If you could somehow speed up your life like you can in video-editing programs like Final Cut Pro (you see it all the time now — just look for that ultra-speeded up shot, usually of cars or nightlife) and somehow every person you ever met or communicated with became a blip or a flare or something with a time reference, say, a brief email communication with someone over a purchase from eBay that you sold, or a mutual interest in some subject, or the dépanneur guy that you see every day but then one day disappears, never to be seen again . . . what would your life look like in fast video motion?
It would be a remarkable series of flashing lights, some too fast to almost see, with flares of relationships that last weeks, months or even years, every person you ever said hello to, every neighbor you greeted on a given morning, every interaction with a bureaucrat; in essence, every face-to-face meeting you ever had with anybody, including your loving relationships (this perhaps a bright, dayglo blue band that supports all the other flickering transiencies and serves as a continual — hopefully — base?) and would serve as a map of your Life With Others.
I’ll always remember a video I saw a long time ago (a LONG time ago) that showed someone’s house, then pulled back slowly and pulled back and back until it was just planet Earth, then the solar system, then the galaxy, then the cluster of galaxies and so on, and this was WAY before the Internet . . . and I was blown away. Wouldn’t it be amazing if you could do something similar with a short film about all the relationships you’ve ever had with anyone?
I guess it’s called Memory but that probably wouldn’t sell well on screens nowadays.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Basi
Hanging around the markets has its rewards. Atwater has its own aura, and Jean-Talon does too. Lately it's my quest for the perfect garlic that drives me there. I know it's ridiculous to expect to find newly-harvested garlic now but, hey, I can dream. So now, though I can't find the ail au baton, I do find the ail de Provence. I found some at Chez Louis, possibly the premier go-to place for chefs across this city.
But I digress. Near the corner that houses Capitol, the Italian getwhatchouneedery, there's an intriguing cornerplace. That would be Basi. More on this later, but suffice to say that I went in to use the bathroom (excuse) and talked to chef-owner Maurizio and lo and behold, I'm going to dinner there next Wednesday. Not a thing over $30 except the very moderately-priced wines, and who knows? A camera might suddenly pop up. A review might be written. Who knows?
These days I go at a restaurant very differently than I used to. This is possibly due to an inordinate watching of the Food Channel (I signed up to my present cable service ONLY because I wanted the Food Channel, many years ago).
But what I've realised over the years is that instead of anonymous drones bringing you plates, these are real people slaving over very hot stoves and managing businesses that have very short odds. That's the difference between then and now. They were faceless providers whom I didn't know and would never know then but they are real people who really go in and out of business and put their heart and bank accounts into making you eat well. I know, it's easy to say "Well, doh, what did you think? It's an army of robots making your food?" But it's just as easy for many people, as I myself used to, to make the disconnect.
Sure, I'll write an un-partisan view of the restaurant as I see it, but I'll take into account Maurizio and his wife's smiling faces while I do it. That can't be so bad, can it?
But I digress. Near the corner that houses Capitol, the Italian getwhatchouneedery, there's an intriguing cornerplace. That would be Basi. More on this later, but suffice to say that I went in to use the bathroom (excuse) and talked to chef-owner Maurizio and lo and behold, I'm going to dinner there next Wednesday. Not a thing over $30 except the very moderately-priced wines, and who knows? A camera might suddenly pop up. A review might be written. Who knows?
These days I go at a restaurant very differently than I used to. This is possibly due to an inordinate watching of the Food Channel (I signed up to my present cable service ONLY because I wanted the Food Channel, many years ago).
But what I've realised over the years is that instead of anonymous drones bringing you plates, these are real people slaving over very hot stoves and managing businesses that have very short odds. That's the difference between then and now. They were faceless providers whom I didn't know and would never know then but they are real people who really go in and out of business and put their heart and bank accounts into making you eat well. I know, it's easy to say "Well, doh, what did you think? It's an army of robots making your food?" But it's just as easy for many people, as I myself used to, to make the disconnect.
Sure, I'll write an un-partisan view of the restaurant as I see it, but I'll take into account Maurizio and his wife's smiling faces while I do it. That can't be so bad, can it?
Friday, November 28, 2008
Thoughts on Yet Another Birthday
So today I celebrate (mourn?) an event that traumatised the hell out me one day many years ago. Back then, computers were still 10 feet tall, occupied entire rooms, used tape for RAM and possessed the memory of a present-day pocket calculator available at the dollar store.
Wars, cold and hot, were being fought between major countries in almost every quadrant of Earth (yes, I know, it sounds like a Mel Gibson epic, doesn’t it?)
The moon shot was years away. To dial anyone from anywhere that was not your ville, you absolutely had to go through an operator. There was "Person to Person" and "Station to Station." It cost an incredible amount of money for the time. There were no faxes. Telegrams were the usual method of communication, with their staccato “IN TOWN TONIGHT STOP OKAY NOT TO COME TO AIRPORT STOP WILL TAXI STOP LOVE YOU STOP.”
Men wore hats. Almost all men and some women wore hats. I was born in a hospital in Calcutta, India, which, like most hospitals, whisked me away from my mother and put me in a bassinet somewhere in the neonates room, where, no doubt, Dad came to gaze, not smoking a cigar, but a cigarette. Hell, the doctor probably lit one up with him. And they let my mother smoke in her room while she recovered.
Flying was an incredible luxury. It was like going to the moon. All the men wore suits and ties. All the women were dressed in their finest. Going from New York to San Francisco probably required two stops, but no one minded, because they were in the lounge, smoking and drinking.
I lived in India for ten years, so at the time there was no television, period. Even Gandhi didn’t have television. There was no radio. The only music came from a mono wooden thing that stood 4-feet tall and played Nat King Cole, scratchily. There were no battery-operated toys.
On the day that I was born, so many years ago, the world was literally a different place. If I put my son in a time machine and sent him back to it, he’d be bewildered. No computers? No fast food? No Dora the Explorer?
So, it’s with mixed feelings that I observe this day. Sure, back then life was simpler, but was it? Was it really? Probably more people than today were still busy killing each other, probably even more so than today pollution, poverty and horror were rampant . . . need I go on?
Just wish I’d been born thirty years later.
Can you say Barney the Dinosaur?
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
A Friendly Fridge Game
This one, August 8th:
And this one, today, November 25th:
Can you tell the difference? I know it's subtle and all the labels are not necessarily visible, but in the first I was a complete vegetarian.
In the second I'm a complete omnivore. Can you see what has remained the same?
Spot the similarities.
One who does wins a date. (The fig kind).
What does YOUR fridge look like? Send me and I'll post it, if you want. You can remain nameless.
And this one, today, November 25th:
Can you tell the difference? I know it's subtle and all the labels are not necessarily visible, but in the first I was a complete vegetarian.
In the second I'm a complete omnivore. Can you see what has remained the same?
Spot the similarities.
One who does wins a date. (The fig kind).
What does YOUR fridge look like? Send me and I'll post it, if you want. You can remain nameless.
Son of Pizza Meetsa Mozza
Yesterday it was experiment time. Now I know enough about pizza-making to not panic when things go wrong. (Famous last words).
One thing I've learned about an extensive pizza session is to prepare the day before. Do all the prep of the meats and vegetables and cheese. That means, cook the Italian sausage, shred the prosciutto, slice the olives, onions, peppers, mushrooms, garlic or whatever it is you're using, make the tomato sauce you'll be using, and stash it all in the refrigerator. Then actually assembling and making the pizzas should be fairly brief.
So the next day all you have to do is preheat the oven (I suggest for at least an hour at 550 degrees, with your pizza stone in), bring the dough to room temperature, bring out the mozza di bufala and let it drain, assemble your dough board, corn meal, olive oil and brush (if you use olive oil) and you're set.
I had a to-and-from with Blork as I was doing the prep and I asked if he thought my following theory might hold water: I figured that if you kept all the ingredients as cold as possible, they wouldn't cook as quickly and the crust would have more time to develop a char and a crispy underside.
He figured that it would probably delay the cooking for less than a minute, and maybe possibly cool the stone down as well. Good reasoning!
Then, I wondered if the layering made a difference. He pretty much described his layering the same way I do it; stuff like green peppers, slivered onions, mushrooms (if any are being used) on the bottom, followed by possibly some cheese, then the meats/olives and then the top layer of cheese.
I agreed with him, but since I was making four pizzas I decided to experiment.
One thing I found out right away is that the first pizza will be the best. The stone will be ultra-hot and the oven won't have been opened for an hour and a half.
Then it goes downhill with all the opening of the oven and the repeated cooling of the stone, but it's unavoidable, unless you have all four pizzas dressed and sitting on their peels and you just shove them in one after the other. Which can't be done in my kitchen.
What I also found is that the cheese on the bottom is a very bad idea. I did two identically topped goat-cheese pizzas but just reversed the layering, and the one with the toppings on the top burned badly. The one with the cheese on top was pretty damn good.
I found that I could get a pizza done in 7-8 minutes, which is pretty good, considering some home recipes call for 15-20 minutes on 425! Ouch, don't be giving me a slice of that.
So, the pizza saga goes on. I will not rest until the dough does! (Hey, I'm getting pretty good at spinning! They're actually looking non-rhomboid!)
One thing I've learned about an extensive pizza session is to prepare the day before. Do all the prep of the meats and vegetables and cheese. That means, cook the Italian sausage, shred the prosciutto, slice the olives, onions, peppers, mushrooms, garlic or whatever it is you're using, make the tomato sauce you'll be using, and stash it all in the refrigerator. Then actually assembling and making the pizzas should be fairly brief.
So the next day all you have to do is preheat the oven (I suggest for at least an hour at 550 degrees, with your pizza stone in), bring the dough to room temperature, bring out the mozza di bufala and let it drain, assemble your dough board, corn meal, olive oil and brush (if you use olive oil) and you're set.
I had a to-and-from with Blork as I was doing the prep and I asked if he thought my following theory might hold water: I figured that if you kept all the ingredients as cold as possible, they wouldn't cook as quickly and the crust would have more time to develop a char and a crispy underside.
He figured that it would probably delay the cooking for less than a minute, and maybe possibly cool the stone down as well. Good reasoning!
Then, I wondered if the layering made a difference. He pretty much described his layering the same way I do it; stuff like green peppers, slivered onions, mushrooms (if any are being used) on the bottom, followed by possibly some cheese, then the meats/olives and then the top layer of cheese.
I agreed with him, but since I was making four pizzas I decided to experiment.
One thing I found out right away is that the first pizza will be the best. The stone will be ultra-hot and the oven won't have been opened for an hour and a half.
Then it goes downhill with all the opening of the oven and the repeated cooling of the stone, but it's unavoidable, unless you have all four pizzas dressed and sitting on their peels and you just shove them in one after the other. Which can't be done in my kitchen.
What I also found is that the cheese on the bottom is a very bad idea. I did two identically topped goat-cheese pizzas but just reversed the layering, and the one with the toppings on the top burned badly. The one with the cheese on top was pretty damn good.
I found that I could get a pizza done in 7-8 minutes, which is pretty good, considering some home recipes call for 15-20 minutes on 425! Ouch, don't be giving me a slice of that.
So, the pizza saga goes on. I will not rest until the dough does! (Hey, I'm getting pretty good at spinning! They're actually looking non-rhomboid!)
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
How do you Relate to a Child?
Well, I’ll tell you right off that when you’re a child yourself the job is made easier. But when you think of it as we’re all permanent children, that none of us ever fully grow up, and if we did, that in itself would be strange, because how can anyone graduate from being a child? It is not possible — then it’s very reassuring.
One thing that’s very important is being self indulgent.
The tiny one wants gratification immediately. He wants it with no agenda, just wants to be happy RIGHT NOW with no quantizations or rules. But when you look at it, isn’t that us, all of us, at all ages, even at 50, at which mark I find myself? You just want a warm place with warm hearts and some — any — loving presence to watch over you while you sleep, and just a knowledge that the Great Big World is not going to go away any time soon.
I used to deal with kids with joking and maybe even trying to scare them, because I saw them so powerfully in me. I had no connect button, no reason to treat them as kids, because I was so concentrating on how to make my own kidself an adult. I divorced myself from them because I hated their kid-dom, that it was vaguely scary how random they would be, how arbitrary, and I felt the subtle chaos that that represented.
But now, at age 50, I want to be like them. Secretly, I know I never stopped being a kid, there was always a tiny kid in me who just never went away, but now it’s just amazing to talk to a kid, as if they’re an ambassador from your own past, that they can explain your life to you in a way that you just simply can’t any more. It’s an incredible window that shines with a light that you only wish still made your life resonate.
I guess I’m just preaching to the choir but when I think of my son I’m so glad he happened and when I’m pathetically old and grey (read: now) I hope he still loves me. He’s a little kid but whether or not he knows it, he’s me, I’m him, and we’re always going to be little kids together.
Please pass the ketchup.
One thing that’s very important is being self indulgent.
The tiny one wants gratification immediately. He wants it with no agenda, just wants to be happy RIGHT NOW with no quantizations or rules. But when you look at it, isn’t that us, all of us, at all ages, even at 50, at which mark I find myself? You just want a warm place with warm hearts and some — any — loving presence to watch over you while you sleep, and just a knowledge that the Great Big World is not going to go away any time soon.
I used to deal with kids with joking and maybe even trying to scare them, because I saw them so powerfully in me. I had no connect button, no reason to treat them as kids, because I was so concentrating on how to make my own kidself an adult. I divorced myself from them because I hated their kid-dom, that it was vaguely scary how random they would be, how arbitrary, and I felt the subtle chaos that that represented.
But now, at age 50, I want to be like them. Secretly, I know I never stopped being a kid, there was always a tiny kid in me who just never went away, but now it’s just amazing to talk to a kid, as if they’re an ambassador from your own past, that they can explain your life to you in a way that you just simply can’t any more. It’s an incredible window that shines with a light that you only wish still made your life resonate.
I guess I’m just preaching to the choir but when I think of my son I’m so glad he happened and when I’m pathetically old and grey (read: now) I hope he still loves me. He’s a little kid but whether or not he knows it, he’s me, I’m him, and we’re always going to be little kids together.
Please pass the ketchup.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Meatmarket revisited
C’mon, you know I don’t like ranting about restaurants. These are real people, your and my friends, maybe even relatives, doing jobs just like if they were pushing stocks or whatever. This is their life, at least for the moment. They don’t deserve to be trashed by unkind words just because they’re in the “service industry”. Don’t EVEN GET ME FUCKING started.
I’ve never been in the so-called “service industry” but I have known so, so many people who have been there, in there, with there, entirely with their lives dominated by there, that I can no longer differentiate them by “Us” and “Them.” Face it. They ARE us! We are they.
So no, I will never trash a restaurant. Not that I even have the credentials to trash anything, but the thing to pay attention to is that these people, even me and you, be they house painters, janitors, cooks, busboys, what have you, they KEEP THE MACHINE RUNNING.
Fucking George Bush, Stephen Harper, Ehud Olmert, Bashir Assad, K’n Yu Die Young, they PRETEND to keep the machine running. But in reality it’s Nikki at Cosmos who truly keeps things running.
So tonight’s dinner at Meatmarket was a disaster, but I don’t want to rant about it. I don’t want to rant about the fact that the place was almost empty and there were at least five servers standing around and chatting. I don’t want to rant that the music, an incredibly invasive ”House”-type noise, was way, way over the top, that I had to shout at the waitress and she had to shout back, even though exactly three covers were filled in the entire place, that the service was incredibly lax, and you JUST KNOW how much I hate to have to yell “Garçon/Babe/schweetheart/hey/excuse me, can we get some service after your chat with your server pal while there are THREE PATRONS in this whole fucking place?” Do you just know how much I hate to have to do that?
Thank god that Billy, Schmo, Ingrid and Abigail had their shit together in the kitchen. (Just kidding, I don't have any idea who they were). The burgers were beyond delightful, the fare absolutely as good as I remember it. But Christ.
A bad review in these days of Zagat and Chowhound and “OMG it was aweful” can sink or float a place, and I sure as hell don’t want to do that. But these people, whoever they are, should get their shit together, because their food clicks. Just get away from the St. Laurent theme and you’ll survive for years.
Sorry, don’t know if this was a restaurant review or a rant but here it is anyway.
Food: Excellent, best in its class
Service: Tim Horton’s
I’ve never been in the so-called “service industry” but I have known so, so many people who have been there, in there, with there, entirely with their lives dominated by there, that I can no longer differentiate them by “Us” and “Them.” Face it. They ARE us! We are they.
So no, I will never trash a restaurant. Not that I even have the credentials to trash anything, but the thing to pay attention to is that these people, even me and you, be they house painters, janitors, cooks, busboys, what have you, they KEEP THE MACHINE RUNNING.
Fucking George Bush, Stephen Harper, Ehud Olmert, Bashir Assad, K’n Yu Die Young, they PRETEND to keep the machine running. But in reality it’s Nikki at Cosmos who truly keeps things running.
So tonight’s dinner at Meatmarket was a disaster, but I don’t want to rant about it. I don’t want to rant about the fact that the place was almost empty and there were at least five servers standing around and chatting. I don’t want to rant that the music, an incredibly invasive ”House”-type noise, was way, way over the top, that I had to shout at the waitress and she had to shout back, even though exactly three covers were filled in the entire place, that the service was incredibly lax, and you JUST KNOW how much I hate to have to yell “Garçon/Babe/schweetheart/hey/excuse me, can we get some service after your chat with your server pal while there are THREE PATRONS in this whole fucking place?” Do you just know how much I hate to have to do that?
Thank god that Billy, Schmo, Ingrid and Abigail had their shit together in the kitchen. (Just kidding, I don't have any idea who they were). The burgers were beyond delightful, the fare absolutely as good as I remember it. But Christ.
A bad review in these days of Zagat and Chowhound and “OMG it was aweful” can sink or float a place, and I sure as hell don’t want to do that. But these people, whoever they are, should get their shit together, because their food clicks. Just get away from the St. Laurent theme and you’ll survive for years.
Sorry, don’t know if this was a restaurant review or a rant but here it is anyway.
Food: Excellent, best in its class
Service: Tim Horton’s
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Pizzalade
Jesus, last night was a revelation . . . for some reason only known to myself, I reheated my pizza (see below) but made a salad of arugula, baby greens and homemade dill dressing . . . and put it on top of the pizza slices! The combination of cold and crunchy with hot and crispy was delectable.
Ouf. That was the best dinner I've had in a long time. Try it!
Ouf. That was the best dinner I've had in a long time. Try it!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Pizza Update #3
I decided to try putting the pizza stone on the bottom rack of the oven this time before preheating it, as with my previous methods since watching the action at Luzzo's in New York involved putting the stone as close to the broiler as possible. The reason was that I was not getting a good char on the bottom, and I theorised that if the stone were nearer the bottom element I could cook the pizza on broil (550F) and the top wouldn't get incinerated before the bottom had a chance to get done.
Blork, my partner in pizza crimes, agreed with me, so that's the way I did it. Results, however, were disappointing.
The pizzas turned out okay but there was no appreciably upped char on the bottom of the pizzas even with an extended cooking time. The ones nearest the broiler had been done in seven minutes and the ones on the bottom took at least ten. The char on both kinds was not very developed, but the ones done near the broiler had their toppings very well cooked, as you can imagine.
Blork stresses that getting a good char in a domestic oven is probably not going to be possible, and I agree with him. But I'll keep working on it . . .
Another thing I noticed with this batch is that making three pizzas out of the boule de pâte from the pizza place at Atwater is a mistake; I should divide it into four pizzas instead of three because the ones I tried to make were too huge and became square. My pizzas have to be hip.
Pictured is a goat cheese pizza with Hungarian peppers, garlic, olives, Toscano ham and Marechal de lait cru cheese with cherry tomatoes. Damned good if I may say so myself.
Saffron Chicken II
Tonight I made my fantasized recipe . . . and it worked amazingly well! I tried to follow the score as faithfully as possible and didn't taste it until the very end. There were only a couple of points where I diverged from the method; namely, I upped the amount of spices, I sautéed the shallots separately from the onion as the pan seemed to be quite crowded with the shallots alone, and I added some cornstarch towards the end to thicken up the sauce. But other than that, it was a fantastic success, and extremely easy to make.
Next time I will put some bamboo shoots in it, perhaps, or some red pepper, or substitute shrimp for the chicken. However, all in all, it's a brilliant base recipe that proves I right the thongs that make the hole whirled thing. Or something like that.
Saffron Chicken
4 tablespoons ghee or peanut oil
8 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
6 large shallots, finely diced
4 large cloves garlic, minced
1 medium onion, cut in 1/2 inch squares
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1 tablespoon chile powder
3/4 cup coconut milk
1 cup chicken broth
3/4 tsp. salt
1 teaspoon palm sugar
1 teaspoon tamarind paste
1 tablespoon saffron threads
Juice of half a lime
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro
Method
Brine chicken in salt and sugar (about 1/4 C each per litre of water) for about 2 hours in the refrigerator. In a non-stick saucepan, sauté the shallots in 1 tablespoon ghee (clarified butter) or peanut oil on medium heat for about 10 minutes or until translucent. Remove from pan and sauté onions in another tablespoon of ghee for 8 minutes. Add garlic and sauté another two minutes. Remove from pan and set aside.
Add 2 more tablespoons ghee. Heat until sizzling, then add the chicken, cumin, coriander and chile powder. Mix well and sauté until browned on all sides, stirring frequently, about 8-10 minutes. Add back onion mixture, then coconut milk and chicken broth. Bring to a boil then reduce to medium low and simmer, uncovered, 10 minutes, stirring frequently.
When sauce has thickened enough to coat the back of a spoon (if at this stage it is not thick enough, add 1 tablespoon cornstarch mixed in water), add the palm sugar, tamarind paste and saffron. Stir well to combine. Simmer another ten minutes, covered, stirring occasionally. Add lime juice and 1/4 cup cilantro. Stir well to combine. Serve on steamed basmati rice with cilantro garnish.
Do I Snore?
Well, I may or may not, but if I wear good earplugs I'm destined never to find out. Right?
Just What I've Been Looking For
Chez Bernard Cafe for Sale - Mongolia
Chez Bernard Cafe is for sale.
Chez Bernard Café is located on the Peace Avenue, between the State Department Store and Munkhenzaya. It used to be a 3 room apartment with a total surface of about 100 m≥. It has an attached terrace of 30 m≥ and 380 volt electricity.
We have no idea of the value of the property. Please give us your price. We will sell it to the person offering us the highest price.
If you are interested to buy this excellent property, please contact Tuya (99112075, English).
Or send us an sms with your price proposal.
============================================================
Jeez . . . I'm all torn up. What should I do? Vasilyev was such a close friend when he worked for Troïka. How can I let him down now?
Chez Bernard Cafe is for sale.
Chez Bernard Café is located on the Peace Avenue, between the State Department Store and Munkhenzaya. It used to be a 3 room apartment with a total surface of about 100 m≥. It has an attached terrace of 30 m≥ and 380 volt electricity.
We have no idea of the value of the property. Please give us your price. We will sell it to the person offering us the highest price.
If you are interested to buy this excellent property, please contact Tuya (99112075, English).
Or send us an sms with your price proposal.
============================================================
Jeez . . . I'm all torn up. What should I do? Vasilyev was such a close friend when he worked for Troïka. How can I let him down now?