LONDON UK – It was about six years ago and my mother and I were about to leave her flat on Steeles Rd. in Primrose Hill. We were standing in the small hallway when she put on her new navy blue gabardine coat with a hood. Read more…
Greek Salad and Whole Roasted Cauliflower are Tops in “The Last Schmaltz”
Country Greek from “The Last Schmaltz” is a Salad Comprised of
the Usual Ingredients Plus the Welcome Addition of Chickpeas
What is a nice Jewish boy from North York doing with a mini-empire of quirky restaurants in a gritty neighbourhood of downtown Toronto? Doing pretty well is the short answer. Read more…
I Ate Up These Delicious Food Memoirs and So Will You
“The table could sometimes breed violence and it could be the backdrop to the proscribed and the forbidden and the perverse … But feeding people made them happy; it made me happy, and grounded me.” From “Treyf” by Elissa Altman
From left to right in the photo above, here are my favourite food memoirs. All of them are beautifully written (in varying degrees) and all evoke the way food played a part in the author’s life. Some contain a bonus: recipes. Read more…
My Lovely Late Mum Ruth Made a Mean Beef Stroganoff
My mother Ruth Schachter (née Nisse) in the garden of her flat in Primrose Hill, London UK, in 2014
I wrote this in 2002 when I was food editor for the Toronto Star. My dear mother, 95, died peacefully in her sleep a month ago on April 21, 2018
Today is Mother’s Day and this is a tribute to the person who first inspired my love of food and cooking – my mum. Read more…
Co-Authors Reclaim, Redo and Redeem Gefilte Fish!
“Bland, intractably beige, and (most unforgivably of all) suspended in jelly, the bottled version seemed to have been fashioned, golem-like, from a combination of packing material and crushed hope.” From an article about gefilte fish by Rebecca Flint Marx in The New Yorker (October, 2016)
The above is eloquent testimony to the bad reputation of gefilte fish – a downhome, humble staple at the Jewish holiday table. Read more…
As I Turn 70, Immaturity and Hair Dye Keep me Young
“Immaturity and hair dye keep me young.”
I’m repeating the title of this post for a few reasons: First, everything clever is worth repeating. It usually gets a good laugh – one of life’s giddiest pleasures, especially at my age. It’s true and unabashedly honest. It sums up what’s to follow – the announcement that I turn 70 in a few days. And last, it’s original.
I used to think I stole this funny line from my beloved heroine: the American journalist, author, screenwriter and director Nora Ephron. I steal a lot from that eminently quotable woman who died too young at 71 in 2012 from a rare form of leukemia. It’s hard not to steal from her because we seem to have parallel lives. I talk about her in the present because she lives on in my heart.
We both love food and cooking. We consider crushed pineapple mandatory in carrot cake, we like meatloaf – done right – and both have a recipe for cottage cheese pancakes. We both adore Julia Child and all that she’s about. Read more…
I Net the News on Fish and Chips from Humble to Haute, from London To Toronto
My love of fish and chips dates back to formative years growing up in London, U.K., the historical home of this popular, populist, down-home dish.
In my early teens, I recall joining Girl Guides where we lived in the North London suburb of Finchley – then a white-collar, white-bread enclave where my Jewish family stood out like a sore thumb. Read more…
Save Kensington Market: The Battle is on for my Neighbourhood’s Heart and Soul
Kensington Market: my neighbourhood, my family – my first real home.
Located in the heart of downtown Toronto bordered by College and Dundas to the north and south, to the east and west by Spadina and Bathurst, this unique enclave is a quirky, edgy, messy mish-mosh of old and new.
It’s where skinny Victorian row houses stand side-by-side with assorted shops and eateries selling everything from soup and suits to nuts and neckties – with plenty of stuff in between. Read more…
‘Tis the Season for Jewish Penicillin: Chicken Soup Soothes both Body and Soul
My Jewishness is fraught with complexities and contradictions.
Raised without any religion in the North London suburb of Finchley in post-war Britain, it was white-bread, white-collar and Anglo-Saxon all the way. (This is not the case today, I’ve noted on recent visits, in a neighbourhood where kebab shops, curry houses and the Tally Ho! pub rub shoulders in a somewhat seedy multicultural mix).
My late father Mel Schachter grew up poor and tough on the mean streets of Montreal’s Jewish ghetto to become “my son, the doctor” – a profession he once said he chose because “it was the best racket going.” Read more…
My Energizer Bunny Mum is Bouncing Back and Baking her Famous Linzertorte to Boot
My mother Ruth Schachter in her garden a few years ago
This appeared in the Toronto Star in 2012 when I was its food editor/columnist. My dear mother, 95, died peacefully in her sleep on April 21, 2018.
I often joke with my mum that she’s the antithesis of a Jewish mother. Read more…
