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…

Raising the Bar

November 6, 2007

Anyone who knows me and/or my writing will have gathered that I’m a bit of a barfly. I mean this in the most reputable sense of the word, i.e. that my favourite place to quaff a glass of wine and eat good food is at the bar of certain establishments.

This is especially true when I have the yen to eat out alone, particularly when travelling and exploring a new or familiar place, but also when stepping out with a friend of like mind.
Which brings me to the Library Bar at the Royal York Hotel in downtown Toronto. Perched on a tall stool at the stately polished bar in this beautifully restored, elegant and cozy room, I get to kibbitz with entertaining weeknight bartender Michael and sip a glass of Merlot from Washington State or one of the hotel’s excellent Canadian house wines. 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our last visit, I suddenly remembered my late dad’s favourite Limonia dish called Kleftiko: a Greek tradition that was originally made by baking lamb secretly under the ground so the cooks in question would not be attacked by their enemies.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…