreal

November 8, 2007

My brother Eric and I were both born in Montreal. We didn’t live there long as the wanderings of our academic parents began soon after, taking us to Halifax, Nova Scotia, followed by London, England, where we spent 15 years and then back to Canada in the late ’60s.

Still, that lovely city of my birth has always loomed large, partly because, as children, we regularly made summer visits there to see both sets of grandparents, crossing the Atlantic several times by ocean liner (not a good memory) and because my dad would sometimes talk about growing up in that city’s famous Jewish neighbourhood now called Mile End or The Main. Read more…

Easy as (Greek) Pie

November 7, 2007

I’ve long been expert at sniffing out a good recipe. After all, I’ve done it professionally for more than 25 years and as an intriguing hobby for most of my adult life.

So when I recently met Judy Trogadis, a friend of my good pal Visnja Brcic, it wasn’t long before we were talking spanakopita, that delectable, deservedly famous Greek pie made with phyllo, spinach and feta that’s often served as a snack at parties. Read more…

Apples of My Eye

November 6, 2007

For me, fall means food fresh from the tree or field. In particular, it usually entails a visit the St. Lawrence Valley – the tiny village of Brinston an hour’s drive south of Ottawa, to be exact – to visit my nanny Evelyn Smail and to savour apple season at its peak.

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This is rich farm country and Evelyn has lived here for all of her 80 years minus the 18 months as a teenager when she came to look after me as a baby in Montreal.

A widow now and sometimes in frail health, she relishes my visits and always has something or someone new to show me. Read more…

My Kleftiko Coup

November 3, 2007

Whenever I cross the ocean to visit my mother in her lovely North-West London neighbourhood of Primrose Hill, we set out for dinner on our first or second night together to the wondrous nearby Greek restaurant called Limonia. Always packed, it is a local favourite with celebs and regular folk alike.

Often I order fish, souvlaki or lamb in some shape or form. The food is always good, the ambience comfortably elegant and the welcome warm. It’s a ritual dear to my heart.

On our last visit, I suddenly remembered my late dad’s favourite Limonia dish called Kleftiko: a Greek tradition that was originally made by baking lamb secretly under the ground so the cooks in question would not be attacked by their enemies. Read more…

Dim and Then Sum

October 30, 2007

Having grown up in a family that refused to stay put, I’ve spent much of my adult life trying to put down roots. I found them in an instant when I walked into Toronto’s feisty, colourful and inimitable Kensington Market one sunny day in the late 1970s and knew immediately that this was home. Its ethnic mix, Jewish history and cheaply cheerful warmth proved irresistible and I lived happily in the heart of this wonderful place for more than 25 years, nearly all of them in the same house on Augusta Ave. facing a lively park.

Once you’re considered part of the Kensington family, there’s no looking back. A foodie through and through, I was in the right ‘nabe to pursue my passion. Read more…

Roasts with the Most

October 24, 2007

You know those magical moments in cooking – when you put something together, almost haphazardly, and it turns out to be sublime.

That happened to me recently when a friend came over to cook dinner at my house using the contents of my fridge as our guide – possibly my favourite way to spend time.

I’d just bought a large, good-looking cauliflower at my local supermarket that we decided to roast and eat along with some leftover chicken in its own gravy, baby boiled potatoes and a big salad. Frequent visits were made to my deck to pluck fresh herbs for adding to a dish where applicable. Read more…

Beloved Bistro

October 16, 2007

As a longtime food writer and one-time restaurant critic, I dread the oft-asked question:

“Which is your favourite restaurant?”

My usual response to this query about Toronto, my former home of 30 years (these days, the same info is asked of Stratford, Ont., where I now live – more of that in a future blog) is to request that the person name a category: high-end or cheap and cheerful, ethnicity of food, area of town etc. etc. Even then, as I rifle through my virtual restaurant rolodex, I’m often stumped. Read more…

My Favourite Pho

October 12, 2007

I’ve been eating that delicious Vietnamese soup called pho (pronounced feu) for at least 10 years, mostly at one of my favourite Vietnamese restaurants in the heart of downtown Chinatown: Sai Gon Palace, 454 Spadina Ave. just south of College.

Recently, I had a Calvin Trillin moment at this popular, spacious no-frills eatery with the semi-open kitchen. A creature of habit, I am a regular here with a regular menu choice.

On this day, however, Trillin’s sage advice about checking out what others, especially Asian diners, are eating in an Asian restaurant came to mind. As I was about to order my usual #1 – a big bowl of broth filled with thick rice noodles, beansprouts, rare and well-done beef slivers, beef tendon, tripe and beef balls – I noticed a man at the next table enjoying a thick soup I’d never seen before. “What is he having?” I whispered to the waitress who was about to order me the tried-and-true #1 without my asking for it. “#21,” she replied succinctly. “I’ll take that,” was my adventurous comeback. Read more…