R for Responsible

To love something, you have to understand it. You cannot be a foodie without a profound appreciation for how food is grown or raised, what was done to it before transportation, where it came from, and what myriad of factors made it possible for it to reach your table.

Journalist and author, Michael Pollan, has written two best-selling treatises on our complicated relationship with the things we eat: "The Omnivore's Dilemma" and "In Defense of Food". He has articulated the guilt, confusion and desires that direct our diet in Western society. We suddenly find ourselves trapped in a situation where "what's for dinner?" becomes a minefield of ethical, socio-economic and biochemical issues.

Organic, pesticide-free, free-run, free-range, gluten-free, lactose-free, peanut-free, trans-fat free, monounsaturated fats, non-fat, low sodium, low carb, low cholesterol, omega-3, vitamin-enriched, calcium-enriched, unbleached, baked instead of fried, vegetarian instead of carnivore, vegan instead of vegetarian, heirloom or hybrid, processed or fresh, wild or farmed, local or imported, and on and on and on it goes.

The innocence of a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white toast is long gone. The peanut spread could potentially kill someone with nut allergies. If the peanut butter isn't organic, then it may have been made with "bad" fats to keep the natural oils from separating. The jelly might have been made from fruit that was exposed to pesticides and sweetened with white refined sugar. The white bread was made from bleached flour. Blackened edges of the toast may introduce carcinogens into your system. The fuel expended to truck the jelly from a factory across the border may have contributed to global warming and skyrocketing gas prices. If you're not killing yourself with your dietary choices, then you're killing the planet.

Foodies are to blame for certain excesses and practices that are questionable, at best. They have a taste for exotic ingredients like pink Himalayan salt that need to be shipped at great expense from far-flung places. They help drive up food prices by insisting on consuming at the same rate, regardless of whether resources are scarce or plentiful. The lust for foie gras perpetuates the controversial practice of gavage -- the force-feeding of ducks and geese to fatten up their livers -- which has been described as "harmless", "cruel" and everything in between. To produce a pound of the pricey and much-revered saffron, 50,000 to 75,000 saffron crocus flowers need to be harvested; yet its role in cuisine is only to impart color and aroma to dishes -- its taste is nothing to write home about.

I conveniently switched to the third-person "they" in the last paragraph, but I am in fact a member of this epicurean clique. I eat meat. Foie gras is absolutely delicious. There are four types of salt in my pantry, and not one of them is the cheap, iodized kind. I allow myself to splurge on exceptional cuts of meat from time to time. Gorgeous olive oils imported from Italy make my eyes sparkle.

Sometimes all this extravagance and preciousness seems all for naught. Once, I ventured to buy a fragment of the extremely rare white truffle from Pusateri's to make a white and black truffle risotto dish for friends. The store manager was obliged to personally escort me and my truffle -- gently nestled on a bed of tissue paper in a box -- to the cash. The gum-popping cashier was impressed by the drama, but had never heard of my little "diamond of the kitchen" (quoting Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin). I explained that it was revered for its intense aroma and offered her a whiff. I might as well have farted in her face.

The risotto was elaborately prepared over days and the final result was to die for, if I may say so myself. Can I justify it? I'm not sure. But I would do it again.

For one thing, the fussiness and endless appetites of foodies create the demand for organic, sustainable, local farming. Produce tastes better when grown without the tampering of synthetic chemicals. Shorter distances between farms and customers make it possible to deliver food that is still vibrantly fresh while leaving a smaller energy footprint. Meat is more tender and nutritious when it comes from a happy animal that has been scampering around in the sun and fattened up on a good quality diet. Eggs that come from free-run chickens are bigger, and when you crack'em, the yolk is bright, firm and bulging with goodness.

Nose-to-tail eating is the practice of using every last piece of an animal slaughtered for consumption. This is a practical, ancient approach that dates back to our hunter-gatherer days, but it had fallen out of favor in modern times with the Chicken McNugget crowd. Celebrated chef Fergus Henderson of the St. John Restaurant in London, chef Martin Picard of Restaurant Au Pied de Cochon in Montreal, and writer/farmer/activist Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall of the River Cottage in Dorset are just some of the high profile gastronomes who have been re-introducing the world to all the other edible animal parts like ears, tails, feet, tripe, sweetbreads, and cheeks. These movers and shakers have a healthy respect for all creatures that makes them loathe to let the sacrifice of an animal go to waste.

In the end, I think what matters is to always have an awareness of what you are eating. The title of William S. Burrough's novel, "Naked Lunch", refers to "a frozen moment when everyone sees what is at the end of every fork". That frozen moment should last a lifetime.

H for Hunger

On Oct 27th, I attended Henry Rollins' spoken word show -- the Toronto stop of his Recountdown 2008 Tour. I've had the privilege of hearing him speak numerous times, both live and in recordings. Witnessing his evolution as an orator and as a human being over the last two decades has been stirring and awe-inspiring. Rollins' self-deprecating sense of humor and storytelling ability have won him many fans, but it is his tireless and sometimes manic social activism that has garnered him respect.

In his performance, Rollins discussed his recent involvement with "H for Hunger", a furious one-man rant/documentary that rails against world hunger and all its contributing forces. It is an English-language remake of "F Comme Faim" starring French actor, Dominique Pinon. Naturally, Rollins was cast as the angry mouthpiece; he also helped finance the project. The film has not yet been released, but I believe it is on the festival circuit now and will hopefully hit your local cinema soon.

Talking about hunger and famine is likely to be unsettling in a blog that celebrates food. First and foremost, eating is a survival mechanism, and it is only when people have the luxury of being picky about their next meal can we begin to talk about cuisine and gourmet dining. There's no difference between foie gras and Spam to someone who is starving to death.

However disturbing the subject is, it can't be ignored. Chronic hunger is omnipresent and caused by a variety of factors. Poverty, of course, is an immediate contributor. Overpopulation in a region ravaged by drought or a disaster leads to a regional shortage of food supplies. Warfare and military policies in certain countries have had a debilitating impact on food distribution and general living conditions. It's important to remember that hunger exists not only in the Third World but in the First World as well.

The treatment of acute malnutrition is not as simple as handing out sandwiches. When the human body has been severely deprived, it has great difficulty processing regular food. The restoration of nutrition needs to occur gradually and gently through therapeutic feeding. Treatment begins with a nutrient-enriched milk then moves on to a specially formulated porridge. These foods are designed to encourage rapid weight gain without taxing the atrophied digestive system.

What is it like, that moment when food is finally delivered to a mouth in desperate need? There's a story from the Japanese film, "After Life" which comes to mind: a World War II veteran recalls his capture by American soldiers after his platoon is decimated. There was not much point to it, given that he was already on the verge of death from disease and starvation. Out of pity, his captors offered him some rice seasoned lightly with salt. The intense deliciousness of the rice at that moment is the one memory above all others that the veteran chooses to take with him to the after life, where he will spend an eternity reliving it.

The value of food to the hungry is evident, but the power of food to nurture and comfort goes far beyond hunger. So, is it obvious or surprising that the most passionate of foodies are among the most active advocates of hunger relief programs?

The United Nations' World Food Programme (WFP) -- which provided support to the "H for Hunger" project -- challenged top chefs around the world last year to raise global awareness by incorporating corn soya blend (CSB) in stunning gourmet creations. CSB is a cheap, vitamin-enriched substance reminiscent of gruel that humanitarian aid workers distribute to disaster-stricken, war-ravaged regions. Much to WFP's astonishment, chefs signed up in droves. Heinz Beck, the executive chef of La Pergola restaurant in Rome (rated two Michelin stars), participated in the challenge and had this to say:

“For us chefs, it’s important to recognize that there are many people who are not able to afford to pay for even bad food... It’s not just a responsibility that we recognize world hunger, it is a duty as propagators of culinary art that we make sure even our most discerning clientele are aware of the problem of famine.”

Restaurants Against Hunger (RAH) is a coalition of UK chefs, restauranteurs, food critics, food writers, and others in the food services industry who have banded together to raise funds for Action Against Hunger UK (AAH UK), a non-profit humanitarian organization with the mission to combat hunger and famine.

RAH has innovative means of raising money. For example, member chefs can designate a dish from their respective menus to collect the proceeds from its sale on behalf of AAH. On October 19th, RAH hosted a fundraiser called Too Many Critics: notable food critics prepared a five-course banquet for a dining hall full of distinguished chefs. Hand-decorated plates by Heston Blumenthal, Gordon Ramsay and Fergus Henderson (gasp! gasp! and gasp! a veritable trifecta of culinary awesomeness, in my opinion) were auctioned off that evening to raise a stunning £2,800 (that's almost $5,500 CAD, folks).

Good food is the nectar of life and it should be a fundamental right for everybody to have it within their grasp. If the cookbook ever gets published and does reasonably well, I think the proceeds should go to one of these programs where they do so much amazing humanitarian work. Better keep at it, then!

Playing With Food for Halloween

This year's Halloween will be the first one I'll be spending at a home to call my own. I considered turning off all the lights and either hiding out in the back of the house or making plans to go out in order to avoid marauding, candy-intoxicated kids.

However, I've been trying to connect with my anti-social neighbors since moving in. Given that almost every household on the street has kids, it seems opportune to stay home and chat with the costumed children and their parents as I hand out the treats.

To do this, I need to put a hint outside the house to indicate that my place is open for business. Dollar stores are abundant with cheap decorations (already on sale since Labor Day). Yet I abhor the idea of cluttering my closets with useless junk afterwards, especially since I've been trying so hard these last few years to streamline my possessions.

And so, I came to the ambitious conclusion that I would carve a pumpkin. I didn't want to do a boring Jack O'Lantern with triangle eyes, nose and chunky block teeth. For a while I was hung up on the idea of carving the creepy dead boy from "The Grudge" (or 呪怨) since it's Japanese and definitely eerie. But if you've never seen the movie, I suppose a sullen-looking kid on a pumpkin won't make any sense.

After much deliberation, I finally opted to carve Jack Torrance from Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining". The scene in which Jack (played by Jack Nicholson) tears through the bathroom door with an axe and maniacally growls, "Heeere's Johnny!", is iconic. For those of us old enough to have seen the movie, it is definitely more scary than any mummy, goblin or witch.

It took around 6 hours to carve, using sculpting tools. I was worried that it wasn't going to turn out right because it doesn't look the same without a light inside the pumpkin. However, I think the results were successful... what do you think?

Creeping Doubts

Whenever I'm writing, there always comes a time when I start to wonder why I bother at all. Like the saying goes, if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it... Or if a blog or book has no readers, does it, should it exist?

The Inimitable Pepin

The TV program "At The Table With..." on the Food Network recently featured chef Jacques Pepin. It didn't tell me anything I didn't already know about him, having read his delightful autobiography, "The Apprentice: My Life in the Kitchen", and watched his cooking shows on PBS for close to two decades. But it echoed all the admiration and appreciation I have for the man, in the heartfelt testimonials from family, friends, colleagues and fans. I'm Joe Schmoe on the culinary map, but the top chefs of the world are as awed as I am by Pepin's mastery of the kitchen and -- more importantly -- his humility and eagerness to teach anyone who wants to learn how to cook.

I've always had the good fortune of being surrounded by people who cook exceptionally well, but (with all due respect to you guys) I have to say that Jacques Pepin is my biggest culinary influence. I've always had a roly poly frame so of course I've always been fond of eating, yet it is Pepin who made me want to be in the kitchen, making the things I like to eat.

The vast scope of his career should be humbling to anyone. Unlike the hot shot chefs of today whose career doesn't even begin until he or she enters a culinary school in early adulthood (and graduates in a mere 4-6 years of formal training), Pepin has been working in kitchens since 1947 at the age of 12.

It should be pointed out that the commercial kitchens of that era make Gordon Ramsay's Hell's Kitchen look like kindergarten. Pepin spent his teens working up the hierarchy of the old school brigade system, starting as an assistant, commis, then chef de partie in every single station (including saucier, rotisseur, entremetier, and so on), before moving on to sous chef then finally chef de cuisine. He would have to single-handedly peel hundreds of potatoes or artichokes for each dinner service, night after night, and learned classic French recipes through osmosis because none of the recipes were written down for him. He eventually became the chef for various heads of state and worked the top restaurants in France.

Is it any wonder that he can deftly debone an entire bird in under 30 seconds (all the while talking to his audience)? Or finely minces a garlic clove to a paste with a knife in the blink of an eye? Or manually whisks egg whites into stiff peaks for a meringue faster than an electric mixer? Watch how beautifully and effortlessly he segments a whole chicken into seven pieces for cooking.

His technical prowess aside, the real reason why the public loves Jacques Pepin is his ability to make cooking accessible and the complete lack of egotism in the way he teaches. In a curious twist of fate, it was a near-fatal car accident that sidelined his grueling restaurant career and began his television career as a teacher. Pepin himself considers this a blessing in disguise: it gave him a heightened appreciation for life and the ability to reach millions with his message that anyone can cook (the theme shared by the film, "Ratatouille").

And teach, he does. Most of the culinary tips and tricks I know have come from Pepin. Even if he explains it only once, he has the ability to make it stick in your brain. I learned how to cook a hard-boiled egg without the green sheath of sulphur forming around the yolk. I learned how to chop onions without my eyes tearing up. I learned how to debone a salmon steak and turn it into a neat round of flesh ready for cooking. He was the first person to show me how to deglaze a roasting pan and not let anything go to waste in a recipe. Even the importance of tying an apron in front of you was something I picked up from him.

I owe him my deepest gratitude for all that he has given. His lessons will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Green Infatuation

The last time I wrote about tomatoes, I mentioned that I've always wanted to try Fried Green Tomatoes. Of course, many people are familiar with either Fannie Flagg's book, "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe" or its tear-jerking movie adaptation. Both are responsible for bringing worldwide awareness of the eponymous dish.

Some Googling confirmed for me that the recipe does indeed call for green, unripe tomatoes rather than the tomatillo fruit. In northern climates such as ours, green tomatoes are ready for harvesting in October -- right now! -- but in the south where this recipe originated, green tomatoes are available year round.

Imagine my excitement when I found Ontario green tomatoes at the neighborhood grocery. I ran home and made some batter right away, mixing flour, finely ground cornmeal, salt, pepper and milk (lactose free, in case you were wondering). Tomato slices were dredged through the batter and fried for a few minutes on each side in a skillet with oil.

It was love at first bite. I've never tasted anything like it before. The green tomato by itself is crispy and tart, like a green apple. But when softened by the heat and enveloped in the sweet batter -- the sweetness coming from the cornmeal and milk -- the residual tartness blooms into something more delicate, more mellow. My instinct was to season it with a modest sprinkling of salt.

I also found myself wishing I had some sour cream, crème fraîche or something cool and alkaline to complement the tomato. As it turns out, the Juliette, GA cafe where the movie was filmed is now calling itself the "Whistle Stop Cafe" and serves its own version of fried green tomatoes with a selection of dips.

For as long as green tomatoes are around this season, I'd love to keep making this dish. There's room for experimentation with the batter and accompanying condiments. Dredging the slices in egg then in a dry mixture could yield a crisper, less oily exterior. Japanese panko would make it more like a tempura batter. Using more cornmeal would make the batter more crunchy. Herbs and spices in the batter would be fun too. Stay tuned.

A Family Thanksgiving

It is already a week after Canadian Thanksgiving, but I thought I should still share the holiday meal with you.

A major holiday + a family gathering = a heightened expectation of culinary effort. Let's face it -- the traditional Thanksgiving dishes that people make have nothing to do with taste. If we loved it so much, we'd be making it and eating it all the time. I don't know anyone who makes cranberry sauce on a regular weeknight "just because". (Though I might do it now just because I mentioned it.)

This year was different: for the first time since I moved to Toronto, my parents came to visit me for Thanksgiving weekend. However, I did not have the benefit of being in the kitchen all day to prepare. We had a packed itinerary scheduled for the day and I would have a mere hour or two to make something reasonable.

I racked my brain for several weeks over this conundrum. It was clear that the menu would hinge on the choice of the main protein. Roast turkey was obviously out of the question. Turkey breast was briefly considered until I admitted to myself that I'm not in love with turkey meat anyway. Beef, chicken and pork seemed too pedestrian. Quail and duck came to mind but neither are easy to find around here (and they're definitely not cheap).

Lamb is not your everyday meat but it's readily available at the local supermarket. It has symbolic significance in numerous cultural and religious contexts as literal show of thanksgiving for the sacrifices that make it possible for us to celebrate life. I was inclined to go with the lamb, but it was a risky choice given that I couldn't recall a single instance in which my family ate it at home. Lamb is completely absent from Japanese cuisine. Detractors complain that it is too gamey, and depending on the dish, I agree with that assessment.

Nevertheless, the final choice was to pan-sear then roast two racks of lamb with lemon gremolata rubbed on them. Gremolata is an Italian condiment, much like pesto, which consists of lemon peel (fresh or preserved), garlic and any choice of herb (I used flat-leaf parsley) pureed with olive oil.

While I grappled with the choice of meat, I also struggled to come up with the sides and dessert. Mashed potatoes take a lot of time and are better made fresh. I did not have time to make pumpkin pie either and this too would suffer in taste if made ahead of time.

I finally decided that if I was going to be unconventional in my choice of meat, then I would deconstruct the rest of the menu as well.

For the starch, I decided to make a "patate pizza" from Marie Claire's "Easy" cookbook. It consists of puff pastry, thin slices of potato, olive oil, chopped rosemary and freshly ground salt and pepper. The Marie Claire version calls for pizza dough, but puff pastry seemed easier to me. If you're wondering how I made puff pastry in a time crunch... I didn't. There is no shame in using frozen puff pastry (Tenderflake is an excellent product) to cut down on cooking time.

For the vegetables, I simply sliced some eggplant and zucchini and placed them in the same roasting pan as the lamb, but under the rack to absorb the flavors from the meat.

I was really hung up on a pumpkin theme for dessert but conceded that I could not get it done in time. There was a Blueberry and White Chocolate Mousse recipe in Donna Hay's "The Instant Cook" that always caught my eye and it looked light enough to offset the heaviness of the meal. I was able to make it quickly the night before and allowed it to set overnight in a champagne flute. It calls for heavy cream to be whisked in with melted white chocolate and gelatin. Yes, it's a dietitian's nightmare but once in a while, you have to let yourself indulge in something as sinful as this. It looks innocent enough with its fluffy white texture.

The Caviar of Beef

Wagyu (和牛) means "Japanese cow" and that is literally what it is. The meat of this particular breed has been called the "caviar of beef". Unlike their mass-farmed brethren, Wagyu cattle are raised with great care: they are manually massaged to help with the marbling, and fed beer or sake to stimulate their appetite and digestion. As a result, Wagyu beef has a higher ratio of omega-3, omega-6, and monounsaturated fats (the "good fats") and reduced saturated fats (the artery cloggers) compared to regular beef.

Such extravagance is not without reward: the meat is tender like butter and possesses a deep, meaty flavor. Wagyu lives up to its hype.

Having splurged on two lovely Wagyu steaks from FãMu in J-Town, I was reluctant to obfuscate the flavors with other ingredients. So they were pan-fried very simply and patiently in olive oil over medium-low heat until medium rare.

More importantly, the steaks were allowed to rest after cooking. Resting allows the protein molecules in the meat to relax and lets the moisture trapped in the middle to redistribute across the parts that had moisture squeezed out of them. (Even though I know this, it's often a challenge to keep my appetite at bay long enough to leave cooked meat unaccosted for 10 minutes.)

There is some controversy about seasoning meat with salt prior to cooking. Chefs today split into two camps: those who believe that the salt absorbs moisture and dehydrates the meat, and those who don't believe the salt has any impact on the meat. Personally, I agree with both sides. Pork, for example, has low moisture content and easily dries out when you salt it before frying. Coarse salt crystals are jagged and therefore do pierce the meat and suck out the moisture. However, this is really only significant when curing meats. Perhaps if you salt your meat 10 minutes or more before cooking, then curing would have begun and the meat would begin to dry out. But if you only give it a quick sprinkle right before the meat hits the pan -- presumably you're not using a pound of salt -- then I don't think seasoning makes any difference. That said, experience has taught me that everyone has radically different notions of acceptable levels of seasoning, so I always under-season everything I make. The Wagyu was fried without any salt or pepper.

After swooning over the first bite, I opted to slice one of the steaks into strips and served it atop rice and sprinkled with chopped green onion. I drizzled some of the juices left in the pan to give the meat some sheen. Freshly ground black pepper and Himalayan salt finished the dish. If only I could eat like this every day.

Beautiful Berkshire

It's not often that I get to purchase exceptional, rare cuts of meat. So when I stumbled across a gorgeous display of Berkshire pork belly and Australian-raised Wagyu beef steaks at the J-Town butcher counter, it felt like I had won the lottery. The butcher saw my eyes widen and chuckled at my obvious appetite for all things gourmet.

The Berkshire pig is a rare breed of swine originating from-- where else? -- Berkshire, England. In the 1800's, the English introduced the breed to Japan and North America where they have continued to thrive. Careful breeding has ensured the purity and quality of the stock. Berkshire pork is prized for the even marbling of the meat which gives it its flavor.

The thin strips of the Berkshire pork belly looked like supermarket bacon, but they cooked more evenly and remained light-colored even when fried to a crisp. The sensation on the palate was clean, not greasy. It also wasn't salty, which came as a surprise even though it shouldn't have -- bacon, of course, is salty because it is pork that has been cured in brine.

I used fried Berkshire strips instead of Canadian bacon when I cooked Eggs Benedict over the weekend. I also fried some minced garlic and green beans in the rendered fat and cut the oiliness with the addition of some astringent lemon juice; I topped it with two strips of the pork belly.

If bacon can make something as foul as brussel sprouts taste good, Berkshire pork would probably go with pretty much anything. The problem I face now is that I probably won't be able to go back to regular bacon. Berkshire has spoiled me.

(More about the Wagyu beef in another post...)

Veggie Bender

Ontario is plentiful with delicious, fresh produce. And so, there is no excuse for a local restaurant to serve stale, wilted greens that smell and taste like a compost bin. Unfortunately, that's what I was served when I dined out recently and ordered a chicken Caesar salad. Just look at those sad, pathetic leaves.

So you can understand why I went on a veggie bender the next day. I had lots of produce left over from my pre-Thanksgiving grocery spree. They were threatening to turn bad on me within a couple of days so I decided to cook them all.

For a light lunch, layers of thinly sliced zucchini and eggplant were placed between two layers of puff pastry. I blind baked the lower crust first to ensure the vegetables would not turn the bottom to an unappetizing mush. You need to prick the pastry liberally with a fork to prevent it from shrinking and exploding out of shape; alternatively, you could use pie weights or heavy, dry beans (even cheaper) to weigh down the dough.

Some people prefer to seed their zucchinis and eggplants -- the seeds contribute most of the bitterness in those vegetables. Personally, I enjoy eating them whole. The same goes for cucumbers and tomatoes. However, personal preference must give way to science when making a dish that's not supposed to be soggy. The seeds, or rather the membrane surrounding them, are particularly wet. Tomatoes are water balloons so exercise special due care when using them. Zucchinis and eggplants are dry by comparison, so they did not affect the pastry even when cooked with the seeds.

For dinner, I mindlessly made a vegetable stew, i.e. I threw in everything I had into a pot and hoped for the best.

All right, so it wasn't entirely without some thought process. Always start a stew with the ingredients that have to be browned first (e.g. garlic, onion, meat), then the hardy ingredients (e.g. carrots, bell peppers, turnips). Once the chunky ingredients have lightly cooked through, add the liquid ingredients (e.g. water, stock, wine). Delicate ingredients (e.g. dairy, mushrooms, herbs) need to be added last so that the heat won't overpower them.

With this sequence in mind, pretty much anything works in a stew. Chef Anna Olsen has a mantra: "anything that grows together, goes together." That is, plants that are harvested at the same time tend to complement each other very well within the same dish. Before the conveniences of refrigeration and fast transportation, seasonal cooking was a logical choice. You would have to work with whatever was in season at the time and by default, Olsen's rule would apply. Food pairings are complicated today, with the universal availability of ingredients being harvested elsewhere. That's not to say that you can't combine, say, a winter root vegetable with a summer fruit. It just means that it's easy and cost-effective to improvise recipes like stews with whatever is in season now.

The Most Boring Food in the World?

I am quite passionate about food, but none of that enthusiasm can convince me to say that celery is an exciting ingredient. In fact, lately, I've begun to think that celery may very well be the most boring food in the world. Don't get me wrong -- I consider it an essential component of many recipes. Potato salad, tuna salad sandwich, chicken stock, and veggie party platters all need celery. And sure, celery is good for roughage and vitamins.

But when is celery ever the star ingredient of a spectacular dish? There's a reason why people serve celery sticks with a rich or savory dip. Braised celery is okay but frankly on the bland side. Cream of celery soup relies on the richness of the double cream to make it interesting.

Burdened with a celery bunch (left over from a recipe that called for only two stalks), I opted to make a light celery soup using only celery, shallots and chicken broth. I started by sweating the shallots and chopped celery (including the leafy bits which contributed a lot of the color). When softened, the chicken broth was added and brought to a simmer. With an immersion blender, the mixture was pureed.

At this stage, the soup had a grittiness that was too labor-intensive to consume. So I filtered out most of the fibres, keeping some for texture. The result was surprisingly pleasant and aromatic, just the thing to have on a cold night. It makes me yearn for more ideas on how to cook celery. Surely this underdog of the veggie world has more potential than people believe.

Fancy Mac & Cheese

I doubt anyone will argue with me that Kraft Dinner (aka "KD") is single-handedly responsible for making macaroni & cheese a comfort food classic. Sure, it's not the most nutritious thing you can put into your system, and there's something a bit unnerving about powdered cheese. Yet it has been a best seller for Kraft since its launch in 1937. It has endured because it is fast, cheap, easy to make and it fills hungry stomachs. College students living in dorms can make it on a tiny hot plate. Hikers can cook it over a campfire. All you need is water, a pot and a heat source.

Such grungy origins probably make haute cuisine snobs feel guilty about loving this dish. So they've taken to adding gourmet cheeses like Asiago, Muenster or Fontina, and expensive proteins such as lobster or foie gras. From the standpoint of someone who likes to eat, I have no problem with these twists on good ol' Mac & Cheese. But I don't have the resources to dine like this every day.

Here is my version of KD: Salmon Mac & Cheese. Cook macaroni in a pot of salted water, and in another pot, start the cheese mixture over low heat. The sauce essentially begins as a bechamel sauce: melting butter or margarine, then adding enough flour to make a paste (called a roux), and finishing it with the addition of milk. When the sauce thickens, add grated cheese. You can use one cheese or a blend of cheeses. Just make sure to use cheeses that melt smoothly, like sharp cheddar or Monterey Jack, instead of the stringy or non-melting cheeses. Grating and low heat prevents the cheese proteins from seizing up and ejecting water and butterfat (which would leave you with a rubbery mess swimming in an oily, viscous pool of liquid). Once the cheese has melted, add the cooked, drained macaroni. Transfer the mixture to a baking pan.

Quickly sear a fillet of salmon. Cut into cubes and top the macaroni-cheese mixture with it. Sprinkle bread crumbs or panko on top. Cook under a broiler until the fish has cooked through.

My choice of salmon was not arbitrary. Salmon contains omega-3, tryptophan, vitamin B-12 and vitamin D, all of which are believed to help improve brain function and alleviate depression. Integrating salmon with a universal favorite such as Mac & Cheese meets my cookbook's criteria for healthy comfort foods.

Risotto, Part Deux

So I made risotto to have something to eat while I recuperated from a cold. I ended up eating little else for three days as a result of fatigue. It got boring and repetitive very quickly.

The beauty of cold, leftover risotto is that it can be turned into Fried Risotto Cakes in no time.

Scoop a heaping spoonful of cold risotto onto a sheet of plastic wrap. Wring the wrap to form a tight ball of rice, then flatten it to make a patty. Quickly roll the patty in finely ground cornmeal or breadcrumbs. Fry it in some oil until golden brown. Drain on paper towels and serve.

Feeding the Ill

I'm sick. At least once a year I become a victim of "presenteeism" -- the stubborn determination of office mates who insist on coming in to work when they're wheezing, sniffling or feverish. They come by to tell you how sick they are, and invariably you end up catching what they have and doing the same thing to your own cubicle buddies.

Head colds turn me into a vegetable, mainly because it puts my brain in a heavy fog and slows me down to the point that even watching the boob tube becomes a chore. However, living alone means that you still have to crawl out of bed to feed yourself.

So I made Butternut Squash Risotto. It's really only one of very few things I love about the colder months. Hardy vegetables and legumes are in season now, making it possible to tuck into warm, hearty dishes like this risotto.

The best everyday dishes are those that let you eyeball the ingredient quantities and improvise with what you have. I was able to use up the last of the fresh sage given to me by Lynn, and my home made chicken stock. I would have liked the addition of freshly grated Parmesan and white wine, but was able to make do without.

First, bring your stock to a simmer. Next, halve the butternut squash and scrape out the seeds and stringy membrane from the core; set aside. Peel and cube the squash. Sautee the seeds and membrane in another large pot or skillet -- don't worry about bits sticking to the bottom because this is exactly what we are after. When the bottom has browned slightly, remove the seeds and membrane. Drizzle a generous amount of oil and caramelize chopped onions in the same pot. Add the desired quantity of uncooked rice to seal the grains. (White wine would have been nice to include at this point.)

When the rice and onions start to look translucent, start adding your warm stock gradually. The key here is to add a bit at a time, never drowning the rice but also never letting the mixture get so dry that it starts to stick and burn at the bottom.

Incorporate the squash cubes; do this in two batches if you have a large quantity of squash. Keep cooking at low heat and add stock as needed until the risotto has reached the desired consistency. I poured in some milk to make up for the missing Parmesan. At the very end, I tossed in some chopped sage.

Bechamel Sauce

Below is the Bechamel Sauce recipe that goes with the Lasagna recipe below. I'll be putting it in a section of basic recipes that serve as the foundation for multiple dishes in the cookbook.

This is a simple white sauce that adds a creamy texture to any dish that incorporates it. I appreciate the fact that I can control the amount of fat and lactose that goes into this without compromising richness. For example, lactose free skim milk has always worked exceptionally well for me. If you find that your sauce is not thickening, even when it starts bubbling, add a teaspoon of flour at a time. However, you should not need more than 3 tablespoons. Be patient and diligent with your whisking: it will work out any lumps and keep the sauce from burning.

The sauce can be made ahead if necessary and refrigerated for up to a couple of days.

2 Tbsp unsalted butter
3 Tbsp flour
1½ cup milk
½ tsp salt
pepper, to taste

1. Melt 2 Tbsp butter in a sauce pan at Low heat.
2. Just as the butter begins to bubble and foam, add the flour.
3. Working quickly with a whisk, blend the butter and flour until it becomes a paste. Do not allow the paste to burn; begin adding milk gradually to the pan and whisk the mixture together. Increase the heat to Medium-High and keep whisking until the mixture becomes smooth; do not walk away. Continue until the sauce thickens to the consistency of heavy cream or yogurt. Depending on your stove, this may take anywhere from 5 to 10 minutes.
4. Just before the sauce starts to boil, add salt and pepper to taste and remove from heat.

Sweet and Savoury Lasagna

This is an older recipe familiar to those who already look at my Facebook photos. It's definitely going into the cookbook so I thought I should post the recipe here. Please feel free to post your comments and criticisms.

The idea of putting fruit in lasagna came from a jar of ketchup au fruits (fruit ketchup) from the Patisserie de Gascogne in Montreal. Much to my surprise and delight, many fruits complement the flavour of tomatoes very well, creating a balance between sweetness and acidity. I am particularly fond of caramelized pears, which is why I chose the fruit for this dish. However, feel free to try it with apples, mangoes, figs or whatever else you can imagine.

Cheese is almost entirely absent from this recipe. While soft Italian cheeses such as Mozzarella or Ricotta are wonderful components of the traditional lasagna, they add a significant measure of fat and will drive away anyone who is lactose intolerant. You will find that the Bechamel sauce more than satisfies the desire for creaminess and it browns beautifully. However, the sharpness of fresh Parmesan is irresistible, especially in contrast with the top layer of pears. Lactose intolerance be damned – I always sprinkle a bit of Parmesan.

300-400g ground pork
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium onion, minced
1 Tbsp olive oil
4 cups tomato sauce (see recipe to make your own)
9 sheets quick cooking lasagna (or enough for three layers in the baking pan)
1-2 firm pears (Bartlett or Bosc), finely sliced
Bechamel sauce (see recipe)
1 Tbsp parsley, chopped (optional)
1-2 Tbsp Parmesan, freshly grated (optional)

1. In a mixing bowl, combine the pork, garlic and onion.
2. Heat the oil in a skillet on Medium-High heat. When the oil begins to shimmer, pinch off small pieces of the pork mixture and fry them in the oil until lightly browned. The pieces can be irregularly shaped. If you have a small skillet, you may need to do this in two batches in order to fry all of the pork mixture. Do not overcook since the meat will cook some more when the lasagna is baked in the oven. Remove the skillet from the heat and allow the pork pieces to drain on some paper towels.
3. Preheat the oven to 350°F. While the oven is warming up, begin layering the lasagna in a deep baking pan or lasagna dish. First, spread a thin layer of tomato sauce before placing 3 sheets of the pasta. The key here is to make sure the pasta is in contact with sufficient moisture to cook it through.
4. Spread half of the tomato sauce then create a layer with the pork pieces. Place another 3 sheets of the pasta.
5. Spread the remainder of the tomato sauce then create a layer with the pear slices. Place the last of the pasta sheets.
6. Spread the Bechamel sauce then sprinkle the parsley and Parmesan across the top.
7. Cover the lasagna with foil and bake for 20 minutes. Uncover then bake for an additional 10-15 minutes until the sauces are bubbling and the top is golden brown.
8. Remove from the oven then allow the lasagna to rest for 10 minutes before serving.

Anise, the Star

The thrill of cooking lies in the neverending possibilities offered by the seemingly infinite list of available ingredients. This is what draws me to foreign cuisines like South American, Middle Eastern, or Scandinavian. If it weren't for these outside influences, I wouldn't have staples like turmeric, sumac, lemongrass, green curry paste, celeriac, ras el hanout, or star anise in my pantry.

Star anise is unrelated to anise, but got its name due to the similar licorice flavor. The compound called anethole is responsible for the licorice aroma, and is found in fennel as well. Star anise is a fruit that is harvested from its tree right before it ripens. Asian recipes use it in soups and meat dishes. Europeans have been incorporating it in the production of liquors such as Sambuca, absinthe, and Pernod. Recent Bird Flu scares have put star anise in the spotlight since it is the primary source for the anti-flu drug Tamiflu. As is often the case, a medicinal ingredient like star anise that is used in contemporary applications, has already long been in use as an ancient remedy. Chewed or brewed as a tea, it is believed to relieve abdominal pain and other digestive disorders; its oils can also be applied topically to treat conditions such as earaches or bronchitis.

I haven't had much use for star anise until chef Heston Blumenthal declared that caramelizing onions with some star anise will greatly enhance the flavors of any accompanying meat. He uses it in his "perfect" recipe for Spaghetti Bolognese. I used it to sweat some onions that were to go with a beautiful slice of NY Steak. Blumenthal was absolutely on the money: the steak was enhanced by the aroma infused into the onions. Try it yourself and tell me what you think.

Simple Pleasures

Simmer canned pear slices (you can also use pears from a jar) in their juices. Scrape out the seeds from a vanilla pod and put seed and pod in with the pears.

Scoop a generous serving of good quality vanilla ice cream (Breyers makes a spectacular double churn light(!) vanilla bean ice cream) into a bowl, or a martini glass for fun.

Top the ice cream with the warm pear slices. Pour a few spoonfuls of the vanilla and pear juice mixture on top of the ice cream.

Eat.