And what of it??!!

To those of you who know me it should come as no surprise that I've been accused of being arrogant - a comment usually followed by a noun! On occasion it's combined with an adjective, presumptuous perhaps! Conveyed with enough emotion (slamming doors help - airborne glass for sure), it has been known to make me pause, ponder recent behaviour, and consider amends. . . consider!

The other night I mentioned to a colleague that I rarely went out for dinner (boy's nights out aside); I'm pretty sure I detected an inquisical scoff.

Yes, I'm a person who loves food - and I enjoy experiencing what local chefs have on fare. But it's true, I would much rather spend three hours in the kitchen, listening to some great tunes while Kim finishes off yet another book, and then together enjoy the fruits of the labour in front of the fire rather than spend $200 and take a cab ride home.

And while I have my share of spectacular and entertaining failures, I believe confidently (perhaps misguidedly so) that there is very little on any local menu that I can not match.

Early this evening I pulled out the stove top smoker and, using ash chips, smoked a 3lb piece of Alberta beef filet - which I later finished on the barbecue to give it a crunchy edge; I served this atop a puree of parsnip and potato, with seared carrots and green beans. Around the side was a reduced sauce - red wine, stock, herbs, butter. I served it with an old world Syrah - a 2005 Crozes Hermitage.

On a menu it would have read:

Ash smoked filet of Alberta beef on a puree of PEI potatoe and autumn parsnips, with grilled heirloom carrots and haricots vert.

And that would have been my selection - I would have paid $28 for it and, followed by a cheese plate and a glass of 20 year old Tawny port, I would have recommended it to a friend.

An Epicurean Play, in Twelve Acts

Over the last two weeks I've had the pleasure of dining at two of Ottawa's newest restaurants: Play Food and Wine, and Atelier. Typically when you go to two top restaurants within ten days there are things in common between the two and you are easily lulled into comparing one preparation of fois gras to the other's - or these days pork belly, short ribs or steak frites. And had the second visit been to Navarra or Black Cat I could easily fall in to this trap. But beyond the hype factor created by a second Stephen Beckta opening and Marc Lepine's evolutionary leap after six years at The Courtyard (I was turned off by this 80's vintage haven for the Greyhound crowd, so I lack objectivity), there is little in common.

Ron Eade wrote extensively about Marc Lepine in a series of November articles on his blog Ominovore's Ottawa, so I was somewhat prepared for the journey in molecular gastronomy and the secrets behind his kitchen. But having seen this before at the now defunct Black Cat on Clarence, under the mantle of Rene Rodriguez, recently of Navarra fame, who played with the concept with mixed results, I was a little skeptical as to how far this journey would take me. The event that brought Kim and me (and two friends) to Atelier was their Anti-Valentine dinner (for which appropriately Kim picked up the tab - I fearing that my visa card would once again be rejected). When our waitress, Erin, came to the table and constructed our centrepiece by dipping a rose into a bucket of dry ice and smashing it on the table, I thought we were off to a good start.

Over the next 4 and a half hours (as the evening progressed I appreciated why our reservation was for 6 o'clock), we were guided through a tour of chef-meets-chemistry lab, each course fitting in to the antipodean love theme. Essential to appreciating what was brought before us was a serving staff that could describe each dish in detail, and its preparation, along with a very good understanding of the wine paring. Making best use of the tools of his trade, such as an anti-griddle and immersion circulator, Chef Lepine kept us entertained with courses that were unique, playful, and tended to contrast taste sensations.

These ranged from a bold starter, a "cold-hearted creamsicle", a heart-shaped creamy lemon (vodka) popsicle, made on an anti-griddle, that had a sprinkling of bright yellow whitefish roe to provide a wonderful salty contrast to the tart lemon cream; to a surprisingly mellow Nitro Noodle Soup - a butternut squash soup with a togarashi chili spice blend, in which noodles made of a crab apple puree that had been nitro-frozen, steamed from the bowl to offer dramatically contrasting temperatures. Another course featured an oyster that rested on a very small piece of lemon topped with a frozen sambal chili-based hot sauce and a very small leaf of cilantro. It was served on a clothespin-like spoon that pinned a piece of star anise designed to provide a hint of licorice scent and balanced in a piece of PVC tubing. In this case the chili sauce was a brilliant contrast to the salty oyster and tart lemon with the cilantro offering a freshness to contrast the heat of the frozen chili.

Following a course that witnessed the wait staff brandishing a fishing rod with a small piece of albacore tuna baited on a fish hook that had marinated in maple syrup, pan seared and then drizzled with caramel and chives, there was an interesting palette cleanser (Yellow Snow), made from granulated frozen coconut with a shot of concentrated pineapple juice syringed over top; there followed a mushroom plate (winter mushroom, eryngii and, if I recall, oyster), pared with a small glass of sake - and while I found the mushrooms unspectacular, and for some reason oddly out of place, there was a wonderful cellophane thin piece of carrot that literally melted in my mouth.

The clear winner of the two meat courses was a bison steak that had been prepared sous vide and then pan seared. This was done perfectly - it was tender, the very rare side of medium, and was loaded with flavour; accompanying the bison was a puree of sunchoak, finely sliced beets and a thin cylinder of purple potato.

The three dishes that remained were the "sweet deserts" that, consistent with the theme, were anything but! The first was a remarkable interpretation of nachos: it consisted of a small cheesecake on a crust of crumbed corn chips topped with a few shards of sharp cheddar, an incredibly subtle frozen salsa (with a piece of salsa paper), a smear of guacamole, sour cream ice cream, fiely chopped black olives and some dried jalapeno powder. Nothing in this dish was sweet and yet it all held together as one might expect from a cheese course.

The second was the chocolate course, which featured a hollow bitter chocolate heart smashed by our waitress Erin(a broken heart), that oozed a sour cranberry sauce accompanied on the side by cranberries, a small heart shaped brownie and two soft spicy cinnamon hearts.

The penultimate desert was an intense display of acidity centred around lemon, lime and orange. This consisted of jellied lime, two torched meringue and a dominant centrepiece of frozen lemon foam that bore a unique shape. And touching off the evening was the "Don't be Cruel" truffle, a homage to Elvis, that featured a white chocolate truffle filled with banana and peanut butter, and covered with a sprinkling of bacon bits.

Accompanying the bill was a Dear John letter! And there endith dinner at Atelier: an interesting evening, with. . . very interesting dishes!

I think anyone who is seriously interested in food, willing to try new things and up to spending $300 for dinner (for two), should block off an evening at some point and make a reservation at Atelier. It is truly an experience. But I'm not likely to go back anytime soon - at least not without virgin Atelier diners; this is an evening of extraordinary culinary entertainment where the shared experience is as important, if not more so, than the food - the wonderment of what can be done. But it doesn't easily fit in to the traditional definition of a meal - it is not "dinner out" - it is a show, where one walks away fascinated, amused, satsified with the performance. . . and surprisingly full.

The Humble Curd

Over the last few weeks, while Ottawa suffered through a 50 day transit strike, I sought refuge in trying to find the positives in what was a ridiculous stand-off. One of the things I gravitated towards was the amount of time I was spending with Kim - driving her to work and picking her up at the end of each day. The topic of our morning conversations ranged from Larry O'Brien's mayoral incompetence, to the culpability and character of former Nortel Executives who had fled the crippled behemoth like Nazis to Argentina, to Lucas's "left-at-the-alter-should-have-married-Peyton-you-tortured-sole-idjit" conundrum from the previous night's episode of One Tree Hill. It took me back twenty years when we would walk to work and argue about Free Trade - this was during the brief hiatus when I was a Conservative. . . before I realized they were all pretty much post-walk dog-snot!

And so it was the other morning when we sat at a red light behind a truck advertising Le Festival de la Curd. Unlike the identity-plagued Blues Fest, with its mix of Gladys Night (sans Pips) meets Buddy Guy, a festival devoted to the cheese curd, the Festival de la Curd, seems strikingly pure - its banner ad: "3 Tonnes of Cheese, Five Days of Festivities" - seriously, this is a festival for the cheese curd!

I've travelled to the four points of the globe and have only ever found cheese curds in Eastern Ontario and Quebec (although I'm sure New Brunswick and Wisconsin would be contenders too). However, Google "cheese Curd" and the number three hit is: "what is poutine" - number four is: "Montreal Poutine"!

And quite naturally on that morning our conversation transcended to a discussion about that great culinary cheese curd delight, poutine. Now, believe it or not, despite my passion for The Curd, the first time I had Poutine was last winter at 4am in Montreal at Chez Dany, after a night of entertainment with two friends. I'm sure Poutine is good any time, but it is particularly good at 4 am after making a sizeable personal contribution to the sustained health of the Quebec micro-brewery industry.

Without the hint of a lie, and knowing that it's doing me no good, I consume 200 to 400 grams of cheese curd a week. I exercise for two reasons: so I can consume beer, and eat cheese without looking like one of the contestants on Wife Swap! In Ottawa, St Albert's curds are ubiquitous, available at almost every Loblaws; and if they're fresh they're good. Of course, all cheese curds need to be fresh, room temperature and squeaky - if not, then they're just lumps of prepubescent cheddar (not that there's anything wrong with that!). I buy my favorite, however, at the House of Cheese, in the Byward Market. These are also St. Albert's curds, but they're markedly bigger and plumper than those sold at Loblaws in the convenient resealable bag (like anyone needs one of those when buying cheese curds). Apparently one of the reasons for this is that they're sized specifically for poutine - you gotta love that; and they're also delivered in bulk and bagged by the good folk at the House of Cheese every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. But to be honest, I'm not really that picky - fresh, squeaky, room temperature are the only attributes I demand.

I'm not sure that I'll actually go to Le Festival de la Curd - frankly, the line-up doesn't really do much for me; but I am thankful for the incompetence of our Mayor, and the obstinacy of the transit union bosses, without which I may never have known that this humble food product had its own week long festival.

The Simple Pleasures

When I reflect on the things that have had a culinary influence on me, travel is unquestionably, and perhaps not surprisingly, at the top of the list. As a teenager, traveling to the Far East, I was profoundly affected by the smells, the noise and an exotic adolescent thrill that came with exploring the back alleys of Beijing - entertained by the local fish, vegetable and meat merchants, always with live animals hovering nearby. During my university years, at the end of each semester, I traveled to Israel where I wandered through the Souks in Jerusalem, the West Bank and Gaza, absorbing the hectic cackling of the bazaars while snacking on local olives, fresh round breads and falafel. On my first trip to Singapore, I experienced its hybrid cultures mixing together in food such as Nonya and Baba, a unique blend that brings together culinary influence from Malay (coconut milk, lemongrass) India (tamarind, cumin, cardomom and curry) and China. And I still hold that Arizona is one of the culinary capitals of the United States, after I spent the better part of a summer holed up in a Doubletree in Scottsdale. While working with a large US company on a Government proposal I relished the opportunity to go outside during the day to eat lunch in the dry saharan-like heat, while in the evenings I experienced some of the best southwestern cuisine for the first time in my life; on my return to Ottawa at the end of the summer I had to phone one of the restaurants (Cafe Terra Cotta) to get their recipe for a corn and shitake mushroom risotto.

But amongst these travels I still fall back on a trip to Provençe that I took with my wife a few years ago, for its defining influence on my cooking. It was this trip that instilled in me the taste of simple cuisine. On most days Kim and I would end up in a small bistro for an extended lunch, since most of the towns would close for three or four hours every afternoon. Each day before venturing out on our excursion we would head to the nearest town where it was a market day and provision for the evening meal. Stocking up early in the day was an important lesson that I learned on day two of the trip when I was caught out with nothing for dinner - this led to a terrific row (whoever said “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” obviously never traveled with one who was hungry and tired). After storming out of the cottage for self-preservation and driving aimlessly through the Provençal countryside in search of something to pass for dinner, I eventually came across a single village store where I was able to buy some tomatoes, fresh herbs, cheese and bread - simple fare at its best.

But it was on a day trip to Arles where I discovered one of the simplest pleasures, and one that has become a mainstay in our house. . . rotisserie chicken (see blog entry for June 29, 2005), served with the tomatoes and potatoes that are roasted slowly underneath the chicken, collecting all the juices as it cooks.

A few weeks back I was challenged to a “Throw-down” - come up with a menu (original or inspired dishes or interpretations); the one that gets the most votes wins! I am not in the least competitive (consistently losing to a sibling does that to you) - but on it's own, this sounded fun. Overly enthusiastic, I misinterpreted what was a rather simple challenge and assumed that “menu” was ala a restaurant, as opposed to a single meal (however, I always think you need options), so I’ve added a few extra selections. Kim thinks the whole thing is a little bogus since you can’t taste any of it - a virtual meal as it were; I disagree since I believe a well described menu should let one imagine the taste . . . without the clean-up! Her comment was also a little disingenuous since she’s had every item on my menu at least once over the last month, with the exception of desert (I’m not a dessert person) - although I did make it not too long ago. As part of the challenge I initially suggested that we include the recipes of at least one of the dishes - however, since I never use recipes when I cook I’d be hard-pressed to come up with my own, so I chickened out on this one; but to help, I’ve described each item as I would if I was explaining it to a patron.

So here is my Menu, inspired by the simple food of Provençe.

Appetizer

Hickory smoked Pork Tenderloin with a Provençal Salsa
Pork tenderloin that has been marinated in red wine, shallots, and provençal herbs and then slow smoked with hickory chips for 4 hours; it’s served with a simple tomato and basil salsa with a drizzle of balsamic reduction.

Meat Balls in a Red Mushroom Jus
3 small meat balls that are made with strip loin and finely chopped bacon, shallots and herbs; served in a bowl with a rich sauce made from a reduction of porcini and veal stocks, red wine, tomatoes and herbs.

Soup

Wild Mushroom Bisque with Rosemary Perfume
Porcini, crimini, and black trumpet mushrooms bisque, infused with finely chopped rosemary and finished with shaved truffles and a dusting of smoked salt.

Salad

Oven-Roasted heirloom tomato topped with Pesto and Oxford Mills Sheep Cheese
Heirloom tomato that has been oven roasted for 3 hours; served on a nest of zucchini and finely chopped endive; topped with a drizzle of pesto and shaved locally made artisanal Tomme de Gaston from Oxford Mills Creamery; accompanied by an herbed crostini.

Entree

Steak Frites
Hand flattened Inside Round that has been marinated overnight in red wine, capers, shallots and herbs; seared and served with a bordelaise sauce; accompanied by hand cut french fries with aioli, and a celeriac remoulade.

Provençal-Style Rotisserie Chicken, served with roasted tomatoes and potatoes, with braised wild asparagus and morels
The life-blood of Provençe - a whole chicken that has been roasted on a spit over a bed of tomatoes and potatoes, mixed with fresh thyme and shallots that are served with the chicken; the juices provide a sauce for the rotisseried chicken; it’s accompanied by wild asparagus and morels that are braised in butter.

Steamed Char served on a bed of pasta, zucchini, and celeriac vermicelli, with a Tarragon-infused Hollandaise Sauce and a Ratatouille of Winter Vegetables
Arctic Char that is steamed with shallots and herbs, and served on a mixed bed of pasta, zucchini and celeriac noodles, with a tarragon infused hollandaise sauce; accompanied by a ratatouille of carrots, eggplant, peppers, parsnips and zucchini.

Desert

Frozen Grand Marnier Souffle, with truffle shavings
Frozen grand marnier souffle, served in an orange shell with shavings of dark chocolate truffle

Cheese Plate

A selection of artisanal cheeses from Quebec, including: Tomme de Gros Isles, Victor & Berthold, Sauvagine

A Wii Tale

Ok, I may be late to the party on this one - I'm not a big gamer - but an Iron Chef America video game on Nintendo and Wii ?!  (See:  "Iron Chef America Video Game Featurin Batali and Morimoto").  I watched the YouTube trailer on this and it was very bizarre (See: Iron Chef America Game Trailers).

Now, I haven't spent much time trying to understand this - and certainly can't envision playing - again, not a gamer. But I do wonder what the intent is.  Is this pure entertainment? A supplement to the TV show?  Or seriously, is there some expectation on the part of these folks that people will walk away with some culinary skills?  I just don't know. . .

Where's that line between reality and fantasy?  And how many other things in life can we substitute this way? 

Could Junior Bush have spared us a whole lot of grief  by having someone create a "Wii Iraq"?! He could have had a bunch of modules for upsell, like "Wii Guantanamo", "Wii Abu Gharib"," Wii Taking on the Axis of Evil in pursuit of wee Chemical Weapons".  Think of the lives that could have been saved (or just go to icasualties.org).

So, as I ponder Wii Iron Chef America I have to ask, has anyone you know lost any weight yet using the Wii Fit?!

Inspiration Part 2

Iron Chef America tends to take a lot of abuse about the integrity of the competition between chefs, with critics maintaining that the battle is staged; the "secret ingredient" known well in advance to both chefs, the allotted time compromised by early prep-work, and predictable judging for certain battles -  the rematch between Morimoto and challenger Roberto Donna in Battle Squid being one of the most infamous.

Early on in the show's life an expose was published on a blog (See:  What I Can Tell You About The Taping I Attended of "Iron Chef America" Without Having To Pay The Food Network $1,000,000) that "dished the dirt" on the Iron Chef - an invited member of the audience revealing how the Challenger chose his foe. . . repeatedly; the cheeseyness of the "reveal" - the moment when the Secret Ingredient is exposed, the play-structure like nature of Kitchen Stadium - and the total lack of spontaneity.  

A little while later (See: "How Iron Chef America Makes its Magic") it was revealed by the Food Network that the "secret ingredient" was not that secret - that challengers were given a list of five potential ingredients several weeks in advance of the show, with Iron Chefs receiving the same advance information - albeit not necessarily as far in advance. 

Wow -  the lid was blown off Iron Chef America! How was the culinary community going to get over this - the fact that two great chefs (one in the case of battles involving Cat Cora) could not conceive, prepare and plate 5 extraordinary dishes in the space of an hour, each featuring an entirely unknown ingredient; if they couldn't do that how could America possibly win the War on Terrorism!

Come on people, Wake Up!  What, you think the country that bought into 10 households of Big Brother, 13 Amazing Races, 16 seasons of survivor, ripped off "American Idol"  and almost bought the "mission accomplished" thing, wouldn't be snowed by two chefs achieving total culinary wizadry.  Scoff!

Let it be said, I am a huge Iron Chef America fan. I don't watch Iron Chef because I'm caught up wondering whether Bobby Flay can take Rick Bayless; if Michael Symon really deserved the Iron Chef moniker, or if  anyone can honestly make ice cream from sea urchin roe that tastes good. I watch Iron Chef America for inspiration.

The other morning, suffering the after effects of my aforementioned encounter with a dodgy egg, I switched on a recorded episode of Iron Chef in which Mario Batali was challenged by Paul Bartolotta in Battle Rice. Like so many episodes of Iron chef it provided the inspiration for dinner. You can't watch two chefs prepare 10 rice dishes without getting some inspiration. 

Sure, I'm not necessarily going to grind 3 different types of rice to crust 3 large scallops - at least not tonight. But it did inspire me to make a terrific risotto by using a stock made of 4 chorizo sausages and some aromatics. It infused a wonderful spiciness into the risotto, that I served on top of a roasted globe zucchini, which I topped with grilled shrimp that I had been marinating in a vinaigrette.  

This is what Iron Chef America is all about. It's about preparing great food - learning the versatility of simple ingredients, like rice, and watching some truly great chefs come up with some very creative ideas; and it's about providing inspiration for the evening meal.

Oh - and for the record, Morimoto deserved to beat Chef Donna; Batali beating Jamie Oliver was a forgone conclusion, and I don't care which great chef made it, I am not eating Sea Urchin Ice Cream.  

Scott Unplugged!

It's been a while since I seriously poisoned a member of the household. If my memory serves me, it was fourteen years ago, days before "The Weird Wedding Weekend" (two of our friends were married in Toronto's Water Filtration Plant, ala Michael Ondaatje's In the Skin of a Lion); my regular dining partner was wacked out for a week and has avoided cold bean salad ever since. For the record it wasn’t the Bean Salad, it was the mayonnaise.

And so it was this past Friday at 5 am when the household was in chaos as a I exhibited all the projectile traits of a new born.

Now, initially there was some skepticism. I had been out the night before with a couple of friends, arriving home around 2 am! So it wasn’t a stretch to think that other factors might be in play. But as I just said, I was exhibiting all “the projectile traits” - and that seemed to be the deciding factor in my defence.

Let’s move on!

There are some positives here: I think I have a very clean system at this point - if nothing else, I have not had a touch of alcohol in 36 hours (and for those keeping track I had a cold earlier this month which also kept me off beer for 48 hours - so that’s 84 hours this year, give or take); I’ve got another excuse for dizziness beyond aging eyes, and I’m sure I’ve also lost some weight - and since the ailment is continuing, I might be down to college weight in a few days (like I can afford that!!); on the negatives, it’s not doing much for my disposition, which some might argue had little margin to begin with.

So what’s the net.

The other night I made a Caesar Salad, using a raw egg of course. At the time, I had only one egg in my fridge and at the back of my mind I wondered how long it had been there. . . apparently too long. But a raw egg is crucial in a Caesar Salad - as it is in Steak Tartare, of which I am also a fan. And so I cracked the egg and took my chances - and lost. Ok, I didn’t totally lose: I really enjoyed dinner, I survived the following day (but then I was at work, and the Y’alls were off, so life was easier), and twenty-fours after eating the salad I had a great dinner out at a relatively new Ottawa restaurant with a couple of friends, and then some late night entertainment after that. And then along came 5 am!

And for this I am paying. I think “raw” is something you have to take a chance on - not a stupid chance; if you think an egg has been sitting in the fridge for too long, throw it out, cross the street to the corner store and get another one. In my experience eggs are pretty forgiving - I’ve eaten a lot of raw eggs in my life and have succumbed only twice. I also eat raw milk cheese, raw beef and raw fish. It’s the price of enjoying the art of cooking, enjoying food and eating well.

And as my stomach (and other parts of the GI Track) gradually return to normal - ever so gradually unfortunately, my ultimate thanks is that I was the one afflicted here. Poisoning the spouse once can be notched up as an error and forgiven. . . . but twice is suspect.