Mill Street Brew Pub closed for renovations

More places to catch the super bowl

Restaurant news – Lil’ Baci, Focaccia, Ici Bistro

Cheesewerks lets customers meet their maker

Challenge of the Super Bowls

Marben to host iYellow Wine School

Souper Bowl Sunday

Speakeasy combines burlesque and dinner theatre

Pack a lunch for Lunch Money Day

Nota Bene to expand eastward

The Depanneur to host dinners featuring the flavours of the world

Restaurant News – The Real Jerk, Balzac’s, Little Anthony’s Italian

New menus – The County General, L’ouvrier, The Sister

A horse, of course

Fidel Gastro pops up at the Superbowl

BIRDLADY from FORTNIGHT LINGERIE on Vimeo.

Parkdale, my neighbourhood since 1993, is known for its many characters. People who make the place unique and colourful, people who definitely dance to their own drummer. For 90 some-odd years, one of those characters was Annie Ross. Born in the building that stands on the south-west corner of Queen and Dunn in 1913, she lived there her entire life until her death in 2004. Miss Ross never married, instead running her family’s flower shop at the front of the building, and spending her retirement years in a small apartment at the back where she was known for feeding the local pigeons; thus her nickname, The Bird Lady.

Miss Ross could tell you stories of how Parkdale had changed and grown. She could remember when the lot directly across the street from her on Dunn was a field for horses. She could tell about how the buildings went up along Queen, or how the mansions along Jameson came down to make way for apartment buildings. And she could tell you about books. In a 4-minute short documentary filmed before her death, she talks about how she began keeping track of all the books she read in her lifetime, some 8,600 different titles.

Since she never married and never had children, upon Miss Ross’ death, a niece took possession of the building. The century-old brick structure was in a poor state of repair and many renovations were done, including to the rooms where Ross herself had lived, as well as to the shop in the front, and the apartments on the second and third floors (formerly the family home)  that had been rented out to tenants.

People who lived in the building referred to the niece as hard and mercenary, caring only for the profit that could be made on raised rents.

Most of Miss Ross’ belongings were taken away, many valuable antiques and family heirlooms. But the niece was overwhelmed by the books. Miss Ross was a bit of a packrat and there were so many books. So the niece held a “yard” sale one weekend in the empty storefront. There, bits of furniture, knickknacks, old sewing patterns from the 60s (Miss Ross had been known for being quite the style-setter in her day) and stacks upon stacks of books were all laid out for people to sort through.

It felt tawdry to go in there and poke through a dead lady’s possessions. In the same way when, after my husband’s uncle died, many of his belongings were boxed up and taken to the funeral for his friends and acquaintances to take if they wanted to, it felt almost as if we were stealing that sweet old lady’s favourite things.

We definitely weren’t stealing, though, and when I came across a pair of first edition Adubon books and the Edgar T. Wherry wildflower guide and asked the price, the niece tried to pull them from my hands saying, “Oh, those shouldn’t be there, they’re worth some money! Those are not for sale!”

I insisted. Not because I thought them to be of any value (they’re not really, despite being first editions) but because if I was going to take away a memory of the sweet old bird lady, books about birds seemed like a fitting choice.

We haggled a bit and finally settled on a price for the three books, and I brought them home and put them on a shelf, planning on flipping through them at some point, but then forgetting, as is often the case with such things.

Then, last week, some 7 years after bringing home Miss Ross’ books, I had occasion to need to look up something in the wildflower guide. I flipped through the pages and suddenly little bits of yellowed petals fluttered to the floor.

Carefully, ever so carefully, I flipped each page until I found it. A small strip of yellowed wax paper, maybe 3 inches high, containing the pressed remains of 4 flowers. I can make out a daisy, a sprig of Queen Anne’s lace, something that might be a white iris, and possibly a pale yellow Johnny jump-up. Unfortunately some of the petals have been crushed to a fine dust, the stems have come off the others, and the whole thing is perilously fragile.

For all of her love of books, the spine of this wildflower guide seems to not have been cracked. The standard pages have yellowed with age, but the glossy colour plates are as good and fresh as new, making me think that Miss Ross maybe didn’t use this book very much since its printing in 1948. She did, however, use it to press a few flowers. This packet is the only one in the book, and I cannot tell its age; it may have been there for six years, or for sixty.

Did she forget they were there, hidden among her 8000+ books? Did she plan on using them for something? Or did she place them there, figuring she’d forget them completely and would have a small burst of joy when she finally opened the book at some point in the future and found them again?

Annie Ross never got to enjoy her flowers again. But on a dreary winter day, I was given a splendid gift and reminder… of her, of beauty, of nature and of the importance of remembering.

I’ve put the flowers back in the book. Some day, when I have passed, my own niece will likely have to go through my things and sort what will be kept and what will be sold off. I hope she opens the cover, looks at the little sticker bearing Annie Ross’ name and address, watches the slip of waxed paper and crushed flower petals fall to the floor, and wonders who she was and what she meant to me and the people who knew her.

Just opened – Pachuco

Kung Hey Fat Choy! – Lee Celebrates Chinese New Year

The Epicure’s Revue hosts Babette’s Feast

Scaramouche brings back Lobsterlicious

Splendido cooks up the love

New food for you

Where’s the beef? At Allen’s

Surprise! It’s a party at Cardinal Rule

School creates their own Licious event

Where to go if you don’t do Winterlicious

Local chefs take advantage of the slow season to cook up a new menu

Gilead‘s got the cure for your snack attack

Nick Liu’s big farewell

Colborne Lane celebrates 5 years in business

Queen & Beaver to host a Superbowl party

Anybody who has ever strolled the streets of New Orleans, lazy with the humidity and history, overcome by the wafting smells of magnolias interspersed with a blast of jambalaya, knows that the crescent city is a town that loves its food. From beignets and acrid chicory-laced coffee at the touristy Cafe du Monde to po’boy sandwiches served up at some place in the 9th Ward with no sign to even let people know it exists, New Orleanians like to eat.

Nobody knows this better than food writer Tom Fitzmorris. The man who has been writing about food in New Orleans since the early 70s is probably the most knowledgeable person in the world on the subject of New Orleans restaurants and Cajun and Creole food. To say the guy is high-functioning would be an understatement – he does a daily 3-hour radio show about New Orleans food (can you imagine? 3 hours a day – just about local food and restaurants?), writes reviews almost daily, hosts a weekly dining event and runs The New Orleans Menu, a website on dining in New Orleans that is updated daily.

Admittedly, I’d never heard of Fitzmorris until my husband came home with a copy of his latest book, Hungry Town, in which Fitzmorris chronicles not just his own career, but also the history of the New Orleans dining scene, from the ragtag po’boy shops to the upscale French dining meccas to the hot new trends that infiltrated restaurants everywhere. Fitzmorris refers to it as “sleazy chic”, but the prevalence of braised pork belly on the menus of hot young New Orleans chefs differed little from the “rustic” “comfort food” or “nose to tail dining” that has been prevalent across the continent.

The most engaging sections of Hungry Town are when Fitzmorris writes about the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in 2005. From the restaurants who served up meals for free, both to help people who were displaced but also to use up perishable ingredients in a city where electricity was spotty, to the reconstruction of New Orleans dining icon Commander’s Palace, Fitzmorris shows his love for his city as he begins a count of the number of restaurants open before Hurricane Katrina (809) compared to the date after the disaster when that number was matched (April 16, 2007). His website continues to keep track (1238 as of today). He is whole-heartedly devoted to his city and its food scene.

It may be less devoted to him however – in Googling him, I came across a blog that seems to be all about smearing him, which means that either someone’s being petty and jealous or Fitzmorris maybe thinks a bit too highly of himself (or both). In any case, foodie scene politics (and hey, it’s not as if Toronto doesn’t have its fair share) aside, I found Fitzmorris’ book to be entertaining, informative and, most importantly, it made me want to head back to New Orleans for another go at their fabulous restaurants. So he’s doing something right, isn’t he?

Cinquecento Trattoria shuts down

Fondue for You

Reconnect with George

McGugan’s brings a wee touch of Scotland to Gerrard St.

Niagara Street Cafe – still around

What about Bob?

The Group of 7 Chefs spread the love

Splendido serves up all the animals

Cava presents their third annual Groundhog Day challenge

 Duking it out with the haggis

Robbie Burns Day is FAB

Other places to get your haggis on

Restaurant news – Maialino Enoteca, Malena, Taste of Tandoree

Nobody does up Burns Day like The Monk’s Table

Drop in at The Dep

Win a dinner from Chef Kyle Deming and Sausage Partners

The Group of 7 Chefs gets a little odd

Restaurant news – Don Don Izakaya, Bohemian Gastropub, Come and Get It

Coming Soon – Gusto 101

Mucho Burrito now open on Queen Street West

Viva Italia at The Chef’s House

Piola‘s got snacks

More good grub at the Rusholme Park Supper Club

Lynn Crawford joins Taste of Tomorrow series

 Chef Marc Breton leaves the Gladstone Hotel

What’s Opera, Duke?

Restaurant news – Malena, The Real Jerk, Windows by Jamie Kennedy

Food For Change – now with guest chefs

Local food experts offer EduBites at the Chef’s House

Gone Fishin’- Restaurants taking a break in January

Restaurant news – El Jacal, Momofuku, Granowska’s

Just opened – Yours Truly

Coming soon – January openings

Chef’s House brings back the Rising Star Dinner Series

Winterlicious – more than just cheap dinner

Advance tickets available for Recipe For Change

Park Hyatt hosts Masters of Food & Wine

Evergreen Brickworks continues its chef series into 2012

Restaurant news – La Carnita, Nota Bene, Hot n Dog, The Burger’s Priest

Tickets on sale for St. Lawrence Executive Chef Series

Scaramouche pulls out all the Stops

Every year we buy a food-related calendar for the kitchen. I’m not sure why – in this age of personal electronic devices, wall calendars are pretty much obsolete, and the selection becomes more and more sparse each year. But we have this one section of wall that needs something, and it’s kind of fun to mark the passing of the months by flipping the page and enjoying a new picture for 30 days.

This year, our kitchen calendar is a collection of vintage food ads. None of them are exceptionally remarkable, but they meet the criteria of being food-related and vaguely retro. Like most calendars, we don’t really look at the pictures as “art”; that is, we just enjoy the image and don’t really analyze it too much.

On new year’s day, we opened up the new calendar and flipped it open to January, where the ad is for a brand of foie gras; Edouard Artzner of Strasbourg, France, a company which has been around since 1803.

First off, it’s a bit risky including a foie gras ad in a food calendar – foie is the one food item that can start an argument faster than anything else I know – even some dedicated carnivores disapprove of foie. But the ad itself is a source of great amusement.

A portly man is seated at a table on which is placed a half-full glass of wine or sherry and a lidded pot of foie gras, the lid removed to show that some has been consumed. The man is red in the face and appears to be asleep, his hands folded over his belly in a display of comfort and sophonsification. On each of the man’s shoulders is a large white duck, their bills close together as if in conversation.

Here’s the disturbing bit – we can’t for the life of us figure out if the ducks are there to symbolize some sort of joy at the delicious repast, or if they’re plotting the fat man’s gruesome death as they peck his face off for eating their brother George.

It looks as if it’s supposed to be a pleasant image, but really, it could well be a scene of impending carnage.

**

It took me many years to learn to like foie gras. My first impression, based on a mousse, was that it was not unlike liver-flavoured shortening.

I was at a restaurant opening once where the chef piped a foie gras mousse into cone shapes and then dipped them in chocolate and served them on a stick, similar to the classic chocolate-dipped cone from an ice cream truck. Figuring the chocolate would overpower the foie, I happily took one, only to immediately realize it was disgusting to me, and spat it out into a napkin. As it was a cocktail-style event, I was left with a paper napkin full of nasty foie and no place to put it. I didn’t want to just leave it somewhere for someone else to come across and I couldn’t find a server who could discretely take it away.

So I did what every other woman would do in the same situation – I balled up the napkin and shoved it in my purse. I’m not a fan of those granny purses with the million compartments, but this purse had a little side pocket, designed to hold a cell phone. Thinking that I didn’t want to keep sticking my hand in ooky foie gras every time I went digging for a business card or my lipstick, I jammed the napkin in the pocket and zipped it shut.

Four days later when I pulled that bag out of the cabinet where I keep my purse collection, the stench was over-powering. Fortunately the bag was washable, because let me tell you, there really is no other way to get the smell of rotting foie gras out of fabric.

Despite these bad experiences, I eventually grew to enjoy, if not love, foie gras. The turning point was one year on my husband’s birthday. We were at beer bistro, a local restaurant that specializes in dishes prepared with beer, when the chef, who my husband knew, brought us a complimentary dish of foie gras cured in Belgian beer. I don’t know if it was the flavour of the beer that did it, or that it was prepared so simply allowing the foie to remain in a firmer, more natural condition, but to date, it remains my favourite foie gras experience.

It would be remiss to write about foie gras and not discuss the ethical issues surrounding the product. But honestly, I can claim no expertise. There are as many people who defend the practice and list off all the reasons why it’s sustainable and ethical as there are people who think its a cruel form of animal abuse. I’m not typically a fence-sitter, but I think both sides of the argument have merit. And as someone who thinks almost all industrial meat is cruel in various ways, to me it seems no different than how we treat other forms of poultry or pigs or cows.

Thankfully, between the number of people who don’t like it, think it to be morally wrong, or flat out can’t afford the stuff, foie gras doesn’t really run the risk of ever going mainstream, which means that if the force feeding required to create the fattened liver is cruel and painful to the birds, it’s some small consolation to know that the number is smaller than it could be if more people ate the stuff.

And who knows, maybe, someday, when we’re least expecting it, the ducks will have their revenge.

This whole food writing thing, you see, well it was/is somewhat of a diversion. My original goal in “becoming a writer” was to write novels, or lovely descriptive essays. Since 2005 I’ve had a 90,000 word novel sitting in a drawer, waiting for me to get up the nerve to send it off to an agent or publisher. I also have about half a book’s worth of food-related memoirs and essays and a list of other pieces to write…

The food writing thing happened a bit by accident. A friend who had once worked as Margaret Atwood’s assistant told me that to help get publishers interested in my fiction, it would help to have “a name”. A series of events led to job offers at a couple of publications and then Greg and I started TasteTO, and suddenly I had “a name”. (At least it seems so, based on the number of people who Google my name and hit this website.)

Anyway, I jumped on the food writing because  it was my area of expertise, but also because, at the time, it was fresh and exciting. Five years later and I’m feeling a bit burnt out, unsure of where I want to go with it all. I’m not complaining about my gig at Toronto.com, but I’m not exactly writing hard news, y’know? I am aware of the fluff level of the content I’m generating compared to everything else going on in the world.

Part of me longs to get back into the long interviews and profiles we did at TasteTO – those at least made me feel as if I was really “writing”. But the Google analytics don’t lie – spending 5 or even 8 hours to write an article and seeing that the average reader spend 30 seconds on that page is incredibly disheartening.

So, yeah… loose ends. I still want to write about food in Toronto, but I really don’t want to do the same thing that everyone else is doing. And I feel that, by having spent the last year mostly writing little short 100-word pieces (which granted, are often harder to create than a 1000 word piece, trust me), I’ve sort of lost my edge. Or that my edge is different somehow.

All of this is basically to say that I’m not sure how much new content I’ll be adding here in the coming months, or what form that content will take. I’ve scrapped Lucky Dip – while it’s fun to do, it takes a long time and doesn’t actually get that many readers – and I’m trying to direct my free writing time to the aforementioned books. I’m also still working on transferring my old TasteTO content over here so it’s publicly accessible.

I’m sure that I’ll figure out which direction to point myself in, but in the meantime, I’m taking the opportunity to deal with some other issues, think, daydream, plot and muse, and spend more time with friends who I have neglected for far too long.

Whatever you celebrate this season, maybe it be full of happiness, joy and good food.

I’m taking a break until the new year, see you all in January.