When my daughter came back from a recent trip to Sri Lanka, she brought some loose black tea in a plain paper package. Knowing that this country, formerly called Ceylon, is prime tea-growing land, I had high hopes for those aromatic leaves.
I was right. They brewed up the most deliciously balanced, flavourful yet not at all bitter, slightly sweet cuppa. With milk and a little sugar, as I like to drink tea, this was unequalled. Read more…
When I was growing up, my job at dinnertime was to set the table and make the vinaigrette for a salad my nutrition-conscious mother served with each meal. It was your basic version: 2 to 3 parts olive oil to lemon juice or vinegar sometimes with a little mustard whisked in, salt, pepper and, mum always insisted, a good pinch of sugar.
Maybe that influenced my taste in salad dressing but I like a hint of something sweet to counteract the acidity of a vinaigrette. Orange juice concentrate is one trick I use, occasionally maple syrup and often rice vinegar. Read more…
A couple of years ago, I moved to Stratford, Ont., a lovely city of 30,000 about an hour-and-a-half’s drive south-west of Toronto nestled in the snow belt on the scenic river Avon amid farm country. It’s home to a famous theatre festival, pig farming, car part factories and a well-known chefs school. A real town with enough eccentricity to welcome a vintage-clad urban type like moi who’s wont to call it the land of Shakespeare, swine and swans.
A strong believer in immersing myself in the local culture, especially when it comes to food, I recently found myself in Stratford’s cavernous newly built, fluorescent-lit Rotary Rec Complex attending an annual event of 45 years: The Sparerib and Pigtail Dinner. Read more…
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…
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…
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…
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.
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…
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…
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…
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…
Marion Kane has been a leader in the world of food journalism for a few decades. She is an intrepid populist whose work combines social commentary with a consuming passion for all things culinary. For 18 years, she was food editor/columnist for Canada's largest newspaper: the Toronto Star. She lives in Toronto's colourful Kensington Market and is currently a free-wheeling freelance food sleuth®, podcaster, writer and cook.
