Is it just me, or does anyone else despise Rachael Ray? I used to watch her occasionally, but the way she talks just grates like hell. If I hear “yummo” or “delish” or “eevoo” one more time, to quote Jack Torrance, I’m going to bash someone’s head right the fuck in.
Okay, I guess it’s not just me.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Friday, November 10, 2006
Who knew?
A hilarious report on CFCF news names “Elio’s” as the best pizza in Montreal. Can’t remember number two, but BM pizza was number three. Don’t know about Elio’s, but BM is one of those places whose menus you find shoved in your mailbox. The kind who also make steak subs and egg rolls. Not good.
How do these people arrive at such results? Simple: the voting public. The lowest common denominator. Drag 50 people off the streets and McDonald’s will win Best Fries every time.
Well, it’s my opinion that there is no best pizza in Montreal because they’re all so mediocre, but I can assure you they’re not going to be found at Elio’s or BM pizza.
While I’m on the topic of hilarity, it’s really funny to see these huddled holdouts sitting on terrasses outside coffee shops that still have chairs outside, smoking their cigarettes. In my neighborhood, a lot of them are Arab. I wonder if they’re still going to be out there, earnestly arguing and puffing away, come January.
How do these people arrive at such results? Simple: the voting public. The lowest common denominator. Drag 50 people off the streets and McDonald’s will win Best Fries every time.
Well, it’s my opinion that there is no best pizza in Montreal because they’re all so mediocre, but I can assure you they’re not going to be found at Elio’s or BM pizza.
While I’m on the topic of hilarity, it’s really funny to see these huddled holdouts sitting on terrasses outside coffee shops that still have chairs outside, smoking their cigarettes. In my neighborhood, a lot of them are Arab. I wonder if they’re still going to be out there, earnestly arguing and puffing away, come January.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Happy Halloween
If I see "Spooktacular" or "Boonanza" one more time I think I'm going to scream. But to tell the truth, I actually prefer Halloween over Christmas. Not that I go to costume parties or anything. Kids can't even come around because I live in a secure apartment building. So I'll just try to bring a bunch of healthy snacks (is there such a thing in stores at Halloween?) to the day care where my son used to go. He's in Japan now. It's apparently becoming trendy for Japanese to celebrate Halloween these days. Give me a goddamn break.
Anyway, I carved daddy pumpkin and baby pumpkin for him. Have a goddamn spooktacular boonanza.
Anyway, I carved daddy pumpkin and baby pumpkin for him. Have a goddamn spooktacular boonanza.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
I'm Awake Now
Yes, I’ve been remiss. But sometimes there’s just nothing to write about . . . it’s been one of those doldrum summers. Very few food adventures.
An abortive attempt to firm up a fresh pasta recipe by using cake flour instead of durum semolina (apparently it mimics the Italian 00 grade flour) which ended up tasting like bland store-bought. Ah well, lesson learned.
And then, incredibly, the possibility of creating a restaurant. Since it’s basically a peyote dream at this stage, the less said the better.
But in the past couple of days, a stirring of the old culinary urges. First, prompted by watching Julia Child on PBS and seeing a certain Nancy Silverton describing how to make a sourdough starter. Well, that got my attention. The last time I tried to “capture” wild yeast, it was a miserable failure. I attributed it to a general lack of wild yeast in Montreal when it was -25 outside. But I discovered that it doesn’t work that way, if you have organic grapes. More on that later.
And today, I scoured Côte-des-Neiges looking for my favorite pickle, dill spears with garlic. It seems they’ve disappeared from the shelves of all Montreal stores. None at Metro, none at Maxi. Haven’t been for months. In fact, the main wall of dill pickles at both places now advertise “No garlic.” Sacrilege!
So I decided to make them from scratch. I delved in pickling a few years ago, so I had the canning jars ready to go. All I needed were the correct cucumbers and some fresh dill and I was off. It only took about three hours (a lot of just waiting) and no specialised equipment, and now I have two quart jars of spicy garlic dill spears all pickled and ready to sit in a cool place for two weeks until they’re ready to devour.
I wrote everything down, so if they’re outstanding, I’ll post the recipe. Might even make a movie out of it.
Also came up with a new way to make curry that blew away even me. The good thing is that I wrote it all down and reproduced it from my own recipe the next day, and it was actually better . . . it’s just a hair’s breadth away from being as good as the Jalfrezi at Mysore . . . absolutely fantastic with my basmati pilaf and naan from the little grocer at Plaza Côte-des-Neiges.
It’s getting cold, and about time, too. A Montreal winter is just the thing for this pasty, miserable summer that has come and gone. And the creative juices are stirring from their long hibernation . . .
An abortive attempt to firm up a fresh pasta recipe by using cake flour instead of durum semolina (apparently it mimics the Italian 00 grade flour) which ended up tasting like bland store-bought. Ah well, lesson learned.
And then, incredibly, the possibility of creating a restaurant. Since it’s basically a peyote dream at this stage, the less said the better.
But in the past couple of days, a stirring of the old culinary urges. First, prompted by watching Julia Child on PBS and seeing a certain Nancy Silverton describing how to make a sourdough starter. Well, that got my attention. The last time I tried to “capture” wild yeast, it was a miserable failure. I attributed it to a general lack of wild yeast in Montreal when it was -25 outside. But I discovered that it doesn’t work that way, if you have organic grapes. More on that later.
And today, I scoured Côte-des-Neiges looking for my favorite pickle, dill spears with garlic. It seems they’ve disappeared from the shelves of all Montreal stores. None at Metro, none at Maxi. Haven’t been for months. In fact, the main wall of dill pickles at both places now advertise “No garlic.” Sacrilege!
So I decided to make them from scratch. I delved in pickling a few years ago, so I had the canning jars ready to go. All I needed were the correct cucumbers and some fresh dill and I was off. It only took about three hours (a lot of just waiting) and no specialised equipment, and now I have two quart jars of spicy garlic dill spears all pickled and ready to sit in a cool place for two weeks until they’re ready to devour.
I wrote everything down, so if they’re outstanding, I’ll post the recipe. Might even make a movie out of it.
Also came up with a new way to make curry that blew away even me. The good thing is that I wrote it all down and reproduced it from my own recipe the next day, and it was actually better . . . it’s just a hair’s breadth away from being as good as the Jalfrezi at Mysore . . . absolutely fantastic with my basmati pilaf and naan from the little grocer at Plaza Côte-des-Neiges.
It’s getting cold, and about time, too. A Montreal winter is just the thing for this pasty, miserable summer that has come and gone. And the creative juices are stirring from their long hibernation . . .
Thursday, August 3, 2006
Break from hiatus
Okay, I'm jarred out of my summer lethargy by two things: one is that tomorrow I fly yet again to California. I will try to drum up some culinary adventures.
The other is by the discovery of HDR photography. This is a bizarre form of photography that makes it possible to capture all the dynamic range that humans see; in other words, imagine a room in the darkness with the sun outside. You can see everything in the room AND everything outside the window, but the camera will have a very difficult time of it. Thus, we're used to seeing photos with this incredibly limited dynamic range. Thus, HDR photos. Take a look at this one, for example. It looks bizarrely like a painting, but it's totally done with photographs, and not even manipulated as some Photoshop images can be.
More of these types of images can be seen here.
I'm definitely going to get in on this one . . .
The other is by the discovery of HDR photography. This is a bizarre form of photography that makes it possible to capture all the dynamic range that humans see; in other words, imagine a room in the darkness with the sun outside. You can see everything in the room AND everything outside the window, but the camera will have a very difficult time of it. Thus, we're used to seeing photos with this incredibly limited dynamic range. Thus, HDR photos. Take a look at this one, for example. It looks bizarrely like a painting, but it's totally done with photographs, and not even manipulated as some Photoshop images can be.
More of these types of images can be seen here.
I'm definitely going to get in on this one . . .
Monday, July 24, 2006
Fun Day
I don't do Mondays.
Mondays are out. They're evil and pestilent. I'll warrant half of the population expend most of their stress anticipating Mondays.
Not me. But there's a trade-off: not having a regular M-F job, I need not fear Mondays, but then again, a Monday might make or break my week. Yes, you M-F job people, you have security. But what about Sunday? Talk to me about Sunday, because it means Monday is coming. How can you realistically relax? Huh? Can't go on a bender. Oh, oh, oh God no. Coming into work with a raging hangover? Hey, as a recreational all-weeker, I'd rate that feeling as a minus-twelve. So, what are your Sunday options?
Fucked. So Sunday is fucked and Monday is also fucked. So where does that leave you? Friday, that holiest of days. Or Saturday, the day 'Hovah gave to sinners. But let's look at it carefully: Friday, you get slide-ass shitfaced. So Saturday, you're a wasted wreck, only suited to go to Reno-Depot and suck up a Price Club hot dog for lunch. Then it's home and your thinning dendrites feast noiselessly upon The Learning Channel until six, which is when you declare amnesty and go take a nap. Hey. Hey. HEY!!! Tomorrow's Sunday, asshole.
So, okay, a third of your week is fucked. What about the other parts of it? Not much left.
Tuesday you're really into work. You have to be, because of all the shit you left undone in anticipation of last weekend. So, work, work work. Home and actually feeling good because this is the first day you didn't feel like shit. Wednesday: make plans with the co-workers for this weekend!!! You asshole. A self-perpetuating never-ending cycle of horror. This is what you look at when you comb your hair in the mirror every morning.
But gamely, you plow on to Thursday! Happy Thursday! This is when you finally have the energy to go to the bank and the post office and mail that goddamn bill and call your grandmother. And you feel a little bit . . . good! Because tomorrow's Friday, fuckin' A! Fuckin' goddamn fuckin' A, tomorrow's Friday all over again! Yay!
And then there's Saturday.
Mondays are out. They're evil and pestilent. I'll warrant half of the population expend most of their stress anticipating Mondays.
Not me. But there's a trade-off: not having a regular M-F job, I need not fear Mondays, but then again, a Monday might make or break my week. Yes, you M-F job people, you have security. But what about Sunday? Talk to me about Sunday, because it means Monday is coming. How can you realistically relax? Huh? Can't go on a bender. Oh, oh, oh God no. Coming into work with a raging hangover? Hey, as a recreational all-weeker, I'd rate that feeling as a minus-twelve. So, what are your Sunday options?
Fucked. So Sunday is fucked and Monday is also fucked. So where does that leave you? Friday, that holiest of days. Or Saturday, the day 'Hovah gave to sinners. But let's look at it carefully: Friday, you get slide-ass shitfaced. So Saturday, you're a wasted wreck, only suited to go to Reno-Depot and suck up a Price Club hot dog for lunch. Then it's home and your thinning dendrites feast noiselessly upon The Learning Channel until six, which is when you declare amnesty and go take a nap. Hey. Hey. HEY!!! Tomorrow's Sunday, asshole.
So, okay, a third of your week is fucked. What about the other parts of it? Not much left.
Tuesday you're really into work. You have to be, because of all the shit you left undone in anticipation of last weekend. So, work, work work. Home and actually feeling good because this is the first day you didn't feel like shit. Wednesday: make plans with the co-workers for this weekend!!! You asshole. A self-perpetuating never-ending cycle of horror. This is what you look at when you comb your hair in the mirror every morning.
But gamely, you plow on to Thursday! Happy Thursday! This is when you finally have the energy to go to the bank and the post office and mail that goddamn bill and call your grandmother. And you feel a little bit . . . good! Because tomorrow's Friday, fuckin' A! Fuckin' goddamn fuckin' A, tomorrow's Friday all over again! Yay!
And then there's Saturday.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Hy Ate Us
As you can tell, this blog has been officially on hiatus for about two months. Mostly because I'm busy taking care of the darling boy, but also because nothing culinary has come my way recently ever since the Atlantique steak fiasco. Boy, did that dampen my enthusiasm to the tune of $200.
No telling when the next culinary adventure will come along, but . . . in about ten days I will be off to California. About a month after that, I will be off to Japan. It's really endless, these trips . . . sometimes I just don't know how I do it. But I must.
I've been writing lyrics for imaginary songs. As of now I'm too lazy to put them to music but I might get around to it.
No telling when the next culinary adventure will come along, but . . . in about ten days I will be off to California. About a month after that, I will be off to Japan. It's really endless, these trips . . . sometimes I just don't know how I do it. But I must.
I've been writing lyrics for imaginary songs. As of now I'm too lazy to put them to music but I might get around to it.
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