Irish Alison's Farewell

It's only appropriate that we post Irish Alison's farewell culinary thoughts on Toronto on St. Patrick's Day. As she boards the plane home today to Sligo we remember the day, one year ago, she walked in to the store looking for a job. We weren't really hiring but her enthusiasm and of course the accent did us in and Jennifer and I along with our customers have had a wonderful year with Irish Alison on staff. 

Irish Alison's Toronto Adventure

The first two weeks of my being in Toronto have one abiding food memory for me, and not a very pleasant one. Being broke and hungry will make a girl do (and eat) things she mightn’t otherwise consider, and I am no exception. I don’t know if I will ever be rid of the memory of the complimentary pancake breakfast offered by my hostel, I certainly won’t be rid of it anytime soon. Every morning, between the hours of 7 and 10am, the long suffering desk clerk would make up pitcher after pitcher of lumpy instant pancake mix, which lost souls on tight budgets like myself would drown in Aunt Jemima’s generic ‘syrup’ and eat in large quantities to see ourselves through to a late lunch. Often said lunch would be comprised of a packet of Mr Noodles, rehydrated in a communal kitchen of dubious hygiene levels. (Beef or chicken being the flavours of choice. Oriental tastes like nothing in particular, and the least said of vegetable the better.)  When we moved to an actual apartment my boyfriend and I thought, of course, that things were set to improve on the culinary front. There are few better cures for loneliness than the comfort and refuge of the kitchen, and some home cooking can do wonders for homesickness. Unfortunately the kitchen in our month long sub-let proved to be unusable and so we had to look for alternatives. At the time this seemed like an absolute tragedy – I ached for real cooking, to make something from my own hand, for the sense of control which I could feel with a knife and a chopping board. If I add onion to oil I know what the outcome will be – moving 3,000 miles away from family and friends to a city we’d never even visited before, where we didn’t know anyone and had no immediate job prospects, was a much foggier forecast. Now I know what a great benefit it was to be motivated to go out and try all that this great city has to offer, because when it comes to food, Toronto is hard to beat. At that point all we had was a meagre budget and a big appetite, and we learned how to stretch our dollar as far as it could go.

We ate late night $4.99 burgers and fries at Future’s on Bloor, surrounded by gabbing Annex locals and students with the kinds of manic looks that only assignment deadlines can cause. Their end of day pastries, usually at two for one, or a bag for a dollar, made for pre bedtime snacking. Their breakfast was good too, but for a greasy spoon wake up, my heart will always belong to Sneaky Dees $3.25 breakfast special. And then, there was Tim Horton’s. I am still inordinately fond of Tim’s; partly because it helped to keep us alive in those tough early days, and partly because it became a familiar and constant feature when everything else was new. A maple cream donut (my treat of choice) was an occasional breakfast and long bus ride companion.

Of course, once we had some income and a new apartment we could actually cook in, eating out became an activity more about pleasure than survival, and the location became less about the most food for the lowest price, and more about new and exciting tastes and discoveries. We have spent much of the year intoxicated by the choice of cuisine available in Toronto; coming from small town Ireland gives you limited exposure to ethnic foods, no matter how curious you are. We’ve had Korean pork bone stew so spicy my eyes watered the entire time I ate at Ka Chi (totally worth the tears by the way), Persian lamb shanks that melted unctuously from the bone at the Pomegranate, we mopped up split peas and lentils with injera at Ethiopian House, had a lunch of curried goat and jerk chicken at Ackee Tree, slurped pho from Chinatown, and enjoyed tacos in the sunshine at El Trompo in Kensington market. We tried sushi for the first time (seriously, there are like 2 sushi restaurants in Dublin. That’s it). I celebrated my birthday watching Mexican cable tv and eating chicken mole at Mexitaco.

We also learned a lot about Canadian food – for instance, gravy and cheese on fries. Seriously, we thought, Poutine sounds gross. Oh we of little faith. We tried pulled pork sandwiches for the first time, and second, and third. The Victory Cafe fed us cheap, good pub food on many a night when the lure of mac and cheese and a pint of Ontario craft brew drew us out of doors. Our culinary adventures ran the range of 4am fried white bread and plastic cheese in Mars Foods on a Saturday night, to the briny beauty of a kalamata olive and meltingly tender rabbit ragu in Tutti Matti. We ate the Elvis special burger (peanut butter and banana on a beef patty, in case you’re interested) on recycled recliner chairs at Dangerous Dan’s (view of Jilly's is complimentary), did  the summerlicious menu at Pangaea, and ate warm, gelatinous bone marrow sprinkled with Maldon salt at the Black Hoof. Jump offered the best service in the city (thanks Vera!), and the lobster roll at Petite Thuet proved that it was possible to have a take away sandwich worth a $9 price tag. And where do I begin with brunch? It’s a subject always likely to provoke heated debate so it’s best to just go with personal preference. Mine is Aunties and Uncles, my boyfriend loves Mitzi’s. We will probably never agree on this point, so there is no sense in arguing further. (Although I do think I’m right).  That being said, suckling pig benny and pig tails and grits at the Hoof Cafe were declared exquisite by both of us, so perhaps there’s hope for a peaceful Sunday morning yet.

And there are also places which claim my affections for reasons beyond simply the food they serve.  About 3 weeks into our coming here I was homesick, the city was cold, we were sub-letting in a squat that made places of habitation featured on CNN seem cosy, and I was miserable. Completely by accident we stumbled upon Wanda’s Pie in the Sky. It was warm, there were smiles of welcome. A spicy African peanut soup and a cheddar and chutney sandwich tasted like heaven; the slices of apple were tart and crisp, and none of the vegetables had been reconstituted with the aid of a kettle. I ate my first slice of cherry pie – each little fairytale-red berry bursting with juice and flavour. It was food for the soul, food to make you pick yourself up and start again, almost the only thing which stood between me staying to tough it out in a strange city and hailing a taxi to Pearson.

And how glad I am that I did stick it out. I have made great friends, and had so many experiences I never thought imaginable. And most importantly, I have eaten better and more diversely in one year than i ever had before. And for those of us food obsessed and perpetually hungry, that is worth almost anything.

Eating Words - The Art of Food Writing

Posted by Irish Alison

On Saturday November 14th The Cookbook Store, in conjunction with Stratford Chef School’s Gastronomic Writer in Residence program, played host to a number of leading food writers and journalists for a discussion concerning the art of food writing, at the Haleconian Hall. Panelists included Canadian authors Ian Brown and Margaret Webb, Boston based journalist Corby Kummer, and Australian academic and food writer Michael Symons. Food writing doesn’t lend itself to classification easily; it can take the form of memoir, journalistic, political and historical writing, philosophy and literature, and at its best, it will probably incorporate all of these. Aspects of inspiration for food writing is also much more diverse than simply one’s stomach; the general consensus among our panelists was that the way they write about and enjoy food is tied up with relationships, love, family, and memory, and that to write about food is to write about all of these as well. 

But in an age when food blogs are two a penny and recipes can be twittered in 140 characters or less, is something lost in the immediacy of communication? Corby Kummer, an editor by profession, raised the point that in food blogging there little filter between author and reader, and the diminishing role of the editor in modern food writing has led to a lack of form, as well as quality. Motivations for writing about food varied among our panel also; some saw it as an outlet for a good story, others were motivated by anger and frustration, seeing it as a medium to air their discontent about the state of farming and food production, and for others food writing is historical writing, telling of the development of peoples and cultures.

Although the panelists weren’t always in perfect agreement there were some aspects of food writing which united all four; a call for individuality amid the repetition and imitation which often characterizes food blogs, honesty, taking the time to write well researched and thought out pieces, and a democratic approach.  The most important features for all were curiousity, enthusiasm for the subject, a unique perspective, and genuine passion, all of which produce truly interesting and informative food writing.We at The Cookbook Store felt that we learned a lot from the afternoon's discussion, and that any budding food writer's out there will be inspired to take up their pens.

Friday Lunch: Craft Burger

Posted by Alison Gorman (aka Irish Alison)

Being neighbourly sort of folks we decided to look no further for this week’s Friday lunch than a few doors south of our own Yonge and Yorkville location, at Craft Burger (830 Yonge). We set out to get a good cross section of the ‘signature’ burgers and began with the Craft Blue. This consisted of a well seasoned patty topped with gorgonzola, avocado, lettuce, tomato and rosemary garlic mayo. Now, we like gorgonzola and we like avocado, but we weren’t totally convinced by the combo. Additionally, the tendency of anything involving blue cheese to taste overwhelmingly of said item and not much else caused the flavoured mayo to be overshadowed.

Next up was the more successful Craft Spicy. A good juicy patty topped with the usual tomato and lettuce along with caramelised onions and spicy chipotle mayo. The generous heap of onions was deliciously sticky and sweet and the chipotle mayo added a smoky contrast to this sweetness; it wasn’t so spicy as to overwhelm the burger, but had a nice kick of heat.

The Lamb Burger was also a success; lamb burgers can often be overcooked and dry but this was just as deliciously pink and juicy as the beef burgers. Along with lettuce and tomato came a slathering of cilantro-feta spread. The initial salty hit of feta was most prominent in the first two or so bites, afterwards becoming subtler and dominated by the herbal-freshness of cilantro. The spread as a whole was well enjoyed by all three of us.

The sesame seed buns were fairly pedestrian, but all of the patties were perfectly cooked and the standard extras of lettuce and tomato fresh. Fries were crisp and golden, perhaps a little salty but this is a matter of personal preference. Our Friday lunch was rounded off with two Craft Cookies, described on the menu as oatmeal chocolate chunk with toffee crunch. We didn’t get any crunch but the cookies were still delicious; fat, round and buttery with big chunks of chocolate and swirls of chewy toffee.

The bill for three burgers, one order of fries and one cookie (the second one was thrown in gratis) came to $27.46, including tax.

Photos & editing by Gina

In Memorium: Keith Floyd, British Television Cook

Posted by Alison Gorman (aka Irish Alison)

By the time I discovered Keith Floyd it was sometime past his heyday on British television. Every Saturday morning I would get up early to watch the BBC weekend cookery show ‘Saturday Kitchen’, and it was there that I had my first Floyd encounter. In the midst of smiley presenters and oh-so-pleasant guest chefs would come an episode of one of Keith’s shows from the BBC vaults. He would appear on screen, rakish and charming, a glass of wine in one hand, gesticulating wildly with the other, issuing orders and commands to his longsuffering cameraman Clive. His shows were just as famous for their often surreal nature as for the food prepared; memorable moments include him cooking in the middle of a field on a South African ostrich farm, cooking an ostrich egg omelette, surrounded by ostriches. As the birds get more curious the piece descends into chaos; the ostriches overrun the field, the food and utensils are on the ground, the camera has been abandoned, and Floyd is off in the distance, looking fairly unperturbed and sipping a glass of wine, the obligatory glass one of the few constants in his television career.

Although he certainly made for great television, his importance to modern British cooking shouldn’t be underestimated; he introduced the nation to world cuisine, taught them that French food could be cooked at home, that Asian food was exciting and accessible, that garlic wasn’t anything to be afraid of. If Delia was responsible for imparting technique, then Keith offered passion. There was no editing in his shows; when a French housewife berated his food he translated her criticisms faithfully, looking heartily amused at her obvious disgust with his cooking skills. He would happily tell his audience that the BBC wouldn’t pay for expensive ingredients, so he would buy them from his own pocket. He flirted shamelessly, he drank voraciously, he swore occasionally. In an age when much of television cookery seems homogenised and predictable, Keith was a breath of fresh air. He played a large part in making it more acceptable for men to be interested in food and cooking in Britain; and indeed on one of his visits to the store Jamie Oliver cited him as his favourite tv chef.

Keith Floyd was probably the least professional chef on Saturday Kitchen every week, and always the one you’d want to have a drink with. On Monday 14th September, at the age of 65, he suffered a heart attack and died in Dorset, England. It is reported he enjoyed a last meal of oysters and partridge, along with several glasses of champagne. He will be missed by many, and it would be a shame to watch his passing without raising a glass to one of Britain’s true kitchen pioneers.