The Opera Queen

Tag: eating

Go Eat

By

On April 6, 2017

In food, writing

I’ve gotten away from food writing, among other things, the last few years. There’s no real reason for this (other than dramatic life events, I suppose) — my love of cooking remains unabated, and I do it several times a week, more than usual the last while, as I stock up my freezer with portion-sized things in anticipation of a busy time.

However, sometimes I don’t crave anything hearty so much as fresh, light, tasty. I love my salads, but virulent IBS doesn’t make it possible to enjoy salads as much as I’d like. It’s only been through trial and error I’ve discovered what my body will and won’t accept: Boston lettuce, yes; kale-anything, no. Based on some tasty recent experiences at a favorite restaurant, I started experimenting with basic ingredients, ones I knew wouldn’t upset me, but would still satisfy my hunger for crunchy, tasty, light… and easy. It may come as a shock to some, but working from home doesn’t automatically mean that nothing is hard, tiring (even exhausting), or draining — quite the opposite, particularly if one happens to live alone.

Regardless of work environment and family status, the last thing one may wish to do at the end of a busy, full day is cook up a large, heavy meal, especially at the end of a winter season that’s already been filled with many meals of that nature. Some very basic washing, blotting, chopping (similar to Nigella Lawson describing stirring as “soothing,” I find chopping has a similar effect on me), and then light mixing, is the best kind of therapy I can think of, not to mention incredibly nourishing.

I’ve been heartened the last little while by the reaction I received to my first “light dinner” experiment; when I posted a photo of my creation on Instagram, the reaction was pleasingly enthusiastic. Tonight I decided to make a follow-up, using a few ingredients I wish I’d originally had, and usually always do have on-hand. I think we all have our basics we like to have at hand — in our pantries, refrigerators, sitting on the counter or breadboard, waiting to be used. My basics (as you’ll see listed below) include flat parsley (also called Italian parsley), cannellini (a white kidney, but smaller), plum tomatoes, roasted red peppers (else a chopped, marinated peppers), feta cheese, kalamata olives, sometimes sun-dried tomatoes, and more often than not lately, radicchio (because I can digest it without trouble; because it keeps for a while; and because it is tasty). These ingredients are in addition to very good olive oil and white balsamic, both of which I always have at hand. I use almost all the ingredients in the recipe below — but if you want to use everything, go for it; feel free to throw in some marinated artichoke hearts, pieces of cooked, chopped chicken breast, and/or snips of curly endive and/or fresh dill, too.

Of course, this should be enjoyed with crusty baguette that has been warmed up quick in the oven.

Photo: mine. Please do not use without permission.

Radicchio Dinner Salad

1/2 head of radicchio
1/2 bunch flat parsley
1 plum tomato
1 whole roasted pepper OR 2-3 spoons of chopped peppers from the jar
1 400g/398ml/14 fl oz tin of cannellini, rinsed and drained
8-10 kalamata olives, pitted
1 double-thumb-sized chunk of feta (optional)
6-8 sun-dried tomatoes (optional)
extra-virgin olive oil
white balsamic
fresh pepper
salt

Thinly slice radicchio lengthwise, then roughly chop. You’re aiming for luxurious, longish purple shards. Place in a large salad bowl.

Rinse parsley and roughly chop. Shake excess moisture off. Wrap in a towel to blot water.
Do the same with the cannellini; after rinsing and draining, wrap them in a towel (paper or cloth; either is fine) to absorb the excess moisture. This step is very important, both for flavour, and for the texture of your salad.

Chop plum tomato, keeping mind to discard the seeds before placing in bowl with radicchio. (Again, this affects not only the flavour, but the texture, and if, like me, you have a hard time digesting them, it’s a favour to your body.)

Roughly chop roasted pepper, or measure 2-3 generous spoons of chopped pepper from the jar. Throw it on top of your radicchio. Don’t worry if you get a bit (just a bit!) of the oil from the marinade in there; that gives flavour.

Roughly chop kalamata olives and throw in the bowl.
Same with sun-dried tomatoes, if using, and feta, which you can roughly chop, or crumble with your fingers straight into the bowl.

Retrieve the towel-blotted parsley, then cannellini, adding both to the bowl.

Add a small glug of olive oil, and a sprinkling of olive oil; grind in pepper and salt as you wish.

Toss.

Enjoy (especially with crusty baguette).

Store unused portions in airtight (preferably glass) container.

Easy, delicious, healthy; now wasn’t that easy?

Christmas Love

By

On December 24, 2015

In food, personal, writing

There was once a time when Christmas was a very big deal in my life. Christmas Eve was a swirl of hot chocolate, cartoons, and peeks under the tree; the day itself was filled with a bevy of boxes, shiny ribbons, stockings filled to the brim.

My mother would always laugh and say I was the last kid to get up on Christmas morning; sleeping in felt like another gift, and I wanted to indulge. One year my mother got sick of cooking, so she took six-year-old me down to one of her favorite old hang-outs, the Royal York Hotel. Me, in a long red velvet gown, and my mother, in a fancy, flouncy dress, enjoyed several courses, as I took in the spectacle of the room, the fancily-attired waiters marching through before dinner started with a succession of Christmas delicacies carefully laid out on silver platters.  Later, she would drive through the city, and we’d look at the festive lights and decorations; I’d be asleep by the time we got home, and would be carried into the house, changed into fuzzy pajamas, and tucked into bed. Boxing Day (and many days thereafter) were filled with play.

As both my mother and I grew older, our gift exchanges became decadent, dare I say exorbitant. I still remember her, one Christmas morning about a decade ago, sitting on a cream-color sofa near the tree and looking beautiful in a red satin dress, exclaiming, not in judgment but in simple awe, “We are very extravagant!” I think something about the sheer volume shocked her, having come from such a meagre life as a youngster, when Christmas meant little more than an orange and an apple. 
Not long after this, we mutually decided to end gift exchanges; her, sensing my writing didn’t really pay that well, and being exhausted with the entire shopping/wrapping process. Also, we both acknowledged, gift-giving tended to happen throughout the year anyway — I’d go grocery shopping, to posh grocers, picking up special, lovely delicacies and cooking them up — sometimes (frequently), it was for no occasion at all, but for the simple pleasure of sharing, preparing, and enjoying them with someone I loved. It was also gratifying seeing my rapidly-shrinking mother eat. One of my most cherished memories of this year is grilling sea scallops for her; I shall always cherish that look of love and gratitude she gave me, more than once, as she carefully carved and them ravenously devoured them. That enjoyment, to me, is worth more than anything you could buy in a store.

Value comes in many forms, of course. Having dear friends coming over through the holidays this year, people close to both of mother and me, is a gift in and of itself. I thought it would be fitting (and fun) to look back at old times. Going through the many old photo albums stored in my basement has forced me to admit it something I’ve been avoiding the last month or so: the holidays hurt. I’ve been keeping myself busy with writing, baking, all manner of household thing, but the shock of my mother’s absence this year is sharp, unrelenting, brutal. Beyond going to the Royal York, and, more recently, my cooking up a beautiful Christmas dinner for us, we didn’t have many traditions. That doesn’t mean her presence in and around the house — as I baked, wrapped presents, drove her to friends’ for merry deliveries — isn’t sorely missed. She’d always laugh whenever I’d put on How the Grinch Stole Christmas and Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown. 

“You’re a big kid at heart!” she’d say. True, I’d admit. I have to be; I never had any of my own.

Other memories of her at this festive time of year are dim, though I have some lovely photos to remind me of the wonder of childhood; a veritable smell of gingerbread and vanilla wafts off them, dreams of sugar plums and plush red dresses and the smooth threads of a Barbie’s hair. My world was cozy, cradling, perfect. Small snippets of that feeling came through in subsequent years; though I don’t have any photos from last year’s Christmas, I distinctly remember the absolute thrill I felt at seeing her take a second helping of turkey, exclaiming, “your chestnut stuffing is sooooo good!” 

An overpowering love pervades everything; that is what I see and what I feel when I think of Christmases past. The tidal-wave-power of that love is one I’m not sure I’ll experience again; I chose not to have my own children a long time ago, and I am really not the maternal sort (something my mother also acknowledged), though I admit it’s been very joyful to see updates of others’ families on social media.  “Christmas is for kids,” my mother dryly observed over the last few years. I couldn’t agree more. So it’s nice to experience the joy of the holidays vicariously, through the many hilarious/touching/smart updates I’ve seen on my Facebook feed; those photos and updates have brought many much-needed smiles and even laughter. To those who’ve provided such therapy: thank you.  

So, as 2016 rapidly approaches, the only way to move forwards — now, at the holidays, and after them, too — is to allow the memory of my mother’s love to power me forwards, through the scary melanoma stuff, through the work stuff, through the frequently lonely days and weeks that characterize so much of my life now. It also means remembering the kid who wants to play, and making room for that in my new normal; maybe that’s the best way to honor my mother, and the best way to keep the Christmas spirit alive, year round.

Oooh-LaLa

By

On July 27, 2010

In food

I always enjoy sharing my special dining experiences online -I find the response, both here and in the real world, to be both inspiring and heartening. So I want to share the wonders of a recent visit to Restaurant Didier in Toronto. But a few caveats before we begin.

First, I am not the most dedicated fan of French food; in the past, I’ve found it too heavy, too rich, and just too filling for me. Also, it’s really hard to reproduce at home. There’s something satisfying about being able to whip up basic approximations of yummy past meals in the comfort of my own kitchen, but I’ve never been able to do that with any degree of success when it comes to French cuisine, which places it in the rarefied world of eat-once-a-year-and-don’t-eat-for-a-week-after-ness. Meh. If I like something (or someone), I want it (or him) again and again and again. (And for the record, yes, I equate food and sex; sensuality is central to each, and to the enjoyment and celebration of life. See the Sex On A Plate post.)

Personally, I like food -and restaurant experiences overall -to be approachable, easy-going, pure, and unfussy. While I appreciate the art of molecular gastronomy, I can’t get my head -or tastebuds -around it making for an all-around satisfying meal. French with touches of modern, however, is something I really love, especially if there’s a light touch. Such is the case with Chef Didier Leroy. Dish after dish of amour pur emanate from his kitchen like pearls in a waterfall. and there’s no need to feel intimidated; servers are happy to explain ingredients and method, suggest pairings, and Chef might even come out and chat when all is said and done. Bravo! The restaurant itself is located in midtown Toronto, away from the hub of the scenester-foodie carnival, where basics like service, knowledge, and attention to detail can sometimes get lost amid the buzzwords and well… the buzz. Restaurant Didier is refreshingly un-hipster-esque, but at the same time, is classy, casual, and yes, affordable.

Chef Leroy comes with credentials. He is a member of the Association Des Maitres-Cuisiniers De France and the Academic Culinaire De France. In 2007, he was awarded France’s prestigious Medal of the Chevalier de l’Ordre du Mérite Agricole, one of the country’s highest honours. Dating back to 1883, the Medal recognizes the services of individuals who have promoted French culture through their activities within the sphere of agriculture. Leroy worked in numerous Michelin-starred restaurants and has been a part of such fine establishments as Auberge Gavroche and The Fifth. Impressively, Chef Leroy has been the official Executive Chef for the French Embassy/Consulate General in Toronto since 1990. Not too shabby.

The night I went I enjoyed a prix fixe menu, which, at $50 for three courses, offered tremendous value considering a/ the quality of ingredients (everything is organic); b/ the care and respect with which those ingredients are treated; c/ the incredible degree of knowledge, service, and honesty from the RD staff. They’ll steer you to the very-best wine pairings, any yummy accompaniments, and have an impeccable sense of timing, spacing out courses appropriately, and filling wine glasses at just the right times. And, of course, you’re getting the work of a first-class chef too. Yum.

For my first course, I chose Salade de Betterace, Orange, Fromage De Chevre, a delicately-flavoured beet salad with tiny medallions of snowy goat cheese and orange segments, and topped with Ontario greens. The beets were sliced paper-thin and were tender but not floppy, the fork prongs easily impaling their moist, sweet flesh. The goat cheese was, thankfully, not fridge-cold, but just the right temperature for swirling along the beets & greens, or spreading onto the beautifully crusty baguette side with the succulent, juicy citrus fruit. I could’ve downed another plate of this luscious, jewel-like salad, really, but I was happy the first course -along with the others -were proportioned accordingly, with absolutely no weird food architecture.

My second course was Duck Confit. It did, in fact, come with a gorgeously-charred sweet potato-half tucked beneath the meat, but there was nothing sky-high about the presentation, or indeed, off-putting about it at all. Quite the opposite! Duck confit is one of those dishes I have once a year (if that), owing to its extreme caloric content. In truth, it was closer to two years since I’d had the dish, but …. goodness me, Chef’s handling erased any negative past experiences entirely. It was, quite simply, the best duck confit I’ve ever had. Moist, if amazingly un-greasy morsels of tender meat, in a beautiful, rich-but-thin sauce that encircled the plate (with a just-so tender side of greens), each bite providing a pure, real connection to the bird and to the skill that so lovingly prepared it this way. Needless to say, I am now re-considering my once-a-year-only confit stance. Any increase might entail jogging home, however -or at least skipping dessert, which, on this night, was totally, wonderfully impossible.

Dessert was Trilogie De Chocolat Valrhona -or a chocolate trilogy, which consisted of layers of moist, ebullient bittersweet darkness. Runny, solid, soft -all the textures and flavours of this special, luscious treat were nestled together in one gorgeously posh, small portion. The level of detail was truly impresssive, with a lovely, subtle presentation and again, a just-right portion. The dessert -with a full-mouth flavour of rich cocoa, but without any cloying sugary qualities -paired beautifully with the 2005 Penfolds Grange wine my companion and I were enjoying the evening of our visit, and (as before, but in reverse) I would’ve gladly downed a few plate-fulls, were it not for the salade and confit that came before.

All in all, my visit to Restaurant Didier was a wondrously delicious experience. I happened to notice on the menus that the kitchen also caters to vegans and vegetarians, and offers a Chef’s Tasting Menu for tables. Truly, something for everyone, but with a smart, stringent respect for the French culinary tradition -along with the quality of ingredients -that, in this world of over-saturated hype and wannabe-stars -is truly inspiring. I am now a confirmed French food fan, thanks to the masterful work of Chef Didier. Yes, I want to return soon. And I will.

A la prochaine!

Damn Good Dinner

By

On March 15, 2010

In food

Few things inspire me like a person new to the culinary world; it implies both a healthy curiosity and a concern for healthy eating. Anything homemade is always going to beat microwaved Frankenfood. So a recent note from a fellow Twitterati/ journalist felt like a call to inspiration, the way I painter is drawn to canvas or a musician to their instrument. Sharing food ideas and any help is my passion, because I love to cook.

I sent this fellow journalist a response, included a link to my last recipe posted (a hit with busy moms), as well as helpful book suggestions (listed below). I also promised myself I would starting posting recipes more often.

As it happens, I had a very hectic day: two blog posts, several phone calls, emails, a doctor’s appointment, and some running around. I wanted something fairly easy and effort-free, if also homey, flavoursome, and healthy. Ergo, meet my Oven-Roasted Herb-Garlic Chicken Breasts.

Prep time: 10 minutes
Cooking time: 30-40 minutes

You will need:

4 chicken breasts, skin and bone on
2 tbsp butter
2 tbsp olive oil
2-3 garlic cloves
1 sprig rosemary
1-2 tsps dried oregano
1/2 lemon
1 tsp sea salt

Pre-heat oven to 425F (use the convection setting if you have it, otherwise set at 450F).

Pour 1 tbsp of the olive oil into a large broad oven dish; you can use a large glass one or a nice square roaster, but keep it shallow, and make sure the breasts fit snugly together.

With clean hands, anoint the fresh chicken breasts with the butter; Nigella Lawson has a wonderful expression (from her basic roast chicken recipe) of spreading the butter around “like a very expensive handcream” -which is apt. Make sure every little bit of the chicken breasts are lubricated. Place in the oven dish, making sure pieces are snug but not busting.

Wash and dry your hands, and then carefully pick the needles from the rosemary sprig. Discard the stalk. Using a very sharp knife, finely chop the needles, and sprinkle them evenly on the tops of the breasts.

Follow this with the oregano (again, use your fingers to sprinkle -much nicer distribution that way). Pour the other tbsp (or so) of olive oil on top.

Take your garlic cloves and peel, then half them. Place the flat part of your knife on top of them, and give a few good pounds, so you’re crushing the cut cloves (you may need to do this in stages, doing a few garlic pieces at a time -which is perfectly fine). You’ll find nice flat pieces of fragrant crushed garlic to scatter on top of the chicken breasts.

Take the half a lemon, cut it again in half, and slice into very thin pieces; scatter on top of the breasts. Sprinkle the sea salt on top (again, use your fingers) and drape a piece of tin foil on top, then pop the dish into your hot oven.

(You can use this time to throw a salad together, if you wish; a basic cucumber/tomato/mixed greens is good with a light dressing. I also happened to have some roasted potatoes already made, so I popped those into an earthenware dish, gave a glug of oil, a grind of pepper, and threw into the same oven for the chicken’s last 10 minutes.)

After 15 minutes, remove the chicken, and take off the foil. Things will be sizzling and fizzling, so mind you don’t stand too close or poke your nose in to inhale the fragrant, herb-garlic aroma.

Using a baster or a spoon, spread all those lovely chickeny/buttery/olive oily juices over the breasts a few times, then whack back in the oven for another 10 minutes or so with the foil off.

Poke a breast (pun unintentional) with a sharp knife after the ten minutes is up; the meat should feel solid, and the juices run clear. Take the chicken out (again, mind the sizzle), baste one more time, and whack back in for 5 to 7 minutes.

For a nice burnished top, turn the broiler on medium-high heat and leave the chicken breasts in (without moving the oven rack) for about 3 or 4 minutes after this (keep watch). The lemon slices and crushed garlic might be singed and blackened at their edges; this is perfectly fine.

Remove and… voila. Enjoy. Serve with salad and, if you like, starch of your choice.

Oh, and those book suggestions: I recommend these for both newcomers and seasoned home cooks, for the breadth of their ideas, accomplishment of their respective authors, and overall ease. They are:

To this I would only add one other book: How To Eat, (Random House, 1998) by Nigella Lawson, which provided inspiration for this recipe in the first place.

All of these titles are perffect for the cook who’s harried, hurried, and not entirely familiar with the culinary arts. Bon appetit!

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