Our plane touched down just as the sun was beginning to set on the city of Boston.  By the time we retrieved our luggage and caught the shuttle to the water taxi stand, it was gone but there were still gorgeous colours in the western sky.

Our water taxi driver was a lovely gal who asked if we minded taking a couple of extra minutes to rendezvous with another boat.  She explained that her parents had arrived by water from their home and had her dinner for her.  Hey, we’re laid-back folk from the Canadian prairies, it certainly sounded neighbourly to us.

Boston harbour is gorgeous.  I guess we should not have been surprised by the number of huge yachts also enjoying the waterway.

We came closer and closer to what we found out would be our hotel for our stay-the Battery Wharf Fairmount.

After a quick check in, we ventured out again to see where we could scrounge up a late dinner. There were a number of cozy looking restaurants all within walking distance of our hotel.  It was going to be hard to choose.

We had done our research and we knew that we wanted seafood as fresh as we could get it.  An restaurant dubbed the “sea” in Italian presented itself as a likely candidate and we were able to secure the last table at Mare Oyster Bar.

We commenced with a couple of local beer and knew that we had come to the right city and would be in good hands.  We had been tempted to order the Shellfish Tower which included 18 oysters, 6 clams, 4 jonah crab claws, 4 shrimp cocktail, and 1/2 chilled lobster, when we had seen it delivered to other tables.  I was glad that we had restrained ourselves.

We cleverly settled for a platter of oysters on the half shell.  They were amazing but our server seemed taken aback when I requested my customary Worcestershire sauce to make them even more stellar.

Our jumbo shrimp cocktail blew us away.  They were $6 for each shrimp and were so enormous that we had to eat them with a knife and fork like a lobster tail.

Next up were two absolutely enormous pan seared scallops, the likes of which we had never seen before.

These were the seafood meatballs composed of calamari tentacles and shrimp.  We were more than satisfied with our first tastes of Boston and decided to stroll and do some more exploring.

We walked through this door into Mike’s Pastry a.k.a. cannoli heaven!

D loved his pistachio cannoli and I managed to limit myself to a single bite.

We couldn’t believe that we had only been in Boston for four hours.  We headed back to the gorgeous Battery Wharf Fairmount  to rest up for the next day.

Kath’s quote: “And this is good old Boston, The home of the bean and the cod…”-John Collins Bossidy

Love-that is all.

The 90 year old father of my friend was given a book.  He loved it so much that he gifted it to his son and daughter-in-law.  When I was in their home recently, they showed me their gift and when I returned home (they live in Toronto), I immediately ordered a copy for myself.  Since it has been mine, I have shared it with Sister #3 and more recently J2’s Mom.  Treasured books are often shared in this manner, in my circle at least, but rarely is the book a cookbook.  Jerusalem -A Cookbook written by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi is an exquisite collection of recipes as mysterious and fascinating as the city itself.  Consistent with my premise of food=love and the notion that food is a powerful force that can promote healing, forgiveness and reconciliation, the authors of this recipe collection make this bold statement:

Alas, although Jerusalemites have so much in common, food, at the moment, seems to be the only unifying force in this highly fractured place.  The dialogue between  Jews and Arabs, and often Jews themselves, is almost nonexistent.  It is sad to note how little daily interaction there is between communities, with people sticking together in closed, homogenous groups.  Food however, seems to break down those boundaries on occasion.  You can see people shop together in food markets, or eat in one another’s restaurants.  On rare occasions, they work together in partnership in food establishments.  It takes a giant leap of faith, but we are happy to take it-what have we got to lose?-to imagine that hummus will eventually bring Jerusalemites together, if nothing else will.

I witnessed the huddling of persons into compact neighbourhoods myself when I traveled to Jerusalem many years ago.

We had the unique perspective of walking on top of the wall of the old city and could peer over railings and into yards and lanes to see the subtle lines drawn in the sand and the boundaries between “theirs” and “mine”.

In a manner of speaking, the food of Jerusalem has already worked in “unification” (not for the beautiful and complicated country of Israel) but for a group of old friends who spent this past weekend together, celebrating life and friendship surrounded by nature with games, laughter, hikes, sleeps, kayaking

….but most significantly by cooking and eating together.

Our Friday was heralded with welcome drinks and a simple but delicious meal of grilled sausages and a lusty Mixed Bean Salad with capers, cumin and coriander (from the cookbook).

Although the evening and overnight had been warm and humid, the morning was cool enough for us to have our second cup of coffee around the fire (with croissants and muffins from Stella’s).

Before heading out for our hike around the lake, the table was set for eggs.

Of course, they weren’t just any eggs.  They were lovingly made by R who is the most patient cook I have encountered.  None of the high heat that I am always hurriedly setting under my pan was employed here.  With these creamy parmesan eggs, the blueberry pancakes the next morning and the grilling of sausages and chicken, he does everything the “hard” way: constant stirring, live charcoal, timed flips on the grill; while at the same time retaining that unhurried attitude of a confident cook.

After walks and swims we assembled on the dock for Happy Hour (as if we needed to get any happier)!

L had made my favourite dip of baba ganoush and a rich and creamy hummus.

These Feta and Olive Chicken Balls were delectable and I would happily serve them as a healthy main with soft pitas and some greens.

As the black silhouettes of the pines were illuminated by the dusky sky, we lit candles and sat down for our “Sabbath” meal together (observed in Israel on the sixth day at sunset).  This was anything but a “holy” experience in a religious sense and yet because “holy” also means a time or place deserving of respect or reverence, it was.  The setting was special, the time carefully carved out, the moments savoured……

The recipe for the  Lebanese chicken was from a friend of R’s.  He and M marinated it all afternoon and then R painstakingly waited for the coals to be just right.  The tender meat was seasoned with fresh oregano and squeeze after squeeze of fresh lemon.

Tabbouleh, we learned, probably hails from Lebanon and Syria and is primarily a parsley salad sparsely dotted with al dente bulgar wheat.

This dish of Roasted Sweet Potatoes and Fresh Figs is the reason why I was so anxious to buy the cookbook and even if for no other reason, I am so glad I did.  We were concerned that the sweet potatoes were white and not orange and we think that they were a Caribbean style of sweet potato (that is, reminiscent of a plantain).  They were delicious in a subtle way allowing the fresh figs to shine.

The figs were so exquisite that we enjoyed more dessert of them with honey cake, philo pastries, grapes, apricots and figs.  The ones in the dish were perfection with a drizzle of balsamic and pungent shards of cheese.

The next morning we were up and cooking and eating again.

But who wouldn’t want to spend time in the kitchen, with granite and the forest as your backdrop.

We eventually hit the road back to the city but not without pledging to be together again-hopefully in a more unified and peaceful world.

Kath’s quote: “If you want to find a good husband, you’d better learn how to chop your parsley properly.”-the mother of cookbook writer Sami Tamimi to his sister.

Love-that is all.

Here is what Peg City Grub says about the rationale behind their “Homegrown Trail“:

Ask a Winnipegger where to get the best home-grown eats and you won’t get the same answer twice.  That’s because the definition of Manitoba Regional Cuisine doesn’t fit into one tidy sentence.  Pickerel, bison, wild berries, wild rice are local favourites found on menus across the city.  But that’s just the beginning.  From ethnic eateries to greasy spoons, from food co-operatives to upscale dining rooms high above city streets, chefs have their own takes on the food found on Manitoba’s prairies, lakes, forests and wetlands.  On this tasty trek across Winnipeg, you’ll sample some of the province’s staples in their traditional and modernized forms.  You’ll taste our past and present, created by some of the city’s most talented cooks.

It was impossible for me to get away on the media preview of Tourism Winnipeg’s “Homegrown Trail” but having been on a couple of culinary trails in Stratford Ontario last fall, I was anxious to see what had been put together in my own backyard, as it were.  We began with Fusion Grill, not exactly in my own backyard but pretty close-a block and a half walk away.  The cafe’s close proximity actually makes me guilty about not dining there more often as owner Scot McTaggart is an old friend of ours from a time when we all worked at a popular restaurant together.  Scot’s culinary philosophy has always been a passion for “local”, years before the trend was in vogue.  Scot declares that his wish has always been a simple one: “to sell carrots from my own backyard.”  As Scot described his memory, my own came back so clearly: He recalls raiding a garden for carrots and scraping off the dirt with your hands.  He remembers the sweetness and the crunch and adds “even the dirt tasted good.”  Being the scaredy cat that I was, I never raided a garden but was able to pick as many carrots as I desired from my Grandma’s garden as a reward for helping her weed and water.  As a very little girl, she taught me how to make a fist around the carrot and pull it through to scrape away most of the dirt.  Even though I didn’t like to get dirty as a child, I recall leaving as much Saskatchewan mud as possible on those carrots because I whole-heartedly agree with Scot: even the dirt tasted good.

On this day, the sample of Panko-Crusted Pickerel cheeks was sublime.  Gutsy Scot was the first of Winnipeg’s restaurateurs to deliver Manitoba regional cuisine like lamb, pickerel cheeks, Arctic Char, Northern Pike caviar and grass-fed beef.  The all-Canadian wine list was also a bold move when he first opened but feels vindicated now with the focus on both food and wine from closer to home.  He believes that Canadian wines are the perfect pairing to chef Lorna Murdoch’s cuisine.

Next on the trail was a stop that we didn’t make on our mini-tour.  We consider Mise Bistro (although not walking distance) still one of our favourite neighbourhood restaurants.  Over the years we have sampled their pickerel too, loving it with a dusting of corn-meal. Also an old-favourite but not visited on this day was Fude where Chris Fougere passionately explained to us years ago, his spin on deconstructing and reconstructing his restaurant’s dishes.  Fude was the first place we had ever tried chocolate chicken!  We couldn’t place the taste at first and then recalled savouring mole chicken in Mexico, on one of our first visits, years prior. Also not included on our mini-tour was Prairie 360 but coincidentally I got to enjoy lunch there the very next day.  I once lived across the back-lane from the Tall Grass Prairie Bread Company where aromas of their cinnamon buns would wake me out of a morning sleep.  For the epitome of home sweet home cooking, Sonya’s across town in my old stomping grounds of EK/Elmwood is on the full trek but not our mini version.  No matter, I can vividly recall owner Steve’s cheerful banter as he served us house make cheddar and potato perogies served with grilled onions and crispy pieces of bacon.

Don’t think that I didn’t eat my fill on this mini-tour as our next stop was Market Burger.  As soon as we sat down a platter of “sides” arrived at the table.  I had a difficult time deciding which I loved the best between their excellent onion rings, hand-cut fries, hickory shoe-string fries or their deep-fried pickles.  I have been unimpressed with fried pickles in the past but this authentic kosher dill pickle (I suspected it was an Elman’s) was elevated by the crunchy batter that adorned it.

I had to stop myself from eating all of the tasty sides as no less than 6 sliders arrived soon thereafter including the Desi (spiced Pakistani-style beef), the Mac ‘n Cheese, the Banh Mi (reminiscent of my favourite Vietnamese dishes) and the Smothered Chili Burger.  I was about to declare the Butter Chicken Burger my favourite until I bit into the piece de résistance: the Peanut Butter Bacon Burger!  Sweet/salty/savoury all in one compact taste-heaven, I’m in heaven……

Our last (but certainly not least) stop on the tour was at Peasant Cookery which serves ” real food from the land.”  I have tasted many of award winning Chef Tristan Foucault’s dishes but never had room for dessert, being satiated by his charcuterie, poutine, pickerel or gnocchi.  This stop though was just for dessert and although I thought that I could not possibly consume another thing, I gleefully managed to slurp down all of the berry sorbet and goat milk cheesecake.  The piggy shaped short bread cookies were the “icing on the cake” so to speak.

So in answer to the question: where should we eat in Winnipeg?-there are just too many choices, so try one of Tourism Winnipeg’s Trails whether you re a visitor to our fair city or “Homegrown” like me.

Kath’s quote: “This little piggy went to market….”

Love-that is all.

Recently, I had the opportunity to attend a media preview of this new Exchange District Tour.  We assembled in Steven Juba Park across from Carnaval Brazilian Barbeque and I was hoping that it would be our first stop as I have enjoyed tapas in the lounge but had never been upstairs to check out the dining area.

We walked past the huge rotisserie area as we made our way to our table and I stopped for a moment to see the cuts of meat and sausages and pineapple twirling around.

When we are on Isla Mujeres my favourite taco is called “Taco al Pastor” where thinly sliced marinated pieces of pork are cooked on a vertical shishkabob while rotating next to an open flame.  The only time I had seen meat cooked in this manner was while I was travelling in the Middle East.  With research I discovered that indeed Lebanese immigrants to Mexico brought this technique for cooking lamb and the Mexicans adapted it for pork.  As a result, back in the 1960’s this same dish was called Tacos Arabes (Arab Tacos) but for some reason has been renamed.  Speculation is that the original use of lamb is the connecting nuance because “pastor” means shepherd.  On Isla Mujeres the pork is often layered with rings of pineapple and sliced off the rotating skewer all at once so in my mind I have always associated “Pastor” as having something to do with pineapple-boy, was I off.  Can you follow my musings here?  Carnaval cooks both pork and pineapple on their rotating skewers and so the taste reminded me of Mexico and the Middle East at the same time.

In addition to the pork and pineapple, I also loved the skirt steak (there are 14 cuts of meat served in total).  There are also over a dozen sides on the menu and all the ones that we sampled were from the cold section.  Somehow almost every dish was empty by the time it arrived where I was sitting so that I missed out on the Chickpea Salad, the Hearts of Palm Salad and the Kale & Broccoli Salad.  What I thought must have been the Panzanella (sometimes called Tuscan bread Salad) made with Bononcini, croutons and tomatoes was also only tomatoes by the end of its rounds.  I express this disappointment because if they were anything like the Mixed Field Green Salad or the Arugula, Raisin and Pumpkin Seed Salad that I did get to sample, they would have been very fine indeed.  Without further delay I should mention the excellent Brazilian Cab Sav that accompanied our first courses.

When we met up with owner Noel Bernier at our next stop, he explained that the location for Carnaval was obtained three years before it opened.  Noel wanted it to be a place where “original gauchos” could bring their style of cooking and eating to Winnipeg.  Noel’s fiancé from Brazil works at Carnaval as well as manager Fabio who we also had an opportunity to meet.

While we sipped another excellent wine at Hermanos, this one a full-bodied Stagnari Tannat from Uruguay (the tannat grape was originally imported from France but is now considered the national grape of Uruguay), Noel continued with his story: he puts the most importance on Hermanos because it was only through a labour of love that it reached its current success.  In fact, Noel’s mission was to “celebrate the heart of South American food”.  He does not want Hermanos to be considered an “ethnic” restaurant per se, but a South American fusion restaurant with a Canadian influence.

Take the dish “Peru Meets Manitoba” for instance.  Noel suggests that it was the Peruvians that invented ceviche-the method of “cooking” fish and seafood in a lime marinade instead of over heat.  I am crazy about ceviche, eating it almost daily while on Isla Mujeres (hope that you can tolerate my Isla fixation) but had never been to a restaurant that was bold enough to attempt it on a local fish.  I thought that pickerel might be too delicate to hold its own against the lime juice but oh no-it is a perfect marriage, made better by the coupling.

I also loved the sausage board where a chorizo style sausage was served with grilled bread and peppers declaring a bold taste statement.  Sausages are the perfect way to use every part of the animal.  Since Noel indicates that the South American culture is very “farm-focused”, this is not at all surprising.  Farmers are the most resourceful people in the world and in my opinion, if I am to be a carnivore, I think that using every possible part of the animal is respectful and ethical.

The tenderized and breaded beef called Milanesa was also a multi-cultural phenomena.  Wikipedia indicates:

The milanesa was brought to the Southern Cone of South America by Italian immigrants during the mass emigration called the Italian diaspora between 1860-1920s. Its name probably reflecting an original Milanese preparation cotoletta alla milanese, which is similar to the Austrian Wiener Schnitzel.

Who knew?

Similarly, an empanada comes from the Spanish verb meaning empanar, meaning to wrap or coat in bread.  I thought that Hermanos’ version was closer to a samosa which would also be authentic as Wikipedia (isn’t it a handy resource?) states:

Empanadas and the similar calzones are both believed to be derived from the Indian meat-filled pies, samosas.

I tasted both the beef and black bean variety as well as the chicken and sausage and could not decide which I like the best.  What I did know with certainty was that the Tannat held its own when swigged after each taste of beef and which is consistent with its Uruguay popularity because beef is consumed more extensively in South America than anywhere else in the world.

Before the entourage departed for Corrientes Argentiene Pizzeria, Noel reminded us that these restaurants were never intended to be “chef-focused” but to be a home for persons from South America who wanted to showcase their talents.  Not surprisingly, we were greeted by another handsome South American when we arrived at the comfortable pizzeria.  Sylvio, who is a recent arrival to Canada was assisted by Cynthia who explained that the design of Corrientes was to replicate a popular neighbourhood in Buenos Airies (which Noel earlier declared was to him the most fascinating city on earth).  She also explained that there are many “Corriente” streets in various Argentiene communities.  The beautiful building which is home to the this third café is one of the oldest in the city having been built in 1882.

I had sampled their excellent pizza on previous visits and had learned about the influx of Italians to Argentina after World War II.  A delicious hazelnut and chocolate dessert, called Gianduia was served.  I, who can typically resist desserts, lapped up every dollop and then sat back to savour an Argentiene Malbec-once again: stellar.

I hadn’t expected to be so impressed with the Exchange tour from both the perspective of the historical significance and what I learned and tasted in the way of food.  But more than anything, it was Noel Bernier’s passion for Winnipeg’s exchange district and the food that he loves that impressed me most.

Kath’s quote: “The best fertilizer is the footprint of the farmer.” anonymous

Love-that is all.

I read this book many years ago, almost all in one sitting.  D and I had driven up to our beach house for one last fall weekend and to celebrate our wedding anniversary.  We have a lovely time on this annual weekend, walking the beach, lying on the deck and watching the stars and cooking up delectable little treats to eat.  But it is also the first Sunday in the NFL Season and D is often anxious to make his way over to the “big cottage” that is equipped with satellite TV.  In the mean while, I will make a cup of tea and cozy up on the deck or if the weather is still really fair, down to the beach for an afternoon read.

Tom Stone lived in Greece for twenty-two years and one summer, was partner and cook of a tavern which catered to the fishermen of the area in the mornings, locals at lunch and tourists in the evening and sometime early into the morning.

Here is an excerpt from the chapter entitled “The Main Course”, with the sub-head of “First Lessons” about the weekend before the Taverna opens for business (page 104-105):

That Saturday morning, I unpacked the rest of my things and began making space for myself in the kitchen.

It was, of course, infinitely smaller than the one I had remembered when I was indulging in my fantasies back in Rethymnon.  Barely large enough to accommodate tiny Demetra and myself, much less Memis and the boys, every available space in it seemed to be utilized twice over.  The walls were lined with shelves, cupboards, plates, glasses, flour, pastas, herbs, matches, old lottery tickets, nails, string, and, among other useless items, a broken telephone.  In the center stood a large working table, and another, smaller table was in a nook leading to the glass-fronted display units.  Along the back wall crouched a huge, blackened electric stove with four hot plates on top.  Next to it was a gas-operated three-burner range.

To the left of the stove, also along the back wall, were two stained, stainless steel sinks and a draining board, and leading off that to the rear, a long, narrow space that Theologos had recently added on in one of his attempts at improvement.  It was a bedroom, dressing and storage room, with two narrow cots that were used both for quick naps and for the boys to sleep at night.  A narrow passageway running behind the walk in refrigerator linked it to the taverna’s single toilet, also accessible from the dining area, and barely larger than those you find on airplanes.  In an alcove was a wash basin and a door that led to the outside storage area, mainly used for empty creates and bottles and for washing and peeling vegetables.

I staked a claim to the small table between the kitchen area and the refrigerated display units and set up my food processor and work area there.  Since Memis was apparently also going to help (at no extra cost, it seemed) and had clearly fallen for one potato cutter, I left him to find a space for it.

One of the features of this and many of my favourite stories of living in a foreign place, are the appendices of recipes in the back of the book:

I was going to fashion these around a skewer to grill but the weather turned cold, so I didn’t want D to have to fire up the barbeque.  There were moist and delicious and reminded me of my own time in Greece.

Kath’s quote: Diogenes, the ancient Greek philosopher, once advised a young courtier, “If you lived on cabbage, you would not be obliged to flatter the powerful.” To which the courtier replied, “If you flattered the powerful, you would not be obliged to live upon cabbage.” – Diogenes

Love-that is all.