The Epic Viewing of Carlos Part I - Sharon and Thom Bring the Hot Pot

We decided some weeks ago that we would watch an epic five hour movie called Carlos. We realized that we'd need to be bolstered by some serious food and wine. As the weather had reached an appropriate level of chilly cold, Sharon and Thom generously offered to serve us hot pot. I was so excited. In Malaysia, we have the same thing except it's called steamboat. Hot pot is a little like fondue except that food is cooked in a broth that's kept on a low simmer. Thom is pictured here in an action shot at the hot pot table.

Central to hot pot is, of course, the pot that keeps your broth good and hot. Sharon and Thom made a delicately flavoured chicken broth that was kept warm on top of the Storm Buster. I want a Storm Buster.

Equally important is the array of sauces to augment the bits you dip into the pot. From the top, moving clockwise: sesame oil, garlic, soy sauce with garlic greens, red miso paste and chili sauce. Thom hadn't brought out the raw eggs for dipping into just yet. If you're wondering, those are meatballs at the bottom right.

Of course, we're not all about the sauce. There were vegetables too. Bean sprouts, sui choy (also known as napa cabbage) and enoki mushrooms huddled together in the colander. They knew what was coming.

Fish balls, shrimp and fish balls, and raw shrimp, all ready for their bath in the hot pot.

Sharon kicked the cooking festivities off by dropping dried shiitake mushrooms that she had been soaking earlier into the hot pot.

We sat round the table and sipped plum wine and a green Portuguese wine Ciaran brought. This particular plum wine came in adorable little jars with a little plum to nibble on when the booze is gone.

Steam rolled up in little clouds, wafting the comforting scent of chicken broth and fogging the windows up.We readied ourselves for the first bits of food. Thom, Sharon and I cracked our eggs into little saucers.

Next, we dropped the fish balls, the shrimp and fish balls, the puffed tofu and some of the vegetables. And then we waited.

We watched with great anticipation as Thom fished out the first bits of food. Bliss. Loved every eggy, soy sauced, chili-ed, and sesame oil'd bite of hot pot.

Fortified thus with warm bellies and plum wine sweet in our mouths, we watched the first half of Carlos. Despite its length, it was undeniably riveting. I recommend it. Sharon and Thom - thank you for hot pot and your projector-friendly white wall.

Food for Cold Movember Nights - Roasted Spaghetti Squash Risotto

Oh those cold, rattly, dark Movember nights. Are you one of those noble men who are growing a moustache for November? I tip my hat to you, sirs.

This post documents the life and times of a spaghetti squash that ended up in my kitchen. The squash arrived in magnificent form. It slept on the floor for several days before I posed it next to a Cambodian krama.

I put it in a 375 degree oven for about an hour and ten minutes. I saved its seeds. They were mixed with some olive oil, garlic powder, chili pepper and thyme. They roasted for about seven minutes. I shook them about and roasted them for another seven minutes. They were tasty. I had plans for the shells too.

Before I took a much needed afternoon nap, I scraped all the flesh out with a fork. The little tendrils of spaghetti squash tumbled into the waiting steel bowl. I recklessly left the bowl uncovered and took a nap.

I woke up several hours later and decided it was time for roasted spaghetti squash risotto. Using Biba Caggiano's recipe for roasted butternut squash risotto, I put six cups of Campbell's low-sodium chicken broth (the one that comes in the tetra box is pure genius) on to heat in a small pot. I minced up one small yellow onion and put that into a pot that was foaming with a tablespoon of butter mixed in with two tablespoons of olive oil. After the onion turned pale and soft, I added two cups of Arborio rice.

I stirred the rice until it was well coated with buttery onion. I didn't have any white wine on hand so I used a half cup of Noilly Prat. After that cooked off, I began adding the hot broth half a cup at a time, stirring until it was almost completely absorbed before adding another half cup for twelve minutes.

I added about two to three cups of the roasted squash in small batches. I continued to add half cups of broth, stirring until the squash was mixed in well. I grated half a teaspoon of nutmeg into the pot and added a one-third cup of chopped up goat cheese (I used up the last of le moutier I brought from Toronto). Biba's recipe called for Parmigiano-Reggiano, but as I can't eat that, I replaced it with goat cheese with great success. I tested for salt and finished the risotto with a small teaspoon of butter.

Ciaran honoured Biba by finding a languishing block of Parmigiano-Reggiano in the cheese box to enthusiastically grate over his bowl. I abandoned my plan to serve the risotto in the hollowed out shell and opted for golden bowls instead. The result? Deliciously velvety risotto; the depth of its flavour suitably darkened by the freshly grated nutmeg. Good cold Movember night food.

Smoking West Coast Salmon

I confess that I entered into the salmon smoking experiment completely daft and ignorant about the mysteries of smoking fish. But I learned. I learned about brining. I learned about the difference between hot and cold smoked fish. I will share this with you in picture format.

I had a coho salmon. It needed to be smoked. I was going to hot smoke it. Hot smoking involves exposing the food to smoke and heat in a controlled environment. Cold smoking refers to the process of curing food with smoke in an environment that doesn't exceed 38 degrees Celsius. Both processes require brining (something between marinading and pickling) before you smoke the fish.

Dan was sweet enough to share his brine recipe with me. His recipe is based on his father's recipe. I added some things to it. The brine involved soy sauce, brown sugar, garlic, celery, bay leaf, salt, and brown sugar. I filleted the fish, dropped it into the brine and popped in the fridge to macerate for 12 hours. Use a non-reactive container like plastic or glass. You don't want to brine salmon for more than three days.

Early the next morning, I woke up and retrieved the fish from the brine. Some people suggest that you should air dry the fish in a cool place with good air flow (you can use a fan) for at least two to three hours so that the fish has time to form a pellicle. The pellicle is a lacquer-like surface that forms on the fish when it's air dried. It helps the smoke adhere to the fish. I was very sleepy at 6 am. I used paper towel. Elegant, I know.

We went outside to plug the smoker in and fill the pan with the cherry wood chips I bought the day before.

Then we put the fish on the smoking racks. I didn't bother to cut the belly bones away when I filleted the fish. The flesh around the belly is the most flavorful part of the fish. You can also tell by my shameless photograph that my filleting job was fairly brutal.

We popped the fish inside the smoker and shivered outside in the damp Victoria early morning.

It was too early in the morning to ponder the postcolonial complexities of smoking my fish in a smoker called the "Little Chief."

Dan told us not to open the smoker door for the first three hours. Every forty-five minutes, Nathan would run out to put more wood chips in the pan.

After nine hours, the fish was smoked. For a first attempt, it was pretty delicious. I tested it out on Sharon, Thomas (a post coming up about them!) and some others. They all agreed it was quite tasty. Sharon told me that her father once smoked an entire turkey. That inspired me. I'll have to do another hot smoking experiment again soon.

Toronto Foodie: Tamil Love Food and Chicken Masala

The whole reason for the Toronto foodie post series is because of the people you see to your left. I went to Toronto to see Thanu and Sabesan get married. They were married in traditional Tamil Hindu style. They married for love.

Every culture I have encountered has an understanding about the linkage between food and love. It can be an expression of voodoo seduction between lovers, the nurturing demonstration of a loving parent, the happy medium at a meeting of friends, or the subject of a charitable act between strangers.

All I'm saying is that most of us can tell when food was cooked with love. It just tastes different. I had a friend who was a professional baker. She swore her bread always failed to rise or bake properly if she tried to bake after fighting with her lover. Maybe the bread just knew.

As per Hindu tradition, no meat or alcohol was served at Thanu and Sabesan's wedding feast. Meat and alcohol have long been considered to be things that pollute in the South Asian Hindu tradition. We were treated to a lovely  vegetarian spread after what was maybe the shortest and most punctual Hindu wedding I've ever cried at. We were sent home with sweet little boxes of palaharams - Tamil sweetmeats. These were all made by hand by the women of the groom's and bride's family.

After the wedding, Sujith, Shanthi and my sisters decided to go to Sujith's family home for tea. We stopped at the Sri Lankan Quality Bakery in Markham. We happily bought up a lot of nice things for a proper Sri Lankan Tamil tea.

From the top right, moving clockwise: mutton rolls, masala vadai and fish patties, butter cake and panakai paniyaarum, and finally, fish buns. Delish. All in all, an excellent accoutrement for a fierce conversation about ethnicity and politics.

The newly married couple rashly promised to cook lunch for Shanthi, Sujith and me in their squeaky new apartment a scant two days after their marriage. It was actually quite an honour to be invited for lunch as this was the very first meal they cooked together in their new home. I arrived uncharacteristically early and watched the two of them cook together.

She chopped tomatoes for the tomato, red onion, coriander and green chili salad.

He industriously peeled hardboiled eggs and tended to the chicken masala on the stove.

As I idly sipped on mango juice mixed with perrier and watched them cook, my eye fell on a virgin jar of tamarind.

Tamarind is an amazing thing. You can make candy with it, shine brass with it, heal wounds with it, cook tasty curry with it, eat its green sour fruit from the tree, and as you see here, make a paste out of it for cooking purposes.

I'm not sure why Tamils never popped out an equivalent of George Washington Carver to do for tamarind what George did for peanuts.

Sabesan and Thanu cooked a lovely lunch that included the hardboiled eggs, spinach keera, tomato salad, rice, eggplant curry and ...

... a delectable chicken masala. Here's a recipe for Tamil love food.


Tamil Style Chicken Masala 

1 pound of chicken cut into 2 inch square pieces
1 large onion chopped finely
2 tomatoes chopped into 1 inch dice
7 - 8 garlic cloves coarsely chopped
3 inch piece of garlic, peeled and finely chopped
1 or 2 dried red chilis
3 green chilis chopped into1/2 inch rounds
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 teaspoon red chili powder
1 rounded teaspoon coriander powder
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon garam masala
1/2 teaspon turmeric powder
1/2 teaspoon cumin powder
1/4 teaspoon cumin seeds
6 - 7 curry leaves
1/2 teaspoon black mustard seeds
reserve Jaffna/Sri Lankan style curry powder
1 tablespoon of curd  or Balkan style yoghurt
Salt - as per your taste

Method:

1. Heat the oil in a deep cooking pan over a medium to high heat. Add the black mustard seeds. When they start popping, throw in the red chili, cumin seeds and curry leaves. If you have fennel seeds, chuck in about a 1/4 teaspoon for bit more flavour. Don't break the dried chilis unless you like hot curry.

2. Reduce the heat to medium. Add the onion and fry until translucent. Add the ginger and garlic and fry until everything is well browned. Be brave. Allow your onions to turn a brownish colour. This is key in most Tamil curry making. If you like your masala spicy, add your green chilis now. Add a small quantity of salt (1/4 teaspoon). 

3. Turn the heat up and add the chicken pieces, add turmeric powder and another 1/4 of salt. Turmeric must be treated almost like a raw vegetable and cooked to develop its flavour. Add the rest of your powdered spices: coriander, cinnamon, cumin, and garam masala. Fry the spices well but take care not to burn them. If need be, add a tiny bit of water.

4. After no more than 3 minutes, add the chopped tomatoes and mix until the chicken is gloriously coated in masala. If you didn't throw your green chili in earlier, add it in now. Add the curd/yoghurt and two cups of water to the pot. 

5. Turn the heat down to medium. Let the masala cook for 15-20 minutes with the lid on. Stir the masala once in a while.

6. When the chicken is almost done cooking (the time for this will depend on your chicken, your stove and your pot), remove the lid and raise the heat. The object is to evaporate all excess water so that you end up with a lovely dry curry

7. Lower the heat when the gravy level drops, and do your level best to ensure the curry doesn't scorch. Some of my friends prefer more gravy with their masala, so if you're a gravy lover, don't feel pressured to cook the masala all the way down. Near the end of the cooking, test again for salt and for curry level. If you need more pow, add a bit more curry powder and cook for a few minutes more.

Note: I've read some blogs written by people who insist that true South Asians don't use curry powder. I resent that. Having lived among Tamils, and grown up with Sri Lankan Tamils, I can assure you that we use curry powder. Not all curry powders are created alike. Buy a good one and be wary of the sorts that are cut with rice flour or are made with spices that should have been thrown away. Ditto for your spices. Use good quality spices that haven't been sitting on a shelf for ages. Your taste buds will love you for it.

Toronto Foodie: Guu Izakaya and Two Asian Girls

After rushing about to the various markets in Toronto, I met Angelica at the College subway. As we walked to Guu Izakaya, I found myself wishing again I had remembered gloves.

The moment we entered, we were greeted with a raucous welcome from the Guu Izakaya staff at the dimly lit Church street location.

Angelica and I have known each other for a long time and share a mutual love of good food and a reluctance to have our pictures taken. This picture is just how we love it. Blurred and indistinct.

If I could pinpoint where my generally sensible diet went off the rails in Toronto, Guu Izakaya would be it.

Angelica is a serious foodie and something of a food snob. She was photographing food long before it ever occurred to me to do so. She's one of those friends you might not see for years, but the minute you see each other again, you pick up right where you left off.

After re-establishing that I trust her, she proceeded to order our dinner. I sipped on a drink called Bamboo and watched the chefs behind the counter.

 

We started with gomaae. The spinach was perfectly cooked and bathed with black sesame dressing. Many restaurants offer gomaae with white sesame dressing, but after tasting this dressing, I concede that the dark earthy flavour of black sesame adds depth and nuance that its lighter counterpart lacks. After we politely shared this gomaae that either of us could have easily devoured on our own, I swore a solemn oath to myself that I would attempt to replicate this dish at home.

 

That was followed with kurage - marinated jellyfish and glass noodle salad. Imagine something like a sunomono salad, minus the vinegary flavour. This salad was characterized by sharp, fresh and unmuddled flavours that did not compete with the delicate taste of jellyfish. Another winner.

At this point, I ordered another drink to fortify myself. I vaguely regretted eating two pakoras on Gerrard Street earlier that day. I should have fasted all day for this. Kurage was followed by oden - a Japanese winter dish of various items cooked in a light dashi broth. Dashi is a type of cooking broth or soup that serves as a building block for tons of recipes.

This particular pot of oden was filled with bamboo shoot, egg, radish, squid and fish cake, puffed fish cake, deep fried tofu, fish cake, and taro jelly. The egg was a bit overcooked for my taste but I loved the fish cakes and the broth. The bill referred to this dish as moriawase. I thought this was interesting because moriawase refers to a celebratory display of sashimi or other food that's artistically arranged.

No celebratory dinner with Angelica is complete without fried chicken - in this case, chicken karaage. Angelica is a serious lover of fried chicken. Prizing flavour above the mainstream preference for white meat, Guu Izakaya used succulent chicken thighs to create a karaage with a lovely crisp outside and a moist, perfectly cooked interior. They got extra points from me for adding a decent little dollop of respectable tasting garlic-flavoured mayo for dipping. I'm an unrepentant lover of mayonnaise.

I'll confess that by this point, my stamina was flagging. I nibbled a bit on the karaage, but when I saw the sashimi salad, I dove in. Laced with wasabi mayo, the dish was a riot of colour and texture. The fish and seafood was surprisingly fresh. As a coastal dweller, I'm always suspicious of sushi that's served at any land-locked location. Huge lakes do not count.

In Japan, an izakaya is a bar where people go after work to unwind with the assistance of booze and bits of food to nibble. Guu Izakaya is client-focused. The service was courteous and prompt. The kitchen staff were delightful. I enjoyed the long benches and decor.

Angelica, thoughtful dove that she is, remembered to order my kakimayo (oyster grilled with spinach and garlic mayo) without cheese.

My oyster looked enormous next to Angelica's cheese-covered oyster. Perhaps the chefs felt sorry for me having to miss out on the wonders of grilled cheese.

Kakimayo was delightfully creamy with a perfectly cooked oyster nestled inside. I could eat a good number of these quite happily.

The pièce de résistance came in the form of black sesame ice cream. They thoughtfully included two scoops for us even though I insisted I was about to die from surfeit and an impending allergic reaction. Angelica insisted I sample this. I caved. I scraped the tiniest bit of the ice cream onto the tip of my teaspoon. I didn't regret caving. Silky smooth, the sultry sweetness of black sesame fulsomely spread itself over my tongue.

At two drinks apiece and a slew of delicious dishes that left us completely satiated and in dire need of a walk, the bill was actually quite reasonable. Guu Izakaya has multiple locations in Vancouver and Toronto. It does get busy, so either make a reservation or show up around 5 pm to avoid waiting in line.

Toronto Foodie: The Things Luscious Domestic Bought

Ever wonder why your dates are sold with that plastic stick in the middle?

For a foodie with diverse tastes, Toronto is a marvellous place to shop in. From the South Asian shops on Gerrard Street to the vast varieties of produce in the St. Lawrence Market, the fine bread in Little Italy or the Quebecois cheeses of the Distillery District, one only needs a fistful of cash and a large suitcase to lug the treasures home.

First stop: Gerrard Street. Also known as Little India, rumour has it that it's being taken over by Tamils. Being Tamil myself, it seemed like a logical thing to check it out.  I couldn't resist fresh dates for $3.99 a pound. Fresh dates are surprisingly good with Hendricks gin.

After picking up some fresh curry leaves I vowed to dry later, I hopped back onto the public limo and wended my way up to the St. Lawrence Market.

Curry leaves are instrumental in southern Indian and Sri Lankan cooking. Curry powder is not made with curry leaves. When they're fresh, they have an aromatic, distinct tannic scent that's unique to the leaf. The Toronto foodie series will have a feature on Tamil love food. Curry leaves will definitely be included.

Lugging my bag of fruit, curry leaves and some miscellaneous steel cookingware I picked up in Little India, walked past the Sultan's Tent and Cafe Maroc (a great place to eat in Toronto) and finally arrived at the St. Lawrence Market.

I was a little pinched for time. I was supposed to meet an old friend for dinner in less than an hour at Guu Izakaya. I had just enough time to wander for a little bit.

The St. Lawrence Market has been around for over 200 years. It is primarily known for its fruits, vegetables, meats, cheeses and other fine produce.

After longingly eyeing cataracts of jewel-toned fruit and conceding I could only purchase something small, I came across a stand that specialized in selling only mustard and horseradish.

The word "mustard" comes from the Middle English word "mustarde" which means condiment. Although mustard was first cultivated in India around 3000 BC, Canada now produces 90 per cent of the world's mustard and has the world's oldest mustard mill.

I picked up some eye-watering horseradish whose pungency won me over at first taste.

The proprietor gave me some good advice. Always store your horseradish upside down on its lid. It retains its pungency much longer this way, and lasts for about three to four months in the fridge.

A few days later, I recklessly purchased four types of goat cheese in the Distillery District.

I was so excited to share the cheese when I arrived home that I forgot to photograph them before we opened them up.

However, here are the four types: ash-cured Fromages Chaput Prestige, le Moutier, Fleur des Monts and la tomme du Haut-Richelieu. All from Quebec, all entirely amazing.

Le Moutier is my favourite with its sweet, grassy taste. It's made in the only cheese dairy in North America that's run by Benedictine monks.

The final foodie damage was committed at an unassuming Turkish bakery. There was a marvellous assortment of baklava, pastries and cookies, but as I can't eat them, I settled on lokum.

Three kinds of lokum, to be precise. All delicately flavoured, not too sweet and not too starchy. Lokum is known by many names across the Middle East, Central Asia and Southern Europe.

The sort pictured here are not the jelly-like soft and saccharine squares of Turkish Delight you might find in a North American candy shop. These pieces were almost too beautiful to share. Thanks to Gokhan and Heather for gifting an entire bagful of these to me.

Toronto. How I love your foodie friendly shops.

Toronto Foodie: Ian's Delicious Retro Popcorn

I recently went to Toronto to see a friend get married. Along the way, I visited other friends and indulged in Toronto's culinary offerings.

Of all the places I've lived in Canada, Ontario wins the prize for the loveliest fall. Ontario experiences autumn in a vast array of piquant scarlet, orange, yellow and faded green hues just as Victoria experiences spring in every shade of pink imaginable.

On precisely such a day like this, I made my way to Ian and Maggie's house. They live on a quiet Toronto street that's lined with late 19th century row houses that look very much like the ones in this photograph.

I should note that lugging a small suitcase filled with gift jars of peach marmalade I made this summer and bottles of raki is not the best idea on the subway.

I should also note that I should have brought a pair of gloves. Despite the sun, it was nippy that morning.

Since I was feeling chilled, Ian made tea for me and coffee for himself on the vintage gas stove.

I admired the shelves of legumes and spices while the coffee pot burbled away on the stove.

Ian is a fabulous cook. Creative and unfettered by convention, he whips up amazing dishes at a moment's notice. He also bakes impressive bread. Ian always sighs with regret when I reluctantly pass up opportunities to sample his baked wares. Wheat allergy. What can I say.

It just so happened to be Ian's birthday when I was visiting. After a day of me running about, we celebrated that evening in simple style with some of the fresh dates I bought and a gin or two.

In the middle of a conversation about the mayoral election in Toronto, Ian hopped up from the table and found the mason jar full of popcorn kernels. Little did I know what was in store for me.

My transition to accepting a wider range of what could be loosely called "health foods" (I quibble about this term. That's another post, however.) or hippy food has been slow, at best. However, due to people like Ian and Ciaran with vegetarian leanings, the transition has been accelerated. Sure, I've eaten things like tofu for decades, but that's because my parents grew up in Malaysia. Back to the popcorn.

Ian stove-popped the corn, tossed it into a bowl, and after sprinkling the snowy kernels with some olive oil, he dressed it with nutritional yeast. Yes. What had been all the rage in the 1970s and 80s was well and alive in Ian's kitchen.

Before you revolt and stop reading because the notion of yeast in anything except your bread is too disgusting for you, let me sing paens to popcorn that has this unfortunately named substance on it. With this yeast, the ordinary flavour of buttered popcorn transforms into something utterly divine; it has all the bite and sharpness of cheese, the nose parmesan presents, an ever so slightly nutty taste, a slightly rounded finish, and yes, I fell in love immediately with it. The ancient Egyptians loved it. So do I.

Ian's Delicious Retro Popcorn 

1/4 cup popcorn kernels
Olive oil
Paprika
Nutritional yeast
Salt

1. Add enough oil to cover the bottom of a medium-sized sauce pan with a lid that fits well. Swirl the oil around. Add a 1/4 cup of popcorn kernels to the pot. Cover the pot and put the pot over a medium to high flame. If you have an air popper, use it. The stove top method is more useful for entertaining your friends with your culinary showmanship.

2. Shake the pot occasionally to prevent the kernels from burning and to keep things circulating. As you near the end, shake the pot more frequently and listen for the sounds of popping that's slowing down. Depending on your stove, this could happen a bit more quickly or a bit more slowly.

3. Dump the popcorn into a good-sized bowl. Drizzle the popcorn lightly with olive oil, moving the popcorn about to ensure even coverage. Don't go too crazy with the oil.

4. Start with a generous handful of nutritional yeast and break the flakes up in your hand as you sprinkle it over the popcorn. Season with paprika to taste. I'd suggest this involves about a 1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon of paprika. Add a bit of salt and a few grinds of pepper. Thyme is also surprisingly good.

5. Taste your popcorn. If a bit more salt, pepper, yeast or paprika is necessary, drizzle a tiny bit more oil over the popcorn and add what's necessary. Then let me know how much you love it.

For my Victoria readers, nutritional yeast can be purchased at the Market on Yates in the bulk food section. Nutritional yeast has the bonus of being a low-fat, low-sodium, kosher, non-GMO food.