Category: food

When Culture is Delicious

On October 7, 2009

So said by a good friend of mine, when asked about whether she had partaken of the all-night “art thing” that takes Toronto by storm every autumn. We both smiled. I knew what she meant.

I have to admit, the past years I’ve attended have been wonderful examples of community colliding with curiosity. Everyone is out and about, pointing, looking, chatty, silent, laughing, and having a rambling nice time. Then again, there are also whacks of drunken people stumbling along in bad outfits posing as serious artistes. There’s also dreadful lines. And rampant pretentiousness. And gimmicky aplenty. And as Lynn Crosbie pointed out, there’s also the annoying kid-factor. Eeek.

I didn’t attend this year’s Nuit Blanche. It wasn’t out of any malice so much as the strictures of gut instinct telling me to save my energy. Not only have I been sick more often this year than in any other, but I had what I consider a higher calling: I was attending the Brickworks Picnic the following day. It’s no surprise to followers of this blog that food is a passion for me; it’s also art, and so it follows that I put my arty Nuit Blanche-esque, curious-arty energy into meeting chefs, sampling cuisine, and contemplating flavours, colours, textures and shapes. I wanted to engage in a person-to-person-to-soil-to-mouth-to-person connection -otherwise known as, yes, culture.

The Brickworks Picnic is all about creating awareness of local food issues and linking local food sources with chefs, and, in turn connecting that with consumers, who become, in the process, more involved in the entire symbiotic relationship between production and consumption. Intended as a benefit for Evergreen and Slow Food Toronto, the Picnic boasted an impressive array of beautiful food, gorgeous wines, and curious attendees. With 1300 people, the affair was anything but intimate, and yet, in meeting and shaking hands with such wonderful, talented people as Brad Livergant (of Veritas Local Fare), Ezra Title (of Chez Vous Dining), and Olivia Bolano (of All The Best), I felt an immediate connection with the arts of both cooking and growing.

One of the trends I noticed at the picnic was the theme of Latin and South American-influenced dishes. There were empanadas, tongue dishes, salsas, and beef, all infused with the gorgeous, rich flavours of afar -and yet made with ingredients that were local. How wondrous. Same goes for the many Persian and Middle Eastern nibbles, including yummy stews, spreads, kabobs, and delectable Eastern European treats (including delicate plum dumplings, above, courtesy of Hungarian-born David Kokai of Loic Gourmet -Köszönöm, David!). Again, the incredible richness of my own home province was made clear to me through this magical melange of flavours. The riotous meeting of colour, texture, shape and flavour with each and every station I encountered made for a beautiful, memorable afternoon.

The time at the Brickworks Picnic was even more enhanced by the beverage education I received courtesy of the many wineries on-site for the event. Reps at each were truly friendly and happy to pair dishes being consumed -or ready to be consumed -with their offerings. Owing to a chilly, rainy afternoon, I stuck to warming red selections. My favourites included Malivoire, Rosehall Run, Frogpond Farm, and FlatRock Cellars. After that, I headed over to Merchants of Green Coffee, where I gleefully roasted coffee beans in a metal pan with a lid over a high gas flame (“Think of Jiffy Pop!” I was told). Following a thorough education in the terroir of coffee beans and the proper methods of brewing, I enjoyed a gorgeous, rich cup of the resulting brew. With a syrup-meets-molasses flavour countered by a nice bitter astringency, it was coffee that made Timmy’s look like the Naked Emperor it truly is.

Merchants of Green Coffee was ideally situated between two of my favourite items at the Picnic: Jamie Kennedy‘s scrumptious bean pakoras and Oiko‘s warming, satisfying Orange Pekoe tea. With dampness abounding through the Brickworks’ environs, it was a relief to be afforded (make that saved by) so many cups of gorgeous, delicately-brewed tea, and a few crunchy-soft, flavourful (and deeply satisfying) bean pakoras with either roasted pureed eggplant or tomato raita toppings.

In watching the chefs and producers pack up as the Picnic drew to a close, I was reminded of the incredible work that goes into event such as these, and, in a wider sense, of the awesome work it takes to produce the very things we need to survive. And yet food has become too easy for us. It is something that surrounds us, but we continually take it for granted. The Brickworks Picnic is a magical event for so many reasons, but one stands out in my mind, in retrospect: it balances the connecting, life-giving force of food with the more rooted reality of its centrality to culture. And that culture means growing, producing, sustaining, supporting and educating. It’s not about the quick fix anymore; it’s about the process. It’s not about impressing with a final product; it’s about educating for a more rewarding and sustainable journey. Everyone who took part in the Picnic seemed to have an inherent understanding of these realities.

Nuit Blanche? Whatever. I think I may have found where the real art in Toronto was this weekend. I was so artistically inspired, I went home and… cooked.

Cool (Hot) Beets

By Catherine Kustanczy

On September 21, 2009

In food

I’m writing this from my kitchen -my place of refuge, my studio, my laboratory, all rolled in one. It’s funny how such a simple change of locale -from upstairs to down -can drastically alter the way one approaches one’s work. No wonder coffee shops are so filled with people on laptops; what is sometimes lost in personal interconnection in such circumstances is often gained in the field of inspiration and initiative (though I’d argue one is deeply connected with the other).

So, after much thought -and a joyous session in roasting beets (more below), I’ve decided to include simple recipes as part of Play Anon. Rather than watering down its content, I feel it will add to, and complement it. Food is as much a part of culture as theatre, dance, painting, sculpture, electronic art, and so on -though it is also vastly more immediate, and I feel, intimate in its nature. Food is what we share as humans. We cannot live without eating. And like all cultural things, it provides needed nourishment -not only to our bodies, but on spiritual, mental, and emotional levels.

Right now, I’m typing with hands softened by good olive oil, just used to anoint the beets which now roast in the oven. I love beets, and always have done, ever since I was a child, standing beside my mother, hands stained purple, carefully peeling, apron firmly tied. I grew up thinking there was only one way to prepare them -that is, my mother’s method: boil to death, messily peel, drown in butter. While I’m not immune to the charms of butter and salt (though now, I’m finding good quality in each harder to come by), I feel treating such a beautiful vegetable so heinously borders on the sinful. Basic rule: if the vegetable is good, it should stand on its own. Period.

So while I applaud Lucy Waverman integrating beets into various dishes to tempt the palette of any beet-hating President, I prefer my purpley root veg straight-up. Antony John understands this. I had the wonderful fortune of visiting his beautiful farm, Soiled Reputation, last month. Sitting just outside the town of Stratford, Ontario, the farm grows organic vegetables which are then used in many restaurants across the Southern end of the province. Jamie Kennedy, the activist-chef (and one of my very-favourites, for his food and his ethos), uses Soiled Reputation’s veg, including their lovely, feathery greens, filled with sweet and bitter tastes.

One of the things I brought back from my trip was a bag of beets. Though pink on the outside, they’re white on the inside. They yield a sweeter flavour than regular beets, and I am wagering, roast up deliciously.

Roasting is, incidentally, my favourite method, though I have also experimented with marinating sliced beets in good balsamic, and then barbequing, both with foil and without. But there’s something awfully comforting about the smell of roast-anything wafting through the house, particularly as temperatures drop and the season turns. With the advent of autumn, root vegetables come back to prominence at my table.

Depending on the size of the beets, you may wish to slice them (I chopped a few bigger ones in half width-wise) and i always take the top off (the part where the greens sprout), though I tend to leave the “tail” -there’s something so merry about them, even if you can’t (or won’t) eat that portion.

So you will need:

Roughly 12 beets, small, or 8 small, 2 medium, 1-2 large, all very well-scrubbed.

Leave the small beets whole; chop the medium beets in half width-wise; chop the large beets in manageable chunks.

Pour good olive oil on top -about 3-4 tsp should be enough, but use your judgment; you don’t want them swimming or dripping in it, but you want enough to lubricate the beets and the casserole dish they’re sitting snugly in, rosy cheek to pale jowl.

Sprinkle salt on top: sea, rock, red, whatever you wish.

Toss with your bare hands.

Cover with foil, loosely; pop into a pre-heated oven (400F) for about 15 minutes; check after that to see if they’re done how you like, or if you need to add more oil.

I’d leave them in another 15-20 minutes. Prick with a fork if you’re really not sure but they’ll be making little sizzley sounds to indicate they’re cooked.

And… that’s it.

Really, wasn’t that easy?

Addendum: 30ish minutes did the trick. Delicious, succulent, sweet, and rich. I said it before, I’ll say it again: beets are beautiful. Take that, Mr. Obama.

Rundles: The Art of Nourishment

By Catherine Kustanczy

On September 3, 2009

In food

“Summer? What summer?”

That seems to be the mantra echoing throughout much of Canada this year. Certainly, a lot of Torontonians have been muttering/twittering/blogging this along with the requisite complaints about too much rain, too much cold, and a shivery lack of typical sunshine-y weather. While I generally agree, this year hasn’t been the best, it has, on my own personal and professional levels, been filled with many happy events –outdoor barbeques, concerts, shows, and a myriad of fantastic interview experiences.

In pondering this good/bad conundrum as I turned the calendar into September, it occured that the perhaps the best possible ending for such a summer would be a wonderful meal. Fortunately, perhaps through happenstance or good fortune, I got just that. It turned out to be one of the best meals of my life, to be frank. I was in Stratford, Ontario recently, covering late-season openings and doing a story about the town’s incredibly rich foodie roots (look for it on Lucid Forge in the next few weeks). Food writing is really becoming a huge passion of mine; it’s as if I’ve transferred my stunted passion for painting into the kitchen, where palette becomes canvas and tools –heat, cold, blenders, processors –marry with colours (that is, ingredients) to produce a wonderful experience that is primal and intimate. At the same time as such specificty of experience occurs, I acknowledge that eating is a universal experience; it’s no secret that food is the magical, magically simple thing that binds humanity.

So it was with more than a little wonder and a bucket of gratitude that I accepted an invitation to dine at Rundles, one of Stratford’s top restaurants. I would truly wager that Rundles is one of the finest in Canada, actually, but not having eaten my way across the country (yet), I can’t quite say for certain. Regardless, it was a gorgeous meal, and ranks among the top three of my life (you’ll have to keep tuned to the blog to find out what the other two were!). Owner Jim Morris truly, deeply understands the powerful connecting force of food, and is keenly aware of the deep, lasting pleasure a good meal can bring. I shared my space with a large party of eight beside me, who chatted theatre (naturally) along with commenting on the food, as I listened in and savoured every little drop of my own succulent meal. It’s amazing how good food, well-presented, with attentive service, in a creative, open atmosphere, has such a healing, calming effect. A good meal isn’t just about getting what you want, but sensing the chef is nourishing you with what you need. Food becomes prayer, meditation, celebration, and exchange.

I last visited Rundles well over ten years ago. I wasn’t sure about foodie culture then –indeed, the term “foodie” had yet to be invented –but I knew I liked fine dining and good eats. I always preferred one good ingredient –or a few simple ones –as opposed to fancy, process-oriented dishes requiring a scouring of markets and shops. I remember living in Ireland and making a simple vegetarian paprikas for a Christmas potluck party; seasoned vegetables, hearty and stewy and slightly spicy, seemed to be just what was needed during the gloomy, wet Irish winter. It wasn’t just about being full, but about feeling nourished. Going to restaurants, I tended to shy away from molecular gastronomy (the kind espoused by El Bulli) and enjoy the simple, hearty flavours of a lovingly prepared dish. Cooking myself, I always eschewed fancy techniques in favour of using good, wholesome ingredients –and for the most part, I still do. Sometimes it’s best to let the ingredients speak for themselves, without interfering. It reminds me of that old saying, that the song or painting is there, if you just get out of the way. Or like the line from “Unknown Caller,” off of U2’s latest album: “Shush now /cease to speak /that I may speak…” Sometimes you just have to get out of the way to let art –whether it’s cooking, music, painting or any other discipline -do its thing.

Thus, it was with so much elation and enjoyment that I found Chef Neil Baxter sharing this approach in Stratford. What a joy, to find lamb cooked with this much care and respect! But I suppose I ought to go in order in recounting –and celebrating –such a beautiful meal. Without further adue, details: I started with a smoked salmon appetizer, but not the typical thinly-sliced shards of fish you’d expect. This dish, featuring salmon that was smoked on-premises, was paired in a small shallow dish with salmon rose, apple, and jellies. Everything was diced into tiny cubes. The effect was… well, different, and not easy, at first to place. Textures –soft, gummy, crunchy –and tastes –sweet, salty, smoky –danced and whirled on the palette in a subtle, if powerful, combination. Here was a new gastronomic experience; along with taste, the colour combination –the tender green flecks of the apple, the rusty pinks of the salt, the orange, glassy globules of roe and the glassy edges of the jelly –reminded me of a cubist work, or of the work of pointillist Georges Seurat. Here, my eyes weren’t just doing the mixing; so was my mouth. Yes, the appetizer was for a more sophisticated palette –but then walking into Rundles, you know you won’t be subjected to dreary openers like French onion soup or (heaven forbid) jalapeno poppers. Like the best art, the appetizer felt like proper, adult food –an introduction to something grand -and really, I don’t think one should apologize in such matters.

My second course was lamb (farmed locally, of course). Now, I am notoriously fussy on my lamb. It happens to be my favourite of meats, and having had too many awful dishes at various restos, and bunged up a couple dishes myself –or used less-than-quality meat –I can tell you that my level of quality discernment has gone sky-high when it comes to ordering –and eating –lamb. I very rarely do order it when eating out, in fact, but I had a feeling Rundles might get it right. In fact, they did more than this. The lamb had to be the very best, most succulent thing I’ve eaten in a long while. Lovingly prepared and served in delicate slices on top of a small, inconspicuous mound of snowy, near-liquid goat cheese, surrounded by gently steamed veg, it sat in a pool of its own luscious juices (handily, the bread server appeared at just the right moment, providing a gorgeously crusty baguette for mopping up said juices, natch). Baxter smartly, rightly refrained from ruining such a beautiful piece of meat with spicing, and instead, allowed the deep, earthy flavours of the lamb to sing forth, thanks to sensitive, smart, intuitive cooking. The lima beans that accompanied were the perfect, bitter plate companions; with their snap, they contrasted the lamb’s soft, buttery texture beautifully, and their sourness nicely complemented the meat’s rich flavour. I put my fork down more than once after each morsel, swooning, sighing, and sitting back to contemplate each joyous mouthful, enjoying the view of Lake Victoria, and the beautiful, English landscaping that adorns the front of the restaurant. To borrow an old koan, I was one with the food experience. And loved every second of it, too.

A beautiful cheese plate was the final course. With three of the four cheeses provided by excellent local dairy producer Monforte, they included, among others, my very-favourite Toscano, along with a soft cheese from Quebec. The plate, artistically presented with a cheerful showering of fresh greens (which, I think, originated at Antony John’s Soiled Reputation farm, just five minutes outside of Stratford), also included fresh, tasty walnut bread and a sweet raisin compote. Those who know me well know I would easily -and quite happily –subsist on cheese and good wine (and may well do, when I visit France next year). Accompanied by a glass of sweet port, the third course was the perfect ending to a wonderful meal. I do wonder, however, about the rhubarb soup too –it might’ve more suitably complemented the richness of the lamb a bit better, but alas, one wears white and one’s food options shrink considerably.

I ought to mention details here, as they are so very important, and are the furthest things taken for granted at Rundles. First, the butter. That pale, hard, near-waxy thing one gets to accompany bread at most restaurants in a dreary little cup is here given the five-star treatment; with a deep, golden sunflower-kissed tone and adorned with shards of rock salt, the small, rich cube is presented proudly erect on its own little stand, emblazed with Rundles trademark “R”. This was a churner’s delight. I normally don’t eat butter on anything but toast –and even then, might spring for jam, so disgusted am I by the insipid blandness of most butters out there –but I couldn’t stop myself (nor did I want to) from taking small, delectable slivers and spreading them onto the fresh, moist slices of sourdough bread proffered by genteel wait staff. It tasted fresh, alive, creamy on the tongue. Gorgeous.

Equally wonderful was –is –the sense of occasion in dining at Rundles. While service is formal, atmosphere is not –it’s jovial and classy, simultaneously. You feel, walking through the front door, and into the welcoming light-filled foyer, that there is a real integration between the old and the new; the front garden teems with wildflowers and bursts of emerald greens, while inside the restaurant, the cool architecture of Shim-Sutcliffe (who seem to have a contemporary-meets-rural design ethos) contrasts and yet somehow complements all this wild natural beauty. Morris, in the tasteful, old world fashion-meets-modern-mod-look of Yohji Yamamoto, welcomes you as white-clad servers stroll by.

But don’t let their suits alarm you; the atmosphere isn’t, for a moment, stuffy or pretentious, but quite the opposite. Servers at Rundles welcome questions about ingredients, their source, and methods of cooking. The occasion isn’t just about fine dining, but about making food education part and parcel of the experience. This could be because in the winter, the restaurant serves as a teaching ground for the Stratford Chefs School. The care and attentiveness given food in the kitchen is reflected in a creative, thoughtful mix of visual styles throughout the restaurant. With art by Viktor Tinkl (including whimsical plate covers) set against the white, clean backdrop of Phillip Starck designs, you really don’t feel as if you’re required to wear a ball gown to dine, but rather, you’re in a comfortable, arty, airy space where conversation flows as smoothly as the dishes coming from Baxter’s kitchen. This is a place to learn, grow, and share; it will nourish with both tangible and non-tangible entities, just as any good establishment should do. With huge windows overlooking the lovely English gardens both in front and to the side of the restaurant, it’s a new-meets-old ethos. Rundles was the perfect ending to a wonderful summer. They’re actually open to mid-October –so summer might be extended, for just a little while yet.

Note: Full gallery of from my Rundles experience can be found at my Flickr page.

Yummy Humpday

By Catherine Kustanczy

On July 23, 2009

In food

No sooner had I posted a blog mentioning the Gladstone Hotel’s Harvest Wednesdays’ Tasting Evenings than I received an invite for one of their HW prix fixe meals. Aww! May the wonders of the web never cease! (Note to publicists who think the web isn’t legit media: think again.)

Set in the hotel’s casually-grandiose left-side bar & dining area, the meal was what I’d consider a culmination of the tasting evening I’d experienced a few weeks back. That is to say that it was full-service, full-size meals, instead of little tidbits on trays, with everything inspired by locally-grown ingredients and seasonal availability. the Gladstone Hotel is actively involved with Chick-a-Biddy Acres, an organization devoted to community-shared agriculture, as well as a number of other local, sustainable, organically-minded businesses.

Now, I’d had a very long day, and had recently come from a tiring dance class. Frankly -and I know this will be shocking for some of you to read -I’d been too busy yesterday (and indeed most of this week) to sit down to a proper, adult meal. For me, that’s tantamount to sacrilege. I love eating, and I love cooking, and I’ve not made time for either much of late. So I was really craving a good, balanced, decent adult meal -the sorts of life-giving qualities only such an experience can provide. Greater than merely satisfying a physical need, but providing nourishment to a spiritual one as well. I’m happy to report that is exactly what Chef Marc Breton and his team gave me. Mmmm.

The meal kicked off with two starts -the first, a yummy vegetarian wrap with tofu, veggies, and mint. Its combination of crunch and soft was sensuously satisfying, and the cider-maple and mustard dip that accompanied it wasn’t too overpowering but provided a sweet zing that complemented the bland smoothness of the tofu (organic and non-GMO, provided by Ying Ying Soy Foods, the menu tells me). It was the lightest, most fresh kind of appetizer, the perfect palette-prep for the heavier qualities of the second appetizer, a delicious zuccini salad. Its gorgeous feathery courgettes -green and yellow -were sliced paper-thin and ribboned like feathery jewels against buttery pieces of Niagara prosciutto (yum) and the lot was lightly dressed with a chive-yogurt concoction that wound its way around the tongue slowly, counterbalancing rich and light simultaneously.

For the main course, there was a choice of Eggplant and Mozzarella Croquettes with new potatoes and ramps, or Arctic Char with potato/chard gallettes. I don’t get enough fish in my diet, so I opted for the latter, but was a bit shocked when it was brought, head and all, to the table. I know, I know, the head attached is a sign of freshness, blahblahblah. But fishhead-whilst-dining-at-the-end-of-a-long-day is where my squeamish girlie-hood becomes obvious. I demurely sliced said head onto a sideplate and turned it round, allowing my dinner companion to be given the char-stare through her own meal. Lucky her.

The fish, sustainably farmed by Jim Giggie in Tottenham, Ontario (again, the menu tells me so), was utterly gorgeous: moist, flaky, succulent and sweet. It sat in a wonderfully unctuous sorrel beurre blanc that proved the perfect swampy pool in which to soak, sop and greedily devour the accompanying crispy galettes. But carby flights of fancy aside, the char was the real star. If I could find fish like this anywhere, at any given time, I might eat more of it. Sides were shared -a heaping plate of lemon-glazed steamed veg, including broccoli, carrots, green beans and baby beets -all luscious in their colourful freshness and delicate shapes (though I confess to wishing for more of the latter). The song I heard upon consuming said piece of Arctic char was my happy, previously-very-hungry tummy singing.

Just when I thought I couldn’t eat another bite, dessert glasses filled with moist Blackforest Trifle were presented, complete with sour cherries on top and luscious layers of real whipped cream. Gorgeous, if very rich, especially after the fish. The prior dishes -two appetizers, plus amuse bouches beforehand -were well-stacked so as to be just satisfying enough for the healthy indulgence of the main course; our appetites sated, serving such a sweet, Fredericks-Of-Hollywood-style piece at the finish seemed a bit askew. But what do I know? I’m not a dessert person. It was a tasty little treat, and went nicely with my pinot gris, part of the flight of wines I ordered to pair with each course. Starting off was a Pellar Estates Rose Private Reserve VQA, then Flatrock Chardonnay (again VQA) to match the fish, and finally the Flat Rock Pinot Noir (VQA) to finish. Each was a really well-chosen match that provided me with another avenue in my ever-growing mental city of foodie-ism, even if I’m not sure it’ll make me a fan of Niagara wines in the longrun.

The Gladstone is holding their yummy Harvest Wednesday prix fixe dinners nearly every Wednesday through to October. They’re $35 -which is super-cheap considering a/ it’s Queen West; b/ it’s all ethical, so you can feel good about yourself for eating it, & c/ you get a whacking heap of beautifully-prepared, lovingly-grown/raised food. Oh, and it’s a really lovely atmosphere too -no loud blaring music or bustling atmosphere, but rather, a calm, soothing room with warm wooden flourishes and flickering tealights. Chef Marc Breton even comes around later to chat. Aww. Talk about the perfect way to end a frenzied hump-day.

Try This (or this)

By Catherine Kustanczy

On July 21, 2009

In food

I’ve been so busy over the past few weeks, I haven’t been updating as much as I’d like. And I can’t blame the weather, because summer seems to have generally missed much of the country. Still, here are a few ideas for things that have been inspiring me lately:

1. Sundays @ the Young -Started by Albert Schultz when he announced his Resident Artists back in December, the series of Sunday shows is a nice, classy mix of urban sounds and crunchy Canadiana.

I attended this past Sunday’s tribute to Gordon Lightfoot, which featured the talents of Patricia O’Callaghan, Gregory Hoskins, Andrew Craig, Miranda Mulholland, Lori Cullen, and others, all under the direction of actor/musician Mike Ross. “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” was a real highlight, with a swampy, Raising Sand-esque vibe, and the sight/sound of the feisty, gorgeous Mulholland belting out “That’s What You Get For Lovin’ Me” was just… excellent (Lightfoot’s work definitely takes on a whole new spirit when his words are sung by women!). Actor Kenneth Welsh, currently acting in Soulpepper’s production of the David French play Of The Fields Lately, joined the musicians, offering his own rousing, passionate interpretations of Gordie’s work.

If this concert is anything to go by, the series -running through to mid-August -should be sizzling. Oh, and one more thing: this is just the kind of proper, adult entertainment I happen to really like for a Sunday afternoon. Good music, beautiful surroundings, and easy access to nice bars. Well done, YC.

2. Harvest Wednesdays at the Gladstone Hotel -I was initially a bit nervous about attending a Tasting Wednesday. Would it be full of hippie farmers wagging fingers at me for eating meat and wearing leather? or populated by urban foodie snobs rolling their eyes over the latest resto reviews? Turns out I was wrong on both accounts.

While the Gladstone’s beautiful second floor did, indeed feature hippie farmers and in-the-know foodies, everyone was super-friendly, informed, and extremely helpful. The crowd was a nice mix of old and young, urban, suburban, and rural -everyone was interested in talking, connecting, and sharing ideas over plate-fulls of fresh veggies and glasses of wine or beer. The vibe was refreshingly relaxed, if also equally curious. There was a live two-man band playing good roots-style music, and there were plenty of smiling faces in every room.

Now, what exactly is Harvest Wednesdays? Well, exactly what it implies. No, they don’t make you go into a yard on Queen West and pick berries or husk corn. Rather, every Wednesday features either a tasting (monthly) or a prix fixe meal (three consecutive weeks), with a spotlight on local growers and seasonal ingredients. On the night I attended, Chef Marc Breton’s menu consisted of lovely little nibblies served by chatty, friendly servers who walked around and offered their edible wares to people who were perusing and interacting with food producers of all stripes spreading across the rooms on the hotel’s second floor space. My favourite tastings: lamb meatballs and sausages, + dessert crepes made with red fife and filled with strawberries and lavender-rhubarb cream. Mmmm.

Tasting Wednesdays are a great way to meet and connect with other casual foodies, as well as with those who grow the food (and sometimes feature their own neat foodie evenings!). Also, to quote a friend I met up with the next day, “it seems like a really nice, fun, adult thing to do during the week.” Yes! And delicious too!

(Photo courtesy of the Gladstone Hotel’s Flickr Photostream)

3. Amadou and Mariam –The Magic Couple -I love this album. I wish I’d seen them live when they were here in Toronto. Bah. The Malian pair are currently the opening musical act for a little band called Coldplay. Chris Martin & co. are not the only famous fans they have, though. Keith Richards and Robert Plant are also fans. If you’re into blues sounds -heck, if you just plain love rock and roll – you’ll love Amadou amd Mariam. Their best-of compilation is the perfect introduction to their work. I dare you to listen to “Beki Miri” without dancing.

(Photo courtesy of Wrasse Records)

4. The Beaches Jazz Festival – Now in its 25th year (eeek, I’m getting old), the big outdoor music party officially kicked off this past Friday. I interviewed rapper PHATT Al from the band God Made Me Funky and will be seeing them play live this Thursday along Queen Street East. As with Amadou and Mariam, if you haven’t seen/heard GMMF play -especially live- this is one show to put on your calendar. Their infectious brand of fusion-funk, with traceable influences of Stevie Wonder, Grandmaster Flash, and of course, George Clinton, is ideal music for chasing away the clouds, be they mental or physical.

5. I still haven’t found a book to satisfy. I’m looking for fiction, in the vein of Miriam Toews-meets-Nicole Krauss-esque. Anyone have suggestions?

Playing On The Patio

By Catherine Kustanczy

On June 21, 2009

In food

Here’s a collection of photos from a recent visit I made to one of my favourite patios in Toronto, The Drake Hotel‘s Sky Yard Patio.

Situated on the second floor overlooking the buzzy Queen Street West strip, the patio is taking on a ‘camp’ theme this year (camp as in cabins, not drag queens). I love the Drake generally because it’s gotten over being the “hipster” place (at least during the week -weekends it’s still invaded by wannabe-hipsters from the ‘burbs) and the service is really friendly. So, going with the Camp Drake theme, there’s a bear at the downstairs cafe (not real, duh) and they’ve hung up an old canoe for Sky Yarders sans cottages (like me) to gaze at. Servers wear neat-o “Camp Drake” stylized tees.

While it all sounds hokey, it isn’t. And the food -and wine selection -makes it a perfect place to wile away a late Friday afternoon, fooling with the camera, chatting with friends, celebrating wonderful new connections, and… playing. 🙂 Enjoy.